AN: Someone once asked me if I could write a story about a relationship that was failing that didn't have to do with communication failure. Honestly I think that's the real reason most relationships end. But, I like to challenge myself, and while this could easily be a Faberry, someone wanted Charlie/Santana with D/s undertones where Santana was truly submissive to Charlie. I'm lazy as hell. So I combined the two of them into this story.
Song: Glittering Clouds by Imogen Heap (I think this song fits this story perfectly so give it a listen)
Summary: "I thought that she was going to kill me." Santana snaps at her friend. Her face twists and she goes back to adjusting the papers in front of her. "She was going to kill me." She repeats softly.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"Can you give this to her please? And can you—tell her that I'm sorry. Please Quinn, tell her that I'm sorry—I'm so fucking sorry."
Quinn Fabray looked at the white envelope that had been pushed onto the table and picked it up quietly. She played with the edges of the envelope and inspected it. She recognized the familiar messy scrawl that was truthfully barely legible. "You know—she doesn't blame you—and she really just wants you to come home. That's it, that's all she wants." Quinn said gently reaching across the table and taking her twin sister's hand. It's hard to see her like this, with that haunted look in her eyes, and she's lost at least ten pounds, ten pounds that she didn't need to lose. It gives her face this sunken appearance and Quinn has to blink back her own tears. She'll need to talk to the doctors, the orderlies—someone who can make sure that Charlie's eating. "Charlie—"
"I can't come home Quinn—I can't see her again after what I did. I could have—I nearly—" Charlie said closing her eyes. She opens them a second later because she can't close her eyes. Not anymore. She can't remember the last time she slept without being pumped full of drugs.
Quinn is patient and rubs her sister's hand, "She forgives you Charlie. She knows—"
It's a barking laugh, that escapes her lips and she licks them. They're cracked and she can taste the bitterness of the iron. "She shouldn't—what I did—she shouldn't even want anything to do with me."
"Charlie, you listen to me." Quinn said as she gripped her sister's hand. It had taken her time to wrap her head around it. She had been furious at her twin, she hadn't understood. "She's in love with you. That hasn't changed, she loves you—"
Another harsh laugh, another lick of her lips. She doesn't care if she looks crazy she's dangerous, this is where she belongs. No she knows where she belongs in a fucking 6 by 8 prison cell. But that'd be a blot on a family name, so she's in this facility where they pump her full of drugs instead, where she draws fucking pictures and tries to ignore the crazy people until she remembers she's one of them. "She hasn't come to visit—I don't blame her. She shouldn't come—I don't want her to come. She's not allowed to."
Quinn sighed and squeezed Charlie's hand trying to get her to see reason. But it's clear she's getting agitated and she's not sure if it's the drugs that aren't doing their job, or her sister is just no longer completely there but she glares at one of the orderlies that approaches them. She can handle this, she doesn't need them to drug her any more than they already have. So she changes the subject to get her mind off it. "Rachel wants to come visit, she said she wants to make you some sugar cookies, you know your favorites?" Quinn says. She's met with silence. "Charlie I trust you with her what happened with—"
"You trust me because I don't have access to a gun." Charlie says bluntly and she sees Quinn flinch.
She hadn't meant to, and yes that may have been part of the reason. Truthfully she blamed their father always going off about second amendment rights all the time. He had been the one to give her that gun. If she hadn't had it—Quinn exhales noisily and tries again. "The doctors say you're getting better—"
"Those are the anti-psychotics," Charlie interrupts. "And whatever else they pumped me full of."
Quinn winces and looks around the room, the place is depressing, "We'll find another facility—on that's better somewhere where they can fix—" She wants to say you but it dies in her throat, and she just squeezes Charlie's hand again. She's not even sure there is any fixing it.
Charlie pulls her hand away and pushes the chair back as she stands up. "I'm late for arts and crafts," she says. "I don't think you should come around here anymore Quinn. This is where I belong." With that she walks away leaving Quinn sitting there.
Quinn wipes away a few tears, she needs to get Charlie into a better facility. She doesn't need arts and crafts, she needs help actual help with people who care about her getting better. She needs to start fighting to get better, she didn't need to be this. It had been nearly seven months since the 'incident' and it didn't seem like anything was working. There was no progress. She'd pay for it herself if her father wasn't going to take it seriously.
There was nothing worse than having to deal with stupid people. It was a thought that had constantly been echoing in her head lately as she threw the report onto her desk. Santana didn't even know how she got stuck with people like this. Frustration didn't even begin to cover how she felt. She wanted to rip someone a new asshole. She didn't need this, she had a massive audit looming over her head and she couldn't deal with Clint not being able to do his fucking job. She doubted he could even read a fucking bank statement. She rubbed her head, it didn't help that she had noticed something wrong with the accounts lately. They weren't adding up and she couldn't quite figure it out. She needed to figure it out before the audit or it would be her ass on the line.
Her phone rang and she frowned looking at the number. It was her assistant's extension and Santana's frown deepened. She had told him to cancel every one of her meetings. Did he not understand what that meant? "I don't give a fuck who it is. Tell them to go fuck themselves, I'm busy as fuck." She slammed the phone down and picked up the documents again. It was going to be another long day and night for her. There's a knock on the door. "I said—" she begins angrily looking up as she tosses the papers back onto the table. For one split second, the flash of blonde hair and hazel eyes looking back at her fills her with hope and warmth. But those warm fuzzy feelings disappear instantaneously when she realizes that it's just Quinn. "Quinn." Santana said. "Come in—it's not like I'm not swamped as it is."
Quinn rolls her eyes and walks into Santana's office much to her annoyance and takes a seat in front of her. Santana doesn't look at her, she hasn't looked her in the eye in months. Santana had moved in with them for a few weeks before moving right back out after finding an apartment or herself. "I got you some sushi from the place you liked," Quinn says calmly putting the bag onto Santana's desk, ignoring the annoyed look from Santana.
Santana touches the bag and moves it off of her papers, "You went to go see her," she says quietly.
Quinn forces a smile onto her face and nods, "I did. She loves you and she says she's sorry. She wanted you to know that she's sorry."
Santana was quiet fiddling and adjusting the papers on her desk. "She doesn't need to be sorry. She just needs—I need her to come home. I forgave her already I know—I know it wasn't her." She readjusts the papers again trying not to think about it. "Is she—doing better?"
Quinn watches Santana for a moment, "The doctors say she's doing much better." Quinn relaxes a bit when Santana smiles, and she can't tell her that she wants to move her sister out of that facility. She just can't, the situation is fucked up and there is no way for her to handle it. "I think—she'd do a lot better if she saw you Santana. I know it's difficult and I can't blame you if you're scared—no one blames you if you don't want to go—I just think seeing you will help." Quinn says gently.
The fiddling increases, and Santana looks away. "I can't Quinn. As you can see I'm swamped with work—the audit is coming and there's just so many things going wrong right now. I can't take the day off, not until after." She can't look at Quinn. They've had the conversation a million times and every time it's a new excuse. She's running out of them but she just can go, and she can't bear to see the betrayal that flashes across Quinn's face. She exhales, "But she's getting better right? She'll be ready to come home soon?"
Quinn wants to yell that she wouldn't that she lied and Charlie's still as broken as the day she was checked in. But she doesn't and she just nods, because what else what was there. This isn't Santana's fault—this isn't anyone's fault, and even though she wants to lay the blame on someone she knows she just can't. Quinn sighs and nods and gives Santana a bit of a smile as she gets up, "The 'incident' was—" Quinn begins trying to be diplomatic.
Santana frowned slightly as she looked at Quinn. "Stop calling it an incident. This wasn't an incident Quinn. She pulled a gun on me, she pointed it to my head and I thought that she was going to kill me." Santana snaps at her friend. Her face twists and she goes back to adjusting the papers in front of her. "She was going to kill me." She repeats softly. She knows it wasn't her but she couldn't face her. She couldn't face Charlie when she had failed her. Hindsight—there had been signs that something was amiss. That Charlie wasn't quite—right, ever since she had come home. But she had ignored them and it had spiraled out of control.
Quinn clenches her jaw, no one around her had said what Charlie had done. Maybe it was the Fabray in her, it was probably the Fabray in her. "I know," she says lamely and sits there in silence and looks at the ground for a moment not quite sure where to take the conversation from here. She had failed, she just thought that maybe if they saw each other they could heal she just wanted to put this behind her. She wanted Charlie out of that damn facility and she wanted Santana to be okay. She sighs and slowly gets up, Santana couldn't bear to be touched by her, and she wasn't looking to be comforted. "I should get back to work, before I get fired," she says after a moment and looks at Santana who gives her a dismissive nod. Quinn turns and takes a few steps before remembering the letter that Charlie had given her to give to Santana. Well it had been addressed to Santana, at least it looked like it. She flicks her eyes to Santana who was reading a report of some kind and she sighs, and pulls it from her jacket pocket. "She told me to give this to you," Quinn says. "I didn't read it—" Quinn holds the letter out but Santana doesn't take it from her and she sighs and puts it down on her desk. "Take it easy Santana," Quinn says gently before working out. She feels helpless and she doesn't like it but she's going to start looking at other facilities. Maybe with Rachel's help, she was always better at this sort of thing and she doesn't even know where to begin.
Santana stares at the letter on her desk for a long moment. Wondering what it could say—she was torn between opening the letter and just throwing it away. She reaches for the letter, her hand hesitating for a moment before she takes it and traces the crappy handwriting. She had always complained about it, but the messy chicken scratch that was her name was so familiar. She bites her lip and puts it in her purse, when she has a moment she'll look at it. She doesn't want to cry at work, and she can't lose it now. She stares at the papers in front of her, but she can't concentrate, on the numbers anymore and she needs some air. She gets up and grabs the sushi that Quinn brought in for her and walks out of her office. "Need some air, hold my calls," Santana says dumping the bag of sushi onto her assistant's desk.
AN: What a mess we're in, how in the world will we ever fix it. Anyway I love reviews so please review, tell me if you enjoy this or not.