" – and then we went and walked around for a while, just talking. We went through Central Park, and it started snowing, so he gave me his coat, and B – it was great, really great."
"Quinn, if you're going to sound like a freaking Taylor Swift song, you're going to at least have to brew me coffee," Santana grumbled, pulling herself off of the cold couch. As she turned the corner to the kitchen, she was met with a bright freckled face, holding a warm mug.
"One cream, two sugars," she whispered, nuzzling her nose against her fiancee's, provoking a begrudging grin. Quinn was sitting on the counter as she had been the morning of her arrival, and Brittany resumed her place leaning against the stove, a cup of hot chocolate in both of their hands.
"So when are you leaving?" The two resumed the conversation they'd been holding before Santana had unceremoniously wandered into the kitchen. Still protesting the morning as the caffeine had not yet jolted her system, the Latina eyed her best friend readily, awaiting her response.
"In four days. We'll catch a red eye to Boston."
Were it not for the dazzling smile covering every each of Quinn's perfectly crafted features, and the glow radiating off of her every motion, Santana might have said something. She might have reminded her of his reputation in high school. She might have warned her to be careful. She might have tried to stop her, telling her it was the worst idea imaginable. But, she kept her mouth shut, much to her fiancee's surprise.Sometimes you just have to let us mess up on our own. She'll know what to do honey, just trust her.
Walking slowly, scarf draped loosely around her neck, two young women circled the park for the second time, a cool breeze fluttering their contrasting hair and nipping at their cheekbones. Children flooded every square inch of the grass, and a smile tugged at the Latina's lips – a smile that did not go unnoticed by the inquisitive blonde to her right.
"I never struck you as the type for baby fever Lopez," Quinn cajoled. "Are you going soft?"
"Never. Lima Heights Lopez is still alive and kicking, just dormant I suppose when it comes to pig tails and strollers and toddlers," she replied honestly, despite herself.
Perching on an empty bench near a group of kindergarten aged children, the two settled comfortably, taking in their surroundings in silence.
"I don't wanna be the husband Britt-Britt."
"We can't both be the wives, can we? You gots to go get money to feed the baby Tana." The tiny Latin girl sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. "I made it. You gots to feed it."
Santana snuck into the kitchen through the back door, peering into the cabinets for appropriate food to bring back to the freckled blonde and their imaginary child. She had fit a bag of chips, a popsicle, and a can of soda in her arms before turning around to meet her mother's gaze, which immediately softened at her daughter's look of terror.
"Is Brittany making you be the husband again?" The little girl nodded, blushing. "You know why, don't you?" Santana shook her head, signaling that she did in fact not know why. "She trusts you mija. She knows you would never let anything bad happen to her, so she expects you to handle things when they come towards you two – like you when you kicked that boy on the playground because he made fun of her pig tails," the older woman explained, laughing quietly at the memory of the two pint-sized girls running in the opposite direction of the crying boy. Her daughter had said but four words – "yo no lo hice."
"So I gots to be the husband so I can always protect her?" The elder Latina nodded, half-smiling as her daughter gave another resigned sigh, before looking up at her mother with hopeful eyes. "Mami, can babies eat popsicles?"
"Santana?" The woman merely hummed in recognition of the fact that she was being addressed. "Before I leave tomorrow, I wanted to say thank you."
Eyebrows scrunched and a look of disbelief on her face, a familiar expression Quinn was more than accustomed to seeing, the Latina paused for a moment before formulating a response. "Why?"
"For trusting me – with the proposal, and being your maid of honor, and well, with Puck."
"You can thank Brittany for every single of those Q." I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in this world. Admit that you want Quinn as our maid of honor – she's the only person you tolerate aside from me. She'll know what to do honey, just trust her."She has made me realize so much about myself and the world around me, so anything good I've ever done is probably thanks to her."
"I wish that you could see that you bring out good in her too S. I have never seen Brittany so secure in who she is. You gave her the strength to stand up for herself. Your love has completely changed her; please try and remember that. What happened wasn't your fault, and you've been amazing with her since."
Santana felt her chest constrict at the mention of Christmas Eve's events, and brushed the conversation away quickly, the carefully constructed emotional walls of high school making a sudden reappearance. "Alright Fabray, any more of this of this feelings crap, and I'll think you've lost your edge. Let's grab Britts and celebrate your last night in town."
"Another round please," the caramel skinned woman yelled in the bartender's direction, slapping a twenty on the counter and sliding it toward him, a little unsteady in her heels. Nodding, he filled three shot glasses with tequila, and slid them back across the bar with her change.
Leaning casually onto the bar, toward the thin woman, he addressed her with a low, smooth voice. "You know, I see you buying shots, but I haven't seen you with anyone on the dance floor, and trust me, I've been watching every chance I could," the server said, smiling cheekily. "You're a beautiful woman, so it's a shame to think your boyfriend would let you out on your own. I would never let you leave my – "
Saved by a petite blonde, Santana didn't have a chance to reply before Quinn flew into the bartender's face. Pointing toward her best friend and then the hoping-to-get-lucky staff member, she said two words. "Lesbian. Asshole." The Latina couldn't help but hide her grin. "Again, that was," pointing to Santana, "very gay and happily engaged, and" poking the tall man in the chest, "fucking asshole. We clear?"
Grabbing a caramel hand in her own, Quinn navigated their way through the writhing bodies, looking for one in particular as the Latina attempted to keep the shots steady in one hand, failing readily.
"Not again," the blonde heard a raspy voice behind her utter quickly. The three had been drunk together more times than they could count. Regardless of how much they remembered of each night, three things were certain – the Unholy Trinity always lived up to their well-established drunk roles. No longer angry with Puck, Quinn took out her frustration on any male she could find fault in, and frequently attempted to jump into bar fights, even if she had never met anyone involved. Santana was a ticking time bomb, and no one could ever be sure of what it was that would set off the waterworks, but without fail, she had a breakdown. And as for Brittany, it was a miracle that she had not yet been arrested for indecent exposure. "Off the table Britt," Santana instructed, pointing toward the ground. "We've had this discussion."
Smirking, Brittany hopped off with ease, and the two readjusted her form fitting dress before the blonde entangled herself around the small waist of her fiancée. "I know, I know. Your eyes only," she whispered through long dark hair, sending an involuntary shiver down Santana's spine. Lips ghosting the earlobe in front of her, the blonde intertwined the two women's fingers, and breathing heavily, her other hand tracing circles into a toned tanned thigh, she whispered, "Dance with me. Show them what they're missing," before tugging on the hand in her hold and making a beeline for the middle of the room.
The sexual tension between the two can be seen by a blind man, and it was only more obvious as their bodies meshed on the dance floor, curve to curve, wrapped within each other. Quinn, who'd taken a seat at the bar, turned around to shoot a gloat at the bartender from earlier. After catching his eye, she leaned over and spoke directly to him. "You never had a chance buddy. They were born to love each other."
"Any with you then? You certainly aren't hard on the eyes."
A pair of strong arms wrapped Quinn's tiny waist, pulling her close to his chest. "She's with me," the much taller man replied, before planting a kiss on the petite blonde's cheek. "Hey babe."
"Creepy bartender, this is Puck. Puck, this is creepy bartender, who tried to hit on Santana." A cracked smile quickly covered the tanned face of McKinley's badass alumni, and he could hardly keep in a chuckle before turning to the embarrassed server and asking how the situation had played out.
Upon hearing a recount of Quinn's verbal smackdown, he pressed a quick kiss to her neck, before taking her hand and pulling her onto the dance floor. "Very nice Q," he laughed again. "Kind of feels like old times."
"Better than old times Noah; I don't get drunk on two wine coolers anymore, and you actually understand condoms," she replied with a wink, before dragging him further onto the dance floor to find the two women she came with.
"Honey, please open up. I got you a bottle of water and some Tylenol."
"Britt, this is worse than when that freshman used too much hairspray in the locker room and I went full Linda Blair on the back of her head. This hangover is – " she was cut off by another resounding round of alcohol induced vomit before her fiancée managed to jimmy the door open.
"Oh my god Santana. This is like that goo on Poltergeist. What did you even – " Before she could finish her sentence, the stench of the bathroom hit her like an 18-wheeler, and she found herself doubled over the sink, as the slightly green Latina had a death grip on the toilet, the two know simultaneously emptying their stomachs. "Now I'm really never drinking again."
When Quinn made it home later that morning, she found the two women surrounded by water bottles and Saltines, curled up together on the floor with a cool washcloth on both of their foreheads. Two hangovers in less than a week had to have been wreaking hell on their bodies, so the thin blonde decided to leave well enough alone, pulling a blanket off of their bed and covering their shivering bodies.
Later, she promised herself, we'll talk about it later.A/N: The next chapter will pick up a bit, because as you might have guessed, there is going to be a confrontation between Britanna and Quinn in regards to a situation that has been skirted around thus far. I apologize that it has taken this long to get this chapter up, a combination of working full time plus writer's block really kicked me in the ass, but I want to thank you all again for reading and reviewing. You are all wonderful!