The next morning, you woke up in Quinn's bed, cocooned in blankets with your head pounding. Quinn had her entire body splayed out on the other side of the bed, taking up much more space than was necessary. She had kicked the blankets off herself in the middle of the night and left them all to you. You could feel the crust of too-old mascara on your face and smell the gin on your breath. Yuck.

Your mind ran through the events of last night. You had never expected the night to go well, but you certainly hadn't anticipated that it would end up being that bad. Charles' quiet rage was unlike anything you'd seen before from Quinn's family. Quinn's anger for her father's disdain for you was unlike anything you'd ever seen from her. A terrible feeling began to make its way to your gut, the realisation that you and Quinn had ostensibly switched roles last night. You had been the conflict averse one who had sunken into herself at the first hint of trouble. Perhaps it was apathy? Quinn, on the other hand, had been absolutely seething with anger and made a scene. It was as though she was you at sixteen, filled with rage and unafraid of the consequences.

Why had she brought you to dinner?

You sat up against the headboard and let your head spin. You had drunk too many different kinds of alcohol last night. Mistake.

Quinn stirred in her sleep and took a sharp intake of breath through her nose. 'What the fuck…'

She turned and rolled toward your side of the bed and her body jumped with surprise.

'Santana? What the fu-' Quinn said, squinting with one eye open.

'Morning, boozey.' You replied.

'Does your head hurt as much as mine?' Quinn grumbled and buried her face into her pillow.

'Probably not. I'm not the one who threw up three times.'

'Aggggghhhhhhhhhh'.

You sat there for a moment and waited for any hint of energy to return to your body. It didn't come. Quinn kept totally still.

'Fabray, that dinner was fucked.' It relieved you to finally put voice to the thought.

Quinn held one hand to her head and shuffled her body upright so that she could sit up. She still only had one eye open.

'I'm.. sorry, Santana.'

'You're not really the person I blame. But I still don't really understand how that escalated like it did. Or why I was there?' It was a question for Quinn, and for yourself.

Quinn let out a long sigh. 'You can blame me. I think I used you as a human shield. I shouldn't have done that.'

'Did you?'

'No you… I think I-' Quinn stuttered. 'I think I was trying to prove something. I think maybe I wanted the conversation to end up where it did. That's why I'm sorry.'

You looked to the right at Quinn, a confused expression on your face.

'I've never told you this, but my parents always – well, you heard it, Santana. They always thought I wouldn't have had the abortion without you helping me. I think it helped them to tell themselves that it was out of character for me to do that. And that you were the one that propelled it along.'

You and Quinn had never spoken about it much before. Not since senior year, when she had burst into tears at one of Puckerman's parties and told you she wouldn't have been able to imagine what her life would have been like if she'd had a baby at fifteen.

'Is that what you think?' You asked.

'No.'

You both sat there a moment.

'I think you did help me get the.. access to it. But no, I had much more agency in the situation than what my parents think I did. That's what I wanted to prove to them last night.'

Another pause.

'I wanted them to know I had taken charge of my life. When I was fifteen, and now with changing careers. I wanted them to know it was me.' Quinn confessed.

'Then why bring me?' You asked.

She shrugged. 'I really did just want a witness. But I also think… subconsciously… maybe I thought if I brought you when I told them I'd quit finance, they'd see that that decision was all me. The same way having an abortion was all me.'

'Fabray, this makes… no sense.' You replied. It hadn't meant it to sound so snarky, but the level of Quinn's introspection was just a little too much for you to process.

Quinn laughed. 'I know. I guess what I'm trying to say, Santana, is that I was trying to prove myself to them and I dragged you into it because of the past. I'm really sorry.'

Quinn looked embarrassed and a little sad. Providing a psychoanalysis of herself was not unlike Quinn, but explicitly apologising was. Even though you were still a little pissed off, you appreciated it.

'It's alright. But you know, I just can't do that stuff anymore. The confrontation and the trauma and the… yelling. Get mad the way I used to. I couldn't be your bodyguard last night.'

'I know, Santana. I wouldn't expect it. It really was the chip on my own shoulder.'

You both sat there and stared into space until Quinn suddenly gasped.

'Brittany must think I'm unhinged.'

After summoning just enough strength to get out of bed, you and Quinn made it to the kitchen. You had to tiptoe down the hall because Sam was home now and sleeping after his nightshift.

'Is that…' Quinn whispered.

Sitting on the kitchen table wrapped up in brown paper bags were two cronuts. There was a post-it note next to them.

Thought this would help you both with your hangovers.
Britt. X

'Let me get this straight.' You pointed your index finger in the air. 'We come home – drunk – some more than others, mind you.' You gestured to Quinn. 'We wake up your roommate, who proceeds to help you after your puke your guts up… she makes me a grilled cheese –'

'She WHAT?' Quinn exclaimed, then stopped herself, remembering Sam.

'Yeah, she made me a grilled cheese. And then she buys us cronuts.'

'Is she an angel from heaven?' Quinn asked to no one in particular.

'Must be.' You replied.

'I think it's that, but also she just really wants to make some friends here. Her ex really did a number on her.' Quinn remarked while halfway through her cronut.

Your curiosity was piqued more than you expected it would be, and you felt a twinge of something in your gut. It felt like guilt, but not quite. 'Really?' You asked.

'Yeah. After I told her my stuff the other night, she was talking about her. It's hers to share but I guess she was dating a choreographer long distance but she… ex... wasn't very good to Brittany.' Quinn explained.

'Is she gay?' You asked. The question felt silly the moment you said it.

'I unno.' Quinn replied. 'Maybe. I think she just likes who she likes. But yeah, she's in Philly to start fresh after all of that.'

'Whoever fumbled that is a fucking moron.' You remarked.

Quinn looked at you with her eyebrow raised. You ignored it. A key turned in the door to interrupt your conversation. You were glad for it.

Brittany walked in the door with wired headphones on. She was wearing bike shorts and a cropped t-shirt. Her face was red and her shoulders were a little tanned. The music in her headphones was so loud that you could hear the bass. Brittany saw you and Quinn standing in the kitchen and pulled one earbud out. It looked like she'd just come home from the gym.

'Oh hey!' Brittany said a little too loud for the household, then brought her voice down to a whisper. 'How are we feeling?'

'Better after our breakfast treat. Thanks, Britt.' Quinn said.

You felt a little jealous at the use of the nickname.

Quinn continued. 'I'm so so sorry about last night. Not my finest hour.'

'Or mine.' You offered.

Brittany gave a small chuckle. 'It's okay guys, really. You wouldn't believe the drunken mishaps I've had. Are you feeling better, Quinn?'

Was this jealousy? Again?

'Way better. But hey, are you free tonight? Let me buy you dinner. As an apology for the wake-up. And also the throw up.' Quinn was just sucking up, now.

Brittany showed her surprise at the offer and smiled at Quinn. She flickered her eyes over to you at a rate so quick you nearly missed it.

'Yeah, for sure. That'd be really nice.' Brittany replied.

'Santana? Do you work tonight?' Quinn asked.

You groaned. 'Yes, unfortunately.' To hell with second jobs, you thought.

Brittany kicked her running shoes off her feet and sat down at the dining table. You watched how cool her movements were, like she'd lived in the apartment for years and made the exact same transition from door to table countless times before.

'I can't go for dinner, but you guys should come to the pub. I'll get you free drinks.' You offered.

Quinn scrunched up her face at the mention of alcohol.

'Non-alcoholic.' You assured her.

'Pub?' Brittany asked.

'I'm a bartender at O'Malleys. Irish pub.' You explained.

Brittany nodded excitedly despite the prospect of your workplace not being very exciting at all.

'That'd be so fun!' Brittany said as she got up from the table. 'It'd be cool to see where you work.' Her face flushed a tinge more red. You'd had the very fleeting thought that maybe she'd not meant to say that part out loud.

'It's a plan then.' Quinn agreed.

Brittany opened the pantry to retrieve some bread and peanut butter. She placed them on the table and then hesitated next to where you were standing at the kitchen island. You didn't register what she needed and stayed in place. She brushed her hand at your hip to gesture you slightly to the side so that she could open the cutlery drawer.

'Sorry, doll.' Brittany said in a very quiet voice. Quinn sat on her phone and didn't even notice the interaction.

You felt the heat reach your face.