Author's note: Ahh, first story on this account. Bring out the champagne! I've been wanting to write Quinntana forever and finally got an idea as to how to do it. So, I'm not going to blab for long, but before you start reading, there's a few things:

1) Some parts of this chapter are off canon, i.e when Santana and Quinn had a slapfest, Brittany was present. In this story, however, she is not.

2) Brittany and Sam do not start dating in the Thanksgiving episode, but much later. Since Santana and Quinn both have busy schedules and aren't able to visit Lima often, they can't meet up. Therefore, I decided to speed things up and make Bram date and Quinntana see them.

3) I usually publish on Saturdays/Sundays? Knowing my impatient nature, I'll probably ignore all scheduling and publish early, or much later due to school. We'll see.

4) Not responsible for any grammar/tense mistakes in the chapter. Writing at 4 am has it's perks.

And now, enjoy.

''This is what my professor calls projecting. You're projecting Kitty onto me, Santana. We have graduated and now it's really time to get over this.''

''Get over what?''

''You being jealous of me.''

The blunt words of the blonde facing her across the piano, hazel eyes cold and lips pursed with suppressed frustration-like emotion mixed with a hint of superiority, smacked Santana across the face like a weird plot twist. She could instanteneously feel the anger starting to bubble up inside, that in attempts of breaking out in any form of self-expression, whether it was an eyeroll or a simple snarky (but nonetheless fulgurous) remark directed towards Quinn's failure of a love life. The Latina was baffled at her endless confidence in herself. As if being a mistress to some middle-aged hornbag who quit his wife because she wouldn't put out for him would bring out jealousy in people. Pity is what she felt towards Quinn, nothing more or less than that. But however irritated and ready to bitchslap the ridiculous assumptions out of her, she simply quirked a well groomed eyebrow as a sign of denial.

''And why would I be jealous of you?'' came an inquiry to which Quinn already had an answer as if she'd planned the conversation in her head hours prior to it. Her ''friend's'' quick reply made Santana believe in that version- Quinn had always been a strategist. And by the looks of things, their chat was going exactly as expected.

''What are you excited about? Shaking pom-poms back in Kentucky? You want everyone to think that you're such a badass, but really you're just a girl with low self esteem.''

One word led to another, forming a degrading as well as a completely false accusation, and Santana could no longer hold it in. Why would she bother playing a saint when the blonde threw provocations left and right precisely alike with the stuck up Rachel-bullying Cheerio she had once been? When exactly did she graduate with a PhD in psychology and most importantly, what gave her the impression she was aware of everything going on in Santana's head? Before she got the chance to control her sharp tongue, the comeback involving Beth had already escaped, it's aftermath clear on Quinn's face. And hers, she realized a moment after, swiftly bringing her fingertips to touch the flaming imprint left on her face on impulse. Instinctively, Santana mirrored the action, earning a gasp and a storm out without any last words. The sound of Quinn's heels clicking against the floor reached Santana's ears for ten more seconds, then slowly fading into the silence of McKinley's empty hallways, leaving the latina alone with her racing thoughts.

''So much for a friendly bonding time with Goldielocks. Maybe next time when she's not on her joyful time of the month. Or in our case it seems like a year,'' she croaked, tiredly slumping down next to the piano, a hand still covering the print on her right cheek to somehow relieve the rhytmic throbbing. ''Always a glorious slapper, that one.''

Santana called her two hours later. Of course, she didn't intend to take all the blame for the spat- Quinn was as equally guilty for trying to get into her head and Santana Lopez rarely apologized. What she wanted was a normal conversation without names being called, having conscience she didn't admit to, though it had partially been the reason. She kept tapping her feet against the floor in anticipation, cursing inside at every beep the phone made. Was Quinn too angry to pick up? Fortunately or not, her assumption was proved wrong a second later.

''What do you want?'' a raspy voice from the other end of the phone rendered her speechless for a moment, but she quickly regained her ability to form coherent sentences. The answer came out snappier than Santana had expected it to be.

''Well, aren't you just a sunshine shedding light upon the meadow of daisies where unicorns and little girls with lollipops frolick. Don't they teach manners back in Yale?''

''I repeat, what do you want, Santana? If you're calling me to continue our quarrel, I'm not in the mood, nor will I ever be.''

''Relax. I don't want to reenact our... argument, if you will.''

''Then what did you call for?''

''You know...'' a long pause followed, during which she blamed herself for not being shrewd enough to think of an explanation earlier, albeit knowing Quinn would most definitely want an answer. Santana was pacing the room now, too worked up for her head to start functioning, so she settled for the first thing that came into her mind, something people actually did after arguments. ''... I called to apologize.'' Another long pause. It was Quinn who couldn't, or didn't want to find words this time. Having known her for years, Santana immediately came to the conclusion as to why she was silent. That short of an apology wasn't sufficient enough- the latina had to acknowledge the point behind it, and what Quinn wanted, she got. ''... Apologize for my words earlier. It was uncalled for, even though what left your mouth was complete and utter bullshit.''

''Santana Lopez apologizing? I never thought I'd live to see the day,'' Quinn finally announced, surprise clear in her voice and probably facial expression, had someone seen her.

''Quinn Fabray accepting an apology instead of plotting silent revenge? Yeah, me neither. Call the Ghostbusters, we've been possessed. Creepy voodoo magic and stuff.''

''Actually, ghostbusters and voodoo are-''

''Fabray.''

''Sorry. Apology accepted. We're supposed to be best friends, after all. With that being said, I do want to talk to you without it ending in violence. How about we try again, this time at Breadstix, just in case we get close to losing our temper and need people to separate our catfight?''

''Uh, yeah. Sounds reasonable. Is eight good enough for your highness?''

''Sure.''

''Good.''

''And Santana?''

''Huh?''

''Don't forget the concealer. I know your right cheek hurts,'' the girl remarked with a hint of laughter in her tone, ending the call before Santana got the chance to shoot back a retort.

''Bitch. Not only did she not apologize while I basically stomped on my pride with two inch heels, she also got the last word. Auntie Snixx needs to work on herself before they get too used to nice Santana. Dios mio, this is all kinds of screwed up.''

Precisely at eight, Quinn had already claimed her spot in one of the booths at Breadstix, patiently awaiting her friend, manicured nails meeting the polished surface of their table every once in awhile. Santana's absence gave her an opportunity to look around, to take in every little detail of the familiar place. The people were gleefully chatting away whilst simultaneous bursts of melodic laughter graced her ears from afar. The room was well lit and felt cozy, warmth of the atmosphere around sucking her in. She'd missed Ohio, even regardless of her life-long dream of leaving, and most of all, she missed her friends in the glee club. Acquaintances made in Yale weren't quite the same. Sure, they were outgoing, but they didn't possess the sarcasm of Santana or the heartiness of Brittany. The friendships formed at McKinley were unique. No matter how often they fought, in the end they always managed to overcome all difficulties. Approaching footsteps caused her to snap out of her thoughts, greeting Santana with a slight smile spread across her lips at the sloppily hidden traces of concealer on her cheek, exactly as she'd advised.

''Didn't your mom teach you that staring's impolite?''

''She did, but it's not stopping me.''

''Well, you look nice as always. Seems like I didn't slap you hard enough. Damn,'' Santana grumbled, plopping down onto the leather seat. In spite of the bruise, Quinn had to admit she was still gorgeous, tan skin glowing in contrast to her silky hair in a tight bun, long lashes complimenting her eyes nicely, lips luscious as ever. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful people Quinn had ever met, and it was the cause of her envy every now and then. After all, she was a woman of many complexes, especially around good looking friends.

''Why thank you-'' she began, but was cut off by the object of her attention gasping, fists tightly clenching in that instant, nails digging deep into the palms of her hands. She turned to look at what resulted in such reaction, only to see Sam holding the door open for Brittany, goofy grin plastered all over his face. Much to Santana's dismay, the pair noticed her and Quinn right off the bat, giving them a smile and a slight wave.

In return, an idea of inviting them over came to Quinn and she raised her hand in a signal to the couple. Santana, alarmed by her action, suddenly grabbed hold of the blonde's hand across the table, intertwining their fingers and pushing it down onto the table again. A confused expression flashed across Brittany's face before Sam gently nudged her toward the booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant, strategically out of the latina's sight. Then reverting her eyes back to Quinn, who was sporting the same confused countenance as Brittany had before, she only loosened the grip, not letting go completely. Despite questioning looks, Santana kept silent until Quinn was the one to speak up.

''Would you please let go now? There are people in this room whom I don't want to get the wrong impression of my sexuality.''

''After your pining for Berry and about a million failed relationships with the opposite sex? You're tripping, Fabray. Noone in this room thinks you're straight.''

''I have never, and won't ever have any feelings beside friendship and occasional annoyance towards Rachel,'' she snapped, abruptly jerking her hand out of the grasp and placing it on the table, far out of reach in case her friend decided to create the illusion of them dating again. Santana only rolled her eyes and fiddled with the straw in the glass of water. Neither one of them added to the conversation for awhile, that until Quinn came to a conclusion and coughed in a subtle attempt to get her friend's attention away from Brittany.

''I thought you broke up.''

Santana's full lips arched down, forming a sad half-frown that reached her eyes. ''We did.''

''Didn't you say she was free to see whoever she wanted?''

''I did.''

''So why exactly are you having a hissy fit over her actually doing what you gave her a permission to?''

''I'm not.''

''Oh, stop with the laconic replies. You're jealous. Denying it doesn't solve anything.''

''Are you pulling the I-know-it-all on me again, Fabray? You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes with a PhD in psychology to realize that, yes, we recently broke up and yes, I haven't had enough time to get over her. Happy?''

''If you can't seem to get over her, then why did you break up in the first place?''

''I was afraid.'' An eyebrow quirk from Quinn encouraged her to continue, and she hesitantly did so. ''She said she would never cheat on me. I was supposed to believe her since relationships are about trust and all that crap. I couldn't, though. If I managed to manipulate her into cheating on Artie, then there's a possibility of someone doing that to her again.''

''But she loves you. Or, whatever love means to her. I haven't quite gotten a grasp on the way Brittany's mind works yet.''

''She loved the less intelligent version of Stephen Hawking, too. That's why it took us so long to get together. Hell, nothing would've even happened between us if Wheels hadn't called her stupid.''

''So what you're saying is that you're too afraid to take a risk for love?''

''Yeah,'' the latina shrugged. The forced dismissive expression that took over her features wasn't convincing enough for Quinn, who kept tactlessly persisting on pouring salt on wounds.

''A bloody coward is what you are, Santana. You have to hold onto the person you fall for. You might only feel that way once in a lifetime, and you'll feel like shit when you realize what you missed out on.''

''No offe- Wait. Scrap that, you should get offended by what I'm going to say. The girl whose longest relationship is with her monomania for the prom queen tiara shouldn't be the one to lecture me about relationships,'' Santana chirped, mood getting significantly better due to the acid looks from Quinn.

''Screw you.''

''Don't you worry, that's what I've been doing ever since graduation.''

''Ignoring that comment. Neverthless, you're always free to hit me up when you finally realize that you need her back.''

''I'd be more than happy to hit you if you continue nagging.''

''Was that supposed to make me afraid? Please, you hit like a sissy and I have unalterable proof on my face.''

A flying napkin hit her straight in the face, causing Quinn to shriek and almost fall off her seat. The tension was replaced by fits of laughter in a flash and for a brief moment, Santana forgot about Brittany, Sam, or the world outside Breadstix.

''I hit like a boss and you just had unalterable proof on your face. Take it back.''

''Make me.''