A/N:

I tried to clean this chapter and the next chapter up. I know a couple of people stated that it was a little bit hard to read so Italics is a flashback and regular script is the present. This scene flickers back and forth between Santana in (AU) 2016 and Santana currently.

Time is relative. 9 months' time in the life of a mother who is anxiously awaiting the chance to welcome her first child into the world isn't the same 9 months that passes for someone who is anticipating the start of a prison sentence. 10 minutes in bed with your favorite person, doesn't last nearly as long as it does when you're 16 years old, and you just peed on a pregnancy stick, and you're wondering what the outcome will be. A 10 year old who grows up in a sheltered life, safe, happy, and whole, isn't halfway as old as a 10 year old who didn't, and the first 18 years of your life seem to take so much longer to get through than the next 40 years of your life will.

So a 30 minute car ride, spent almost entirely in silence, sitting next to a person that you've known for nearly two decades, and yet you feel like you don't actually know anything about, can last a life time. Several times, words seemed just at the tip of Santana's tongue, but she stopped shy of saying them, and beside her, she could feel Quinn going through the same conflict. Distance, too, seemed to be relative, because they had lived in different cities off and on for the past six or so years, but never had there been so much distance between them.

Boston, March 03, 2016

"Puck!" Santana yelled loud enough that several people paused in their stride to turn to look at the noisy girl in the ridiculously short shorts, and overlong top, and then looked back again because, well, damn! Santana didn't care because she'd caught Puck's attention, and he was barreling towards her. Puck scooped her up in his arms, and planted a kiss smack on the lips. "God, I missed you!"

"I miss you, too." Santana punched him in the arm for no real reason. "Asshole!"

Puck rubbed his arm. "What was that for?"

Santana shrugged, "It's to keep you honest."

"The last thing that I plan on being this weekend is honest." Puck said, draping a hand over her shoulders. "I have seen things, Lopez, and once you have seen things, you can't unsee them. So, I'm going to get drunk and high, and this better not be a lesbian retreat weekend cause I'm going to need a little ass, so if it is I might bed with a prostitute too."

Santana threw her head back and laughed. "Don't worry, Noah. If you can't get anyone to sleep with you this weekend, I will."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Puck warned.

It took no time to find Puck's bag because he was traveling with his military duffel, and the oversized camo bag was easy to spot. "Really?"

"What?" Puck demanded.

"You're so government issue."

"Don't diss my Uncle Sam; especially since he's paying your way through college."

"Hey, don't go spreading that around!" Santana said, looking around as if anyone at all cared about their conversation.

Puck laughed, bumping his hip into hers. "Get over yourself, Lopez. That or get under me."

"I'm sorry," Quinn finally broke the silence just as Santana was pulling to a stop outside of the apartment. Santana gave her wife a curious look, thankful for the shadows that the nighttime gave her face.

"Why areyouapologizing?"

Quinn brought her hands up, perplexed and dropped them. "I don't know, but there has to be a reason that we keep ending up here, right? I wanted to be the first to apologize this time."

"It's my fuck up, though," Santana said. She gave a glancing look at the street pressing in on them. It was late, and Santana wanted the semi-comfort of being surrounded by an environment that wasn't so hostile. "Can we take this upstairs?"

Puck and Santana were leaving JFK, and had just hit the 678 when Santana's phone started buzzing in its stand between the two of them. "It's Britts," Puck informed her so she wouldn't have to look down. Santana pushed the media button in the center of her steering wheel.

"Hey bitch!"

"Tana!"

"What's up, duck?"

"Are you on your way? Tell me you're on your way! I'm soo excited about seeing you guys!"

"We're on our way. I just picked Puck up from JFK and we're heading toward you now."

"Hey Brittany," Noah chimed in.

"Puck, Puck, Puck!"

"Are you ready, Britts, cause we is so about to get our party on!"

"Woot woot! Lord Tubbington got one of his drug dealer friends to hook us up for the weekend so it's going to be magical. He even got us fairy dust."

Puck and Santana looked at each other.

"Do you mean Angel dust?"

Brittany sounded confused for a moment. "Wait, isn't that the same thing? Or is angel dust better because angel's live in heaven, which is further up than where fairies live, so angel dust gets you higher, right?"

Santana shot an unnecessary look that said 'under no circumstances do you let her touch that, shit', but Puck was already on the same page.

"Britt-,"

"Duh, it's just weed. Just get your asses here already! I'm looking forward to getting my sweet lady kisses on."

"Can I get some of those, too," Puck leered over Santana's, "Britt, you know I can't."

Puck gave Santana a 'why's that' sideways look that Santana could read even while she was driving, and Brittany could read even over the phone.

"I'm trying to cut back on extracurricular activities," Santana explained to Puck, Brittany, and maybe God, too, perhaps.

"Well, boo you," Brittany said.

"I'm completely unattached, Britt," Puck offered. The phone started to ring, again. "Hey, speak of the devil!"

"What?"

Puck showed her the phone. "Oh, wait that's Quinn! Hold on, Britt!"

Beside her Puck looked frantic. "Oh my gosh, it's Quinn!" He bounced excitedly on the seat, and fluffed his hair. "How's my hair look?"

Santana pushed Puck away. "Fuck you, Puck." Santana switched the calls. "Hey, babe!"

"I told you not to call me 'babe'."

"Yea, but I know it annoys you, and otherwise we'd be getting along, and who wants that?" Santana could hear Quinn practically grinding her teeth on the other side of the line; it was a sound she lived to hear. "What's up?"

"Are we doing your place or mine this weekend?"

It made Santana smile that Quinn was the one to make the call this week, and frown because she wasn't going to get to see her. "I thought you had that big test coming up that you had to study for."

"I took it early so I could see you over the weekend. I'm free, so you can help me study…otherthings."

Santana responded to the drop in Quinn's voice. "Other things?" she questioned.

"Yes, like fashion retail. I got this new, silk bra and thong panty set, and I want to know what you think."

"Baby…" she whined appreciatively. It went without saying that Quinn had bought the items for her; the only one who got a taste of Quinn's freak side was Santana. When Puck had confessed that Quinn was very vanilla in bed, it had taken every ounce of her restraint to not let a smile curl up on her lips at the fact that Santana got a part of Quinn that no one else seemed to even get a glimpse of.

"It's see through," Quinn went on, and Santana just imagined seeing Quinn in front of her, her small little triangle poking out beneath the small little triangle of the lingerie, amused, as she always was that whenever Quinn wasn't clean shaven the curtains didn't match the drapes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Santana licked her lips. "Are you wearing it now?"

"No," Quinn said disappointingly. The feeling was short lived. "I'm not wearing anything."

Luckily, there was no one immediately in the next lane for Santana to hit when she swerved. "Lopez!" Noah hissed. Santana forgot he was in the car. Santana forgot she was in the car.

"Nothing?" she had to clarify.

"Nope. I just got back from the gym; about to take a shower."

"You called me naked?"

"I was thinking about you."

The thought of Quinn on the phone, naked, was almost enough to cause her to salivate. Santana was like Pavlov's dogs, and Quinn's body was like the ringing bell. She swallowed. "What were you thinking about?"

Puck had gotten an idea of the kind of conversation Santana and Quinn were having, and as much fun as it was watching Santana squirm in her seat, he liked living more, so he made sure to keep an eye on the road, and his hand ready to grab the wheel if the need arose. His ears, those he kept trained on Santana. "Being pinned against the wall. You peeling my clothes off with your teeth; licking the sweat from my body."

Vanilla indeed. "God…Quinn…"

"I'm so wet right now. Where are you?" Quinn whispered in her throaty, smoky, voice. Quinn's question made Santana remember, and her eyes refocused on the world around her, which included Puck, and she was pretty sure a boner. "I'm in the car."

"Hi, baby mama!" Noah said cheerfully.

Quinn's voice changed instantly. "Is that Noah?" she demanded, angrily, probably embarrassed by what Puck had been able to overhear.

"Yeah," Santana said regretfully. "He came up for the weekend."

"Why?" There was disappointment spelled all over Quinn's voice, but she quickly tried to cover it up.

Santana looked over at Puck. "Cause he's my boy, and he was able to get leave."

"So, you're spending the whole weekend with him?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause from Quinn. "But I want you, Santana."

Well, damn if that didn't get her wetter than she's ever been. Quinn had never uttered those words before. "Baby," she moaned. "I'll make it up to you double next weekend."

"Can't you pawn him off on Rachel and Kurt for a couple of hours?"

"I wish, babe, but we're spending the weekend in Boston."

"Oh," the disappointment was less candid, and possession wrapped all over that simple utterance.

"Yeah, we're going to party hardy in Bean Town with Brit," Puck shouted.

"Sounds fun," Quinn responded, her voice that blank tone that meant that she was intensely displeased, but had her face just as blank as her voice.

"I'm sorry, Quinn, I thought you were going to be studying." Santana wondered why she was pleading for understanding since they weren't dating, and Quinn was still fond of saying that she wasn't queer. You know, despite the whole sleeping with a woman thing.

"Whatever," she dismissed, "It doesn't matter. Enjoy your weekend with Puck."

"Quinn!"

The call was disconnected.

They got out of the car, and went up to their apartment. Santana opened the door for Quinn, letting her go through first. Quinn sat down on the sofa, but Santana remained standing, each essentially in their own corners. Santana looked at Quinn, and saw a lost child that never gave up her old insecurities. Quinn looked at Santana and saw an island that was surrounded by a barrier reef that would sink any ship that would get close enough to discover her secrets. It occurred to Santana that they had been doing this for far too long: retreating. They were so used to doing this, so conditioned to not be the one who caved in front of the other, that they had pushed their feelings aside. They had been doing this for so long that they didn't know how to just be.

Puck rolled his eyes. "You and that girl," he said with a chuckle. "Why do you torture yourself?"

Santana chewed on her lip. "Every now and then it's worth it," she said with a twisted smile.

Puck pushed her."Yeah, sounds like it," he said with an eye roll. "Never thought I'd see the day when Santana was begging for pussy."

"Please, I wasn't begging for shit!"

"You were so about to cream your pants over there. What the hell did she say to you to get you squirming over there? I didn't even know that Quinn could do dirty talk."

Santana stopped herself from letting her friend know that there was a lot of stuff that Quinn would do that would surprise him: how much she cussed, how amenable she was to letting Santana strap on and pretty much nail her on every surface that existed, how many different ways Quinn would scream her name when she came, how she enjoyed helping Santana study, even though Santana didn't need any help.

"Looks like you enjoyed our conversation a little too much," Santana said instead, motioning down at Puck's crotch.

Puck followed her gaze. "What do you expect when you and my baby's mama are having phone sex like a foot away from me?"

"We hadn't got there yet, you fucking cock blocker."

Puck rolled his eyes. " S'not like you're not going to get it from Brittany in a few hours, so I don't know why you're complaining."

"You heard what I said to Britt."

Puck gave a not entirely friendly laugh. "You're choking yourself overQuinn? Shit, San, I thought you were smarter than that!"

"Oh shut up."

"Quinn's nice, no doubt about that, but she's like a piece of art. You can look, but you don't get to take it home. We both had her, yeah, but the difference between me and you, is that I clued in to her. Quinn thinks of herself as having high class, high quality, tang. You and me? We don't make the cut. You're just her side piece, so you might as well get it in elsewhere, cause all you and her will ever be is fuck buddies. Her lesbian college experience."

"Dude, just because she realized you're full of shit, doesn't mean you know anything about our relationship."

"Since when do you two have arelationship? Have you ever even gone on a date?"

"You're a dick, you know that?"

"Dude, you're going to get mad because I'm just telling you the truth?"

"Fuck off, Puck," Santana snapped. "I know what we got. I bet I marry her someday."

Puck wondered if she was serious, and saw an opportunity. "I'll take that bet. Easy money."

"How much?"

Puck mentally ran down his list. He thought there was no way in hell that Santana and Quinn would ever get over their shit enough to even date, let alone marry, but they already had the dollar tied up in another bet. "A dime."

"Which one?"

"The mercury silver," Puck answered. "But it has to be legit. Like you guys can't do a quickie Vegas wedding and turn around and divorce."

"I know how a bet words. Shake on it, ass."

Puck stuck his hand out, and Santana switched her hand on the steering wheel so she could shake Puck's hand with her left.

"You're completely off it, Lopez," Puck said when they pulled apart. "I'm going to completely own you when it's all over."

Santana didn't like the nagging feeling that he was right, but then again, Quinn had said she wanted her just a few minutes ago. That was something to build a little hope on, right?

"Hey, San." Noah said uncomfortably shifting on the seat, after a few silent minutes. He looked down at his crotch. "Some help?"

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Come on," he whined. "It's your damn fault for freaking raping my ears." He pouted. "For old time's sake? We used to get each other off all the time. No big deal."

Santana keeping her eye on the road, leaned over, and undid the top of Noah's jeans, unzipping his pants. She gave a glance over. "Yep, still a penis, Noah. Grow a vagina and we'll talk."

He grunted. Santana turned the radio on to classic rock. "Look at that, it's Journey!"

Santana was trying to fix that; she was trying to shake up their old dynamic, so they could figure out how to be comfortable with each other, but she had failed to take into account that being open to communication, didn't mean that you suddenly started communicating; you still had to actually open your mouth in order to do that. Wanting to start a new future, didn't mean that your past suddenly disappeared, either. Santana's secrets had come banging up against her door in a big way, and if she had any hope of a future, and with Quinn, she had to start taking accountability for her actions and start airing them out.

Puck startled awake when she pulled to a stop in front of Brittany's apartment building. "We here?" he questioned, looking out the window. "Awesome!"

Santana texted Brittany, and seconds later, it seemed, a window was thrown open from the second floor. "Hey, bitches!"

She threw down the key. Puck caught it over Santana's head, and they went in, Puck being the gentleman and carrying both of their bags inside. Brittany attacked both of them at the door, equally lathing their faces in kisses. "We're just finishing up filming a segment," Brittany told them.

Brittany had a two bedroom apartment. The master bedroom was made up as the Fondue for Two set, while she took the smaller bedroom as her bedroom. Unlike her cutesy one in high school, this one was painted in dark blues and vibrant greens and yellows, and it hurt Santana's head to look at it. She couldn't figure out how Brittany could actually live in it.

"Who are you interviewing?" Santana questioned. "Please say a musical guest!" she loved Brittany's taste in Indie music.

"Nope, but we don't have one today, so if you and Puck want to do something?" she suggested.

Santana looked at Puck. He shrugged. "Do you have a guitar?"

"No, but my neighbor does! I'll go ask them as soon as I'm done. I'm about to interview Dr. Healy, a communications Professor from Emerson, about how the internet has changed the face of communications." Leave it to Brittany to make it sound so exciting that you might actually want to watch it.

Fondue for Twowas no longer a one man (and cat) show. She had a hair and makeup girl who was studying at Empire Beauty School, a fellow geek from MIT was doing her filming and editing, and some girl from Northeastern, Tamara, was trying her hand at production, lining up the acts that came onto the show.Fondue for Twowas on its way up.

"I'm sorry, for bringing up Jenna, again," Santana apologized. "I was lashing out at you, and that's just not cool. I hit you a curve…no, I blindsided you, and then when you rightfully got upset with me for not being upfront and honest with you, especially about something as big as this, I brought up something that I said that I was over with. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if you feel that I make it hard for you to trust me sometimes, but it's not something that I do intentionally. I don't keep secrets because I think it's fun to fuck around with you. I keep secrets for protection. Even if that's the case, I can't expect you to just know something without me telling you, and if I don't tell you, I can't be upset with you for not knowing. I was a real dick for bringing Jenna into an argument that she had no place in, and I'm sorry. That's my wrong, not yours."

Santana and Puck followed Brittany onto the 'set' where sitting in the hot seat was an older woman, recently turned 32. She had a very distinguished look about her. Her flawless, wavy, almost black hair was tossed over one shoulder in an elegant braid. She wore thin, sleek, silver glasses that unobtrusively covered her stunning brown eyes. She was dressed casually in a bright canary ruffled blouse, beneath a blue vest, and was wearing a pair of brown jodhpurs. She looked like a model straight from a Ralph Lauren magazine. Or Bette Porter come to life.

A grin spread over both Santana and Puck's faces at the sight of her. "Jenna!"

She rose from her seat, and hugged them both warmly, adding an extra squeeze at the end of Santana's hug. "Puckerman! Baby gay!"

"You ever going to stop calling me that?" Santana questioned.

Jenna thought about it, giving Santana a glance over. "How old are you now?"

"22."

"Nope. You're still just beginning to get your fingers wet." Jenna gave Santana suggestive look, and blew her a fluttering kiss. Santana blushed; Jenna hadn't changed a bit.

She turned her attention to Puck. "Still like being a military man, Puckerman?"

Her question brought about a stiffening of his smile, and a nod. "Yes, ma'am."

"I don't see how you do it, and enlisted no less. My father could have flat out disowned me, and I still wouldn't have gone into the military. Not for nothing. Good thing he's a sexist, misogynistic prick who thinks that the military is just for boys, so I really lucked out! I would shoot myself if I were you, so you have my apologies."

"For what?"

Jenna smiled. "Because I know firsthand what a bitch it is living underneath my dad's thumb; I can't imagine what it's like to have to drill under him."

Puck laughed. "CO's are like parents, you don't get to choose either."

"Ain't that the fucking truth!" Jenna cussed frequently, but it always seemed odd coming from her mouth, because she gave off the vibe that she grew up in a house where mouths were washed out with soap for saying bad words.

They sat out of shot and watched Brittany and Jenna interact with each other. Well, Brittany interacted with Jenna. Jenna's eyes kept finding Santana, and even without her doing anything extra, she pretty much kept Santana pinned in place. Jenna was quietly intense, like a slow moving tropical storm you didn't realize was coming until suddenly your house was blown two counties over. Santana was no more interested in having sex with her now, then she had been when they first met, but Santana was appreciative of all that Jenna was. There were people out there who were attractive, and there were people who were smart, and there were people who were successful, and then there was that rare bird like Jenna, who was all three plus. Like Quinn, she grew up in a family were excellence was demanded, with strident consequences if you didn't meet the demand.

Jenna, Dr. Penelope Jennifer Healy, was the least successful of her siblings, and the only one who didn't have any military service in her background. All three of her brothers had gone to the Air Force Academy, two had been pilots, all had served at least a four year tour, with the younger's service record including a tour in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. He was a Lt. Colonial and the only one still in the service. Her oldest brother, Brigadier General Healy's namesake: Ronald Jefferson Healy, III, was the Deputy Commissioner of the Boston PD, and Albert (Albie), was a former JAG who was now an ADA.

"How did Britt manage to convince you to doFondue for Two?" Santana questioned. She was pretty sure the two of them didn't know each other prior to this.

"Actually my students convinced me to come. I'm getting mad credit with them for doing this interview." She gave a smile at Brittany. "They love your web series Brittany."

Brittany didn't seem affected by Jenna. "Duh."

After Jenna's interview, Brittany successfully borrowed the guitar from her neighbor, and Santana sangGirl on Fire, with Puck playing and providing background vocals. Jenna's penetrating stare didn't leave her the whole time. Although Jenna had very little to want, Santana knew that she envied Santana's musical talents, so Santana played with that. She saw Jenna as the older version of herself. The good manners and kind smiles were simply an act. Bitch recognized bitch. Santana recognized it in Jenna, and she played with it. In the few times they'd come across each other, they also seemed to have the same taste in females, or rather Jenna liked zooming in on who Santana was looking at, while Santana was still busy trying to work out a plan of attack. It was because of Jenna that Santana really learned not to hesitate.

"Several years ago, I made a mistake. We both know how much I like to show off, liked to show off," she quickly corrected. "We may not know everything about each other, but we can agree on that. I like people paying attention to me, I like being the center of attention. And sometimes I just, don't, think."

They filmed them singing twice, just to make sure they had the best shot, but then the cameras was put up, the 'set' room was locked, alcohol was brought out, and people started showing up within a few hours. Jenna hung around, and Santana wondered if it was because she had intended to, or because Santana and Puck were there. She suspected it was the latter.

Santana got tipsy, but made sure not to get sloppy. It didn't stop her from sending two text messages to Quinn telling her she should come join them since Boston was only two hours away from New Haven. Quinn declined, and Santana downed another shot, got slightly whiny, and majorly horny, but didn't make out with anyone. She took a body shot off of Brittany, but that was almost obligatory. She couldn't be at a party with Brittany without doing a body shot. It was like a rule written back when they were in high school, or something.

Santana wanted to say that she enjoyed herself. She had fun. She drank, she danced, she mingled with college girls. She always liked hanging out with Puck and Brittany; but she wanted Quinn. And not just because she was picturing her in barely there lingerie, and certainly not because she made a bet with Puck.

Midway through the night, Jenna seemed to get angry about something, and she ended up leaving in a cloud, Tamara and Brittany had disappeared, presumably together, and Puck was chatting up a really dense girl who was droolingly fascinated by the fact that Noah was an airman. Santana was betting that she'd cream herself if Puck had shown up in his uniform.

In true wall flower fashion, Santana sat on the couch for most of the night, her phone clutched in her hands. She ignored it both times when Quinn called but had no logical reason for doing so other than that she wanted to talk to Quinn so badly that she didn't answer the phone. She listened to the one voicemail that Quinn left though. She apparently had decided to go out with Martin tonight, and she felt the need to tell Santana how boring it was. She didn't say I miss you, or that she wished that Santana was there with her; she could just hear that sentiment expressed in her voice. Santana listened to the message three times before she ended up falling asleep. Sometime shortly after, she was aware of a familiar body, and musk collapsing beside her, Puck kissing her on the back of the head before draping a possessive arm around her, pulling him into her.

The problem with parties, were early mornings. The problem with early mornings, well it was obvious what was wrong with them: they were too damned early. Santana had woken to Noah's boner in her back, because he had woken, like clockwork, at 4:00 a.m., and Santana had made the mistake of falling back asleep.

Her cell phone annoyingly went off, and Santana was awake enough to be able to tell the difference between her warning alarm, and it's time to get up now! Santana had forgotten to bring any exercise clothes so she had to borrow some from Brittany. When she quietly snuck into Brittany's room, it was to see her ex sprawled out only halfway covered by the blanket and by the brown body that was asleep beside her, a leg and arm draped across her. Santana quietly got out a pair of Brittany's shorts and a MIT t-shirt. She took a pair of Brittany's track shoes, too.

Santana had some time, so she decided to jog the six or so blocks to the Common. She paused on the corner of Commonwealth and Arlington Street, taking a moment to survey the landscape, and play 'can you spot the spotter', her eyes scanning over the early morning joggers, even the branches of the low hanging trees. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when she felt a hand tap her shoulder, two seconds before a voice said, "I'm behind you," in German.

"One night, in a bar, visiting with Puck, I showed off at the wrong time, in front of the wrong person, and I got offered a job because of it."

Quinn's eyes stayed glued to Santana while her mind went swimming forward. Her first thoughts: mob, drug dealer, hired gun…

When she turned, Bryne was looking at her with a smile plastered on her face.

"Fucking Christ!" Santana muttered, then corrected herself before Bryne could. "Ficken christus!"

Bryne was the closest thing Santana had ever met to being a ninja. She was currently wearing a loose fitting jogging short set that was the gray of dusk. Her hair was brown today, but that meant nothing because it was almost always a different color every time she saw her. (And since her eyebrows were always dyed to match, too, Santana just automatically suspected that so was her bush). The only part of her that never changed was her height. Even her eyes changed color; Santana couldn't tell you what color Bryne's eyes actually were because she had seen her on more than one occasion with a different eye color and no discernible rim around the iris to alert someone to the fact that she was wearing contacts.

"I trailed you for a whole block," she informed Santana, still talking in German, her voice disapproving.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here yet," Santana answered. "It's still early."

"It's always the attack you don't expect that ends up killing you," Bryne said sounding very Yoda like. If Yoda spoke German.

Bryne started to stretch. "Two times around the Common, and then we'll hit the gym."

"I'm right behind you," Santana replied.

Coach Sue Sylvester was crazy, but her intense training had made her a well-conditioned athlete. It was usually when she was in the midst of a really intense work out that she wondered how she would have fared in boot camp. No offense to Noah, but she'd never go into the military as enlisted, but she did think about going in as an officer every now and then. If she didn't have any jobs lined up, she would have talked to a recruiter by now, but since she did have prospects, and finally an idea of the direction she wanted her life to take, she didn't consider it much anymore. Really, it was just a mild curiosity over how well she'd do. She was sure she'd set records and stuff.

Bryne's pace was steady, but it wasn't brutal. The reason for the slower pace was because she kept up a steady stream of conversation the whole time, and expected Santana to respond back, correcting her when she mispronounced a word. Bryne questioned her on the people that they passed. What they were wearing, what they looked like, who they were with. Santana didn't have a photographic memory, not entirely, but she did have a large capacity of being able to store and retrieve information, and she noticed anomalies. This was how she knew Bryne. They worked together. Well, they worked for the same agency, General Services, even if it was in vastly different ways.

"I read your thesis," Bryne said conversationally. They passed by the George Washington statue, the marker for the end of their first 2 mile lap.

"What'd you think?" Santana questioned. She didn't bother asking how Bryne had gotten a copy of her senior thesis. She actually didn't care. Like Jenna, there were certain features about Bryne that she just liked/admired. She felt oddly comfortable around the woman, despite the fact that she shouldn't, and she knew that. Bryne was deadly, but Santana never felt as if she were in any danger by being around her.

"What are you thinking about doing after graduation?"

Santana wished that her mind didn't instantly go to Quinn, but it did. She didn't really want to make plans until she talked to Quinn, and she didn't want to talk to Quinn about it in case Quinn really did feel about her the way Noah said, so she wasn't too earnest in making plans. If nothing else, she could continue to do freelance work if she didn't get in to any of the schools she applied to. "Enroll in a grad program, somewhere. I think I want to go for an MFA."

"How do you say, would you like fries with that in German," Bryne teased, switching to English to ask.

"Ha Ha, Bryne. Möchten Sie Pommes dazu?"

Bryne laughed and switched back to German. "Where are you looking into going?"

"Columbia, or NYU if I stay in New York. Or maybe move here. Go to Boston College or, who knows, Harvard. Intern at a publishing house."

"I know someone at Little & Brown," Bryne piped up. "I have an admissions connection at Harvard, too, if you really want to go."

Santana tried to imagine herself at Harvard. NYU wasn't anything to shake a stick at, but Harvard was Ivy League. She wondered if the idea would make Quinn proud of her, or somehow jealous, or get her thinking that Santana was once again trying to one-up her. Santana suspected all of the above, but then quickly wondered why she was spending so much time thinking about a girl who she wasn't in a relationship with, and never would be. God, Puck was right. Quinn completely fit the bill for 'gay until you graduate'. Santana wasn't sleeping with anyone, and Quinn had Martin. Sure she and Santana had better sex, but in the Fabray world, a pedigree was better than an orgasm. And Quinn still hung onto the idea that she wasn't actually gay.

"It's a completely sanctioned, legitimate, tax-paying job," Santana added that last part because of the look that Quinn was giving her, "but what it did was change me from that vapid girl who used her powers to give you mono, and into something else completely. It shifted the way I see things. When you pay attention, actually pay attention to the things outside of you, the world changes."

"Have you put some thought into becoming an agent instead of just doing analyst work? You'd be good at it, you already train for it, and starting out in the field you'd be making 80k easy."

It wasn't the pay that was intriguing, it was the 'field work', and the television influenced idea of her shooting off someone's head while completely wearing spandex, that appealed to her. Though she'd never seen Bryne in spandex, and she doubted she ever shot someone's head off. It'd be too messy, and Santana was sure Bryne could hit someone right through the eye. (It would have just been flat out blind naiveté on her part to think that Bryne's never killed anyone). Oh, and also the killing part. That didn't appeal to her either.

"How often do you travel?" Santana posed rhetorically.

"I don't travel," Bryne joked, "I live everywhere."

"Doesn't that get lonely?"

"Lonely as hell, but what can I say, I like what I do." It was statements like that, uttered so casually, that should have warned Santana off of Bryne, but it didn't. She trusted a woman she didn't even know's last name.

Bryne went back to quizzing Santana, this time on people they'd passed some time ago. With no warning, Bryne stuttered in her run, and Santana paused, instantly on guard, her eyes scanning, but Bryne was back to her normal speed, and Santana had to put on a burst of energy to catch up. "What was that?"

Bryne winced. "I hate seeing that," she said.

"What?" Santana's eyes scanned, and landed on a woman, sure that she was who Bryne was talking about. She was wearing a black Nike fitted top, yoga pants, and cross trainers but she didn't look like she was here to work out. She was as slender as Santana, maybe even more so, with her brown hair pulled back into a high pony. She was maybe two inches taller than Santana, and she guessed a few years older. She looked far too troubled for it to be so early in the morning. They had moved already moved past her when Santana exclaimed, "I know her! Well, I've seen her before. She was at my friend Britt's apartment last night. At a party." She couldn't remember seeing her with anyone else, but she was sure of it.

"Did she look off at the party?" Bryne wondered. Santana tried to work if Bryne was thinking that she had been assaulted there. If he had, Bryne would probably be more likely to investigate it solely because Santana had been there, and she was protective. Santana frowned, because she honestly couldn't remember.

"What the fuck does that mean, Santana?" Quinn questioned in sheer frustration. Why can't you just talk to me like a normal person would?"

"Because I'm not! Normal. You want to know answers. You want to know about Phillip, and my job, and all of my secrets; I'm trying to explain them to you the best way I know how. I'm laying it all out in front of you. I made a mistake. Like going down a dark alley at night, I made a stupid, dumb, mistake, a miscalculation in judgement, and it changed everything about who I am. My biggest concern used to be what would happen if I got caught shoplifting. My biggest consequence used to be getting grounded. I don't live in that world anymore. I talk in circles because I have to make sure I know every possible response before I say anything. I keep things from you because I don't want you to have to do the same. My world isn't black and white anymore, and I've been trying to hide that fact from you, because it's not something you can take back."

They finished up their lap, and while Bryne was stretching, Santana excused herself. It took her five minutes to find the woman. She was pretty much walking without direction, her mind focused inward. Santana jogged to a stop beside her. "Hey," Santana greeted.

Dark green eyes looked at her, recoiled slightly, but then corrected herself. She looked away, and started to walk again. Santana matched her pace. "My name's Santana. You were at my party last night?"

There wasn't a bruise on her, but the way she was walking seemed to scream that she was in pain. Santana stepped in front of her so she couldn't keep walking. "There are places," Santana kept on. "You don't have to stay with whoever's doing that to you."

Santana touched her, and she pulled away violently. Santana frowned. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry." She wanted to offer her something, but she didn't know what. She didn't have a piece of paper and pen on her to give a phone number. "That apartment you were at last night? That's my friend's place. If you need some help, you can go over to her, and she can put you in touch with me."

The woman stepped around her, and continued walking. Santana stood there for a few seconds longer, before she jogged back over to where Bryne was waiting.

Santana went to the book case, and searched the shelf until she found the book she was looking for. It was a hardcover, elongated book, with white and yellow lettering on it, and a dog, with a baby bird standing on the dog's head. It looked like a Dr. Seuss book, but the author was named P.D. Eastman. Santana handed the book to Quinn. She read the title off of it:Are You My Mother?

Quinn was trying to be patient but she was so sick of the games. She just wanted her wife to be honest with her. She wanted Santana to actually give her something tangible that she could hold on to. Something that made sense.

Quinn wanted to throw the book at Santana, or on the ground, but before she could do either it slipped from her fingers, and fell in a way that the book landed undisturbed on its back, but it dislodged the piece of paper that was hidden within.

"Did you find her?" she questioned knowingly.

Santana nodded. "It was stupid, I know."

"Not stupid," Bryne corrected. "Foolishly hopeful, but I understand: every now and then I want to find all the dipshits out there who'd do that to someone and beat the hell out of them."

"So, let's do that," Santana said seriously. She was almost itching for a fight. She hadn't gotten into a brawl since high school, and she was far better at fighting now then she was back then.

"We could," Bryne said without any weight to her words. "Watch where she goes, follow her home, plan an attack…only that'd be reckless, and stupid, and will end you in jail for assault."

"You've got strings, right?" Santana naively questioned.

Bryne laughed. "Yep. But at some point you've got to realize that you can't beat up everyone."

"Okay, so what if we like drag that woman to the closest battered woman shelter?"

"That wouldn't do any good, either."

"Why not?"

"Taking her to a shelter would most likely just add to her troubles. You have to file a police report to stay at most places, and I'd bet my eye teeth that the person who did that is a cop."

"Do you know her? How do you know that?" Santana asked out of curiosity, wondering what she had missed that Bryne hadn't.

"Because she doesn't have a bruise on her, and usually the people who know how to hit someone without leaving a mark are chronic abusers or are in law enforcement."

Santana couldn't get the image of the woman out of her mind. "So we do nothing?"

"Did you give her your number?"

"I told her where she could contact me if she needed some help."

"Wait and see if she does."

"I have a son, Quinn. His name is Phillip Jacob Lopez. He was born at 3:16 in the afternoon, on September 14th, in Boulder Colorado. He weighed a hefty 9 lbs., and was 22 inches long."

Santana and Puck hugged fiercely at the airport. Saying good-bye was always the hard part for them. Puck traveled in his civvies when he was coming, and in his uniform when he was going, and it was easy to forget that Puck was in the military when they were playing video games together miles apart, and when they were partying together, or just fucking joking around, but when they said good-bye after brief visits, Santana couldn't forget that he was an airman, and airmen were called to fight.

Santana pushed him away from her, which earned a smile from Puck, and a kiss on her forehead. "Love you, Lopez."

"Love you, too, you sap."

Quinn picked up the piece of paper that had fallen out of the book, already knowing what it was before she read the words that merely reiterated what Santana was saying.

Santana gave Puck the courtesy of watching him up to the gate, before she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She recognized that she's not thinking clearly when she checked the time, but still she called Quinn. "She lives!" Quinn greeted, her sarcasm not enough to completely mask the happiness in her voice.

"Do you still want me?" she purred.

In the pause she wondered if Quinn checked the time. If she'd looked at it like: 'it's 6:00 p.m., now, on Sunday night, it's 4 hours on the train, there and back, and she had to be up for an 8:00 class, and Santana had to be up for a 10:00 class', or if she was just thinking about what Santana could do with her hands, lips, tongue, and any other part of her skilled body.

"I do."

Santana shivered at the words. "I'm heading for the train now. Remember what you were wearing when you called me Thursday? Have that on when I get there."

Quinn gave a giggle. In her head, Santana was already tangled up in Quinn's limbs so she nearly missed it when Quinn asked her how her weekend was. Santana was heading to the only part of the weekend that she cared about.

"Uneventful," she answered.

Quinn stared at the piece of paper as if doing so would somehow change the words that were written on it. But no. Every time she looked at it it still said the same thing:Certificate of Live Birth. Mother: Santana Quintanilla Lopez. Father: Noah Elijah Puckerman.