A/N: Hi, here's a fic. The song in this is I Am Not A Robot by Marina and the Diamonds.

Dear Snix,

I'm a senior in high school, and I've been dating my boyfriend for three years. We're very much in love, and I'm hoping he may even propose! The problem is, I was accepted into my dream school recently, while he was rejected from his. That means I'll be in California while he's over a thousand miles away in our home town. I suggested I could defer my enrolment for a year while he reapplies to college, and he likes this idea - I'm just not sure it's a good one. I don't want to put my life on hold, but I know I need both of them for my future to be complete.

-Confused, Washington

Dear Spineless in Seattle,

No. God no. Are you seriously smart enough to have been accepted into college? Do not put off going to school for your high school boyfriend. What are you going to do if he gets rejected again? Stick around in your home town until he figures out a new plan or you waste away? He sounds pathetic and you sound dumb. That's already a terrible combination, so let me give you a clue: You don't need him and he doesn't need you. Go to college, and the second you see how many hot guys there are in Calfornia you'll probably realize that.

-Snix

xxx

Quinn Fabray.

There were a lot of things Santana Lopez hated. Bad coffee, mohawks, Taylor Swift, bow ties, middle aged men hitting on her, missing her soap operas - well, she could name things all day. But even if she wrote down every single irritating thing on the damn planet, at the very top of the list, every time, there would be one name.

Quinn fucking Fabray.

And it wasn't just because Quinn's name so regularly appeared at the top of another list - the writers who pulled the most visitors for the Muck Raker, the website they both worked for, with Santana's column in a permanent second place. It wasn't just because Quinn was all blonde hair and cheekbones, had a voice that belonged in a bedroom and made every guy in their damn office fall at her feet. No, Santana thought the thing she might hate the most was that smile.

She'd spent enough time on a cheerleading squad to know a fake fucking smile when she saw one.

So when Quinn swept past her desk and said, "Good morning, Santana." with the biggest, fakest smile since the damn Joker, Santana was already annoyed.

"Morning Quinn, loved your article about the most obvious closet cases in Hollywood. Who did you blow to get that tip off about Blaine Anderson?" she answered, and gave a huge, fake smile back.

"Santana," Quinn said, in the most patronising tone imaginable, "You know I'm not the one who blows around here. By the way, there was a typo in your last column."

Then she walked away without a second glance and Santana wondered how much time she'd do if she shanked her in the parking lot.

xxx

"Coming up soon we've got the new song from One Direction," an overly cheerful DJ's voice blared out from the radio on the drive home, "But before that, does everyone on the planet know this girl's name yet? It's Rachel Berry's first - "

Santana rolled her eyes and changed the station.

There were a lot of terrible things about her roommate. When she wasn't talking she was singing, she watched musicals constantly and cried at all of them, she was on the verge of releasing her first album and her voice and face were everywhere, she couldn't cook but still tried at least three times a week - the absolute worst though, number one on the Would You Fucking Quit That list, had to be that she was such an annoyingly good friend. Even when she was run off her feet recording and doing interviews and whatever the hell else she did during the day, she still took the time to be interested in Santana's life.

"I read your column today." Rachel said later. She had pushed the coffee table to one side so she could practice ballet positions in the living room. Santana was sprawled on the couch with her laptop on her stomach, and just grunted in response.

"I seem to remember you using much more colorful language when you gave me the same advice back in high school."

Santana smirked, "You were way dumber, you needed it."

Rachel laughed, "But moving to Los Angeles for a girl was the height of intelligence?"

Santana shrugged, not bothering to look away from her screen as she opened the Muck Raker website, "Brittany was way hotter than Finn."

Rachel paused thoughtfully for a few seconds, "I suppose I can't argue with that."

She started talking about something her manager had told her or whatever, but Santana wasn't listening, concentrating instead on the top story on the site.

Are we sick of Sam Evans yet? The male version of Taylor Swift might have been interesting at first, it may have been cute when he talked about comic books in interviews, we may have even enjoyed those abs he takes every opportunity to show off, but the act is wearing thin. And no, a romance with the least interesting member of the Troubletones isn't enough to make up for that tragedy of a second album, Sam, so could you kindly give the acoustic guitar back -

Santana snapped her laptop shut with an eye roll - she didn't even have to look at the name to know who'd written it. Tearing celebrities apart was Quinn's trademark, and, grudgingly, Santana had to admit she was good at it.

"By the way," Rachel said, stretching her leg upwards, "Did you get my email about the album launch party?"

Santana grimaced, "Could you stop that? I just ate."

Rachel rolled her eyes, "It's ballet. Are you coming or not?"

"Whatever." Santana said, getting up from the couch and padding out of the room, calling out behind her, "If I've got nothing better going on."

In the living room Rachel beamed, knowing that was a yes.

xxx

Santana didn't know why she bothered looking at the damn numbers, it was the same every week. Quinn's name at the top of the list, next to some obscene visitor count. She glared at her screen, as if it was going to change if she hated it hard enough.

1. Someone Put A Stop to Sebastian Smythe by Quinn Fabray

And below that, several thousand hits further behind than she'd been last week:

2. Dear Snix by Santana "Snix" Lopez

She could practically see Quinn's damn smile. Actually, she really could see Quinn's damn smile, because of course the woman chose now to appear by her desk.

"Morning Santana," she said. Santana wondered if it was possible to rip the grin right off somebody's face. "Looks like you were lagging behind a little in the numbers this week, let me know if you need any help spicing up your column."

"Thanks Quinn," Santana smiled widely, "I'll pass, I know your creative process is mainly getting drunk and yelling angrily at your TV, and I just don't want to interrupt that."

"Santana," Quinn said, in that fucking tone, "You shouldn't project."

She turned and walked back to her desk before Santana could stab her with a ballpoint pen.

xxx

"I'd like to start off the meeting by congratulating our very own Miss Quinn Fabray on the success of last month's article, Just Blaine Dull. It pulled in the top numbers of October."

There was actually a round of applause as Quinn sidestepped out of the reach of Jacob's wandering hands. Santana supposed she'd hate to have to sue her boss for sexual harassment.

Honestly, she had no idea why she was expected to attend these weekly staff meetings. They were always exactly the same: Someone (Quinn) got congratulated on a big success and stood smugly at the front of the room probably thinking everyone wished they could either be them or fuck them (she wasn't even all that hot), then their editor, Jacob Ben Israel, who Santana was fairly certain still had his mom cut his hair, talked about what he thought the biggest stories were going to be for the week, then any ideas people had got pitched. Santana wrote the damn advice column - there was no reason for her to be there.

But if Jacob was going to pay her more money than he probably should to keep it real and be hilarious, then she could suck it up and sit in the same room as her co-workers for an hour a week.

At the front of the room Quinn took her seat again, as Jacob pressed a button to open up a powerpoint presentation on the screen, and suddenly there was a huge screenshot of Rachel's twitter feed on the screen. Santana rolled her eyes at some of the messages that were there. Going to town with the glitter glue!, puckzilla no McDonalds is not kosher! - God, she was really going to have to remind Rachel that people actually read this crap now.

"The new Adele." Jacob said, staring longingly up at the screen. Ew. "A young Barbra Streisand. Everyone is wild for Rachel Berry," he sighed, "Including me." There was a slightly awkward silence before he, finally, continued. "And we have one of the only press invitations to her album launch party in a few weeks time."

Santana blinked. It hadn't even occurred to her that the Muck Raker would probably run a story on Rachel. How the hell had Jacob even managed to get them in?

"The lovely Quinn Fabray will be covering the event, and I trust she'll give a fair and unbiased review of the next big thing."

There was some muffled laughter in the room and Santana looked over to see Quinn's smile fixed in place. Shit.

xxx

"I don't know why you're worried." Rachel said dismissively, taking a swig from her water bottle. She'd been in rehearsals all day and Santana had brought her dinner after work because - whatever, she was a good roommate, okay?

"Have you read Quinn Fabray's articles?" she asked, "She's a grade A bitch, and this is coming from someone who got voted most likely to yell at the Pope in high school."

"I remember," Rachel nodded slowly, "I actually voted for you for that. But my launch party is going to be excellent, the album is amazing - she'll have no reason to tear me apart."

Santana stared at her. Was it seriously possible that Rachel had got this far in her career and was still this naive? "It doesn't matter if it's good, Rachel." she said, because she'd heard the album and it was good. Better than she'd ever admit, actually. "She's going to find any reason to tell people you suck."

"Is Quinn the chick who said The Warblers should do everyone a favor and commit seppuku?" Puck, Rachel's guitarist, asked from across the room. Santana hadn't even realized he was still there. "Because that was hilarious. And she looks hot in that picture on the site."

"It hardly matters what she looks like, Noah," Rachel said irritably, "Is that really all you care about?"

Santana rolled her eyes, because this would no doubt set off a round of bickering between them, and she wasn't in the mood to listen to them argue-flirt.

"Look, I'm just saying, you should be ready for her to destroy you." she interrupted before they could begin.

Rachel stopped glaring at Puck and turned to pat her hand, "I'll be fine Santana. As a future worldwide singing sensation, at some point I may have to grow used to less than glowing reviews. Occasionally."

xxx

Dear Snix,

I've been living with my actor boyfriend for the past three years, but there's a problem. We're gay, and my boyfriend is terrified of coming out. He keeps saying he'll do it soon, but he's scared to jeopardize his career. I'm tired of having to hide my relationship with him. What should I do?

-Secret Boyfriend, New York

Dear Back of the Closet,

Dump his ass. No, I'm not kidding. If it's been three years and he still won't do it then it's time to wake up and realize that he's never going to. And when you're kicking his ass to the curb you might want to let him know that being the only straight actor in New York is probably just a little suspicious.

-Snix

xxx

"'Dump his ass'," Quinn read aloud as Santana passed by her desk, "Is that a quote from Shakespeare?"

"Shouldn't you be working on your own articles, Quinn?" Santana asked, "It must be a chore finding new people to hate every week."

"Santana," Quinn smiled, "That was a surprisingly eloquent comment, but are you sure it's complete without a curse word?"

Santana walked away before she did something she might regret.

xxx

Rachel was hunched over her laptop when Santana got home, staring intently at the screen.

"Can you look at porn in your room or something?" Santana asked, flopping down onto the couch next to her. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"I am not looking at porn, Santana, and please never repeat that sentence in Noah's presence. Did you know Quinn Fabray graduated college at the same time as us?"

Santana raised an eyebrow. Rachel had mostly disregarded the possibility that Quinn's article on her might be anything but positive at first, but over the past few days there had been a couple of questions here and there, and now apparently she was stalking her. Santana actually shouldn't have been surprised. "No," she said, because she might have worked with the woman for two years but it wasn't like she knew anything about her, and it wasn't like she wanted to. "Where did she go? And how do you know?"

"I found her Facebook." Rachel said, her eyes never leaving the screen, "She majored in drama at Yale."

Santana snorted, "Probably thought she was going to be a movie star. Instead she's writing about what movie stars eat for breakfast."

"There's no shame in changing career paths." Rachel said, and Santana rolled her eyes. She was sure Rachel was referring to her change in plans, from Broadway star to recording artist after she got offered a record deal, but it put Santana more in mind of her own. Advice columnist wasn't exactly her lifelong dream or anything - a long way from it, actually, but when her small time blog got picked up by a major website just before she graduated college, what choice did she have?

"Whatever. Want to tell me why you're stalking Quinn Fabray?"

Rachel shrugged, "I'm going to meet her at my launch party. I thought I might discover a few of her interests, likes and dislikes and so on. So we can get off on the right foot."

"Let me fill you in. She likes tearing people down and she dislikes people thinking she's not the hottest thing to happen to the world since global warming." Santana leaned over to look at Rachel's laptop, and was slightly taken aback to see a picture of Quinn laughing as a tall, slim man kissed her cheek. She actually looked sort of like a human being and not a hell demon sent to destroy Santana's fragile grasp on her temper. Weird.

"She is pretty though." Rachel muttered, "I hate it when Noah's right."

Santana laughed, getting up off the couch, "Better fuck him before she does."

Rachel chose not to dignify that with a response. Santana waited until she'd gone to bed, but later, she couldn't resist checking Quinn's facebook page again, and clicking through the pictures. Quinn Fabray, the human being.

xxx

Santana was nervous. Santana didn't get nervous. She hadn't been nervous singing a solo in a national competition her senior year of high school, she didn't get nervous her first time having sex (which apparently was a big deal, judging by how much crying down the phone Rachel had done), and she definitely didn't get nervous on other peoples behalf. But damn, she was nervous right now.

Rachel and Quinn had been in her dressing room for over an hour, listening to the album and having what Quinn had called "an informal chat", but which Santana knew to be "a big scary fucking interview that I'm going to use to destroy you". Rachel had looked a little nervous when she closed the door behind her.

It was clear Quinn had been surprised to see her, and Santana had been a little smug to cause a crack in the ice queen exterior. She'd recovered herself quickly though, as Rachel brightly announced, "And this is Santana, my roommate and closest friend, who you of course know." They'd nodded curtly at each other, and Santana was really glad Quinn hadn't tried to make a comment.

An hour later though and they were still in there. Rachel's manager was starting to freak out because the damn album launch party was starting soon, and for some reason not because his big star was talking to Quinn Fabray who - seriously - had kind of a reputation. And not the good kind. Puck had hung out with her for a while and made comments like, "So what do you think they could get up to in there?" with a smirk, and Santana really had no idea why Rachel liked this guy so much, but she never seemed to shut up about him and barely knew the rest of her band's names, so whatever.

This was stupid. She knew she couldn't control Rachel's life, and she definitely couldn't stop her getting bad reviews, but she just really wanted this first part to go well for her. She'd known Rachel since she was twelve years old, and as much as she'd tried to hate the three feet tall girl talking about Barbra Streisand and wearing animal sweaters, Rachel had somehow wormed her way into Santana's life and stayed there. It was Rachel who told Santana to sing if she loved singing and made her join glee club, it was Rachel who walked in on her in bed with a girl in their junior year of high school and, when she was done hyperventilating, hugged her and said "You're an idiot, why didn't you tell me?". It was Rachel who'd been there when Santana's grandmother stopped talking to her and when Brittany broke up with her. And if Santana hadn't been able to punch Finn Hudson in his ridiculous face back when she wanted to, that didn't mean she wasn't going to look out for her best friend whenever she could.

It didn't hurt that hearing just how good Rachel really was, especially live, had to wipe that fucking smile off Quinn's face.

They emerged, finally, just when Santana was beginning to wonder if she'd feel like digging her cell phone out of her purse to call 911 when Rachel's manager had a heart attack. Rachel had the kind of smile on her face that Santana recognized instantly and she hurried over, grasping her elbow.

"Are you drunk?"

Rachel looked up at her with a slightly sheepish shrug, "I may have had a couple of glasses of champagne. I was a little nervous."

Quinn was smiling like a hell demon, "I'm really looking forward to hearing you perform, Rachel."

Puck had reappeared and Santana grabbed his sleeve before Rachel's management could hustle them all away, "Would you take care of her, please?" To his credit, he only smirked a little.

xxx

Santana had relaxed a little when Rachel got up on stage. She'd stood at the side during the boring parts - the introduction, the sales pitch, someone called her "the new Adele" again and Rachel had looked mildly insulted and insisted she was much better than Adele.

She looked confident when she strode out on stage, but Santana hadn't been paying much attention to her - she'd seen Rachel sing a thousand times, honestly, and as good as the girl was she wasn't exactly dying to see it again. Instead she searched the crowd for Quinn and saw her standing with the friend from her Facebook pictures, the thin guy with amazing hair. He was laughing at something she'd just said and she was rolling her eyes playfully, and Santana wondered just how she managed to go from queen bitch to normal person so quickly.

Then Puck started doing some ridiculous dance on stage and Santana had to shake her head in disgust, and understood it a little more.

Quinn enjoyed the show though, it was obvious. Maybe it was a little creepy just how often Santana glanced over, but she wanted to know that if she did tear Rachel apart, it would all be a huge fucking lie. But no, Quinn danced (really, shockingly well) with her friend and let him twirl her around and sang along to the songs she knew. There was no doubting it.

By the time Rachel sang her last song, she was beginning to wonder if she'd been wrong - maybe Quinn really would praise her. Or at least not claw her to pieces entirely.

xxx

Santana was in a good mood. The party was beginning to wind down, but from the looks on all of the record label representatives faces it had been a definite success. Rachel was a lot more drunk than she had been a few hours ago, but it didn't matter too much now. It was obvious it had been a success, it was obvious that Rachel really was as good as everyone was saying - and okay, maybe Santana had drank a little too much herself, but whatever, she was happy for her friend - and happy Quinn wasn't going to get a bitchy story out of this.

The hot waitress she'd been talking to for the better part of half an hour finally insisted she had to go back to work, and Santana swivelled in her seat to look around. The crowd was still thick, but she could see Rachel standing with Puck near the front of the room. He had his arm slung around her and was leaning down to say something in her ear, and she was laughing and leaning into him. Because they definitely didn't want to date each other. Santana rolled her eyes and turned to see where the hot waitress had got to, when she spotted Quinn. She was by herself now, and snapping pictures of Rachel on her phone, and just like that, Santana knew she'd relaxed too soon.

xxx

She was counting on Quinn not being a complete bitch this morning. It was a long shot.

And hell, maybe on another day she would have just let her write the damn story. Maybe she'd have told Rachel she had to deal with the occasional bad review. But she wasn't letting Quinn have this one - not when she'd seen her enjoying herself, not when she knew that Quinn knew that Rachel was good.

She saw a glimpse of a picture Quinn had taken on her screen as she approached her desk. Rachel looked more drunk than she remembered, Puck looked like he was all over her, and out of context... Fuck, Quinn was going to crucify her.

"Morning, Quinn," she said, immediately regretting that she just could not keep the irritation out of her tone. But she wasn't about to grovel. Santana didn't grovel, especially not to Quinn Fabray.

"Morning, Santana," Quinn said with a wide smile. Santana was going to throw her coffee in her face by the end of this, she was sure of it, "How does this sound for a headline: 'Diva, Drunk, and Droning On'?"

Santana gripped her cup a little tighter, "You know she doesn't deserve that."

Quinn's expression was surprised, but Santana knew she had to have seen this coming, "Santana." she said, "Are you suggesting I'd give anything other than a fair and unbiased review?"

"I'm saying you're going to write that she couldn't sing and her album sucked, and you know that's not true. So yeah, I guess that's exactly what I'm suggesting."

Quinn's smile didn't even drop. She just turned to look at Santana fully and said, "She was boring. She wants to be Barbra Streisand too bad and honestly, she doesn't have the looks to make it as a singer. So if I can give you some advice, Santana, stick to writing your little column, and I'll get by just fine without your input."

She almost walked away. She almost let it drop and went to text Rachel that she should expect a shitty review from Quinn but it didn't mean anything. But she'd seen Quinn. She'd seen her dancing and laughing with her friend, and creepily or not, she'd seen her damn Facebook and she knew, somewhere underneath all that bitch there was an actual person.

"What the fuck is your problem?" she asked, and it was a little satisfying that Quinn actually looked shocked. "Look, I get it. The bitch thing? That's your big act and it works for you, and that's fine, because it works for me too. But at least I use my bitch thing to help people, and not just to tear people down who don't deserve it."

"Congratulations Santana." Quinn said abruptly, and Santana suppressed a smirk at the realization that she'd actually pissed her off. "You give advice to idiots on the internet. You're such a Samaritan. I can only hope Africa emails you and asks you how to solve world hunger."

Santana looked at her, and for a change, didn't feel like driving a stake through her heart. "What's your deal, Quinn?" she asked, her voice much steadier than Quinn's, "Actually, I can take a guess." And if she couldn't stop Quinn tearing into Rachel, why shouldn't she do the same back? "You were the popular girl in high school, went to an awesome college, probably thought you were going to be the most popular girl in the real world too, right? Thought you'd be a movie star. But you weren't quite good enough, so now you're stuck insulting real movie stars to make yourself feel better."

Quinn shook her head, "You don't know anything about my life, Santana. But I guess that's how you make your living, telling people about their lives so you can ignore how you feel about your own."

It was a shot in the dark, it had to be, but in the end it made Santana turn around and walk away.

xxx

Dear Snix,

I think I hate my older sister. It's not just that my parents love her, it's that everyone seems to love her. At school everyone worships the ground she walks on while I'm stuck trailing behind her. The only thing I have that she doesn't is marching band, but I'm sure she'd be better at that too. I just don't know what to do. Am I always going to be overshadowed by her?

-Little Sister, Ohio

Dear Loser,

You're in marching band? Gross. No wonder everyone likes your sister better. Here's my advice: quit being such a whiny nerd and get a little cooler. Take up smoking, dye your hair, listen to something other than Avril Lavigne's sad album - almost anything would be an improvement. You know why people like your sister better? Because she's interesting and you're boring. Seriously, I got bored just reading your email and I didn't even have to look at your morose face while I did it.

-Snix

xxx

Rachel had raised an eyebrow at her when Santana got home that evening.

"A little rich coming from a former show choir member, don't you think?" she asked, emerging from her bedroom.

Santana rolled her eyes, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rachel pursed her lips, "Was I imagining things, or was your column today slightly... angrier than usual?"

Santana just ignored her, not ready to tell her just how much she'd fucked up.

xxx

"Morning, Santana. Can I talk to you?"

Santana sighed but didn't bother looking up from her screen, "I don't want to hear it, Quinn. I know your story is going up today, so just stay out of my face, yeah?"

Quinn wasn't smiling when Santana glanced up, and she left without saying anything more. Santana rolled her eyes at her retreating back - maybe she'd finally leave her the hell alone.

xxx

No expense has been spared in ensuring that Rachel Berry is in your face every minute of everyday. Turn on the radio and you'll hear her voice, turn on the TV and you'll see her face - her first album has only just been released and no one could blame you for being just a little sick of her.

Rachel is no different in person either. She's intense, she talks non-stop from the moment we enter her dressing room - I barely get a word in and I'm the one holding the questions. Actually, she's exactly how I expected her to be.

Here's the surprising thing though: Rachel might talk too much, her band might be sloppy and she might be marketed more heavily than Christmas, but it's not all hype. I was one of the lucky people who heard her perform live at her album launch party this weekend, and Rachel Berry's voice? That's something I don't think I'll ever get sick of.

xxx

It took Santana two hours to grudgingly get up from her desk and cross the room to Quinn's. She'd spent the majority of those two hours staring at her screen in disbelief and exchanging irritated texts with Rachel, who was torn between annoyance at some of the less than pleasant comments and delight that overall, Quinn's article had been positive. There was more to the story, of course, it went into the album a little more in depth and there was some of the interview they'd done, which seemed way too short considering how long it had taken. Honestly, it sort of made Santana laugh thinking about Quinn trying to get Rachel to shut up for six seconds so she could speak. She wasn't sure what the hell was going on.

"Listen," she began as she approached Quinn, who appeared to be looking for the most unflattering picture of Katy Perry she could find, "Thanks. For writing that about Rachel, I mean." She didn't think she should have to say thank you but Rachel had insisted (sometimes it was like having a second mom), and maybe a tiny, microscopic, barely even there part of Santana felt a little guilty about what she'd said the day before.

Quinn turned to look at her and for a second Santana thought she was going to give that smile, say Santana's name like she was a six year old and make some sarcastic comment about how much sweeter it would be when Rachel failed now. But she didn't. Instead she gave a tiny little shrug, and said, "It was fair."

Santana nodded, because that was true, and paused slightly awkwardly before adding, "Just so you know, Rachel might send you a bouquet of flowers. To say thank you. She's kind of insane."

Quinn stared at her for a second, which Santana supposed was fair since it was the first civil sentence she'd ever said to the woman. Then she laughed, and that was - that was just -

"Tell her she doesn't need to do that." Quinn said, saving Santana from having to finish that thought, "Really. What I wrote was true, there's no need to thank me."

Santana nodded again, and was about to turn and walk away when Quinn said, "Do you want to grab a coffee with me?" Santana supposed she must have looked completely confused because Quinn laughed again and said, "I sort of want to apologize."

Santana didn't really think about it before she shrugged and said, "Sure."

xxx

"Sorry," Santana said as her phone buzzed on the table when they were sitting down, coffees in hand, "Rachel thinks texting me twice a minute is the way to convince me she doesn't talk too much."

Quinn nodded, "I have a friend a little like that actually. He's a big fan of yours, in fact."

Santana raised an eyebrow, "You might need to introduce him to Rachel. He could be her soulmate."

They had discussed work as they walked the two blocks to the nearest coffee shop - how disgusting Jacob was and who wasn't pulling their weight at the office. Technically they probably weren't supposed to just leave in the middle of the day, but Quinn was the golden girl and could basically do what she wanted and Santana had never let a little thing like rules stop her.

She still wasn't totally sure what was happening, just that Quinn hadn't once looked like the wicked bitch of the west since she'd first approached her. It was sort of confusing, but then Santana hadn't really felt like going all homicidal on her ass too much either. Like yelling at each other had dissolved a little bit of the tension, and she knew that was probably all kinds of fucked up.

"So," she finally said when a slightly awkward silence settled between them, "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the coffee and everything, but I've kind of been operating on the assumption that you hate my guts for the last two years, so I have no idea what we're doing here."

"I get the feeling you weren't all too fond of my guts either, Santana." Quinn said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Santana shrugged, "Sure, but that applies to most people. Don't feel special or anything."

Quinn laughed, again, and Santana was sort of starting to enjoy this version of Quinn that acted like a regular person. "You should know better than anyone that being a bitch can come in useful. In your column, if nowhere else."

Despite herself, Santana smiled, "Everywhere else too. I'm pretty much bitch all the way down actually."

Quinn shook her head, "I don't know. You went out of your way to help Rachel."

"As weird as it might seem to... anyone who's actually met her, Rachel's my best friend." Santana gave a small smile, slightly embarrassed to hear herself say that crap out loud, "Besides, I kind of just wanted to piss you off. Obviously it didn't work as much as I hoped. You were actually nice for the first time in history."

"No, it definitely worked," Quinn said, "I have six different versions of that article where I call her every name under the sun. I wanted to prove you wrong though - show you I'm not just the bitter, washed up prom queen who didn't make it."

Santana felt a twinge of guilt at the words, but pushed it away, "But you were prom queen though, right?"

"Of course." Quinn laughed, "And my boyfriend was prom king, and then I went to Yale and... now my high school sweetheart is a dancer on tour with Rihanna, my best friend works for Vogue, and I get paid to insult Justin Bieber."

"Weird," Santana frowned, "I think my ex-girlfriend is on that tour too."

Quinn faltered a little, but continued, "You were sort of right, is what I'm trying to say. Which is why I wanted to apologize."

Santana paused for a second, trying to process the fact she'd just received a confession and an apology from Quinn Fabray. "Right," she said, when her brain kicked back into gear, "Can I give you some advice?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow, "Are you going to go all Dear Snix on me? Because I'm not sure I'm in the mood to be called a nerd or an idiot."

Santana shook her head, "No - just, Jesus, Quinn. If you're that damn bitter, get a new job."

"Is this really how you're going to try and get rid of me?" Quinn asked, but she laughed cutely when she said it. And this version of Quinn? Santana could really deal with her.

xxx

1. Is Rachel Berry as horrible as you think she is? by Quinn Fabray

2. Dear Snix by Santana "Snix" Lopez

Not a lot had happened after she had coffee with Quinn. They hadn't really seen much of each other, actually, which was normal, since they mostly avoided each other when they weren't going out of their way to take cheap shots - or Quinn was, anyway. Santana didn't take cheap shots, she took truthful shots. But she sort of figured that soon enough, everything would go back to normal.

A week later though and she'd already rolled her eyes at the top numbers of the week. Of course Quinn's article about Rachel had been ridiculously successful. And Quinn had never yet missed the opportunity to comment on Santana's position in second place, so it wasn't totally surprising when she arrived at Santana's desk, their little get together the week before aside.

"Morning, Santana." Quinn said.

Santana looked up at her, "Morning, Quinn. Let me guess - I should give up my day job and shout advice at people on the street with the other crazies?"

"You really take all the fun out of it if you insult yourself." Quinn said, sounding more casual than she ever had before during these weekly conversations, "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to revisit that coffee thing."

Santana looked at her for a second before she shrugged and said, "Okay."

xxx

"God," Santana said, rolling her eyes at the song playing when they walked into the coffee shop, "Someone needs to let The Warblers know that they stopped being interesting or relevant three years ago."

"You say that as though they were ever interesting or relevant." Quinn laughed, "But they do drive girls wild."

"And I'm a big supporter of driving girls wild, but there's just something about cutesy boybands that all dress the same that make me feel like puking."

It was weirdly not weird. Santana still couldn't reconcile the woman who'd been sniping at her about her column for two years with the one who joked about boybands and insisted on paying for her coffee. "I invited you." she'd said, and Santana had reluctantly let her.

xxx

"Go Home, Ryder Lynn." Santana said a week later, "You're not even trying any more, are you?"

Quinn looked up from whatever she was doing and said, "Santana. Are you going to make me quote from your last column? Because most people grew out of name calling in grade school."

There was a pause, then Quinn laughed and rolled her eyes, and Santana said, "Coffee's on me this week."

She wasn't sure how it happened, but she thought they might be friends now.

xxx

"So what was next on the list?" she asked, their coffees on the table between them. Quinn had one leg crossed over the other in that weirdly poised way she had, that made Santana wonder what it would be like to see her lose all control, every time.

"The list?" Quinn frowned, confused.

"Yeah. You already told me you didn't exactly set out to write for the trasharazzi, but you must have had some kind of back up plan if you didn't make it as an actress." Santana had been wondering about that for a couple of weeks, actually, because she was fairly certain Quinn was too smart to think she'd make it as a movie star just like that. She wasn't Rachel, anyway.

"I didn't, actually." Quinn said, clearly slightly embarrassed, "I was just so desperate to get out of my home town and - well. High school wasn't the greatest time for me, but I was sure if I could get out of that town and do well at Yale I could do anything. I had these big ideas, like if I didn't like LA I'd go to Paris or London or somewhere else silly and romantic." she gave a small shrug, "And obviously that never really happened."

Santana nodded, "Guess it could be worse. You're not exactly a starving artist."

Quinn laughed, "I guess you're right. What about you? I'm assuming you didn't run home from school when you were five to tell your mom you wanted to be an advice columnist when you grew up, so what was the plan?"

"Singing, actually." Santana said, aware her own dreams had been just as unlikely as Quinn's, "I went to UCLA but I sort of assumed I'd be dropping out in six months when I got offered a record deal. Turns out it's a little harder to make it than that."

"Singing? Are you any good?" Quinn asked. Santana couldn't read her expression.

"Of course." she smirked, "Better than Rachel, actually, but she'll never admit that."

Quinn grinned, "Okay. Prove it."

Santana smiled, "You're on."

xxx

Two days later they were in Rachel's rehearsal space. It was the only place Santana could think of to go where they wouldn't be bothered or interrupted, and although Rachel had asked about a billion questions that ended in an argument about how she definitely wasn't dating Puck for some inexplicable reason, she'd eventually given Santana the keys.

Quinn laughed when Santana told her about that and said, "Your friendship is a little ridiculous."

Santana pulled a face and said, "Sometimes it's like having an irritating, midget sister who got all the unfortunate genes."

Then she flipped on the lights in the rehearsal room and looked around. She was sort of glad someone seemed to have tidied it, because it looked less chaotic than it normally did when Rachel and the band were practicing in here. There was still some sheet music spread out on the floor though, and the band's instruments in one corner of the room, along with the piano.

"Don't start taking pictures for an exclusive scoop on where Rachel Berry practices." she said.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, "Still don't trust me?"

"Not even a little bit." Santana laughed, and Quinn just rolled her eyes.

"You play?" she asked when Santana sat down at the piano.

"What can I say?" she shrugged, "I'm a girl of many talents. Any requests?"

Quinn was sifting through the sheet music that had been left on the floor and, after several long seconds, picked something out and said, "This?" she brought it over to the piano, and Santana smiled because she knew it.

"Sure." she said. Quinn perched herself on a stool that someone had left in the middle of the room, and Santana began to play.

"Guess what?" she sang, aware of Quinn's eyes on her the whole time, "I'm not a robot, a robot."

She looked over at Quinn when the song was finished, still watching her with a small smile. "You're good." she said, "I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Santana said, more pleased than she expected by the compliment, "Nice song choice."

Quinn shrugged, "It felt appropriate."

xxx

Rachel and Puck were sitting on her couch when she got home, their knees touching. Santana looked at Rachel, then looked at Puck, then back to Rachel, and smiled widely.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, "Please say yes."

"No!" Rachel said indignantly, at the same moment as Puck said, "I wish." Rachel glared at him.

"You are not interrupting anything except two friends watching a movie about the rollercoaster ride that is Celine Dion's life."

Santana looked at Puck, "I don't think he came over here thinking that's what you were going to do."

Rachel sighed, "Be quiet, Santana. I don't think you have room to talk since you just spent several hours alone in a rehearsal room with a girl who, up until a month ago, you claimed to hate. I believe 'if I could choose one person on this planet to sacrifice to Satan, it would be her', were your exact words."

Puck smirked, "Finally working out all that tension, huh?"

Santana rolled her eyes, "We just talked and played music. I guess we're friends now, or whatever."

Rachel was quiet for a moment, and since Santana had learned to appreciate any moments of silence in this apartment, she didn't notice the look on her face that meant she was getting an idea until it was too late to stop it.

"You should invite her over for dinner!" she announced, already far too excited by the prospect, "You know I love to meet your friends." It seriously was like having a little hobbit for a second mother sometimes.

Santana looked at her, then at Puck, then back at Rachel, "I'm going to leave you two to your not-date." she said, and walked out of the room.

xxx

Dear Snix,

I've known my best friend for years, but she's becoming kind of overwhelming. She likes everything to be done her way, and won't accept that anyone else is right. How do I tell her that she can't always get what she wants every single time? It gets more annoying every time she tells me I'm "just plain wrong".

-BFF, Florida

Dear Under the Thumb,

Kick her to the curb and do it fast. If you don't, before you know it you'll be twenty-five, sharing an apartment with her and waking up every morning to little notes telling you the right way to vacuum. Chicks like that never change - trust me.

-Snix

xxx

"Morning, Santana," Quinn said, leaning with both hands on the edge of Santana's desk, "Have you considered therapy? Because I'm sure it's unhealthy to inject so much of your personal life into your work."

"Morning, Quinn." Santana said, looking up at her, "Apparently they didn't teach you much about articulating yourself at Yale, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

Quinn laughed, "So your advice about the overbearing friend today had absolutely no relation to the invitation to a "Berry-Lopez dinner party" I got in the mail today? You should tell her that makes you sound like a married couple, by the way."

"Oh God. Is that why you're covered in glitter?" Santana ran a finger along the edge of Quinn's sparkling sleeve.

"Um," Quinn said, looking down at her hand, "Yes. You really didn't know?"

"I knew, I didn't realize just how much she didn't trust me to ask you to come though."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, "Don't want me there?"

"No, but the Lopez-Berry dinner party will be you, me, Rachel and Puck. Rachel will ask you thousands of questions and Puck will hit on you all night, or suggest a threesome." she pulled a face, "Trust me - it's not something you want to get involved in."

"Shame." Quinn smirked, "Because I kind of already emailed Rachel to tell her I'd be there. But you can let Puck know I'll pass on that threesome, he's not really my type."

Santana was on the verge of opening her mouth to ask what her type was, when she realized her hand was still on her sleeve and pulled away, and then Quinn rolled her eyes playfully and walked away.

xxx

The Berry-Lopez Dinner Party Extravaganza, as it had been renamed (Santana wasn't sure what had pushed it over the edge into "extravaganza" territory but there it was), got off to an interesting start.

"I think we should start off by dissipating the obvious tension in the room." Rachel said when Quinn barely had her coat off and while Santana was too far away to clap a hand over her mouth. "Quinn, do you really think I talk too much?"

Quinn was clearly trying not to laugh when she looked at Santana, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen with her hand covering her face. This was going to be a disaster. "I'm afraid I do, but then I wouldn't want you to waste your voice on something that isn't singing."

Rachel actually looked flattered. Lounging in an armchair, Puck said, "Woah. You're like, bitchy hot. I totally get why you're friends with Santana now."

"Noah," Rachel said, "That was rude."

"It's okay," Quinn said, "Very few guitarists are talented and smart."

Puck looked confused, and Santana jumped in before he had a chance to think up a new way to hit on her, "Quinn, come see what I'm making for dinner."

"You cook?" Quinn asked once they were in the kitchen.

"You just charmed Rachel and shut Puck up in like ten seconds." Santana said, "Can you stick around for every conversation I'm forced to have with them?"

Quinn laughed, and Santana considered just how weird it was that Puck was right. She really was bitchy hot.

xxx

"Look, I'm just saying Lopez," Puck said as Rachel gathered together their empty plates, "If you don't like Billy Joel then you're dead inside. That's all there is to it."

"Whatever, Puckerman." Santana said, "All I'm saying is that back where I come from - "

"Oh God," Rachel cried out with a laugh on her way to the kitchen, "Do not start with that "where I come from" crap, your daddy is a surgeon. Quinn, her daddy is a surgeon."

Quinn was laughing, "Seriously?" she asked Santana, "Who hates Billy Joel?"

Santana was incredulous, "Are you kidding me? You hate everybody. It's like your job to hate everybody."

Quinn shook her head, smirking into her water glass, "Not quite everybody." she said, as Santana rolled her eyes at the smug grin on Puck's face.

xxx

Santana didn't get Quinn. Sure, she was a complicated girl herself (obviously) but she prided herself that no matter what the circumstances, she could be relied on to roll out a bitchy and hilarious nickname for whoever she was talking to. The only common thread running through all the different versions of Quinn was that she was kind of confusing. Sometimes she had the fakest smile Santana had ever seen in her life and sometimes she had the cutest laugh like, ever, and well... God, Santana was so not down with trying to process this.

Not when she was walking Quinn outside so they could wait for her cab, anyway, and then Quinn was turning to look at her with a tiny smile (a real smile, Santana couldn't help noticing).

"Thanks for coming." Santana said, and meant it.

"Thanks for letting your roommate invite me." Quinn said.

Santana laughed and nodded, "Yeah, no problem. I mean, maybe next time we can eat dinner without them. They're sort of obnoxious."

"Sort of." Quinn said, with that expression Santana didn't know how to read.

"So, I'm glad we're friends or whatever." she said, since it seemed like the time to say that if she was ever going to, "I mean, it's a lot better than hating each others guts."

"Santana." Quinn said, and her voice was strangely soft, and then Santana thought fuck it and crossed the two steps it took to press their lips together.

Quinn let out a gasp and Santana thought it might be the best sound she'd ever heard, and tangled her fingers in her hair. When they pulled apart, Quinn said, "Um." and it was hard to tell in the dark but Santana thought she might be blushing. Then she smiled and said, "My cab is here."

"Okay." Santana said, and smiled stupidly back.

xxx

"Completely shocking." Rachel said, utterly deadpan when Santana told her the next day.

Santana looked at her from the doorway, "It is completely shocking. I kissed her. Quinn Fabray."

Rachel rolled her eyes, "It may be shocking to you, Santana, because you are apparently less cognizant of your own emotions than toothpaste, but you were grinning like an idiot at her all night. Even Noah noticed."

Santana frowned, "Puck noticed?"

"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I don't have time for your dramatics." she flopped back on the couch where she was lying with a huge sigh, and covered her face with her hand.

Santana considered it for a second before giving in and swatting at her best friend's legs so she'd give her enough room to sit down, "What's up with you? You look more depressed than when you lost out on playing Juliet to that dude in a dress."

"Did you have to remind me of that now, Santana? Today has been awful. Just awful." she sighed again, and Santana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "The tour is falling apart before it's even begun. Two of our backing singers pulled out, the lighting they want to use is all wrong for my complexion, and Noah - oh, I can't even talk about it."

Santana had known there was going to be a tour, on some level, but it had been in the planning stages for so long that it had sort of slipped her mind that at some point it would actually happen. And now it was nearly here, the day when Rachel would kick off her first international tour (her first tour at all in fact) in LA, and after that she'd be gone. It would just be Santana in their apartment and - well, that sort of sounded awesome, but there was no denying she'd miss her best friend.

"Right." she said, "So what did Puck do? I could use an excuse to hit him."

Rachel let out a ridiculous whimper, "It isn't what he did, it's what I did. I was humiliated."

Santana didn't bother trying not to roll her eyes this time, "Want to quit with all the sighing and crap and just tell me what's wrong? I generally don't like these kind of noises from a girl unless she's not wearing pants."

"I kissed him, Santana." Rachel said, finally taking her hand away from her face, "And do you know what he said? Do you know what he said?"

"Something about your boobs?" Santana guessed.

"He said 'finally'. Actually, I'm misquoting. He did not just say 'finally', he said 'finally, babe'. Finally. Babe. I kissed him, put my actual lips on his, and that was his reaction." She stared at Santana as if she was expecting a great show of sympathy.

"How am I the one being dramatic here? I can't believe it took you this long to kiss him. And that you're this upset when he was clearly glad you kissed him."

Rachel huffed, "He could have been a little more appreciative."

xxx

Quinn was perched on the edge of Santana's desk when she arrived at work on Monday morning, holding two cups from their regular coffee shop.

"Thanks." Santana said uncertainly as she took the coffee, "If I get coffee for a kiss I'd hate to see what happens when you get laid."

Quinn looked like she wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so said instead, "Shut up, Santana. The coffee is because I want to ask you something and I'm not sure what you're going to say."

"Does it involve either of us taking our clothes off?" So she maybe wasn't totally ready or able to process this thing with Quinn (and Rachel could shut the hell up, she wasn't toothpaste) but at the very least she could figure out that Quinn was hot, and it was actually probably a shame that they'd missed out on hate sex.

Quinn rolled her eyes, "No. I want you to meet my best friend. He kind of... freaked out when I told him about you. And he would probably really prefer it everybody's clothes stayed on."

Santana looked at her. Meeting her best friend. That was so... weird. It wasn't that long ago that she'd been surprised to learn Quinn even had friends that she didn't need to stand inside a pentagram to summon. She supposed since she'd inflicted the combined force of Rachel and Puck on Quinn at the exact same time though, she could probably deal with whoever this guy was. "Fine." she shrugged, "When?"

"He's meeting us for coffee later." Quinn said, hopping off her desk, "By the way, have you seen the numbers today? You better step up your game or you're going to start getting beaten by guys in the famous pets section."

Santana snorted, calling after her as she walked away, "Spend less time drinking coffee and more time working and maybe your articles will actually get good."

xxx

Santana could see why Kurt and Quinn were friends. He'd rolled his eyes when the barista looked confused by his ridiculously complicated coffee order, told him the apron just wasn't working for him, and asked him to change the song from "whatever dreck you're currently playing". Santana sort of liked him.

When they sat down the first words out of his mouth were, "So this is Santana Snix Lopez. I cannot believe she finally asked you out."

Santana had looked at Quinn, whose eyes were wide, as if she couldn't believe he'd just said that. "Finally?" she asked with a smirk, looking over at Kurt again.

Kurt nodded, "When we were in college Quinn and I called each other up every week to read your blog, it was like our date night."

"Kurt." Quinn said, "Please stop talking."

"Every week?" Santana asked, not bothering to disguise her amusement. All that crap Quinn had thrown at her for years, and she was secretly a huge fan.

"Oh God." Quinn said, "Everyone makes mistakes in college."

Kurt was clearly enjoying himself, "Please, that little obsession lasted far beyond college."

Quinn looked at Santana, "Don't listen to him. It was not an obsession."

"By the way, Santana," Kurt said, apparently taking pity on Quinn, "Did you ever get a follow up on that guy who kept having sex dreams about his step-brother?"

xxx

"I should have known he was going to embarrass me." Quinn said with a small smile. Kurt had left them to go back to work and they were walking the short distance back to their office.

Santana laughed, "You mean you thought your secret obsession with me would stay under wraps forever?"

Quinn groaned, "God. It was not an obsession, he's exaggerating. I just liked the... blunt advice."

"So the bitch thing really works for you, then?" Santana smirked, knowing she was probably enjoying this a little too much.

"Do you think I came to talk to you every week because I cared that much about who was the top of that stupid list? You're just - you know, you're hilarious. And you keep it real." she sighed, "Did I just quote your Dear Snix tagline?"

Santana nodded with mock seriousness, "Afraid so. But it's okay to admit you had a crush on me in college."

They had stopped a little way from their office. The streets were nearly deserted in the mid-afternoon, and Santana sort of wanted to draw out the time before they had to go back to work and people and everything else.

"Kurt was right about one thing," Quinn said, "That did last far beyond college."

Santana faltered, actually surprised by that because - seriously, this girl was never predictable. In the end Quinn just smiled and leaned forward to kiss her, and Santana tasted the coffee on her lips.

xxx

"Going to fuck her?" Puck asked.

"Why is he here?" Santana asked Rachel, wondering how both of them had managed to worm their way into her bedroom while she was trying to get ready for dinner with Quinn. Rachel had said something about "forgiving him for his transgression" a couple of days earlier but she hadn't known it would lead to this.

"He invited himself." Rachel said, sitting on her bed with her laptop on her knee, "But I have to admit I am curious, are you going on a date with Quinn Fabray?"

Santana looked at her reflection in the mirror and shrugged, "I don't know. We're going for dinner and then we're probably going to make out. Is that a date?"

"Yes." Rachel said.

"Seriously not going to fuck her?" Puck asked.

"You've met her, she probably doesn't put out until like, date seventeen."

"And you're still going out with her," Puck shook his head, "You're a better man than me, Lopez."

Rachel looked between them with something like disgust and then back at her laptop, "When you two are finished with this crude conversation, I'd like to remind you that I am still missing a back up singer for the tour."

Santana went back to doing her make up, and ignored the pointed look Rachel was giving her.

xxx

"I've been thinking about that advice you gave me." Quinn said as they waited for their meals to arrive. Santana was starving and, admittedly, barely concentrating.

"What advice?" she asked, distracted by looking out for the slowest waiter in the damn world.

"About getting a new job."

Santana looked at her in surprise. She hadn't really expected Quinn to leave, hadn't really thought about what it would be like if she did. She still hadn't thought about this too hard, and whatever, fine, maybe she was toothpaste, but she figured all she really had to know is that she sort of liked making Quinn smile and kissing her when she did, and she'd probably miss her if she left.

"Right." she said, "What would you do?"

"I don't really know." Quinn admitted, "I could go back to school, or Kurt said something about modelling, or... I don't know. But if I have to pretend to care about who some washed up ex-Disney star is dating ever again I think I might scream."

Santana considered it, considered telling her she'd miss their stupid coffee dates or whatever, and instead said, "You should do it."

xxx

Quinn gave her a tour of her apartment, and it was more or less exactly what Santana expected. There was a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the wall in the living room and a record player on a side table and it was kept so neat it barely looked lived in.

Santana paused to look at the pictures in frames on Quinn's dresser in her bedroom, one of a little girl, nine or ten, beaming in front of a birthday cake, and another of Quinn in a hospital gown with a baby in her arms.

"Beth." Quinn said when Santana caught her eye, "She's - she lives in New York with her mom."

Santana wanted to ask more, but she thought that could wait.

Back in the living room they sat on Quinn's couch, and Quinn leaned in to kiss her, pushing her back against the cushions. She might not get Quinn, Santana thought, she might not understand all the different sides of her, but she really wanted to try.

xxx

They were in Rachel's rehearsal room eating Chinese food, her band having gone out - probably, Santana figured, to take a break from Rachel. She couldn't really blame them.

"So what's going on with you and Puck?" she asked, scooping noodles into her mouth.

"Nothing, we kissed, he has not since mentioned that, and we are going to remain friends." Rachel said, her eyes on her sheet music as she ate, "Clearly he isn't interested. What's going on with you and Quinn?"

Santana shrugged, "She let me get to third base?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, "Between you and Noah, I occasionally feel as though I'm surrounded by teenage boys. However, I was hoping we could skip the small talk because I have a favor to ask you."

Santana had known this was coming. Rachel had been talking about needing a back up singer for weeks, and apparently everyone who had auditioned just wasn't good enough or didn't have the range or whatever. Now the tour was creeping closer and closer and they were running out of time to find one.

"What?" she asked, deciding she'd let Rachel get out whatever speech she'd prepared.

Rachel took a deep breath, "I want you to be one of the back up singers on the tour, and before you rudely interrupt, please listen to why this would be an entirely mutually beneficial arrangement. Firstly, I know you can sing, I know you know all of the songs as I've been performing them for you for months, and I know you can be relied on not to sleep with the band. You would get paid, get to travel the world, get to kick start your singing career, and it's not as though you'd even have to give up writing Dear Snix."

Santana eyed her. She'd known this was coming, but she hadn't expected Rachel to convince her it was actually sort of a good idea. She was quiet for a minute before finally sighing, and saying, "Maybe."

xxx

Her fingers brushed against Quinn's when she passed her her coffee the next day, and she looked at her and wondered how much she'd miss her if she was on the other side of the world compared to just, not in the same office.

"You're looking at me weird." Quinn said.

Santana shrugged, and wondered if they were dating or whatever now.

xxx

"Have you made up your mind yet?" Rachel asked when she got home, and Santana rolled her eyes.

"I get twenty-four hours to think about it? Is that all?"

Rachel sighed impatiently.

Later, Santana said, "How do I ask a girl if she's my girlfriend?"

Rachel looked at her as if she was an idiot, "Are you being serious, Santana? You're twenty-five and you just asked me a question ten year old boys ask. And for a girl who talks as much as you do, you really are utterly incompetent at using your words."

Santana was too baffled by Rachel Berry telling her she talked too much to respond.

xxx

Quinn took her to dinner later that week, and looked at her with that expression Santana was learning to read as "I sort of want to make out with you" and that was something she could definitely get on board with.

"I told Jacob today," she said as Santana wrinkled her nose at the sorry excuse for chicken on her plate, "That I'm leaving."

It wasn't until they were half naked and she was pressing kisses to Quinn's neck in her bed, and Quinn was sighing out "Santana", that she began to wonder if she should tell Quinn she might be leaving too.

xxx

Dear Snix,

How do you make a choice that will change your future forever? There are some amazing colleges I want to go to, but my mom wants me to stay close to home, my best friend wants me follow her to the school she loves, and sometimes I'm not sure I even want to go to college. How do I make up my mind?

-Confused, Michigan

Dear Indecisive,

I get a ton of emails about this same sort of crap every week, so I'm just going to give every single person who emails about this stuff some joint advice: I don't care what you do, where you go, whether you go to college or not, but for God's sake, make up your damn mind. You might make the biggest mistake of your life or it might be the best thing that ever happened to you, but either way, at least you're not sitting on your ass doing nothing.

-Snix

xxx

There was a leaving party for Quinn on a Friday after work.

"Everyone was in two minds about whether to even invite you," Santana told her, as they surveyed the disappointing selection of food Jacob had provided, "It's mostly a celebration that you're leaving."

Quinn rolled her eyes, "I'm going to miss you too. I suppose everyone around here will be contending for the top spot when I'm gone?"

"Please, I've got that crap locked up tight." Santana said, biting into a disgusting sandwich with a grimace.

"Yeah," Quinn smiled, "I suppose you do."

Without stopping to think about it, Santana said, "Rachel wants me to go on tour with her. Back up singer. I don't know whether to go. I'm not exactly a singer any more."

And Quinn never showed what she was feeling, not outright like Santana did, so Santana had no idea what she was thinking when she hesitated and then said, "You are, and you should do it. Definitely. That's an amazing opportunity."

Santana looked at her for a second and then thought: Rachel so owes me for this.

xxx

Dear Snix,

There's this girl I think is really awesome, and I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm awesome too. Actually, I know she does, because she kissed me one time. I sort of screwed things up with her though, and now I don't how to fix it. What do I do to make her see I like her?

-Romantic, Ohio

Dear Idiot,

Oh my God, just ask her out already.

-Snix

xxx

Rachel's first show was amazing. Of course it was amazing, because it was Rachel's, and she'd been working on it and planning it and preparing since she was six years old, probably. She wouldn't have settled for anything less than perfect. And Santana found that for once, she didn't even mind singing back up to Rachel. She didn't mind the way Rachel snapped at her before they went on stage, either, because there was a sold out crowd there to see her best friend and fuck, she was never going to admit all this sappy crap, but she was proud of her.

She caught Puck's eye during one of the first songs of the set and he gave her a huge grin, and she thought he might be proud too.

Quinn was waiting backstage when Santana came off for a number Rachel would sing alone. She threw her arms around her and kissed her cheek and said, "You were so good. Amazing, really."

"You probably couldn't even hear me." Santana laughed, but wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist anyway.

"I could." Quinn promised, leaning in to kiss her quickly, "I swear."

They stood quietly then, their arms around each other, and they hadn't talked about it, not really. She thought Quinn might have tried, then changed their mind, but Santana would be leaving the next day and they should talk, she knew they should.

"So, we're dating or whatever, right?" she said against Quinn's ear, and she knew Rachel would roll her eyes at the way she'd begun that conversation, but Rachel wasn't here so she could keep her opinions to herself.

"I guess." Quinn laughed, "If you want to be dating."

She did, Santana thought, she really did, and she wasn't ready to give up on that laugh Quinn had or the way she kissed her just to go on tour with Rachel fucking Berry.

"You should come to some of the shows, if you can." she said, "We're going to Paris. And London."

Quinn looked at her, "Really?" she asked, and Santana nodded.

On stage, Rachel was singing a song Santana had heard a thousand times before, and Quinn smiled - a real, genuine smile.