Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor any part thereof. No money is being made off of this story and is intended only for entertainment purposes; therefore it falls within the parameters of "Fair Use"

A/N: Well, here's the conclusion. As I've said elsewhere, I'm not exactly over the moon with this section. I've rewritten it twice in the last two weeks, and I'm no closer to being proud of it, and I'm really out of ideas about how to improve it. I can only hope that you, my loyal readers and reviewers enjoy it more than I do.

"Hola, Padre." The day after the conversation with her parents Santana walked into Father Patrick McKinnley's office at St. Mary's church. She was almost instantly flooded with memories stretching back to childhood. Santana's Papi and Father Patrick were about as different as two men could be, one a barrel-chested Puerto Rican man with a booming voice who lived the affluent life that his job as cardiothoracic surgeon afforded him, the other an exceedingly tall, lanky Irish priest with a quiet unassuming manor, but they had served in the army together before and during Desert Storm, and were as close as brothers for it.

As Santana looked around the room at the memorabilia adorning the walls and desk and bookcases, she knew that although Father Patrick's first love would always be God and Jesus and all things related to his church, a close second in his heart would be The Boston Red Sox. Nearly twenty years of living in Lima, Ohio may have dulled his once thick Boston accent but it would never dull his love of The Bo Sox. "How's your petition to get the 2004 World Series officially declared a miracle coming?"

Father Patrick smiled as he stood from behind his desk. Santana hadn't called ahead to tell him she was coming, hoping to surprise him, and also to leave herself the option of chickening out without wasting Father Patrick's time. All the same, Father Patrick didn't seem surprised to see her in the least. "Not as well as I had hoped."

"Y'know, some might take that as a sign."

"Did the Sox take being down 3 games to none in the ALCS against the Yankees as a sign? Did they say, 'Oh well, God clearly doesn't want us to win The Series. I guess the Curse continues?'"

Santana chuckled slightly at this, "Shouldn't you as, you know, a priest, maybe reference Moses when citing an example of not giving up?"

Father Patrick gestured for Santana to sit. She did and he did likewise. "Context, Santana. We were talking about The Red Sox so I kept the conversation in that realm. I wouldn't have brought it up out of nowhere."

"I still remember watching the game with you and Papi when they finally won. Pretty sure I've never seen you as happy as you were that day."

"Maybe," Father Patrick said, "but that's only because you don't remember you christening." Santana blushed slightly at this. "It's very good to see you, Tana. So did you come to talk to Tio Patty or Father Patrick?"

"A little of both, but mostly Father Patrick."

"Okay. What's on your mind?"

"For, I don't know the last like three months, I've been going through some soul searching and for the last ten days or so I've been on this path of self-acceptance that has somehow led me here, to you."

"I see. Accepting what, exactly?"

"It seems like everyone I've said this to already knows, or at least most of them have, and you're the most observant and intuitive person I've ever known, so odds are you already know what it is I'm here to talk about, and I've said these words to others without reluctance for several days now, but I'm hesitating in saying them to you and I think it's because it will sound too much like making confession, and I won't do that."

"Very well," Father Patrick began, "How about I say it then? You are deeply in love with your best friend, Brittany, and the conflict between this love and The Catholic Church's position on homosexuality is the reason you stopped coming to mass 3 years, 7 months ago. That about cover it?"

"Yeah, more or less."

"Okay. So you, like everyone that's turned on the news in the last thirty years has heard that The Catholic Church has renounced homosexuality as a sin and has at pretty much every turn tried to deny homosexuals and same-sex couples marriage rights, adoption rights, et cetera, yes?"

"Um, duh? Of course I have."

"Have you ever heard any of that out of this parish?"

"Well…" Santana started and stopped, "no."

"Every wonder why?"

"You're okay with gay people?"

"I'm 'okay' with everyone, Santana. I'm a priest, that's sort of my job, but I don't count loving someone of the same gender as you to be a sin, no."

"Okay, but how? The Bible is pretty clear on the subject."

"Only if you don't look at the context."

"Okay, Sunday school me on the context, Padre."

"The references in The Old Testament are listed in The Mosaic Code. Things also outlawed in this code are married couples having sex during the wife's period, getting tattoos, eating shrimp, lobster, pork, and meat cooked rare, wearing of poly-cotton blends, seeding your lawn with mixed seeds, and getting your hair cut, so clearly The Mosaic Code doesn't mean much to modern day Institutional Christianity."

"Clearly," Santana echoed.

"The 'be fruitful and multiply' argument from Genesis is made kind of invalid due to advancements in modern medicine."

"And the church doesn't condemn childless hetero couples," Santana interjected.

"Excellent point," said Father Patrick, "Also, your family has great respect for the importance of words, so I'll show you this." He grabbed a note pad and a pen, jotted down a word, and handed it to Santana.

"Paiderasste?" she said questioningly.

"It was the standard Greek word for an adult man that was in a monogamous relationship with another adult man at the time The New Testament was written, and it appears nowhere in The Bible or any biblical texts. The words that are used are more properly translated as abusive sexual relationships or promiscuous sexual behavior."

"So if you knew all this and knew about me and Brit, why didn't you say this, like, months ago?"

"You said you've been soul searching for the last three months?"

"Yeah."

"So if I'd come up to you five months ago, at Christmas, and said, 'You know, Santana, it's okay if you're gay.' What would you have said?"

"I'd probably have blown you off. Okay, fine so this was something I had to come to grips with on my own, but it would have been a lot easier if I knew people like you existed. Why don't you say something?" Santana asked.

"You mean, come out as gay-friendly?"

"Yeah, make some noise. Rock the freaking boat a little, Father."

"You know, Santana, I can tell you really wanted to pepper that sentence with profanity and I appreciate your restraint," Father Patrick said with a smile.

"Only for you, Padre, now all due respect but stop dodging the freaking question," Santana replied, punctuating the substituted curse word.

"I will answer the question. Your thought is that I should announce to the world that this parish is gay-friendly, make some headlines. How long do you think those headlines would last? A couple of weeks, maybe? What happens after that? How long after that until I'm defrocked? What do you imagine the man sent here to replace me will be like? Then what happens to the next young person like you that comes seeking my council on reconciling their faith and their sexuality? I hope I'm not bursting your bubble, San, but you aren't the first gay kid to come to me for help and I doubt you'll be the last. What happens to that next kid?"

"He winds up sent to some horrible 'camp' to be 'straightened' out."

"Exactly, so, no dear, I won't be announcing a gay-friendly Catholic parish in an extremely up-tight conservative town like Lima. That is not why God put me here. As much as it pains me to say it, The Catholic Church is not, nor has it ever been a vehicle for social change. I can do good here, but I can't change the world."

"So the world's a shi… crappy place and there's no changing that. That's a surprisingly pessimistic attitude for a priest."

"No, I just said that I can't change the world. In this world there are councilors and there are kings, and I am a councilor."

"And you're saying what, I'm a king?"

"I'm saying it's certainly within you to be one if that's the path you choose."

"What the f… what can I do?"

"What can you do? Santana, when you go to school tomorrow, look around and ask yourself that same question. You bent an entire student body to your will. You decided that no one was going to mess with Brittany, and you made a monster of yourself to make that happen. Now there's 600 plus students in that school who wouldn't dream of doing or saying anything to hurt her. Then you decided it was time to cut out bullying and you bent the entire school to your will again, this time almost overnight, all for the love of one woman. What can you do, Santana? What can't you do when you set your mind to it?"

"Holy freaking crap! Bend the entire world to my will? Challenge freaking accepted, Padre!"

"Yeah, you know, or you could just become an activist of some sort. That is, if your plans for world domination don't work out."

"Way to aim for the middle, Father."

"Well, how's about this, then? Come make confession, come to mass tomorrow night and take communion, then you and God have a long heart-to-heart about whether or not it's a great idea for you to take over the world. Sound good?"

"I don't have to confess Brittany?"

"What have we been talking about for the last hour?"

"Hey, I just want to be absolutely clear."

"Okay, no, you do not have to confess being in love with Brittany. The pre-marital sex, drinking, fighting, smoking, being cruel, being vulgar, being profane, yes, being in love, no."

Without missing a beat Santana replied, "Cool, let's hit it."

Twenty minutes later Santana was done confessing the last four years of her life, and if the last ten days had been lifting the weight of the world off Santana's shoulders, then cleansing her soul made her feel light enough to walk on air. She hadn't felt this free in her whole life.

As Father Patrick was escorting her out she asked, "Is it inappropriate for me to hug you? Wait what am I saying? I don't care." True to her word, she wrapped her arms around Father Patrick's torso, pulling herself tight against the sternum of the tall priest, an embrace that he warmly returned. "Te amo, Tio."

"May The Lord bless you and keep you, my child," he said, adding, "Now take your butt home and stay out of trouble for once."

Once she was out of the building and the door closed behind her, Santana was in her purse rooting for her phone. She retrieved it, hit the speed dial, and waited for an answer.

"San?" Brittany answered.

"Britts, you were totally right. Like, of course you were right, right? When aren't you?"

"I know, totally."

"I did it, babe. I'm whole again," Santana said walking around to the driver's side of the car.

"You talked to Mami and Papi?"

"I did."

"And they totally weren't mad or sad or preachy or anything like you thought they were going to be were they?"

Santana opened the car door, sat down and stuck the key in the ignition. "No, they weren't and I know why. They think you slipped up and accidentally told them about us, but I know you. You were dropping them hints, weren't you?"

The blonde giggled into the phone, "I totally was. I knew they would need some time to figure out how they really feel about you being gay. Papi needed time to get all the angry out and Mami needed to cry and it would make you super sad if they did it in front of you, so I told them enough to let them figure it out for themselves."

"Britts, you're the smartest person ever and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Did you go talk to Father Patrick?"

"What are you a damn psychic? Yes, I talked to Father Patrick."

"What did he say?"

"He said that I'm not going to Hell for being in love with you."

"So you got right with God?"

"I'm right with the whole fucking universe, Brits. The only thing left is you, and I promised Artie I'd stop trying to steal you away from him, but the very next time Wheels fucks up, you have a standing invitation from me. You hear me?"

"San, I'm not with Artie."

"What? But at Prom…"

"We got our mack on at Prom because he sang me a super sweet song, but we haven't gone out again and we haven't had sexy times. I told him I had to figure out what my feelings for you meant before I would get back together with him."

Santana was so excited she nearly dropped the phone. She wasn't really sure what to say. Something inside her was telling her that she hadn't earned Brittany back yet. Brittany interrupted her contemplation, "My parents aren't home yet, if you want to come get our lady kisses on."

It was at this prompting that Santana new the play to make. She quickly responded, "Nope. You get your ass up and make yourself as absolutely smokin fucking hot you can. I'm taking your sexy ass out and courting you in the manor that you deserve."

"Out? Like out on a date?" Brittany asked.

"Out on a date," Santana echoed, affirmatively. "Out and fucking proud on a date."