Alternate title: Santana and her Horrible, Terrible, No Good Very Bad Day

Santana woke up early feeling, well feeling like she had had lots of angry, wild, sex and then cried herself to sleep afterwards. It was such a different feeling from the other day when she'd burst into tears because she had just had one of the best sexual experiences of her life with the woman who she was going to spend the rest of her life with. No, last night wasn't that kind of sex, and it wasn't that kind of cry. She felt crappy, as one might after experiencing such a night, but better. Better than she had before she went to sleep, anyway. She looked at the bedside clock. It was barely 5:00, but she knew that she was done sleeping for the night.

Quinn stirred when she moved. "San?" she questioned, blinking sleepily. Santana could tell that the night before was weighing heavily on Quinn's mind because normally she didn't wake when Santana did.

Santana kissed her on the forehead. "Go back to sleep, babe."

"Where're you going?"

"Work."

She watched Quinn raise her head to look at the clock. "It's early."

"Yea. I know. I have stuff I have to take care of, and I need an early start on my day."

Quinn squeezed her tightly. "San, I'msosorry."

"We'll talk when you get home from work. Go back to sleep," she said gruffly, but only because of the soreness of her throat.

Santana dressed in her sweatpants, an Under Armour thermal, and her cross-trainers, and borrowed a garment bag from the closet to put her suit in. She gave Quinn one last kiss before she left the apartment, and was on her cell as soon as the door was closed. "Ziggy, can you meet me?" she questioned as soon as her caller answered the phone.

There was a brief pause. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes. Can you?"

There was another pause. "Sure, hon, anything for you."

"Thanks," she said graciously.

While she waited for a cab, she dialed Puck's number knowing he'd be up because he was up at 4:00. "Sup, Flopez?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that that name is lame?"

"You hurt my feelings. It took me like five minutes to come up with that name. Why you up so early?"

"I might have blown up last night, and I guess I have some leftover adrenaline in my system. I'm about to go work it off."

"What'd you do, and don't tell me that you hit Quinn because if you did-,"

"Be real, Puck. I'd never hit her."

"Then what happened?"

Santana almost blurted out her story, but she reconsidered because Puck didn't need to know that Quinn had nearly gone home with someone else. That was between them. "Quinn and I went out dancing the other night, and we ended up running into Jenna at the bar."

"Jenna?"

"Halsey."

"BrigHalsey's daughter?"

"Yeah, her."

There was a low swearing on the other end of the line. "I didn't know you were even still caught up with her."

"That's why I'm calling you, Puck. She put her hands on Quinn…and I kind of lost it. I'm sorry."

When he spoke again, Santana recognized the tone of Puck's voice. If they were near each other, he'd be hugging her. "You've got nothing to be sorry about. I can take care of myself, and if I ever caught Jenna around either of you, I'd flip my shit, too. It's okay, sweetie. I promise."

"I hope so. I'm calling Stef as soon as we got off the phone, and if everything's not okay-,"

"Everything's fine,"

"Then I'll be doing damage control all day."

"If you do, take a buddy. And keep me posted! Love you, Flopez."

"Love you, too, Puck."

No sooner was the call ended than Santana was dialing her next number. Luckily Stef was up and answered almost immediately. "Detective Thiessen."

Santana decided to cut straight to the point. "Stef, was there anything on the radio last night about a disturbance at Thrush Lounge?"

"Santana?"

"Yes."

"Courtside. I want courtside."

"Focus, Stef. Yes, no?"

"Not that I was aware of, but I'll keep an ear open for you as always. You better not forget, Santana, and not on one of those stupid, soft nights at the beginning of the season; I want tickets to a game that counts."

"I don't break promises, and I always get comp tickets. If the Celts happen to make it to the playoffs, I'll have you so close you can smell their sweat. So you haven't heard anything?"

"Nope," he said, popping his p. "But I'll call you the second that I do."

"Thanks, Stef."

"No problem, Santana, but oh, if you decide that you ever want to grace me with Pats and/or Sox tickets you won't hear a complaint coming out of me."

Santana laughed, shaking her head. "Of course I wouldn't. I'll see what I can do."

When she got to the gym it was mostly empty. She walked past all of the machines, and weights, to one of the classrooms. She started spreading the blue mats onto the floor. She had her back to the door, and wasn't really paying attention, when she felt an arm go around her neck, the crook of their arm squeezing around the meat of her neck, cutting off her bloodline. Instead of panicking and putting her hands up to grab the arm that was around her, she shifted her hips so that they were behind her attacker's hips, drove the back of her arm into his chest, and he went flying backwards over her hip. She was quick, but not quick enough to move before her legs were swept out from beneath her. A hand went around the front of her neck this time, cutting off her airway. She countered by pressing two fingers to the trachea, and aiming a kick to the groin as she had ascertained that her attacker was male.

Unfortunately, he was also wearing a cup, but Santana still managed to roll away, getting to her feet. Her attacker managed to do so seconds before she did. A straight punch was aimed at her face. She blocked the punch, grabbed the arm, and attempted to flip him, but he anticipated the move, and locked his legs so she couldn't gain the leverage. Her arm was caught, and twisted behind her back, sending a shooting pain through her body which momentarily distracted her, and impaired her rebound speed. She shifted her center of gravity, grabbed his hand above the wrist, and swept his legs out from beneath him, finishing off with a strong punch to the center of the chest.

"That was sloppy, Santana," she was informed, as her instructor, Ziggy got to his feet. "You let me get your feet."

"I wasn't prepared."

"Do you think that if someone were coming at you to do you harm that they are going to wait until you're ready to come after you?"

"No."

"Then it's safe to say you never will be. Again!"

Santana fought with a vengeance for the next half hour. Ziggy, recognizing her mood, didn't go light on her, and Santana added some bruises to her already bruised body, managing to dish out a couple of her own. She wanted reassurance. She knew she could fight, she knew she could fight her way out of most situations; she wanted reassurance that she didn't need a weapon to protect herself. But last night she hadn't wanted to protect herself from Jenna, she'd actually thought about killing her. When she had sized her up, she wasn't looking for weak spots, she was looking for kill spots. That was not a good feeling. The last thing Santana ever wanted to do was kill someone, and yet…she'd come really, really close. The only one who knew how close she'd been was Bryne.

After another take down, Ziggy went over to his bag and pulled out two bottles of water, handing one to Santana. "Want to talk about it?" he questioned, knowingly.

Santana looked embarrassed as she accepted the water from him. "I may have had some rage," she admitted. "I almost killed a woman."

Ziggy paused. "Just some random woman on the street?" he questioned curiously.

"No. I ran into Jenna at Thrush last night."

He twisted the cap off of his bottle. "And what happened?"

Santana related the story from last night, mentioning the strain between her and Quinn, but leaving out the part about Quinn and Jenna knowing each other prior. She stopped after she got to the part about falling to her knees and reciting a Hail Mary. "I almost stabbed her with a beer bottle." She still couldn't believe that she'd let herself get so out of control. She should have left when Quinn suggested it.

"But you didn't," he pointed out.

"But I could have. And for no other reason than she insulted my wife. Like who does that?" She stared down at her hands as if she wanted to get rid of them. "Norma people don't."

He gave her his silent appraisal, and shrugged in his laid back way. "Nations have gone to war for less, and it wasn'tjustbecause she insulted your wife. We both know that. If I insulted Quinn, how would you react? Or if your boss did? Or some grungy jerk off in a bar?" Santana bit down on her lip. "You would have responded like a normal person, because functional adults know there are consequences for actions, and they understand that the only fight you win is the one you don't get into.

"In a normal situation, you react like any normal person. Jenna, however, puts you in a high stress situation. She exacerbated your PTSD, and coupled with the powerlessness you must feel whenever you're around her it was a lethal combination. You are not a killer, Santana. You are a protector. You perceived Jenna to be a clear threat to your wife, and you acted on your instincts. You didn't attack her, either. You calmed yourself down, you found a way to relieve your rage so that it was manageable, and you got out of the situation."

"Ididn't. I had help."

"We all get help in life. That you needed it doesn't make you any weaker. No one does this life thing on their own. You'renota killer. You have been taught how to kill if you need to, but that doesn't make you a killer, Santana."

Santana looked up from her hands. "I hate feeling powerless."

"You are not powerless. People have only the power that we give them. Including ourselves."

"Well then I hate that I've given so much of it to Jenna."

"To that end I say, part of living life is understanding that there are some things that are simply out of our control. For those things, crumble them up and just let them go. Jenna is one of those things."

Santana looked over at Ziggy. "You smoked a joint before you got here, didn't you?"

"The earth provides us with all the essential tools we need in order to survive," he said philosophically. "Who am I to deny a gift?"

"You know, Zig, if I weren't married, and had a job, and wasn't 28, I would totally roll one with you right now, cause I could definitely use some calm. Imagine how easy this whole marriage thing would be if I was baked all the time. I keep waiting for Boston to get on the bandwagon with this whole legalization thing, but they keep dragging their feet." Ziggy laughed.

They worked out for another20 minutes, did a circuit around the gym, and went for a run before Santana hit the showers because she had to be at work by 7:00. It was one of her early days. The inner peace she felt moments before, though, was instantly negated as soon as she hit the fresh air, and remembered the current state of her world. She texted Quinn a good morning text, because even though she didn't really want to talk to her right now, she didn't want Quinn to think that she didn't still care about her. She got an answering text almost immediately:Good Morning. See you when I get home?

Texts didn't carry emotion, but Quinn sounded anxious in hers. Santana thought about calling her, or trying to ease that fear in a text, but didn't know what to say to do that, so she just texted backYes.

Santana left the gym in enough time to stop by Dunkin' before she crossed Tremont and clocked in. Paulianne was there because Paulianne was always there, lurking around corners, and peeking out of closed doors (unless it was the weekend because although she could order her minions to work, she didn't). Paulianne was a woman in her late forties, who had blue eyes, a round, chubby face, and hair that was that color between brown, red, and blonde, that had probably been a solid color back when she was Santana's age, but had since become mottled. On principal she didn't like anyone under the age of 30 because she thought that today's youth was seriously lacking in, well, everything.

She was actually Santana's boss's boss, but she was one of those women who just didn't know how to delegate, which made her especially annoyed that Santana needed very little direction. Even when she was fresh out of grad school, Santana seemed annoyingly adept at her job. This, of course, made her scrutinize Santana's work more than anyone else in her department. They currently had this hate-love relationship where they both didn't like each other, but Paulianne could never actually seem to find fault with Santana's work (even when she publicly found fault with it).

When Santana sat down at her desk, Paulianne strolled over. Santana felt an odd sense of foreboding when she seemed to be studying the objects on her desk. She pointed at one of her pictures of Quinn. "This your wife?" Paulianne asked, picking up the picture. Santana nodded. She had updated the pictures on her desk to add one of the ones that had been taken of the both of them when they were on their date. "What's her name?"

"Quinn," Santana responded.

"Pretty girl," Paulianne said, in a semi-dismissive manner. "So, great news: you're sample was approved, which means that production moves forward, which unfortunately means that I'm going to have to cancel your vacation request."

Santana bit down on the corner of her lip. "How is that great news?"

"Because that's great news for the team, which makes it great news for your job. Everyone benefits!"

Santana decided to play dumb. "But I've already got the okay. I have a reservation. Plane tickets."

"I'm sorry, Santana. It seems you're just too valuable not to have on hand this close to us going live."

She missed the times when she could just command something and the world trembled at her footsteps. "It's my honeymoon, Mrs. Greer."

"And for that I am incredibly sorry, however I admire your dedication to your job and this company. I would like to remind you, too, that you knew that there was a possibility that the request wouldn't go through. You knew this before you were hired."

"I understand that, however, right now we are at a point in the project that I can do the work from home-,"

"Which is precisely why I feel comfortable sending you out to do invaluable marketing and demographic analysis because I know that we can reach you for questions, should any arise." Santana had already gotten the idea that this conversation had not been random, and now she had her proof.

"Demographicanalysis," Santana repeated. "And where will I be collecting that data? Let me guess: Arizona?"

"And New Mexico, Nevada, Texas. You get the idea. See you are a smart, smart girl."

Santana sat stiffly in her chair. "Mrs. George, let me ask: what doyoupossibly get out of this arrangement?"

"Great PR," Paulianne responded, as if the answer was rehearsed. "Plus it saves me having to send a team out, which leaves more money in the budget for advertising. I'll have Lederrick get you a list of the places I need you to visit. And look at it this way: you'll be getting travel pay for your effortsandyou get to keep your vacation time."

I just don't get to go on a freaking honeymoon with my wife. Paulianne sat the picture of her and Quinn back down. "She really is a pretty girl. Congratulations."

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"Why don't you take off an hour early," Paulianne added as she sauntered off in a very Santana way. Santana looked down at the picture of them. She was beginning to think that her marriage was just flat out cursed.

Around the time that Santana was contemplating lunch, her phone rang. She sighed when she saw the caller: Hazel. At the sight of the name Santana decided to give up, it was just going to be one of those days. Scratch that, weeks. "Hello, Hazel. How are you?"

"So lonely I want to blow my brains out sometimes. It's been over two months. Why don't you ever come around to see me anymore?"

Santana scrubbed at her face, she seriously needed some aspirin. "I've kind of been busy lately."

"I need to talk. Can you come over tonight?"

"Why is everything in the world coming down on me at right this instant?"

Santana didn't realize she had said the words out loud until she heard Hazel question, "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just having a really, really bad day, and it seems like the longer it lasts, the worst it gets."

"Gee thanks, Santana."

"I'm sorry, it's just you have really bad timing, Hazel. I'm kind of in hot water right now as it is. How about Sunday?" she offered generously. "We can drive to the Vineyard, spend the whole day together."

"I work on Sunday."

She got an alert letting her know another call was coming in. She checked the caller and nearly cursed. Seriously! She needed a goddamn break. "Okay, fine Hazel. I'll be over tonight. But I can only stay for a few hours. I've got another call, see you then!"

She hung up on one aggravation, only to be hit with another. "Hello?" she demanded tersely.

"Your tickets, itinerary, and project plan will be delivered to your office by courier this afternoon. They'll need to be signed for."

"It's my honeymoon," Santana repeated feebly.

"1:00," was merely the answering reply on the phone.

The phone went dead in her ear. No Cabo. No tiny red bikini that Quinn would rip off of her body, preferably with her teeth. No reconnecting to each other with the rest of the world out of the way, and maybe settling some things between them. The only non-sucky thing was that they'd still have three days together after the reception before she had to high tail it to Arizona for God knows what reason. Even the idea that Bryne would be there, too, offered very little consolation.

She texted Bryne to let her know that yes, she would be in Arizona with her, and to see if it would be in any way possible to find a baby sitter in Phoenix. She called Quinn to let her know that she would be pretty late coming home, and she felt even worse at the sound of disappointment in Quinn's voice. "Well do you want to at least do lunch?" she questioned.

"I'm on lunch now, and it's almost over. Rain check?"

There was a very short, "Sure," and then she hung up. Santana could tell that Quinn thought that she was avoiding her, and in a way she was, but it wasn't punitive. Santana wasn't trying to punish Quinn, she just had a whole shit-ton of emotions to process, and her day wasn't going to allow her to do so.

Santana's day got a little easier after she got back from lunch. Work became a non-issue for the rest of the day, and she was signed off of her desk and out the door at exactly 3:00. As soon as she was away from the office, she headed to her favorite place to go whenever she had a major blow or she hit her threshold for sad: Boston Children's Hospital. At the sound of excited voices, she felt herself relax a little. She smiled one of her first smiles of the day at seeing some familiar faces, and was reminded that she would be in the presence of one of her favorite little dudes of all time, very soon. She got her badge from security, and was swarmed as soon as she hit the rec room.

She enjoyed when she read at the library, but when she did it at the Children's Hospital it came with a special added sense of fulfilment. Here were the most vulnerable members of society, scared or hurt in some way, and yet she was always met with smiles when she came. They greeted her with laughter, and they fought over who got to sit closest to her, and if she choose them to read out loud, they acted like it was Christmas come early.

She spent an hour at the Hospital, and felt so much better when she left that she almost forgot that she was having a bit of a rough go at it lately. She clocked out of work via her phone, and was whistling as she got in her car, and headed towards Vons since Quinn wasn't with her and she was therefore not obligated to do her shopping at Trader Joes. She was looking forward to seeing Hazel, and things were bound to get better; she couldn't really see them getting worse.

At Vons she watched a mother with her kid for maybe 10 minutes, before she realized that she was being creepy, and just kind of made an educated guess as she loaded up her shopping cart. For dinner tonight for Quinn, she got Brussel sprouts, and the ingredients for a broccoli/carrot casserole that Rachel used to make, which was quick and easy to cook, and didn't taste half bad. The Vons florist had calla lilies so she got one of those, too, which saved her a trip of having to go to an actual florist on the way home. When she got to her apartment, she left the lily sitting prominently beside the plate of food she left, along with a note that said,See you when I get home. San.

It was 6:03 when she stopped outside of Hazel's apartment complex on the south side of Framington. She texted Hazel that she was here, just so she wouldn't freak out, before she unlocked the door with her key. At the sound of the door opening, a curly mass of black hair poked its head up over the back of the couch, followed by a pair of dark brown eyes that were set in a very pretty, olive skinned face. The eyes lit up in excitement at the sight of Santana, and she was nearly toppled by the force of the four-year old's hug.

"Mama!" he shouted happily, as if the mere sight of Santana made everything in the world okay. He danced around her until she reached down to pick him up, planting two kisses on each cheek. "Hey buddy."

"I missed you terribly!" he said in his humorously exacting speech. "Where have you been?"

She gave him a tight hug. "I missed you, baby. Where's mommy?"

Hazel appeared at the head of the hallway. She leaned against the wall, and smiled at the sight of Phil holding Santana around her neck. "You guys always look so cute together," she said.

Santana found herself smiling more at Phil than anything else. "That's cause he's my little man."

"I'm not little," he protested.

Santana gave him an exaggerated look. "You're not?"

"No! I'm a big man."

"Okay, big man. Have you been good for mommy?"

He nodded solemnly, and Santana knew it had to be true because Phil couldn't lie to save his life. Considering the situation, that wasn't necessarily a good thing. She gave him another kiss on the cheek, before turning her face to Hazel. "I got groceries. They're in the car."

"Can I help bring them in?" Phil questioned almost immediately. "Can we play a game, did you bring a book, what're you going to cook, can I help?"

Santana fixed a look on Hazel who was now staring at anything but Santana. "You haven't cooked yet?" she questioned with a quirked brow. She walked over to the refrigerator, opened it and saw that it was almost completely empty.

"Things have been tight," Hazel said in response. Santana ground her teeth together, because she knew that she'd given her money for groceries, but she decided to let it go, instead turning to Phil and giving him a smile. "Yes, yes, yes, mac n'cheese and sausages, yes, and guess what?"

"What!" he questioned eagerly.

"I got you spider man fruit snacks!"

If possible his eyes lit up even more. "Really?"

"Yep." Phil peppered her cheeks with kisses as she carried him down the stairs. Hazel followed doggedly behind the two of them. It took nearly 15 minutes to do a task that should have otherwise taken five, but it was worth it to watch Phil do his damnedest to carry a heavy bag up the stairs. When they finished with all of the bags, Santana gave him a packet of the fruit snacks so he wouldn't be tempted to 'help' put away the groceries. Hazel just hung back, watching.

"You know, I figured you called me over because you wanted to talk," Santana said, uncomfortable with Hazel's silence.

"I just needed some company," Hazel responded. "I've been feeling lonely. I don't know anyone out here."

"What was wrong with Colorado?"

"Colorado never felt like home."

"But you could have branched out there. Start over. Make friends."

"I don't even know who I am. How am I supposed to make friends?"

Santana didn't know what response to give. She moved a chair over to the counter so Phil could stand on it. "Do you remember how mama showed you how to hold a knife?" she questioned.

He nodded. "Yep!"

"And how do you hold your hand?"

He held up a little fist. "Like this!" he giggled. "So no fingers are out!"

"That's right! Before we start cutting the sausages first we should put the pot on to boil."

"Can I do it?"

"No, I think I should, but you can turn on the stove for me if you tell me the two things you should always remember before you touch the stove?"

His face scrunched up, deep in thought. "Always be careful,"

"And?"

"Never do this unless you're around." He pulled back. "Not even with mommy?"

Santana looked over at Hazel. "No, not even with mommy."

Phil sucked in one of his lips. "She never cooks with me anyway."

"That's because I worry," Hazel said quickly. "Do you really think it's a good idea to be teaching him that?"

Santana looked surprised as she sat the pot on the stove to boil. "He'll be five in two months. How old do you think he needs to be?"

"I don't want to get him hurt."

"That's why youteachthem how to be careful. I used to cook with my abuela when I was three years old, and nothing bad ever happened, but if you coddle him, he's never going to grow up."

"It's easy to dish out advice when you're not the one that's actually here with him."

She opened her mouth to say something in response, when Phil cut her off. "You guys, don't fight. We're havingfun."

Santana's mouth immediately snapped closed. Conversation stayed light and superficial while she and Phil made dinner, and Hazel kind of hovered in the background. After dinner they curled up together on the couch, and when Hazel left the room she showed Phil the disposable phone she'd brought.

"Is this for me?" he questioned.

Santana nodded. "Yep. Just for you. Mommy has her own, but I wanted you to have one, too, to call me in an emergency. To call on this phone all you have to do is dial is #1 for me or #2 for Stef. If you have to use the phone on the wall, you have to actually dial our numbers. Easy right?" Phil nodded. "What's my number?" Santana quizzed.

"567 555 2348," he sang. Santana had taught him to sing it so that it would be easier to remember.

"And the number you call for an emergency?"

"617 555 8107."

"And what do you say if you call that number?"

"There's a fire, Stef." He scratched his head. "What if there's not a fire."

"No matter what, if you call that number you say, 'there's a fire Stef'. Do you understand?" He nodded. "This phone is for emergencies only. Do you remember what I said an emergency is?" he nodded again. "What's an emergency?"

"If something happens to mommy, if something happens to me, if someone comes into the house uninvited, if there's a fire, or if I hear someone call mommy Gloria or Glory," he recited from memory. "Mama, what's a Gloria?"

"As far as you're concerned, it's a very, very bad word that means you need to call me. Okay?" He nodded.

"What's not an emergency?"

"Calling my mama when I miss her and want to talk to her."

"Exactly, though your mama misses you and wants to talk to you always. You know that right?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yep."

"And that I love you?"

"Yep!"

"Who's my big man?"

"Me!" Santana tickled him, until he was gasping for breath. "Mama?"

"Yes, big man?"

"Will you spend the night with me, tonight?" He gave her a hopeful look that she hated to say no to.

"I can't. I have to go home and spend the night with my wife."

"Can I come with you, then?"

She pulled him onto her lap. "If you do that then who's going to stay here to protect your mommy?"

He frowned. "Why can'tyoudo it?"

"I am," Santana explained. "But I protect her from the outside, and you protect her from the inside."

He considered her words. "Can'tyouprotect her from the insideandthe outside?" he questioned with typical four year old logic.

"I thought we were a team. Like Batman and Robin."

He grabbed her face and pulled her toward him. "We are…but I miss you, and I want you here always."

"I miss you, too, buddy, but you've got mommy to take care of you when I'm not here, and I can't be here all the time because I have to protect my wife."

"Cause you love her?" Santana nodded. "Does that mean you don't love me?"

"Of course I love you! You're my Philly, silly."

"How come you don't come over to see me anymore?"

"Because I have to do adult things. I have a job, and sometimes I run around and save the world, and I have to watch over my wife because if I don't protect her, who will?"

He had an answer ready. "The police?" Santana kissed him because it was the best answer she could give the boy. "Do you love mommy, too?"

"Of course I love her! She's my friend. That's why I protect her."

He seemed to be thinking through things. He put his bargaining face on. "If you can't stay for the night, can you stay for half the night?"

"How about if I read to you until you go to sleep?"

"Okay!" he agreed readily. "Can I pick the book?"

"Actually, I brought a very special new book for us to read. It's calledThe Tiger Prince."

"I like tigers!"

Santana smiled. "I know. Go change into your PJs and then I'll be in to read it to you."

He hopped up to obey. While he was doing that, she found containers to put the leftovers in, and cleaned up the kitchen, sure that if she didn't the next time that she came over, she'd still find bits of cheese sauce on the back wall. When she went into his bedroom, Phil was dressed in his dinosaur pajamas that were a foot too little. He was bouncing on the bed, but when Santana came into the room he immediately stopped.

"I can't read to you if you're not under the covers," she instructed. She sat down beside him, resting against the headboard, and he cuddled up beside her. Santana just sat there for a minute, enjoying the moment, before she opened the book that she brought with her. It was the same one from the hospital. "The Tiger Princeby Arnold Dupree."

For about half of the book, Phil helped her read, saying the words he recognized, and roaring along when it called for it, but fatigue soon caught up with the boy and soon he was doing more yawning than giving sound effects. Santana thought that she was going to have to go through a handful of books before he fell asleep, but he was out by the time she finished the first one. She watched him for probably five minutes before she carefully extracted herself from the bed and went searching for Hazel.

She found her in front of the TV. Santana joined her on the couch. "He's asleep," she informed her.

"Thank you," Hazel said sincerely. "For coming over, and the groceries…"

Santana nodded. Hazel continued to look at her expectantly. Of course.

Santana pulled out her wallet and handed her a pre-paid debit card. "There's a $1,000 dollars on that. I put it on there today." Hazel turned the plastic over in her hands. "No cash?" she complained. "I could really use some cash, Santana."

"No cash. This way I'll know that the money's only going to stuff that you need."

"I'm not on anything."

"There was no food in the fridge," she reminded her. "What if I hadn't come over?"

"I told you, things have been kind of tight."

"Food comes first, and then everything else. Your rent didn't go up, gas hasn't gone up, the price of food hasn't gone up, you shouldn't have a problem if you're not spending the money on things that you shouldn't be buying. And why don't his pajamas fit?"

"Because he hit a growth spurt. He's a kid; that happens, and he really likes those pajamas. He didn't want me to throw them out when I tried. I'm doing the best I can, here, and I don't need you riding my ass about it. You're not my mother!"

Santana was about to make a retort, and paused. "You're right. I'm not." The last thing she needed was a pseudo-relationship that aggravated her as much as her real marriage. After all, she had a wife to get into fights with. "I'm sorry. You're doing a really good job. Phil seems to be happy. He speaks really well, he's always polite, and I'm not around so I don't have any right to say anything."

Hazel looked appreciative of the words. "Thank you for admitting that. Sometimes it seems that you only drop in long enough to drop a criticism. I'm all alone."

"I get that. I'm sorry. It's okay if he wants to call me sometimes," Santana said. "Just because I can't make it out to see you guys, doesn't mean that I don't want to talk."

"I'll keep that in mind. He'll like that." Santana thought she would to. Hazel pointed the remote at the TV. "Want to watch something with me?" She had that same hopeful face that Phil had when he asked a similar question.

"I can't. It's already late, and it's a half hour drive back to the city. I need to get home to Quinn. I haven't seen her all day, and we're…going through something right now."

"I really thought you'd stay longer," she protested, and it was very close to a whine.

"I told you I only had a few hours."

"I know, I just want some company sometimes. It gets solonely. If I'm not at work, I'm hanging out with a four year old. I miss my life, I miss my friends. You're pretty much all I have now, and I haven't seen you in more than two months." Santana sighed, because this was a lot more trouble than she thought it would be, and because she was tired of feeling like she was doing something wrongallthe time.

"I'm sorry that you're lonely," Santana said sincerely. "Honestly, I am."

She didn't let her continue, "And then the conversations that I do have mostly consist of 'when's mama going to come over'."

"I live with someone now, Hazel. I don't have the kind of time that I used to have anymore. You knew eventually that this was going to happen, and maybe it would be better for everyone involved if Idon'tcome around so much anymore. He's young enough to forget about me."

"Do you really think he's going to forget about you? You are written on every part of who he is. He adores you."

"Once you start dating someone-"

"It's been five years! No one wants a woman with a kid. No one wants abrokewoman with a kid, not to mention that I would doubt and second guess every single one of their motives, and actions, and where am I supposed to meet them? Boston's off limits, right?"

"What about online dating?" Santana questioned. She honestly wasn't being flippant. "Everyone seems like they meet someone online nowadays."

"I can't do this alone!" Hazel's outburst was more along the lines of Ms. Pillsbury, than an actual blowup. "I'm not one of those people who can go through this by myself. I need some help!"

"I help out every month."

"Withhim! You know he asks about youeveryday. He wants to know if you're going to come over, he wants to know if you think about him, he wants to know if you still love him."

"Of course I still love him; I just can't be here like I've been."

"You explain that to a four year old! You tell him that! You look in his face when he's crying and tell him sometimes mamas don't love their little boys."

"That is a fucking real low blow, Hazel, and that's flat out not fair. One of these days you're going to pack up and move off somewhere, and you'll end up making a family with someone, and I won't have any say in what you do, or where you go; the only thing I'll get to say is good-bye."

"I would never do that to you or him." That was a lie. Not because Hazel didn't mean it, but because if the situation arose, she would. "All I'm asking for is that you find just a little bit of time to be with him. Like you promised." Santana wanted to scream because this shouldn't have even been her battle, but she also knew it wasn't one she could walk away from either. "He loves you Santana, and other than me you're all that he has. You're his family."

She heaved a sigh. "What time?"

"What time what?"

"What time do you work on Sunday?"

"10 to 8."

"I'll watch him for you while you're at work." The sentence was hardly spoken before Hazel was dashing into her arms. She kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you!" Santana nodded, not knowing what else to say.