A/N: Give me three things - the first line included below, Kill the Lights by Matt Nathanson, and a newfound appreciation for this pairing and what do you get? This thing. Thanks Leo (wood-u-like-2-no), Jacqui, and Crissy for hand-holding, encouraging and all that jazz. This is part one of two, part two will follow shortly.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm not making money from this. You should please review it and let me know what you think anyway, even though I can't bribe you with baked goods or anything.

There's something in the water making the girls go crazy.

He's sure that's what it is.

But is it just, like, his water? Maybe that's the problem. Do people have water, like on an individual basis? He doesn't know about that, he just knows like… three things. One: the Browns are never gonna win a Super Bowl. He has his doubts about them ever even getting there, but he's not as certain on that as he is on the fact they'll never win. (The whole winning-championships-before-there-was-a-Super-Bow l thing isn't relevant. To anything. Like, ever.) Anyway. Two: girls are nuts and maybe his stepbrother is onto the right idea. Then again… maybe he should just stick with girls are nuts and unpredictable and if there's one thing he doesn't like that much, it's a surprise. Dating is dating, girl or boy, and dating is nuts. Maybe that's closer to the truth. Dating is just… trouble. Maybe more trouble than it's worth? He doesn't know about that either. He was just starting to fall into the good boyfriend groove again. It takes him some time to get it under control because dating is crazy at first (or, y'know, at all) but once things settle down and he knows the person, he can be a good boyfriend; as long as he hasn't lied at the start, maybe.

Anyway. The third thing he knows: the nachos from that gas station on Main and Front are not to be messed with or eaten under any circumstances. Instant puking, no matter what. It's like the soup place from How I Met Your Mother. He's not sure, but maybe that actually counts as a fourth thing. He's catching up pretty fast on his sitcom knowledge during this break because this break fucking sucks. Because girls—and dating—are crazy. See? Full circle. He likes that. Things are easier when the circle is unbroken, which feels like a metaphor. Those used to be important but maybe he's getting over that.

(Who's he kidding? He's not getting over it. He can tell by the way Kurt arches an eyebrow at him when he takes a Cheetos-break to get the cheese powder off his fingertips. Maybe with mouth. It's not like it matters anymore. Rachel hated it when he did that because she thought it made him unkissable. Maybe… maybe he's done it more than he should because of that. So what?)

He's not, but who cares?

(No one.)

The doorbell rings at the same time Kurt snatches the remote. "Door's for you," Kurt says as he maneuvers through the Netflix screens.

"Excuse you? I was watching that, man," Finn protests. "I…"

"Finn!"

Carole lobbied for an intercom in their new house (they, like, literally moved in two weeks ago, all in one really long and exhausting day after the wedding but before Kurt went away to school and busted ass to set the whole thing up for Christmas.) Burt turned her down. Finn understands why. They definitely don't need it when Burt's home to answer the door and yell.

"Fine. God," he grumbles and he lifts himself off the couch to see who's at the door. Yeah, like, he has no idea. Honestly, maybe he shouldn't have left his phone sitting on his nightstand for the last three days. Maybe it would've given him some warning. He just… wasn't expecting much. Much of what he doesn't know but honestly… everyone in his life and around him knows that he and Rachel broke up and they've given him wide berth for some reason. He kind of wonders if they're just waiting for him to snap. He won't. It's not like when he found out about Puck and Quinn. It's different—he's different—and this is different, too. People are just leaving him alone. It'd be nice if wasn't so lonely.

It's safe to say Santana is the last person he expected to see standing on his doorstep with her shoulders and the top of her head dusted in sparkly snow. And because it seems like he and Santana's problems always start with someone opening their mouth (namely, her), he just pushes his lips together and keeps his smile small and points in the general direction of his bedroom with his head. He doesn't even say hello. She doesn't even take her hands out of the pockets of her Cheerios coat, so he figures that's about the same thing.

It's weird to have her behind him because yeah, metaphors or something, but he doesn't look back. He closes his bedroom door and she sits on the end of his bed. He sits down next to her, his shoulder touching hers, and tries not to point out that she's gonna get his bed wet because he doesn't want to point out that they're on his bed. He's sure she knows and he's sure he doesn't have the energy to deal with whatever she'd have to say about it because it'd be a shitty comment.

For as frustrated and annoyed and whatever as he's been with her over the last three and a half weeks, for as many things as he's thought about saying to her, he only comes up with one and even that one he has to clear his throat to get out. He can't explain the lump the words roll over and keeps his hands twisted around each other uncomfortably in his lap.

"Why'd you tell?"

She looks over at him and, for a split second, she can't cover her surprise. It only takes one second though before it's gone and she's arching an eyebrow.

"Why'd you lie?" she counters.

He lets out a long breath. Probably too long. He didn't know he had that much air in his lungs. "I was scared," he admits. He stops there, not saying what he was scared of—scared of being alone? Not being with Rachel? Scared of hurting someone he loves? Well. That all seems pointless now because all those things are true. He's man enough to look over at her.

He can see her throat move when she swallows. The noise is still sort of delicate but the room is quiet and he can hear it all the same. Her voice shakes a little more than his, too.

"So was I."

It's probably the first time he's heard or seen her admit any kind of fear. Usually she's, like, a bee or something—sensing fear and exploiting it. He kind of wonders if maybe she always does that just to cover up her own, then. What she could be afraid of is what he doesn't know, though.

"Of what?"

She meets his eyes and eventually shrugs, barely moving her arm but still brushing against him. She doesn't wanna have that conversation and he knows it. He's still not sure why she's even here in the first place, having this one. She turns her head and her eyes roam over the room. "Nice digs," she comments. "Has Rachel seen them?"

It's kind of like she stabbed him with words. So in other words, this conversation isn't weird any more. He shakes his head.

"Good," she says. She stands up, leans over to kiss his cheek, and then leaves.

Girls are crazy. He doesn't think it has that much to do with the water.

There's a balance to things and the balance has been seriously fucked with. See, she likes to mess with it, the balance, but usually it restores in some predictable way after things shift. The last time Finn's relationship problems turned public (well, if you could consider Glee club public. She's up for that debate another time), he was gone for like two days before he came back and saved the day. He showed up at Sectionals and took charge of that shit and it was a totally good look on him, the whole confident group leader thing. It's been a while since she was attracted to anyone, really, since there's no new blood here and… she was bored this time. She toyed with it because she wondered, when he snapped into five-years-from-now-Finn, if she'd be attracted to him again.

There were some other politics there she wasn't going into, too, though. She's always been on the fringe of the group with the Azimio/Karofsky/Nelson assholes—she's not particularly interested in joining it—and there was something going on with Kurt. She had her suspicions they were somehow messing with him, she saw one of them push him in the hall and the look of sheer terror on his face kind of made her think it wasn't the first time.

Then there was the 'girlfriend' meeting she was left out of. Then the boys ganged up—except for Finn. The whole thing was really complicated. She just wanted to spark something in Finn, maybe, inspire him to stand up to those guys who were picking on his almost-brother, even if it wasn't her job. The more she watched, the more she wondered if dating Berry had stripped his confidence completely. So… she pushed.

It's not that complicated, really. That doesn't mean she wants to draw the flowchart that would be required to explain it to him.

The way she sees it, if he'd nutted up and just bragged a little more about nailing her last year, Kurt wouldn't be at Dalton and Finn wouldn't have walked around all semester like a neutered puppy. He'd have the juice to make those guys back up off his new family. Actually, they're all her family, the Glee club. She's not thrilled Kurt had to leave, and it's not like she can physically take those guys once they decide to push people around. Finn probably could, but he didn't have the confidence to do it. She just… tried to orchestrate it.

She hates failure, especially when it's failure making people do what she wants them to do.

So not only did that fail, Kurt will remain at Dalton and Karofsky will remain an unapologetic asshole (she's really starting to think there's more to that, too, but she needs more spy-time to figure that one out and she's not sure how much time she wants to spend on a waste of space who calls Finn gay because… he's a lot of really weird things that are way more annoying than liking cock), but Finn has been absent from every social thing that's happened since school has let out. Yeah, he might be missing the same old parties, the same old people, the same flat beer or whatever parents part with unnoticed, but he was missing them.

Doesn't he want his old rep back? That seems like what they're all after and he's always sort of been one of 'them', in that group at the top of the heap. It's like he gravitates there naturally. She'd say shit floats, but she's trying to be nice and really…she won't admit it if pressed, but he's not that bad.

She just really doesn't understand, and isn't any clearer after she visits him.

She kind of hates that, too. He's not, like, deep or anything. So why can't she figure him out? She isn't sure how much time she wants to put into figuring him out but, fuck, things belong in their place and he's not sitting right and she has no idea why.

He's basically just as unprepared for the next time she shows up as he was the first time. At least he's the one that answers the door this time, though, and there are no Cheetos. And Kurt doesn't steal the remote.

Anyway.

"We're getting you out of this house. Have you left at all during the break?" She demands, hand on hip and attitude set to 'high.' (When isn't it?)

"I'm…" he looks over his shoulder. "Um. We're getting settled."

"You did not just air-quote me."

He knows his face looks confused because he is confused. His one hand is on the open door and the other is by his side. He didn't air-quote her. Like, he literally didn't.

"Come on," she says, grabbing the front of his shirt as she comes inside. She tugs him to his room and lets go once the door is closed. "We should pick a better…" her eyes drop down the front of him. "… everything."

"I really don't wanna go anywhere," he admits with a sigh. "I like hanging out at home."

She snorts. "Why? And… since when?"

He just shrugs. "I have On-Demand in my room."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you trying to turn this around on me?"

He bites his lip and starts the lamest stare-off ever. She's way better at it than he is and he knows it. Finally, he breaks, even if he manages to keep the grin small. Tiny. It's still a victory and her grin makes that pretty obvious as he looks away and opens his mouth. "Not even. I was just saying."

"What's your popcorn stock like?" She asks, but like, she's already taking off her shoes.

"We just moved in and it was Christmas." He scrunches his face up in thought and he knows before she says it that she's gonna call it 'gassy baby face'. He shakes his head and is kind of surprised it actually shuts her up. If life hadn't kicked him down about six hundred notches already, he'd think he was 'the man'. It's like a superpower or something. "Um. We might have some cookies or something, though. My mom's never really short on snacks."

The door flies open and takes a fucking year off his life. "House rule," Burt says.

"Since when?" Finn protests 'cause like they haven't been in this house long enough to have house rules.

"Since… I realized there was a girl in your bedroom with the door closed," he retorts. Finn rolls his eyes, but he's kind of laughing and shaking his head. "Five minutes ago. Hi. Burt Hummel," he redirects in Santana's direction. "I recognize you but I don't know you."

"Santana Lopez," she says. "I'm in glee club."

They get a few more awkward pleasantries (and Finn can tell Burt is curious about this girl because he has decidedly not mentioned Rachel in a while and when she came to bring Kurt sugar cookies, Finn totally did an obvious duck and run. In the middle of a football game. While things were tied up and his team was at first and goal. So. Burt sort of figured something was up with Finn and Rachel. Anyway. Yeah, it's been a conversation. There's been more ducking and running. Finn's kind of excited for school to start) out of the way and Burt leaves. He might be a few steps shy of removing the hinges from the door, though, even though he knows Quinn's baby wasn't Finn's and that whole thing really outed Finn's status as a virgin to their family in an uncomfortable way.

"He's… intense," Santana comments.

"Takes one to know one," Finn teases lightly. She leans into him and shoves him. It knocks him off-balance just enough she can grab the remote before he does.

"What's the deal there? Like. He practically did this," she says, unfolding her arms long enough to hover a finger over each eye and then flipping it around on him.

He laughs. "You did not just do that."

"Fuck. You're probably rubbing off on me."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. We don't hang out." The look on her face is pretty priceless, actually, 'cause she could've sworn that's what they were doing right now. Once he's leaning back on his palms on the bed, though, he switches gears and answers her question. What's he gonna do, hide shit from her? She'll figure it out anyway. He blows out a breath. "The deal with Burt is that he doesn't really trust me and I don't blame him. He thinks it's, in part, my fault that Kurt had to transfer."

She's quiet for a really, really long time. Which is, like, twice in the same night. He kind of actually takes that as her agreeing.

"It's just… it's complicated," he says, staring at a spot on the wall where Kurt missed when they were painting the room blue. "The thing with me and Burt. The whole family together thing is just… it's one step at a time. You know?"

"My parents have been married for 26 years. Catholics aren't allowed to get divorced."

He didn't know she's Catholic. Quinn's kind of Catholic isn't supposed to have sex before you're married and well… you know, honestly, he prayed to a sandwich and that effort sort of failed. Anything that makes you sing an R.E.M. song means you don't get to judge. (They rock and everything, they're just this side of weird to him. Like all the time. Michael Stipe is crazy.)

He nods. "Yeah, well… my parents didn't get divorced. My dad's dead." It's been a little bit of a point of contention, too, the feeling that his dad is being forgotten and replaced and sold off on Craigslist or something. (They compromised on a decent setup with his chair and picture in the family room. Still, though.) Anyway, he doesn't really explain any of that because he wipes his hand over his face which is the universal symbol for not wanting to talk about something. "Anyway. Me and Burt kind of have a lot in common on the surface but he just… he's really passionate and defensive of Kurt and it's usually at my expense." He shakes his head. "He wanted to know why I wasn't stepping up to protect my brother and what is that look on your face because it looks like you wanna say something."

She doesn't back down. He's used to looking down, hiding a little, a voice that goes weaker, and a girl who tucks her hair behind her ear before she looks at him and unleashes. Santana just sort of stares and it makes him feel weird.

"Why didn't you, though?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I…I don't know."

She still doesn't back down. "That's bullshit. But we don't have to talk about it." She barely rests a beat before she points and clicks the remote. "I'm gonna make you watch Moulin Rouge."

"Seen it already," he admits. Like… really. Dated Rachel. Lived with Kurt. The movie has a Jedi in it. How did she not see it coming?

She laughs so hard she has to put her head in her hands. It actually makes him laugh, too. "I wish I had popcorn to throw at you if you sing along."

(He sings along because it's good to see her laugh. Especially when there's no way in hell he can hit the high part on the tangoey Sting cover… thing. Song. Whatever. Making her laugh made him feel a lot better about a lot of things. He wants to do it more.)

He runs into her at the ice cream place on Jones Ave.

No, like runs into her.

At an ice cream place.

On New Year's Eve.

He's actually running. She's coming out. It could be argued he's got his mp3 up just a little too loud.

"Sorry," he says immediately as he steadies her before he realizes whose elbow he's got against his palm. "Santana!"

Her mother doesn't think it's appropriate for her to take a bottle of champagne to the party she's going to. She'll still take it, it's just that she'll hide it with this five gallon thing of ice cream she's miraculously still attached to after he plowed into her.

"Check yourself," she says. She waits for him to pull an earbud out of his ear, but she does it with her eyebrow arched.

"Sorry, I was… distracted I guess. Are you okay?"

She nods patiently even though she's not really patient. "Are you going to Karofsky's party tonight?"

The look on his face happens at least fifteen seconds before the words do. "Is that a real question?"

Right. She's talking to fringe-Finn. The dude who won't go to that party because he wasn't invited. The reason he wasn't invited is not because it wasn't his social group once upon a time, but because he doesn't want to. Way back in the day he was friends with those fools (we're talking middle school there), so he could probably get invited even if they have some problem with Kurt. He and Rachel were perfect together in that regard—she wasn't invited to the parties he didn't want to attend anyway. It's been a long time since she saw him at a party at all. She still doesn't know why.

"Good for you," she says with a nod. "Loser."

He rolls his eyes. "So you're going then?"

She shrugs. "Unless you can find me some other awesome rager with all 25 Cheerios. And their alternates."

"Right. I forget you guys travel in a herd," he jokes. He is not funny. (He's also not wrong so whatever.) "You shouldn't. We should do something instead."

This is… well, he's practically ordering her. She would be irritated if it wasn't… attractive.

She's not going there.

"Like what?"

It's really not too much after that, they're sharing the forbidden champagne and five gallons of ice cream in her bedroom. For her, it was just a drive home and some gloves for her hands that were frozen by cookies and cream; for him, it was a shower because she threatens to cut off anything that still smells like he fucking ran. Into her. He ran into her. Did she mention that? She's not forgiving him for that shit right away, even if they're hanging out like girls and eating/drinking one of the most God-awful combinations of things she can think of off the top of her head.

"Do you ever think about the future?" He asks. His mouth isn't completely full, but it's not completely empty. She hates the question more than the way he asked it, though. He rests his spoon back into the container and sits back. "Like…what it'll be like when all the crap that's been going on is settled a little better and stuff doesn't suck?"

"Oh, God. This is not the breakup talk. Do not come to me for this."

He tilts his head and looks at her like he's trying to ask if she's serious. "I'm not. I just… that's not what I meant. Forget it."

"No. Explain," she says. It's not like she cares, she just doesn't have anything else to talk about either.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "It's… just." He shakes his head and looks at her. "I'm not being a girl or anything and trying to get you to guess the problem. I just wondered if you ever thought about when we're outta here."

"All the time," she starts. She shrugs. "And kind of not at all. Why do I need to think about the future when my present is just fine? I'm young, I'm hot, and I'm head cheerleader because Fabray isn't touching that with a ten foot pole. Plus I just rocked my solo at Sectionals so more of that is bound to come my way now that I've pushed Berry aside."

He narrows his eyes and oh, she's missed that look on his face. It's kind of a cross of disbelief and don't-know-what-to-say.

"Now all I need is to find the right male lead. You know anyone who might be able to handle the job?"

The look on his face drops and he rolls his eyes. "No. Good luck with that." He reaches for the spoon again, which is too bad because she was gonna go put the soggy mess back in the freezer. It's almost midnight and she wants to start on the champagne.

"Is fucking me what broke you and Berry up?"

For a split second, she thinks he might actually cry because he looks fucking heartbroken. She should've guessed because he hasn't mentioned it, but at the same time she needs to know if she's that good at messing with people.

(Also, judging by the way Rachel showed up at the last party—the one Puckerman held—and was both obviously looking for Finn and pretty much crushed by his no-show, she might feel bad. Maybe. He should be with his friends for the holidays, okay? It's not like his family is that much fun. Half the time Kurt's a whiny bitch and Finn already admitted things suck in the whole step-family dynamic.)

Anyway he covers it and takes some extra time to lick his spoon really clean. Fuck. He might've not been much in bed, but he's always been a pretty solid kisser and it's been a while for her. He blows out a breath and she tries not to shiver because that's disgusting and also she doesn't want to think about why it would make her shiver in the first place.

He shakes his head and reaches over to put the lid back on the ice cream. "That was gonna be fine," he says. "Don't worry about it. I should've told her the truth anyway. It's not like I was ashamed or embarrassed that we had sex. Are you done with this? I'm done."

"Yeah, I'm done. Well, that's sort of how you made it seem."

"No, the stuff I told you at the wedding was true. I lied because she lied and then I didn't want to hurt her, which…." He brings his eyes up to her finally. She's not sure what he looks like. It isn't like she knows him that well. Apparently there's more than 'dim-witted jock' or 'boyfriend being led by his dick' there. It's kind of the first time she's seen it; that's not her being a bitch, that's just her thinking facts she won't state. "… well it was kinda wasted effort I guess. She didn't really care about protecting me and I feel stupid for trying to protect her."

She has no idea what he's talking about, but it probably just became her mission to find out. Not from him because he's totally helping himself to her house; he's going to put the ice cream away, the spoons in the sink. He comes back with champagne glasses—she isn't sure where he found them, by the way; her parents' kitchen isn't small and her mom has this irritating habit of changing things all around on a whim. Santana hasn't been able to find any sort of wine glass since, like, last year sometime. He's wearing a grin that tells her he's pretty proud to have them, too.

"Do you want to talk about that or do you wanna drink with me? 'Cause honestly… I think the drinking sounds more fun and you look like you'd rather off yourself than actually finish a conversation about feelings and stuff."

She wasn't asking about his feelings, she was asking for facts about if she orchestrated the demise of his nauseatingly overwhelming and in-everyone's-face relationship. He isn't wrong, though, that there's appeal in drinking champagne with him and kissing it off his lips at midnight honestly isn't the worst way to start a year.