My dear readers, I am so sad to see this story come to an end, but in the words of the wise Oscar Wilde, "Books are never finished; they are merely abandoned."

I don't want you all to think I am abandoning this story, because I truly feel like this is the place to stop. I have planned since the beginning there would be this many chapters, and I intend to stick to my intentions. It's just that if I keep going (which I could), I would just never stop and the story would suffer. Please don't feel like I am abandoning you, because you know I could never stop writing. I finish this story on a happy note.

If you had asked me a year ago, I never would have thought I could have accomplished this. I read somewhere that 60 to 70 thousand words is a novel. Well, I think we just kicked that novel's ass with this. So thank you, reader, whether you have stuck with me from the beginning or you are just picking up now. Thank you for joining me on this crazy, exhilarating journey. This is maybe the one thing in my life I am most proud of, and it's not just because of the words I have put on a page, or the story I have spun from almost nothing, but it is because of the satisfaction and love and I have received from all of you. So again, thank you, and adieu. For now.

Enjoy.

They walked through the airport, his shuffled footsteps struggling to keep up with the taps of her boot heels. And maybe she would never admit it, but Santana had enjoyed this trip home. It was not nearly as bad as she expected it to be, thus, Santana decided that from now on, she would just lower her expectations about life, so that everything would work out in the end. Regardless, she was happy and eager to return to civilization, to the life she had left in New York.

The same could not be said for her lover.

Puck, on the other hand, kept looking over his shoulder every five seconds. She didn't know what he expected, for they had taken a cab to the airport, and certainly no paparazzi were trailing them here in the Lima Airport.

After she had let some disgusting greasy security guy grope her, she had reached her limits. Plus, the security people had confiscated her take-out box of breadsticks from Breadstix. Their plane was going to leave in a bit, and they were running a little behind. Allison had made quite a scene regarding her son's departure, demanding that he return in a month, which was very unlikely. Isabel on the other hand, had given Puck a curt nod and hugged her daughter, perhaps for the last time, which was very likely.

"Why do you keep doing that? It's pissing me off," she deadpanned as they walked to their gate.

"Will you just hold up, Santana? Who knows when we'll be back here again?"

"We won't ever be back in this shithole. You can come back whenever you like. I am going to refrain though, thank you very much." She continued marching towards the gate.

"Come on, you don't mean that. You love this place," he leaned forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her a little off-balance so that she tumbled towards him in her killer heels. She smashed into him, and he grabbed her, swaying her back and forth despite her protests. Never mind that they were in the middle of a public place, albeit a public place in the middle of nowhere, and Santana Lopez hated these types of public displays of affections. "Don't you ever wish you were just a normal person here, without having to deal with fame and all that shit? I could be a grease monkey and you could, like be a hot substitute teacher, or something," he continued. She rolled her eyes at his immature irrationality. "You know, like Finn and Quinn." It was then that she placed her palms on his chest and pushed him aside.

She stood akimbo, one hand on her hip, giving him her bitch stare.

"First of all, don't liken me to Quinn," she said this in a way that implied that she was not really annoyed at him for the comment, "and secondly, don't you dare cite Finn Hudson to me ever again." She said that last part with a seriousness that let him know that he had maybe crossed the line with that simile. He gave her an apologetic smile, and she smirked, knowing that she had won. The bottom line? Quinn was a bitch but at least that was funny. Finn was a misogynist jerk that had outted her to the world, and that wasn't funny.

"Okay, okay," he said, tossing his hands up in the air, surrendering, "Let's go home." But his words were unconvincing, for he had that pathetic sad puppy dog look on his face that made her cringe. And maybe, she felt kind of bad for making him do this, for dragging him into her crazy life and depriving him of the life she knew he wanted. So her eyes lit up, she took a few steps backwards, held out her hand, and began to sing.

"This time, baby, I'm not leaving without you," she sung, looking absolutely ridiculous. It was his turn to laugh at her. He would have joined in, but Lady Gaga wasn't quite his thing. He chuckled and took her hand, sure that she was worth every sacrifice. She skipped off through the gate, flashing her ticket to the attendant, and disappeared onto the plane, with him right next to her.

And the whole flight home, she held his hand, making sure that the son of a bitch would never leave her. He didn't dare.

When they stepped off the plane hours later at JFK, Santana was immediately inundated by the intensity of the city. It was only the wee hours of the morning, but the sidewalks were alive and she felt like she was being reawakened after a long slumber. He walked a few feet behind her instinctively to the cab that was waiting, because he knew Santana didn't like being photographed with anybody by the press. He took no offense at this, and tried to respect her wishes. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses, but of course, paparazzi had spotted her already. Now Santana had endured her share of media frenzies, but she had luckily never experienced a scandal. Not yet.

Photographers, reporters, cameras, and microphones were being shoved in her face, and she tried to push through them, using her arm to break a path. Of course she hadn't called for a bodyguard today, that was stupid of her. Whatever, they couldn't say anything she couldn't handle.

"Santana!"

"Santana! Over here!"

"Santana! Where've you been?"

"Santana! Is it true you're being fired?"

"Santana! Are you ever going to tell us who the hottie you've been seen with is?"

She didn't respond to any of the questions and continued to walk briskly. He decided to just screw it, and caught up with Santana, grabbing her and shielding her from the cameras, leading her into the cab. She let him. Of course this meant that the camera bulbs just went off more, but at least they made it into the cab alive.

When they made it through the door of her apartment, well, their apartment he supposed, the smell of her apartment enveloped her. Before, it smelled like hairspray and potpourri, but it was now rank with the smell of men. She disappeared into her walk-in closet to change out of her traveling clothes. She always left the door slightly ajar when she changed; she thought this was a particularly sweet sentiment on her part, for a woman to change in front of a man so carelessly. He followed her into the huge closet, full of designer freebies and stocked to the ceiling with untouched clothing. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen Santana go shopping for clothes. She was much more of a "bling" person, as she had always been. And that was when he got the idea.

"Wait," he said, as she pulled her sweater over her head. She poked her head back through the cashmere, "Yes?"

"Let's so somewhere," he announced excitedly.

"Jesus Christ Puck, we just got back. Where on earth do you want to go?"

"Just trust me on this one, Lo. Put on something and let's go. You're never going to forget this one."

"Okay, fine. What should I wear? Is this like a fancy thing? Like a little black dress thing or a jeans thing?" She didn't know why she bothered to ask. Nothing was fancy when it came to him.

He took a moment to decide. "Put on the thing that's the most you."

She scrunched her nose in confusion. "Most me?"

"Yeah. Like raw, bare you. None of that flashy haute couture stuff you wear for the publicity. Like if there was one defining outfit that makes you, you know, you." She rolled her eyes at his awful French pronunciation, not that he cared that much, because he was sure he made no sense at all. She stripped down to her bare essentials. Of course, they were Victoria's Secret.

"You're a dipshit. I'm a model, but the clothes don't make me, baby," she laughed, but she understood what he was saying, "Okay then." She did not take her time selecting, as if this was a defining moment in her life, because she honestly didn't give a single shit about clothes. She simply pulled on a black body-con dress that she had swiped off the set of a magazine shoot once, because she had simply loved it. And to complete the look, she pulled a red jacket out from the very back of her wardrobe. She sniffed it. It smelled like the lavender satchets she had stuck in the pockets years ago. She slipped it on, and twirled in front of him. Lo and behold, it was Santana Madison nee Lopez, in all her Cheerios glory.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

Naturally, he thought it was perfect, because for him, she'd always be sixteen.

"Where are we going?" she squealed, as they walked down Fifth Avenue, "Are you really taking me shopping?"

"Maybe."

She pouted. He wouldn't tell. When they had crossed the street, he stopped her in front of a fire hydrant and a bagel stand.

"You interrupted me for this?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips, whittling her waist in the process.

"Nope. Close your eyes. The rest is a surprise," he declared.

"You better not be pulling some romantic bullshit on me, Puckerman."

"'Course not."

She obliged nonetheless, and let him lead her to a block more until they stopped. He steadied her balance and jumped in front of her.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now," he said, and she did.

They were standing at 727 5th Avenue, otherwise known at Tiffany and Co.

"Uhm, why are we here?" Santana asked. She wasn't going to lie; she kind of expected the elaborate romantic gestures people saw in cheesy romcoms, but she was relieved there was not going to be any type of public spectacles involving him declaring his love and her looking awkward.

He gestured at the heavy, iconic doors that were under the clock. "Go pick out a ring."

She stared at him. "What?"

He stared back just as confused, because he thought he had made himself perfectly clear. She thought he looked like maybe he read the manual wrong, as if this was something all women wanted. "Go. Pick. Out. A. Ring," he repeated slowly.

And then she finally understood what he meant.

But she still screamed, "What?"

"Come on, Santana. Do this with me. Remember when we were stupid ass kids talking about the future like we had a clue? Well, it's the future now, and just talking about it doesn't count anymore," he started, a sense of urgency taking over his voice. She simply stood on the sidewalk, numb and unaware of how to feel.

"Oh, no, no. You and me would never last." She was sure she would never give in to this crazy phenomenon called love, and she was pretty sure he would never let go. There were things about each of them that the other would never forgive nor forget, but for the sake of their relationship, they had already apologized. That did not mean they were truly forgiving, but that they valued their relationship more than their egos.

"Well, it's lasted this long, hasn't it? Besides, between your fucked-up problems and mine, we're never going to be bored. I can't promise I can take care of you all the time, Santana, but you'd never let me anyways. I have a couple hundred thousand in the bank from the army and stuff, I make pretty good French toast, I'll drop everything and go with you to Paris or Bali or whatever any day of the year," he continued rattling off his selling points. Santana wasn't sure if this was how normal people proposed, but it didn't sound too bad.

"And," he finished, "I've had a vasectomy."

Okay, that was pretty fucking awesome.

She cracked a smile, a secret girlish smile that he had never seen before. "Noah Puckerman, that is the single most romantic thing you have ever said." She thought about it for a while. She didn't know why her mind went to this, but she suddenly recalled Mr. Schuester once telling his students that "Action is character" for when they were writing stories in Spanish or something. Before him, she did nothing. She partied, walked a few runways, photographed catalogues. And now? One could argue she did less, but really, she did more. She took vacations. She visited her mother. She sat around at home with her hair in knots. This was true action, and this was true character.

And for that reason, she walked into his open arms and smashed the side of her face against his chest. His jacket smelled like campfires and cinnamon raisin bagels, and she wondered where the smells had come from. "Are you going to leave me for a younger woman when I'm old and wrinkly?" she teased, her voice muffled. He could feel her cheekbones moving up and down on his torso as she spoke, tickling him.

"Of course I will," he replied nonchalantly. She broke away and swatted him. "But at least I'll feel bad about it."

Good enough for her.

She reached up to kiss him, and they continued to go at it until Santana pulled away. Something told her that Tiffany probably didn't appreciate two twenty-something losers dressed like teenagers making out in front of their store. What would Audrey Hepburn say, for shame?

"Now come on, unless you want me to pick out the ring, Holly Golightly" he said, walking off into the store without her.

"Now hold on, who said anything about that? I get to pick out the bling!" she yelled after him. It was only an hour later, with a 5 carat sparkling rock on her finger, that she realized she had never officially said "yes," but she didn't need to, because her actions had always spoken louder than words. And besides, if he had wanted a different answer, he would have asked a different girl.

She had to admit.

Best. Proposal. Ever.

Well, as far as "romantic bullshit" went.

Tyra Banks: Everybody, let's welcome supermodel and Victoria's Secret Angel Santana Madison to the show! We're going to get down and dirty and she's got some big secrets to reveal!

Santana Madison: Thanks for having me, Tyra. Glad to be here.

TB: So what exactly is the "Invincible" tour that is happening this month?

SM: Well, one in two American women are wearing the wrong sized bra, so this month,

Victoria's Secret will be touring the country doing free fittings, giving out free stuff, you

know, the whole shebang.

TB: Oh, wow! How nice! And will you be joining them?

SM: No, not me, but my fellow Angels Coral Truax and Katya Kazmanich will be.

TB: Okay, okay. Ss it true that you and Victoria's Secret will be parting ways after this season? I know everybody wants to know this.

SM: Yes, it's true. I will be hanging up my wings after five years. *audience groans*

TB: Can you explain that a little bit? Was it a mutual decision?

SM: Yeah, it was. I mean, five years is a long time to be with one thing, and it felt like it was the right time for everybody. I'm not really what they're looking for anymore, and I can't give them the same dedication I have been doing for the last five years. But I leave with the best five years of my career life all because of Victoria's Secret.

TB: Good. Now Santana, you've been pegged in the media as this ice queen with a reputation for hating your job and looking pissed off all the time. Truth or just the natural model bitch face?

SM: *laughs* A little of both, not gonna lie. I love modeling, it's great, it's gotten me where I've gotten today, but I only see it as a vehicle for my life. You know? If you had asked me this a year ago, I would have said I hated my job, because I was obsessed with my career and miserable. But now I'm okay.

TB: What changed?

SM: Other things have happened in my life that make everything okay now. I've realized that it's okay to have a not-so great thing in your life, as long as there are other good things to balance it out too. Like, as long as modeling isn't my only life, I'm good.

TB: And would this changing thing in your life happen to be this very attractive man right here? *displays a photo on the screen behind her*

SM: *laughs* Yeah, I guess. Oh my god, that's such a bad shot of him. I'm never going to hear the end of it. Yeah, that's him.

TB: I bet he loves your job.

SM: Oh, yeah. Good thing he's not the jealous type. That's really more my thing.

TB: Ooh, girl. Are you ever going to tell us his name or are we going to keep playing this cryptic game of pronouns?

SM: Pronouns.

TB: Okay then. I respect that. What about you, audience? *audience cheers* And is that an engagement ring on your finger?

SM: *smiles and shows her hand to Tyra*

TB: Wow, that is stunning!

SM: Thanks.

TB: How long have you two been together?

SM: Maybe 13 years or so, on and off? We've only been engaged like two months though.

TB: Wow! Were you high school sweethearts?

SM: Hardly. But I was head cheerleader and he was a football player.

TB: Not the quarterback?

SM: No, no. That's a different story.

TB: What's the secret to a long relationship like that? Do tell.

SM: Well, I'm really not the person to ask about relationships, but…I guess, just find someone you can stand. Screw the head over heels in love, make your knees go weak love. That doesn't last. This does. Oh, and really, really, really good sex. That should be the thing to make your knees go weak, actually.

TB: *laughs* So he doesn't make your knees go weak?

SM: Actually, he doesn't. Not in the slightest bit. What's so great about him is that, he doesn't make me weak, when everything else in my life does. He makes me strong.

TB: Oh, that's adorable. But you do have things in common and stuff?

SM: I think for a relationship to really work, I think you need to want and not want the same things.

TB: And that's the case with you?

SM: Definitely. I mean, we both like Egyptian cotton sheets, music, yada yada yada. No, I mean we both like living on a whim, doing impulsive crazy things to keep life interesting. We're definitely not the settle down type of couple.

TB: I see. When's the wedding? Have you got a theme and everything?

SM: Absolutely not. I've never been the white wedding kind of girl. I mean, who knows if we're even going to get married?

TB: What? You're engaged! That means you're getting married!

SM: Oh, no, no. Being engaged for commitment-phobes like us is kind of enough already. If we get married, it's not going to be a big deal. It'll probably be just for our moms or something. *laughs* And if we don't, whatever. Being engaged is kind of just a public proclamation that you're seeing someone monogamously.

TB: But you will eventually get married?

SM: Who knows? I mean, I've already got the ring. What else do I need?

TB: True, true. And kids? Have you seen Sasha Prince's new baby boy?

SM: Yes, I sent her some flowers. But kids are not for us.

TB: That will change, by the time you get older.

SM: No, it really won't.

TB: Well, alrighty then. Let's move on, we have a lot of stuff to get to.

SM: Great. You know, Tyra, I hope you realize how special you are. I never talk about my relationships to anybody.

TB: That's right! Only here on Tyra! Santana, how to respond to the recent People Magazine expose about you? Here's a quote from your high school friend Lucy Hudson, "Santana Madison is a complete crock, and this will knock her little halo right off."

SM: *pauses* I really don't have anything to say. Some of the things in that article are true, and others aren't. But I'm not going to concern myself with Quinn, sorry, I mean Lucy Hudson. All I have to say is that I have just as much dirt about her, but you're never going to see me going around and spreading it.

TB: Well, that's nice.

SM: That might be a first for me.

TB: Okay, well, we're almost out of time, so let's finish up really quick. So what are you going to do after this season? Are you retiring? Taking a break?

SM: I feel like at this point in my career, I can afford to take a few weeks off for break, which is probably what I'll do. Doctor's orders actually.

TB: Oh dear. Are you all right?

SM: Oh yeah, it's fine. I've just been having some back pain lately. Carrying these puppies around is finally catching up to me.

TB: *laughs* Well, take it easy. You could always get them removed.

SM: Maybe. I guess since I'm not an Angel anymore, that would be a possibility.

TB: Right! So you're not retiring?

SM: No freaking way. All my plans are kind of up in the air right now. I'm going to be the new face of Missoni's fall collection for sure though, and then after that, I think I'd like to do a USO tour, maybe. My fiancee's already promised me he's not doing any more tours, because he used to be in the military, but I know he misses it. So that would be something for the both of us. Sing for the troops or something?

TB: Sing?

SM: Oh yes, there's a lot people don't know about me. And yeah, I may not be utterly in love with my job, but I'm going to keep doing it until they kick me out. You can't get rid of this girl that easy!

He turned off the television, proud of how open Santana was, speaking to a complete stranger like Tyra Banks. Santana had been eloquent, sophisticated, and classy, proof that she indeed belonged in this glamorous and tumultuous world that he had always known she could survive in.

He put his feet up on the coffee table, popped open a beer, and waited for his lover to come home.

A final question for you all: Was this a love story?

How do you define love? Or maybe lust? Like even? Was it only a love story? Or maybe something more? Would the story have basically reached the same conclusions and had the same central themes without the love? Does love have to do with anything at all! (How's that for a loaded question? Got your mind spinning yet?)

And fun little bonus ones: 1)Why do you think I named the bra the Invincible? 2) Remember when I said Santana liked Audrey Hepburn? Way back when? For the Breakfast at Tiffany's fans (book and movie), what are some parallels between Santana and Holly? Because there are quite a few!

So? What did you think? Drop a line, for old time's sake! Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year. Keep on the lookout for a story here and there (I just can't stay away). And don't forget me, send me a message whenever you feel like it!

Much love always, Emily.