Quinn and Santana got a seat by the window in a small, quaint café that was tucked away in an inconspicuous corner. "Their pancakes are really good," Quinn said, waving a waiter over. "Two plates of blueberry pancakes," She said, eyes flicking over to Santana. Santana rolled her eyes and nodded her acquiescence, passing both their menus over to the waiter.

"Thanks for dictating my life, captain," Santana said dryly, the corners of her lips creeping upwards.

"I just thought, you know, since you're paying and everything, I might as well make myself useful in other ways." Quinn smiled sweetly. They both laughed and settled into their chairs, happily exhausted from their run. Santana was still on some kind of adrenaline trip and she wasn't quite sure if it was due to the morning exercise or the other... morning activity.

Every time either of them made even the slightest movement, their legs would brush against each other. Santana had never been so happy about a small table before, and took great pleasure in shifting about in her seat so that their knees touched. Quinn shot her a stern glare, then went on to trap Santana's legs between her own. She held them there tightly, face betraying no emotion save for an almost imperceptible glint of amusement in her eyes. "Oh no you don't," Santana growled. They proceeded to play footsie like a bunch of giggling teenage kids until the pancakes came and shut them both up.

"Wow," Santana said, looking at the stack of fluffy pancakes in front of her in slack-jawed amazement. "They smell amazing."

"Mmghh," Quinn agreed happily, already slicing into her first pancake. Santana marveled at her efficiency. Within minutes, they were down to their last pancake.

Santana stared down mournfully at her almost empty plate. She had only one bite left of her last pancake – Quinn, on the other hand, was trying to prolong the enjoyment for as long as was humanely possible by cutting herself ever tinier pieces, and chewing at the speed of an eighty-year-old woman who'd lost both her teeth and her dentures. "Will you finish it and put me out of my misery?" Santana snapped, watching moodily as Quinn put another piece into her mouth. Quinn only grinned in response.

Santana's face suddenly turned pale. "Oh shit. Coach Johnson," She hissed.

Quinn's jaw dropped. Their low-carbs, no refined-sugar, no trans-fats diet... She turned around slowly, dreading every second of it. She didn't see Coach Johnson anywhere. "Where is she?" She whispered, turning back around to face Santana, only to catch the brunette scarfing down the last of her pancake. Santana grinned sheepishly and swallowed, washing everything down with a large swig of orange juice. Quinn's eyes widened in outrage. "That's it. You'd better watch your back tonight, Santana Lopez."

Santana quirked an eyebrow. "Why? Are we finally doing something my mother wouldn't approve of tonight?"

Quinn's retort died in her throat. Her heart leapt involuntarily. "Shut up, Lopez," She mumbled, already feeling the familiar tingling feeling in her gut. Santana cackled and stood up to pay. In light of recent events, she decided she'd give Quinn this victory, at least.

...

That night after training, the entire team headed out for dinner at a fish & chips place within walking distance of the training centre. They took up the entire table at the back of the restaurant. "What will you be having tonight?" The waiter asked. He looked like a life-sized plastic Ken-doll.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You only have one item on the menu," She pointed out.

"That's true," He said good-naturedly. "Sixteen plates of fish & chips, coming your way!" He winked flirtatiously at Quinn and was off. He had clearly taken a shining to Quinn, because he came back to their table after delivering their order to the kitchen. "So. What're you girls doing here?" He asked.

Quinn rolled her eyes once again. "We're doing what people normally do in restaurants," she said, already turning away in disinterest. "You know, eat, drink, pay up." The guy, in a thick-skulled manner typical of dumb guys who thought they were far more attractive than they actually were, did not get the hint. Instead, he stuck around and bored them all with random comments about the restaurant, the food, the weather, the music playing on the radio, and –no exaggeration here– the stock market.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the team drowned him out with conversations in which he was pointedly excluded from. Santana had a whole repository of hilarious anecdotes and was more than eager to share them, especially if it meant chasing him away.

Santana had a charming, almost magnetic way of commanding dinner conversations and captivating a crowd – Quinn had sensed it months ago, right the second Santana had stepped into the changing room for the first time. She had felt threatened then, and unwilling to cede the spotlight to this unknown competitor; but today she was content to listen and laugh along with everyone else, basking in the warm glow of friendship, sisterhood, and something rich and heady that she still couldn't quite define.

When the food finally came, the waiter made another pathetic attempt to catch Quinn's attention and failed yet again. He slunk away into a corner looking miserable. Santana did not feel in the least bit sympathetic. "For goodness sake," She grumbled, shaking her head. "If the guy had any balls at all, he'd have asked you for your number five minutes ago and spared us all that crap about the weather."

Quinn raised her eyebrows, the corners of her lips twitching. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous," she whispered, voice low and soft and meant for Santana's ears alone.

The tips of Santana's ears turned pink. "As if the guy had any chance," she scoffed.

Quinn laid her hand briefly on Santana's right thigh and leaned in. "He doesn't." She lifted her hand and went back to slicing her fish. Santana gulped and tried her best to stop her heart from thumping so loudly in her chest. It wasn't fair what this damn woman could do to her.

Santana eased slowly out of her aggressive role in the dinner-table conversation and spent the remainder of the dinner plotting various ways to sidle as close to Quinn as possible without anyone else noticing. The fish and chips were piping hot and fried to perfection - so much so that Santana slowly found herself forgiving the establishment for its obnoxious staff.

That is, until the aforementioned waiter came trundling back for a final attempt at getting Quinn's number. "I was wondering if the lot of you would like any drinks," the waiter asked, looking directly at Quinn with an almost pleading expression in his puppy-dog eyes. "O-on the house," he said, stammering slightly. Santana was about to tell him to piss off and waste his company money on someone else when Quinn cut in.

"Maybe a couple glasses of beer?" She said sweetly, casting him an innocent doe-eyed smile. He blushed to the tips of his hair and hurried off.

A muscle in Santana's jaw twitched, but she said nothing about it. When the drinks came, she glared at them like they'd been responsible for poisoning her grandmother and refused to touch a single glass of beer. Quinn reached out for Santana's hand with a concerned look on her face, but the brunette only jerked away angrily. Quinn sighed and cursed inwardly.

One step forward, two steps back, indeed.