Alright, y'all - Chapter ELEVEN. Things are moving along nicely, aren't they? :P

Last chapter, you saw a little bit of the aftermath that came with Sam & Quinn sleeping together. We saw Quinn talking to Mike and surprisingly, Tina running into Quinn and giving her serious shade.

This next chapter is just a continuation, but I hope you'll be very, very happy. I had a lot of fun writing this one and incorporating the song, Stay by Sugarland (such a gorgeous song - please check it out!). Quick warning though, this is very, very angsty. But Quinn's just an angsty person anyway, so...there you go. Lol.

I don't own Glee obviously. Otherwise, Quinn would've been back for The Quarterback. Side note: how beautiful was that episode? Such a fitting tribute for an amazing soul.

Anyway, please read and review and I hope y'all like it! Appreciate if you could tell me what you love about the fic and what you don't like - especially anything

Chapter 11: Stay

She let the door close behind her, taking in a disgusted breath of alcohol, sweat, and smoke. Pulling the beanie off her head, Quinn took several calculated steps towards the bar stools, settling herself in comfortably, her palms down on the counter top. The noise around her rose and she suspected it was the football game that played on the televisions that caused it, but her head was too full and too cluttered to care.

"You're here,"

She looked up and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, a sniff wrinkling her nose. "I needed a drink," she explained.

"It's 6 PM," Santana pointed out, but she grabbed a bottle of tequila and a shot glass anyway, lining up the drink in front of her. "Take it easy,"

Quinn rolled her eyes and threw back the drink, wincing as the liquid burned her throat. She stayed quiet for a while, avoiding Santana's questioning gaze. "Things suck,"

"I imagine the sex makes it suck a little less,"

"Shut up,"

Santana sighed, leaning forward on the bar top. Her dark, chocolate hair swept over one shoulder; she placed a comforting hand on top of Quinn's. "I'm sorry. That was out of line, I couldn't help it. But, can I ask you something?" Santana started, pulling out two water bottles. "Why did you guys do it? You knew it was wrong," she twisted off both caps and handed one to Quinn, who had a dazed look etched across her features.

"I don't know. It didn't feel wrong when we were doing it – it felt right," she groaned, running a hand through her hair, mussing it up. "It was like everything fit and everything that was sort of floating before finally came down to the ground and I just…it made sense, San. More than it ever did in high school," Quinn breathed out shakily, taking a sip of water.

Santana, sensing her best friend needed something a little harder than just water, pulled out a bottle of whiskey and tipped some of the amber liquid into a glass. She nudged it across the counter top, before leaning over to look at Quinn in her eyes directly. "Is it better than it was in high school? Wiser, more adult, more mature, more real? Because that's what it's like with Brittany. And if that's what it's like with you and Sam…then that's the only way I can be on your side about it,"

"It's like the past got brought forward to the present and now I can't imagine a future without him," Quinn mumbled, after hesitating. Her voice shook and there was a lump in her throat – she knew that if she tried to say anything else, she'd start to cry. Instead, she choked out a simple question. "What do I do?"

"You love him, Quinn," Santana answered, worry clouding her features. "Even if he also loves Tina,"

She cringed, feeling her heart sink at the harsh reality that Sam and Tina were still together. "I don't have a chance, do I?"

Santana sighed, wiping down the countertop and keeping an eye on the drunken men who occupied the other end of the bar. "Maybe you do,"

"What, you think I should steal him away from Tina?" Quinn asked, briefly entertaining the thought.

"No, don't be ridiculous," Santana rolled her eyes. "He's already slipping away from Tina – you guys spent the night together, remember? Your chance will come, I guess," she shrugged.

"So I'm just supposed to sit here and watch Tina act all loved up with Sam?" Quinn wrinkled her nose, pushing the empty glass of whiskey towards Santana for a refill. "You know she knows, right?"

"I think she has…an idea of what could have happened,"

"Bullshit – she knows and she made sure I knew that, too. You should've been there earlier, when I ran into her at Red Tree. It was like she was marking her territory all over Sam. Like she was rubbing it in my face that she won," Quinn spat, hating the way the words sounded. A part of her wanted to be mature and understanding. She wanted to accept that Sam had a different life with Tina, one that didn't involve any of his ex-girlfriends. But the other part of her – the vindictive ex-Cheerio in her – wanted to trump Tina and take her down. That part wanted to deserve Sam, wanted to love him and steal him back.

Santana sighed again, trying to steady her frustration. Leaning forward, she locked eyes with Quinn, trying to calm her down. "Maybe that's what she wanted to do. Look, put yourself in her shoes for a second – wouldn't you have done the exact same thing?"

Quinn paused, tracing the outline of her glass contemplatively and trying her hardest to avoid Santana's gaze. "Yeah," she conceded.

"So you can't blame her. She wants to remind you that Sam is still hers – and obviously, she has reason to remind you of it," Santana bit her lip, pulling away slightly. "Look, are you going to be okay? Because there's a table back there that's been calling me for the past five minutes and I need to get on it,"

"Go, I'll be fine," Quinn waved her hand dismissively, reaching for the bottle of Jack.

"No. You're not doing that," Santana snatched it away. "Get real, Fabray. We both know what you're going to do next. And it involves getting drunk off something else,"

Quinn's eyes widened at the Latina's suggestion, but Santana showed no sign of remorse. Instead, she raised her eyebrows with a knowing smirk, grabbed a sticky menu off the counter, and strutted towards the waiting table, her short skirt swishing from side to side.

If there was one thing Quinn hated, it was letting the little things get to her. She had worked so hard at keeping up appearances, the last thing she needed was for something to make it all fall apart – which was exactly what Tina managed to do in so few words.

'It's unfairly understandable, which just makes everything that much more frustrating,' Quinn thought, her jaw locked and anger bubbling inside her, as she took long, purposeful strides towards her apartment building. Night had fallen, but the city was just getting started and from across the road, Quinn could see the beginnings of a rowdy night for a group of fraternity boys, who whistled appreciatively at her. She rolled her eyes and turned the corner sharply, dodging a couple who were busy making out against the side of the building.

"What, is it let's-all-annoy-Quinn day?!" she muttered, running up the stairs. Stopping in the empty lobby of her building (save for the security guard who was sleeping soundly), she pulled open her bag and rummaged through it, looking for her keys. Becoming increasingly frustrated, she cursed under her breath, pulling out various items and balancing them in her mouth, her knee, and the space between her head and shoulder. "Come on, where are you?" she asked, to no one in particular.

"Hey,"

The voice, which she wasn't expecting, caused her to squeal loudly and then drop everything she was holding. "Damnit!" she cried, immediately bending down. "What the hell were you thinking?" she snapped, hearing whoever it was chuckle softly, before he bent down to help her.

"Hey," he repeated.

Quinn took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh, her head lifting to take a good look at who it was, even though she already knew.

Sam – it was always Sam.

Her eyes met his green ones and she briefly lost herself in him, the way one corner of his lips curled up slightly and the way his muscles rippled underneath his wife-beater and plaid shirt. "Hi," she replied breathlessly. "Sorry, I'm…a mess," she chuckled weakly, getting to her feet.

He handed her apartment keys to her, since they had fallen onto the floor, and shrugged. "No big deal,"

"Do you…want to come up?" Quinn asked hesitantly, mentally kicking herself. It dawned on her that this was exactly what Santana had been talking about – she wasn't going to get drunk off booze, not when Sam Evans was in front of her.

Unsurprisingly, Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair and nodded. With a soft smile, they both went into the elevator and the ride up to Quinn's apartment was silent – although the tension between them was electric. They crossed towards her door and with a swift click; they entered her apartment – for the third time that week.

"Do you want something to drink?" Quinn offered, tossing her keys on the side table and headed towards her kitchen.

"Did Tina talk to you?" he asked abruptly. Quinn stumbled slightly, her fingers reaching out to grasp the edge of the counter. Her knuckles turned white and she bit her lip hard, trying not to say the first things that came to her – they were all accusing, all horrible, all bitter words, anyway.

She took a deep breath and let it out, turning to face him. "She did. Did you ask her to?"

"No, I didn't," His voice was clipped and short and for a split second, Quinn thought he was actually mad at her. But one look at his soft, warm green eyes told her differently – Sam was conflicted. There was a storm brewing in that head of his and underneath the cool façade he had adopted, something worried him.

"So…"

"So what did she say?"

Quinn sighed, suddenly feeling all the frustration she had been holding in bubble up to the surface. Turning to face him with a slow fire burning in her hazel eyes, she steeled her gaze, determined not to break.

"What do you think she said, Sam? She knows! At the very least, she knows that you came to find me after your fight and she's just so happy that you go home to her – instead of me – every night. And I'm not…I'm not mad, but I'm not happy, because all of this is messed up and stupid and we probably should've never slept together in the first place!"

Tears sprung to her eyes and she tried desperately to steady her voice. But now that the words had finally escaped her, there was no way to bring them back. "I just…I just wanted everything to be different, but I never wanted to hurt you or Tina, except now she's just shoving you in my face and now I just…" Quinn trailed off, her hiccups turning almost violent as she broke down.

"You just really want to hurt her," Sam finished and she had to let out a soft laugh, with a roll of her eyes. "You know what I mean," he shook his head, stepping forward to gently grab at her wrists.

"I don't want to get in between you and Tina. I don't want you to break up at the expense of me or Mike – you guys got together on your own and you should break up on your own, with no outside influences," Quinn started, trying to work through her own thoughts in her head. It was hard, she noted, with Sam standing so close to her. "I just…I think…"

"What? What, Quinn?" he asked, bending down to brush his lips against her ear. She felt his breath across her skin and it made a shiver run up her bare arm.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get her thoughts under control. But he was consuming her in a way he never had before and it was making her dizzy, the words she wanted to say getting stuck in the back of her throat. Looking up at him, Quinn decided to let the weight fall off her shoulders and with the softest whisper she could muster, she said,

"I think I love you."

It hung in the air, dangling between their bodies like a promise on a string. The words felt both foreign and familiar on her tongue and she tried her hardest to keep her gaze on Sam's eyes, which reflected back to her with worry, concern, and a little sparkle that she knew lingered from years before. Quinn could feel her heart beating wildly against her bones, but as Sam slipped his fingers over her hip bone, it stilled. Time seemed to freeze between them. Surely, the world was moving, but Quinn couldn't focus on anything else – it was as if it had all melted away, leaving Sam Evans in its wake.

Slowly, softly, and ever so gently, Sam's lips pressed against her own – hesitant and wary at first, before confidence and determination set in. Quinn lost herself in his mouth, the way it worked perfectly against hers and the way his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. Instinctively, she moved her hands up to tangle her fingers in his hair and he maneuvered their bodies so she was pinned against the kitchen wall.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered against his lips breathlessly, pulling away from him to clear her thoughts a little. Sam mumbled something incoherent against the skin of her neck and his hands wandered underneath her shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Sam, I just…with Tina…and Mike…we don't…" she stuttered.

Sam let out a strangled sigh, pulling away abruptly, and she immediately missed his warmth. "Quinn," he started. "I know what I'm getting myself into, alright? I know I'm still with Tina. And you know what? She's probably still in love with Mike,"

"Well, you can't just…"

"Shut up,"

Sam grabbed her waist and pulled her body against his forcefully, so unexpectedly that a small squeal escaped her lips. Without a moment's hesitation, he covered her lips with his own and this time, neither could deny what was bound to happen.

This time, it was different.

She felt it growing in the depths of her stomach, a slow burning fire that seemed to engulf every piece of her heart and made the corners of her soul wake with a new energy. Hands roamed and fingers clutched and clawed at skin and fabric and for the first time in three years, Quinn finally felt complete again.

She had purchased the clock at a flea market, during a random trip to Williamsburg with Mike and Rachel, last year. Essentially, it was a black cube, but the digits lit up fiercely – and in the dark of the night, the glowing numbers kept Quinn wide awake. 3 AM and she was faced with the sudden reality that the space beside her was empty, turned cold by the absence of another body. Breathing in a deep breath and reminding herself that there was no reason to panic just yet, Quinn grabbed the plaid shirt hanging off the foot of the bed and slung it over her shoulders, stepping out of her comfortable covers.

There was a small sliver of light that came in through the sliding doors and straining her ear, Quinn could hear the soft plucks from an acoustic guitar. A smile spread across her lips and she slowly, but surely, made her way out to her living room. There, bathed in the soft glow of a yellow lamp light, sat Sam Evans. Barefoot, shirtless, and his hair mussed up to bedhead perfection, there was a guitar in his lap, and his long fingers made expert work against the strings. It was a vaguely familiar tune, reminiscent of the country songs he used to sing to her in the back of his pickup truck in Lima, and for that, Quinn's heart warmed.

"Quit starin' at me," Sam's voice came unexpectedly, his head not lifting up at all, as if he had sensed her presence in the room.

"I wasn't staring. Don't flatter yourself," she chuckled, grabbing the wool blanket off the back of the couch and settling in beside him. "It's 3 in the morning,"

Sam sighed, resting his arms on the guitar and turning to face her. "I know. Hi," with a mischievous grin, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

It lasted only a second, but Quinn could already feel the dizziness that came with Sam's kisses – the beginnings of something that would eclipse her thoughts. "Hi. What are you working on?" she asked, gesturing towards the guitar.

"Nothing. I couldn't sleep and my mind was just really…playing helps to calm it," Sam shrugged, letting his fingers fall over the strings.

"Play me something," Quinn said suddenly, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Last I checked, you weren't a fan of country music," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes and punched him lightly in the arm. "You know I have a soft spot for it,"

"Really? When did you last hear a country song?"

Quinn bit her lip, trying to recall the last time she had tuned into a country music station. With a wry smile, she answered, "When Tina invited Mike and me over for dinner. It was Blake Shelton's Who Are You When I'm Not Looking,"

Sam let out a breath and then chuckled softly under his breath. "That seems like a lifetime ago,"

"Come on, play me something,"

"Alright, alright," he relented. With a short cough, he prepped his fingers and started to strum a familiar melody.

My oh my, you're so good-looking
Hold yourself together like a pair of bookends
But I've not tasted all your cooking
Who are you when I'm not looking?

Quinn giggled, burying her nose into Sam's shoulder, as his country twang filled her living room. There was a light in her heart that certainly was never there before and it baffled her how easy it was for it to get there – all it took was a Southern boy with a guitar for her whole world to melt away.

"You're silly," she grinned.

"I thought you liked Blake Shelton,"

"I do," Quinn breathed out.

Silence fell between them comfortably and without either of them saying it, they knew the morning light would soon filter through those curtains and signal a brand new day. It made Quinn feel desperate to hold on to the moment – whatever it was – between them.

As Sam went back to plucking away on the guitar, she got up and made two cups of tea, making sure to put extra sugar in both. She took a quick glance at the clock – 3.45 AM – before settling in next to him, her fingers tracing the outline of his bicep, as he played. There wasn't much to say between them, not when they had both laid all their cards out the night before. Quinn blushed at the thought, remembering how Sam's touch had sparked something in her, something unexplainable, but all too real.

Time passed, as it often did, and Quinn sipped her tea comfortably, trying to commit every part of the past twenty-four hours to memory. Just as she was in the middle of replaying her earlier conversation with Santana at the bar, a recognizable melody started to fill the living room. Her heart skipped a beat as she placed the song – an old favorite that Sam used to play on the motel porch back when she was a junior. As the easy, slow tune found its home on his fingers, Quinn couldn't help herself – she started to sing.

I've been sitting here staring at the clock on the wall
And I've been laying here praying, praying she won't call.
It's just another call from home
And you'll get it and be gone
And I'll be crying...

Quinn's voice broke, realizing just how true to life the lyrics were. Her eyes, bright with tears, turned to look at Sam, who couldn't stop playing if he tried. Taking a breath, his voice soon filled the room, causing shivers to run up her spine.

And I'll be begging you, baby,
Beg you not to leave.
But I'll be left here waiting
With my heart on my sleeve
Oh, for the next time we'll be here
Seems like a million years
And I think I'm dying…

Without missing a beat, Quinn went straight into the next part, relishing in the way the words and the melody seemed to fit her perfectly – despite how bittersweet it was.

What do I have to do to make you see
She can't love you like me?
Why don't you stay?
I'm down on my knees.
I'm so tired of being lonely,
Don't I give you what you need?
When she calls you to go,
There is one thing you should know,
We don't have to live this way
Baby, why don't you stay?

The first rays of morning streamed through the windows, coating the apartment in delicate warmth. And although Sam kept playing, neither of them had it in themselves to continue the song – it was too close for comfort, because Quinn realized that all she wanted was for Sam to stay. She was desperate and hoping and vulnerable – all the things she swore to herself she never would be in the face of love. Somewhere in between breaking Sam's heart the first time and moving to the city, Quinn had convinced herself that letting someone in was weak. But here, with Sam again, she – she was open and trusting with him and even though it had already hurt her, a part of her heart knew it didn't matter.

It was worth it, all the pain was worth it, if he would just stay.

Sam's fingers stilled and the living room was silent again. Quinn wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and made a move to stand up, but Sam pulled her back down gently – pressing his lips to hers. It was a different kiss this time, unsure and apologetic, and when he pulled away, Quinn saw his green eyes glistening. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of a phone ringing startled both of them. With a jump, Sam reached towards the coffee table and sighed loudly, sliding his finger across the screen and pressing the small device to his ear.

"Hi, Tee," he winced.

Quinn sucked in her breath, letting it out shakily. Choking back a sob, she pressed her lips to Sam's bare bicep, before grabbing her unfinished mug of tea and heading back into her bedroom. There was a bittersweet unfairness to the whole situation and she knew there was no way she'd be able to handle hearing him talk to Tina.

Several minutes later, Sam walked into her bedroom and settled himself at the foot of the bed. The ease that came with playing a simple country song seemed to wash off his shoulders, replaced by a weight that came with a furrowed brow.

"So…" he started.

"You have to go," Quinn cut him off, her tone of voice curt. Hugging her knees to her chest, she looked smaller than usual – reserved and more vulnerable, if possible.

"Tina's parents are in town for the day,"

"I get it. Just…just go, okay?"

Sam groaned, leaning forward and gathering Quinn in his arms. It was an awkward fit, her knees on his lap and their arms curled clumsily around each other. She tried hard not to cry, but when they pulled apart, Sam let out a soft chuckle. "You can cry and be sad, you know. I won't tell anyone,"

"Thanks," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. He curled his fingers under her chin and brought her close, resting his forehead against hers and for a good minute, they breathed each other in. Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hopeless desperation rise within her. She wanted to say something, anything that could convince him to stay with her, and not run back to Tina – Tina, who was obviously the easier, simpler, less dramatic choice.

But before Quinn could even try to string together the right words, Sam pressed his full lips to her forehead and traced the outline of her cheek, before pulling away and leaving the bedroom.

She heard her front door fall shut and she drew in a hesitant breath, before exhaling. No matter how hard she tried to stay composed, her shoulders shook and fell, a sob rising from the depths of her throat.

'This is how a heart breaks.'