Chapter 24: Like Notices Like

Tears have been said to be the palate cleanser of the soul. There are many ways that we express ourselves. We laugh when we're happy. We frown when we're sad. We curl our lips when we're angry. And when we're everything, all at once, we cry.

There have been many quotes about tears. Steve Maraboli says that 'a broken heart bleeds tears'. Charles Dickens reasoned, 'heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts'.

There are many different types of tears, the type you cry when you're so happy that you don't know what else to do. There are tears you cry from being so angry that you want to punch something. Tears that are shed because your whole body is just so disjointed, so broken, so achy, that your heart just doesn't do anything else.

The kind of tears you cry when you find out that your wife had a kid with her best guy friend, who, coincidentally, is also the father of your one and only child, and never told you? Eve 6 had this to offer: 'here's to the nights we felt alive, here's to the tears you knew you'd cry, here's to good bye, tomorrow's gonna come too soon.'

March 04, 2014

Flight of the Bumblebeesstarted playing, and Quinn tried not to sigh because she didn't really want to talk to Martin at the moment, but she felt bad, as she always did, if she ignored his call. "Hi, Marty," she said pleasantly. They were always pleasant with each other.

"Lovie! I would be honored if you allowed me to take you out tonight. I was thinking I could pick you up at 7:00?"

Quinn looked at the clock on the phone, and also checked to see if she had somehow gotten a text or an alert that she had a missed call since she answered the phone. "That sounds nice, Martin," she replied.

"Great. I shall see you then."

Quinn checked to make sure the call was ended before checking the call log. No missed calls, and no text messages. Quinn wondered what Santana, Puck, and Brittany were up to. She wondered why Santana hadn't invited her to come along. Santana had Friday classes, and had obviously skipped out on them to go to the city early, which was unsurprising. Quinn had told Santana last weekend that she had to study for this upcoming test, and that it was really important, but it still would have been nice for her to ask, especially since this trip couldn't have been made on the spur of the moment because Noah wasn't allowed to just up and dash across the country whenever he had a whim to do so.

She wondered if Santana hadn't texted her because she had let 'I want you' slip from her mouth. It hadn't been intentional, it had just slipped because Quinn had been looking so forward to seeing Santana, had even go so far as to take a test early to do so, and in appreciation of her efforts (not that she knew about them), she had planned a trip that didn't include Quinn.

And why hadn't she texted her back? True, they didn't regularly text back and forth to each other, they weren't those kind of people, but Quinn wanted to hear from Santana, even if it was just in a text message. She didn't respond to any of the ones that Quinn had sent her last night. Maybe something had happened to her. Quinn rolled her eyes at herself. Santana was probably still hung over from the night before, and had laid in the bed until midafternoon or something. Still…it would have been nice for her to at least return her text.

Quinn had forgotten to ask Martin where they were going for dinner, not that it mattered. Martin always showed up in the same outfit for their dates, just in different colors, and Quinn wore some variation of the summer dress, cardigan, or tasteful skirt, blouse, and pearl combination. She would go for the later tonight, and the pearl bracelet that her mother had given her for winter formal freshman year. She caught her reflection in the mirror, and felt she looked like Mellie Grant, the president's wife from Scandal.

She thought about what that must feel like. Martin was politically involved. He had been on the board of the Model Congress, and was a member of the Political Union and the Yale College Republicans. He was currently in his 3rd year of Yale law, and in between his undergraduate and graduate years he'd interned at the White House. Unlike Biff, who hadn't seemed to know anything about her, Martin knew practically everything. While he didn't respond to Quinn's Ryan Seacrest tattoo quite the way that Santana did (3 and a half years of them having sex and Santana was still amused by it, tracing the lines of his face with the tip of her nail, dragging her tongue over her ironic tattoo ironically), he didn't seem to mind it that much, either, though that could have been because they hadn't had sex more than a handful of times, too.

Martin really was the perfect guy. He was sweet, compassionate, he loved god, his mama, and his country, in that order, he had an old rowing boat that he'd made himself, and was all southern charm and decorum. Quinn had taken him home to meet her mother, once, and she of course adored him, and Frannie's oldest, William, who was four, liked him.

Martin was easy. She didn't argue with Martin, she didn't have to work for anything with Martin. She could mention liking something and he would get it for her. He would watch movies with her that she knew he couldn't be interested in, he helped her study, and he held her hand, and she never had to wonder where things stood between them because he always told her. He wasn't sarcastic, or witty, or caustic. She didn't have to worry about him telling an inappropriate joke, or if she had a University function to go to, she always knew that he would dress properly for the occasion. She could depend on him. She always knew what he was going to do.

Once again she checked her phone. She never had to wait for him to respond to her calls.

"Lovie, you look amazing," Martin greeted her. Martin looked handsome, as per usual. He was wearing a simple black suit, with a white shirt, and a black tie. Very simplistic. He kissed her on the cheek. "This is for you," he said, handing her a white rose.

Their dinner designation was the Union League Café. Martin, ever the gentleman, opened doors for her, pulled out chairs, even ordered for her, something that slightly irritated her, but that she'd gotten used to while they were dating. "I'm glad that we're doing this," Martin said over their salads, while they were waiting for the main course. He reached for her hand, caressing it over the table. "We hardly get time to ourselves, what with my work load, and you always rushing off to New York it seems like every other weekend lately."

"The house situation in New York is impossible to navigate, and the job market is even worse. My friends have been trying to get me used to the idea of actually living in the city."

"To be honest, I don't understand why you're thinking about New York. You're not a New Yorker, lovie, and it's a coin toss as to whether or not you're going to even get the internship with Cantor Fitzgerald. You've got a solid job offer with PNB in Chicago. Chicago is a fabulous city."

"Isn't Chicago like the crime capital of the country or something like that?"

Martin gave her a look that wasn't entirely condescending. "Not on our side of the water. Illinois also has a provisional reciprocity agreement with Virginia, which makes it perfect for us. You can do your two years like you want, and then we can move back to Virginia, where you can go to UVA, and I can get started on my political career."

"New York's bar has reciprocity with 27 other states, including Virginia." She knew, she looked it up in anticipation of having this conversation.

"I can't live in New York, Quinn," Martin said with a straight face. "Be real, sweetheart. It's a liberal stronghold. Illinois may be known for its corruptive politics, but it's at least in the Midwest. My constituents would never forgive me, no matter how much I explained that I did it for my wife's ambitions, if I became a resident of the city."

"Wife?" Quinn questioned.

Martin didn't seem to think that he'd said anything extraordinary. "Yes, wife, Quinn. You date to marry, or did you wish to remain my mistress for the duration? I want to be a politician, but not that kind." He reached into his breast pocket. "I was going to wait until after dinner to do this, but since we're having this conversation anyway-," He produced a ring, the diamond at least 2 carats. "Should we make this official? Quinn, will you marry me?"

'So denied, so I lied, are you the now or never kind. In a day, and a day love, I'm going to be gone for good again.'

That fact that Quinn was neither surprised by the gesture, nor immediately able to answer despite this being the crux of what she should have wanted, was so very telling.

"Martin." Quinn was finally able to regain her voice. "Don't you think that this is very soon?"

"I'm not rushing you off to the chapel, but I don't want there being any mistake in who you are to me."

How honest, how straight forward. He made the words sound soeasy. I want you, I don't want anyone else to have you, here's a ring to prove it. He was staking his claim, and risking rejection, and he didn't seem entirely phased by it. Quinn wished that she expressed that same calmness about life. She always seemed frantic about something, about being discovered and denounced as a fraud, about putting herself out there only to get rejected.

"And what if Idoget that internship at Cantor Fitzgerald? If I get it, and it's the best option for me, I'm going to take it." How could she explain to the man who had just proposed to her that whether or not Quinn was actually a New Yorker didn't matter, because the most appealing thing in New York wasn't the Internship and the chance to fetch some really high priced coffee for some world class dicks, nor was it the fame of New York; its sole appeal was her former high school best friend who she couldn't help but love, even if she would never love her back. She didn't love Martin, and she doubted he loved her either, despite his nickname for her, yet that didn't seem to matter. Quinn couldn't help feeling that it should.

"All the more reason for us to get engaged, then," Martin said assuredly. "So even though we'll be living apart, everyone will know who you belong with."

WhodidQuinn belong with?

"Give me some time to think about it?"

Martin returned the ring back to his breast pocket, and took Quinn's hand in his own. Thankfully no one around had noticed the proposal. "Take all the time you need."

Quinn seemed surprised that Santana was still in front of her. That they were still having a conversation, that words were still being spoken. Quinn lifted her eyes from that damnable piece of paper, to Santana, connected her moving mouth with the words that were being spoken. "Watching you plan this life with Martin, it ate at something inside of me. Instead of opening my mouth and apologizing for shutting you down when you came to talk to me about us, and telling you how I felt, I watched you move further away from me. I figured the Martin's of the world were what you wanted, who you were always going to end up with, and I was so far away from that, that I didn't even want to bother with trying."

The clock read 8:30 when there was an impatient pounding on the door. Quinn prayed that it was Santana on the other side of the door because if it was her roommate…well she prayed it wasn't. "It's open," Quinn called. Santana came through the door anxiously, pausing when she saw the sight of Quinn on her twin bed, her legs open and inviting, wearing exactly what she promised. Santana rocked in the doorway from sheer surprise. "Fuck, baby."

"You like it?" Quinn questioned. "I picked it out just for you."

Santana kicked the door shut behind her, dropped her bag in the entrance, and pretty much dived for Quinn. Santana sealed her lips to Quinn's and Quinn responded back with equal enthusiasm. Kissing Santana was everything kissing everyone else, even Puck, wasn't.I missed you, got caught in her throat, so she tried to express the sentiment with her body.I want you. She wanted her so badly that she imagined that Santana felt the same, that there was an extra tenderness to Santana's movements that wasn't normally there.

"San?" Quinn questioned with a sudden urgency. At first Santana didn't look up from what she was doing. "San!"

Santana drew back with a curious frown on her face. "What's up, babe?"

Marry me. Those words had just seemed to flow so easy from Martin's mouth. Not just that but his assurance that he wanted a claim on Quinn, that he had any right to stake one. What must it feel like to be so self-assured? To not have any doubts, to have the nerve to claim what you wanted?

Santana's eyes narrowed. "Quinn?" she questioned. She sounded nervous, worried. Had Quinn said the words out loud?

"I want you," Quinn said audibly, tugging on Santana's shirt. Santana helped her take it off, but then her mouth was instantly back on Quinn's. They kissed for god knows how long, Quinn ignoring the need between her legs because when she said she wanted Santana, it was like this, pressed up against her, skin touching skin, lips exploring lips. In the moment, she didn't necessarily need penetration, or friction, she just needed Santana. And it hurt, it hurt so much because she would never have this with Martin, or anyone else. And she'd never have it with Santana either.

Quinn surprised Santana when she drew back suddenly, flipping her over so that Santana was on the bottom. Quinn didn't usually top, and it was even rarer for her lips to trail kisses on Santana's abdomen, for her shoulders to spread Santana's legs open, for her head to disappear in between them. Quinn wasn't a natural in this area, but she did what she always did, studied until she got better, put in the work and perfected it until it was done. She got Santana off using only her tongue, her lips, and her teeth.

For a long moment, Santana just lay there, even after her body stopped trembling. Quinn lifted her gaze to meet Santana's to see why. When their eyes connected, they stared at each other like no one and nothing else existed, but then they blinked and it was gone. Santana cracked a joke: "Puck thinks your vanilla."

Quinn laughed, then proceeded to show Santana just how un-vanilla she really was.

Quinn felt light-headed. She wondered if she was going to start hyperventilating. "So you got pregnant with Puck's kid because Martin asked me to marry him? Wouldn't it have been so much easier to have just opened up your fucking mouth and say 'Hey, I have issue with that'?"

March 18, 2016

Quinn had a plan. It was a stupid, impulsive plan, but it was a plan. It was a plan that meant that she would be eating Ramon noodles for every meal that wasn't on her meal plan, and that she wouldn't get to taste another cup of coffee until the end of the semester. It was a plan that would thrust her forward into a future of uncertainty. It was a plan that cost her $800 in cash, and a $1000 on a credit card that she had just opened. It was a plan that involved a 3/8ths of a carat marquise diamond set in 14k gold, gold because everyone else had white gold or platinum rings these days, and Santana was unlike everyone else. If Martin felt like he had a right to stake a claim on Quinn, then Quinn would stake hers on Santana. She didn't want anyone else to be able to say that they had a claim on something that was hers.

"Hey, babe!"

Quinn startled, because she hadn't seen Santana sneak up, and her heart was still racing when she felt a hand sneak around her waist. It was second nature for her to pull away, to take a step back from the embrace because they were in public. Santana only gave a shake of her head.

"So, I kind of let it slip to Berry that you were coming this weekend. She wants us to have dinner at her place, and she's kind of in a pissy mood because she thinks that I hog you, and she really just doesn't understand the fundamental difference between friendship and fuckship."

"What?"

"She doesn't understand why you spend more time with me than her, because she just doesn't get that you know, you might want to see the person you're having sex with a little more often than you want to see the Hobbit. Unless…you and Rachel haven't…you know?"

"Santana!"

"What? You and the Hobbit were all up on each other."

"It was just a kiss."

"Your shirt was off!"

Quinn wanted to say, 'so what if we were' because Santana sounded jealous, and Santana fucked whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. "Should I tell Rachel we're coming?"

"I don't care what we do; I just want to drop my bag off," Quinn whined. She had spent most of the ride listening to Beyoncé'sSingle Ladieson repeat to help build up her courage, but now that Santana was here in front of her, it was a completely different story.

Santana gave her a sideways glance. "What's with you, Fabray?"

"Nothing."

They went by Santana's apartment to drop off Quinn's stuff, and as soon as it was determined that Santana's roommate was nowhere to be found (Quinn had yet to actually run across her, actually), they had a quickie against the door. Quinn didn't want to show up at Rachel's with the smell of sex all over her body, so she took a shower, and they had a quickie on the bathroom floor. After she got dressed, they went over to Rachel's but Quinn couldn't concentrate on anything other than the ring that was sitting in the box, back in her bag at Santana's apartment.

She hadn't made any other plans other than to present her with the ring. Now she realized how ill-conceived that was. Maybe they could work their way up to it. Like 'Hey what classes are you taking in the summer? By the way, will you marry me?' Quinn felt immensely stupid. What was she thinking?

"What're you obsessing over?" Santana questioned when they were leaving Rachel's. Quinn shook her head, and didn't say anything.

Put your name, on the line, along with place and time. Wanna stay, not to go, I want to ditch the logical. Here's a toast, to all those who hear me all too well.

Quinn woke up in the middle of the night, Santana fast asleep beside her. Quinn watched her sleep. Santana didn't sleep pretty. Her hair always ended up every which way on the pillow, she always took up more than her part of the bed, she slept with her mouth open slightly, and snored at least 30% of the time. Quinn had Santana's sleep pattern memorized. She knew that although Santana struggled not to cuddle with her, her sleep self gravitated toward the other person in bed. She knew that Santana generally slept serenely, but every now and then her sleep self adopted a 'cut a bitch' expression, and if you asked her what she dreamed about, she couldn't tell you.

Was this really what she wanted? To fall asleep beside Santana every night, to wake up beside her in the morning? To fight over everything, from beauty products in the bathroom, to clothes being left on the floor? There was no else in the world that aggravated Quinn half as much as Santana did. But there was also no one else who made her feel the way Santana did either. "Babe, seriously," Santana grunted, startling Quinn. "Spit it out already, you're driving me crazy!"

Quinn didn't say anything, just backed into Santana until she was forced to put her arm around Quinn. "God, you're lucky you're pretty," Santana said sleepily. She adjust her arms to hold Quinn more comfortably, planting a kiss almost absently on the back of her neck. "Now get some rest so I can wear you out properly in the morning."

Quinn managed to sleep after that, but she was up early the next morning. No way was Martin braver than she was, she reasoned. Sure he might have had more money, and all Quinn had at the moment was the Yale degree she'd have in a few months and a possible internship that paid $12 an hour for the next 2 years, but she knew her earnings potential, and if Santana stuck it out with her, it wouldn't be Ramon noodles for long.

'All she can say is no', she reminded herself.

When she couldn't stand to be in the bed any longer, she slipped from beneath Santana's arm and padded into the kitchen. Santana wasn't likely to be up for a few more hours, and she'd be hungry when she did. So what if she just had the ring sitting out on the counter? Quinn imagined Santana stumbling into the kitchen, and seeing the box sitting there. How would she react?

Quinn made herself a PB , and seeing that the jar was very nearly empty, she thought about slipping the ring inside. Santana was like a little kid, if she saw Quinn with something she'd want it to. She scooped the remainder of the peanut butter from the jar, washed it and rinsed it out, and placed the ring inside. She screwed the top back on, but left the container sitting out on the counter where it'd be hard to miss. Not that long after, she heard Santana moving around, followed very shortly by her calling for her.

Trying to get Santana to get out of the bed to fix her a sandwich ended up turning into Santana going down on her, which got interrupted because Santana couldn't seem to help mentioning Brittany while they were in the middle of sex, and of course it made her think back to that letter that was sitting on the counter with Boston College's emblem in the corner. Santana was thinking about the future, and it was a future that included Brittany in it, but not her. She was stupid, she was so stupid. It was always going to be Brittany, but fuck if Santana wasn't confusing because if Quinn would be in Santana's love spell, than what the hell did that mean? That Santana loved her? That it was one of her three favorite things? That Harry Potter was a fictional story about a boy wizard that had no relevance to her life?

"I'd be in your love potion?" Quinn found herself saying as she came out of the bathroom. It was something, at least, something to hang some hope on. It wasn't much, but it was something. She tried to get Santana to engage in a conversation with her, trying to steer it toward the direction Quinn wanted it to go to. They got off topic again, and then they had sex, because that's what they did. After, she tried again, but Santana brushed her off, again, and Quinn was frustrated, again. And then they fought. Because that's what they did, too. They went hard at each other, and were so fucking dysfunctional, and it finally hit Quinn that even if Santana did care about her, she was so scared of what they could have that she wouldn't allow her to talk about it.

So it didn't matter what was sitting in the bottom of the peanut butter jar because Santana would never get up the nerve to open it, to see inside. Why was it that Martin was easy and he wanted her, but Santana was the one that she wanted, and was so damned hard to be with?

"That's what adults do, Santana, they talk to each other. They tell each other what they're feeling when they're feeling it. They don't have a kid with their best friend because, what? Because I was planning a life with Martin because you wouldn't plan one with me?"

March 19, 2016

Quinn couldn't imagine a worse ending to a weekend. On the train ride back to New Haven, she buried her face in herStudies of Business Cycles Theoriesbook, and pretended that she found the appendix interesting enough to warrant her attention for the whole train ride. It was good that she was so practiced in not letting her emotions show, because she was a wreck for the whole trip. She lucked out when she got to the dorm because her roommate's stuff was still gone, which made sense because it was only Saturday night, and she had gone home for the weekend. So Quinn was alone. How fitting: she always ended up alone.

She closed the door behind her, planning on unpacking her bag, putting her books away, tucking her shoes underneath her bed, but she didn't get that far. She didn't make it past closing the door before she sank to the floor, sobs being drawn out from somewhere deep down inside of her. She felt like she was dying, even worse, she felt like her heart had broken. That she was broken. This had not been the way things were supposed to go.

There was something wrong with her. Maybe on the molecular level, somewhere deep down, there had to be something wrong with her because how could it be easier to raise a hand to hit someone than to take the girl that she was in love with in her arms and tell her that she was her choice. Santana was the standard that she compared everyone else to, which wasn't really fair to anyone else because no one compared. That sucked for Quinn because she didn't think Santana felt the same. No, correction. Santana felt something for her, maybe even love, but for Santana loving Quinn hurt. Santana had said that being with her didn't make her feel good. Santana said that she wouldn't be her excuse. Was that really what Santana thought she was to her? Her excuse? Even worse: was that how Santana felt like Quinn treated her?

Quinn hadn't been looking for an excuse. Maybe, if she was being honest, she had tried to manipulate a response from Santana when she brought up Martin, but that had only back fired on her brilliantly. Not only had it triggered an argument, but Santana didn't even flinch when Quinn told her that Martin proposed. And why would she? Santana would always have someone there to keep her warm; what did it matter if things between her and Quinn cooled?

April 1, 2016

Quinn could feel it in the air. Something fundamentally had changed between them. As soon as Santana walked into her space it was like they were two opposing armies lining up to go to battle against each other. The sex was like a well-choreographed fight, too, with hair pulling, slapping, and insults included, and two and a half orgasms mixed somewhere in there. Two and a half, because neither of them would ask of anything from each other, just took it, and when Quinn left Santana feeling unsatisfied, Santana refused to open her mouth to say that she needed something more.

It was like now that the 'L-word' had been brought up, they weren't allowed to show any acknowledgement that that was what it was. It was too much feeling, and both of them were angry, and neither of them were talking about the thing that made them angry, even though it was the same for both of them: they were hurt. It made them angry, too, that the other could hurt them because that meant that they were invested in each other enough to make it hurt.

Quinn didn't want to keep hurting all the time. She was done with the back and forth, and just couldn't keep breaking herself over Santana. She understood what Santana meant when she'd said loving her hurt. What she and Santana were doing, it just didn't feel good.

May 03, 2016

"Stalking is illegal you know," Santana was informed as a woman sat down beside her.

Santana shrugged, nodding to the brown bag that now sat on the bench between them. "I brought you a sprouts, bean, and broccoli pita. No dressing."

The woman hesitated at the kindness. "How do you know I'm a vegetarian?"

"One of my roommate in college was vegan. It was a lucky guess."

"What do you want?"

Santana shrugged. "What everyone wants: sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll."

"What do you want with me?"

Santana tried to convey to her, her sincerity. "You look like you can use a friend. And maybe lunch." She, the woman who secretly Santana referred to as downward facing smile, opened the bag, pulled out the pita, and sniffed it. "Christ, I didn't poison it," Santana snapped. Downward tentatively took a bite. Then another. "So, is there anything you want to talk about?"

"That's not very subtle."

Santana nodded. "We've all got our strengths. Me, I've always been a straight up bitch who tells it like is, but subtle, that's not one of my stronger suits."

Downward pushed some of the escaping sprouts back into the pita. "I know what you think."

"That's impressive, because sometimes I'm not sure what I think."

"About me. You think that I'm with someone who hits me, but you're wrong."

Santana shook her head. "Now, that can't be true. Others might be wrong from time to time, but I never am. I'm perfect. I taught Christ how to walk on water."

"We got into a fight. We both have fiery tempers, and sometimes we explode at each other." There was a flicker behind Santana's eyes at the words. "I threw my own blows, too."

Santana nodded. "Okay. I'mnotin love with my best friend."

This made the woman look at her oddly. "There both lies, see," Santana explained. "And they both hurt two people. The only difference is that my lie, doesn't put people in the hospital."

Downward gave Santana a hard look, then took a bite of the pita. "You're not a very good at this. You're not supposed to call me a liar."

"I'm not a crisis counselor; I'm a college student. We're pretty much useless except for binge drinking, complaining about the world, and condensing the English language down to 144 characters." Santana gestured in the air. "#1984isnow #thestruggleisreal."

Santana could tell that downward didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused, which told her that she was doing something right. Especially since she kept talking. "Where do you go? Emerson?"

"BC."

"For what?"

"I'm getting a Master's degree in English."

"How good are you at saying 'Do you want fries with that?" Santana grimaced. Were there honestly no other English major jokes? How about 'What happens when you have your past, present, and future lovers all in the same room? You get tense'.

"No, I'm being smart about it. I'm already working for the company that I hope to get a job with after I get my MFA."

"What company?"

"Little, Brown. It's a publishing house around the corner on Center Plaza. I work in the mail room," Santana offered freely. "Do you work around here?"

Downward's eyes fell downward. "I used to," she said, softly, regret tangible in her voice.

"Laid off?"

"I quit." It was said so firmly Santana knew that she wasn't going to say anything else about it. She didn't' seem as if she was going to say anything else at all.

Santana stretched out on the bench. "It's okay, I like the silent type. We don't have to talk," Santana said. "We can just sit."

"I know who you are," Downward facing smile says.

Santana tilted her head. "I know who I am, too. Well…I know I think, therefore I am." Santana paused. "It sounded funnier in my head. I would think that we know each other, or at least have a friend in common since we were at the same party."

"You're Santana Lopez. Brittany's friend."

"You watchFondue for Two?"

Downward nods. "You're a really good singer."

Santana pulled out her phone. Downward facing smile frowned. "Who are you calling?"

"My friend Rachel. I need you to tell her what you said, because she's like this Broadway freak who thinks that she's the only one in the world who can sing."

Downward watched the phone until Santana realized that she was seriously distressed by it, and she put it away. "Or not. Thank you for the compliment," she said awkwardly. "If you're a fan of Brittany's I can introduce you. She loves meeting her fans."

"I'm not," the woman said abruptly, leaving it at that.

Santana could feel her pulling away. "Since you know me, it's only fair that I get to know you," she said, hurriedly, grasping at straws. "What's your name?"

Downward stands up. "It was nice to meet you, Santana."

August 16, 2016

As soon as Santana got out of her final, final she sent out a mass text to all of her friends: And that's it, done. I be a NYU graduate, now. Congratulate me, bitches!

Funnily enough, even though she was graduating three months late, it still made her just the 2ndmember of the Glee club to have graduated from college. Rachel dropped out because ofFunny Girl, Brittany got delayed half a year plus, Kurt took off a year to travel with Blaine, Puck was in the military, Mercedes was touring, Sam got held back a year in high school, and since Mike was doing dance and was also a student, he was on a five year graduation plan. Yeah, she might have run around like a chicken with her head cut off for a couple of months, but she'd made up for it by adding an extra class every semester, and enrolling every summer, all while holding down a job. She had actually even managed to graduate with honors: cum that Schuester, and fuck you for thinking that I didn't have any ambition!

She wasn't taking a break now, either. The first day of classes were August 29th, and the 13 days in between were the only break she was going to get.

She started to send the text out to all the Gleeks, plus William and Sue, but then reconsidered, taking Quinn's name off the list. Feeling that she was being childish, she sent the text a half minute later, realizing that if Quinn was with Mercedes when they got the texts, Quinn would know that she was being Quinn, Santana thought bitterly. They were back to not having sex again, and weren't really talking either. Quinn had Martin, and Santana didn't need her.

Mercedes sent an answering text back almost immediately.Congrats, girl! Now that you're free, come finish this tour with me.

She thought about partying, but Mercedes offer was just as good. Besides, the only people in New York were Rachel, Klaine, and Artie and, no thanks. So Santana rented a car, and met up with her in Philadelphia. Santana knew that Quinn had spent the summer with Mercedes, but what Mercedes had failed to mention was that she had convinced Quinn to sing a couple of the last numbers, so instead of it being just Santana and Mercedes on stage, it was Santana, Mercedes, and Quinn, with nothing but Mercedes and some equipment in between them. Just being that close to Quinn for the first time in months, was really too close. Santana could feel Quinn's presence; she didn't even have to look at her to know when she moved. Her eye dragged to Quinn without Santana telling them to.

In the middle of one of the songs, she chanced a look up, and saw Quinn looking at her, which wasn't fair, because she was promised to someone else.

Santana made it until Sunday night. But then they, Mercedes, Quinn, and Santana, Brittany, who had spent the summer doing background dancing, and the crew, went out drinking, and dancing, and somewhere between the Samuel Adams and F.U.N'sTonightQuinn ended up in Santana's arms, and Santana vowed never to let her go again.

But that was probably just the alcohol talking.

Santana shook her head. "Phillip was never going to be my child. I never had any intention of laying any sort of claim to him. He and Hazel were supposed to live happily ever after in Colorado, and I was supposed to go on with my life. And I did. I came back to the east coast, and forgot that somewhere out there, there was a kid with my name. I thought that would be the end of it."

October 27, 2016

"H'lo?"

There was an intake of breath, and a sob, the sound of someone crying. "Santana?" It was an unknown number, and Santana didn't immediately recognize the voice, so her voice went instantly professional; despite the fact that it was 2:35 in the morning, and she doubted that she was being offered a job, but hey, it could always be Bryne.

"This is she, who is this?"

"I need you... please can you come pick me up?"

"Uh…yeah," Santana went scrambling for something to write with. "What's your address?" she wrote as the person talked. "I'll be right there."

Santana removed her gun from its box, assembled it, and slid it into her thigh holster, feeling like a douche for having it, but taking it with her nonetheless. Santana trained with the thing, knew how to assemble it, to clean it, to use it, but she wasn't a gun person. She wouldn't have even got it if it wasn't a semi-necessity; she sucked at throwing knives. She had a good idea who had made the call, but if she was wrong, she didn't want to be deadly wrong. She liked herself too much to die.

There was a shadow waiting for her inside the awning of the New Fellowship Baptist Church on Blue Hill Avenue, right outside of Franklin Park. It was wearing an overlarge hoodie, and a loose fitting pair of pants, and sandals, which made Santana wonder if they had just grabbed whatever was closest to them and dashed out of the house or if the clothing choice was calculated. Loose clothing easily meant concealed weapons. Zoning in on the figure beneath the clothes, Santana was almost positive it was Downward facing smile. She circled the building in her car, just to make sure that she wasn't driving into an ambush, before she parked the car a little ways back. She got out, locking the door as soon as she was out of the car, then clicked the key fob once, unlocking just the driver's side door.

"Hey," Santana called as she walked. Downward didn't look up, her face sufficiently hidden beneath the hood of the hoodie. If Santana hadn't been sure it was her, she wouldn't have approached her without her looking up first, but she could tell by her stance, and body type that this was Downward.

Santana approached cautiously. "Did you know that there has never been a documented case of a killer whale killing a human out in the wild?"

Downward lifted her head a little. "What?"

Santana walked closer still. "I needed to get your attention, and you still haven't told me your name, so I figured I'd sound dumb as hell asking you if you were okay since it's the middle of the night and well," she gestured. "So I went with useless trivia."

Downward looked up from beneath her hoodie, and old Santana would have recoiled and let out some stupid, unhelpful shit. Newer Santana, wasn't as easily startled. Unless it was Bryne, who she wouldn't have been surprised if she appeared suddenly at her elbow, wearing clothes the same color of the night, and yelling at her in German about not being observant enough. Santana gave a paranoid look left and right, but there was no Bryne.

"Let's have a sit down in my car."

Downward surprised her by nearly tackling her. Once Santana got over the shock, she slowly put her arm around the woman, one hand going to her hair, the other to offer a secure hand around her back. "Sssh, carino. Let's get off the street, yeah?"

Downward facing smile didn't remove her face from Santana's chest, sobbing quietly. Santana wouldn't have even realized that she was crying if it wasn't for the way her shoulders softly shook. Santana ground her teeth together, figuring out Downward was probably used to hiding her tears, bruises too, although none of these were hidden. They stood out in stark contrast against her skin, covering her face as it had been its design.

Since Downward didn't usually look so much like a punching bag, Santana figured that the attack that had caused this was more spur of the moment than usual. After all, you actually had to think about putting soap in a pillowcase; it wasn't something that could 'just happen'.

Behind the wheel of the car, securely locked in, Downward explained that it wasn't always like this, and Santana wondered did she mean the bruising, or the abuse.

"What is it usually like?" Santana questioned.

Downward bit down on her lip and hid her eyes. "Once, she was sweet."

Back at the apartment, Santana offered Downward something to sleep in, and her bed. While Downward was changing, Santana removed the gun from her waistband. Downward saw it, quietly watching her disassemble it, and put it back in the lock box. Santana could tell that she liked the piece being in pieces.

"Well, so I guess this is goodnight," Santana said. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything." Santana placed an innocuous kiss on Downward's forehead. "We'll talk in the morning. Things look better then."

Downward looked worse in the light of day. Whereas the night before Santana had to guess at the extent of the damage that this woman's 'partner'? had done, in the light she could see the full scope of it, and she wanted to bust the woman's head wide open. Who did that to someone?

"I made you coffee," she said as she walked into the kitchen. "Black. No calories. And oatmeal with flaxseed and applesauce. 120 calories."

Downward watched her, her eyes dark, and unexpressive. "I'm not anorexic."

"I didn't say you were. Just pointing out that this will fill you up, and there's very little calories involved."

It was unsettling, the way Downward's eyes followed her every move. "So I didn't get the play-by-play last night. Trip over the stairs?"

Downward grimaced. "I ran into a door."

"Those can be tricky," Santana said without humor. "Are you cold? I can get you something."

"No," she said so sharply it startled Santana. She froze where she was. "It makes me uncomfortable to have you walk behind me," Downward explained. She must have realized how that might have sounded because she paused. "Please, just stay here."

Santana sat back down. "Do I look like her?" Santana questioned, softly. Downward didn't answer. "What can I do to help?"

Tears filled the woman's eyes. "Nothing. Let me stay here for a few days?"

"A few…?" Santana frowned. "And then what?"

"And then I go."

"Go where,back? Are you kidding, did you look at yourself? I mean, sure, now you don't have to worry about your Halloween costume, but doesn't that hurt sometimes?"

"It hurts all the time."

"Then why not leave her? Do you think that this happened because you did something to deserve this? You didn't. No one deserves what she put you through. It's not love." In her mind, her Catholic upbringing played in her is patient, love is kind.

Tears welled up in Downward's eyes. "I know it's not love."

Quinn couldn't understand that, couldn't fathom it. She took Beth with her it seemed just about everywhere she went, some days. Quinn never stopped thinking about Beth, she couldn't picture how Santana, even at her most self-centered, could forget that she had a child.

"How is that even possible?"

December 23, 2016

Jenna lived out in Back Bay, in a single family home on Commonwealth Ave that could not have possibly been anywhere near her salary range as a tenured professor at Emerson. Santana felt at odds when she stepped inside. She, Mercedes, and Quinn had all grown up in one of the wealthier neighborhoods in Lima. Her father was a doctor, and she didn't want for much growing up, but her experience was far different from Jenna's. Although Jenna's father was in the military and he had traveled a lot, Jenna had spent a huge portion of her life in or around Boston. She had gone to private school. She had her own pony. She was wealthy, whereas Santana's family had merely had money.

Brittany wasn't similarly awed by the old fashioned grandeur of Jenna's digs. She said, "Oh pretty," and then walked up the gate. Tamara, Brittany's date for the night, merely had her face behind the blank expression she wore on it most of the time, so there was no guessing what she thought.

Jenna looked fabulous in a long, onyx, backless evening gown. She wore her hair pinned up, leaving you a perfect view of her near perfect musculature, and in case you failed to notice the curve of her back, or the dip of her cleavage, the heart and round cut diamond necklace and matching earring combination drew your eyes to remind you where you should be looking. "Baby gay!" she greeted loud enough to draw the gaze of at least a few people in the room. "Oh, and friends. Tamara, good to see you again.

"You too, Dr. Healy," Tamara said respectfully.

Jenna laughed, placing a soft hand on Tamara's arm. "You're not even one of my students, silly, call me Jenna."

No sooner than the words were spoken than a man who looked so strikingly like Jenna that they had to be related, glided over. "Pe," he pronounced it (pay) "who are your friends?"

His eyes were on Santana when he asked. "Brittany, Tamara, Santana, this is Bug, my brother, Lt. Colonel Healy, who doesn't realize he's spinning his wheels because, like every sane, good-looking woman, you three are all lady chasers."

'Bug' gave Santana a look that made her want to beat his head in. "Pity," he remarked.

"He's home on leave for the holidays," Jenna informed them. "Why don't you see if you can resurrect, Glory, Bug? She could use an escort, and she should be mingling." Jenna turned back to them. "So there's champagne, wine, and finger foods, help yourself, I've got schmoozing to do. Be my arm candy, baby gay?"

"Hey," Santana protested. "I had a birthday; I'm a year older now."

"It's not an age thing, honey, it's about knowledge of the world." Jenna held out her arm.

Santana gave Brittany a questioning look. Brittany nodded, but it didn't matter because Jenna was already whisking her off. "Welcome to my world, Santana," Jenna said as she smiled, and navigated the crowds. "Worthless people pretending to do meaningful things, while the rest of the world can do nothing else but react to the waves of change they bring."

"I guess we should all buy boats then, huh?"

Jenna smiled. "I knew we understood each other, baby gay, but not we," she corrected. "Weare the waves." She waved generally. "They are the ones that need the boats."

Jenna seemed to enjoy showing Santana off, and Santana surprisingly didn't mind. Jenna made asides that reminded her a lot of the way she and Quinn would talk about people in high school, and she seemed to have a general disdain for most people. She seemed to like Santana, though, and if it were an act, Santana didn't pick up on it.

30 minutes into the evening, with just a little coaxing, Jenna convinced Santana that she should sing. Bug, a woman on his arm, was brought back to play the piano. She only got a glimpse of the woman as Santana moved over to the piano where Bug had started to playSilent Night, but when she got full into the middle of the song, Santana looked over to Jenna, and was surprised to find that she recognized the woman now standing next to her. Santana was a little surprised that she recognized her; she looked much different now that she actually looked human.

It was brief, the flicker of recognition in her eyes, but Jenna, who was watching her raptly, noticed it, and Santana noticed her give a sideways look at the woman who she was holding hands with.

Santana finished the song, and there was appreciative applause, and an expectation of doing another one, but Santana stood frozen as puzzle pieces that she didn't want to connect, fell into place. She felt her world spinning around her. "Santana," Bug whispered, smile planted on his face. "I think they'd like another. What aboutBaby, It's Cold Outside?"

Jenna whispered something into Downward's ear. Bug started to play. Santana felt detached from her body as she sung along with him. As soon as the song was over, she pulled away before she could get roped into another song. She needed Brittany. She needed Brittany and Tamara. They needed to go. Now.

"Santana." Jenna's voice stopped her in her stride. Jenna was still holding on to Downward's hand. "I thought I'd introduce you to my wife," the sound of possession on Jenna's lips was strange to Santana because Jenna flirted all the time, and Jenna took girls home all the time, and she never seemed like she had someone waiting at home for her. "I thought I'd introduce you," Jenna repeated. "But it seems like you two already know each other."

"You brought her to Brittany's," Santana said without hesitation. "I remember. Though you failed to introduce me."

"Well then that was a mistake on my part. Santana this is my wife, Gloria, Gloria, Santana."

Downward…Gloria gave Santana a perfunctory glance, smiling blandly. "Nice to meet you."

Santana quickly excused herself after that. Where were Brittany and Tamara? She felt like she was going to be sick. How had she missed this? They both were at the party that night; Gloria had recoiled at the sudden sight of her, and Gloria had had trouble trusting her because she and Jenna were friends. Friends. She liked Jenna. How many times had she compared the two of them? Thought of her as herself in a few years. Oh,God.

Santana was so in her head, she startled at the feel of a hand on her back. "You're looking green there, baby gay."

"Don't touch me," Santana snapped. She knew that she was acting irrationally, but she couldn't find her calm place in the moment. She couldn't act aloof.

"Let's talk," Jenna said, steering her away from the party guests and outside.

Have you ever noticed that your body seems to be far more intelligent than your brain? Take a moment to think about it. Some people have trouble walking and talking at the same time. Sometimes you forget your keys, or leave your cell phone at home, or forget to kiss your significant other good-bye; but your body doesn't forget these things.

Take a moment to consider how much complexity your body processes every single second, of every day, or how one little glitch in your body's system, can derail everything. While we walk, and talk, and speak, valves are opening and closing, muscles are tightening, blood is flowing, hearts are beating. All without you telling it to do so because the fact is if people actually had to think to do things, if they had to make their stomachs digest, and they had to make their muscles bend and contract, they wouldn't be able to function.

But your body knows you, and it knows the world that you live in. Take when a foreign body invades your body for example. Your body is already in attack mode before you even realize that you're not feeling well. When your body is next to someone that you like, your heart starts beating faster before you even realize that another person affects your heart's rhythm. When your body senses danger, it reacts before you've even had the chance to assess the situation.

Santana thought about all of this when they stepped out onto the balcony and the door closed behind them because it wasn't until that very moment that Santana realized something that she had never, ever, stopped to take note of before: she had never been alone in Jenna's company before. She had known her for years, had been around her several times before, had done something close to flirt overtly on a couple of occasions, but she'd never been around her without other people being nearby. Santana had never seen Jenna as a threat, but her body had. It had recognized that Jenna was a danger, even when Santana hadn't.

At the close of the door, Jenna was a completely different person. "Tell me that you didn't do something really stupid with my wife," Jenna commanded.

Santana's fists clenched at her side. "Your wife. You mean the woman that you can't seem to keep your fists off of? You mean the woman that you forget in favor of getting with whatever girl I happen to be looking at? What the actual fuck, Jenna? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jenna stared at Santana, unflinchingly. "You want to know why I call you baby gay, Santana? Because you've got a lot of growing up to do. You think you know what's going on, and that you've got a handle on things, but you really have no clue. I saw something in you. We're not that different, you and I. We both want what we want and we don't stop until we have it. Gloria is mine. She belongs to me. When she bores me, I find other entertainments, when she disobeys me, I remind her who she belongs to. I thought we understood each other."

"I'm not like you!"

Jenna laughed. "Keep telling yourself that, Santana." She winked. "Like notices like. You're upset right now because you fooled yourself. You've been condemning me as long as you didn't know who I was, but now you got a good look in the mirror and you saw yourself, didn't you? I like you, Santana. You're young, and naïve, but I still like you. Don't make me change my mind."

Santana's eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

Jenna flashed a hard smile that made her look absolutely breathtaking. Like an angel of death. "I don't make threats."

There was another quote about tears that Quinn was particularly fond of: "Guys always think tears are a sign of weakness. They're a sign of FRUSTRATION. She's only crying so she won't cut your throat in your sleep. So make nice and be grateful." Donna Barr.