It was hard work, but it was worth it! Two stories, one day, 5 hours. This chapter is mostly just to get a feel of where Brittany and Santana's relationship is currently. I hit a few bumps, like I haven't decided on whether it's set during the summer or not. But I'll have that and any other kinks straightened out by the next chapter.

I'm gonna take a nap now.

Read, review, and enjoy.

- Lex.

Santana stepped onto the porch outside Puck's house. She was in attendance to another one of his legendary parties. The faint thump of the bass from his speakers could be heard from outside, and intoxicated teenagers loitered in and around his house. She shivered as she sat down and whipped out her phone. She lazily dialed in the number she knew by heart and pressed the phone to her ear. Two rings passed and Brittany answered the phone.

"Hello?" she said groggily.

"Hey sexy ladyyyy…" Santana slurred into the phone.

"Mr. Schue?"

"No Britt! It's me."

"Santana? Are you drunk?" Brittany's voice was thick with worry.

"No…" Santana lied, trying to sound as sober as possible. And to be honest, she wasn't. Completely shitfaced was a better term. She was about 4 shots of vodka and a half bottle of Jack past drunk. It was a miracle that she had been able to stand and make somewhat coherent sentences.

"Santana, don't do this…"

"No, no. I just wanted to call. And let you know. That.. I-I love you."

"Why don't you try telling me that when you're sober?" Brittany said, her sympathy turning to anger.

"But-"

"No, Santana. You do this every time. You go get drunk and then call me at ridiculous hours, saying things you won't even remember the next morning. I'm tired of going through these ups and downs with you." She sighed. "Look, I don't have time for this tonight. If you remember this conversation in the morning we can talk about it. I'm going back to bed."

Brittany hung up, leaving Santana with the dial tone.

The latina stared out into the sky, which was immaculately clear that night. If she hadn't been completely shitfaced as afore stated, she probably would've stayed out and looked at the stars. But she stood up, using the handrail for balance, and walked back into Puck's house. She fought her ay through the mob of drunken idiots and made her way up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

The next morning, Santana work up with a burning throat and a pounding head. As she slowly regained consciousness, she realized it wasn't just the alcohol that was giving her this splitting headache. It also happened to be the Santana shaped head print in the wall. She'd made it up the stairs, but not quite to the guest room. She'd passed out directly in front of it, actually. She sat and continued to rub her head a few more minutes before trudging back downstairs to the kitchen.

Puck was nowhere to be found, but that didn't particularly alarm her. She made herself a glass of water, needing anything to calm her searing throat. As she sipped her drink she scrolled through her contacts, wondering the events of last night. She stopped on a familiar name and froze.

Brittany.

Santana mentally kicked herself. She knew Brittany hated it when she drank. It was gonna be hell trying to get Brittany to forgive her, after she'd fucked up, again.

She internally groaned and continued scrolling until she stopped on another familiar number.

Quinn.

Sure, their relationship had been skating on thin ice, but they were The Unholy Trinity and that was forever. From the sleepover they'd had that night freshman year, they promised each other that when the other ever needed them, they would be there. And right now Santana needed a ride. She knew Quinn wouldn't give her a ride without some sort of explanation, but she really didn't want to have that talk right then. She figured she'd make up some story, something about… Well, she'd know when it came time.

"Hello?" Quinn said quietly.

"Hey, Quinn. I, uh, need a ride home. I'm at Puck's."

There was a long pause. "Okay. I'll be there in 10 minutes." and hung up.

What? She hadn't asked a single question about why, no snarky remark, not even a little sarcasm before ending the conversation.

She took two aspirin and smoothed out her hair and clothes while waiting for Quinn. She heard her pull up in the driveway, then honk the horn before walking outside and entering the car. Santana looked her up and down, she was wearing a tank top, jeans, and flip flops with her hair pulled up into a loose bun.

"Nice outfit, Fabray." Santana smirked.

"I'd say the same to you, Lopez. Now shut it, or you can walk home." Quinn replied shortly.

Santana started to say something, but thought better of testing Quinn's threats. Quinn breathed deeply before backing out and driving down the street.