Nope. Not at all.
She rocks on her heels as she waits in line, pushing a stray piece of hair back as the older woman in front of her takes her time trying to decide if she wants a Caesar salad or a Chinese chicken salad. She knows that Mr. Apenta won’t be upset if she comes in a little late but she prefers to be prompt. “I think I’ll go with the Caesar salad,” the old woman croons and Quinn sighs before the woman then stumbles on what to drink.
This is her favorite deli and she’s been craving their BLT for a week now, but she really doesn’t have the time for this. A hand slips into hers, pulling her out of the line and even though she was going to get out of line this is not okay. “Excuse-” Puck glances over his shoulder, giving her hand a small squeeze, and she finds herself walking with him instead of trying to dig her heels into the tile. “What’re you doing here,” she asks as he leads her out of the store. He drops her hand and she pulls her phone out of her pocket just so she has something to do with her now empty hand.
“I was picking you up this.” He holds up a white paper bag, the smell of bacon wafting towards her. She smiles as she tucks her phone back into the pocket of her dress before taking the bag from him. “Guess it’s a good thing I got in before the crypt keeper, hm?”
Her smile stretches as her hair falls back into her face but it shrinks when he tucks it behind her ear before she gets the chance to. They walk side by side the four blocks to the bookstore and he catches her up on the fight between his mom and Jenna. Apparently Jenna thinks she’s old enough to not go to day camp anymore and made the point of saying that Puck was able to stay home alone when he was her age. “I have to take her kicking and screaming every morning now,” Puck says, opening the door for her.
“I know I’m not your mother’s favorite person,” she starts, straightening up a few books as she passes. “But since you’re here nearly everyday anyway, your sister is more than welcome to come too.”
Mr. Apenta putters out of the office, smiling at both of them. He really only comes by to open and close the shop, trusting Quinn enough to hold down the fort. His wife had a really bad stroke earlier this year and even though they have a live in nurse to take care of her, he prefers to spend as much time with her as possible. “Will you be okay alone, Quinn,” he asks, just like he asks her everyday before he leaves.
“Of course! Tell Esther I said hello.”
He smiles at her, adjusting his glasses before he tucks his newspaper underneath his arm. Puck pretends to be looking through the collection of Edgar Allen Poe on one of the display tables and Mr. Apenta looks at him as he stands next to Quinn behind the counter. He busies himself with the cash register and then says under his breath, “He’s been here a lot.” Quinn nods, biting her lip lightly. “You have a very nice smile when he’s here.” He looks up at Quinn’s surprised face, a grin spreading across his wrinkled face. He pats her hand. “Call me if it gets busy.”
When the door shuts behind him, Puck puts down the book. “What’d he say to you?”
“Nothing.”
Puck leans against the counter. “Should I stop coming by so much?”
She catches herself shaking her head a little too quickly and she picks up a stack of books, handing half to him in an effort to distract him. “You should talk to your mom about bringing Jenna here. I know it’s not very exciting here, but Jenna likes to read.”
Puck follows her down the aisle, nodding a little. “Kind of cuts into my time with you though.”
“You do realize I exist outside of this store, right?” She arches a brow and he rolls his eyes, sticking a book in its place on the shelf.
“People are going to make it more than it is. This town likes to talk.” He’s right and she knows that if Lauren were to catch on to anything, Quinn would be done for (not even Santana could take her down). It still doesn’t stop her face from falling ever so slightly and Puck slings an arm over her shoulders when he catches it. “I think Jenna would like it here.”
Quinn nods. “Bring her by tomorrow, if it’s okay with your mom.”
—
Quinn opens her bedroom door, hoping that for once, Santana doesn’t want to go out. It’s not like they talk about shit that matters, so she won’t have to explain that she really just can’t see Puck anymore today (they’re almost friends, she thinks, but then they made out for her entire lunch break. Afterwards they went back to just talking, like real, functional people but god, he looks at her like an angel sometimes). Santana’s laying in the middle of her bed, cocooned in a sheet so that the only part of her Quinn can see is her head. It’s weird because Santana is usually sprawled out in little more than her underwear when Quinn gets home, hand shoved in a bag of potato chips with some horrid reality show on the tv. “San?” The tv is off and Santana isn’t moving at all. Quinn kicks off her flipflops, dropping her purse on top of them, and when she walks to the edge of the bed, her eyes widen. Santana’s cheeks are shiny and the tips of her ears and the tip of her nose are red. Her eyes are bloodshot and it’s like she’s looking right through Quinn.
Quinn kneels on the bed, hand hesitantly raising to push some of the hair stuck to Santana’s cheek and neck back. “She left,” Santana sighs out, her eyes closing slow enough to look like it physically pains her to do it. “She left without waking me up.” Tears start to pool quickly and Santana tries to laugh. “Wow, I actually thought I wasn’t able to cry anymore.”
“Shut up,” Quinn says softly, too softly for the type of friends they are, and pushes back Santana’s hair.
“She’s dating him again.” Quinn wants to say sorry but the words get stuck in her throat as Santana pulls the sheet up a little higher to dry her eyes. “I need to drink,” she croaks. “Like, I need to get shitfaced.”
Quinn nods. “We can do that.”
—
She can’t find Santana.
Before she went to the bathroom, Santana was sitting on the old couch Quinn used to sleep on when she lived with Puck, nursing a bottle of tequila Quinn swiped her from the kitchen. Now, two freshman are making out in her place and she would yell at them because who the fuck let them in if she weren’t so freaked out about Santana.
She manages to find Puck at the beer pong table and grabs the ping-pong ball before he can toss it. “You see Santana?”
He only looks irritated for a second before rising up to scan the crowd. “Nah, but I don’t see Britt either.” She nods and if Zizes wasn’t giving her the evil eye from the other end of the table, she’d tell him to meet her at work a little earlier tomorrow. She bumps him out of the way and takes his shot, bouncing the ball off the table and smiling widely when it goes into one of the cups across the table. Beer pong is so much easier sober.
She walks away before Lauren downs the contents of her red cup, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. She’s 99% sure Santana is with Brittany and her hands fist at her sides. She makes her way through the crowd until she reaches the stairs, her chest constricting uncomfortably. She and Santana stay on the edges of the rooms for a reason because she can’t handle being sandwiched by so many people and she’s really not used to parties this big. If she can get upstairs and calm down in Mrs. Puckerman’s room, she’ll be able to breathe and think clearly.
A mess of dark brown hair catches her eye and then there Santana is, over in the kitchen, one hand holding a beer bottle, the other resting on Brittany’s hip. “Hey,” she yells pointlessly with what little breath she has left, unable to hear herself over the music. Brittany moves just enough for Quinn to see Santana’s face and Quinn can tell she’s two seconds away from crying. She pushes her way into the kitchen as fast as she can, losing a shoe in the process but not caring because 1) she needs to get to Santana now and 2) she needs to get to a space less crowded now. Her hand wraps around Brittany’s bra strap once she’s in reach, pulling the blonde away from Santana roughly. “Get away from her.” Brittany looks so innocent and confused that Quinn almost feels bad about growling at her.
“Why are you yelling,” Brittany asks, a frown settling on her face as she reaches to take Santana’s hand.
Quinn swats her hand, stepping in front of Santana to create even more space between the two. “Because you need to stay away from her.”
Her features twist and Quinn feels Santana’s head rest against her shoulder blades. “I just wanted to…” Brittany says quietly, looking past Quinn in an effort to look at Santana. “You stole her this summer.”
“You pushed her away,” Quinn spits, physically shoving Brittany back when she tries to reach for Santana again. “Talk to her when you’re sober. If you actually remember this tomorrow.” She turns around and grabs Santana by the waist, pulling the bottle dangling from her fingers away and slamming it on the counter.
She leads them out the back door and off the patio, only stopping when Santana sinks to her knees on the grass and throws up.
—
It’s amazing Santana lasts until they got to Quinn’s bathroom. She’s been dry heaving all the way home and even though Quinn is not looking forward to cleaning up Santana’s throw up, she is thankful that it’s in her bathroom and not on the stairs. “I’m sorry,” Santana cries (that Santana couldn’t hold out on) and Quinn really can’t hide the disgusted look on her face. Santana’s dress and Quinn’s left foot (the one that’s already dirty and kind of hurting because, in her haste, totally forgot to go back for the shoe she lost in the hallway. Not that is matters because, you know, Santana) are covered in throw up and it actually makes Santana sob harder than she was on the walk home.
“It’s okay,” Quinn says softly, unzipping Santana’s dress. “We’re gonna clean you up and it’s going to be okay.” She pushes the strapless dress down until it hits the floor with a gross slap and then helps Santana around the mess, sitting her down on the toilet.
“I must look so pathetic.” Quinn debates lying to her but they aren’t that kind of friends (hell, they aren’t those kind of people), so she says nothing and busies herself by digging through her drawers for a hair tie. “And my boobs are out and you don’t even like boobs and you’re just so fucking nice, Quinn.” Santana sniffs and then cries harder. “Oh my god, what was in my stomach? It smells like ass in here.” Quinn gathers Santana’s hair as best she can, twirling it into a bun so, in case Santana does throw up again (though Quinn’s not sure how she possibly could), her hair will be out of the way.
“You have very nice boobs, Santana,” Quinn breathes out, grabbing a wash cloth from underneath the sink and wetting it. “Do you feel dizzy? Close your eyes for a sec.” Santana shakes her head as Quinn wipes away any eye makeup Santana had left on, washcloth then following the mascara trails down Santana’s cheeks. “I know your stomach probably still feels horrible, but I won’t let you leave this bathroom until you drink a cup of water.” Santana whines, trying to push Quinn away when the blonde runs the towel over her mouth and chin. “I will hold you in place.”
“God, is this what you would’ve been like if you kept your kid?” Quinn stops moving and god, even drunk Santana knows saying shit like that isn’t cool. It gets eerily quiet then and Santana can hear Quinn take about four deep breaths before she folds the wash cloth in half and does one last wipe down Santana’s face. “Oh my god, why do you put up with me?”
“For some stupid reason, I kind of like having you around,” Quinn mutters, stepping back from Santana to wipe off her own foot. “You want to brush your teeth first or drink the water?”
“I have to brush my teeth?” Quinn rolls her eyes when that makes Santana start to tear up again.
“You are not getting in my bed with your mouth smelling like it does. When you’re drunk, you sleep with your mouth open.”
—
When she walks back into the bedroom, Santana is curled around the pillow that has since become hers, in nothing but a tank top Quinn’s proud she actually managed to get on, and her underwear. She started crying again, which isn’t surprising considering Quinn was gone for almost a half an hour cleaning the bathroom, and the blonde finds herself slumping against her door as she watches Santana’s body shake with each breath.
“It shouldn’t be this hard for us.” Quinn pushes herself off her door, going around the bed until she’s kneeling in front of Santana, pushing back some of the dark hair that fell out of the sorry excuse of a bun.
“It’s just high school. This won’t matter a year from now, San.”
“God, that’s such complete bullshit, especially coming from you.” Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. “Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel even more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn’t mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s always going to matter, more so now that she… That I’m… That.” She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She’s not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can’t acknowledge something and then pretend it didn’t happen.
She rolls on to her back, pushing her palms against her eyes until colors flash on her eyelids. “You think that Rachel isn’t going to be permanently fucked up because of what we did to her? You think that Puck will actually be able to think about high school and not remember you or your baby? High school is what fucking makes us, Quinn. And as of right now, we’re all hopeless.”
She feels the bed dip next to her and then hands are wrapping around her wrists, pulling them away from her face. “We don’t even know how to be friends, Quinn,” Santana cries, blinking rapidly until she can vaguely make out Quinn’s sad features through her tears. “How fucked up is that? We’re seventeen and we don’t know how to function in a friendship, let alone a relationship. But without you, I’m left with what? Getting drunk every Saturday night, fucking Brittany, and then crying because she doesn’t want me. And without me? Fuck, Quinn. I really don’t want to think about that. I don’t understand how you function enough to verbally spar with me everyday with all the crap going on in your head.”
She closes her eyes again when Quinn lets out a strangled laugh and on top of all her regular shitty feelings, now she feels bad for unloading on Quinn like this. She opens her mouth to apologize for what seems like the millionth time today, but stops when Quinn tugs lightly on her hands. “Sit up. Slowly,” Quinn whispers, voice cracking noticeably. It’s actually a really difficult thing to do because Santana completely forgot how utterly uncoordinated she is at this level of drunk, but Quinn helps, wrapping her arms around Santana when her own arms give out half way.
She pulls Santana to her chest and this is just getting really weird. The only other person to ever hold her like this is Brittany. Plus, Quinn hasn’t been this sappy since she was pregnant and Santana is 100% certain that’s because all those extra hormones managed to turn Quinn into a normal person. “I know I’m crying and shit, but don’t go all soft on me. I’m only friends with you because then I’m not overwhelmingly bitchy.”
“So we’re friends then,” Quinn asks lightly, easing back so she can look at Santana with a small crooked grin.
“Apparently. In our own fucked up way I guess.” Quinn’s smile turns sad then and it really isn’t fucking fair that they’re both so damaged.
“You think you’ll throw up again?” Santana shakes her head and Quinn tugs at Santana’s messy bun, pulling out the hair tie that wasn’t doing its job. She slides it around her wrist and then pushes Santana’s hair away from her face. She’s still uncharacteristically gentle which is understandable since Santana may as well have had a mental breakdown five minutes ago, and it’s kind of nice because she’s a needy drunk (even if Quinn Fabray is the one with her). So when Quinn kisses the drying trails of tears on her cheeks before placing one more kiss on her lips softly, it’s surprising but not alarming. Quinn has been treating her like a child since she took her away from Brittany and the simple pressure of Quinn’s lips against hers feels platonic. But then Quinn pulls back, eyebrows scrunched together but that left one is still somehow arching, and suddenly Santana’s hyper aware of Quinn looking at her. Not that she hasn’t been all night, but this is different. Curious. Skeptical even.
She’s not entirely sure who moves first but she really fucking misses Brittany and Quinn doesn’t seem to mind the way Santana’s tongue runs over her bottom lip because her lips part instantly.
She hasn’t wanted to do this with someone else in a long time, but Quinn’s hands are on her ribs softly, even when her own hands clutch at Quinn’s tank top needily. Thumbs rub against her in soft circles, the tips of Quinn’s nails grazing her breasts with every 360, and Santana whines when one of Quinn’s hands becomes bold enough to slip underneath the fabric bunching at her waist. Quinn’s hands are freezing and she’s pretty sure they’re both shaking even though it’s hot as hell in the room.
Quinn keeps her hands at Santana’s waist, really not sure if she should continue the path let alone what to do if she does. She grips on to warmed tan skin when Santana pulls back just enough to get some air. Santana’s eyes are still closed but she can feel her eyebrows furrow against her forehead. “What-” Santana cuts herself off when Quinn’s fingers drag up a little bit and when they trace over the curve of her breasts, she locks eyes with Quinn.
“Show me how to help you,” Quinn whispers and a shiver runs through Santana’s body. Her head is pounding and Santana knows this is not a good idea in the least bit. This is actually something she’ll probably add to her list of fuck ups and this is essentially ruining her safe haven, but Quinn’s hands slide up further, adding just enough experimental pressure that Santana feels her nipples harden beneath Quinn’s palms. She can’t tell if her head is spinning because of the booze and the way she falls back against the pillow or if it’s because Quinn shifts just enough to straddle her thighs. Quinn’s lips trail down her neck, her tongue darting out every so often, and Santana knows she needs more. Her hands cover Quinn’s over her shirt, forcing the blonde to squeeze, and she must have forgotten where her hands were because Quinn pops up with a soft ‘Oh’.
Her nails are longer than Brittany’s so when Quinn squeezes, there’s a little bit of pain that Santana doesn’t mind in the least bit. “Oh,” Quinn repeats, pulling one hand out from Santana’s shirt, fingers dusting over a hard nipple on the way out. Pale fingers trace a spot near her collarbone and she can’t make out the look on Quinn’s face. “I left a mark.” Santana moves to feel the spot, which is stupid because there’s not really anything to feel, but she’s never let anyone do that to her. It happened once, when she still fucked around with Puck, but she never let Brittany do that.
God, she really just wants to stop thinking about Brittany.
“I need more,” she says, her voice catching against her burning throat. Quinn nods, lifting on to her knees and pulling Santana’s underwear far enough so that the brunette can kick them off. It gets kind of awkward then because Quinn’s just staring at her.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” Quinn admits and Santana laughs loud enough that it makes her head hurt. Quinn’s face scrunches, her cheeks turning red. “Don’t laugh!”
“I’m sorry, I just…” She trails off, laughing a little more until Quinn gets up. “Wait, no-” Quinn grabs her ankles and bends Santana’s legs, trailing up to her thighs where Quinn pushes them apart. “Okay, wait.” Quinn looks up at her from between her legs and Santana tugs her up until Quinn’s hovering above her again. “You can’t just dive in your first time out.” Even though it’s almost completely dark in the room, Santana can see Quinn blush even harder.
“Does this work,” Quinn asks, her voice husky in Santana’s ear as one long, pale finger drags up her slit.
God, does it work.
—
She doesn’t know why she does it. She doesn’t know why she’s awake.
But it’s 6 in the morning and she’s sitting in Quinn’s closet because she couldn’t fall back asleep. She shouldn’t be awake this early, should still be passed out on her back, but she laid in bed next to Quinn for what felt like an eternity because when she closed her eyes, nothing happened. Soon enough her mind started thinking about things she isn’t sober enough to process and this was the best distraction she could think of.
She pulls back the flaps of the cardboard box, and yeah, she figured as much. The hospital blanket is soft against her fingers and she’s surprised that there’s so much underneath it. Ultrasounds, Quinn’s hospital bracelet, tons of pictures. She sees herself in a few of them and she picks up a stack, careful to keep her fingers near the edges.
The only one Quinn’s pregnant in is the top one.
Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at each one carefully, just to make sure that her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. Santana knew that Quinn had seen Beth once after she gave birth but these pictures aren’t from one day.
There’s dates on the backs of all of them.
June 12th: Quinn’s wearing grey sweatpants and her black tank top is pulled down to expose one breast to nurse Beth, who is clutched tightly in Quinn’s arms. Santana’s never seen Quinn look so miserable but there’s a shadow of a smile on her face.
June 26th: Beth’s laying in her crib (bassinet? Santana’s not sure what the fuck it is) and there’s a hand on either side of her. Santana can only assume one is Quinn’s and the other is Shelby’s.
July 4th: Beth’s done up in a red, white, and blue dress, a large white daisy on her headband. She’s sitting up against Quinn’s stomach and her friend has her lips pressed to the blonde curls on top of the baby’s head.
August 2nd: Quinn’s laying on her back and Beth is on her stomach, her head raised to look at her mother. As opposed to the first picture, she’s not sure she’s ever seen Quinn look so happy. Even though it’s just the profile of the two girls, Santana can tell Quinn’s smile takes up her entire face and there’s this look in her eye that Santana’s never seen before.
There are so many more pictures in the box and in most of them, Quinn’s being a mother to that little girl she supposedly gave up before she left the hospital.
There’s a noise behind her and when Santana turns from the picture she’s looking at (Quinn in a rocking chair with Beth in her arms and it’s scary just how much they look alike), Quinn’s leaning in the doorway, her hands pressing against her stomach.
