AN: Another ficlet for Quitt Week (Christmas Eve), going back about five years in time.

..

Off in the distance, she can hear the crunch of footsteps where snow meets gravel. It's faint, but still closer than the cars every now and again on the road outside the playground. The weather's mild for a Christmas Eve in Lima—at least just enough for her to sit comfortably exposed to the elements on the swings, yet secluded enough so that no late-night patrolling catches her with a bottle of bourbon outside. (That would be her main concern, since she's 22 and walked here.)

There hasn't been snowfall for a couple of hours now. The last time she can remember seeing it happen was when her mother basically butchered the turkey, hacking away at it to vent out her frustration at not being able to reunite with both her daughters for the Holidays. Granted, since Russell left, she's never been able to carve the meat properly—her mother has always deemed it a man's job—but this time it was kind of frightening to watch. Quinn doesn't begrudge her sister that. She had business in Lisbon and was going to spend the Holidays by herself, which should be what Judy should be focusing on. Instead, she's decided to give room to the drama of not being able to meet her first official son-in-law.

(Frannie and George eloped in September, just for the practicity. Quinn will be forever grateful that her sister waited until she was safely ensconced in New Haven and away from Judy when the news broke. She's surprised her childhood home is still standing.)

That's the kind of accomplishment—so to speak—she'll never be able to give her mother. After the illegitimate child at 16, all she's ever gotten Judy were healthcare bills, be it for the accident or her depression treatment. She hopes the Ivy League diploma she'll get in a few months' time will make up for that, somehow. (Thanksgiving was a month ago, but for four years, after the prayers, she gives thanks for Russell taking care of her Yale tuition. She's finally found something to be grateful for concerning her father, and she hopes it'll stay that way.)

She takes a swig from the bottle and winces less than she has since she sat here. The bourbon keeps her warm and works slowly under this kind of weather—precisely the reason she can still keep her ears tuned to the footsteps getting closer, stopping here and there and picking up the pace again. She just hopes it's not a bloodthirsty murderer. Choked to death by the swingset chains on Christmas Eve would be an embarrassing way to go.

Somehow she's misjudged the direction the person was coming from—damn acoustics—and she sees the shadow on the ground in front of her. A thankfully familiar voice comes from behind her. "Hello?"

When she turns around, she sees Brittany's smile widen in recognition. "Quinn!" She gets embraced in a warm hug before she can say anything back and can feel herself grinning. "I didn't think you'd come back this year," she says, readjusting her crazy red and white reindeer patterned hat and sitting on the swing right next to Quinn's.

"I know I said I wouldn't, but I didn't wanna leave my mom alone when I heard my sister wouldn't be able to make it."

"Where's she off to this time?"

"Portugal. And left her husband back in Sacramento, my mom is pissed she wasn't able to meet him," she says, feeling somewhat devilish in her delivery. "Well. That hardly puts her in the Fabray Dishonor Roll, I've done much worse."

She holds the bottle tighter between her gloved hands and notices Brittany's eyes shifting down to it.

"Just keeping warm." She tips the bottle toward Brittany and raises her eyebrows.

Britt shakes her head. "No, thanks. I'm not drinking until Lord Tubbington stops smoking."

So the bourbon is in fact getting her a little drunk because that just sounded normal. She hums in agreement and drinks again. "What are you doing out here tonight? I thought your whole family was in town."

"They are, I just needed to come here to do something for my sister."

"Aren't you afraid of the criminals and loiterers of the night?"

"No, Patches promised me he'd be at the soup kitchen tonight. So it's all right."

Sometimes Quinn wonders if things wouldn't be easier if she just moved back here. All her friends are gone, but maybe she could start anew. Then she almost laughs at the thought—this is probably the last place she could start anything the way her life's turned out.

"You're quiet," Brittany almost whispers.

"This is my last Holiday break before I have to decide what I wanna do with my life. I'll have a degree, but no place to go."

"You can't move back here, that's for sure. Well. Unless you move in with my family. My mom will be really happy to meet your wife, so you can do that."

Quinn feels her spine get rigid and can't quite meet Brittany's eyes, so she stares at her feet lightly pushing at the snow beneath them. "Why would I have a wife in the first place?"

"Because you've always wanted to get married? And you're not marrying a guy, obviously."

Obviously. When did it become obvious? When did she become obvious?

"It's okay," Britt says softly. "Nobody knows."

"My mom can't know," she rasps out and laughs humorlessly. "She'll hack me to death with that carving knife and wave a crucifix at my body."

"That's gross and horrible, Quinn." She can almost feel Brittany's grimace and it brings a small smile to her lips.

Quinn opts for a change of subject. "How's Chicago?" She knows Britt moved there right after graduation to join Mike's dance crew at Joffrey. While she didn't even go there, she easily fit in with the dancers and is always informally involved in campus productions and recitals. It's like she's found a home that was already calling for her before she could even think of being there. Quinn wishes it could be that easy for everyone.

"Mike's graduation's coming up and we're all going on tour in Canada or something. That depends on whether he actually talks to Johanna into touring or buys her a toaster. I don't know what that means, but we're all counting on her going out with him, finally."

A million things go way over her head, but one sticks. "Wait, I thought you and Mike were—"

"No!" Her eyes bug out and she laughs. "He's my roommate. He plays Xbox in his underwear and socks."

Well, a shirtless Mike Chang is a nice image for anybody with eyes, so she doesn't mind the picture.

"He's like my brother. And I wanna be a bridesmaid at his wedding to Johanna, so." She pauses and looks at Quinn with this wild expression. "Move in with us!" She doesn't even have time to react when Brittany continues, grabbing her hands, bottle and everything, "We're looking for a bigger place to have a larger room to practice, so you can be there and do your—" Britt waves a hand around at a loss for words.

"Journalism."

"Do your journalism there! I've been a journalist, I can help you around."

Quinn smiles and her breath is a little shaky—she can't be sure if it's getting colder or the whole picture of being in a place like Chicago with people who love her no matter what is just—

"Oh my god, you have to come. I need to call Mike right now," she says as she starts to get up and pad at her jacket pockets, but sits back down when she pulls out a folded piece of paper. "Oh, wait. I have to do this first. And it's getting really cold, my mom's gonna think I died."

"Is that what you came here to do?" Though she has no idea what that is.

"Yeah," Britt looks down at the paper and smiles brightly. "My sister forgot to mail her letter to Santa and I remembered there's a dropbox here next to the seesaw, so I thought I'd drop it in for her. There's still time, right?"

"Isn't your sister 13?"

"You're never too old to believe things can still be great, Quinn." She stands up and holds her hand out for Quinn to take, which she does and feels the squeeze. "I always believe. And I believe you can be very happy."

Quinn's eyes get blurry and there's no way she can hold back a smile around this girl. "Is that how you're gonna get me to move in with you?"

"Well, that'd be awesome, but I also believe in you. I believe in the people that I love." Now Quinn's right out crying. She feels a tug on her hand and stumbles forward, where Brittany is quick to delicately put both hands around Quinn's face and lay her lips on hers. It's not that shocking and it's very chaste, the kind of lip graze she would give her and Santana all the time when they were little. Only this is taking a little longer than usual and she can't say it feels bad. It doesn't feel bad at all.

The bottle apparently feel to the ground without a sound, since both her hands are grasping the edges of Brittany's jacket. When they part, that sweet smile lights up her insides again. "Merry Christmas."

Quinn laughs. "That's nice to hear."

Mitten meets glove and she's being pulled toward the exit. "Come on, let's drop this off and you're coming to my house to tell my mom about your future wife."

Something tells her she won't have to say much.