Santana shows up on her doorstep out of the blue one night. Quinn can see that she's been crying, her makeup smudged, her hair slightly disheveled. It's December now, and biting cold, but Santana's standing there in a just miniskirt without even a jacket on. Quinn doesn't ask for an explanation, and Santana doesn't offer one. She just folds her arms tightly across her chest and stares at the threshold between them.
Quinn aches to touch her, to comfort her, to acknowledge her pain in some physical way. But she knows that would give away too much. Instead, she races upstairs, grabs a coat for each of them, comes back down, and lets Santana lead the way.
They end up downtown on a bench outside the public library. Through the lighted windows across the street, they can see eight or ten girls leaping and pirouetting their way across the floor of the local dance studio. Even though Quinn just knows without question where Santana's focus is directed, she purposefully follows Santana's line of sight straight to Brittany's lean form.
Quinn's relationship with Santana is complicated. They're not really what Quinn would call friends. In fact, more often than not they're pitted against one another in terms of popularity, status, and rank. But the secret they share keeps them chained to one another, soul to soul, whether they like it or not.
There's a sharp intake of breath before Santana starts to speak. "How are things with you and Finncompetent?"
It's not the question Quinn's expecting, and she suspects it's not the question Santana's really asking.
"Fine, I guess," she sighs. Normally, she'd gush about how great their relationship is, how much in love they are, how fabulous it is to be dating the boy who's sure to make quarterback next year. But they're not inside the walls of McKinley High right now; it's just her and Santana, and the situation seems to call for at least a touch of honesty.
The truth is, she's spent the last three and a half months approaching her relationship with Finn with the same attitude with which she approaches her Cheerios training. Her body constantly rejects the strain of both endeavors, and at times it can be awfully degrading, but she pushes through, day after day, unwilling to consider any possible alternatives. This is what she has to be, because there's no way to be what she really is.
Across the street, Brittany begins dancing a solo, toes pointed, arms gracefully extended upward. In her peripheral vision, Quinn watches Santana's eyes as they unflinchingly train themselves on Brittany, even as a few errant tears slip down her cheeks. In a moment of sheer insanity, Quinn allows herself to whisper, "She's beautiful, Santana."
This is the closest they've ever come to talking about it, and she braces herself for the consequence, half-expecting Santana to get up and walk away, or punch her in the face, or worse. Santana just lets out a breathy chuckle, though, and reaches up to wipe the tears from her face.
"She is," she acknowledges, giving a slight nod.
Quinn releases the breath she's been holding and watches it float out into the cold night. She often wonders what it would be like to love someone the way she knows Santana and Brittany love each other. It's part of the reason she keeps the two of them so close to her. Watching them together, knowing the secret of what they really are, worries the wound inside herself, feeds the beast just enough to keep it alive.
Slowly, gently, Santana's hand entwines with Quinn's. Her stomach flips, but she fights the instinct to jerk away. It's such an unexpected and unfamiliar feeling, and yet, so unbearably natural. Santana's hand is so soft, so sure. Nothing like Finn's calloused, over-sized paws. It makes her feel light-headed, woozy even. She swallows hard, thankful that they're huddled close enough together on the bench that any passers by would be unable to see their tangled fingers.
"I was at Puck's before," Santana says quietly. "We were fooling around like usual, but this time he wanted to...," she trails off, closing her eyes and shaking her head sadly. Quinn runs a thumb over the back of Santana's hand, giving it a light squeeze. "I just let him...I thought maybe I'd feel...Anyway, now I know."
Quinn's entire being trembles with panic. She can't hear this, can't know it. It's too much, too real, too true. She wants to throw off her coat and start running, letting the cold night air tear into her flesh. But the feeling of Santana's hand in hers keeps her rooted to the spot.
Across the street, Brittany does her final leap, arching through the air with a grace that causes Quinn's heart to swell. Through her tears, Santana beams with pride. "Did you see that?"
"Mhmm," Quinn responds with a tentative smile.
"That's the difference between her and us, Q. Brittany's free."