A/N: I do not own Glee nor the characters within, nor Adele and the song He Won't Go. This story is one I started in hopes of finishing it in time for the one year anniversary of the day I posted my first Glee/Pezberry fic, but as that day is today, I failed. To make up for that, my goal is to update this fic at least every two weeks until it's finished. As for now, I am dropping you into the deep end.
Will he / Will he still remember me / Will he still love me even when he's free / Or will he go back to the place where he / will choose the poison over me
The slapping sound of angry strides in heels came from behind her, and Quinn slammed her purse down onto the table mere seconds before walking over to take the seat across from her. "Well," she raised an imperial eyebrow, "Are you proud of yourself?"
Unmoved, Santana rested her hands on the table, giving her friend a mild look. "Hello to you, too," she answered.
Quinn reached out and pulled Santana's sunglasses away from her face before she could do anything to stop her. Frowning, she folded them and set them down next to her purse. "S, why did you go to Puck's? You look…"
Blinking at the sudden piercing light, Santana shot Quinn a disgruntled look, but one corner of her mouth turned up. She lifted her left arm to prop her chin onto her palm, curling her fingers around her jaw, "Like shit?"
Moving her head up and down, Quinn smiled faintly, "Well, I was going to say hung over and exhausted, but I'm sure that… Description works as well."
Santana shrugged. "It's better'n Puck said." Yeah, that had been fun: being woken up by a towel hitting her in the face and Puck telling her that while he appreciated her and all that crap, having a chick in his bed who looked like a melting Elizabeth Taylor was majorly bad for his rep, so she should get her hot booty into the shower and 'fix' herself. It was only when he'd presented her with already toasted frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts that she forgave him. Too bad she'd already used up all of the hot water. It wasn't her fault he made a girl he'd just insulted go first.
Quinn let out an exasperated sigh. "That's because he's Puck." Her words dripped condescension, and she studied Santana intently.
Huffing, Santana rolled her eyes. She didn't want to sit there in silence just so Quinn could look at her. "Just ask it, Q." Her voice came out sounding a little sharper than she meant it, but she wasn't going to take it back. She knew her friend had picked up on the gym bag in the chair next to her.
Quinn pursed her lips. "Rachel kicked you out, didn't she?" When Santana didn't answer, she sighed. "Well, grab your crap and follow me."
Without looking at her, Santana slid off her chair, grabbing her sunglasses and gym bag. "Awesome," she drawled half-heartedly. Quinn's would be nicer than Puck's had been.
Leading her to her car, Quinn frowned, obviously trying to figure something out. Finally, when Santana was getting tired of the oppressive silence, the blonde stopped, catching her arm. "Santana. Why didn't you contact me first? And don't give me the lame-ass answer. I want the honest one."
Santana stared defiantly at her. "His was closer."
Quinn glared at her. "Honest answer."
Fuck you, Quinn. She averted her gaze. "…He had alcohol."
Quinn shook her head, taking a step back, "I can't believe you!" Then, she narrowed her eyes. "Did you sleep with him?"
"Fuck no!" Santana snapped, "God, who do you think I am? Have a fight with Rachel so I jump into someone else's bed?"
"You've done it before."
Santana flinched. She couldn't say it wasn't true. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms, looking up. "Okay, maybe, yes. Yes, I cheated. But that was before. When we became official, I – " Santana clicked her jaw shut. Why the fucking hell was she telling Quinn this? "No, this ain't any of your business." Spying Quinn's car across the parking lot, she turned back to her. "Am I still crashing?" she asked stiffly.
Quinn worked her tongue in her cheek, hazel eyes looking Santana over, who kept her chin up, waiting not-so-patiently. Going back to Puck's house was not preferable, so she'd like to know if she would have to go suck up to her parents.
Finally, "Get your ass in the car," Quinn ordered, pulling her own sunglasses out of her bag. Slipping them on, she gave Santana an unimpressed look. "You want to call B, or should I?"
Quinn kept on fucking texting someone. Not that Santana had never texted while in front of her friends before, but this seemed to be on another level. With a slight frown on her face that pinched her lips, furrowing her brow, it didn't help that the blonde would also send Santana furtive glances every now and again, pausing in typing or right after she'd read or sent one. Knowing it couldn't be B, since she was wrapped around Santana's back, chin resting on her shoulder, and figuring it wasn't Puck due to how long it took the person to answer back, she was starting to get frustrated.
It finally got to the point that Santana couldn't take it anymore. "God dammit, Q, who the hell are you texting?"
Quinn stopped, her eyes flying up to meet Santana's. It looked like she didn't know if she should say anything or not, and that made Santana angrier. "It better not be Rachel," she threatened.
"Like you have any say over who I text," Quinn retorted, bringing a hand up to push her hair behind her shoulder. "And seriously, what if I was?"
Santana gawked at her. "Excuse me? You's be better not sassin' me about my girl!"
"S," Brittany admonished quietly, poking her side.
Growling under her breath, Santana turned down the wattage of her glare, forcing down some of her outrage.
"You done?" Quinn arched an eyebrow at her. Setting her phone down, she swiveled her body to fully face Santana, looking for all intents and purposes as if she was going to speak to her as if she was a little child. "Good. Now, shut up. I'm going to tell you something you need to hear."
What the hell? Starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable, Santana crossed her arms, barely able to feel Brittany squeezing her waist supportively. "I don't know what you're playin' at, Fabray – "
"I'm 'playing' at saving your relationship, Santana!" Quinn snapped. Raising her hands, she opened her mouth, then paused, shaking her head and opening her mouth again, meeting Santana's gaze squarely, "Why did Rachel kick you out?"
What the fuck did Quinn think she knew about the situation? This wasn't the first time Santana'd gotten in trouble with Rachel. She just needed to wait a couple of days and it would all blow over. Hell, her girlfriend would practically beg her to come back.
Ignoring her unease, she shrugged. "Rachel got all bent out of shape over nothing. 'S all cool. I gots it covered."
Brittany sighed. Unwinding her arms from around Santana, she shifted and dropped from Quinn's bed.
"Britts?"
Brittany turned to her, her eyes sad. "You're being stupid," she whispered, taking a seat next to Quinn on the bench under the window.
Santana stared at the two blondes. "I don't see how. Rachel's being ridiculous, and I'm waiting it out."
"She kicked you out, San."
"It's not the first time!"
Quinn scoffed. "Doesn't that tell you something?"
She didn't want to hear this. Holding her hand up, Santana frowned angrily at Quinn and Brittany, "I would think I would be the one knowing the state of my relationship. Not you."
Quinn threw up her hands. "Really?" she glared at Santana, snatching up her phone. Scrolling through it, she found what she was looking for and threw it at Santana's lap. Scrabbling to catch it, Santana glowered at her, automatically sneering at Quinn's snapped, "Read it."
I… I just don't know anymore. I love her. That's not in dispute. But I don't think it's working. I don't think it's been working for a while, to be honest.
Instantly numb, Santana scrolled up to read from the beginning of the thread. Getting to the top, she was about to skip down again when her name caught her eye.
Rachel: Don't forget to bring brownies for the bake sale! I have you down for lemon bars, if you need reminding. Let me or Santana know if you need any help baking. :)
Quinn: Don't need help, but thanks. Been baking them for years. What are you bringing?
Rachel: My famous Rachel Berry sugar cookies, of course! And San's making brownies with Puck.
Rachel: Oh! But don't worry. I made her promise to stop Noah from putting any marijuana in them, this time. She's on Puck-watch.
Quinn: Lol. Still, I think we should probably check for ourselves, don't you think?
Rachel: Is Santana with you?
Quinn: No… What's up?
Rachel: I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I don't know where she is, and she's not answering her phone. I mean, it's only been twenty minutes since the time she said she'd be home.
Quinn: Maybe she's driving? That'd explain not answering her phone.
Rachel: I guess. She does tend to forget that she has hands free. I just… I want her home.
Quinn: A little controlling, much?
Rachel: Quinn! It's not like that. We're supposed to go out to dinner with my fathers in an hour, and you know how long she takes to get ready.
Quinn: I take it it's not one of your 'normal' dinners? She's not answering my texts or calls either.
Rachel: She's not? And no. This is the six month anniversary dinner to celebrate Santana and me successfully living together. We invited San's parents, but you know…
Quinn: Ugh. Now I'm getting worried. When's the dinner?
Quinn: Have you tried Brittany?
Rachel: At 8:00, so in half an hour. And yes. She said she'd last talked to Santana at Mike's house.
Quinn: Mike's house?
Rachel: Apparently, he was hosting a video game tournament. Quinn… I don't think it would be overreacting to say I'm getting fed up. Mike said Santana left ten minutes ago. What was she doing? She was supposed to be leaving an hour ago!
Rachel: She's here.
Quinn: I take it it's not good.
Rachel: You could say that.
Quinn: What happened?
Rachel: I kicked her out.
Quinn: What? Why?
Rachel: Why do you think, Quinn? You know what she was up to? She came home drunk. DRUNK. Before our dinner! And she didn't even know why I was upset? 'Oh, I'll be sober after my shower. Santana Lopez can handle her drink. You're being a fucking buzzkill, Rachel.'
Quinn: Ouch. Where did she even get the alcohol?
Rachel: Oh, you know her. She can get it anywhere. Or Mike had it. But that wasn't what bothered me.
Quinn: You don't have to feel obligated to tell me.
Rachel: I need to talk about it before I burst into tears and call her back, so I am preemptively appreciating you letting me vent. Thank you. How often does Santana drink, would you say?
Quinn: Don't worry about it. There's a party every Friday. Sometimes Saturday, too.
Rachel: Add two or three days a week when she's having her 'lesbian brother' dates with Puck or the others.
Quinn: Oh. I guess you're right. I hadn't noticed.
Rachel: Why would you? You don't live with her. I do. ...Did. Do. I don't know! When we moved in together, I didn't know she'd take advantage of it to perfect her underage drinking!
Quinn: I know Santana likes her alcohol, but she's really that… Alcoholic?
Rachel: We've talked about it. She promised to cut back. But she's not. She… It's like she didn't even LISTEN to me. She promised, but she obviously had no intention of keeping it. I don't even know if I'm angry or sad or hurt or something else entirely. I just… I feel like she lied to me.
Quinn: Do you want me to talk to her?
Rachel: No. No, please don't.
Quinn: Are you sure?
Rachel: Yes, I'm sure. She's at Puck's, anyway, so it would be pointless. Anyway, I think I should go. I have Kleenex and dairy-free ice cream and a new copy of Fried Green Tomatoes. I'm good. Mostly good. How is it that you can be so angry at someone and want them with you at the same time? No, don't answer that. It'll make me start crying again, and I JUST stopped. Good night, Quinn. Thank you.
Quinn: Of course. You're my friend too. I'm here if you need me. And, Rachel? I'm sorry.
Rachel: Thank you, Quinn. Night.
Quinn: Night.
Quinn: If you're wondering, I have Santana. Do you want me to send her over?
Rachel: Is she sober?
Quinn: Barely. Badly hungover.
Rachel: Then no.
Quinn: Probably a good idea, but figured I'd ask anyway. How are you doing?
Rachel: Badly. I don't think I got any sleep last night. I kept on waiting for Santana to contact me, but she didn't. Of course my imagination went wild.
Quinn: If it's any consolation, she said she didn't sleep with anyone.
Rachel: …Is it bad that that makes me very relieved?
Quinn: Honestly, no.
Rachel: The worst part? I… I don't even know if I… If I'll be ABLE to talk to Santana. Any time soon. Ever. It hurts to say that, and I wish I wasn't, but… She betrayed my trust. She betrayed my FATHERS' trust. Do you know how much groveling I had to do to get out of dinner last night?
Quinn: Rachel… Santana's my friend, and I can't tell you what to do, but I think you should try talking to her. She may be posturing like hell right now, but I can tell she's upset, too. I just don't know WHEN she'll be willing to talk.
Rachel: I don't know if I want to talk to her.
Quinn: Of course you do. You're still in love with her, aren't you?
Rachel: I… I just don't know anymore. I love her. That's not in dispute. But I don't think it's working. I don't think it's been working for a while, to be honest.
And then new: What if I'm using my issues with her drinking to mask something else? What if I'm using it to justify breaking up with her? Oh my God, I can't believe I'm saying this.
Santana jerked back. "What the fuck is this?" she tried to yell, it coming out as a rasp instead. "What the fuck? Quinn, why the fuck did you show me this?" Thrusting the phone away, Santana jumped up from the bed. What? No. She didn't have a drinking problem! Alcohol just made things more fun, sometimes. And it wasn't like Rachel was a saint. What the fuck was this hissy fit? Rachel wasn't serious, was she? She couldn't be serious. She couldn't be breaking up with her. No, they had a good relationship, didn't they? Rachel was just blowing things out of proportion lately. Yeah, they'd talked about Santana's drinking, but she had it under control. It was true she should have been home sooner, but when someone offered Santana Lopez a shot or couple, it wasn't like she could turn it down. And she and Rachel would have made it to the restaurant on time!
Quinn stood up. "You needed to see it."
"Not like that!" Santana shouted, slashing a hand at the dropped phone. "Not from you."
"From who?" Brittany spoke up, looking at her seriously, "You don't let Rachel talk to you anymore."
"We talk all the time!" Santana was starting to break down. "You know Rachel! It's like she never stops talking!"
Shaking her head, Brittany rose, walking past Quinn. "San," she whispered, "Are you even listening to yourself?"
"God, what is this? An intervention?" Slapping away the hand Brittany tried to put on her shoulder, Santana raised trembling hands to her face. "I don't need an intervention!"
Quinn took a deep breath. Her voice, quiet but firm, cut through the air. "You're so close to losing her, Santana."
Santana violently shuddered. "No! No I'm not! This is going to blow over."
Soft hands curled around the back of her head and neck, and Brittany pulled her forward. "You know that's not true," she admonished, pressing Santana into her front. "San. Stop lying to yourself."
Letting Brittany hold her head against her chest, Santana choked, her tears spilling forth. "I don't have a problem," she insisted, "I don't, I don't, I don't." Her fingers dug into Brittany's sides, and Brittany's arms wrapped around her back. "I don't."
Quinn's hand was warm on her shoulder. "Then call Rachel and tell her you want to talk. Can you do that?"
Santana nodded, just wanting everything to be over.
"Good."
Brittany hugged her close. "It's going to be okay," she whispered, stroking Santana's hair, "Rachel loves you more than she loves applause, and you love her more than you love Breadstix. You guys'll make it."
Santana wanted her to promise. Brittany's promises always came true.
When Rachel answered, her nose and throat sounded stuffed up. "Quinn?"
Santana tightened her grip around Quinn's phone. "No. It's me. I… Wasn't sure you'd pick up a call from my phone, so I used Q's."
"Oh." Rachel's voice was small. "That was smart. But tell me," her voice hardened, "Why shouldn't I hang up now?"
"Because I'm asking you not to?" Unable to keep her own thickness out of her voice, Santana hurried on before Rachel could hang up on her, "Please, Rache."
A loud breath of air echoed in the speaker, and when Rachel spoke again, she sounded tired. "What is it?"
Santana grit her teeth. This was the hard part. Even if she wasn't so sure she'd been the wrong party, she was aware of how hypocritical this was going to sound. "Look… Can we… Talk?"
The sound of the call disconnecting was deafening.
Santana instantly called back. When Rachel picked up, she barely got out, "Rachel – " before she was hung up on again.
She tried again. "Baby – "
Click.
Again. "Dammit, Rachel!"
Click.
Again. "Why the hell are you even answering if you're going to fucking hang up on me?" she shouted.
"Maybe so you know how it feels trying to talk when the other person doesn't listen!" Rachel snapped back, then hung up.
One last time. "Fine then," she hissed, not paying attention to the words she was throwing at Rachel, "Then we really are over, aren't we?"
The emotions vibrating through Santana were mirrored in the vibrating of the silence coming from Rachel's side. "Okay," Rachel's voice trembled, coming out angry and hurt and so, so deep, "You have a week to move your stuff out. Have a nice life, Santana."
The last click tore through Santana's body.