I'll Be There for You -- Glee: Quinn/Santana -- Chapter 2/8
Title: I'll Be There For You
Chapter: 2/8
Author: perfectly_vague
Rating: R (language, adult themes)
Disclaimer: I own zero rights to Glee.
Summary: Quinn's had it with Santana being a different person out in the world than she is behind closed doors. Same sucky summary... same request that you don't let it deter you! :p This is the result of one of the iTunes shuffle drabbles I posted not long ago. As always, any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy!
It was only for a split second, but when she woke up, Santana at first thought the night before had been a horrid, yet incredibly vivid dream. In fact, she had always been more or less infamous for waking up from larger-than-life nightmares that seemed to have no basis in reality whatsoever. It reached a point in adolescence where her family was more likely to tease her about them than to be concerned, asking what flesh-eating monster had terrorized her this time, or what brand of public embarrassment she had faced in the dream world's version of McKinley High. She even learned to bring an arsenal of caffeine with her to the Cheerios team sleepovers -- everything from No Doze to energy drinks to large coffees -- to make it through the night without nodding off after a particularly scarring incident where she awoke screaming to the laughter of her peers. Only Quinn ever did her the courtesy of opening her arms and showering her with sweet kisses, and despite Santana's insistence that she was fine, would reassure her that the dream was over and everything was okay now.
This morning when Santana reached for her girlfriend, her hand instead brushed against the cold neck of the 4th and final wine bottle that stood up against the couch from the night before, her eyes jolting open when it fell on its side. No Quinn. No bed. It wasn’t until the smell coffee invaded her nostrils, though that she really knew it wasn’t a dream - making coffee was her “job” in the morning.
She quickly glanced at her phone for the time, and even though she knew she should be getting dressed, she wasn’t even close to being ready to face the truth that she knew would become very real once she stood from the couch and came face-to-face with Quinn. She instead closed her eyes and allowed herself to be taken back to the memory of the day 3 years earlier that had just crossed her mind:
“Mother FUCKER!” came the frustrated outcry from the kitchen, waking Santana and sending her to her feet. In her tired confusion and the still darkness of the early morning, she tripped over and sent flying a few of the moving boxes. It was the third day and first Monday morning in their new apartment, and they were only about halfway unpacked.
A few more boxes kicked aside in the living room and her eyes fell upon nothing short of a hot mess. The kitchen counters, floor - and Quinn - were covered in a mixture of what appeared to be coffee, grounds, water, and milk.
Santana stepped forward, and noticing the lack of amusement on Quinn’s face, tried to hide her own and instead settled for a small, empathetic smile. “So… what happened, Babe?”
Quinn sighed, leaning up against the one clean spot on the counter and pushing the strands hanging down from her messy, slept-in ponytail out of her face. “I thought that since you’re nervous about your first day that I would get up early and make you some breakfast and coffee and serve it to you in bed. So, I made the eggs and unpacked this… convoluted machine you bought,” Quinn grumbled, motioning to the 2-in-1 coffee maker and espresso machine the Latina had purchased the night before, “thinking that it couldn’t be that hard, right? And then it told me to add water, so I did. And it still kept blinking, ‘Add water, add water’. So, I added as much water as the machine would take, mind you, the light is still blinking, and I decide to hit the ‘Brew’ button anyway, and the next thing I know, this thing starts SPEWING coffee! Literally, spewing hot coffee all over the counter and me, and so I move out of the way, and now it’s leaking water AND coffee, and I have to dig to find the paper towels, and I’m trying to wipe up the counters, and then the floor, and then I reach up to get more paper towels and I knock over the milk! A whole half gallon, gone! And now the eggs are cold and I’m disgusting and I just made a huge mess out of everything!”
The combination of picturing everything Quinn had just detailed and seeing her look like a wet, coffee-soaked puppy, Santana couldn’t help but release a loud, emphatic cackle, taking note of the hesitant smile that the blonde was desperately trying to suppress.
She reached out for Quinn, sopping with dairy and all, and pulled her close, “Baby, you are so fucking cute,” Santana gushed, still laughing.
Quinn raised an eyebrow and looked down at both the mess she made and the mess she was. “This is not cute!” she insisted, barely trying to fight her own smile anymore, “I really wanted to do something nice for you! I know I don’t have my Master’s yet, but I didn’t think it was required to brew coffee!”
The shorter girl smiled reassuringly. “Well, I think it IS cute, and sweet that you got up so early to do something nice for me, especially since you start your job today, too!”
“Yeah, as a waitress,” Quinn stressed, “This is a really big day for you. Everyone back home thought you were crazy to major in Marketing, and here you are with a serious corporate job 3 months after graduation! I’m really proud of you.”
Santana, who was rarely emotional, felt her eyes mist over, so she kept the smile securely on her face and placed an appreciative kiss on her girlfriend’s lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, before leaning in for a longer kiss. “For what it’s worth, the bit of breakfast that actually made it onto your mouth tastes delicious!”
They both laughed heartily as Quinn gave Santana a harmless shove. “From now on, YOU’RE making the coffee in the morning.”
“That I can definitely do,” Santana smiled before sighing, assessing the mess around her. “Okay, while I clean this up, you go get in the shower. Make it nice and hot, though, because I’m joining you when I’m done.”
A look of unmistakable arousal and excitement graced the blonde’s face. “Hmm…” she began seductively, “to think that in high school I never would have stood with you trying to give me orders. Now, I think I kind of like it.”
Santana raised her eyebrows in return, “Oh yeah?” she asked with a smirk, “In that case, get your ass in the shower.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Quinn playfully saluted before strutting to the bathroom.
For only a second, Santana glanced behind her at the mess in the kitchen before deciding it could wait and following her girlfriend to the shower.
She was startled out of the reverie of her daydream by the sound of ceramic breaking from the kitchen.
“Mother fucker,” sounded the familiar expletive, albeit a little quieter this time.
Taking perhaps the deepest breath she ever had, Santana lifted herself from the couch, cautiously walking to the kitchen. She was immediately overcome with a strange feeling of being at home, yet somewhere completely foreign all at once. It was later than she realized since Quinn was already dressed for work, bent over to clean up the remnants of her mug. Santana paused to admire how beautiful the other girl looked in her business-casual skirt and blazer. She had not long ago hung up her waitressing apron for good, and with her Master’s in Social Work, became a prime candidate for The Trevor Project’s lifeline, a 24-hour hotline aimed mainly at LGBT youth who were dealing any number of crises. She still held the conviction herself that Quinn was perfect for this job, especially since she had endured her own share of the struggles as an adolescent herself. It wasn’t long, however, before one of those pangs of realization hit her hard: Quinn was no longer hers to admire. That thought debilitated her.
As that bitter pill was settling in her stomach, Quinn looked up to see her peering down. Snapping out of it, Santana reached for the dustpan. “Need a hand?” she asked, bending down next to the blonde.
Barely looking up, Quinn simply took the dustpan from Santana’s hands. “I’ve got it, thanks,” she politely, but quickly declined.
Santana was left standing there awkwardly, discouraged, but not deterred. “At least you finally figured out how to use the coffee maker,” she joked, hoping that Quinn would remember the reference.
She did, and smiled for what had to be a split second. Santana even swore that Quinn’s eyes softened for a brief moment, recalling the memory to be as joyous as she did, but then she promptly continued moving about the kitchen, reaching for a travel mug as Santana likewise reached for a coffee mug of her own.
Santana pulled her hand back quickly as it occurred to her that now that they weren’t together, Quinn may not have made any coffee with her in mind.
She awkwardly locked eyes with Quinn. “Can I - I mean, is there enough?”
Quinn nodded before looking away and stepping aside. “Of course. You bought it,” she said pointedly.
“That’s not what I meant, I just - I didn’t know if you made enough for both of us,” Santana fumbled, “You can of course help yourself to anything in the cabinets, you know that.”
A heavy silence clouded the air as gazes bounced off one another and subsequently their surroundings before Quinn reached over to fill up her travel mug and squeeze by Santana. “I’m gonna be late,” she stated flatly. “And so are you.”
Before Quinn could make it all the way out the door, Santana stopped her in her tracks by speaking up. “Quinn, can we - can we just talk?”
With a deep sigh, the taller girl turned only half way around, “Santana,” she said sternly, “I’m going to be late.”
“Well, what about after work? Later on tonight?” the Latina attempted once more, desperately.
Another long breath left the blonde. “Maybe. Although honestly, I think we said everything we had to say last night.”
And with that, she was gone, in an almost dreadful, painstaking slow motion.
From that point, Santana’s day seemed to play out at the same unbearable speed. She continuously checked the time at work, appalled each time to discover that only 10, sometimes 20 minutes had passed since she last checked. While work was never something she thoroughly enjoyed, it had never before even come close to being so dreadful.
She used to tell herself that she liked the pace. That the sometimes harrowing schedule kept her on her toes, feeling alive, and a constant reminder of how hard to worked to get where she was. But as she sat there, literally watching the minutes tick slowly by, she came to another one of those impossible-to-swallow realizations:
None of it meant anything without Quinn.
Chapter: 2/8
Author: perfectly_vague
Rating: R (language, adult themes)
Disclaimer: I own zero rights to Glee.
Summary: Quinn's had it with Santana being a different person out in the world than she is behind closed doors. Same sucky summary... same request that you don't let it deter you! :p This is the result of one of the iTunes shuffle drabbles I posted not long ago. As always, any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy!
It was only for a split second, but when she woke up, Santana at first thought the night before had been a horrid, yet incredibly vivid dream. In fact, she had always been more or less infamous for waking up from larger-than-life nightmares that seemed to have no basis in reality whatsoever. It reached a point in adolescence where her family was more likely to tease her about them than to be concerned, asking what flesh-eating monster had terrorized her this time, or what brand of public embarrassment she had faced in the dream world's version of McKinley High. She even learned to bring an arsenal of caffeine with her to the Cheerios team sleepovers -- everything from No Doze to energy drinks to large coffees -- to make it through the night without nodding off after a particularly scarring incident where she awoke screaming to the laughter of her peers. Only Quinn ever did her the courtesy of opening her arms and showering her with sweet kisses, and despite Santana's insistence that she was fine, would reassure her that the dream was over and everything was okay now.
This morning when Santana reached for her girlfriend, her hand instead brushed against the cold neck of the 4th and final wine bottle that stood up against the couch from the night before, her eyes jolting open when it fell on its side. No Quinn. No bed. It wasn’t until the smell coffee invaded her nostrils, though that she really knew it wasn’t a dream - making coffee was her “job” in the morning.
She quickly glanced at her phone for the time, and even though she knew she should be getting dressed, she wasn’t even close to being ready to face the truth that she knew would become very real once she stood from the couch and came face-to-face with Quinn. She instead closed her eyes and allowed herself to be taken back to the memory of the day 3 years earlier that had just crossed her mind:
“Mother FUCKER!” came the frustrated outcry from the kitchen, waking Santana and sending her to her feet. In her tired confusion and the still darkness of the early morning, she tripped over and sent flying a few of the moving boxes. It was the third day and first Monday morning in their new apartment, and they were only about halfway unpacked.
A few more boxes kicked aside in the living room and her eyes fell upon nothing short of a hot mess. The kitchen counters, floor - and Quinn - were covered in a mixture of what appeared to be coffee, grounds, water, and milk.
Santana stepped forward, and noticing the lack of amusement on Quinn’s face, tried to hide her own and instead settled for a small, empathetic smile. “So… what happened, Babe?”
Quinn sighed, leaning up against the one clean spot on the counter and pushing the strands hanging down from her messy, slept-in ponytail out of her face. “I thought that since you’re nervous about your first day that I would get up early and make you some breakfast and coffee and serve it to you in bed. So, I made the eggs and unpacked this… convoluted machine you bought,” Quinn grumbled, motioning to the 2-in-1 coffee maker and espresso machine the Latina had purchased the night before, “thinking that it couldn’t be that hard, right? And then it told me to add water, so I did. And it still kept blinking, ‘Add water, add water’. So, I added as much water as the machine would take, mind you, the light is still blinking, and I decide to hit the ‘Brew’ button anyway, and the next thing I know, this thing starts SPEWING coffee! Literally, spewing hot coffee all over the counter and me, and so I move out of the way, and now it’s leaking water AND coffee, and I have to dig to find the paper towels, and I’m trying to wipe up the counters, and then the floor, and then I reach up to get more paper towels and I knock over the milk! A whole half gallon, gone! And now the eggs are cold and I’m disgusting and I just made a huge mess out of everything!”
The combination of picturing everything Quinn had just detailed and seeing her look like a wet, coffee-soaked puppy, Santana couldn’t help but release a loud, emphatic cackle, taking note of the hesitant smile that the blonde was desperately trying to suppress.
She reached out for Quinn, sopping with dairy and all, and pulled her close, “Baby, you are so fucking cute,” Santana gushed, still laughing.
Quinn raised an eyebrow and looked down at both the mess she made and the mess she was. “This is not cute!” she insisted, barely trying to fight her own smile anymore, “I really wanted to do something nice for you! I know I don’t have my Master’s yet, but I didn’t think it was required to brew coffee!”
The shorter girl smiled reassuringly. “Well, I think it IS cute, and sweet that you got up so early to do something nice for me, especially since you start your job today, too!”
“Yeah, as a waitress,” Quinn stressed, “This is a really big day for you. Everyone back home thought you were crazy to major in Marketing, and here you are with a serious corporate job 3 months after graduation! I’m really proud of you.”
Santana, who was rarely emotional, felt her eyes mist over, so she kept the smile securely on her face and placed an appreciative kiss on her girlfriend’s lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, before leaning in for a longer kiss. “For what it’s worth, the bit of breakfast that actually made it onto your mouth tastes delicious!”
They both laughed heartily as Quinn gave Santana a harmless shove. “From now on, YOU’RE making the coffee in the morning.”
“That I can definitely do,” Santana smiled before sighing, assessing the mess around her. “Okay, while I clean this up, you go get in the shower. Make it nice and hot, though, because I’m joining you when I’m done.”
A look of unmistakable arousal and excitement graced the blonde’s face. “Hmm…” she began seductively, “to think that in high school I never would have stood with you trying to give me orders. Now, I think I kind of like it.”
Santana raised her eyebrows in return, “Oh yeah?” she asked with a smirk, “In that case, get your ass in the shower.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Quinn playfully saluted before strutting to the bathroom.
For only a second, Santana glanced behind her at the mess in the kitchen before deciding it could wait and following her girlfriend to the shower.
She was startled out of the reverie of her daydream by the sound of ceramic breaking from the kitchen.
“Mother fucker,” sounded the familiar expletive, albeit a little quieter this time.
Taking perhaps the deepest breath she ever had, Santana lifted herself from the couch, cautiously walking to the kitchen. She was immediately overcome with a strange feeling of being at home, yet somewhere completely foreign all at once. It was later than she realized since Quinn was already dressed for work, bent over to clean up the remnants of her mug. Santana paused to admire how beautiful the other girl looked in her business-casual skirt and blazer. She had not long ago hung up her waitressing apron for good, and with her Master’s in Social Work, became a prime candidate for The Trevor Project’s lifeline, a 24-hour hotline aimed mainly at LGBT youth who were dealing any number of crises. She still held the conviction herself that Quinn was perfect for this job, especially since she had endured her own share of the struggles as an adolescent herself. It wasn’t long, however, before one of those pangs of realization hit her hard: Quinn was no longer hers to admire. That thought debilitated her.
As that bitter pill was settling in her stomach, Quinn looked up to see her peering down. Snapping out of it, Santana reached for the dustpan. “Need a hand?” she asked, bending down next to the blonde.
Barely looking up, Quinn simply took the dustpan from Santana’s hands. “I’ve got it, thanks,” she politely, but quickly declined.
Santana was left standing there awkwardly, discouraged, but not deterred. “At least you finally figured out how to use the coffee maker,” she joked, hoping that Quinn would remember the reference.
She did, and smiled for what had to be a split second. Santana even swore that Quinn’s eyes softened for a brief moment, recalling the memory to be as joyous as she did, but then she promptly continued moving about the kitchen, reaching for a travel mug as Santana likewise reached for a coffee mug of her own.
Santana pulled her hand back quickly as it occurred to her that now that they weren’t together, Quinn may not have made any coffee with her in mind.
She awkwardly locked eyes with Quinn. “Can I - I mean, is there enough?”
Quinn nodded before looking away and stepping aside. “Of course. You bought it,” she said pointedly.
“That’s not what I meant, I just - I didn’t know if you made enough for both of us,” Santana fumbled, “You can of course help yourself to anything in the cabinets, you know that.”
A heavy silence clouded the air as gazes bounced off one another and subsequently their surroundings before Quinn reached over to fill up her travel mug and squeeze by Santana. “I’m gonna be late,” she stated flatly. “And so are you.”
Before Quinn could make it all the way out the door, Santana stopped her in her tracks by speaking up. “Quinn, can we - can we just talk?”
With a deep sigh, the taller girl turned only half way around, “Santana,” she said sternly, “I’m going to be late.”
“Well, what about after work? Later on tonight?” the Latina attempted once more, desperately.
Another long breath left the blonde. “Maybe. Although honestly, I think we said everything we had to say last night.”
And with that, she was gone, in an almost dreadful, painstaking slow motion.
From that point, Santana’s day seemed to play out at the same unbearable speed. She continuously checked the time at work, appalled each time to discover that only 10, sometimes 20 minutes had passed since she last checked. While work was never something she thoroughly enjoyed, it had never before even come close to being so dreadful.
She used to tell herself that she liked the pace. That the sometimes harrowing schedule kept her on her toes, feeling alive, and a constant reminder of how hard to worked to get where she was. But as she sat there, literally watching the minutes tick slowly by, she came to another one of those impossible-to-swallow realizations:
None of it meant anything without Quinn.