Gift for imaginaryglory!
Recipient's LJ Name: imaginaryglory
Title: It Beats For You, So Listen Close
Pairing: Quinntana
Length: 6826
Warnings: None
Summary: Until two days ago, Quinn thought she was going back to Lima, Ohio for the winter break and braced herself for yet another instalment of fine acting staged by the Fabrays every Christmas to convince themselves they were a family. But instead, Quinn found herself in a country which she knows little of, doesn’t speak their language and with the one person she least expects - Santana Lopez. She was prepared to berate herself everyday for that one decision, but thirteen days later, she thinks she never made a better one. College!FutureFic
“This is such a bad idea.”
Santana hands Quinn her luggage and continues to peer at the conveyor belt with her tired eyes. As she watches one black luggage after another, Santana thinks for a moment that she really should have listened to Quinn and tied some kind of hugeass identity tag on hers. Quinn’s luggage has the word “Fabray” embossed on it, and Santana swears she can see it from a mile away. But Santana isn’t about to concede defeat on the very first day, so instead she turns around to glare at Quinn.
It’s supposed to be fierce, but even she’s not convinced by it. With the uncontrollable smile on her face, Santana comes across as a little annoyed and a lot affectionate.
“Come on Fabray, relax. You’re such a loser.”
“I can’t believe I’m here, with you, of all people.”
“I for one know that you would rather be here, than with Judy back in loser Lima.”
“You forget my perfect elder sister and her immaculate husband.”
Santana laughs at Quinn’s bitterness, turning around just in time to spot her luggage on the other side of the conveyor belt, about to disappear back into the mysterious room behind.
“Shit!”
Quinn laughs as Santana runs in her heels for the luggage, unrestrainedly shoving some of the locals. Quinn doesn’t have enough time to dig out the Lonely Planet guidebook in her bag before Santana grabs her hand and pulls her towards customs, frowning.
“The bus won’t wait for us!”
It’s a small miracle in itself that they’re on the correct bus, or so they hope. There are so many spa resorts in the country, the airport bus bay is completely full and the pair finds themselves having to squeeze with other tourists and locals alike as they navigate themselves around. Instinctively, Quinn grumbles about how Santana should have arranged for some kind of better transport, like a taxi.
Santana doesn’t even take her eyes off the iPad as she mutters the word “budget”, swiping through her emails furiously. Quinn leans onto Santana’s back and peers over her shoulder, smiling. It’s only when she sees email after email of hotel reservations and ticket confirmations does Quinn realise how much Santana had done and guiltily bites the inside of her cheek.
When Santana does find the email, she zooms in so big, the characters are pixelated and then proceeds to gesticulate wildly in front of each bus driver until one of them nods firmly. They only stop to check that the characters match the one printed on the bus, before Santana climbs into the bus, unceremoniously leaving their luggage for the bus driver to load.
It surprises Quinn when Santana waits for her before taking the aisle seat.
It surprises her even more when Santana doesn’t wait for her questioning eyebrow to explain the gesture with a simple answer of “Cheerios”.
But what surprises her the most is Santana’s body pressing warmly against her, two hours later when she wakes up. Quinn makes sleepy noises as Santana leans over to press her DSLR against the window, trying to take a photo of the snow-covered farms they’re driving by.
“They’re ginseng fields,” Santana whispers quietly, as if it’s some kind of ninja will steal the place from right in front of her camera if she speaks too loudly. Quinn nods, gently pries the DSLR from Santana’s fingers and quietly pushes a gap open in the window.
The cold air hits both of them and for a moment Santana thinks Quinn is crazy, but then Quinn quickly pushes the camera outside the window, adjusts the focus and presses the shutter button. They hear the camera click a couple of times and then Quinn pulls the camera back in, shutting the window with a dull thud.
Quinn has always been better with the camera and Santana’s more than eager to see the shots taken, but when she reaches for the camera, she touches Quinn’s fingers and immediately flinches at how cold they are.
The excited look of gratitude on Santana’s face is swiftly replaced by a look of disdain and Santana pulls out the thermos, cupping Quinn’s hands and wrapping their fingers around the bottle.
“You’re an idiot, Q.”
The words are supposed to be harsh, but with all the affection in it, Santana doesn’t even sound half-menacing.
“I bet the photos look great.” Then Quinn lowers her volume and whispers conspiratorially, “ginseng fields right?”
They both burst into laughter and the other travellers stare at them until Santana turns around to glare.
Quinn stopped exercising regularly once she quit the Cheerios, because with all the dancing in Glee and the disgustingly healthy diet she started liking, Quinn stopped needing exercise to get rid of Lucy. Plus she never really lost the flexibility or stamina she earned in cheerleading, she just doesn’t need it half as bad anymore.
Santana, on the other hand, does mixed martial arts now. Santana says it’s part of the deal she has with the school counsellor ever since she beat up that jock who called her lacrosse team dykes, just because they didn’t find it necessary to make her shower in another locker room. He ended up with a broken nose and a caved-in cheekbone. Santana ended up quitting the team and mixed martial arts fills up her Mondays and Thursdays in a way that means she only has to worry about her Fridays.
Quinn never says, but some Fridays, she catches Santana sitting on the bleachers, staring out at her (now former) team-mates do suicides like it’s the most pleasant thing on the world.
So when she sees that pamphlet stuck on the lift, Quinn does a double take and that obnoxious thing where she peels it off and throws it in front of Santana during their only shared class.
(It’s a class on religion that Quinn takes to have something to talk to Judy about; it’s a class that Santana takes so that she can whisper inappropriate comments in Quinn’s ear at opportune moments. Admittedly, they both benefit.)
Santana raises an eyebrow at her and pretends not to notice that practise is on Friday. Instead, she pulls out her pen and circles the word “LGBTQ” thrice, and draws a huge question mark.
Quinn watches Santana mouth, “the last time I checked, Fabray, you’re not playing for my team” and she instantly blushes. But she rolls her eyes as practised and mouths back a quick “I’m trying to be supportive.”
She doesn’t say for what and decides that the professor is actually interesting for the next three minutes.
Until she feels Santana’s hand on hers and she can’t help but turn around. Even though Santana doesn’t say anything, there’s a small smile on her face, and Quinn knows that’s as close as Santana gets to “thank you”.
Quinn spends the next three months cursing her compassion and pretending not to notice every time Santana pulls up her shirt to wipe off her sweat. Santana spends the next three months buying Quinn dinner on Fridays and walking her back to her dorm, even though their favourite restaurant is actually equidistant from both their places.
Three months later, when they run past that finish line in matching shirts, Santana pulls Quinn in for a hug that has Quinn complaining about how disgusting it is, when really, she has never felt like more accomplished in her life.
There’s something crazy about running in the snow and then jumping into a hot, hot, pool of spa water. It gets a little crazier when one’s with Santana Lopez and she insists on trying out everything. There’s a spa flavoured with red wine, a medical one infused with traditional herbs and of course, one with ginseng.
There’s barely two days into the trip and Quinn can already swear Santana wants to do anything and everything as long as there is ginseng involved.
They move from periods of extreme cold and extreme heat as they try every one, Santana eagerly pulling Quinn out and into the next one just as Quinn starts to enjoy the heat around her. They do this until they reach the top level, where the pool looks deceivingly normal, until you step into it and it’s actually just as hot as all the rest.
Quinn flinches a little and looks around, confused by how everyone’s stepping into little floats, the kind that she always sees kids wear, except adult-sized. Santana smiles sneakily and gets into one herself, yelling at Quinn with an enthusiasm she usually only shows when she gets solos - or when there’s an easy lay.
“Q, get into one and join me here!”
Quinn wants to roll her eyes and wade to Santana, completely confident of her swimming capabilities. But then she watches as people all jump into the little floats and promptly remembers how she thought the pool was normal, only to find it hot with mountain spa water. Reluctantly, Quinn steps into one of them and moves awkwardly to Santana. She’s just about to speak, when Santana reaches over and grabs her hand.
And Quinn stalls.
Quinn just stops moving in the middle of the pool. She thinks it could be because of the fact that Santana’s hands are surprisingly warm for winter, or perhaps because of the sudden drop in adrenaline in her body. Or the fact that Santana always manages to stop her heart from beating for just a split second every time she touches her like that.
Quinn flushes but she tries to convince herself it’s because of the hot water. And then she tries to speak again, but it doesn’t happen.
Quite thankfully for her, Santana’s far too distracted to notice any of those things. Instead, Santana tugs Quinn closer, until Quinn can occasionally feel Santana’s leg kick hers as they tread water.
That’s when Quinn feels them: the currents.
She lets out a gasp just as the first flood of water washes through the pool and all the people start moving with the current. The water hits them fast and Quinn knows she must look terrible as blonde hair gets plastered to her face. The feeling completely terrifies her, because it’s so much faster than the few times she’s waded along the beach and there’s absolutely nothing to hold on to.
Well, except for Santana’s hand.
So Quinn settles for biting her lower lip and holding in the screams, her hands firmly grasped around Santana’s. As the currents come one after another, Quinn winces as she hears people screaming. Some of them positively terrified, others completely out-of-their-mind happy and then of course, there’s Santana’s ecstatic laughter.
The laughter alone could probably tease happiness out of Quinn any other time, but this time her heart’s still beating wildly from all that water and she can’t really concentrate on anything other than holding on to Santana’s hand.
But before she knows it, Quinn’s back in her starting spot at the pool, panting.
Santana almost follows the crowd back for another round but Quinn holds her tightly and using the remainder of her strength, pulls firmly. She doesn’t want to let Santana know how foreign the feeling is and how much that scares her, but she knows that Santana will detect all the fragility once their eyes meet.
And she does, because Quinn feels Santana’s slender fingers slowly pushing away the blonde hair from her face and edging closer. Their floats bump awkwardly against one another and Santana shifts to lace their fingers.
“You okay, Q?” Santana’s voice is so preciously gentle, Quinn’s certain there’s water in her ears.
“Yeah,” Quinn replies, but she chokes on the water and there goes all the strength she has mustered into the word. For a moment Quinn thinks Santana will make fun of her for that, but instead, Santana moves to carefully pat Quinn’s back.
The tenderness in her action sends a wave of chills through Quinn’s body, but then Santana’s voice magically manages to calm her down again.
“Trust me,” Santana says, her voice firm and yet caring at the same time.
Quinn finds herself nodding and then with their fingers laced in each other’s, Santana coaxes her to go for round after round until she finds herself screaming in exhilaration and enjoying the splash of water in her face.
When they finally stop, Santana helps Quinn out of her float and looks straight into her eyes. There’s not a thread of sarcasm when she speaks and Quinn will desperately try to memorise that brilliant glimmer of pride in Santana’s eyes.
“You were incredible, Quinn.”
No one believes Quinn when she says it. Not even Brittany, whom they occasionally Skype, because despite everything, Santana and Brittany still spent most of high school stuck at the hip.
It’s at one of their Unholy Trinity Skype sessions that Quinn mentions how Santana actually really hates razorblades, even though she always claims to have them hidden in her hair. Santana just shoots her a glare that means no free coffee for the rest of the week and Brittany gives her a look like it’d be easier to understand if a unicorn just waltzed out of her computer screen.
They both pretend it doesn’t happen, until one day when Santana walks into her room, completely unfazed, and catches Quinn doing scrapbooking. Quinn knows there’s an insult on the tip of Santana’s tongue about how scrapbooking is a hobby for sixty year-old nuns, but her gaze drops to the penknife in her hand and the girl literally backs away.
There’s a fear in Santana’s eyes that even Quinn is scared of.
So she quietly puts down her pen knife and moves closer to Santana, the sound of her every step on the parquet floor loud against the silence of the room. Santana makes some sounds, her voice desperate to hide the weakness she has just revealed, but it all goes quiet once Quinn has her arms wrapped protectively around Santana.
Quinn can feel Santana’s arms cling tightly onto her and her face pressed against her in a way that reminds her far too much of Senior Year and all the mistakes they both made. All the mistakes they made against each other, all the mistakes people made against them.
So she tangles her fingers in Santana’s hair, hearing Santana’s breathing calm down and thinking far too much about how small Santana feels in her arms, despite (maybe especially when compared to) that huge personality of hers.
It scares them both when Quinn softly peels them apart, and then in a gentle, fleeting movement, she presses her lips lightly against Santana’s. She doesn’t know why she does it, but she does and when they pull apart, Quinn tries desperately to explain.
“I-”
But Santana cuts her off with a coy smile on her face.
“You know what the worst is? Paper cuts. And like it makes me think of getting a paper cut on your eye? I don’t even know why I go there, but it really kills me.”
Santana ends the rant with a little laugh that’s so adorable, Quinn doesn’t even remember why she even kissed Santana in the first place. But then Santana pulls her in closer and mumbles against her lips in a way that makes her forget everything.
Quinn watches as Santana pulls her jacket tighter around her body and rubs her hands together. The cold wind is blowing wildly as the two of them walk side by side, their shoulders bumping. The streets are noisy with cars driving by and occasionally they walk by some locals, but mostly, it feels like the peace is theirs.
There’s an urge within Quinn to scold Santana for not listening to her and choosing fashion over practicality, because this jacket - as pretty as the blue is - lacks pockets and Santana had brilliantly forgotten to bring her gloves. But yet there’s an equal, if not stronger, urge for Quinn to just grab Santana’s hands and stuff them in her pockets, even if walking like that would be somewhat of a problem.
Quinn never pretends to know what exactly is coming up next. Even though Santana says that they are merely walking back to their hotel and they are indeed walking in the right direction, Quinn knows that spontaneity will overwrite planning and Santana will decide to do something crazy. And Quinn turns out right, because Santana eyes a small, plastic, red tent a block down from the hotel by a grass field, and immediately beckons to Quinn, running excitedly inside.
The tent is a curious in-between of cold and hot, with the winter wind still slipping through its plastic walls to battle the heat generated from the small electric burners positioned at the base of each table. Quinn smiles unknowingly as she watches Santana go to the store owner and point wildly at certain foodstuffs, including the soju, before heading back to the table with a wide smile on her face. The middle-aged lady follows soon after and places plastic plates of brightly coloured objects on their table, a polite smile negating her fierce features.
Quinn winces immediately, not knowing what exactly those are and wondering how come she didn’t just enter the hotel and go up to a warm bubble bath.
But then again, she’s been doing it an awful lot this entire holiday: that weird thing where she asks herself why she actually trusts Santana and yet the next second dismiss that thought with a look at Santana’s face.
“Remember when I said I would change your mind about meat and you swore bacon would be your one and only?” Santana chuckles and runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back. There’s a grin that Quinn wants to wipe off Santana’s face, but instead she raises an eyebrow, just in time for Santana to continue talking.
“Then you couldn’t stop eating the barbecued pork back at the restaurant, so much so that you nearly hit me when I took the last?”
It was true. Quinn’s hand flew out like a ninja warrior when Santana’s fine chopstick skills secured the last piece of pork, the sizzle of the meat still hot as it was placed in its lettuce crib of condiments. Quinn’s arm was just about to hit Santana’s when Santana leaned forward and places the package in front of her face, encouraging her to eat it. There was a softness hiding behind that smirk on Santana’s face and when Quinn bent just a little forward to let Santana feed her, bacon immediately lost its top spot on her meat and food rankings.
“Moment of weakness, I haven’t had bacon for days.” Quinn stretches out the last word, trying to act nonchalant.
“Whatever Fabray, now just eat this and you can thank me later.”
Santana’s hand is stretched out again and Quinn doesn’t think much before she leans forward and eats it. Quinn hates to say it, but Santana is right again. Like she has been for most of the trip and Quinn is pretty sure she should be wallowing in her misery by now, but instead she enjoys it quite a lot. So they spend almost an hour eating rice cakes and other tasty, tasty things Quinn decides from the smug look on Santana’s face that she’d rather not know what exactly they are made of. They spend almost an hour feeding each other and drinking so much, they are more than a little buzzed from the alcohol.
It’s all fun until Santana shoots a look over at the next table and finds two grumpy, probably equally drunk, men sitting there, drinking their soju noisily. And then as if there is absolutely nothing obnoxious about it, Santana decides to pick up her drink and mimic the noise the men make.
Quinn watches Santana do it time and again and at first in her drunken state, there’s something funny and adorable in that action, but then none of it is amusing anymore when one of the guys staggers over and starts yelling at them.
Quinn can only watch as Santana goes all Lima Heights on the man and when his drunken fist swings over, Santana dodges with Cheerios-quick reflex and shoots a hard elbow into the guy’s face, her knee simultaneously hitting him between the legs. Quinn watches as the storeowner walks over spewing angry words quickly and intensely, but there’s a pride that she feels when Santana smiles down at the guy, keeling on the floor.
It’s the same pride that washes away as quickly as the proud look on Santana’s face, when she sees the other man right in front of her, his arm moving forward and almost grabbing her.
And that’s when Quinn hears it, Santana’s voice yelling.
“You fucking touch my girlfriend and I’ll have your ass in the fucking ditch!”
Quinn’s immediate response is some quirky remark about how ineffective the threat is, but it stays at the tip of her tongue as the man’s hand grabs her shoulder and Santana flies forward, tackling him like a linebacker. Quinn knows it should be the last thing on her mind but she’s immediately thankful for the fact that it’s winter and Santana is wearing jeans and not one of her skanky dresses.
Nothing else really registers in her mind until Santana is throwing notes on the table, grabbing Quinn’s hand and they’re running back towards their hotel in high heels against the strong wind.
And when something does, it isn’t the fact that Santana’s Lima Heights threats actually count for something, or the fact that they nearly got jumped by some half-drunken men on foreign soil, but the fact that Santana called her “her girlfriend”.
The thought immobilises Quinn and she finds herself tugging Santana back when they’re just outside their hotel. The adrenaline quickly drains out of her body as Santana’s words run through her mind over and over again, and just when she thinks that’s all, Quinn can feel a little bit of tender skin on Santana’s knuckles from the tackle.
When her eyes meet Santana’s, there’s a moment of drunken lucidity where Quinn feels as though Santana knows exactly what she’s thinking. But before she can say anything about it, Santana moves closer and pushes her against the building wall, never breaking eye contact.
When Santana whispers in her ear a seductive “don’t” - her hot breath a sharp contrast to the cold of the winter - Quinn only nods quietly.
And then the adrenaline comes back.
The adrenaline floods through her body again when she feels Santana’s lips pressed firmly against hers.
It’s barely over and Quinn immediately tries to distract herself by staring at something else. She settles for the ceiling and tries to count how many uneven bumps there are, formed from years of bad painting. She’s on twenty two when Santana shuffles over and Quinn can feel that body warmth against her bare arm.
It’s incredibly unsettling.
A gasp of air escapes Quinn as she says the words, soft and quiet even though no one else but Santana is in the room.
“What was that?”
Santana’s charming laughter spills across the room and the question only make Santana shift closer. Quinn would shift away, except she can feel the edge of her bed with her fingers and her body wins that battle with her mind.
“You’re more deprived than I thought, Quinn. That was sex.”
Quinn knew that. And that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. So she frowns and asks the question again.
“No, what was that.”
Santana voice drops low as she says “oh”, and Quinn regrets asking again because Santana leans over and props herself over Quinn, blocking Quinn’s view of the ceiling. Quinn can see Santana’s beautiful dark hair frame those equally beautiful features and there’s a messiness that engulfs the whole situation and makes it more attractive that it should be.
The playful look in Santana’s eyes ought to prepare her for the answer, but Quinn’s heart drops when she hears it anyway.
“That was an orgasm, darling.”
The reply disappoints her in more ways than she expects and Quinn asks herself why she even thought there was more. This is Santana Lopez and as much as Quinn hates to say it, she has become one of the girl’s conquests, a trophy that she’ll frequently use to bolster her pride and Quinn should have regretted it as soon as it begun.
But Quinn doesn’t, not even when she knows Santana will want to tell everyone how the Queen of Celibacy fell for her as with every other college girl she swept off their feet with her charm - a statement that she can’t even deny.
Except Quinn doesn’t yet know whether she really fell at all and if she did, which one she fell for: the Santana Lopez she knows all the way back from high school, or the charismatic college girl that manifests whenever they are with anyone else.
It takes all the bravery Quinn can find in that moment to look straight into those eyes, find the right words and ask again.
“What did that, make us?” She nearly trips over the use of that last word, because it implies they are something more than two individuals together.
Quinn watches as fear flickers across Santana’s eyes for a moment and those lips fail to find a snarky answer - the two of them trapped in a moment of what she thinks is the epitome of awkward silence. And it is that moment in which Quinn thinks she has won, but then Santana’s lips move down to meet her neck and that hand trails down her abs, going further and further down until
Quinn gasps again and her hand scrambles to hold on to Santana’s and pull away.
“Can we not?” Quinn breathes, the words defying everything her body is telling her and Quinn doesn’t know whether to be thankful that her brain has succeeded for once. Santana tries to keep a straight face, but Quinn can see everything from hurt to shock in the way Santana’s eyes crinkle and her eyebrows knit together.
So she gently pushes Santana’s body down and turns them toward the side, so that while they’re bodies are still flushed against each other and Quinn can feel Santana breathing against her collarbone, she doesn’t have to look Santana in the eyes again.
“Can we just... stay like this?”
When Quinn feels Santana nodding quietly against her body, those fingers making lazy patterns on her back, she finds the strength to bring her hand up and gently ruffle that gorgeous dark hair. She knows for a fact that Santana doesn’t cuddle, and when she holds Santana like that, Quinn thinks for a moment that maybe she wins, just a little.
Because even though Santana has her first, in some odd sense of the word, so does Quinn.
Santana wakes her up in the exact same way that she’s done the whole trip, with a pillow to her face, except this time Santana doesn’t have any make up-on yet, and might actually be wearing Quinn’s blouse. She says “Q” like it’s a command and then stripping off the shirt (definitely Quinn’s, she realises), goes into the bathroom like nothing ever happened the night before.
If it were any other time, Quinn could just trick her brain into believing that last night didn’t happen at all, or at least that it wasn’t important, just like she did all college. But then Quinn remembers how gentle the girl was with her last night, how they started out passionate, desperate and horny like they always were and then suddenly, Santana tells her she’s beautiful, before leaving a flutter of kisses on her collarbone and pulling her in tight like it’s the most natural decision in the world.
Even if nothing between Quinn and Santana is ever easy.
She waits till they’re sitting side by side on a bench by the park and Santana’s handing her half of an ice-cream pop. Actually, it’s an ice-cream pop even when separated, but somehow they’re sold together in a pair and right till you break it in half, it just looks like a ridiculously fat ice-cream pop with two sticks sticking out of it. Quinn listens to Santana rant about how the ice-cream vaguely reminds her of Finn and Rachel (Man-hands and her wife, in Santana’s words) in high school, a curious bitterness lacing those words.
Santana will never admit it, but Quinn knows she’s actually jealous that Rachel actually got her NYADA and Finn actually got his Rachel Berry. People in high school used to be jealous of Brittany and Santana, but the Glee Club knows that they never made forever - whatever that means to people in their twenties - and luckily for them the first official high school reunion won’t be until much, much later.
Because Quinn thinks Santana’s emotions will run high that night and most likely she’ll do something in her probably drunken haze that she’ll regret some time later. Except that they were supposed to have gotten over all this, a long time ago.
“Are we ever going to talk about this?” Quinn’s voice is small and weak, her eyes staring at the light green ice-cream until she brings it up tentatively to taste its honeydew brilliance. She’d rave about how incredible it tastes, but really Quinn doesn’t care much for ice-cream until she settles her thumping heart in her chest with a definite answer.
Quinn Fabray may run from many things, but this is one aspect she can’t outdo Santana Lopez.
“Look, Q. I’m not interested in labels-”
“Unless it’s on something you shoplift.” Quinn sighs, and completes the sentence for her. “Yes, Brittany told me. You think she was going to go tell someone else about your perpetual desire to run?”
It’s tiring, when the one person you care about, seems so determined to run away from you. Quinn wonders, just for a moment, how Brittany made it through high school without falling apart.
Quinn sighs loudly at the thought and wonders if her college life is going to mirror Brittany’s high school one, in a way that only makes her feel sad, not because of how messy their relationship is, but rather, that Quinn’s only going to try to be Santana’s Brittany all over again.
Second time around, second chance, second choice.
“Okay.”
Quinn turns abruptly at that word, because what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?
“We’re not doing cheesy shit, though. We’re not changing our Facebook statuses and I refuse to change Fabgay on my phone to something gross, or put any more photos of you in my locker.”
There’s a hesitant smile on Santana’s face that turns borderline dorky when Quinn smiles back.
“Also, I claim all additional benefits if we’re actually going to be girlfriends. For one, we’re going to have to christen my car, and yours. Secondly, you’re going to have to go down on me a lot more than you now do.”
Quinn winces, just for the sake of it. But no one’s caring about that now and Quinn has shuffled so close, she can lick Santana’s ice-cream.
“And thirdly, I’m going to actually do it right this time, Quinneth.”
It’s at least a state-wide competition, but there are fewer people than Quinn imagined who does mixed martial arts at the varsity level, so the hype is really much less than any of the other sports events she has attended. Especially if compared to the Cheerios, this isn’t even worth mentioning. But Santana’s excited anyway and just looking at her warm up with rolls and stretches sends feelings straight to Quinn’s core in a way that she will constantly try to deny.
Quinn learns how to tie the belt around her gi on the sly, so when Santana comes to her for one last time before her match, Quinn surprises her by looping her arms around Santana from the back and tying her belt tight. She whispers “good luck” in the least seductive way possible and spends each bout screaming the name Lopez with the rest of the lacrosse team.
It isn’t until later, when she’s calmly filling Santana’s water bottle during a break, does she realise how domestic that act was - they may have spent all of high school making sure each other looked perfect before each Cheerios competition, but this time, Santana isn’t going to be murdered by Sue Sylvester if her belt’s a little loose. In fact, it’s the closest thing they’ll ever have to a wife tying her husband’s tie before he goes to work.
And that thought bugs her all the way till Santana wins a gold medal and has her arm around Quinn’s waist like they’re together or whatever, when actually all that happens is that sometimes they ended up in each other’s bed a little more than naked. Yet it’s almost natural when they go have greasy Italian pizza with the rest of the lacrosse team, just to make up for Santana’s week of eating tofu so she’d make the lighter weight category. Quinn spends the whole dinner unnecessarily close to Santana and she even lets Santana coax her into sharing her bacon pizza, despite much glaring.
She’s too busy laughing and getting buzzed from drinks to realise their dynamics, until she goes to the toilet and stumbles back to hear Santana’s ex-lacrosse captain nudge her and ask her why her girlfriend’s so shy.
Santana doesn’t even miss a beat when she shrugs and just says, “meh, she’s a lion in bed.”
Quinn pretends not to hear anything, but that night, she tells Santana to stay over. For once, Santana’s far too tired out for sex and when she says that, she gives Quinn that look like she thinks Quinn will kick her out. But instead, Quinn offers her a bubble bath and spends the time weaning knots out of Santana’s back with her slender fingers. When she finds a bruise on her arm, Quinn instinctively leans forward and kisses it gently and to her surprise, Santana doesn’t flinch at the act. Quinn never asks why Santana didn’t deny they were girlfriends, because by the time she has Santana curled in her arms, she thinks it doesn’t matter.
Because even though Quinn spent most of her life using people to chase titles and tiaras, this is one time she thinks, she’s willing to give up the title, as long as she has the person.
For as long as she has Santana like that, none of that should matter, at least until she's ready.
The change isn’t all that much, but it’s enough.
Instead of fighting the cold winds individually, Santana pulls Quinn in close and links their hands together in a way that warms Quinn inside out. Quinn lets Santana check them both in at the airport and laughs a little when Santana threatens to go all Lima Heights on the guy who proposed a threesome. Santana discreetly passes Quinn half her bacon when they have breakfast on the plane, because let’s be honest, there’s never enough bacon for Quinn.
Santana doesn’t let go of Quinn’s hand for the whole of the flight back, even when she needs the toilet (although Quinn’s pretty sure that was Santana’s way of trying to get her to join the Mile High Club).
Santana doesn’t say ‘I love you’ much, but she drops the L word once in a while, like when she wakes Quinn up in the morning with a kiss on the forehead and mumbles the word on her lips, or when Santana says snarky and her first defense will always be “doesn’t mean I love you any less”.
It’s funny, but now that they’ve settled it (although it has only been days), Quinn doesn’t think about all the little details anymore. It’s not important that Santana can’t always bring herself to say ‘I love you’ and frankly there are days where Quinn wishes Santana would be a little more like Sam. But then she realises that she doesn’t need Santana to say it for her to know.
Quinn knows that Santana loves her and that’s enough.
Quinn reaches over and grabs Santana’s hand, possessive and random, which leads to Santana giving her a face that says I-cannot-believe-Q-wants-to-gets-our-macks-on-in-a-cab.
“I’ll plan the next one.”
Quinn says it slow and quiet and she presses an equally tender kiss on Santana’s lips. Santana nods quietly and sends back a snipe about how it had better live up to the standards, but it lacks the necessary malice.
It doesn’t promise everything, but at least it promises next time.
Baby steps, she tells herself.
Because this time, even if they don’t say it, they’re in for the long game.
When Quinn opens the door to her room, she expects an afternoon of calm, filled with her Jane Austen books and a bubble bath. It’s exactly what she needs, right after her exams and right before she has to fly back to Lima and meet the excuse of a family she has.
But instead, when she opens the door, she sees Santana, dressed casually in a blouse and jeans, stuffing her winter clothes in her luggage - and the wrong one at that - a bottle of vodka open and sitting precariously on her bed.
“Santana?”
Santana turns around sharply, the coat in her arm swinging wildly and hitting the bottle, spilling it all over the bedsheets. Quinn winces at the thought of sending those expensive sheets to the washers again while Santana swears about wasting the vodka. When Santana finally picks up the bottle, she pushes the bottle to Quinn, the look on her face cheeky.
“Take a swig, you’ll want to have some alcohol in your system before I tell you this.”
Quinn instinctively reaches out and drinks from the bottle, not saying a word more. Her mind contemplates for a moment why Santana isn’t in the nearest Frat party making full use of their free-flow alcohol benefits and instead is wasting her precious stash of Grey Goose. But it doesn’t last long, because from her experience, there was no use trying to second-guess this unpredictable storm.
“We’re going to Korea.”
“What?”
“You know the country beside Japan? South Korea though,” Santana laughs then continues, “visa’s a complete bitch when it comes to North Korea. Plus I don’t fancy your sweet ass getting checked by the soldiers.”
Quinn leans against her desk and tries to understand what exactly Santana had said to her. Everything about it was so crazy: starting from the fact that Santana had broken into her room again and spilt vodka over her damn bedsheets, up to the part where Santana says they’re going to South Korea when she just argued (unsuccessfully) with her parents about going back to Lima.
“I’m going back to Lima for the holidays,” Quinn deadpans. Turning around, she picks out “Pride and Prejudice” from her desk and heads towards the bathroom. But Santana’s hand darts out and grabs at her wrist, spinning her around. There’s a smug look on Santana’s face when she smiles and replies confidently.
“Settled; I told Judy we’re going to Japan on a Relieve Mission to help rebuild their country after the nuclear earthquake.”
“That huge earthquake happened years ago!”
“I know, but Judy doesn’t seem to watch much news except for Christian Alcoholic Daily, so she fell for it. My parents are cool since they know you’re coming, so.”
Quinn pauses and tries to decipher the glimmer in Santana’s eyes, the little bit of joy she thought she would only ever detect when Santana sang. When Santana moves to flash that coy smile of hers and draw light little patterns on the back of Quinn’s hands with her nails, Quinn stops trying. She knows her mind will not win that battle and instead she nods, opting to trust Santana instead.
It isn’t until later, when both of them are sitting near the departure gates, their knees bumping against one another in comfortable silence, does Quinn remembers.
Quinn remembers how Santana mysteriously appeared at her door with bacon-flavoured pretzels and alcohol, just minutes after she lost the yelling match with Judy, and that night, Quinn didn’t even have to ask before Santana hugged her to sleep.
Quinn remembers how Santana spent the last week creeping around her bookshelves and when she spotted the set of Lonely Planet guidebooks, a genuine smile spread across her face like a child who found treasure.
Quinn remembers Santana trying to scribble notes in a little notebook while doing her weepy drunk thing watching a Korean drama series with her half-Asian room-mate.
And that is when Quinn instinctively leans towards Santana and rests her head on her shoulder. She has to bend a little when she does it, but somehow it’s oddly comfortable and the words escape in a soft whisper.
“Thank you, San.”
Santana’s reply is equally soft, but the way she shifts closer and holds Quinn’s hand tightly says volumes.
“Always.”
Title: It Beats For You, So Listen Close
Pairing: Quinntana
Length: 6826
Warnings: None
Summary: Until two days ago, Quinn thought she was going back to Lima, Ohio for the winter break and braced herself for yet another instalment of fine acting staged by the Fabrays every Christmas to convince themselves they were a family. But instead, Quinn found herself in a country which she knows little of, doesn’t speak their language and with the one person she least expects - Santana Lopez. She was prepared to berate herself everyday for that one decision, but thirteen days later, she thinks she never made a better one. College!FutureFic
“This is such a bad idea.”
Santana hands Quinn her luggage and continues to peer at the conveyor belt with her tired eyes. As she watches one black luggage after another, Santana thinks for a moment that she really should have listened to Quinn and tied some kind of hugeass identity tag on hers. Quinn’s luggage has the word “Fabray” embossed on it, and Santana swears she can see it from a mile away. But Santana isn’t about to concede defeat on the very first day, so instead she turns around to glare at Quinn.
It’s supposed to be fierce, but even she’s not convinced by it. With the uncontrollable smile on her face, Santana comes across as a little annoyed and a lot affectionate.
“Come on Fabray, relax. You’re such a loser.”
“I can’t believe I’m here, with you, of all people.”
“I for one know that you would rather be here, than with Judy back in loser Lima.”
“You forget my perfect elder sister and her immaculate husband.”
Santana laughs at Quinn’s bitterness, turning around just in time to spot her luggage on the other side of the conveyor belt, about to disappear back into the mysterious room behind.
“Shit!”
Quinn laughs as Santana runs in her heels for the luggage, unrestrainedly shoving some of the locals. Quinn doesn’t have enough time to dig out the Lonely Planet guidebook in her bag before Santana grabs her hand and pulls her towards customs, frowning.
“The bus won’t wait for us!”
It’s a small miracle in itself that they’re on the correct bus, or so they hope. There are so many spa resorts in the country, the airport bus bay is completely full and the pair finds themselves having to squeeze with other tourists and locals alike as they navigate themselves around. Instinctively, Quinn grumbles about how Santana should have arranged for some kind of better transport, like a taxi.
Santana doesn’t even take her eyes off the iPad as she mutters the word “budget”, swiping through her emails furiously. Quinn leans onto Santana’s back and peers over her shoulder, smiling. It’s only when she sees email after email of hotel reservations and ticket confirmations does Quinn realise how much Santana had done and guiltily bites the inside of her cheek.
When Santana does find the email, she zooms in so big, the characters are pixelated and then proceeds to gesticulate wildly in front of each bus driver until one of them nods firmly. They only stop to check that the characters match the one printed on the bus, before Santana climbs into the bus, unceremoniously leaving their luggage for the bus driver to load.
It surprises Quinn when Santana waits for her before taking the aisle seat.
It surprises her even more when Santana doesn’t wait for her questioning eyebrow to explain the gesture with a simple answer of “Cheerios”.
But what surprises her the most is Santana’s body pressing warmly against her, two hours later when she wakes up. Quinn makes sleepy noises as Santana leans over to press her DSLR against the window, trying to take a photo of the snow-covered farms they’re driving by.
“They’re ginseng fields,” Santana whispers quietly, as if it’s some kind of ninja will steal the place from right in front of her camera if she speaks too loudly. Quinn nods, gently pries the DSLR from Santana’s fingers and quietly pushes a gap open in the window.
The cold air hits both of them and for a moment Santana thinks Quinn is crazy, but then Quinn quickly pushes the camera outside the window, adjusts the focus and presses the shutter button. They hear the camera click a couple of times and then Quinn pulls the camera back in, shutting the window with a dull thud.
Quinn has always been better with the camera and Santana’s more than eager to see the shots taken, but when she reaches for the camera, she touches Quinn’s fingers and immediately flinches at how cold they are.
The excited look of gratitude on Santana’s face is swiftly replaced by a look of disdain and Santana pulls out the thermos, cupping Quinn’s hands and wrapping their fingers around the bottle.
“You’re an idiot, Q.”
The words are supposed to be harsh, but with all the affection in it, Santana doesn’t even sound half-menacing.
“I bet the photos look great.” Then Quinn lowers her volume and whispers conspiratorially, “ginseng fields right?”
They both burst into laughter and the other travellers stare at them until Santana turns around to glare.
Quinn stopped exercising regularly once she quit the Cheerios, because with all the dancing in Glee and the disgustingly healthy diet she started liking, Quinn stopped needing exercise to get rid of Lucy. Plus she never really lost the flexibility or stamina she earned in cheerleading, she just doesn’t need it half as bad anymore.
Santana, on the other hand, does mixed martial arts now. Santana says it’s part of the deal she has with the school counsellor ever since she beat up that jock who called her lacrosse team dykes, just because they didn’t find it necessary to make her shower in another locker room. He ended up with a broken nose and a caved-in cheekbone. Santana ended up quitting the team and mixed martial arts fills up her Mondays and Thursdays in a way that means she only has to worry about her Fridays.
Quinn never says, but some Fridays, she catches Santana sitting on the bleachers, staring out at her (now former) team-mates do suicides like it’s the most pleasant thing on the world.
So when she sees that pamphlet stuck on the lift, Quinn does a double take and that obnoxious thing where she peels it off and throws it in front of Santana during their only shared class.
(It’s a class on religion that Quinn takes to have something to talk to Judy about; it’s a class that Santana takes so that she can whisper inappropriate comments in Quinn’s ear at opportune moments. Admittedly, they both benefit.)
Santana raises an eyebrow at her and pretends not to notice that practise is on Friday. Instead, she pulls out her pen and circles the word “LGBTQ” thrice, and draws a huge question mark.
Quinn watches Santana mouth, “the last time I checked, Fabray, you’re not playing for my team” and she instantly blushes. But she rolls her eyes as practised and mouths back a quick “I’m trying to be supportive.”
She doesn’t say for what and decides that the professor is actually interesting for the next three minutes.
Until she feels Santana’s hand on hers and she can’t help but turn around. Even though Santana doesn’t say anything, there’s a small smile on her face, and Quinn knows that’s as close as Santana gets to “thank you”.
Quinn spends the next three months cursing her compassion and pretending not to notice every time Santana pulls up her shirt to wipe off her sweat. Santana spends the next three months buying Quinn dinner on Fridays and walking her back to her dorm, even though their favourite restaurant is actually equidistant from both their places.
Three months later, when they run past that finish line in matching shirts, Santana pulls Quinn in for a hug that has Quinn complaining about how disgusting it is, when really, she has never felt like more accomplished in her life.
There’s something crazy about running in the snow and then jumping into a hot, hot, pool of spa water. It gets a little crazier when one’s with Santana Lopez and she insists on trying out everything. There’s a spa flavoured with red wine, a medical one infused with traditional herbs and of course, one with ginseng.
There’s barely two days into the trip and Quinn can already swear Santana wants to do anything and everything as long as there is ginseng involved.
They move from periods of extreme cold and extreme heat as they try every one, Santana eagerly pulling Quinn out and into the next one just as Quinn starts to enjoy the heat around her. They do this until they reach the top level, where the pool looks deceivingly normal, until you step into it and it’s actually just as hot as all the rest.
Quinn flinches a little and looks around, confused by how everyone’s stepping into little floats, the kind that she always sees kids wear, except adult-sized. Santana smiles sneakily and gets into one herself, yelling at Quinn with an enthusiasm she usually only shows when she gets solos - or when there’s an easy lay.
“Q, get into one and join me here!”
Quinn wants to roll her eyes and wade to Santana, completely confident of her swimming capabilities. But then she watches as people all jump into the little floats and promptly remembers how she thought the pool was normal, only to find it hot with mountain spa water. Reluctantly, Quinn steps into one of them and moves awkwardly to Santana. She’s just about to speak, when Santana reaches over and grabs her hand.
And Quinn stalls.
Quinn just stops moving in the middle of the pool. She thinks it could be because of the fact that Santana’s hands are surprisingly warm for winter, or perhaps because of the sudden drop in adrenaline in her body. Or the fact that Santana always manages to stop her heart from beating for just a split second every time she touches her like that.
Quinn flushes but she tries to convince herself it’s because of the hot water. And then she tries to speak again, but it doesn’t happen.
Quite thankfully for her, Santana’s far too distracted to notice any of those things. Instead, Santana tugs Quinn closer, until Quinn can occasionally feel Santana’s leg kick hers as they tread water.
That’s when Quinn feels them: the currents.
She lets out a gasp just as the first flood of water washes through the pool and all the people start moving with the current. The water hits them fast and Quinn knows she must look terrible as blonde hair gets plastered to her face. The feeling completely terrifies her, because it’s so much faster than the few times she’s waded along the beach and there’s absolutely nothing to hold on to.
Well, except for Santana’s hand.
So Quinn settles for biting her lower lip and holding in the screams, her hands firmly grasped around Santana’s. As the currents come one after another, Quinn winces as she hears people screaming. Some of them positively terrified, others completely out-of-their-mind happy and then of course, there’s Santana’s ecstatic laughter.
The laughter alone could probably tease happiness out of Quinn any other time, but this time her heart’s still beating wildly from all that water and she can’t really concentrate on anything other than holding on to Santana’s hand.
But before she knows it, Quinn’s back in her starting spot at the pool, panting.
Santana almost follows the crowd back for another round but Quinn holds her tightly and using the remainder of her strength, pulls firmly. She doesn’t want to let Santana know how foreign the feeling is and how much that scares her, but she knows that Santana will detect all the fragility once their eyes meet.
And she does, because Quinn feels Santana’s slender fingers slowly pushing away the blonde hair from her face and edging closer. Their floats bump awkwardly against one another and Santana shifts to lace their fingers.
“You okay, Q?” Santana’s voice is so preciously gentle, Quinn’s certain there’s water in her ears.
“Yeah,” Quinn replies, but she chokes on the water and there goes all the strength she has mustered into the word. For a moment Quinn thinks Santana will make fun of her for that, but instead, Santana moves to carefully pat Quinn’s back.
The tenderness in her action sends a wave of chills through Quinn’s body, but then Santana’s voice magically manages to calm her down again.
“Trust me,” Santana says, her voice firm and yet caring at the same time.
Quinn finds herself nodding and then with their fingers laced in each other’s, Santana coaxes her to go for round after round until she finds herself screaming in exhilaration and enjoying the splash of water in her face.
When they finally stop, Santana helps Quinn out of her float and looks straight into her eyes. There’s not a thread of sarcasm when she speaks and Quinn will desperately try to memorise that brilliant glimmer of pride in Santana’s eyes.
“You were incredible, Quinn.”
No one believes Quinn when she says it. Not even Brittany, whom they occasionally Skype, because despite everything, Santana and Brittany still spent most of high school stuck at the hip.
It’s at one of their Unholy Trinity Skype sessions that Quinn mentions how Santana actually really hates razorblades, even though she always claims to have them hidden in her hair. Santana just shoots her a glare that means no free coffee for the rest of the week and Brittany gives her a look like it’d be easier to understand if a unicorn just waltzed out of her computer screen.
They both pretend it doesn’t happen, until one day when Santana walks into her room, completely unfazed, and catches Quinn doing scrapbooking. Quinn knows there’s an insult on the tip of Santana’s tongue about how scrapbooking is a hobby for sixty year-old nuns, but her gaze drops to the penknife in her hand and the girl literally backs away.
There’s a fear in Santana’s eyes that even Quinn is scared of.
So she quietly puts down her pen knife and moves closer to Santana, the sound of her every step on the parquet floor loud against the silence of the room. Santana makes some sounds, her voice desperate to hide the weakness she has just revealed, but it all goes quiet once Quinn has her arms wrapped protectively around Santana.
Quinn can feel Santana’s arms cling tightly onto her and her face pressed against her in a way that reminds her far too much of Senior Year and all the mistakes they both made. All the mistakes they made against each other, all the mistakes people made against them.
So she tangles her fingers in Santana’s hair, hearing Santana’s breathing calm down and thinking far too much about how small Santana feels in her arms, despite (maybe especially when compared to) that huge personality of hers.
It scares them both when Quinn softly peels them apart, and then in a gentle, fleeting movement, she presses her lips lightly against Santana’s. She doesn’t know why she does it, but she does and when they pull apart, Quinn tries desperately to explain.
“I-”
But Santana cuts her off with a coy smile on her face.
“You know what the worst is? Paper cuts. And like it makes me think of getting a paper cut on your eye? I don’t even know why I go there, but it really kills me.”
Santana ends the rant with a little laugh that’s so adorable, Quinn doesn’t even remember why she even kissed Santana in the first place. But then Santana pulls her in closer and mumbles against her lips in a way that makes her forget everything.
Quinn watches as Santana pulls her jacket tighter around her body and rubs her hands together. The cold wind is blowing wildly as the two of them walk side by side, their shoulders bumping. The streets are noisy with cars driving by and occasionally they walk by some locals, but mostly, it feels like the peace is theirs.
There’s an urge within Quinn to scold Santana for not listening to her and choosing fashion over practicality, because this jacket - as pretty as the blue is - lacks pockets and Santana had brilliantly forgotten to bring her gloves. But yet there’s an equal, if not stronger, urge for Quinn to just grab Santana’s hands and stuff them in her pockets, even if walking like that would be somewhat of a problem.
Quinn never pretends to know what exactly is coming up next. Even though Santana says that they are merely walking back to their hotel and they are indeed walking in the right direction, Quinn knows that spontaneity will overwrite planning and Santana will decide to do something crazy. And Quinn turns out right, because Santana eyes a small, plastic, red tent a block down from the hotel by a grass field, and immediately beckons to Quinn, running excitedly inside.
The tent is a curious in-between of cold and hot, with the winter wind still slipping through its plastic walls to battle the heat generated from the small electric burners positioned at the base of each table. Quinn smiles unknowingly as she watches Santana go to the store owner and point wildly at certain foodstuffs, including the soju, before heading back to the table with a wide smile on her face. The middle-aged lady follows soon after and places plastic plates of brightly coloured objects on their table, a polite smile negating her fierce features.
Quinn winces immediately, not knowing what exactly those are and wondering how come she didn’t just enter the hotel and go up to a warm bubble bath.
But then again, she’s been doing it an awful lot this entire holiday: that weird thing where she asks herself why she actually trusts Santana and yet the next second dismiss that thought with a look at Santana’s face.
“Remember when I said I would change your mind about meat and you swore bacon would be your one and only?” Santana chuckles and runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back. There’s a grin that Quinn wants to wipe off Santana’s face, but instead she raises an eyebrow, just in time for Santana to continue talking.
“Then you couldn’t stop eating the barbecued pork back at the restaurant, so much so that you nearly hit me when I took the last?”
It was true. Quinn’s hand flew out like a ninja warrior when Santana’s fine chopstick skills secured the last piece of pork, the sizzle of the meat still hot as it was placed in its lettuce crib of condiments. Quinn’s arm was just about to hit Santana’s when Santana leaned forward and places the package in front of her face, encouraging her to eat it. There was a softness hiding behind that smirk on Santana’s face and when Quinn bent just a little forward to let Santana feed her, bacon immediately lost its top spot on her meat and food rankings.
“Moment of weakness, I haven’t had bacon for days.” Quinn stretches out the last word, trying to act nonchalant.
“Whatever Fabray, now just eat this and you can thank me later.”
Santana’s hand is stretched out again and Quinn doesn’t think much before she leans forward and eats it. Quinn hates to say it, but Santana is right again. Like she has been for most of the trip and Quinn is pretty sure she should be wallowing in her misery by now, but instead she enjoys it quite a lot. So they spend almost an hour eating rice cakes and other tasty, tasty things Quinn decides from the smug look on Santana’s face that she’d rather not know what exactly they are made of. They spend almost an hour feeding each other and drinking so much, they are more than a little buzzed from the alcohol.
It’s all fun until Santana shoots a look over at the next table and finds two grumpy, probably equally drunk, men sitting there, drinking their soju noisily. And then as if there is absolutely nothing obnoxious about it, Santana decides to pick up her drink and mimic the noise the men make.
Quinn watches Santana do it time and again and at first in her drunken state, there’s something funny and adorable in that action, but then none of it is amusing anymore when one of the guys staggers over and starts yelling at them.
Quinn can only watch as Santana goes all Lima Heights on the man and when his drunken fist swings over, Santana dodges with Cheerios-quick reflex and shoots a hard elbow into the guy’s face, her knee simultaneously hitting him between the legs. Quinn watches as the storeowner walks over spewing angry words quickly and intensely, but there’s a pride that she feels when Santana smiles down at the guy, keeling on the floor.
It’s the same pride that washes away as quickly as the proud look on Santana’s face, when she sees the other man right in front of her, his arm moving forward and almost grabbing her.
And that’s when Quinn hears it, Santana’s voice yelling.
“You fucking touch my girlfriend and I’ll have your ass in the fucking ditch!”
Quinn’s immediate response is some quirky remark about how ineffective the threat is, but it stays at the tip of her tongue as the man’s hand grabs her shoulder and Santana flies forward, tackling him like a linebacker. Quinn knows it should be the last thing on her mind but she’s immediately thankful for the fact that it’s winter and Santana is wearing jeans and not one of her skanky dresses.
Nothing else really registers in her mind until Santana is throwing notes on the table, grabbing Quinn’s hand and they’re running back towards their hotel in high heels against the strong wind.
And when something does, it isn’t the fact that Santana’s Lima Heights threats actually count for something, or the fact that they nearly got jumped by some half-drunken men on foreign soil, but the fact that Santana called her “her girlfriend”.
The thought immobilises Quinn and she finds herself tugging Santana back when they’re just outside their hotel. The adrenaline quickly drains out of her body as Santana’s words run through her mind over and over again, and just when she thinks that’s all, Quinn can feel a little bit of tender skin on Santana’s knuckles from the tackle.
When her eyes meet Santana’s, there’s a moment of drunken lucidity where Quinn feels as though Santana knows exactly what she’s thinking. But before she can say anything about it, Santana moves closer and pushes her against the building wall, never breaking eye contact.
When Santana whispers in her ear a seductive “don’t” - her hot breath a sharp contrast to the cold of the winter - Quinn only nods quietly.
And then the adrenaline comes back.
The adrenaline floods through her body again when she feels Santana’s lips pressed firmly against hers.
It’s barely over and Quinn immediately tries to distract herself by staring at something else. She settles for the ceiling and tries to count how many uneven bumps there are, formed from years of bad painting. She’s on twenty two when Santana shuffles over and Quinn can feel that body warmth against her bare arm.
It’s incredibly unsettling.
A gasp of air escapes Quinn as she says the words, soft and quiet even though no one else but Santana is in the room.
“What was that?”
Santana’s charming laughter spills across the room and the question only make Santana shift closer. Quinn would shift away, except she can feel the edge of her bed with her fingers and her body wins that battle with her mind.
“You’re more deprived than I thought, Quinn. That was sex.”
Quinn knew that. And that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. So she frowns and asks the question again.
“No, what was that.”
Santana voice drops low as she says “oh”, and Quinn regrets asking again because Santana leans over and props herself over Quinn, blocking Quinn’s view of the ceiling. Quinn can see Santana’s beautiful dark hair frame those equally beautiful features and there’s a messiness that engulfs the whole situation and makes it more attractive that it should be.
The playful look in Santana’s eyes ought to prepare her for the answer, but Quinn’s heart drops when she hears it anyway.
“That was an orgasm, darling.”
The reply disappoints her in more ways than she expects and Quinn asks herself why she even thought there was more. This is Santana Lopez and as much as Quinn hates to say it, she has become one of the girl’s conquests, a trophy that she’ll frequently use to bolster her pride and Quinn should have regretted it as soon as it begun.
But Quinn doesn’t, not even when she knows Santana will want to tell everyone how the Queen of Celibacy fell for her as with every other college girl she swept off their feet with her charm - a statement that she can’t even deny.
Except Quinn doesn’t yet know whether she really fell at all and if she did, which one she fell for: the Santana Lopez she knows all the way back from high school, or the charismatic college girl that manifests whenever they are with anyone else.
It takes all the bravery Quinn can find in that moment to look straight into those eyes, find the right words and ask again.
“What did that, make us?” She nearly trips over the use of that last word, because it implies they are something more than two individuals together.
Quinn watches as fear flickers across Santana’s eyes for a moment and those lips fail to find a snarky answer - the two of them trapped in a moment of what she thinks is the epitome of awkward silence. And it is that moment in which Quinn thinks she has won, but then Santana’s lips move down to meet her neck and that hand trails down her abs, going further and further down until
Quinn gasps again and her hand scrambles to hold on to Santana’s and pull away.
“Can we not?” Quinn breathes, the words defying everything her body is telling her and Quinn doesn’t know whether to be thankful that her brain has succeeded for once. Santana tries to keep a straight face, but Quinn can see everything from hurt to shock in the way Santana’s eyes crinkle and her eyebrows knit together.
So she gently pushes Santana’s body down and turns them toward the side, so that while they’re bodies are still flushed against each other and Quinn can feel Santana breathing against her collarbone, she doesn’t have to look Santana in the eyes again.
“Can we just... stay like this?”
When Quinn feels Santana nodding quietly against her body, those fingers making lazy patterns on her back, she finds the strength to bring her hand up and gently ruffle that gorgeous dark hair. She knows for a fact that Santana doesn’t cuddle, and when she holds Santana like that, Quinn thinks for a moment that maybe she wins, just a little.
Because even though Santana has her first, in some odd sense of the word, so does Quinn.
Santana wakes her up in the exact same way that she’s done the whole trip, with a pillow to her face, except this time Santana doesn’t have any make up-on yet, and might actually be wearing Quinn’s blouse. She says “Q” like it’s a command and then stripping off the shirt (definitely Quinn’s, she realises), goes into the bathroom like nothing ever happened the night before.
If it were any other time, Quinn could just trick her brain into believing that last night didn’t happen at all, or at least that it wasn’t important, just like she did all college. But then Quinn remembers how gentle the girl was with her last night, how they started out passionate, desperate and horny like they always were and then suddenly, Santana tells her she’s beautiful, before leaving a flutter of kisses on her collarbone and pulling her in tight like it’s the most natural decision in the world.
Even if nothing between Quinn and Santana is ever easy.
She waits till they’re sitting side by side on a bench by the park and Santana’s handing her half of an ice-cream pop. Actually, it’s an ice-cream pop even when separated, but somehow they’re sold together in a pair and right till you break it in half, it just looks like a ridiculously fat ice-cream pop with two sticks sticking out of it. Quinn listens to Santana rant about how the ice-cream vaguely reminds her of Finn and Rachel (Man-hands and her wife, in Santana’s words) in high school, a curious bitterness lacing those words.
Santana will never admit it, but Quinn knows she’s actually jealous that Rachel actually got her NYADA and Finn actually got his Rachel Berry. People in high school used to be jealous of Brittany and Santana, but the Glee Club knows that they never made forever - whatever that means to people in their twenties - and luckily for them the first official high school reunion won’t be until much, much later.
Because Quinn thinks Santana’s emotions will run high that night and most likely she’ll do something in her probably drunken haze that she’ll regret some time later. Except that they were supposed to have gotten over all this, a long time ago.
“Are we ever going to talk about this?” Quinn’s voice is small and weak, her eyes staring at the light green ice-cream until she brings it up tentatively to taste its honeydew brilliance. She’d rave about how incredible it tastes, but really Quinn doesn’t care much for ice-cream until she settles her thumping heart in her chest with a definite answer.
Quinn Fabray may run from many things, but this is one aspect she can’t outdo Santana Lopez.
“Look, Q. I’m not interested in labels-”
“Unless it’s on something you shoplift.” Quinn sighs, and completes the sentence for her. “Yes, Brittany told me. You think she was going to go tell someone else about your perpetual desire to run?”
It’s tiring, when the one person you care about, seems so determined to run away from you. Quinn wonders, just for a moment, how Brittany made it through high school without falling apart.
Quinn sighs loudly at the thought and wonders if her college life is going to mirror Brittany’s high school one, in a way that only makes her feel sad, not because of how messy their relationship is, but rather, that Quinn’s only going to try to be Santana’s Brittany all over again.
Second time around, second chance, second choice.
“Okay.”
Quinn turns abruptly at that word, because what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?
“We’re not doing cheesy shit, though. We’re not changing our Facebook statuses and I refuse to change Fabgay on my phone to something gross, or put any more photos of you in my locker.”
There’s a hesitant smile on Santana’s face that turns borderline dorky when Quinn smiles back.
“Also, I claim all additional benefits if we’re actually going to be girlfriends. For one, we’re going to have to christen my car, and yours. Secondly, you’re going to have to go down on me a lot more than you now do.”
Quinn winces, just for the sake of it. But no one’s caring about that now and Quinn has shuffled so close, she can lick Santana’s ice-cream.
“And thirdly, I’m going to actually do it right this time, Quinneth.”
It’s at least a state-wide competition, but there are fewer people than Quinn imagined who does mixed martial arts at the varsity level, so the hype is really much less than any of the other sports events she has attended. Especially if compared to the Cheerios, this isn’t even worth mentioning. But Santana’s excited anyway and just looking at her warm up with rolls and stretches sends feelings straight to Quinn’s core in a way that she will constantly try to deny.
Quinn learns how to tie the belt around her gi on the sly, so when Santana comes to her for one last time before her match, Quinn surprises her by looping her arms around Santana from the back and tying her belt tight. She whispers “good luck” in the least seductive way possible and spends each bout screaming the name Lopez with the rest of the lacrosse team.
It isn’t until later, when she’s calmly filling Santana’s water bottle during a break, does she realise how domestic that act was - they may have spent all of high school making sure each other looked perfect before each Cheerios competition, but this time, Santana isn’t going to be murdered by Sue Sylvester if her belt’s a little loose. In fact, it’s the closest thing they’ll ever have to a wife tying her husband’s tie before he goes to work.
And that thought bugs her all the way till Santana wins a gold medal and has her arm around Quinn’s waist like they’re together or whatever, when actually all that happens is that sometimes they ended up in each other’s bed a little more than naked. Yet it’s almost natural when they go have greasy Italian pizza with the rest of the lacrosse team, just to make up for Santana’s week of eating tofu so she’d make the lighter weight category. Quinn spends the whole dinner unnecessarily close to Santana and she even lets Santana coax her into sharing her bacon pizza, despite much glaring.
She’s too busy laughing and getting buzzed from drinks to realise their dynamics, until she goes to the toilet and stumbles back to hear Santana’s ex-lacrosse captain nudge her and ask her why her girlfriend’s so shy.
Santana doesn’t even miss a beat when she shrugs and just says, “meh, she’s a lion in bed.”
Quinn pretends not to hear anything, but that night, she tells Santana to stay over. For once, Santana’s far too tired out for sex and when she says that, she gives Quinn that look like she thinks Quinn will kick her out. But instead, Quinn offers her a bubble bath and spends the time weaning knots out of Santana’s back with her slender fingers. When she finds a bruise on her arm, Quinn instinctively leans forward and kisses it gently and to her surprise, Santana doesn’t flinch at the act. Quinn never asks why Santana didn’t deny they were girlfriends, because by the time she has Santana curled in her arms, she thinks it doesn’t matter.
Because even though Quinn spent most of her life using people to chase titles and tiaras, this is one time she thinks, she’s willing to give up the title, as long as she has the person.
For as long as she has Santana like that, none of that should matter, at least until she's ready.
The change isn’t all that much, but it’s enough.
Instead of fighting the cold winds individually, Santana pulls Quinn in close and links their hands together in a way that warms Quinn inside out. Quinn lets Santana check them both in at the airport and laughs a little when Santana threatens to go all Lima Heights on the guy who proposed a threesome. Santana discreetly passes Quinn half her bacon when they have breakfast on the plane, because let’s be honest, there’s never enough bacon for Quinn.
Santana doesn’t let go of Quinn’s hand for the whole of the flight back, even when she needs the toilet (although Quinn’s pretty sure that was Santana’s way of trying to get her to join the Mile High Club).
Santana doesn’t say ‘I love you’ much, but she drops the L word once in a while, like when she wakes Quinn up in the morning with a kiss on the forehead and mumbles the word on her lips, or when Santana says snarky and her first defense will always be “doesn’t mean I love you any less”.
It’s funny, but now that they’ve settled it (although it has only been days), Quinn doesn’t think about all the little details anymore. It’s not important that Santana can’t always bring herself to say ‘I love you’ and frankly there are days where Quinn wishes Santana would be a little more like Sam. But then she realises that she doesn’t need Santana to say it for her to know.
Quinn knows that Santana loves her and that’s enough.
Quinn reaches over and grabs Santana’s hand, possessive and random, which leads to Santana giving her a face that says I-cannot-believe-Q-wants-to-gets-our-macks-on-in-a-cab.
“I’ll plan the next one.”
Quinn says it slow and quiet and she presses an equally tender kiss on Santana’s lips. Santana nods quietly and sends back a snipe about how it had better live up to the standards, but it lacks the necessary malice.
It doesn’t promise everything, but at least it promises next time.
Baby steps, she tells herself.
Because this time, even if they don’t say it, they’re in for the long game.
When Quinn opens the door to her room, she expects an afternoon of calm, filled with her Jane Austen books and a bubble bath. It’s exactly what she needs, right after her exams and right before she has to fly back to Lima and meet the excuse of a family she has.
But instead, when she opens the door, she sees Santana, dressed casually in a blouse and jeans, stuffing her winter clothes in her luggage - and the wrong one at that - a bottle of vodka open and sitting precariously on her bed.
“Santana?”
Santana turns around sharply, the coat in her arm swinging wildly and hitting the bottle, spilling it all over the bedsheets. Quinn winces at the thought of sending those expensive sheets to the washers again while Santana swears about wasting the vodka. When Santana finally picks up the bottle, she pushes the bottle to Quinn, the look on her face cheeky.
“Take a swig, you’ll want to have some alcohol in your system before I tell you this.”
Quinn instinctively reaches out and drinks from the bottle, not saying a word more. Her mind contemplates for a moment why Santana isn’t in the nearest Frat party making full use of their free-flow alcohol benefits and instead is wasting her precious stash of Grey Goose. But it doesn’t last long, because from her experience, there was no use trying to second-guess this unpredictable storm.
“We’re going to Korea.”
“What?”
“You know the country beside Japan? South Korea though,” Santana laughs then continues, “visa’s a complete bitch when it comes to North Korea. Plus I don’t fancy your sweet ass getting checked by the soldiers.”
Quinn leans against her desk and tries to understand what exactly Santana had said to her. Everything about it was so crazy: starting from the fact that Santana had broken into her room again and spilt vodka over her damn bedsheets, up to the part where Santana says they’re going to South Korea when she just argued (unsuccessfully) with her parents about going back to Lima.
“I’m going back to Lima for the holidays,” Quinn deadpans. Turning around, she picks out “Pride and Prejudice” from her desk and heads towards the bathroom. But Santana’s hand darts out and grabs at her wrist, spinning her around. There’s a smug look on Santana’s face when she smiles and replies confidently.
“Settled; I told Judy we’re going to Japan on a Relieve Mission to help rebuild their country after the nuclear earthquake.”
“That huge earthquake happened years ago!”
“I know, but Judy doesn’t seem to watch much news except for Christian Alcoholic Daily, so she fell for it. My parents are cool since they know you’re coming, so.”
Quinn pauses and tries to decipher the glimmer in Santana’s eyes, the little bit of joy she thought she would only ever detect when Santana sang. When Santana moves to flash that coy smile of hers and draw light little patterns on the back of Quinn’s hands with her nails, Quinn stops trying. She knows her mind will not win that battle and instead she nods, opting to trust Santana instead.
It isn’t until later, when both of them are sitting near the departure gates, their knees bumping against one another in comfortable silence, does Quinn remembers.
Quinn remembers how Santana mysteriously appeared at her door with bacon-flavoured pretzels and alcohol, just minutes after she lost the yelling match with Judy, and that night, Quinn didn’t even have to ask before Santana hugged her to sleep.
Quinn remembers how Santana spent the last week creeping around her bookshelves and when she spotted the set of Lonely Planet guidebooks, a genuine smile spread across her face like a child who found treasure.
Quinn remembers Santana trying to scribble notes in a little notebook while doing her weepy drunk thing watching a Korean drama series with her half-Asian room-mate.
And that is when Quinn instinctively leans towards Santana and rests her head on her shoulder. She has to bend a little when she does it, but somehow it’s oddly comfortable and the words escape in a soft whisper.
“Thank you, San.”
Santana’s reply is equally soft, but the way she shifts closer and holds Quinn’s hand tightly says volumes.
“Always.”