I'll Be There for You -- Glee: Quinn/Santana -- Chapter 8/8
Title: I'll Be There For You
Chapter: 8/8
Author: perfectly_vague
Rating: R (language, adult themes)
Disclaimer: It breaks my heart that Glee isn’t mine.
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!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the final chapter! For anyone who's made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoyed (and share your thoughts with me via review!)
Week 1
It was only when she started adding splotches of white to the blue paint mixture that Santana remembered how much she loved the feeling of a paintbrush in her hand. The porous wooden handle against her skin and gentle contrast of the bristles through the paint and likewise across the canvas exhilarated her in ways that few other things could. The fact that she hadn't taken to an easel since high school made her feel especially euphoric.
It seemed an unlikely passion, even to Santana herself, as well as one that she could never really explain to inquiring minds. Usually people questioned her with a tilted head and crinkled nose, unable to fathom a softer, more artistic side to the often-unruly girl. She would always sling her arm across her body and hold the opposite elbow, looking away as she muttered nonchalantly that painting was just something she liked. But in truth, it was much more than that. She would never admit it because of the laughter and comments it would elicit, but part of it was about control. With a palette at her disposal, she was given a power over the clean white tableau that she would never have over her own life, and especially now, a little control, a little ability to get things right and beautiful, was exactly what she needed.
Santana lathered her fine-haired brush in the now pale blue shade and squinted to a focus as she dragged it over the pencil outline she drew before. As she curved the tip sideways to create creases in the painted blanket, an abrupt jolt caused an unwanted streak across the canvas as she was startled into a stiff freeze by Quinn moving around on the couch. After about 10 seconds of sucked in, shallow breathing, she slowly exhaled in relief when she realized she hadn't been caught, and the blonde had merely been stirring in her sleep. Just as suddenly as she stopped, she quickly picked her tools back up and rushed to fix the accidental smear before it was too late.
This was the 3rd of the 4 nights since the two broke their collective silence that Quinn became Santana's model -- her unwitting, unconscious model.
After successfully correcting her mistake, Santana sighed in frustration when she saw that Quinn had rolled over in her sleep and away from her view. While she silently cursed this sudden lack of control, she thought back to the most memorable instance where that small, two-syllable word moved to the forefront of her life as a person and her relationship with Quinn.
When Santana saw her girlfriend approaching Fordham's campus police office with a dangerous look in her eye, she slumped even further down in her chair in the lobby, tucking her wrapped fist into her sweatshirt pocket and hoping by some miracle of God that she could save the interrogation for later, when they were alone.
The screen door flung open and shut with a resounding slam as Quinn bustled past the poor transfer student waiting for his parking permit and stood directly over Santana. "What the hell happened?!" Miracle denied.
With her good hand, Santana pulled Quinn down into the chair beside her, speaking in an urgent hush as the door to the main office opened and a campus official called in the new student. "You need to keep it down, I'm in enough trouble as it is!"
"Well, YOU need to tell me what's going on! I've already heard about 10 versions from people around campus, now it's your turn!" Quinn replied just as angrily, yet more quietly, her darkened eyes scanning back and forth.
Santana glanced to her right to confirm that they were alone before turning back toward Quinn and speaking a touch more loudly. "What happened is your punk ass teammate started running her mouth and I stopped her."
The unbearable look of disappointment washed over pallid features as Quinn's jaw slowly dropped. "Oh, God, I thought that was just the rumor mill! You really got into a fight with Nicole?"
She crossed her arms. "I don't know, is that her name?" Santana asked facetiously, "All I know is she's the frumpy bitch who's had it coming ever since I caught you two flirting!"
"WHAT?!" Quinn shrilled, a tone Santana normally claimed that only dogs could hear, but not when she was in the doghouse herself, "I have NEVER flirted with her, what are you even talking about?"
Santana leaned closer and refused to budge. "Um, hello, that introductory rugby meeting I went to with you! She fucking honed in on you the second you walked in, blatantly checked you out, and then with this dopey, girly smile on your face, you told her you bet she made a great hooker! I was standing right there!"
A moment of stunned silence elapsed before Quinn's singular eyebrow went up. "A hooker is a POSITION, Santana! The one Nicole plays!"
Silence. Embarrassment. Throat clear. "Well, I was right about the rest! She's obviously into you based on the fucking disgustingly foul lies she was spouting about you in the fitness center locker room to some of the other girls on your team!"
Quinn's expression sank to somewhere between confused, surprised, and hurt, and her voice followed suit. "What? What did she say?"
"I'm not going to tell you -"
" -No, seriously, you can -"
"No! Okay, you don't need to hear it and I sure as hell don't want to say it! All you need to know is that it was graphic, degrading bullshit about what she claimed happened between the two of you last night at the drink-up, which *I* walked you back to campus after before *I* went to sleep with you," Santana reiterated, for her own sake rather than Quinn's. "Oh, and for the record, it wasn't a fight. I kicked her ass."
After a deep sigh, Quinn stared at Santana blankly. "So, are you proud of yourself?"
"Um, yeah, and you should be, too! I defended you!" Santana scorned in reply.
"Like a Neanderthal..."
"Excuse me?!"
Quinn leaned forward a little too far into Santana's personal space, a technique she seemed to employ whenever she really wanted to be heard. "Santana, you are way too smart and classy and just... good to wind up situations like this. Anyone can throw a punch, that doesn't impress me."
Santana countered the maneuver by shifting her own weight forward and bearing her gaze directly into Quinn's. "Yeah, well I thought what did impress you was my passion and fire and that I don't take anyone's crap." She then slumped backward in her chair dejectedly. "You used to love that about me."
"I still do! Those are my favorite qualities of yours. But this passion and this fire have zero discipline, and that's when it changes from attractive to not in a split second. I learned firsthand that bullying people into submission won't get you anywhere, and now you’re crossing into potential legal trouble, which is just so beyond avoidable.”
Another beat of silence filled the air, and Santana straightened up in her chair to signify to Quinn that she was hearing her.
"I will tell campus police that Nicole has been making me feel uncomfortable for awhile to at least try and add some credibility to your side of things," Quinn continued, "but you need to promise me you'll work harder to find better, more proactive ways to take control. Okay?"
Santana nodded and looked straight ahead, picking at the interior of her sweatshirt pocket with her uninjured hand before extending it to Quinn, who was now also looking forward.
"Q," she prompted, earning Quinn's eye contact in return, "I'm sorry."
Quinn faintly smiled before locking her hand against Santana's. "I know you are."
Still waiting for Quinn to turn back over, Santana sighed at the remembrance of the way things used to be, and how the 2 years that followed that incident produced a version of herself that she was proud of. A girl living life at its highest point with her love by her side, hard work, and the perfect combination of fire and control. Now, she was a far cry from the very person she once was. Quinn was no longer hers, her work ethic had gotten her nowhere, and she seemed completely void of both passion and discipline.
Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, the very thought of this proverbial fetal position she found herself in sending a surge of formerly buried adrenaline through her bloodstream. This was not the way that Santana Motherfucking Lopez rolled (the 'M' actually stood for Maria, but in high school she had managed to convince a few of the Cheerios to the contrary). No more painting the life she wanted; it was time to get up and get it.
Week 2
For the first time in longer than she could remember, Santana woke up with a smile, arching backward across her bed in a thorough stretch that nearly connected the tips of her toes with the tips of her fingers. She took her time reveling in the soft sunlight that streamed through the window until the chill that also blew in covered her half-naked body in goosebumps. As she moved to the closet to slip into whatever work clothes she found first, she stopped at her window and actually took in the stunning view overlooking the city, remembering how in awe of it she was when first moving from Lima and how these days she took it for granted. Now especially, she was making an extra effort to appreciate even the little things in her life.
Throwing her hair into a tightly-pulled low ponytail, she gripped the doorknob tightly and attempted to turn it as quietly as possible as to not wake Quinn. But as she entered the living room, she saw her sitting up against the arm rest, lazily leafing through pages of the daily newspaper.
"Oh, hey," Santana greeted in pleasant surprise, "You're up early for a day off."
Quinn smiled sleepily before running the bases of her palms over tired eyes. "Yeah, I wish I wasn't," she lightly lamented, "but I need to start getting boxes and packing stuff and try to find decently priced movers before it's too late."
Santana swallowed hard to suppress the sting she suddenly felt when Quinn mentioned the move that most of the time, she managed to pretend wasn't happening. An exercise in control, she laughed bitterly to herself. She briefly considered offering to help her pack, but stopped herself. She hadn't evolved *that* much in 6 days.
"Did you have coffee already?" Santana asked as she moved into the kitchen.
"No, but I'd love some if you're offering," Quinn hinted.
"Nah, I was taking a survey about your caffeine consumption," Santana joked with a smirk.
An amused grin likewise spread over the blonde's face. "Charming as ever, I see."
"You know it! And yes, I'll get you a cup," she replied.
Quinn stretched with a yawn as she rhetorically asked what time it was while flipping her wrist over to check. "Whoa, hey, aren't you late? It's 8:20!"
It was the cue Santana had been waiting for. She mustered a straight face before turning to Quinn. "Eh, I feel like taking my time this morning," she said, moving slowly about the kitchen as she fixed Quinn's coffee first.
"Well, isn't Jerry going to, um, kill you?" the other girl asked, both eyebrows raised. "Remember, you don't have anywhere to hide anymore."
Santana laughed at the other girl's bewilderment as she walked toward her, coffee made. "Oh, relax, Jerry can't kill me. I mean, the worst he could do is fire me, but... since I quit, he can't really do that, either."
Quinn froze mid-reach for her mug and looked up, doe-eyed, at Santana. "Seriously? You quit?"
The Latina's grin gave way to a pearly smile. "I did. Yesterday. I would have told you last night, but you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you." After receiving nothing more than a still-baffled stare, Santana pushed the mug that she was still holding a little closer. "Um, Quinn? This is hot."
"Wait, wait, wait," Quinn said, taking her coffee and sitting up straight, "so... you just quit? The whole company? You never have to go back?"
Santana shifted her weight so that she was leaning forward against the back of the couch. "Well, as tempting as it was to bail, I did the whole professional two weeks notice thing, but now that I don't have to kiss anyone's ass anymore, I'm just doing the standard 9 to 5. No more crazy hours."
"I can't beli - I'm like, in shock!" Quinn laughed, her bemused expression fading and the brightness finally returning to her eyes. "Was the whole promotion and bathroom thing the last straw?"
Hearing her coffee finish brewing, Santana spoke louder as she returned to the kitchen to fix herself a cup to-go. "Well, partly, yeah. It definitely showed me where I stand as far as Jerry and the company are concerned. But honestly, I've been thinking about it for awhile now," she drew in a quick breath as she headed back to the living room, unsure if she should voice what she was compelled to say, but decided to anyway, "and I think it was mostly our talk the other night that really gave me that last shove."
Quinn smiled softly. "Really?"
"Yeah. When you asked me why I subject myself to such a horrible job, I didn't really have a good answer. I mean, I thought I did, I thought I was doing it for the right reasons, but it turns out that wasn't true, either, and knowing that now... knowing that this job actually pushed me away from everything I thought I was working toward and strengthening... and everything I love… just doesn't make it worth it."
The air grew quiet and slightly tense as they both processed the not-so-subtle euphemisms that Santana used to describe their former relationship.
Not wanting to make things worse, Santana quickly chimed back in. "But, uh, yeah, I'm already feeling so relieved. Although, I could definitely use those housing ads you looked through if you still have them. I'm gonna need a smaller place."
The blonde looked up in surprise once more. "Really? Why? With your resume and reputation, you’ll find a new Marketing job in a second, probably even a better one."
Santana smiled nervously at the other girl's faith in her and scratched at the remnants of dried coffee on the side of her travel mug. "Um, well, I'm actually not getting back into Marketing. I was... thinking of pursuing art. You know, build up a portfolio of paintings and drawings and start gauging the market for design and illustrator jobs."
"Oh, wow -"
Gaze still fixated elsewhere, Santana quickly cut back in. "It probably seems irresponsible, but worst case, I can always freelance for a little while, you know, and see what happens, since I have the rest of my bonus and of course my savings to pay the bills. I don't know, maybe it's crazy, I just don't want to look back and -"
Santana's speaking and entire range of motion stopped when she felt a hand on hers. She hadn't felt Quinn's touch since the ill-fated sex incident, and she quickly curbed a stifled gasp as her stare slowly transferred from Quinn's hand to her eyes.
"Santana," Quinn giggled at the other girl's uncharacteristic ramble, "I think it sounds amazing. I'm really proud of you."
A sheepish smile curved Santana's lips before she caught a glimpse of the other girl's wristwatch. "Oh, okay, well now I am going to be late," she said with a subtle laugh as she reluctantly moved away from Quinn's touch. She grabbed her briefcase from the kitchen floor but before she could leave, something compelled her to turn toward the living room once more. "Hey?"
Quinn folded back the top half of her newspaper so she could meet Santana's eyes.
"Since I'll actually be getting home before midnight tonight, would you maybe wanna have some dinner? I can make my mom's arroz con pollo and we can, you know, catch up?" she asked, hoping that Quinn's favorite Mexican dish would tip the scales in her favor.
The near-blinding smile that somehow made the blonde more beautiful than usual answered Santana's question before Quinn could verbally. "Yeah. That'd be great."
Santana smiled in return before saying good bye and heading toward the elevator. She couldn't help the pang of disappointment she felt deep inside when Quinn didn't make a running jump for her arms and seal it with a passionate kiss at the news of her quitting. Even though she knew she shouldn't, part of her was hoping that since the job seemed to be the source of so many of their problems, once it was eliminated, everything would magically be okay.
It wasn't the first time she learned the hard way that some things simply break beyond repair.
Still, in her head she composed the shopping list for their dinner, considering side dishes and maybe a dessert she could make, too. She and Quinn were over, but her love for her high school sweetheart was still ingrained deeply within her, perhaps now more than ever before (although she hated to consider such a tragedy). Regardless, she knew that the next several days would be about one thing: doing all she could to make Quinn feel happy and special while the privilege of her company was still afforded to her.
Week 3
Santana doubled over in her kitchen chair, holding up her pointer finger to Quinn since the side-splitting, silent laughter rendered her unable to actually say that she needed a minute to catch her breath.
Over the past week and a half, they had developed this unspoken tradition of sorts that involved coming home from work, eating dinner together, and then collapsing on the couch for an evening of movie or TV watching. The last part of their evening was always delayed, however, until they were done rehashing old memories, usually to the point of forgivably painful laughter.
Every time she looked at her girlfriend-turned-roommate, Santana attempted to rationalize time and again that it was merely the companionship that she had missed so much and was now infinitely happier in its presence. Still, she couldn’t deny the pulsing of her stomach at something as simple as receiving a text from Quinn during the day, even if it was just to ask what to pick up for dinner. She started reconnecting with friends she had lost touch with in preparation for her impending lifestyle change, and while she enjoyed their company, they failed to induce the near audible pounding of her heartbeat the way the blonde’s smile always could. Whether right or wrong, Santana would do just about anything to see it, like insisting on cooking each night, bringing home flowers for the dining room table, and perhaps most surprisingly, allowing Quinn to dig up even her most embarrassing of moments for some killer amusement.
Quinn dabbed the corners of her eyes as she, too, caught her breath from laughing so hard. “I still can’t believe you didn’t break anything. There was so much blood!”
“Ahh, God, I know, can you imagine if I had? It would have been the price I paid for trying to show up Puckerman and impress you myself!” Santana smirked.
A fair-skinned hand gave Santana a teasing swat. “Oh, please, because I was so swooning when he jumped over the piano!”
“The grand piano,” Santana quickly corrected, “which is short and flat, anyone taller than 4 feet can do that! I went for the auditorium piano, which was way harder!”
“Yes, and on wheels, hence the fall and the crash and the blood!” Quinn exclaimed before they both began to laugh once more.
Santana mock-stubbornly folded her arms. “Whatever, I so would have made it had it not been for the unfortunate mobility of the piano.”
“Sure, sure,” Quinn jested with a smile before taking the last few bites of her dinner.
Seeing the other girl completely satiated and relaxed, Santana cleared her throat, knowing that now was the best time to bring up something she had been afraid to approach. "So, not to interrupt up your enjoyment at my expense, but I need to talk to you about something."
Quinn leaned forward in her chair. "Okay."
"Well, I've been looking at some apartments and answering some ads for roommate requests -"
Quinn interrupted with a chuckle. "Roommate requests? You?"
Santana narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, trust that it lasted about half a day. Anyway, there are some decent places for rent all over Manhattan, and I actually have my eye on one but I kind of wanted to run it by you first."
"Okay, but... how come?” Quinn asked cautiously, yet obviously confused. “I don't have - you know - you don't need my permission."
"I know, but... it's in your building. A studio on the 1st floor. I was gonna get a one bedroom, but figured I should hold off until I know I have money coming in, and there's only one left in the complex, so I want to get back to the landlord soon," she took a deep breath before continuing. "I know we're not -- together anymore, but you've been in my life for too long for me to imagine you not in it, even if it is just as a friend. But I wanted to make sure you'd be okay with me being so close by before I said yes."
Quinn's expression remained ambiguous, almost startled for a second until an uncertain grin appeared. "Yeah. That would be nice."
"You sure? I won't, like, be offended or anything..."
A bittersweet laugh escaped Quinn. "And to think at times like this I miss the 'To hell with what you want, I'm doing things my way' side of you. I'm sure, Santana."
"Well, good, 'cause I didn't really care what you wanted anyway," Santana jested, pausing to enjoy the laugh that she knew she would earn from Quinn before switching gears. "Okay, I'll load the dishwasher, you go find something to watch on TV? And by find something I of course mean go to Lifetime for the Jilted Lovers' Movie Marathon."
A single eyebrow darted up with a grin. "Now, that's more like it. Calling the shots and having a bizarre fascination with Lifetime movies."
"Oh, don't even! You know you love them, too! When we watched The Truth About Jane you cried for 3 days!"
"Well, yeah, because it was like my life in high school, just, you know, without the happy ending!" Quinn rushed to defend herself. "I'm not sure how well I can relate to 3 hours of 'gold diggers and the men who get shot by them'."
Santana sighed with purposeful dramatics as she flung herself backward onto the couch. "Let's just watch something else then."
"No, no, I'll watch it with you," Quinn replied, both smiling and rolling her eyes simultaneously. "I'm a good friend."
The Latina threw her head back in a loud cackle of a laugh. "Oh, please,” she began, draping her feet across the other girl’s lap, “You just won't admit that you have been dying to see these jilted lovers."
*********************************************************************Later that night, Santana found herself in the middle of one of her trademark vivid dreams.
She was back in high school, performing with the Glee Club at Regionals. The memory of performing flooded her sleeping body with long-forgotten adrenaline, and all of it felt so real once more. Of course in the moment she didn't find it odd that her dream self was in her Cheerios uniform, several of her college friends were there, and that the competition was being held in a parking lot, but after all, stranger things had happened in her sleep.
Standing between Quinn and Brittany, likely a metaphor for the way she always seemed to feel in those days, she took slow, shaky-legged steps forward from the group. Raising a microphone to her lips, she was poised to take the lead on a rock ballad that in reality, they had never performed. In fact, it was one she only knew in recent times after scouring the internet for heartsick, break-up songs for the days that she simply needed to mourn.
Before she could even get halfway through the first verse, she felt herself lose her footing and fall backward, slowly enough to taste every second of fear, yet too quickly to do anything to stop it.
Inexplicably no longer in performance clothes, Quinn was suddenly above her, shaking her gently with concern in her eyes. “Santana. Santana, wake up.”
As her eyes opened, they immediately squinted at the sting of the streaming moonlight from her bedside window, Quinn’s form casting a shadow over her. She wasn’t dreaming anymore.
Slightly disoriented, Santana sat up, her heart racing from being woken suddenly. Her tired eyes caught a glance at her alarm clock, and once she saw that it was past 1 in the morning, she became even more nervous as to why Quinn was standing over her bed. She didn’t smell smoke or hear a prowler, and her half-unconscious mind couldn’t think of any other pressing emergencies offhand.
“What’s the matter?” she asked warily, propping herself up against the headboard of her bed.
“Oh, nothing, nothing really, I just wanted to know - did you call the landlord yet about reserving that apartment?” Quinn sputtered, suddenly looking regretful.
Santana felt a pang in her chest. She wasn’t sure where this was going yet, but she had a sinking suspicion she might not like it. “Um, no, not yet. I was going to tomorrow. Why?”
Quinn’s near-emerald eyes were darting from side to side, visibly piecing together what she was going to say next in her head. “Well, I was thinking - you know what? This can wait until morning, it’s not even that important…”
“Quinn,” Santana interjected half-amused, yet sternly, “You obviously want to talk about whatever this is since you woke me up in the middle of the night to bring it up. Just tell me, otherwise neither of us will end up getting any sleep and you know it.”
When the blonde sat on the farthest corner of the bed and exhaled deeply, Santana really knew to be worried. As far as speaking her mind was concerned, Quinn had always been a fairly straight-shooter. She only seemed to pause in the rare moments that she was unsure of herself, or when she needed to find a way to break something difficult gently.
The suspense shortening her patience, Santana spoke up in Quinn’s silence. “Do you not want me to get the apartment?”
Quinn released a gust of pent-up breath that answered the question without anything needing to be said. Nonetheless, she still spoke. “After you told me about the apartment, all these thoughts started rushing through my head -“
Before she could say any more, Santana cut in. “You really don’t need to explain. I understand,” she said, thinking any elaboration might only further intensify her already hurt and irritable state.
“No,” Quinn insisted, her serious, misty eyes bearing directly into Santana’s, “I really do need to explain.”
With a deep sigh, Santana sat up further, reaching for her nightstand where she flicked on the lamp, pulling her knees to her chest semi-defensively. “I’m listening.”
Quinn paused to get her bearings before starting where she had been interrupted. “After you told me about the apartment, all these thoughts started rushing through my head. I mean, I knew that I was moving out and that you were moving out, but it didn’t really become real for some reason until you mentioned moving into my new building. When you said all of that stuff about being in each other’s lives and staying in each other’s lives, I just felt so overwhelmed with all of these emotions. It’s all I’ve been able to think about all night.”
“You don’t want me to live so close right now?” Santana asked in a way that sounded more like a statement.
“No,” Quinn said, aloud this time, “I want you to move in with me instead.”
Santana felt her eyes widen involuntarily, and she covertly pinched herself under the blanket to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Her hesitation left an incredibly vulnerable-looking Quinn staring back at her, silently pleading with her to say something. “What?” was the best she could do, and she was surprised she had even gotten out that much.
Quinn’s posture tensed as her eyes alternated back and forth between Santana and the invisible pattern she was drawing on the comforter with her finger. “I don’t know, I mean, I can’t speak for you, but… just the thought of us living separate lives in separate apartments, even in the same building, really hit me. Like, just a sense of finality or reality, or whatever you want to call it, but either way, the thought of losing you just wrecked me.” She meekly allowed her eyes to meet Santana’s before continuing to speak. “I know this out of the blue, and I’m honestly not really expecting any certain answer from you or for you to even feel the same way-“
“Hey, whoa, are you kidding?” Santana asked in a gentle tone before scooting closer to Quinn and taking both hands in her own. “Of course I feel the same way, I’ve been trying every way I can to let you know that I’m still fucking crazy in love with you without making you feel like I was pushing or in case you had moved on. I’ve never wanted to live apart, and that’s why I had to see if I could get a spot in your building so that if nothing else I could still see you every day!” As she spoke, she noticed a wavering smile on the other girl’s lips, unsure why in what was easily the happiest moment of her past few months, the other girl looked so sad. “Hey… why do you look like you’re about to cry? This is a good thing, right?”
Quinn breathed deeply as she briefly tried then quickly failed to keep her composure, just like Santana knew she would. Over the span of 9 years, they had shared countless intimate, soul-exposing moments, even though they did tend to come few and far between, but even now, there was something new and foreign in what Santana was seeing in the girl she met as a Brownie Scout so many years ago.
“I’m just… so scared,” she respired shakily, her meek and cautious tone sending a chill down Santana’s spine before a proverbial hand shoved her forward to step up.
Santana transferred from clutching Quinn’s hands to gently cupping the sides of her face, using her thumbs to dissolve chilled tears against fair skin. “I know,” she all-but-whispered, “I know, and I understand, but I promise you that the last thing you have to be is scared. It’s going to be different this time. I’m going to be there, every day, always. No more pointless arguments, no more fighting to be first place in my life.”
Continuing the sentence she started before, Quinn continued to speak. “And I’m… just so, so sorry!”
Brow furrowed, Santana scanned the other girl’s eyes confusedly. “Why are you sorry, Babe?” the familiar pet name escaped her lips before she could even think to stop it, as she reverted to her secondhand nature to comfort the blonde in times of sorrow.
“I just feel so guilty for being so hurt and stubborn and scared to give in. If I had just been stronger, I never would have left and we never would have lost all this time!” Quinn lamented, tears garbling her speech as she visibly rid herself of longtime buried emotions and sentiments.
More tightly this time, Santana gripped and tilted Quinn’s chin, demanding both her gaze and attention as she cleared the threat of a cry from her throat and spoke intently. “Hey, listen to me,” she began, matching the back-and-forth pattern of misty hazel eyes with her own dark brown, allowing a hint of levity to mingle with her vocal cords, “You know how much I hate to admit that I’m wrong and you’re right, and how I’ll avoid it at pretty much all costs, but you were definitely right to take some time away from me.” She took a moment to revel in the faint laugh that Quinn emitted, and continued to speak. “I’m stubborn, I like to be right, and my old habits die hard, and it’s usually because underneath all of my bullshit, I cling tightly to my good intentions, even if I’m doing a sucky job at conveying them, and I have to say that if I didn’t have to come face-to-face with the possibility of life without you, I probably would have never changed. I would have kept telling myself that I was doing all this work for a reason and that you would have to understand in the long run when we were able to do well for ourselves and that even when I was cruel to you, you must still know how much I love you. And I was wrong. It took me hating every single second of my time away from you to realize that regardless of what good I thought I was doing, it was time to step up and stop being two different people, and instead be one stable person you could count on. And I realized that if we were ever going to work again, that you needed some time to heal and trust and stand on your own two feet before becoming the one stable person that I can count on. So, you have no reason to feel guilty, at all. Got it?”
With tear-brimmed eyes, Quinn nodded quickly before giving way to more sobs, prodding Santana even more deeply within her core to do something to console her. She could only recall a few instances where she saw Quinn lose composure to this extent, and each time she felt both eager, yet unsure how to help.
“Quinn,” she attempted, rubbing her back with an open, soothing palm, “what can I do to make you feel better?” But before Quinn could answer, an idea hit immediately as she moved to her feet and stood beside the bed. Pulling a hand away from the crying girl’s face, she held it mid-air and bowed forward slightly. “May I have this dance?”
“Wha - now? I’m a mess, and we can’t put on any music, the neighbors will kill us,” Quinn protested, slinging away tears with the back of her hand.
Santana wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “First of all, Quinn Fucking Fabray is never a mess, as you know, and don’t worry about the neighbors. I’ve got this one covered.”
Supporting Quinn’s emotionally exhausted body by securely gripping her waist, Santana took a minute to gather her breathing as the arms she missed so much draped around her neck. Nestling her chin in the base of Quinn’s neck, she began to sing softly into her ear:
I guess this time you’re really leaving
I heard your suitcase say good bye
Well, as my broken heart lies bleeding
You say, “true love is suicide”.
You say you’ve cried a thousand rivers
And now you’re swimming for the shore
You left me drowning in my tears
And you won’t save me anymore
Now, I’m praying to God you’ll give me one more chance, girl
I’ll be there for you
These 5 words I swear to you
When you breathe, I wanna be the air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
I know you know we've had some good times
Now they have their own hiding place
Well I can promise you tomorrow
But I can't buy back yesterday
And, Baby you know my hands are dirty
But I wanted to be your valentine
I'll be the water when you get thirsty, Baby
When you get drunk, I'll be the wine
I’ll be there for you
These 5 words I swear to you
When you breathe, I wanna be there air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
I wasn’t there when you were happy
And I wasn’t there when you were down
I didn’t mean to miss your birthday, Baby
I wish I’d seen you blow those candles out
I’ll be there for you
These 5 words I swear to you
When you breathe, I wanna be there air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
Judging by the small pool of tears that failed to spill over the crook of her shoulder, Santana gathered that Quinn had stopped crying, and when she reluctantly lifted her own head up and backward to lock eyes, she saw that she had guessed correctly. She really pulled it off this time.
“That was beautiful,” Quinn praised softly, a glowing blush enveloping her features. “I’ve never heard that song before, where did it come from?”
Santana smirked slightly as the dream she had just been woken from gained a much deeper significance. “It’s just been on my mind a lot lately. It pretty much covers everything I’ve been wanting to say to you.”
“Well, I loved it,” Quinn replied, “I always love it when you sing.”
“Thank you,” Santana accepted graciously. A moment of at last comfortable silence filled the air.
Quinn swallowed hard. “I have to be honest, I’m still a little scared.”
“I know,” Santana nodded, knowing deep down that there was still work to be done. “I am a little, too. But this time you won’t have to be scared alone. I’m gonna be there. You know I never sing anything I don’t mean.”
A less-guarded smile spread across Quinn’s face as she took a slow step forward. “So, um… does that song have any more verses?”
A glowing smile completely owned Santana’s features as she pulled Quinn’s body against hers once again. “Eh,” she interjected, “I can make some up if it means you’ll dance with me.”
And she did. She really pulled it off this time.
Chapter: 8/8
Author: perfectly_vague
Rating: R (language, adult themes)
Disclaimer: It breaks my heart that Glee isn’t mine.
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!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the final chapter! For anyone who's made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoyed (and share your thoughts with me via review!)
Week 1
It was only when she started adding splotches of white to the blue paint mixture that Santana remembered how much she loved the feeling of a paintbrush in her hand. The porous wooden handle against her skin and gentle contrast of the bristles through the paint and likewise across the canvas exhilarated her in ways that few other things could. The fact that she hadn't taken to an easel since high school made her feel especially euphoric.
It seemed an unlikely passion, even to Santana herself, as well as one that she could never really explain to inquiring minds. Usually people questioned her with a tilted head and crinkled nose, unable to fathom a softer, more artistic side to the often-unruly girl. She would always sling her arm across her body and hold the opposite elbow, looking away as she muttered nonchalantly that painting was just something she liked. But in truth, it was much more than that. She would never admit it because of the laughter and comments it would elicit, but part of it was about control. With a palette at her disposal, she was given a power over the clean white tableau that she would never have over her own life, and especially now, a little control, a little ability to get things right and beautiful, was exactly what she needed.
Santana lathered her fine-haired brush in the now pale blue shade and squinted to a focus as she dragged it over the pencil outline she drew before. As she curved the tip sideways to create creases in the painted blanket, an abrupt jolt caused an unwanted streak across the canvas as she was startled into a stiff freeze by Quinn moving around on the couch. After about 10 seconds of sucked in, shallow breathing, she slowly exhaled in relief when she realized she hadn't been caught, and the blonde had merely been stirring in her sleep. Just as suddenly as she stopped, she quickly picked her tools back up and rushed to fix the accidental smear before it was too late.
This was the 3rd of the 4 nights since the two broke their collective silence that Quinn became Santana's model -- her unwitting, unconscious model.
After successfully correcting her mistake, Santana sighed in frustration when she saw that Quinn had rolled over in her sleep and away from her view. While she silently cursed this sudden lack of control, she thought back to the most memorable instance where that small, two-syllable word moved to the forefront of her life as a person and her relationship with Quinn.
When Santana saw her girlfriend approaching Fordham's campus police office with a dangerous look in her eye, she slumped even further down in her chair in the lobby, tucking her wrapped fist into her sweatshirt pocket and hoping by some miracle of God that she could save the interrogation for later, when they were alone.
The screen door flung open and shut with a resounding slam as Quinn bustled past the poor transfer student waiting for his parking permit and stood directly over Santana. "What the hell happened?!" Miracle denied.
With her good hand, Santana pulled Quinn down into the chair beside her, speaking in an urgent hush as the door to the main office opened and a campus official called in the new student. "You need to keep it down, I'm in enough trouble as it is!"
"Well, YOU need to tell me what's going on! I've already heard about 10 versions from people around campus, now it's your turn!" Quinn replied just as angrily, yet more quietly, her darkened eyes scanning back and forth.
Santana glanced to her right to confirm that they were alone before turning back toward Quinn and speaking a touch more loudly. "What happened is your punk ass teammate started running her mouth and I stopped her."
The unbearable look of disappointment washed over pallid features as Quinn's jaw slowly dropped. "Oh, God, I thought that was just the rumor mill! You really got into a fight with Nicole?"
She crossed her arms. "I don't know, is that her name?" Santana asked facetiously, "All I know is she's the frumpy bitch who's had it coming ever since I caught you two flirting!"
"WHAT?!" Quinn shrilled, a tone Santana normally claimed that only dogs could hear, but not when she was in the doghouse herself, "I have NEVER flirted with her, what are you even talking about?"
Santana leaned closer and refused to budge. "Um, hello, that introductory rugby meeting I went to with you! She fucking honed in on you the second you walked in, blatantly checked you out, and then with this dopey, girly smile on your face, you told her you bet she made a great hooker! I was standing right there!"
A moment of stunned silence elapsed before Quinn's singular eyebrow went up. "A hooker is a POSITION, Santana! The one Nicole plays!"
Silence. Embarrassment. Throat clear. "Well, I was right about the rest! She's obviously into you based on the fucking disgustingly foul lies she was spouting about you in the fitness center locker room to some of the other girls on your team!"
Quinn's expression sank to somewhere between confused, surprised, and hurt, and her voice followed suit. "What? What did she say?"
"I'm not going to tell you -"
" -No, seriously, you can -"
"No! Okay, you don't need to hear it and I sure as hell don't want to say it! All you need to know is that it was graphic, degrading bullshit about what she claimed happened between the two of you last night at the drink-up, which *I* walked you back to campus after before *I* went to sleep with you," Santana reiterated, for her own sake rather than Quinn's. "Oh, and for the record, it wasn't a fight. I kicked her ass."
After a deep sigh, Quinn stared at Santana blankly. "So, are you proud of yourself?"
"Um, yeah, and you should be, too! I defended you!" Santana scorned in reply.
"Like a Neanderthal..."
"Excuse me?!"
Quinn leaned forward a little too far into Santana's personal space, a technique she seemed to employ whenever she really wanted to be heard. "Santana, you are way too smart and classy and just... good to wind up situations like this. Anyone can throw a punch, that doesn't impress me."
Santana countered the maneuver by shifting her own weight forward and bearing her gaze directly into Quinn's. "Yeah, well I thought what did impress you was my passion and fire and that I don't take anyone's crap." She then slumped backward in her chair dejectedly. "You used to love that about me."
"I still do! Those are my favorite qualities of yours. But this passion and this fire have zero discipline, and that's when it changes from attractive to not in a split second. I learned firsthand that bullying people into submission won't get you anywhere, and now you’re crossing into potential legal trouble, which is just so beyond avoidable.”
Another beat of silence filled the air, and Santana straightened up in her chair to signify to Quinn that she was hearing her.
"I will tell campus police that Nicole has been making me feel uncomfortable for awhile to at least try and add some credibility to your side of things," Quinn continued, "but you need to promise me you'll work harder to find better, more proactive ways to take control. Okay?"
Santana nodded and looked straight ahead, picking at the interior of her sweatshirt pocket with her uninjured hand before extending it to Quinn, who was now also looking forward.
"Q," she prompted, earning Quinn's eye contact in return, "I'm sorry."
Quinn faintly smiled before locking her hand against Santana's. "I know you are."
Still waiting for Quinn to turn back over, Santana sighed at the remembrance of the way things used to be, and how the 2 years that followed that incident produced a version of herself that she was proud of. A girl living life at its highest point with her love by her side, hard work, and the perfect combination of fire and control. Now, she was a far cry from the very person she once was. Quinn was no longer hers, her work ethic had gotten her nowhere, and she seemed completely void of both passion and discipline.
Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, the very thought of this proverbial fetal position she found herself in sending a surge of formerly buried adrenaline through her bloodstream. This was not the way that Santana Motherfucking Lopez rolled (the 'M' actually stood for Maria, but in high school she had managed to convince a few of the Cheerios to the contrary). No more painting the life she wanted; it was time to get up and get it.
Week 2
For the first time in longer than she could remember, Santana woke up with a smile, arching backward across her bed in a thorough stretch that nearly connected the tips of her toes with the tips of her fingers. She took her time reveling in the soft sunlight that streamed through the window until the chill that also blew in covered her half-naked body in goosebumps. As she moved to the closet to slip into whatever work clothes she found first, she stopped at her window and actually took in the stunning view overlooking the city, remembering how in awe of it she was when first moving from Lima and how these days she took it for granted. Now especially, she was making an extra effort to appreciate even the little things in her life.
Throwing her hair into a tightly-pulled low ponytail, she gripped the doorknob tightly and attempted to turn it as quietly as possible as to not wake Quinn. But as she entered the living room, she saw her sitting up against the arm rest, lazily leafing through pages of the daily newspaper.
"Oh, hey," Santana greeted in pleasant surprise, "You're up early for a day off."
Quinn smiled sleepily before running the bases of her palms over tired eyes. "Yeah, I wish I wasn't," she lightly lamented, "but I need to start getting boxes and packing stuff and try to find decently priced movers before it's too late."
Santana swallowed hard to suppress the sting she suddenly felt when Quinn mentioned the move that most of the time, she managed to pretend wasn't happening. An exercise in control, she laughed bitterly to herself. She briefly considered offering to help her pack, but stopped herself. She hadn't evolved *that* much in 6 days.
"Did you have coffee already?" Santana asked as she moved into the kitchen.
"No, but I'd love some if you're offering," Quinn hinted.
"Nah, I was taking a survey about your caffeine consumption," Santana joked with a smirk.
An amused grin likewise spread over the blonde's face. "Charming as ever, I see."
"You know it! And yes, I'll get you a cup," she replied.
Quinn stretched with a yawn as she rhetorically asked what time it was while flipping her wrist over to check. "Whoa, hey, aren't you late? It's 8:20!"
It was the cue Santana had been waiting for. She mustered a straight face before turning to Quinn. "Eh, I feel like taking my time this morning," she said, moving slowly about the kitchen as she fixed Quinn's coffee first.
"Well, isn't Jerry going to, um, kill you?" the other girl asked, both eyebrows raised. "Remember, you don't have anywhere to hide anymore."
Santana laughed at the other girl's bewilderment as she walked toward her, coffee made. "Oh, relax, Jerry can't kill me. I mean, the worst he could do is fire me, but... since I quit, he can't really do that, either."
Quinn froze mid-reach for her mug and looked up, doe-eyed, at Santana. "Seriously? You quit?"
The Latina's grin gave way to a pearly smile. "I did. Yesterday. I would have told you last night, but you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you." After receiving nothing more than a still-baffled stare, Santana pushed the mug that she was still holding a little closer. "Um, Quinn? This is hot."
"Wait, wait, wait," Quinn said, taking her coffee and sitting up straight, "so... you just quit? The whole company? You never have to go back?"
Santana shifted her weight so that she was leaning forward against the back of the couch. "Well, as tempting as it was to bail, I did the whole professional two weeks notice thing, but now that I don't have to kiss anyone's ass anymore, I'm just doing the standard 9 to 5. No more crazy hours."
"I can't beli - I'm like, in shock!" Quinn laughed, her bemused expression fading and the brightness finally returning to her eyes. "Was the whole promotion and bathroom thing the last straw?"
Hearing her coffee finish brewing, Santana spoke louder as she returned to the kitchen to fix herself a cup to-go. "Well, partly, yeah. It definitely showed me where I stand as far as Jerry and the company are concerned. But honestly, I've been thinking about it for awhile now," she drew in a quick breath as she headed back to the living room, unsure if she should voice what she was compelled to say, but decided to anyway, "and I think it was mostly our talk the other night that really gave me that last shove."
Quinn smiled softly. "Really?"
"Yeah. When you asked me why I subject myself to such a horrible job, I didn't really have a good answer. I mean, I thought I did, I thought I was doing it for the right reasons, but it turns out that wasn't true, either, and knowing that now... knowing that this job actually pushed me away from everything I thought I was working toward and strengthening... and everything I love… just doesn't make it worth it."
The air grew quiet and slightly tense as they both processed the not-so-subtle euphemisms that Santana used to describe their former relationship.
Not wanting to make things worse, Santana quickly chimed back in. "But, uh, yeah, I'm already feeling so relieved. Although, I could definitely use those housing ads you looked through if you still have them. I'm gonna need a smaller place."
The blonde looked up in surprise once more. "Really? Why? With your resume and reputation, you’ll find a new Marketing job in a second, probably even a better one."
Santana smiled nervously at the other girl's faith in her and scratched at the remnants of dried coffee on the side of her travel mug. "Um, well, I'm actually not getting back into Marketing. I was... thinking of pursuing art. You know, build up a portfolio of paintings and drawings and start gauging the market for design and illustrator jobs."
"Oh, wow -"
Gaze still fixated elsewhere, Santana quickly cut back in. "It probably seems irresponsible, but worst case, I can always freelance for a little while, you know, and see what happens, since I have the rest of my bonus and of course my savings to pay the bills. I don't know, maybe it's crazy, I just don't want to look back and -"
Santana's speaking and entire range of motion stopped when she felt a hand on hers. She hadn't felt Quinn's touch since the ill-fated sex incident, and she quickly curbed a stifled gasp as her stare slowly transferred from Quinn's hand to her eyes.
"Santana," Quinn giggled at the other girl's uncharacteristic ramble, "I think it sounds amazing. I'm really proud of you."
A sheepish smile curved Santana's lips before she caught a glimpse of the other girl's wristwatch. "Oh, okay, well now I am going to be late," she said with a subtle laugh as she reluctantly moved away from Quinn's touch. She grabbed her briefcase from the kitchen floor but before she could leave, something compelled her to turn toward the living room once more. "Hey?"
Quinn folded back the top half of her newspaper so she could meet Santana's eyes.
"Since I'll actually be getting home before midnight tonight, would you maybe wanna have some dinner? I can make my mom's arroz con pollo and we can, you know, catch up?" she asked, hoping that Quinn's favorite Mexican dish would tip the scales in her favor.
The near-blinding smile that somehow made the blonde more beautiful than usual answered Santana's question before Quinn could verbally. "Yeah. That'd be great."
Santana smiled in return before saying good bye and heading toward the elevator. She couldn't help the pang of disappointment she felt deep inside when Quinn didn't make a running jump for her arms and seal it with a passionate kiss at the news of her quitting. Even though she knew she shouldn't, part of her was hoping that since the job seemed to be the source of so many of their problems, once it was eliminated, everything would magically be okay.
It wasn't the first time she learned the hard way that some things simply break beyond repair.
Still, in her head she composed the shopping list for their dinner, considering side dishes and maybe a dessert she could make, too. She and Quinn were over, but her love for her high school sweetheart was still ingrained deeply within her, perhaps now more than ever before (although she hated to consider such a tragedy). Regardless, she knew that the next several days would be about one thing: doing all she could to make Quinn feel happy and special while the privilege of her company was still afforded to her.
Week 3
Santana doubled over in her kitchen chair, holding up her pointer finger to Quinn since the side-splitting, silent laughter rendered her unable to actually say that she needed a minute to catch her breath.
Over the past week and a half, they had developed this unspoken tradition of sorts that involved coming home from work, eating dinner together, and then collapsing on the couch for an evening of movie or TV watching. The last part of their evening was always delayed, however, until they were done rehashing old memories, usually to the point of forgivably painful laughter.
Every time she looked at her girlfriend-turned-roommate, Santana attempted to rationalize time and again that it was merely the companionship that she had missed so much and was now infinitely happier in its presence. Still, she couldn’t deny the pulsing of her stomach at something as simple as receiving a text from Quinn during the day, even if it was just to ask what to pick up for dinner. She started reconnecting with friends she had lost touch with in preparation for her impending lifestyle change, and while she enjoyed their company, they failed to induce the near audible pounding of her heartbeat the way the blonde’s smile always could. Whether right or wrong, Santana would do just about anything to see it, like insisting on cooking each night, bringing home flowers for the dining room table, and perhaps most surprisingly, allowing Quinn to dig up even her most embarrassing of moments for some killer amusement.
Quinn dabbed the corners of her eyes as she, too, caught her breath from laughing so hard. “I still can’t believe you didn’t break anything. There was so much blood!”
“Ahh, God, I know, can you imagine if I had? It would have been the price I paid for trying to show up Puckerman and impress you myself!” Santana smirked.
A fair-skinned hand gave Santana a teasing swat. “Oh, please, because I was so swooning when he jumped over the piano!”
“The grand piano,” Santana quickly corrected, “which is short and flat, anyone taller than 4 feet can do that! I went for the auditorium piano, which was way harder!”
“Yes, and on wheels, hence the fall and the crash and the blood!” Quinn exclaimed before they both began to laugh once more.
Santana mock-stubbornly folded her arms. “Whatever, I so would have made it had it not been for the unfortunate mobility of the piano.”
“Sure, sure,” Quinn jested with a smile before taking the last few bites of her dinner.
Seeing the other girl completely satiated and relaxed, Santana cleared her throat, knowing that now was the best time to bring up something she had been afraid to approach. "So, not to interrupt up your enjoyment at my expense, but I need to talk to you about something."
Quinn leaned forward in her chair. "Okay."
"Well, I've been looking at some apartments and answering some ads for roommate requests -"
Quinn interrupted with a chuckle. "Roommate requests? You?"
Santana narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, trust that it lasted about half a day. Anyway, there are some decent places for rent all over Manhattan, and I actually have my eye on one but I kind of wanted to run it by you first."
"Okay, but... how come?” Quinn asked cautiously, yet obviously confused. “I don't have - you know - you don't need my permission."
"I know, but... it's in your building. A studio on the 1st floor. I was gonna get a one bedroom, but figured I should hold off until I know I have money coming in, and there's only one left in the complex, so I want to get back to the landlord soon," she took a deep breath before continuing. "I know we're not -- together anymore, but you've been in my life for too long for me to imagine you not in it, even if it is just as a friend. But I wanted to make sure you'd be okay with me being so close by before I said yes."
Quinn's expression remained ambiguous, almost startled for a second until an uncertain grin appeared. "Yeah. That would be nice."
"You sure? I won't, like, be offended or anything..."
A bittersweet laugh escaped Quinn. "And to think at times like this I miss the 'To hell with what you want, I'm doing things my way' side of you. I'm sure, Santana."
"Well, good, 'cause I didn't really care what you wanted anyway," Santana jested, pausing to enjoy the laugh that she knew she would earn from Quinn before switching gears. "Okay, I'll load the dishwasher, you go find something to watch on TV? And by find something I of course mean go to Lifetime for the Jilted Lovers' Movie Marathon."
A single eyebrow darted up with a grin. "Now, that's more like it. Calling the shots and having a bizarre fascination with Lifetime movies."
"Oh, don't even! You know you love them, too! When we watched The Truth About Jane you cried for 3 days!"
"Well, yeah, because it was like my life in high school, just, you know, without the happy ending!" Quinn rushed to defend herself. "I'm not sure how well I can relate to 3 hours of 'gold diggers and the men who get shot by them'."
Santana sighed with purposeful dramatics as she flung herself backward onto the couch. "Let's just watch something else then."
"No, no, I'll watch it with you," Quinn replied, both smiling and rolling her eyes simultaneously. "I'm a good friend."
The Latina threw her head back in a loud cackle of a laugh. "Oh, please,” she began, draping her feet across the other girl’s lap, “You just won't admit that you have been dying to see these jilted lovers."
*********************************************************************Later that night, Santana found herself in the middle of one of her trademark vivid dreams.
She was back in high school, performing with the Glee Club at Regionals. The memory of performing flooded her sleeping body with long-forgotten adrenaline, and all of it felt so real once more. Of course in the moment she didn't find it odd that her dream self was in her Cheerios uniform, several of her college friends were there, and that the competition was being held in a parking lot, but after all, stranger things had happened in her sleep.
Standing between Quinn and Brittany, likely a metaphor for the way she always seemed to feel in those days, she took slow, shaky-legged steps forward from the group. Raising a microphone to her lips, she was poised to take the lead on a rock ballad that in reality, they had never performed. In fact, it was one she only knew in recent times after scouring the internet for heartsick, break-up songs for the days that she simply needed to mourn.
Before she could even get halfway through the first verse, she felt herself lose her footing and fall backward, slowly enough to taste every second of fear, yet too quickly to do anything to stop it.
Inexplicably no longer in performance clothes, Quinn was suddenly above her, shaking her gently with concern in her eyes. “Santana. Santana, wake up.”
As her eyes opened, they immediately squinted at the sting of the streaming moonlight from her bedside window, Quinn’s form casting a shadow over her. She wasn’t dreaming anymore.
Slightly disoriented, Santana sat up, her heart racing from being woken suddenly. Her tired eyes caught a glance at her alarm clock, and once she saw that it was past 1 in the morning, she became even more nervous as to why Quinn was standing over her bed. She didn’t smell smoke or hear a prowler, and her half-unconscious mind couldn’t think of any other pressing emergencies offhand.
“What’s the matter?” she asked warily, propping herself up against the headboard of her bed.
“Oh, nothing, nothing really, I just wanted to know - did you call the landlord yet about reserving that apartment?” Quinn sputtered, suddenly looking regretful.
Santana felt a pang in her chest. She wasn’t sure where this was going yet, but she had a sinking suspicion she might not like it. “Um, no, not yet. I was going to tomorrow. Why?”
Quinn’s near-emerald eyes were darting from side to side, visibly piecing together what she was going to say next in her head. “Well, I was thinking - you know what? This can wait until morning, it’s not even that important…”
“Quinn,” Santana interjected half-amused, yet sternly, “You obviously want to talk about whatever this is since you woke me up in the middle of the night to bring it up. Just tell me, otherwise neither of us will end up getting any sleep and you know it.”
When the blonde sat on the farthest corner of the bed and exhaled deeply, Santana really knew to be worried. As far as speaking her mind was concerned, Quinn had always been a fairly straight-shooter. She only seemed to pause in the rare moments that she was unsure of herself, or when she needed to find a way to break something difficult gently.
The suspense shortening her patience, Santana spoke up in Quinn’s silence. “Do you not want me to get the apartment?”
Quinn released a gust of pent-up breath that answered the question without anything needing to be said. Nonetheless, she still spoke. “After you told me about the apartment, all these thoughts started rushing through my head -“
Before she could say any more, Santana cut in. “You really don’t need to explain. I understand,” she said, thinking any elaboration might only further intensify her already hurt and irritable state.
“No,” Quinn insisted, her serious, misty eyes bearing directly into Santana’s, “I really do need to explain.”
With a deep sigh, Santana sat up further, reaching for her nightstand where she flicked on the lamp, pulling her knees to her chest semi-defensively. “I’m listening.”
Quinn paused to get her bearings before starting where she had been interrupted. “After you told me about the apartment, all these thoughts started rushing through my head. I mean, I knew that I was moving out and that you were moving out, but it didn’t really become real for some reason until you mentioned moving into my new building. When you said all of that stuff about being in each other’s lives and staying in each other’s lives, I just felt so overwhelmed with all of these emotions. It’s all I’ve been able to think about all night.”
“You don’t want me to live so close right now?” Santana asked in a way that sounded more like a statement.
“No,” Quinn said, aloud this time, “I want you to move in with me instead.”
Santana felt her eyes widen involuntarily, and she covertly pinched herself under the blanket to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Her hesitation left an incredibly vulnerable-looking Quinn staring back at her, silently pleading with her to say something. “What?” was the best she could do, and she was surprised she had even gotten out that much.
Quinn’s posture tensed as her eyes alternated back and forth between Santana and the invisible pattern she was drawing on the comforter with her finger. “I don’t know, I mean, I can’t speak for you, but… just the thought of us living separate lives in separate apartments, even in the same building, really hit me. Like, just a sense of finality or reality, or whatever you want to call it, but either way, the thought of losing you just wrecked me.” She meekly allowed her eyes to meet Santana’s before continuing to speak. “I know this out of the blue, and I’m honestly not really expecting any certain answer from you or for you to even feel the same way-“
“Hey, whoa, are you kidding?” Santana asked in a gentle tone before scooting closer to Quinn and taking both hands in her own. “Of course I feel the same way, I’ve been trying every way I can to let you know that I’m still fucking crazy in love with you without making you feel like I was pushing or in case you had moved on. I’ve never wanted to live apart, and that’s why I had to see if I could get a spot in your building so that if nothing else I could still see you every day!” As she spoke, she noticed a wavering smile on the other girl’s lips, unsure why in what was easily the happiest moment of her past few months, the other girl looked so sad. “Hey… why do you look like you’re about to cry? This is a good thing, right?”
Quinn breathed deeply as she briefly tried then quickly failed to keep her composure, just like Santana knew she would. Over the span of 9 years, they had shared countless intimate, soul-exposing moments, even though they did tend to come few and far between, but even now, there was something new and foreign in what Santana was seeing in the girl she met as a Brownie Scout so many years ago.
“I’m just… so scared,” she respired shakily, her meek and cautious tone sending a chill down Santana’s spine before a proverbial hand shoved her forward to step up.
Santana transferred from clutching Quinn’s hands to gently cupping the sides of her face, using her thumbs to dissolve chilled tears against fair skin. “I know,” she all-but-whispered, “I know, and I understand, but I promise you that the last thing you have to be is scared. It’s going to be different this time. I’m going to be there, every day, always. No more pointless arguments, no more fighting to be first place in my life.”
Continuing the sentence she started before, Quinn continued to speak. “And I’m… just so, so sorry!”
Brow furrowed, Santana scanned the other girl’s eyes confusedly. “Why are you sorry, Babe?” the familiar pet name escaped her lips before she could even think to stop it, as she reverted to her secondhand nature to comfort the blonde in times of sorrow.
“I just feel so guilty for being so hurt and stubborn and scared to give in. If I had just been stronger, I never would have left and we never would have lost all this time!” Quinn lamented, tears garbling her speech as she visibly rid herself of longtime buried emotions and sentiments.
More tightly this time, Santana gripped and tilted Quinn’s chin, demanding both her gaze and attention as she cleared the threat of a cry from her throat and spoke intently. “Hey, listen to me,” she began, matching the back-and-forth pattern of misty hazel eyes with her own dark brown, allowing a hint of levity to mingle with her vocal cords, “You know how much I hate to admit that I’m wrong and you’re right, and how I’ll avoid it at pretty much all costs, but you were definitely right to take some time away from me.” She took a moment to revel in the faint laugh that Quinn emitted, and continued to speak. “I’m stubborn, I like to be right, and my old habits die hard, and it’s usually because underneath all of my bullshit, I cling tightly to my good intentions, even if I’m doing a sucky job at conveying them, and I have to say that if I didn’t have to come face-to-face with the possibility of life without you, I probably would have never changed. I would have kept telling myself that I was doing all this work for a reason and that you would have to understand in the long run when we were able to do well for ourselves and that even when I was cruel to you, you must still know how much I love you. And I was wrong. It took me hating every single second of my time away from you to realize that regardless of what good I thought I was doing, it was time to step up and stop being two different people, and instead be one stable person you could count on. And I realized that if we were ever going to work again, that you needed some time to heal and trust and stand on your own two feet before becoming the one stable person that I can count on. So, you have no reason to feel guilty, at all. Got it?”
With tear-brimmed eyes, Quinn nodded quickly before giving way to more sobs, prodding Santana even more deeply within her core to do something to console her. She could only recall a few instances where she saw Quinn lose composure to this extent, and each time she felt both eager, yet unsure how to help.
“Quinn,” she attempted, rubbing her back with an open, soothing palm, “what can I do to make you feel better?” But before Quinn could answer, an idea hit immediately as she moved to her feet and stood beside the bed. Pulling a hand away from the crying girl’s face, she held it mid-air and bowed forward slightly. “May I have this dance?”
“Wha - now? I’m a mess, and we can’t put on any music, the neighbors will kill us,” Quinn protested, slinging away tears with the back of her hand.
Santana wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “First of all, Quinn Fucking Fabray is never a mess, as you know, and don’t worry about the neighbors. I’ve got this one covered.”
Supporting Quinn’s emotionally exhausted body by securely gripping her waist, Santana took a minute to gather her breathing as the arms she missed so much draped around her neck. Nestling her chin in the base of Quinn’s neck, she began to sing softly into her ear:
I guess this time you’re really leaving
I heard your suitcase say good bye
Well, as my broken heart lies bleeding
You say, “true love is suicide”.
You say you’ve cried a thousand rivers
And now you’re swimming for the shore
You left me drowning in my tears
And you won’t save me anymore
Now, I’m praying to God you’ll give me one more chance, girl
I’ll be there for you
These 5 words I swear to you
When you breathe, I wanna be the air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
I know you know we've had some good times
Now they have their own hiding place
Well I can promise you tomorrow
But I can't buy back yesterday
And, Baby you know my hands are dirty
But I wanted to be your valentine
I'll be the water when you get thirsty, Baby
When you get drunk, I'll be the wine
I’ll be there for you
These 5 words I swear to you
When you breathe, I wanna be there air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
I wasn’t there when you were happy
And I wasn’t there when you were down
I didn’t mean to miss your birthday, Baby
I wish I’d seen you blow those candles out
I’ll be there for you
These 5 words I swear to you
When you breathe, I wanna be there air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
Judging by the small pool of tears that failed to spill over the crook of her shoulder, Santana gathered that Quinn had stopped crying, and when she reluctantly lifted her own head up and backward to lock eyes, she saw that she had guessed correctly. She really pulled it off this time.
“That was beautiful,” Quinn praised softly, a glowing blush enveloping her features. “I’ve never heard that song before, where did it come from?”
Santana smirked slightly as the dream she had just been woken from gained a much deeper significance. “It’s just been on my mind a lot lately. It pretty much covers everything I’ve been wanting to say to you.”
“Well, I loved it,” Quinn replied, “I always love it when you sing.”
“Thank you,” Santana accepted graciously. A moment of at last comfortable silence filled the air.
Quinn swallowed hard. “I have to be honest, I’m still a little scared.”
“I know,” Santana nodded, knowing deep down that there was still work to be done. “I am a little, too. But this time you won’t have to be scared alone. I’m gonna be there. You know I never sing anything I don’t mean.”
A less-guarded smile spread across Quinn’s face as she took a slow step forward. “So, um… does that song have any more verses?”
A glowing smile completely owned Santana’s features as she pulled Quinn’s body against hers once again. “Eh,” she interjected, “I can make some up if it means you’ll dance with me.”
And she did. She really pulled it off this time.