AN: So.. I have been gone quite a while from this one. I really cannot apologize enough for that. I lost direction with the plot, not to mention the laptop that I was using, but I did work hard on this, even if it turns out to suck. I have an idea as to where I want to go from here, so hopefully it won't take me another 10 months to update. Bare with me, please, I really do plan to finish this and my other stories.

Thank you all so much for the support, and the nudges to update, I appreciate everything.

Sorry for any mistakes.

Enjoy?

Santana

Physical therapy; it hurts like a bitch. Up, down, bend, rotate, it's all the same really, I mean, every twist and turn feels like my shoulder is being ripped out its socket.

"Ow, motherfucker! Gah! Can we be done yet?" I scream as pain shoots deep into my shoulder and radiates to my chest and upper back.

"San, he just started." Quinn chuckles from beside me, as her hand slides into my own and gives it a supportive squeeze.

I only glare at her; how can she find me in pain so funny?

Bitch.

"Sorry, Miss Lopez, but it is going to get worse before it gets-"

"Better. Yeah, so I've heard." I mutter, cutting him off grumpily.

Mr. Berry told me exactly that when he recommended this place. He's supposed to come help every other week, when he can get time away from the hospital. For now, Mr. calm and collected is working out the kinks in my shoulder.

"Since we have tested your muscles in each arm, and have learned so far how much you can endure during these exercises, we'll start you on some light weights the week after next, and put you in the pool to build your strength back up. Your friend can help you if she would like, and I can show you both what to do and stand by to keep watch." Thais rambles on, trying to distract me, and I listen, vaguely, but he is not the one my mind is focused on, Quinn is.

Her head is angled slightly to the side, and her eyes downcast as her thumb strokes along my hand. What is she thinking? Whatever it is, I hope I am in there somewhere. Of course, the forefront of her mind is where I want to be in her thoughts, because that is sure as hell where she is in mine.

Always.

Especially these past two weeks. We've gotten closer, even as my nightmares become more and more terrifying. She helps sometimes, when I am in her arms at night, she chases them away, chases him away, but on the days or nights she isn't with me, he comes back with a vengeance. Each nightmare seems to be worse than the last, and every one of them features him torturing me and or Quinn before he kills her in front of me.

I can never save her, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I scream at him to kill me instead, to rape me, if he would just set her free.

It never works.

I feel so lost and broken. He has this chokehold over me, and I don't know how to escape him. It scares me. I fear one day, soon, he will come back to finish me off, or worse, make my nightmares a reality by doing to Quinn what he does to her in my darkest dreams. Sometimes I think they are prophetic because they always seem so fucking real.

The urge to shrink her down to pocket size and place her at my heart for ever and always, to keep her safe, becomes uberly stronger by the minute. Ironically, I feel safer with her than I have ever felt with anyone, and I know she would protect me, she is already protecting me; Quinn is my champion.

My very own friend champion.

The one thing I want more than anything right now is to fall in Quinn's arms as a lover, to let her catch me, all of me, and never let me go. It is getting ridiculously harder not to jump her, and I know she knows that I have been acting strange around her. I go from needing space, to being extra tactile when we're together, to avoiding her increasingly curious stares, and to making sure we fall asleep touching in some way.

If she were perceptive of my feelings, even just a little bit, and if she felt the same for me, even just a little bit, she would think that I have been sending her mixed signals.

What I don't know is how she feels. Quinn can be just as closed off as me, but lately, through all of my back and forth, she seems to have become simultaneously more attentive and withdrawn, though not really in a bad way, but more in a musing way. I'll often catch her off in la la land, sometimes wearing a pensive expression, while other times looking… dreamy without any hint of underlying sadness.

I yearn to know what she is thinking.

"Santana, are you still with us?" I startle, and my body jerks in response, making my arm jostle out of Thais' grasp and send tendrils of fresh pain throughout my shoulder.

"Fuck." I grit out between my teeth.

"Okay, that's enough for today." Quinn's authoritative tone has me wanting to smirk, but I can only let out the breath I was holding, as she protectively hovers in front of me.

Thais chuckles lightly, while reattaching my sling, "I agree."

"You have done very well. Next week will be more challenging, so make sure to keep up the stretches at home. I'll send you with a list to follow to get you prepared." Thais continues while helping me down from the PT bed, table thing, whatever the hell it is, and I nod at him to let him know I'm listening.

He smiles, nodding back, then hands me a folder, "You may also talk to your doctor about taking a narcotic about an hour before you arrive Monday. We want you in the best mind frame possible, and although you will be a little high during therapy, it is better than being in copious amounts of pain."

I laugh at that, and Quinn's angelic voice follows so very near my ears, causing me to shiver. Her laugh is easily one of my most favorite things on planet earth. She is undeniably sexy, and adorable at the same time, so much so that it pains me, makes me want to cry at how damn perfect she is in my eyes.

Ten minutes later, we're back on the road, this time headed home, where I plan to take a much-needed nap, right after swallowing some much-needed oxycodone. PT, pain, and thinking too much about Quinn really drained me today, and all I want to do is snuggle down in bed with Quinn. Unfortunately, she has to go back to school, so no cuddles for me. Her pillow - that smells so, so good - will have to do until she gets home.

"Hey." Quinn's soft voice reaches my ears and her free hand covers mine. "You really are in another world today. What's going on in that head of yours?" She teases me, though I can hear the concern layered beneath, and it has my heart fluttering.

To know that she cares about me, well, it really makes a girl feel all warm and gooey inside.

"You. Uh, I mean, what?" I admit without meaning to, and then hurry to come up with a correction, but I already know it's too late.

There was too big of a pause between my screw up that I cannot cover up.

Maybe she will over look it?

"Me?" She questions, sounding surprised, and slightly… something else that I can't pick up on.

"You what?" I reply lamely, acting as if I am suddenly confused, yet knowing the attempt is futile.

"Santana." Side eyeing me with a scowl, she huffs irritably. "You were thinking about me?" Her irritation fades into interest, as if she cannot fathom that I was actually thinking about her, but is intrigued by the notion that I had been doing exactly that.

"I wasn't the only one on another planet earlier, you were, too. I catch you in deep thought a lot, Q, so what is going on inside your head?" I dodge the question, for now, to focus on her instead of me because I need time to think out my answer.

I don't want to lie and say that I wasn't. That would be a step back for us. However, I can't say what I had been thinking. Omitting sounds like the best bet, along with telling her some simple thoughts that can be constructed as platonic. It's not that I don't ever want to let her know how I feel, but there is a better time and place for those types of talks, and riding in her car is not one of them.

She wouldn't be able to participate like I need her to, or hell, she wouldn't be able to run away like she may need to do.

It could become seriously awkward.

Fear is a factor as well.

A major one.

"A hell of a lot. I asked you first, though." She laughs, one of those awkward nervous ones, and I notice her hand tightening around the steering wheel.

The one still over my own twitches.

"Fine." I grumble, defeated. "I-I was thinking of taking a nap when we got home and wishing you didn't have to go back to school so you could lie down with me." I spill some of the truth in what had been running through my head, hoping she will take it as is and not make me admit anything more.

"Oh. That's all?" What does she mean by that?

"What do you mean that's all? Was I supposed to be thinking something else?" I ask, slightly grouchy, a bit hurt, and a lot confused.

"No, no, I meant you were in deep thought for a long time, and that was all you thought of?" Shaking her head, she backtracks quickly, finally removing her hand to turn into the driveway.

Damn. I had a feeling she wouldn't let it go.

"Oh, look, we're home. You better get back to school. See you when you get home!" Unbuckling, I fly out the car, yelling at her as I make a quick get away.

Or as quick as possible while not being able to move that fast.

In other words, not near quick enough, because Quinn is already at the door by the time I reach the steps. "We're talking." She narrows her eyes, daring me to protest, and gently wraps her hand around my wrist. I pout at her, silently giving in

I have learned not to fight with her, and I have learned that when I do, it is best to pick and choose my battles wisely. The wrong one could result in her sleeping on the couch, and or the silent treatment. I want neither from her today - or ever again - so I reluctantly slump in behind her, and let her lead me up to our shared room.

I have no idea what I'm going to say to her, but whatever it is, she cannot blame if she doesn't like it. She is, after all, the one who is so adamant about knowing my thoughts on her. I could always make something up; tell her something off the wall that has her bored out of her mind.

Then again, that would be too aggravating, too hard, for my tired mind right now.

Quinn is quiet as she automatically helps me into my pj's, and then to bed, where she props me up against the headboard, and my arm up on its designated pillows. I can't help but stare at her fondly, she takes such good care of me, knows what I need even before I ask, and even when I am too much of a coward to ask.

Every time she touches me with the gentleness of fluttery butterfly wings, listens to me like there is nothing else in the world that she would rather be hearing, and attends to me as if I were the most precious thing on earth, it makes me feel nurtured and loved.

I never want it to end.

Quinn reaches for my empty glass on the nightstand, obviously intending to refill it, but I wrap my hand around her wrist much like she had done to me earlier. She suddenly seems nervous, which may have something to do with her equally as sudden silence. I tug to get her attention, and she sighs in response before plopping down beside me.

Her face, when she looks up at me, appears suspiciously flushed, though before I can dwell on it, she abruptly face plants on the pillow for my head that I'm not using.

I'm about to laugh and ask her what's wrong, but the shaking of her shoulders stops me cold, and now I don't know if I should say anything at all. I can't tell if she is laughing or crying, and honestly, I have no idea why she would be doing either one of those.

"Q?" I call softly, hesitantly touching her shoulder blade, and when she does not flinch, I add more pressure and rub down her back.

When she emits a shuddery breath, followed by a stifled cry, my question is answered.

My heart lurches.

"Oh hell." I curse, becoming panicked and baffled. Why in the world is she crying? What happened between the car and now that has her so upset?

Or, is it more than that?

I do not understand.

I have no clue what to do to make her feel better, so I say nothing. Instead, I continue to rub her back, hoping that touch is enough to comfort her.

The position she is in looks so damn uncomfortable. I wish I could pull her up and wrap my arms around her trembling body, but once again, my shoulder prevents me from doing something I want to do. Need to do. It's actually really pissing me off.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but what comes out are lyrics to a song, and my soft, yet raspy voice singing them while she cries into my pillow.

Midway through the song, her ragged cries turn into sniffling, and her posture seems to relax somewhat, though not enough for me to stop. I finish, as my fingers caress her everywhere I can reach; her upper back, shoulders, and head. I thread them through her hair, playing in the long, blonde strands and tickling over her neck in the process.

"What are you doing to me?" The whispered question catches me off guard, I have no damn clue as to what she means or if I'm supposed to answer.

My fingers stop their light stroking, but she bolts off the bed, and is out the room before I can utter a word, leaving my hand in mid air. It falls limply to my side.

What the fuck just happened?

Tears of frustration brim over. I know Quinn has been acting odd as I have been lately, yet nothing this… dramatic has happened before now, and it has me beyond confused and wanting to know what is going on between us.

Because there is something. It may not be what I want or need it to be, but Quinn is obviously conflicted, and it obviously has something to do with me.

What am I doing to her?

If it is anything like what she is doing to me… Maybe we can work through it and do a whole helluva lot of doing things to each other.

Things that don't cause this much anxiety and random spurts of crying our eyeballs out, like naughty things that cause pleasure, and fluffy shit that causes happiness and more of those damn fluttery feelings in my heart that I always seem to get when she's near.

When she smiles, laughs, and raises that fuckin' eyebrow…

Without even trying, Quinn Fabray is going to be the death of me.

Quinn

I'm late to class, it's over in 10 minutes, so I don't even bother going in. I head to the bathroom instead, needing more time to gather myself from my earlier breakdown. I am almost ashamed of bursting out in tears like that, and in front of Santana, but with my emotions all over the place these past couple weeks, it was only a matter of time before losing it finally happened. Santana has really frayed my nerves…my head…my heart… I feel like I am holding on by a meager strand of sanity, and that it will soon unravel; sending me nowhere else but into Santana's arms.

I can't take this anymore, seeing her in so much pain, hiding it, and then showing it because she hurts so bad that there is no other choice. Then there is the mixed signals, one day she is all over me, as much as one can be when shot and healing… And the next she is distant, cowering away from me. Not cold, though, not anymore, but I get the feeling something is going on, and that she is fighting it hardcore.

I just want to be there with her, not here at school, even if I did embarrass myself and confuse the poor girl with my bawling on her, sometimes our, shared pillow. It's not the same without her here; I hate it. I miss Santana like crazy when we're apart.

She has so many nightmares now. They're overwhelming, not only for her, but also for me, and our parents. It scares me how much the dreams affect her. She wakes up screaming for me almost always, and doesn't ever go back to sleep until she knows that he did not touch me, and that I am 100% okay. It is heartbreaking.

Santana won't tell me what she dreams, but from the way she reacts, I know I am involved, if not the star of his sick fantasies played out in her dreamscape.

She needs help. Professional help. Though I know help to some degree, I also know that I am not enough to keep the nightmares totally at bay. Only when I wrap my arms securely around her, do they dissipate, but unfortunately, I cannot be there every time she falls asleep. Santana just may need, dare I even think it, pills to get her through this.

I'd hate to see her drugged up.

Maybe talking will help. If not, maybe only something to help her sleep better, instead of something that would turn her into a zombie.

Knowing the bell is about to go off, I take a deep breath to center myself, peer at my face in the mirror one last time, and then hurry out the room before more tears can escape. I reach my locker to grab the right book, slam it shut, and start walking toward my next class. The bell rings seconds later, the halls filling with loud chatter and squeaking of sneakers against the linoleum. Everything is suddenly too loud.

I do not want to be here.

Why didn't I just stay in bed with Santana?

"Quinn? Are you alright?" My head jerks up, eyes landing on a concerned looking Rachel staring at me with a hand reached out.

When did I stop in the middle of the hallway?

She gingerly touches my arm when I don't answer her.

"Quinn? You're fairly pale; I think you should maybe sit down or go to the nurse." I nod, swallowing down the urge to cry.

"I have a free. Tell me where you need to go." Looping her arm with mine, she takes off, dragging me along with her.

Home. To Santana.

"Somewhere quiet." I say instead, letting her lead me to where I already know is the auditorium. I didn't even have to answer; she knew the best place.

We sit on the stage, and I sigh, feeling less crowded but no less homesick.

"Is it Santana?" Rachel asks after seconds of silence.

"She's going through hell. It's not my place to say anything, but I'm affected, too, and it all just really makes me want to bash that bastard's head in." I answer as vaguely as I can, not wanting to outright spill what is going on with her.

At least for Santana's sake.

I want to tell her everything, my feelings, the nightmares…

How I stay up at night, keeping watch over her until she falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours, and even though I'm exhausted the next day, I'd rather lose any amount of sleep for however long she lies there suffering through images and mental torment, than to drift back off and not be able to comfort and protect her.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, looking down sadly.

Taking my hand, she peers at me through misty eyes, "Neither of you deserve that, nor do either of your families. It pains me to see you and Santana in so much pain. I do believe she needs to tell the others what happened. They're all going crazy, not being able to see her, and not knowing what's going on or if she is even okay other than what I tell them. I don't think they believe me. Mercedes told me that if Santana was really alright then she would be here throwing insults at us left and right."

"You're right. It's time. Nobody here is the best of friends with her except Britt and I, but that clearly does not mean that they do not care. She's one of us, one of them. Santana matters whether she chooses to believe so or not. I'll talk to her later." I wholeheartedly agree with her, Santana needs friends now more than ever.

She should not have to go through this without as many of us on her side as possible.

"There's something else bothering you." Rachel takes note, after catching a fallen tear with her fingertip.

I didn't even realize that I had started crying.

"I miss her. Every minute that I am not with her feels suffocating, I cannot breathe, function, or think. Well, no, that's a lie. I do think, but every thought is of Santana, and wishing that I was with her. "I admit as more tears follow the lone one from before.

Rachel tugs my head down, planting it on her shoulder while wrapping an arm around my back and rubbing soothing circles to ease my woes. "You love her."

The breathed statement doesn't even make me flinch.

"Yes. I love her." I affirm quietly, yet strongly, releasing some of the built up weight on my shoulders and off my weary heart.

Rachel breathes in deeply, lets it out slowly, and then rests her head on my own.

Nothing else is said.

xXx

I make it through the rest of the day by sheer will.

I took in absolutely nothing.

Rachel smiles at me from her locker as I slowly make my way to mine. I grin and wiggle my fingers at her. She is a good friend. I am lucky to have her.

Now that I do, I would be stupid to do anything to screw it up.

Rachel is definitely stuck with me.

I watch as she turns to open her locker door. Pausing when it's open, her head tilts curiously, and then she is reaching in and pulling something out. A piece of folded paper is pinched between her fingers. Her eyes meet mine.

She looks so bewildered it makes me want to laugh, but more than that, it makes me want to know what the hell the paper is and who put it in there.

I stuff my shit in my locker, slam the door, again, and hurry over to be nosy.

"Someone broke into my locker." She mutters when I reach her side, holding the paper away from her body as if it were contaminated.

I roll my eyes.

Of course, that is her first thought when someone puts a slightly crooked folded piece of paper inside of her locker; that someone broke in to do it.

"Obviously." I quip. "Open it." I urge, stepping curiously closer.

I tap my fingers against my thigh almost impatiently as she hesitantly unfolds it, and I am virtually bouncing on my heels as her eyes scan over whatever is written there. She blinks, seemingly dumbfounded, and hands me the paper with furrowed brows.

"Apparently, I have a secret admire that is not so secret…"

I give her a slightly worried look at her dazed expression, before cautiously reading what this so-called secret admire wrote to her.

I hope, for his sake, that it is not Jewfro.

You are as cute as a baby unicorn.

I'm one of the hottest girls in this school.

We should go out.

Your secret admire,

Brittany.

My Jaw is on the floor, and my eyes resembling those of owls. I blink at Rachel with my owl eyes, stunned and speechless. Brittany wrote a secret admire note to Rachel, in crayon, and broke into her locker to make sure she got it.

I was not aware that Brittany knew how to break into lockers… Did she learn that from Santana and me? Or, did she have help? If she did seek someone out, who in the world could it have been? This is really… Odd.

I didn't even know B had a crush on Rachel!

When did that start, and why did she keep it to herself?

"Quinn?" I blink at her, again, and try to shake out of my thoughts and questions concerning Brittany's crush on one Rachel Berry.

"What am I supposed to do? I had no idea she thought of me like that." Rachel takes the note back, rereading the colorful, thought out words.

And they were, thought out. Brittany must have been having these thoughts for quite sometime and must have been a little confused as to what to do, or how to tell Rachel of her feelings, especially to go to the lengths of breaking into Rachel's locker…

Why didn't she come to us?

Maybe she wanted to do it on her own. Maybe she didn't need her best friends for this. Or maybe she was apprehensive of us finding out about her crush or whatever on Rachel. We did not exactly treat her right in the past, and Santana can still be a raging bitch to her when the urge hits, so maybe Britt wanted to keep these feeling inside because she is scared of how we'd take her liking the social pariah.

Maybe I need to stop over thinking it.

"I didn't either. She never said a word to us. Do you, uh, want to go out with her?" I finally find some words, curiosity overriding my other thoughts.

"I-I don't know. I mean, I like her; I like Brittany a lot. However, my more romantic thoughts have always been about Sa-um, never mind. I-I need to go." Making a break for it, Rachel dashes away before I can reply to her stuttered response.

Brittany's note floats to the floor, from where Rachel dropped it as she ran. I pick it up, refold it, and tuck the paper safely in my pocket book.

xXx

My bedroom door is closed when I arrive home. I am actually relieved; it gives me another minute to prepare for facing Santana. I already stalled when I came inside, going to the kitchen to get a snack and something to drink. I couldn't help but grab something for San as well, not knowing if she has been eating today after I left.

"Do you need some help?" I gasp at the sudden voice, startled, and the water bottle I was holding flies out my hand to the floor.

MR. Lopez bends over to retrieve it, and then hands it to me with an apologetic smile. I swallow nervously, and smile back. How long has he been standing there?

"Thanks. And, no sir, I was just-"

"Stalling?" He grins knowingly, side eyeing the door.

I blush, giving myself away.

"She misses you, you know, while you're at school. Don't stall too long." He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder as he passes to head back downstairs.

Blushing more, I bite my bottom lip, and then taking a deep breath, I open my door and walk in, closing it back behind me so we are not interrupted.

Santana is asleep, the pillow I cried on earlier clutched to her chest, while her head is on the one I usually sleep with. The sight makes me sad, yet my heart flutters, knowing that her dad was right about her missing me during the day.

I set the plate of homemade, double chocolate chunk cookies, and bottle of water on the nightstand, strip down to my t-shirt and panties, and then climb under the covers. With a bout of bravery, and longing, I reach a hand out to remove the pillow gently from her grasp, but she whines and clings to it tighter, not letting go.

Pouting, I rub down her arm, and coming to her fingers, I try to pry the stubborn digits carefully away. It doesn't work. She only balls her hand into a fist, keeping hold of it with all her might. Reluctantly giving up, I rest my head beside hers on my pillow, leaving my arm along hers so that I am at least touching some part of Santana.

A nap sounds heavenly, and there is nothing better than sleeping with an angel. I close my eyes with a smile, sleepy and content now that I am home with her.

When I wake up what feels like hours later, it is to my head buried in an ample chest, and an arm wrapped snuggly around my back. I grin like a maniac, wiggling closer if at all possible; this is exactly what I had wanted before I fell asleep. I am ecstatic that she tossed the pillow to clutch on to me instead.

That makes me feel really good, even if she happened to do it subconsciously. Doesn't matter. All that does is that I am tucked against her body now, and it feels amazing. I could wake up like this forever and never get tired of it.

"I can feel you smiling like a lunatic, Q. Are you really that happy waking up with your head smushed all up in my tits?" Santana's taunting voice makes my heart jump, and my face heat up, but I don't move from aforementioned tits.

She feels too damn good for me to move.

"Maybe." I murmur, the grin never leaving my face.

She laughs, though it trails off as her hand starts to rub softly down, and then up my back in a continuous, random pattern. We lay like this for several minutes, until Santana's hand daringly ventures under my shirt, where her nails delicately scratch bare flesh.

Chills erupt at the new sensation, and I find myself involuntarily pressing into the smooth thigh nestled between my legs. We both tense, which proves to be a mistake, as her thigh becomes taught and solid underneath me. I let out a shaky breath, scared to move, yet craving to undulate against her. I swallow and boldly scoot up to where we're cheek-to-cheek, not quite ready to look at her yet, lest it ruin the moment.

Fingers unfreezing, they trail lower, caressing my skin. They tarry at the edge of my underwear, before stroking back up to a safer zone. I squash my disappointment, hiding it with a soft kiss to her ear, followed by a series of kisses planted along her cheek, and leading to her parted lips. I pause, nudging my nose against her cold one, and then finally lift up on my forearm to peer up at her through half-lidded eyes.

"I missed you." She breaks the silence, teasing at the back of my underwear, where her fingers had snuck down while I have been transfixed in her gaze.

My core throbs at the mere idea that Santana could slide past the barrier keeping her from touching me fully, and I bare my hips down at the overwhelming thought. Her thigh once again tensing in response, a rush of air escapes past my lips, and I lean down to brush them against her own, when a loud knock on my door stops the intended kiss.

Whimpering at the abrupt interruption, I force myself off and to the side of her, plopping ungracefully down just as the door opens.

"Hello, girls. Dinner time in ten… Also, we have a guest tonight. Freshen up and come on down stairs." Mom smiles at us from the doorway, though before she leaves, she seems to hesitate, her eyes narrowing as she regards us briefly.

My heart is racing so much that my chest hurts. We've been caught. Mom knows we were up to something, and now she is going to freak out and separate us.

But to my surprise, she shakes her head, winks at me, and then walks out. I frown, slightly relieved, yet confused. She winked.

Does Mom know and just doesn't care?

I have a feeling we'll be talking later, or more accurately, she will corner and ask me if there is something going on between San and I, and then order an open door policy, though not before blabbing to Santana's parents first.

We are in so much trouble.

"Do you know happen to know anything about this guest, Q?" I turn my head to look at Santana; she is already staring at me, a glare working its way on to her face, as if she is suspicious that I had something to do with inviting someone over.

She thinks I did, I know she does, and it kind of hurts that she assumes I asked one of our friends over without talking to her about it first.

"If you knew me at all, Santana, then you should know the answer to that question." My reply comes out angry, but I am tired of becoming irate so easily with her, that I counteract it by taking her hand and keeping our eyes locked.

Her glare melts away.

"Yeah, well, whoever it is, they're one hell of a pussy blocker." With those words, she sits up, and moves off the bed, leaving me with my thoughts swirling.

My mind reels at the vulgar word she used, and then reels even more at the visual of us together in that sense. I was already rubbing on her… The mere thought of more, of going further, with our clothes off, has me not wanting to go downstairs.

I want to continue where we left off.

Does what she said mean that she wants that, too? Or, was she just being her usual defensive self, and deflecting?

No. She can't. There is no way that she really wants me. I am sure she was caught up in the moment earlier and just didn't know what to do, or how to let me down without turning me into a sobbing mess.

Santana wanting me is too good to be true.

"Come on, Q, if I have to go down there to deal with company, then you do, too." A rush of air wheezes out as a pillow whacks me in the stomach.

I shoot up, scowling at the appealingly, though falsely innocent appearing girl standing by the bed. She gives me a Cheshire grin, showing her pearly whites.

I lay my eyes on her lips, wishing I could nibble on them like had I planned on doing before we were disturbed. My eyes drift higher, to her cheeks, nose, and gorgeous eyes, appraising them of their beauty. Of her beauty. God, I wish she would smile more; it truly drives me mad with glee when she points that deadly smile my way.

Deadly because it causes my heart to freeze, my breath to cease, and my body to implode with an oversupply of emotions.

How can these feelings be wrong? They feel so right.

I am beginning to think everyone else is wrong, not us, the ones who love, and accept love no matter the form. What I feel for Santana is the most righteous I have ever felt, and even if it does happen to be wrong, I do not care. I would rather jump off a bridge than be trapped in a world where Santana I could never be because of bigots like my father.

"Knock, knock." Santana's head snaps to the door at the sound of her papi checking in on us. I look down, not meeting his gaze, as fresh tears that I didn't realize were there drip down to the hands curled in my lap.

I am so damn emotional today. It is tiring. All I want to do is stay here, away from everyone but Santana, and sleep.

"Everyone is waiting on you two. Are you both all right? Quinn, are you crying?" His voice comes closer as he steps in the room, and I blush at being caught crying anyway.

I had hoped he wouldn't notice, or at least would not call me out on it. Being the caring man that he is, though, I guess my hope was pointless.

Santana inches in front of me, shielding me with her torso, so that Mr. Lopez cannot see the pathetic sight of my tear streaked face. Despite the silent tears, my heart sings at the protectiveness Santana just showed. The gesture was sweet, and it makes me want to kiss her senseless. I somehow refrain from doing so.

I don't think she or her dad would appreciate that too much.

"Oh. Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude. I'll tell the others to wait a little longer." After an honest apology, his footsteps fade out, and the room goes silent.

"What's goin' on with you today?" I peer up at her, unsure how to answer the question without giving away all of my feelings right here right now.

"I don't know." I shrug, wiping at my tears.

You, is a more appropriate answer, but we would not have time to talk after that, so I don't know will have to do for now.

She nods. "Fine. Come on, then, let's get this over with."

I huff playfully, gently poking her stomach so that she'll move. When she does, I stand, but it puts us within kissing distance, and that is exactly what I am thinking of doing. Though she doesn't back up, she glances off to the side as if suddenly nervous. I bite my lip, thinking, over thinking, and then lean in to kiss her cheek. I linger there for what seems forever, the warmth of her skin heating my lips, before pulling back.

xXx

When we finally make it to the dinning room, another ten minutes later, a tall blur rushes us, and we're both crushed in a hug. Me more so than Santana. I laugh, hugging Brittany back. Santana side hugs her with a bright smile, careful of her shoulder.

And here Santana thought this was going to be a tedious dinner, having to entertain company she didn't want, and I may have thought the same, but Brittany is, well, Brittany, and we would never think of her that way.

"Britt, what are you doing here?" Santana asks as they part, and her eyes look around the room for answers.

Her face goes from smiling, to confused, to glowering.

I follow her line of sight, only to find a fidgety Rachel sitting beside the other Mr. Berry, Hiram, I think. She catches me staring, and gives me a twitchy smile. I have no idea why they are here, but I do know that she has two very good reasons to be so skittish.

Both reasons are in the same room.

Damn.

"I wanted to see you. Duh." Brittany laughs at Santana as if she is crazy for even asking, and Santana gives her a little chuckle in return.

I can see the 'Well, why the hell is Berry here?' on the tip of Santana's tongue, but she doesn't ask; instead, the three of us join the others at the table.

Brittany's twinkling eyes flitter straight over to Rachel, who notices and immediately resembles a deer caught in headlights. She blushes when Brittany beams at her, though manages a small, shy smile. The whole interaction is simply adorable.

And amusing.

Apparently, I am not the only one who is witness to them. Mr. Lopez's expression is thoughtful as he watches the two exchange bashful smiles, and furtive glances on Rachel's part. Those two are so obvious. Brittany is not subtle by any stretch of the word, and it would not surprise me if Santana caught on by the end of the night.

If not before then.

Mom leads us into a small prayer, thanking God for good food, good company, and her two girls, then asks him to help heal Santana and to sooth her pains. After that, she smiles at everyone and tells us to dig in before it gets any colder.

I earn another wink.

This time a playfully narrow my eyes at her, knowing she is blaming San I for the food becoming cold while they waited on us to get our asses down here.

Oh well, it was worth it.

"So, Santana, how is your therapy going?" Hiram starts conversation after a few bites of his food, genuinely interested in Santana's well being if the soft look in his eyes and the rapt attention on his face is any indication.

Santana looks a tad caught off guard for having said attention put on her so suddenly, but she schools her features to appear indifferent. "It's going great. Thais is good, and he even glosses over the curses thrown at him when it feels like he is ripping my arm off." She answers him with such nonchalance that the whole table goes quiet and shocked.

Well, except Britt and me. We're used to our friend's loose tongue, and Brittany seems distracted anyway. She is wearing what looks like a secretive smile as she peers into her plate of food. Now I am definitely curious. What is she thinking?

Or… Hiding?

Hiram breaks the slight awkwardness with a laugh. His face holds nothing but amusement now, and I can just see him picturing Santana being the spitfire that she is.

"The pain will lessen over time. My advice, after seeing my husband work with some of his PT patients, is not to overdue it. If you hurt too much, let them know. The last thing you want is overstretched muscles." Santana nods at him, taking the advice in.

When I am at PT with her, I will have to make sure she listens.

Right now, she is vocalizing how much Thais is torturing her, but I know how stubborn Santana is, and it is only a matter of time before she attempts to ignore the pain in favor of making the healing process quicker than it needs to be.

We're in the middle of dessert when Santana looks at me with an expression of pensiveness, and cute furrowed eyebrows.

"Yes?" I smile at her, thinking she is going to say something about the non-stop attention Brittany is giving Rachel.

Her face smoothes. She smirks. Then my fork is clattering loudly in my plate when a sneaky hand is placed on my thigh.

I grimace as everyone stops what they're doing to look at me worriedly. I shoot them a sheepish grin and shrug. Placated, they go back to eating and chatting with each other, and I continue stuffing my face with vegan apple pie.

The hand is ignored.

That is until it slides further up.

Before I end up choking, I gulp down the rest of my drink. I don't know what Santana is playing at, but I really do not want her to stop or move her hand away.

I do, however, sneak my free hand under the table and lay it atop hers.

The urge to touch her back was too strong. She tenses, though, obviously thinking that I am about to push her away. I flip her hand over, slide mine the length of hers, and interlace our fingers. The tension eases, and she gives me a squeeze.

I want nothing more than to scoot this chair back and throw myself at her.

After everyone is done eating, we all head in different directions. The parentals dash for the living room, Brittany and I silently agree to take on the kitchen, and Rachel and Santana disappear somewhere unknown. I hope wherever they are that Santana does not send Rachel back to us in tears. Maybe they will talk it out, or maybe Rachel will sit there with an irritated Santana and simply be ignored.

Gathering some of our dirty dishes, I heave a deep sigh, hoping for the best. Britt follows me in the kitchen with the rest, and we waste no time in rinsing and loading the dishwasher. She hums while we work, then the humming turns into soft singing as she bounds around the room. Once we're finished, and everything is spick and span, I am grabbed and twirled merrily in her arms. I laugh in joy and go along for the ride; it is so good to see her like this, to see her at all. We barely hang out anymore.

I can't help but hug her when we stop in the middle of the kitchen. She hugs back, laying her head atop mine. She is always so warm and cuddly. I missed this.

"Spend the weekend with us." I smile, hopeful, as we pull back from each other.

She gives one of her blinding smiles. "Can Rachel stay, too?"

Oh, she has it bad.

And here I thought she really liked Artie.

I want to say something about the note, tell her I know, and then have her spill when she went from enjoying rides from Artie, to gushing over Rachel. But, on the other hand, she might not be ready to reveal anything, and wants to wait to come to us on her own. Plus, I don't even know if she meant to write her name on the note or not, and if not, she may start slipping more into Rachel's locker to continue wooing her first.

"We'll have to ask our parents, and Santana. You know how those two are, they butt heads worse than a battering ram against an impenetrable door." Shaking my head almost fondly at the thought of them, I roll my eyes.

Brittany pouts, thinking of them, too. She has always hated the way Santana and I treated Rachel, well, 'treat' in Santana's case. But San cannot say no to Brittany, and if I'm there, giving her my own set of puppy dog eyes, begging her to say yes, then there is no way on earth that she can say no to both of us.

"Go on up, I'll talk to our parents." I gently push her out the door, and then walk toward the living room.

I find them huddled on the couch, flipping through photo albums. My face blazes as I realize Mom is showing them my baby pictures.

"Mother." I glare as she looks up at me. "Can Brittany stay over this weekend? And, maybe Rachel, if Santana is up for it?" I ask through a pout much like Brittany's, knowing there is nothing I can say to dissuade them away from my pictures.

The adults share a look, talking with their eyes for a few moments, before looking back at me and nodding their consent. None of them seem to mind.

Not that I thought differently. They know Santana needs her friends.

"Great, thanks. We need this." I kiss Mom appreciatively on the cheek, grin at the rest of them, and then jog upstairs, wanting to tell Brittany the good news.

Good so far, that is. Santana could shred our plan to pieces in a heartbeat.

I stop in my tracks when I notice Brittany leaning against the wall outside my room. Raising an eyebrow, I stand behind her, wondering why she is out here and not in there with them. She turns, giving me the 'shh' signal, and points to my cracked open door. I curiously listen in for any signs of life. Instead of yelling, crying, or throwing of objects that I may have expected from the two, there is the sound of quiet voices.

Weird.

Why are they not killing each other?

Straining to hear what they are talking about, I step in front of Brittany, letting her head pop up by my own to eavesdrop with me.

"I care about you, Santana. All I want is for you to be happy, healthy, and to feel the love your friends have for you. But it has been weeks, and you have yet to tell all of them what happened to you. They are worried. I keep telling them that you're okay, just healing after a traumatic event, and that you will be back at school in no time. Mercedes, of course, does not think it is fair that some of us get to talk to you while the rest of them are left in the dark. I don't want to pressure you, but I really do believe that you should let them know what's going on." Rachel's tone is soft, caring, as she tries to coax Santana into letting the rest of our group in on everything.

This is what I was going to do tonight. Rachel beat me to it, and I am both apprehensive and proud that she has not given up on getting Santana to open up.

It's somewhat scary.

Last time she tried, I ended up staying at her house because Santana was being a hardheaded bitch. Let's hope it doesn't come down to that again.

"I am actually surprised all of you have kept your mouth shut. That doesn't mean I'm not thankful because of it, though. Maybe, maybe Kurtcedes, Finn, and Artie could come over this weekend. But, I really don't want to have to go through the story again, Rachel, I hate thinking about what he did to me, what he could still do, the nightmares, and Quinn-

"Whoa, hey, listen to me. You do not have to tell them anything that you do not feel comfortable with; nobody is forcing you to spill every detail. Seeing you alive should be enough for them. And I doubt Quinn would let him touch you again without a fight, she is very protective of you, Santana." Rachel shuffles about the room, more than likely bravely over to Santana, as she reassures her quickly.

I suddenly feel guilty for listening in. This is not very friendly of Britt and me, we should know better than to mess with our friend's trust.

"You've been having nightmares?" We hear Rachel ask as an afterthought, before Santana can reply to her previous words.

It is then that I drag Brittany away from the door, and back downstairs to the kitchen. She plops at the bar, a look of sadness marring her beautiful features. I bite my tongue, attempting to keep another round of tears at bay, and busy myself with fixing us something to drink. I pour coke in two glasses, sneak in some rum from an almost full bottle, and then set one of them down in front of her.

"What does she dream about?" Brittany eyes the glass, but she isn't really seeing, only looking through it with glossy orbs to some other realm her mind has transported.

"Scary things. I think she dreams of me. She won't tell me, though, Britt, or anyone, she just buries everything inside herself where no one can see." I plaster myself against her side, mirroring her depressed face.

"Maybe Rachel will get her to talk." She whispers despondently as she picks up her glass to drink. I finish mine of in record time, only to pour another, and then top Brittany's off.

I don't want to get drunk, but the warmth from the alcohol is welcoming, and it makes me slightly more relaxed. Brittany throws me a small smile, trying to cheer us up.

It helps, some.

The alcohol helps more. By the time we've both drained our glasses for a third time, all I feel is a spacey and… Horny. It went straight down, now I am tingly, and pulsing, and oh God, I need to hump something. Someone. Someone preferably Santana.

Santana.

Is it getting hot in here?

"A little." Huh? I blink at Brittany.

"Did I ask that out loud?"

"What?"

"What, what?"

"I'm confused." Brittany scrunches her face in confusion at our back and forth conversation, and brings an overly full glass to her mouth, the coke sloshing out and splashing in her lap. "Oops." She giggles, placing the glass down on the bar.

I set my empty one aside to grab paper towels, and then blot up the spilt drink. She grins at me in thanks, before reaching for the glass to try again. I lazily glance at mine, wondering if a fourth would hurt, but it is somehow already full.

I shrug, not caring what magic was used to do it while I was busy cleaning up Brittany's mess, only that it's there to drink and enjoy.

It is half-empty when another person finally comes in to visit us. Brittany's rambling cuts off when she sees Santana, followed by Rachel, walk into the kitchen. My eyes never leave Santana, though. She looks so damn good. God, how did I ever live without her here? I guess I didn't. I only existed until she moved in. Now, I cannot imagine her ever leaving, or me ever taking my eyes off her.

"Whoa now, I didn't realize we were having a party. Why wasn't I invited?" Santana's eyes are wide as she stares at us; I smile goofily, and sidle up to her side.

"Hi." I breathe in her ear.

Her eyebrow skyrockets. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe." I grin, my body buzzing from being so close to her own.

"You are, you bitch. You could have at least snuck that shit up to your room so we could all join in on the fun." Curving an arm around her, I chuckle against her neck at her pouty response, and place an apologetic kiss where my lips are resting.

"Um, Brittany seems to have lost her shirt." Rachel squeaks from behind us.

I crane my neck, only to find a Rachel shaped person buried in a shirtless Brittany's arms, which should have sent serious alarm signals off in my brain, but the sight of them just makes me lovingly squeeze Santana. She is warm. So, so warm, and smells heavenly.

Delicious.

"You feel good." I moan at the feeling of being so snug against the length of her body, and cannot help the whimper that follows when her fingers tickle over my lower back.

"Quinn, you're drunk, or tipsy. Brittany needs to put her shirt on, and we need to move to your room-"

"Our room." I correct her.

"Right, our room, before our parents discover that you two have been-"

"Brittany!" I jump, startled by the outburst interrupting Santana.

"Too late." She sighs, rolling her eyes.

"It's not what it looks like!" Rachel yells defensively.

"Oh, so this isn't four underage girls getting drunk in my kitchen, and becoming inappropriately intimate with one another?" Mom scoffs in disbelief.

I hunch further into Santana, trying to cloak myself from Mother's wrath.

"No, absolutely not!" I hear Rachel squawk, protesting against the very idea of what Mom said we were all doing, though more out of fear than anything.

I highly doubt she really finds the act of getting 'inappropriately intimate' as offending as she just made it seem. Rachel is scared, like me, and doesn't want trouble.

I don't want to get in trouble, either, I just want to go to bed now, and wrap myself around Santana's radiating warmth.

"Oh? Then please, tell us what is going on, because from where I'm standing, it really doesn't look too good for any of you." Eyes widening at the new voice, Santana and I both stiffen; one Mom is bad enough, but two? We are doomed.

Mrs. Teresa can be just as a spitfire as her daughter.

This is my fault. I got all of us in trouble, even though Santana and Rachel didn't do anything, and poor Brittany, I'm the one who gave her the alcohol. What kind of friend am I to get them in trouble when they have done nothing to warrant it?

Why, Quinn, did you think drinking with Brittany in a house full of adults would be a good plan, knowing that you both could be caught at any time?

What the hell is wrong with you?

"I'm sorry." Already feeling the tears pouring down my cheeks, I jerk away from Santana, and flee out the room before anyone can stop me.

"Damn it, Q, not again." Santana groans out the last words that I hear as I make my cowardice escape from the mess I made.

Only, this cannot be cleaned up with paper towels.

It will be cleaned with me, as Mom mops the floor with my ass.