Happy Endings

'All things happen for a reason' Santana doesn't think so; 'Somethings are inevitable' Quinn doesn't believe it. 'Everyone gets a second chance' But they don't want it.

Disclaimer : Don't own anything. Everything and everyone belong to their respective owners. This is just for fun.

Chapter 1 : Blame it on the Goose, gotcha feelin' Loose

Santana blinked once, twice before her consciousness caught up with the reality of being awake. Her dark gaze adjusted to low light filtering through the shut curtains. She became acutely aware of the heavy pounding in head that suspiciously sounded like whole Conga line stampeding through, beating large African drums. She groaned as she tried to sit up a bit. Her muscles protested to this action and wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Fuck this shit" she croaked in the darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breathes to ward off the dizzy spell. All that helped her realize, her throat was parched and as raw as sandpaper, she seemed to have swallowed last night. 'Last night' that was huge fucking blank her mind drew. Strangely she remembered the smell of lilies.

Shrugging, Santana let it go. She was too sore, too hung over, too dehydrated to care about 'whats and whys' of previous night. With loud grunt, she pushed herself upright. The drum beats in her head grew louder and her stomach churned dangerously.

"Why do I, do this to myself?." She mumbled into the darkened room. She swore last night was blackest for her liver. Her face buried into the palm of her hands trying to remember any of it, all she got was some disjointed flashes.

A party. They were definitely celebrating something…

Huge Jackpot... Was that a sign

Huge ass limo... Wha... the...

Lots and lots of sparkling multi-colored lights and tons and tons of booze, loud obnoxious screaming, strip dancing… Definitely got outta hand there

Little (read : lots) hysterical crying… Cringe

Santana grimaced at the last thought. That was not at all appeasing. She just hoped everyone else was as plastered as she was and had lost all their senses to record her cry-fest. Especially a certain someone… She really didn't need anymore blackmail against her.

A muffled moan from her left startled her. Santana could only blink and gape as the large lump beside her shifted under the covers. How had she missed that! Her gaping turned to shock as familiar head of blond popped out. Even in her hazy state, Santana could recognize the shock of blond mess anywhere. QUINN. The blond shifted again and the covers slipped revealing bare back, all marble smooth and taut muscles, with peek of intricate pattern of pinkish scars flourishing along the spinal cord. There were fresh angry red lines along the panes of the shoulder blades. Her eyes widen slightly at the reveal, Santana quickly moved the covers and shivered immediately as cool draft met her bare body. She slumped against the headboard and crossed her arms, in spite of pounding, her mind clicked into reality of their situation.

"Fan-freaking-tastic" she deadpanned. She had no fucking memory of this drunken fumble or even what led Quinn and her to go down this particular memory lane. Whatever, as long as there was no awkwardness, she was down with it. She looked around the room to take stock of things, noting that the room looked nothing short of aftermath of a hurricane hit. She smirked despite herself, apparently no passion was lost between them the other night. The soreness of muscles and pleasant buzz in her body was very much welcomed. It had been really long time since she found herself so unwounded and so relaxed, almost as if floating on a cloud. She expected nothing less when it came to Quinn. The girl was the perfectionist to a T.

Maybe thats why, she wasn't freaking out more. She felt too good to care much one way or the other. There was also the fact, albeit their capricious tendencies and often times turbulent relation, theirs was the most steadfast friendship Santana had ever believed in. She was sure this was much ado about nothing.

Santana glanced at her slumbering friend, half of Quinn face was buried deep in her pillow, her hair mussed up and splashed in every direction. The covers were all bunched around her waist and she was cuddling another pillow to her chest like a big baby. She looked so damn peaceful, such a rarity for Quinn. Santana grimaced when she found the sight heartwarming.

"Stop being a creeper S" The husky whisper surprised her. Santana looked down to find the hazel eyes still firmly shut, but there was little smirk playing at the pinkish lips. Damn know it all.

"Someones gotta check on lil' Quinnie poo, right." Santana quipped back lightly.

"You suck" Quinn grumbled, distaste for her childhood nickname ever present. She pinned Santana with one eye, half lidded, sleep induced glare. The desired effect was non existent, Santana just looked unaffected.

Santana's smug smile grew. She knew Quinn's complacent behavior was only because her sleep clouded mind had not caught to verity of finding Santana in her bed. Santana was about to give her a friendly jolt to reality with well placed dirty innuendo when a knock at the door echoed through the suite. Both of them winced, loud anything felt grating against their sensitive minds.

"So loud" Quinn groaned pitifully. "Get that."

"Why yes, I am here to wait and serve on your majesty's demands." Santana drawled with added dose of sarcasm, not making a move.

"Of course you are kind peasant." Came saccharine reply without missing a beat. "Do get that NOW" The now was emphasized with swift kick to the shin.

"I'll endz you bitch" Santana scowled heavily, rubbing her bruised shin. Who knew Quinn had part mule ancestry. Her only response was Quinn burying her head in the pillow and ignoring her.

"Fucking hell" Santana cursed as the knocking persisted. Impatience was one of her finer qualities and whoever was on the other side, certainly had a death wish, 'El Lima Heights Adjacent Style'. She rolled out the bed and gathered her haphazardly thrown dress from the floor. She quickly shimmied in to it only to find all the front buttons ripped up. Her eyebrows shot up, if she wasn't so annoyed she would be impressed. At least it still covered the essentials. She grabbed her pillow and whacked the impudent blond with all her might, just because. Santana Lopez was no peasant and she most certainly wasn't kind.

"Asshole" Santana just smirked at the retort. She heard the blond grunt, grumble and shuffle around, finally getting dragged in to the land of consciousness. "What the..., did we...?

"What? Screw around in high thread count Egyptian sheets in a penthouse suite of a five star hotel? Yup sure did" Santana replied without turning around sounding purposefully gleeful. The loud growl told her the blond was not amused.

"Try not to be an ass for a change. It won't kill you." With that frosty gibe, she heard the bathroom door slam shut behind her. She padded across the large living room. How they got in a penthouse suite was anybody guess. She just hoped, they didn't kidnap, steal or kill anybody for it.

Santana finally swung the door open to reveal the hotel manager standing there. The guy looked mildly startled his hand fixed in mid knock. His eyes instantaneously adverted downwards and lingered on the involuntary display.

Santana rolled her eyes in disdain. She didn't have time for middle-age men ogling her chest like horny acne ridden teenager, even though her cleavage was very ogle-worthy. "Can I help you?" She bit out without curbing her annoyance.

That seem to have do the trick. The manager blanched at being caught staring, and flushed a nice shade of fuchsia. He cleared his throat guiltily not really meeting her gaze. "Yeah, I am Clark Wells, manager of this Seasons Hotel branch and are you, Ms Lopez?" He seemed to be hazarding a guess.

"Yes, thats me." Santana was mildly curiously now, as to what this was about.

Clark stood up a little straighter. "Yes I am here to deliver this envelope." He handed over an official looking manila envelope. "Your documents just arrived and all of the records seem to be in order. I would say best wishes and good luck." He tried to sound genial but the effect was ruined when his gaze drifted downwards again.

Santana scoffed and slammed the door shut without so much as reply. Her brows furrowed in confusion. The manila envelope seemed plain with only the hotel's logo and name. But it was addressed both to Quinn and herself. She cocked her head in contemplation.

"Santana" Quinn's edgy voice broke through her reverie. "Santana" This time it was loud, urgent and panicky. She quickly rushed to the ensuite bathroom to ensure that her friend wasn't having a heart-attack. It certainly sounded like it. She swung the door widely.

"What? Are you dying?" Santana inquired taking in Quinn ashen face and wide eyes gaze and rigid stance.

"What the hell did we do last night, S?" Quinn demanded through gritted teeth. Her face contorted in unreadable expression. She held out her left hand. Santana blinked once, twice, thrice...

But the glinting diamonds were unmistakable, as was the band they were embedded in, resting on Quinn's ring finger.

Santana looked at her own left hand and felt all the air knocked out of her. Finding identical twin band resting on her ring finger. What the actual fuck?

Taking in Santana's stupefied expression, Quinn let out a suffering sigh and slumped against the bathroom counter. Her right hand ran through golden tresses in an agitated manner. "This is so fuck-up, on so many levels." She pinched the bridge of her nose trying abate the incoming migraine. Santana vaguely thought that 'fucked-up' didn't even begin to cover this bizarre situation.

The diamond encrusted twin bands glittered innocently under the bright lights as if silently mocking them with there symbolic unity and representation of complicated entanglements. All the things Quinn and Santana desperately avoided in their lives. But life's ironic sense of humor was fucking hilarious sometimes.

Thank you for reading :)