Quinn smelled coffee, and woke to the sound of Santana cursing in the kitchen, followed quickly by the sound of something falling against the counter. Quinn walked in to find a mess in the kitchen, and Santana washing her hand underneath the faucet, a slight pained expression on her wife's face. "Did you burn yourself?" Quinn questioned, rushing over to Santana's side to inspect the hand.

Santana held still as Quinn examined her. "It's not like, burned, burned just 'oh shit, that's hot' burned."

Quinn decided that it would be alright, and satisfied that it wasn't anything serious, she kissed her hand. "There, all better."

Santana smiled, flexing the hand. "Yep, good as new."

With the 'crisis' managed, Quinn became aware of the state of the kitchen. "What's with," and she gestured.

Santana, too, seemed to take in her surroundings. "I was trying to make eggs benedict," she explained with a pout, staring with confusion at the mess on the counters. "I was making the hollandaise sauce, and was so concentrated on that, that I burnt the bacon, and I ended up knocking the bowl over when I realized that, and I stupidly reached for the pan, and well..." Santana raised the hand she'd soaked underneath the faucet.

Quinn tugged gently on Santana's pulled back hair. "You burnt the bacon?" she growled.

Santana gave an appraisal of her wife's face. "Figures that's all you heard."

Quinn smirked, and kissed her hand again before she kissed her on the lips. "Would you expect any less from me?" she questioned rhetorically.

"Not really, but now I've got to start all over again, and you're up so you won't be surprised."

Arms wrapped around Santana's waist. Quinn planted a kiss at the top of her spine before resting her head against Santana's shoulder. "No you don't, San. I'll eat whatever you cooked. And you don't actually have to cook for me every other Saturday." Quinn thought it was nice, and sweet, but she didn't want Santana to feel as if it was something shehadto do. "I'm not going to hold you to that."

Santana proudly puffed out her chest. "I hold myself to it," she said in response. "Just like when we get our own place, I'm giving you full access to the driveway. When a Lopez makes a promise, she sticks to it."

"Fabray-Lopez," Quinn reminded her.

Santana smiled, and leaned in to the kiss. "Fabray-Lopez," she repeated. They would have started making out like two teenagers right then, but Santana seemed to be focused on trying to rescue whatever she could from the elaborate meal she'd been preparing, so the kiss was cut short. "But that brings up a point," she said, giving the sauce a quick stir. "When're you going to drop the charade and like drop theFabray?"

Quinn pretended to think about it. "Umm…never."

"Come on, it's just a formality! We both know eventually you're going to drop it, and it's otherwise hella long to always say Fabray-Lopez. I swear I didn't get an office invite to Manpreets Ayali's baby shower because our names are so long!"

"Quit pretending. I know you secretly always wanted to be a part of the distinguished Fabrays."

"Wrong preposition there, babe. I've secretly always wanted to beina Fabray," she replied. "Not of them."

Quinn nuzzled the back of Santana' neck, stroking the soft skin on the front. "Oh, you want to be in a Fabray, huh?"

Santana gave a little helpless nod. "In, on, around."

"Did you ever have a fantasy about me when we were in high school?" Quinn questioned curiously.

"Are you kidding? Who didn't? You're Quinn freaking Fabray."

Quinn's curiosity was piqued. "When?"

Santana rolled her eyes at Quinn wanting her ego stroked. "When did I not, babe? We were cheerleaders, and wore those extremely, short skirts." She tapped Quinn on the nose. "And don't think I missed you checking me out back then, either. I'm surprised no one else caught you looking at my ass back in Chasity Club.It's all about the teasing-"

"And not about the pleasing," she finished without even thinking about it. Quinn thought about her checking out Santana's ass while she twirled around in her skirt, and found her hands moving to cup her ass because she could have as much of it now as she wanted, and she couldn't imagine ever having enough of Santana.

"Erm…babe?" Santana wiggled in her arms. "What's up?"

"I married Santana Lopez," Quinn said in shock.

A curious looked passed on Santana's face. "Yea, kind of old news. It's been more than two months."

She took a step back. "No, give me a moment. I just realized that I married Santana Lopez. Like we're married, you and me, right now." Somehow that fact had never exactly settled on her. Yes, she had thought about the fact that she had randomly married the woman she'd been sleeping with for nine years, but somehow that woman she'd been sleeping with hadn't translated in her mind to being that same girl from high school.

"And people believe you're a genius," Santana deadpanned. "Who'd you think you married? Rachel Berry?"

Quinn cleared her throat. "What I mean is, you're that girl that I had sleepovers with, and we used to paint our nails, and plan out our dream wedding, and oh who was it that you claimed you were going to marry?"

"Victor Garber."

"Victor Garber," Quinn said in tandem. "That should have been a dead giveaway that you were swinging for the other team right there."

Santana pretended to be offended. "What? He's handsome and sweet."

"And old enough to be your dad's uncle. And also, gay. And your obsession with Angela Basset? Gay."

"I was admiring her arms!" Santana protested. "She's got serious man arms, but she's still so feminine! Those arms were like a work of art."

"But you're that girl," Quinn went on, back to the thought that triggered this conversation. The thought that was so unbelievable, it never really occurred to her before. "You're the one I used to fight with, and fight against. You're the one who held me at Prom so I could stand on my feet, and whose boyfriend I slept with and got pregnant by, and the one who I was constantly fighting for top position against."

"Which I remind you, you only get because I like the view."

Quinn's features took on a certain cockiness. "Imarried Santana Lopez."

Santana laughed. "Yea, you did," she agreed. "And as such, you need to get on the full privilege of marrying me, and actually take my name." Santana pressed her hand to her chest, a vision of concern. "It's not an ego thing, I'm just thinking about everyone else in our lives, you know? 'Sides, in our society names get passed down through the male side, neither of us is male, no, but we agreed that I'm like the butchest of us all."

"I don't recall ever agreeing to that!"

"I sleep on the left side of the bed! That's the protector's spot!"

"At your place. Here you sleep on the right."

"I did my taxes last year." Quinn started to cut her off, but Santana added, "Alone," before Quinn could offer protest that she did her taxes ever year. She had her on that one; Quinn had never done her taxes for herself. But wait, what did taxes have to do with manliness? Taking care of finances was typically the woman's realm.

"You cried during Bambi!"

Santana gasped. "Oh that's just low, Flopez! You know my kitten just died. And it was allergy season!"

"Oh, yeah, sure!"

"You watchedFriends."

"Guys watch friends."

"No they don't. No seriously, they really don't. Unless they're gay. And anyways, I'm a superhero, which means I win because all the great super heroes are guys. Superman, Batman."

"Batman's not a superhero. He's a citizen with money, that doesn't make himsuper.And what about Wonder Woman? Xena?"

"Xena wasn't a superhero."

"She totally is. The Black Widow? Colleen Wing and Misty Knight?"

"Oh please!" Santana eyed what she had on the stove before turning to look at Quinn. "They are just female versions of male superheroes." She gave Quinn a teasing kiss. "And the fact that you even know who those people are is so fucking hot babe."

Quinn's hands slipped beneath Santana's wife beater. "I love how you just admitted that you were a superhero."

Santana gave a cocky shrug. "Well, some might consider me to be. Especially in bed. I'm like Sex-cessor." Her voice adopted an announcer's tone. "Usurping thrones, and saving the world, one orgasm at a time."

Quinn gave Santana's breast a teasing, but hard, twist. "I better be the only one that's getting those orgasms," Quinn said, knocking her hip into Santana's.

"Ow, watch it, babe, it's a hot stove, and yes, yes you are. But you got to admit, we do a lot of saving."

Quinn grinned, blushing. Santana turned the stove off. She did her best to reconstruct the meal with what she had, and Quinn pretended that it was perfect, because really, when you got down to it, it was. And if the bacon was a little hard, or the sauce a little rubbery, she couldn't really say she noticed.

"Add lots of prep space in the kitchen to our hardwood floors on our sex spaces," Santana said in between bites of food. Quinn must have frowned because Santana explained, "In our place?" Quinn was nearly embarrassed at how much she like hearing those two words together. "Because if you're going to be cooking five star meals for me, you're going to need a top notch kitchen."

"I've been thinking-,"

"Uh oh," Santana said, scooping up some Hollandaise sauce that was trying to escape, "we both know how bad a thing that is!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "When are we going to start looking for our place?"

Santana paused, looking up from her food. She looked confused. "Too soon."

Thinking that Santana meant that it was too soon to consider moving in together, Quinn quickly backtracked. "Well, I just thought that…you brought it up so…but I guess-,"

"I meant," Santana said sharply, cutting through Quinn's rambling, "it's too soon to start looking for a place. We can talk about it, if you like, but there's no point in looking because then we're just going to find something that we really like, and it won't still be for sale when we're ready to buy, and that would just be sad, and disappointing."

Quinn worked her way through Santana's statements. "Why…I'm confused. Youwantto move in together?"

"Yes," she said emphatically.

"But youdon'twant to move in right now?"

"We can't move in together right now," Santana stated. She paused, realizing where the confusion was, and then frowned. "Wow," she whispered softly. "Okay, so complete breakdown in communication, here. I just realized that we haven't had this conversation before because you didn'twantto move in together." There was both surprise and hurt evident in her voice as she spoke, and Quinn had trouble placing it.

"Youwanted to move in together before now?"

"Well, yeah. I wouldn't have minded getting a place together as soon as you said yes to getting married," Santana surprisingly said.

This was honestly news to Quinn who figured that Santana wanted to keep her own place for the sake of having a getaway, even if they didn't sleep apart (except for those two days that no one's counting). "You never even mentioned it, though, so I thought-."

"I told you I would give you the garage, ergo that heavily implies that you and I would, at some point, be moving in together."

"Yes, but I thought the reason we haven't had this conversation was because you didn't want to. We talked about everything else, but you didn't even talk about this…other than the garage thing." Quinn couldn't figure out what had been said to make Santana look so hurt.

"Yeah because I thought the only reason we hadn't gone looking for a place yet was because we were just being practical, adult. I have another two months left on my lease, and you have another six."

Quinn's jaw nearly dropped at how rational Santana sounded. "Seriously that's whyyou never brought it up?"

Santana frowned, nodding. "Why'd you think?"

"I thought it was about keeping your distance."

"Quinn, babe, although your apartment screamsA single Wasp in Suffolk County, and you snore, I don't hate that enough to not want to move in with you. I just don't want to have to shell out the money to buy out my lease, and I don't want to pay for an apartment I never use." She shrugged. "I assumed the same was true for you."

Quinn appraised the dejected looked that coated her wife's features. She found her hand reaching forward to comfort her. "I thought it was because you were just playing around, San. I'm sorry. Wereallyneed to learn to start communicating better with each other, huh?"

Santana snorted. "Why? It's obvious we're doing such a fantastic job without talking." Santana moodily took a bite of her English muffin.

"We're talking now," Quinn pointed out. "So when your lease is up in two months, you're going to move in with me?"

"No, I am temporarily taking residence at your place until we find one of our own, but I'm not moving in with you. When you move into your girlfriend's or wife's apartment, you're moving into their space, and no matter how much time passes, it's stilltheirs."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"Not mine, but yes."

Quinn corrected her earlier statement. "So, you're 'temporarily taking up residence' in my place, and in six months we'll start looking for our place?"

"Or I could just extend my contract until February when yours expires if you want to keep your play space."

"Don't be stupid, Santana, and don't be petty over something that we never mentioned."

Santana's pout lasted a few more seconds before she went back to eating. Things seemed to be settling back into a lull again when Quinn questioned absently, "So how do you know how much time I have left on my lease?" Despite slowly learning to not be surprised by anything that Santana said or did, she couldn't help but be surprised by the things that Santana said and did.

"I've said this once, I'll say it again. We've known each other for fourteen years, Quinn, and have been having sex for nine. I have a mind like a vice. There is little I don't know about you. I know what undies you prefer, I know what shampoo you use and why you change it when you do, I know how to make you orgasm in like 33 seconds flat, and yet you're really surprised that I know when you move in? Hell, I know whatpositionwe were in when we were having move-in sex."

"But yet you routinely forget to take out the trash."

Santana waved the words away. "Minor details."

Quinn's eyebrow rose, with a look on her face that was midway between horny face and morbid curiosity. "What positionwerewe in?"

Santana's tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She looked around the room and settling on the counter, walked over to it. She opened one of the bottom drawers. "It was kind of weird. I was normal, but you were kind of sprawled, like this." She kicked her leg up to balance on the drawer, and spread the other one as far as she could. "I had the strap on, and you were leaning on some boxes, with your foot cocked up on one of them, because your sofa still had plastic on it, and you complained about the noise it was making whenever your ass ground into it." Quinn realized that she was flat out gawking at her wife. "Oh, and we're definitely getting rid of that sofa once we move in together…cause I hate it."

She blinked. "I can't believe you remember that."

Santana's look was incredulous. "That I hate your sofa? It's right there in the other room. You don't forget ugly…Oh!That?I'm surprised you don't, I had you walking funny for a week. And I never forget great sex."

Apparently not. Quinn wondered if Santana's powers could be used for good, too. "Do you remember things about me that aren't sex related?"

"Like what?"

Quinn decided to go for ambitious. "What was I wearing the first day we met?"

Santana chuckled. "That's easy. A Cheerio outfit. That was like forever ago. How am I supposed to know that?"

"Okay, what's my favorite movie?

"I can't remembereverything," Santana protested. "But on that note, do you think that we should get rid of Gianna?"

"How is that on the same note?"

"Because you were asking me what you were wearing when we met, I was thinking of what you're wearing underneath your clothes, and thus Gianna. Do you?"

Quinn paused. Gianna had been with them for five years. She was kind of attached. "Why?"

"She's my bachelor dildo," Santana explained, as if there was nothing more logical. "I mean, don't you think we should have a married one? Maybe add an inch for luck?"

Quinn was kind of thinking that it was rude of them to be discussing Gianna without her being in the room to hear the conversation and to offer her objections. "Isn't a person's sex toy like an extension of their body?" she posed rhetorically. A nagging thought occurred to her, and she knew she probably shouldn't have asked, but the question came without filter. "Did you ever use your 'bachelor dildo' on anyone else?"

She tensed as soon as the words were spoken, realizing immediately that she'd rather not have an answer to that question at all. Santana seemed unsurprised that Quinn had asked, but she didn't even stop to think about the answer. "No," she said quickly. "If I hooked up with a girl who wanted to play like that, they had to bring their own. The only pussy that Gianna has gotten to taste, you know other than mine, is yours."

Quinn cringed at the vulgarity, but smiled well…because. "I feel like I should feel honored."

"You should," Santana agreed. "So, yes on the new dildo? I think it'd be fun to visit a sex shop together. We've never done that before; I love to see your face once you realize what anal beads or for."

"I know what anal beads are for," she snapped. "Is that what you wanted to do today? Look at sex shops?"

"While there's no time like the present, no. I'm kind of already booked solid today. Do you think that you can be all beautified up and sexified for me by 3:00?"

"Sexified as in tight jeans, shirt hanging off of the shoulder or…"

"Meeting the boss," Santana clarified.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "We'renotmeeting your boss tonight are we?"

Santana laughed as if she wished that she had thought to do that. "No."

"What're we doing?"

"In the immortal words of my mother, 'If you wait long enough, you'll see'. Oh, which reminds me, we should probably call her."

Quinn snapped to attention. "We should, I just remembered. Mom needs to know about the music. Do we want a DJ, and are we going to honor dad's request about the mariachi band, and are the-"

"If the end to that statement is 'Glee kids going to perform', the answer is a hells no."

Quinn was unsurprised by either the guess or the response. The old New Directions had kind of separated into three camps. The Bostonites: Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, (and although he didn't actually live in Boston) Puck. The New Yorkers: Rachel, Klaine, and Artie, and the Lima Lifers: Mike, Tina, and Sam. There wasn't much interaction between the three groups. "It would be like old times."

"Rachel's the one that said that, didn't she?" Santana questioned suspiciously. "What old times? When we were Rachel Berry and the Pips? I's repeats hells no! Rachel and a microphone are not allowed within 20 feet of each other at the reception. And why the hell does dad want a mariachi band? He's not Mexican."

"Because, and this is a direct quote, 'I didn't allow Maribel to have one at our wedding, and I want Santana to be proud of all of her heritage'."

"A dios mio! You know what? Fine. Let him have his damn mariachi band, but if we do, you are going to learn how to do a proper zapateado dance, and salsa, too, because once you open that hat for las personas de edad, you can't close it. Just warning you."

Quinn was thinking that as long as it entailed Santana dancing in a form fitting dress with a split up the side, she was okay with that. "Who's going to lead?"

"I'll let you," Santana said after a moment's thought.

"Hah," Quinn crowed. "That's all the proof I need! I win! I'm the man! Wait," Quinn paused, as she realized the words she was saying. "That doesn't sound right. You do realize we're both women right?"

Santana gave her a very seductive wink. "Trust me, I've noticed, and noticed, and noticed that you are all woman, Quinnie."

"Why do people assume that in a lesbian relationship there has to be a 'man' and a 'woman'? Like there's no relationship without a man in it?"

"It's just a joke, babe," Santana informed her. "At least with me anyway. And I said you could lead because I'm better in heels, and it's not easy to dance backwards." Santana seemed to be concentrating on something. "Did you just call yourself a lesbian?"

"Bi, whatever."

"No, I think you just made a Freudian slip there. You called yourself a les."

"I refuse to allow you to diminish my bisexuality and continue the harmful tradition in America that one has to be either gay or straight."

"I don't think that at all. Brittany's completely bi, and she's married to a woman, but…have you ever actually had sex with a man and liked it?"

"I enjoyed sex with Puck very much," Quinn said. "Sure not the time that he got me pregnant, but when we were dating? After he got some real experience."

"Egh don't remind me. I'm still not cool with the fact that you've slept with my lesbro."

"You'veslept with your…did you really just say 'lesbro'? And I had a baby with him, too."

"Yeah, in the past, fine, but that you were sleeping with him, and me. Like what was that about?"

Quinn had never really thought about it before, but how did that particular situation work between Puck and Santana? Quinn knew, because the two of them didn't keep secrets from each other, that Puck knew that Quinn and Santana were sleeping together, but how did that bode for their friendship? Did they keep score? Pass along notes? "Was the fact that the two of you were both sleeping with me make things weird between you?"

From the look on her face she could tell that Santana had honestly never thought about it before. "Nah, I mean, it wasn't like you'd leave me and go curl up to Puck. When you were sleeping with him, you weren't sleeping with me, and I don't even count you two sleeping together because you guys saw each other how often? And anyway, Puck had his side action, I had my side action, and I was your side action, so I figure everyone was happy."

"Yeah, but like when he and I ended it, were you there to comfort him? And was it really a comfort to him to know that you were still sleeping with me when he couldn't?"

"It's not that I was advertising that you and I were fucking around, but Puck knew the score."

Quinn didn't know if Santana had slipped up and said that, or if she knew what she'd said. Either way, that statement needed some clarification. "And whatwasthe score?" Quinn posed.

Santana momentarily looked sheepish, but she answered anyway. "I was there, and he wasn't. He was always going to be traveling, and your career would always take precedence, so you two were never going to fit together. You know like one of those puzzle pieces that looks like it should fit, but it just doesn't? That was you two. But while he was willing to let you go, I wasn't."

Quinn felt her breath catch as she worked through what Santana had said. Quinn had pretty much had deep seated feelings for Santana for a very long time, but since it was something she never thought she'd act on, it was far easier to push the feelings away than to deal with them. "What does that mean?"

Santana gave Quinn her 'it's lucky you're pretty, cause you're an idiot' look. "What do you think, Quinn? For the sake of sounding repetitive:nineyears. It means that Puck let the fact that there was always going to be space between you stop you guys, and I never let anything stop us. I mean I suffered through, Puck, and Biff, and Patches, and Michael, and Martin, and Cornell, like seriously what parent names their kid after an Ivy League School? And, I don't even remember that girl that you went on two dates with name, but I abided them all, because I knew what I wanted. The tortoise and the hare, Quinn. Tortoise and the hare."

Quinn was only getting more and more confused the more Santana talked. "What?"

Santana balked. "Jesus, what are they teaching you kids in school these days, oi! Slow and steady wins the race?" Santana stood up, and kissed Quinn on the forehead. "I'm going to go take a shower while you work that out. And while you're thinking it over, you should clean up the kitchen. It does wonder for brain function!"

Quinn would have responded, but she was just too stunned. She was vaguely aware of Santana leaving the room, and she heard the shower come on, but she was back in the last conversation, replaying it in her mind.

While Santana was sure that Quinn had nearly had an aneurism trying to figure out what to do on their date, Santana's plan for the evening was far more simplistic: dinner, movie, romantic walk. Simplistic. Santana left Quinn's around 1:30 to go back to her apartment to get ready. Santana had stopped bothering to straighten her hair sometime around sophomore year of college, but for tonight she felt it warranted it so she could achieve those big, voluminous waves that looked so good on her. She set about plugging up her rarely used flat irons, and put on some tunes to jam to. While she was waiting for the iron to heat up, she looked longingly at her game system, and wondered what Puck was up to.

She called him and him on speaker. "Latin spice!" Puck greeted.

"Seriously, Puck, is that the best you can do?"

"What? You told me that I couldn't call you Flopez; I'm working it out. So that's a no on Latin Spice? Like the Spice Girls?"

"I swear if you start calling me that, and I'll start calling you Noah."

Puck grumbled something underneath his breath at that. "Shelly refuses to let anyone she introduces me to, call me anything other than Noah. Dude, I haven't been 'Noah' since I was like eight years old. I mean what gives?"

"Big boys have big boy names. Williams don't get called Billy forever."

"Ah shut up. Wives, I tell you. What's up with you on that front?"

Santana tested the heat. "Things are good. I'm taking her out tonight, actually. Just waiting for the flattening irons to warm up so I can tackle my hair. I thought about playing Underworld while I waited, but that games like potato chips. You can't play just one level." Puck snickered. "What're you and Shelly doing today?"

"Shelly'sout shopping for flowers. I'm working on the back deck, because Shelly needs something to connect the back door to the back yard, and supposedly I'll thank her next year when I'm gripping. I just stopped inside for a beer break when you called."

"You're building a deck? You must really think this assignment is semi-permanent."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Puck said wistfully. This was Noah's third base since he graduated from A-school. "I like Illinois. Belleville is almost exactly the same size as Lima, but St. Louis is only 30 minutes away, tops. We can go out on the town, have a blast, and then come back home to our nice, quiet neighborhood. I wouldn't mind staying here, even if I wasn't still in the military."

"You thinking on getting out?"

"Not really, but you never know what's going to happen."

"Yea," Santana said in an apologetic voice. "I was actually thinking about taking a trip to see Jenna. Bury the hatchet."

"You don't have to do that, if you're thinking on doing that for me. I told you I can handle myself, and life's too short to really worry about it. I have been thinking, though, about what I'd do if I got out, so I've been looking into taking some college classes. I think it'd be totally legit if I got to stay in the Air Force for 20 years, and then retire, but you never know. If I do stay that long, I don't want to be enlisted the whole time, you know? I can finish out a tour, then re-enlist but this time as an officer. I'm just thinking on the future, you know? Gotta have a plan."

Santana nodded. "It's a good plan," she assured him. She had been somewhat critical of Puck's decision to go into the military, back when he made it, because she always thought of the military as something thatotherpeople did, as a last ditch effort or what not, but Santana didn't feel that way so much anymore. Her job was no more a guarantee than his. In theory her company could leave Boston, and with no warning to her, or she could get offered a promotion (or a demotion) or Quinn could, and they'd either have to live, or lose their job. The only difference was that they could always quit and Puck couldn't.

"Are you so suddenly so focused on the future because you and Shelly are looking to bring some more Puck's into the world?"

"We've talked on it. We're not planning anything. Like we're not trying to get pregnant right now, but we're not not trying either. I'd love a kid. Well, another one. One I actually get to raise. Teach how to play little league."

"You going to be the soccer dad?" Santana teased.

"I'd love to be. My dad wasn't there for me in any capacity growing up. I'm not going to be that way with my kid. I love Shelly, and I would adore any children we made together."

"I think you'd make a great dad, Noah." Santana knew just how much Puck felt regret over having to give up Beth. He had always wanted to keep her; he only signed the papers because Quinn wanted it so bad. Surprisingly, though, giving up Beth didn't make him at all bitter towards Quinn; he still loved her. Luckily enough for Santana, it was as something that was more than a friend, but not quite a lover. He was in Beth's life as much as possible, but it still wasn't anywhere close to the same as getting to raise her.

Santana kind of new what Puck was going through. The watching from afar, part. She missed out on so much of Phil's life. She tried to make the big moments, but the small things, the climbing into bed because he had a nightmare, or fixing an ouchie, those she missed. Also, there was so much that Hazel did, or didn't do, that Santana wished that she did differently, but knew she had no real say in it. Phil called her mama, but she never really thought of him as being her son. Hers, yes, the same way Quinn, her dad, mom, and cousins were hers, but never her son.

"I saw Hazel the other day," she informed Puck. "He's almost five, Puck."

In his answering response he sounded as caught off guard by that as she was. "Has it been that long?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, time."

"I know! He outgrew his pajamas since the last time I visited. I swear he's a little bigger every time I see him. There's this part of me that wants to be there for every single thing that he does, and then there's that other part that's like, the moment I insert myself full on in his life, something's going to happen. She's going to leave."

"Have you told Quinn about him?"

"Yea. The other day."

"What'dyou tell her?"

"The Cliff's Notes. She's going to meet him tomorrow, actually, and even though he's supposed to be coached not to give out information, most likely he's going to say something that will bring up a question, cause that's what kids his age do. If he does, I'll answer whatever question she asks as best as I can."

"Yeah? How do you think she'll take it?"

Santana was pretty sure she knew. "She'll probably freak out, we won't talk, we'll talk, and after, I don't know."

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Can you buy him a really nice glove? I'll send you the money for it, just get him a glove, and a set of balls, and tell him it's from Daddy Puck?"

"You don't have to repay me for it."

"I do. Cause if you weren't going to see him tomorrow, I'd mail it myself, and I want him to know it's from me. Will you?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

"You know you don't even have to ask me about doing stuff for you. Especially not with him."

Santana kept Puck on speaker until Shelly came back home, and then she got hung up on. By this time, her hair was done, and Santana had started in on her make up. As she worked to perfect the arch of her eyebrow, she couldn't help smiling to herself. She thought it was ridiculous that she was this excited about going on a date with her wife, but she was, and she didn't care if it was silly or not.

She had a time trying finding something to wear, and the heels that she wanted were over at Quinn's. She was stridently opposed to the idea of moving into Quinn's apartment, (she'd heard enough horror stories about moving into your girlfriend's place) but she couldn't deny that things would be so much easier when all of their things were all together in the same place. Two of the outfits that Santana considered were at Quinn's, and she ended up changing her outfit three times before she finally settled on a green and white patterned dress that fitted firmly, but didn't hug her form completely.

Traffic was heavy, but she just managed to make it upstairs and was knocking on the door at 3:00. When Quinn opened the door, Santana just stood in the doorway, staring. Quinn was breathtaking. She looked like a casual summer day, but yet was still so sophisticated. She was wearing one of her more formal sundresses, her hair was pinned up, and she wore simple tear drop earrings, and sandals that somehow didn't detract from the concept of dressing up. She was a vision, and Santana didn't mind staring.

At one point Santana might have considered herself to be self-conscious because she could never exude that country club look, but looking at Quinn now, just strengthened the feeling that they belonged together. That she and Quinn wouldn't make sense being with anyone else. The Ken and Barbie combination of Sam and Quinn, or Quinn and Biff, just kind of carried this assumed stiffness that made you wonder if they even talked to each other, much less had an active and satisfying sex life. They made the kind of couple that you would speculate on how cute their children would come out looking. You never thought for a second that they were actually happy and in love.

But with them, Santana was beginning to get a handle on just how much they balanced each other out. Santana was beautiful, Quinn was gorgeous. Quinn was intense and closed off, Santana was loose and relaxed. Quinn had probably planned her birth, for the longest time Santana had gone through life with no clear destination in mind. It was funny, in a way, because now Santana knew exactly where she was going.

"You look…you're a vision, Quinn."

Quinn smiled brilliantly at Santana and Santana smiled back. The two of them just stood there, staring at each other, until Santana remembered that they were on a timeline. Santana helped Quinn pull her light summer cardigan over her shoulders, shaking her head because as much as the two of them changed over the years there were still parts of them that hadn't and never would.

Downstairs, a limo was waiting for them. Santana waved off the driver, opening the door for Quinn who, after giving Santana a look, got into the limousine. Santana slide in beside her. On the seat, carnation pedals had been spread out, and there was a bottle of wine already opened and on ice. Santana poured each of them a glass, and raised it. "To our second date," she toasted.

Their first stop of the night was the Public Garden. They started with a fifteen minute swan boat ride on the lagoon, before taking a leisurely stroll through the gardens. "I wanted to get you flowers, but I couldn't figure out which ones to get, so I decided to give you all of them," Santana said grandly.

She had studied for this date, so Santana played tour guide, pointing out the different varieties of trees and other flora that they passed both while they were on the lagoon, and once they were on land again. Because it was the middle of summer the gardens were incredibly vibrant and alive. Quinn seemed to want to take everything in, and she lingered. Her hand stayed tucked firmly inside of Santana's, and they could have been all alone for how much they noticed the people around them. Santana wanted to stay long enough for the lights to come on, because the Garden at night was just as magical, but they had dinner reservations at the Rialto.

Santana knew that she had chosen the right restaurant as soon as they exited the limousine. The Rialto had been around for years and was consistently a four star dining experience. Santana and Quinn were looked on curiously when they exited the limo, but Santana failed to notice the appreciative looks, because her mind was on other things. Once Quinn was seated, Santana excused herself to use the restroom, and by the time she was back in her seat, the waitress was already at their table.

Santana wanted to order the duck, but years of living with Rachel (and hearing what they did to them, plus Brittany and her obsession) guilted her into order the lamb arrosto instead, and Quinn chose the seared sea scallops. Like their first date, they talked. They filled each other in on parts of their lives that the other missed out on. They played footsie beneath the table, and Santana ate right handed so that she and Quinn could hold hands above the table. Just as they were finishing eating, Quinn heard singing, and she swiveled in her seat to see what poor sap was getting sung to. Santana sat back and watched the progression of Quinn's thoughts as the staff slowly made their way to their table, the mimosa cake leading the charge, one small flickering candle resting atop of it.

"It's not my birthday," Quinn hissed.

Santana shrugged, still laughing. "Yeah, but I figured I missed one or two along the way."

They took the desert to go, as well as the dinner that Santana had ordered for the driver, and were driven out to a lot that had a view of Logan Airport. They sat on the back of the limo, and watched planes take off as they slowly ate the cake, crumb by crumb. "If you could get on any plane, right now, where would you go?" Quinn questioned as a 717 flew by overhead.

"Iquitos, Peru," Santana said after giving it a moment to think about it. "They call it the city of love. They say that you're not in love when you get there, you will be by the time you leave. Where would you go?"

Santana felt Quinn nuzzle further into her. "I can't imagine any place better than where I am right now."

The movie was RENT and it played on a portal Blu-Ray player. Santana had thought about actually going to a movie theatre, but there were no great summer blockbusters out right now. There was some sci-fi action flick with Zendaya in it, and some 'sophisticated, motivational, I might be old, but I'm still Brad Pitt' film, but neither of them seemed worth watching, and Quinn still hadn't seen the play yet. Quinn was spellbound by the singing ofSeasons of Love(which wasn't the actual first son in the play), but she seemed to be otherwise frustrated with the movie. "I don't get it," Quinn said 30 minutes in. "Why don't they just getjobs."

Santana laughed, rather than answer because it had taken her three attempt to watch RENT to completion, and now it was like one of her favorite movie/plays ever.

Quinn was starting to nod off by the end of the movie, so they got back in the limo and headed home. One at the apartment, Quinn was practically dragging her feet, so Santana helped Quinn undress, and helped her into bed. Santana undressed in the bathroom, going through a whole night time routine, because she figured that Quinn had merely rolled over and gone to sleep. So she was surprised and amused to see Quinn struggling to stay awake, waiting for Santana to crawl into bed. Santana hovered over her to give her a kiss.

"I really, really enjoyed this."

"I had a good time, too," Quinn said, yawning. She opened her arms, and Santana backed into them. "Can I run something by you?" Santana's voice was tentative, but this was something that she had been thinking about for a while, and she wanted to get it off of her chest. "I think we may have missed something, by not dating. In Narnia, there's this garden, and at the entrance of it there's a sign that says come in by the gold gates or not at all, and I know it's a reference to something biblical, but I think there's something to it. You know, like I think that we keep clashing with each other because we didn't come into us by the front gate. So we keep doing things backwards."

Santana could feel Quinn tense, and knew she was suddenly more awake. Santana turned so that they were facing each other, and saw the fear in her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"I think we should cool things down a bit." Santana hesitated a second, but didn't take her eyes from Quinn's. She reached for her hand and held it closely to her. "Like with the sex. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I think that part of the reason that things got so crazy is because over the past couple of years we've just kind of beenallabout the sex, and then we were doing this marriage thing, and, I don't know, our brains couldn't process other purposes, so we shorted out, like a computer that doesn't have enough memory to function, and anyway…I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to function with you, babe.

"If we're going to make a decent bid on forever, we've got to work out how to be together. How to be friends again. It the sex is what messed us up, then we got to find a way to fix things. I know that I mention it a lot, and that I've made several allusions to it, but I see that we both have residual resentment for how we treated each other. It's neverjustsex, and we sacrificed actually intimacy and settled on merely intercourse when what I feel for you is so much stronger than that.

"I enjoy spending my time with you. I enjoy cooking breakfast for you, and sharing my life with you, and discovering new things about you, and I want to keep doing it. And I think that we get hurt by each other so frequently because we don't feel secure. I know I once said otherwise, but I want to provide you with that sense of security. I'm sorry that I kind of brushed aside what you were saying when you wanted to talk about our future in New York, and I still can't cross the line, so maybe we could meet each other halfway?"

Santana waited anxiously while Quinn stared at her in quiet appraisal. At the moment, her eyes were mostly hazel, and showed no expression whatsoever.

"How long are you thinking we should cool it for?" she finally questioned, and Santana let out a breath in relief. "Until after the reception?"

Santana shook her head determinedly. "That's only a few weeks away. I was thinking more along the lines of until we moved in together."

"Until we move in together as in you move into my apartment, or-,"

"When we have both of our names on paperwork at a new place."

It was quiet for a whole minute. "So you want to go 6 months without sex?" Quinn sounded doubtful, and Santana stiffened. Slow release of breath. "I think it'd be good for us."

"You're serious about this?"

Santana nodded. "Yes."

"Do we at least get to have good-bye sex?"

Santana gave a crooked smile. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No…"

"Then where's the good-bye? Oh, but there's something that I want to put down on our page, just so that we're clear on it."

Again, there was a fearful look. "What's that?"

"Okay, so I know that I kind of yelled that you could sleep with someone else just as long as you let me know, but I was just kind of really mad when I said that, and I'm kind of really not cool with the idea of you hooking up with anyone else, because I don't really want to share, and I know you don't either. I haven't actually thought of being with someone else, and I hope you're not thinking about anyone else, either, because I think of you as mine."

"So what you're saying is that you want me to be exclusive with my wife?"

"Yes."

"Even though she's no longer putting out?"

Santana nodded. "Yes."

Quinn smiled and shook her head. "I think I might be able to manage that. I want us to work, too. Once we were best friends, and we're starting to be friends again, and it's made me realize how much I missed you. I missed that connection that we once had. You're the most important person in my life, San, and I never want to lose that again."

Santana couldn't help but push her lips against Quinn's, intending for the kiss to be soft and gentle, but the feeling that surged through her at that connection to her wife, had her desperate for more. Quinn responded back just as eagerly and things heated up quickly, despite the conversation that they had just had. Santana ended up pulling back from Quinn with a small chuckle. "So…um…yeah."

"Six months," Quinn responded.

Santana made an executive decision. "Starting tomorrow," she said, pulling Quinn back to her.

Santana lay against Quinn, listening to the rhythm of her heart beating, letting it lull her to sleep. Quinn reached over Santana to turn off the lamp. Eyes closed. After about 10 minutes of silence passed, Santana sighed, and Quinn adjusted her hold. She kissed the top of her head. Maybe another 20 minutes passed. "Babe?" Santana questioned. "Are you still awake?"

Quinn gave a soft groan because she was just at that point where she was almost asleep. "Wha?"

"The Joy Luck Clubbecause after Tina mentioned them making it a play, you wanted to see what it was about, and you say that it helps you better understand the relationship you have with your mom. And a green and white gingham dress, a white embroidered cardigan, a red hair bow, and black Mary Jane's."

"That's nice," Quinn mumbled. Somehow, though, in her sleep daze, Santana's words entered into her consciousness, and connected to something inside of her. With a jolt she opened her eyes. "What'd you say?" By this time Santana's eyes were closed and she was on her way to drifting off, herself. "San!" Quinn hissed. Santana scowled as her eyes opened. Quinn pushed her. "What'd you say?"

"Oh," Santana said, closing her eyes again. Blindly she reached for Quinn. "You asked me earlier what was your favorite movie, and what were you wearing on the first day we met.Joy Luck Club, and a green and white gingham dress, a white embroidered cardigan, a red hair bow, and black Mary Jane's. That's what you were wearing the first time we met."