"The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there."— L. P. Hartley,
The Go-Between
CHAPTER II
It's dusk. The sun has just set, leaving behind ghostly remnants of itself now faded into the short streaks of purple-red and the dark misty blue canvas of the darkening skyline. Santana is on her way to the familiar place Brittany calls home and it's a typical Friday night routine, with her car gliding through the streets she knows so well, like hazy morning-afters; just as familiar and just as blurry.
When Santana finds Quinn walking on one of the sidewalks, it throws her. The soft colours of Quinn's sundress and cardigan attire glow eerily bright in the darkening light and Santana hesitates for a second, unsure as to if her eyes have fooled her; and perhaps the other girl is not actually who she thinks she is. After a split second of deliberation, there is no doubting that it is in fact Quinn. Before she even registers her own actions, Santana slams on the brakes and slows to a stop.
Quinn's entire body tenses. The passing vehicle had been one moment all bright headlights and the next, abruptly pulled up beside her amidst a skid of tyres. The flashing yellow of the indicator light dances—or rather, casts faint flickers of shadows—across her face. Santana watches as the blonde reaches into her bag, furiously searching for something.
"Quinn!?" Santana says evenly despite her urge to raise it in the strangeness of this situation, and rolls down her window, leaning towards the passenger door, seatbelt straining; cutting into her shoulder slightly. Since when does Fabray ever wander the streets alone? And why the hell would Quinn be even in this area?
How much more does she not know about her friend? How much has changed?
The blonde's body relaxes slightly and her posture changes. Quinn crosses her arms upon recognising both Santana's voice and the sleek black Mercedes parked against the curb. Santana watches the rearrangement of Quinn's features, a thin line appearing between two furrowed brows, and the pieces of the blonde's mask slide and click into place.
"Santana." Quinn spits out the name, and it sounds acidic, sharp edged; like the word itself would burn her tongue, toxic, laced with her own personal brand of poison.
Santana tries not to flinch, and just sighs. "Quinn, get in."
When Quinn doesn't move, rooted on the spot with eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. Santana tries again. She doesn't know why she is even bothering to, but she does it anyway. (A voice in her head tells her its because she still cares about Quinn but she promptly shuts it up with a clench of her jaw).
"Just get in and I'll give you a lift. God, just tell me where you're heading Blondie."
It's not until Santana leans over and opens the passenger door that Quinn begins to move towards the car, and her face displays a minute amount—perhaps a glimpse—of the of the vulnerability that she guards so fiercely behind her facade.
"73 Parkville Crescent."
Santana just nods, shifts into the correct gear and gently presses on the accelerator pedal, guiding the car to a comfortable speed. Trees and houses flash by, once again a blur. She can feel Quinn's relief; relief for not pushing for more information and at this, her mind races. Thoughts formulate too quickly flashing through her mind, leaving her with remnants of lingering questions—When did it become like this?
But it is silence that she both hears, and preserves; the only thing between them filling the gaping void left behind in the wake of their broken friendship; the only thing capable of occupying the literal and metaphorical distance between them.
Yet still the drive is quiet—too quiet, and out of the corner of her eye, Santana glances at Quinn every now and then. The blonde, in turn, just stares out the window, her face so expressionless and blank that it's disconcerting. Santana realises that she wants so badly for something to break this unsettling, yet not entirely unfamiliar silence but finds that she cannot do so herself.
Quinn jumps at the sudden sound, when Santana's phone rings. She recovers, recognising the ringtone, before turning her head to rest her hazel eyes on the buzzing device between them. It's the bright ringtone—so out of place in the bleak atmosphere of the car—that lets Santana know it is Brittany and with a murmur, a semblance of a half apology to Quinn, she pulls over and answers the phone.
Brittany's voice is radiant, like always, and her brightness permeates through the phone, into the air. It fills the small enclosed space of the car and Santana feels claustrophobic. She realises it's all but impossible for Quinn to not hear the conversation she's about to have with Brittany and this thought puts her on edge.
"Santana? Where are youuu?" Brittany half whines, Santana can hear Britt's pouting it through her intonations.
"I'm on my way, I'm giving someone a lift, I'm with Q-"
Quinn's head whips around so fast that Santana wonders if she might get whiplash. There is a look of pure panic lodged onto the others face and if it weren't for the sombreness that has settled over them, she thinks she would have laughed. Santana doesn't quite understand; it's almost as if there's an underlying message that Quinn is trying so desperately to convey and it's just out of reach—an inch or two from the grasps of her comprehension. Despite this, she swallows Quinn's name, bitter pills sliding down her throat, and Santana ends up vaguely telling Brittany that she is with someone.
"Who is it?" Brittany inquires after a heartbeat.
"A friend. No one you wouldn't know...Look B, I'll be over in about ten minutes, sorry to keep you waiting but we'll start our movie marathon as soon as I get there, okay?"
"Okay, see you!" Brittany just replies but Santana knows that her curiosity is not sated, nor is the half formed name that had slipped out, forgotten.
Santana hangs up the phone and a wave of relief washes over her. Brittany didn't accidentally say anything that would blow their—her—cover.
When Santana pulls up in the driveway of 73 Parkville Crescent, she finds herself staring at a small but clearly outdated house. The paint is peeling at places, and weeds seem to thrive, making themselves comfortable, sprouting out here and there; ancient cobwebs hang under the eaves like a cluster of bats and there's a mustiness seems to emanate from the old house. This was a stark contrast to Quinn's house on the other side of town; a pristine white mansion with large black metals gates, standing regal and poised, a vision of perfection, just like the inhabitants of the place. Behind the gates, lay a huge bluestone paved driveway, decorated with sleek Maseratis and Mercedes Benzes.
As Quinn goes to open the car door, Santana suddenly finds herself unable to hold back the words that come tumbling out; rolling off her tongue on their own accord, slicing through the air before she can stop them.
"What was that Fabray? You knew it was Brittany, why didn't you want her to know?! Heck I don't even know what it is that you don't want anyone to know."
"Nothing that concerns you or Brittany. And you know it is the exact same way that you don't want me or anyone to know about you!" Quinn quips back.
"What the hell are you talking about Fabray?" Santana snarls. Quinn clenches her jaw in anger, attempting to quell her internal fury, the only visible sign of a chink in her cool demeanor, and Santana suddenly thinks that they must look like a reflection of one another—teeth metaphorically bared, claws extended, ready to lash out; trapped animals, neither willing to back off.
"You know exactly what I am talking about!" She does. "I can see it on your face, Santana." Maybe they had lost everything else with their friendship but they could still read each other.
"Are you dumb now blondie? Are you making things up? Because I have no fucking clue about what you are talking about or even alluding to."
"Whatever Santana, you can keep denying it but it's no use, we all know."
"We all know..." Fear grips her heart and the words send the bottom of her stomach plunging, palms sweating and heart beating erratically; faster than rocks that tumble, accelerating towards the depths of a deep canyon.
They can't—Quinn's bluffing...right?
"They...know? You...know?" Part of her wants to shout these words, because then at least she would be rid of the crushing weight that she is so sure everyone can see resting upon her shoulders; crushing her. Maybe she can finally breathe again.
Even if it means that'll they turn on her, and she'll wake up to find that she's truly alone.
But the other half of her is too much of a coward.
"There's nothing to know!"
"Exactly!" Quinn hisses angrily.
Santana sighs, she isn't here to argue about her problems. When she speaks again, her voice is much softer, and a shade fainter; slightly faded.
"What are you doing here Fabray?"
"That's none of your business Santana." Quinn coldly snaps, her eyes glint in the dim light of the street lamps, rebuffing Santana's attempts to extend an olive branch.
"Actually it is. We're meant to be friends, I have a right to know!"
"No Santana, you're mistaken. Despite what you think, last time I checked, we are not friends. You have no right."
Santana lets Quinn's dig at their friendship slide because she's not about to lower herself to Quinn's level. Not anymore.
"Are you really doing this again?" Santana almost laughs mockingly and Quinn freezes, her hand still against the door handle now.
"Because the last time you did this...dammit Quinn, I still don't know why! And fuck you! Fuck you if you think you can just walk away again Fabray."
There's an instant where it's just quiet and Santana is aware of both the sounds of her own ragged breathing as well as the faint sounds of Quinn's strangled breaths beside her. The moment passes when Quinn finally opens the door. A gust of cool night air rushes in and settles around Santana's shoulders, hovering, waiting to embrace her like an old friend; to send chills down her spine with its icy touch.
"Goodbye Santana."
The farewell prompts the coldness to swallow her. Quinn's face once again a mask, devoid of any emotion.
But the words aren't all the Santana hears. She thinks that hidden amongst all that bitterness and anger she hears a faint hint of an apology—the ghost of the friendship they could've had—and a trace of fear—the silhouette of the relationship they currently have.
But that's all she gets and before the car door slams.
Santana watches as Quinn presses the doorbell and waits long enough until the blonde is inside the house before pulling out of the driveway and leaving again.
/
Sue Sylvester is surprisingly adept at running a glee club and this becomes evident over the next few weeks of school. They had already begun to prepare for Sectionals, despite the fact that Santana only vaguely recalls that the actual date of the competition was some time in the hazy near future.
In between completing (or more like competing in) her weekly assignments, and keeping up with Sylvester's crazy routine, Santana and the rest of the glee club members find that there is hardly any time for the petty fights and drama that had occurred so often in the choir room back when Mr Schue was here. They all seem to be focused now, determination set into their faces, a common goal in sight and Santana thinks she just might be on a winning team this year.
Sue's glee club is different. She has them sing warm ups, vocal exercises and engage in fitness routines that even Rachel Berry couldn't dream to produce from her seemingly endless repertoire of vocal exercises; and for two hours straight, three times a week, Sue pushes them to their limits, with a condescendingly disappointed expression colouring her face.
"It seems you mouth breathers are in worse shape than I thought. If you were my Cheerios, half of you would have been kicked off and publicly humiliated for even daring to show up in such a state. But you aren't, and thank god for that. However, I will make it my personal aim to send you lot crying home if your performances are pathetic."
Sue stops their current activities before grouping them together according to strength and moving onto the technical side of things, training them separately and stopping them whenever she was dissatisfied—which was almost always as soon as they opened their mouths.
The rules of glee club remained written on the board, now retraced in permanent marker and Santana watches as Rachel eyes the first point somewhat discontentedly, knowing that she may not get as many solos now.
"Alright, Starpower Superiors."
Rachel always gets this self satisfied and pleased look when she hears the word "star" in the new name of their singing group and Santana can't help but roll her eyes. How typical. She really doesn't know how or why Sue chose this dumb name but she kind of doesn't care. New Directions was pretty bad already...
Sue pulls out her glasses and places them onto the bridge of her nose, glancing at the glee club members, eyes resting intimidating on each of them before adjusting the glasses until they rest on the tip of her nose. Looking up, she speaks in her usual condescendingly matter-of-fact-tone.
"For this week's assignment you will be ranked and the winners will have a chance to sing a solo at Sectionals. " Sue pauses slightly, letting the reward, the prize register in everyone's mind before continuing on.
"I have ten songs at hand, in pairs of two you will be assigned at random to ONE of these songs. The theme this week is trust. Ever since I have been observing your little group of misfits, I have seen too little trust. I cannot run a team who do not trust each other. That is why you must SHOW me that you both understand and can develop this trust-regardless of your randomly assigned partner. "
Santana's eyes find Puck's by accident and they exchange glances. This didn't sound like it will go down well. There was a lot of bad blood between certain members of their singing group and if they were paired up...
"Sandbags, Cannon Fodder, Asian, other Asian, Young Burt Reynolds and Wheels, line up now, and come to draw your songs. All of you, will be in different pairs, now move! The rest of you, come and draw out your partner!"
Santana pushes herself up and drags her body towards the side of the piano. Brittany's pinkie catches hers on their way there and she let's it anchor her to the present and the task at hand.
There's the initially grappling of who gets to draw first, then, on the other side of the room, she hears her name uttered amidst a sharp intake of breath, the unmistakeable sound of a gasp, and she feels unsteady.
It's Kurt.
In Kurt's hands, the small piece of paper rests atop his palms, face up for the world to see her name printed clearly on it.
Out of all the people in the glee club, Santana had to have gottenKurt. Someone who she thinks that under other circumstances, may have been friends with. Kurt, the one who is currently dating the Warbler, yet has a supportive family. Kurt, the one who she half-hates for being brave enough, to be out and open; and to Santana, this fact makes his presence feel like a constant confrontation.
And now she had to trust him and show it?!
It was just a stupid solo up for grabs anyways. She didn't need to give a shit.
Rachel is the next person in line and she eagerly starts forward, one step closer to the hat, and one step closer towards her partner for this project, eyes gleaming, never one to miss out of a chance to hog the spotlight. Fate seems to like her and she draws out Finn Hudson.
Santana sighs, some things never ever change.
She tunes out during the rest of the announcements of the pairs, that is, until she hears Brittany's name and Quinn's name uttered in the same breath.
Quinn and Brittany.
Quinn and Brittany.
Quinn and Brittany.
The names resonate around the room. Britt and Quinn. The idea of the two blondes spending time together is strange. Even when they were the Unholy Trinity, Britt and Quinn never really had the chance nor initiative to develop a friendship, but rather preferred to remained associated only by their common link of Santana.
Better late than never?
Santana carefully unfolds the sheet of paper in her hand; the contents would determine the song for this week's dreaded assignment and she finds herself a little uneasy.
Trust me. The Fray.
Santana thinks she's heard the song once on a drive back from Britt's house; but that was so long ago.
"Quinn! We have a good song, I think!"
Quinn turns around, a small smile on her lips upon spotting Brittany dancing over to her. Santana thinks she sees a bright streak of light in the blonde's eyes, but Quinn lifts her glance and it jars when it catches Santana's own eyes and just like that it's gone, replaced by her trademark scowl.
"Quinn we got Secrets by One Republic." Brittany's voice floats across to Santana's ears.
"Ummm...Santana?"
Santana spins around quickly and comes face to face with a flustered and extremely surprised Kurt Hummel. His perfectly plucked eyebrows have shot up so high she finds it comical. Her face cracks into a smile.
"What is it Lady Hummel?"
He quickly attempts to regain his composure but the flushed colour of his cheeks do not fade.
"What is our song? Do you want to work on the assignment tomorrow?"
"Trust me, The Fray. I was thinking day after."
"Fine by me, you can come over straight after school and we can get to know each other better..."
Santana scowls.
"No."
He squeaks slightly, and Santana's not sure why he seems to be so afraid of her. She likes to think that it's because she is a badass and he is afraid of the image, of the front Santana projects to the rest of the world.
("Coward", her mind voices)
"Relax Hummel, I meant, no, I can't make it straight after school. I have cheer practice. I'll drop by around 4:30pm. Here's my number, just text me your address later."
"Alright, thanks Santana."
Santana pulls out her phone and sets another reminder for herself.
Kurt's house. 4:30
/
As always, her house is quiet when she returns home and she slips into her bedroom unnoticed by either one of her parents.
The light at the end of the hall spilling through the crack in the door lets Santana know that her father's home already. She can picture him working at his desk—it is what he does now on most nights—surrounded by shelves and shelves of books, mainly medical reference books, but not all. She recalls from her distant childhood, the hidden treasures buried amongst the others, rare limited edition copies, fairy tales, story books that awaken slumbering memories of her six year old self and the deep soothing voice of her father; waves washing upon a sandy shore, rocking her gently to sleep, or the soft scent of flowers first blooming early Spring-her mother's perfume.
She takes a sharp turn left and like the child so long ago, leaves it all behind. The light from her father's room is no longer visible as she reaches the foot of the staircase and begins her ascent.
The corridor in front of her now dark again. There's no light-there hasn't been now for a month-from her brother's room.
Santana turns the doorknob to her room half expecting to find tattletale signs of her mother's presence and her room spotless, curtains drawn, inviting the last of the dying light from outside into her room; but she doesn't, and her room is still in the messy state she left it in this morning. She sighs, but she cannot discern whether it is out of relief or disappointment that her mother hasn't been in here.
She attaches the charging cord to her phone, dumps her bag right beside the door, and strips off her Cheerios uniform sluggishly like someone getting out of one of those oversized mascot costumes they have at the Titan's games. It's awkward and time consuming, despite there being only one zipper and Santana realises that she must be tired because, it's taking forever and all she wants to do is to rip the polyester away from her body.
Santana stumbles blindly to the edge of her bed and drags her weary body onto it, the mattress dipping under her weight. She burrows deep into the sheets, twisting and turning, drawing them up and over her head until she is so sure that the world outside has disappeared and her presence neither needed nor remembered. It's the last thought on her mind as she draws away from the port of consciousness and drifts off, hidden amidst the endless sea of cotton, and into sleep.
It's half past twelve when her phone lights up.
We need 2 talk. -Britt Britt
/
A/N: Hi guys again! :) this update is faster than I expected, probably because of all your support/reviews so I have to say thank you, for reviewing, sending me messages or just by reading.
I didn't have a beta look through this chapter (she was busy:)), so all mistakes are mine. If you find any typos etc, just pm me or leave a review and I'll fix ASAP. Might tweak this chapter when she gets round to editing :)
I'm afraid the next updates may be in a while, I'm going to be interstate for a little while, so busy times... (but I might update one of my other fics in the meanwhile)
and disclaimer (just in case): I don't own Glee or any songs mentioned.
(oh, and for the record, the address is made up, so I don't know if it exists but hey let's pretend it does ;))