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08 February 2013 @ 10:26 pm
Fic: just a little bit's enough  
Title: Just a Little Bit's Enough
Rating: Light R
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: Sometimes no matter how hard you try to be happy, you can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop.
Prompt: Given to me by random_flores - the P!nk song "Just Give Me a Reason" And the line "After six months in a relationship with Santana, Quinn discovers that Santana promised Brittany that she would always love her the most, and Brittany wants to make her prove it."
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. Damn RyanMurphy and his unrivaled genius.
A/N: This is me testing the waters of writing fic again. So I hope you enjoy it and as always, feedback is welcome. Also this is unbeta'd because I'm in between betas. I own my mistakes.

There’s a shadow eclipsing this thing that Quinn’s got with Santana. It’s something that she can’t shake. It’s been there since the very beginning and it follows them like an ominous cloud, dampening everything thing they do. It stops her heart at times and she wakes up in a cold sweat. She’s mentioned it to Santana more than once, but the other girl just waves it off. She tells Quinn it’s just her insecurities as she presses into the mattress and slips her hand between Quinn’s legs. She tells her she’s too beautiful to be so miserable and Quinn lets herself forget.

They’ve been doing this since the first time Santana came to New Haven after moving in with Kurt and Rachel. Quinn’d finally had the courage to end things with her professor, had finally listened to that voice in her head (that always sounded suspiciously like Santana’s) that told her he’d never leave his wife, that he’d never pick her over his children who were nearly her age. And without asking, Santana showed up with a bottle of Southern Comfort and a single “I told you so,” before handing her a shot glass.

They got sloppy drunk and Santana held her as she cried. They didn’t touch that night, though. No, Santana waited until the next evening to make her move, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of Quinn’s panties as they talk about everything but what’s happening. Quinn came just as Santana told her about how Kurt had broken Rachel’s favorite mug. Now the blonde can never look at mugs again without remembering the first time Santana touched her.

After that, it just became a thing. Quinn was Santana’s date to Mr. Schuester’s wedding and then she came down to see Kurt in some boring performance with his little acapella group. Santana popped up for a long weekend because she’s found work being an assistant Coach to a cheerleading squad at the local Brooklyn community center and as much as she complains about it, Quinn can’t remember a time she’d seen the girl so happy. They’d share a bed and each other’s bodies, but they’d never talk about it.

It isn’t until Quinn’s spring break when Santana goes along with her to the Hamptons with her sorority sisters and Quinn nearly rips off one of their heads for daring to hit on her...Santana that she finally asked what they were doing. Santana shrugs and tells her she didn’t think they needed a label since there was nobody else and that Quinn was stupid if she was worried about that given how often they spoke.

She admittedly felt a little stupid because she spoke to Santana nearly everyday. And even when the girl was dead exhausted, she’d sign onto Skype if only to say goodnight. And when she was drunk and horny, Santana would lock herself in the bathroom and call just to listen to Quinn as she got off. The old Santana would’ve just gone out and found someone else.

But still there is something that makes Quinn feel restless. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder. And she wants to believe Santana that it’s all for nothing, but she can’t seem to just let it go.

Then it’s there. One day after she and Santana have had this thing for six months. The other shoe drops just as they’re coming back from watching Rachel’s summer showcase. Brittany’s sitting in the stairs in front of the loft and the moment her blue eyes spot the two of them, she launches herself into Santana’s arms.

There’s a sick feeling in Quinn’s stomach and it only gets worse as she spots a large duffle bag next to where Brittany had been resting and she chatters excitedly about coming to New York to dance.

Turns out that Mike Chang is friends with someone who graduated from the Jaffrey and showed him one of Brittany’s tapes and now she’s here to dance with his company. Quinn sits quietly with the rest of the group and pretends not to hear the excitement in Santana’s voice at finally having her “best friend with her in the same city again.”

She also ignore that it’s completely fucked up when the three of them cram into Santana’s queen-sized bed and for the first time in six months, she turns her back to Quinn instead of it being the other way around.

Quinn knows she can’t be jealous. She never pushed, never insisted they have a label because like an idiot, she believed Santana when she said they didn’t need one. But she can’t ignore the bile that rises in her throat as she hears Brittany’s soft giggles and whispered words. She slips out of the bed unnoticed at the sound of Santana’s first gasp and slips into bed next to Rachel. The other girl says nothing, just slips her arm around Quinn’s waist and pretends not to notice as the blonde cries.

She’s on the earliest train back to New Haven the next day and doesn’t answer Santana’s calls for a month. They just stop after that and Quinn nurses her broken heart by going out and getting drunk and eventually she stops looking at her phone.

A week later, there’s a knock at her door and Quinn thinks it’s her lab partner, Shannon, dropping off her notes. She opens the door and doesn’t have the time to close it again before Santana’s pushing into the room and slamming the door shut. There’s another knock at the door and Santana pulls it up, eying up Shannon and the girl’s surprised look.

“Sorry, Quinn’s busy,” Santana snarls, ready to slam the door shut again.

“Santana!” Quinn protests, meeting Shannon’s worried look. “She has my notes. God, it’s like you were raised by wolves,” Quinn huffs. She’s annoyed that Santana barged in and is annoyed with herself that the girl still gets to her this much.

Shannon’s standing there, notes clutched in her hand as she watches them in a struggle of whatever war they’re in. Quinn turns back to her and takes the notes, smiling sweetly. “My friend has just shown up unexpectedly. Can we raincheck dinner, sweetie?” She’s laying it on thick she knows. Shannon is nothing more than a friend, but if Santana thinks otherwise, all the better.

The door slams with a loud thud before Quinn even sees Santana move or Shannon can reply. She can feel dark eyes burning into the side of her face, but she’s not going to back down. Santana doesn’t get to be angry. No, she doesn’t get to be the injured party here and she tells her as much.

“Injured party?” Santana repeats. “You’re the one that fucking left without so much as a word, Quinn and you’re the goddamn injured party?” She’s pacing, back and forth like some sort of caged animal and Quinn almost shrinks back, but she stands her ground.

“That’s right,” she shoots back, her hands balled into a fist next to her sides. “Was I supposed to stay there, continue to lay next to you while you proceeded to fuck your ex-girlfriend?” Santana’s eyes widen at the word because Quinn never uses it outside of playful banter or the thoroughs of passion.

Santana’s whole face changes at that. She looks shocked and then confused before her expression finally settles on angry. “Wow, Quinn...you know, I’m used to people calling me a slut because I like sex. I just never thought you of all people thought so fucking little of me.”

Quinn feels the words like a physical blow, but it actually makes her stomach roll to think that Santana was going to stand here and lie to her face. “I heard you, Santana. Maybe you two think that this is still like all of those years in high school, but I know what it sounds like when you two...fuck,” she spits out the word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, partly because it does.

She sees Santana’s own hand unfurl and then ball over and over again and for a moment, Quinn’s worried the other girl might actually slap her. It wouldn’t be the first time. Hell, it wouldn’t even be the fifth time.

“What you heard,” Santana says evenly, forcing her eyes to Quinn’s. “What you heard was Brittany trying and if you’d bothered to stick around, you would’ve heard me tell her no. If you’d have bothered to take a single one of my goddamn calls or listen to Berry, you’d know that Brittany and I haven’t spoken since that weekend.”

Quinn can barely believe the words, doesn’t want to think she’d been so wrong and caused herself so much pain for nothing. She shakes her head and looks away. “I have a hard time believing that. It’s always been about her. She’s always been the one.”

Santana stops pacing and looks at her like she’s an idiot. “Yeah Quinn, she’s always been my fucking everything, but somewhere along the lines of her Mayan wedding, I realized I’ve never once been hers. She will never put me first. She used me and when she threw in my face that she didn’t understand how I could love someone else because I promised her that I’d always love her the most, I realized that even now, she was only picking me out of convenience. And I’m better than that and I have better than that.” Santana’s words choke out and Quinn feels the tears sliding down her own cheeks. She sniffles and wipes her eyes quickly. “Well, I thought I did until you pulled a fucking Houdini.” She throws her hands up and looks away, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s just girls from Ohio. Maybe I need to find someone who isn’t completely fucking insane,” she grumbles heading towards the door.

Quinn feels panic bubble up inside of her and she’s moving before her brain has time to catch up to her actions. She grabs Santana’s arm, spinning her around and pressing her against the door. Her head makes a soft thud as Quinn’s lips crash against her in a bruising kiss. Santana whimpers and squirms beneath her, but Quinn doesn’t relent, not until her breath has completely left her lungs and she needs more.

“Fuck, you are the craziest person I’ve ever met,” Santana breathes, smiling that smile she’s only ever given Quinn.

And for the first time, Quinn doesn’t feel that shadow. She feels light and almost giddy. She pulls her body away and takes Santana’s hand, leading her to the bed. She pushes her down and straddles her waist. “Yeah, but I hear that’s your type,” she whispers and kisses Santana again.
Current Location: smyrna, ga 30080
Current Mood: hopefulhopeful
Current Music: just give me a reason - p!nk
ragelikeafireragelikeafire on February 10th, 2013 09:59 am (UTC)
Welcome back!

I really enjoyed this piece. Well done. </p>

I hope to see more from you and soon!

Sophie Barlow ftw!: Ellen: bowtiegrdnofevrythng on February 15th, 2013 10:40 pm (UTC)
Thanks, honey! Feels good to be back.
turtlevenom7turtlevenom7 on February 12th, 2013 05:56 am (UTC)
This was great. And hit on what my problem with Brittana has always been even though I ship it. Santana can only be with Brittany, but Brittany is perfectly fine being with someone else. Not that I blame her for dating Artie or Sam, but Quinn can offer Santana the same kind of passionate, desperate love, which while maybe unhealthy is what they both secretly want.

It's funny that they went the non-talking route with Brittana on the show, because if any two people would casually have sex and not talk about it, it's Quinn and Santana. Getting them to do anything is like pulling teeth.

Thanks for writing this. I enjoyed it a lot.
Sophie Barlow ftw!: Dianna: come playgrdnofevrythng on February 15th, 2013 10:41 pm (UTC)
I have many, many problems with how Brittana turned out in canon. So, I feel you. I'll probably keep writing Quinntana for a while. I hope you will keep reading and telling me what you enjoy. :)