fanfic: Best You'll Ever Have, PG-13 (Quinn, Santana)
Title: Best You'll Ever Have
Author: wanderinghope
Fandom: Glee
Pairings/Characters: Quinn, Santana
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 656
Spoilers: 3x07
Summary: Quinn and Santana share a moment of understanding.
A/N: Written for the prompt 'Fallen' for my sacred_20 table.
Best You'll Ever Have
Quinn looked up as she heard the faint tap... tap... tap... of someone climbing the steps of the metal bleachers. Her eyes followed Santana as she shivered and settled down next to her on the bleachers.
"Jesus, Q, are you trying to get hypothermia?" The brunette asked with a glare, shivering again and pulling her coat closer around her. It was nearly December but Coach Sylvester still hadn't approved for them to wear pants with their uniform, so there she was sitting on metal, bare legged.
"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked, before taking a drag from her cigarette. She hadn't meant to start smoking again, but her mind just wouldn't shut up and maybe the nicotine would distract her. Plus it was only exhausting to stand, and she wasn't planning on moving any time soon.
"I've been looking for you. I just got back from my weekly Taco Bell run with Puckerman--" Quinn's head snapped over to look at Santana, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"Don't give me that look, blondie. We used to go after we fooled around because I'm always starving after I get done, but after we stopped boning we still kept going and he buys the churros and when have I ever said no to those?" Santana said in a rush, a little flustered by her over explanation. "Anyway, he told me you tried to get him to knock you up again and stuff and that shit is way fucked up. And then he was talking about how you're such a mess and no one cares about you, which is kind of true because you're a psychopath--"
Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Do you have a point to this or are you just trying to make yourself feel better again by telling everyone else how much they suck?"
Santana heaved a sigh then rolled her eyes. "Impatient much? I was getting there." She paused, then began again, this time in a more gentle voice. "Anyway. He told me he told you we all failed you because we didn't notice you were messed up. I mean, you're so good at wearing a mask and even though you're not Head Cheerio anymore, it's like, no one fucks with you when you say something. And you kept saying you were fine and we should have known better. Because so much shit happened to you and I was too busy being confused about my feelings for Brittany and fighting them away that I didn't have time for you. None of us did and we should have, Q. We were friends and we both fucked it up because we were fucked up and I'm just trying to say... Oh fuck."
Quinn could feel the tears welling in her eyes as she flicked the ashes from her cigarette. "... That we're both fucked up?" She asked, her voice thick. "Tell me something I don't know, Lopez. At least people care about you though. Brittany loves you. Who do I have? No one. Because I'm too fucked up."
"Oh God, shut up," Santana snapped back. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm your friend. I love you. So, just shut up. And give me one of those cigarettes. I have to tell you something. I haven't even told Brit yet. But--I know you'll understand. Okay?"
Warily, Quinn handed over the pack of cigarettes and lighter and waited for Santana to continue. Once the brunette got over the initial coughing from inhaling too much smoke, she said, "So, I told mi abuela. And she told me she never wanted to see me again. See, we're both fucked up. People don't want us, Q, so we have to stick together."
The blonde sat quietly, finishing her cigarette, then gradually leaned to rest her head on Santana's shoulder. "Well I guess I have to start somewhere," she said.
Santana could hear the smirk in Quinn's voice. "Fuck you, I'm the best you'll ever have."
Author: wanderinghope
Fandom: Glee
Pairings/Characters: Quinn, Santana
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 656
Spoilers: 3x07
Summary: Quinn and Santana share a moment of understanding.
A/N: Written for the prompt 'Fallen' for my sacred_20 table.
Best You'll Ever Have
Quinn looked up as she heard the faint tap... tap... tap... of someone climbing the steps of the metal bleachers. Her eyes followed Santana as she shivered and settled down next to her on the bleachers.
"Jesus, Q, are you trying to get hypothermia?" The brunette asked with a glare, shivering again and pulling her coat closer around her. It was nearly December but Coach Sylvester still hadn't approved for them to wear pants with their uniform, so there she was sitting on metal, bare legged.
"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked, before taking a drag from her cigarette. She hadn't meant to start smoking again, but her mind just wouldn't shut up and maybe the nicotine would distract her. Plus it was only exhausting to stand, and she wasn't planning on moving any time soon.
"I've been looking for you. I just got back from my weekly Taco Bell run with Puckerman--" Quinn's head snapped over to look at Santana, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"Don't give me that look, blondie. We used to go after we fooled around because I'm always starving after I get done, but after we stopped boning we still kept going and he buys the churros and when have I ever said no to those?" Santana said in a rush, a little flustered by her over explanation. "Anyway, he told me you tried to get him to knock you up again and stuff and that shit is way fucked up. And then he was talking about how you're such a mess and no one cares about you, which is kind of true because you're a psychopath--"
Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Do you have a point to this or are you just trying to make yourself feel better again by telling everyone else how much they suck?"
Santana heaved a sigh then rolled her eyes. "Impatient much? I was getting there." She paused, then began again, this time in a more gentle voice. "Anyway. He told me he told you we all failed you because we didn't notice you were messed up. I mean, you're so good at wearing a mask and even though you're not Head Cheerio anymore, it's like, no one fucks with you when you say something. And you kept saying you were fine and we should have known better. Because so much shit happened to you and I was too busy being confused about my feelings for Brittany and fighting them away that I didn't have time for you. None of us did and we should have, Q. We were friends and we both fucked it up because we were fucked up and I'm just trying to say... Oh fuck."
Quinn could feel the tears welling in her eyes as she flicked the ashes from her cigarette. "... That we're both fucked up?" She asked, her voice thick. "Tell me something I don't know, Lopez. At least people care about you though. Brittany loves you. Who do I have? No one. Because I'm too fucked up."
"Oh God, shut up," Santana snapped back. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm your friend. I love you. So, just shut up. And give me one of those cigarettes. I have to tell you something. I haven't even told Brit yet. But--I know you'll understand. Okay?"
Warily, Quinn handed over the pack of cigarettes and lighter and waited for Santana to continue. Once the brunette got over the initial coughing from inhaling too much smoke, she said, "So, I told mi abuela. And she told me she never wanted to see me again. See, we're both fucked up. People don't want us, Q, so we have to stick together."
The blonde sat quietly, finishing her cigarette, then gradually leaned to rest her head on Santana's shoulder. "Well I guess I have to start somewhere," she said.
Santana could hear the smirk in Quinn's voice. "Fuck you, I'm the best you'll ever have."