Fic: Help Me Take My Life Less Seriously
Author’s Note: So, I, uh, kind of rewrote Quinn’s scene with Sam in “Duets,” replacing Sam with Santana. Because I need Santana and Quinn to work their shit out. And kiss, maybe. (follows the same fan-wankering I started in Sentimental Moron and continued in Someone No One Can Touch)
“Santana,” Quinn said flatly. She’d half-expected the other girl to blow off their rehearsal time.
Shoulders tensing, Santana turned toward the door. “Fabray,” she replied, her voice just as flat.
Quinn frowned, surprised. “You play that thing?”
“No, I just carry it around,” Santana replied, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been playing since I was five. My name is Santana, you know,” she smirked, and Quinn bit back a smile.
“I really had no idea you played,” Quinn murmured, and Santana shrugged.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she returned, and Quinn said nothing.
“So.”
“So.”
“Look, I-”
“Whatever you’re going to say, save it,” Santana said gruffly. “You did what you had to do, and I…let you. So let’s just get this over with.”
“Did you pick a song?” Quinn asked, dropping her bookbag on a chair.
“I had a few ideas.” Santana glanced shyly at her erstwhile friend, but when Quinn raised her eyes, she dropped hers.
“And you’ll play?”
“It works for Puck,” she muttered.
“What did you mean, you let me?” Quinn asked sharply, and Santana’s head snapped up.
“I didn’t fucking get a boob job, Quinn,” she growled. “But I let Sylvester think I did.”
“I-”
“Interesting, though, that you noticed my rack got bigger,” Santana said, with feigned nonchalance, and she grinned triumphantly when Quinn’s cheeks reddened.
“Well. You never wore much clothing this summer.”
“Mmm, it was hot,” she said, and Quinn gulped.
Shit, she thought. Does she know? She looked up at the other girl, smirking at her confidently, and all she wanted to do was tear Santana to pieces. “You’re a fucking bitch, Santana,” Quinn said between clenched teeth.
“Why so hostile, Fabray? I haven’t done a damn thing. I believe I was the one who came over in the middle of the night all summer when you couldn’t sleep or when you woke up from a nightmare. Where was your BFF Mercedes for all of that?”
“You-” Quinn spluttered, her ears burning, as she watched Santana just continue to smirk. She lunged forward suddenly, ready to wipe that smirk off of her face, but Santana easily caught her wrist.
“Look. I know you have some issues you still need to work through, but you and me? We are not fighting.”
Quinn stood, still tense, still wanting to smack Santana across the face, but Santana held fast to her wrist. “So what? You forgive me, then? Is that it? I stole your spot on the Cheerios, and you’ve decided you’re a good enough person to forgive me?”
“Well, if you’d rather I continue to hound you and make sure Coach knows I’m gunning for my spot back, by all means, your majesty. I can do that.”
“Can you?” Quinn snarled. “You just told me you let her think you got the boob job.”
“I’m sure I can come up with a very moving speech about how I realized surgery was not the solution to my problems, and I’ve actually developed my self-esteem watching you as captain and knowing that I could be better.”
“So? Sylvester wants me. She was so desperate to get rid of you that she took me back, even after everything that happened last year.”
“So that’s how it is, huh? You don’t want to be friends, even a little bit? You and I were a good team, Q.” Santana strummed absently on her guitar.
“I can’t trust you,” Quinn blurted.
“Ah, ah. I can’t trust you,” Santana returned. “You kept secrets from me; you went running to Mercedes when you needed to escape the Puckermans’; you lied to Coach to get your spot on the squad back.”
“You told Coach about-”
“I told Coach nothing,” Santana said fiercely, setting her guitar down. “Jewfro spilled those beans-and remember? Rachel Berry forked over a pair of her granny panties so he’d keep his mouth shut.”
“Why are you bringing Rachel into this?”
“I’m just saying, Quinn. Even the people you’ve tormented have never tried to bring you down.”
“You always wanted to be captain-you’d have done-”
“Why aren’t you listening to me? I had the chance to drop your pregnancy bomb on Coach and probably get rewarded, and I didn’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a conniving, manipulative bitch, and to tell you the truth, more than anything I admire that. But don’t deny it.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. Own it. I wish I could be as heartless.”
“Oh, so that’s why you just ‘let’ me take my spot back? Because you’re the one with the heart?”
“Quinn, if you really believe I’m just a selfish, shallow bitch, then why did you keep calling me all summer?”
“Why did you come?”
“Because I thought you needed me. We’ve been friends since sixth grade. I don’t have many actual friends. You mattered to me.”
Quinn sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. “We don’t have to be rivals,” Santana said softly. “We can be a team again.”
“We were never a team. You always did whatever I said.”
“Yeah, well. We can be a real team now.”
“What? And never argue?”
“Of course we’ll argue, Christ, Quinn. You’re still you; I’m still me. But we don’t have to be at each other’s throats, you know? And maybe you’ll actually start sleeping again.”
“I sleep just fine.”
“Oh really? Those dark circles under your eyes say much differently.”
Quinn clenched her jaw and swallowed, looking anywhere but at Santana. “You noticed?” she asked quietly.
“I notice everything,” Santana said calmly. She picked up her guitar again. “Come on, we have, like, half an hour. Let’s just do this.”
“I don’t know why you want to.”
“Because I’m me and you’re you, and the two of us? Don’t just hand in incompletes. We do the damn thing.”
Quinn laughed in spite of herself and stood up. “All right, Lopez. What are we singing?”
Santana strummed a chord and started playfully singing “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away,” and Quinn almost flew at her, but that would have given her away completely, and besides, she quickly realized Santana was really just being playful-not taunting her. “Come on, you know this one, Fabray,” she said, and Quinn reluctantly joined in with her on the chorus.
“All right, then. We definitely sound good together,” Santana said, satisfied. “Now come here,” she instructed. “Stand here.”
Quinn did as she was told, feeling herself start to shake at standing so close to her friend. Santana took her right hand and positioned her fingers on the strings of her guitar. “There, keep those there,” she said, softly bumping Quinn’s hip with her own. Quinn’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest, but she somehow managed not to move.
And then Santana started playing and started singing, and Quinn nearly fell apart. This song? She had to know.
But somehow, she managed to sing her part-probably because after the introduction, Santana and her guitar slipped away, so she could play properly-but at the end, Santana came and stood close to her, nearly resting her own head against Quinn’s. When they finished the song, they stood in silence for a moment.
It was Santana who spoke first. “You know that’s how Puck and I met?”
“What?” Quinn asked, shaking her head to clear it.
“We had the same guitar teacher when we were twelve,” Santana went on, seemingly oblivious to Quinn’s dazedness. “He ever tell you that?”
“No,” Quinn murmured, shaking her head. “Puck never talked to me much.”
“Hmm. Not surprising. Anyway, we probably shouldn’t really do that song in front of the club,” she said briskly, and Quinn nodded, barely hearing her. “You got any ideas? I know you like Motown. Diana Ross? Gladys Knight? What’s up?”
“Santana,” Quinn said slowly, lifting her head up, and when Santana saw the flush in the other girl’s cheeks, she nearly fell over.
Christ, she’s beautiful, she thought, steadying herself against a chair. “You…okay, Q?” she asked, and Quinn just took a step closer to her.
“Why did we just sing that song?” she asked faintly.
“It’s a good one for your vocal range-and it’s kind of fun to play,” Santana said smoothly, but she had a feeling Quinn was not buying that explanation.
“I don’t have feelings for you,” she said, but she still came closer.
Santana almost said, “Yes you do,” but she realized just in time that would not have been prudent, so she just trained her eyes on Quinn’s, which were darker than usual. “And I can’t…be with someone right now anyway,” Quinn went on, still moving closer.
“I’m not asking you for a date, Fabray,” Santana said, attempting to move away, but suddenly Quinn’s lips were on hers, and her feet were rooted to the floor.
Quinn’s kiss was soft, tentative, exploratory, and it had been a very long time since anyone had kissed Santana like that. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, as Quinn’s arms slid around her waist, pulling the two of them even closer together. “What are you doing?” Santana asked hoarsely, but Quinn just pulled her in for another kiss.
Eventually, they parted, two perfect ponytails completely undone, two perfect Cheerios uniforms in complete disarray. “We could, uh… Rehearse some more at your place?” Santana offered, straightening her top.
“Yes,” was all Quinn would say, so Santana quickly packed up her guitar and gathered the rest of her things.
Quinn wouldn’t meet her eyes as she stood by the door, waiting, but as they walked out of the choir room, she carefully held out her hand, and Santana didn’t think twice before taking it.
***
It wasn’t until they were both in nothing but their underwear on Quinn’s bed that Quinn fully realized what was happening. Santana’s left hand was resting on the inside of Quinn’s thigh, and Santana was looking at her, whispering her name, asking if this was okay, what she wanted, and the fact that Santana Lopez was being tender with her made her snap. “No, no, no,” she moaned, pushing at Santana’s shoulders, and Santana obligingly moved aside, hands up.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t-I never would have…”
“I need you to go.”
Without a second thought, Santana nodded and started quickly getting dressed. Shit, shit, shit, she muttered to herself. I’ve made everything even worse.
Quinn sat on the bed, numbly watching Santana scramble into her clothes, and she realized this was not at all what she’d expected. She’d expected Santana to be like Puck: want, take, have-with little to no regard for anyone else’s feelings. But instead of urging her to let them continue, Santana had immediately backed off. “Santana,” Quinn called softly, pulling on a tank top. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Oh.” Santana turned to her, in just her Cheerios skirt and her bra, her eyes darting nervously from Quinn to the floor and back.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn murmured, and Santana sat on the end of the bed.
“It’s all right. I thought maybe you’d freak out.”
“Well, I…” Quinn looked hard at her friend. “You’re not…”
“I’m here because I like you, Quinn. I have no ulterior motives. What you did hurt like hell, but holding onto a grudge hurts even more. It doesn’t get me my friend back.”
“That’s what you want, then? Your friend back?”
“Christ. Yes,” Santana said plaintively, and Quinn launched herself into her friend’s arms.
“But….I’ll be just your friend?” she asked, nestling her head on Santana’s shoulder.
“Oh,” Santana uttered, stricken. “I…”
“It’s all right, Santana. I know you’re in love with Brittany.”
“I mean, she wouldn’t mind if we…had a thing, but I don’t think I should do that to you,” Santana said, her voice cracking.
“So, what? You were just going to have sex with me and leave me?” Quinn asked, bristling, but Santana’s arms tightened their hold on her.
“Never,” she murmured, kissing Quinn’s temple. “But I…can’t date you.”
“Right.” Quinn deflated.
“I’m sorry. We’ve always had a…complicated relationship, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Quinn agreed. “Let’s not make it more complicated, okay?”
“Okay,” Santana agreed, nodding.
Quinn pulled away, and they both got dressed. “What are we going to sing in glee?” she asked absently, and Santana took out her guitar.
“I think I have a song,” she said, her face a little too serious, and when Quinn recognized the opening notes of “Closer to Fine,” she burst out laughing.
“Santana,” Quinn said flatly. She’d half-expected the other girl to blow off their rehearsal time.
Shoulders tensing, Santana turned toward the door. “Fabray,” she replied, her voice just as flat.
Quinn frowned, surprised. “You play that thing?”
“No, I just carry it around,” Santana replied, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been playing since I was five. My name is Santana, you know,” she smirked, and Quinn bit back a smile.
“I really had no idea you played,” Quinn murmured, and Santana shrugged.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she returned, and Quinn said nothing.
“So.”
“So.”
“Look, I-”
“Whatever you’re going to say, save it,” Santana said gruffly. “You did what you had to do, and I…let you. So let’s just get this over with.”
“Did you pick a song?” Quinn asked, dropping her bookbag on a chair.
“I had a few ideas.” Santana glanced shyly at her erstwhile friend, but when Quinn raised her eyes, she dropped hers.
“And you’ll play?”
“It works for Puck,” she muttered.
“What did you mean, you let me?” Quinn asked sharply, and Santana’s head snapped up.
“I didn’t fucking get a boob job, Quinn,” she growled. “But I let Sylvester think I did.”
“I-”
“Interesting, though, that you noticed my rack got bigger,” Santana said, with feigned nonchalance, and she grinned triumphantly when Quinn’s cheeks reddened.
“Well. You never wore much clothing this summer.”
“Mmm, it was hot,” she said, and Quinn gulped.
Shit, she thought. Does she know? She looked up at the other girl, smirking at her confidently, and all she wanted to do was tear Santana to pieces. “You’re a fucking bitch, Santana,” Quinn said between clenched teeth.
“Why so hostile, Fabray? I haven’t done a damn thing. I believe I was the one who came over in the middle of the night all summer when you couldn’t sleep or when you woke up from a nightmare. Where was your BFF Mercedes for all of that?”
“You-” Quinn spluttered, her ears burning, as she watched Santana just continue to smirk. She lunged forward suddenly, ready to wipe that smirk off of her face, but Santana easily caught her wrist.
“Look. I know you have some issues you still need to work through, but you and me? We are not fighting.”
Quinn stood, still tense, still wanting to smack Santana across the face, but Santana held fast to her wrist. “So what? You forgive me, then? Is that it? I stole your spot on the Cheerios, and you’ve decided you’re a good enough person to forgive me?”
“Well, if you’d rather I continue to hound you and make sure Coach knows I’m gunning for my spot back, by all means, your majesty. I can do that.”
“Can you?” Quinn snarled. “You just told me you let her think you got the boob job.”
“I’m sure I can come up with a very moving speech about how I realized surgery was not the solution to my problems, and I’ve actually developed my self-esteem watching you as captain and knowing that I could be better.”
“So? Sylvester wants me. She was so desperate to get rid of you that she took me back, even after everything that happened last year.”
“So that’s how it is, huh? You don’t want to be friends, even a little bit? You and I were a good team, Q.” Santana strummed absently on her guitar.
“I can’t trust you,” Quinn blurted.
“Ah, ah. I can’t trust you,” Santana returned. “You kept secrets from me; you went running to Mercedes when you needed to escape the Puckermans’; you lied to Coach to get your spot on the squad back.”
“You told Coach about-”
“I told Coach nothing,” Santana said fiercely, setting her guitar down. “Jewfro spilled those beans-and remember? Rachel Berry forked over a pair of her granny panties so he’d keep his mouth shut.”
“Why are you bringing Rachel into this?”
“I’m just saying, Quinn. Even the people you’ve tormented have never tried to bring you down.”
“You always wanted to be captain-you’d have done-”
“Why aren’t you listening to me? I had the chance to drop your pregnancy bomb on Coach and probably get rewarded, and I didn’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a conniving, manipulative bitch, and to tell you the truth, more than anything I admire that. But don’t deny it.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. Own it. I wish I could be as heartless.”
“Oh, so that’s why you just ‘let’ me take my spot back? Because you’re the one with the heart?”
“Quinn, if you really believe I’m just a selfish, shallow bitch, then why did you keep calling me all summer?”
“Why did you come?”
“Because I thought you needed me. We’ve been friends since sixth grade. I don’t have many actual friends. You mattered to me.”
Quinn sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. “We don’t have to be rivals,” Santana said softly. “We can be a team again.”
“We were never a team. You always did whatever I said.”
“Yeah, well. We can be a real team now.”
“What? And never argue?”
“Of course we’ll argue, Christ, Quinn. You’re still you; I’m still me. But we don’t have to be at each other’s throats, you know? And maybe you’ll actually start sleeping again.”
“I sleep just fine.”
“Oh really? Those dark circles under your eyes say much differently.”
Quinn clenched her jaw and swallowed, looking anywhere but at Santana. “You noticed?” she asked quietly.
“I notice everything,” Santana said calmly. She picked up her guitar again. “Come on, we have, like, half an hour. Let’s just do this.”
“I don’t know why you want to.”
“Because I’m me and you’re you, and the two of us? Don’t just hand in incompletes. We do the damn thing.”
Quinn laughed in spite of herself and stood up. “All right, Lopez. What are we singing?”
Santana strummed a chord and started playfully singing “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away,” and Quinn almost flew at her, but that would have given her away completely, and besides, she quickly realized Santana was really just being playful-not taunting her. “Come on, you know this one, Fabray,” she said, and Quinn reluctantly joined in with her on the chorus.
“All right, then. We definitely sound good together,” Santana said, satisfied. “Now come here,” she instructed. “Stand here.”
Quinn did as she was told, feeling herself start to shake at standing so close to her friend. Santana took her right hand and positioned her fingers on the strings of her guitar. “There, keep those there,” she said, softly bumping Quinn’s hip with her own. Quinn’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest, but she somehow managed not to move.
And then Santana started playing and started singing, and Quinn nearly fell apart. This song? She had to know.
But somehow, she managed to sing her part-probably because after the introduction, Santana and her guitar slipped away, so she could play properly-but at the end, Santana came and stood close to her, nearly resting her own head against Quinn’s. When they finished the song, they stood in silence for a moment.
It was Santana who spoke first. “You know that’s how Puck and I met?”
“What?” Quinn asked, shaking her head to clear it.
“We had the same guitar teacher when we were twelve,” Santana went on, seemingly oblivious to Quinn’s dazedness. “He ever tell you that?”
“No,” Quinn murmured, shaking her head. “Puck never talked to me much.”
“Hmm. Not surprising. Anyway, we probably shouldn’t really do that song in front of the club,” she said briskly, and Quinn nodded, barely hearing her. “You got any ideas? I know you like Motown. Diana Ross? Gladys Knight? What’s up?”
“Santana,” Quinn said slowly, lifting her head up, and when Santana saw the flush in the other girl’s cheeks, she nearly fell over.
Christ, she’s beautiful, she thought, steadying herself against a chair. “You…okay, Q?” she asked, and Quinn just took a step closer to her.
“Why did we just sing that song?” she asked faintly.
“It’s a good one for your vocal range-and it’s kind of fun to play,” Santana said smoothly, but she had a feeling Quinn was not buying that explanation.
“I don’t have feelings for you,” she said, but she still came closer.
Santana almost said, “Yes you do,” but she realized just in time that would not have been prudent, so she just trained her eyes on Quinn’s, which were darker than usual. “And I can’t…be with someone right now anyway,” Quinn went on, still moving closer.
“I’m not asking you for a date, Fabray,” Santana said, attempting to move away, but suddenly Quinn’s lips were on hers, and her feet were rooted to the floor.
Quinn’s kiss was soft, tentative, exploratory, and it had been a very long time since anyone had kissed Santana like that. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, as Quinn’s arms slid around her waist, pulling the two of them even closer together. “What are you doing?” Santana asked hoarsely, but Quinn just pulled her in for another kiss.
Eventually, they parted, two perfect ponytails completely undone, two perfect Cheerios uniforms in complete disarray. “We could, uh… Rehearse some more at your place?” Santana offered, straightening her top.
“Yes,” was all Quinn would say, so Santana quickly packed up her guitar and gathered the rest of her things.
Quinn wouldn’t meet her eyes as she stood by the door, waiting, but as they walked out of the choir room, she carefully held out her hand, and Santana didn’t think twice before taking it.
***
It wasn’t until they were both in nothing but their underwear on Quinn’s bed that Quinn fully realized what was happening. Santana’s left hand was resting on the inside of Quinn’s thigh, and Santana was looking at her, whispering her name, asking if this was okay, what she wanted, and the fact that Santana Lopez was being tender with her made her snap. “No, no, no,” she moaned, pushing at Santana’s shoulders, and Santana obligingly moved aside, hands up.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t-I never would have…”
“I need you to go.”
Without a second thought, Santana nodded and started quickly getting dressed. Shit, shit, shit, she muttered to herself. I’ve made everything even worse.
Quinn sat on the bed, numbly watching Santana scramble into her clothes, and she realized this was not at all what she’d expected. She’d expected Santana to be like Puck: want, take, have-with little to no regard for anyone else’s feelings. But instead of urging her to let them continue, Santana had immediately backed off. “Santana,” Quinn called softly, pulling on a tank top. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Oh.” Santana turned to her, in just her Cheerios skirt and her bra, her eyes darting nervously from Quinn to the floor and back.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn murmured, and Santana sat on the end of the bed.
“It’s all right. I thought maybe you’d freak out.”
“Well, I…” Quinn looked hard at her friend. “You’re not…”
“I’m here because I like you, Quinn. I have no ulterior motives. What you did hurt like hell, but holding onto a grudge hurts even more. It doesn’t get me my friend back.”
“That’s what you want, then? Your friend back?”
“Christ. Yes,” Santana said plaintively, and Quinn launched herself into her friend’s arms.
“But….I’ll be just your friend?” she asked, nestling her head on Santana’s shoulder.
“Oh,” Santana uttered, stricken. “I…”
“It’s all right, Santana. I know you’re in love with Brittany.”
“I mean, she wouldn’t mind if we…had a thing, but I don’t think I should do that to you,” Santana said, her voice cracking.
“So, what? You were just going to have sex with me and leave me?” Quinn asked, bristling, but Santana’s arms tightened their hold on her.
“Never,” she murmured, kissing Quinn’s temple. “But I…can’t date you.”
“Right.” Quinn deflated.
“I’m sorry. We’ve always had a…complicated relationship, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Quinn agreed. “Let’s not make it more complicated, okay?”
“Okay,” Santana agreed, nodding.
Quinn pulled away, and they both got dressed. “What are we going to sing in glee?” she asked absently, and Santana took out her guitar.
“I think I have a song,” she said, her face a little too serious, and when Quinn recognized the opening notes of “Closer to Fine,” she burst out laughing.