A/N: I have to warn in advance, this is a very Faberry-light installment. I'm sure some would say the entire story has been kinda Faberry-light, which is valid, because it's felt important to me to have some individual and friendship growths before we can reasonably move in that direction. Let's face it, season 3 left them both as wrecks. So my apologies in advance to those who have been waiting so patiently for Faberry to really get started and to those who aren't crazy about Santana, because this update could very well be boring for you, as it starts out with more Sam kink discussion and then is very Santana focused, with Brittana sexual-ness, and…what would you even call it, Humpezberry friendship? And like I said…slow to get Faberry together, but it will happen. Thanks for your patience.

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I'm straight enough
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Blaine sighs and sips his coffee, regarding the people around him. Sam, with bags under his eyes, sits roughly across from him, staring mostly at the tabletop. Artie's wheelchair is next to him, the other boy drumming his fingers lightly against his own cup. Tina, on Blaine's other side, looks irritable and sits with her arms crossed. Only the recently-elected Senior Class President Brittany seems to be as awake as he is, blowing on her hot chocolate and smiling slightly. The leadership board is present and accounted for and, hopefully, ready to attempt to select some songs for Sectionals.

"Come on, guys," Blaine tries tentatively, "It's eleven. We agreed this would be a reasonable time to meet."

"Just didn't sleep well," Sam mumbles with a shrug.

"I'm just tired of picking up Mr. Schue's slack," Tina bites.

"Preach," Artie agrees.

"We should just throw away his slack next time we pick it up for him," Brittany suggests.

There's a pause where no one seems to be sure what to say, until Tina says, "Good idea, Brittany, but we have to find it and pick it up first," to which Brittany nods.

"So, let's get started, then," Blaine suggests with a smile, and with a few half-hearted grumbles, they get down to business, searching for one song that would be either a good duet or solo, and two ensemble pieces, preferably one with chances for solos or duets.

After an hour or so of suggestions, debate, humming, singing a few bars, Brittany bobbing her head to imaginary beats and picturing choreography, they select "Under Pressure" with Blaine and Artie leading, and a mashup between "Dancing on My Own" and "Till the World Ends" with Unique leading for their ensemble pieces, and a solo for Tina performing "Here Lies Love." Artie had pointed out somewhere during their discussion that he's pretty sure the reason the New Directions tend to score well is that their setlists usually show that the choir is not being carried by one or two people, but instead have a multitude of talent, so they'd done their best to express that with their choices.

Everyone seems relieved that they have made a decision and high-five (or fist bump, in the case of Artie and Sam) over the table in victory. They each take on a different part to work on before Monday, either choreography, arranging the mashup, writing out who sings what in the ensemble pieces, or figuring out whether to and how to shorten "Under Pressure" and "Here Lies Love," to make them a more reasonable length. It will take time and effort, sure, but actually having something to work on takes some of the pressure off the assignment.

Brittany links arms with Tina and says that her younger sister has been looking forward to a Rock Band rematch, which makes Tina grin. Artie begins wheeling out the door to call his dad, until both his exes notice and assure him that they'd be glad to drop him off at home, if he's willing to let Brittany lift him into the car. He smiles his thanks, a bit awkwardly.

Blaine had intended to order another cup of coffee and read for a little bit, but when he sits up from pulling last year's David Sedaris out of his bag, Sam is still sitting there, looking at him uncertainly. He smiles a bit, wondering if Sam feels cheated out of a solo, "Are you okay with the decisions we made today?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Sam assures, "But I was wondering if you had a minute? I…need to talk to someone."

Blaine straightens and pushes his book and his empty coffee cup a little further away, minimizing distractions. "Sure. What's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm…" Sam hesitates for a long moment, then rushes out, "questioning my sexuality."

Blaine's eyes widen and he leans back in surprise a little, and then he chuckles, "Well, as my own period of confusion was well-documented at that very embarrassing party of Rachel's, I understand why you came to me, but if you're looking to kiss a guy and see what you feel, I'm afraid I can't help you there."

"No, no," Sam says quickly, coloring slightly, "I just…" he runs his hands through his messy hair, "Okay," he sighs, "I was talking to Mercedes last night and she was telling me that she went on a date."

Blaine must clearly look surprised, and Sam looks up almost expectantly and says slowly, "Yeah. We're not together, even though everyone thinks we are. Probably we will be someday, but now is just not a good time."

"That's…well, unusual," Blaine mumbles with a little smile.

"Anyway," Sam continues, "She was telling me about the guy she was seeing and…I…" he kind of stutters to a shaky stop and gestures downward vaguely.

"Oh," Blaine says, eyes widening a bit.

"Yeah," Sam breathes out.

"Well, what part of it was, um, arousing?"

"Uh, what?"

"Was it her description of him? Did you picture him as really attractive?"

Sam frowns, "No, actually. She was pretty vague about him and I didn't really picture him very specifically. She said he was cute and that she thought he was gay at first so I pictured him with like, Kurt's body, but I never pictured a face or hair or anything. And he was clothed."

"Wait. What was he doing when you pictured him?"

"Kissing and touching Mercedes and letting her, uh, touch him."

"Were you jealous?" Blaine asks.

"No! That's the weirdest thing. I thought I would be, but instead it was just…hot," he finishes.

Blaine sits back with a little smile, "Well. I have what is probably good news. I don't think you're gay. And you probably aren't bi, either, but I dunno, the fact that you pictured my boyfriend in this fantasy…" Blaine teases a bit, and Sam just shakes his head and rubs at his face.

"Then why did thinking about this guy get me hard?" he asks bluntly.

"Because you were thinking about him with Mercedes. You're…you like sharing your woman," Blaine finishes by dropping his voice a little in exaggerated masculinity.

"Ugh. Can you…? Sharing just sounds…" Sam looks uncomfortable, his lip curling in disgust a little. "And, she's not my woman," Sam reminds him.

"But you have strong feelings for each other. I mean, that's obvious. And you just told me she'll probably be your girlfriend someday," Blaine starts, frowning a little, "But…I'm not sure how else to say what you're feeling. It's just a kink." Sam looks deeply displeased at this and stares off to his side, but Blaine knows he's listening. "And it's harmless. You're not asking her to do anything she doesn't want or that is hurting her, right? It could even be a good thing, you know, turning potential jealousy into arousal."

Sam is silent for awhile, then says, "How can you even say that? Just a harmless kink? I don't…I'm not…I don't want to think about her this way."

"Because it's normal," Blaine assures him, "It's normal for you and tons of other people out there. Just because it's not normal for the majority of people on the planet doesn't mean it's not perfectly fine. And…I don't know. Maybe you'll feel better about it if you tell her what you're thinking."

Sam blanches at this, "Absolutely not," he retorts, "I don't want her to think I'm sick."

"You're not sick," Blaine tries. He sighs, "Look, I know we live in a world that makes people ashamed about sex and I wish I could tell you something that would make you feel better. I guess all I can suggest is read up on it. Listen to other people's stories."

Another few moments of silence, "So it's a kink. I'm not gay."

Blaine smiles, "So it seems. But in a way, it's not all that different. You can't help feeling like you do any more than I can help being gay. And from my experience? Reading about how other people handled coming out as gay helped me. It could help you, too."

This doesn't seem to reassure Sam, but for the sake of his own comfort, he seems to want to press the gay issue, "So it doesn't have anything to do with the guy, really. Just my feelings for Mercedes."

"Most likely, yeah." Blaine answers, abandoning his attempt to comfort Sam about the kink issue.

Sam looks barely relieved, "Not to be…condescending or anything, but I really wasn't prepared to be gay."

Smiling at him a little patronizingly, Blaine informs him, "You wouldn't be anyway, considering how much Mercedes means to you. I think you mean bi?"

Sam shrugs, "That seems like it would be easier. I could still have Mercedes if I were bi. It just produced…such a strong reaction in me that I worried that I had been misreading my feelings for Mercedes all along." He hesitates, "I'm not happy about it, but I think you're right. I don't want to focus on it, but at least I know what it is I need to ignore."

Inhaling through his nose, Blaine tries to smile, "I think that's a mistake, but you should do what makes you comfortable. And I hope you know that, even if we don't agree about what you should do about this, if you need to talk to someone? I'm here for that."

Sam grins his first genuine grin since the conversation began, "Thanks, man." He offers his fist, and Blaine bumps it, "Buy you a coffee?"

"Now I'm really beginning to wonder if you're bi," Blaine quips to break the mood, and Sam grins and rolls his eyes, and they get up to get fresh cups.

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That was the custom come dawn
.

Santana's schedule has been irregular for several weeks, but is purely random now. She no longer is guaranteed to have weekends off, which is annoying, but considering Kurt and Rachel are incredibly busy most weekends, it's probably not a big deal.

And the more stressful Santana's schedule gets, the more she kind of starts to feel like she's providing for her household. Because she's working so hard, and so frequently, and though Kurt works a lot too, he usually doesn't get quite as many hours and he's paid less, and Rachel, well, she's a student, she's obviously bringing in the least income.

So Santana makes a point to keep an eye on food supplies so she can stop by the 24-hour grocery store in her work's shopping center on her way home. She usually goes twice a week, because of how fucking quickly she and Kurt go through milk and they all go though juice, and because there's always something she forgets.

It saves Rachel and Kurt from making a trek to the grocery store—because, though they've borrowed her car once or twice to go shopping, they hate driving in the city. There's also a grocery store sort of on the way home from their work that they stop at sometimes, but then they have to get back on the subway, and Santana hates to think of them walking home loaded down with heavy groceries.

Her shift tonight is actually with Helen, which isn't always the case anymore since their schedules are no longer consistent, and they and some of the other guys who used to be on the remodel team but now work in the grocery section with them handle a truck delivery of fresh food. They're still ironing out the kinks—the food is theoretically not supposed to be out of refrigeration for more than thirty minutes, and it's generally on the floor for over an hour and a half before they get it all on the shelves, but management doesn't seem concerned and just tells them to keep doing what they're doing.

When they go to Starbucks for break, Helen buys Santana's drink for her (lately she's been getting either a latte or hot chocolate, now that it's getting colder), because, as she says, they've wasted half their break in line and it'll speed up the process. Santana thanks her, and checks her phone as they're walking back to the car.

She sees Brittany sent her an email, and she checks it. It's a YouTube upload of the New Directions performance at Sectionals. Brittany included the note, "choreography by me! look for me and tina during under presshure—we did an awesome spin!"

And even though she can't watch the video now—or, she could, maybe, but she's sure Helen would have questions and she's not willing to put her badass cred on the line to admit she used to be in show choir—she loves that it's waiting for her, and she can't wait to watch her girl move.

So she puts her phone away and realizes after a moment that she's sitting in Helen's truck, holding a drink that Helen bought for her, and suddenly feels overwhelmingly guilty.

She misses Brittany…so goddamn bad it hurts daily. But she's here, hanging with Helen at work, rarely talking to anyone else because they just click so well, and not even bothering to quash any rumors that they're dating because Helen's cool, and kind of cute, and she doesn't mind if people think she's tapping that.

She's probably a little distant for the rest of the shift, but Helen just takes it in stride, perhaps assuming she's tired.

After work, she stops by the store to grab almond milk for Rachel (who had read recently that it was good to vary soy protein intake with other forms of vegetable protein, and occasionally swapped soymilk for almond or coconut milk), cereal, orange juice, tortillas, frozen broccoli, salad, coffee and paper towels. A pretty average grocery haul, and most of it for everyone in the apartment.

They save receipts, and try to more or less even out their spending by buying takeout for each other, or paying a little more toward bills, or with more grocery shopping, but sometimes Santana buys ice cream or cookies or something and doesn't add them up on her receipt total. She just likes to give them a treat. Maybe it assuages her guilt for how much of a shit she used to be, but she doesn't like to get that introspective about it.

When she gets home and puts groceries away, Kurt shuffles out of the kitchen in only pajama pants and sticks his hand up in greeting; he has one of his rare early work shifts today to help sort through and price a massive order of clothing before they open. By the time she's ready to brush her teeth and get in bed, Kurt's in the bathroom flossing.

She glances in the mirror and realizes immediately that she looks completely despondent, and when Kurt glances at her, she can see that he sees it, too. He drops the floss stick he's holding and turns to her, his face absolutely heartbreaking. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, opening his arms.

She steps into them and smashes her face against his bare shoulder, and though she's seen him without his shirt a few times now, she's always startled by his chest hair, because he's so clean cut. But she isn't really thinking about that as she fights the way her shoulders are trembling while he holds her.

"I just miss her so fucking much," she gets out, hating the whiny pitch her voice adopts.

Kurt hums comfortingly against her hair, "I know," he murmurs, "I miss him so much it hurts. Believe me, I know. We'll see them soon…"

They vaguely hear Rachel's alarm go off, but don't stop holding each other until Rachel approaches the bathroom, bleary-eyed. Her face morphs from exhausted to confused to horrified. "Oh my God. Are you okay?"

Santana pulls away from Kurt and wipes at her eyes, frustrated. "Yeah," she grunts, "Just. Missing our, uh…other halves."

Rachel's eyes are bright and suddenly she looks like she's about to cry, and she sucks in a shaky breath and grabs Santana in a hug before she can even really react. She finds herself holding onto Rachel almost as hard as she'd held onto Kurt, and then Rachel pulls away and throws her arms around Kurt, tucking her head under his chin.

Santana stares at her, a little bewildered, as she pulls away from Kurt and gives them a watery smile. "I just love you guys. And I'm so glad you're here with me."

As Kurt presses a little kiss to the top of Rachel's head, Santana tries to scoff, "Yeah, uh, you're alright yourself, Berry," dropping her eyes to her nails, and Rachel beams as if Santana had told her she loved her, too.

Which, really, she more or less has.

She goes to bed feeling a little lighter.

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Cause I don't need another friend tonight
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Santana knows enough about Rachel to expect something as her birthday approaches. She's seen the way Rachel tried as hard as she could to make everyone's birthdays special—she's heard Quinn gush about her camera a few times, and remembers hearing about the nice set of headphones she'd gotten for Mercedes over the summer. Even people she isn't particularly close to, like Sam and to an extent Blaine, she'd been sure to be thoughtful of, even when money was tight.

She thinks that maybe she qualifies now as someone Rachel is close to, and that's actually kind of fucking terrifying, because, yeah, much as she actually likes Rachel, the girl can be intense about her friendships.

Her birthday happens to fall on a Saturday, the Saturday before Thanksgiving, in fact, and she'd managed to get time off for that Friday and Saturday, just because, why would she want to work on her birthday? So she actually gets the Sunday through Thursday workweek she'd been so used to instead of randomly spaced days off throughout the week. By the end of it, though, she's exhausted, and sleeps until almost 5. It's dark when she wakes up, which is disturbing enough—that she'd slept through all the daylight but the tinges of dawn that morning. She shuts off the little desk fan on her bedside table she'd bought for the sole purpose of white noise, since after it became too cold for their window air conditioners, she'd been woken up more frequently by her roommates, and shuffles out of her room. It's unsurprising that the apartment is empty.

There's a note next to the coffee machine, and if the neat, stylized handwriting isn't a dead giveaway, the fact that the paper is printed with yellow stars would be. Rachel writes: "Good morning, Santana! This is just to let you know that I have rehearsal tonight! By their own admission, it will go quite late because we're doing a read-through of the entire script, so don't worry when I show up later than normal!"

Rachel had gotten parts in both of the school performances she'd tried out for—a secondary character role in an original play written by one of the upperclassmen, and a very small role for a performance of South Pacific; Santana doesn't know much about that show, but Rachel had said she was cast as one of the little half-Polynesian kids, whatever that meant. Apparently her height and complexion—evidently her lingering summer tan had helped—made her one of the few students the director thought could pass as the role. Rachel was excited for the play—which, as far as Santana could tell, was some kind of modern re-telling of a Greek myth she knew nothing about, somehow set in a college setting—but still wasn't sure if she was going to take the South Pacific role. She was wrestling with the fact that a star would have actual lines and more than just one duet in a performance and the idea that she has to start somewhere if she wants to be considered for other roles in the future.

Either way, Santana appreciates the note, because she does worry sometimes when Rachel is late. Or Kurt. It's New York, and their neighborhood isn't great, and Rachel is little, and Kurt looks like he can barely throw a punch, they're targets. It's only natural to look after each other.

She just enjoys her day, relaxing, and after showering, throwing on sweats and the "sorry boys, I eat pussy" t-shirt Kurt had brought home from work as a gag gift a few weeks ago.

She becomes so engrossed in the Seinfeld marathon she puts on that she almost doesn't realized how hungry she is until after 11:30. The time makes her frown a bit, too, because no one is home yet. There's a surge of panic; Kurt should definitely be home now. She realizes she left her phone in her room since she woke up and rushes to check it.

There's a text from Brittany, just an incredibly cute picture of her in pajamas, winking and puckering her lips, and one from Kurt. She can't help but text Brittany back ("u r so adorable, baby") before checking Kurt's text.

Lady Hummel: I'll be home late!
Coworker is having a little gathering at
his place, and I'm going to mingle for a
bit, to be polite.

Well. That's good then. She permits herself to continue watching TV, now looking on Foodler to see who's delivering this late. She doesn't feel much like cooking. She texts both Rachel and Kurt.

Tana: If ur gonna be home soon, I'm
about to order Chinese. Want anything?

There's no response. Five minutes pass and she's about to just go ahead and order, because, fuck, she's hungry, and she finally gets a response.

Berry: I will be home very soon! Can you
wait to order? I'd like to examine the
menu.

Santana sighs heavily, but acquiesces in her response. Another ten minutes pass, no Rachel. She's actually getting annoyed at this point and is about to text Rachel, to make sure she's okay, to ask if she wants her to meet her halfway or anything—because, fuck, it's late, she shouldn't be out alone, when she hears the door.

"'Bout fucking time, I'm starving, Berry," she hollers at the door—fuck noise complaints, she's kinda pissed.

"Language, Santana," she hears as the door cracks open a bit—Rachel must be carrying something, because the door doesn't open fully. She frowns, staring for a moment, until the door swings open and she hears shouts of, "Happy birthday!"

Her mouth drops as Rachel, Kurt and Quinn pile in, grinning widely, and there's a flash of Quinn's camera on her no-doubt surprised face. She glances at her computer clock. 12:01.

She grins.

"You didn't order, did you?" Rachel asks anxiously, and Santana understands why when she places a large bag of Mexican takeout in front of her. Her mouth waters. Quinn is tossing her old Cheerios duffle into the bedroom, and Kurt is carrying what appears to be a cake box, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Got something special for you," he wiggles his eyebrows, but takes the cake box into the kitchen, "Don't peek!"

Rachel is unpacking the takeout and gives Santana her favorite—huevos rancheros—while Quinn bends over the back of the couch to embrace Santana from behind. They all settle together around the coffee table and eat; and clearly, everyone else is just as ravenous as Santana is, which makes her feel half-guilty and half-appreciative that they delayed eating just so they could eat with her. She ends up asking, "Were you guys really at rehearsal or a co-worker's party?"

Rachel and Kurt exchange grins, "No," Rachel admits, "Those both happened earlier in the week, when you were at work and wouldn't really notice if we got home late. We just saved the convenient excuses."

Santana smiles a little. Sneaky bitches.

They allow the Seinfeld episodes to continue running, but no one is really paying attention, and after they eat, Kurt asks about the bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter.

Santana is glad her complexion is dark, because she's sure she's blushing, and hopes it's not visible, "That was my birthday present from Helen," she explains. The calendar at work had everyone's birthday on it, so even though she would prefer coworkers not know her birthday, unfortunately they do. Helen had presented her with the bottle of champagne, which Santana would have refused if she could have, because it seemed like too much, but instead, here it was in her apartment.

It's not fair that she can't really pinpoint the lines of their friendship, that she has no idea whether the way they interact is normal or not, whether it seems like a work-friendship, an actual friendship or something else. All she knows is that she sometimes feels guilty, and this is one of those times.

"I do worry about all the alcohol we've had in this apartment," Rachel admits.

"Oh, come on," Santana laughs, "We're adults. I think it's bullshit that as legal adults we can't decide to drink. Besides, we've been doing this since the beginning of the summer and we've been cool. Nothing bad happened, 'cause we've been careful."

Rachel twists her mouth, "I'm not a legal adult yet."

Santana shakes her head, embarrassed, "I keep forgetting you're so damn young. How'd you manage that, anyway? Still, I'm not worried. Like I said, we're careful."

Rachel nods, agreeing reluctantly, and briefly explains to Santana that she'd managed to get enrolled in kindergarten when she was four because she'd been able to prove she already knew her ABCs and numbers. Kurt pours them all some champagne and says, "Now, don't drink yet, we need to have a toast, and we can't do so until we cut the cake."

Winking, he heads back into the kitchen, and as he walks back in holding the cake box, he, Rachel and Quinn start to sing "Happy Birthday."

Santana grins, watching Kurt, even though it's clear there are no candles on the cake. As they finish the song, he lays the cake box down in front of her with a flourish and…

She bursts out laughing.

They got her an erotic cake, shaped like a pair of breasts.

When she finally stops laughing, about two minutes later, Kurt smirks, "I knew you'd like it."

"What better way to celebrate your birthday than with a few of your favorite things?" Quinn asks with a grin. Rachel perks up at the allusion to the song she loves, but then grins fully at Santana.

"Shall I propose a toast?" Rachel asks. Kurt gestures with his hand in a way that indicates she has the floor and Rachel stands, smoothing her dark blue dress and clearing her throat. "Happy birthday to one of the fiercest women I've ever met. To someone who stands strong and proud, whose confidence is inspiring, who is so beautifully protective of those she loves, and who is secretly one of the sweetest people I know. And who will take the world by storm. Happy birthday, Santana!"

"Hear, hear!" Kurt hollers, and they raise their glasses, and Santana feels her eyes welling up, which…she hates that she cries to easily, and yeah, she's incredibly touched to hear what Rachel thinks about her, but right now? She doesn't feel like any of those things, because she's just sitting here, working a shitty job she hates and languishing in the misery of being without Brittany and she doesn't know what the fuck she's supposed to do next.

They clink glasses and drink, and Quinn shifts over to wrap her in a hug when she sees the way her eyes are watering, and she composes herself against Quinn's shoulder and then they cut the cake.

"I feel like Dexter or someone cutting this cake right now," she grumbles when the knife slides into the left breast. She shivers a little, and offers the slice to Rachel.

"Make sure you get the nipple piece," Kurt says with a small giggle, and Santana snorts.

"How's it feel to have tits in your mouth?" she asks the group at large a few bites in, leering mostly at Kurt, because Rachel doesn't tend to react in humorous ways to this kind of teasing, and Quinn mostly stopped reacting awhile ago due to overexposure to her and Brittany.

Quinn unexpectedly chokes slightly on her piece, and Rachel just laughs, lucky enough to not have her mouth full when Santana spoke. Kurt blanches and composes himself, wiping his mouth haughtily with his napkin, and sighs, "the things I put up with for you."

As they eat the cake, Quinn excuses herself to use the bathroom, and when she comes back, she drops a package in Santana's lap. Santana grins and asks, "can I open it now?"

"No, Santana," Kurt drawls sarcastically, "We just want to build suspense."

Santana prods his shoulder with a grin and opens it to find…a copy of Super Smash Brothers Brawl?

"What is this?" Santana asks, clamping down on the urge to just say "what the hell" because that would be rude.

Quinn grins a little sheepishly. "Like I said, I've been hanging out with a bunch of geeks lately, and I've been giving video games a chance. I know you guys have a Wii, obviously, and I asked for some recommended games, and this seemed your style. I mean, you can make Mario and Sonic beat each other up." She shrugs, "It looks fun, and, you know, you can get more out of your Wii."

Santana grins a little, "Okay, yeah, this does sound fun, and I will admit to playing a little bit of Xbox with Sam and Puck back in the day. I'm not opposed to video games."

Kurt shrugs, "I never quite got the fascination with Call of Duty that Finn and Sam shared, but I'd play occasionally, mostly to attempt to bond with them. I'd love to beat you up on here, Santana."

Rachel's quiet a moment and then smiles, "It looks weirdly cute. I'll try it."

"Great!" Quinn grins, and after a moment, Rachel fishes something out of the hall closet and plunks a large package next to the couch and Kurt thrusts a package at her from his shoulder bag.

She opens Rachel's first, because it's huge, and as she's opening it, Rachel admits, "This is partially a selfish gift," which makes Kurt snort, but he doesn't say anything. Rachel and Quinn shoot him matching half-glares, and Santana suppresses her own chuckle.

She opens it to find a new-looking record player, a Tina Turner record and a Whitney Houston record, both clearly used, but still. "Where did you even get a record player?" she asks in bewilderment.

Rachel laughs a little, "Even though we're only supposed to get used clothes at the store for our thrift section, sometimes we get other things. These showed up all together and I immediately thought of you. Once I ascertained that the record player was, in fact, functional, I had to get it for you."

"That's kind of cool," Santana grins, "I've never really listened to a record, I don't think."

"It's supposed to have a warmer sound," Rachel explains, "I'm excited to hear it."

She grabs Kurt's gift, which has the tag, "To: Santana From: The Homosexual Agenda" and she laughs. "What the hell?"

Kurt chuckles, "That's what I used to call you, me, Britt and Blaine in my head, like when all faced off with Sebastian, or when we sang that part all together at Nationals. Anyway, Blaine helped me with this gift."

She opens it and the first thing she sees is a little stuffed white unicorn with rainbow stripes and she is torn between bursting into tears because Brittany and laughing hysterically, so she hugs it and nuzzles it against her cheek. She sees everyone exchanging amused glances at this and says, "Whatever, bitches. It's fucking adorable."

"Language," Rachel reproaches quietly, half-heartedly.

The other part of Kurt's gift is Barack Obama's memoir, which, yeah, she has been interested to read—especially now that the election is over and she gets to admire him for four more years—but is surprised Kurt and Blaine thought of it, so her eyebrows rise. Kurt shrugs, "It seemed to fit."

"I have wanted to read it. Thanks, Kurt," she says, and then there's like a group hug as Rachel rises from the armchair, and Quinn and Kurt both lean over, until Santana just says, "Alright, alright, enough of that, let's beat each other up."

"Great!" Quinn grins, and heads into the bedroom, coming back with two controllers. "I borrowed Stephanie's GameCube controllers, so with your two Wiimotes, we should all be able to play."

And so somehow, they end up drinking champagne and playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl. Santana chooses Link kind of randomly ("who is this? Legolas?"), Kurt chooses Pit ("whatever, he's pretty"), Rachel chooses Pikachu ("aww, it's cute!"), and Quinn chooses Peach ("girl power, bitches"). They're all trying to figure out the controls, which are more confusing for Santana and Kurt, who are using the Wiimotes. Rachel figures out how to make lightning come down from the sky and pretty much does that constantly, but any time another character comes near her, she seems to panic completely, and moves her controller along with her character, squeaking in terror. For Santana, this seems to awaken a predatory response, and she pursues Rachel relentlessly when this happens, but Quinn seems to take pity on Rachel and just go smack Santana around every time Rachel panics. They keep almost knocking Kurt off the edge, but he flies back up. Santana mostly just gets near people and beats them with her sword repeatedly, and Quinn keeps winning, with killer bitch-slaps that just knock people out of the rink.

And, yeah, it's completely ridiculous, but Santana can only imagine a better birthday celebration with Brittany there.

.
Grab your things I've come to take you home
.

Thank god that it's only a few more days until they go home for Thanksgiving.

Santana's time off is finally sorted out, and she, Kurt and Rachel are planning to leave Wednesday morning, as soon as Santana gets home from work. Santana can't help but be a little anxious about the fact that she's only working three days this week, because, that's a cut to her income, obviously, and she hasn't earned any vacation or personal hours yet to make up for it. But it will probably be okay.

They're driving, because they calculated that it would probably be cheaper to split the cost of gas between the three of them than the price of plane tickets, especially on the biggest travel day of the year. It's going to be a long, hellish drive, more than likely, but that beats asking their parents for money to fly home (which they know their parents would gladly give them, but they each have a measure of pride from the fact that they are now adults. More or less).

Her Tuesday night shift, she's there alone, no Helen, but instead, in the middle of her shift, she gets a text from Helen.

Helen Work: hope you have a good t-
giving. see you when you get back if I
survive black friday.

It makes her smile, but…yeah. She doesn't really know how to respond.

Most of the shift, though, she spends using maybe a quarter of her brain to stock shelves throughout the grocery section, while the rest of her brain thinks about Brittany. Who she's going to see so fucking soon. Who she's going to make writhe under her, who she's going make so fucking loud that they'll wake up Rory, who she's going fucking bury her fingers in…

Every time her fingers flex, around a box of noodles, around the plastic covering trays of juice bottles or canned goods, she feels them as if they're flexing inside Brittany, and sometimes her eyelids flutter when she feels the motion of her hands.

And it's kinda awkward when it registers that she's standing in the soup aisle, fucking soaked, listening to one of the guys jamming out to Skrillex on his phone a few aisles over, and another guy singing along to unknown Latin music a few aisle the other way. So on her second break, she composes an email to Brittany outlining all the things she wants to do to her, squirming in her seat in the break room, and jesus fucking christ she can't wait to get…home? Back to Lima? She doesn't know what the place is to her right now.

She punches out to go home five minutes early, not even caring if something like that will get her in trouble—she honestly doesn't know—and drives home. When she opens the door to the apartment, she sees her rolling luggage and computer bag next to the couch where she'd left it before work, along with a few other bags. Rachel is pouring coffee into thermoses in the kitchen, a big bag of granola trail mix tucked under her arm, and Kurt smiles at her around a piece of toast.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Just let me change my clothes."

They go down to her car a few minutes later, load up the trunk and half the backseat. Kurt takes the wheel, Rachel the passenger's seat, and Santana slumps in the backseat, already putting her earbuds in and queuing up a Kaki King album, which, yeah, Kurt would make fun of her for listening to "lesbian music" right now, but whatever, it's incredibly soothing and will hopefully drown out the two chatterbox divas in the front seat. Because, honestly, Santana is not planning on driving at all during this trip. She's hoping to sleep through most of it.

Up front, Rachel and Kurt turn on some Cher, volume respectfully low, and Kurt takes a deep breath. "God, I haven't really driven for months," he murmurs. Rachel pats his arm soothingly, and he shifts into drive and eases them out of their parking space.

And they're lucky, that traffic out of the city is relatively light right now, and honestly, they're hoping it won't be too awful to get to Ohio, despite the fact that it is such a big travel day.

By the time they get on the highway, Santana notches the volume of her iPod slightly higher, and the voices of Kurt and Rachel, quietly singing "Walking in Memphis" together fade into the steady low roar of the car's engine and the wheels on the road beneath the airy guitars of Kaki King, and Santana dozes.

.
Lately my heart's been breaking
.

And she successfully kinda dozes for much of the trip, waving them off in irritation when they stop at a gas station about an hour and a half into the trip, mostly to pee because of all the goddamn coffee those hyperactive divas have been guzzling, but also to fuel up because Santana hasn't needed to get gas in about three weeks.

She does wake up the next time, when they stop at a Sheetz for lunch in western Pennsylvania. She's fucking starving and, for what is basically a suped-up gas station, they have good food; she inhales her bacon, egg and cheese and hashbrown and even nabs a few of Kurt's fries (which he was glad to part with, because, as he admonishes, fried food is bad for one's complexion). Even Rachel found a vegan wrap that she likes.

She's a little more awake now, but still manages to doze off and on for a bit longer, listening to the Boy Friend album Tina had gotten obsessed with recently (she had kept posting YouTube videos on Facebook, and when Santana finally rolled her eyes and listened to one, she found she actually enjoyed how soothing it is).

She kind of wakes up fully when they're still about four hours or so from Lima. Rachel, at the wheel now, smiles at her in the rearview mirror when she notices Santana is sitting up and pulling her earbuds out. "Did you manage to get enough sleep?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Kurt turns to smile at her and turns up the music up front. "Roxie Hart," from Chicago is blaring now, and Santana would roll her eyes if not for the fact that, yeah, she'll admit it, she likes Chicago. It's the movie soundtrack version, too, which surprises her, but whatever, the movie was hot, Catherine Zeta-Jones was flawless, and Santana has always loved Queen Latifah.

After they finishing singing along to what's left of the soundtrack, Kurt puts on some Celine Dion, which makes Santana groan loudly, so Rachel turns it down. Santana huffs, but at least she's not blaring in her ears.

After a song or two, Rachel finally says quietly, "I'm a little concerned about Mr. Schue's wedding."

Santana smirks, "Well, I think we discussed that it's going to be a hot mess, but it's really not worth it for us to be concerned."

"No," Rachel explains, "I'm worried about…Finn will be there, right?" she glances briefly at Kurt.

Kurt's throat works for a moment, and he says, "Yes. My dad said Finn will be in town basically just for Thanksgiving dinner and the wedding and then will head right back. Now that he's in AIT, he has a few personal days that he can use, and it looks like he's using them on this."

"I thought as much. He's Mr. Schue's best man, right?"

"Wait, seriously?" Santana interjects, but they ignore the outburst.

"Yes. So he was going to be there come hell or high water." There's a pause, and Kurt says softly, a hint of question in his voice, "Yesterday was his birthday."

Santana wants to facepalm, because she knew this. She knows Finn's birthday is three days after hers, but it hadn't crossed her mind until now why Rachel was so quiet yesterday, not at all the manic whirlwind packing for vacation she'd expected her to be.

"Yes. I sent him a card." Rachel says stiffly. Kurt nods.

There are a few beats of silence, and then Rachel says, so softly Santana has to lean forward to hear her over the music, "I don't want to see him." Santana and Kurt just look at her a moment, glancing at each other only momentarily, and Rachel changes lanes to pass a car while they wait for her to continue speaking. She takes a breath, and her voice comes louder. "I want to get over him, I really do. At this point in my life, I just can't reconcile a relationship with him while living in New York. I can't make him fit into the life I have cultivated there thus far." She bites her lip and accelerates a little more, probably unintentionally, "But he makes it so hard. All those letters…he's so sweet and charming, and whenever I read one, I want so badly to make him fit back into my life."

After a moment, Kurt says tentatively, "Finn is…not without his flaws. One of which is that he always wants what he can't have."

"Something I think we're all familiar with," Santana says, "I mean, look, we all wanted Finn at one point or another for pretty much that reason. Kurt, don't even, your crush was embarrassingly obvious, and you knew he was straight. Even I wanted him, and I mean, hello, gay. But I was trying to fill Q's head-bitch shoes when they vacated, and Finn was a part of that package, and he was frustratingly stuck on Q and Berry at that point. I wanted him for the reputation, which, when it comes down to it, is probably part of why Quinn wanted him, too. Rachel, you maybe wanted him at first for similar reasons we had, but you're also probably the only one of us who ever wanted Finn because you were actually in love with him. And he knows that."

"Yeah," Kurt agrees, "And while I don't think he's being malicious…I mean, have you written him back? Letters, I mean?"

"Twice," Rachel admits, "And they were perfectly friendly in tone. As was the birthday card I sent—very simple. In my letters, I simply told him what was going on in my life and thanked him for the updates about his. There was not one romantic word." She sighs, "I could be friends with him one day, I wish for that, but it's too early, and he's clearly pursuing something I can't do right now."

"Oh, he knows what he's doing," Santana grumbles.

"What are you going to do?" asks Kurt.

"I really don't wish to speak with him. Seeing him will be difficult enough."

"We'll protect you," Santana says fiercely, "We'll make sure he keeps his distance."

Rachel shoots her the ghost of a smile in the rearview mirror, "Thank you, Santana. And if he manages to speak to me, I'll just tell him I want him to stop writing to me. It's getting too hard."

A few seconds of silence, and then Kurt squeaks uncertainly, "That's what she said?" Santana and Rachel both stare at him for a full two seconds (though, Rachel's eyes do flick to watch the road) before bursting out laughing, effectively shattering the dour mood, and Rachel ends up taking the next exit to stop at a gas station so they can all catch their breath.

Kurt drives the very last leg to Lima, and begins to drive toward Rachel's house first—a good choice, thinks Santana, since Rachel probably doesn't need to see Finn's house or his family right now.

When Kurt pulls up to the curb, Santana is unsurprised to see the front door of the house open almost immediately, because seriously, Rachel's parents are like overenthusiastic puppies when it comes to their daughter.

What does surprise her is that Quinn follows out right behind them.

Rachel pushes open her door and sprints towards her fathers, who engulf her in hugs and kisses. And then, as the two men turn to greet Santana and Kurt, who are getting out of the car, Rachel buries herself in Quinn's arms, and Quinn holds her for a few seconds longer than even either of her fathers had.

Santana and Kurt accept hugs from Rachel's fathers, and then from Quinn as Rachel retrieves her bags. Quinn ends up grabbing Rachel's rolling luggage, and Rachel stops to hug Santana and Kurt before heading inside, everyone waving at each other.

She regards Kurt, trying to figure out if Quinn hanging out with Rachel's dads seemed strange to him, but his expression gives nothing away, so she texts Brittany to tell her she's almost home, which earns her the response:

Britt-Britt: I kno, baby, im here waiting
for u.

And just like that, she stops thinking about anything but her girlfriend, and leaves Kurt's after dropping him off so quickly she doesn't even greet Burt, Carole, Sam or Blaine.

.
Grandma, I've been unruly
.

Coming home to Brittany is a blur. She can barely remember greeting her parents before dragging Brittany upstairs and kissing her against her bedroom door, moving her body languidly against her, panting against her mouth. They finally fully come up for air about fifteen minutes later, lips swollen, necks marked by tiny nips, clothing rumpled. This had just been foreplay—fifteen minutes of heavy making out to whet their appetites—pun intended, she thinks—until they go to Brittany's later.

"Hi," Brittany smiles, pressing one more kiss to Santana's mouth.

"Hi, baby," she grins, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, sweetie. But your mom said dinner was ready like, when you got here. I kinda forgot to tell you."

Santana snorts a little, "Oh my god. She could've knocked or something." And it's only now that the smell of her mother's enchiladas fully registers in her mind; she swears until that moment, she had only been able to smell Brittany's skin and hair.

They head downstairs, Santana a tad sheepishly, but Brittany seems completely unperturbed that Santana's parents are fully aware of why dinner was delayed—if not assuming something more graphic.

She gives both her parents another hug and kiss, because honestly, while she thinks she might have given them one when she first came in the house, she's not entirely sure. Her father merely smiles, but then, he's always been a quiet man, and her mother gives her a peck on the cheek as she pulls away, smiling widely.

And her mother's cooking is just as delicious as she remembers, so the relative silence of the meal doesn't bother her at first, until it becomes clear that there is…tension between her parents.

Santana finally puts down her fork and cuts to the chase. "What's with you two?"

Her mother raises a warning eyebrow; she loves that Santana is a strong, assertive woman, but she expects some respect from her, after all. But when her daughter's expression shows she's fully aware that something is wrong, Maribel Lopez knows she needs to tell.

She glances at her husband, who just nods soberly, and then turns to Santana with what she hopes is a placating smile.

"It's about dinner tomorrow," she explains quietly. She watches as Santana's expression changes to apprehension, and Brittany's to pure concern as she watches her girlfriend.

"What about it?" Santana asks warily, and Maribel knows that Santana has already guessed.

Maribel purses her lips and finally admits, "Your abuela is threatening to not attend if you are there."

Santana leans back, slowly, and folds her arms over her chest. Brittany's hand trails down her arm, and Santana's relinquishes her grip on her upper arm to hold Brittany's hand, her arms still folded.

Dr. Lopez finally speaks, his soft voice informing Santana, "I tried to talk to her. She will not be moved. If you go, she stays. If you stay, she goes."

Santana sits, chewing the inside of her cheek for almost half a minute. Brittany's eyes never waver from her face. Finally, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in through her mouth, letting it out slowly through her nose. When she opens her eyes, they're slightly watery, and she says quietly, her voice rough, "I'll have Thanksgiving dinner elsewhere." She turns to Brittany, "Do you think I could join your family?"

"Of course, San," Brittany says earnestly.

Maribel aches.

She wants Santana to be angry. She wants Santana to stand up to her grandmother. She hates to see this defeat and despondence in the eyes of her child.

But she knows that every person in the Lopez family is stubborn, and set in her ways. Santana will never change for her grandmother; she will wait forever for her grandmother to accept her.

Maribel wishes more than anything that she could save her daughter from this heartache. That she could just tell Alma Lopez that they are going to have Santana there whether she likes it or not. But she knows she has to let Santana decide. Dr. Lopez had pointed out that if they had ever let Santana know that they'd blacklisted her abuela from a family event because of her, Santana would have been angry.

And Maribel really doesn't know what the right decision is here, but she respects the one Santana has made. And all she wants to do is fix it.

But she can't. And neither can Santana.

She holds her daughter in an extra-long hug before she goes to Brittany's house for the night, until Santana squirms slightly and pulls away, forcing a smile and saying, "Love you. I'll see you after dinner tomorrow."

At Brittany's, Santana is so down that she just lets Brittany hold her for about half an hour. Everything she had been dreaming of doing to and with Brittany on this very bed is purged from her mind and she lays, just feeling so fucking sorry for herself.

When her phone erupts with Azealia Banks, she has almost no intention of answering, but eventually sighs and lifts her head off of Brittany's shoulder to answer. She frowns when she sees it's Rachel.

"What's up?" she asks dully.

"Santana?" Rachel asks, "I realized I forgot to tell you that you're welcome at my family's Thanksgiving celebration. We eat pretty late on Thanksgiving—at around 7—so you could even come after your own family's celebration if you want. Noah and Quinn will be there with their families."

Santana finds herself smiling, because, yeah, Rachel's a good actress, but she knows her well enough now to know that she didn't "forget" to invite Santana. Somehow, almost certainly because of Brittany, she knows Santana's plans fell through, and the sneaky bitch is trying to be there for her.

"Thanks, Berry. I might show up."

"You're very welcome. So I'll see you tomorrow? Around 6?"

Santana smirks, "Sure. See you tomorrow."

And somehow, just knowing that she has so many people out there who love her, because of who the fuck she is, well. Her spirits lift, and she kisses Brittany deeply. She can feel Brittany smile against her mouth, and slow hands undress each other, and it's not the frenzied, rough, desperate encounter she's been dreaming of. But as Brittany languishes nips and kisses on her breasts, as she wraps her legs around her body to press together slowly, and especially as she finally comes apart with a keening cry as Santana's fingers pump slowly, her lips and tongue sliding against Brittany's clit in the softest, wettest, sweetest of kisses, she realizes, it's better. And when Brittany slides down the bed beneath her to return the favor, humming softly in approval at the first lap of her tongue, Santana rocks gently against her mouth and lets go.

Additional A/N: Chapter titles are from Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Maps," The New Pornographers, "Challengers," Penguin Prison, "Fair Warning," Peter Gabriel, "Solsbury Hill," Memoryhouse, "Lately," and Purity Ring, "Belispeak." Other songs mentioned are Queen and David Bowie, "Under Pressure," Robyn, "Dancing on My Own," Britney Spears, "Till The World Ends," David Byrne and Fatboy Slim feat. Florence Welch, "Here Lies Love," "Dites-Moi" from South Pacific, Cher, "Walking in Memphis," and "Roxie Hart" from Chicago. I imagine Azealia Banks, "212" for Santana's ringtone. Not all the albums I mention in this update are specific in my mind, but the ones that are include Tina Turner, Private Dancer, Kaki King, …Until We Felt Red, and Boy Friend, Egyptian Wrinkle.

As far as I know, no such mashup exists between the Robyn and Britney Spears song. I can kind of hear in my head that there are certain sections that could mash well, but, eh, I figure the show has made more questionable song decisions than this.

I'm currently reading "Alone Together" by ihatepeeps for the first time, and was surprised and happy to see that it also contains a scene in which "Under Pressure" is used in a New Directions competition. So consider that an unintentional tribute to that story on my part. I'm nearly finished with it and am really enjoying it.