Quinn was in a rush to get to the office, and was not driving nearly as carefully as she probably should have. She checked the time on her dash again. Shit. She only had 15 more minutes to get to work and get clocked in, and had at least a 10 minute car ride. Quinn had her sights on a promotion coming up in her department, and Ryan had been doing his best to suck up to the boss and demean Quinn at every turn. She couldn't have tardies on her record right now.

"Come on," she hummed, hitting her steering wheel in frustration. Fighting down the urge that told her she shouldn't, she shifted her foot down on the gas, cutting off the car in the left lane as she eased her car into the space in front of the driver. There were screeching breaks, and honking horns, and Quinn was so busy with keeping the car straight, that she didn't see the cop car in her rear-view mirror until it was too late. She gave a look down at the speedometer and cussed. "Shit!" she screamed. This is the very last thing that she needed at the moment.

For a brief moment she considered gunning it and trying to outdistance the officer, but they were on a motorcycle; she wouldn't make it far. While the officer made his way to the window, Quinn went searching for her identification. There was a tap on her window. Quinn composed herself, put on her very best Fabray smile, and rolled down the window. "Morning officer!" she chirped so gaily it would have done Rachel Berry proud. "How are you?"

"Do you know why I pulled you over this morning, ma'am?" Why did officers bother asking that question? What did he expect her to say: because I was speeding and nearly ran a car off the road? That was called incriminating one's self, and that wasn't going to happen.

"Um…no sir."

The cop pulled 'his' helmet off, revealing a mane of very sensual, chestnut colored locks, that she shook out. "Do I look like a man to you?"

At the display, Quinn noticed the things she had missed being occupied with finding her license and registration. Not only was the officer a woman, she was very much so. She had a short, but well built frame that was willowy and curvy, and damn was she gorgeous. Her face was flawless, perfect, and her lips were pillow soft and looked extremely kissable. "Er…no, ma'am. You definitely don't look like a man." She gave a sly smile. She didn't see what harm a little friendly flirting would do, and maybe she could get out of getting a ticket. "At all."

"I didn't think so," the woman returned cockily. "I don't know of any men out there as sexy as me. License and registration, please?"

Quinn handed the items over. The woman looked them over. "Do you know why I pulled you over Ms. Lopez."

"It's Mrs. Fabray-Lopez," Quinn gently corrected, hearing her wife in her head, "and no ma'am," she lied. "I don't."

"I pulled you over because you were driving recklessly over the speed limit."

"Was I?" Quinn gave a pout of her lips and let her eyes expand. "I didn't even realize. I'm so sorry."

"Are you?"

Quinn nodded contritely. "Yes, ma'am. I was just on my way to work and I might have gone a mile or two over the speed limit by accident, but just because I was anxious to get to the office. If I promise not to do it again, can you just let me off with a warning?"

The woman peered at her over her sunglasses. "Do you understand how inconsiderate it is to speed on the highway? When it comes to the road all parties should share equally. Otherwise, only one party is happy, but when all involved participate equally everyone is happy. Do you understand?"

Quinn nodded rapidly. "Oh, yes ma'am, I do."

The officer's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you do. For some reason, Mrs. Lopez, you strike me as a very selfish person, on the road."

"I'm not," Quinn tried to assure her. She didn't want this beautiful woman to think that she was selfish. She was very generous.

"I could give you a warning," the woman considered, "but you see if I did, I don't think that you would truly learn your lesson."

Quinn allowed her voice to fall to a more sultry tone. "I promise, I've learned my lesson. I'm a really," she paused to really emphasis the word, "quick learner."
The officer smirked and titled her head. "You see, Mrs. Lopez, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Fabray-Lopez. My wife, she's pretty anal about it."

"Oh your wife is, is she? As I was saying, Mrs. Fabray," she teased the name, "Lopez. You move too fast. Some things you need to take slow."

"Like what?" she said innocently.

"Like driving."

Quinn seemed flustered. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Please step out of the car Mrs.," and she paused again, "Fabray-Lopez."

"Why?" Quinn questioned. "Have I done something wrong?"

"An officer of the law gave you a direct command, ma'am. I need you to step out of your vehicle, please."

With reluctance and confusion, Quinn undid her seat belt and stepped out of the car. "What is this about, officer?" She was pushed forcefully into the body of her car. "Do you have any contraband on you? Weapons that I should know about?"

"Of course not!" Quinn screeched. "What are you doing!" the officer's hands had started to move on her body. "I'm searching you," she informed. "Please, don't move."

"I don't think that this is…oh!" She let out a shriek because the woman's hand had gone over her butt, and she had squeezed. At the same time she was pushed further into the side of her car. "If you continue to resist, I will have to cuff you and call for back up, and I don't wish to do that. Please, let me do my job."

Quinn felt her body being pushed into the van again, but this time she felt the woman's back pressed up against her. Her breast pushed into her back. Her legs were kicked apart, spreading her open. She felt something lightly brush against her neck. At first she didn't know what it was, but the second time it happened, she realized that it was those lips, those pillow-like kissable lips, had been pressed against the back of her neck. The movements on her body slowed, as the woman's hands gently kneaded Quinn's breasts. Her breath hitched. "See, how much better it is when you don't rush?"

One of the cops' hands found its way inside her blouse, gently tucking the hem out from her skirt. "Oh," Quinn gasped when her nipple was pinched sharply. She moaned when it was pinched again, because this time the cop had rolled her hips into her backside, and it had felt oh so good. "Oh God." She felt a tug on her hair, jerking her head back. Lips quickly attached themselves to her skin, taking small, nibbley bites. The officer laughed. "Turn around."

Quinn did as she was commanded. Lips not so gently wrapped around her neck, sucking and licking at the skin. The woman slowly licked her way up to Quinn's lips before she gave her a rough kiss, and Quinn had been right: totally kissable. Quinn arched into the woman's caresses, and it didn't surprise either of them that she was incredibly turned on when the cop's hand slid beneath her skirt and past the hem of her underwear. "So you are a fast learner after all," she leered. "On your knees!"

Quinn had a moment of pause. "What?"

"On your knees! You're going to give me head, and show me that you learned your lesson about speeding through places when you should be taking your time."

Quinn sank to her knees in front of this incredible sexy, commanding woman, as the officer started to undo her utility belt. She casually let it fall to the ground, before undoing her trouser pants, and exposing the boy shorts beneath. "If you do a really good job, I'll give you a lesson in sharing that you won't ever forget." Quinn could smell the woman's arousal, and licked her lips in anticipation of what she was about to do. The woman took a step closer…

Dream Santana disappeared, as Quinn woke up to the feeling of real Santana attempting to slide out of bed. Quinn tightened her hold on her. "Not yet," she grumbled. Her wife's laughter invaded the dream she was trying oh so desperately to cling to. It was just getting good!

Santana chuckled. "I've gotta, babe, if I'm going to make the gym before work."

Stay and I'll give you an even better work out, she wanted to say. "Lay with me just a few more minutes," she attempted to barter, instead.

In answer, Santana leaned down and placed a kiss on Quinn's lips. "I'll make it up to you later, babe, I promise."

A half-awake Quinn sighed but let her go. Santana had been getting up early, without fail, for over a month. It'd started with a desire to make sure that she was in better than good shape for the physical she was made to take to make sure 'everything was in working order' before she could be reinstated with the GSA, but since then it's become a kind of a compulsion. "You never make it up to me," she said to herself, pulling Santana's pillow to her chest. It was a poor substitute, but at least it smelled like her. Dream cop-Santana hadn't smelled like her wife. Dream cop Santana had smelled like polyester and gunpowder, but damn she'd been so hot.

Quinn was so wound up that she was tempted to get off by humping Santana's pillow, just to see what her wife would do when they went to bed tonight and got a whiff of her. Actually…she scratched that plan. She'd probably just make Quinn switch with her, and as much as Quinn liked her smell, she didn't want to sleep on it.

She listened to Santana get dressed and was surprised when the bed dipped under her wife's weight. She gently pulled the pillow away to slide into the space between Quinn's arms. She smiled when lips were pressed lightly against hers. "Te amo, me amour," Santana said softly.

"I love you, too," Quinn replied. She opened her eyes and briefly made eye contact with Santana before the woman pulled away from her. She kissed her on the forehead. "See you when you get home," she said softly. And then she was gone.

Once alone, Quinn allowed herself to fully let out a sigh. Nothing was wrong. Things had finally kind of settled down between them. They were getting the hang of this being married to each other thing. They were learning how to trust each other, to come to each other first before making harmful assumptions that did their marriage no good. They didn't get into fights every other day. They weren't playing musical apartments anymore, or stressed to the max. The book that had been occupying Santana's life for the past couple of months had debut to huge successes. Things were quiet with Santana's side job, and except for the physical, and the three dinners that they'd had with Bryne, it was like it didn't even exist.

Bryne, in a home setting, was like a mixture of Brittany and Tina. She did idle talk, was fun to quote movies with, could effortlessly make you laugh, but was secretly far more intelligent than you imagined, and deep down you wondered if maybe she was a vampire. The first dinner things had been kind of tense between her and Santana, but by the third one it was like they were all old friends. She even had a real name-Brynley Ann Matheson- answered questions, and volunteered conversation. The places she talked about were most likely places she'd actually been to, but her talk of her childhood, and early adulthood, Quinn was sure that those, like the name, were no doubt faked, but it made Quinn feel better, like she was just any nice, normal co-worker of her wife's.

They hadn't had sex in months now, but that was only because they were sticking to their self-imposed celibacy. That was annoying, because she enjoyed having sex with her wife, but just because they weren't having sex, didn't mean that they weren't still intimate with each other. Santana could still kiss her breathless; Quinn could still get Santana to start panting with little effort. Santana still came up behind her when she was cooking in the kitchen, and laid kisses on her neck; Quinn still got into the shower with her on occasion. Once, she demanded that Santana masturbate for her, which might have been cheating, but damn was it hot. They still touched each other, but in a high school, both feet on the ground –except for the showering together-kind of way.

There were no more damaging secrets between them anymore. I mean how could there still be? There wasn't much left for them to be surprised by. That her wife had managed to keep a semi-dangerous job from her for 9 or 10 years, that was old news by now. That she was proficient in several languages, as well as several different modes of defense, and could shoot out the star on carnival events because she had sniper like shooting abilities…well that just meant that Santana could win her the big teddy bear instead of the cheap consolation prize when they went to the Brockton fair. Oh, and every woman's biggest fear- that their partner had a secret family - that was exposed, brought to light, and gotten over.

Speaking of said family, well not really of the family as much as the son who was currently five; they hadn't even heard so much as a whisper about him since they'd gone over to Hazel's apartment to find it completely cleaned out, but Santana seemed okay. She had a brief breakdown when she tried to figure out what she should do with the gifts she brought him back from Arizona, but other than that, she was okay. She wasn't denial Quinn junior year, and she wasn't crazy Quinn senior year. As far as Quinn knew, Santana was coping with the whole situation. She hadn't shut Quinn out. She was neither pretending that it didn't happen, nor was she moping. She was dealing with it. With him disappearing. She would talk to Quinn about it, something that past Santana wouldn't do, and past Quinn wouldn't do.

Everything was coming together, settling down. There was nothing wrong with them. Things just weren't exactly…right.

Santana had left out a breakfast of oatmeal, a hardboiled egg, and a half glass of V-8, on the kitchen counter, and Quinn tucked into it as soon as she saw it. She pulled up her favorite news apps and sifted through some world news articles while she slowly consumed her food. She thought about calling Mercedes, but thought against it, and continued to eat her breakfast in silence. She wondered if it was silly that she was missing her wife, especially since she had only just left the house.

Unfortunately, the ride in to work was completely uneventful. There were no sexy Santana cops to stop her and ravish her along the way. The drive went smoothly, and she even got a good parking space, which used to be the markers of a good day. Maybe it was because everything seemed right at the moment that things seemed wrong to her, Quinn mused. At no point in her relationship with Santana would she have described things as being anywhere close to 'smooth'. Maybe it was because they weren't fighting with each other, and inadvertently hurting the others feelings, that she felt off. Maybe that's honestly what it took for her relationship to survive…geez, if that was the case, Quinn really needed to see a therapist.

While Quinn fixed herself a cup of coffee, she chastised herself for feeling like there was something wrong because nothing was wrong.

"How's it going, Fabray?"

Quinn kind of tensed, fixing her face as she turned to acknowledge her coworker. "Fabray-Lopez, Ryan," she corrected. "You know I'm married."

Ryan followed her back to her cube, his eyes automatically falling to the photos on Quinn's desk. There were three of them, and all three had been taken on her wedding day, even though they had been taken on three separate days. The one on the left was of her and Santana on their first wedding day, the day they actually got married, with Quinn dressed in green and looking like a wood nymph. She kind of liked the hippy look on her. The one on the right was at their re-do wedding with both she and Santana wearing somewhat more traditional gowns. The one in the middle, she had had to get permission from Santana to put up, but it was taken on the beach by Puck, and it was of her, and her wife, with Philip in the center.

Quinn booted up her computer and logged into her terminal. Ryan leaned against her cube wall. "Who's the kid?" Ryan questioned.

"Santana's son, Philip. " she knew she already answered this question, but she was sure Ryan only asked it again to annoy her.

"Cute kid. He looks like her."

Quinn turned back to look at the picture, as she often did whenever someone mentioned Phil and Santana's resemblance. She couldn't deny it was true. Philip looked like the Italian version of her wife, with some features that could be Puck's. Hazel didn't look like Santana, and Jenna's brother, 'Bug', didn't look like Puck, but together they had created a kid that looked like a mix of the mother of her future children and the father of her current child.

Quinn smiled. "Yea, he does. He's going to be a real heartbreaker when he gets a little older. Was there something that I could help you with, Ryan? I was kind of busy."

"How's the Suffolk Fidelity account going for you?"

Quinn nodded. The little turd had just come to spy. Ever since Ryan realized that he couldn't have her, he went to wanting whatever she wanted. A promotion was coming up, nothing big, just something slightly better than lateral. It came with a slight pay raise, and a team of two people. Quinn wanted it because it would give her management experience, which would put her into pool for upward movement, and Ryan had expressed no interest in the position until Quinn had decided to go after it, but this guy had no idea who he was up against. "It's going well. Just a lot to do."

"Well, I don't want to keep you from things. Nice chatting with you, Quinn."

"And you as well. See you around."

The day kind of dragged, and she caught herself looking over at Santana's picture several times throughout the day. 5:00 rolled, and even though it was Friday and she had hit 40 hours at 3:00, she didn't stop working. Santana was probably at the gym again, and wouldn't be home for another couple of hours anyway, and besides she had work that still needed to be finished. She fired off a quick text letting Santana know that she would be home late. She was surprised when she got a response almost immediately.

Santana Fabray-Lopez: Britts. Should be here for a few hours.

Quinn Fabray-Lopez: Ok. What do you want for dinner?

The new, improved, more rational and secure in her marriage Quinn, didn't panic at the words on her phone. That this was the third time in two weeks that Santana had spent with Brittany didn't even trigger any strong emotions on Quinn's part. Santana, however, was learning her wife, too.

Santana Fabray-Lopez: Using home equipment to shoot stuff.

Brittany didn't still film FF2 episodes at her residence, but the old equipment was still set up there, and Quinn had spent most of her adult life trying not to imagine what Brittany used said equipment for.

Quinn Fabray-Lopez: I'm feeling pizza tonight if you want.

Santana Fabray-Lopez: Def be down 4 that. Wanna eat over here or home?

Quinn Fabray-Lopez: Home.

Santana Fabray-Lopez: Come pick me up when you're done? We can get Marcos!

Quinn texted back her affirmative answer and hung up the phone. When 7:00 rolled around, she clocked out and drove over to Brittany and Tamara's house. No one answered her knock, but the door was unlocked, so she let herself in and headed upstairs at the sound of her wife's voice.

"…and they all lived happily ever after." After a second, Santana gave a satisfied nod at the camera. Quinn walked fully into the room, taking in the set up, and the camera.

"What're you doing?" she questioned, curiously.

Santana smiled at the camera, holding her finger up, off frame. "And that's how I met your mother."

She pushed 'stop' on the remote and turned her attention to Quinn. "I'm recording a video for little Tanner or Little Anita, so they can watch this when they're like teenagers and stuff and think about how cool it is, or see my hotness and be like 'damn, she's still got it'. I got the idea from that show, How I Met Your Mother."

Quinn smirked. "Tanner?"

"If it's a boy. And Anita if it's a girl. In Spanish ita or ito is like a term of endearment, and there's only one Santana, so they can be a little Santanita-well really it would be Santancita, but whoever heard of someone named Ancita?-ergo 'Anita'."

Quinn hoped that Santana's thoughts made sense in her own mind. She placed a gentle hand on the side of Santana's face. "Sweetie, I love you, but don't you think that…um…we should decide on our kids names together?"

Santana's facial expression showed her confusion. "Uh…duh."

"And people usually wait until they're pregnant to start making videos for their kids."

Santana smiled, and shook her head. "This isn't for our kids. This is for the little Troutytot. I'm going to film one for Squishy next. I know Tamara and Britt think it's going to be a girl, but I still think it's going to be a boy, so he can be named Santiago, and they can call him Tio for a nickname."

"Who's Squishy?"

"Brittany and Tamara's kid? Finding Nemo?" When Quinn didn't seem to catch the reference Santana shrugged it off. "It's Brittany."

"You're expecting our friends to name their children after you?"

"Not expect, will allow. I think that they've proven their loyalty to me enough to bestow that privilege on them, and I trust them enough to raise their children to bring honor to my name."

Quinn snorted then gave an all out laugh. "You're not serious, are you?" Santana nodded solemnly, shooting Quinn an appalled look at her response. "You've got such a big ego, Santana!"

Santana stood up with a suggestive smile. "I've got a really big ego, babe. You want to see how big of an ego I've got?"

Quinn strong armed her to keep her from getting closer before she could get too close. "Don't start, San," she said, sternly.

"Oh, come on, babe, I wants to get my kisses on!"

"No! I'm cutting you off! I'm tired of you blue waffling me, Santana!"

Santana snickered. "I don't think that means what you think it means, babe."

Quinn poked a finger in her chest. "You know what I mean. No riling me up just to pull back when I'm all hot and bothered and have to go take a cold shower."

"Cold shower? We have an adjustable-head shower hose, babe. You turn it on real warm, and you grab the neck and position it like so-,"

Quinn grabbed Santana's hand to keep her from demonstrating how to pleasure oneself with their shower nozzle in the middle of Brittany's house. "This video," she pointed, trying to get off of the topic of sex.

"Yeah, I was just telling about how Mercedes and I met, and about you, and us of course."

"Have you ever watched How I Met Your Mother?"

Santana shrugged. "Not really."

Quinn gave her a peck on the lips. "Watch the show. I don't think you quite got the concept of it. It's about how the father met their mother."

Santana let out a noise. "That makes more sense! So I should totally like do this for our kids."

Quinn nodded. "Yes. I know I'm probably really late in asking this, but when did you meet Mercedes."

Santana laughed at the expression on Quinn's face, because despite how much they knew about each other, there was still so many things that were new. "3rd grade. I met Berry in fourth, Puck and Finn when I was 7…so second grade. I met Mike then, too."

"You've known all of them that long and it took you that long to become friends with them?"

"Whoa. Just because I insulted Mercedes all the time, doesn't mean that we weren't friendly. I never really had any beef with her until Puck got interested in her. Finn and I were friends at some point but then high school happened, and he just seemed to become so much more fucking morally superior than all of us minions that surrounded him, that I couldn't deal with my imperfections anymore and had to find other friends. Puck, of course we were raising hell together, Chang we've always been cool; we've never been super close friends, but we've always been friendly."

"When'd you meet me?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "You know when I met you, stop fishing, baby."

"What about Brittany?"

"You know that, too."

Quinn was actually surprised that Santana was over here when Brittany wasn't, and she wondered if the other times she had come over it had been the same story. "Where is Brittany?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Tamara has her out running errands."

Quinn looked around. "Okay, so where's Tamara?"

"Working. She went into the studio shortly after Brittany left. I think she was just using it as a diversion to get Brittany out of the house so she could get away because Brittany's been kind of 'hovery' lately. Is that a word, hovery?" Santana shrugged. "And also…she keeps trying to get Tamara to dance with her."

"Why?"

"Because she wants their baby to be a dancer like Tio's other mommy, duh. So she's not talking to the belly, she's trying to dance with it."

"You don't honestly think that Tamara is going to let you name their baby after you, do you?"

"I don't see why she wouldn't want to."

"Do you think I'd be cool with our son being named Pierce?"

Santana kind of winced, the happy smile disappearing from her face. "I can see your point," she said.

"Santana…?"

She gave a somewhat strained smile. "I'll finish this up later, it's not like the baby's going to be born tomorrow anyway. Let's get our pizza on."

An hour later they were home, and Santana was looking for something for them to watch, while Quinn fished out plates and napkins and grabbed a glass of water for Santana, and a wine cooler for herself. Santana was already situated on the couch when Quinn came in from the kitchen, and as she sat down in between Santana's legs, the thought occurred to her that this was possibly the first time that she'd allowed her wife to hold her since she got back from the Southwest.

Santana must have realized it to, because she gave a happy little hum, placing a kiss on the back of Quinn's neck. Quinn leaned back into her. "So what are we watching?"

Santana had just taken a bite of pizza when she asked so she had to wait a second or two before she could answer. "Los Hombres de Paco."

"The…brother's of Paco?"

"Close Paco's men. It's a Spanish soap opera."

"Umm…why?"

"Because the R indoctrination I promised you is postponed because I didn't think making you listen to songs about knocking boots was right until we're knocking boots again, so until then, I thought we should explore some other parts of our heritage."

"Um…I'm not Hispanic."

"And I'm not European, but I still sang 'ring around the rosies' when I was a little kid, besides, Mrs. Lopez-,"

"Fabray-Lopez,"

"You are Hispanic now, and one day you shall be teaching my children-,"

"Our children,"

"And I can't have you falling short. Otherwise you'll go telling them that Christopher Columbus and Davy Crockett were heroes."

"You're not Spanish, either."

"Do you even know where Mexicans come from? Ay, what are they teaching these young children in school these days? Quinn, once upon a time, there were not really 'Mexicans' there were the Aztec and there were the Europeans. And then they not so happily cohabitated together, and thus a 'mixed' culture sprang up. So, there's some Spanish heritage in nearly all of the Mexican- and I might even venture to say the Latin American-peoples, sort of the same way that black Americans don't look the same as black Africans. But that wasn't the culture I was referring to, though I am going to need you to improve on your Spanish; I was talking about exploring your gay heritage. I would have started us off with the L-Word, but then that would have led to a discussion about who was the Bette and who was the Tina, and we're not ready to have that discussion, yet."

"Who are Bette and Tina?"

"And that's why we're watching Los Hombres de Paco. It's like Rizzoli & Isles only instead of the producers playing up the characters' obvious chemistry and then mocking their gay audiences for noticing, well…you'll see. This is so much better!"

"But I don't speak Spanish," Quinn protested.

"I should tell you to just deal with it; learn the language or get out, but I'm feeling generous." Santana played with the remote. "I put on the subtitles for you."

"You're so kind."

"Anything for you, babe."

They ate slowly because Santana had to explain the relationships between the characters, because she started them off in season 6, when Pepa is first introduced to the show, and so much happened in the previous seasons that she had to catch her up to speed. "Would you ever make out with someone at a church?" Quinn questioned, almost immediately after hearing their back story.

"If I was stoned, maybe."

Quinn turned to look at her. "Would you really?"

Santana shook her head. "No way, there are some things I find sacred. Geez!"

A few more minutes passed in near silence. "Pepa kind of reminds me of you." Santana kind of chuckled, but didn't say anything. "You're prettier."

Santana traced a finger over Quinn's skin, softly, the only indication that she'd heard her. "Are you done with the pizza?" Santana questioned. "Or are you going to get another slice?"

Quinn had already had three and it wasn't like they were small slices. That fourth was looking awfully delicious, but unlike her wife, she wasn't going to the gym every day. "I'm done," she answered. Santana stood up to take the box into the kitchen. "Can you bring me my ice cream?" Quinn called out to her. Santana didn't answer, but she did bring the pint carton back with her, and Quinn shifted up so she could sit back behind her.

Quinn felt lips on the back of her neck as Santana adjusted. When she was seated, Quinn leaned into her.

"We need a thing."

"What do you mean?" Santana reached around to dip something into Quinn's carton. It was a carrot. Santana had brought a pack back with her when she'd gotten up.

Quinn jerked when she saw it. "San, that's gross!"

"No, it's not babe," she said as she pushed the carrot in Quinn's face. "Try it!"

"Quinn laughed as she pushed it away. "Ew. Doesn't it defeat the purpose of eating a carrot if you dip it in ice cream?"

"No, it enhances it. It's a scientific fact; the carrot regulates any calories that the ice cream has in it, rendering whatever you dip a carrot into calorie-free."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's how I maintain this body that you love so much." Santana moved to dip the carrot again, but Quinn moved the carton away. "Q, quite being a little piggy and share!"

"Get your own!"

"We live in a community property state, babe. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine; the law says you have to share!"

Quinn was still busy trying to figure out how someone could be so annoying, and so adorable at the same time. She held the carton close enough to Santana so that she could dip her carrot in it. "Gonna try it now?"

"No, that's still gross," she protested. She realized, too, that this little back and forth between them had pretty much been the most light-hearted things had been between them in a while.

Santana rolled her eyes, and continued to chomp on her carrot. "What were you saying?"

"A thing, we need a thing."

"For what?"

"To have something that we do together. You were complaining a little while ago about the fact that we are too young to stay in on Friday nights, yet it's Friday, and here we are, at home, watching TV."

"Do you not like this show?"

Actually, despite being horrifically lost about the back story, she was enjoying the show tremendously. "I like the show, and trust me, I like doing this with you. I'm just saying that we need something that we can do together as a couple."

Santana thought about it as she chomped on a carrot. "Are we those kind of people?"

Quinn turned in her arms. "Would it be so bad if we were?"

Santana leaned up to kiss her. "If you want to be those kind of people, we can be those kind of people, babe. So what kind of people do you want us to be? Like crafts people?"
"Crafts?"

"Yeah," she said, enthusiastically. "We can take up sculpting and recreate that ghost scene."

Santana trailed her hands up Quinn's arms, raising the skin.

"I don't see us as crafters."

"Oh, but baby we can take flower arrangement courses, and learn how to dry flowers, and make centerpieces, and crochet cozies and doilies."

Quinn hit her lightly. "You're teasing!"

Santana held up her fingers. "Only a little babe."

"I was being serious, San."

"I said only a little! It was a little tease. Just a little. What about cycling. We can go buy Specialized bikes, with the pedals that you have to have special shoes, and sign up for a what's the marathon for bicyclist?"

"A century ride."

"What's that?"

"It's a hundred mile bike ride."

"Yeah, that, we can do that."

She tried to imagine her and Santana biking around Boston, but the only thing that she could really see was Santana in super tight bike shorts, refreshing herself with ice cold water that accidentally missed her mouth and soaked into her shirt, causing her nipples to harden, and…Quinn licked her lips.

"It's a thought. I wouldn't be against something physical. Yoga maybe."

Santana quickly dismissed that. "No, and no, babe. I am open to us finding something to do together, but not that. No way. We are not going to be the lesbians who do yoga, and drink bobo,"

"You mean boba?"

"And chai tea, and buy up real estate in inner cities so that it pushes out the poor people who've lived in the neighborhoods forever, and take selfies about urban decay. No ma'am."

"Wow, pretty strong feelings there, hon. It was just Yoga."

Santana rapidly shook her head. "It's never just Yoga. Gentrification is like the stealing of Native American lands all over again. I wrote a paper about it."

"Okay, okay, no Yoga. We could do volunteer work."

Santana actually paused. "I like that. I already read at the Children's Hospital twice a month, but that's not really a lot. What kind of volunteer work are you talking? I wouldn't mind something that involves getting dirty."

"Of course you wouldn't," Quinn smirked.

"Hey, it's been you and not me that's had her mind in the gutter lately. Thanksgiving and Christmas are right around the corner, so pretty much any charity that deals with food will have plenty of volunteers right now."

"Battered woman shelter?"

Santana's face closed up. "No. Not…I can't right now. Not that, not youth programs…I can't," It was hard enough for her to still go to the Children's Hospital, but she had been doing that long before Phil was even born. Quinn placed a hand on Santana's shoulder, and her wife just collapsed at the touch. "I just keep thinking, 'what if I didn't tell him I loved him enough'? I said those words to him, but did I say it enough for him to know it's forever? Did I say it enough to last a life time? I told him I would walk him into his classroom when I got back, and I didn't. I told him I'd bring him back something from my vacation, and I didn't. I missed when he turned five, Q, and that's a big age: five! And then I feel guilty because all I want to do is talk to you about it, and I feel guilty about that, because I got five more years than you did, so it should be enough, right? That should be enough? But what if I didn't say it enough, what if he doesn't know? What if he forgets? What if he grows up thinking I didn't love him?"

Quinn held her as tightly as she could with the awkward angle, as her wife silently cried. Quinn threaded her fingers through her hair, lightly scratching her scalp every now and then. Her hair was still short. It would have grown out by now, but Santana had cut it again. Quinn wasn't kidding when she said that it was sexy, but it represented a change that she wasn't quite ready for. She was amazed that they'd gotten to a place where Santana would actually allow her to hold her while she cried.

"We could be gardeners."

Santana sniffled. "We don't have a garden."

"We will when we get our house."

Santana pulled her face out of Quinn's lap. "So you want a house? Not an apartment, but a house?"

"I guess we could move into a new apartment, but I kind of want this place to be our place. Like I don't want a starter home, I want a home that we can grow into. That we can raise our kids and grow old in, you know?"

Santana nodded. "That's how I feel, too."

Quinn moved fingers up and down Santana's arms. No more tears fell but she was still breathing erratically. "You can talk to me about anything, honey. Even if it'll make either of us sad, I'll still do my best to listen."

Santana nodded into her wife's lap. "This feeling doesn't ever go away does it?"

Quinn grimaced slightly. "Not really, but with time it doesn't hurt as much."

Santana held Quinn's hand, interlocking their fingers. "Babe?"

Her tone was cautions, so Quinn braced herself. "Yeah?"

"Would you be upset if I told you that I don't think I'm going to be ready to have a baby for some time? I don't want Phil thinking…that I went out and replaced him or anything, and I know it's like all of our friends are like baby making right now, but- "

Quinn stopped her. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you, Q, not exactly, but all of this is hard, and it's new to me. I thought, I thought I was prepared for if this happened, and I wasn't. I thought it wouldn't…feel like this, and I know I said I wanted a whole brood, but now…it's going to be awhile before I'm ready." She stared at her wife earnestly.

Quinn kissed the top of her head. "San, if you decided that you just wanted it to be the two of us, for the rest of our lives, I wouldn't be upset with you. If we ended up having a house full, or none at all, as long as it's you I'm sharing a life with, that's all that matters."

"That and Powerball?"

"The odds of you ever winning are 1 in 175 million."

"I won you, and you're 1 in 7 billion."

Quinn shook her head. "So corny." Quinn kissed her on the lips. "I love you, San."

"Love you, too."

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, but then Santana pushed play and the sounds of the Spanish soap opera once again filled the apartment.

"San?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Do you think we will? Live happily ever after, I mean?"

Santana pressed pause again, taking a moment to think about it. "I guess we're going to have to; I already wrote the book. It's too late to change the ending."