A/N: Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the final chapter of this story (though, keep your eyes out for a sequel because I'm thinking of doing one, though no promises on when I'll get around to it). I'm sorry for the late update as well, in my defence I've had two assignments and three orals for school this week, plus I've been sick so that didn't help much. Also, I'm a little uncertain how to feel about this chapter. On the one hand, I like it, but on the other there are some bits that I'm afraid might be just a bit too fluffy and corny. Though, after the earlier chapters the story probably deserves a little fluff. Anyway, I hope you like it and thanks a heap for all the reviews, they really do make my day.

.. .

"I talk to you as to a friend

I hope that's what you've

come to be

It feels as though we've

made amends

Like we found a way

Eventually . . ."

…

Santana watches Quinn from a distance. Every now and then the blonde will glance up, lock gazes with her, before snapping her head away again once more, possibly to continue on with a conversation with Mercedes.

Brittany abandoned her in favour of trading make-up tips with Kurt not too long ago and while the brunette loves the blonde's company she's relieved to see her gone. She doesn't quite know what to say anymore. She knows that if it wasn't for Brittany none of this would be possible, which just fills her with a major sense of guilt over how she had acted earlier. And Santana Lopez doesn't do guilt. Ever.

Nonetheless, her thoughts and feelings rebel against her and suddenly there's a lot of guilt to take in. Brittany's at the top of the list for obvious reasons, shortly followed by Manhands who she really just doesn't understand anymore and then there's Quinn. Rachael's easy enough to deal with for, even though Santana earned her first Care Bear from the other brunette (something that the rest of McKinley High will never find out about), it's not enough to erase the years of despising contained within the Latina's body. She doesn't like Berry, simply because she's an easy target not to like, and that's not about to change anytime soon. Still, surprisingly, she's not the least bit reluctant to call off Slushie Facials for a month when it comes to the annoying little Diva; which really just goes to show how much she's grown as person during the course of a few hours.

Quinn's a different story altogether. She likes and loathes the pregnant teen all at once and that's the way it's always been. In the past, it was because she was so incredibly jealous of the blonde; Quinn Fabray had it all – popularity, doting parents, a nice boyfriend – so, yeah, Santana was mighty jealous of her. And then to just throw all of that away because she got fucking pregnant – if it had been the Latina in her position she would have just gotten an abortion 'cause, hey, better for the baby and certainly better for her – it didn't just make the brunette jealous, it made her practically hate her.

Mixed in with the hate, though, is also a little bit of like. After all, besides Brittany, Q is basically her only other friend. She's also one of her biggest enemies, which isn't all that unusual for, in fighting your way to the top of the social pyramid and not to mention trying to stay there, your best friends can often be your greatest enemies. The only reason B never fell into that category is because she's never even known the meaning of 'social pyramid' let alone wanted to be at the top of one.

Santana's almost certain that the feelings she has in regards to Quinn are completely mutual.

The Head Cheerio rolls her eyes, as the blonde makes another conspicuous try at pretending not to stare at her, and turns away, heading out towards B's balcony. She passes the cake – "Coffee!" her best friend had informed her with just a little too much enthusiasm – on the way and swipes a piece on a plate for herself (strict Cheerio diet be damned!). Taking a seat on the edge of balcony, allowing her legs to dangle over the edge, Santana starts to work on her cake, waiting patiently for Quinn to join her, as she's certain she will.

It doesn't take long; no more than a minute after she has left the house, does the petite blonde step out and take a seat beside her. She's wearing another one of her babydoll dresses – blue this time – and the Latina wrinkles her nose in disgust. If there's one thing Santana hates more than Quinn being pregnant, it's Quinn trying to pretend she's a complete innocent in the whole thing. Then again, that could just be her usual angst at her mum, who also pretends she's innocent, rearing its ugly head up again.

Santana doesn't really care either way.

"I'm giving Beth up for adoption," the blonde whispers and Santana swings her head around to look at her in surprise. Quinn doesn't return the look, just stares off at the fence that circle's Brittany's yard. "I've been thinking about it for months now and I think it's the right thing to do." She glances sharply at the brunette beside her. "Not because Puck and I are so young or because I think we wouldn't be good parents – I happen to believe that we would be great parents and I know of people who have been in the same situation and their kids' lives are absolutely wonderful . . . but because you were right about one thing."

She pauses and Santana inclines her head curiously. "Yeah?" This might just be the first time anyone's said she's been right at anything; discounting Brittany, of course.

Quinn jerks her head slightly, eyes watering but not quite crying yet. Thank god; the last thing she wants on her hands is a sobbing and hormonal blonde girl with a princess-complex. "We don't have nearly enough money to give Beth the life she deserves, not the way somebody else can. You were right when you said I was mooching off Puck's mum and to be honest I don't think I've ever had an actual job before and Puck's pool cleaning business certainly doesn't pay well enough." She pauses for a moment, taking a breath. "I love my daughter and I want to make sure that she has the best life possible.

But I can't give her that."

The brunette looks away for a moment, not sure what to say. Should she apologise? She doesn't really feel sorry. She meant what she said, after all, but, then, it was more her personal issues bursting forth from her mouth than anything actually to do with Quinn. Santana admits, reluctantly, that the blonde probably didn't deserve the onslaught but, then again, that's nothing new for one of her victims. "I was probably a bit harsh." It's the closest she'll ever come to an apology.

The pregnant teen nods her head. "You were. But I get it, kind of." She takes in the Latina's surprised look and smiles sadly. "I have been to your house, S, I've met your Mum; she looks like a thirty year old hooker." Santana cringes slightly, hating that someone has so easily seen one of her weak points. "And your room isn't much bigger than a closet, not to mention the fact that your stepfather is totally creep worthy. So I get why, when you look at me, you only see the worse that can happen." She sighs and looks down. "But what you said really hurt, especially when I was trying to help you, and I'm not going to forgive you for it. I can't, not yet."

Santana shrugs her shoulders, unbothered. She knows Quinn will forgive her eventually, she's just that kind of girl, and even if she doesn't the Latina's still got B; she'll always have B. Brittany's enough.

The blonde sighs and reaches into her handbag, pulling out a small wrapped present and handing it to the Head Cheerio, who opens it cautiously, confusion written plain across her face. "It's a little bit of my old make-up. I know you don't have much at home because you can hardly afford to buy it and I thought it might come in handy for covering up things. I think you need it a lot more than I do."

Santana stiffens and glances up sharply at her. There's a knowing look in the pregnant teen's eyes and the brunette is sure she's talked to Puck; the bastard probably spilled the beans about everything. The idea that perfect little Quinn Fabray might know the seedy little details of her unhappy life makes her sick and causes her fingers to clench slightly.

"I'm here for you, if you want to talk," Quinn continues, either oblivious to Santana's change of mood or just choosing to ignore it. The blonde's definitely annoying enough for it to be the latter. "I'm not going to say I'm your friend, though, because, to be perfectly honest, I don't really want to be and I don't think you do either. But I'm here." A small smile tugs at her lips as she places a gentle pat on Santana's hand, causing the brunette to flinch. "Whatever that means," she adds before rising to her feet. Hands resting on her stomach, she waltzes into the house without so much as a backward glance at Santana.

The Latina stares after her, unsure whether to be pissed off, confused or grateful. It's not that she doesn't appreciate the blonde's kindness but rather that she despises the idea of ever having to need it, especially from her. This is Santana's shit, no-one else's, and it's going to stay that way. Just the idea of other people knowing how damn powerless she really is flips her stomach sickeningly.

She's not like Quinn who, as long as she knows they'll be there and support her through it (obviously meaning that they won't ridicule her and kick her when she's down), doesn't mind people knowing that she's pregnant. To Santana, it doesn't matter how nice and supportive everyone would be if they knew, she just doesn't want them to know. She works hard for her reputation and it's the only thing in the world that allows her to pretend that she's wholly and completely the masks she puts on for people to see. If her flawless (and by that she means bitchy and invincible) reputation goes down the drain then so does the fantasy of her not being an unwanted parasite in her own home, living with a crackwhore mother and a drugdealer step-dad who's raped her more times than she can count.

And Santana needs that fantasy.

It's about ten minutes later that Puck finds her, huddled on the balcony with her chin resting on her knees and tears threatening to fall, though she'll never let them. She hates the fact that he gets to see her looking so vulnerable but she also can't bring herself to unfold her limbs and put the cool, unruffled mask back on.

Fuck.

"Hey." Like Quinn, he takes a seat beside her and hands over a present. Unlike Quinn, there's no hurt or hidden anger behind his eyes and the smirk he wears on his face is comforting. Santana reaches out and takes the present without much thought, tearing it open to reveal a can of pepper spray. "Aren't these, like, illegal?" she asks, not because she really cares about the answer, but because she doesn't want to risk letting slip the question that's really racing through her mind: 'Why are you giving this to me?'

Puck shrugs his shoulders. "I don' know. I got it off that Sandy guy a couple of weeks ago and figured now was the right time to give it to you." The words, 'You would have bit my head off if I tried any earlier,' are left unsaid but they both hear them.

The brunette turns the can over in her hands, eyes glazed and weary. "I'm fine," but she doesn't know who it is she's really trying to convince with those words.

Puck just shrugs his shoulders again and smiles slightly. "I know you are. You're made of tough shit, Lopez; way tougher than most of the guys on the football team, though don't tell them that. This is just if things ever get bad."

They're already bad, but she doesn't voice that remark. She knows what Puck means; he means that if Garry ever takes things too far and looks like he's about to snuff out what's left of her life at least she has one way of protecting herself.

Santana nods, not looking up from the can of pepper spray. "Thanks."

He reaches out a hand and pulls at her ponytail, freeing it from the elastic band's tight enclosure. She watches him in confusion as her hair falls down around her face but Puck just allows a kind of half smile/half smirk to appear on his face and shrugs. "Now you look like Santana again."

She knows he's talking about the girl she used to be, the one before Cheerios and Slushie Facials, the one who didn't know what it meant to be a victim.

She wishes she could do more than just look like that girl.

. . .

". . . I look at you and see a friend

I hope that's what you wanna be

Are we back now where

it all began?

Have you finally forgiven me?"

. . .

Brittany frowns down at the cardboard box in her hands as it gives a little shuffle and lets out a stifled noise. A few of the Gleeks in her house turn to stare with raised eyebrows and Kurt takes a wary step back. She's oblivious to the looks as the box quietens down and a smile appears on her face once more.

"She's all ready for you, Britt," Puck tells her as he steps in from the balcony.

She looks up in interest. "You had your 'talk'?" She doesn't really know what the 'talk' was supposed to be about but he said before that it was important so she let him steal some of her Santana Time in order to do it. She trusts Puck, in the kind of way that she trusts everyone who goes to McKinley High, and she knows that, even though Santana denies it very often and with many matching scowls, that he cares about her best friend, kind of like the way her little sister Abbey cares about her pet fish – she's not too fussed about it but when it's in trouble she'll put on the crocodile tears.

He nods his head and Brittany's smile grows. "Do you think she'll like it?" she asks, suddenly feeling unsure. She's never given a present to Santana that she didn't like before but, then, Santana's never been angry at her before either so maybe the former's changed as well.

Puck rolls his eyes. "You gave her a barbie doll last year and she kissed you on the cheek. I didn't even get laid for the movie tickets I got her." He frowns and takes a seat in an empty armchair, grumbling something like, "Lopez doesn't even like barbie dolls . . ."

The blonde remembers the time Puck is talking about, she also remembers it as the first time she kissed Santana (and not on the cheek).

Mr. Shu comes up behind her and pats her shoulder. He's wearing that reassuring smile again and once more she's tempted to ask him whether his name has ever been Mary but resists; this is Santana time, Finding Out William Shuster's Real Identity time can come later. "She'll love it."

Brittany beams and jumps up to kiss him on the cheek before skipping out the door and leaving a very shocked Shu behind, not to mention a guffawing Puck and a smirking Quinn. She would've kissed him on the lips – boys seem to like that – but she got told off for doing it last time.

Santana's sitting cross-legged on the edge of the patio, a plate with crumbs on it by her side, along with a can of some sort of spray called pepper (she wonders whether it's a relative of that girl, Susie Pepper) and some make-up. She's staring up at the night sky, face contemplative as she plays with a few threads of her Cheerio skirt. It's not an unfamiliar look. Sometimes, when Brittany and Santana are together, just hanging out, she'll feel the brunette drift away from her, far away to some place she can't follow. Whenever the blonde asks her where she goes when she's gone, though, the other girl will just look at her in confusion, so maybe it's like a dream and she just can't remember.

It's different sometimes when they kiss, though. Brittany will place her lips delicately to the corner of Santana's mouth at first and Santana will freeze, almost like she's been burnt. Whenever the blonde asks why she clamps up, the brunette's eyes will go hazy and she'll get lost in thought. Sometimes it'll take forever to get her back and when she does there'll be no explanation and they'll just continue kiss, Santana struggling to make it rougher. It's almost like she's afraid of the gentleness of Brittany's touch but that doesn't make sense at all.

One day, Brittany will find a way to follow her to wherever she goes, just to make sure that Santana no longer looks so sad when she comes back. And maybe even, someday, she'll be able to take her best friend along to some of the places she goes, because there's nothing sad about those places, only smiles and rainbows.

Santana doesn't really seem to know much about those things and Brittany's determined to show her.

The box gives another shake and Santana's head snaps around to look at her in confusion. "Hey, what's that?"

Brittany smiles and takes a seat beside her, letting her legs dangle over the edge in order to swing back and forth like a child's. "Your birthday present."

This time, the brunette smiles too and she holds out her hands for the box expectantly, never one for patience. The blonde hands it over without pause and the box lets out a strangled noise which has Santana raising her eyebrows in question. "This isn't like that time when you stole the next door neighbour's cat and gift-wrapped it for me for Christmas, is it?"

Brittany pouts, remembering the little Burmese kitten that lived with the grumpy old man who used to be next door. She knows her Daddy said it was wrong to take someone else's pet but she really thinks that Daisy would have been happier living with Santana who didn't shout nearly as much (well, almost nearly as much). "No."

Still looking slightly suspicious, Santana opens the lid and lets out a surprised squeak as a little duckling pokes its yellow head out. "You got me a duck."

"Mmhm."

"You got me a duck!"

Brittany nods her head once more, happy that this isn't like last time when Daisy jumped out of the box and scratched her best friend's face up and then everybody chased her around the living room for three hours straight, all the while trying to make sure that she didn't eat Abbey's pet mouse. "I did."

"Why?"

The blonde pouts once more, now confused as to whether she's done the right thing. "You don't like him."

Santana rushes to reassure her. "No! I–I love him, really. What's his name?"

Pout gone, Brittany beams. "It was supposed to be Ballad because of that time when we did that ballad in Glee. You picked my name out of the hat when nobody else got the partners they wanted and it was kind of like in the movies or the fairytales, like destiny." The blonde blushes, not sure if she's saying this right. She knows what she means but sometimes things get confused on the way to her mouth and come out sounding kind of strange. "Kind of like we were supposed to be together, you know."

Silence greets her and Brittany looks up hesitantly, only to be met by Santana's smiling face. It's not a false smile but it's not a happy one either. The smile's kind of soft and warm and it makes the blonde smile as well.

"Yeah?" the Latina asks faintly and her brown eyes are sparkling like the stars that Brittany likes to watch at night.

"Yeah." The smile falls suddenly as she remembers something. "Only, Puck started calling him Satan jr. and now he'll only come to that."

Santana's eyebrow raises. "You made a duck come?"

"Yeah, but not in that other way." She thinks about it for a moment, wondering how best to elaborate. Thinking of that other way, though, is kind of making her want to kiss Santana which, at the very least, is distracting. "Kind of like a dog."

Santana laughs and Ballad/Satan Jr. lets out little quack. "I see."

Brittany nods her head and wets her lips nervously. "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday. I had it written down on my calendar but I lost it." She leans forward so as to whisper secretly in her friend's ear. "I think the gremlins took it. They like to do that, you know."

Santana giggles and shakes her head. "It's OK." Her face goes serious and she touches Brittany's hand which is splayed out between them on the wood. "I wasn't actually angry at you, B. I was just hurt, and it wasn't really even by you. So I'm sorry for the way I acted."

Santana's never apologised before and Brittany frowns, getting the meaningfulness of the situation. She wants to ask who she was really hurt by but stops, mouth midway open. Maybe Santana will tell her the truth but maybe she won't and the blonde really doesn't want to risk being lied to again. "Don't go home," she murmurs instead, causing the brunette to frown in confusion.

"I'm not. I'm staying the night, remember?"

Brittany shakes her head. "No, I mean, don't go home ever."

"What do you mean?"

She gnaws on her bottom lip and for the first time in her life she's terrified. What she's terrified of, she doesn't really know but the feeling's definitely there, itching beneath the surface. "Sometimes, when you go home, you come back hurt. And I don't like it when you get hurt." And she realizes suddenly that it's Santana she's scared for, the idea that anything could hurt her has her terrified. Brittany doesn't know why Santana gets hurt or how but she does know that it happens in that house. Even though her friend tells her all the time that the bruises and cuts under her Cheerio's uniform are just from practice she knows they're not. Santana almost never falls at practice, Brittany makes sure of it.

She gazes into the brunette's wide, brown eyes, taking in her flabbergasted appearance and she wonders whether she's said something wrong.

"Brittany . . ." Santana trails off and the blonde waits. The duckling does circles in his box, quacking discontentedly all the while but neither of them notice. The brunette clears her throat and shakes her head. "I can't stay here all the time. Your parents barely have room for your brother and sister and . . ." Santana's throat catches and she pauses, voice turning low. "I wouldn't be allowed to."

Brittany frowns, not understanding it. Surely her best friend's parents would want the Latina to be safe, wouldn't they? "Your Mum wouldn't like it?"

Santana smiles bitterly and the blonde immediately misses the old, soft one. "My step-dad wouldn't like it." She moves on quickly, hand tightening around Brittany's. "But I would love to, I really would. I want to stay here with you Britt, I really do, I don't want to go home. But I have to. You understand that, right?"

No, Brittany doesn't understand it but she hates the distressed look in her best friend's eyes so she nods her head anyway. Santana's head drops and a sigh of relief escapes . . . and Brittany doesn't get it. She doesn't get any of it. She doesn't get why Santana can't stay with her, she doesn't get why she has nightmares all the time and Brittany certainly doesn't understand how her best friend can get hurt so many times and yet the blonde's powerless to stop it, any of it.

She doesn't understand.

". . . It was you who picked

the pieces up

When I was a broken soul

And then glued me

back together

Returned to me what

others stole. . ."

"Britt?" Santana asks after a pause, not quite looking at her. Actually, her gaze is almost completely focused on Ballad/Satan Jr., who seems to be practically preening at the obvious attention. For a moment, the blonde wonders whether they should have named him Rachael but then decides that the other duckies might tease him for having a girl's name.

"Yep?" Brittany chirps, almost too caught up in images of the future she has planned out for Not-Rachael – most of them involving little boarding school outfits and hours of training the duckling to pick-pocket (Puck being the intended victim) – to notice the obvious awkwardness in the other girl's posture. She does notice though and all thoughts of the duckling are pushed back out of her mind . . .for now, anyway.

"When I said I didn't need you . . ." Santana takes a breath and looks up, finally locking gazes with her. "I want you to know that I lied, that I do need you. Truth is, it sounds corny, but my life would be a hell of a lot more shittier if you weren't in it." She chuckles slightly, blinks and looks down, but the blonde really doesn't see the humour in the situation. Judging by the stiff set of the brunette's shoulders, she doesn't really see it either and the chuckle's quick and short, a kind of spark set off by a match that hardly lasts much more than a millisecond. It makes Brittany doubt whether it was ever there in the first place. "A lot shittier."

"I need you too," Brittany responds with a beam. Santana raises a doubtful eyebrow. "No really. I mean, you know my locker combination and you remind that it's not OK to fill up my drink bottle with water from one of the classroom fish tanks at school; even though I don't think the fish would really mind too much. And there was that time you stopped me from switching the coach's conditioner for pink hair dye, which I still think would look really good on her . . . kind of like a pink fairy. Which would really help her be not so, you know, scary. But you were right because I think she might have been even scarier if she ever found out." The blonde takes a breath, remembering only at the last minute that she does in fact need air to breathe. She kind of forgot since Rachael Berry never seems to. "And I love you. So I need you," she concludes simply. "Plus, Mr. Shu says that if I put sombreros on another one of my tests again I'm going to fail Spanish, so I kind of need you to help teach me again. I'm pretty sure I know how to say 'hello', though, now. So you don't have to worry about that anymore." Once again she takes a breath but this time she waits silently for the Latina to reply.

To be honest, Santana seems kind of dumbstruck, kind of like the first time when she called Mr. Shu Mary (obviously because it tipped him off to the fact that she was onto him). After a long pause, she clears her throat, nods her head and looks down at their hands. "Cool." It's all she says but Brittany's OK with that, mostly because she's fluent in Santana Speech. Right now, she decides that 'Cool' is probably code for 'thank you' and 'I love you' and tells herself that it's not like the time when she confused Santana's words of 'God, Quinn looks like such a barbie today' as a hint that Santana really desperately wanted a barbie doll for her birthday (It was an honest mistake, anyone could have made it).

They sit in silence for a while, hands threaded together between them as they watch the stars. Sometimes they look down at Santana's new pet, smiling at the way it waddles around on the deck once its owner sets it free. Despite the earlier conversation, the atmosphere between them is peaceful. They both know that there's a box of really bad secrets that still lays between them, yet unopened, and they're both kind of scared of what'll happen when it does but that's OK for now.

Because, as Brittany leans forward and kisses Santana, breathing her in and pulling her closer, she remembers what else the brunette and coffee have in common. Sometimes, they're not bitter at all, not really. Sometimes they fill Brittany up with a warmth so powerful that it's unheard of. Like coffee, Santana makes her warm and happy. So it's OK that sometimes the Latina tastes a little bitter and maybe cold because she'll always make Brittany warm again in the end.

That's why she likes coffee so much.

But despite this revelation, there still something bothering her . . .

"Santana?"

"Mm?"

"What's a klepto?"

". . . I don't wanna hurt you

I don't wanna make you sway

Like I know I've done before

I will not do it anymore

I've always been a dreamer

I've had my head among

the clouds

Now that I'm coming down

Won't you be my solid ground?"

- 'Sway' by the Perishers

THE END (for now).