Quinn woke up in the middle of the night from sheer discomfort. She and Santana had fallen asleep on the couch, and since Quinn was on the bottom, she had fallen asleep at an awkward angle, and had ended up with her spine pressed into the hard surface of the couch. "San?" Quinn whispered, softly shaking Santana a little. There was absolutely no way that Quinn was going to be able to get off the couch without waking Santana, and her back couldn't stand being on Santana's death couch for the rest of the night.

Santana snorted, startling awake. "What's wrong, babe?"

"We fell asleep on the couch."

"Oh," Santana yawned, wiping the corner of her mouth. Santana didn't seem to see the dilemma, and simply nuzzled further into Quinn's body.

There was a part of her that thought that her sleepy wife was probably one of the most adorable things ever, and how nice it would be to just lay here forever, but that was her pre-high school car crash part, and it was overwhelmingly outnumbered by the throbbing pain localized in her back part. "San?" she tried again.

"Sssh, Quinn, I'm trying to sleep."

Quinn pushed her a little harder. "You have to get up, sweetie. We need to get in the bed."

Even a half asleep Santana smiled at the term of endearment. "You called me your sweetie," she mumbled. Santana pushed her lips up, seeking out Quinn's mouth. Quinn shook her head, but still connected her lips to Santana's. "Thank you, baby," Santana said automatically.

"Come on, San," Quinn pleaded, shaking Santana a little harder. After a full minute Santana opened her eyes. "Why're you trying to wake me up?" Santana grumped. "That's mean."

"We fell asleep on the couch," Quinn explained.

Santana seemed ready to close her eyes again, but then she sort of connected the words together. "Oh, babe, your back! Why didn't you say something?" Santana sprang up, instantly awake. She gently slid her arms underneath Quinn's body, lifting her up. She placed several kisses on Quinn's forehead, apologizing after each one.

She carried Quinn into the bedroom, bridal style, and laid her gently on the bed, before crawling in beside her, facing her. "How's your back?" Santana questioned with concern. Quinn gave a smile. "I'll live," she replied.

Santana yawned. "What time is it?"

There was a sock covering the clock, and neither felt like reaching over to pull it away. "Late," Quinn remarked. She stared, unblinkingly at her wife. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," Santana whispered back.

"Elephant shoes," Quinn said clearly.

Santana's lips moved just as slowly, but with purpose, "Olive Juice."

"I would listen to an Alanis Morissette CD for you."

"I'd watch Barbra Streisand for you." Santana grimaced. "What was it like, kissing Berry?"

"Santana," Quinn protested.

Santana gestured. "What? You made out with her!"

"Does it bother you that much?"

Santana's face scrunched up. After a second she nodded. "Yea, I think it does. How did it even happen?"

"I told you, I was drunk."

"Yeah, and I've been drunk around the Hobbit, and it still never happened, and she practically pranced in front of me ass naked."

"She what?!" Quinn demanded.

"Ha, you see! That's what I'm talking about!"

"If it makes you feel better, she doesn't compare. At all."

"Thanks," Santana said dryly. "But you still kissed her." Santana pouted. Quinn always felt that there was no point in encouraging Santana when she was being ridiculous, so she didn't indulge her wife. "Has she told you who she's bringng to the wedding?"

"She just said she was bringing an ex."

"I thought she liked Puck's soldier friend. Do you know what happened with that?"

Quinn just shrugged. "Maybe it was just a one-night stand kind of thing."

"So much for being married by 25. That reminds me, Young's going to be at the wedding. I may have passed along Mercedes number after the Xavier thing, and they've been talking. He's her date."

Quinn had heard no such thing, and she was mildly outraged becauseshewas supposed to be Mercedes best friend. Were there rules, she wondered, about wives not stealing their wife's best friend? "How do you know this, and I don't?"

"Because men secretly talk as much as girls do, and Puck spilled all."

"Do you know if Sam's bringing anyone?"

"Why, looking to get a little side action?" Santana made a rude gesture.

"Ew…no…"

"Why'd you invite him, again?" Santana wondered.

"He's one of us," Quinn said with a shrug. Her eyes sparked. "Hey, you called it a wedding."

Santana frowned. "Didn't you say that you wanted a ceremony?"

"I do," Quinn whispered. "I like you calling it a wedding. Let me have my moment."

"You're so weird, Quinn."

"No," she corrected. She fluttered her eyelashes at Santana. "I'm adorable."

"That you are, babe." Quinn leaned in closer to her wife, just short of sharing a pillow with her. Surprisingly, Santana pulled back a little. "If I leave you alone at the reception you're not going to be tempted to make out with Rachel again, are you?" she teased. "Because there will be alcohol there, and I know how much weddings turn you on to Berry."

Quinn took the joke in stride. "As long as you don't try to take home the bartender, I think I should be alright."

That cute little sideways grin appeared on Santana's face moments before Quinn moved the remaining inches onto Santana's pillow. Quinn grabbed a fistful of Santana's shirt. She wrapped her leg around her wife. "If you're so worried about Rachel, you're more than welcome to try to erase her taste from my mouth."

Quinn lightly licked Santana's lips, giving a wink. Santana was visibly shaking from her desire to move across the space between them. Desire won out, and she pulled Quinn forward. Just as quickly as the kiss was initiated, though, Santana pulled back. "We can't, Quinn," Santana said regretfully.

"But," Quinn placed her lips at Santana's ear, "I want to feel you hot and wet around me."

"Fuck…you're not playing fair, babe."

Quinn pulled back. "Okay, how about just for the honeymoon?"

Santana watched Quinn absently lick her lips. Regretfully Santana shook her head. "Sorry, babe. Rules be rules."

"It's our honeymoon. You know what those are for? To have sex."

"Actually they were to hopefully impregnate a woman before the soldiers rushed off to war, and since I can't get you pregnant..."

"Then, what if we put it off for a few months?"

"The no sex or the honeymoon?"

Quinn laughed. "Both?"

Santana joined the laughter. "Damn, Quinn. Do you think that we'll not be able to manage being around each other for two weeks without sex?"

"We can bearoundeach other, but I saw the bikini, and I don't think I can control myself if you're strutting around in it. Especially when there's going to be like a dozen or more folks eye fucking you the entire time, and I won't be able to stake my claim."

"My, my, Mrs. Fabray-Lopez, such language," Santana mocked. She got serious, quickly though. "There's something I need to tell you."

Quinn pulled back, too. "Okay, new rule for the marriage. You can't start statements with 'there's something I need to tell you'. Whenever I hear those words, my heart crashes into my stomach, and I'm instantly imagining that it's worse than it really is."

"Okay, point," Santana said. "I will strive not to do so."

"Thank you," Quinn breathed out. "So what do youneedto tell me? Is thereanotherchild out there?"

"It's about our honeymoon."

Quinn involuntarily winced. "Well, that certainly doesn't sound like you've suddenly changed your mind and you're going to let me take you with Gianna against the hotel door."

Santana moaned softly at the thought. "No, babe, I'm sorry. I wish that's what I had to tell you, because that would make you really happy, and what I have to say is going to make you sad."

"Umm…you're not helping me not panic," Quinn whispered.

"My vacation time wasn't approved." Santana talked quickly. "I have to go to Arizona for a couple of weeks, but I will swear to you on the bible that I'm going under extreme protest. There's nothing that I want to do more than be with you on the beach, showing off my teeny, tiny, itty-bitty little red bikini." A flash of inspiration spread across Santana. "I'm in my teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, fuck me hard red bikini, on a beach, filled with sand...hmmm...I thought I had something there."

Quinn was momentarily distracted. "You know that's already a song, right?"

"No, it's not! I totally just made that up."

"Seriously, San, it is." Quinn hummed, "She wore an itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, yellow-polka dot bikini. Look it up."

Santana looked intensely disappointed. "Is it really?" Quinn nodded. "Well, pooh."

Quinn remembered the catalyst for this conversation, and she frowned. Although the thought of spending two weeks with Santana andnotbeing able to have sex with her was the absolute definition of torture, Quinn couldn't hide her utter disappointment that their honeymoon wasn't going to happen.

"You can come to Arizona with me if you want," Santana said quickly, "or we can go to Cabo, or really anywhere you want after. Since it's business, I'll still have my vacation time. We can spend Christmas in Vermont, or in Hawaii." Quinn's face still hadn't changed. "I'll find a way to make it up to you, babe, I promise, and this is like a one-time thing."

Quinn lay there, her eyes staying glued to Santana. "Is this a real one-time thing, or like that night on Valentine's Day, one-time thing?"

Santana gave a soft smile. "The first. Like, I'm still going to have to travel with my jobs from time to time, but I'm not going to be the kind of spouse who misses out on important events so that I can kill myself working." Quinn's stern expression lasted a few more seconds, before she smiled. Santana nearly cowered from the sight. "Is that a your about to ripe my throat out with your teeth kind of smile?" Santana questioned, nervously.

Quinn scooted closer to her wife. "No, that's a, 'you could have lied and called off the honeymoon because we're not having sex, but instead you decided to tell me the truth' smile." Quinn stroked Santana's cheek.

Santana exhaled. "Oh." She tried to judge Quinn's gaze. "So are you mad?"

"I'm Disappointed," Quinn said honestly. "I really wanted to see you in that bikini, even if you weren't going to let me rip it from your body with my teeth and let me have my way with you. But I understand having to do something for your job. I won't lie, though. I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go," Santana quickly responded.

"How long will you be gone?"

"From the 27th to the 18th."

"That long?" Santana nodded regretfully.

"It was only supposed to be two weeks, but then another week got added, and apparently this was set in place before we got married, and even though I originally got approved for it, Paulianne, told me that management denied my request, because she was pressured to, and she just generally likes being a bitch."

"For which job?"

"Both, actually," she responded. "I'm going to be working the whole time I'm away, and it's hot as hell in Arizona at this time of year, and I honest to God don't want to be away from you for even a fraction of this time, and it's not going to be any fun, and I'm going to miss you like crazy, and I don't wanna go."

"You said that already."

"I just really want you to know that." She gave her best charming face. "I'd rather spend an hour arguing with you, then 24 away from you."

Quinn shook her head at the dysfunction of their relationship but all she said was, "Okay."

Santana smiled, but quickly looked sheepish once again. "One last thing?"

"Oh,justone?"

"I offered to take Phil with me, so Hazel could have some time to herself, and she told me no, but she might change her mind at the last minute. So he might be coming with me, at least for part of the time."

"Phil," Quinn repeated the name. It wasn't said bitterly, it wasn't said with a sneer or any maliciousness, it was just Quinn sampling the name. She knew she would have to get used to it, to him, and it could have been worse. He could have been the child fromProblem Child,but he was an okay kid. He was very grounded, and far more polite than Quinn would have imagined a child belonging to Santana would be. Her problem with Phillip was that he existed, that it meant that there would always be this intrusion into their marriage … but like it or not, no matter what Hazel or Santana said, PhillipwasSantana's son.

No, they weren't biologically related, and no Santana and Hazel weren't together, or had ever been together, but Santana had been there from the day he was born. She had given him her name, had provided for him, had mothered him, and had been a mother to him; Phillip saw Santana as his other mother which was all that mattered to Quinn (and to the state of Massachusetts who recognized an 'intended' parent). Saying that Philip wasn't her son, was like saying that a child that Santana or Quinn had wasn't reallytheirchild, or that Beth wasn't Shelby's. So even though he was an inconvenience, the fact of the matter was that he was here, so she had to accept him. Quinn wasn't going to be that person who tried to devalue Santana and Phil's relationship for the convenience of her own. Her wife had a child. She just had to deal with it.

"Do we know what we're doing about that?"

"I just came to grips that he's going to be in my life like that tonight, babe," Santana responded. "I guess Hazel and I," she reconsidered, "the three of us, you, me, and Hazel, will have to sit down and talk about it. Since he's starting school, I'll probably just have him every other weekend…or something." She bit down on her lip. The magnitude of it all seemed to weigh on the both of them just then, but especially Santana. "I don't even have a child's seat for him."

"So you'll buy one," Quinn assured her before Santana could start to panic. "San, you know how to be a parent; you've been one for years."

"Why are you being so good about this?" Santana questioned. "What do you have cooking over there?"

"Nothing. I told you; if I'd surprised you about Beth, I'd hope that you would be understanding about it. I'm…trying…Santana. We're in it for better or worse, right?" Timidly, Santana nodded. "Just no more surprises."

"I promise, there's no other secret kids out there."

"Are there any more surprises?"

Santana thought about it, and she thought about it some more. Quinn could almost literally see Santana thinking it through. "There probably are," she finally said. "But because I don't know what you know. If there's something you want to know, you could ask me about them if you like. If I can answer it, I will, and if I can't, I won't, but I won't lie to you."

Quinn instantly seized on that. "You won't lie?" Santana shook her head. "And I can ask anything?"

This time she nodded. "Yes."

"Do you honestly like the top of bottom?"

Santana got that that particular horn-dog look that Quinn loved so much on her wife. "I told you, I'm a switch hitter. I can 'top' from either position, but I do like it when you take control."

"Ha, I knew it!" Quinn crowed.

Santana stopped her in her bed-scoot dance. "Because I like seeing you having that confidence, and sense of possession. I like that you're comfortable enough with me that you can let it out. In case you forgot, there was a time when you would only be on the bottom, when you wouldn't kiss me after you went down on me or, hell, evengodown on me. A confident Quinn is my kryptonite; I've told you that."

Quinn felt that warm feeling spread throughout her body, a feeling that only Santana could give her. Quinn scooted closer to her on the bed. "Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered. Santana's expression changed, recognizing the desire in Quinn's voice. "Ilikebeing on top, too. I love watching you fall apart beneath me, begging for more, and harder, and deeper, and I like giving it to you."

As she talked, Quinn tried very hard not to conjure up the image of her hovering over Santana at the moment where she became so overcome by the intensity of Quinn's actions, that she plunges over the edge. Tried not to remember how she gasped out Quinn's name when they're trying to be quiet, or how she yells it, when they're not (and usually they're not). How she looked when she tiptoed into an orgasm, as opposed to when she dived into it full-on. Quinn's hips moved slightly. Not enough to come in contact with Santana's lower half, but just enough to tell on her.

Santana of course noticed the involuntary thrust of Quinn's hips, and got a knowing smirk on her face. Quinn knew that Santana's relentless teasing was a mere seconds away. Quinn stopped her with a serious question. "How many people have you been in love with?"

The question distracted Santana from whatever crude joke she was going to make, but she didn't have to think about the answer. "Two."

"Do you like being married to me?"

"More than you could imagine."

"You really used to fantasize about me in high school?"

"I'll put it this way, being on the bottom of the pyramid was almost worth it because I could look up your skirt."

"Are you being serious?"

"Absolutely. Though I still think you are a bitch for telling Coach Sylvester about my surgery."

"Once again: you get a surgery when you get your appendix taken out. You got a boob job."

"I'm not afraid to slap you again, Fabray."

"Lopez." Quinn corrected, rolling her eyes. "Can you believe that we're really married to each other? What'd you put in the kool-aid that day?"

Santana puffed up her chest. "Oh come off it," she said, airily, "you know it was always your dream to marry me."

It got unexpectedly quiet. Santana frowned a little at the serious expression on Quinn's face. "It was just a joke, Quinnie, don't be a sour puss. We were having fun!"

Quinn didn't say anything; she burrowed down beneath the covers. "Babe!"

"It's late, San...or early. Go back to sleep."

"Come on, Quinn!" Santana protested. If it was possible to throw a fit on a bed, Santana looked to be about to start one. "You're going to have to seriously come up with a list for me about the things that I'm not allowed to say, because this isn't fair! We can tease each other about my boobs, but not about you marrying me?"

Quinn peeked her face out to look at Santana. "It's not that," Quinn remarked. "It was though," she whispered. Actually, it wasn't a whisper so much as her lips moved in concert with a sound too low to be considered a whisper. It was good, for Santana, that she just so happened to be very good at reading lips. "My dream," Quinn further explained. "To marry you."

Santana returned a confused look. "For how long?"

Quinn shrugged. "How long is forever? I don't know San, high school maybe."

Quinn startled when her wife cursed. "Fuck this whole communication thing! So, not only could we have been going at it like rabbits for years, but you wanted to marry me on top of that? Do you know how much fighting, and make up sex, we could have been getting ourselves into all these years? What else are wenotcommunicating?"

"Well, there's that thing," Quinn hinted. "You know the one we never say."

Santana chuckled. "Oh, that doesn't count. We both know how the other feels about that. I mean I'd listen to Schue rap the national anthem for you."

"I'd walk over burning coals for you, Pam from the office style."

"For a second I thought you were going to sayMichaelfrom the office style, and then I'd know it was the forever kind."

"Itisthe forever kind."

Santana gave Quinn a butterfly kiss. "You'rethe forever kind." Though the smile didn't disappear, Santana's serious face lay claim to her features. "I don't care however long it took us to get here, I'm glad we're here, babe."

Quinn leaned over and placed a sweet kiss on her wife's lips. "Me too. I'd jump off the Titanic for you."

Santana snorted. "Fuck that. I mean Schue is one thing, but the cold is the cold, and this bitch? She ain't got time fo' dat."

Quinn shook her head, rolled her eyes, and pulled Santana across the space to her. "Shut up, Santana," she instructed seconds before she initiated a not so innocent kiss.

"Mmm…yes miss," Santana remarked before accepting Quinn's tongue into her mouth.

Quinn was rushing. They had so much to get done before the reception, the moms were going to be arriving next week, her inbox at work was piled sky high, which probably made it the most inopportune time to hop on an airplane and leave Boston, but that was precisely what she was doing. Something Santana had said last night, or rather this morning, had prompted this necessity.

So far, her marriage to her wife had been anything but easy. It had been filled with hurtful secrets, and lots of yelling, and now, no sex. Which…okay so Quinn had gone through long bouts of not having sex before. She wasn't driven by her libido. Completely. The difference between now and all of the other times, though, was that she was now married to one of the hottest women on the planet, one who approached sex like it was a six sense, who could probably have a PH.D. in it, and now they couldn't have it. She understood the reasoning behind it, butstill…So Quinn's energy needed to be funneled into other outlets. Which is why Quinn was getting on a plane.

Quinn was, by nature, a planner. As the ugly duckling born into a family of perfection, Quinn had been planning her great escape from the moment she realized that she just didn't fit into her surroundings. As a child, she had come up with a thousand and one wild explanations for how she had ended up in the Fabrays' household, her theories running the gamut from kidnapping, to being switched at birth, to her mother secretly having an affair with Mick Jagger, or someone similar, because she was the only one in the family who could carry a tune.

Sometimes planning seemed to be the only thing that she shared in common with her parents because they, too, were planners. Through some sin on her mother's part, Russell hadn't been graced with a boy, so he'd been forced to make do with what he had. The Fabrays were a Mayflower Family and while his particular branch may not have been wealthy by old money standards, they still had their name, and Russell had seen determined to make that count.

In Russell's eyes, Frannie may have been a girl, but she was the kind that would steal hearts; she was (the right kind of) smart, charismatic, and cunning. Russell made sure that he always found money to indulge her in the things little girls were supposed to be involved in: ballet, girl scouts (well until they were revealed to be the liberal front that they truly were), youth group at church. When she got older it was gymnastics and cheerleading, the Chastity Club, and the Honor Society. In order for Russell to see through his plan, perfection was a must. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect hair. Frannie would grow up, not to be somebody, no because she was still a woman, but to marry somebody, yes. Some handsome, wealthy, old family man who they would have perfect little children with, preferably with blonde hair.

These same standards weren't imparted on Quinn, not directly. Her parents didn't expect much from her. She didn't fit into the mold of what a Fabray was, so she didn't appear to be worth anyone's time. She didn't get a lecture when she brought home her first 'G' for good instead of an 'E' for excellent. Russell had merely sighed in a 'what do you expect' kind of way that answered 'not much'.

Her mother never taught her the basics in how to catch a man, and why would she when no guy worth having would ever give her double chin and fat thighs a second chance? Nothing much was expected from her by her family, so she expected it from herself. She made herself forsake all things for the sake of studying until she had all the information committed to memory, and it wasn't really all that hard because she didn't have any friends. But just like Russell had plans to restore the Fabray line to some level of prominence, Quinn had a grand plan to get away.

When she started to drop the weight and redeem herself a little in her parents' eyes, they started expecting more from her. It always hurt how frighteningly quickly her father agreed to her getting a nose job. How that much more interested her mother became in her once Quinn started to dye her hair. Quinn had never grown up with that feeling that her parents loved her no matter what, because they, especially her dad, had shown her time and time again, how conditional their love was. Quinn hadn't grown up feeling loved, and in return she had never felt like she ever would be loved, or that she even deserved to be.

But she did. She had past sins, but they weren't so heinous that she didn't deserve love, or happiness. She had someone who understood that and gave her both. She wasn't going to let anything ever take that away from her again. So Quinn was going to Ohio, instead of work today, because if Quinn and Santana were going to move forward in their relationship, they couldn't still be held back by the things in their pasts. Quinn had daddy issues, but Quinn was no longer a child.

Santana might have managed to go back to sleep, but after waking up, Quinn had been unable to do the same. Her and her wife's conversation had given her a lot of things to try to process, and as was typical when she couldn't sleep, her mind raced with the thoughts that were keeping her awake. She had made her decision around 4:30, and slipped from the bed to find out the information that she needed. The earliest flight out of Logan (that didn't spend an unfathomly long time to get to her destination) was at 5:40 in the morning. That gave her just enough time to slip into something suitable, jot down a note to Santana about not being able to sleep, needing to get out, and to say that she'd see her when she got home later this evening, and then to high step it to Logan airport.

There had been a surprising number of people at the airport for it to be the weekday and so early, but since Quinn had no bags to check, and only her purse to go through security, she didn't have any problem making her flight. She got in a short nap on the way to D.C., and another really brief one from D.C. to Dayton. During the hour long layover in D.C. she called first her boss, to tell him that he wouldn't be able to make it in today, then her dad to politely request that he make himself available for the latter half of the afternoon. After she hung up, she had just enough time to make a reservation with the Enterprise in Dayton, before she was being called to board her second of three flights for the day. Her last, a non-stop flight from Columbus to Boston, would leave Ohio at 5:00 p.m., and would get her back to Boston in just over two hours. Add 30 minutes for city travel time, and she would make it home just in time to have had a longer day at work, and a slightly traffic heavy drive home. It would be tight, but as long as things went according to plan, it was doable. And if things went exceedingly well (no hold up on the take-off), she wouldn't even have to make up an untruth to tell Santana.

Quinn got her rental and started the little more than an hour drive to Lima. She distracted herself by turning on the radio. Vivienne Pitt-Jolie's song,BrokenArrow, was playing, and although the song was inane and Vivienne's voice sounded like bathwater, Quinn sang along as if her life depended on it. Being back in Ohio was always strange for her. Quinn had pretty much given up everything she had in order to get away, and so she was always the most reluctant to come back. This was the year of their 10-year-reunion and that their honeymoon would have taken place the weekend of the reunion well, it's amazing, sometimes how convenient life works out. The second Rachel found out that the honeymoon was cancelled, she would probably be begging Quinn to come back 'home'.

"Inescapably yours, to do as you will, but I am my own, body to fill…"Quinn paused in her singing. "Geez, celebrity's children should not be allowed to have careers in the entertainment industry. This is just awful!" But Quinn continued to sing along.

For Quinn, Lima wasn't home. It had always felt like the place where she was in-between getting to the place she wanted to be. It had never managed to feel like home. It wasn't until Quinn moved to Boston that she felt like she had found her home. Even though she had only lived in the city for four years, now, Boston just felt right. The air felt right, the ground beneath her feet felt right, the architecture, and the residents, felt right. It felt her. She finally felt in place, and she had never felt like that anywhere else.

Martin had been right about Quinn and New York: she wasn't a New Yorker. After years of listening to her friends rave about the city, she thought that she'd like it, too. But if Lima made her feel like she was constantly underneath the spotlight or a microscope, New York made her feel like she didn't even exist. It was crowded, dirty, and so trendy that the people were jaded by the very notion of how cool they were. The city didn't know what to do with itself. There were a thousand things to do, and Quinn could never figure out which one of thousands she should attempt. She had loved getting closer to Mercedes, and even Berry, Kurt, and Blaine, but she had never felt a kinship to New York. She didn't even bat an eye about leaving it.

P!nk'sGlitter in the Airreplaced Vivienne's song, the seductive voice of a stripped down P!nk filling up the car. "Have you ever fed a lover, with just your hands?" Quinn turned the song up loud enough to drown out her own voice, and sang along with the song. Quinn had never managed to listen to this song without crying, and today proved to be no exception. This song had always made her think of her, Santana, and Brittany, and the triangular nature of their relationship."Closed your eyes and just trusted. Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air?"

Yale had been the same way as New York for Quinn. As a child and a teen so much of her focus had been on getting away from Lima that Quinn never spent too much time thinking about what she would do once she got away. She had set her mind on Yale, but that was in the abstract. Once she was actually on the campus, that was a completely different matter. To be honest, Quinn didn't like Yale. When you spend your life moving towards one single goal, it can get romanticized in your head. That's how Yale was; it was an ideal. Once she got there, though, she discovered she didn't like it.

She tried. She had started her freshman year with the intention of remaking herself. Of being, not that girl who was often ignored and overlooked, nor the one who screwed up and had a baby at 16. She didn't want to be the girl who was the poster girl for the 'don't text and drive' movement. She wanted to leave Lima in the past, make new friends, new connections, be a new Quinn. It can be so very hard to reinvent yourself, though. And the thing about being a loner who was suddenly surrounded by friends is that it is very hard going back to being alone, once you know what it is exactly that you're missing.

Quinn had tried to surround herself with new people, she joined a sorority, and social clubs, but she had never been good at making friends; her friends had all just sort of made her. No matter how many times she saw the same people on campus, they never became her familiars. Instead she had casual acquaintances who didn't get her sense of humor, or even knew what humor was, and she had a dozen or more study buddies, but no one to go out with on the weekends. No one to talk to about how much she had enjoyed a book. Surprisingly, she found herself missing Lima. No, not Lima. She missed those very same people from high school that she swore she was going to leave far behind her. She had tried so hard to shed Lima, but Lima wasn't willing to be left in the dust.

She'd had every intention of skipping out on that Thanksgiving her first year away, despite her promise to come home, but at the last minute she changed her mind. But it didn't take long to remember just about every reason she had for not wanting to come back. Although she was Quinn at college, she was Quinn Fabray in Lima, and everyone expected something from her. They wanted to share how much they admired her, or they wanted to hear about life in the Ivy League, and she didn't know what to tell them other than how lonely it was. How, she had no idea how to ascend to the same level that she'd been in, in high school, and how she was so miserable, that she had becomethatgirl. That naïve, freshman, sorority chick who got manipulated into having an affair with one of her married professors, even though he wasn't nearly as brilliant as he thought she believed him to be. Being with Patches, as Santana called him, was never about grades, or about his charm, it was about companionship, and really, just about being in a relationship with an older male authority figure.

The only good thing about Thanksgiving was that when she started to brag, to make up this false world that aligned with everything that people thought Quinn Fabray should be, the one girl who had always seen straight through her bullshit had, well, seen straight through her bullshit, and called her out on it.

Coming back home for Thanksgiving, meant coming home for Christmas, which she spent at the Lopezs' because she hadn't want to spend it with a barely there Judy. By the time she was heading back to Yale, though, Quinn was almost wishing that she had toughed it out with her mother rather than having to deal with a heartbroken and aimless Santana that was pining over a Brittany who had seriously believed the world was going to end, and instead of calling up Santana and declaring that she was her soul mate, had fake married Sam.

Needless to say, Christmas was a disaster. But it had solidified two things for Quinn: she hated Brittany, and she was oh so helplessly in love with Santana. Being around her was painful, talking to her was painful, watching how desperately in love she was with Brittany wasn't pain, it was flat out torture. She swore to herself that she was so done with it all, that she would bury herself completely in the alien world of the Ivy League, but she had one, just one, more obligation to Lima, Ohio, and then she could bury everyone and everything behind her.

Quinn wasn't the biggest fan of Valentine's Day, and spending it alone just reminded her of all of the ones she passed as a kid, opening up her Valentine's Day mailbox and seeing only a handful, two or three at the most, Valentines, given to her only by the nicest kids, the ones who pitied her, or who had given one to everyone. Being suddenly popular hadn't changed her view on the holiday, though she did look forward to the same Valentine that Santana gave her every year, no matter if they were angry with each other or not.

The Valentine's Day of Mr. Schue's wedding, Santana had seemed just as miserable about the holiday, as she was, miserable enough that she was actually friendlier with Quinn than Quinn expected. Quinn saw an opening that day, and so she decided to take it. So maybe she couldn't have Santana's heart; she could at least have her for a night. When she flirted with her friend, she was surprised when Santana flirted back. She laughed at her jokes, she listened when she talked, and when the drink made her brave enough to cautiously touch her friend, she was surprised that Santana didn't pull away. When she held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, Santana looked back.

Quinn wasn't stupid. She knew Santana was nursing a heartbreak, but she'd take what she'd get, and take it she did. Santana was thoroughly surprised when Quinn suggested that they dance together when Rachel and Finn started singing. It shouldn't have really been that big of a deal, since they'd been dancing together all night, but they hadn't danced to a slow song before. Quinn knew she was in trouble the second her hands connected with Santana's hips. What surprised her was how tightly Santana had clung back when they danced, and the look of shock on her face when Quinn told her that she liked dancing with her.

Although Quinn was nothing but confidence when she suggested that they head upstairs, she was completely floored when Santana actually agreed, and far more nervous than she had ever been for anything in her life. She wanted it to be a horribly awkward, terrible experience, so she could accept that they had no sexual chemistry, no chemistry of any kind, and she could forget about the girl once and for all, but it didn't work out the way she planned. Sex with Santana had been perfect. After the one that they just had to knock out, Santana had taken her time, had showed her what having sex with a female could be like. What having sex with Santana could be like.

Santana was surprisingly unselfish in bed. All of the traits people thought she lacked, compassion, understanding, civility, patience, selflessness, she held in droves in the bedroom. (Her sharp tongue, fortunately that carried into the bedroom too). Even the first time, when it was all about doing the thing, Santana had been in tune to Quinn's needs. She pushed when it was necessary, held back when was needed, listened to Quinn's unspoken desires, and didn't ask for anything in return. That first round had been mind-shattering, the two times after that, had been heartbreaking. Heartbreaking because it felt too much like making love, and Quinn just didn't know how to process that. She didn't know how to process the idea of someone actually lovingher, not Quinn Fabray, but her, and she definitely didn't know how to process that that person expressing those feelings was Santana; how to comprehend that the person who she had first loved, seemed to love her back. If only for a night.

It was in the moments that Quinn was leaving the hotel to head back to Yale that Quinn realized that she would never be able to leave Lima, because as long as another person was tied to this small town, she would be, too. She thought about this as the familiar sights passed by outside the window, as the cornfields, and the old farmhouses, and the young boys driving by in their pick-up trucks, moved around her. She remembered what Brittany had said when Quinn had confronted her:I'm home to her. She understood because while Lima, and New Haven, and New York, weren't home, the thing that made Boston so much better than any place she'd been, was having Santana. Santana was Quinn's home.

Quinn had been wondering what gift to give her wife for their wedding reception, and when thinking about the things that Santana would possibly want, only one had come to mind. Family was the most important thing in Santana's world. She lived by a sense of duty, or obligation. She believed in having a forgiving heart. This was what prompted Quinn to want to see Russell, to begin to build whatever she could with the man that she called father. And it was also what prompted her to drive through the streets of Lima Heights Adjacent.

She parked her car outside of a modest, ranch-style home, a home that the woman insisted on keeping despite offers to move her to a better place of residence. Quinn parked the rental on the street, pulled out the wedding invitation from her purse, and got out the car. If this worked, it would be the best gift Quinn could ever give her wife, and if it didn't, Santana wouldn't have to know about it.

Quinn knocked firmly on the door, her heart beating loudly. She had to resist the urge to play with her fingers, or chew on the corner of her lip. The door finally swung open onto an attractive older woman, with streaks of gray intermingled with her now ashy black hair. Eyes that were hard, and brown, and located an inch lower than her own, stared at her intently. The look that she gave Quinn wasn't necessarily intended to be unfriendly, but that's the vibe that Quinn got from it nonetheless.

"Mrs. Lopez?"

"Yes?" The older woman questioned. This wasn't their first meeting, but Quinn could tell that the woman didn't recognize her. Or even worse, thought that she was Brittany. "I'm not buying anything you're selling, so if you're selling you might as well pack it on down the road."

"I'm not selling anything. I don't know if you remember me, but I went to high school your granddaughter, Santana." Quinn had had dinner over her at least twice, each time this woman insisting that she, Brittany, and Santana eat up because she insisted they were all so thin. They had even attended church together.

At Santana's name, Mrs. Lopez's eyes narrowed. Quinn wanted to shrink back from the look, but she was born a Fabray, and the one thing that she had more of than courage, was the ability to fake it. "I was wondering if we could talk?"

She showed concern at the statement. "Has something happened to Santana?" she demanded.

Quinn quickly shook her head. "No, no. Santana's fine. We're having a reception on the 20th, and I know Santana would really, really like it if you were to come."

Santana's abuela positioned herself half behind the door. "I know not this Santana that you speak."

"You're granddaughter."

"I don't have a granddaughter," Mrs. Lopez said firmly. "Santana has made her choices and she will have to live with them. Thank you for coming by…what did you say your name was?"

"Quinn," Quinn answered. "Quinn Fabray-Lopez." Mrs. Lopez's eyes narrowed into thin, slits. Familiar anger boiled up and burned out through Santana's abuela's eyes. "I'm your granddaughter's wife."