Amends: A Glee fanfic. Quinn/Santana. Chapter 2
Title: Amends
Chapter: 2/3
Rating: PG-13 (drama, angst, some language)
Summary: Santana is much nicer to boys than she is to girls, and it has everything to do with sexuality... but not in the way that people think.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Glee. If I did, it would go a little something like this...
After years of being on the receiving end and loathing it, Santana finally began to understand the boys-teasing-girls on the elementary school playground mentality: you tease the girl you like so that she won't suspect anything. Unfortunately, elementary school was long gone, and the Latina traded teasing for downright nastiness and alienation. As fully expected and half hoped, the strong-willed, no-nonsense Quinn eventually stopped taking Santana's crap, and any fraying thread their friendship had been hanging by was effectively severed. They sometimes would exchange non-threatening glances in the hallways or even adrenaline-induced smiles on stage, but it was a far cry from the way things used to be.
Things actually used to be amazing, Santana recalled with bittersweet wistfulness. Memories that were somehow both blurry and distinct flickered in mental imagery: first, a foreign recollection of being a doe-eyed 5-year-old, picking nervously at the hole in one of her homemade Mary Jane shoes as she sat with her knees pulled tightly to her chest on the carpeted church floor. Her first week in a new town and not only was she obviously the most unkempt child in the room, but also the only one without a Bible. She more clearly remembers the golden hair she saw out of the corner of her eye as the girl who wore it in curls scooted beside her, quietly offering to share her book. In retrospect, it was almost like the young blonde purposely kept her voice down, to spare Santana any unwanted attention. But in true Quinn fashion, she not-so-subtly nudged the other girl's drawn-up knees into a relaxed position, spreading the Bible over both of their laps. While even in her childlike innocence Santana knew that this would be a moment she would never forget, she had no way of grasping the significance it would truly have until later.
Next her visions played like a montage of first play dates and sleepovers that turned into seconds, thirds, and soon reached immeasurable counts before the girls had even turned 6. The young duo confidently approached benchmark moments in their young lives, like first days of school, trips to the dentist, and otherwise potentially nerve-wracking moments largely undaunted, as long as their fingers were intertwined with one another. Even as a child, she had always admired their interlocked contrasting complexions; "like peaches and cinnamon" she recalled pointing out to her fair-skinned counterpart, smiling at the giggle her comment elicited from the other girl.
More vividly, she recollected the early junior high days and how suddenly, her hand would sweat when pressing itself to Quinn's. How the now slightly taller girl's laugh would cause a blush to consume her cheeks rather than just a smile. How what used to be meaningless changing in front of one another would now draw the moisture out of Santana's mouth and incline her eyes to linger longer than she knew she should on the blonde's body. Although she couldn't deny the change in her reactions, there were times that she was almost positive she wasn't the only one who things were different for. Quinn would seem to get oddly possessive - more than usual - when a boy's gaze would linger on Santana at school. She considered of course that it might be jealousy motivated by boys, but Quinn didn't lack her share of admirers, and there was something about the way she'd always lock their arms tightly, almost forcefully, and quickly suggest they have a sleepover that made the Latina think otherwise. Also, even though they had retained the same joint sleeping habits for years, there reached a point where Santana could have sworn that Quinn would let out a shuddered exhale as tan-skinned arms would wrap around her waist from behind.
While the previous images had in places been hazy, there was one memory that despite 3 years passing was like watching a high definition, surround sound movie; a crystal-clear, verbatim account of the day that effectively changed everything:
13 years old and overjoyed with 7th grade having ended earlier that day, Quinn and Santana were sprawled out on their stomachs on the floor, watching "Happy Feet" on DVD and skimming their yearbooks. It seemed to be their lucky day: the start of summer, their new favorite movie, and Mr. Fabray's atypical allowing them to use the "good TV" in his den as he worked. Being together was just the icing on the cake, and as Quinn drew a dramatic black and red 'X' over that idiot Karofsky's yearbook picture, Santana sighed contentedly, closing her own yearbook and resting her head on her best friend's shoulder, closing her eyes to absorb the moment. Life felt absolutely perfect, becoming even more so when Quinn's toes gradually found the arch of Santana's foot.
"Judy!" sounded the familiar bellow of Mr. Fabray, startling both girls out of their momentary reverie as Mrs. Fabray quickly floated into the room, standing beside her husband who was sitting at his computer.
"What is it, Sweetheart?" she asked attentively.
"Did you know that Jennie's college gives scholarships to homosexuals who have been rejected by their parents?" he interrogated, the disgust apparent in his voice. Jennie was Quinn's older sister who had just graduated high school and decided to attend a mid-sized state university.
The word 'homosexual' slammed Santana's heart restlessly into the wall of her chest, as it was one she had been running through her own mind quite a bit recently. The way that Quinn's father said it, however, was far different from her own interpretation of the word, and it terrified her.
"What? No, of course I didn't know that! I was under the impression that the school had strong, religious convictions!" Mrs. Fabray quickly replied.
The dissatisfied man exhaled in exasperation. "I left this decision up to the two of you with the understanding that you wouldn't pick some hippie, liberal arts institution. I was worried when you mentioned a state school, but giving free rides to gays for their depravity? That's just shy of communism."
Before Quinn's mom could defend herself, Santana's curiosity got the best of her. She didn't know what the words 'depravity' or 'communism' meant, but she was desperate to decipher the hostile tone of this conversation. "Why is that a bad thing?" she asked, immediately unnerved at the way both adult heads snapped in her direction. "I mean, isn't it good to help people who need it?"
A moment of uncomfortable silence hung in the balance before Mrs. Fabray stepped in, hoping to ingratiate herself to her husband and still be informative. "Well… what about the children whose parents have rejected them because they're Christian?"
Once again, Santana couldn't contain her instincts when she let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think that's as common as kids needing it because they're gay."
As if Mrs. Fabray's expression hadn't spoken for itself, she huffed, "Well, if that's the case, then I don't know what this world is coming to," before storming out of the room.
Unable to let things end there, Santana took another deep breath before once again addressing Mr. Fabray. "I - I didn't mean to make you guys mad, I just… I don't understand why this is a bad thing. What about the people who are born gay?"
The look of anger, pity, and disappointment that appeared in Mr. Fabray's eyes stole the young girl's breath in the worst way possible as he stood to address the both of them with an important lesson. "People aren't born gay, girls. It's a choice they make to be sexually deviant in order to rebel against God's plan. Maybe you should put away those yearbooks and open your Bibles instead," he all but sneered before leaving the room and setting after his wife.
The shorter girl's eyes quickly wore their way into the carpet, and even though she hadn't looked at Quinn since her parents began their exchange, she could tell that the words resonated within her just as deeply, as the blonde subtly inched away from her, her toes breaking contact with Santana's foot.
Almost immediately, the entire dynamic between the two evolved into something that was intrinsically the complete antithesis of the direction they had been moving in. Inviting touches turned into cold, empty distance. Bi-weekly sleepovers morphed into monthly after school homework sessions, ending long before nightfall. Words of encouragement and admiration became undercutting snipes and exchanges of attitude, and for Santana, resting just below the surface the entire time was the shell of her former self, silently aching to regain what she and Quinn used to have before a 2-minute conversation rocked their joint and separate worlds so violently. Even with distractions like cultivating her popularity however she could, introducing Brittany into she and Quinn's clique, and feigning smiles at guys in Letterman jackets, the raven-haired girl's resolve only weakened with time. Each day that passed only built stronger within her a need to fall into Quinn's arms like she did once upon a time, begging her to go back to the way things were. There were even a few times where she daydreamed up a ploy where she'd ask for Quinn's help on their current Cheerios' routine, and when everyone else had left, corner her with a staggering kiss in the locker room.
Right as these thoughts were becoming nearly impossible to suppress, Puck provided what seemed like the perfect excuse to set a final barrier in place, one that fueled by faux hostility would be harder to overcome than the seemingly hundreds of other barriers Santana had attempted, yet failed, to construct in the past 3 years.
Not long after publicly denouncing Quinn for "stealing her man" was when Santana started sinking her proverbial hooks into Puck and fooling around with Brittany every so often. The grunting jock gave her a daytime decoy while the loveable ditz sometimes eased her mind at night. She would catch herself squinting her eyes just enough in the darkness to blur out anything but blonde hair, biting her lip to prevent herself from calling out a name that even Brittany couldn't be fooled into believing was hers. On these nights, she continuously insisted that the other girl face away from her while sleeping, only ever able to bring her arms halfway around Brittany's waist from behind.
She had finally constructed enough diversions to ease the pain that the past several years had been rife with, and being away from McKinley for the summer only helped the cause. That's why her knees dangerously threaten to give out on her when she opens her door to see Quinn Fabray, for the first time in months, standing on front her steps.
"Hi," the familiar voice exhales, the sound waves traveling directly to Santana's beating chest, "We need to talk." Chapter 3
Chapter: 2/3
Rating: PG-13 (drama, angst, some language)
Summary: Santana is much nicer to boys than she is to girls, and it has everything to do with sexuality... but not in the way that people think.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Glee. If I did, it would go a little something like this...
After years of being on the receiving end and loathing it, Santana finally began to understand the boys-teasing-girls on the elementary school playground mentality: you tease the girl you like so that she won't suspect anything. Unfortunately, elementary school was long gone, and the Latina traded teasing for downright nastiness and alienation. As fully expected and half hoped, the strong-willed, no-nonsense Quinn eventually stopped taking Santana's crap, and any fraying thread their friendship had been hanging by was effectively severed. They sometimes would exchange non-threatening glances in the hallways or even adrenaline-induced smiles on stage, but it was a far cry from the way things used to be.
Things actually used to be amazing, Santana recalled with bittersweet wistfulness. Memories that were somehow both blurry and distinct flickered in mental imagery: first, a foreign recollection of being a doe-eyed 5-year-old, picking nervously at the hole in one of her homemade Mary Jane shoes as she sat with her knees pulled tightly to her chest on the carpeted church floor. Her first week in a new town and not only was she obviously the most unkempt child in the room, but also the only one without a Bible. She more clearly remembers the golden hair she saw out of the corner of her eye as the girl who wore it in curls scooted beside her, quietly offering to share her book. In retrospect, it was almost like the young blonde purposely kept her voice down, to spare Santana any unwanted attention. But in true Quinn fashion, she not-so-subtly nudged the other girl's drawn-up knees into a relaxed position, spreading the Bible over both of their laps. While even in her childlike innocence Santana knew that this would be a moment she would never forget, she had no way of grasping the significance it would truly have until later.
Next her visions played like a montage of first play dates and sleepovers that turned into seconds, thirds, and soon reached immeasurable counts before the girls had even turned 6. The young duo confidently approached benchmark moments in their young lives, like first days of school, trips to the dentist, and otherwise potentially nerve-wracking moments largely undaunted, as long as their fingers were intertwined with one another. Even as a child, she had always admired their interlocked contrasting complexions; "like peaches and cinnamon" she recalled pointing out to her fair-skinned counterpart, smiling at the giggle her comment elicited from the other girl.
More vividly, she recollected the early junior high days and how suddenly, her hand would sweat when pressing itself to Quinn's. How the now slightly taller girl's laugh would cause a blush to consume her cheeks rather than just a smile. How what used to be meaningless changing in front of one another would now draw the moisture out of Santana's mouth and incline her eyes to linger longer than she knew she should on the blonde's body. Although she couldn't deny the change in her reactions, there were times that she was almost positive she wasn't the only one who things were different for. Quinn would seem to get oddly possessive - more than usual - when a boy's gaze would linger on Santana at school. She considered of course that it might be jealousy motivated by boys, but Quinn didn't lack her share of admirers, and there was something about the way she'd always lock their arms tightly, almost forcefully, and quickly suggest they have a sleepover that made the Latina think otherwise. Also, even though they had retained the same joint sleeping habits for years, there reached a point where Santana could have sworn that Quinn would let out a shuddered exhale as tan-skinned arms would wrap around her waist from behind.
While the previous images had in places been hazy, there was one memory that despite 3 years passing was like watching a high definition, surround sound movie; a crystal-clear, verbatim account of the day that effectively changed everything:
13 years old and overjoyed with 7th grade having ended earlier that day, Quinn and Santana were sprawled out on their stomachs on the floor, watching "Happy Feet" on DVD and skimming their yearbooks. It seemed to be their lucky day: the start of summer, their new favorite movie, and Mr. Fabray's atypical allowing them to use the "good TV" in his den as he worked. Being together was just the icing on the cake, and as Quinn drew a dramatic black and red 'X' over that idiot Karofsky's yearbook picture, Santana sighed contentedly, closing her own yearbook and resting her head on her best friend's shoulder, closing her eyes to absorb the moment. Life felt absolutely perfect, becoming even more so when Quinn's toes gradually found the arch of Santana's foot.
"Judy!" sounded the familiar bellow of Mr. Fabray, startling both girls out of their momentary reverie as Mrs. Fabray quickly floated into the room, standing beside her husband who was sitting at his computer.
"What is it, Sweetheart?" she asked attentively.
"Did you know that Jennie's college gives scholarships to homosexuals who have been rejected by their parents?" he interrogated, the disgust apparent in his voice. Jennie was Quinn's older sister who had just graduated high school and decided to attend a mid-sized state university.
The word 'homosexual' slammed Santana's heart restlessly into the wall of her chest, as it was one she had been running through her own mind quite a bit recently. The way that Quinn's father said it, however, was far different from her own interpretation of the word, and it terrified her.
"What? No, of course I didn't know that! I was under the impression that the school had strong, religious convictions!" Mrs. Fabray quickly replied.
The dissatisfied man exhaled in exasperation. "I left this decision up to the two of you with the understanding that you wouldn't pick some hippie, liberal arts institution. I was worried when you mentioned a state school, but giving free rides to gays for their depravity? That's just shy of communism."
Before Quinn's mom could defend herself, Santana's curiosity got the best of her. She didn't know what the words 'depravity' or 'communism' meant, but she was desperate to decipher the hostile tone of this conversation. "Why is that a bad thing?" she asked, immediately unnerved at the way both adult heads snapped in her direction. "I mean, isn't it good to help people who need it?"
A moment of uncomfortable silence hung in the balance before Mrs. Fabray stepped in, hoping to ingratiate herself to her husband and still be informative. "Well… what about the children whose parents have rejected them because they're Christian?"
Once again, Santana couldn't contain her instincts when she let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think that's as common as kids needing it because they're gay."
As if Mrs. Fabray's expression hadn't spoken for itself, she huffed, "Well, if that's the case, then I don't know what this world is coming to," before storming out of the room.
Unable to let things end there, Santana took another deep breath before once again addressing Mr. Fabray. "I - I didn't mean to make you guys mad, I just… I don't understand why this is a bad thing. What about the people who are born gay?"
The look of anger, pity, and disappointment that appeared in Mr. Fabray's eyes stole the young girl's breath in the worst way possible as he stood to address the both of them with an important lesson. "People aren't born gay, girls. It's a choice they make to be sexually deviant in order to rebel against God's plan. Maybe you should put away those yearbooks and open your Bibles instead," he all but sneered before leaving the room and setting after his wife.
The shorter girl's eyes quickly wore their way into the carpet, and even though she hadn't looked at Quinn since her parents began their exchange, she could tell that the words resonated within her just as deeply, as the blonde subtly inched away from her, her toes breaking contact with Santana's foot.
Almost immediately, the entire dynamic between the two evolved into something that was intrinsically the complete antithesis of the direction they had been moving in. Inviting touches turned into cold, empty distance. Bi-weekly sleepovers morphed into monthly after school homework sessions, ending long before nightfall. Words of encouragement and admiration became undercutting snipes and exchanges of attitude, and for Santana, resting just below the surface the entire time was the shell of her former self, silently aching to regain what she and Quinn used to have before a 2-minute conversation rocked their joint and separate worlds so violently. Even with distractions like cultivating her popularity however she could, introducing Brittany into she and Quinn's clique, and feigning smiles at guys in Letterman jackets, the raven-haired girl's resolve only weakened with time. Each day that passed only built stronger within her a need to fall into Quinn's arms like she did once upon a time, begging her to go back to the way things were. There were even a few times where she daydreamed up a ploy where she'd ask for Quinn's help on their current Cheerios' routine, and when everyone else had left, corner her with a staggering kiss in the locker room.
Right as these thoughts were becoming nearly impossible to suppress, Puck provided what seemed like the perfect excuse to set a final barrier in place, one that fueled by faux hostility would be harder to overcome than the seemingly hundreds of other barriers Santana had attempted, yet failed, to construct in the past 3 years.
Not long after publicly denouncing Quinn for "stealing her man" was when Santana started sinking her proverbial hooks into Puck and fooling around with Brittany every so often. The grunting jock gave her a daytime decoy while the loveable ditz sometimes eased her mind at night. She would catch herself squinting her eyes just enough in the darkness to blur out anything but blonde hair, biting her lip to prevent herself from calling out a name that even Brittany couldn't be fooled into believing was hers. On these nights, she continuously insisted that the other girl face away from her while sleeping, only ever able to bring her arms halfway around Brittany's waist from behind.
She had finally constructed enough diversions to ease the pain that the past several years had been rife with, and being away from McKinley for the summer only helped the cause. That's why her knees dangerously threaten to give out on her when she opens her door to see Quinn Fabray, for the first time in months, standing on front her steps.
"Hi," the familiar voice exhales, the sound waves traveling directly to Santana's beating chest, "We need to talk." Chapter 3