All Apologies (Nirvana)
SANTANA'S POV
12 HOURS LATER and counting...
"I don't understand. My daughter wouldn't do this. Where did she even get a gun from...Santana? I know you two were having problems. Did you drive her to this?" She asks, sounding just as nice as always, but then, she is yelling in my face as I stand there looking at my wife. "Santana?! Are you even listening to me?!"
"Don't yell at her, honey; look at her; she's in as much shock as you are." That was Pierce...annoying as fuck on the regular, but at least he was on my side, it seemed. "Obviously, the gun came from Santana; her people tend to be violent." Well, at least I thought he was.
"Oh, my sweet girl, what has she done to you?" Whitney whispered to Brittany's still sleeping form. The top of her head was completely wrapped in gauze...her cheeks were puffed out, and her eyes were covered with cotton pads and even more gauze. I could only see her lips from where I was sitting, and I couldn't stop staring at how pink and normal they were.
How could such mean and spiteful words come from those lips?
"Santana, are you okay? The doctors say you can wash off the blood; the parts of you that I can see beyond it look very pale, and I didn't think that was possible with someone as tan as you are." Pierce was suddenly in front of me, with his wide eyes staring at me sharply, and then he put his hand on my arm and started leading me to a chair closer to the bed.
Unfortunately, the chair is next to Whitney, and before I can sit down, she scrambles into the seat and grips Brittany's hand.
"Take her out of here. I know she's behind this, and I don't want to see her face!" Whitney yells, her cheeks shiny from the tears that she hasn't stopped dropping since she got to New York an hour ago.
I wanted to protest, to put my foot down and demand the right to be in the room when Brittany finally wakes up from her medically induced coma, but I won't fight.
Not today.
Whitney was right.
I'd been too chickenshit to tell her the truth and had pushed her to lose her mind.
This was absolutely my fault.
The gun was mine.
It was registered under my name, and the only other prints on it belonged to me.
How had I not seen this coming?
Why was I suddenly such a buffoon?
Once Whitney slapped me hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, I knew I couldn't stay there.
Brittany was still my wife. If I wanted to, I could ban everyone from that room, but I knew that I couldn't be there for another second.
"Mrs. Lopez?"
I looked up at a doctor, and he started talking to me, but I couldn't hear a thing he said.
He shoved a tablet in front of me and tapped the screen.
Without asking any questions, I signed off on whatever it was before sitting back and letting the tears come.
The school had called Britt's parents, but had anyone called mine?
Didn't I need people too?
I sat dazed in the hallway with my body shaking from the lack of food and the ill-fitting clothes the nurses had gathered from the lost and found, hurting all over.
We had both arrived at the hospital naked, and while I could walk away with the only injury being a snapped wrist when Brittany's body fell on top of mine, she wasn't so lucky.
Wearing a cast for six to eight weeks will be all the recovery needed in my case...Brittany's prognosis is much more complicated, and my brain has been too foggy to comprehend.
All I could gather was that when she had put a gun to her head and shakily pulled the trigger, it had slipped at the last second. So, after a six-hour surgery, she had lived. No one knew what this meant for her brain...or if she'd ever be the same again.
They were saying that Britt's survival was a miracle. It's a wonder that she's alive, and I'm wondering just how much of one it could be if she lost her motor skills.
She'd probably never dance again, not a Julliard. Her dream.
Her mother hated me, and Pierce...well, I didn't give a shit about him but still...I didn't want to come out of this marriage as the bad guy because that's not who I've been.
Despite that trip to New Haven, I had been utterly faithful to Brittany, mainly because Quinn made me promise to do so, but that's just semantics.
I'd stood by B even after she did the unspeakable, and now, I was being made out to be the bad guy after she did something of her own volition.
It wasn't right, and odds are, Britt wasn't going to wake up and tell her mom the truth...if she could even remember the truth.
After a long night at the hospital and Whitney taking my spot in the room with Brittany for the night, I left the hospital in a daze sometime after sunrise, not wanting to be yelled at whenever Whitney woke up.
Without my wallet or phone, I had no way to contact my parents. My apartment was nearly an hour from Juilliard, so there was no way I could walk it.
Thankfully, I had at least washed the blood off my face and hands, or someone would have ushered me back to the hospital.
I took the five-minute walk to Juilliard dorms, hoping that I wouldn't have to fight to get my shit back.
When I got to the lobby, people looked at me in awe, knowing what happened the night before.
"Is she dead?" Britt's roommate asked when I got someone to call her.
"No. She's in a coma."
"Wow. Are you okay?"
"No." I was clutching a random stranger's cell, and they were watching me with nervous eyes. "Look, I know you're probably feeling just as freaked out as I am, but I just want to go home and shower. All of my shit is up there...can you help me?"
"Of course, what do you need?"
The cops had just cleared her room; they called it a domestic dispute gone wrong. The roommate, Kibbie or Karen or some shit, says that most of the blood was on the wall, the carpet, and me. They'd cleaned it up a bit, so it wouldn't be too hard to find my shit.
I was grateful that she didn't complain about the list of things I asked for.
-My phone
-My keys
-My purse
-My shoes...because these hospital flip-flops are made of foam, I'm surprised I haven't stepped on something sharp.
She does me one better and brings me my clothes, which, from the way Britt had tossed them around when she undressed me, couldn't have been easy. I immediately went into the lobby bathroom, changed into my clothes, and left the hospital stuff on the floor.
I'm just out of fucks to give.
My phone was dead by the time it was back in my hands, and while I was tempted to ask for Brittany's phone, I knew better than to push my luck.
I knew that once Whitney made her way to Julliard to collect Britt's things, I wouldn't be able to go back there. Plus, the last thing I wanted was for this Kibbie/Karen person to tell Whitney that I took Brittany's stuff...I was already in the doghouse with her. I wasn't going to make it worse.
The journey home was long on a normal day, so when I was sleep-deprived and covered in blood, it was endless.
I nearly cried when I transferred to the A train headed to Queens. Even the smelly drunks bickering at the car's end stayed away from me. I'd already been through hell and wanted to curl up and die.
How had things become like this?
In just a few hours, I was supposed to be getting on a plane and flying to San Francisco, but how could I go anywhere with things like this?
How bad would that look?
Was it terrible that I still wanted to go, even if Brittany was in the hospital fighting for her life?
There was so much to decide, so many different things that I needed to do...including calling Mami and Papi, calling my agent, and, of course...calling Quinn before anyone else on the Lima grapevine did.
God have mercy on me.
Signing up to be a Cheerio means signing up for broken bones, devious plans, and dangerous acts of skill that shouldn't be humanly possible, but mainly lots of pain if you're doing it right. At least, according to Sue.
So it should be no surprise that I am just as gifted with my right hand as my left, in all areas...wanky...I know.
This was not my first broken bone, not my first cast, and not my first time getting on with only my right hand.
My head was throbbing, and my clothes felt hot as I cleaned the apartment while waiting endlessly for my phone to charge.
I should've been on a plane in thirty minutes, but I was thinking that after all the madness, my flying to another city would make me seem even more guilty than I already felt.
Besides, I wanted to see that Britt got through this okay.
Divorce was still a strong desire of mine, but with B incapacitated, I wasn't feeling the urgency that I was at this point two days before.
I was feeling compassion which I knew was the last thing Brittany needed, but because I'm a bad bitch with a bigger heart than anyone has ever given me credit for, I planned to at least wait until she was conscious.
Then, and ONLY then, would I make my move.
By the time I had cleaned my dishes, folded my laundry and taken a very long shower, with my arm wrapped in a trash bag, no less, my phone was blissfully charged.
And just like I had suspected, the world had missed me.
I had six missed calls from my parents that were accompanied by twelve text messages ranging from uninterested to highly concerned to insanely worried.
After that, there were two missed calls from Quinn and just one text message.
I miss you.-Quinn
Accompanied by a picture of her and Beth in front of the LOVE statue. The cuteness was unreal, and I wished I was there with them, but once again, Brittany had found a way to push any dream of my dreams of being a part of Quinn's little family into a distant reality.
And it pisses me the fuck off.
I pulled up a message, prepared to text Quinn when I was interrupted by a phone call from my father.
How could I not answer him?
"Bendición, Papi." I say, trying to push back the anger and nausea sweeping over me.
"Dios te bendiga, Tata!" He says happily, and then he murmurs to my mother. "She answered, Mari."
And then there is rustling, and I know to prepare myself for Hurricane Maribel.
She hadn't spoken kindly to me in weeks, but suddenly she sounded like she was back to herself.
"Santana?! Whitney told us everything! Is it true? Did you give her the gun and convince her to shoot herself?"
"What?! Mami, No! She stole it! I changed the combination but when I had a job in L.A. she trashed my apartment, and must have taken it then. I was trying to end it, she didn't take it well. This is the last thing I wanted. You know me better than that...right? I didn't know she'd do this. I swear to Go-"
"Do not take the Lord's name in vain!" She snaps, and I stop myself.
"Lo siento. Bendicion, Mami. You were right about everything. I'll never question you again."
"Que Dios te bendiga! I believe you, Mi'ja. Anyone who has seen the crazy way she's been acting will believe you. I'm just happy you're okay. I never want to lose you. Okay? We were so worried about you. We love you. Are you home? Can we come to see you?"
"What? You're in New York?" My heart was racing; I didn't want to admit it, but a girl needed her Mami and Papi.
"Of course, we are here, Nena. We arrived this morning, checked into a hotel and were going to head to the hospital, but Whitney said you left hours ago."
"Of course she did. Yes, I'm home. You can come over, just...prepare Papi...tell him that I broke my wrist when Brittany fell on me."
"What?! Which wrist?"
"My left."
"But you're left-handed!" I rolled my eyes. "Don't leave your apartment; we are on our way!" She shrieks, freaking out like she always does when I have so much as a scratch on me, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I laughed it off because it felt wonderful for my mother to have such a normal conversation with me.
It was only a few days before that she wasn't speaking to me and was avoiding me...this felt way better.
Like home.
It felt good to be cared for again.
With my parents there, Whitney seemed to calm down, especially since Papi was a surgeon and could explain some things to her.
Brittany was a medical marvel. She'd angled that gun just enough to not kill herself.
Papi also managed to get my wrist reset and cast since it had been a rush job the first time.
It was superficial, but he was still concerned about it setting correctly.
And with my mother there in front of me, I sat down and opened up in a way I had never before.
"Mami, I'm scared of what's going to happen with Britt. I'm ashamed that I feel let down that she lived. Is this all on me? Everything, the rape, the suicide attempt, is it my fault?"
"Oh, Nanita, this is all greater than you. Brittany hasn't been the same person in years. I'm not sure what happened. I just can look back and see the shift in her. You two were good, and then I don't know if when you came out something about you changed…but she's been practically a stranger."
"I can see that clearly. She isn't my Brittany."
"What if she wakes up, and she's back to being the girl you loved?"
"There's no going back. We are broken. I'm barely hanging on."
"Nanita, what aren't you saying?"
"I'm saying that I refuse to be the reason you have two children in the ground. I stay alive for you and Papi, but right now, I'm so tired of being here."
Admitting that made my mother freeze in place, and then she called for Papi, who was in the other room, probably listening at the door.
He came in seconds later with a stiff face and watery eyes.
"Come here." He said as he knelt in front of me and opened his arms.
I felt like a little girl again as my father held me while I sobbed.
They talked me through my fears and wouldn't leave my side until they were sure that I wasn't going to unalive myself.
It took two weeks for my parents to leave me in New York with a full refrigerator, clean clothes, and enough money to hold me over until I got a job.
After seeing my parents so wrecked by my admission of being depressed, I couldn't bear to pull them back into my drama.
My father had a heart condition. The last thing I wanted to do was to make him have a heart attack because I wasn't handling my business.
So, when they left, I called up the modeling agency to get back on the schedule and was told in very clear terms that there was nothing for me. Since I had flaked on three major campaigns, there wouldn't be more work for me, but I refused to lean on my parents.
Even when Whitney was pointing the bill collectors my way since I was Brittany's wife, I didn't let it phase me. I thought I had it under control.
I kept spending my nights at a bar halfway between the hospital and home, critiquing just about every drink that was put in front of me until the bartender threw down his towel and dared me to make the drinks better.
And just like that, I had a job. It didn't pay great, but it would be better than nothing.
September
While my world was in flux, Brittany still wasn't awake, and I was beginning to think she never would be.
I needed some way to deal with the shit show that was my life, and I planned to start by putting some distance between the Pierce family and me.
I'd been by the hospital almost every day, only to be turned away by Whitney's irrational screams, and frankly, I didn't think I'd go back after that day.
Today was the first day I was alone in my apartment after my parents did everything they could for me before returning home, including filling my fridge and helping me open a checking account.
One that wasn't linked to my father's.
Even though Papi was now trying to give me money on the sly, I knew he was right to cut me off. I needed to learn how to exist without him holding me up and Brittany pulling me down.
A few weeks before, the idea of being all on my own...maybe away from New York eventually, was terrifying, but now, given a change of perspective, I'm thinking that this is exactly what I needed.
I've become a staple at the hospital, so no one thinks twice as I stroll through the ICU; they all smile and nod, knowing that my being here was the only thing that I could do for Brittany anymore, even if her mother is trying to keep me from doing that.
That day was different; when I got to Brittany's room, Pierce stood outside the door excitedly waiting for me.
"I've been waiting for you." He said, his eyes turning to slits as he gave me his brightest smile, but I was not in the mood to return the gesture.
Instead, I handed him the coffee I had brought him each morning and nodded in his direction.
"She's awake?" I asked, clearly not as excited as he was.
"Yes! More than that, she's asking for you."
Of course, she is. She's obsessed with me and all that I do for her...why wouldn't her first reflex be to ask for me? I'm not going to lie; a big part of me was hoping she'd wake up with no recollection of us ever getting back together.
Wishful thinking.
"Am I allowed in, or is Whitney waiting on the other side of that door with a baseball bat?"
He looked confused, the grin not leaving his face even once.
"A bat?"
"Is Whitney in there?" I sighed, holding back my frustration with this imbecile, not wanting to make him any more confused.
"Oh no. Whitney is at Julliard." He said, his grin dropping for a moment before he smiled again. "You should go in before she gets back."
"Good idea, Pierce." I said before walking past him and pushing the door open without even knocking.
I had no time for that.
There was only one thing on my mind: seeing just how damaged she was because somehow, some way, I was going to need her to sign those damn divorce papers so I could put this all behind me.
Pierce made it sound like she was sitting up, alert and asking clearly for me, but that's now how it was.
My attitude dropped immediately when I saw her staring glassy-eyed at the wall in front of her. The bandage around her head was still in place, looking more like a turban than plain hospital gauze.
But Brittany always could pull off the most absurd looks.
Focus Santana.
I walked into her line of sight and looked directly at her, but there was no change in her expression. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect, but this wasn't even close.
"Brittany?" I called to her, and her eyes ever so slowly looked into mine.
"San..." She said, half of her mouth not moving as she started to say my name.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, daring to step closer until I was at the end of her bed and could see the sagging in her face and how much older it made her look.
"San..." She said again, and then a lonely tear dripped from her eye before closing both of them.
"Britt?" I called her again, and she opened her eyes. This time, more tears came out, and one of her machines began beeping louder.
"San...please?" She finally said, her hand moving from where it was resting at her side and coming up to rest on her lap. She opened her hand then and shut it twice.
So I walked to the side of the bed and took her hand in mine, and she squeezed it hard.
I wanted to HATE her.
I wanted to RUN away, but at the same time, SHE has ALWAYS been the person that I LOVED and wanted to run to when I just needed someone to be my person.
My instincts made me feel the need to wrap around her like a force field, but I didn't crawl into the bed; instead, I stood there, holding her hand and resisting the urge to wipe her tears away.
Taking care of her emotional needs wasn't going to be my job anymore because not once had she taken care of mine.
Maybe it's petty to go tit for tat, but after everything she'd done, I found it hard to show up for her as I did in the past.
"I'm glad you survived, B. I can't imagine a life without you in it." I admitted, even if it was hard to say something that could lead her to get the wrong idea of where we were headed.
She closed her eyes again and turned her face from me.
"Go." She said, louder than anything else that she had managed to say as of yet.
"But Britt..." I began but got cut off.
"You should listen to her. She doesn't want you here." I looked at the door and saw Whitney standing there...silently watching.
"I had to see her. She's MY wife." The grip on my hand tightened, and I took that as a sign to continue to put my foot down instead of a sign to stop. "We've had our problems, and sure, things may be headed for a divorce. I know she told you about it before this happened...that's why you're so mad at me, but I know she didn't tell you why it was happening...did she?"
Britt squeezed my hand so hard that I swear my fingers were turning purple, so I stopped short of telling Whitney about what Brittany had done...for now, at least.
"It doesn't matter why. All I know is that you promised to love my daughter, no matter what. You lied to her. To her father and me." Whitney shrieked.
"I did not lie to any of you. I love HER. And despite the things that she's done that I KNOW she didn't tell you about, I'm here for her. I will not be petty in this hospital. I don't care what she's done. I'm not fighting her while she's down." I snapped. Not really sure that I believed my own words but saying them, nonetheless.
It was true; I wanted a fair fight. As much as I wanted out of this relationship, I wanted us to be on equal footing. You DON'T kick people when they're down. I like to think that I have more integrity than that.
So I'd wait...
October
I was spiraling while everyone around me, except Brittany, was thriving.
Obviously, being in my vortex was the problem, so I began to pull away from everyone.
As long as I kept up appearances, and showed up in Lima to celebrate my birthday early to keep my parents off my case, no one asked questions.
I was doing okay, fuck, I'd even found a job at my favorite bar, but then, as October came to a close, the bottom fell out, and with it went all of my hopes for this being a rut and not my new future.
On Halloween, just a few days after my birthday, Brittany had a stroke, and Whitney showed up at my door, creating a whole problem with my landlord, who had been itching for a reason to put me out.
I hadn't paid October's rent until the last minute and knew that he wouldn't allow that to happen again.
I had been trying to stash cash, but then Whitney was talking about suing me because I had cost Brittany her life.
The stroke had hit B's whole left side and paralyzed it for now, and that was only the beginning of the things that were apparently all a part of my master plan.
Britt, though, was still able to get some words out, and all of them were apologies when we were alone with her begging me to divorce her, but then turned into biting remarks in front of her mother.
And even still, I felt sorry for her.
So, I did what my father had asked me not to do. I took what little savings I had and paid whatever medical bills I could with the money I should have been using for rent and food.
It still wasn't wasn't enough for the Pierces.
They gave me hell every single day, and I just took it on the chin.
November
By the time the second week of November rolled around, it was starting to show how I'd been finding ways to cope that would shame my parents, but I convinced myself I had everything under control.
All my teenage years were spent starving myself, so it's not like I didn't know how to survive without eating.
I'd been taking my tips straight to my landlord, and he'd accepted them and was nice enough to give me a receipt.
Papi would have helped me keep a roof over my head if I asked, but I was too afraid of him coming to New York and seeing just how bad things were.
Every day that I could, I showed up to the hospital despite Brittany's scathing looks any time I tried to show some concern for her after giving her those papers and Whitney making rude remarks when I gave in and threatened to leave...and don't even get me started on that racist little weasel masquerading as Brittany's father.
A lot of them have me wanting to commit homicide.
There was just no winning with them, so I was glad to see them leave...I was glad to know that Brittany could at least speak again...even if she still couldn't walk.
I had been doing my best to let go of the vices that were pulling me down, but I was losing my grasp.
If my parents had seen me, they would have packed my place and made me move back to Lima.
If Brittany and her family weren't in Lima, I'd go back home, but that's no longer an option.
I didn't have the strength.
"Are you almost done with those glasses?" Carlo asked as I ran a damp rag through yet another shot glass.
"I've got about a dozen to go. Are you heading out?"
"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and Italians like to eat...I need to prep my stomach for tomorrow! Are you sure you don't have anywhere to be or anybody to be thankful for or with? I'm okay closing the bar for the night if you do."
"No. My soon-to-be ex-wife left yesterday with her mom. Everyone else I know is probably headed back to my old town, too. I'm okay...I can't be the only one who needs a drink today, and I need every penny I can get. Divorces aren't cheap."
He raised an eyebrow and then looked at the shelves behind me, filled with every drink imaginable.
"I'll make an exception today...take one of your favorite bottles when you're off the clock... okay?"
"Yeah?"
"Of course, anything for my best employee, just don't drink yourself to death, you work Friday! Happy Thanksgiving, Santana." He chuckled before pushing out the door. He held it open for a few stragglers before leaving it to slam closed.
A gust of cold wind had come in, reminding me of the foot of snow that had shown up this afternoon as a lucky surprise on the same day I forgot my gloves and scarf.
It's been a hard few months; no agency wants to hire me, I've been blacklisted, and there is nothing else I know how to do.
Bartending seemed like a good option, better than being a waitress again...at least at the bar, and I could use a bat if anyone tried to hit on me.
I've gotten along okay since starting at Carlo's, and the days have been good to me...this holiday, though, is bringing out the worst in me.
I'm depressed and too tired to deal with the general public, but rain, snow, or shine, I'm here busting my ass for a better future.
"Puck owes me a hundred bucks."
I looked up from the shot glass I was still shining and felt my world crash down. My hands began shaking, so I put the shot glass down on the counter and looked into the eyes of the person I had been avoiding.
Quinn.
Most of her calls have gone unanswered, and her texts are answered curtly. I had thrown up a wall between us, more for her protection than mine. She just didn't need my brand of bad luck, not when she was doing so fucking good.
Flawless even.
"He told you that I'd be here?"
Quinn looked good. Her hair hung in ringlets from her knitted cap, and her cheeks were rosy as she slid onto the stool in front of me.
"Nope." She popped her lips, trying her best to be serious, but she seemed way too giddy to pull off any straight face. "He told me that you work here, but he said that you would probably go back to Lima for the holidays and I..." She grinned and winked. "I bet him that you wouldn't dare go home."
"Is that right?" I asked, feeling some of the exhaustion give way to a smirk of my own. It had been a while since I felt much of anything at all...it felt odd to smile, but Quinn has always brought out the best in me.
Whitney and Brittany had me feeling like I didn't deserve to smile. Especially not after I served her with divorce papers just about the moment she learned to talk in complete sentences again.
I was a villain...a louse, as Pierce had called me, but after being called Satan for most of my life, being compared to a parasite wasn't half bad.
"With everything I'm hearing from Judy..." She said and then looked down at her mittens, smiling slightly before pulling them off her beautifully manicured hands.
According to my parents, Whitney and Pierce had spread the news to the vultures of Lima, and if I wasn't a pariah before, this seemed to do the trick.
Of course, I didn't want to go to Lima!
So I convinced them to go to Vail, and I would stay in the city for the holidays.
"Believe none of what you hear." I said, looking into those amazing eyes.
"And half of what I see?" She asked, turning the phrase around on me. "Because I honestly, from what I am seeing..." She pressed her lips together and looked me over before sighing.
She was keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself...thankfully.
A soft smile replaced the look of disdain that was so easy on her face just a moment before.
"This isn't the beginning of a lecture, is it?" I asked, cutting her off. "At least tell me what you're drinking, if you ARE even drinking...speaking of which...where's Beth?"
She rolled her eyes.
"There is not going to be a lecture. Surprise me...it's been a while since I've had anything more than the occasional glass of wine. Beth is visiting her aunt and uncle in Texas for the holiday. So I'm all yours for a few days...hopefully, if you'll let me?"
For the first time since she burst back into my life, her confidence looked a little shaken at her audacity to volunteer me to host her.
Which, of course...duh...I wouldn't have it any other way.
A few days with her ALL to myself...I wouldn't want anything less.
"Why didn't you go with her to Texas?" I asked, not bothering to acknowledge her plans to stay.
"Because I get to have her all of Christmas, and so, I thought it only fair to let them have her. It's a welcome break...is that bad to say?" She said, looking a little ashamed at saying that.
I shook my head as I poured a few different things into the shaker. My hands were below the bar, but I could see her still trying to peak over the ledge.
"It's not a surprise if you look." I murmured before slamming the shaker lid on and, well...shaking the thing. "You went from single coed to single mom in a matter of months. It's okay to need a break."
"You sure?" She pouted and trapped her perfectly pink tongue between those perfect lips.
"Positive, but just in case you think I'll go blabbing, your secret is safe with me."
"Cross your heart?" She said, actually crossing herself, a grin back on her face.
She was incredibly playful today...God, I've missed her.
"And hope to die." I said, mesmerized by that tongue poking out further and licking those lips, wishing they were licking mine.
Cool your jets, Lopez. Let's not hump her on the bar.
Yet...
Q swirled her straw in her half-empty glass, and her eyes slightly closed as she hummed to the new Adele song.
The bar was mostly empty, except for two regulars sharing a bottle down in the pit.
She had been sipping her drink and showing me how well she could moan for the last two minutes and twenty-three seconds... twenty-four... twenty-five, without a word.
"So...how is it?" I finally asked before emptying the rest of the shaker into her glass.
She smiled at me and nodded.
"It's bomb." She said, and I could not help but laugh. It shocked me just how loud it was, and seeing her face light up made it worth it.
"Bomb? Where did you hear that?"
She blushed, and I fucking swooned!
"I'm mentoring a kid, Octavius; he's the most charming little boy in the world, and bomb is the term he uses. Thank you very much! I figured since you are from Lima Heights, you would know exactly what it meant."
"I do."
"Good. So...what's in this bomb ass drink, anyway?"
"Oh God, I can't!" I said, covering my mouth and trying my best not to burst out laughing again.
"What?"
Those two regulars were shooting me strange looks, and my brooding reputation is one that I'd like to keep. People don't fuck with you when you look like you can shank them.
But this was Quinn fucking Fabray being the personification of everything right in this world. If they didn't like my joy, they could get the fuck out, and my glare told them as much.
"I've missed you so much more than I realized." She said softly before draining her glass and slamming it too hard on the bar.
Yeah...she had enough.
"You have no idea." I said, infusing some seriousness back into the conversation.
My hand was minding its own business on top of the bar, and she reached across and put hers on top.
Electric fire tore through me, and I moaned. Quinn's eyes sparked, and I pulled away.
"No. Don't shut down on me. Please...San...I'd like to know. I'd like to have an idea of what's going on. Other than the bits and pieces that Mother and Puck tell me, I'm in the dark. Let me be your best friend again...please?"
"Are you sure that you can handle that, Q?"
She smiled softly at me with sparkling eyes, "I can handle anything you've got."
"We'll see about that."
"Try me."
So I did