I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with me on this one, I have really enjoyed writing these two. An even bigger thank you goes to my favourites who know who they are and I'm super grateful for your support and encouragement :)

This is it.

LOSING COUNT: Epilogue

The framed picture of Santana's parents at her father's graduation had been positioned on the corner of the desk in his study for as long as she could remember. He liked an ordered space. He could relax when everything was in its rightful place and, with the chaos of his working day, his study was his sanctuary. As a child, Santana often sought him out late at night, hoping to sit on his knee, having missed him as he left before she awoke and arrived home after she had been put to bed. One arm around her mother, Santana had often wondered if it was the scrolled paper in his hand which had generated the smile on his face, or the fact that her mother had told him she was pregnant that same morning. Santana liked to think it was the latter. Knowing her father, as she did, she was sure it was the timing of the two events which made him appear ecstatic.

Seated between Elizabeth Leaman and Felix Mawson, Santana stared down at her hands and tried to keep her face neutral. Her program rested on her lap and she fidgeted, laying her hands flat against it and clasping them together, as she fought the urge to turn and scan the tiered seating once again, hoping to spot Quinn. She wondered if people would look at her today and wonder about her smile. Most would assume the cap and gown were responsible, the scroll in her hand later, as photographs were taken outside the building. While those factors were certainly a part of it, only she and Quinn knew the true reason for her elation.

As the last of the faculty were seated, Santana's mood couldn't even be dampened by the fact that it was Cassandra July, of all people, who would deliver the commencement address. Outraged though she was, Santana also understood that July's 2015 comeback would be inspiring to many. She had no doubt the woman's speech would focus largely on her own success and only hoped not to have to waste energy on second-hand embarrassment if the 'star' neglected to include the graduating class in any part of it. Acknowledgement of having taught them in their first year would be an obvious inclusion but, Santana felt, there would be little to add about any lasting bonds she had made with any of them during that time.

From everything she had been told about NYADA life from Kurt, Rachel, Adam, and Sara, Santana had been positive Cassandra July would be her biggest hurdle. Already a year behind her friends, Santana had been more than ready to tread a solid path towards what she hoped to do for the rest of her life. She had known her first year was likely to present a great many challenges, but keeping her temper and vicious words in check, around her scatty has-been instructor, proved to be the biggest one. July had realized early on that Santana wasn't one to be easily intimidated and, therefore, resorted to provoking her at every opportunity. When Santana was brought before Dean Tibideaux, at the end of her first semester, she had expected that her most recent outburst over July's lack of professionalism had cost her a place at the school. By contrast, the Dean peered over her glasses at Santana before reading from a list of formal complaints about "Crazy July". After listing several incidents which Santana could relate to personally, Tibideaux had removed her glasses, folded her hands on her desk and looked across at Santana.

"Myself and my colleagues are well aware of what many of you endure while under Ms. July's instruction. The board, however, refuse to make any official moves while students, such as yourself, continue to thrive despite her methods. It is somewhat of a catch 22, Ms. Lopez, you see? While her teaching style is unorthodox, at best, and her personal choices, questionable, they also help to weed out the mediocre and you, Ms. Lopez, are anything but."

Santana located the Dean easily, seated front and center amongst other faculty members and she allowed her smile to widen as she received the slightest nod of recognition when their eyes met. This was only the second time Santana had seen the Dean without her trademark turban, replaced today with the decorative cap as it had been when her friends had graduated the year before.

Four years prior, Carmen Tibideaux had been more intimidating than Santana could have imagined. Her elaborate turban, several shades of gold, was complimented by her bright yellow shirt, but there was no smile behind her eyes as Santana entered the Round Room for the Eleventh Hour auditions. The room itself was magnificent. Rachel and Kurt had told her so, but the two of them frequently called the mundane spectacular and the few pictures she had seen had not done it justice. On the two or three occasions she had snuck into NYADA, she had not been able to locate it. The rabbit warren something she desperately hoped to have to contend with, on a daily basis, soon enough. Tibideaux gestured towards the microphone in the center of the room after announcing Santana's name and, smoothing her palms over her dress she stood and faced the Dean, asking politely if she might sit at the piano for her performance. The late July heat made her feel uncomfortable when combined with her nerves, and she was unsure as to which was making her skin feel clammy. She was conscious of the quality of her voice as she delivered her question, wanting to sound assertive, but without any arrogance which the Dean may have found off putting. She knew that her musical abilities were not the only things the woman would be judging. Once again, Tibideaux's gesture was silent, a flourish of her hand towards the instrument which sat to the left of the performance area.

Santana allowed herself a moment to glance toward the back of the room as she rounded the stool and pressed the fabric of her dress against herself as she sat down. Relieved, she took a deep breath upon seeing Quinn's smile and exhaled slowly, wanting to appear composed. Quinn was seated in the back row of the audience along with Kurt, Sara and Rachel, who had viewed each of the seven performances which preceded hers. Fifteen hopefuls had been invited to audition for three remaining places at the school, and each person to perform before Santana had been immensely talented. She was aware her references from Shelby and Mr Schuester would hold some weight, but even so, her chance rested most heavily on her performance.

Kurt had advised her not to provide her own accompaniment. Rachel had suggested a different song entirely. Sara felt Santana should consider dressing in something other than a tight dress, or perhaps she should find one which went beyond mid-thigh. Quinn had spent each afternoon of the past week helping her prepare her chosen piece. She had managed to sweet talk the owner of a nearby music store into allowing them to use one of his pianos in exchange for putting up advertising fliers on noticeboards at NYADA. Santana suspected he enjoyed the late afternoon company, having seen fewer than three customers come through the doors in the entire time they were there.

Waking early, she had stared at the ceiling of Quinn's room for almost an hour before the alarm woke her. She counted the cracks in the plaster and squinted, creating patterns from the lines which were surely older than she was. She watched the journey of a spider from one side to the other, grateful his travels were not taking him directly over the bed. As she lay, arms folded behind her head and Quinn curled into her side, she tried to plan the rest of her year if she failed to make the cut. She knew Henry would keep her on at the bakery. Hell, she wouldn't have been surprised if Henry made it his business to question Carmen Tibideaux's decision personally if this were the case. When Santana told him of her opportunity, explaining it would mean cutting back on shifts, he crushed her with a hug and wished her luck.

By the time Quinn was completely awake, no longer shielding her eyes from the shaft of sunlight beaming into the room, Santana's arms were weak with pins and needles and her head was throbbing from the worries she had allowed to pinball around inside her for so long; bouncing off the edges of old insecurities and missed opportunities.

"You were in my dream last night." Quinn's voice, husky from sleep, forced Santana's lips into a smile. "You were on stage, at what looked like regionals or nationals. The crowd was full of everyone we knew and you were the only performer. At some point, after a song, you invited me out on stage, but I was wearing bed shorts and a tank top and I was so embarrassed that couldn't go out, but you didn't know that and were really upset."

Glancing again at Quinn as she positioned her fingers over the keys, Santana wondered if she was also remembering the odd dream from the night before. Her song choice was a not a big show tune, it was not a traditional ballad, nor was it something with vocal gymnastics to the extent of the previous singer, but Santana hoped the tune would have the same effect on the Dean that it had on her. Hearing it, she was always transported back years, she was in another room, vinyl spinning on a turntable, the smell of her abuela's cooking permeating the air. She hoped to be able to carry Tibideaux off to a place she loved, a place with memories which would last longer than her three and a half minute performance. She wanted the Dean to fight to control the urge her foot had to keep time with the music, tapping against the polished floorboards, saddened, somewhat, when the performance ended.

As she pressed down on the keys, playing the first few notes, she couldn't help but smile. That was why she had chosen the song. Ella Fitzgerald 1945, her grandfather's wooden speakers, the piano stool from which she'd watched his fingers dance on the keys long before her feet would reach the peddles; she was there and he was in all of those places with her. Quinn had called it haunting when she'd played her the original, the track sifting through the speakers of her laptop but not creating the same atmosphere as needle on vinyl. Santana admitted it was the sort of tune you might hear in the background of a horror movie, the scratch of an old recording, that hollow sound perfect as a knife wielding villain stalks up a dimly lit hallway. It was the first time she had thought of it that way, her own memories of hearing it as her grandparents danced by the fireplace, creating the very opposite image in her mind.

I'm making believe that you're in my arms though I know you're so far away
Making believe I'm talkin' to you, wish you could hear what I say
And here in the gloom of my lonely room we're dancing like we used to do
Making believe is just another way of dreamin', so till my dreams come true

She sang the lyrics and allowed herself to get lost inside them. She had not imagined being able to fall into her performance so comfortably, knowing the next four years of her life would be decided within four minutes. Tibideaux's expression at the conclusion of the song had been difficult to read. Santana turned on the stool and locked her ankles as she placed her hands in her lap. She didn't know if she should stand straight away and return to her seat.

The clap started out quietly, the Dean instigating the sound of appreciation, and it rippled around the space, bouncing off the curved walls and ceiling. The Round Room turned the applause into music in its own right and Santana hoped desperately that she would have the opportunity to experience that sound in her honor again. Quinn stood in the back row, her smile making it difficult for Santana to maintain her composure and when the noise dissipated and Quinn sat back down, it was Tibideaux who stood.

"I believe you might be an acquired taste Ms. Lopez,-" her round face morphing from stern to intrigued, "-but we don't invite run of the mill to NYADA. That was a very sound performance. Thank you."

Walking back to take her seat, Santana tried to breathe through the excitement she felt building, unsure if she was right in feeling so positive with seven more performers seated to her left. Their voices blended together in her ears, one performance blurring with the next, her hands moving to join the audience in applause when required. When Carmen Tibideaux stood from her chair and glided to the centre of the performance space to announce her conclusion, Santana felt her shoulders jerk back as a chill pinched her spine.

Santana joined in applause with the rest of the audience and scoffed at the self-satisfied look on Cassandra July's face. She had missed the words which had drawn the ovation and couldn't help but wonder if it had been well deserved or was merely a show of etiquette. Santana pulled her shoulders up to her neck and held them there until she felt each muscles tense before releasing them again. Cassandra July wouldn't matter when she looked back on today. She found it hard to keep her smile at bay, the corners of her mouth itching to curve upward and cause her face to ache as it had done for the best part of three hours. Everything she wanted was here.

In the space of one day a small part of her life was coming to an end, while so many other things were just beginning. This day would see her surrounded by the each of the people who meant the most to her, and the one person she feared she would miss most, whose absence could have been a burden, had been brought into her day so simply and beautifully no framed picture on a desk would ever do the story justice.

When Santana's abuela had passed away six months prior, graduation had been the very last thing on her mind. It was days before she could speak without crying and weeks before she woke in the morning, eyes no longer swollen from seeing her grandmother in her dreams. She and Quinn had been watching a movie in the early evening, her legs draped over the arm as her head rested on Quinn's lap. Dozing periodically, she barely registered her phone ringing, the sound combining with the music and voices carrying through the speakers of Quinn's laptop. Santana didn't hear the concern in Quinn's voice as she passed her the phone and, for a moment, she didn't hear the despair in her father's as she mumbled her greeting and listened to him explain the purpose of his call.

Mama, he had called her. Alma had been the title he'd addressed her with for years, but he called her Mama. A funny turn. She wanted to laugh at the man, a doctor for more than 20 years describing anything as a 'funny turn'. What she registered completely was his plea for her to return home as soon as possible. She doesn't have much longer. She wondered if they were doctor's words, or perhaps they were the words of a son who was verging on heartbreak. Her father had always been to the point and as she shook herself awake and assured him they would leave in the morning, her voice was no longer competing with the movie, but with Quinn's voice. She noticed the lid of the laptop had been closed and Quinn was pacing across the carpet in front of her, speaking on her phone to someone else.

"We're leaving tonight." Quinn sat on the coffee table beside the laptop and placed her hands on Santana's knees. "Sara's going to drive her car over here. If we leave now we'll be there by morning." The mathematics of time and distance would not come together in Santana's mind and she watched as Quinn systematically organized everything. She packed clothes and made phone calls as she thrust a sweater and a coat at Santana before dumping their bags by the front door. Barely able to keep up with the news she had received, and the efficiency with which Quinn had arranged their trip, Santana dressed herself on the way to the door. She shuddered as she turned the key in the lock, certain her life would feel altogether very different when next she turned it in the opposite direction.

They stood on the curb in the freezing cold for only a minute before Sara pulled in, parking beside them haphazardly, her car jutting out into the traffic lane. Santana was surprised to see Brittany jump out of the passenger side, but not at all surprised when she nearly bowled her over in a hug.

"Give your family our love." Her words were simple and Santana pressed her lips together as she struggled not to cry at their implication. Brittany hadn't said everything would be okay. In all the time they had known each other, Brittany had never lied to her. This was not a time to start.

Opening the back door, Sara threw their bags onto the backseat and handed Quinn the keys. Hugging each other in turn, the two couples stood silently for a moment, their breath mingling in the center of their huddle as warm air met the depths of winter. Quinn barely broke the silence, whispering a thank you which was swept away with the sounds of the traffic around them. Closing the driver's door for Quinn, Sara stood back and was enveloped by Brittany who, Santana realised, was wearing mismatched mittens, one yellow and one blue. She wondered whether it had been intentional or if, in her haste to leave, she had collected two different ones unknowingly. The sight helped summon Santana's first smile since the phone call. As Quinn signalled to pull away from the curb, directing the rest of the car into the lane it had been invading, Brittany's arm shot out to signal for the cab which would take them back to their apartment in the opposite direction. A sigh from Sara was visible against the cold of the evening and, with one last wave, they were on their way.

Santana thought back to the time she and Sara Barnes had spent together when she had first moved to New York. Sara had been the only one of the NYADA crew to make her feel completely welcome, this ability reminding Santana of Brittany even then. She was happy they had found each other.

She and Quinn drove the distance in their borrowed car, the motion sending Santana to sleep within the first hour. Quinn had draped her coat over Santana's sleeping form and, waking periodically, Santana pulled it around herself and breathed in the scent of Quinn's perfume on the collar. Arriving in Lima as daylight began to spread across the sky, Santana cursed herself for not relieving Quinn of the wheel. Picking a fight, her voice gravelly and vacant, she then cursed Quinn for not taking a break. Santana knew her frustrations were misplaced, as did Quinn who assured her they had stopped for almost three hours at a rest area somewhere in Pennsylvania around one in the morning.

"Look at me." Quinn placed a hand against Santana's cheek. "These next few days are going to be hard and I know you're not always going to have the right words to be able to say so, but you need to let me look after you."

As they walked along the corridor of the very same hospital her father had worked in for years, Santana tried not to gag on the thick odour which she had come to associate with the linoleum floors and white noise of the building. She felt Quinn's fingers lace themselves between hers, their grip tightening as they approached room 329. Santana prepared her smile, setting it on her face and gritting her teeth behind it, afraid of what she might see as they rounded the corner to her grandmother's room.

Mauricio and Maribel both stood from their chairs as Santana and Quinn walked in. Maribel charged to embrace Santana before she was able to get a good look at her grandmother. Quinn stood silently, hands clasped in front of her, as the three went through their ritual of greeting each other. Mauricio's jaw clenched as he hugged Santana, his emotions pressed between his back teeth where the men in her family found it best to keep them. She wondered where her father's brother was.

"She's been asleep for the last hour, she's been drifting in and out. Her breathing has been a little laboured but they are keeping her comfortable. She's been asking after you. Both of you." Maribel rested a hand on Santana's shoulder and reached the other around Quinn's waist, pulling her close.

Santana turned to see Quinn's eyes welling with tears and reached to hold her girlfriend's hand once again. The four stayed for the best part of the day together, Alma waking for short periods, each of them sitting upright in their chairs when she did so. Shortly after the nurse came by in the late afternoon, Alma awoke and looked over to her left where Santana and Quinn sat side by side on plastic chairs.

"Quinn?" Alma's voice rose as if the name was a question, but Santana realised she was addressing Quinn specifically. Standing, Santana pulled Quinn by the hand and the two stood beside the bed. "You promise you'll take care of her," Alma spoke slowly without taking her eyes off Quinn, "-you promise me you'll love her and do right by her."

"I promise Abuelita." Santana's heart soared at Quinn's term of address and she felt tears stinging her eyes as Quinn reached down and took Alma's hand, smoothing her thumb over precious tissue-paper skin. "Santana is my whole world. I love her and I plan to spend the rest of my life taking care of her."

"Santana?" The same intonation summoned Santana now and, wordlessly, Alma slid her hand out from under Quinn's and wrestled with her other hand in an attempt to remove her rings. Nature has a way of dominating all things man made and, over the course of half a century, her knuckles had swollen around them. Santana had never known her to remove them and she stilled the old woman's hands, picking up the left and kissing it. "But these belong to you now."

"These are a part of you Abuelita, they are a part of him. I have the both of you in here." Through tears she pointed to her chest. Nodding, Alma took a long breath, her mouth appearing to form a smile as she closed her eyes. Watching her fall back into a deep sleep, Santana thought back to her grandfather's death almost ten years ago. He had passed away shortly after Santana had begun her freshman year at McKinley, shortly after having met Quinn and Brittany. She could not have known then that she had met the two people who would determine the course of the rest of her life.

The next 48 hours passed by slowly. Maribel and Quinn came and went, bringing food, a change of clothes each for Santana and Mauricio, and fresh flowers for the vases around Alma's room. Somewhere between eating salad rolls on their knees and Santana changing into a fresh pair of jeans, she was gone.

The flowers in the auditorium were bright against the wood paneled walls and as Cassandra July wrapped up her speech, pausing for emphasis after almost every word, Santana looked over her peers and wondered if the day held as much weight for all of them as it did for her. She joined in their applause once more, but chose not to stand with the enthusiastic few who had clearly been swept away by July's words.

The alphabetical presentations began after a few words from Dean Tibideaux and Santana clapped for each student in turn as she waited for her moment. When her name was called, she reminded herself to walk slowly across the stage and made sure to project a smile in the direction of Quinn and her parents, hoping to meet their eyes. After Cassius Watson was handed his certificate, the proceedings were brought to a close and Santana waited as patiently as possible to file out of the crowded space and find her people. While she had only been able to acquire one extra ticket, in addition to the two she was entitled to, quite the crowd were waiting outside for her, excited for photo opportunities and, in the case of her friends, the beginning of celebrations which would go long into the night. Rachel, Kurt, Adam, Brittany, Sara, Puck, Henry, Shelby, and Beth were her family, second only to her parents and Quinn, but a group she was proud to say she adored. As Santana shuffled out behind her fellow graduates, she felt a smirk mark her features once more, excited to share with everyone the other reason for their night of celebrations.

Before Santana could make it out of the auditorium completely or meet up with her parents and Quinn, who were shuffling row by row from the upper tiers, Carmen Tibideaux came rushing toward her and wrapped her up in an embrace which, many would have felt, was altogether out of character for the Dean. Santana knew differently. She adjusted her cap and gown, stepping back from Carmen's embrace. After four years, Santana was no longer intimidated by the woman before her, but in awe. She had watched the woman mold students who could meet her highest expectations and could have them quaking in their boots or moved to tears by her words alone, on any given day. Holding Santana at arm's length she repeated the words she had said to her on the day of her audition

"Confidence is most powerful bottled and placed beside you. It's a fine thing to be in possession of, but so are vulnerability and modesty. Never let confidence consume you. Confidence makes mistakes and has no fall back should things go awry. Confidence asks people to aspire to be you, the other two ask them to relate. You can't touch people from a pedestal, Miss Lopez. Thank you for letting me relate to you."

Hearing her change the word from 'us' to 'me', in the familiar speech, sent a wave of tears fighting for a way out and, in lieu of words, Santana reached forward and hugged the woman again.

"Those words were said to me, Santana, more than forty years ago and I remind myself of them each and every time I perform-"

"Santana!" Her mother's voice interrupted the final part of Carmen's speech. Turning her head to apologize, Maribel bombarded Santana immediately. "Quinn says you have some news and she won't tell us a word of it without you."

Smiling over her mother's shoulder, Santana shifted to one side and held her hands out towards the Dean who took them in hers. Nodding in understanding, Carmen squeezed Santana's hands before saying her goodbye's to Maribel and Mauricio, and whispering an audible congratulations to Quinn. The playful raised eyebrow Santana received from Quinn, as Carmen walked away, asked her what she had said to the woman. Santana simply smiled and made a motion across her lips with her thumb and forefinger, indicating their secret was still theirs alone.

"So should we tell them?" Quinn tried her best to appear nonchalant as she looked between Santana and her parents, perfectly aware Maribel was falling over herself with anticipation.

"Yeah, probably." Santana felt a grin overtake her face in spite of her efforts to remain impassive and, wrapping one arm around Quinn's waist and the other around her mother's shoulders, she led them outside to their friends as her father trailed behind them.

It had all been so simple. Santana hadn't imagined that. Years of television and movies and story book versions had her expecting theatrics. She could never have imagined simple could be so beautiful.

The walk from their bedroom to the bathroom had become far too familiar. Santana had struggled against the heat, and her excitement, to sleep for more than a half hour at a time all night. Quinn hadn't stirred once, exhausted, she had fallen asleep before Santana had even come to bed. The sheet had stuck to Santana uncomfortably all night and, already naked, she felt like peeling away her own skin just to get some relief. Each of the hours passed by slowly, Santana glancing at the alarm clock often enough to be able to predict the time with accuracy. She knew the day would be huge, besides her graduation and the shenanigans their friends had planned for the after party, she was sure there would be something else to add to her day. Knowing she would be miserable if the night continued as it had begun, Santana forced herself to close her eyes and attempt to sleep without even the bedsheet over her body.

As the early morning light crept around the edges of the blinds, the stream shifted as the minutes passed, settling eventually across Quinn's face. Sleeping lightly now she squinted against it, drifting gradually into consciousness. Turning her head, she faced away from the window and the light's unwelcome intrusion, remaining on her stomach with one hand above her head across the pillow.

With her body stretched out across the mattress, Santana admired the pale skin which was visible. The white sheet was draped over Quinn's lower half and Santana could see the black edges of the pocket watch tattoo which traveled the length of Quinn's right side. I just want to get your words tattooed on my skin. The chain of the watch was gathered towards the curve of her breast and straightened out as it continued down to the watch face itself, residing not far above Quinn's hip. I don't know when you became a part of time for me. The face was obscure, the characters meaning little to anyone but the two of them. I just want to lose count with you. Few others had ever seen it and, Santana felt confident, few others ever would.

In place of each number on the clock was an infinity symbol. The number five, the only digit appearing around the circumference. The hands of the clock were positioned so that the minute hand was pointing toward the infinity symbol which was in place of the 12 and the hour hand was pointing directly at the five. Every part of you is habit to me.

Santana allowed the words which had followed them for four years to travel through her mind as she reached out to trail her fingers over the ink, eliciting a sleep filled smile from Quinn's lips.

"Good morning." Quinn reached a hand over to stroke Santana's face. "It's finally today." Laughing at her own words, she buried her head in her pillow before turning to look at Santana again. Brushing her hair from her face she moved her other hand underneath her pillow propping her head up.

Santana's heart raced in her chest and she hoped Quinn wouldn't make her wait too long. She'd seen the note and almost wished she hadn't, the anticipation of today almost too much.

"This is a really big day for you, babe." Quinn pulled Santana towards her and ran her fingers through Santana's hair. "I'm so incredibly proud of you."

Quinn's eyes seemed to say the words first, Santana suddenly feeling even prouder of herself knowing how Quinn felt. When they kissed, she forgot about how uncomfortable she'd been all night and how much kick the morning sun had even from behind the glass of their bedroom window. She pulled herself closer to Quinn, not caring that the heat from their skin and the temperatures outside could melt flesh to flesh. Pulling away, Quinn's eyes remained closed, a smile appearing as she shook her head from side to side. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, her stare intense as she spoke again.

"I want to give you something. It's not exactly a graduation present, but it's something I wanted you to have today so that you know there is a part of all of us there with you when they call your name." Quinn's breaths became shallow and she appeared nervous despite the grin on her face. "I love you Santana. These past four years have taught me more about love and family than I ever knew before I met you. In so many ways I feel as though my life began when I met you and I don't want to imagine any part of the rest of my life without you." Santana's breaths had increased in time with Quinn's and she felt an ache in her chest which had become synonymous with Quinn's declarations over the years.

Quinn felt around under her pillow for a moment before producing a small navy box. Santana noticed how her hands shook and thought that if Quinn's heart was racing as much as her own, this was no surprise.

"Ages ago I wrote a list of what I wanted my life to look like, Santana. I tried to find it last night, but the piece of paper isn't important. You were on that list. I want you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life and-"

"Wait, hold on." Santana interrupted the proposal and reached a hand inside the slip covering her own pillow. "Did you mean this?" She held the folded note between her fingers and bit down on her lower lip at the look of shock across Quinn's face. Santana hoped the shock was from seeing the note again and not from having been interrupted during one of the most important speeches of her life.

"When-how did you-" Quinn shook her head. "You know then that I want to marry you Santana." She opened the box and continued speaking despite how Santana's eyes widened and despite the tears which spilled immediately down her cheeks. "I want to hold your hand and feel the way it changes in mine and I want you to struggle to remove this from your finger-" Quinn propped herself up on her elbow and removed the ring from where it sat inside the box. Picking up Santana's left hand, she slid the ring over Santana's knuckle and brought it to her mouth placing a single kiss against it. "-I want this to become a part of you like it became a part of her."

Santana stared at the ring for a long time without speaking. The two round diamonds were set side by side in square frames exactly as her grandmother's had been and the engraving and milgrain borders appeared to be the very same she had traced her fingers over so many times when holding Alma's hand as a child.

"You like these, don't you?" Her grandmother had asked. Santana nodded, feeling the patterns on the bands yet again. "One day they will be yours."

Quinn had unfolded the paper, giving Santana a moment to process everything the ring represented. Santana looked up in time to see her face change as she read Santana's addition to the note.

"You wrote yes." Quinn's voice was barely a whisper and Santana leant over to kiss her, whispering the word just as quietly.

"Yes."

"When did you write this?" Santana shook her head, Quinn's face tear streaked, a mirror of her own.

"Ages ago."

The framed picture of Lucy's parents at her Mama's graduation had resided on the book case in the lounge room for as long as she could remember. One arm around her Mom, Lucy had been told the story many times and knew the smile on her Mama's face was only partly due to the scrolled paper in her hand.

The End