A/N: Hey guys! I worked hard on this because it wouldn't leave me alone, so please read and review. Let me know what you all think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or Santana, or Quinn. And I do not profit off of any of it.

L-O-V-E's Just Another Word I Never Learned To Pronounce

The events that unfolded between Santana and Quinn at Mr. Schue's wedding started as all things did, with an offhand comment.

She could say it started off with a drink because to the rest of the world, that was the beginning of the end for them.

But, no, Quinn knows that it really started with a comment.

She's sitting in Yale three weeks into her Freshman year when she gets stuck in another group project where she has to "share something about herself". She hates sharing everything and anything, so Quinn waits for someone to ask her a question before she can decide if she really wants to answer and if she wants to answer truthfully.

"Where are you from?" The boy to her right - Kevin...or was it Kyle? Whatever, it's not like Quinn really cares - asks, and Quinn honestly feels like answering because nobody has asked her that yet. Surprisingly. Question one is and always has been, 'so, you were probably a cheerleader, huh?'

Nevermind the fact that it's true. She was, in fact, a cheerleader. Quinn has learned that it isn't the question that truly bugs her, it's the way that everyone has said it. To them, cheerleaders were tokens not athletes and Quinn is tired of having to explain the true terror that is Sue Sylvester.

"Lima." Quinn answers honestly, because to her there is strength in that one word and she wants others to hear it.

"Huh, never heard of it." The boy answers dismissively before turning his attention towards the girl on her left.

Quinn tenses at the feeling of being so easily dismissed and so easily forgotten. The ache in her heart for her second command has never been more present. She wants to send him away with some well thought out insult or quip, she wants to make him regret ever thinking that Lima was a place not worth knowing about.

That the people from there are not worth knowing about.

But, Quinn has no real power here. She has no second in command or people to fall back on. Worse, she has no people to step on to carry her to the top.

No, here she's a kid unlike every other. She's without a trust fund, good parents, and friends. So Quinn doesn't say anything because she truly can't, not if she wants to stay afloat, and it makes her miss Santana. Santana wouldn't have hesitated. Santana would have come in guns all ablazing.

Santana wouldn't have settled with being dismissed so easily.

That realization alone releases some sort of dam of memories that Quinn has tried to suppress for so long. Memories of crazy acts, songs, adventures involving the rest of her unholy trinity. Memories she wanted to pretend didn't exist so she could leave Lima and everything in it far behind her.

But Lima, like Santana, refuses to be forgotten so easily.

After that, Quinn finds herself missing Santana more frequently and at random moments.

She misses her in October when she's stuck at a Sorority meeting and everyone only wants to talk about boys instead of reasons why Quinn should pledge.

She misses her in November, right before Thanksgiving, when her married Professor hits on her because he actually assumes she's the type of girl who will give it up for a good grade.

She misses Santana three times in December: once when her roommate brings her back breadsticks from the local diner. Once when she hears Adele blasting from down the hall. And once on Christmas, because Christmas was the day (without fail) that Santana would show up at Quinn's house with a flask and her copy of Mean Girls. It's a day where they get to pretend like they were friends, at least for a few moments.

She misses her twice in January. For odd reasons, once when she's feeling particularly lonely and once when she's feeling mean. It's enough to make her feel like she's going crazy and to realize just how much she relied on her second in command, even when she didn't think she did.

So it's the comment that sets her off and leads her to Mr. Schue's wedding, a plan in set and an idea in mind.

(She's supposed to be straight.

Santana is supposed to hate her.

They are supposed to be fighting.

But a lot of supposes and what-ifs and sure's have made up their relationship in the past and Quinn isn't really trying to relive it.)

It turns out, like it always does with Santana, the reality far exceeds the idea.

She feels sated the morning after when she's wrapping the sheets tighter around her body, Santana pressed firmly into her back. But even worse, she feels panic envelope around her heart at the realization that she feels this sated because of Santana Lopez.

Quinn panics and runs just so that she can hide, away from whatever this is and whatever it meant. Just like all good Fabray's do.

She boards the next available flight back to New Haven, her hair a complete mess and her appearance looking every part of the one night stand. Quinn doesn't care though, she doesn't have time to pay attention to the stares or how her makeup is probably smeared from the night before.

She doesn't have time to think about anything other than the image of Santana arching underneath her, Santana's mouth covering hers, the taste of Santana's thighs and how they felt wrapped around Quinn's head...

Quinn shook her head, suddenly uncomfortable and scared that somebody on the plane might have the ability to read minds and they might see that Quinn was having the kind of thoughts that a good Christian girl wouldn't have.

She can't be gay, Quinn rationalizes. She was just confused and lonely and it was a wedding, so obviously people were bound to hook up. Most of all, she can't be gay because she's Christian and Christians are not gay, that's not how things go when you love Jesus.

That's not how things should go. Not at all.

It goes to show that Santana knows Quinn better than anyone else because she doesn't call Quinn, not for weeks. And when she finally dials Quinn's number, she doesn't make any mention of Quinn, that night, or how it had ended up being more than a four-time-thing.

For Quinn's part, she hasn't made any effort to contact Santana. The only thing she has done this past month is work harder at fitting in, join the Christian club, and push thoughts from that night very, very, very, far away.

Quinn was currently preoccupied with her roommates Skins marathon, (which, wow, she had never seen something so scandalous before and she was absolutely riveted) when her phone starts to vibrate. She answers it on reflex, thinking that it might be some of the girls from her Sorority.

"Go for Fabray." Quinn quipped, shooting a smile at her roommate who was in on the joke.

"Wow, Fabray, you sound exactly what I picture squares would sound like." Santana's voice filters through and Quinn feels her heart flutter.

Quinn hates it because she isn't that girl and she shouldn't be acting like her. "What do you want, Lopez?"

"Wooow," Santana drawls out, amusement seeping through her tone. "Is that any way to treat a friend?"

"We aren't friends." Quinn answers, adamant and firm because she wants it to be true.

Luckily (or maybe unluckily, Quinn can't really decide) Santana doesn't take her seriously. "Your words hurt me real deep, Fabray. Real fucking deep."

Quinn rolls her eyes and rolls off her bed, ignoring the curious look that her roommate is sending her. Whatever this conversation is or isn't, Quinn doesn't need some random person hovering over her and listening to her every word. She slides on her slippers and walks into the hallway. She heads across the hall to the common lounge and lowers her voice. "What's this about, Santana?"

"I need your advice." Santana states, more than she asks, and it's different in a way that Quinn doesn't like.

Quinn stills. It was new, Santana never asked her for anything. "What is it?"

"Berry is absolutely infatuated with Donkey face over here. Seriously, it's like Finn 2.0. She's got these blinders on and she can't see anything past his abs and frankly, his incredibly small penis."

Quinn grimaced. "Ew."

"Yeah, I know, right? First Finnept and now Shrek Jr. It's like she wants to go nowhere with her life." Santana replied flippantly.

"Santana." Quinn warned, not willing to sit through all of Santana's insults. Not when she had spent a month pretending like nothing else existed out of her relationship with this girl.

"Right, anyway, Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum haven't been so receptive of my wonderful criticism."

Quinn laughed, unable to withhold her affection. "You went scavenger hunting through their apartment, didn't you?"

"Please," Santana said, as if it were obvious. "you know that's a thing I do."

"I do," Quinn said, a little breathless in the way that Santana always makes her feel. She lowered her voice until it was almost a whisper and turned away from the entrance, her body facing the television. "I do."

Santana stayed quiet on the other line and Quinn was almost convinced that this was the end of the conversation, until Santana sighed loudly and overdramatically. "They don't get me here."

"A lot of people don't, Lopez."

Santana 'hmm's' in content. "You do."

"I do." Quinn agrees.

"So we agree then?"

"Agree on what?" Quinn asked, genuinely confused.

Quinn heard footsteps behind her and ignored them, hoping it wasn't her roommate checking up on her.

"Turn around."

Quinn whirled around on the spot, her mouth dropping at the sight of Santana and a suitcase. Santana's wearing some getup that Quinn thinks shouldn't be allowed, not something that short anyway, and she's looking absolutely smug.

"What-why-how did you get inside?"

Santana shrugs, her skirt rising a few inches effectively drawing Quinn's attention. "Let's be real, it's me. I could get inside of the most ridiculously locked vault in no time flat."

Quinn narrowed her eyes, her skin already tickling in irritation at Santana's confidence. "I highly doubt that."

Santana smirks and Quinn knows before she even opens her mouth that she's going to say something that will push Quinn's buttons. "Why not? I got into you, didn't I? And you're pretty much locked down."

Quinn's mouth drops open in shock and her cheeks flush in embarrassment. Santana just looks amused. She points to Quinn's hand, her eyebrow raised in a challenge. "Your phone is still open."

Quinn snaps it shut and turns away, her mind not ready to acknowledge that night or any of the events that unfolded. Santana stayed where she was, knowing that anything else would be pushing too far and too fast for Quinn. Quinn was like an endangered animal, if you move too quickly, you scare her off.

Santana rolls her shoulders as if she's preparing for battle (because that's how she always feels when she's around Quinn) and clears her throat. "They kicked me out."

Quinn whirled around for the second time in fifteen minutes and grimaced when her neck popped in an unpleasant way. "What?"

Santana shrugged. "They kicked me out. I mean, they let me move back in a few days later, but they still kicked me out."

"Wait," Quinn interrupted, her mind trying to wrap her head around everything. "So you're not homeless?"

"Not anymore."

Quinn sighed in relief, the anger that had appeared so quickly disappeared just as fast. "So...why are you here?"

"I told you, I needed advice."

"On what?"

Santana smirked, her eyes mischievous and her body loose. She took a slow step towards Quinn and Quinn felt the eery feeling consume her that she was the prey in this scenario. "I was curious as to how it's possible for people as good as them to be so cruel towards me."

"I wouldn't call that cruel..."

Santana wagged her finger at Quinn as she took another step forward. "They were the nice ones in high school and the more time I spend with them, the more I start to realize that they've turned into a bunch of bitches. Which, of course, I absolutely adore."

"Of course." Quinn agreed, a small smile on her lips as Santana took another step towards her, her body inches away from Quinn's.

"Of course." Santana repeats, her smile never wavering. "Anyway, you know me, I gots to understand things. So, while this realization occurred to me, I started thinking about how it was possible for two of the biggest losers in school to become like my family and how it was possible for the biggest bitch in school to become my closest friend."

Quinn licked her lips, still curious as to where this conversation was going. "So, what? You hopped on a train just to come visit me because you finally accepted the fact that I'm your friend?"

"You know it's more than that." Santana winked, causing Quinn's cheeks to flush again. "So I boarded a train to New Haven even though it's long and even though it smells, because it hit me that you are the closest thing to a best friend-and yes, that's pretty fucking depressing-that I have right now and we haven't talked in a month. We haven't talked in a month and it's killing me because I have nothing better to do. I spend my days being groped by ugly ass men and aging women, and my nights listening to Berry and Hummel practicing scales-which, btw, nobody needs to sing that loud ever. All I want to do is talk to someone every now and then who's equal parts bitch and equal parts hottie, while also including some parts that are pretty fucked up."

Quinn smiled at that, Santana's words warming her in more ways than one. Quinn smirked. "So this is Santana Lopez professing her love and unwavering devotion? What a sight it truly is to see."

Santana rolled her eyes and smacked Quinn's arm. "What can I say? The Diva's have me watching those romance movies on fucking repeat."

In the end, Santana never did tell Quinn what she needed advice on, but Quinn got the feeling that it wasn't really the part of this trip that mattered. Santana stayed for two days, overall. Two days that were full of banter, endless hours of Jersey Shore, annoying the shit out of her roommate, drinking, blowing off class, pizza, a shared bed, prank calling Berry, Santana threatening David, a drunken rendition of 'Baby, One More Time', and finally two kisses.

The first happens right after Quinn's roommate leaves for her afternoon class. Quinn is lucky in the sense that it's Wednesday and she never has classes on Wednesday. She's sitting on her bed, laughing at something cruel that Santana has said when Santana leans down (she's standing next to Quinn, slipping off her shoes) and pecks her on the lips. Quinn freezes while Santana continues taking off her boots.

Both pretend like nothing ever happened.

The second happens days later, when Quinn is standing with Santana at the train station, waiting for Santana's train to arrive. Quinn's face is split into a grin, her body feeling lighter than it has in months. Santana is wearing another ridiculous outfit, something a stripper would probably wear, and Quinn is passed the point of secretly staring. There's no doubt that Santana has been anything other than beautiful.

Santana is making some crack about this old gentleman who is blatantly staring at this girl passengers ass, when she turns toward Quinn, her face bright and her eyes happy. "What?" Santana asks, curious as to why Quinn is looking at her with such appreciation.

Quinn shrugs, she's always been that uncommitted, even now. "I'm just going to miss you."

Santana's features soften and then she grabs the corners of Quinn's blazer, pulling her in before Quinn can protest. Santana's lips smooth over Quinn's and if Quinn wasn't so concerned with the fact that they were in public, she would have whimpered in response because Santana has always gone into everything with her guns blazing. It ends as quickly as it starts and Quinn almost protests in response. Instead she says the only thing she thinks she can.

"I'm not gay."

Santana rolls her eyes, her hands releasing Quinn's blazer. "I know."

"So what was that?" Quinn asks, because even if she isn't gay, she can't let things like that go. Not when they make her skin prickle and her body feel more alive than it ever has in her six months at Yale.

Santana smiles, her hand socking Quinn's right shoulder playfully.

"It's an, I'll miss you, too."

Santana boards her train shortly after that and Quinn's heart starts that weird aching thing again. The aching thing that Quinn has grown to resent because it makes her feel so normal, so human, so much like the girl who was stuck inside of Lima. It makes her feel more like Lucy then it makes her feel like Quinn. Overall, she doesn't like it. Not one bit.

It's weeks later when she hears through the grapevine (which is really just code for Mercedes) that Rachel and Brody broke up. She's been talking to Santana more frequently now, but still not as often as she wants to. It's weird, this feeling of wanting to always speak to her sometimes friend, and Quinn doesn't want to let it consume her. So she pretends to be busy for as long as she can until she absolutely has to text Santana.

This time though, she caves early, and calls her friend. It's been a few days since they skyped and usually Quinn likes to put a few more days in between their communication trysts, but Quinn is feeling quite overzealous at the news.

Santana picks up after two rings. "Hey Boo."

Quinn frowns at the greeting. "Boo?"

Santana laughs. "Sorry, I just like the look that Kurt gets every time I greet the phone like that. I swear, he assumes I'm a prostitute. You get one call boy and suddenly every good looking person is a whore."

"It's not assuming if you have evidence to back up your claim!" Quinn hears Kurt yell from the background and she could almost see Santana roll her eyes in response.

"Please Kurt," Santana calls out, her voice sounding far away from the phone. "You underestimate me. Obviously I'd be an escort. A classy one, at that. Don't underestimate my good looks or the things I can do with a tie."

Quinn blushes, again, and smacks herself on the forehead. She's incredibly irritated at the lump-mess-blushing-thing that Santana's words always reduced her to.

"Sorry, Q," Santana says, her voice closer again. "Kurt is busy being Nancy Drew here. He's convinced that he should have figured out Brody before me."

"Why?" Quinn asks, her curiosity piqued.

Santana scoffs. "I dunno, because he's gay? Anyway, what'd you call for? Usually you wait a few more days."

It's just like Santana to constantly point out the obvious and Quinn tries not to falter. "I just wanted to wish you a congratulations."

"For? You gotta be more specific, Q, or I am just gonna assume that you mean for everything."

Quinn huffs in response, Santana's ego was the largest thing in their friendship. "For being right about Brody."

Santana laughs and Quinn hears the clacking of boots, which means that Santana is heading towards her small designated section of the loft. Which is really just a corner next to a cabinet. "The congratulations is welcomed but highly unnecessary."

Santana gets quiet after that and Quinn stays silent. She honestly has nothing to say other than that. Now that she thinks about it, she really only called to hear Santana's voice, and it bugs her that she's stooped this low. She's basically Rachel Berry.

She doesn't want to say it but it slips out anyway, and Quinn barely recognizes the person she's been reduced to when she says, "I miss you."

It's embarrassing and weak and low for a Fabray to even mention something like that. It's even worse to say it to someone who used to be beneath her, who was never really her friend (only her enemy), to someone she hooked up with at a wedding only to pretend it never happened.

Santana's quiet and Quinn knows her well enough to know that she's dissecting Quinn's statement into a million little pieces. "I miss you, too."

Quinn breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn't know why, but she wouldn't have been able to handle it if Santana had left her hanging. "Cool."

Santana laughs again, her laugh almost music to Quinn's ears and Quinn knows in this moment that she's gone too far. She's far surpassed where she should have ever been, this wasn't her plan, she needed to backpedal before she ended up in love and alone. Because that's all love ever did, it left you alone.

Santana is speaking when Quinn zones back in, so she clears her throat to get her attention. "What did you say?"

"I said you should come up this weekend. We could hang out, make fun of Rachel's horrendous makeup. Oh! I could take you to my favorite spot in Central Park."

To anyone else Santana's invitation would sound like a thing between friends but Quinn knew better. They were treading the line right now and Quinn was terrified at when (not if) she was going to cross it.

"I'm not gay." Quinn repeats, even though it has no real power right now.

Santana sighs in irritation. "I know, and that's not what I said, Fabray."

Quinn sighs. She knows that resistance is futile, especially when it comes to Santana Lopez. "I'll think about it."

"Good." Santana says, her voice clear and curt. "Now, let's discuss all the ways in which I'm fantastic."

Quinn makes plans to show up that weekend because she honestly doesn't know what else to do. It's like she's on a roller coaster, she knows what's coming (of course she does) but she can't get off the ride and she can't look away. Not to mention the fact that she already knew all of this could happen and she got on the damn ride anyway.

It says a lot about where Quinn is in her life when it's three days later and she steps on a train to New York.

The weekend is a lot more fun than Quinn expected it to be.

She feels happy. Genuinely happy during breakfast on Sunday. Rachel is ranting to Kurt about some random thing at NYADA and Santana is making impressions of Rachel behind her back. Their life isn't amazing. In fact, they really only have pancake batter and milk because that's pretty much all they can afford on the regular, but it's a happy life nonetheless.

It's the type of life Quinn could see herself in and she shakes the thought as quickly as it comes. She's Quinn Fabray, she doesn't do happy and she doesn't do happy with Santana Lopez, Kurt Hummel, and Rachel Berry for crying out loud. Her fifteen year old self would weep if she could see where she was now.

But then there was this moment and it begged to differ.

"Quinn, please tell Santana that her antics are childish, and that nobody is laughing." Rachel says, effectively tearing Quinn away from her thoughts.

Quinn turned her attention towards Santana who was mimicking Rachel dramatically. Quinn laughed. "I cannot tell lies." Which, frankly, is a lie.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I call shenanigans!"

Santana changed her expression quickly and shot a glare over towards Kurt. "Get back to those pancakes, Rocket Man."

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the griddle as Rachel sat down at the table to Quinn's right, Santana on her left.

"I honestly don't know how we put up with you."

"Oh please," Santana practically objected. "Both of your lives would be meaningless without me."

Kurt turned around again. "I wouldn't go that far."

"You love each other." Quinn said, offhandedly, because it made sense in her head. But once the statement was said out loud, everyone grew incredibly silent. Rachel, Kurt, and Santana didn't say anything, but they did share a look and a smile and it hits Quinn that she doesn't belong in this moment because these people do love each other and Quinn isn't capable of such fantasies. She doesn't belong because she never would have back in Lima, this friendship never would have existed at the school, so why does it exist now?

She's unraveling and she knows it. Worse, Santana knows it, too.

Quinn excuses herself to go to the restroom because she can't escape how lonely she feels. She has Yale and the people there but she doesn't have anyone who cares, she never has, and it's overwhelming her...just how much she feels like her mother.

A pretty piece to a puzzle that's already been solved. Rachel and Kurt don't need her in this moment because they have Santana and Santana doesn't need her because she has (and always has had) Brittany, even when she wasn't present.

She's hyperventilating by the time she reaches the bathroom, her breath is coming out in shallow bursts, and she doesn't know what's happening but she thinks that this is what despair truly feels like. She closes her eyes to make it a little bit easier and when she opens them again, Santana is there, looking at her with a concerned look on her face.

"Don't." Quinn says, and she means it.

Santana places her hand on Quinn's lower back. Trying to be soothing but only coming off as awkward. "Quinn...you could have it, too."

Quinn turned around, her hands automatically finding Santana's hips. "This is yours, not mine, and I don't belong here."

Santana bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes hesitant. "You could belong here, Quinn, and you know it." Santana leaned in then, her lips brushing over Quinn's softly. She waited for a minute allowing Quinn to pull away if necessary before pushing forward, her lips connecting with Quinn's quickly.

It was a kiss that calmed all storms and Quinn couldn't handle it, not now. She let the kiss linger before pulling away, her eyes tearing up against her will. "I'm not gay."

Santana's face hardens at Quinn's words, but she doesn't let go of her. The important thing is she doesn't let go.

"I know."

They have sex after that and it's just as breathtaking as the first time.

Kurt and Rachel seem to know what's going on because they both conveniently leave before said act takes place. However, they don't say anything, and for that Quinn is thankful.

She doesn't think too much about it because if she does this whole facade will crumble.

Santana walks her to the train station afterwards. She's wearing skinny jeans and Quinn's Yale t-shirt and it feels a lot like Quinn's claimed her, even though she wasn't sure when and how that happened.

Santana stops in front of Quinn's stop, her head low and her eyes bashful and it's nothing like the girl Quinn used to admire. She wonders, for the first time, if this thing was destroying who they used to be and changing them into people Quinn barely recognized.

Santana grabs Quinn's hand and starts playing with her fingers, her body completely at ease. "So, I was thinking," Santana started, her eyes light and hopeful and stange. "Maybe I could come down in a next weekend? I have a few days off from the bar and I was thinking i could come to you, bring some wine, have a little fun."

Quinn doesn't want to ruin the moment, so she slowly disentangles her fingers and gives Santana a small smile. "Maybe."

When she gets back to Yale she panics in typical Quinn fashion.

She doesn't want to change because this girl got her this far, who's to say she won't take Quinn the rest of the way? She doesn't want Santana to change, either, because Santana's the type of girl who will always need Brittany. The time spent away from Brittany was just time that Santana spent preparing for her return. Quinn wasn't going to get caught up in that, she couldn't.

She was straight.

Santana was her friend.

She was happy, here.

Quinn spent the next three days trying to prove that those three things were true.

She hung out with her Sorority friends even though they grated on her last nerve. She filled her life with her roommate, classes, homework, and meaningless boys.

The boy who started it all, Kevin-or was it Kyle? Seriously, she really didn't care-worked up the nerve to ask her out, stating that he had liked her since the first day he met her. It was cheesy and lame and not at all challenging. She still disliked him and the way he smelled and the way he considered himself to be smarter, better, and greater than her. She disliked everything he represented, and yet, she still said yes when he asked her out for that weekend.

She doesn't really know why she said it or why she feels so relieved, but she does. She calls Santana on a Thursday, because Quinn knows that it's short notice and that Santana will be pissed over that.

"Hey pretty lady." Santana greets when she picks up the phone. "What's up?"

Quinn's heart sinks at the realization that she knows what she's doing, she always has, and she's still doing it anyway. "I have to cancel our plans for this weekend."

"What?" Santana asks, her voice alert and confused. "Why?"

"I have a date." Quinn answers honestly. She owes Santana that much.

Santana's breathing changes and Quinn almost feels guilty. Almost. "With who?"

"A boy from class."

Santana laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You've got to be fucking me. Oh wait, you are."

Quinn freezes, she knows jealousy when she hears it, but she doesn't know if it's allowed. She doesn't know how Santana got there when Quinn clearly hasn't gotten past the first thing. "I'm not gay." She repeats, again, even though it's practically lost it's meaning by now.

Santana scowls into the phone. "You know what, Quinn? Keep telling yourself that. Keep telling yourself that even though you fucked me, initiated it, reciprocated it, and then last week was begging for it."

Quinn felt her cheeks flush again (dammit) at the memory of Santana hovering over her, her body nestled in between Quinn's legs and her hand on Quinn's thigh. Her cheeks flush at the memory of Santana teasing her and Quinn constantly muttering 'please'.

Quinn bit her lip. "Santana, we're friends, please don't take this personally."

"Whatever, Q."

Quinn tries to hold it in when she's left with only a dial tone. She tries not to cry and tells herself that this is what she's always wanted.

The date is horrendous. Kevin-or is it Kyle?-doesn't pay, he eats all of her dinner, his arm feels too heavy, and when he kisses her at the end...well, let's just say Quinn would be an idiot to repeat that experience.

Her heart feels heavy and her head feels numb and all Quinn wants to do is forget this night, along with the past few months.

Santana doesn't call her the first few weeks and Quinn brushes it off like she's brushed off everything else. She holds out hope that Santana will cave (even though she knows that she won't).

Before Quinn knows it a month has passed and she still jumps every time her phone rings, her body filled with some kind-of unproven and unsolicited hope. That's what happens when she hears her phone vibrate against her table. She picks it up without looking at the caller ID, her voice as hopeful as the rest of her.

"Santana?"

"No." A soft and almost too quiet voice answers, and Quinn shudders at the memories it brings. "Quinnie? It's your mother."

"I know."

Judy doesn't acknowledge anything else. Just like always, her mother pushes on with everything that's only mattered to her. "Quinnie, your father is ill. He's had a heart attack."

Quinn feels her blood run cold at the mention of the man who threw her out. The man who taught her how to not love anything and everything. "But he's only fifty eight."

Judy doesn't hesitate, her voice gaining strength as she continues and Quinn can't help but wonder if she's drunk right now. "The doctor says he suffers from too much stress in his life."

"Wait," Quinn starts, confused. "How do you know this? You guys aren't together anymore."

Judy hesitates. "Well, Quinnie, I've been meeting to tell you...your father and I have been in contact recently and, well, he's changed."

Quinn shudders, anger coursing through her body. She didn't have to wonder anymore, she knew, her mother was just as drunk right now as she had been for the first seventeen years of Quinn's life. It would have been devastating if Quinn wasn't used to it. "I don't get it."

"When you get older your body betrays you, Quinnie."

"Maybe it betrayed him because he treated it badly." Quinn snipes, her voice leaking irritation. She was done with this conversation, she was done with acting like her father, with treating people how her father always treated them. Maybe she was gay, maybe she wasn't. Either way, Santana deserved more than somebody who was barely present, in a friendship and in a relationship.

Judy sighed, as if she couldn't understand how Quinn could respond in such a way. "Quinn, I need you home this weekend. Your father needs you."

Quinn steeled herself, and did something for herself for the first time in a long time. "I can't make it. I'll be in New York."

She didn't regret hanging up on her mother in that moment, and years down the road when she would think about this memory, she wouldn't regret it then, either.

It's a few days later and she's standing in front of Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's loft.

She had a plan, a big plan, a plan that was almost exactly like the one that started this whole thing. But life, like this plan, didn't go as planned and maybe that was a good thing. She was going to wait until the weekend so that she could show up and possibly woo Santana, whatever wooing Santana Lopez meant. But for the first time Quinn was anxious for life to start, for herself to feel like she finally had someone and spot in the world.

So, instead of waiting, Quinn ditched her Thursday classes and hopped on the first train to New York. She texted Rachel to ask her when Santana would be home from work only for Rachel to respond with Santana's schedule and a:

Rachel: Frankly, it's about time you got your head out of your ass, Quinn. I know Santana can be difficult, believe me, but that's no reason to string her along just because you don't know what you want. Like Santana frequently points out, she's a hot commodity, she won't be alone for long. So get on with it, please, because I can't handle one more night of watching Scarface.

Quinn wanted to send back a message that was more bite than bark, but she retracted. Today was not about that, today was about making amends. Which brings her to now.

She raises her hand and knocks softer than she intended to, and Quinn almost thinks that this knock is imitating her life. She hears footsteps padding across the floor and she knows from the clacking of boots that it's Santana. She readies herself for the worst when the door unlocks and slides open.

Santana is standing there in a skirt and bra only, her white t-shirt in her left hand and her boots zipped to her knees. She's breathtaking and Quinn feels an emotion course through her that she got all too used to back in Lima. "You answer the door like that?" Quinn practically spits out, her hands itching to cover Santana's skin before somebody else can see her.

Santana crossed her arms defensively, her cheerio glare perfectly in place. "What's it to you?"

"I'm here." Quinn says as if it's the answer to all of their problems, as if it's an excuse. Maybe it is.

Santana narrows her eyes and Quinn briefly feels like Brittany and it's weird. "That doesn't prove anything."

Quinn bites her lip, already feeling like she's in the usual dance that they always fall into. "Doesn't it?"

Santana's arms drop and her shoulders deflate. "God, Quinn, why are you always so difficult? Sometimes I just wish you-"

Quinn pushes past Santana and steps into the living room, her gym bag hanging over her shoulder. "You what? Wish that I was more like Brittany?"

Santana whirls around, her face contorted into a look Quinn can't decipher. "Don't even, she has nothing to do with this and you know it."

"Do I?" Quinn asks, curious because she doesn't really know anything anymore.

"Quinn, is this really what we're going to fight about right now? You ditched me for some boy, don't speak to me for over a month, and then show up spitting some shit about Brittany? I mean, what do you want from me?"

Quinn sighed, her shoulders trembling. She settled on honesty, the one thing she's avoided since this whole thing started. "Everything. I want everything, I want the truth, I want the lies, I want the fucking bitch mode you've perfected."

Santana looks at her and her face looks hesitant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Santana took a step forward, dropping the shirt on the floor. "Okay...well, you give me something, I'll give you something."

Quinn licked her lips. "I've always thought we fit well together, even when we were cheerleaders and hated each other."

Santana smirked. "I've always hated the way you looked at Finn, like he was your ticket to a good life instead of a ticket to ending up just like your parents."

"I've always thought you were pretty."

Santana shrugged as if Quinn's statement had always been obvious. "I've always thought you were beautiful."

Quinn shrugs when Santana stops in front of her, not comfortable with revealing this much of herself but pushing forward anyway. She owes it to Santana, she owes it to whatever this thing is. "I might be gay." Quinn whispers, almost too afraid to actually say it out loud.

Santana smiles softly, her hand grazing Quinn's right shoulder. "I might have already known that."

Quinn feels tears sting her eyes but she forces herself to not look away. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Santana agrees. "And, to answer your earlier question, Brittany used to say 'Never go back, only go forward.' And I agree with her on that."

"Yeah?" Quinn asks, feeling incredibly pleased because it's an answer if she's ever heard one.

Santana nods. "Yeah."

Quinn steps closer, her arms wrapping around Santana's waist and she thinks that maybe they've always belonged here, it was just a matter of her noticing. "Please don't-I can't-Santana." Quinn almost wails, and it would be embarrassing if Santana wasn't already pulling Quinn into her partially clothed body.

Santana put her forehead against Quinn's, her arms wrapping around Quinn's shoulders. "Jesus, Quinn. I know, okay? Just...can I kiss you now?"

Quinn nodded the best she could and Santana's lips covered hers quickly, her mouth devouring every word and every protest and everything Quinn has ever been capable of. She likes it, but what's more, she almost loves it.

They break apart when they hear the door slamming shut, and they are met with an irritated looking Kurt. He isn't phased by their previous position and Quinn is relieved. "God, any creeper could have just walked in! Close the door and get a room, you two!"

"I will when I actually have one!" Santana shouts back, her hand gripping Quinn's waist.

Santana's demeanor is entirely possessive and Quinn actually likes it. She likes everything about this moment, from Kurt's commentary to Rachel's awful drapes to Santana's lips on her cheek. She likes everything about this moment, but even more, she loves it and it's enough to make Quinn feel like she's important and like she matters.

It's enough to make Quinn feel happy.