Author's Note: Thanks so much for the previous reviews. Keep them coming if you like what I'm doing, or even if you don't (and you know who you are). I respond to the ones I'm able to and keep a file of the anonymous ones to look over. It really inspires me to write and helps me work out things. I feel like I'm a driver, and I know my destination, and my headlights are showing only what's directly in front of me, but I have no idea what else will be along the way. Responding to your reviews and reading your comments helps me figure all that out.
Also, and I can never say this enough, thank you for reading.
"So, suicide…? What's that like?" Santana asked, staring at the brunette in what should rightfully have been her spot on the couch next to Brittany. Never mind that Britts was dating rollerball. They always cuddled when watching movies; today shouldn't have been any different. But no, Tubbers had to invite Thumbelina over and ruin her favorite Christmas tradition for a second year in a row. What the fuck, people? Really?
"It hurts a lot, actually," Rachel said, looking down at her mending wrists, or so Santana guessed. Her papi had told her that much. Lima wasn't the biggest town in the world, and news of a teen trying to slit her wrists had made the rounds pretty fast, especially at the hospital.
"Yeah, I figured, but, I mean… why?" Santana asked.
"Because you're cutting into your arm, through-"
"No, I get that, dwarf. I'm not stupid. I mean…" Santana paused, thinking, changing tactics. "Quinn and Brittany, we've known them since the start of freshman year, but me and you? I've known you since second grade. And you still dress like a second grader, present outfit excluded. Nice sweatshirt by the way."
"Thanks."
"No prob. So, knowing each other that long, I'm kind of surprised," Santana said. "Crying, singing, annoying everyone. Trying to make some kind of ridiculous comeback or something. Yeah, everyone expects that. But going all psycho and trying to end it? Gotta admit. Never saw that one coming."
"Really?" Rachel asked, and the more she talked, the louder she got. She stood and tossed the pillow she'd been hugging back onto the couch. "You never thought it would happen to anyone you bullied? You just thought you could pick on me for all those years and nothing would ever happen?"
Santana stood, too, now getting just as angry as the brunette in front of her, because, okay, it might have been slightly her fault that mini-Barbra went all nuts and tried to kill herself, but that didn't give her the right to call her out on it. "Wait, you're blaming me for this? Seriously?"
"Yes!" Rachel nearly screamed at her, an outburst that took them both by surprise. Realizing that she was so loud, Rachel looked up towards the staircase, then back at Santana. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, it was in a quieter tone. "Partially, at least. You and everyone else that bullied me for years."
"Including Quinn," Santana said, nodding towards the stairs. "And yet you two seem especially friendly this morning."
Santana noted with a little giddiness the shock that registered on her face. "I'm not- We're- I mean, that's not even-"
Wow, is Rachel Berry speechless? I've honestly never seen that, Santana thought. Hell, I didn't even think it was possible. "What, Berry?" she asked with a smirk. "No paragraph of speech about how you're not into girls and how making assumptions is wrong?"
"Making assumptions is wrong," Rachel said quietly.
"I guess," Santana said, waving her hand as if to brush away the comment. "But I'm not actually making assumptions here, am I?" Rachel didn't say anything, choosing instead to stare down at her feet, so Santana continued. "It's just like back in second grade."
This time Rachel looked up. "What?"
"Come on, Berry," Santana said. "I may not like you, but that doesn't mean I don't pay attention. You don't just give a girl all your Red Hots and a friendship bracelet and ask her to be BFFs out of nowhere."
Rachel stared at Santana, long enough to make her uncomfortable and start making jokes in her head about trying to steal her soul, and she was just about to say something when Rachel asked, almost too soft for Santana to catch, "You remember that?"
And it was the sad little weak way that she asked that reminded Santana of Brittany that time back in ninth grade when she had her tonsils taken out. She'd had to stay out of school for a week, and when Santana had gone to visit her that first afternoon, she'd been drugged out of her mind and asking for ice cream. It was all Santana could do not to go into full Candy Striper/Naughty Nurse mode and start taking care of her right then. But A) Brittany had a mom to do all that for her and B) she couldn't have anyway, because she couldn't even admit to herself how much she cared about Brittany back then. Now, though…? So, damn it. Why did fucking Berry have to sound so much like that?
"Of course I remember it," Santana said, using the soft caring voice she considered her 'Brittany voice'. Damn it. "It was the first time…" Santana stopped, looking back at the stairs. If anyone else was around, or God, even if the lights were on all the way, she wouldn't have said it. Voice going back to hard for a moment, she said, "I swear, if you ever tell anyone else this, I will cut you. And I don't mean that as a vague threat. I mean the scars you got from those little paper cuts," she nodded towards Rachel's wrists, "will be the least of your problems." Rachel gave an audible gulp of fear that made Santana sure the girl understood her. Going back to 'Britt-voice', Santana said, "It was the first time that… that another girl ever liked me."
"Another… girl?"
"Yes, midget," Santana said, closing her eyes and shaking her head, because, really? This was, like, her biggest fucking secret ever, and she was sharing it with Rachel fucking Berry of all people. What the actual fuck? "Another girl. As in, not a boy."
"Does that mean…" Rachel started to ask, staring at Santana. "You mean… are you-"
"If you finish that statement, I will ends you," Santana said, pushing Rachel in the chest until she plopped back down onto the couch. Santana stood over her, looking down at the tiny diva. "Literally. Now, see, the reason I'm telling you this is…" Santana sighed, because saying this was almost literally killing her. "…it's so I can say that I'm… ugh! I'msorryokay?"
"What?" Rachel asked, staring up at her. "I didn't-"
"I'm sorry, okay!" Santana shouted at her this time causing Rachel to flinch back into the couch. "Madre de dios, you make this so fucking difficult, Berry. I've been giving it a lot of thought since my dad told me you went nuts and tried to off yourself, and while I still think it's kind of a pussy way out, I am actually sorry if I caused you to do it. Y'know, all the slushies and names and stuff."
"And for sleeping with Finn?" Rachel asked.
Santana scoffed. "No. I mean, yeah, sure, I'm sorry I slept with Finnept, but not because of you. I'm sorry for that one for me. Besides, I'm pretty sure that same weekend you were planning on breeding with St. Jackass, so the way I see it, you can't actually get mad over that one."
"What about not telling me?" Rachel asked. "You could apologize for that."
"Okay, now you're just reaching, gnome," Santana said, going back to her chair and flopping again across the armrests rather than sitting in it. "We're not friends, and I don't owe you anything. Not even the truth. Besides, everyone else in the Glee Club knew about it, all your so-called friends, and they-"
"They're not my friends," Rachel said, teeth clenched.
"Not even Lady Face?" Santana asked, turning her head to look at Rachel. "I thought you and him were all BFF at Sectionals. What happened there?"
"He was never my friend," Rachel said, picking up the pillow and wrapping her arms around it again. "I tried to be nice to Kurt, but he never really cared about me. He just used me for my musical knowledge, just like Glee Club uses me for my voice. No one really cares about me. They all just want something from me, and then when they have it, everyone just tosses me to the side. All throughout school, everyone has just-"
"Oh my God," Santana said, throwing her hands up in the air. "Just stop talking. Jesus!" Santana turned in her seat until she was sitting upright and facing Rachel. "Look, life sucks. I get it. People generally suck, too. They use you and don't care about you and blah, blah, blah. Yeah. That's just how life is. You want my advice?" Rachel stared at Santana with tears in her eyes, and Santana couldn't tell if it was from what she was saying or from Rachel's previous pity party moments earlier, but the brunette nodded anyway. "Fuck. Them."
"What?" Rachel asked, looking over the edge of the pillow.
"No, seriously," Santana said. "Fuck'em. They don't like you? So fucking what? Get yourself a couple of really good friends- which, clearly you've done because you've stolen mine- and don't give a fuck about what the rest say."
"I didn't steal your friends," Rachel said. "Quinn-"
"Is that really what you're taking from my advice here?" Santana asked. "Because this is, like, premium quality, Grade-A Auntie Santi advice, and you're focusing on that? Really? Look, I know you'd never actually take them back to the Shire with you. If they ever had to choose between your stubbly little self and my hotness… well, I mean, that's not even a contest."
Rachel was gaping at her like she'd just grown a third boob but not saying anything, so Santana went on. "So, yeah, fuck those losers. Don't let them determine how you feel about you. If you think you're some special little snowflake or whatever bullshit people like you use to feel good about yourself, then fucking be that snowflake. I may not like you, but I don't have to, right? You don't have to have everybody like you. Or anybody for that matter. Just, y'know, like yourself."
Rachel sat there absorbing what she'd just been told while Santana reached over and pulled her bag of chips from the floor beside her chair. Opening the bag, she pulled out a couple and tossed them into her mouth, savoring the burn all the way down as she crunched them and swallowed.
After a few minutes of watching Santana eat chips and sip from her coffee, Rachel asked, "So, umm… you and Brittany."
"Is there a question in there somewhere, tiny?"
"I just…" Rachel started, clearly nervous. Good. "When she was saying that she, umm… 'ate'-"
"I think, Berry," Santana said, loudly interrupting her, "that you should leave what Britts and me do to Britts and me." She arched an eyebrow at the nosey little girl, not as well as Quinn could, but damn it, the way that whore did it was astounding. No one could do that fucking eyebrow arch like the Ice Quinn could. That, slapping, and finding just the right insult to tear someone to pieces… these were the reasons she was Head Cheerio. And that insulting shit… fuck, Q was good at it. Santana's were funny and Coach Sylvester's were crazy, but they were blunt sticks compared to Quinn. Q's insults were like a katana, like a razor blade compared to them. She was like a surgeon of verbal abuse, knowing just the right insults to use against people.
"Brittany and I," Rachel said quietly.
"Brittany and you what?" Santana asked, staring her down.
"No, when you said 'Brittany and me'," Rachel said, growing even quieter under Santana's deadly stare. "It should have… been… Brittany and… I."
"See, that shit right there is why nobody likes you," Santana said. "You don't have to correct people and be little miss perfect all the time."
"I like to help people," Rachel said meekly.
"No, you like to be right," Santana shot back. "You treat everything like a competition, and you have to be the best. You can't just be. You know when people usually want your help? When they actually ask for help. Not when your 'help' is thrust upon them. Just… chill the fuck out, okay?"
Again, another few minutes of silence hung between them, and Santana was getting fucking sick of it. Where was Brittany, anyway? How long did it take for her girl to pee? And Quinn? How long of a fucking phone call was that supposed to take? It was almost like… well shit. Fucking Brittany Susan Pierce. Santana loved the girl, but sometimes… Ugh! She knew. Brittany fucking knew that she was going to apologize to Rachel. That's why she'd left as soon as Quinn had. Probably to keep her out of the room as long as she could. Britts might not have been like everyone else, but the girl knew people. One look at Santana, and she must have fucking known that she was going to apologize for pushing Rachel over the crazy cliff. Damn that girl. She loved her, but… just damn.
"Can I ask you a question?" Rachel asked, looking over at Santana.
"Whatever, munchkin." Fuck, might as well. Who knew how long they'd be down here by themselves. No, fuck that. If those two blondie bitches weren't back in the next couple of minutes, Santana would go up there and drag them back down here her damn self.
"Maybe it's stupid, but…," Rachel started, biting her lip. "Well, back in second grade… why'd you give it back? The bracelet. I gave it to you… I liked you… because you didn't treat me like everyone else did. And you seemed to like it. To like me. Then, the next day you threw it back at me and started being mean to me. I never understood it."
"Do you remember Kathy Williams?" Santana asked.
"The girl that moved away when we were in eighth grade? Yes…"
"Yeah," Santana said. "She said you were a freak because you had two dads." Rachel had this pained pitiful look in her eyes, and it hurt Santana to look at it so she looked away, over at the movie that was still paused on the television. "She said that if I was your best friend, then I'd be a freak, too, and all the other girls would hate me. She was the most popular girl in school. I saw how they treated you already, and I didn't want that, so I just… kinda fell in line, I guess."
They were quiet for another long moment, before Santana finally said, "I'm sorry, Rachel." And in that moment, it wasn't Cheerio Santana Lopez apologizing to Glee Club diva loser Rachel Berry. In that one quiet apology, she was just one eight year old girl saying 'I'm sorry' to the girl that she liked.
When Rachel didn't say anything, Santana turned back to find her staring at her, tears starting to pool in her eyes. "You called me Rachel."
"Yeah, well," Santana said, scratching at the back of her neck. "Don't get used to it, Berry."
Rachel stood from where she was and moved over to Santana's chair. "I'm going to hug you now."
Santana held up a hand, blocking her open arms. Had the girl not learned anything? Jesus. "No, you're really not," she said, trying her best to ignore the hurt look on Rachel's face. "Just… go sit down… and…" Damn that fucking puppy-with-a-broken-leg look! "Fine!" Santana yelled, raising up and wrapping her arms around the girl, hugging her like eight year old Santana had always wished she could.
After a minute, Santana finally broke away- well, okay, pushed her away- and sat back down, Rachel smiling down at her with this shy little girlie smile. "God, just stop looking at me like that," Rachel wouldn't, though, so Santana did the only rational thing she could think of to punish- umm, distract her. "Here, just, have some of my potato chips, okay?"
Quinn had walked upstairs to take the phone call from Leroy and Hiram. She knew they'd be calling eventually, but she thought they could surely get through at least one movie before they'd start freaking out. Little did she realize.
"No, no, she's fine," Quinn assured Hiram. "You can talk to her if you want to, but I wouldn't if I were you."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because you want Rachel to think that you trust her," Quinn said simply. She waved at Santana's mom as she passed, walking back through the house to the entry hallway for some privacy. "Same reason I didn't tell her who was calling when I answered the phone. The same reason I'm planning on lying to her and telling her it was my mom that called if she asks." Quinn didn't want to lie to Rachel, not after they'd basically promised not to lie to each other, but this was for her own good, right? Surely God would be cool with that little white lie. It wasn't like a huge lie this time. Not like last year with the paternity of the baby and all.
"We do trust her," Hiram said. "That's not why we're calling. It's just that-"
"That you don't trust me," Quinn finished for him. "And I get it. I'm a horrible person and a bully. I know. We all know."
"Quinn…" Hiram said, that weird mix of guilty and losing patience that parents get when they're in the wrong but don't want to hear it. "Rachel being bullied is all our faults. Everyone's. Yours for doing it, Rachel's for not telling us about it, and mine and Leroy's for not getting her to open up when she came home crying. There's no one innocent in this situation. And, from what I can tell, we're all trying to make it better. You included. So just stop, okay?"
Quinn sighed, then blew a puff of air up, hitting the hair hanging there. "You're right. I'm sorry. I forget you're not Leroy. You don't hate me as much as he does."
"He doesn't hate you, Quinn, and neither do I," he said. "We're both just concerned for our daughter's well-being most of all. And we both believe that people can change. You don't seem to be the same girl that my daughter's letters complained about. All we can do now is give you a fresh start like Rachel has and go from there."
"You mean that?" Quinn asked, taken aback. "You'd really just forget about all the stuff I've done?"
"No, not forget," Hiram said. "But if Rachel is willing to forgive you, then we can try as well."
"Even Leroy?"
"I'll… talk to him," he said cautiously. "But yes, even Leroy believes deep down that people can change, too. He just… it's been a rough week for us, you understand. And reading those letters on the day before she was supposed to come home. Knowing in just a couple of weeks that she'd be going back to school and facing that again, and knowing that, God forbid there be a next time, that you might not be there. It's just been… stressful."
"I understand," Quinn said. "Well, I mean, not completely, but I get it. I've had a lot of those worries, too. Trying to figure out how I can be there for Rachel at school and keep her from being bullied. It's… weird, you know. Going from being the one bullying people- bullying Rachel- to trying to keep her safe from bullies."
"I don't," Hiram said. "Leroy would. He used to be a bully when he was in school. I was more Rachel. I was generally the one getting bullied."
They were quiet for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, when Quinn finally, quietly asked, "Hiram… Did you ever think about… about doing what Rachel did?"
Hiram sighed. It seemed there had been a lot of that going around. "I wish I could say that I never did, but… there were times. I had my share of bullies."
"My father," Quinn said bitterly, remembering the conversation back at the hospital that first night.
"Among others," Hiram said. "As hard as it is now for gay kids in your school, as much as your friend Kurt was bullied before he transferred, it was even worse back then if you can imagine. Homosexuality was looked at as a mental disorder for the longest time. It was easy for people to call us fags and retards in the same breath. And there were no role models like there are now. Even celebrities that everyone assumed were gay… no one ever talked about it." Hiram took a deep breath, calming his nerves or getting rid of the memories, Quinn couldn't tell which. "So, yes, your father was one of them, but he was nowhere near the only one."
"I'm sorry," Quinn said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
"No, it's okay," Hiram said. "It was hard for a long time, but it got better. I have… well, had… a wonderful husband that I love. We were given a beautiful baby girl that has been a joy and a blessing every single day. Lee's family has opened back up to him over the years and welcomed me in as a son. There were hard times, but the good has always outweighed the bad. Things aren't great right now, but I have faith that they'll get better again."
"And if they don't?" Quinn asked, unable not to.
"You have to have faith, Quinn," Hiram said. "That's all you can do."
After a few more minutes of conversation in which Hiram reminded Quinn of Rachel's medication times, and Quinn assured him that everything was taken care of and that Rachel was having a good time, which, okay, may or may not have been a lie. Quinn couldn't really tell. She'd been so quiet since they'd gotten there, but they were watching movies, so there wasn't really that much talking. Not like usual, anyway.
Usually whenever they watched movies, it was always loud and obnoxious. Okay, really, that was mostly Santana, but she and Brittany got into it, too. They would ramble on through a movie, talking about the characters, their motives, their clothes. They'd wonder if the leads were really sleeping together on set or if those were just rumors. During one particular crying fit last year in which Quinn was hormonal and upset that maybe the Grinch never would find true love and experience what Christmas was all about, Santana had pulled out her laptop and shoved it Quinn's face. It was on the web page for IMDB, and she was suddenly looking at Taylor Momsen, and, holy crap, Cindy Lou Who was a trashy slut now. That had got them all laughing, and they could barely watch the rest of the movie without making jokes about Cindy and the Grinch hooking up now that she was almost eighteen.
This year, it was so much more subdued, though. Rachel was part of it, true, but it wasn't just her. Santana and Brittany weren't the same this year. Now that Brittany was dating Artie and Santana was just angry at everything because of that, it was stressful. It was kind of a turnaround from last year, honestly. Quinn was probably the most normal one in the room. What a sad thought.
Ending the call with Hiram, Quinn passed through the kitchen again, going towards the basement, only to be stopped by Brittany sitting on the floor in front of the door. "Umm… Hey, Brittany. What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," Brittany said, smiling and patting the floor beside her. "Sit, please. I wanted to talk about Rachel's present."
"Okay…" Quinn said, still feeling a little unsure. Brittany was acting weird… well, weirder. Weird for her. "What about it?"
"I found the perfect place to get one," Brittany said. "At the mall. I went there last week, and they have a cat that had a kaboodle a few weeks ago, and the guy said they would be old enough to get one soon, and I was thinking you could get one of those. And I was hoping we could go there today. I still need to a get a present for Artie, and you said on the phone last night that you still haven't gotten anything for Sam." One look at Quinn's face had Brittany backtracking, though. "If you're still getting something for Sam. You don't have to. I just thought, you know, if you wanted."
"I haven't really thought about it," Quinn said, running hands through her hair and shaking it out. "I know I probably should, and it's only two days until Christmas, so now is definitely the time, but…"
"But you're not sure if you still want to date him," Brittany said. It was always creepy how she did that. She thought a ballad was a male duck or that the square root of 4 was rainbows, but when it came to people, it's like she was psychic. How could someone be so dumb but so smart at the same time? "I understand," she continued, dropping her voice down so no one else could hear. "I feel kind of the same way. I care about Artie so much. He's nice and sweet and smart, and when I look at him I think that maybe I could love him. But Santana… She's mean to everyone, and she hates everything, and she always has some nasty thing to say, but… I love her. I look at her, and I see flying cars and robot maids."
The future, Quinn thought with a smile as she lay her head on Brittany's shoulder, though it quickly faded. She didn't see any future with Sam. She wasn't even sure if she could see them making it to prom. Not everything had to be about the future, though, right? Just because Brittany could see herself and Santana together someday didn't mean they would be. And Quinn not being able to see a future with Sam didn't mean there wasn't one. Maybe she should just take it one day at a time. Hadn't their fight been over something stupid and petty, anyway? The truth? She could do the truth with Sam, right? Okay, no, probably not, but she could lie to him enough to keep him satisfied. She was a Fabray. That's what they did.
"I should get something for Sam," Quinn said. "I just have no idea what to get him. And it's only two more days, so I need to go ahead and get Rachel's present, too. I just don't know if she'll like it or appreciate it. I mean, what if one of her dads are allergic?"
"They're not," Brittany said, letting her head fall back against the door. She looked like she was counting, but after two and a half years, the odd things Brittany did rarely ever surprised Quinn anymore.
"How do you know, Britts?" Quinn asked, pulling away a little to look at her.
"I listen to Rachel," Brittany said, wrapping an arm around Quinn's waist. "She said one time that her dads or other family had given her kittens in the past, but that she gave them away because they weren't perfect. Which I don't get. I mean, how can a pet be perfect or not perfect? They just are. It's like with people. People can't be perfect or unperfect. They're just people."
Ignoring the rest of what Brittany had said, two emotions hit Quinn. The first was hurt. She listened to Rachel, too, didn't she? She listened to everyone that talked, even if she didn't care what they were saying. Rachel was no different. The other emotion was worried. She decided to go with that one. "Brittany, are you sure? I don't want to upset her or have her give away it away. I really think it'll help her, but I don't want her to just get rid of it."
"Don't worry, Q," Brittany said. "That was old Rachel. New Rachel wouldn't do that." And again, it seemed Brittany was someone voicing Quinn's own concerns. "And I know you listen to new Rachel, but you didn't listen to old Rachel. Not really. You just heard the stuff you could make her sad with."
"That's…" She wanted to deny it, but Brittany was nearly always right about stuff like this. Quinn stopped and really thought about it. It was true. She hurt people and she was good at it. She'd hurt Rachel most of all. All of that she knew. Thinking about what she actually knew about Rachel, though, Quinn realized it wasn't fun facts about her or simple knowledge as one person to another. It was ammunition. "Brittany," Quinn asked after a silent minute. "Am I a bad person?"
"Q, no," Brittany said, pulling her into a serious Brittany hug. "You're not a bad person. I think you're a sad person most of the time, but not bad." Quinn wanted to pull back, wanted to ask why she thought she was sad, but Brittany wouldn't let her go. Instead, she squeezed her even tighter, pulling her in even closer. "Your mom and dad made you sad for a long time, Quinn. Before they ever kicked you out. And I'm super glad that your mom makes you smiley now, but your dad still makes you frowny without even being here. And being sad makes you mad and you take it out on people. It's like when San made me watch Star Wars with her, and Yoda said 'fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering'. Except with you, it's sad that leads to anger."
"I'm afraid sometimes, too," Quinn said, letting the words slip out before she could stop them. On some other level, she was pocketing the part about Santana making Brittany watch Star Wars with her. That girl was such a closet nerd.
"I know," Brittany said, rubbing her back. "You and San have that in common."
"S gets scared, too, B?" Quinn asked. "About what."
"The same thing you get scared about sometimes," Brittany said. "If you both were just honest, you'd be happier."
Quinn didn't say anything. What could she say? She knew that Santana loved Brittany as much as Brittany loved her. Because of school, though, Santana would never come out. They'd all seen how Kurt was bullied to the point that he had to transfer. There was a death threat, and even reporting that didn't stop the bullying. Sure, the Unholy Trinity was on top at William McKinley, but how long could they possibly stay that way if people found out that they were gay. Or… that… Santana and Brittany were gay, anyway. Not Quinn. Never Quinn. There would always be people like Missy Gunderson or Meghan Abbott or any of the other backstabbing Cheerios that would be more than willing to take their place to be popular.
Then something else occurred to Quinn. Brittany knew. "Brits," Quinn said, quietly. "You wouldn't tell anybody what you know, would you?" She had to know, to make sure. "Not even Santana?"
"Of course not, Quinn," Brittany said, finally releasing her. "You haven't even told me, so I couldn't tell anybody else."
"Thank you," Quinn said, genuinely relieved. Or as relieved as she could be. She wasn't sure if she could trust Brittany since the girl had a penchant for spilling information she shouldn't, but no one knew about Santana. She had to assume she was as safe as her.
Quinn rose up off the floor, brushing any dirt and dust off of her jeans. She then reached out a hand to Brittany to help her up, but the taller blonde turned her head, refusing to meet her eyes. "Brittany…?"
Brittany turned back to her, looking guilty. "Hi?"
"Britts, why aren't you getting up so we can go back downstairs?" Quinn asked. Then realization then hit her. "Britt, you left Rachel and Santana alone down there? Are you crazy?"
"No," Brittany said. "My mother had me tested." She smiled up at Quinn.
"Really not the time for Big Bang Theory references, B," Quinn said, standing there with her arms crossed and glaring down at Brittany.
Brittany sighed. "I know." She held out her hands to Quinn who took them and pulled her up off of the floor. "I just thought it'd put you in a better mood."
"Getting down there and making sure Santana hasn't killed Rachel will put me in a better mood," Quinn said, moving to go around Brittany who just stood there, blocking the door. "Britts, I need you to move, sweetie."
"I can't," Brittany said. "San gets two minutes and thirty seven more seconds."
"What?" Quinn was generally confused, and it wasn't the usual confusion of Brittany speaking. "Two minutes and thirty seven more seconds for what?"
Brittany took a deep breath. "Okay, so you know how some people can see a bunch of numbers and letters and squiggly lines on a whiteboard and know that it means math?" she asked, though it wasn't a usual Brittany question. This was the same way she acted when she was explaining choreography, or what she and San referred to as 'Serious Business Brittany'. Quinn nodded, impatient, but clearly this was important to her. "But there are other people- maybe more people- that look at the numbers and letters and squiggly lines and see a jumble and just want to go and erase it off the board so that it's clean again and you can use it. But then the math people are all like 'no, we're using that'." Again, Quinn nodded, but she had no idea where this was going. "Well, people are like that to me."
Quinn stared at her. "So… you're like… a whiteboard?"
"No," Brittany said. "I mean, yes, but only because everyone's a whiteboard. And I'm like the math guy that looks at the whiteboard and sees the jumble and knows that it's math. Except it's not math, it's, like, emotions."
"So you're saying you can read people," Quinn said, finally getting it. "You're a people person. That's great. Now please move."
She didn't, though. Instead, Brittany said, "Yeah, but it's more than that, I think. Like, when I looked at Santana today, she kept looking at Rachel all sad, and her face and her body said 'apology'. So I knew she was going to apologize. But it also said 'shy', so I knew that she wouldn't do it around us, so when you got your phone call and your body said 'Rachel' and 'protect' and 'parents', I knew that they'd have time if I went ahead and left, too."
Quinn was staring at her, but Brittany was smiling and looked rather pleased with herself. Really, that wasn't even fair. Hating Britany was like hating a puppy. And if Santana was apologizing -which Quinn doubted, though really, Brittany was never wrong about this stuff- then it was good for everyone.
"Time's up," Brittany said, finally moving so Quinn could get to the door. "I gave them fifteen minutes."
Quinn stepped past her and opened the door, going back down to the basement. The first thing she noticed was Rachel sitting there on the couch where she had left her. The lamp beside Santana's chair was on, and she was sitting there laughing at Rachel. As Quinn approached she noticed Rachel had tears streaming down her face, and was asking, "God, why would you do that to me?"
"Because it's funny, short stack," Santana said, popping some more chips in her mouth. Santana glanced up at Quinn coming at her, the anger set into her face, and quickly burst out of her seat, automatically backing up. "Whoa, capitán, it's not what you think."
"You're saying I'm not seeing Rachel here crying her eyes out because she's spent time with you?" Quinn yelled at her, getting inside her personal space. "What the fuck, S? You can't not make the suicidal girl cry for fifteen minutes? Do you hate her that much? Seriously?"
"Fuck off, Q," Santana said, getting over the sudden shock of having Quinn rush her and get in her face. "We weren't doing anything. I gave her-"
"Fuck you, you weren't doing anything," Quinn said. "She didn't just start crying for no reason."
"No, Quinn. It's okay, really," Rachel said, standing from the couch and wedging herself between the two Cheerios who both stepped back to allow her space. Rachel turned to Quinn. "She really wasn't doing anything. She gave me some of her chips. They were much spicier than I expected and my eyes were watering quite a bit, actually. I'm sure it looked like I was crying, and probably still does, and… okay, my mouth is still kind of on fire. How do you even eat these things, Santana?"
"Years of practice, pequita," Santana said, smiling. Facing Quinn, the smile dropped from her face. "See, puta. Nothing going on here."
Quinn didn't bother to look at Santana but only studied Rachel. In a much softer voice, she asked, "But you have been crying, Rachel. After the past few days I can tell. Are you okay?"
"I'm…" Rachel started, looking from Quinn to Santana to Quinn to Brittany. "Brittany?" Rachel walked past Quinn to Brittany who was standing there with an almost blank look on her face. "Brittany, are you… are you okay?" She reached out and took the taller cheerleaders hands and held them, and Brittany seemed to come out of some trance.
"Oh, hey, Rachel," Brittany said, halfway to a smile, though her eyes were sad. "I don't like them fighting. It was just like the beginning of the year all over again. It makes my heart sad."
"It's okay, Brittany," Rachel said, letting go of her hands and moving beside her. She pulled her into a side hug and glared at the other two girls in the room. "They weren't really mad at each other. It was just a simple misunderstanding. Quinn was just being protective of me, and Santana was being defensive, but it's okay now, because nothing's wrong. They're going to apologize to each other like civil human beings, and we're going to go back to watching our movie, okay?"
"I like this movie," Brittany said, looking over at the television screen.
"Me too," Rachel said with a smile. Quinn could tell it was her show smile, not the real, smaller, almost shy smile she uses when she's genuinely happy. No, this one was just for Brittany's sake, and Quinn realized it was probably killing her to be the center of attention right now. Again, Quinn reflected on how odd it was that Rachel Barbra Berry didn't want to be the center of attention.
"I'm sorry," Quinn said, stepping forward and looking at Brittany. "I didn't mean to upset you, Britts. I was just worried about Rachel." Turning to Santana, she wanted to grit her teeth because her best friend pissed her off so much sometimes. She didn't, though. She was a Fabray. "I'm sorry, Santana."
"Yeah, whatever," Santana said, moving back to her chair. She fell back into it, swinging her legs up and over the armrest. "Do it like you mean it or don't say it at all."
Quinn sighed, one hand moving up to her right eyebrow and rubbing across it. "Fine. You're right. I didn't trust you with Rachel. When I came down here and saw what looked like her crying, I immediately blamed you. I'm really sorry that I didn't find out what was going on before I got angry at you. Happy?"
"Whatevs," Santana said, not bothering to look up at Quinn.
"San…" Brittany whined.
Santana looked over where Brittany was still being held by Rachel, locked eyes with her for a moment, sighed, and said, "Fine. I accept your apology. I'm also sorry that I called you a puta, even though you are, and that I said that you can fuck off, which you totally can. Now can we please get back to the movie? You people and all your drama are killing my Christmas movie buzz."
Brittany smiled and let go of Rachel, walking over to where Santana was draped across the chair. She clicked off the knob of the lamp, throwing the room into the semi-darkness it had been in before Quinn's phone call. Moving in front of Santana's chair, she sat down on her lap and somehow managed to snuggle into Santana and wrap her limbs around her like a squid. Once the tall blonde was settled, Santana looked as much at peace as she ever was and kissed the top of her head, smiling. Her friends…
Rachel watched all this with a look of envy, because, really, Brittany was an excellent hugger. She then went back to the couch she had been sitting on and picked up a pillow that had fallen on the floor. She hugged the pillow, laying down and putting her head on the armrest nearest Quinn's chair.
Quinn fought the ridiculous urge to go and lay down with Rachel the way Brittany had lain down with Santana. She just couldn't. It wouldn't be right or proper or some other word that kept her from being happy. With an internal sigh, because even a normal melancholic sigh was too much of a giveaway, she went back to her own chair, picked up the remote and hit play. She looked down at Rachel, watching the movie, then over to Brittany and Santana. The Latina's eyes were on the screen, but Brittany's were on her. Quinn gave her a forced smile that she returned and looked ahead, forcing herself to watch the movie. It probably didn't help that they were on the card scene where the guy that couldn't have the girl was making his peace with the fact and yet still telling her how he felt. Quinn knew she'd never be that brave.