Notes: This takes place about a year after chapter one. Quinn and Santana have only ever been friends with occasional benefits. Santana has broken up with Brittany, the guilt is crushing her, and there's only one person she can call. Spoilers for 4x04.

Trigger Warning: Detailed references to bulimia.

It was worse than before. It was worse than it had ever been.

Santana glared at her reflection, furious that it wasn't different. It had changed; her ribs stuck out a little more, her hip bones were protruding, there were dark lines under her eyes and her hands were shaking slightly. Her throat was raw. The combination of her own fingers pushed down too far, and the surges of countless undigested meals spilling from her lips, had left her oesophagus cut and scraped, only for it to be exposed to yet more acidic vomit. She tried to swallow, but all she could do was wince and cough. She noticed a tremor in her legs but pretended it hadn't happened. She'd been working hard, too hard, but it wasn't enough. She still wasn't different. She was still her.

Her body had been altered by the way she'd been treating it, but those were still the hands that had held Brittany's, the legs that had been entwined with Brittany's, the lips that had said 'I will always love you the most' as she pushed away the girl she adored - the girl who needed her.

She could take care of herself. She could punish her body for what she'd done. She could plaster on a smile as she somersaulted from the top of the pyramid. She could convince herself that the hollow ache in her stomach was good, and eventually when it got too painful she could gorge herself, swallow everything in sight without tasting it and heave it back up. She could set her sights on any guy on campus and within an hour he'd be fucking her. She could scream as if she was having the time of her life, even though it reduced her heart to a cold, dead weight dragging her down. She tried not to close her eyes. It just made her remember. She stared blankly ahead through the burn as yet another foreign heat pressed into her.

What she couldn't do any more was the only thing that had made her happy - look after Brittany. There was nobody back home to explain things to her or stop her being scared or remind her how special she was.

Santana's hand stroked across her stomach, stopping to press her palm into the flesh. She grimaced as she saw the skin bulge out between her fingers. There was too much. If it was up to her there would be nothing at all, just an empty space, but for now she could get rid of what she could see. She couldn't control the distance or the shame or the longing but she was in charge of how she looked. She'd taken the same control three years earlier, changing what she didn't like, and she could do it again, even if the scars ran deeper than the ones on her chest.

Unable to look any longer, she stepped away from the mirror, and onto the yoga mat that was rarely rolled away. She sat in the centre, her body automatically falling into the practised position, knees bent, fingertips by her temples, heaving herself up once, twice, three times. She used to ignore the twisting pain in her abs but now she savoured it, focused on it until it became a bright, white light in her mind, shutting out everything else. The image of Brittany, shaking her head, whispering 'no' with tears in her eyes - it was a blur. She told herself it was her muscles hurting. It wasn't her heart breaking all over again.

As she kept pushing herself despite the exhausting cheer practise she'd just come home from, she felt her stomach churn. The light in her mind started to flicker to black. She tried and tried to push through it, even though her insides were screaming for mercy and her knees were trembling and on the verge of collapse. Up, down, up, down, fifty-two, fifty-three, keep going, ninety-six, come on, two hundred, more, more- she could hear laughter outside that sounded like Brittany's, a song on the radio that they'd sung together once, her heartbeat blaring in her ears, and she collapsed.

Her body twitched and she stared at the ceiling, blinking helplessly as she felt tears making tracks down either side of her face. She shook her head, insisting to herself that she wasn't done, but even she couldn't will her body to move any more. She clutched at her abdomen, trying to soothe the stabbing pains coursing up from her belly. With a gasp of exertion, she rolled onto her side and reached blindly for her phone on the end of her bed. Her room was so small she could reach almost anything from here. It was good because she didn't have to share; it just meant she was more alone than ever. She needed someone.

She scrolled through the list of names. It was obvious who she wanted to call, but she wasn't an option. She knew Blaine and Kurt had enough to deal with, and Puckerman would be less than useless. She didn't trust anyone here enough to talk to them. There was only one person that could work, and even though she hadn't seen her in months, Quinn picked up on the first ring.

"Hey."

"That was quick. Is Yale really that boring?"

Quinn smiled. It was good to hear her voice, still so quick and cutting even if she couldn't hide the hint of sadness. Maybe from anyone else, but they'd known each other way too long.

"Totally. Classes, assignments, school paper, a lot of kids who are very excited to be away from home for the first time. They're sweet, but they haven't been through as much as we have. Also, I was kind of expecting you to call."

"Mmm. Who told you?"

"Artie. How are you holding up?"

"Did he say anything about her? Is she okay?"

"She will be. I'm more worried about you."

"No, Quinn, I-"

"Santana. She's got Tina, Artie, Sam... She's surrounded by people. I think you need me more."

"I don't need anyone."

"Well, that's a shame. I just booked a ticket to Louisville for the weekend."

"What? Quinn, no. You can't. It's too far. And… and my place is a mess-"

"Think of all the reading I can get done in seven hours. And it's plenty of time for you to clean up."

"How can you afford it?"

"I've been working at a coffee shop near campus. Oh, and remember that hilarious time when my parents kicked me out of the house for getting pregnant? Turns out they feel pretty bad about it. The money really isn't an issue. I'll be there at…" Santana heard clicking on the other end of the line, "2am. Text me your address and I'll get a cab to your place."

"Q, I'm telling you, I'm-"

"Super excited to see me, I know; save it for when I get there. I've got some packing to do."

Santana sat on the floor, her jaw hanging open as she blinked at her phone. She just wanted to hear a familiar voice, get an update on Brittany, maybe a stern talking to for what she did. She would have settled for small talk about college. Why couldn't she just yammer on about herself for a while to distract her instead of taking a real interest? That's what the old Quinn would've done. Santana couldn't resist smiling to herself for a second, glad that Quinn had grown so much, before glancing in the mirror again and reminding herself that she was the same vindictive, hurtful bitch she'd always been. She looked down at the fold of her stomach and the swell of her chest under her uniform. She would have to change before Quinn got here, and shower and tidy up and fix her hair, but for now she just needed a quick lie down, a few minutes' rest then she could get moving again. She didn't even move to the bed; just lay on the mat, still in her uniform, and closed her eyes. They didn't open again until it was pitch black outside and there was someone banging on her door.

"Dammit, Lopez, open up!"

Santana sprang to her feet, clutching at her stomach where it was still burning. She groaned when she realised that she was still in her uniform and her room was still a wreck and so was she and Quinn was here (God knows how she found the place) and she was going to want to talk about everything and she was going to ask why and when and 'how are you holding up' and the only answer would be 'I'm not'. She glanced at her closet, considering a quick change before letting Quinn in but she was going to knock the door down any second.

"Hold on!"

She winced at the sting in her abs just from shouting. She took a slow breath and smoothed her clothes down over her stomach, stroking it firmly as if she wanted to push it away. Quinn would want to drag her down into a pity party and talk about her feelings, and she just wanted to keep pretending she didn't have any, even if only while she was here.

"I tried texting you but you wouldn't answer. Kurt gave me your address – God, he's a wreck. Have you spoken to him?"

She had, but neither of them had lasted long. They only had one thing they wanted to talk about, and hearing about someone else's heartbreak only made it worse. They'd signed off with a strained 'I'm here if you need me' and 'talk to you soon', but the choked sounds of their voices were too much to take again for a while yet.

"Yeah," she said as she tried to grab things from the floor and shove them away somewhere.

"I can't believe Blaine would do that to him." Santana believed it. She'd been as surprised as everyone else, but she knew what it was like to feel desperate. She also knew she couldn't talk about them. She didn't want to talk about any breakups. She took another look in the mirror, shook her head and opened the door.

Quinn looked stunning. Her hair was longer, her clothes more adult, her lips red and smiling. She raised an eyebrow as she looked Santana up and down.

"I've got to hand it to you. You still look good in uniform."

Of course. It was the perfect way to avoid a conversation. She did it with everyone else, why not Quinn?

Santana shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder and putting a hand on her hip.

"I thought we could get a little… nostalgic."

Quinn let out a single laugh, slightly taken aback.

"I guess you're not talking about making a scrapbook."

Santana grabbed her wrist and tugged her into the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, pulling Quinn close to kiss her, squeezing herself between the blonde and the door, sliding a hand into her hair and wasting no time as she teased her mouth open with her tongue. Quinn didn't resist, pressing into her, everything about her flooding back so quickly – the pressure of her lips, the curve of her waist – but it felt different somehow. Despite Santana's best efforts to keep her close, she pulled back.

"God, Tana, where's this come from? What about Brittany?"

"We broke up. You know that. Come on."

She tried to kiss Quinn again but she dodged her. The thing between the two of them had never been more than a stress release, a dysfunctional extension of their friendship, but Quinn could still tell when something was wrong. She was being too aggressive, even for her.

"But don't you want to talk about it? I thought we could just… hang out."

"I don't need to talk, Fabray. I just need to blow off some steam."

Quinn reached up to stroke Santana's hair back from her face. This was softer than the old high pony. It was easier to hide behind, but not from Quinn. Her other hand slid up from her waist until her thumb was stroking over Santana's ribs where they jutted out harshly. She looked down at Santana's body, her flat stomach, her legs even thinner than they were before, and she knew. She knew it was happening again and she was as clueless as before as to what she could do to help.

"Santana, are you- have you had dinner?"

She could have kicked herself for being so clumsy about it, but she thought maybe just while she was there she could get her to eat something and keep it down.

"Quinn."

"Let me take you out. Oh, wait, it's almost three; we could order take-out? Pizza, maybe, my treat, and we can just-"

Santana kissed her again, more slowly and deliberately. She wasn't panicking anymore. She wasn't covering anything up with sarcasm. She was being honest with Quinn the only way she knew how.

"Please. I can't." Her voice was eerily calm. Quinn put her hands on Santana's waist, gripping firmly to show her that she understood. She looked into her eyes and nodded slowly.

"Okay. It's okay."

Santana was staring back at her, eyes wide and pleading, begging her not to make her talk about it. She couldn't relive any of it again and she couldn't bear to think about what she was doing to herself. She needed to be held by someone she knew and trusted, and nobody knew her better than Quinn. She tentatively leaned forward to kiss her, the tenderness fading quickly to be replaced by a new wave of need. Quinn let Santana's tongue past her lips and matched her movements, pushing her against the door. Santana closed her eyes and felt herself being pinned, surrounded as Quinn kissed her and held onto her waist. The weight against her was a relief, a pressure from outside her body instead of heavy in her chest.

She slid her hand into Quinn's and stepped over to the bed, still rumpled from the morning, kneeling on the mattress before pulling Quinn on with her. She moved their hands to the hem of her shirt and Quinn kissed her again before easing it up over her head. They undressed each other quickly, growing more and more eager, Quinn laying kisses on Santana's clavicle and shoulders and jaw, her hands mapping out the contours of her body, everything tighter and narrower than before. Santana's head fell back as a shiver ran through her. She was sure she was crying, but she didn't have the energy to stop. Quinn shuffled closer to her, softly stroking the back of her head and cupping her neck, letting her hair fall down her back.

Quinn tilted her head forward to catch Santana's eye as if to ask for permission, for a sign that this was what she wanted. She blinked 'yes', before guiding Quinn's hand down from her waist and between her legs. Quinn kissed her as she stroked tentatively down and up, catching Santana when she jolted forward at the contact. The reaction didn't get a satisfied smile like it would have a year ago. She just circled her clit, hoping she could help her to let go, just for tonight. All she needed was a release.

Santana squirmed with sensitivity and shifted on her knees, turning around in Quinn's hold. Quinn's arm didn't leave her, wrapping around her stomach instead of her back as she kissed between her shoulder blades. As the pressure returned to her clit at a new angle, Santana fell forward again and she had to throw an arm out to steady herself. She let her back drop and her stomach drooped underneath her, and she stayed on all fours so she could push back into Quinn's hand. Quinn's hold slid down to her hip, squeezing and bruising and solid.

"More," she demanded, "more, Quinn, please. I need more."

Quinn leaned forward to align her chest with Santana's back. She kissed her vertebrae where they stuck out more than they had in years. She pulled her hand away from Santana's clit, reaching back around her ass to reach her entrance.

"Okay, I've got you," she whispered, moving her own body aside so she could still cover Santana as she slid a finger inside her. She felt a clench around it and Santana's hips pushed back again insistently. Quinn hesitated before carefully adding another finger, worried it was too much too soon. She knelt up so she could keep circling her clit with one hand while slowly pushing in and out. Santana lowered her own hand to cover Quinn's, intertwining their fingers so they were rubbing in sync, too roughly and quickly to feel good. "Tana, are you-"

"Harder, please, more- God, Quinn, just fuck me already."

She couldn't do it. Santana was still too tight and clearly not enjoying it, as the drag back out of her was slow, rough and dry. Two fingers must have been uncomfortable already; another definitely would have hurt her.

"Santana, I don't want to-"

"What?" She snapped her head around to glare at her. It was less than convincing thanks to the wet lines on her cheeks and the tremor in her voice. Quinn swallowed and bent forward to kiss Santana's back where it was curving downwards.

"Nothing. It's fine."

She focused on her clit again until she was shuddering against her. She pulled her fingers out of her and used her hand to grip onto Santana's hip again, keeping her still so she couldn't jerk away. She knew this would probably hurt her too, but it wouldn't be enough to do any damage. She knew Santana needed to hurt sometimes. She needed to hurt on the outside for a while to give her heart time to recover.

Santana started to twitch and buck against Quinn's hand. She was shaking, dropping onto her elbows to ease the pressure. A wave rolled up her spine and she squeezed Quinn's fingers between her thighs, resting her forehead on the mattress as she cried through her orgasm. She slumped against Quinn, shivering and gasping for breath, and Quinn wrapped her arm around her waist, laying her down gently on the bed. She was too weak to resist. All she could do was let Quinn look after her as the residual tremors fizzled through her limbs. Her stomach fluttered up and down, whether it was from hunger, from the bittersweet pleasure washing over her, or from the feeling of Quinn's body next to hers, no fear of being abandoned, no feeling of obligation to take care of her.

She looked over her shoulder at the girl who was stroking and kissing her hair. Neither one smiled, but there were no fresh tears in Santana's eyes. Quinn leaned down to kiss her shoulder, tracing down her side until she reached her ribs. This time she ignored the bones that were slightly too visible, and drew a line with her finger along the faded red mark under the swell of her breast. Their eyes locked and for a split second Santana expected judgement or pity but Quinn simply followed her hand with her nose, brushing against the scar and kissing it softly. Santana didn't roll her eyes. She rolled over to face Quinn, letting her gaze drift down to her stomach, sprinkled with scars of her own – silvery pink lines, marking out the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. They were barely visible now, thanks to a heroic moisturising routine, but they both knew they were there. Santana traced along them with her fingertips and rubbed her nose against Quinn's.

Quinn noticed Santana shiver. Her body couldn't hold heat in like it used to now that she was so much thinner. She pulled the quilt over them.

Neither girl spoke. They didn't kiss. They lay in silence, holding each other as best friends, safe and warm in the knowledge that someone understood them, forgave them and loved them.

Santana woke to a tray of coffee and croissants, and even though she could barely swallow anything, Quinn was glad she was trying. No matter how far apart they were, they would always be nose-to-nose and proud of each other for everything they'd come through.