[GFS Exchange Fic] On a Boat by kkieslowski for startled_always
Title:On a Boat
Author:kkieslowski
Written For: startled_always
Prompt: Santana and Quinn go on a vacation.
Pairing: Santana/Quinn
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language.
Spoilers: Up through “New York.”
Summary: Santana’s not sure why she asked Tubbers to join her for her family’s annual summer cruise.
The sun was positioned high in the sky and beat down with a fierce nondiscrimination, scorching the crowd of people, lined up like ants, at the dock. Santana looked out through her sunglasses and saw her dad reaching, waving his hands drastically, the veins in his neck bulging in agitation, as another luggage bag passed them by. Her mother’s face winced when the seagulls screeched like a pack of hormone crazy teeny-boppers who had just spotted Bieber. She looked behind her and glanced at Quinn whose dark sunglasses and pink scarf tied around her neck made her look like some old actress out of a movie Santana would have seen at two a.m. during a bout of insomnia on TCM, or some other channel old people with nothing left to live for watch.
“What?” Quinn asked, a defensive edge betraying a warning.
Why did Quinn always have to be so uptight and why did Brittany have to go with her parents on a road trip, Santana asked herself. Seriously, Santana had hoped that her family’s annual summer cruise would be filled with its usual days of sun and nights being curled up into the warmth of her best friend, Brittany.
An image of pressing her stomach flat into Quinn’s back flashed into her head. Fat was going to happen. Quinn was about as cuddly and warm as a sea urchin. The best Santana was going to get was cold nights teetering on the edge of the queen size bed she would share with Quinn.
Santana had considered making her parents pay the single’s supplement instead of inviting Quinn. If she had the room to herself she could hunt for a few barsexual sorority girls and bring them back to her cabin. But Santana realized that what she’d probably find were overweight cougars who were bathing their livers in mid-shelf booze. Plus, she’d have someone to talk to since her parents would be nowhere to be found until it was time to disembark from the ship.
“Nothing,” she responded and turned her face forward.
Her dad finally tracked down a porter.
///
“Do your parents get this for you every year?” Quinn asked in amazement.
Quinn was responding to the rather roomy cabin that had a full-size balcony, couch, and queen size bed that was their stateroom. Santana had always found cruise ship rooms to be cramped, but hadn’t minded as it was an excuse to accidentally find herself pressing into Brittany’s side of the bed.
Santana let Quinn continue to face out the window. She’d seen the view before, so she wasn’t as surprised.
“Yeah. Their view’s better,” she muttered.
“Right side or left,” Quinn asked cautiously as she stared at the bed.
“I’m on the left, bitch,” Santana smiled. “Same for the side of the closet and the sink.”
They continued to unpack in silence.
Santana sighed as she hung up her sun dresses. This all felt so familiar. Except instead of having vacation sex with Brittany she got to watch Quinn search for drawer space that didn’t exist.
///
Santana’s eyes darted around the lobby shifting from the shiny gold railing on the main staircase to the bright lights bouncing off of the ceiling and finally fixating on the blurry paintings that looked like they were done by that crazy guy who cut his ear off.
“Are your parents coming?” Quinn asked beside her.
Santana’s head turned. Brittany had known that Santana was always on her own during the last six cruises. “No,” Santana said flatly and walked down the dark hallway towards the hostess station.
“Hello, my name is Alana. How many in your party tonight?” A thick Eastern European accent pulled at the words, drawing out the i’s as if they were taffy.
“Two,” Santana replied.
Santana looked the hostess in the eye. She was sort of pretty in that starving Russian model way. Her eyes were bright blue and her severe cheekbones were nice, but not interesting enough.
“Seventy-four forty-nine,” Santana said.
The hostess smiled, “Thank you Ms. Lopez, Hector will take you to your table.”
Hector led them to a table that looked out at the water. While Hector pulled out the chair for Quinn, Santana sat down on the opposite side of the table.
Santana cringed when she saw the same awful Paris theme mirrored in the tacky Eiffel tower imprints placed in the fixtures. Cruise ships always used stupid themes that only appealed to small town people like the Hummels. Carnival, Paris, it all blended into one ugly blur of
“Thanks for inviting me,” Quinn said awkwardly across the table.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
“Fine. I’m not sure why I’m here, but thank your parents for paying for my ticket,” Quinn said and turned her head to look out at the water.
Santana leaned back into her seat, folded her arms across her chest, and stared at Quinn. Her eyes bored into the side of Quinn’s skull, challenging Quinn to meet her in a mutual stare down of animosity. When Quinn continued to act as if Santana wasn’t fixing her with her 1,000 yard bitch stare, Santana sighed, frustrated.
It was moments like these that made Santana wonder why she didn’t invite Wheezy or Tina. Then she remembered that Wheezy had paired off with Fish lips to study the importance of time travel in Twilight Galaxy Trek or some other dork fest. Tina followed Mike to Asian camp. The only real option was Quinn, because ewww she couldn’t stand a minute let alone a week with the musical Israeli hobbit.
A short Asian man dressed in the typical stark white shirt and dark black slacks and vest paused at their table. Sweat beaded down the plastic pitchers in his hands. “Water or iced tea?”
“Is it unsweet?” Quinn asked, finally pulling her face away from the window.
“Yes ma’am,” the waiter replied.
“I’ll have a tea then. Thanks” Quinn added as an afterthought.
Santana smiled curtly. “I’ll have a tea and send the bartender over here and don’t forget the bread.” Before the waiter could respond she shooed him away with her hand.
As soon as the waiter left Quinn resumed her catatonic gaze out the window. Still refusing to look at Santana, Quinn spoke. “Why are you bringing a bartender over? It’s not like you can get anything.”
Quinn sounded bored, but Santana knew better. Quinn was curious and Santana could use that to play with her for a bit.
“Don’t know. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Santana placed her elbows on the table and perched her head on her hands. “Don’t worry though,” she drawled out with a false, saccharine sweetness, “you won’t get pregnant again. They don’t serve wine coolers.”
Quinn’s eyes flashed with anger when she met Santana’s stare. Baiting Quinn always felt so satisfying. Quinn huffed out a loud puff of air and glowered at Santana with utter disgust. Santana’s amusement purred inside her like a contented cat.
Her victory was short lived when the bartender reached their table. “What can I do for you tonight?”
“I’ll have a diet coke and a mojito,” Santana said and handed the bartender her room key. Without question the bartender scribbled a few notes on his notepad and handed Santana her card.
“Anything for you miss?” he smiled at Quinn.
“She’ll have the same,” Santana said before Quinn could say anything. Quinn’s jaw dropped for a second, but she yanked it up, clamping it tightly.
“What, I’m just being nice honey.” Quinn’s eyebrows shot to the roof in her forehead. “It’s our anniversary,” Santana said and caressed Quinn’s hand.
Quinn’s face turned a bright shade of magenta and if she fumed any harder smoke would have billowed out of her ears.
“No need for her card,” Santana continued on with the ruse, “we’re in the same,” Santana winked at the waiter, “room.”
The bartender left with an urgency that made Santana chuckle to herself.
“I can’t believe - “Quinn seethed openly at Santana.
“Don’t even start,” Santana cut in. “I was just having a bit of fun and my parents are paying for all of this.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed, beady and brooding underneath the surface, but she remained quiet.
“Plus it’s not like you have anything to worry about.” Santana stared Quinn correctly in the eye, “you’re too fat for me to even consider tapping that.”
Quinn rose up from her seat. Her napkin made a dull thud when she threw it to the floor in a fit of ire. “I don’t have to take this,” Quinn hissed. “I know that you only invited me here because no one else would come, but I’m not going to let some lonely girl like you,” Quinn said with disgust, “bully me the entire trip.”
As Quinn brushed past Santana’s left arm, Santana reached out and grabbed Quinn’s elbow. Quinn’s body tensed up instantly under Santana’s grip. She stared down Santana with a stony scowl.
“Look, I -“ Santana started.
“You what?” Quinn demanded.
Santana lowered her voice when she saw that Quinn’s display of rage had developed an audience of attentive cruisers.
“I’m sorry I went there, okay. Old habit. Just sit down.”
Quinn’s jaw softened into a lax position, no longer locked into a squished grimace. Quinn returned to her seat with a surprising amount of grace for one who was just about to storm out of dinner.
A sticky silence passed through them as both Quinn and Santana remained glued to playing with their silverware. Thankfully, the bartender returned with their drinks and the waiter accompanied him with a full basket of bread and a set of menus.
“How were we able to get these?” Quinn asked after taking a sip of her mojito.
“International waters,” Santana replied through a mouthful of baguette.
“Oh,” Quinn said as she fidgeted her straw inside her drink.
“Santana,” Quinn said after a beat, “why did you bring me here? Couldn’t you have invited Brittany or Karofsky?”
Santana dropped her bread and it rolled away from her chair into the aisle. Recognition that Quinn had discovered something Santana didn’t want her to know wormed its way across Quinn’s face in a slightly curved smile.
Santana tried to cover up her mistake. “Road trip and football camp,” she said with a feigned disinterest.
Quinn’s shy smile grew larger. “Yeah, Brittany did mention to me that Mr. Tubbington would finally get to achieve his life’s dream and visit the Grand Canyon, but you’d know more about that than me.”
Santana felt her blood bubble and itch underneath her skin. Quinn knew something that Santana didn’t and that put that conniving blond bitch ahead of Santana, which never boded well for Santana.
“But Dave’s not at football camp. Strange you wouldn’t want your boyfriend,” Quinn stressed, “with you instead of me.”
“How would you know where Dave is? It’s not like you’re dating any football players. Didn’t that custard filled giant drop you for that sexually underdeveloped muppet?” Santana shot back.
“Yes, I’m no longer with Finn,” Quinn said with a thinly veiled amount of hurt, “but don’t change the subject. I know for a fact that football camp isn’t until August.”
Santana straightened her spine so she sat erect and stared evenly at Quinn. “You don’t know anything,” Santana repeated.
“But I do,” Quinn said with a chilly evenness, “Puck told me he had to reschedule cleaning our pool because Beiste required them to go to camp. He always cleans our pool in August.”
It sucked that Quinn always seemed to win. That’s probably why it felt so rewarding to give her mono during Valentine’s Day. What was worse than Quinn winning a short lived battle of wills was the fact that Santana knew Quinn already had a decent understanding of her secret.
“Just don’t,” Santana secretly loathed the non-volitional quiver in her voice. “I know you know what it’s like to have to hide something.”
Quinn’s face turned a pallid shade of grey at the mere hint of Beth. “Yeah, I do.” Quinn’s throat bobbed when she swallowed hard. She reached forward and cupped Santana’s hand. Unlike Santana’s gesture, which had been done to irritate Quinn and lacked affection, Quinn’s hand felt warm and inviting.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said quietly.
“Yeah,” Santana said, pulling her hand back, “whatever.”
The rest of the dinner passed with a disjointed awkwardness. However, the antagonizing malice that had jockeyed between them was no longer present after they had reached a tentative understanding. The truce died a brilliant death when a group of waiters surrounded them during dessert singing, “happy anniversary,” at the tops of their lungs. Quinn sat through the butchered serenade and didn’t even stay long enough to finish her chocolate cake. Santana signed the bill from the bartender in a hurry and left to find Quinn.
When Santana reached their stateroom the lights were on but the room appeared vacant. Santana shimmied past the edge of the bed to the balcony door. Her senses were instantly assaulted with the sting of humid salty air and the loud roar of the waves. Quinn’s profile was highlighted by the light of the bright half moon in the midnight blue sky. Santana almost forgot that Quinn was upset with her as she looked at her perfect nose and regal cheekbones. Quinn bristled when Santana stood next to her.
“I already apologized, so just get over it,” Santana said. “Seriously, you’d have a lot more fun if you didn’t act like you had a stick up your ass all of the time.”
Quinn grunted and continued to give Santana the cold shoulder.
“Whatever,” Santana said after waiting unsuccessfully for Quinn to warm up, “have fun being alone. I’m going to get out of here.”
Santana slammed the balcony door shut and spent the next two hours laughing at drunk couples up on the lido deck while she slurped down vodka martinis. She left the bar after the third middle-aged slouch, who was probably a father of one of the many snotty-nosed brats running around the ship, tried to proposition her. She poured her drink into his lap and laughed callously in his face after signing her bill and heading to her room.
Quinn was in bed. Santana made sure to kick her a few time in the back during the night to punish her for being such an icy bitch. Each time Quinn woke up, sputtering, Santana pretended to be blissfully asleep.
///
The next morning Santana awoke agitated. It was way too fucking early to have a blow dryer blaring in the back ground.
“Turn that off,” Santana said as she launched a pillow at Quinn.
Quinn squealed and glared at Santana before aiming the pillow at Santana’s head.
“Gotten soft now that Coach isn’t making us get up for dawn practices,” Quinn teased playfully as she plopped down next to Santana.
Santana could never understand Quinn’s mood swings. One minute the girl was like a bear strung out on crack and the next she was peachy keen. At the moment, Quinn seemed okay, which was better than last night.
Santana groaned into the mattress. “No, but it’s my vacation, which means I should be sleeping in and spending most of my time with a hot woman in my bed.” Santana’s eyes slid up and down Quinn’s body in mock scrutiny. “You’ll have to do for now,” Santana said without interest.
The back of Santana’s head stung when a pillow smacked it. Santana glared up at Quinn who was clutching onto a white pillow. “I told you, I’m not that into that.”
“I know,” Santana said exasperated.
Quinn shifted so her legs no longer dangled off the bed. “So what are we doing today?”
Santana sat up and stretched out her back, taking enjoyment in the limber ease of the exercise, as her arms reached high above her head. “I thought we’d tan, catch some lunch, terrorize some housewives, get dinner, and then get drunk,” Santana said through a string of yawns. “That all right with you Blondie?”
“Sure,” Quinn said as she rolled off the bed.
A flash of cold air shocked Santana when Quinn whisked the sheets off of the bed. “Get up,” Quinn ordered.
“Bitch,” Santana muttered underneath her breath, “give it back.” Santana stretched her hand out for the covers.
“Nope. Let’s get some breakfast first.” Santana looked longingly up at the covers held hostage in Quinn’s hands.
“Ugh,” Santana grumbled as she got out of bed.
///
Santana clutched her fork in her fingers wishing it was Quinn she could strangle instead of silverware. Quinn had dragged her out of the warm comfort of her bed to order a yogurt and a freaking banana. She could have gotten all of that at the breakfast buffet, by herself, and let Santana sleep.
“You know you could have gotten that by yourself at the buffet,” Santana said through clenched teeth.
“I know, but I like being waited on,” Quinn replied, “and I didn’t want to come here by myself.”
“Big surprise,” Santana muttered darkly. “Guess it’s better this way,” she said after sulking for a few minutes.
Quinn took the bait, “What’s better?” She asked, her eyebrows rising slightly, giving a cartoonish look to her face.
“Your ass. It’s not like it could have handled it if you had ordered bacon.” Santana chuckled inwardly. Bacon was Quinn’s vice and Santana knew that Quinn was anxious about her weight.
“God, you’re such a bitch,” Quinn pushed her plate forward in revulsion.
“If you don’t like the company don’t wake me up so early next time,” Santana said with smug satisfaction.
Once Quinn ceased pouting at her from across the table she grabbed Quinn’s arm and yanked her from the table, “Let’s go change so we can tan.”
///
Quinn appeared to still be on a modesty kick and changed in the bathroom. What was it with that girl and covering up? They’d all undressed in front of each other in Cheerios thousands of times, but Quinn still wanted to keep up her Virgin Mary act even if she’d already had a lizard baby ruin that charade. A wicked thought passed through Santana’s mind. Maybe Quinn was till conscious about her stretch-marked abs?
“Hey Tubbers,” Santana yelled. Her fist was like a jackhammer as it pounded on the bathroom door. “Hurry up. I’ve got a lounge chair with my name on it and it better not be taken because you’re worried about how fat you look.”
Quinn opened the bathroom door with a creak and glared at Santana. One of the expansive navy blue beach towels provided by the cruise company was wrapped tightly around Quinn’s body. The whites of Quinn’s knuckles popped out where she grasped the towel.
Quinn’s face twitched when Santana laughed out loud, “You know you’re going to have to take that off at some point. Can’t hide your stretch marks forever.”
Quinn’s flip flops smacked in a staccato march as she walked somewhat irately down the hall. Santana snickered. Pissing off Quinn was easily becoming the highlight of her cruise.
After an elevator ride that consisted of Santana breaking into mini fits of laughter and Quinn emitting a low pitch growl, they finally reached the main deck. The orange sun cast down on them its heavy waves of heat and Santana flipped her sunglasses down from her forehead onto her nose.
“Let’s go over there,” she pointed behind her to the first row of lounge chairs that was readily in view of the entire deck. Quinn surveyed the view and appeared tense as she hitched her shoulder’s up, but Santana ignored her and made her way over to the white chairs.
Santana smoothed her towel over the hot plastic of the chair and sat down. She waited for Quinn to walk over. Quinn stopped and looked at Santana, her eyes both hesitant and puzzled as she stared back.
With a quick drop Quinn’s towel hit the floor and Santana was left gaping. It appeared that Quinn had very much gotten her pre-baby gate abs back as Santana’s attention was fully adhesed to the grooved line running down Quinn’s stomach. Santana remembered to swallow the saliva that was thick in the back of her throat and she let out a train of loud coughs as she choked.
Quinn quirked her eyebrow at Santana. “What’s wrong with you now?”
“Nothing,” Santana croaked. She ran her fingers through her hair, deliberately sifting through the strands to regain some composure. “Need help with that,” she said pointing to the tanning oil at Quinn’s side.
Santana instantly cringed on the inside. Quinn may not have rejected her thus far, but it’s not like Quinn’s religious convictions allow her to be on team “yay gay” either. Quinn’s small town closed minded upbringing doesn’t rear its snobbish head and Santana’s is pleasantly surprised when Quinn nods and turns her back so Santana has easier access.
As Santana’s greased hands glided over Quinn’s back, resting for a moment on the thin line of muscle that arches around Quinn’s shoulder blades, she became painfully aware of how it’s been since she and Brittany last had sex. The tingling sensation that burned a quick path through her fingertips and straight down past her stomach can only be described as torturous. It’s like she’s Puck. Worse, it’s like she’s Finn, all clumsy hands and easily excited. Quinn Fabray should not be affecting her this way.
“Your turn,” Santana said slowly as she deliberately removed her hands from Quinn’s glistening shoulders and laid her chest flat against the chair. She turned her head so she was facing the opposite direction of Quinn. Quinn’s firm and steady hands made Santana feel more anxious as they expertly applied the suntan oil. She really, really should have at least made out with one of the “St. Mary’s Academy” at Nationals. Instead, she decided to respect Brittany, who shafted her into the friend zone, and now she was lusting after Quinn Fabray like a twelve-year-old boy with a half hard-on.
“That’s good,” Santana rushed but managed to add a muffled, “thanks.”
Santana was relatively successful at calming herself down. It was pretty easy once she began to think of Sam’s guppy lips or Finn’s pastry boobs. However, all of her careful meditation was up in smoke the minute she flipped over.
“Jesus,” Santana whispered under her breath. One look down Quinn’s tank top left Santana speechless. “I’ve got to gay, I mean go,” Santana said as she hopped past Quinn.
“Wait, I’m coming too,” Quinn said, clearly annoyed at Santana’s flightiness.
Santana gave one quick look behind her, “I’ll see you in the room,” and jolted down the stairs towards the main part of the deck leaving Quinn with a towel in her hand and a perplexed grimace on her face.
///
Santana breathed heavily as cold droplets of water beat down upon her. Her cool-down shower was helping to relieve some of her stress, but she wasn’t completely comfortable. Couldn’t she just have a friend that she didn’t have to bang? Was that so hard to ask, she wondered in vain as she knew the answer was no when an image of Quinn pressed up against their balcony flew into her mind.
She turned off the water and hopped out of the shower, drying herself as quickly as possible. It was imperative that she get out of the room before Quinn got back, which was any moment, so she could avoid her new distraction until her thoughts were figured out. Luckily, she was able to exit before Quinn was down the hall and she spent the rest of the day evading Quinn until it was time to go to dinner.
“Back so soon,” Quinn said, as she perched her feet at the end of the bed, painting her toenails a light shade of pink.
It would have been a normal scene for anyone but Quinn. Santana was on edge as Quinn almost too calmly continued to stay fixated on the task in front of her.
“Been out looking around the ship. Not like you had to stay here by yourself,” Santana shrugged.
“Yeah, that’s so wonderful about being on a cruise with someone, being alone.”
Santana caught the tiniest hint of venom seeping through Quinn’s otherwise placid tone.
Santana knew what it was like to be alone all of the time. Like Quinn’s parents, affection was bought not freely given. It created a certain amount of resentment and hardening towards their parents, but also was a common insecurity that created a weird bond between Santana and Quinn when Quinn met her at the start of freshman year.
Instead of picking an argument, because really, Quinn didn’t have to be that pissed at her, she said, “I’m leaving in a half an hour for dinner. You can go with me or eat by yourself.”
Even though Quinn didn’t immediately respond to Santana she was ready to depart when Santana wanted to leave.
///
“So what is going on with you and Brittany?” Quinn asked causing Santana to choke on a mouthful of bread.
“What! Nothing,” Santana muffled and sputtered.
Quinn didn’t appear convinced as she twirled her napkin in her lap. “Please. Don’t lie to me S. Something’s been up since Valentine’s Day, maybe even before then. You two used to do everything together and then suddenly you got broody and she just looks at you like a puppy that had been kicked by their master. So what happened?”
Santana felt the urge to murder Quinn well up deep inside her, but stomped it down. “It’s none of your business,” Santana said curtly.
Quinn’s inquisitive gaze softened, “Look, believe it or not, I’m actually worried about you. It’s not like we were close this year after,” Quinn’s unfinished sentence hung in the air.
“After you ratted me out to coach and screwed me to a semester with knees being imprinted into the small of my back? Yeah, I remember,” Santana snipped.
A deep rose blush broke out across Quinn’s face. “Sorry, about that. Still doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about what was going on.”
“When?” Santana said disgruntled. “When you were so busy trying to play Finn and Sam or when winning a plastic tiara took over your precious little life?”
Quinn’s voice was low, “When I realized that my best friend looked miserable and Brittany refused to tell me what was going on.”
Santana felt the hot sting of tears well in her eyes. God damn it. Screw Quinn Fabray and her fake friendship. Screw Brittany and making her feels things. Fuck it. Screw Lima and everything about that loserish small town.
“It’s okay if you’re gay,” Quinn said softly.
Santana went to retort, but Quinn smiled at her and just said, “I’ve known for a while.”
Santana tilted her head to the side and Quinn rolled her eyes, “It’s not like you and Brittany were ever quiet when we shared rooms for Cheerios.”
Santana laughed off a few tears and was taken aback at the amount of relief she felt. She finally came out to someone and they didn’t instantly vilify her.
“I mean I’m not gay,” Quinn rattled nervously, “but I am okay if you are.”
“Juno isn’t a lesbian, got it.”
“You can’t call me that anymore, I’m not pregnant,” Quinn said her voice shrill with anger.
“I can call you whatever I want Q. Part of the perks of being me.” Santana glanced down at her half eaten plate of pasta and looked back at Quinn. “Want to get out of here?”
Quinn nodded and Santana got up from the table.
///
Quinn’s forehead felt warm and sweaty when she laughed into Santana’s shoulder. Santana had kept a steady supply of drinks flowing from the bar and it was clear in Quinn’s sloppy smile and slurred words that she was drunk. Santana smiled as the room spun around her. Yep, she was drunk too.
They were back in their stateroom after closing down one of the bars on the ships.
“Truth or dare?” Quinn giggled.
“Truth,” Santana said.
“Why did Coach Sylvester make you run laps for two weeks last year?”
A wide smile burgeoned across Santana’s face. “One time me and Britts snuck into her office to have sex after practice,” she saw Quinn wrinkle her nose. “Whatever, we’re totally hot together. Anyway, she walked in on us doing it on her desk and went all psycho bitch on us.”
Santana played with the tips of her hair. “Truth or dare?”
Quinn looked sheepishly at Santana, “Dare.”
Santana laughed to herself, “No way,” she muttered.
Quinn sat upright, “What?” she asked indignantly.
“Sorry Q, but there’s no way you’re going to do it.”
Quinn balked, “You don’t know that. You haven’t even told me what it is.”
“Fine,” Santana said leaned forward and brushed her lips past Quinn’s ear, “kiss me.”
A nervous giggle erupted from Quinn before she gasped and her eyes became as wide as saucers. “You’re not serious.”
Santana scoffed loudly. “See, I knew you wouldn’t do it.”
Before Santana could tease Quinn anymore about being a bitch baby and chickening out, she was silenced by warm, pliable lips, pressing against her own. Quinn held the kiss and scraped her fingernails down the base of Santana’s neck. Santana’s stomach did a back flip. Damn, it wasn’t supposed to feel this good.
When Quinn pulled back Santana refused to meet her gaze. “I’m going to bed,” she said resolutely and scampered off to the bathroom. When she finally gathered enough courage to open the door Quinn had passed out on the bed. After she crawled under the covers, Santana gave Quinn a single hard kick for good measure. Quinn grunted and Santana smiled. At least it had been a small revenge for the wreck Quinn was causing towards Santana’s hormones.
///
Santana woke up with a dull thudding in her head and a dry mouth. She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth trying to chase away the stale cotton stickiness.
Quinn roused slowly due to Santana’s rustling. Once Quinn’s eyes were fully opened a look of panic struck her face and she bolted for the bathroom.
The heavy retching noises belied that Quinn was not doing well after last night’s plethora of cocktails. “You okay?” Santana asked out of a show of politeness.
“No, I don’t think I can make it off the boat today,” Quinn called weakly in between two rounds of hurling.
“It’s cool, I don’t even like Nassau that much,” Santana said a little relieved she wouldn’t have to tour the “Atlantis” resort with a nauseating hangover.
When Quinn opened up the door to the bathroom, Santana couldn’t contain her laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Quinn pouted. “You don’t look so hot either.”
Santana propped herself up on her elbow and stared resolutely at Quinn. “I always look hot.”
Quinn crawled into bed and closed her eyes, “Can we not talk right now. My head is killing me.”
“Sure,” Santana said, happy to sleep in a little longer.
///
Santana sighed when felt a warm body pressed into her stomach. It felt natural and she breathed in the scent of the skin beneath her before her until she realized that her hand wasn’t slopped over Brittany’s trim flank, but Quinn’s curved side. Her momentary panic caused the clouds of sleep to vacate her head and her chest to pound. Between last night’s intoxicated kiss and today’s impromptu spooning, Santana felt thoroughly unclear with where she stood with Quinn.
Before she could process more of her thoughts, Quinn awoke and leaped from the bed, pushing Santana away in her haste. “What - what’s going on?”
“Nothing, we were sleeping and -“ realization of Quinn’s accusatory glare caused Santana to stop dead in her tracks. “No, no fucking way are you doing this now. God, how could I even trust you? You’re such a judgmental, scared bitch.”
Quinn’s eyes dipped to the floor. “I - I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I’m sorry, I swear I’m not -“
“A big homophobic asshole,” Santana interrupted.
Quinn’s chest shook as she forced out a laborious breath. “It’s not like that okay.”
Santana chuckled ruefully. “It’s not like you’d have much ground to stand on after last night.”
Quinn scoffed and cast Santana a scornful glance. “That was a dare. That’s all.”
Santana knocked through her draws loudly, rummaging for the nearest piece of clothing she could find, before pulling a shirt over her head and buttoning up her shorts.
“Don’t worry, the big, scary dyke won’t molest you now,” she yelled bitterly before slamming the door in Quinn’s face.
Santana didn’t return for dinner, but opted to eat at the buffet instead. When she did decide to head back to her cabin she found Quinn had already gone back to sleep.
Santana fought back the urge to kick Quinn, but she did steal most of the covers. Small victories she supposed.
///
Santana had planned to abandon Quinn’s twitchy ass and spend her day sunning herself on the beach, but Quinn’s sincerity when she apologized that morning had won her over. They got off the ship early and took a taxi over to a local beach.
While the sun was a large angry orange ball in the sky, beating down on them without appeal, the cool breezes coming from the shore beckoned them to cross the white sand and splash in the clear blue waters below.
Santana threw her body into the crystal like water with abandon. Quinn splashed around when she quickly followed Santana into the waves. It was nice for a moment to just forget about Lima or Cheerios and play in the water with a friend.
Both Quinn and Santana continued to shriek and play until their bodies felt boneless and they retreated to the warmth of the shore. An unspoken truce lay between them. Today was going to be perfect and they wouldn’t let anything, even their own animosity and egos, get in the way.
Santana unthinkingly grabbed Quinn’s hand and held it in her own as they walked back to the cab. She almost dropped Quinn’s fingers like a hot potato, but then she felt a slight tug.
Quinn’s smile was infectious as it dazzled brightly in the sun. Santana didn’t try to quell the grin creeping up the side of her face.
“Ready to go back?” Santana asked. Quinn nodded, continued to smile, and got into the cab.
///
Santana fell onto the bed and sighed jubilantly when her head hit the pillow. Her wet hair streaked across the white pillow case in stringy waves and she knew her pillow would be damp later, but at the moment she didn’t care.
“Aren’t you going to get ready?” Quinn asked as she ran a brush through her hair.
“No, I’m staying here,” Santana replied. She picked up the remote on her bedside table and clicked on the TV.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Quinn said a hint of skepticism edged in her tone.
Santana shifted deeper into the bed. “Yeah.”
Quinn placed her hands on her hips and glued her eyes to Santana. “Are you expecting me to eat by myself and bring you back a plate?”
Santana glanced over at Quinn and then set her gaze at the TV. “No, Q. I’m getting room service.”
“You can get that?” Quinn asked incredulously.
“One of the advantages of cruising. Now look at the menu and pick out what you want. Then we’ll call our steward and he’ll bring it up later.”
Thirty minutes after they placed their order in with Joseph their steward a knock rang at the door. Quinn hopped up from the bed and answered the door. Joseph brought several domed plates into the room and set it on a side table.
“Thanks, Jo,” Santana called as Joseph shut the door.
“Want to take it outside on the deck?” Santana asked Quinn who was still staring at the plates of food.
Quinn smiled, “That’d be nice.”
As they ate outside the island grew smaller as it disappeared around them. At first the large green coast was visible and then is dissolved slowly into nothing but a dark speck in the night sky. Neither said anything as they sat in a comfortable silence until the desserts had cooled and lay abandon on a grated silver table. Quinn’s smile had dissipated and she looked solemn. Santana wasn’t sure of what was running through Quinn’s head. Sometimes she forgot how much Quinn had gone through in the past two years, because no matter how much Santana tried to compete with her it always seemed like Quinn bounced back to the top.
“Sometimes I think about what she’s like,” Quinn whispered, looking out at the endless ocean. “I hope she’s happy.”
Not sure what to say Santana blurted, “I’m sorry about that. Finn too. Guppy lips was okay, but Finn? He’s just an overgrown baby with jiggly boobs.”
Quinn laughed and wiped a few stray tears that were threatening to fall. “He is kind of stupid,” Quinn admitted.
“And sucktastic in bed,” Santana added.
Quinn’s face looked both disgusted and amused. “Thanks,” she drawled, “but I don’t think I need to know anymore about that.”
Santana was about to argue the many points on why that was true, but Quinn asked her if she wanted to go inside and watch a movie.
“Red” was less than interesting, because who wants to watch geriatrics with low cut shirts busting a sweat. What was more intriguing was the fact that Quinn had took Santana’s hand with her own underneath the covers during the movie. Instead of pulling it back, Santana drew light patterns with her fingertips across Quinn’s palms. Santana hadn’t even realized she was doing it until forty minutes into the movie. She pressed her fingertips hard into Quinn’s hand as she tensed, the awareness of the casual ease between them both disturbing and comforting at the same time.
“Ow!” Quinn whimpered and looked at Santana with a “what the fuck?” face.
“Ugh, Bruce Willis kind of bothers me,” Santana tried to cover. Quinn continued to eye Santana skeptically. “I mean his chin sort of takes over his entire face. It’s not natural. It’s almost as bad as Sam’s grouper gaping mouth.”
Quinn sighed and retracted her hand. Santana wasn’t expecting the loss of warmth to be so noticeable, but she wished she hadn’t said anything.
Quinn mentioned something about being tired and turned over in the bed facing away from Santana. Santana wished she didn’t have such complicated friends. Even Brittany, whose most descriptive stories were allegories of her cat’s secret espionage career, was complex when it came to Santana. Maybe she should have ran away to that lesbian colony in Tribeca, she thought before she clicked her light out and switched off the TV.
///
Quinn woke up Santana with the hair dryer yet again and Santana continued to grumble into her pillow like she had every other morning. Breakfast was amiable considering that both Santana and Quinn failed to bring up the awkward end to last night’s movie. Instead, they shared jokes about Sue Sylvester and Mr. Schue.
“I swear he thinks his sweater vests are some sort of fashion symbol,” Santana said as she picked at her bacon. “But really, they’re just a male version of a Rachel Berry fashion retarded sweater.”
Quinn guffawed. “It’s the same way with Coach’s track suits. At least her outfits are color coordinated.”
One sentiment that always went unspoken between Quinn, Santana, and Brittany is that each of them really missed Cheerios. Glee club was fun and than just a chance at a college scholarship or a rung up the social ladder. Still, it didn’t quite feel the void that wearing the red and white uniform created.
“Whatever,” Santana grumbled, annoyed that she was feeling sentimental for what had to be a Hallmark channel record number of times, “she’s just as crazy and it’s not like she’s got real power anymore.”
Quinn nodded in agreement and a silence drifted over them. They spent the rest of the meal highly involved with the food on their plates, letting the linger thought of and neither do we remain unsaid.
///
Jumping from one awkward train to another seemed to be Santana’s specialty of late as she caught herself having to fight off yet another lady boner when she and Quinn went tanning. Santana had hoped that the first time had just been a conflux of hormones or the fact that she was so hard up for any sort of sexual gratification after Brittany sequestered her into the friend-zone, which was unamusedly a friends who don’t have sex zone. Santana’s hopes were dashed when she caught herself staring down Quinn like a lion that just saw its first gazelle in over a week.
She was tempted to press the boundaries on how much Quinn was that into that seeing as she had not been all that unwilling to toe the line during truth or dare. But then Quinn ruined it all when a group of pre-teen boys splashed them both with ice water.
Santana jumped to her feet and chased after the little twerps, chanting curses in slangy Spanish the entire way down the aisle until Quinn called her back.
“Just leave it alone. They’re stupid kids,” Quinn said as she gathered up her belongings.
Santana seethed for several minutes, but once her blood had stopped roaring in her ears she took her stuff and trudged back to her hotel room.
///
Both Quinn and Santana took a spectacularly long time preparing for dinner. Tonight was the Captain’s evening and that meant dressing up. Santana looked in the mirror and winked at herself when she saw how hot she was in her tight red dress.
“You are such an egomaniac,” Quinn noted as she swept a few stray locks of hair out of her face.
Santana leered at her own reflection, “You would be too if you looked as good as me.” She gave Quinn a sideways glance, “Still, I guess you’re okay.”
While Santana was laying down a rather thick act for Quinn, the reality that Santana knew to be true was that Quinn looked anything but okay. Even when she hated to admit it, especially when she was drunk at parties where Quinn was also present, Quinn had always been gorgeous.
Quinn didn’t acknowledge Santana’s jib and finished sweeping on her last dab of mascara. She surveyed herself briefly and then said, “Let’s go.”
///
Dinner was long and boring because Santana was forced to sit with her parents. Her father and mother spent the entire evening discussing all of the activities they had done on the ship but failed to take any interest in what Santana or Quinn had done. Santana cringed wit embarrassment when her father accidentally called Quinn “Brittany” twice and when Santana had stared him down he stated, “What, they’re both blonde and cheerleaders.”
It appeared that Quinn was just as relieved and eager to leave the table as Santana as Quinn excused herself without ordering dessert.
“Look, they suck - “ Santana started to apologize to Quinn, but Quinn turned around and placed a finger to stop her.
“No. I get it. It’s cool. My dad is just like that sometimes.”
Santana hadn’t expected Quinn to open up and mouthed and “o.”
“Let’s just go back to the cabin,” Quinn requested, her hand resting on Santana’s forearm.
Without a word Santana followed Quinn back to the cabin. Santana was shocked when Quinn kissed her out of nowhere once they were back in their stateroom.
“What was that?” Santana scanned Quinn’s face for answers.
Quinn blushed and gulped down a breath, “I, I just wanted to see what that was like sober.”
“And?” Santana said still searching Quinn for a response.
“And -“ Quinn’s blush deepened into a dark maroon, “it wasn’t bad.”
“The hell it wasn’t bad. I’m an awesome kisser and everyone knows it!” Santana yelled in a mild outrage.
“Can we just not talk about this when we get back?” Quinn asked, her voice tiny and scared like a small child who had been caught misbehaving.
Santana waited a moment before she responded, “Yeah, Q. Whatever you want.”
Quinn smiled sheepishly and Santana and then looked at the mail on the desk. “We’re supposed to pack tonight, right?”
“Yeah,” Santana replied, “I guess we should get on that.”
Quinn didn’t respond, but grabbed her suitcase out from underneath the bed and began to pack her belongings. Santana followed suit, but every so often stole glances at Quinn because she still felt the linger of a surprise kiss on her skin. Santana would have said something as they prepared to end their trip, but then it hit Santana square in the head. Whatever amorphous bond she and Quinn had struck during this cruise would disappear when they went back to Lima. They would return to their lives as usual and that meant that they would be fighting on the same side sometimes, but a majority of the time they would be fighting each other. Vacations were funny that way, offering a brief reprieve every vacation had to yield to reality and Santana’s reality with Quinn was less friends with benefits and more frenemy. Santana sighed, gave Quinn one last look as she packed her suitcase, and prepared herself to return to her regular life.
///
De-embarkation went much more smoothly than when they had arrived at the cruise terminal only five days ago. Santana’s dad immediately found their bags and snatched a porter. Even the security line at the airport went quickly and much sooner than Santana would have liked to admit it she was back in Ohio.
Quinn’s mom, Judy, was waiting at baggage claim, her face lighting up when she saw Quinn. “Quinnie, how was it? Fun, I hope?” she said enthusiastically.
“It was good, mom,” Quinn replied. The awkwardness in the stiff hug she gave her mother didn’t go unnoticed by Santana. It was the same way she hugged her parents.
They stood without speaking as they waited for the bags to creep up the luggage carousel. After Quinn had retrieved her bag she looked at Santana.
“This is it, I guess,” Santana said after shifting her feet.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Quinn admitted.
An overwhelming need took over Santana and she grappled Quinn into a tight hug. “I had fun,” Santana said in a desperately sad tone.
“Me too. It meant a lot,” Quinn said earnestly.
Judy looked at both girls with a puzzled expression hanging from her mouth.
Quinn straightened her shoulders, “So, see you when school starts.”
Santana returned Quinn’s statement with her familiar smug grin and shrugged without commitment.
As Santana watched the nearly identical blond heads of Quinn and her mother disappear from her view she recognized that the vacation was finally over.
Author:kkieslowski
Written For: startled_always
Prompt: Santana and Quinn go on a vacation.
Pairing: Santana/Quinn
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language.
Spoilers: Up through “New York.”
Summary: Santana’s not sure why she asked Tubbers to join her for her family’s annual summer cruise.
The sun was positioned high in the sky and beat down with a fierce nondiscrimination, scorching the crowd of people, lined up like ants, at the dock. Santana looked out through her sunglasses and saw her dad reaching, waving his hands drastically, the veins in his neck bulging in agitation, as another luggage bag passed them by. Her mother’s face winced when the seagulls screeched like a pack of hormone crazy teeny-boppers who had just spotted Bieber. She looked behind her and glanced at Quinn whose dark sunglasses and pink scarf tied around her neck made her look like some old actress out of a movie Santana would have seen at two a.m. during a bout of insomnia on TCM, or some other channel old people with nothing left to live for watch.
“What?” Quinn asked, a defensive edge betraying a warning.
Why did Quinn always have to be so uptight and why did Brittany have to go with her parents on a road trip, Santana asked herself. Seriously, Santana had hoped that her family’s annual summer cruise would be filled with its usual days of sun and nights being curled up into the warmth of her best friend, Brittany.
An image of pressing her stomach flat into Quinn’s back flashed into her head. Fat was going to happen. Quinn was about as cuddly and warm as a sea urchin. The best Santana was going to get was cold nights teetering on the edge of the queen size bed she would share with Quinn.
Santana had considered making her parents pay the single’s supplement instead of inviting Quinn. If she had the room to herself she could hunt for a few barsexual sorority girls and bring them back to her cabin. But Santana realized that what she’d probably find were overweight cougars who were bathing their livers in mid-shelf booze. Plus, she’d have someone to talk to since her parents would be nowhere to be found until it was time to disembark from the ship.
“Nothing,” she responded and turned her face forward.
Her dad finally tracked down a porter.
///
“Do your parents get this for you every year?” Quinn asked in amazement.
Quinn was responding to the rather roomy cabin that had a full-size balcony, couch, and queen size bed that was their stateroom. Santana had always found cruise ship rooms to be cramped, but hadn’t minded as it was an excuse to accidentally find herself pressing into Brittany’s side of the bed.
Santana let Quinn continue to face out the window. She’d seen the view before, so she wasn’t as surprised.
“Yeah. Their view’s better,” she muttered.
“Right side or left,” Quinn asked cautiously as she stared at the bed.
“I’m on the left, bitch,” Santana smiled. “Same for the side of the closet and the sink.”
They continued to unpack in silence.
Santana sighed as she hung up her sun dresses. This all felt so familiar. Except instead of having vacation sex with Brittany she got to watch Quinn search for drawer space that didn’t exist.
///
Santana’s eyes darted around the lobby shifting from the shiny gold railing on the main staircase to the bright lights bouncing off of the ceiling and finally fixating on the blurry paintings that looked like they were done by that crazy guy who cut his ear off.
“Are your parents coming?” Quinn asked beside her.
Santana’s head turned. Brittany had known that Santana was always on her own during the last six cruises. “No,” Santana said flatly and walked down the dark hallway towards the hostess station.
“Hello, my name is Alana. How many in your party tonight?” A thick Eastern European accent pulled at the words, drawing out the i’s as if they were taffy.
“Two,” Santana replied.
Santana looked the hostess in the eye. She was sort of pretty in that starving Russian model way. Her eyes were bright blue and her severe cheekbones were nice, but not interesting enough.
“Seventy-four forty-nine,” Santana said.
The hostess smiled, “Thank you Ms. Lopez, Hector will take you to your table.”
Hector led them to a table that looked out at the water. While Hector pulled out the chair for Quinn, Santana sat down on the opposite side of the table.
Santana cringed when she saw the same awful Paris theme mirrored in the tacky Eiffel tower imprints placed in the fixtures. Cruise ships always used stupid themes that only appealed to small town people like the Hummels. Carnival, Paris, it all blended into one ugly blur of
“Thanks for inviting me,” Quinn said awkwardly across the table.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
“Fine. I’m not sure why I’m here, but thank your parents for paying for my ticket,” Quinn said and turned her head to look out at the water.
Santana leaned back into her seat, folded her arms across her chest, and stared at Quinn. Her eyes bored into the side of Quinn’s skull, challenging Quinn to meet her in a mutual stare down of animosity. When Quinn continued to act as if Santana wasn’t fixing her with her 1,000 yard bitch stare, Santana sighed, frustrated.
It was moments like these that made Santana wonder why she didn’t invite Wheezy or Tina. Then she remembered that Wheezy had paired off with Fish lips to study the importance of time travel in Twilight Galaxy Trek or some other dork fest. Tina followed Mike to Asian camp. The only real option was Quinn, because ewww she couldn’t stand a minute let alone a week with the musical Israeli hobbit.
A short Asian man dressed in the typical stark white shirt and dark black slacks and vest paused at their table. Sweat beaded down the plastic pitchers in his hands. “Water or iced tea?”
“Is it unsweet?” Quinn asked, finally pulling her face away from the window.
“Yes ma’am,” the waiter replied.
“I’ll have a tea then. Thanks” Quinn added as an afterthought.
Santana smiled curtly. “I’ll have a tea and send the bartender over here and don’t forget the bread.” Before the waiter could respond she shooed him away with her hand.
As soon as the waiter left Quinn resumed her catatonic gaze out the window. Still refusing to look at Santana, Quinn spoke. “Why are you bringing a bartender over? It’s not like you can get anything.”
Quinn sounded bored, but Santana knew better. Quinn was curious and Santana could use that to play with her for a bit.
“Don’t know. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Santana placed her elbows on the table and perched her head on her hands. “Don’t worry though,” she drawled out with a false, saccharine sweetness, “you won’t get pregnant again. They don’t serve wine coolers.”
Quinn’s eyes flashed with anger when she met Santana’s stare. Baiting Quinn always felt so satisfying. Quinn huffed out a loud puff of air and glowered at Santana with utter disgust. Santana’s amusement purred inside her like a contented cat.
Her victory was short lived when the bartender reached their table. “What can I do for you tonight?”
“I’ll have a diet coke and a mojito,” Santana said and handed the bartender her room key. Without question the bartender scribbled a few notes on his notepad and handed Santana her card.
“Anything for you miss?” he smiled at Quinn.
“She’ll have the same,” Santana said before Quinn could say anything. Quinn’s jaw dropped for a second, but she yanked it up, clamping it tightly.
“What, I’m just being nice honey.” Quinn’s eyebrows shot to the roof in her forehead. “It’s our anniversary,” Santana said and caressed Quinn’s hand.
Quinn’s face turned a bright shade of magenta and if she fumed any harder smoke would have billowed out of her ears.
“No need for her card,” Santana continued on with the ruse, “we’re in the same,” Santana winked at the waiter, “room.”
The bartender left with an urgency that made Santana chuckle to herself.
“I can’t believe - “Quinn seethed openly at Santana.
“Don’t even start,” Santana cut in. “I was just having a bit of fun and my parents are paying for all of this.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed, beady and brooding underneath the surface, but she remained quiet.
“Plus it’s not like you have anything to worry about.” Santana stared Quinn correctly in the eye, “you’re too fat for me to even consider tapping that.”
Quinn rose up from her seat. Her napkin made a dull thud when she threw it to the floor in a fit of ire. “I don’t have to take this,” Quinn hissed. “I know that you only invited me here because no one else would come, but I’m not going to let some lonely girl like you,” Quinn said with disgust, “bully me the entire trip.”
As Quinn brushed past Santana’s left arm, Santana reached out and grabbed Quinn’s elbow. Quinn’s body tensed up instantly under Santana’s grip. She stared down Santana with a stony scowl.
“Look, I -“ Santana started.
“You what?” Quinn demanded.
Santana lowered her voice when she saw that Quinn’s display of rage had developed an audience of attentive cruisers.
“I’m sorry I went there, okay. Old habit. Just sit down.”
Quinn’s jaw softened into a lax position, no longer locked into a squished grimace. Quinn returned to her seat with a surprising amount of grace for one who was just about to storm out of dinner.
A sticky silence passed through them as both Quinn and Santana remained glued to playing with their silverware. Thankfully, the bartender returned with their drinks and the waiter accompanied him with a full basket of bread and a set of menus.
“How were we able to get these?” Quinn asked after taking a sip of her mojito.
“International waters,” Santana replied through a mouthful of baguette.
“Oh,” Quinn said as she fidgeted her straw inside her drink.
“Santana,” Quinn said after a beat, “why did you bring me here? Couldn’t you have invited Brittany or Karofsky?”
Santana dropped her bread and it rolled away from her chair into the aisle. Recognition that Quinn had discovered something Santana didn’t want her to know wormed its way across Quinn’s face in a slightly curved smile.
Santana tried to cover up her mistake. “Road trip and football camp,” she said with a feigned disinterest.
Quinn’s shy smile grew larger. “Yeah, Brittany did mention to me that Mr. Tubbington would finally get to achieve his life’s dream and visit the Grand Canyon, but you’d know more about that than me.”
Santana felt her blood bubble and itch underneath her skin. Quinn knew something that Santana didn’t and that put that conniving blond bitch ahead of Santana, which never boded well for Santana.
“But Dave’s not at football camp. Strange you wouldn’t want your boyfriend,” Quinn stressed, “with you instead of me.”
“How would you know where Dave is? It’s not like you’re dating any football players. Didn’t that custard filled giant drop you for that sexually underdeveloped muppet?” Santana shot back.
“Yes, I’m no longer with Finn,” Quinn said with a thinly veiled amount of hurt, “but don’t change the subject. I know for a fact that football camp isn’t until August.”
Santana straightened her spine so she sat erect and stared evenly at Quinn. “You don’t know anything,” Santana repeated.
“But I do,” Quinn said with a chilly evenness, “Puck told me he had to reschedule cleaning our pool because Beiste required them to go to camp. He always cleans our pool in August.”
It sucked that Quinn always seemed to win. That’s probably why it felt so rewarding to give her mono during Valentine’s Day. What was worse than Quinn winning a short lived battle of wills was the fact that Santana knew Quinn already had a decent understanding of her secret.
“Just don’t,” Santana secretly loathed the non-volitional quiver in her voice. “I know you know what it’s like to have to hide something.”
Quinn’s face turned a pallid shade of grey at the mere hint of Beth. “Yeah, I do.” Quinn’s throat bobbed when she swallowed hard. She reached forward and cupped Santana’s hand. Unlike Santana’s gesture, which had been done to irritate Quinn and lacked affection, Quinn’s hand felt warm and inviting.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said quietly.
“Yeah,” Santana said, pulling her hand back, “whatever.”
The rest of the dinner passed with a disjointed awkwardness. However, the antagonizing malice that had jockeyed between them was no longer present after they had reached a tentative understanding. The truce died a brilliant death when a group of waiters surrounded them during dessert singing, “happy anniversary,” at the tops of their lungs. Quinn sat through the butchered serenade and didn’t even stay long enough to finish her chocolate cake. Santana signed the bill from the bartender in a hurry and left to find Quinn.
When Santana reached their stateroom the lights were on but the room appeared vacant. Santana shimmied past the edge of the bed to the balcony door. Her senses were instantly assaulted with the sting of humid salty air and the loud roar of the waves. Quinn’s profile was highlighted by the light of the bright half moon in the midnight blue sky. Santana almost forgot that Quinn was upset with her as she looked at her perfect nose and regal cheekbones. Quinn bristled when Santana stood next to her.
“I already apologized, so just get over it,” Santana said. “Seriously, you’d have a lot more fun if you didn’t act like you had a stick up your ass all of the time.”
Quinn grunted and continued to give Santana the cold shoulder.
“Whatever,” Santana said after waiting unsuccessfully for Quinn to warm up, “have fun being alone. I’m going to get out of here.”
Santana slammed the balcony door shut and spent the next two hours laughing at drunk couples up on the lido deck while she slurped down vodka martinis. She left the bar after the third middle-aged slouch, who was probably a father of one of the many snotty-nosed brats running around the ship, tried to proposition her. She poured her drink into his lap and laughed callously in his face after signing her bill and heading to her room.
Quinn was in bed. Santana made sure to kick her a few time in the back during the night to punish her for being such an icy bitch. Each time Quinn woke up, sputtering, Santana pretended to be blissfully asleep.
///
The next morning Santana awoke agitated. It was way too fucking early to have a blow dryer blaring in the back ground.
“Turn that off,” Santana said as she launched a pillow at Quinn.
Quinn squealed and glared at Santana before aiming the pillow at Santana’s head.
“Gotten soft now that Coach isn’t making us get up for dawn practices,” Quinn teased playfully as she plopped down next to Santana.
Santana could never understand Quinn’s mood swings. One minute the girl was like a bear strung out on crack and the next she was peachy keen. At the moment, Quinn seemed okay, which was better than last night.
Santana groaned into the mattress. “No, but it’s my vacation, which means I should be sleeping in and spending most of my time with a hot woman in my bed.” Santana’s eyes slid up and down Quinn’s body in mock scrutiny. “You’ll have to do for now,” Santana said without interest.
The back of Santana’s head stung when a pillow smacked it. Santana glared up at Quinn who was clutching onto a white pillow. “I told you, I’m not that into that.”
“I know,” Santana said exasperated.
Quinn shifted so her legs no longer dangled off the bed. “So what are we doing today?”
Santana sat up and stretched out her back, taking enjoyment in the limber ease of the exercise, as her arms reached high above her head. “I thought we’d tan, catch some lunch, terrorize some housewives, get dinner, and then get drunk,” Santana said through a string of yawns. “That all right with you Blondie?”
“Sure,” Quinn said as she rolled off the bed.
A flash of cold air shocked Santana when Quinn whisked the sheets off of the bed. “Get up,” Quinn ordered.
“Bitch,” Santana muttered underneath her breath, “give it back.” Santana stretched her hand out for the covers.
“Nope. Let’s get some breakfast first.” Santana looked longingly up at the covers held hostage in Quinn’s hands.
“Ugh,” Santana grumbled as she got out of bed.
///
Santana clutched her fork in her fingers wishing it was Quinn she could strangle instead of silverware. Quinn had dragged her out of the warm comfort of her bed to order a yogurt and a freaking banana. She could have gotten all of that at the breakfast buffet, by herself, and let Santana sleep.
“You know you could have gotten that by yourself at the buffet,” Santana said through clenched teeth.
“I know, but I like being waited on,” Quinn replied, “and I didn’t want to come here by myself.”
“Big surprise,” Santana muttered darkly. “Guess it’s better this way,” she said after sulking for a few minutes.
Quinn took the bait, “What’s better?” She asked, her eyebrows rising slightly, giving a cartoonish look to her face.
“Your ass. It’s not like it could have handled it if you had ordered bacon.” Santana chuckled inwardly. Bacon was Quinn’s vice and Santana knew that Quinn was anxious about her weight.
“God, you’re such a bitch,” Quinn pushed her plate forward in revulsion.
“If you don’t like the company don’t wake me up so early next time,” Santana said with smug satisfaction.
Once Quinn ceased pouting at her from across the table she grabbed Quinn’s arm and yanked her from the table, “Let’s go change so we can tan.”
///
Quinn appeared to still be on a modesty kick and changed in the bathroom. What was it with that girl and covering up? They’d all undressed in front of each other in Cheerios thousands of times, but Quinn still wanted to keep up her Virgin Mary act even if she’d already had a lizard baby ruin that charade. A wicked thought passed through Santana’s mind. Maybe Quinn was till conscious about her stretch-marked abs?
“Hey Tubbers,” Santana yelled. Her fist was like a jackhammer as it pounded on the bathroom door. “Hurry up. I’ve got a lounge chair with my name on it and it better not be taken because you’re worried about how fat you look.”
Quinn opened the bathroom door with a creak and glared at Santana. One of the expansive navy blue beach towels provided by the cruise company was wrapped tightly around Quinn’s body. The whites of Quinn’s knuckles popped out where she grasped the towel.
Quinn’s face twitched when Santana laughed out loud, “You know you’re going to have to take that off at some point. Can’t hide your stretch marks forever.”
Quinn’s flip flops smacked in a staccato march as she walked somewhat irately down the hall. Santana snickered. Pissing off Quinn was easily becoming the highlight of her cruise.
After an elevator ride that consisted of Santana breaking into mini fits of laughter and Quinn emitting a low pitch growl, they finally reached the main deck. The orange sun cast down on them its heavy waves of heat and Santana flipped her sunglasses down from her forehead onto her nose.
“Let’s go over there,” she pointed behind her to the first row of lounge chairs that was readily in view of the entire deck. Quinn surveyed the view and appeared tense as she hitched her shoulder’s up, but Santana ignored her and made her way over to the white chairs.
Santana smoothed her towel over the hot plastic of the chair and sat down. She waited for Quinn to walk over. Quinn stopped and looked at Santana, her eyes both hesitant and puzzled as she stared back.
With a quick drop Quinn’s towel hit the floor and Santana was left gaping. It appeared that Quinn had very much gotten her pre-baby gate abs back as Santana’s attention was fully adhesed to the grooved line running down Quinn’s stomach. Santana remembered to swallow the saliva that was thick in the back of her throat and she let out a train of loud coughs as she choked.
Quinn quirked her eyebrow at Santana. “What’s wrong with you now?”
“Nothing,” Santana croaked. She ran her fingers through her hair, deliberately sifting through the strands to regain some composure. “Need help with that,” she said pointing to the tanning oil at Quinn’s side.
Santana instantly cringed on the inside. Quinn may not have rejected her thus far, but it’s not like Quinn’s religious convictions allow her to be on team “yay gay” either. Quinn’s small town closed minded upbringing doesn’t rear its snobbish head and Santana’s is pleasantly surprised when Quinn nods and turns her back so Santana has easier access.
As Santana’s greased hands glided over Quinn’s back, resting for a moment on the thin line of muscle that arches around Quinn’s shoulder blades, she became painfully aware of how it’s been since she and Brittany last had sex. The tingling sensation that burned a quick path through her fingertips and straight down past her stomach can only be described as torturous. It’s like she’s Puck. Worse, it’s like she’s Finn, all clumsy hands and easily excited. Quinn Fabray should not be affecting her this way.
“Your turn,” Santana said slowly as she deliberately removed her hands from Quinn’s glistening shoulders and laid her chest flat against the chair. She turned her head so she was facing the opposite direction of Quinn. Quinn’s firm and steady hands made Santana feel more anxious as they expertly applied the suntan oil. She really, really should have at least made out with one of the “St. Mary’s Academy” at Nationals. Instead, she decided to respect Brittany, who shafted her into the friend zone, and now she was lusting after Quinn Fabray like a twelve-year-old boy with a half hard-on.
“That’s good,” Santana rushed but managed to add a muffled, “thanks.”
Santana was relatively successful at calming herself down. It was pretty easy once she began to think of Sam’s guppy lips or Finn’s pastry boobs. However, all of her careful meditation was up in smoke the minute she flipped over.
“Jesus,” Santana whispered under her breath. One look down Quinn’s tank top left Santana speechless. “I’ve got to gay, I mean go,” Santana said as she hopped past Quinn.
“Wait, I’m coming too,” Quinn said, clearly annoyed at Santana’s flightiness.
Santana gave one quick look behind her, “I’ll see you in the room,” and jolted down the stairs towards the main part of the deck leaving Quinn with a towel in her hand and a perplexed grimace on her face.
///
Santana breathed heavily as cold droplets of water beat down upon her. Her cool-down shower was helping to relieve some of her stress, but she wasn’t completely comfortable. Couldn’t she just have a friend that she didn’t have to bang? Was that so hard to ask, she wondered in vain as she knew the answer was no when an image of Quinn pressed up against their balcony flew into her mind.
She turned off the water and hopped out of the shower, drying herself as quickly as possible. It was imperative that she get out of the room before Quinn got back, which was any moment, so she could avoid her new distraction until her thoughts were figured out. Luckily, she was able to exit before Quinn was down the hall and she spent the rest of the day evading Quinn until it was time to go to dinner.
“Back so soon,” Quinn said, as she perched her feet at the end of the bed, painting her toenails a light shade of pink.
It would have been a normal scene for anyone but Quinn. Santana was on edge as Quinn almost too calmly continued to stay fixated on the task in front of her.
“Been out looking around the ship. Not like you had to stay here by yourself,” Santana shrugged.
“Yeah, that’s so wonderful about being on a cruise with someone, being alone.”
Santana caught the tiniest hint of venom seeping through Quinn’s otherwise placid tone.
Santana knew what it was like to be alone all of the time. Like Quinn’s parents, affection was bought not freely given. It created a certain amount of resentment and hardening towards their parents, but also was a common insecurity that created a weird bond between Santana and Quinn when Quinn met her at the start of freshman year.
Instead of picking an argument, because really, Quinn didn’t have to be that pissed at her, she said, “I’m leaving in a half an hour for dinner. You can go with me or eat by yourself.”
Even though Quinn didn’t immediately respond to Santana she was ready to depart when Santana wanted to leave.
///
“So what is going on with you and Brittany?” Quinn asked causing Santana to choke on a mouthful of bread.
“What! Nothing,” Santana muffled and sputtered.
Quinn didn’t appear convinced as she twirled her napkin in her lap. “Please. Don’t lie to me S. Something’s been up since Valentine’s Day, maybe even before then. You two used to do everything together and then suddenly you got broody and she just looks at you like a puppy that had been kicked by their master. So what happened?”
Santana felt the urge to murder Quinn well up deep inside her, but stomped it down. “It’s none of your business,” Santana said curtly.
Quinn’s inquisitive gaze softened, “Look, believe it or not, I’m actually worried about you. It’s not like we were close this year after,” Quinn’s unfinished sentence hung in the air.
“After you ratted me out to coach and screwed me to a semester with knees being imprinted into the small of my back? Yeah, I remember,” Santana snipped.
A deep rose blush broke out across Quinn’s face. “Sorry, about that. Still doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about what was going on.”
“When?” Santana said disgruntled. “When you were so busy trying to play Finn and Sam or when winning a plastic tiara took over your precious little life?”
Quinn’s voice was low, “When I realized that my best friend looked miserable and Brittany refused to tell me what was going on.”
Santana felt the hot sting of tears well in her eyes. God damn it. Screw Quinn Fabray and her fake friendship. Screw Brittany and making her feels things. Fuck it. Screw Lima and everything about that loserish small town.
“It’s okay if you’re gay,” Quinn said softly.
Santana went to retort, but Quinn smiled at her and just said, “I’ve known for a while.”
Santana tilted her head to the side and Quinn rolled her eyes, “It’s not like you and Brittany were ever quiet when we shared rooms for Cheerios.”
Santana laughed off a few tears and was taken aback at the amount of relief she felt. She finally came out to someone and they didn’t instantly vilify her.
“I mean I’m not gay,” Quinn rattled nervously, “but I am okay if you are.”
“Juno isn’t a lesbian, got it.”
“You can’t call me that anymore, I’m not pregnant,” Quinn said her voice shrill with anger.
“I can call you whatever I want Q. Part of the perks of being me.” Santana glanced down at her half eaten plate of pasta and looked back at Quinn. “Want to get out of here?”
Quinn nodded and Santana got up from the table.
///
Quinn’s forehead felt warm and sweaty when she laughed into Santana’s shoulder. Santana had kept a steady supply of drinks flowing from the bar and it was clear in Quinn’s sloppy smile and slurred words that she was drunk. Santana smiled as the room spun around her. Yep, she was drunk too.
They were back in their stateroom after closing down one of the bars on the ships.
“Truth or dare?” Quinn giggled.
“Truth,” Santana said.
“Why did Coach Sylvester make you run laps for two weeks last year?”
A wide smile burgeoned across Santana’s face. “One time me and Britts snuck into her office to have sex after practice,” she saw Quinn wrinkle her nose. “Whatever, we’re totally hot together. Anyway, she walked in on us doing it on her desk and went all psycho bitch on us.”
Santana played with the tips of her hair. “Truth or dare?”
Quinn looked sheepishly at Santana, “Dare.”
Santana laughed to herself, “No way,” she muttered.
Quinn sat upright, “What?” she asked indignantly.
“Sorry Q, but there’s no way you’re going to do it.”
Quinn balked, “You don’t know that. You haven’t even told me what it is.”
“Fine,” Santana said leaned forward and brushed her lips past Quinn’s ear, “kiss me.”
A nervous giggle erupted from Quinn before she gasped and her eyes became as wide as saucers. “You’re not serious.”
Santana scoffed loudly. “See, I knew you wouldn’t do it.”
Before Santana could tease Quinn anymore about being a bitch baby and chickening out, she was silenced by warm, pliable lips, pressing against her own. Quinn held the kiss and scraped her fingernails down the base of Santana’s neck. Santana’s stomach did a back flip. Damn, it wasn’t supposed to feel this good.
When Quinn pulled back Santana refused to meet her gaze. “I’m going to bed,” she said resolutely and scampered off to the bathroom. When she finally gathered enough courage to open the door Quinn had passed out on the bed. After she crawled under the covers, Santana gave Quinn a single hard kick for good measure. Quinn grunted and Santana smiled. At least it had been a small revenge for the wreck Quinn was causing towards Santana’s hormones.
///
Santana woke up with a dull thudding in her head and a dry mouth. She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth trying to chase away the stale cotton stickiness.
Quinn roused slowly due to Santana’s rustling. Once Quinn’s eyes were fully opened a look of panic struck her face and she bolted for the bathroom.
The heavy retching noises belied that Quinn was not doing well after last night’s plethora of cocktails. “You okay?” Santana asked out of a show of politeness.
“No, I don’t think I can make it off the boat today,” Quinn called weakly in between two rounds of hurling.
“It’s cool, I don’t even like Nassau that much,” Santana said a little relieved she wouldn’t have to tour the “Atlantis” resort with a nauseating hangover.
When Quinn opened up the door to the bathroom, Santana couldn’t contain her laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Quinn pouted. “You don’t look so hot either.”
Santana propped herself up on her elbow and stared resolutely at Quinn. “I always look hot.”
Quinn crawled into bed and closed her eyes, “Can we not talk right now. My head is killing me.”
“Sure,” Santana said, happy to sleep in a little longer.
///
Santana sighed when felt a warm body pressed into her stomach. It felt natural and she breathed in the scent of the skin beneath her before her until she realized that her hand wasn’t slopped over Brittany’s trim flank, but Quinn’s curved side. Her momentary panic caused the clouds of sleep to vacate her head and her chest to pound. Between last night’s intoxicated kiss and today’s impromptu spooning, Santana felt thoroughly unclear with where she stood with Quinn.
Before she could process more of her thoughts, Quinn awoke and leaped from the bed, pushing Santana away in her haste. “What - what’s going on?”
“Nothing, we were sleeping and -“ realization of Quinn’s accusatory glare caused Santana to stop dead in her tracks. “No, no fucking way are you doing this now. God, how could I even trust you? You’re such a judgmental, scared bitch.”
Quinn’s eyes dipped to the floor. “I - I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I’m sorry, I swear I’m not -“
“A big homophobic asshole,” Santana interrupted.
Quinn’s chest shook as she forced out a laborious breath. “It’s not like that okay.”
Santana chuckled ruefully. “It’s not like you’d have much ground to stand on after last night.”
Quinn scoffed and cast Santana a scornful glance. “That was a dare. That’s all.”
Santana knocked through her draws loudly, rummaging for the nearest piece of clothing she could find, before pulling a shirt over her head and buttoning up her shorts.
“Don’t worry, the big, scary dyke won’t molest you now,” she yelled bitterly before slamming the door in Quinn’s face.
Santana didn’t return for dinner, but opted to eat at the buffet instead. When she did decide to head back to her cabin she found Quinn had already gone back to sleep.
Santana fought back the urge to kick Quinn, but she did steal most of the covers. Small victories she supposed.
///
Santana had planned to abandon Quinn’s twitchy ass and spend her day sunning herself on the beach, but Quinn’s sincerity when she apologized that morning had won her over. They got off the ship early and took a taxi over to a local beach.
While the sun was a large angry orange ball in the sky, beating down on them without appeal, the cool breezes coming from the shore beckoned them to cross the white sand and splash in the clear blue waters below.
Santana threw her body into the crystal like water with abandon. Quinn splashed around when she quickly followed Santana into the waves. It was nice for a moment to just forget about Lima or Cheerios and play in the water with a friend.
Both Quinn and Santana continued to shriek and play until their bodies felt boneless and they retreated to the warmth of the shore. An unspoken truce lay between them. Today was going to be perfect and they wouldn’t let anything, even their own animosity and egos, get in the way.
Santana unthinkingly grabbed Quinn’s hand and held it in her own as they walked back to the cab. She almost dropped Quinn’s fingers like a hot potato, but then she felt a slight tug.
Quinn’s smile was infectious as it dazzled brightly in the sun. Santana didn’t try to quell the grin creeping up the side of her face.
“Ready to go back?” Santana asked. Quinn nodded, continued to smile, and got into the cab.
///
Santana fell onto the bed and sighed jubilantly when her head hit the pillow. Her wet hair streaked across the white pillow case in stringy waves and she knew her pillow would be damp later, but at the moment she didn’t care.
“Aren’t you going to get ready?” Quinn asked as she ran a brush through her hair.
“No, I’m staying here,” Santana replied. She picked up the remote on her bedside table and clicked on the TV.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Quinn said a hint of skepticism edged in her tone.
Santana shifted deeper into the bed. “Yeah.”
Quinn placed her hands on her hips and glued her eyes to Santana. “Are you expecting me to eat by myself and bring you back a plate?”
Santana glanced over at Quinn and then set her gaze at the TV. “No, Q. I’m getting room service.”
“You can get that?” Quinn asked incredulously.
“One of the advantages of cruising. Now look at the menu and pick out what you want. Then we’ll call our steward and he’ll bring it up later.”
Thirty minutes after they placed their order in with Joseph their steward a knock rang at the door. Quinn hopped up from the bed and answered the door. Joseph brought several domed plates into the room and set it on a side table.
“Thanks, Jo,” Santana called as Joseph shut the door.
“Want to take it outside on the deck?” Santana asked Quinn who was still staring at the plates of food.
Quinn smiled, “That’d be nice.”
As they ate outside the island grew smaller as it disappeared around them. At first the large green coast was visible and then is dissolved slowly into nothing but a dark speck in the night sky. Neither said anything as they sat in a comfortable silence until the desserts had cooled and lay abandon on a grated silver table. Quinn’s smile had dissipated and she looked solemn. Santana wasn’t sure of what was running through Quinn’s head. Sometimes she forgot how much Quinn had gone through in the past two years, because no matter how much Santana tried to compete with her it always seemed like Quinn bounced back to the top.
“Sometimes I think about what she’s like,” Quinn whispered, looking out at the endless ocean. “I hope she’s happy.”
Not sure what to say Santana blurted, “I’m sorry about that. Finn too. Guppy lips was okay, but Finn? He’s just an overgrown baby with jiggly boobs.”
Quinn laughed and wiped a few stray tears that were threatening to fall. “He is kind of stupid,” Quinn admitted.
“And sucktastic in bed,” Santana added.
Quinn’s face looked both disgusted and amused. “Thanks,” she drawled, “but I don’t think I need to know anymore about that.”
Santana was about to argue the many points on why that was true, but Quinn asked her if she wanted to go inside and watch a movie.
“Red” was less than interesting, because who wants to watch geriatrics with low cut shirts busting a sweat. What was more intriguing was the fact that Quinn had took Santana’s hand with her own underneath the covers during the movie. Instead of pulling it back, Santana drew light patterns with her fingertips across Quinn’s palms. Santana hadn’t even realized she was doing it until forty minutes into the movie. She pressed her fingertips hard into Quinn’s hand as she tensed, the awareness of the casual ease between them both disturbing and comforting at the same time.
“Ow!” Quinn whimpered and looked at Santana with a “what the fuck?” face.
“Ugh, Bruce Willis kind of bothers me,” Santana tried to cover. Quinn continued to eye Santana skeptically. “I mean his chin sort of takes over his entire face. It’s not natural. It’s almost as bad as Sam’s grouper gaping mouth.”
Quinn sighed and retracted her hand. Santana wasn’t expecting the loss of warmth to be so noticeable, but she wished she hadn’t said anything.
Quinn mentioned something about being tired and turned over in the bed facing away from Santana. Santana wished she didn’t have such complicated friends. Even Brittany, whose most descriptive stories were allegories of her cat’s secret espionage career, was complex when it came to Santana. Maybe she should have ran away to that lesbian colony in Tribeca, she thought before she clicked her light out and switched off the TV.
///
Quinn woke up Santana with the hair dryer yet again and Santana continued to grumble into her pillow like she had every other morning. Breakfast was amiable considering that both Santana and Quinn failed to bring up the awkward end to last night’s movie. Instead, they shared jokes about Sue Sylvester and Mr. Schue.
“I swear he thinks his sweater vests are some sort of fashion symbol,” Santana said as she picked at her bacon. “But really, they’re just a male version of a Rachel Berry fashion retarded sweater.”
Quinn guffawed. “It’s the same way with Coach’s track suits. At least her outfits are color coordinated.”
One sentiment that always went unspoken between Quinn, Santana, and Brittany is that each of them really missed Cheerios. Glee club was fun and than just a chance at a college scholarship or a rung up the social ladder. Still, it didn’t quite feel the void that wearing the red and white uniform created.
“Whatever,” Santana grumbled, annoyed that she was feeling sentimental for what had to be a Hallmark channel record number of times, “she’s just as crazy and it’s not like she’s got real power anymore.”
Quinn nodded in agreement and a silence drifted over them. They spent the rest of the meal highly involved with the food on their plates, letting the linger thought of and neither do we remain unsaid.
///
Jumping from one awkward train to another seemed to be Santana’s specialty of late as she caught herself having to fight off yet another lady boner when she and Quinn went tanning. Santana had hoped that the first time had just been a conflux of hormones or the fact that she was so hard up for any sort of sexual gratification after Brittany sequestered her into the friend-zone, which was unamusedly a friends who don’t have sex zone. Santana’s hopes were dashed when she caught herself staring down Quinn like a lion that just saw its first gazelle in over a week.
She was tempted to press the boundaries on how much Quinn was that into that seeing as she had not been all that unwilling to toe the line during truth or dare. But then Quinn ruined it all when a group of pre-teen boys splashed them both with ice water.
Santana jumped to her feet and chased after the little twerps, chanting curses in slangy Spanish the entire way down the aisle until Quinn called her back.
“Just leave it alone. They’re stupid kids,” Quinn said as she gathered up her belongings.
Santana seethed for several minutes, but once her blood had stopped roaring in her ears she took her stuff and trudged back to her hotel room.
///
Both Quinn and Santana took a spectacularly long time preparing for dinner. Tonight was the Captain’s evening and that meant dressing up. Santana looked in the mirror and winked at herself when she saw how hot she was in her tight red dress.
“You are such an egomaniac,” Quinn noted as she swept a few stray locks of hair out of her face.
Santana leered at her own reflection, “You would be too if you looked as good as me.” She gave Quinn a sideways glance, “Still, I guess you’re okay.”
While Santana was laying down a rather thick act for Quinn, the reality that Santana knew to be true was that Quinn looked anything but okay. Even when she hated to admit it, especially when she was drunk at parties where Quinn was also present, Quinn had always been gorgeous.
Quinn didn’t acknowledge Santana’s jib and finished sweeping on her last dab of mascara. She surveyed herself briefly and then said, “Let’s go.”
///
Dinner was long and boring because Santana was forced to sit with her parents. Her father and mother spent the entire evening discussing all of the activities they had done on the ship but failed to take any interest in what Santana or Quinn had done. Santana cringed wit embarrassment when her father accidentally called Quinn “Brittany” twice and when Santana had stared him down he stated, “What, they’re both blonde and cheerleaders.”
It appeared that Quinn was just as relieved and eager to leave the table as Santana as Quinn excused herself without ordering dessert.
“Look, they suck - “ Santana started to apologize to Quinn, but Quinn turned around and placed a finger to stop her.
“No. I get it. It’s cool. My dad is just like that sometimes.”
Santana hadn’t expected Quinn to open up and mouthed and “o.”
“Let’s just go back to the cabin,” Quinn requested, her hand resting on Santana’s forearm.
Without a word Santana followed Quinn back to the cabin. Santana was shocked when Quinn kissed her out of nowhere once they were back in their stateroom.
“What was that?” Santana scanned Quinn’s face for answers.
Quinn blushed and gulped down a breath, “I, I just wanted to see what that was like sober.”
“And?” Santana said still searching Quinn for a response.
“And -“ Quinn’s blush deepened into a dark maroon, “it wasn’t bad.”
“The hell it wasn’t bad. I’m an awesome kisser and everyone knows it!” Santana yelled in a mild outrage.
“Can we just not talk about this when we get back?” Quinn asked, her voice tiny and scared like a small child who had been caught misbehaving.
Santana waited a moment before she responded, “Yeah, Q. Whatever you want.”
Quinn smiled sheepishly and Santana and then looked at the mail on the desk. “We’re supposed to pack tonight, right?”
“Yeah,” Santana replied, “I guess we should get on that.”
Quinn didn’t respond, but grabbed her suitcase out from underneath the bed and began to pack her belongings. Santana followed suit, but every so often stole glances at Quinn because she still felt the linger of a surprise kiss on her skin. Santana would have said something as they prepared to end their trip, but then it hit Santana square in the head. Whatever amorphous bond she and Quinn had struck during this cruise would disappear when they went back to Lima. They would return to their lives as usual and that meant that they would be fighting on the same side sometimes, but a majority of the time they would be fighting each other. Vacations were funny that way, offering a brief reprieve every vacation had to yield to reality and Santana’s reality with Quinn was less friends with benefits and more frenemy. Santana sighed, gave Quinn one last look as she packed her suitcase, and prepared herself to return to her regular life.
///
De-embarkation went much more smoothly than when they had arrived at the cruise terminal only five days ago. Santana’s dad immediately found their bags and snatched a porter. Even the security line at the airport went quickly and much sooner than Santana would have liked to admit it she was back in Ohio.
Quinn’s mom, Judy, was waiting at baggage claim, her face lighting up when she saw Quinn. “Quinnie, how was it? Fun, I hope?” she said enthusiastically.
“It was good, mom,” Quinn replied. The awkwardness in the stiff hug she gave her mother didn’t go unnoticed by Santana. It was the same way she hugged her parents.
They stood without speaking as they waited for the bags to creep up the luggage carousel. After Quinn had retrieved her bag she looked at Santana.
“This is it, I guess,” Santana said after shifting her feet.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Quinn admitted.
An overwhelming need took over Santana and she grappled Quinn into a tight hug. “I had fun,” Santana said in a desperately sad tone.
“Me too. It meant a lot,” Quinn said earnestly.
Judy looked at both girls with a puzzled expression hanging from her mouth.
Quinn straightened her shoulders, “So, see you when school starts.”
Santana returned Quinn’s statement with her familiar smug grin and shrugged without commitment.
As Santana watched the nearly identical blond heads of Quinn and her mother disappear from her view she recognized that the vacation was finally over.