Afternoon sunlight filters in through Santana's window, throwing patterns of light across her half buried face. She grumbles into consciousness, rolling onto her back and lifting her hands to her face to give it a rough massage. Having fallen asleep with her arm wedged between her face and the pillow, one whole side of it feels tingly and numb. Taking in a deep yawning breath, she catches the vague scent of permanent marker and smiles lazily, reaching out across her mattress. When her hand fails to find another body her eyes shoot open.

The other side of the bed is empty and made. She quickly realizes that she herself is not under the comforter, covered instead by the throw that is usually draped over the armchair in the corner of her room. She vaguely wonders how long she's been asleep, the amount of light in the room suggesting it's, at the very least, still today.

"Britt?" she calls as she sits up, her voice weak and croaky.

It was already clear that the blonde was not in the room, but Santana's heart sinks a little at the silence she is met with. She throws the blanket off and climbs out of bed, groggily pulling on some underwear and sweats from her dresser and heading for the bathroom. As her mind wakes up properly, it fills with images of Brittany. Not that she doesn't dream of Brittany, too, but these particular images are very specific memories.

She remembers Brittany handing her the Sharpie, an overwhelming warmth in the girl's eyes. She remembers holding her breath for the 30 seconds it took to write those three little words across Brittany's arm. She remembers the way Brittany had looked at her when their eyes met after she was done. And she remembers bursting into tears shortly thereafter. Brittany hadn't hesitated to take Santana in her arms and kiss her gently until the tears started to slow. She shut down Santana's strangled apologies, telling her over and over again that it was okay. That she understood.

Much to Santana's chagrin, that had brought on another round of tears. Because even though Santana was struggling to understand it herself, Brittany got it. Once again, Santana didn't need to explain how she was feeling to Brittany. Because Brittany knew. Just like she always does. Just like she already knew Santana loved her. And Brittany had known, in that moment, that Santana wasn't sad, that she didn't regret what she had just done. She was just tired. Completely overcome by relief, by love, by total and utter exhaustion. So, she let her cry. And then she let her sleep.

As Santana shuffles over to the basin she is just seconds away from being overwhelmed by affection for her girlfriend when the reality of that last memory hits her.

She fell asleep.

She had told Brittany that she loved her, albeit in a non-verbal way, and then instantly broken down and fallen asleep. She hadn't even let Brittany react. Suddenly she starts to feel a little uneasy, throwing an anxious glance back through the bathroom door. The cold bed, the empty room. Oh God...

But, her doubts aren't given a chance to take hold, washed away by a moment of confusion as she turns back around and finally sees her reflection in the vanity mirror. It's not her out of control bed hair that catches her attention, but rather the strange black marks speckled across the right side of her face. Leaning closer to get a better look, her brow furrows before smoothing out suddenly as her eyes go wide with realization. Having been smudged when Santana rubbed her face a few minutes ago, the marks are now almost completely indiscernible, but Santana is still one hundred percent certain that they are letters. With one heavy thud of her heart, she drops her eyes and pulls up the sleeve of her sweater.

And there, scrawled across her forearm in thick black marker, is the only sentence she will ever care about again.

I LOVE YOU, TOO

With her heart in her throat, Santana practically flies out of the bathroom. She is about to call out for Brittany again when she hears two soft voices coming from the loungeroom. Hiding herself behind the hallway wall, she peeks around it slowly to find Brittany sitting crossed-legged on the floor, Noah in her lap.

"But why is it there?" Noah asks, sounding somewhat exasperated. Whether it's from her usual frustrated curiosity, or the effort of trying to whisper, Santana can't tell.

Stifling a giggle at Noah's complete failure in the latter sense, she notices that the girl is pointing to Santana's autograph, more than half of it on show thanks to the low cut top Brittany is now wearing.

Brittany smiles at Noah thoughtfully, "You know how you write your name on things that belong to you?"

Noah nods enthusiastically. Santana almost falls over. Surely, Brittany isn't talking to Noah about her boob?

"Well, that's why I got Santana to write her name over my heart."

Oh.

Oh.

"Your heart belongs to Santana?" Noah whispers in wonderment.

"Sure does."

Noah nods as she ponders over the information but then quickly freezes, her eyes opening impossibly wide as something incomprehensible occurs to her.

"Who does my heart belong to?"

"It belongs to you, right now," Brittany tells her with a big smile, "But, it's only on loan. You're just looking after it for someone else."

"Who?"

Brittany laughs as Noah almost falls from her lap, the girl bouncing with excitement and desperate curiosity.

"I don't know, sweetie," Brittany tells her, "But, you'll know when you find them."

"I will?"

"You will."

There is a lot of emotion in Brittany's words and Santana feels it all, coursing through her own body like fire in her veins. She has been rooted to the spot since stumbling upon the conversation, Brittany's declaration overwhelming her in the very best way. Her love for the blonde in this moment, growing impossibly stronger with every passing second, bubbles up inside her like lava.

"But, if I give someone my heart," Noah gasps, suddenly very serious, "I won't have one anymore. I don't want to not have a heart."

Noah's worried eyes frantically search Brittany's face for reassurance. Brittany's heart clenches.

"If you give it to the right person," she whispers, leaning in as though she is letting Noah in on one of life's big secrets, "they will give you theirs in return."

Noah's mouth drops open slightly and she stares at Brittany for a moment.

"Woah."

Brittany laughs heartily at Noah's amazed and entirely appropriate reaction, "Pretty much, kiddo."

Santana can't take it anymore. Almost involuntarily, she stumbles a few steps forward, the sound of her feet against the floor catching the attention of both girls in the lounge room.

Noah's face lights up with a beaming smile as she leaps from Brittany's lap instantly and runs towards Santana.

"Tana!" she squeals, leaping into the air, Santana reflexively opening her arms to the girl, "Brittany says I'm going to swap hearts with someone one day!"

Santana giggles, squeezing Noah into a big bear hug before lowering her back to the ground. Santana squats down in front of her and Noah's hands shoot to her face, squeezing her cheeks together. The girl leans in close to give Santana an eskimo kiss, keeping their faces close when she's done.

"I'm glad you're awake," she whispers, conspiratorially.

"Oh, yeah?" Santana mumbles back curiously through her squashed lips, "Why's that?"

"I'm hungry."

Noah drops her hands and Santana cocks her head questioningly.

"For pancakes," Noah continues.

"Didn't we have pancakes for breakfast?" Santana chides humorously.

Noah doesn't miss a beat, as though having pre-planned this entire exchange, "We only got one each and there was lots of ingredients left over. We really shouldn't waste food, Santana."

Santana's heart melts. Noah only ever calls her Santana when she's trying to act like a grown up or make a very serious point. In this case, she is attempting to seem like she's just being responsible. She's about as good at it as her mother.

"Okay, fine," Santana laughs, knowing she can't possibly argue with the kid's logic, "Why don't you go find all the ingredients."

Noah doesn't even wait for her to finish before bolting into the kitchen. Santana stands up to find Brittany has also risen from the floor and is now standing only a few feet away, watching her with dark blue eyes. Santana's blush is instant.

Taking a couple of steps towards Santana, Brittany smiles, "Hey there, sleepy he-"

"I love you!"

She just blurts it out. After weeks of holding it in, of stopping herself, of nearlys and almosts, when Santana finally speaks the words, she doesn't manage to do it softly or calmly, they just erupt gracelessly from her mouth without her control. Her eyes go wide in an instant, her whole body flushing with embarrassment. But, Brittany beams. Her smile is bigger than Santana has ever seen it and her panic stops dead in its tracks, not even given a chance to reach the surface. A deep, warm chuckle accompanies Brittany's broad smile as she takes Santana's hands in her own.

"I love you, too."

Santana is pretty sure her heart stops beating. When Brittany steps into her and presses their lips together, she wraps her arm tightly around Santana's waist, holding the brunette firmly against her. It's an intuitive move that pays off, because, as soon as they kiss, Santana's legs cease to hold her up. They kiss gently, slowly, but, at the same time, very passionately. Brittany hums contentedly, smiling into Santana's lips before pulling her own away and moving them to Santana's ear.

"I love you," she whispers.

Oh.

Even if she wasn't doing it particularly consciously, even though it took her breath away, when Brittany said I love you back to her a few moments earlier, part of Santana had been expecting it. This time, it comes as a complete surprise. It hits her everywhere. Instead of stopping, her heart beats harder, faster, stronger. For Brittany. Because of Brittany. Because Brittany loves her. She wonders if this feeling will ever go away.

"Say it again," Santana mumbles. A plea, not a command.

"I love you," Brittany smiles, her lips still against Santana's ear.

No, Santana thinks, never going away.

Once Brittany is confident that Santana has control of her legs, she loosens her tight grip around the girl's waist so she can pull back and look her in the eyes. She exhales with wonder, her smile nothing but pure happiness as she spends a moment drinking in the deep chocolate pools that stare back at her. Only the tiniest hint of doubt remains.

"Santana," Brittany entreats, making sure she has the girl's full attention and trust, "I love you."

The brunette nods. She knows she will never tire of hearing those words. Not from this girl. Nor will she ever tire of the taste of them on her own lips.

"I love you, Brittany."

Both girls let out a deep breath, their bodies relaxing completely against each other. Their eyes stay trained on each other for what feels like hours, but it's not even a minute before Noah stomps back into the lounge room wearing a classic Fabray scowl. Santana looks down to her with an affectionate smile.

"Aww what's wrong, Banana?"

A dramatic huff.

"We're out of milk."

Driving back from the store, Santana grabs her phone and taps out a quick Where did u go? message to Quinn as Brittany and Noah discuss the finer points of pancake eating. According to Noah, one must use as much syrup as possible and then roll the pancake up so you can eat it with your hands. Brittany is a purist, claiming you need to eat a pancake without any toppings to really appreciate the flavour. Santana gives her an appreciative grin from the passenger seat, before turning to poke her tongue out at Noah in the back.

"I guess your mom's pancakes need some help, huh?" she teases.

"Stop it," Brittany berates her, trying not to giggle.

"Oh, speaking of..." Santana smiles, as her phone vibrates in her hand.

As they left the house for the milk run, Brittany had explained to Santana that after the she had fallen asleep, Brittany went back out to the lounge room to find it empty. Not knowing how long Santana would be asleep, she had gotten bored and gone over to Leanne's to collect Noah.

As usual, Quinn is fairly cryptic in her response to Santana's message.

Had to escape, heading back now.

Curiously, Santana shoots back a reply.

Escape from who? Rachel or Jason? We're getting milk, Noah is with us. Home soon x

Santana hums along to the radio as she fidgets with her phone, waiting for a reply. It doesn't take long.

Escape from YOU. The walls are just as thin as the floor, S. :-/

Santana's blush must be instant and obvious, because Brittany chuckles beside her.

"Everything ok?" she laughs.

"For now," Santana groans, "But, I'm going to get an earful from Quinn later."

"Why, what did you do?"

"You."

Then, off Brittany's quizzical look, "Loudly."

"Oh," Brittany's face remains impassive for only a few seconds before she starts to laugh.

"Don't think she won't have a go at you, too," Santana warns.

"Oh, please," Brittany teases, "You know very well it'll be your fault. She's always going to blame you for everything."

She says it with a joking tone, but she knows that she's absolutely right.

Evil.

"Always, huh?" Santana asks, her voice suddenly husky and an octave or two lower, "You planning on getting me into trouble a lot?"

"Always," Brittany purrs, "And forever."

Santana watches silently as Brittany reaches out and wraps her fingers around Santana's wrist, pulling her forearm right up to her lips and pressing them softly against the patch of skin marked with the letter L. She keeps her eyes on the road the whole time, but smirks knowingly as she gently lowers Santana's arm, resting it on her own thigh and entwining their fingers.

They drive like that for a few minutes, Santana gazing off into the distance, blocking out all sights and sounds, her head filling, as it usually does in idle moments, with images of blonde hair, blue eyes and rain. Lots of rain. She's so lost in her daydreams, it takes a moment for her to realize that the car has stopped moving. She instantly looks over to Brittany, the blonde's face frozen and wide-eyed. Santana blanches.

"Brittany? What's wrong? Why did you pull over?"

Santana's voice seems calm, but her actions tell a different story. Her hands instinctively reach for Brittany, hastily feeling her chest, arms and forehead for any indication of what's going on, as though Brittany might be having some kind of fit. Her own pulse begins to quicken and she's just about to grab Brittany by the shoulders and shake her with all she's got when the blonde's lips begin to curl into a smile. It's more a smile of confusion than anything else but it allows Santana a moment of relief, though it gives her no answers. Brittany's eyes are still wide and unmoving, her brow slightly furrowed.

"Britt?" she asks, again, seeing the flicker of recognition pass through Brittany's eyes. But, it's not for Santana, it's for something else, "Britt, you're really starting to worry m-"

"Sssh," Brittany cuts her off suddenly, waving her hand dismissively at Santana.

As a continuation of the gesture, she slowly reaches forward and Santana finally follows her line of sight. The blonde's eyes are fixed on the car radio, her hand now reaching for its volume control. Turning it up slowly, she looks over just in time to catch the same bewildered expression she is wearing starting to form on Santana face.

"What the..." Santana's hand shoots out to take over from Brittany's, instantly turning the volume of the radio up to an almost deafening level. All three of the car's occupants recoil at the abrupt loudness and Santana turns the dial back down a fraction, the music coming from the speakers now bearably softer. And unmistakably clear. Slumping right back in her seat, she gazes at the radio in disbelief, listening to something that is so familiar and yet so out of place.

Her own voice.

"That's..."

"You."

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I don't-"

Santana's confusion is interrupted as the song cuts off abruptly, the DJ's voice replacing her own and filling the car with booming enthusiasm like only a radio announcer can.

"So there you have it, guys, a little taste of brand new kid on the block Santana Lopez. Hit us up on Facebook and Twitter and let us know what you think of the girl Rachel Berry described as 'the next big thing!' That's one pretty big endorsement for Miss Lopez... but if this demo is anything to go by, we think she might just live up to it! Hashtag your thoughts 'SantanaLopez' and watch this space! Ok, next up we'll be hearing Justin Timberlake's new one, but first, seeing as though we're talking about her, why don't we have a listen to a track from the one and only Miss Rachel Berry..."

As the announcer's voice cross fades into the opening bars of one of Rachel's songs, Brittany reaches forward to turn the volume down and faces Santana with an apprehensive smile.

"What are you thinking?"

Santana's stunned gaze turns steely.

"I'm going to fucking kill them."

"Mommy! Tana said the F word!"

Noah has barely made it through the front door before she blurts out her exposition. Quinn glares at Santana but recoils slightly against the arm of the sofa when she notices the even angrier glare being directed back at her.

"Did you know about this?" Santana demands, pointing dramatically at Quinn.

"That you constantly curse in front of my child?" Quinn shoots back, "Yes, you know it p- peeves me off."

"The song, Fabray! Did you know about the song?"

Quinn shakes her head. In confusion, not in answer to the question.

"Santana, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about my song on the goddamn radio, Quinn!" Santana shouts, "Was it part of The Santana Plan?"

Her anger hits those last three words harshly, her tone mocking and cruel, causing Quinn to grimace. But, the blonde still looks completely and utterly confused.

"Ok," Brittany steps forward, placing her hands on Santana's shoulders from behind and squeezing them gently, "She clearly doesn't know anything about this, babe."

Brittany's calm voice, as usual, has an instant effect on Santana. The latina lets her shoulders drop under Brittany's touch and takes in a deep breath, letting it out with an almost apologetic half smile at Quinn.

"You really don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Not a clue," Quinn's tone is light but her eyes are still wary of Santana's mood.

"Tana was singing on the radio, Mommy!" Noah explains enthusiastically, jumping up into Quinn's lap.

Quinn's eyes linger on her excited daughter for only a second longer before shooting up to meet Santana's.

"What do you mean?"

Though in response to Noah's statement, Quinn directs her question to Santana.

"The song Rachel recorded me singing," Santana explains, "It was on the radio."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know. Why don't ask your girlfriend?"

Though she has relaxed quite considerably, Santana still spits out the question and Quinn's brow furrows deeply.

"Okay, one, can you please stop calling her my girlfriend? And two, what makes you think Rachel has anything to do with it? Mitch... Jason... seems to be the obvious choice for who's responsible here."

"Because the damn DJ quoted her! Apparently, according to Rachel Berry," Santana says with air quotes, as though Rachel Berry is not a real person, "I'm the next big thing."

The latina is exasperated and slightly breathless as she petulantly air quotes again, her face scrunched up in displeasure. Quinn considers her for a moment.

"Wait, Santana," the blonde shakes her head, suddenly even more confused, "Why are you so angry? I mean, you took Jason on as a manager to start a singing career. I assume getting on the radio is on your To Do list?"

Quinn is now smiling, unable to take this as anything but good news.

"I was totally blindsided, Quinn!" Santana explodes with justification, "I wasn't consulted. That is not okay with me!"

"Yeah, I get that, but-"

"I don't give a crap if it got me on the radio," the latina continues, not allowing Quinn to interrupt her little tirade, "it wasn't on my terms. If it's starting like this, with decisions being made without me, imagine how much worse it could get. Screw that. And screw Rachel!"

In the middle of Santana's outburst, Quinn had wisely covered Noah ears with her hands, but she still scowls at her friend.

"Language, Santana," she warns sternly, " And I know you're upset but I will not tolerate you talking about Rachel like that, understand? Especially when she's not here to defend herself. Now please, try to calm down. I understand where you're coming from, I do, but I still don't get why you're so worked up. Whoever gave your song to the radio did you a favor, right? This is exciting, Santana."

The last sentence borders on being a question, Quinn failing to understand Santana's hesitance to actually get excited. She glances at Brittany, who subtly shakes her head.

"Okay, maybe not?"

She directs the question to both of them, her eyes darting back and forth between the two women as it becomes clear that Santana's state of mind isn't exactly rational.

"It is exciting," Brittany nods, her tone encouraging as she runs her hand soothingly up and down Santana's back, "But, we're just a little overwhelmed, I think."

And then everything starts to fall into place. This much less about who gave the song to the radio or how it got there, than it is about the fact it was on the radio at all.

Santana's song. On the radio. There are just so many implications...

Santana focuses on taking deep breaths in and out, suddenly realizing the word overwhelmed may be a giant understatement. It's only just occurring to her now that she wasn't ready for this. It's all happening too fast. Her attempt at deep breaths is failing miserably, each intake of air shorter and more desperate than the next.

"Uh oh," Quinn says, shooting to her feet and setting Noah down.

She quickly tells the girl to go play in her room, who does so, albeit huffily as she realizes it will further delay her pancakes. Fearful of her friend's impending hysteria, Quinn takes a step towards Santana, reaching out to take her arm. Brittany already has a firm grasp on Santana's other arm and they guide her slowly to the couch before she starts to hyperventilate.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" the brunette manages to get out between laboured breaths, almost laughing at how ridiculous she feels.

The question may have been rhetorical, but the blondes flanking Santana are quick to help her out.

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all."

Santana actually laughs this time.

"Something awesome just happened to me and I'm pretty much having a stroke," she counters.

"Well, maybe you're just ODing on having awesome things happen to you," Brittany nudges with a cocky smirk, running her fingers over Santana's forearm.

Quinn shoots Brittany an impressed smile behind Santana's bowed head. This girl is good. At the same time, Quinn can't help but roll her eyes, because the girl is also all kinds of cheesy. But, taking in a deep breath, she follows suit.

"Yep," she agrees with the other blonde, "I've heard that too much awesome can be really bad for you. And, of course, you're pretty much made of awesome already, so things were bound to get messy."

Santana groans at the girls' attempt to make her feel better, but when she lifts her head she can't help the broad smile that gradually makes its way onto her face. She looks at Quinn first, whose own smile is strong and reassuring.

"You got this, S," the blonde whispers.

Turning to Brittany, Santana takes a moment to calm her erratic heart before looking up into her girlfriend's eyes. What she finds there takes her breath away. It's not for any of the usual reasons, like when Brittany's adorableness catches her by surprise, or when she forgets just how blue those eyes are or how quickly and unexpectedly they can turn from affectionate to fervent.

What she sees now is certainty. Brittany doesn't doubt her for a second. The blonde is already smiling, but when Santana meets her eyes the corners of her mouth lift a little higher, a tiny gesture that makes a million promises. Santana is going to be okay. More than that, she is going to be amazing.

It's not something Santana is going to get used to, the way that Brittany knows what she's thinking or how she feels. It's not something that she can fully comprehend, how Brittany can convey to her, by just the look in her eyes or the tilt of her smile, that she sees it all, understands it all, can help her fix it all. Brittany knows how scared Santana is. She can feel the dread in her trembling fingers, hear the anxiety in her tone of voice. And she will always, always, be here to tell Santana she need not worry. Santana, her smile says, your dreams are big, but your will is bigger. You're ready for this. You were born ready.

No, Santana will never get used to having someone know her the way Brittany does. And she will never quite shake the feeling that she's known her this way since the moment they met.

And Quinn.

Quinn understands her in a different way. She's watched Santana spend her years wearing her bravest face, putting on her toughest armour. And she's always seen right through it. She knows the real Santana, the one that perhaps only the three people in this room ever really see. Through tragedy, through betrayal, through angst and heartbreak, Quinn has been there every step of the way, lending Santana strength when the girl couldn't see her own. She always considered it paying Santana back in kind. Because even though the girl herself may doubt she has any, Quinn knows with absolute certainty that Santana's strength is the reason they're here today. The reason they have a family. So, there is no way that Quinn is going to let anything get in her way now.

"You got this," she whispers again before changing her gentle tone into something much more appropriate for Santana, "So, get a fucking grip. Don't think I won't try to slap some sense into you."

If Santana is taken aback by Quinn's abrupt teasing, it only lasts a moment. Her laughter comes out in a short burst, a snort really, and cuts through the tense anticipation hanging in the air. Quinn and Brittany look at each other with triumphant smiles when they see the look in Santana's eyes. She's got this.

Santana believes it. Sitting here with her best friend and her girlfriend, her sister and her soulmate, Santana realizes she can do this. She's still fucking terrified of the journey, but she knows she won't be doing it alone. Wherever it takes them, the three of them will end up there together.

Rachel, too, probably.

Rachel.

"I'm still going to yell at Rachel," Santana clarifies, shaking of the last of her nervous tension.

"For doing you a favor?" Quinn argues.

"Please," Santana scoffs, "You think she did this for me? It's Rachel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She doesn't do anything that isn't going to benefit her in some way. She's too ambitious for that, just like she always was," Santana states, recalling the impression she had of Rachel in high school, "She wouldn't think twice about screwing me over if it meant furthering her own career."

"You haven't seen Rachel for a long time, Santana," Quinn says evenly, her words calm but her tone slightly antagonistic, "And you barely even saw her back then. So don't presume you ever knew her or what she was like."

Her voice breaks slightly, causing Santana to raise an eyebrow. Quinn knows she sounds defensive, so she shakes it off and changes tack, "Aside from all that, if her career actually needed a boost, which you know very well it doesn't, how on earth does getting you on the radio help her?"

Santana scrunches her face into a comical pout, "You're going to take her side?"

"There aren't any sides here, Santana!" Quinn groans in frustration, "I'm telling you she had nothing to do with this!"

Santana is clearly unconvinced, all signs pointing clearly to the diva, but she can feel the vibe turning serious again and she really doesn't want to fight with Quinn.

"For your sake," she smiles with narrow eyes, "I hope you're right."

"Quinn's not wrong about Rachel," Brittany chimes in, moving to stand by Santana's side and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, "I mean, she's a good friend and I don't think she'd go behind your back, either. But, just to be sure, I did some research."

She waves her phone in the air and chuckles when Quinn and Santana stare blankly back at her.

"I looked at KIIS FM's website and there's a section about your song," Brittany explains, unable to contain the small, proud smile that crosses her lips, "Turns out it was posted first on Rachel's Twitter."

Santana shoots an I told you so glare straight at Quinn.

"Except," Brittany continues, "Rachel hardly ever uses her Twitter. I don't even think she knows how."

"Looks like she learnt."

"Or someone else tweeted for her," Quinn suggests, pre-empting Brittany's theory, "Do other people have access to her account?"

"Yes," Brittany nods.

"Then, my money is still on Jason."

"It also could have been Rachel's PA," Brittany adds.

"I'm still not counting out Rachel herself," Santana huffs.

Quinn lets out another frustrated groan, "Why are you so hell bent on pinning this on her?"

"Because the evidence all points to her!"

Quinn only misses one beat, but her voice is substantially weaker than a moment ago.

"It's circumstantial."

"What are you a fucking lawyer now?" Santana laughs with a roll of her eyes.

"All I'm saying is, we didn't actually see Rachel post that tweet. It could have been anyone."

"Yes, exactly. It. Could. Have. Been. Ra-chel!" Santana over-enunciates each word for emphasis, "Everything Brittany found implicates her."

"Not everything."

That's Brittany. The girls turn to eye her curiously.

"Huh?"

"I also texted Rachel," Brittany states plainly with a shrug, "and just asked her if she did it."

Santana and Quinn react with mirrored expressions, both their mouths dropping open in disbelief. Silence stretches out between the three of them as Brittany stares back at the waiting girls, who, after a minute, both raise an expectant eyebrow in unison.

"Oh," Brittany smiles, "She said no."

"Ha!" Quinn exclaims, pointing her finger triumphantly at Santana, resisting the urge to poke her tongue out.

"Oh, settle down," Santana gripes, her brow creasing in annoyance. She turns to Brittany, "Why didn't you just tell us you texted her?"

"I kinda wanted to see who was going to win," Brittany winks.

Santana frowns but she can't muster up any annoyance at her girlfriend. She's just too damn cute.

"Text her, again," Santana instructs the smirking blonde, "Jason, too. Get them back here. This party ain't over."

"Has anyone ever told you that your parties suck?"

"Don't push me, Berry. You're already on thin ice."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I didn't twitter your stupid song?"

"My song is stupid now?"

"Okay, okay," Quinn jumps between the two girls, who have been bickering since Rachel arrived five minutes ago, "We all know that Rachel doesn't think your song is stupid, Santana, just like we all know Rachel didn't tweet it."

Rachel blushes at Quinn's correction and Santana takes a few steps back, holding up her hands in an apparent ceasefire.

"She doesn't seem too concerned that it happened, though," Santana points out, "It didn't occur to you to ask questions when Brittany texted you, Rachel? Like, why is someone else saying shit about Santana on my behalf?"

"Shit? It's hardly shit, Santana. Didn't you just tell me the DJ said I was praising you? I don't see how that could possibly be a bad thing?"

"Of course you don't," Santana huffs.

"That's what I said," Quinn interjects, smiling at Rachel before turning to Santana, "S, remember earlier? You seemed to realize you were perhaps having a slight overreaction?"

"Yes," Rachel butts back in, "you're being way too dramatic."

There is a moment of bewildered silence as Quinn, Santana and Brittany all turn to Rachel, her words hanging in the air, heavy with unintentional irony. And suddenly, they're laughing. Quinn is trying not to, and failing miserably, while Santana allows herself to crack up, giving her still fairly tense muscles some much needed relief. Brittany clings to Santana's side, her body racking with joyous laughter. Rachel acts aghast for the expected amount of time before she finally gives in to the joke and joins in, her own giggles bringing bigger smiles to all their faces.

Their fun is rudely interrupted all too quickly.

"Well, from the GET YOUR SHITHEAD ASS BACK HERE text I received from Brittany, I was definitely expecting a different vibe."

The laughter dies instantly as Jason's smarmy voice fills the room. Santana groans audibly, having momentarily, blissfully, forgotten that they were expecting him.

"More champagne?" Jason asks, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Santana, "Or are we all invited to your alternative celebrations this time?"

Santana blanches at the thought of Jason hearing her and Brittany earlier this afternoon. It makes her feel ill. Her body instantly tenses again as she takes a combative step towards Jason, stopped only by Brittany's gentle hand on her arm. Jason chuckles.

"Sit down," Brittany tells him, his smile faltering slightly at the tone of her voice.

It's Santana's turn to chuckle.

"There won't be anymore celebrating, asshole," she spits at Jason, all efforts to stifle her "overreaction" flying out the window.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Jason challenges smugly, "I have some news. Rachel, this concerns you, too."

"We already know about your little Twitter stunt," Santana growls, "We heard about it on the fucking radio. Why do you think I called you back here?"

"Well, now I'm confused," Jason pouts exaggeratedly, "You know about the song, yet you don't want to celebrate?"

"Why would I want to celebrate with you?" Santana hisses, her words coming out like a sudden waterfall of vitriol, "Yes, it may have gotten a play on the radio but that doesn't make up for the fact that you went behind my back. I should be firing your ass, not celebrating."

Rachel looks suddenly horrified but Brittany placates her with a smirk that suggests, if only on this one occasion, Santana is all bark and no bite. She's still freaked out and frustrated and just a little bit emotional. If there's negativity in there, she needs to let it out. And who better to bare the brunt of it than Jason? So, Brittany just watches with a smile. Rachel seems to catch on as she looks to Quinn, whose own mouth is curled slightly upwards. Turning her attention back to Santana, she wonders if this might be about a whole lot of other things that have nothing to do with the song at all.

"Now, now, Santana, don't be hasty," Jason chastises in his syrupy tone, "Surely you're not so clueless as to think that a tweet from Rachel Berry is only going to get you a play on the radio?"

He repeats Santana's words back to her, exaggerating the tone she had used and emphasising the misguided lack of importance she had given them. When Santana stares blankly back at him he rolls his eyes.

"You've got a lot to learn, sweetheart," he tells her before quickly eyeing the others, "Seriously, didn't any of you actually think to look at the tweet? Follow the link?"

Four faces now stare blankly at him. He sighs.

"Quinn, bring me your laptop," he says, meeting her scowl and subsequently adding, "please?"

With a huffiness reminiscent of her daughter's, she begrudgingly complies.

Five minutes later, the four girls are huddled together, leaning over Quinn's computer and staring wide-eyed at the screen, jaws on the ground.

"Still want to fire me?" Jason snarks from behind them.

"How is this possible?" Santana asks the question they're all thinking.

"Rachel has five and a half million followers," Jason answers, his voice filled with so much arrogance you would think they were his followers, "Did it not occur to you that a few of them might click on a link she posted?"

"But... I mean... so many?"

Upon opening the YouTube video Rachel's Twitter linked to, the view count had read 74,336 after only a couple of hours. A handful of page refreshes saw the number rise by the hundreds each time. Now, as Jason leans over Quinn to take control of the track pad, an analytics page pops up on screen.

"I don't do graphs," Santana tells him, eyes still glued to the computer.

"See here and here," Jason explains with uncharacteristic patience as he indicates various points on the screen, "These are 'shares.' People are reposting this. On Facebook, Twitter, probably Tumblr..."

"Does that mean..."

"They like it," Jason smiles.

"It means they love it, Santana," Rachel clarifies, "Clearly, I was right! You are the next big thing."

"You didn't even write that, Rachel."

Rachel shrugs, her almost smug face telling Santana not to forget who made the recording in the first place.

"No, I wrote that," Jason confirms, "And, you are welcome."

Santana straightens up to face him with an incredulous scowl, "I don't believe I said thank you."

"Well," Jason grins, his smarmy face irritatingly expectant, "whenever you're ready, then."

"I'm not going to thank you, you dick. This is your job. I'm going to let the fact that you should have told me this was happening slide..."

Jason steps towards her with a triumphant smile and she stops him by jabbing a finger into his chest, "This time. You're just lucky it worked. But, if something like this ever happens again... well, I believe my girlfriend has a claim on your balls. Now get the fuck out of my house before I change my mind and fire you after all."

Jason backs away with a short laugh, his hands up in surrender. Santana returns her attention to the computer as he makes for the door, but he stops abruptly in his tracks and spins back to face the girls.

"I'm not lucky, Santana," he tells the still scowling latina, "I did it because I knew it would work. That's what I do. That's why you hired me. Something, I think, you're about to be very thankful for."

As he speaks, he digs a ringing phone out of his pocket, takes a quick glance at the screen and then angles it towards Rachel. She leans forward to read the name, recognition flashing in her eyes. Curious, Santana checks it out for herself.

"Who is Simon McMahon?" she asks Rachel in a hushed tone.

"The head of my record company," Rachel whispers back.

Rachel and Santana share a look as Brittany and Quinn crowd close behind them, all four girls staring intently at Jason as he answers the call.

"Mac!" he gushes, his tone sickeningly obsequious, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His smile turns extraordinarily smug as he nods along to the response, locking eyes with Santana.

"Yes, Santana Lopez," he confirms, sounding out her name carefully.

Santana hears Quinn take in a sharp breath behind her and she realizes she's holding her own. The way Brittany's fingers are digging into her arm, she thinks her girlfriend may be doing the same.

"She is," Jason says into the phone, still nodding along as the conversation continues, the man on the other end of the line seeming to be doing most of the talking.

Impatient to know what's going on, Santana takes a step forward, as though she might be able to hear the other side of the phone call if she's a little closer to the phone. The other three girls move with her.

"Of course," Jason smiles into the phone before lowering it from his ear and locking it with a click.

For a moment, nobody says anything. Nobody even moves. The four girls are huddled together like one big anxious ball of anticipation. They all stare at Jason, the varying levels of expectancy in each set of eyes making the man smirk. Normally, that would be cause enough for Santana to rip into him and, in this particular case, demand some details. But, she finds herself unable to act, frozen with apprehension. Jason can sense it, too. He is staying silent deliberately, drawing out her discomfort for as long as he can. It doesn't last much longer, though, Brittany cottoning on and taking a menacing step away from the group towards Jason.

"So, that was Mac on the phone," Jason announces, as though they didn't already know, clearing his throat and diverting his eyes from Brittany.

"And?" Rachel and Quinn implore in unison, each with a roll of their eyes.

"Seems our little demo made its way into his office."

"Did he like it?" Rachel urges.

"I think so."

"Well, what exactly did he say?" Brittany hisses, tiring of Jason's little game.

"Oh, you want his exact words?"

All four girls nod imploringly, desperately impatient.

"He said," Jason smiles, adopting a more authoritative voice than his own, "Get her into the studio. Now."