fic: Bend and Not Break
Title: Bend and Not Break
Author: fading-lines
Rating: PG-13/R for light swearing
Length: ~2 300
Spoilers: Up to 2x01 Audition.
Summary: Their entire relationship is a series of pushes and pulls...
A/N: Wrote this in a rush after Audition. Unbeta'd so all mistakes belong to me.
Their entire relationship is a series of pushes and pulls, up and downs, constantly fighting for the upper hand only for the pleasure of ripping it away from the other. It was as if their entire relationship was a chess game, each of them making their moves and awaiting the retaliation. Sure, it was invigorating. It kept Santana on her toes, kept her strong and guarded; constantly waiting for Quinn to make her move so she could fight back.
It’s when Santana storms out of Coach Sylvester’s office that she realises that the upper hand she’s been working towards for the past fucking year is being torn away from her again. It’s when she realises that her closest friend (besides Brittany) took a shard of her heart and jammed it into her back just to get a step above, that Santana Lopez allows herself to be vulnerable.
She pushes past the throngs of students piling in the hallways to get to the girls bathroom. The Glee posters Rachel had posted up flutter and the door slams shut. Regardless of the pain throbbing in her chest and the tears burning in her eyes, Santana checks to see if the stalls are empty. It didn’t matter if her high school career was going to go down the minute Jewfro posted his latest scandal; she didn’t want anyone to see her at her worst.
Her worst being shaking hands gripping the sink, knuckles turning white as teeth ground together. Santana takes one look in the mirror, at the shaking, teary mess and looks down again. There’s sadness in her face, in her features and her eyes. A tiny hint of remorse at the realisation of another round with Quinn, regret for the friendship that could’ve been if not for the battling personalities, for the sick chess game they seem to be playing with each other every day of their lives.
There’s pain in her chest. Honest to God, physical pain as if her heart more than just an overrated pump and could feel the knife ripping through her insides. It was a dull, throbbing ache matching every heartbeat and pushing against her lungs. It fucking hurt. After eight years of friendship, it has never hurt this much, never ached physically as well as emotionally. It wasn’t the pain of losing her status, losing her place; it was the pain of realisation. That after eight years of friendship, status meant more to Quinn than she did.
--
“I’m sorry.”
Santana picked herself up from the ground, trying in vain to wipe off the grain and blood stains on her jeans. She’s eight years old and a big girl now but she’d be lying if she said that grazed knees weren’t painful anymore.
Taking her time, Santana finally looks into the apologetic eyes of Quinn Fabray. The girl was wearing a bright yellow dress, her eyes shooting from the ground to the swing set to the sky and her hands nervously wringing in front of her. She was the teacher’s favourite and the most popular girl at school.
Santana hates her.
She hated her before Quinn knocked her down into the dirt because Noah Puckerman dared her to, she hated her before the teacher decided that Santana deserved a detention for laughing at Quinn, Santana hated Quinn Fabray the minute she stepped into her classroom
and everybody’s eyes lit up at the angelic blonde.
“Whatever.”
Santana spits out. She wants to go home; she wants to go to her Mamí so she can cry about how mean Quinn Fabray is. She turns her back to Quinn, hoping to get as far away as possible from all of the stupid kids.
Quinn grabs her elbow, spinning Santana back around and fixing her with a fiercer gaze. Santana tries to pull her arm out of Quinn’s grip but the blonde girl just holds on tighter; she settles for glaring at the taller girl.
“I only did it because Noah said that I would be popular and everyone would like me if I did it, honest. And now that I’m popular, we can be friends and you can be popular too!”
Santana’s glare drops slightly. She would be lying if she said that Quinn’s offer wasn’t tempting. Nobody really talked to her because they were all scared of her, and Santana really liked that people were afraid to mess with her. However, she did get lonely at lunch and recess when everybody would go off with their group of friends and not include her in their games or anything.
“Whatever.” Santana grumbles again.
Quinn’s face immediately lights up and she drops Santana’s arm to extend it, palm open.
“Great. Before we can be friends we need to introduce ourselves,” Quinn smiles that smile that make all the adults croon over how adorable she is, “I’m Quinn Fabray.”
Santana finds herself smiling back unconsciously. Wiping her hand on her jeans to brush off the dirt, Santana reaches out and grabs Quinn’s, shaking it firmly.
“Santana Lopez.” The girl says with a confident smirk.
Quinn manoeuvres their hands so that it falls in between them, palms locked over each others. She smiles as a blush paints over her cheeks at Santana’s confused glance as if she had never held someone’s hand before.
“Now we can be friends forever, Santana.”
And Santana finds herself smiling at Quinn’s. Before the blonde drags her to the swing set, Santana manages to choke out.
“Yeah...forever.”
---
There’s anger in her stomach.
A hot, red emotion burning just low of her heart. Its’ presence is reassuring, as if a reminder that Santana Lopez is there, she’s alive and thriving for revenge. She pushes aside the pain and sadness and grief and focuses solely on the anger, the fiery rage that reassures her that if she’s going to be hurt then by God, Quinn Fabray is going to be too.
The brunette wipes what remains of the tears from her eyes, takes one look at herself in the reflection and storms out of the bathroom.
People are crowding the hallways; all of them seem to be frozen in place watching Quinn Fabray strut in her brand spanking new Cheerios uniform. Santana takes one look at the smug expression on Quinn’s face and snaps; the anger in her stomach spreading everywhere, masking the pain in her chest and the anguish in her eyes. The Latina literally sees red and she tackles Quinn into the lockers, enjoying the shock on Quinn’s face.
She’s barely aware of the crowd that gathers around them, concentrating solely on the blonde as Quinn pushes her back. It’s then that Santana lets her frustration show, lets her words free.
“You did this to me,” She pauses, hoping Quinn sees the message that the others don’t, “You told Coach Sylvester about my summer surgery!”
She glares as hard as she can, half of her hoping that Quinn breaks down into the pregnant, emotional Quinn Fabray and the other half begging for Quinn to hit her again, begging for an invitation to use her fists to show Quinn how much it hurts.
She barely registers Quinn biting back, running her mouth again. She’s too far deep into watching the hate in Quinn’s eyes, looking for an emotion that isn’t there that she barely hears the words ‘boob job’.
“Yep, sure did.”
The brunette lets her second desire win out, slapping the smug look off Quinn’s face; trying to get an emotion out of the girl besides hate or rage. Quinn lets out an outraged cry, shouting that Santana can’t hit her and all Santana sees is the hate in her eyes, any hint of remorse for their friendship nonexistent.
It’s when Santana lets out a quip about Quinn’s pregnancy and throws out the word 'slut', that Santana sees pain in the blonde’s eyes. An actual hint of hurt at her words before the look is vanished and there’s rage and arms gripping her shoulders as she’s pushed into the lockers, her head hitting against the metal.
She barely hears Brittany let out some sort of plea before she’s got Quinn backed up into the adjacent lockers, her fingernails digging into the blonde’s skin. And then Quinn’s pushed into the floor, her head barely missing the tiles and a tiny part of Santana, the part that longs for the friendship they had, is thankful that the blondes head doesn’t hit the ground.
As quickly as it escalated, it’s broken up and Mr Schuester is in between then, holding a furious Quinn back as he throws out words like ‘family’.
Santana knows it’s low. She knows that the wounds are still fresh and Quinn is still hurting from it but the pain in her heart and the desire for Quinn to feel that pain, to acknowledge the hurt that she feels lets it out.
“Oh please! She has a family, she’s a mother!”
And for a second, behind the fury in Quinn’s features; there’s hurt.
Good.
Santana thinks as she storms down the hallway, barely hearing whatever quip Quinn screams at her. She barely realises Brittany follows her until she’s in the car park against her car trying to get air in her lungs.
“You guys shouldn’t fight.”
Brittany is...simple. Santana first befriended her for the benefits the girl entailed. Friends with Brittany meant sex with Brittany and that meant gossip and a level of notoriety within the school. Santana didn’t realise that she would actually come to, well...love Brittany. The girl was the closest thing she had to a sister and she was far too harmless to actually cause damage to Santana. The blonde wanted a friend and for once, Santana Lopez found herself with a friendship with no strings attached, just simple affection for the other.
“I know, Brit. I’m sorry.”
Santana pants out. It’s then that she realises the damage Quinn did. Her arms are slightly scratched from Quinn’s nails, a dull throbbing in the back of her head where skull met locket and most of all the goddamn ache in her chest.
Brittany stays with Santana until the bell for fifth period rings out and the girl rushes to class. Santana stays on the ground, breathing out the rage as the adrenaline wears off. Momentarily, she closes her eyes and breathes out deeply.
---
She thinks it must be love or some sort of deep, lame emotion that causes her to leave her bed at one in the morning and rush to the 24 hour drugstore to purchase four pregnancy tests before climbing the tree in front of the Fabray house and pushing open the window to climb into Quinn’s room.
Quinn is apparently the ball shaped figure under the comforter, shaking slightly as muffled sobs escape. Santana exhales deeply, allowing the guard to melt away leaving genuine concern for her best friend. She saunters to the bed, sitting on the edge and stroking where she thinks Quinn’s head is.
The sobs stop and the figure stiffen before the comforter is thrown off the bed and Santana has an armful of Quinn Fabray crying into her chest and gripping on to her shoulders.
“It’s ok, baby. I’m here now, I’m here for you.”
---
Santana remembers that that was the moment she thought that their chess game was finally over and they could have a real friendship without the pressure of high school and social standings.
And it was.
For a few golden moments, they weren’t Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray, the HBIC’s constantly battling for dominance; they were Santana and Quinn, two friends holding onto their friendship and trying to support each other without real life budging in.
And then Santana fucked it up, all for the chance to finally, finally gain the upper hand.
---
“Is it true Quinn Fabray is pregnant?”
Jewfro cornered her at her locker, the day after Quinn’s shaking, sobbing form told her that after four pregnancy tests, yes she was pregnant as she hugged her close to her chest before falling asleep with tears dried on her face.
Santana almost instinctively lets out a ‘fuck off, Jewfro’ but when she sees Quinn walking down the hallway, her eyes red and bloodshot and her gaze fixed on the floor as if her mind was miles away from the school, she pauses. Santana thinks of the scales, the game and the fact that she would finally gain the upper hand as she lets out her answer.
“Yeah, Jewfro. She is.”
---
Santana lets out a laugh, uncaring of the looks she might receive from onlookers. At the end of the day, she fucked it up. Even if news of Quinn’s pregnancy got out, she was the one who strived for the title of Head Cheerio instead of the role of best friend.
When the adrenaline washes away from her body and all she’s left with is a feeling of self-loathing and regret, Santana walks back into the halls of McKinley. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Finn Hudson, another pawn in Quinn’s game that she used for an advantage. Quinn had scarified that piece with her lies.
Santana realises that no matter what, their game was a part of their relationship and right now, Quinn had Santana right where she wanted her. Her king was unguarded; it was a ‘Check’. Just as Santana had Quinn backed into a standstill, Quinn had Santana in the exact same position; waiting for the brunettes next move so she could go for the kill.
It’s when Santana’s at the bottom of the pyramid, her knees aching and her back being pushed down that she realises that Quinn might just have gotten her ‘Checkmate’ and won the game, won high school and beaten Santana.
Santana almost crumples under the loss until she sees it.
Quinn’s looking at her again but it isn’t with rage or hurt or anger.
No, it’s with remorse. Honest to God, remorse at Santana’s pain.
It’s then that Santana pushes back, groans and puts on her guard, fixing a glare at Quinn as if to say:
“Your move.”
Author: fading-lines
Rating: PG-13/R for light swearing
Length: ~2 300
Spoilers: Up to 2x01 Audition.
Summary: Their entire relationship is a series of pushes and pulls...
A/N: Wrote this in a rush after Audition. Unbeta'd so all mistakes belong to me.
Their entire relationship is a series of pushes and pulls, up and downs, constantly fighting for the upper hand only for the pleasure of ripping it away from the other. It was as if their entire relationship was a chess game, each of them making their moves and awaiting the retaliation. Sure, it was invigorating. It kept Santana on her toes, kept her strong and guarded; constantly waiting for Quinn to make her move so she could fight back.
It’s when Santana storms out of Coach Sylvester’s office that she realises that the upper hand she’s been working towards for the past fucking year is being torn away from her again. It’s when she realises that her closest friend (besides Brittany) took a shard of her heart and jammed it into her back just to get a step above, that Santana Lopez allows herself to be vulnerable.
She pushes past the throngs of students piling in the hallways to get to the girls bathroom. The Glee posters Rachel had posted up flutter and the door slams shut. Regardless of the pain throbbing in her chest and the tears burning in her eyes, Santana checks to see if the stalls are empty. It didn’t matter if her high school career was going to go down the minute Jewfro posted his latest scandal; she didn’t want anyone to see her at her worst.
Her worst being shaking hands gripping the sink, knuckles turning white as teeth ground together. Santana takes one look in the mirror, at the shaking, teary mess and looks down again. There’s sadness in her face, in her features and her eyes. A tiny hint of remorse at the realisation of another round with Quinn, regret for the friendship that could’ve been if not for the battling personalities, for the sick chess game they seem to be playing with each other every day of their lives.
There’s pain in her chest. Honest to God, physical pain as if her heart more than just an overrated pump and could feel the knife ripping through her insides. It was a dull, throbbing ache matching every heartbeat and pushing against her lungs. It fucking hurt. After eight years of friendship, it has never hurt this much, never ached physically as well as emotionally. It wasn’t the pain of losing her status, losing her place; it was the pain of realisation. That after eight years of friendship, status meant more to Quinn than she did.
--
“I’m sorry.”
Santana picked herself up from the ground, trying in vain to wipe off the grain and blood stains on her jeans. She’s eight years old and a big girl now but she’d be lying if she said that grazed knees weren’t painful anymore.
Taking her time, Santana finally looks into the apologetic eyes of Quinn Fabray. The girl was wearing a bright yellow dress, her eyes shooting from the ground to the swing set to the sky and her hands nervously wringing in front of her. She was the teacher’s favourite and the most popular girl at school.
Santana hates her.
She hated her before Quinn knocked her down into the dirt because Noah Puckerman dared her to, she hated her before the teacher decided that Santana deserved a detention for laughing at Quinn, Santana hated Quinn Fabray the minute she stepped into her classroom
and everybody’s eyes lit up at the angelic blonde.
“Whatever.”
Santana spits out. She wants to go home; she wants to go to her Mamí so she can cry about how mean Quinn Fabray is. She turns her back to Quinn, hoping to get as far away as possible from all of the stupid kids.
Quinn grabs her elbow, spinning Santana back around and fixing her with a fiercer gaze. Santana tries to pull her arm out of Quinn’s grip but the blonde girl just holds on tighter; she settles for glaring at the taller girl.
“I only did it because Noah said that I would be popular and everyone would like me if I did it, honest. And now that I’m popular, we can be friends and you can be popular too!”
Santana’s glare drops slightly. She would be lying if she said that Quinn’s offer wasn’t tempting. Nobody really talked to her because they were all scared of her, and Santana really liked that people were afraid to mess with her. However, she did get lonely at lunch and recess when everybody would go off with their group of friends and not include her in their games or anything.
“Whatever.” Santana grumbles again.
Quinn’s face immediately lights up and she drops Santana’s arm to extend it, palm open.
“Great. Before we can be friends we need to introduce ourselves,” Quinn smiles that smile that make all the adults croon over how adorable she is, “I’m Quinn Fabray.”
Santana finds herself smiling back unconsciously. Wiping her hand on her jeans to brush off the dirt, Santana reaches out and grabs Quinn’s, shaking it firmly.
“Santana Lopez.” The girl says with a confident smirk.
Quinn manoeuvres their hands so that it falls in between them, palms locked over each others. She smiles as a blush paints over her cheeks at Santana’s confused glance as if she had never held someone’s hand before.
“Now we can be friends forever, Santana.”
And Santana finds herself smiling at Quinn’s. Before the blonde drags her to the swing set, Santana manages to choke out.
“Yeah...forever.”
---
There’s anger in her stomach.
A hot, red emotion burning just low of her heart. Its’ presence is reassuring, as if a reminder that Santana Lopez is there, she’s alive and thriving for revenge. She pushes aside the pain and sadness and grief and focuses solely on the anger, the fiery rage that reassures her that if she’s going to be hurt then by God, Quinn Fabray is going to be too.
The brunette wipes what remains of the tears from her eyes, takes one look at herself in the reflection and storms out of the bathroom.
People are crowding the hallways; all of them seem to be frozen in place watching Quinn Fabray strut in her brand spanking new Cheerios uniform. Santana takes one look at the smug expression on Quinn’s face and snaps; the anger in her stomach spreading everywhere, masking the pain in her chest and the anguish in her eyes. The Latina literally sees red and she tackles Quinn into the lockers, enjoying the shock on Quinn’s face.
She’s barely aware of the crowd that gathers around them, concentrating solely on the blonde as Quinn pushes her back. It’s then that Santana lets her frustration show, lets her words free.
“You did this to me,” She pauses, hoping Quinn sees the message that the others don’t, “You told Coach Sylvester about my summer surgery!”
She glares as hard as she can, half of her hoping that Quinn breaks down into the pregnant, emotional Quinn Fabray and the other half begging for Quinn to hit her again, begging for an invitation to use her fists to show Quinn how much it hurts.
She barely registers Quinn biting back, running her mouth again. She’s too far deep into watching the hate in Quinn’s eyes, looking for an emotion that isn’t there that she barely hears the words ‘boob job’.
“Yep, sure did.”
The brunette lets her second desire win out, slapping the smug look off Quinn’s face; trying to get an emotion out of the girl besides hate or rage. Quinn lets out an outraged cry, shouting that Santana can’t hit her and all Santana sees is the hate in her eyes, any hint of remorse for their friendship nonexistent.
It’s when Santana lets out a quip about Quinn’s pregnancy and throws out the word 'slut', that Santana sees pain in the blonde’s eyes. An actual hint of hurt at her words before the look is vanished and there’s rage and arms gripping her shoulders as she’s pushed into the lockers, her head hitting against the metal.
She barely hears Brittany let out some sort of plea before she’s got Quinn backed up into the adjacent lockers, her fingernails digging into the blonde’s skin. And then Quinn’s pushed into the floor, her head barely missing the tiles and a tiny part of Santana, the part that longs for the friendship they had, is thankful that the blondes head doesn’t hit the ground.
As quickly as it escalated, it’s broken up and Mr Schuester is in between then, holding a furious Quinn back as he throws out words like ‘family’.
Santana knows it’s low. She knows that the wounds are still fresh and Quinn is still hurting from it but the pain in her heart and the desire for Quinn to feel that pain, to acknowledge the hurt that she feels lets it out.
“Oh please! She has a family, she’s a mother!”
And for a second, behind the fury in Quinn’s features; there’s hurt.
Good.
Santana thinks as she storms down the hallway, barely hearing whatever quip Quinn screams at her. She barely realises Brittany follows her until she’s in the car park against her car trying to get air in her lungs.
“You guys shouldn’t fight.”
Brittany is...simple. Santana first befriended her for the benefits the girl entailed. Friends with Brittany meant sex with Brittany and that meant gossip and a level of notoriety within the school. Santana didn’t realise that she would actually come to, well...love Brittany. The girl was the closest thing she had to a sister and she was far too harmless to actually cause damage to Santana. The blonde wanted a friend and for once, Santana Lopez found herself with a friendship with no strings attached, just simple affection for the other.
“I know, Brit. I’m sorry.”
Santana pants out. It’s then that she realises the damage Quinn did. Her arms are slightly scratched from Quinn’s nails, a dull throbbing in the back of her head where skull met locket and most of all the goddamn ache in her chest.
Brittany stays with Santana until the bell for fifth period rings out and the girl rushes to class. Santana stays on the ground, breathing out the rage as the adrenaline wears off. Momentarily, she closes her eyes and breathes out deeply.
---
She thinks it must be love or some sort of deep, lame emotion that causes her to leave her bed at one in the morning and rush to the 24 hour drugstore to purchase four pregnancy tests before climbing the tree in front of the Fabray house and pushing open the window to climb into Quinn’s room.
Quinn is apparently the ball shaped figure under the comforter, shaking slightly as muffled sobs escape. Santana exhales deeply, allowing the guard to melt away leaving genuine concern for her best friend. She saunters to the bed, sitting on the edge and stroking where she thinks Quinn’s head is.
The sobs stop and the figure stiffen before the comforter is thrown off the bed and Santana has an armful of Quinn Fabray crying into her chest and gripping on to her shoulders.
“It’s ok, baby. I’m here now, I’m here for you.”
---
Santana remembers that that was the moment she thought that their chess game was finally over and they could have a real friendship without the pressure of high school and social standings.
And it was.
For a few golden moments, they weren’t Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray, the HBIC’s constantly battling for dominance; they were Santana and Quinn, two friends holding onto their friendship and trying to support each other without real life budging in.
And then Santana fucked it up, all for the chance to finally, finally gain the upper hand.
---
“Is it true Quinn Fabray is pregnant?”
Jewfro cornered her at her locker, the day after Quinn’s shaking, sobbing form told her that after four pregnancy tests, yes she was pregnant as she hugged her close to her chest before falling asleep with tears dried on her face.
Santana almost instinctively lets out a ‘fuck off, Jewfro’ but when she sees Quinn walking down the hallway, her eyes red and bloodshot and her gaze fixed on the floor as if her mind was miles away from the school, she pauses. Santana thinks of the scales, the game and the fact that she would finally gain the upper hand as she lets out her answer.
“Yeah, Jewfro. She is.”
---
Santana lets out a laugh, uncaring of the looks she might receive from onlookers. At the end of the day, she fucked it up. Even if news of Quinn’s pregnancy got out, she was the one who strived for the title of Head Cheerio instead of the role of best friend.
When the adrenaline washes away from her body and all she’s left with is a feeling of self-loathing and regret, Santana walks back into the halls of McKinley. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Finn Hudson, another pawn in Quinn’s game that she used for an advantage. Quinn had scarified that piece with her lies.
Santana realises that no matter what, their game was a part of their relationship and right now, Quinn had Santana right where she wanted her. Her king was unguarded; it was a ‘Check’. Just as Santana had Quinn backed into a standstill, Quinn had Santana in the exact same position; waiting for the brunettes next move so she could go for the kill.
It’s when Santana’s at the bottom of the pyramid, her knees aching and her back being pushed down that she realises that Quinn might just have gotten her ‘Checkmate’ and won the game, won high school and beaten Santana.
Santana almost crumples under the loss until she sees it.
Quinn’s looking at her again but it isn’t with rage or hurt or anger.
No, it’s with remorse. Honest to God, remorse at Santana’s pain.
It’s then that Santana pushes back, groans and puts on her guard, fixing a glare at Quinn as if to say:
“Your move.”