Author's Note #1: This story is set in the same 'verse as Santana Lopez Can, In Fact, Do Anything, Santana Lopez Likes What She Likes, Okay?, The Mess You Left, and Santana Lopez Makes Sure Things Are Win-Win.

Author's Note #2: The timeline for this story is non-linear. Each segment comes with a date that, while doesn't need to be memorized, should be noted for its overall placement within the summer months.

Author's Note #3: The site makes you pick one main pairing, but this story is equal parts Faberry, Brittana, and the friendships among the four characters.

Chapter One

Monday, August 29, 2011 / 3:25pm

"So maybe it'll happen to me, too."

"Maybe what will happen to you?"

Quinn's shoulders slumped. Weren't therapists supposed to be perceptive?

"What happened to Santana," she clarified with a sigh. "How one day she knew she had to."

Quinn's therapist smiled and twirled his pen end over end. She knew that smile – it meant she had said something that excited him; she already recognized this air of carefully detached hopefulness. Something encouraging yet vague was about to come out of his mouth in 3, 2, 1. . .

"It must be helpful that you have friends who are going through the same things as you."

Quinn stared at him for a beat. Sometimes, he really didn't get it. She shook her head in frustration.

"You disagree?" he said, and she noted with satisfaction that his smile became approximately fifty percent smaller. "You don't feel grateful to have their support?"

"What I'm saying is, they are not going through the same things as me." She leaned back in her comfy leather chair. "It's different for everyone."

She almost felt bad. Rachel was probably never this much of a bitch in therapy. Quinn looked down at her hands, finding her fingers nervously massaging one another.

You wanted to come here, Quinn. Say something productive.

"I—" she started, and he practically vibrated with anticipation. "I am lucky, though," she finished, pushing each word reluctantly from her lips. She gazed out the window. "I suppose I know that."

His smile came back, and her sympathy waned.

"What makes you lucky, Quinn?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

She knew wasn't going to get away with it, but it bought her some time.

"Quinn, after four sessions, I know you better than that."

"Technically, it's only been three and a third."

"I'll rephrase. After a limited number of sessions, I suspect that you must have some idea how to back up your statement, or you wouldn't have spoken at all. What makes you lucky?"

Quinn winced and looked up at the ceiling, bracing for the mental anguish the next word was about to bring. She hated therapy so, incredibly much. Like, really.

"Santana," she sighed.

Of all the smiles in her therapist's repertoire, this had to be the most annoying one she had ever fucking seen.

He nodded his head once. "So Santana's support is important to you."

"If it qualifies as support when someone hasn't punched you in over a month."

She felt guilty as soon as she said it, as soon as she minimized things. Flashes of Santana's charcoal gray walls, blurred by tears in the blue-tint of early morning light, played in her mind's eye.

"You can't drive like this, Q. Just lie down, okay?"

"I should go, but. . . I haven't slept yet."

When she zoned back into the moment she found Dr. Reese looking at her with mild disapproval.

"Okay," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Santana is nearly always intolerable. But once in a while she says things that maybe I need to hear. It's probably usually by accident, but it happens."

"Sometimes honesty can feel brutal," Dr. Reese opined. He gave her another little smile, and now he was waiting for her to go on. Even she knew this was the oldest therapy trick in the book. She probably could have waited him out if she wanted to.

"She and Brittany both do that."

"Brittany – you said she was the young lady Santana was dating?"

Quinn nodded.

"Yes. With her it's completely different. When Santana says things, it's usually because she's found something wrong with you and wants to point it out. Brittany sandwiches her real life thoughts in between humming a song she made up about ponies and telling me she has a business meeting with her cat."

Dr. Reese smiled again, using his eyes this time. "Maybe I should get her in here next."

"Don't do that to yourself," Quinn smirked. "Although there might be some kind of Nobel Prize in it for you if you can figure out her mind."

He chuckled. "Well, I'd like to hear more about them both the next time we meet. But Quinn, before we run out of time – we haven't talked about Rachel in a couple of weeks."

Quinn chewed on the inside of her cheek. Well, that took the mirth out of the air.

"Have you spoken to her lately?" he asked quietly.

"Actually, yes," Quinn said, lifting her chin a little. "I had coffee with her last week."

"Good for you for reaching out. How did it go?"

Rachel. I'm sorry if I ruined your summer.

That's kind of a strange way to put it, Quinn. Like you broke our vacation plans, or something.

Well, I mean. . . I did break our plans.

Quinn shrugged. "We weren't there very long. I gave her my research paper to read."

"A paper for school?"

"No, the thirty-page research paper I wrote just for kicks."

He scowled and cocked his head to the side.

"Sorry."

"What's the paper about?"

"Religion and homosexuality. Summer homework for one of my AP classes. I. . . don't know why I gave it to her. That was ridiculous."

"It sounds like you want her to know how much you've learned this summer."

"Yeah, well." Quinn leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, and pressed the palms of her hands together. "I haven't heard back from her. She's probably too busy with rehearsal to read it."

Orshedoesn'tcare.

"The important thing for now is that you reached out, Quinn. I think that's a great step forward, and at a manageable pace."

"Mmm," Quinn said. She watched as her left nails sank into the fabric of her jeans. "I suppose."

Friday, June 3, 2011 / 11:54pm

Beneath her, Rachel's breath had slowed.

Quinn followed the shadowed contours of her face in the dark, her own chest still rising and falling a little heavy. She curled her fingers against the inside of Rachel's thigh, extracting her hand.

"Rachel," she whispered. "Hey, Rach." She cradled the side of Rachel's face against the pillow.

Rachel's eyelashes fluttered. "Mmmm," she said.

Rachel smiled, but didn't open her eyes as Quinn stroked the side of her face with her thumb. Quinn stretched her neck so that her lips could brush against Rachel's chin.

"Hey," she whispered, "Don't fall asleep yet."

Rachel stretched her arms above her head and emitted a high-pitched syllable of protest. She tried to roll onto her side, and wrapped her arms around Quinn, trying to take her along.

Quinn laughed, and held her in place. "Yes, you show off, your upper range is improving all the time."

"Whyyyy?" Rachel whined groggily, abandoning her efforts to roll, realizing she'd been beaten.

Quinn was unsure whether the monosyllabic question referred to why her singing voice was under discussion, why she had to be awake, or why Quinn wasn't currently spooning her. Rachel opened one eye to see Quinn smiling down at her.

"Because."

Clearly she wasn't going to get her way using her rhetorical prowess. Quinn shook her head back and forth, tossing her hair to let it fall over their faces like a curtain. She rocked her head side to side, tickling Rachel's scrunched-up face.

"If you want to sleep, you should quit being cute," she said.

"I'm sleeeeeepy," Rachel whined.

"I know, you mentioned. Your problem is, I'm not." Quinn pressed the palm of her hand into Rachel's hip.

Rachel covered Quinn's hand with her own. "I have a callback in the morning," she reminded Quinn gently. But the hitch in her voice was unmistakable.

"That's okay, because . . . I think . . . you should do your audition with no sleep," Quinn said, her lips trailing down to the softest part of Rachel's neck, where her pulse point met her chin. "You want it to be fair, don't you? For the other contestants?"

Rachel delighted inwardly at Quinn's choice of the word "contestants." She smiled in return for the compliment.

"Hey, you're coming with me, right?" she asked, finally blinking open her eyes.

"Ahh. You know I have church and brunch on Sunday mornings, Archie," Quinn chastised. She shifted her hips to one side make space for her hand between their bodies.

Rachel combined a moan at the touch of Quinn's fingertips with a giggle at the use of the accidental nickname that had sputtered from Quinn's lips a few days ago.

"Noo, come with me," Rachel wheedled, pulling Quinn's body against her at the small of her back. "You know those old church ladies are gonna kick you out soon anyway."

Quinn flicked the sensitive skin of Rachel's inner thigh with her index finger. "Shhhh."

"Ow! No, it's true," Rachel continued, "I'm planning to tell them all about us so I can have you all to myself."

"But you have me now," Quinn reminded her, "and all you want to do is sleep."

"I'm a notorious liar when I'm woken unexpectedly," Rachel said, suddenly speaking in lucid, Rachel-length sentences.

"Oh, good morning," Quinn said, amused.

Rachel rolled Quinn onto her back.

"Hi," she said quietly, looking down at Quinn in the dark. And as she locked her eyes with Quinn's, the smiles drained from both of their faces.

"Why don't you ask me again what I want to do, Quinn?" Rachel said against Quinn's lips.

Saturday, June 4 / 1:05am

Santana jolted awake, and it did not feel good.

"Fuck," she whispered into the darkness. She reached over the side of the bed, fumbling for the comforter she had kicked to the ground.

The sweat on her skin had dried, and she was shivering like. . .shit, isn't there some kind of drug addict that shivers? Fuck it, she was frozen solid. This was not a time to worry about politically incorrect similes.

Brittany stirred, feeling Santana pull away.

"You have goosebumps," she said as Santana curled into a backwards ball against her. Brittany rolled onto her side to spoon Santana, and ran her fingertips over her far arm, her collarbone, and her chest. Santana closed her eyes and smiled, feeling the silk of Brittany's fingertips draw up little waves of goosebumps in their wake.

"Oh, you have one really big one right here," Brittany said, pinching Santana's nipple between her fingers and thumb.

Santana jerked away and smacked at Brittany's hand. "Hey!"

Brittany wrapped her hand around Santana's left hip and pulled her close. "Be still, I'm sleeping," she said.

"You're full of shit."

Brittany ran her fingertips over Santana's stomach. Santana stilled herself, breathing in as Brittany's fingers swept upwards; breathing out as the trailed back down and curled over the curve of her hips. If only she could purr.

She was almost asleep for the second time that night.

And then.

"Babe, are you happy about Rachel and Quinn?"

Santana opened one eye halfway. "Whaa?"

"Cause I'm happy, but sometimes I feel really surprised," Brittany explained.

Santana closed her eyes again, her expression pained. So it was going to be one of those times.

"Britt . . . just stop questioning it and enjoy how they're both less intolerable when they're together," she muttered. She arched her back a little to bring her stomach into more contact with Brittany's hand. If Brittany was going to keep her awake, she could at least keep making her feel good.

"Don't you think it's fast, though?" Brittany persisted, taking the hint and pressing her palm into Santana's belly.

"I so, so do not care," Santana murmured. She scooted backwards, urging Brittany closer, and wiggled her feet in between Brittany's. They were so much warmer.

Brittany smiled.

"What are we going to do this summer, Santana?"

"Sleep in," Santana said pointedly. "Get a tan, if I get up before the sun goes down."

"It's our last high school summer vacation. Don't you want to do stuff?"

Santana sighed. She was hopelessly awake now, thanks to the combination of Brittany's questions and the insistent percussion of her fingertips. She rolled over on top of Brittany and pulled her knees up against her sides.

"Oh, I wants to do stuff," she affirmed in a whisper, her lips against Brittany's neck.

Brittany grasped Santana's hips and pulled her downward against her lower stomach.

"Mmnnngh," Santana groaned.

"I like when you get my tummy all sticky," Brittany said, rocking Santana's hips back and forth with her hands.

"Yeah?" Santana whispered.

"Hey Santana, we should talk about our future this summer. Like, what we want to do and stuff."

Santana whimpered, "Why?'

"Cause, we're seniors this year. We have to make plans. Like colleges and stuff."

"Why . . . are you . . . talking about this?" Santana panted. Brittany let go of her hips as Santana moved against her on her own, now.

"It's important," Brittany said, biting her bottom lip as she watched Santana move.

"If you're going to keep blabbering why don't you put your mouth somewhere useful?"

Brittany smiled, amused. "Oh, did you want to go again? I thought you were tired."

"You know what you're doing right now, you cunt," Santana murmured, eyes closed, grinding down against Brittany.

"When you get this sexy you're always so grumpy."

"Britt, no seriously, I love you, but shut the fuck up now."

"But I like you when you're desperate."

Santana panted, digging her nails into Brittany's shoulders. "Mission fucking accomplished."

"Do you want my fingers inside you?"

"It's either yours or mine."

"No, I want to do it," Brittany frowned.

"You have two seconds," Santana threatened.

"Kay," Brittany said, finally devoid of her ability to tease.

Sunday, July 17 / 11:40am

Santana slammed her car door and stormed up the walkway to the Fabrays' front door, her blood pressure so high she could hear it pounding in her head.

She knocked twice, sharply.

"Santana!" Judy said, surprised, as she opened the door. "It's been quite a while. Come in."

"Thanks, Mrs. Fabray," Santana said, with the politest smile she could muster. "Is Quinn home?"

"She's upstairs in her room. Quinnie! Santana's here to see you!"

There was no answer.

"Let me go and see if she's taking a nap," Judy offered, turning to ascend the stairs. "She wasn't feeling that well in church this morning."

Santana crossed her arms, chewed her lip, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It felt like Judy was gone for-fucking-ever, but time tended to pass really slowly when you were waiting to kill someone.

"I'm sorry, Santana," Judy said as she reappeared at the top of the stairs. "She said she's not feeling well enough for any visitors today. She says if you need help with your SAT homework to send her a message on the Facebook." She smiled weakly.

"Oh," Santana said, pressing her lips into a frown. "Okay, well, that's too bad. That she's feeling sick," she said, her voice growing unnaturally loud. "I did need her help, too. Not with the SAT, though. See, we have this friend RACHEL BERRY. I think you've met her, right Mrs. Fabray?"

"I believe that's the young lady who accompanied Quinn to her cousin Sherie's wedding last weekend."

"Mmhmm, that's her," Santana affirmed. "That's the GIRL Quinn brought to the WEDDING. Anyway, I really need to talk to Quinn about her – about RACHEL BERRY, the GIRL who -"

"Santana!" Quinn called out from upstairs. "Just shut up and get up here."

Santana charged up the stairs and turned the corner in the hallway to see Quinn standing in the doorway to her bedroom. Without losing any momentum, she put her fingertips against Quinn's shoulders and shoved.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" she demanded as Quinn stumbled backwards, unsteady on her feet. Quinn's eyes flared, but Santana could tell right away there was no fight in her anywhere else.

In fact, it was hard to believe this girl had made a public appearance at church this morning. Her hair was a mess – like the worst bed head ever – and her eyes were bloodshot. The bathroom wastebasket sat on the bedside table, and an empty bottle of brandy lay on its side on her dresser.

"I'm trying to sleep," Quinn said, her voice hoarse and low. "Yell at me if you have to, and then get out."

"Damn, you're a serious fucking mess, chica," Santana said. "And I don't just mean your hair."

"What, did you think it would be easy for me?" Quinn asked, running her fingers through her hair and sitting down gingerly on her bed.

"Yeah, actually," Santana said, seizing a golden opportunity to get right to her point. "I think being a goddamn coward comes pretty fucking easy to you."

"Can you keep your voice down? You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Really? Okay, well, let's review the situation, shall we, and you stop me when I've got something wrong. You cut Berry loose, right? And first, you tried to blame it on me. When that didn't work, you called her pushy and insensitive because you know she's touchy about that and she'd believe you. But the actual problem is that you're trying to convince everyone, including yourself, that you feel about that douchebag the way you feel about Rachel. And now you're going to spend the rest of the summer pretending you like him and don't love her, no matter how much it makes you want to drink yourself to death on old lady liquor. Did I miss anything?"

"Santana," Quinn said, pressing her fingertips to her temples and rubbing in circles, "What I said to Rachel wasn't a lie. Things were out of control. I didn't ever have a chance to think, stop being overwhelmed –"

"Yeah, that's called being in love, Q."

Quinn shook her head. She looked up at Santana. "You pushed it."

"Oh, what now?"

"You pushed us together faster than we were ready. It didn't happen naturally at all. I got carried away, because when I'm with her, or with you and Brittany, I forget. I forget there's all this other stuff to deal with."

"Seriously, I know, having a group of friends you can be yourself with is a total fucking bitch. Q, listen," she continued, sitting next to Quinn on the bed. "If you want to blame me – if that's what you need to do, whatever. Fucking knock yourself out. I don't care, because I get that you're scared. But you have to know that you're only making it worse."

Quinn shook her head. "I have chemistry with him. I owe it to myself to figure out if . . . if it could be real. Aren't you the one who said I have the right to be happy?"

"Q, I think you and I are having a serious misunderstanding between the two of us over the definition of the word happy."

"Santana," Quinn said, defeated, "You're my friend, aren't you? A minute ago that's what you called yourself? Can you understand that this is something I need to do, and respect my decision?"

"You know what?" Santana said, standing, her adrenaline rush spent. "Believe me, I understand it perfectly. But respecting it? That ain't gonna happen."

Santana left Quinn on the bed and closed the bedroom door behind her. The morning's long workout seemed to catch up with her all at once. At the bottom of the stairs, Judy Fabray reappeared from the living room.

"Is everything okay, Santana?" she asked, her hands twitching nervously. "With Quinn, I mean?"

Santana paused and looked into Judy Fabray's worried face. Notinthefuckingslightest,andyouarepartofherproblem.

"You might want to put a lock on your liquor cabinet," she said, and then let herself out.

Thursday, July 7 / 10:03pm

Santana sat at her desk next to a pile of textbooks and study guides, snapping through the pages of the latest US Weekly.

"I bet the cheerleaders there don't even use a tanning salon," Brittany blurted into the silence of the room.

"Huh?" Santana said, not looking up.

"In Los Angeles," Brittany smiled. "They probably all have gorgeous tan skin and blonde hair. It would be like if you and me could scramble our eggs and make a baby, and it grew up and became a cheerleader at USC."

Santana set down her magazine. "Can you stop?"

Brittany's smile contracted. "Stop what? I was saying how you're going to see a bunch of gorgeous girls this weekend. I thought it would make you happy instead of being so nervous."

"I'm not nervous." She snapped the magazine shut. "And you need to stop saying everyone on God's green Earth is gorgeous."

"Why?"

"Because you say everyone is hot – every celebrity we talk about, everyone we know – Quinn, Rachel, Lauren freaking Zizes. You even like that shaggy comb-over helmet that Artie calls his hair. You're like a nanosecond from your compliments losing all meaning whatsoever."

"But the people I say are hot are hot."

"No, okay, that's gross. Brittany, listen to me, you need to take a look in the mirror. Unless someone is as hot as you, they don't deserve your praise. Why do you think I never compliment anyone?"

"You compliment people all the time."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Only behind their backs."

"Okay, look Santana," Brittany said, "I don't really get it, but if you say it bothers you, I'll be more careful."

Santana looked at her sadly. There was something else about what Brittany had said that wouldn't quit nagging at her.

"Britt, why don't you ever get jealous? I'm like, about to go to LA to spend the weekend with a bunch of college cheerleaders, and you're sitting here reminding me how hot they're going to be."

"I don't know. I guess I'm not a jealous person," Brittany said.

That did not make Santana feel better in the least.

"Whatever," she said, and reached for her magazine.

"So what are you saying, Santana?" Brittany asked, annoyed by Santana's tone. "That I should be jealous like you? Like how you won't even let me talk to Artie?"

"Are you seriously pissed about that? Of course I don't want you to talk to Artie – he's your ex."

"But, you still hang out with Rachel. Last weekend you spent Friday night at Puck's and he had no pants on the entire time."

"That's completely different."

"Why? Because it's you and not me?"

"Because I wasn't in love with them!"

Brittany fell silent.

"Okay, I didn't know how upset this stuff made you," she said, finally.

"Would it matter if you did?" Santana asked quietly.

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you do whatever you want, whether it pisses me off or not."

"Okay, Santana, can you tell me what you're talking about, because all I hear right now is you making mean noises."

"I'm talking about how maybe I wasn't ready for your mother to know about us."

"Santana," Brittany said in disbelief, "She knew about us three years ago."

"And our future cheerleading coach?"

This gave Brittany brief pause. "But, why do you care? She's not going to be your coach, because you hate Toledo and you're not coming with me."

Santana paused to let the pang in her stomach subside. "That's not the point, Brittany. The point is it's MY decision who I tell about us."

"I disagree, Santana, I think it's our decision."

"Okay, you know what? It can be our decision. But that means we make it together, and that still means you have to ask me first."

"But you would say no."

"Exactly! Exactly, Britt."

"So are you just going to lie to all the people at USC? Tell them you're dating Puck or Sam or something?"

"No," Santana said, shaking her head. "No, I don't want to do that. If they ask, I'll tell them I'm single."

"Then what if someone hits on you?"

She hadn't thought of that. "Whatever, I'll figure it out. It's not like I don't turn people down constantly."

"Okay, Santana." Brittany stood up from the bed. "I think I'm gonna go home, cause we always fight when you're scared, and your plane is early tomorrow, so you should go to sleep."

Santana watched Brittany slip on her shoes and gather her stuff.IfyouknowI'mscared,thenstaywithme.

"All right," she said, shrugging.

"I love you, Santana. Have fun and call me every day." Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana.

"It's only two days," Santana said, muffled by Brittany's shoulder. It was a reassurance meant mostly for herself.

"I'll miss you anyway."

"I'll miss you, too."

"Okay. See you Monday."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Brittany kissed Santana's cheek and gave her a little wave as she closed the door behind her.

Monday, July 25 / 6:30pm

Brittany was stalling.

She was pretending she was looking at stuff on the internet, but the truth was, she still wasn't sure she wanted to do what she sat down to do.

She clicked the top of her page again to refresh her top stories, smiling in relief as brand new pictures of the baby of some distant relative appeared to distract her for thirty more seconds.

This baby wasn't that cute. His eyes were looking at each other and it was giving her the creeps. She refreshed again, but there was nothing new.

"What do you think, Tubbs?" she asked absently, not even aware her monstrous pet was snoring beneath her chair. "It could make things worse. Am I just being a chicken?"

Hearing his name, the cat meowed sleepily, stretched, and turned around to nap facing the opposite direction.

"You're so right," Brittany nodded. "I should do it."

She clicked on the messages icon, then "new message."

She typed in "A-r-t", then clicked on Artie's name.

"I was wondering if you wanted to talk sometime," she typed.

Hmm, she thought, rereading her text. Soundssoserious.

She thought for a second, erased the period at the end of the sentence, and added "about video games." She smiled in satisfaction. That was better, because then he would think she wanted to talk about something fun.

She leaned over the side of her chair to peer at LT, who was still snoozing at her feet. He lifted his head an inch or so and blinked at her encouragingly.

Brittany righted herself, put her hand back on the mouse, and clicked on "send."