Stay With Me

by Onceforthefun

Quinn wakes up hung over besides a naked Santana with no knowledge of the night before. Until she remembers. And then she really remembers. As the events in her life progress towards the altar, she struggles to reconcile with the fact that she may be falling in love with her best friend.

1. Chapter 1

(I guess it's true)

Quinn's eyes snapped open, ending what had to have been one of the greatest sleeps of her life. She stretched, taken aback by the softness of the bed, how good the sheets felt against her skin, the warmth that surrounded her. She gave a full bodied yawn, feeling how her body reacted to the gesture. Despite the pounding in her head, and the slight ache in other parts of her body, she couldn't remember the last time she had slept so well. That is until she realized what had caused her to wake up: there was snoring coming from beside her. It wasn't loud, or obnoxious, it was hardly even discernible over the natural sounds of the hotel room even to her alcohol addled brain, but it was the first clue Quinn had that there was a body in the bed with her.

She groaned internally, because she had been in this position before and it hadn't boded well for her. The last time she'd woken up with a post party hangover and a body in the bed with her, Beth had been the end result. Even though her daughter was perfection, and Quinn was somewhat older now, she was still as unprepared in this moment to bring a life into the world as she'd been when she was 16 and pregnant. She prayed that she'd been smart enough the night before to remember to use protection, and even if she had, she still planned on marching into the pharmacy and demanding Plan B as soon as she got back to New Haven just to be on the safe side.

She opened one eye, and then the other, surprised by the brightness of the sun as its rays landed on her face. She almost didn't want to check who it was beside her (God, please don't let it be Puck). She was so very tempted to just pull her clothes on and slip out of the room-even though it was her room and she was the one paying for it-just to avoid having to face what she had done the night before. (Inconveniently, she couldn't remember anything at this moment). After all, isn't that what one did with one-night stands? Wasn't it supposed to be about the awkward morning after, the walk of shame as you left the room wearing the same clothes that you had entered it in? That uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your gut at having shared yourself with someone whom you don't even know their last name and that you'd never see again?

But curiosity got the best of her. So Quinn slowly turned to her side, careful not to move too much because she didn't want to wake her bed mate. When she rolled onto her side enough to see the body beside her, she got her second shock of the morning, because although the body was mostly covered up with the bed sheet, it was distinctly feminine. She felt a blush fall over her face.Oh my god, I slept with a girl. That…was not what she was expecting. Her first thought? What would her parents think? Her second was that she couldn't believe that she'd actually done it. She tried to recall the events from the night before to figure out how such a thing had happened, but it made her head hurt to even think about anything past her waking up.

She couldn't say that she was disgusted by the fact that she had apparently had her first casual foray into lesbianism, just completely taken aback by it. The last scenario Quinn had imagined falling prey to was the hooking up with some random girl, and at her former high school teacher's wedding no less! She was such a walking cliché: Christian celibacy queen who gets knocked up, college fresh falling for her professor, repressed lemon plucked in college.

God, how much had she had to drink last night?

"Ugh, my head is killing me!"

Quinn froze at the sound that came from her bedmate. That voice. Quinn knew that voice! No, no, no! She did not go there!

But one sight of that dark brown, almost black looking mane, not to mention the familiar shoulders and back that she had seen naked countless times before in her adolescence, that skin that looked like it was permanently tanned compared to her paler skin…Quinn had to slightly lift up the comforter to confirm that yes, she was naked. And a small peak at that ass…that was definitely Santana's, and it was just as bare as her own.Oh God, what have I done?

"Is there any aspirin? Whatever happened to bartenders cutting you off when you had too much to drink? What time is it, Q?"

How could she be so calm about this? Why wasn't she freaked out that she had just woken up beside Quinn and both of them were naked? Was Santana so used to waking up beside naked girls that this was just a normal occurrence for her sometimes friend? Another notch in her belt?

"Santana?" Quinn's voice was hoarse. She saw Santana struggle to pull herself into a sitting position, but failing at that she just fell back on her elbows leaning slightly towards Quinn. Santana gave her an appraising look. "Santana," she repeated. Quinn's voice seemed like she was desperately reaching for a lifeline. "Tell me that we didn't…?"

Santana was not about to offer such reassurances. She smirked seemingly amused by both the actions of the night before, and Quinn's reaction to it. "Oh we definitely did! Gotta admit, I didn't think you had it in you."

Quinn's face flushed of all color. "I was drunk," Quinn defended. She was already on the defense for her actions, desperate to draw herself away from the situation, even though she couldn't remember it. Had Santana somehow taken advantage of her? Slipped something into her drink, maybe? She wouldn't do something like that, though, right?

Santana chuckled. "That seemed to be the point." She started to say something, but she caught a look at the clock and the playful smile was wiped from her face. "Shit, is that the right time?"

It was 7:35. In the morning. On a Sunday.

Quinn watched as Santana slid to the edge of the bed and fumbled around until she came up with the underwear that she'd discarded the night before. In a sort of detached way Quinn wondered how they had gotten so close to the bed when she distinctly remembered sliding them down Santana's hips closer to the door. It occurred to her that Santana was actually leaving; leaving before she had a chance to figure out what was really going on. As much as Quinn had wanted to disappear just a few minutes prior, the sight of Santana getting dressed almost sent her into a panic.

"W-where are you going?"

Santana gave a glance back at Quinn. Despite her panicked actions, her voice was quite calm. "Well, when I told mami I was going to be in town, it was kind of highly expected that I would spend the night at home, and I promised her that I would have breakfast with the family. So I'm going to get breakfast, and visit with my mom and dad, and get ready to do whatever lame thing we're supposed to be doing with Glee later. I would invite you to eat with us, but obviously you and your mind have a lot of talking to do, so I'm just going to go alone."

At the mention of the Glee kids, Quinn felt worry rise in her. What if someone saw Santana walking out of the room? "You can't tell anyone about this," Quinn gasped.

Santana gave her head a shake, looking at Quinn with…what, pity? "No worries, Quinn. Like I said, I'm not about to show up at your house with a U-haul. It was fun," she said, parroting Quinn's own words back to her. Something must have shown on Quinn's face because Santana was suddenly in it, her own face an inch from hers. Santana's hand reached up to softly stroke her cheek. "It's just sex, Q. You don't have to over think it here. After we leave this room, we go back to sometimes liking each other and actively hating each other. It's called a one-night stand. Welcome to college."

Santana went back to getting dressed. It took Quinn a moment to realize that she'd attired herself in a pair of Quinn's leggings and her gray Yale sweatshirt. "Oh yeah, I'm going to take this." She didn't ask if it was okay, and she knew that Quinn wouldn't say anything about her taking it. Santana paused at the doorway, and came back and straddled Quinn's lap. Santana waited until she was staring up at her before she pressed her lips against Quinn's in an impassioned kiss that ended before Quinn could start kissing her back.

Santana rolled off of her lap. "See ya, Q!"

And then she was gone.

Quinn was both sad and relieved at the sight of Santana walking through the door. The latter, the relief, she easily understood, but why was she sad? Because shehadn'tstayed? Because she and the girl who she sometimes liked and mostly hated, but would sadly be considered her best friend, had just had sex, but she couldn't remember how it had happened, and said girl had said it was a one-night stand?

It was an uncomfortable ride back to New Haven. While Quinn showered, she had a chance to examine her body, and as her hands moved over it, she'd get little snippets of Santana's hands moving over her body, little whiffs of the smell of their combined scents. She pulled a hair off her and discovered it was Santana's. There were dark circle marks on her breasts, and judging from the way the water bit into her skin, she had scratch marks on her back. The biggest reminder was the way that she moved, because every time she shifted, it felt like Santana's fingers were still in her.

The train ride was uncomfortable because as the train moved closer to home, she remembered. She remembered the phone call from Santana asking her to be her 'date'. It was actually more of a demand because Santana rarely asked for anything, and didn't allow herself to be vulnerable enough to downright come out and say that she didn't want to be alone. Of course Quinn had said yes because she didn't want to be alone, either. Because the professor had made up some lame excuse for why he had to spend Valentine's Day with his wife, even though they were supposed to be getting divorced, and he really thought that Quinn was stupid enough not to know that he was probably still very much happily married despite his habit of sleeping with his students.

She remembered being annoyed with Santana because even though she was doing her this favor, she was still being obnoxious. At first anyway. Her annoyance quickly dissipated seeing how sad Santana was beneath the makeup and the sneer, and she put aside her own feelings to attempt to make Santana feel better.

She remembered he alcohol…there was a lot of it. Like a lot.

Then there was that song. It was like the "ode to a one night stand".We've got tonight.And it made sense. Somehow the fact that it was Valentine's Day, and both she and Santana were single, and here together, and Santana was in her arms, and not making some snarky comment, and not insulting anyone, and not looking at anyone but her, it made sense. They had tonight. Who the hell needed tomorrow?

The ride was uncomfortable because she remembered just how awkward having sex with Santana had been. She had always imagined that sex with Santana (not that she imagined what sex with Santana would be like) would have been this mind numbing, earth shattering experience. The general consensus was that Santana was good at sex, a pro at it. Other than Finn, she'd never heard anyone say something negative about it. Santana was hot, and she could dance, which meant she knew how to move her body (not because she was hot, that was just a bonus), which should have translated into great sex between them, right? But it hadn't been great, it had been clumsy, and fumbling, and awkward. Because first time sex between two friends who knew each other's bodies, but had been drinking heavily, and one was inexperienced with sex, and neither knew how far they'd actually take things, didn't make for awesome sex. At one point Quinn had stumbled, and Santana had been unable to help her up, and they had landed hard on the floor, and it hadn't been sexy, or even funny, it had hurt.

The kissing had been…gooey. All tongue and teeth and little lip, and impersonal. Santana had missed her lips a couple of times and had been practically gnawing on the side of her mouth at one point. Sure it had only been for a couple of seconds, but seriously not sexy. Quinn hadn't been much better at it. She'd never once enjoyed kissing anyone, from Puck to the Professor; she was beginning to think that it was her. The only kiss that had been perfect was…actually the good-bye kiss from Santana. The completely sober, looking into her eyes, good-bye kiss from Santana.

And the act? Quinn had wanted to be on top, because even though she didn't know what she was doing, she couldn't imagine letting Santana have control, but she hadn't known what to do when she was there. So Santana worked with what she had, but Quinn had never really let go of control, and it was simply miraculous that either one of them had managed an orgasm, but they had somehow. A couple, in fact.

Quinn climaxed first, but when it came time for reciprocation Quinn had been squeamish and downright gun shy despite that she had initiated the interaction in the first place. Quinn hadn't known what to do, and showed every sign of withdrawing. She was so unsure of herself, and so hesitant, that Santana had finally just grabbed Quinn's hand and guided it in between her legs, and Quinn had been surprised, nearly floored, by what awaited her there.

It was wet.

Well duh, genius, of course it was wet.But Quinn wasn't expecting it to feel likethat.Like…Quinn masturbated, on average, three times a month, and she mostly just fiddled around down there until she happened across an orgasm…or she felt like she'd gotten to a point where she could stop and still be satisfied, even if an orgasm hadn't necessarily been achieved. She understood that sex was supposed to be pleasurable, but had never really seen it as a necessity. She hadn't spent copious amounts of time…fine tuningher instrument. She never stopped to really think how it felt in-between her folds. So she'd been surprised when her hand was thrust into that dark, heated center, and her hand was met with moisture. Quinn was so surprised she almost pulled her hand back. Santana waswet. She was aroused. Despite her fumbling, Quinn had caused that reaction between her legs.

Quinn's finger accidentally brushed up against her clit, causing her to moan out, and Quinn decided that she liked that. The sound alone was enough to get her wet again, to feel things heating up again below her waist. When she was finally able to make Santana climax (it had taken some considerable time, and it had been a joint effort on both of their parts…really Santana deserved most of the credit), she had fallen back with a sense of satisfaction, despite how much effort and fumbling it had taken to get her to that state. There was nothing about the experience that required an encore, yet when a second round was offered after Quinn had essentially denied that it had been anything, she hadn't hesitated to initiate things again.

The ride was uncomfortable because the thing that Quinn couldn't deny was how much she hadwantedSantana. From the moment that she saw her in the red dress with the faux fur stole, to the second that she was spread out in front of her, core glistening and Quinn contemplating going down on her, she hadwantedSantana. It had been nearly impossible for her to keep her eyes off of her so she made things simple with herself: she didn't. When Santana caught Quinn checking her out, Quinn didn't shy away from the gaze. When Santana looked so damn good that Quinn would have liked to drink her, and not the alcohol in front of her, she told her. When the music changed from fast to slow, and she didn't want to stop dancing with Santana, she didn't. She pulled her in closer, wrapped her arms around her neck, and smiled when Santana's hands went around her waist. Every minute, every second of the night, she had wanted. And when she passed out spent beside her, she had never felt so fulfilled in all of her life.

She didn't know what to do with that, she didn't understand it because she had never felt that way about Santana before. They had both done their share of admiring each other's bodies before; that was nothing new. But if Quinn had stared at Santana's naked or near naked breasts before, it was only to try to see if she could see the surgical scars. Or if she was looking at her posterior, it was to compare it with her own. As far as she knew, she had never had a desire for Santana. This wasn't an unrequited love or something she had been building up her whole life; she had never once contemplated Santana on her back with Quinn eyeing her in a sexual manner. It wasn't until her sorority sister kissed her at a frat party that Quinn even entertained the idea that she was anything other than strictly straight, which she found slightly ironic because she'd kissed both Santana and Brittany before, and had feltnothing.And yet on Valentine's Day she had found herself wanting, and as she took the train back to her life in New Haven, she was wanting still, because the experience hadn't been at all what it should have been, and she felt cheated somehow.

To no one's surprise, they didn't talk. Quinn could be a coward, or rather Quinn had been raised with the adage that unpleasant things shouldn't be talked about, so Quinn and Santana didn't talk. It wasn't hard. They didn't live in the same state. Quinn was too busy for social media, and anyway she always thought it was kind of vain. No one needed a status update on where she was every second of the day; they didn't need pictures of her food, or know who she was partying with. She had a Facebook account she rarely checked, didn't have twitter because the concept itself just seems so 1984, and shehadan Instagram account that she updated once a month, if that, but she was never in any of the pictures she posted. She hated that everyone carried a camera around with them all the time, and spent more time recording their moments than actually enjoying them. Not to mention, she hadn't yet figured out how her generation had been raised on technology, but still hadn't quite grasped the concept that everything that you put out on the internet was available to anyone and never went away. (Santana's sex tape, anyone?)Including when you were applying for jobs.

So she didn't have to worry about 'running' into Santana there, and she was never the best at keeping up via call or text so time passed without a word between them. It was Rachel that was harder to ignore, because she couldn't avoid her. Quinn simply did not understand Rachel's obsession with wanting to still be friends with the 'popular girls' who tortured her, after high school was over, but she seemed to be determined to do just that. And although Rachel complained about Santana daily, Quinn could tell that she was actually happy, thrilled even, that Santana was living in the loft with her. She also was insistent on talking to Quinn daily, even though the conversations were short…shorter now then they had been in the past if Quinn knew Santana was lurking somewhere in the background. There were no walls in the loft, and she didn't want Santana to know that she kept in contact with Rachel when she was steadily avoiding her.

Because shewasavoiding Santana, and she was certain that Santana knew it, too.

It wasn't that she was having an existential crisis over the fact that she had pursued, seduced, and slept with a woman, that had her pulling a disappearing act. No that thought was fleeting and didn't trouble Quinn any longer than it took to think it. If she was being honest, it would have happened at some point just to get it out of her system. She wasn't particularly fussed that it had been with Santana, either. Santana was simply the logical choice. Gay best friend, questioning Quinn, who else would her first girl on girl experience have been with? Santana might have given her hell about it, and she might have to deal with being called 'fab gay' in private, but she knew that she could trust Santana. So that wasn't the reason she was keeping space between them. Quinn wasn't fussed about what she…theydid.

It was that smirk that Quinn feared.

Every time she thought of Santana, thought about talking to her, seeing her again, all she could see was that infuriating smirk. That smirk that said, "I fucked Quinn Fabray, and she was as bad in the sheets as I always thought." The latter part being her biggest concern. Quinn had beenbad. It wasn't Santana that had been the problem, it'd been her, and Quinn wasn't bad at anything, except sometimes maybe life.

Quinn was determined to fix things, because even though it was only supposed to be a one-time, one-night experience, she couldn't leave things the way they were. If Santana got to crow about 'getting Quinn Fabray', she at least needed something to crow about. So Quinn spent a considerable amount of time in between classes when her roommate was gone, watching lesbian porn, and masturbating, even reviewing the things that Santana had done to her body, and imitating them, so that Quinn understood what she had done wrong, and how to go about fixing it.

When Quinn showed up at the loft, unannounced, shortly after Rachel's pregnancy scare, Santana seemed less than surprised to see Quinn standing there in the flesh even though they hadn't spoken a word since the wedding, she merely gave her a look that said 'well'?

(I'm no good at a one night stand)

"Where's Rachel?" It was the first thing she could think to say, though hello would have sufficed just as nicely.

Santana leaned against the door frame. "Class. So is Kurt. It's just me."

And then, there was that smirk, because of course they were in class. It was just past noon on Thursday. Where else would they be? It was obvious, and Santana wasn't going to let her think for a second that she didn't know that Quinn was missing classes to be here. Santana made fun of Rachel for always having to be organized, but Santana knew both Kurt and Rachel's schedules, and Quinn's too.

Their eyes locked and held. "But I'm guessing you didn't come for either of them." Santana seemed to think about what she just said, and smiled at the unintentional double entendre.

God, what am I doing?Quinn wondered as her eyes rolled in direct response to what Santana had said. Placing a firm hand on the center of Santana's chest, Quinn pushed her back into the loft.

"Shut up," she hissed. The 'p' had barely been pronounced before their lips were on each other.

Quinn felt her back hit the wood of the wall beside the door, and she let Santana press into her, miraculously managing to close the sliding metal door of the loft, even as she explored Quinn's mouth. Her knee pressed firmly into Quinn's center. Quinn let out a moan without meaning to, and then when she pressed more firmly, rolling her hips, she moaned again without caring.

This time it was better. Much better. She did what she should have done the first time around: she let Santana lead. Santana kissed her until both of them were breathless, and panting, looking at each other with Santana still pressing into her, moving her hips ever so slowly.

Santana lowered her mouth back down on top of Quinn's, moving more slowly this time. She was kissing her, as if to show off her skill, and Quinn copied her, moving her lips in tandem with Santana's, and this time the kiss was everything it hadn't been at first.

Santana raised her hand to finger the hairs at the back of Quinn's scalp, causing little shivers to go through her body at the contact.

"You like that?" Santana questioned.

Quinn nodded appreciatively. Curiously, Santana drew her thumb and forefinger along the hair line, pleased to see the way Quinn reacted to it. Testing, she tugged on the short hairs back there, causing the other woman to react positively, whimpering into Santana's kiss. Santana tugged a little harder at the same time that she thrust her tongue into Quinn's mouth. Her other hand gently caressed the soft skin just above the waistband, before she lightly scratched. Quinn could feel knees start to buckle. "Good?" Santana tested.

"Sogood."

Still kissing her, Santana toyed with the button of her pants. Quinn had seriously dressed down for this, wearing only a sweater and a pair of jeans. Her infinity scarf was quickly discarded, as was her sweater and bra. Lips briefly met with her nipples, licking lightly over them while Quinn kicked off her boots. The pants were next, and these were taking down a little more reverently, Santana kneading her ass before they were slipped off. When she had been divested of both her jeans and underwear, Santana lifted her up by her butt, and pushed her into the wall to aid in balance.

"What do you want right now?" Santana questioned.

Of course Santana would make her say it. Quinn leaned in as well as she could, pressing her lips to Santana's ear. She licked the cartilage before breathing hotly, "I want you to take me. Right now."

Those words were all she needed as Santana slipped two fingers in side of her with no warning. Quinn wasn't disappointed, though. She gasped, whimpering when Santana started to thrust up as she lowered her mouth back down over her breasts. Quinn rode Santana's fingers, matching her thrusts. As they moved she was vaguely aware of the discomfort of her back hitting the metal of the door, but she simply didn't care.

When Quinn was no longer shivering, Santana gently let Quinn back to the ground. She leaned in to kiss her again, this time a far gentler kiss. She pulled back as if that was it, but Quinn was far from done, and it was time to show Santana exactly what she had learned while they hadn't been talking. She took over control, and this time it was much, much better than their first time. Santana melted in her hands, each moan, each pant, each rotation of her hips spurring Quinn on. She was just as surprised as she'd been the first time to see how wet Santana was between her legs. Quinn ran a finger through the moisture, eliciting a delicious sounding whimper from the girl that was beneath her.

Quinn couldn't help but watch the emotions that danced across Santana's face as she worked her up. Her eyes were closed tightly in concentration, pure bliss lining her features. Quinn had a momentary moment of uncertainty. Was Santana actually here with her or was she just a substitute for the person that Santana really wanted to be with? It shouldn't have mattered; this was just a re-do after all, technically still her one night stand. It shouldn't matter who Santana was with, as long as she made her come, but she had to know.

"Say my name." Quinn ordered. If her face wasn't already red from their excursion, she would have blushed after the words had left her mouth, because she certainly couldn't have been the one who said that. But she needed to know. She needed to know that Santana was here, with her, and not wrapped in her mind around another blonde that was taller, and more flexible, and better at knowing Santana's body.

"Quinn," Santana panted, needing no further prodding, understanding what Quinn needed and giving it to her readily. "Quinn...you feel so good."

"Look at me."

Santana's eyes instantly opened, her face still wrinkled in concentration, but with no hesitation Santana's eyes met Quinn's. She smiled at her, and it hit Quinn that she was fucking her friend. She was fucking Santana.Santana, Santana, Santana, she panted in her head as her hips moved against the girl beneath her. She didn't realize that she was actually saying the words aloud, and she didn't care.

"I'm almost there, Q!"

Quinn increased her pace, thrusting harder. She laid kisses on her chest, just above her heaving breasts. In a burst of inspiration she bit down on her nipple, flicked her clit, and gave a rotation of her hips, and it was just what was needed for Santana to come crashing down, "Quinn," on her lips as she did so.

Apparently Santana's orgasm was particularly fierce because even after Quinn's fingers stilled, aftershocks took a hold of Santana, and Quinn watched in fascination.

"Wow," she whispered, seeing Santana shiver.

"You're telling me," Santana gasped, as another particularly strong wave grabbed her again, and Santana's hand gripped her forearm. Quinn couldn't help but feel smug.I did that.Me.

She wasn't given the chance to properly luxuriate in the feeling, however, because she found herself on her back, her legs pushed open, and a Santana that was just as anxious to give the same back to Quinn. Santana worked her over until Quinn finally couldn't take it anymore, and she pulled away from Santana's questing fingers. Santana gave a laugh. She placed a kiss on Quinn's forehead, then another one on her lips, before settling down beside her.

"Damn, Fabray." Quinn gave a self satisfied smile.

They lay, side by side, shoulders touching. Quinn wanted to touch her some more, to let her hands quest over Santana's body, to draw her into her arms, or to find herself in Santana's, she wanted so many things right now, but she settled for this, for their shoulders touching, for their breaths to almost be in sync with each other, for the racing thoughts that she could practically hear from Santana, missing only the words to give them confirmation that they were in concert with her own. Quinn was surprised by the sudden feel of Santana's lips, but then that quickly they were gone again. Santana gave another laugh.

"What's funny?" Quinn hesitantly asked.

"I knew you'd be back," she said cockily. She rolled, sitting up. "What'd you do, go home and practice?"

"What makes you think that I'd come back?"

She was expecting a commentary about Santana's hotness. What she got instead was a kiss on the forehead. "You hate to be bad at anything," Santana said, laughing again. There was a sharp tap on her arm. "Now get your ass up! I know you want a shower before Rach and Kurt get back, and afterthat, I'm going to need some ice cream."

Quinn shook her head, but she pulled herself up. Their eyes met, as if one of them had called the other. Santana's expression was filled with nothing but understanding. She knew that this was the end of their moment, just as strongly as Quinn knew it to be true.

"But what a way to go," Santana said, clearly, as if Quinn had spoken the words out loud. And then she winked.

Quinn felt certain she could withstand that smirk now.

(But I still need love 'cuz I'm just a woman).

That should have been it. But life never quite went the way you planned.

Santana showed up at her door, at 3:00 in the morning, wearing nothing but what she must have worn to work at the bar. In the outside world, spring was breaking, and the last bit of the bitterness of winter was receding, but it was still cold, much too cold for the thin shirt and jeans that Santana had on. One look at Santana's red eyes, the way she dragged in ragged breaths, the way her hair looked as if she had spent the whole train ride dragging her fingers through it, told Quinn everything she needed to know. She didn't want to ask why Santana was there because once the words were spoken, and an answer given, it couldn't be taken back. Then the truth that Santana knew would be something she knew, too, and she didn't know if she was ready for that. Correction, she knew she wasn't ready.

"Santana?"

Santana looked up, as if surprised that she was there. Surprised to see Quinn, surprised to be in her Yale dorm room. It made Quinn wonder just how deeply she had sunk into her own head. Quinn was reminded just then that the only thing that was big about Santana was her ego, and her presence, because she was actually pretty tiny, small-waisted, slender, breakable. There was something unmistakably lonely in her gaze, and Quinn was certain that she looked back with that same look. All that Quinn could see when they looked at each other were walls. So she began to strip them down. She stripped off Santana's shirt, then her bra. Quinn wasn't sure if she would, but obediently Santana stood up and Quinn pulled off her jeans and underwear, and Quinn did the same. Naked, she drew her into her arms, sharing her warmth with the other girl until her body warmed up beneath the covers of her bed.

They both needed this. Quinn needed this release, this connection to her friend before Santana said words that would change the world that the two of them existed in, and Santana needed someone, she needed to feel someone, she needed to lessen this burden that she was carrying with her. So they gave each other what they had, they trembled within each other's arms, they pressed lips into flesh, as well as tongues and fingers, and they had sex in a way that may have been less fucking and more loving and, in a way that somehow, also, felt like a good-bye.

The last time they met was supposed to be it for them. Quinn really had no intention of ever going here with her friend again, but life throws you curve balls, disrupts the things that you have planned for it, and people you think that you can live without, suddenly get pushed up against you, and the people that you didn't think you cared that much about, you find that they are actually precious to you…the second it's too late.

Quinn wasn't surprised in the least when Santana burst into tears right after she climaxed. Quinn drew her to her chest, and ran her fingers through her hair, and held her as she cried the type of cry that it hurt the soul to hear. It was the kind of cry that needed more than just arms to hold; it was the kind of cry that was so intense that it needed company to temper it otherwise it would consume the bearer, pull them down into a place that was so deep and impenetrable that no one could rescue them from it. That pulled others into it because it was an event that was so devastating one person couldn't share it by herself. So Quinn sucked up her own fears, putting Santana above herself. Once again she called her name, and was met with those eyes. It took every ounce of Quinn's courage to ask: "Who?"

Finn.

If it was possible to be simultaneously relieved and aggrieved, that's how Quinn felt. Because seconds before the answer came, in her head she had charted out a list, pushing those she loved the most, the highest, and those that she didn't, further down. He wasn't up at the top, he wasn't one that she couldn't recover from, but he wasn't far enough down on the list to not matter. To not start the tears from running and for her to realize that one of those on her list had just been unceremoniously scratched off.

With anyone else, Quinn wouldn't have caught on so quickly, but because it was Santana, and they knew each other in a way that no one else did, or could, she understood right away why Santana had taken this so hard. Before it had been Brittany, Quinn, and Santana, it had been Santana, Puck, and Finn. They had been closer than most people knew, but that's not where Santana's pain lie. Quinn was sure that Finn occupied the same spot on Santana's list that he did on hers, but that did matter because all of the people who ranked higher than him on her list, had him ranked even higher on theirs. It wasn't Santana's pain that was manifesting right now as much as it was the anticipation of the pain of someone she loved. Someones she loved.

"They don't know?"

Santana's tired shoulders shook softly, dislodging a few tears. "Puck called me a few hours ago in the middle of my shift. He was with him, and he knew, and he doesn't want anyone else to know that he was there, and he says he can't be the one to tell."

"What about Kurt?"

"He doesn't know yet. No one knows yet. Not Burt, not Carol. Just Puck…and me."

Quinn's anger at Puck's cowardice flamed up as fresh tears fell down Santana's face, and even though they weren't these types of people, Quinn reluctantly pulled Santana more securely in her arms, and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Sshh," she said, trying to keep the other woman calm. "We'll get through this."

But Quinn wasn't with her when she returned to New York that same morning and she told Rachel and Kurt the news. And Quinn didn't make it back to Lima when they had the memorial service because she couldn't. Mid-terms provided a very convenient excuse for why she couldn't go home, but honestly, she just couldn't face things. She couldn't face Lima, she couldn't face the sadness, she couldn't face Glee, or Santana, or even worse, Rachel. She just couldn't. Quinn had never been good with death or grief, or with her expressing her feelings about it, and she couldn't shake the guilt. Guilt about Beth, guilt about the cheating, and the guilt that somehow it was her fault that Rachel wouldn't get her happy ending.

Maybe it was just time that she cut ties with everything and everyone from her past, start anew, get it right this time. She had been wanting to do so for a long time but hadn't had the courage to do it. As sad as it was, maybe Finn's death gave her the perfect excuse to finally say good-bye.

(These nights never seem to go to plan)

Quinn talked almost incessantly to her companion, sounding almost as if she had laid ownership to a place that she had never really liked. She couldn't believe it, but she found herself in Lima, once again, for the first time since the wedding. Winter had given into spring, and summer was knocking on the door, warming the world over and Quinn was back on the familiar streets that had managed to age her, but had never managed to make her feel at home. Yet, she talked as if she had more than a passing disdain for this place. She pointed out landmarks in the town that marked really nonessential moments in her life. "Here's where Frannie and I won the teens doubles tournament. There's where the family used to go to Thursday night dinner. There's where the chastity ball was held. Here's our family's church." She recognized that her companion was only halfway paying attention to her, but she continued on as if maybe her words could make her care about this place, and him care about her. "Oh, and that's the "famous" Breadstix", she said. "For some unknown reason, Santanalovesthe breadsticks there."

"Santana," Biff repeated, because that name had come up in past conversations enough to spark his interest. Quinn talked about the woman often but in the past tense. Biff was curious about her, this friend that Quinn often talked about, but never talked to. To him, Quinn was pretty and smart enough to entertain the notion of passing time with, but she was such an enigma. She was like a magician: you only saw what she wanted you to see. He felt that there was something there with Santana, something he wanted to explore. Not to mention the girl was hot as fuck, and he wouldn't mind seeing her in the flesh, either. Especially if she'd be down with a threesome.

"Yes," Quinn answered. "It was like her favorite place."

Left out from the narrative were the things that were the biggest markers in her life:here's the intersection where the guy ran that stop sign while I was checking my phone and ended up t-boning me, here's the sports center where I did my physical therapy, here's the hospital where my first child was born and doctors told me I'd never walk again, here's the alcove I contemplated living in when my dad kicked me out, here's the corner store where me and the Skanks used to steal our cigarettes from, here's the tattoo parlor where I got my tattoo of Ryan Seacrest, here's the cemetery where the guy who thought he was the father of my child is buried.

"It's quaint here, sweetheart," Biff said distantly, his eyes once again glued to the screen of his cell phone that he had barely looked up from. They were in his car, but Quinn was driving because he told her that he had to miss work (at his dad's company) to come back for this, and he still had business he had to take care of.

Biff was everything Quinn could want in a boyfriend. He was handsome, not too tall like Finn, healthy, slender and toned but not athletic, smart. He had a mind like a whip, which would come in handy when he took over his father's company, and a shrewdness that would take him far in the business world. He was from good stock, a Pennsylvanian blue blood, old money. He was everything every past boyfriend wasn't.

Quinn knew that she didn't fit what the mold of what a McIntosh woman was, or what he was ideally looking for in a wife, so she wasn't very open about her past. She embellished the church, the country club, the junior league, the celibacy club, and her father's political connections, and skated over the baby, the pregnancy, Puck, Finn, the Skanks, well pretty much everything that had characterized Quinn's schizophrenic high school career. Telling him that she had been a cheerleader had been kind of pushing it, though the fact that she'd been the captain made up for it.

The car stopped and inwardly Quinn had to steel herself because here was the start of her test. She wanted to hold on to Biff, but Biff wanted 'full disclosure'. He had to vet her before he could fully let her into his world despite he was already claiming to love her.

"Oh, will you look at you two!" Judy cooed loudly as they were exiting the car, Biff telling Quinn to stay put so he could open the door for her. Once they had both emerged from the car Biff regarded Judy with a smile, pleased, as Quinn knew that he would be, because Judy still looked good (despite the fact that she had more alcohol than blood in her body). She could tell that he was happy about his prospects for the future. "Well introduce us, Quinnie," her mother directed.

"Mother, this is Biff, Biff my mother Judy Fabray."

"Enchante mademoiselle." Biff said with a bow. "Mother did you say? Certainly a woman of your beauty ismuchtoo young to be Quinn'smother.Older sister maybe."

Judy simpered, falling into a girlish giggle, and Quinn rolled her eyes, but squeezed Biff's hand, letting him know that she appreciated the effort that he was making. It meant something, that he was willing to make the effort, right?

He didn't make the week. Quinn should have known that he wouldn't. It was Lima. It wouldn't exist if it didn't take everything she wanted and strived for away from her. It was like an impenetrable bog that was designed to grab on to its residents and drag them down and not let them go. The last thing that she wanted to do was be here. Be back. She thought that Finn's death had somehow set her free from this place, but how could she ever be free of it when she'd foolishly allowed herself to set down roots? To allow these people to consider themselves friends? She already missed the memorial, she couldn't miss this, too. So she was here. She was back.

Santana was the problem. Santana was always the problem. Santana was like a human form of Lima. Santana was the one that would never let you forget anything. Santana would be a set of arms if you needed them, but she would just as easily be the force that would cut you down. Whenever you got wind beneath your sails, she was ready to deflate it. Just when Quinn was getting some peace, settling down with someone who she could start a life with, she was there to remind her that no matter how much she strived towards the Biffs of the world, she was still a Lima loser, and when it came to her, Santana was so toxic. How apropos thatToxicbecame their song selection, too.

"What are you playing at Santana?" Quinn demanded.

Santana was stretched out on the bed, filing her nails unconcerned, despite the irritation in her friend's voice. "Hey, it wasn't even my idea, it was Britts. She wanted us to do a song together, and I just agreed."

"Because you always do whatever Brittany wants, right?" Quinn spat out. She wasn't sure where her anger came from, and even more how to reel it in.

Santana rolled into a sitting position. "What is your problem, Fabray?"

"Did you tell her?"

"That we hooked up?" Santana tossed the file aside. "No."

That surprised Quinn. "Why not?"

"Should I have? It kind of seemed to me that you wanted that to be just between me and you. Besides it was a one…no three time thing, and I'm with Dani now anyway."

Quinn snorted without meaning too. "Dani." She wasn't sure where that reaction came from, so she decided not to think about it. She wasn't sure where her visceral reaction came from. Part of her was happy to be back with Brittany and Santana, the Unholy Trinity united together once again. But the other part of her hated hearing how Santana talked about her girlfriend, or the way Brittany looked at her so longingly, or the dance routine that Brittany made up where she got to hold on to Santana, and Quinn was just on the outside looking in. Quinn felt like she kept seeingsomethingin Santana's eyes when they would lock eyes every now and then, but when it was all said and done, Santana went home with Brittany, while she went home alone, because isn't that the way it would always go?

But how was it that Santana's truth led her to get rid of Biff, while Quinn's truth led Santana back to Brittany?

(I don't want you to leave)

Lesbos. The word, the idea, filled Quinn with bile, made her feel like throwing up, or throwing something. But she wasn't going to let Santana get away with it, not this time anyway. Santana couldn't tell her she was throwing her life away with these guys, when she kept throwing her life away with this girl. "She wants you to travel halfway across the world on a whim?How fitting. HowBrittany."Quinn leered.

"What does that mean?"

"Why is that every time you two are around each other you drop everything for her, and she leaves you wanting more? What about New York, Santana? What about this life that you're building there, what about your dancing, and your job, your dreams, your life?"

What about me?Quinn had never had to do without her best friend. Even when they didn't talk, she was stillthere.Shecouldn't visit her in Lesbos. And it wasn't just Lesbos. If they came back, and that was a big if, they wouldn't be back. There would be another destination, another place, another chance to turn Santana into a supporting character in her own life. Quinn didn't love her, (well she loved her, but she wasn't in love with her) but if she were actuallyinlove with Santana, she would only attempt to bring out the best in her, not ask her to be her sails without offering her a little taste of the sun.

Instead of snapping back at her, Santana got that vulnerable look on her face which was even worse. "Is it too much to want to be wanted?" Santana demanded.

Iwant you.

"You do this all the time!" Quinn was suddenly yelling. She wasn't entirely sure why, or what she expected to accomplish by it, but nothing else would work. "What are you so afraid of that you are constantly running away?"

Santana slammed her suitcase shut. "Why do you even care what I do, Quinn? You hide away in that little dorm at Yale and only condescend to come back down to our level when you're forced to. Is this because I pointed out the truth of yet another boyfriend? I'm sorry, date better guys! I don't know what you want here! If you've got something to say, say it," Santana demanded. Quinn's mouth opened, but no words came out. Santana shook her head. "That's what I thought," she said with…disgust? "I'll bring you back a souvenir."

The words entered her head for a fleeting moment,I don't want you to go,but they remained in her head, unspoken where they would forever remain as nothing more than an idea that was not strong enough to find its way to light.

(Will you hold my hand)

Quinn could feel herself settling into a lull. The gentle motion of the train always had that affect on her. The first few times she had made her way from New Haven to New York, she'd sat in her seat, staring out the window as raptly as a child might, eagerly watching the sights that passed by as she moved from Connecticut to New York, and the world went from soft lines and tradition, to hard edges, large dreams, and tall buildings. She'd made the trip enough times by now that it didn't hold any appeal to her still, and as her school schedule kept her incredibly busy, it was easily becoming one of the few times that she gave herself over to leisurely reading.

Today it wasFlowers for Algernon. She placed her head phones in her ear to dull the sounds of the people around her, and opened the book to the last page that she'd read. It always took her a moment or two to get back into a story after not reading it for awhile. She'd read this book before, but it was one of those books that no matter how many times you read it, it still surprised you every time you picked it up.

Vaguely she was aware of a body sitting down in the seat beside her, and it was automatic for her to shift, to give the new arrival a little extra space as she inched a little closer to the window without pulling her face up to see who was now sharing her space.

"You're not going to enjoy the ending."

The words didn't penetrate her at first, but then she got that feeling that someone had said something to her, and when she looked up there was a very handsome man, of about 22 if Quinn had to guess, gazing over at her expectantly. She realized he was the one who had spoken. She took off one of her head phones. "Excuse me?"

"The ending," the guy said again. "You're not going to like it."

Quinn looked down at her book before looking back at him. "Oh, and why is that?" She could never figure out what compelled someone to interrupt her when she was reading, and she was waiting for him to tell her the ending so she could chew him out. She had read this book a couple of times, which is the only reason that she even responded to him.

"Because at the end, when the two insanely attractive people reach the train station, they say good-bye."

It took a second for Quinn to realize that the guy wasn't talking to her about the book. She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The guy gave a sad grimace, nodding solemnly. "It's a tragedy, really."

Quinn surprisingly found herself looking him over. He had light red hair that, like his beard and mustache, was cut short and very neatly trimmed. Peaking out beneath a very manly set of brown-red eye lashes were cool blue eyes. His face was angular, thin, attractive. He seemed like the kind of guy who took himself seriously, and took great pride in doing so, but the row of freckles that were sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, and the dimples he flashed her, made him look surprisingly approachable. He was dressed simply in a purple polo, and dark khaki's, and Quinn couldn't help thinking-even despite the skater hemp bracelet on his wrist-how parentally acceptable he was.

Since her split with Puck, which had lasted surprisingly longer than Quinn expected, she had only entertained dates, not seriously dated anyone. She had even spent a night with a woman, but that had not been anything special, and then with a different one. Maybe it was time for her to reconsider her reemergence onto the market.

"What are you listening to?"

It took Quinn a second to remember that she had headphones in her ear, but she shook her head. "Nothing."

He gave her a perplexed look, so she tugged on the cord, showing that the headphones hadn't been plugged into anything. "I use them to block out sound," she explained.

"And to dissuade people around you from sitting beside you and trying to start up a conversation?"

"That, too."

"Should I go and let you get back to reading?"

"I haven't dismissed you, yet, so it's fair to reason that I've enjoyed your company so far."

He held his hand out towards Quinn. "I'm Kelly."

"Quinn."

"Well aren't we a pair?" he laughed. "Apparently both our parents were on the wrong side of the aisle when they visited the naming department."

Quinn gave a smile that, while small, was actually genuine. "My first name is Lucille, but I go by Quinn. My grandpa was named Quinton."

"My name is really Kellen, but I have younger siblings...so. Do you have a last name Quinn who is really Lucille?"

"If I tell you it, will you give your word that you won't Facebook stalk me?"

"I will try, but I make no promises."

"That does not instill my trust in you."

"It should because I am being upfront, and not lying. You should be more worried if I didn't."

"Okay… but if I do tell you it's quid pro quo. If there's going to be stalking there has to be an equal opportunity for it."

"Okay," he said, smiling brightly.

"Fabray."

"Lucille Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn nodded, and gave an expectant look. "It's Richardson. Kellen Davis Richardson. Can I share a secret with you Quinn, who is really Lucille, Fabray?" Quinn inclined her head, giving him permission. "I've been working up the nerve to come and talk to you for about three months now."

"So youarea stalker!"

"It is not stalking if we both travel in the same direction at the same time."

"Why have you been trying to talk to me?"

"Because you're the most beautiful woman I've seen in a very long time, and since we always seem to be traveling together, I thought I should introduce myself. Maybe then I could have a traveling buddy."

"Do you make this trip often?"

"Every weekend."

"Visiting your girlfriend?" She didn't know why she said that, but at the abrupt words Kelly smiled.

"Working. Pop's a lawyer, I'm a law student; I help out at his firm on the weekends. I am currently unattached. Are you a New York girl?"

"No. I'm from Lima. It's in Ohio."

"What's in New York for you?"

"Santana," she blurted, smiling, then quickly corrected herself because it dawned on her exactly how she had sounded when she said that. "She's a friend from high school."Just a friend, Quinn said in her head. "I haven't seen her in over a year." Ever since she and Brittany got back together. "I've really missed her."

"Lucky girl to get your attention all weekend."

Quinn blushed at his overt flirting. "Not that lucky," Quinn retorted. "She still has to share me with our other friends. I came to see them, too." It was such a lie. After Santana left she had spent her weekends with Rachel and Kurt, either in New York, or in New Haven, the groups switching off every other weekend. Rachel had succeeded in attaching herself like a leach to Quinn, and she had never before quite taken the time to enjoy all of the fabulousness that was Kurt, and Blaine could be amusing. She was beginning to like New York, too, day by day, which was how a relationship between her and Mercedes was building. These were her reasons for visiting every other day but this one. This time she wasn't coming to see Rachel or Kurt, and definitely not Blaine. She'd like it if they said hi on their way out the door, but the prize was Santana. Quinn couldn't kid herself into believing it was any other way.

She and Kelly talked up until the point that their train reached its destination. When the train pulled into Union Station Kelly extended a hand. "It was nice to meet you, Lucille Quinn Fabray," he said charmingly.

Quinn smiled brightly. "It was, Kelly."

There was a note of hesitation on Kelly's part as Quinn stood up from her seat, and in a moment of daring he rushed out, "Can I call you sometime?"

Quinn thought it over, and was even tempted to give him her number, but in the end she shook her head. The smile she offered was a slight consolation prize. "I don't give my number out to strangers on the train, but if fate wills that we should meet again, we will."

When she chanced a glance over her shoulder, she could see that he was still standing there, a smile on his features. He waved at her, and her hand was raised to wave back, when she heard her name being called, signaling that somewhere in the crowd of strangers there was someone familiar.

"Hey, Fabray!" She didn't have to turn to know that the voice belonged to Santana. She eagerly searched the crowd for sight of her oldest friend, and wasn't disappointed. Santana seemed to be standing alone in the middle of a completely crowded platform. Her sudden presence was surprising; she had expected to have to take the subway alone. Even Rachel rarely came to meet her at her stop anymore.

And Santana looked…amazing. She was wearing a dress that was short, clingy, and barely decent, as usual, and she looked fabulous in it. Santana caught her checking her out, and offered a wink. Quinn felt herself blushing. That the last time that they had seen each other they had left on bad terms meant nothing. They were always leaving on bad terms and getting back together as if nothing else possibly mattered but the possibility of some good times ahead. Quinn had missed Santana while she had been on that inane trip with Brittany that had unsurprisingly turned in a much longer than three week affair. A year and two weeks; that's how long she had been gone, and not a word had passed between them during that time. But that was okay, too, because they hadn't made any bullshit promise to keep in touch before Santana left, so neither of them had to worry about breaking it. Quinn couldn't actually find a thought to worry her because everything was already behind them, just like the train that had already disappeared from sight.

Santana fingered a strand of Quinn's hair. It hadn't changed from the Glee reunion. "Heard you and Puck broke up."

"Heard you and Brittany got married."

"Urban legend," Santana said with a smile.

Quinn handed Santana her bag. Caught off guard by the gesture, Santana nearly fumbled it, but she caught it before it could hit the ground. "What the hell, Quinn, why am I carrying your bag?"

But she shouldered it, and even though it was Quinn who was visiting, and Santana who lived here, Quinn led the way, and Santana followed behind.

When they got on the subway, Quinn took the window seat, leaving Santana to fall into the space besides her, huffing out angrily, "Not sure when I became your maid, tubbers."

Quinn shook her head, amused, and Santana turned in the seat so she was turned slightly away from Quinn in a show of her displeasure. Quinn couldn't help but study the slightly disgruntled look on Santana's face. You would think that carrying Quinn's bag was akin to Atlas having to shoulder the world. Quinn, too, turned away, watching the shadows as the train cut through the tunnel, only to turn back around a few seconds later when she felt a warm hand cup hers. Santana was still looking off to the doors of the subway, but when Quinn squeezed she gave a little halfway side smile that Quinn was sure no one else in the world ever got to see, her eyes crinkling in the corners, too, for good measure. Quinn adjusted her hand so that it was cradling Santana's, lacing their fingers together. She rested her head on Santana's shoulder, and they stayed like this until they made it to their stop.

(Why am I so emotional?)

Santana bounced on the balls of her feet as they walked the city streets, and Quinn couldn't help but notice how toned her calf muscles were as they flexed and released as they walked. Santana did a little pirouette that reminded Quinn a lot of Will Ferrell inElfwhen he had fallen in love with Zoëy Deschanel. She wanted to ask her if her movements were for the same reason, but her lips couldn't form the words, and what did it matter anyway, because Quinn wasn't interested in Santana in that way, and Santana wasn't interested in her? So she kept her mouth shut, and listened. Listened as Santana went on (and on, and on) about the last year and two weeks of her life. She talked about how Brittany had lost their passports (why she let Brittany hold them in the first place she didn't know), and how she and Brittany spent two days leading a fake tour company where they ushered Americans around the Island, about how the air, and the sun, and the breeze, smelled, shined, and blew differently there than it did in Lima, or New Haven, or New York. She talked about places as if they were people with distinct personalities, waiting to be explored. She talked about how the homeless lined the streets of LA as a sort of macabre homage to the cost of dreams, about how they visited Russia, and Brittany wanted to hold her hand.

As she spoke, she danced nearly as fluidly as Brittany did, reminding Quinn, as she always did, just how good of a dancer she was. With every word, or gesture, that came from Santana, Quinn was reminded of just how incredible her friend truly was, and it pained her to notice it because Santana honestly didn't see it. Because she started every new utterance withBrittany, because it was impossible to miss how it was Brittany who was leading them through this choreography, and that they had gone to places that the blonde had wanted to go, and not places that Santana's own lusts had wanted to take her.

Santana's face came alive as if it were animated by her adventures, and there was this joy that had been missing from her semi-depressed years in Lima. When she talked she weaved tapestries more complex than the ones stitched by Arachne in her quest to best Minerva, and Quinn could see Santana transformed back into some ancient world, one where people gathered from miles around just to hear the sound of her voice as she told tales that were just as complex and rich, and wildly imaginative as the one she was telling now.

If Santanawerean ancient, a god or deity of some sort, Quinn imagined that most people would mistakenly think of her as Bacchus. Those who didn't know her as well as she did, would think that she was all drunken and debauchery, and indulgence, leaving a world of ruin in her wake. Santana wasn't that. Santana was closer to Kokopelli, god of sprit and music and continuous movement. Or, even better, Hathor. Like Kokopelli, Hathor was a deity of music and dance. She was fated to roam the earth as her feet were constantly on the move, seeking out jewels beneath the earth, and a homeland. Hathor, like Santana, was two different gods: Hathor and Sekhmet. Before high school, Santana was Hathor. When she started freshman year she became Sekhmet, a tool of the gods to inspire fear, to draw on others' weaknesses, to exact harsh and cruel punishments on the less than worthy as rebuff for perceived insults and/or indifference to the might of the divinity.

But then graduation came, and gradually Santana returned to her former self, just as Sekhmet was returned to her true form, Hathor. Yes, that's who Santana was.

A tug on her hand brought her up short. "Where are you Quinnie?" Santana questioned.

"Getting tangled up in your web."

Santana paused, because it was out of place, out of character, and perhaps it could mistakenly be misconstrued as sounding loving, when all Quinn meant by it was that it sounded like Santana had managed to do a whole lot in just the span of a year and two weeks.

Santana tucked an errant hair behind Quinn's ear. "It's okay, Q, I missed you, too."

(No it's not a good look)

Santana held her shot glass high in the air. "To everyone finding a hot, warm body to climb under tonight," she said eloquently. They all downed the shot, grimacing, and smirking at each other. Quinn found them a table because she needed something to hold on to. That was her reason for grabbing the closest hand to hers, which just happened to belong to Santana, and holding on tight. Santana didn't hesitate to pull her to her feet, and whisk her off to the dance floor. The song was fast and upbeat, and Santana danced with her like two girl friends would, with about two feet between them.

Santana had been back for five months now, and nowhere in that expanse of time had she a) slept with Quinn, or b) mentioned Brittany. Quinn was sure that if she asked, Santana would be sure to tell her everything, but Quinn didn't ask, so Santana didn't say anything about why there was Santana and there was Brittany, but they didn't happen to be Brittana. There didn't happen to be a her and Santana, either, because they were dancing two feet away from each other, which was okay with Quinn, because they were just friends.

She was okay with being friends, but eventually Quinn had to pull away because it was there, that annoying wanting again. She didn't know what it meant. She didn't know what to do with it. She and Santana had sex three times, but that didn't mean anything. The first time was unplanned and bad, the second time was just to make up for the first, and the last time was comfort sex. They hadn't talked about what it did or didn't mean, because there was no need. The second time was supposed to be the last, and the third time just sort of happened.

Quinn hadn't spent too much time thinking about it. She didn't want to start now. She just wanted whatever she had with Santana, to stay whatever she had with Santana.

(Gain some self control)

"Quinn?" Her name had to be repeated before she actually focused in on the woman in front of her speaking.Rachel. Oh, right.They had taken a break in favor of drinking, and Rachel had started to tell some story that Quinn couldn't get interested in, and she had zoned out. Naturally her thoughts had returned to Santana.

"You're staring, again."

Quinn blinked and looked down at her companion. "What?"

"You're staring at Santana again," Rachel repeated more firmly this time.

"I wasn't," she tried to deny. Rachel's look became placating, pitying.

"Yes, you were. What is that about? Did she do something to get on your bad side?"

"Are Santana and Brittany together?"

She didn't mean to blurt it out like that, it came out sounding like she was jealous, or desperate for the answer. She wasn't, she was just curious. Rachel shrugged, knocking back another drink. "They're Santana and Brittany," she said, as if that were answer enough. What did that mean?

Quinn's eyes went back to Santana who was still dancing with that girl who had snaked her way in as soon as Quinn gave her an opening. Quinn couldn't tell if Santana was dancing like she was single, or like she was in a relationship. If Santana and Britt were still together, she shouldn't be dancing with another girl anyway, and if Santana was single, she didn't see why another girl should be in her space. So she made up some excuse to Rachel, slid off of her stool, and strode over to where the two of them were.

(Deep down I know this never works)

Santana caught wind of her approach and smiled at her, a smile that stopped her in her tracks. She stood there, in the middle of the dance floor, like an idiot, and Santana's open expression furrowed into confusion. One eye brow arched. Quinn turned. What in the hell was she doing? She needed to get out of here, to go home. She needed fresh air. Unfortunately she wasn't about to get any of that because she was halted in her stride by a hand slipping into hers and tugging. When she was turned around it was to see Santana in front of her.

No words were spoken between them as she drew her back onto the dance floor. "I thought I was about to be introduced to Quinn Fabray's infamous jealousy first hand," Santana whispered into Quinn's ear. Quinn shivered before she could cover up the reaction. "What happened?"

Quinn blinked. "I guess I grew up."

Santana's hands moved from friend space, into something that wasn't. She leaned up flush against her, guiding Quinn's hips in the dance. One of Santana's hands moved to stretch across Quinn's abdomen while the other stroked the skin on her neck. "Pity because I heard it wasreallyhot." Quinn thought she was dreaming when she felt Santana's mouth on her skin. The skin beneath those lips felt like they were on fire. It felt like her whole body was enflamed. She wanted to know what this meant, because this time, for the first time, it was Santana who initiated something between them. She quickly decided it didn't have to mean anything, and she didn't want any clarification in case it didn't mean anything, she just wanted Santana. Luckily enough for her, that's what Santana wanted to give her right then.

She turned into her, their lips sealing together. It was only a matter of minutes before Santana's tongue was in her mouth and she was sucking on it eagerly.

Soon, far too soon, Santana pulled away.

"Wha-?" Quinn questioned, dizzily.

Santana kissed her again, more chaste this time. She reached down for her hand. "Stay here," she said. "I'm going to tell the Hobbit we decided to call it a night." There was another quick kiss. "Don't move."

(But you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt)

Santana pushed her into the wall, sealing her lips to her neck, kissing her hard. She didn't let go as she opened the door, and Quinn had a moment of pause. They were on display, for anyone to walk by to see. Quinn knew she should move but she couldn't because Santana was leaning towards her and wouldn't stop placing kisses on her body.

Finally the door was wrenched open, and they both fell backwards into the room, laughing.

Quinn and Santana were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't realize, not at first, that there was someone else in the loft.

"Hey Q, San."

They jumped apart as if they were both set on fire at the sound of that distinctive and all too familiar voice.

"Shit, Britt!" Santana cursed, surreptitiously wiping at her mouth. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," she apologized.

"How'd you get in here?"

"I used Rachel's emergency key that she leaves hidden underneath the gold star by the door. "Were you guys about to have sex?" she questioned curiously. "I can come back if you are? How long will you need…an hour?" Quinn felt like she was about to jump out of her skin. Was this seriously happening?

Santana and Quinn looked at each other. The mood thoroughly ruined. "Uh…what're you doing here, Brittany?"

Brittany stood up, and Santana and Quinn pulled further apart with each other. "I wanted to talk to you."

Santana pulled her shirt down. "About us."

Quinn felt all kinds of awkward. She shifted from one foot to the other, before she stepped away. "I'm going to go."

"No, wait Quinn, you don't have to," Santana said. "Just give us like five…?"

Quinn frowned. "Good night, Santana, Brittany."

And she walked out the door.

Quinn was a block away from the subway when she heard her name. "Quinn, but really Lucille Fabray?" She had that feeling that you get when you're walking through an unfamiliar city, and you happen to catch site of something that makes you feel like you're home. "Okay, now you have to admit, this has to be fate!"

Quinn schooled her features, and turned around.

(Oh won't you)

Kellen looked the same as he did when they were on the train, just as p.a., but with that hemp bracelet, and a smile just for her. "So does this mean I at least get a cup of coffee?" he questioned.

"I thought we promised no stalking."

"I wasn't. I was visiting a friend. He actually lives right around the corner."

"Me, too." Quinn said. "Visiting a friend."

Kellen looked her over. "Looks like your visit didn't turn out the way you wanted it to," he noted.

It never does.

"One cup. No expectations. Maybe it will make your night better."

Quinn was surprised when the smile she gave him was actually genuine. "Maybe."

(Stay with me?)

Quinn was so caught up with Kellen that she didn't look at her phone until they had said good-night, and by then it was late. She had several missed calls and texts from Santana and instead of wading through them, she decided to save herself the trouble and just call her. To her surprise Santana picked up the phone right away. "Where the fuck are you, Fabray?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm outside of your dorm. Where are you?"

Quinn didn't understand. "You're, you're in New Haven?"

"Duh, aren't you?"

"Why are you in New Haven?"

"You weren't answering my calls!"

"I was busy."

"Oh come on, we both know that your busy is code for ignoring my calls. Look, about Brittany…"

"You don't have to do that, San, come up with some explanation. It is what it is and it's not what it's not, and I know that you'll always go back to her."

"That's not- I'm not having this conversation in your dorm hallway. Damn it, will you stop being so goddamn stubborn and open the door?"

"I'm not in New Haven, Santana, I'm in New York, still."

It was really quiet on the line. "You didn't come back to the loft."

"I didn't want to walk in on something I didn't need to see."

"What'd you think I'd go from fucking you to fucking her in a blink?"

Honestly? Yes.

"What did Brittany want?"

"She's coming off of tour, and...it doesn't really matter. I don't want to talk about Brittany, we were in the middle of something. So can you open the door now?"

"I'm really in New York, San."

There was another bout of silence on the phone. "Well, it would have been nice if you had like warned me of that before I traveled all the way to freaking Connecticut, Q. Fuck! What the hell am I supposed to do now? I got on the last train out!"

"Give me a few minutes? I'll see if I can get in contact with the RA."

Quinn reluctantly hung up on Santana, and called Yolanda. She explained how she had made plans for her best friend from high school to come visit, and how they had mixed up the weekends, and now she was there with no place to sleep, and no way to get back tonight. Luckily her RA liked her enough to bend the rules, and she promised to let Santana into her room.

"Oh thank you, you're such a lifesaver!"

She called Santana back, and waited on the phone with her until Yolanda had let her into Quinn's dorm, and for some reason she stayed on the phone even after that. They fell asleep talking to each other, wrapped up in each other's scents, instead of wrapped up in each other's arms.

In the morning, she hopped on the first train to New Haven, but when she got back to her room she was surprised to see that it was empty.

"Where are you?"

Quinn could her noises in the background, traffic. "Grand Central, where are you?" Santana must have left on the first morning train, too.

"At my dorm. I thought you'd wait for me."

"I thought you were going to stay in New York."

As she listened to Santana let out a string of curse words she wondered if this was just poor luck or if it was fate trying to tell them that they would always miss each other.

(Cause you're all I need)

"Kelly?" Santana questioned doubtfully. Quinn could see the sneer lining her face. "His name is Kelly?"

"It's Kellen."

"That's not much better. Actually it's not better at all. What's with you and names anyway?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Finn, Puck, Biff, Sam, Joe, Kellen? Do you realize that you have only been attracted to men who can count the number of letters in their name on one hand?"

Quinn's immediate thought was that Santana was longer than five letters. "Sam's a Samuel, and Joe was a Joseph. Besides Puck,"

"Is Noah, and my point still stands. You have a thing for stupid boys with stupid names."

And you have a thing for blondes.

"I don't like it Quinn. What do you even know about him?"

"He's 24, he's in his last year of law school here, he has an older brother and sister, he was on the crew team in undergrad, he likes college football, hates pro-,"

"Yeah, but what do youreallyknow about him? He approached you on a train."

"It's kind of romantic."

"It's kind of stalkerish."

"We go to the same school,"

"Yeah, because just because he goes to Yale doesn't mean he can't be some psycho killer. That guy fromKiss the Girls, he went to a top school."

"The book took place at a top school, he didn't go there. He was a cop."

"That Amy Brown chick, then. She was a Harvard grad."

"Yes,Harvard, not Yale."

"I don't like it," Santana repeated herself.

"You still haven't given me a reason for why not."

Santana eyes drew fire even across the computer screen.Say it, say something, Quinn thought in her head, as she fought to not be the first to blink. The intensity was muted somewhat, since they weren't standing in front of each other, but it was something close to enough, and yet so far, far away from what was needed. "You know what? If you want to go out with this guy, fine, do it. But if he ends up slashing your throat or liking Rick Perry, don't come crying to me about it."

Quinn threw her hands up, irritated. "Wow, thanks for being supportive about this, San. How long has it been since I've been excited about going out with someone? How long has it been since there's been anyone on the radar? You don't hear me bashing any girl that you've gone out with, or took to bed, so can you offer me the same sort of courtesy?"

Santana huffed, and didn't say anything. Personally Quinn was somewhat thrilled because if Santana was acting like this because she was jealous, then that meant that she had to feel something for Quinn, right? Mostly, though, she was irritated, because Quinn had had to watch either the Santana and Brittany show, or the random three month relationship show with Santana for three years now, and she kept her personal feelings to herself, unless the girl really deserved her criticism.

And she was actually excited about this date. Kelly was a good, funny, interesting guy. He was knowledgeable in the things that she found interesting, he thought the Buzzfeed lists were funny, he could sing the whole Lion King sound track from beginning to end. She could see herself with him, she could. If you couldn't be with the one that you loved, go after the one that you can be with…or something like that. "I guess I'm just going to go," Quinn finally said. "Have a nice night, Santana."

"Wait, Quinn!"

Quinn paused, her finger hovering over her mouse. "What?" It came out sharper than she intended, and Santana shrank back.

"Hope you have a nice date."

It wasn'tI'msorry, or better yet, it wasn't a confession of love, but it was close enough.

"Thank you."

Their eyes met one last time before Quinn ended the session and she was staring at the background of her Skype box.

(This ain't love)

Quinn startled at the sound of knocking on her dorm door. She checked the time to make sure that yeah, she still had two hours before her date with Kelly, and anyway, he wouldn't come up to her dorm room to get her. She was friendly with a couple of girls on her hall, but they all knew that when the door was closed she didn't entertain company. So who could it be?

The door was hardly cracked before it was pushed open, and the knocker was pushing their way into the room. In the sudden rush it took Quinn a moment to realize who it was. "Santana? What're you doing here?"

"That's kind of the wrong question, Q," Santana said, breathlessly.

"What's the right one?"

Santana didn't answer with any words that were verbalized. She answered with her lips. She pinned Quinn to the wall, remembering to put a hand up to cradle her head from meeting with the back of it. Santana's kiss was impatient, and needy, and desperate, and everything. It was everything, and Quinn wanted to give everything back to it. So she did. It took a surprisingly long time to get out of their clothes, considering how much Quinn just wanted to feel Santana against her again.

After, when they were lying together, Santana traced circles on her stomach. "Sorry, about your date. I just came down here to help you get ready, be a good 'girl friend', you know like we were in high school, but then when I saw you again, I couldn't help thinking about how much I just want to fuck you. You're so fucking gorgeous Q. And I just wanted you to know that."

(It's clear to see)

Kelly smiled when he saw her, shifting his feet as his hands were spread to entice her into a hug. "You look lovely," he declared right before he kissed her.

Quinn smiled back at him. "You look handsome, yourself."

They exchanged arms for each other's hand.

"When do I get to meet your friends?"

Quinn hesitated, remembering back to that failed experience when she had introduced the Glee kids to Biff, but she and Kelly had far fewer secrets between the two of them. He even knew that Quinn had called off her first date because she and Santana had hooked up, and yet, 7 months later, they were still together. She had decided to try something that she hadn't had in any of her past relationships: honesty. She liked Kelly, and she wanted to keep him around. And surprisingly, the whole honesty thing was working. "You want to?"

Kelly's amused smile came out. "Of course. They say you never truly know someone until you meet their friends, and I'm not talking about your Yale buddies."

"Okay," Quinn said after a minute or two. "When?"

"Whenever."

"Santana's not going to like you," Quinn said bluntly.

"Because she's in love with you?" Kelly guessed. Quinn almost choked at the idea of it. She didn't think that Brittany was the only one who would ever have Santana's love, but she also didn't think that Santana had any particularly strong feelings for Quinn. She knew she loved her, how else could they explain their friendship, but as for the other love, she knew she wasn't and she never would be. She knew, too, that the same was true both for how she felt about Kelly, and how Kelly felt about her. Not that he would never love her, or that she would never love him, but as of right now, they weren't in love with each other, and they both knew it. That, too, Quinn was fine with.

"She's not in love with me," Quinn dismissed, "but she's territorial, and she'll think you're a pompous ass, and any attempt to convince her that you're not will be met with derision and skepticism. Probably some well placed barbs as well."

"So what do I do to win her over?" Kelly questioned.

Quinn spent a minute thinking about it. "You don't," she said honestly.

Kelly considered that. "Is this woman important to you?"

"She's my best friend."

"So I just have to just accept that there's simply nothing I will be able to do to win over my girlfriend's best friend?"

"Pretty much. But if it makes you feel any better, you probably won't like her either."

That drew a small smile from Kelly.

Quinn arranged a meeting for him to meet Rachel and Kurt, and Blaine and Mercedes, and Brittany and Santana, and Santana's girlfriend, Josie. Even though Brittany knew about Santana and Quinn and their hook-ups, and wasn't upset about it, it was still weird seeing how easy going Brittany was about Santana and Josie. The three of them acted like they were all the best of friends, and Quinn just didn't seem to get it. Santana realized that, too, she was sure, because she would always give her these little smiles from time to time.

The meeting went the way Quinn imagined it would. Rachel fawned over him, Brittany dropped a non-sequitor, Kurt quietly observed, Blaine attempted to prove how normal of a guy he was, Mercedes had a look about her like 'oh, another one', Josie didn't care, and Santana? Santana was the shocker. Santana was nice. Santana was cordial, one could even say that Santana was friendly.

"So you like him?" Quinn questioned for the third time once they were alone. Santana laughed, turning so that she could see Quinn face to face.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

Santana placed her palm flat against her cheek, rubbing softly. "If you like him, I like him. Believe it or not, I like it when you're happy." She didn't know what to do with that. It was wrong. The whole thing just seemed wrong. "So is he the one?" Santana questioned wryly. "Does he make your lady parts all tingly?"

Quinn smiled thinking about all things about him that she liked. "He's definitely got potential," Quinn replied.

Santana nodded. "I asked Josie if it was okay if I sleep with you," she said casually. Quinn probably looked like an approximation of one of those cartoon characters when they're eyes bug out of their heads. "What?"

"I asked Josie if it was okay if I slept with you," she repeated.

Her flesh burned at the words at the same time her mind was screaming in anger at 1) Santana's presumption that Quinn wanted to sleep with her, 2) Santana's presumption that she would cheat on Kelly, 3) that she had assumed that Quinn would sleep with her, 4) that she asked hergirlfriendif it was okay if she slept with…she wasn't sure what to label Santana. They hadn't tried again to have sex since she stood Kelly up, so friend. She was upset that she'd asked her girlfriend if it was okay if she slept with her friend. Who does that? She couldn't believe Santana's gall…but the loudest voice really, really just wanted to know what Josie said.

Quinn and Santana held each other's gaze. Quinn's tongue nervously licked her lips. "What'd she say?"

"She said if I felt I needed to…and I need to, Quinn."

Quinn felt that nervous, fluttery, almost sickely feeling inside of her. "W-why is that?"

"To say good-bye."

"Oh," Quinn wasn't sure what to do with that. "Good-bye?"

Santana nodded, and then she shrugged. "Not to us being friends, of course, but to us…I don't know, gravitating towards each other when we get lonely. Relationships need closure. You have to have closure to move on with your next relationship, and…we both have people, you know? I want to give this me and Josie thing a shot. You want to give this Kelly thing a shot. We don't need to both have one foot in the water. Your partner deserves to have everything you can give them, not one foot in, one foot out."

It was so true, so very true, but part of Quinn, the part that woke up happy whenever she was in Santana's arms, thought that that person was Santana. The one that deserved her all. She didn't know how it would work, she knew she couldn't come out to her parents, not until they stopped footing the bill for her education, she didn't even know how she'd survive being with Santana, but the person that Quinn first envisioned at those words was standing in front of her.

Santana maneuvered herself directly in front of Quinn. She caught Quinn's gaze, and held it, read her thoughts as they flickered between green, brown, and gold. Her hand stroked her cheek bone. "You have no idea how easily I coulddrownin you."

In a matter of seconds, a blink of an eye really, Quinn saw it all, she saw them dating for a few years, shuffling back and forth, she saw one of them working while the other attended grad school and arguing about late night study sessions, and stupid bosses. She saw one day proposing to Santana, she saw them lazily having quickies on Sunday morning, and picking out china patterns together. She saw the double looks that people would give them when they walked by, she saw the hassle of going through adoption, or the cold sterility of a sperm bank, the awkward conversations around holiday meals, her parents forever referring to them as roommates, bible thumpers ruining special events with their signs telling them they were going to burn in hell.

Santana was leaning in before Quinn had even set her mind right, and when their lips touched, she didn't see anything other than Santana.

(So Darling)

Quinn wanted to stay asleep. All of the good things were waiting for her behind her eyes, but her mind was gently encouraging her to open them until the impulse got so strong that, like a full bladder, it demanded to be paid attention to. She didn't understand the urgency, at first, but she got it when she saw Santana's bare back turned towards her. She realized that Santana was seeking out her discarded underwear from the floor. Quinn had a flashback to the first time, to this scene.

It hit her suddenly: Santana didn't realize that Quinn was awake. She thought that Quinn was asleep, and she was just going to leave. Not a good bye, nothing. Quinn sensed she was turning, and she closed her eyes. Seconds later, she felt those lips on her forehead, pressing a kiss to them, and lingering. A hand touched her face, brushing hair from it. Santana was staring. Santana was staring at her, and she couldn't see the expression that was on her face, she didn't know if it was a tender look, or a look of disgust, or was it triumph? She needed to open her eyes, but she was too scared of what she would see when she did.

There was a sigh, and the shadows that hovered over her increasing until those press of lips pushed down against her own. The bed creaked, as Santana removed her weight from it. Stood up, possibly adjusted herself. It wasn't until Quinn heard the creak of the door that she opened her eyes in time to see the most heartbreaking of sights: Santana walking away from her. She needed to say something, anything, she couldn't let this happen, and she knew that the power was in her hands. She knew, too, that maybe Santana knew that Quinn was awake, and that sigh was because whatever this was, Santana realized that Quinn was the one who wouldn't ever realize it.

The proper words found themselves on Quinn's lips right before the door closed behind Santana, and on everything that they didn't have, and never would:"Stay with me."