fifty

Quinn slept like the dead after a good orgasm or two—she always had, once she got her post-coital snark out of the way—but Santana, for once, couldn't fall asleep to save her life. She finally gave up, slipping out from under the covers and into some shorts and a t-shirt before making her way out to the kitchen.

She had been sitting on the counter for ten minutes, most of the way through a glass of cheap wine, when the lock clicked and Rachel tiptoed in.

"Your curfew is midnight, young lady," Santana called, smirking when Rachel jumped a foot.

"God, you scared the crap out of me," Rachel breathed out. "What are you doing up? It's almost—"

"3:30 in the morning," Santana said. She hopped off the counter, turning to face Rachel and swirling the wine in her glass. "Which means that you were out with someone, and you got lucky, and then you left his poor ass alone in bed to avoid the awkward morning after."

"I—"

"Don't even, Elphaba. I've walk-of-shamed my way home too many times to not know the look."

"It's not shame."

"Just awkwardness, then," Santana offered. She filled up the glass again and offered it to Rachel. "So, was he that bad in bed, or do you just not want to deal with him in the morning?"

Rachel sighed, accepting the glass and swallowing half of it in one go. "Neither, really. He want completely….average. In every sense."

"That's got to suck," Santana said. She grabbed another glass out of the cabinet, filling it up before dumping the rest of the bottle into Rachel's glass. "School guy, or total stranger?"

"School," Rachel muttered. "He's in my music theory class."

"Terrible idea."

"I know, alright, I'm going to have to deal with him in class for the rest of the semester. Trust me, I'm completely aware of my stupidity."

"No, I mean, he's probably totally closeted and you fell for his bullshit."

Rachel slapped her shoulder, snorting into her wine. "You're terrible."

"I'm hilarious."

"Never," Rachel deadpanned. She swished the wine around in her glass, staring pensively down into it. "Why are you still awake? You weren't working tonight, were you?"

"Not tonight," Santana said quietly. "Q kept me up."

"Quinn's here?"

"Yeah, I called her."

"What about—"

"She dumped me," Santana said bluntly. Rachel gasped, melodramatic as always, and her cheap glass of cheap wine clanged against the cheap countertops so she could grasp at Santana's hands.

"I'm so sorry! What happened? Are you okay?"

Santana chuckled, shaking her head and letting Rachel clench at her hands. "I don't know. She got a job offer in Chicago and when I didn't jump at the idea of moving with her, she said we weren't ready long distance."

"That's horrible, I can't believe she would say that! Santana, you were a fantastic girlfriend to her."

Santana laughed, full and loud, and squeezed Rachel's hands. "I know, right?"

Rachel shook her head, gripping tighter to Santana's hands. "She's an idiot. I never liked her."

"Oh, please, everyone loved Sarah, don't even lie to me."

"Just because she happened to appreciate musical theater in a way you never would doesn't mean I liked her enough to outweigh my anger at her breaking up with one of my best friends." Rachel paused, brow furrowing momentarily. "You called Quinn after Sarah broke up with you?"

"Yeah."

"I would have—"

"I know, Rach," Santana said quietly. "But you had rehearsal, and Quinn doesn't have class or office hours tomorrow, and I just—didn't want to think, and Q is the best person for that."

"Also, I wouldn't sleep with you."

"Oh, please," Santana smirked. "If I hit on you you wouldn't know what to do until I had you on your back."

"You wish," Rachel muttered. Her forehead creased again, eyes glazing over as some thought took her attention, and suddenly she added, "I know you're going to get pissed if I ask this, but…are you sure Sarah didn't break up with you because of Quinn?"

"What about Quinn?"

"I mean, you two have this thing. You act like you're dating."

Santana jerked her hands away, pushing them through her hair tiredly. "Jesus, Rachel, we're not dating. We've never dated. And I haven't slept with Q since I was with Sarah, I wouldn't—"

"I know you haven't, Santana," Rachel said quietly. "I didn't meant to—I know you would have never cheated on Sarah. But just…maybe she felt that she was always second place to Quinn." She sighed. "I know I have."

Santana stared, her own brow wrinkling. "What?"

"You and Quinn have this connection that no one can touch," Rachel said. "It leaves everyone else behind. For me, it's always going to feel like I'm second choice because you two have apparently fabulous sex together. Maybe, for Sarah, it felt like she could never be as close, emotionally, to you as Quinn is."

"I'm not dating Quinn," Santana said slowly. "I never have. Why are you so convinced we are?"

"I just don't understand," Rachel said. "When she's here, it's exactly like you're dating."

"What, because we're friends who have sex?"

"Santana, you and I are friends, but even if we had sex, we would never be as close as you and Quinn are."

Santana jerked away, sliding off the counter and striding across the kitchen. Her arms crossed over her stomach protectively, and she glared darkly at Rachel. "I'm not in love with her," she said shortly. "And she's not in love with me. Me and Quinn, we're like the same person. We get each other, we have bangin' sex, but I don't get jealous if she sleeps with someone else."

"And what about her?" Rachel asked, her voice soft. "Are you sure she doesn't get jealous when you sleep with someone else?"

"Yes," Santana said sharply. "I know this is hard for you to believe, but she and I do more than screw. We do talk. I know what's going on with her even when we don't talk. I know her."

Rachel sighed, slumping back against the counter and throwing her hands up. "Okay. You're not dating, you're not in love, there are no romantic feelings involved at all."

"Goddamn right," Santana muttered. "Jesus." Silence stretched across the kitchen as Rachel stared contemplatively down at her shoes and Santana fidgeted.

"You know," Rachel broke the silence. "I always thought that Quinn might be gay. Before we were all even in glee club, I wondered."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. She picked on me so much, she targeted me, she never seemed to care about the boy she was dating too terribly much, I couldn't help but wonder if—"

"What, if she was into you?" Santana barked out. "Oh my God, you're an idiot. Seriously?"

Rachel flushed, shrugging and avoiding Santana's gaze. "It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility," she said defensively.

"No, that's not what I—I mean, okay," Santana said, voice tight over her laughter. "Rachel, Quinn's know she's liked girls since the fourth grade. It was never a question of denial or repression so much as her being so determined to protect herself that she got a nose job and played the queen bitch until that became who she was. Her family was shit to her and school was somewhere she could be the one on top instead of the punching bag, so she sure as hell wasn't going to let some singing diva steal her perfect boyfriend and throw her to the wolves."

Rachel gaped at Santana indignantly. "I never—"

"Dude, I know, okay? But high school is all politics, and Quinn lived it like that, but you were living it like some fantasy where the best people were the most popular, and she hated you for that."

"She hated me?" Rachel squeaked out.

"No." Quinn's voice rang out from Santana's bedroom, still heavy with sleep and startling them both. She stood sleepily in an oversized t-shirt that Santana normally slept in, her hair a disaster, and glared at them both. "I never hated you, I just hated that you could be who you wanted and I couldn't, and I resented you for that, and it all started there. No, I didn't hate you; no, I wasn't dealing with some crush on you I had to repress; no, Santana and I aren't dating; yes, Santana knows what she's talking about. Can you two please shut the hell up so I can sleep?"

"Oh," Rachel said faintly.

"Everybody shut up!" Kurt shouted from his bed, and Rachel jumped while Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Go to sleep, Kurt, it's all a dream," Santana called out soothingly. She crossed over to where Rachel was standing. "You good?"

"Yeah," Rachel said. She offered a small smile at Quinn. "Can I just—" She threw her arms around Santana's neck.

"You're one of my best friends," she whispered into Santana's collarbone. " I love you and I just want you to be happy."

Santana sighed wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist. "You too, Streisand." She slapped playfully at Rachel's ass, smirking at the squeal it drew from her. "Now go to sleep, theater slut."

"Santana," Quinn said sharply.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, sexist words blah blah blah. Seriously, women's studies has to be the worst minor you could have ever picked."

Rachel shook her head at them, gathering her purse and disappearing into her room.

"Can we sleep now?" Quinn said.

"Aw, did I wear you out?" Santana said playfully. She edged over towards Quinn, grasping her hips and stepping up flush against her.

"Yes," Quinn deadpanned. "Now let me go, I want to sleep." She spun out of Santana's grasp and strode back to the bed, flopping down tiredly.

"So is that a no to one more round?"

"It's a gigantic no."

"You're no fun."

"For someone who doesn't get jealous when I sleep with other people, you sure get jealous of sleep when that's what I want to do."

Santana grumbled, yanking the covers away and over herself. "Bitch," she muttered affectionately. "By the way, I'm definitely picking someone up at the bar tomorrow night."

"I'll catch the afternoon train," Quinn said drowsily. "Don't forget to change you sheets."

"Please," Santana scoffed. "There are these twins that show up every Friday, I am totally getting you hooked up."

"Go to sleep, Santana."

"By the way," Santana said blandly. "Jason is opening another bar and he wants me to be the partner."

"What?" Quinn shouted, sitting bolt upright.

"Shut up!" Kurt bellowed again.

"Partner? As in, equal partner?"

"Yep." Santana rolled over onto her back, smirking up at Quinn's incredulity. "He's got the capital, and he wants me to run the new place. Says I have chutzpah, whatever the hell that is."

"Oh my God! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Um, because my girlfriend broke up with me an hour later?"

"Santana!"

"Quinn!"

"Go to sleep!" Kurt screeched.

"Shut up, Kurt!" Quinn shouted back. "Santana, this is huge."

"Yes it is," Santana said mildly. She smirked again at Quinn. "So, tomorrow night, we're going out and getting laid to celebrate."

"Does—did you tell Sarah about it?" Quinn asked quietly.

Santana sighed. "Yeah. I told her it's why I couldn't move to Chicago with her, even if I'd really wanted to leave New York."

Quinn laid back down, pillowing her head on her arms and eying Santana. "You deserve better, you know," she said. "I know I liked Sarah a lot, and I know you loved her, but you can do better than someone who's not willing to work with you for your career."

Santana shrugged, rolling over to flick off the lamp. "Maybe."

"Definitely," Quinn corrected.

"Does that mean I get congratulations-for-being-an-awesome-businesswoman sex?"

"Maybe you would have if you didn't already get post-breakup feel-better sex. Unfortunately for you, now you'll never know."