Happy New Year! My resolution is to write more this year.
Try to Tell You "Stop" Part II (B)
As she walks into the reception, her hand tangled in Santana's, Enrique Iglesias is blaring from the DJ's speakers. Once again, the pair gets a fair amount of attention, but it feels different from the way they were openly gawked at before. Some of the shock has worn off, sure, but now the onlookers aren't pinned in by church pews and propriety. They're free to openly gape as she and Santana weave through the crowd, intimately close and obviously very much together.
It's not as scary as she imagined it would be, but Quinn knows that if she hadn't just had the moment she did with Santana in her car, she'd be far more intimidated. This isn't the future she envisioned for herself not more than one year ago when she was campaigning with Finn Hudson for homecoming queen among this very crowd.
Scanning the ballroom, Quinn watches a few of the party-goers who have started dancing. There aren't that many. Most of the guests have wasted no time taking advantage of the open bar. Casual awkwardness envelopes the entire reception, but that's not much of a surprise. What are they really celebrating, the irony of a bride running out on her groom on Valentine's Day? This entire celebration is heartbreak announced with blood red heart decorations and a five tier wedding cake.
"This is possibly the most depressing wedding reception I've ever been to," Santana announces, lip curled up in clear distaste as she also observes the weirdness. "But at least the booze is free."
Rachel's waving enthusiastically from across the room and Quinn allows Santana to lead, heading to their assigned table. Santana gives wide berth to the table right beside it, featuring both Brittany and Sam. Brittany ignores them both.
She privately makes a note to thank the runaway bride (if they ever find her) for having the foresight not to put them at THAT table. Mr. Schuester's overinvestment in their love lives was mostly creepy, but it did have its moments of worth.
Though now, in retrospect, she wonders how it took this long for HIS love life to get this entangled in theirs. How many student/teacher affairs had actually happened at McKinley?
"Well it's nice to see that you two have finally managed to defuse your lips long enough to join us," Rachel grouses like a disgruntled school marm as they take the two open seats that are left. "I swear they're like cats in heat!" she whispers to Mercedes way too loudly. "When we get back to New York, I'm going to start keeping a spray bottle in the loft, just in case!"
"You even try spraying me with water, Berry, and that bottle will go right up your ass," Santana arches a brow as Rachel uncaringly lifts a frosted glass filled with tinted liquid to her mouth and sucks it up in a straw. "And don't tell me you're not into that because curtains aren't exactly as sound proof as walls."
"I never!" Rachel replies, scandalized for about a second. Drunk Rachel appears to be a very forgiving Rachel, however, and she follows that up with a charmed giggle and a loud kiss planted on Santana's cheek.
"Ew, Rachel, no!"
"I love you," Rachel announces, arms around Quinn's struggling date. "Has anyone ever told you you're like a very cuddly cat? That's what I meant, you know. When I said that about the spray bottle."
"Yeah, Dwarf, I got it!"
"You even have the claws!" Rachel adds, and peers at Santana's fingers and her meticulous manicure. "I mean wow, these are long! … Quinn, doesn't that hurt?"
"Oh for fucks sake, Rachel!"
Quinn sighs and watches the scene of Rachel climbing all over Santana and Santana pretending to be disgusted by it. "We literally just got here, how is she this drunk this quickly?!"
"Finn may have brought us all shots," Mercedes admits, and then holds up her very own martini. "And then she had a couple more drinks," she giggles. "We all have. How else are we going to have to deal with this awkward ass-party?"
"Alcohol is nature's awkward moment defuser," Santana agrees, much calmer now that she's managed to shove Rachel back into her seat. "Stay!" she orders, palm flat as she points it at Rachel. Rachel pouts, but grudgingly obeys when Santana hands her back her drink.
Mercedes blinks in her direction and flashes a beautifully white smile. "Hello, Santana! How is my favorite she-devil?"
"Pretty fantastic, actually," Santana answers immediately, and if that's not enough to cause Quinn's cheeks to tint, the way she so casually settles a palm against Quinn's thigh certainly helps.
"Mmmhmm," Mercedes mumbles knowingly, and grins deliciously at them both. "I bet you are."
"Quinn, have I told you how pretty you are?" Rachel announces suddenly, head cocking at Quinn as if she's studying a painting. "Santana, isn't she pretty?"
In that moment, Quinn decides the only way to handle Rachel is to catch up with her drunken state. "I think I need a drink."
"Oh God, please let me," Santana says immediately, scrambling out of her seat the minute Rachel starts leaning in her direction again. "What do you want, Q?"
"Just some champagne," she says, and feels like an idiot when her heart flutters as Santana squeezes lightly at her shoulder and nods. "Stop hitting on my date, Berry!" she adds, pointing menacingly at Rachel as she crosses the floor.
"She's getting you a drink," Mercedes announces the moment Santana is out of hearing distance, like that wasn't obvious. "Look who's got Santana whipped already."
"Shut up, Mercedes."
"It's cute," her friend clarifies. "Hella weird, but very cute."
"And I can't help but notice that Santana's wearing a different necklace than the one she was wearing to church," Rachel adds, adjusting herself in her chair as she throws a super cheesy grin at Quinn that is embarrassing even by association. "And I've also observed that you're wearing the necklace she was wearing to the aborted church ceremony."
"Yeah, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes," is her dry comment.
"Ooh," Mercedes, queen of gossip, is sufficiently intrigued. Her boobs push enthusiastically into Quinn's bicep as she leans in to fondle at Santana's necklace currently hanging between Quinn's cleavage. Only Mercedes can possibly make the gesture look even remotely platonic. "Spill, you."
It's the world's least effective interrogation and Quinn is mildly revolted that she wants to be a complete giddy idiot about all of it.
"There's nothing to spill," she insists, but her eyes follow Santana and her figuring hugging red dress as she leans on the bar and presents her fake ID, ordering their drinks. "Not yet, anyway."
"Don't give me that, Quinn Fabray." Mercedes pinches her, ignoring her pained and annoyed gasp. "It's not like I haven't known you long enough to know when you're hiding something."
"To be fair," Rachel adds, tilting the champagne into her throat. "Quinn usually hides everything."
Quinn passes along the pinch, making Rachel yelp.
"Good point," Mercedes muses. "But that doesn't mean she's getting out of this. Come on, Quinn. We're invested."
"Why ARE you so invested?" she asks, because it's kind of weird.
"Gives me something else to do other than glare at my flakey ex," Mercedes quips dryly. Quinn's expression sobers, as her eyes flit from Santana to Sam, sitting only one table away, clearly bored and tossing Jordan Almonds into the air, attempting to catch them with his mouth. "And it keeps Rachel from getting into Finn's pants again."
"That may happen anyway," Rachel sighs. "What?" she adds defensively when they both stare at her. "I'm weak, I'm on the rebound, he looks really really cute, and Santana is doing a miserable job of keeping me away from him."
A flash of annoyance that courses through Quinn. "Santana isn't your damn keeper, Rachel."
"Right, she's doing her own thing," Rachel nods patronizingly, surprisingly agreeable. "Like making out with you in cars and wearing a little necklace she didn't have before. So where'd she get the necklace from, Quinn?" Her lashes flutter, and Mercedes giggles.
Santana's still at the bar, but her fingers are at her collar bone, absently playing with the tiny little charm that Quinn put there.
God.
"… Okay," she finally relents. "I may have given her a necklace as a gift."
"You gave Santana bling?" Mercedes sounds disturbingly proud. "And on the first date? Lookit you, charmer!"
"Shut up," she snaps, because both she and Rachel are now squealing like penguins and drawing a lot of unneeded attention. "It's not that big a deal, okay?"
"Well, she's looking at it like it's a big freaking deal," Rachel comments, and Quinn hates how she flushes with pride.
"It's a promise," she admits, and then sighs, because she didn't meant to reveal that much. Not yet. Not without Santana's actual answer. "Dammit. I just…" Two sets of brown eyes stare at her expectantly, and she finally deflates. "I just… if things go well tonight I wanted to … you know… be with her. Officially. So the plan was to give her a gift and then maybe… you know… ask her to be my girlfriend."
Rachel's brow rises. She's practically vibrating in her seat. "So did you ask?"
Quinn wets her lips, and sucks in her breath. "Yes, I asked."
"And what did she say?"
"Quinn!" Blaine appears out of nowhere as her sudden savior, dapper in his black tux and mussed hair. "It's time to kick things off!"
Startled, Quinn can only stare dumbly.
"We're all singing?" Blaine prods. "Remember? I mean, this may not be a wedding reception anymore, but you know what they say, the show must go on! And that means you!"
Oh.
Right.
There are probably many reasons why Quinn has forgotten that once again, all the former Glee Clubbers have agreed to provide tonight's entertainment (free of charge). Through either nostalgia or the fact that Mr. Schue was too damn cheap to hire an actual band, they had all been tasked with finding a wedding-appropriate song to perform for the reception. Blaine put himself in charge of the music and had emailed her more than a month ago, badgering her for sheet music and a 'demo track' to make sure the band had the right tempo and key so they would be ready to 'hit it'.
Taking his cues directly from the Rachel Berry School of Control Freaks, he had even assigned the designated performers all distinct duets or solos, based on his perceived assessments of their strengths and weakness.
How had she landed a solo again? Quinn had three years of Glee Club to know her place, and she was an ensemble background sway-er and an occasional group-soloist at best. At least when it came time for the big performances. Just getting through 'Edge of Glory' without fainting was considered Quinn's feat of the year!
"Let's go, Princess," Blaine says, eyes sparkling with an absurd amount of cheer. "We need people looking at your beautiful face in order to elevate this disaster of a wedding."
Torn between taking Blaine's outstretched hand and sitting here with the Gossip Girls, Quinn hovers with indecision for only a minute, until Blaine loses patience and grabs hold of her gently, steering her up and out of her seat.
"See you guys in a bit," Quinn sighs, as Rachel seal claps with her enthusiasm and Mercedes offers a grinning thumbs up.
"Kill it, girl! Start us off strong!"
Quinn didn't want to start things off at all. She chose a very jazzy cover an already mellow and poppy song made famous by Dusty Springfield. Tabitha, who listened to the song more than once when Quinn practiced it, was only too happy to point out that this sixties icon of bubblegum pop later came out as a lesbian. Quinn has since decided to ignore the irony.
The song 'I Only Want to Be With You' certainly isn't meant to be taken seriously. It's retro-light, and she had initially hoped the safe and sugary choice would give her placement in the lineup that was right in the middle, right when she and everyone else were appropriately buzzed enough to appreciate the nostalgia.
Her song was NOT a show-opener, and Quinn is entirely too sober to just roll with it.
"Blaine, isn't this a little sudden?" She manages to grit through a well-practiced smile, gripping her friend's hand a little too tightly as he leads her away from the table and through the crowd in the direction of the stage. "I haven't even had a chance to warm up my vocal chords."
"Well, that's not what I heard!" he responds back immediately, and chuckles to himself. "I heard you had quite the warm up in your car in the parking lot!"
It takes an impressive amount of self-control not to grab hold of Blaine's lightly powdered nose and tweak hard. "You're one to talk."
"Touché." The squeeze he gives her is far from comforting. "Relax, you'll do great."
"Hold up, Elton!" Santana, the tongue-massager in question, steps suddenly in front of them, eyes narrowed and mouth a flat line. "Where are you going with my girl?"
In her hands are two flutes of champagne. Quinn gratefully grabs hold of one and downs it like a shot.
Somehow it gives her brainfreeze. That does not help.
"It's time to start the performances!" Blaine says cheerily, like this is somehow rehearsed. "And Quinn's got the perfect song to kick things off."
Santana's dark eyes flicker from Quinn's pleading expression to Blaine's cheerful grin. A perfectly trimmed brow rises. "Does she?"
"She does," he confirms. "I think you'll like it very much."
"Shut up, Blaine!" Quinn snaps, because now she's remembering the lyrics and … yeah… she's now going to be singing this song, with these words, to this woman in front of her. If infers much more than she thought it would at the time she chose it.
"I'd wish her luck!" Blaine adds, undeterred, and Quinn decides that she needs it. She hasn't sung live in front of a crowd this massive since they presented Mr. Schue with his Teacher of the Year award and even then it was just a line in an ensemble song. God, she hasn't done an entire song since…
Prom, last year. In an instant she's transplanted, dressed in a purple dress with a vision in red beside her, legs weak and balance shaky, as a warm hand grip sat her waist and the entire senior class of McKinley High stares at them with their jaws agape.
The history here… the déjà vu…
It's hard to miss.
Have they really come this far?
"Good luck, Quinn." The pressure of a warm kiss sinks into her skin, lingers on her cheek. Quinn sucks in a breath of air as she holds Santana's gaze. Santana toasts her with her own champagne flute, but her expression is warm and confident. "Don't break a leg, okay? I don't want to hold you up this time."
In return for that fabulous piece of advice, Quinn gives Santana her middle finger.
Santana laughs her ass off in return.
The stage is a flimsy little thing, made to be quick to set up and quick to dismantle, and Quinn can hear the creak her heels make as they make their way across it. She and Blaine grab attention easily as the band picks up their instruments and the DJ lowers the volume of the song currently blaring from his speaker.
Blaine, dapper and gorgeous in his well-fitted tux, steps up to the mike and begins with an intro that is almost embarrassing in its enthusiasm. He calls her a 'vision' with 'a honey of a voice' and plays the part of a 1940's band leader with such perfection he may as well be in black and white.
"Here she is, the lovely Quinn Fabray!" he finishes and claps harder than anyone as he turns away from the stage and beckons her forward.
Yep, here she is. Quinn Fabray, with an accelerated heartbeat and a crooked smile on a mouth perfectly lined with lipstick, gazes over the crowd of unfamiliar strangers and well-known classmates and teachers. She's got the band at her back and the microphone so close to her mouth she's pretty sure it's catching every little unsteady breath she's taking.
"Hi," she says, and winces when she notices the tremble in her voice. Why is she so nervous?
She feels naked on the stage. Quinn had meant for this party to be her coming out moment, a reflection of her evolving persona and a tribute to the depths of rapidly growing feelings for her best friend and sometimes worst enemy. But at the time she thought there would also be a wedding, and the focus of that wedding, the bride and groom, would be here too, with all the attention on celebrating them and their love.
This is attention on a different level and yes, Quinn Fabray always catches attention no matter what she does, but this…
People are staring at her now, not just Santana, or Rachel and Mercedes, who have been joined by Tina and are now all holding hands and grinning up at her like well-meant groupies, or even Brittany, who's open indifference has shifted to something that looks very close to anger as she stares up at Quinn's face. There's people who only know her as Quinn Fabray, that poor girl who had that baby, or that poor girl who was in the wheelchair, or that bitch who had them slushied, or the slut who got kicked out of her father's house.
This crowd, this TOWN, is full of familiars who think they know her because they know about her and it's not true at all. Quinn has no weapon against them. There's nothing she can do but look right back.
Helpless, her focus darts to where her date has an ankle twisted and all her weight shifted on one very high heel. Santana's expression is anything but comforting. Instead, her lover smirks, wearing a grin that looks, of all things, stupidly saucy.
"You got a little something on your face," she mouths, and presses deliberately at the spot on her own cheek with a red painted nail.
The very spot where Santana's kiss lingered just before Quinn climbed up on stage. With her bright red lipstick that Quinn knows from experience, transfers VERY easily.
The flush of horror that envelops her is mortifying as she slaps her hand on her cheek and hears the audience erupt in laughter. "Oh geez," she breathes, and it's stupid because she can't even see it, but everyone else can. The entire room can see the blotch of red, Santana's kiss imprinted on her cheek, stuck on her body like a very visible tattoo.
Santana Lopez just grins wider, and deliberately blows her a kiss.
She's proud. Of course she is. Quinn's been practically branded, and had anyone not already known who she came with to this wedding, well… they damn well do now.
Santana's made sure of it.
Quinn could be furious. She could be humiliated. Oddly, she's suddenly neither, because her date is SANTANA, and of course Santana would pull a stunt like this. This is what Santana does.
So Quinn does what she does, and rolls her eyes as she utters with a droll sigh into the microphone, "I'm sorry about the beauty mark here, but my date is a bitch."
The laughter roars once again, and there's a smattering of applauses and claps as Santana shrugs at the response and nods because yes, yes she is.
"And now that the comedy bit is done…" There's nothing else to do but wave her hand behind her. "Hit it."
Reliable and professional as always, the band begins the song. It's a good arrangement. She knows it is. Quinn initially chose it because she felt it matched Mr. Schuester and his pixie-like fiance's sappy courtship, but they're not here, so Quinn can only sing for herself, starting out slow, giving the music a bit of a jazzy feel to encourage some depth.
The song fits her limited voice, and though Quinn will never stand out among the stronger voices in the room, she knows she won't embarrass herself either.
So she loses herself into the music, bobbing her head as the guitar begins to strum and waits for her opening.
"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so," she begins, a light, velvet croon that melts into the music smoothly. "I only know I never want to let you go… 'Cause you started something, can't you see? Ever since we met you've had a hold on me. "
Helpless to her own heart, Quinn finds Santana once again. The smirk on that proud, bitchy face grows gentle, and Santana actually nods at her, swaying slightly to the beat. She's beautiful and she's obviously proud.
The open approval brings a flush to Quinn's cheeks.
" It happens to be true… I only want to be with you."
It's a silly song, disposable and easy to digest, like popcorn. This is no Amy Winehouse, or Adelle with haunting lyrics and a blistered edge, but as her voice ghosts over the crowd and her eyes connect repeatedly with Santana's, the lyrics take on an entirely deeper meaning, haunting in their truth.
This doesn't feel like a performance…
This is a serenade. Quinn is a woman who is obviously in love, and unable to do anything BUT sing at the person she adores, who smiles and nods and stares at her like she knows it and appreciates it.
"It doesn't matter where you go or what you do, I want to spend each moment of the day with you…"
And though her song and her heart can only focus on one person, she begins to see how her performance has affected the crowd. The guests have begun to smile, either knowing the song or enjoying it all the same. Even Sue Sylvester, out of place and yet completely at home in her bridal gown, simultaneously rolls her eyes and mouths the words at the same time.
"Look what has happened with just one kiss, I never knew that I could be in love like this. It's crazy but it's true, I only want to be with you."
Someone hoots, and there's another round of applauses. Santana grins at her, breathtaking with her sparkling eyes and her beautiful face, looking cheesy and stupid and everything Quinn never thought she would ever be for her.
It's Valentine's Day and Quinn is HAPPY, and that's reason enough, she thinks, to turn this failure of a wedding into a celebration of love.
She needs this song to match the fast pace of her heart. "Okay," she laughs, and rolls her hand in a 'speed-it-up' motion to the band behind her. "Let's make this a party."
And they do. They seem almost thrilled to do it, and suddenly the song goes faster and the crowd roars it's approval. This is the pace it's meant to be played, with giddy lovesick intensity. Rachel, Mercedes and Tina at the edge of the stage, have already drunkenly started their own choreographed shimmy, and unable to help herself, she waves them up to the stage. "Come on!"
Those three are always ready for a performance and they waste no time, giggling like Greek Muses as they rush up to the stage and take their place behind Quinn, falling into a sloppy waist dip that is embarrassingly fun to watch.
It's intoxicating, how this slow, jazzy number has turned a corner into an infectious rhythm that has the guests laughing and the dance floor filling up. Her friends shake and shimmy behind her and Santana looks horrified at the display… Quinn can't help but get caught up in the silliness of it.
And so she points directly at her lover, hips shifting enthusiastically as she belts out the chorus, "Now, listen, honey, I just want to be beside you everywhere… As long as we're together, honey, I don't care… 'Cause you started something, can't you see… Ever since we met you've had a hold on me…No matter what you do, I only want to be with you."
It's ridiculous cheese. Santana's hands are pressed to her mouth and her shoulders are shaking, but eyes sparkle with mirth and proud satisfaction, head shaking as she's nearly thrown off her feet by the hip-check that Kurt gives her as he presses his fingers into her cheek. She shoves him off and laughs up at Quinn.
"No matter what you do," she sings along with Quinn from the floor, both fingers pointing straight at her. "I only want to be with you."
It feels like an answer to a question that Quinn has been waiting for, and though her heart warns her that nothing will ever be that easy, that this can't be that easy, Quinn's caught up in the romanticism of it, and points back, offering a blown kiss to her lover and best friend.
The room is with her and Quinn is in her element, Santana's kiss branded on her cheek and the song coming out of her mouth the soundtrack to the celebration of her romantic heart.
The song ends and the room fills with laughter and applause. Her impromptu backup singers all come together, grabbing hold of her arm and forcing her into a bow. With a myriad of giggles, they drag her down the stairs as Blaine and Kurt set up for their duet.
"Woah, guys!" she snaps, because they're almost TOO enthusiastic, and she almost trips down the unsteady stairs of the stage.
"Sorry!" Rachel whispers, and then grins. "But that was so much fun!"
"It was so much fun!" Tina agrees, and then points a finger in Quinn's face. "But what the hell is it about Santana that has everyone so in love?! Can you actually tell me that?!" Quinn blinks, caught offguard by Tina's sudden glare, when her friend seems suddenly distracted by the movement on the stage. "Actually, hold that thought! Blaine!" she hollers, and then she's gone again.
Quinn doesn't have to time to even register where Tina went, because the woman in question has arrived to her side, hands sliding possessively around her waist and a painfully amused smile glittering on pleased, perfect red lips.
"That was quite the bubblegum showstopper, Quinn Fabray," she pronounces, and uses a cocktail napkin to wipe at Quinn's cheek. "Looks like the Head Cheerleader still knows how to turn on an audience. Fuck off!" she adds for Mercedes and Rachel's benefits, who immediately offer a combined 'aww' at the scene.
Quinn's fingers spread against Santana's biceps, forehead falling against her cheek in quiet mirth as Rachel decides to take offense. "I'll have you know that your date was absolutely amazing!"
"Oh was she?"
"She was absolutely amazing and you know it," Mercedes adds. "Not that we weren't too bad ourselves. Still got that choreo-down, don't we Rachel?"
They start actually recreating the dance, this time to the beat of Kurt and Blaine's eighties song on stage. Quinn squeezes Santana softly, regaining her attention.
"I do believe I was promised a drink," she whispers playfully. "Shouldn't you be working on getting that for me?" She's s giddier and more flirtatious than she's been tonight, but Quinn's heartbeat is quick and excited and she's high off her successful performance and the sweetness of this reunion. Perhaps the sudden bossiness is an unintended side effect. After all, no one has ever accused Quinn Fabray of being low maintenance.
"Oh?" Santana's brow arches even higher, not missing the change in attitude. "I do believe that someone gulped her drink down not five minutes ago."
"I think after a performance like that, someone deserves another one," Quinn responds just as quickly.
"Someone's got a really big head."
"Oh, does she?"
"Little bit," Santana says, and her smile is bright and white and too toothy to be genuine. "I don't gots time for it, Quinn! Maybe you should get me one!"
The flash of annoyance that comment gives her spurs an immediate response. "If my date is too busy to get me a drink then I can very easily find someone who will be more than happy to fill in."
Santana's smile falters, and Quinn winces.
Shit.
She's gone too far. It's far too easy to fall back into their regular dynamic, competitive and insulting, and Quinn hates that she went with it. Her threat is an empty one and she hopes, more than hopes, that Santana will know that. Their relationship is tentative and sensitive, and just the suggestion …
Santana is worried about infidelity. They both are. It's their mutual sore spot, she with her professors and fawning acting students and nameless drunken Facebook smooches and Santana with her… Brittany.
This will be something that they can NEVER joke about, least of all today.
"I'm sorry," she says immediately, and tightens her hold on Santana, trying hard to salvage the giddy mood. "I really am." Santana hasn't let her go quite yet, thank God. Quinn tests her luck by reaching forward to press a chaste kiss on Santana's suddenly pouty lips. "That was out of line."
This relationship isn't official, nearly yes, but not yet, and it's with Santana. They relate to each other a certain way yes, but she knows Santana's weaknesses better than anyone and there are certain 'tricks' she can't use. Not on her.
If there's one thing Quinn has learned in their tumultuous courtship, is that honesty is best when it comes to Santana.
Santana's expression is closed, but she absorbed the comment and the kiss. "Yeah it was," she agrees, mouth twitching with displeasure.
"I'm a bitch," she says immediately. "And I didn't mean that."
And maybe that's enough. Quinn's trembling heart gets a reprieve as Santana sighs, and her palms open to slide against Quinn's shoulders, bringing her in tighter.
"You're lucky you're a gorgeous bitch," she says quietly and with a smile she leans in to claim another kiss, this one longer and not at all chaste. Maybe they're causing a scene, but Quinn doesn't care. She smiles into the embrace and exhales in relief as Santana loosens her grip and rolls her eyes. "I'll be right back. With another drink for my date."
Quinn nods.
"If I hadn't just witnessed that I wouldn't have believed it," Mercedes announces suddenly, hooking her arm through Quinn's elbow and resting her chin affectionately on Quinn's bicep. "But did you and Santana actually have a minor snipefest that didn't end in mutual slappage?"
"Mmm," Quinn mutters back, and gives her friend a pat on her hand and a slow smile. "Crazy, right?" She blinks when she realizes Mercedes is missing a drunk friend. "Where'd Rachel go?"
"She got Finn-stracted," Mercedes says and waves her hand to that lost cause. "Seriously though, this thing with you two is kinda serious, isn't it? You looked really terrified."
It's unsettling that Quinn is that open about this. "I like her, Mercedes. And believe it or not, sometimes people do actually grow into better versions of themselves. You said it yourself, didn't you? This isn't high school anymore."
"Oh, I don't know about that," interrupts a smooth voice. Quinn's heart drops, her breath stops, and she's frozen in the wake of the unexpected person who interrupted the conversation and now stands directly in front of them. "Quinn Fabray gets what she wants at the expense of all her friends. I think it's exactly just like high school."
Quinn's spine stiffens, and her smile falters.
Brittany S. Pierce will never be as beautiful as Quinn, that's what Quinn's mother has told her anyway. Quinn still isn't sure she believes her. Quinn's facial symmetry is manmade and therefore almost perfect, but Brittany wears her flaws with grace and joy. She's magnetic and her confidence is enviable, and Quinn hates that she understands exactly why Brittany holds such power over the people she seduces, her date not excluded.
"Hi, Brittany," she begins, and straightens her spine, hoping like hell she can get through this with as much dignity as she can.
"Hi, Quinn," Brittany responds. Those beautiful blue eyes bore straight into Quinn, but it's the moisture behind them that strikes Quinn deep.
This isn't exactly a surprise. Quinn understands that this is not easy for Brittany. As much as she want to tell herself (and has told herself) that what has happened between her and Santana is only about the two of them, it's naïve to think that Brittany doesn't factor into this somehow. She's their mutual best friend at least in name, and Santana's very recent ex. She's openly declared her affection to Santana to both Santana and Quinn herself. And yes, maybe if Brittany hadn't already broken up with Sam, this would be a different situation, but the reality is that Brittany chose Santana, and yet Santana is here with Quinn and not here.
Quinn understands what it feels like to not be chosen. There are men in this room who have broken her heart and left her because of various reasons and yes, she was not innocent in any of them, but that doesn't chase away any pride or hurt.
She didn't understand Finn then but she understands it now. Her laser focus has been on Santana, and she has purposely ignored what their little displays of affection would do to Brittany. It was too easy to take Santana at her word and believe that Brittany had just accepted this.
She's not sure what kind of friend that makes her, to flaunt her happiness in front of Brittany despite the awkwardness and residual heartbreak, and it's terrible because she still cares.
They should be friends.
Judging by the look in her eyes, Brittany knows that they're not.
"Nothing's changed, has it Quinn?" Brittany asks, tone steady and terrifyingly cheerful. "You got your happy ending, and I guess that's what matters, right?"
"Brittany…"
"Stay out of this, Mercedes," Brittany snaps without missing a beat. "I'm talking to Quinn."
They're catching attention now, guests and students nudging at each other and looking in this direction. Eagers faces that know their history and understand what it means to have Brittany and Quinn looking at each other when Santana has so obviously traded partners.
"Brittany," she begins, and doesn't know what to say. "We can go somewhere… we don't have to make a scene…"
"No, it's okay! Because that's we do, right? We're the Unholy Trinity and we share everything. We've all made out with Finn. We all made out with Sam. We all slept with Puck the same year, why should be girlfriends be any different? Santana can just be one more thing we get to share."
"Brittany," she hisses, the heat flushing up her neck. "Just stop-"
"And let's be honest, we both know that Santana is just another prop for you. She's your new look. Cause the Ryan Seacrest Tattoo was getting old, and the Yale thing is just kinda stale, and we're out of high school guys so … You've even given her her very own collar to wear, right Quinn?"
Instinct overwhelms her, and her hand goes flying.
"Quinn!" Mercedes tries to stop her. She's not quick enough.
The slap that stings Brittany's cheek shocks even her. Brittany is startled, hand on her face as those blue eyes take Quinn's furious expression in.
Oh… shit.
"Brittany," she begins, regretful and ashamed.
"Brittany!" Sam appears suddenly and tries to pull Brittany away.
The touch spurs Brittany into action. "No, Sam!" she snaps, and jerks out of his grasp. With a red face and one last look at Quinn, she swivels on her heel and heads fast for the exit.
Quinn's palm stings as her eyes lift to meet with Sam's. The look he gives her is miserable and resigned, before he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away from them all.
To her credit, Mercedes says nothing.
"Shit," she hears behind them, some random nobody that catches her glare and immediately turns away, melting into the crowd.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"What the fuck just happened?" she hears, and turns miserably as Santana approaches with two champagne flutes in her hand. "Quinn?!"
Quinn doesn't know what to say… or what to do.
"Brittany mouthed off is what happened," Mercedes says suddenly, holding tight to Quinn's arm as she defends her to Santana. "I mean Britt's my homegirl, but if you ask me, she got off easy."
Santana's eyes are clouded and dark as she glances at the entrance of the hall and then back at Quinn. "Did you have to hit her?" she asks, angry and overwhelmed. "Did you?"
"Santana…"
But Santana only shakes her head, disappointed and obviously devastated, and shoves the glasses she's holding into Quinn's hands and turns on her heels. "I'll be back."
Regret rises into her throat like bile. "No, Santana. I'll go talk to her –"
"No, Quinn," Santana shakes her head fiercely but her eyes finally connect with Quinn's. "This isn't about you. This isn't about the three of us. This is about me and Brittany, so let me." Her eyes soften, and there's a moment, just a moment, where Quinn feels her heart tremble at the resigned sadness in Santana's expression. "I'll be back, okay?"
There's no time for acceptance. Santana is gone, chasing in Brittany's direction, and Quinn hates that despite Brittany's sneer about Quinn getting exactly what she wanted, she's pretty sure that this was EXACTLY how Brittany wanted it all to go.
Remember my resolution to write more this year so you're not stuck with an update after a cliffhanger for a month? I totally meant that! :D Also, this story does have a Quinntana happy ending planned so please don't kill me. :)