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. It'd been a while since you had gotten that drunk. You used to do it all the time, most weekends. It wasn't for the nights out as much as it was for the aftermath of it, as self punishing as that might sound. The greatest, most acceptable excuse for rotting in bed is being hungover. It used to be your favourite excuse to be, nothing, do nothing.

The events of the night before ran through your head. You had never expected the night to go well, but you certainly had not anticipated that it would be that bad. The Fabrays were classic wasps, who always tried to keep conflicts and tension within the family. To see them make a display like that in front of you was completely unlike them. You had joked with Quinn about things leading to fisticuffs, but you hadn't imagined that it would actually happen.

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 fuhhh..."

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

"Santana?" Quinn said, squinting with one eye open.

"Morning, boozey." You replied. Your voice cracked with sleep.

"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, like a child trying to win in hide and seek.

"Fabray, that dinner was fucked up." 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 know. I'm sorry."

"You're not really the person I blame. But I still don't really understand how that escalated like it did."

Quinn didn't say anything for a moment and then turned to face you. "You can blame me. I think I might have used you as a human shield."

"You what?"

"I think.. I think I..." Quinn stuttered. "I think I was trying to prove something. And I wanted the conversation to end up where it did. But I didn't know that at the time."

You looked to the right at Quinn, a confused expression on your face. "I hate to say it, but I think you might need to spell this out for me. One of us didn't minor in psych."

Quinn huffed out a breath and nodded. "They had it all planned out for me, Santana. Always had. Ivy league, career, marry rich. All of it. Whenever there was an interruption to their plan... the pregnancy, whatever it was, they blamed something else. It was easier for them."

She turned to you and crossed her legs.

"They blamed Puckerman, which.. true... but they blamed you that I got an abortion. I think it helped them to tell themselves that I was just like, not a participant in my own life, like things just happened to me, and I got influenced by other people."

"I mean, that's not shocking to me. But is that what you think?" You asked.

You and Quinn had never spoken about the pregnancy 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. But, still, it was hardly surprising that her parents had scapegoated you in this whole debacle. Nevertheless, you wondered what Quinn thought about the whole thing.

"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. And that's what they hate. The agency. Because I have agency, then maybe I'll be different to them."

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. I thought they wouldn't freak out as much in public, and with somebody there. Y'know, wasps."

"Real."

"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 is... too much introspection for my hungover brain."

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 like.."

"Like my feelings didn't matter." You interrupted.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Quinn looked embarrassed and a little sad. Providing a psychoanalysis of herself was not unlike Quinn, but explicitly apologising was.

"I know. But you know I just can't do that stuff anymore. The confrontation, the yelling, the family trauma. I'd do a lot for you, but I can't be your bodyguard."

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

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… like the 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.

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 sunburnt. 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 jealous at the use of the nickname, and them promptly tried to halt your jealousy.

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

"Or mine." You admitted.

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 at this point.

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."

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..."

Quinn scrunched up her face at the mention of alcohol.

"Non-alcoholic." You assured her.

"The pub?" Brittany asked.

"I'm a bartender at O'Malleys. It's an Irish pub. It's like, fine. But.. free drinks." 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 regretted being so eager. about it.

"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.