Santana smiled and grimaced when she saw the person who was calling her. "You've got Santana," she said, tensing.

"Kalamazoo?" A very angry voice demanded.

Santana winced. "Bless you."

"I wasn't sneezing, Satan!" Mercedes hissed, and she was glad that there was (hopefully) a whole city between them because Diva sounded grade-A pissed! "Kalamazoo? As in Michigan!Michigan!"

"'Cedes, I have no earthly idea what you are talking about," which was true, "unless you're calling to tell me that you got me and Quinn a vacation to Kalamazoo for our honeymoon, and to that I would say that that is very generous of you, however, Quinn and I have already made plans to go to Cabo."

"Santana Quintanilla Fabray-Lopez, you know I'm not talking about some damn honeymoon!"

Santana gasped. "How do you know my real middle name?"

"Do you really expect me to believe that a conservative Catholic woman really gave her daughter the middle name of 'Diabla'? And I just so happen to know that your mother was absolutely obsessed with Selena when you were born."

Santana looked around. "Okay, but just don't go spreading that around! Sheesh!"

"Really? You're worried about people knowing your middle name, and not about, I don't know, kidnapping charges?"

"Seriously, Wheezy, what are you talking about?"

"You know, I was expecting, maybe some one bumping into him in the bar, spilling a drink, maybe getting into a fight with him and him spending the night in the tank, or maybe some crazy chick just being crazy on him. You know what I wasn't thinking? Kalamazoo!"

"Mercedes," Santana said, slowly. "I have no earthly idea what you are talking about." Still true. "Who's him?"

"Him is Xavier. You know the guy that I just broke up with? He called me, apparently he's had areallyrough weekend. On Friday morning he got a ticket for speeding, his car got towed, and he got another ticket for jaywalking. Then he went out drinking, and woke up in Kalamazoo, Michigan, with no clue how he got there, wearing only a pair of shorts, shoes, a winter jacket, and with nothing on him but $5, his driver's license, a Greyhound bus ticket back to Boston, and a note that said 'Thanks for the wild time, XOXO Amber'!"

Santana blinked, trying very hard not to laugh, but frankly she was just impressed, no way would she have been that clever. "Wow," she said with a straight face, "that does sound like he's had a bad weekend!"

"And a tattoo, Santana, a tat! You know how I feel about ink!"

Santana couldn't help but snort this time, because as an outsider, the whole thing was insanely funny, and this was actually the first time she was hearing this. "Of what?"

"80/20. I don't even know what that means. What the hell does that mean?"

"80, 20?"

"Like eight zero forward slash two zero."

80/20? Santana wracked her head for possible meaning, and then nodded. "I think, and don't quote me on this, but did you ever watchWhy'd I Get Married?"

"Oh, god, years and years ago. Why?"

"When the guy was explaining relationships he mentioned the 80/20 principal. You know, the most you'll ever get out of a relationship is 80%, but people want a 100%, so when they meet someone that gives them that extra 20%, they think they have all 100, and they'll leave the 80, for the 20, only to find that all you get from the 20…just watch the movie. And seriously, I'm just speculating. I promise, Mercedes, I didn't touch your Ex. Ask Quinn: I was with her all Friday night, I was at work Saturday morning, and we went on a date Saturday night."

"Oh, how'd that go?" Mercedes questioned, suddenly switching gears.

"Quinn didn't tell you?"

"Doesn't matter what Quinn told me, I'm asking you."

Santana's fingers were halfway to her hair before she realized what she was doing. "Incredible! I mean it was probably as close to perfect as possible. For a second, I thought Quinn was taking me toThe Meadow, but that was just a decoy. We ended up going to this really bomb arcade instead."

Santana knew Mercedes was shaking her head. "Onlyyouwould think that it's a sucky date to go to an expensive, fancy restaurant."

"Meh. My baby knows me, and becauseIknow Quinn, mostly likely I will be taking her to some swank restaurant this weekend because she likes romance. I might even get her a white horse, except that's animal cruelty isn't it? And animal cruelty and dates don't really mix well. Which brings me back to a more pressing matter. Not that I didn't thoroughly enjoy just how bad of a weekend Xavier had, how do you know about it?"

"He called me. He told me that he felt like the universe was trying to tell him something, and that we needed to talk because he didn't realize what he had, and he wants to come back."

"And you said…?" Santana questioned, on edge, because if Mercedes went back to this dude…It got quiet.

"Well," Mercedes hedged, "hereallyisn't that bad of a guy, and,"

"You'vegotto be kidding me! I think Sam is a like a barely conscious mouth breathing lemur but when you were with him at least-"

"You know the cardinal rule," Mercedes snapped. "Never mention Sam!"

"But you two would be perfect for each other if you could just figure out how to get out of your own way."

"Pot, meet kettle."

"Hey, I'm not in my own way," Santana protested. "I'm playing the field with the cards that I've been given."

"Whatevs, and just so you know, Iwaskidding," Mercedes said. "I mean like I'm still hurt about it and what not, mostly cause I hate being single, but I'm not about to get back with him now. I'm also semi-scared of you now, Satan, now that I know that you will actually go 'Lima Heights' on someone, but thank you. I was having a hard time not laughing at this fool when he called."

Santana laughed, but quickly got serious. "Just so we're clear, I didn'tdoanything, but if I did, I didn't do this because he broke up with you, so don't think that every ex is going to get this treatment. I did this because he's a complete asshole, and because of thewayhe broke up with you."

"And I thank you for what you didn't do for me, Santana. You're not half bad."

"Please, you know you love me."

"Tell yourself what you must," Mercedes said before she hung up the phone.

Mercedes timing was perfect because the phone conversation ended right as she made it to the range. She showed her ID, purchased some rounds, got her piece from her locker and started to assemble it. Santana hated coming to the range at lunch because it was a surprisingly unoriginal idea and the place had far too many people during mid-day for her comfort. It was a necessary evil; she was having a hard time finding time to get out here since she'd gotten married. It'd been easy to just stop by on the way home from work back when she didn't have any one to come home to (or be expected to cook for). The only good thing about working these rotating schedules these past few weeks was that she could go during the middle of the day, without having to offer an explanation to someone.

Santana's prime reason for not liking to come shoot on her lunch break manifested at her right elbow, when she was on her third sheet of targets. Santana wanted to just flat out ignore the guy, but he seemed like the kind of idiot who would grab your arm to get your attention, so Santana put the safety back on the gun and sat it on the counter. "What?" she demanded, vaguely aware that he had been saying something.

"I said that's a nice piece you have there! You know what you're working with?"

Santana recognized this guy. His name was Peyton O'Halloran, Hal for short. Santana's working knowledge of him was what the guys in the locker room said about him, namely that he overcompensated big time. She knew the guy had five or six different guns, and she could tell by the way he was talking that he considered himself to be a 'gun enthusiast'. Santana hated guys like that on principal. Frankly, she disliked people who had guns just to have a gun. These things weren't toys.

Santana looked down at her piece, pretending to be surprised that she had a gun in her hand. She rolled her eyes. "What this? No! The guy at the gun store said it was a Walther PPKS. I don't know what that means, but it looked really pretty."

The guy obviously didn't understand sarcasm. "Pretty? No, try sexy. That's Bonds gun. You know 007?"

Actually, it was Bond's mostpopulargun, but by no means was it the only gun to appear in a Bond movie. In Dr. No alone he used five different kinds of gun. The PPK was also the gun Hitler used in his suicide attempt. Santana already knew this; she really didn't need some scared pencil-dick to interrupt the little time she had. She had come to shoot, not chat.

Santana's felt it more than heard it when her phone started to ring.Oh thank god,she thought. "This is my wife, I've got to take this."

"Your wife?"Yes, dipshit."You one of those lesbians?"

Santana cut her eyes at Hal. "I've got a gun in my hand. I'd really think about the next words that are about to come out of your mouth."

Santana connected the call. "Hey, babe, what's up?"

"Just went on lunch break and I thought I'd call."

Santana loved that Quinn sounded almost shy about admitting that. She figured there was no harm in laying it on thick. "I'm glad you did. Paulianne hated the formatting on the sample. She's been kind of crazy this morning; I needed an escape."

Quinn didn't immediately answer. "Where are you? That sounds like gun shots in the background."

"S'not," Santana lied. "One of the guys at work has the staff TV blaring some dumb cop show. What's up?"

"Want to meet me for lunch?"

Santana smiled and checked her watch. "Where?" she questioned.

"The Commons."

Santana quickly calculated the distance. "Umm...yeah, sure. I'll only be able to talk to hang for probably 10 minutes, but yeah. Give me 20?"

"Okay. What do you want?"

"Where are you going?"

"Capitol Coffee."

"Umm…the veggie burger."

Santana imagined that her wife's eyebrow rose. "The Veggie? Rachel really did get to you."

"No she didn't," Santana hissed defensively. "Sometimes I just like it. Oh, and a side of fries."

"Doesn't ordering fries with a veggie kind of defeat the purpose?"

"Hey, I'm not saying anything about the grilled cheese and bacon sandwich that I know you're getting, so you don't say anything about the French fries I know you'll be stealing from me."

Quinn laughed. "Oh, you know me so well."

"Don't I?" Santana returned. "20 minutes."

"I'll be waiting for you underneath the flag pole."

"Which flag?"

"American."

"Okay. See you."

Santana hung up, broke down the PPKS, locked it in its case, put it back in her locker, got her car, and managed to make it from Broadway to Park Street, and find a parking space less than a block from the park, all in under 11 minutes. I mean seriously, she deserved a medal. She found Quinn easily, beneath the flag pole, like she said. Like many of the other foot traffic, Quinn was wearing a black skirt business suit, with a simple white shirt, but somehow still managed to stand out. Beside the bag from Capitol Coffee, she was carrying her Trader Joe's reusable bag.

"You still have nine minutes left," Quinn teased her.

"Sometimes I manage to impress even myself," Santana said with a cocky swagger. Quinn rolled her eyes, before giving her a kiss. "Mmm…can I have more of that?"

Quinn placed another peck on her lips. "I got you water, I hope you don't mind."

Santana looked at the water bottle in general disdain but accepted it from Quinn along with her food. They ate and walked until Santana found a spot that had a lot of foot traffic, and then she parked herself down on the bench.

"How's your day going?"

"So far, I've gone through about 12,000 lines of financial statements and projections, and you know, I always thought that life would be so much more glamourous then this."

Santana gave a nod. "So true," she agreed, "But when you're a kid you don't have a working concept of reality. You don't realize howreallife is." She had expected to be famous by now for something. Instead she was working a semi 9-5, and hadn't sung for an audience in over 3 years. Santana liked her job, though, and she thought she was in a pretty good place in her life.

"Hey so you know that scene in Twilight where Edward shows off his abilities to read people's mind?"

"Yea," Quinn drawled, not knowing where Santana was going with this.

"It was awesome right?"

"Yeah, it was awesome reading off of a script and pretending that he knew what people were thinking."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I don't knowwhyyou pretend that you didn't read those books and watch the movies religiously. Oh, wait, I do, because they were lame, real vampires don't sparkle, and you don't want people to know that you fell for literature porn."

Quinn cleared her throat. "Excuse me…realvampires?"

"Smart people know that there are real vampires, Quinn, it's a fact of life, just accept it. And stop distracting me, I want to show off how awesome I am."

Quinn looked around suddenly, her eyes going wide. "You can't do that here, San! Sex in public is illegal!"

"I know you're merely teasing me, otherwise I would be intensely hurt."

Quinn leaned in and kissed her. "Of course I'm teasing. You're awesome even outside of the bed. Show me what you wanted to show me?"

"Only if you say please."

Quinn leaned in, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Please?"

Santana had to remember what she was doing. Oh right, awesome. "So I want to show you how not hard that is. Pick some body, anybody."

Quinn eagerly searched the people walking by. She and Santana used to do this when they were in high school, but it was mostly to find faults with others and laugh at them while they pointed them out. "Umm…how about that couple. The one holding hands. They seem cute."

Santana scanned the crowd. "The two heading towards us?" Quinn nodded. "Give me a second. Talk about something so it doesn't look like I'm just gawking."

"I like your hair today."

Santana's eyes found Quinn's. "Mm…do you?" She nodded solemnly. "Does this mean you don't like my hair every day?"

"No, I like it just about every day; today I especially like it."

"When do you not like it?"

"When you do that bang thing. Oh, and when you died it blonde. Me no gusta."

Santana chuckled, leaned in and whispered in a very sultry voice, "Me gusta cuando hablas asi." And gave a knowing smile when she pulled back.

"Umm…you like what?"

Santana winked. "When you talk like that," she purred in her ear. "Okay, so did you get a good look at them?"

Quinn nodded after she remembered what they were doing. She gave a glance back at the couple, just to make sure. "Yeah."

"How good of a look?" Santana challenged.

Quinn was pretty good with memorization. She felt slightly confident. "Fairly good."

"So, what were they wearing?"

"Umm…he was wearing a brown tweed jacket, and casual pants, and she was wearing an ugly turquoise blouse, and a black skirt."

"What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Shoes, socks, stockings, hat? Hair color, eye color, what else did you pick up on?"

"Oh…ummm…she was wearing heels, and he was wearing…loafers."

"You just guessed at that."

"Well what did you notice about them? I thoughtyouwere the one who was supposed to be showing off."

Santana kind of shrugged. "What didn't I notice? First off, he wasn't wearing loafers. He was wearing slip in wing tips, not black, but dark gray. The two of them are having an affair. They just got finished having sex, and they are walking through the Commons before she goes back to work because she works close by, and his wife doesn't come by this side of town, so he doesn't have to worry about running into her. She thinks that he's a big shot who works in the financial district, but he really works in a manual field, my guess is that he owns a small auto body shop.

"She's a smoker, he drinks slightly more than social. She believes he is going to leave his wife. He won't because they have…two kids together, both under the age of 10."

Quinn was silent for half a minute. "Okay, so either you know the two of them or you're just guessing."

"Iamjust guessing, but I'm really good at it."

"How do you know that they're not together?" Quinn questioned curiously.

"That's easy. Neither of them are wearing a wedding ring."

"Okay, that doesn't make sense; if neither of them are wearing wedding rings, how do you know thathe'smarried, and she isn't?"

"Because when you wear the same piece of jewelry all day, every day, there's this tell-tale indention on your finger, however slight, especially if the finger was skinnier when you got it, and you haven't yet managed to take it to the jewelers to get it resized. His hand had the mark, hers didn't."

"So, maybe he just takes it off because he was at work, didn't you say he probably works in an auto body shop?"

"Yes, that's a possibility," Santana allowed, "but I'm willing to bet that his ring is in his left pant pocket judging by the way he kept patting it, and that he takes it off so she thinks that he's not serious about his wife, but he gets anxious when he doesn't have it on."

"And that other stuff?"

"I know that they just had a quickie because her shirt is buttoned up incorrectly, and he didn't pull his fly all the way back up. He's walking her back to her job, which I'm guessing is either as a secretary or a school teacher, just based on what she's wearing, length of skirt, cut of the blouse. You can tell she smokes because her fingers kept twitching as if she's anxious for some nicotine. I say he works in an auto body shop because his nails are cut very short, and they're stained. I say the manager/owner because of the way he's dressed. He's wearing an expensive, but well-worn jacket, and nice pants, which means that at some point he could afford them, yet he didn't think to put any effort into his shoes, which are very inexpensive. If he were actually a banker, he'd know better. You can tell he drinks by the circles around his eyes, and I'm just guessing that he has two kids, but he had acrylic colored glue on the heel of his shoe, and typically it's kids that use that. I say they are under 10 because he's cheating, but hasn't left his wife. Statistically speaking men like himself don't leave until the oldest is at least 10 because he is biologically less attached once they reach an age where they are perceived to be able to fend for themselves."

"Youarea spy, aren't you?"

Santana laughed a little uncomfortably. "Just observant. That guy at 3:00? He's carrying. As is that guy passing underneath the tree. You can tell because of the way one of them walks, and the way his shirt bulges around it. The one walking with that swagger, I'm guessing was bullied as a kid. He has a holster on his leg, I'm guessing because he's scared of shooting off his penis, but he may as well shoot it off because if he's ever confronted he's more likely to hurt himself than his attacker. That girl, the tall, heavy-set woman with the brown/red hair? She's been carrying around an engagement ring for some time, but hasn't yet worked up the nerve to propose to her girlfriend. She also really likes carrots. Like really,reallylikes carrots."

Santana shook her head. "Weird people. Oh!" She said, excitedly. "That guy on the bicycle? He's about to get sideswiped and…there he goes."

Sure enough the bicyclist was hit by a car. The guy jumped up and immediately started arguing with the driver who, just as hot tempered, argued back.

Quinn was looking as if Santana had three heads. She had gone from beyond impressed to just plain freaked out. Santana nodded at the look. "Youseewhy I like my little anus worm now?" Santana questioned.

Quinn nodded dumbly. "How?"

Santana seemed to be enjoying herself. "I pay attention. I've always kind of noticed these things, but when I started studying psychology, I started noticing more. Like, I noticed that the driver of that car wasn't paying attention to the light, and I also know that on average a driver hits or almost hits a bicyclist at that intersection once a week. People exist in patterns, and they leave tells for you to pick up on if you're astute enough to notice."

Quinn looked down at her hands, and Santana just waited patiently. She watched as that Fabray spitfire grabbed hold of her, and her shoulders stiffened, her back straightened, her head shot up. Santana recognized this as Quinn's fighting position. "So what do you know?" she questioned bracingly.

Santana shrugged a shoulder, not looking at her. Santana's display had only been to amuse Quinn, not to head in this direction, but she wasn't going to swerve now that they were. "What should I know, Quinn?" she responded.

Quinn turned towards Santana. "I didn't cheat."

Santana's expression didn't even flicker. "Because the opportunity didn't present itself to you, or because you couldn't go through with it?"

"I don't know," Quinn admitted. "I thought I had irreversibly fucked things up between us, so I went out to a bar, and I got drunk. The bartender was cute, and nice. She listened to me, and the only thing on my mind was that I didn't want to go home alone."

"You wouldn't have been alone if you'd come home."

"I know that, Santana," Quinn snapped.

"I even let you know that you could."

"I know! I messed up! I'm new to this, too, and it's hard for me to trust that…good things don't stay good for me for long; something always happens."

Santana couldn't help her grin (even if was short lived) because Quinn had just implied that she was a 'good thing'. "Maybe, but great things always happen to me, and you're my wife, so that means that you get half of everything I get." Quinn gave a reluctant smile that disappeared when Santana asked, "Whydidn'tyou go home with her?"

Santana could tell that Quinn wanted to lie, but saw that it wouldn't be helping her out any. "Because she dropped me off at my apartment, told me she just wanted to make sure I got home okay, and that I shouldn't make a mistake that I couldn't take back, just because I was angry." Santana knew that Quinn's eyes were on her so she tried to keep her face blank. Inside, however, she held on to the information that Quinn wasn't the one to stop things. That one argument had almost placed her in the bed of someone else. "So, what happens now?" Quinn questioned quietly.

"What do you mean what happens now? Now, we throw away our garbage, recycle this demon plastic bottle, I'll walk you back to work, and then we go home."

Quinn frowned, confused. "So, you're not…we're okay?"

"No. It's not okay that you were going to go home with some other chick, and it's not okay that you didn't come back home. Those things aren't okay. I get that we're both new to this whole relationship thing, but that's not behavior that's acceptable if this marriage is something that we're actually going to do. It hurt, Quinn. It hurt falling asleep feeling like my wife didn't care enough about me to even say good night, and it hurts even more to find out that the reason was because she was looking to take someone else home with her, but we've already had words over this. It's not worth it to revisit it and say some things that will hurt the both of us. I'm not a push over, but I'm also not going to be mad over something that already happened."

Quinn was thrown by how little of a deal Santana was making of this. "I'm trying," Santana said. "I know our track record, and I know that trust is hard for you, but I need you to trust that this is real for me. I can't promise you that I'm never going to fuck up; sometimes I just don't think through my actions, and I don't always do the right thing. I know you can't promise me the same thing either; I don't need you to. I'm not looking for you to be perfect Quinn, I need you just to try. Like you want me to do with the cooking and what not. Try. I promise that I'm not going anywhere. I'm committed to us; I'm here for the long fight as long as you're willing to try with me. So tell me that you'll be a gladiator, and promise you'll fight with me?"

Quinn gave a nod. "Over a cliff."

"Then it's over." Santana got to her feet, offering her wife a hand. Quinn eagerly accepted it. "San?" Santana gave her a curious look as she brought her hand up to tenderly cup Santana's cheek. She kissed her lovingly. "Thank you for being a friend."

Santana smiled, fervently kissing the back of the hand that was offered. "I've traveled down the road and back again. Your heart is true."

"You're my pal and a confidant."

When they got back to Tremont Street, and started to say their good-bye's Quinn remembered the bag that she was holding. "Oh, Santana, I forgot. This is for you."

Santana gave a skeptical look at the bag. "What is it?"

Quinn held it out to her, with a beaming smile. "Just look!" Santana was cautious as she opened the bag, but then a smile overtook her face. "I would have sent these to you at work, but I don't know where you work. They're for your desk."

Santana pulled out the skinny vase, not quick enough to hide the emotion that was on her face at the sight of the flowers. "What's this for?" Santana questioned.

Quinn kissed her again before ducking her head shyly. "You deserve flowers, Santana."

10 minute social media break, Quinn told herself, looking around at her busily occupied coworkers. She used to tell herself she was just going to make a 5 minute pop in to Circles but no one could log on to Circles for five minutes. It was an impossibility. 10 was a long shot, too, but she was attempting to be good. Besides, she wanted to check on her RSVP's, and update the calendar. She had been talking compulsively with Maribel, and things were moving along faring nicely, she thought. Maribel was using every cent of the $10,000 she'd won off of her mother, as well as chipping in some of her own, as was Quinn's mom. So far she and Santana weren't having to shell out much of their own money, which was great because Quinn was starting to feel as if they should be power saving for something somewhere down the line.

She entered the latest guests into the virtual seating chart model, and couldn't help but notice the name that she had refused to seat:Brittany S. Harrison.Her lip curled up in a moment of fury as she thought about their last interaction. Quinn had always known that Brittany was more of Santana's friend than Quinn's. Quinn would always defend her if someone was picking on her, and she, along with Santana, kept Brittany from getting slushied during her stay at McKinley, but she had never gone out of her way to be around the girl. She didn't understand Brittany's light and forgiving take on the world and had always been a little jealous of her for it. Quinn and Santana had had childhood cut short, while Brittany perpetually remained a child.

It hadn't been Quinn's intention to come to the studio but after seeing Brittany's RSVP she had just gotten angry, and that anger was still there when she left work for the day. She'd driven around aimlessly until she'd ended up at the Fondue for Two set. She didn't expect to make it past security, but surprisingly they just waved her through after she gave her name. She also wasn't expecting them to be in the process of filming when she came by either. Well, they weren't exactly filming, but they were setting up for their next show.

Quinn found Brittany almost immediately, the only shot of blonde hair on set. She was talking to her production assistant while keeping one eye on the stage which was apparently being filled by some weird goo-like substance. Brittany looked over at the right time, and caught Quinn's eye. She recognized the confusion on her face.

"It's pudding!" Brittany chirped, waving Quinn cheerfully over. "Isn't it pretty?"

Quinn was off-put by the friendly greeting, considering that the bitch had first embarrassed her on her web show, then kissed her wife, and sent her a photo of the event. Quinn's temper flared, but the pudding was distracting. "Whydo you have so much pudding?" Quinn questioned.

Brittany seemed delighted by the question. "Because June 26this National Chocolate Pudding Day, and July 15this National Tapioca Pudding Day, and September 19this National Butterscotch Pudding Day, which is my absolute favorite pudding, and Bill Cosby's birthday was a few days ago, so I decided that in honor we should have a pudding celebration for all of the great puddings out there! Our next show is pudding themed. We have a pudding making contest, and a pudding taste-test competition, and we have a pudding guest singer, and we're going to have a pudding free-for all brawl, the winner of which will take home a life time supply of-,"

"Let me guess, pudding?"

"No, silly, Fondue! Oh my gosh, I didn't even think of pudding! Maybe we should have gone with that."

Quinn wanted to tell Brittany that that was the stupidest theme she had ever heard, but she'd watched episodes of the show for years now, and it wasn't even close to the stupidest idea Brittany had had so far, and anyway, she wasn't here to discuss Brittany's show choices.

"We need to talk," Quinn snapped. It didn't matter that she was in Brittany's space, on the set of Brittany's show. She was Quinn Fabray (Lopez) former head cheerleader of McKinley High School, and still expected to be obeyed.

For a minute it looked like Brittany was going to do just that, but instead she gave a smile meant to be disarming. "We do. Unfortunately, I can't right now, Quinn, I've got a crazy production schedule going on for the rest of this week, and when I'm not here, I'm at the studio for a recital coming up at the end of the month."

Quinn glowered at the girl and her flippant dismissal. "Yet you have plenty of time to send text messages to me aboutkissingSantana?"

Brittany gave one of those looks where she smiled and tilted her head to the side and you couldn't exactly tell what was going on inside of her head. Everyone always dismissed Brittany as being stupid, but that was because they never really paid attention to her. Quinn was sure Brittany wanted it that way. "I just thought you should know about the kiss."

"Youkissedher. She didn't kiss you."

Again with the look, patient, understanding, pitying. "Does it matter?" Brittany questioned, speculatively. "I didn't send that picture to you because I wanted you to think that Santana kissed me, I sent it because I wanted to remind you that I'm home to her, Quinn. People go out into the world all the time. They travel to all of these places, and have fun, and get dazzled by the sights and wonders of discovering something new. Sometimes they even move and enjoy living in other places. But at some point you go back home." She shrugged in an uncaring way. "I'll always be home to her."

Quinn refused to allow her words to settle with her. "What the hell, Brittany? You're married! Shouldn't you behometo your own wife?"

"I'm just telling you like it is, Quinn." Her eyebrow quirked in a very Quinn way. "I learned from the best."

"Does Tamara know that you're busy chasing after your ex?"

"I'm notchasingafter Santana; I don't have to chase after her. Whenever this littlethingis over between the two of you, and she gets bored, she will come back to me."

Quinn shook her head, not wanting to let Brittany's words get to her. "Are you really that big of a bitch, Brittany?"

Brittany chuckled, and it was the same lighthearted laugh that had populated their conversations, and made Santana swoon, and had guys rushing to fulfill her wishes just so they could hear it again. "Really, Quinn?Youare asking me that. You," she scoffed. "You may succeed in fooling other people, but I know who you are, Quinn. Behind that sweet, innocent smile, and those kind words, I know the snake the lies within. I knew you when you were that chubby little girl with more donuts than friends, and I knew you when you were that conniving, selfish, insecure bitch who used Santana to claw her way to the top only to fall so spectacularly. You always seem surprised when bad things happen to you; have you ever thought that maybe it's just karma?

"You're not a good person, Quinn. You're a manipulative, petty, cheater. You would sell your own soul to save yourself heartache, and I know thisthingwith Santana, it's fun now, and that's the only reason why you're still here. The second you start to get bored, you're going to look elsewhere, and you're going to break Santana's heart into a thousand pieces when you do."

Quinn shook her head, shaking away words that sounded like her own constant inner dialogue. "You're wrong, Brittany." She grew bolder. "And you know something else? You can throw yourself at her all you want, but she doesn't want you anymore," Quinn said, determinedly.

"Now. She's only still with you because you're new. Like a penny. But as soon as the shine rubs off, she's going to toss you aside the same way you toss away a penny when you realize it's just never going to add up to anything of value."

Quinn didn't actually think about it, she just let out a scream, surging forward. The next thing she knew both of them were flying backwards. It was lucky for Brittany (and she supposes lucky for her too), that Brittany ended up falling back into the tub of pudding. "You bitch!" Quinn shrieked. She raised a hand to slap Brittany, but the blow lost much of its impact as it was mostly absorbed by the pudding.

Brittany danced away from her. "Think of this as me doing you a favor," Brittany taunted. "It gives you every excuse to run away. That's what you do best, right Quinn?"

Quinn threw a handful of pudding at Brittany, which hit her square in the face. Quinn got a firm grip on Brittany's leg, and pulled her back down. "Does itlooklike I'm going anywhere?"

Brittany attempted to wrestle her leg away from her. "It's only a matter of time. Old habits die hard."

Quinn reared up to hit her again, but Brittany blocked the blow, knocking Quinn backwards. Brittany managed to grab a fistful of Quinn's hair, and pulled her down by it. Quinn got her own fistful, trying to gain leverage. The pudding made it hard, preventing them from standing, but she managed to make it onto her knees. "If you think that I'm just going to sit back and let you throw yourself at my wife, you don't know me, but if you don't step off, you're going to know me really well."

"You sound almost like you mean that," Brittany taunted.

"You don't want to find out how much I mean that. Youdon'tknow me," Quinn threatened.

Brittany dropped her shoulder, throwing off Quinn's weight. She pitched forward, and using it to her advantage. Brittany got a good grip on her arm, and rolled her, pinning her down. She straddled her. "Actually, I do," Brittany said, and this time her voice was different then it had been. There was no venom, or gloat to her voice. Her blue eyes stared determinedly into Quinn's hazels. Quinn felt the fight draining out of her as if the pudding had special absorptive powers.

"I really care about her, Britt," she whispered, practically pleaded.

"No fucking kidding, Quinn; you're rolling around in pudding, fighting over her. You're fighting me rather than telling Santana something that she already knows and isn't even a secret. This little cat fighting and bitch slapping that you used to do in high school doesn't work anymore because I'm not that girl from high school, and neither are you. I get it: your childhood sucked, and you had bad things happen to you. Boo fucking hoo, Quinn; you're not the only one! If you want those things that you did, and that happened to you to define you, you are going to miss the something wonderful that has been staring you in the face for a long ass time. I'm not the only one that's tired of you walking around with your eyes closed because it's not just hurting you, it's hurting her, too, and she doesn't deserve that." Brittany wiped a glob of pudding from the side of her face. "So yeah, I had my assistant snap a picture of me kissing her, and you're damned right I'm fighting over her because she deserves someone that will!"

Quinn was reminded sharply of conversation she had had with her this afternoon. "I'm fighting, too," Quinn responded. She was lucky that her face was covered in pudding because it did a good job of hiding her tears.

"You better be." She rolled off of her and helped Quinn to her feet. Quinn was surprised to look around and realized that they weren't actually alone. In fact, their escapades had pretty much drawn most of the crew out into the center of the set, though surprisingly no one had moved even an inch to pull the two of them off of each other. Brittany helped her to her feet. "There's a shower in my trailer, and Soyara can get you something from costumes for you to wear. If you leave your suit, I can have it dry-cleaned for you, too."

Quinn nodded, but didn't look at her. "Thanks, B."

She dusted her shoulders off. "It's Brittany, bitch."

Quinn texted Santana when she was cleaned up, and was happy to find that she was still in the area. "P, went total dragon-lady, and she forced us to stay late. Did you get started on dinner? Want me to stop somewhere?"

"Actually, I haven't made it back yet. How about we meet up somewhere? Les Zygomates?"

"Maggiano's?" Santana countered quickly.

"Should I be worried about this apparent pasta addiction?" Quinn questioned. "Should I be looking for 12 step programs?"

"I've got two more years before everything I consume goes to my hips. Let me enjoy this."

"Maggiano's it is. How much longer do you think you'll be?"

"I'm leaving right now."

Santana beat her to the restaurant, which nearly cemented the fact that Santana worked somewhere downtown, but that also made something else apparent too. "You lied to me earlier," Quinn accused.

Santana who was going in for a hug, paused. "Umm…what was I lying about?"

"When you said you were at work. It doesn't take 20 minutes to get to the Commons from downtown, and I know the difference between an actual gun firing, and a gun on TV. So where were you when I called?"

Santana gave that hesitant look which meant either what she said was going to be a lie, or a reluctant truth. "I was at the shooting range in Revere."

Quinn wasn't sure how she felt about that. She had grown up around guns; Russell was the kind of man who had owned a few guns because 'no government bulldog was going to trample on his constitutional rights', but she hadn't been around a gun since Russell moved out of her life. "You own a gun?"

"Two. The one I use at the range stays locked up in my locker,"

"And the other one?"

"Is in a hidden compartment under the bed," Santana admitted. "But it's not assembled."

"What's the point of that if you're using it for protection?"

Santana shrugged. "I can put it together in 15 seconds in the dark."

"I…we'll talk about that later. Are you sure you're not a spy?"

Santana stared intensely at her. "What's your definition of spy?…just kidding, babe, I'm not! You weren't wearing that earlier? Where'd you go, the gym?" She leaned in to complete her aborted hug as she asked. Santana pulled back, then very deliberately leaned forward and smelled her hair. "Babe,whydo you smell like…" she sniffed again, "Chocolate pudding?"

Quinn felt embarrassed just thinking about it. "Because all the butterscotch was taken," she mumbled.

"All the…?" Santana sniffed again. "You went and talked to Brittany, didn't you?"

"What…no!" Santana fixed her with a look. Quinn shrank back a little. "How did you know?" she questioned.

Santana tugged on a stray strand of Quinn's hair. "Because June is chocolate pudding day, and July is Bill Cosby's birthday, and butterscotch is her favorite pudding," Santana rolled her eyes. "And I've known Brittany since we were 8 years old, and I know how her mind works. So what happened?"

Quinn ducked her head. "She hasn't been seated yet, for the reception, so I went over to the studio to talk to her."

Their names were called, and they were shown to their seat. "And?" Santana prodded.

"And…we might have gotten into a fight."

Santana didn't do a very good job of hiding hide her smirk. "Yeah? Who won?"

The whole thing was just embarrassing. "She did," she reluctantly admitted. Santana planted her lips on her forehead. "Want me to go kick her ass for you?" Quinn shook her head. She didn't care what Brittany did, Quinn was positive that would never happen. "If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to invite her to the wedding."

"She's your best friend."

"And you're my wife," Santana said simply. "I care more about your feelings than I do about hers."

Quinn was still getting used to this Santana. She didn't imagine that she ever really would. "I don't mind if she comes. Actually…I want her there."

"It must have been some talk," Santana said seriously.

"I just realized that I have nothing to worry about."

Santana picked up Quinn's hand, and rubbed her finger over it. "No you don't," she agreed. "What's your poison for tonight? I'm in the mood for ravioli."

Quinn thought she should be good since she indulged at lunch, so she ordered the Spinach salad, and she and Santana shared the bruschetta appetizer.

After dinner, they were kind of wound up, so they went to a nearby 'lounge' to get their dance on. Two drinks in,Freak me Baby,by Silk, started playing which was carte blanche for the two of them to practically go at it in the middle of the floor. Santana sang the lyrics for Quinn, who had somehow managed to go 29 years of life without having heard the song before. "Let me lick you up and down, till you say stop. Let me play with your body baby, make you real hot. Let me do all the things, you want me to do. 'Cause tonight baby, I want to get freaky with you."

30 seconds into the song, Quinn was surprised to find that Silk wasn't a group of lesbians, and was tempted to command Santana to re-record the song for them to play the next time they had sex. When they got to the middle of the song where the guy started talking, Santana switched to speaking Spanish while she ground into Quinn, and it was probably the single-handedly sexiest thing that Quinn had ever been present for. Quinn was contemplating dragging Santana off into the bathroom for a completely unsophisticated bathroom fuck, when the song ended.

"Babe, I need to take a break if we're not going home now," Santana panted in her ear. "By the way, my panties? Completely soaked right now."

Santana pulled away before Quinn could say anything, and Quinn kind of stumbled over to the bar in a daze. Today, had been a day. A really intense day, but Quinn felt so much lighter. She was sad to know that she had hurt Santana, but she was glad that her secret was out. She felt like there had been a tremendous shift in their relationship, and felt, maybe for the first time that things were going to be okay. She didn't think she was off the hook, and knew she was going to have to do some serious work to regain Santana's trust, but she was feeling like they had moved to a good place. They were going to be okay.

She caught the bartender's eye, and he was making his way over when she felt a hand trail around her lower back, before it wrapped around her waist. Quinn started to lean back into the embrace, when a voice said, "She'll have a black widow. That's your drink, right?"

Quinn tensed instantly, pulling away. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Jenna gave a cocky smile. "Having a good time." Her eyes quickly took Quinn in. "Maybe not as good a time as you, butdamn,you really know how to move, Luce. I bet you'd move even better beneath me."

"Y-you can't be here."

Jenna put a finger to her lips. "And yet, here I am. If I recall correctly, you owe me a dance."

"I don'toweyou anything," Quinn snapped. "And I would appreciate it if you backed off of me, please." Quinn said the last part in her sickeningly sweet tone of voice, a voice that was a trigger warning for anyone who knew her. It was like how a skunk would tilt its tail down before it sprayed, giving you time to back off before it let loose. Quinn was dropping her tail.

Jenna didn't take the warning. "Listen, sweetie, I don't know what's going on with you and your wife, but youdon'twant to work it out with Santana Lopez. If you're going to stray, you need to be with a real woman."

"And that's you?" Quinn jeered. Look, I was only being polite to you the other night."

"Oh, is that what you call it in your world? Beingpolite? Funny, it seemed like you were about to cream in your pants for me. I didn't realize that that reaction was called 'polite'."

Quinn took another step away from her, "Isaid-,"Quinn's threat was cut off by the reemergence of Santana. "What's going on?" she questioned as she took in the scene. Quinn looked from Santana to Jenna.Shit!