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“Fuck.” Santana muttered under her breath as she saw her best friend making a beeline towards her from the clubhouse. It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong, per say, but Quinn would be furious with her for this. Santana always prioritized practice over everything else in her life, and Quinn usually did too. However, today was one of the rare exceptions, in Quinn’s eyes.

“What bee’s gotten into Q’s bonnet?” Her coach, Sue Sylvester, said amusedly, leaning against her cart of tennis balls. Santana wiped her forehead wearily, taking a last swig of icy water before Quinn inevitably bitched her out. Leave it to Sue to be the one faculty member to not know what day it was. Santana wasn’t really surprised, Sue made no secret of her disdain for anything at the university besides her winning tennis team–and star players. Matter of fact, Sue was only at this university for the duration of Santana and Quinn’s time here. She’d made this clear from the beginning. The bewildered university president allowed her, at the time a stranger, to walk out of his office as the new tennis coach. Rather surprising for the previous coach, Santana imagined.

Although the president may have regretted having to deal with Sue’s abrasive personality for the past four years, he was pleased by her success. She’d brought with her a group of loyal players and recruited viciously from other schools, building the most elite women’s tennis team in all of the NCAA Division 1 collegiate sports. Undefeated in the last four national championships, they’d broken several college records. The president was probably begging her to stay, and keep raking in the money for the university. She wouldn’t, of course.

“Santana, what are you doing out here?” Quinn demanded, hand on her hip. She was already wearing her white dress but still wore her after-tennis flip-flops.

“Practicing, duh.” Santana played dumb. She was actually surprised it had taken Quinn this long to come find her. She’d begun to think maybe she’d get away with missing the ceremony entirely.
“Honestly, you’re ridiculous. Let’s go. You’ll just have time to get ready if we hurry.” Quinn said, looking at her watch impatiently.
“She’s not done, Q. Just about to start conditioning.” Sue interjected.
“Not today, she’s not. It’s graduation day! And I could swear, she promised me she wouldn’t be out here this morning.” Quinn insisted, grabbing Santana’s hand and dragging her off the court.
“Oh. I suppose I’ll allow you to go to that inane ceremony.” Sue said slowly. “Matter of fact, I seem to recall I’ve been asked to speak. What an honor! See you ladies there.” She waved as Quinn started running, forcing Santana to speed up as well.
Quinn didn’t speak until they were in her car and zooming towards their apartment, just a few blocks away.
“What is wrong with you?” She finally said, exasperated.
“Nothing! What’s so bad about wanting to practice?”
“Ugh, you are the worst sometimes. You swore up and down that you’d skip workout this morning so we could get ready for graduation together. Was that so much to ask?” Quinn blew air up to get her hair out of her eyes.
Before Santana could try to defend herself, Quinn launched into a tirade.
“God, Santana! One day off! I kept waiting for you to wake up, and then I finally realized you had already snuck out. I bought us a bunch of food so we could make brunch. And you’re gone, off with Sue, on the morning of our graduation. Unbelievable! We only have an hour to get over there now, and you’re all gross.”
“I’m sor–”
“And guess what? My parents showed up to our apartment early. And then yours showed up too, since you weren’t answering them. They were worried. So instead of having a nice day, I’ve been hosting everyone alone, trying to get ready, and waiting for you to show up. Except you never did, and I realized I’d have to go find you too, and drag you to your own graduation ceremony.”
“Quinn—”
“NO! Why do you have to be such a selfish bitch, Santana? You know how important today is to me, I told you a million times. Now I haven’t even done my makeup, and my hair’s a complete mess, and I’m all stressed out and–FUCK!” Quinn slammed her hand into the steering wheel, honking, as another car cut them off.
Santana winced. She had been yelled at by Quinn an innumerable amount of times, but she’d never felt this bad before. She had been planning to come back, but had lost track of time. And now Quinn was breathing hard, red in the face, and looked like she might burst into tears.
“Chill out!” Santana yelped. “Take a breath. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Oh, please, no it’s not! How are we going to get there in time? There’s going to be crazy traffic around the stadium. Our fucking parents are still at the apartment, probably snooping everywhere. I can’t find my cross necklace, and I know my mom will notice. This dress is so uncomfortable!”“QUINN!” Santana yelled finally, cutting off Quinn’s spiral. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. I’ll handle everything, and we’ll get there and get to cross the stage, and whatever. I’ll get rid of our parents, okay? And I think your necklace is on my bathroom counter. Just try to relax.”
Quinn took some deep yoga breaths. She was prone to anxiety attacks and had learned to work through them with breaths. Santana hesitantly reached over and rubbed circles on Quinn’s back, which also helped.
Once they’d pulled into the driveway, Quinn took a last breath before looking over at Santana.
“I had a plan for today, you know. You and I would have a relaxing morning, have brunch together, and get ready together. For the last time, ever, in college. We’d get some cute pictures, and then meet our families at the stadium. And just, like, celebrate being done! I just wanted one special day with my best friend.”
Santana swallowed guiltily. “I’m sorry, Q.”
“I just don’t know why everything has to be so difficult with you. It’s exhausting.” Quinn muttered, getting out of the car.
Ouch. That stung to hear, even if Santana knew deep down that it was true. She knew she wasn’t an easy person to be friends with. It was probably why she had so few friends. Well, only one friend, really. Quinn was the only person in the world she’d ever called a real friend. Or the only one who could stand to be around her.
She and Quinn had met in ninth grade. They’d both been scouted by one Sue Sylvester at different summer tennis camps, and recruited to come to the tennis academy Sue was running at the time. Santana sometimes wondered if they’d even been friends if not for them both being outsiders at the small academy. The majority of Sue’s other students had been attending there since sixth grade. She’d made exceptions for the two of them because of their “mediocre talent” – though really they were both exceptional for their age. Neither of their families had really understood, and both had been hesitant to send their daughters.
Quinn’s parents had planned to send her to a private Catholic school in her hometown, while Santana’s parents wanted her to attend a prestigious STEM school. Neither family really understood the pull of tennis. Both girls were obsessed and dreamed of being pro tennis players one day. Sue had had a real hard job convincing them, but managed it in the end. So the girls had been roommates, and bonded over their love of tennis, both being the “new kids”, and their families not understanding them.
Sue had made more than good on her promises to their parents. They were both elite students as well as athletes, and had excelled under Sue’s unorthodox and unpleasant, if effective, tutelage. Sue had decided to personally follow and coach them both into their pro careers.
So the girls had stayed together through college. They’d been roommates, best friends, classmates, teammates, and even doubles partners for eight years now. Santana hadn’t cared much for high school or college. To her, they were simply hurdles in front of her pro career. She did her schoolwork, took care of herself, and spent the vast majority of her time on tennis, tennis, and more tennis. It was probably where she and Quinn butted heads the most. Quinn wanted more from her social life. She confessed to Santana in high school she’d always wanted to be prom queen. Their tennis academy hadn’t even had a prom. So in college, she’d tried to branch out more. Fine by Santana, except for when she tried to make Santana branch out with her.
When they lived in the dorms, Quinn was forever going to movie nights, bowling, or other lame activities that their RA put on for the freshmen. Sometimes she successfully dragged Santana along too. Santana eventually convinced Quinn that only losers went to those events; a lie that became gradually more true the longer the year went on. The cool people, Santana insisted, were at parties. So, to please Quinn, the two of them would attend parties once in a blue moon.
Santana set the ground rules, of course. Only sports team parties, never frat parties. It couldn’t interfere with their training or matches. They couldn’t stay long. No more than four drinks in a night. They had to stick together the whole night. Santana actually really enjoyed the parties, though she never admitted how much to Quinn. Getting her buzz on and dancing in a dark room full of strangers felt like a release from tennis. Plus, she didn’t have to talk to anyone if she didn’t want to. She never wanted to.
Quinn did make other friends, of course. She liked to go to the dining hall with other girls in their dorm sometimes. She had other friends on their tennis team too, though the other girls couldn’t understand how she got along with Santana. She even joined a sorority during their second year. But, still, they remained the best of friends. No one else understood them like they understood each other.
So Santana did know how much this day meant to Quinn. She loved when they got to be “like normal college students”, or could pretend for a bit. Santana could care less. They weren’t normal students, they were better. They were elite athletes who would be rich, famous pros soon, who cared about a stupid graduation ceremony? She was only going for Quinn, but she would do her best to make the rest of the day everything that Quinn dreamed it would be.
Santana slammed her car door and jogged past Quinn, smacking her butt.
“Let’s go graduate!” She called back to Quinn as she ran ahead to their apartment door. She caught the twitch of Quinn’s lips as she tried to suppress a smile.“Hurry up, Q, we’re gonna be late.”
“I hate you, sometimes, you know that?” Quinn said, pursing her lips.
“Too bad you love me so much more!” Santana said in a singsong voice. She got quieter so their families wouldn’t hear.“Now, watch me work my magic.”
Quinn rolled her eyes, but opened the door for Santana to lead the way in.
When the girls entered, their families rose from where they’d been sitting around the dining room table. Santana wondered what the hell they’d been talking about. They’d only met one other time, at their high school graduation.
Santana’s parents and Abuela all started talking at once, inquiring where she’d been.“Wow! Hi, everyone! Sorry I’m late, my phone died and I didn’t realize how late it was. Gosh, you guys have to head to the stadium RIGHT NOW if you still want to sit in the suite! Q and I will text you where we’re sitting!” Santana exclaimed loudly, over all the other voices.
“Suite? What suite?” Russel Fabray asked, looking at Santana with interest. Leave it to Russel to perk up at another way to show his status.
“Did I forget to mention?” Santana smacked herself in the head. “Coach Sue offered you all seats in her stadium suite for the ceremony, but you’ve got to get there thirty minutes before the ceremony starts. Here’s the tickets.” Santana produced six tickets from nowhere, like a magician pulling a rabbit from his hat.
Quinn, agape, watched in awe as Santana charmingly nudged her family and Quinn’s parents and sister out of their apartment in less than ten seconds. She slammed the door behind them, leaning back against it.
“God, they’re the worst!” Santana sighed. “I’m going to go take a quick shower.”
Quinn started to clean up the mess their families had left. She’d thrown together some of her and Santana’s brunch food to feed them when they’d shown up unannounced and uninvited. They’d left paper plates all over the table along with what was left of their fruit salad.
Damn, they’d even opened the champagne and orange juice and made themselves mimosas. Quinn was irritated. She’d left those in the fridge intentionally.
She marched into Santana’s bathroom. “Those assholes opened our champagne!”
Santana stuck her head out the curtain. “Fuck. Did they drink it all?”
“No. Barely any. What a waste.” Quinn sighed, and turned to go look for her heels. It was unfortunately almost time to put them on. Quinn hated wearing heels, but her mom had sent them especially for today.
A wet arm snaked out of the shower and snatched the bottle of champagne. “Hold on, Q. Let’s not let that go to waste.”
“Santana! That was supposed to be for mimosas.”
“Alright, we can make mimosas when I get out. For now, I’m having some champagne. You can make me go to graduation, but you can’t make me go sober. I’m killing this bottle before we leave.”
“That’s a terrible idea. I’m not lugging your drunk ass around. Give that back.”
Santana thrust the bottle back out the curtain to Quinn. It was definitely lighter. Quinn huffed and went back out to the living room. She reluctantly made herself a mimosa to sip on while she did her makeup–quickly. They only had forty-five minutes now before the ceremony.
A few minutes later, Santana came out into the living room in her towel, dripping water all over the floor.
“Where’s my mimosa?” She asked, looking around. Quinn just scowled, shaking her head.
“Bitch!” Santana said, grabbing the champagne bottle again and taking a large swig directly from it.
“Santana! Seriously, put that down. This isn’t a party, it’s our graduation.” Quinn snapped.
“Quinn, look at me.” Santana said, staring Quinn down in her vanity mirror. “Do you really want to be stone-cold sober to deal with our families? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.”
Quinn hesitated then. “We cannot get drunk. They’ll get really mad. My parents don’t even know I’ve been drunk in my life.”
“Lighten up, Quinnie. Who gives a flying fuck what they think anymore? We’re about to finally get out of here and get rich playing tennis. Living the dream while they’re back home. I’m sure they’ll brag about us once we make it, even though they haven’t come to a single match all year. Told us we were wasting our time. Fuck ‘em!” Santana said loudly, nearly yelling. She pranced over to their speaker and turned it on, selecting their pregame playlist.
“Give me that back.” Quinn said, making up her mind.Santana was right. She took a large gulp of the champagne, before making herself and Santana another mimosa. Light on the orange juice.
Santana cheered. “That’s more like it, Q!” She danced around the living to the song that was currently playing. It was one of her favorites, “Sway” by Ceraadi. Santana listened to it before every match.
Quinn laughed before pushing Santana towards her room. “Go get dressed, you dumbass. I need you to help me curl my hair.”
Santana danced down the hallway, rapping along. Quinn giggled.She went back to her makeup. She didn’t really like wearing makeup either. Usually she wore just a little foundation, blush, and mascara. Her parents would expect a full face though, so she looked perfect. And covered her freckles. She only had a light smattering, unavoidable with all the time she spent in the sun playing tennis, but her mom always told her to cover them up.
As she finished she heard Santana’s blow dryer start up. For all her faults, Santana always seemed to pull everything together. And she could be fun, sometimes. Quinn felt more relaxed with her parents gone and Santana here. The champagne hitting her empty stomach might have a little something to do with it too.
Quinn was doing her eyeshadow when Santana came out finally. Her hair was mostly dry now, and she was wearing her own white dress for graduation. While Quinn’s was a demure lace dress that covered her knees, Santana’s was skin tight and short, showing off her toned and tan legs. It wasn’t technically against dress code, but Quinn doubted Santana’s family would like it. Santana made herself another champagne-heavy mimosa.
“Are you going clubbing after or what?” Quinn quipped.
Santana raised an eyebrow at her. “Not with you, granny. Is that a family heirloom from the 1800s?” She looked pointedly down at Quinn’s own dress.
“No. It’s what people call ‘classy.’ You wouldn’t know anything about that, though. Trashy, though, seems like a more familiar concept to you.”
“Bitch! Shut up and have another drink while I do your hair.”
Santana picked up the curling iron, expertly curling each piece of Quinn’s straight hair. Quinn knew how to do it but Santana had a magic touch. Probably from her years of straightening and then curling her own unruly and thick hair. She was an expert, and Quinn’s hair always looked so much better when Santana did it.
While Santana was concentrating on Quinn’s hair, Quinn found herself getting nostalgic. These were their last moments of college. Who knew what was next. Santana was always so confident and sure of their path, but Quinn always had her doubts. Going pro would not be easy. She wondered if they’d ever find the success in professional careers that they’d had here at Lima U.
“San?”
“Hm?” Santana’s eyes were on Q’s curls. She held several bobby pins between her lips.
“What do you think will happen after this?” Quinn tried to keep the waver out of her voice, but Santana must’ve heard it because her eyes snapped to meet Quinn’s in the mirror. “Do you think…will we be happy?”
“We are going to move out of this shithole town, and start winning tournaments all over the world. You and I will alternate our singles wins, though I’ll probably win more. And of course together our doubles team will always win. We’ll be millionaires in a few months. We’ll be famous. We’ll win all the majors. Become Olympic gold medalists. And we’ll fire Sue and we’ll be the two most happy people in the world.” Santana answered confidently.
“Sounds nice.” Quinn said halfheartedly.Santana narrowed her eyes. “What’s on your mind, Q?”
“I don’t know. I just…I hope it goes that way. But we've been as successful as we could be here and…” She trailed off, thinking.
“And?”
“And I don’t know. I guess, I just…wasn’t as happy as I thought I’d be.”
Santana paused, looking at Quinn hard.
“Well, that’s because we had our parents breathing down our necks about school. And not getting tennis, like, at all. And dealing with Sue. But we’re outta here. I don’t even think I’ll take their calls anymore. Like I said, once we can finally fire Sue, we’re golden.” Santana said flippantly, hip bumping Quinn off the chair so she could curl her own hair. Anyone else would’ve bought it, but Quinn knows Santana too well. She could sense the bluff, the hesitancy of her confidence.
“Sure. You’re right. I just sometimes wish I had something more than tennis. Or I wonder if I’ll regret focusing so much on it. Do you ever think that?” Quinn knew she was treading into dangerous territory.
“No. Like what? Your lame sorority? Some dumb boyfriend? Who needs that? All I want is to be the best tennis player in the world. Looking down on all the losers.”
“Sounds lonely.” Quinn observed quietly.
Santana bit her lip. Then she grinned abruptly, a dimple appearing on her cheek.“Luckily I’ve got you. Now, enough being emo, let’s kill this bottle and get going.”
Quinn had to laugh at that. She did tend to get emotional when she drank.She went off to grab their robes. She’d steamed them last night and hung them up in her room. She didn’t trust Santana to keep track of her own robe. It’d probably have ended three feet under the rest of the crap on Santana’s floor.Quinn made them each a final mimosa while Santana finished her makeup. As she finished hers, she checked her phone. They only had fifteen minutes to get to the stadium. Quinn felt herself start to panic again.“Santana, I don’t know how we’ll get there in time. We only have fifteen minutes. Parking’s going to be a nightmare. Maybe we should get an Uber? But the traffic…”
“Relax, Q. I’ve got it covered. C’mere, let’s get our picture. We’ll get more after the ceremony but I want a selfie before we leave.”
Quinn ran to get their graduation caps. She’d nearly forgotten them. Santana produced her necklace from the bathroom and fastened back onto Quinn. They squished their faces together and Santana took a couple quick selfies.
“Alright, let’s go.” Santana said, grabbing her purse and cell phone. Quinn locked up the apartment. They descended the stairs, Quinn following Santana’s lead.
As they rounded the final corner of the staircase to the parking lot, Santana said, “There’s our rides.”
Quinn stopped dead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Sitting on the sidewalk were two electric scooters. Their dorky neighbor, Jacob, stood there awkwardly holding two giant helmets. He tried to raise an arm to wave at them but was forced to catch a slipping helmet instead.“Santana, what is this?” Quinn asked incredulously.“Our rides to graduation. Jacob here has been kind enough to lend us his and his roommate’s for the day.” Santana smirked.Jacob lived just below them and Santana had noticed him practically drooling whenever she or Quinn walked by. She had no problem taking advantage of that. Matter of fact, he’d been taking out their trash for the past two years.“We are not riding those to graduation.”“Well, we’ll ditch them before we get too close to the stadium, but we’ve really gotta get going.” Santana said, releasing the kickstand with her heel.“Don’t forget your h-helmets.” Jacob stuttered, holding them out.Santana flipped her hair over her shoulder as Quinn reluctantly got on the second scooter. “Oh no, thanks, we really won’t be needing those.” She jetted off without another word.Quinn gunned it after her and was surprised how fast it accelerated.“Please don’t forget to lock them up!” Jacob called after them.Neither girl bothered to look back. Jacob sighed and went back to his apartment.“Slow down! Sue would kill us for riding these!” Quinn shouted at Santana.Santana slowed just enough for Quinn to catch up, but kept going at nearly a breakneck speed.Sue had forbidden them from anything remotely dangerous. Any injury would be catastrophic for their careers, or so she led them to believe. They even signed a contract before each season that listed over twenty banned activities. Skiing or snowboarding, riding bikes or motorcycles, and roller skating to name a few.She’d never expressly banned scootering, though, probably because she never imagined they’d be caught dead riding a scooter. Only Santana could find them such a ride. Dorky, for sure, but a loophole in Sue’s contract.Quinn was glad she hadn’t drank any more than she had, because the scooters required a light touch. The two of them were cracking up as they bobbed and weaved between students and their families walking to the stadium on the sidewalk. Sometimes they went into the street and zoomed happily past gridlocked cars.As they reached the corner of the block the stadium was on, Santana swerved back up onto the sidewalk and hopped off with a seemingly practiced ease.“God, have you been going on joyrides with Jacob all year?” Quinn asked once she’d followed and dismounted.“Ick, of course not.” Santana shivered. “Imagine being behind him…you’d think it was snowing dandruff.”Quinn chuckled. “You’re such a bitch. Where are we supposed to lock these up?”Santana shrugged. She ran her fingers through her curls, which were of course perfectly windblown.“Ditch ‘em in the bushes.” She tossed the expensive scooter into the nearest bush without a care in the world.Quinn followed suit, though she felt a little guilty doing so. They were well-hidden in the bushes, at least.With a mere five minutes to spare, they filled out their name cards and located the rest of their graduating team members. They’d saved two seats for them right on the aisle. Captains’ privileges.Quinn nodded in silent thanks to the other girls as she took the inner seat. Santana breezily sat down on the aisle, ignoring them all entirely. It was a good thing they were used to that by now. There were only a handful of other seniors, and Quinn was on friendly terms with all of them. Sue may have built the program around Quinn and Santana, but collegiate tennis teams required more players than that.Sue built an impeccable starting lineup. She also had a backup; a second string of players who would’ve been starters at any other university in the country.The rest of the team she filled with her so-called GPA squad. They were also known by other names, but GPA squad was the kindest. They were essentially Sue’s servants whose only purpose on the team was to keep the team’s GPA up. They put up with it because they also got the NCAA championship rings, even if they almost never stepped on the courts. Except when they were used as live targets during practice.The other graduating seniors consisted of two actual players, Mercedes and Tina, and then five other members of the GPA squad. Mercedes was one of the elite lineup, playing as part of the number two doubles team. Tina had been part of the second string, but stepped in at number three doubles this year after another player got injured early in the season. Quinn may have been friendly with them, but they weren’t all that close. She smiled at them before looking curiously at the GPA squad.She actually didn’t know their real names, or even most of their Sue-approved nicknames. Sue liked to promote an us-vs-them mentality between the team and the GPA squad. She claimed it promoted team bonding. Quinn wasn’t so sure about that, but Sue seemed to justify just about anything with her winning results. It was odd to be sitting here alongside them.The GPA squad were stripped of their real identities immediately upon joining the team, and given a nickname that ranged from forgettable to insulting to borderline derogatory. They went through their own hell week prior to participating in Sue’s team hell week as well. Rumor had it they also went through some insane hazing rituals Sue cooked up.This weeded out the weak, leaving Sue with the best of the best. They were often literally the top students at the university, despite all that was on their plate. Each starter was also given their own personal squad member to act as their “tutor.” Tutor was the legal term. They did anything asked of them. Usually the player’s homework, laundry, etc. Cooking wasn’t uncommon. But truly, anything.Despite being the most overworked and under-appreciated part of the team, the squad were a tight-knit group within themselves, and sometimes even seemed happy.After taking Psych 101, Quinn thought it had something to do with bonding through shared difficulties. The professor had talked about how rushing a fraternity created tight bonds because they’d all gone through the same terrible experiences. It actually made them all MORE invested in the fraternity.Quinn spotted her “tutor”, Sunshine, at the end of the row. Sunshine was actually her and Santana’s shared tutor for this year. Santana had gone through five previous tutors during her first three years of college. Most memorably, she’d caused two tutors to have mental breakdowns during her junior year. Sue had had to send them to therapy. Though Sue told Santana she reminded her of a young Sue Sylvester, it was getting inconvenient to keep replacing tutors. So, she would share Quinn’s for the rest of their time. Quinn would force her to treat the tutor with some semblance of humanity.Sunshine, having been with Quinn at her worst, was the most likely to be able to handle Santana. Quinn secretly admired Sunshine, though she could never show it. She wondered if she could learn her real name now that they were graduating, and maybe apologize for how she’d treated her. She started to wave to Sunshine, but Santana tugged on her arm.“Here, let’s keep this party going.” Santana whispered, pushing a giant silver flask into Quinn’s hands.“Bad idea. Plus we’ve had four drinks already.” Quinn said, trying to push it back.“Don’t be such a bore. You wanted to celebrate, I’m trying to celebrate with you.”“I wanted to have a day off from tennis for once. Not black out at our graduation.”“Fine. Forget it. We’ll have dinner with our parents and we can have an evening training session with Sue later.”Quinn knew Santana had trapped her. Santana was stubborn and would follow through with that plan, just to piss Quinn off.“Ugh, fine. What is it anyway?” Quinn groaned, unscrewing the cap discreetly.“Tequila.”The smell hit Quinn’s nose a moment later. She always regretted smelling it before taking a drink. She took a quick pull and passed it back to Santana, stomach burning.“Cheers!” Santana said, taking a much longer drink.Up on stage, music started playing to direct everyone’s attention to the stage. Quinn sat up a little straighter, wanting to soak this all in. Her brain was starting to get a little fuzzy, a lazy grin settling on her face.The President of the university was rising to start the ceremony. “Hello, I’m President Figgins. I want to welcome all the graduates, their families, and friends to our commencement ceremony today. What a joyous occasion. Let’s hear a round of applause for our graduates.” President Figgins said, totally deadpan.Santana feigned a yawn, passing the flask back to Quinn. As Quinn took another sip, Mercedes caught her eye. Without consulting Santana, Quinn passed it to Mercedes. She and Tina each took a sip, passing it back down the row.Santana only scowled half heartedly. Towards Mercedes and Tina, this was like a warm fuzzy hug coming from her. On very, very rare occasions, Santana would lighten up just enough to have a civil time with their other teammates. Quinn had seen it before. Just when they’d be having fun together, Santana would turn on a dime, completely icing them out. It was usually when she’d been drinking, like today. It was like she’d loosen up, start to open up, and then remember what she was doing and clam back up, retreating behind her bitchy walls. And not just retreating peacefully either. Some of the meanest things Quinn had ever heard Santana say were in these moments.As President Figgins led them through the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by the national anthem, the ceremony itself started to fall away. Both Quinn and Santana were in a good mood, laughing quietly with Mercedes and Tina about anything that struck them as funny. They were late to stand, and even later to sit back down when it was appropriate.“Oh my god.” Santana gasped. “Look at Sue.”Up on stage, Sue Sylvester had just made her grand, late, arrival. Sue famously only wore Adidas tracksuits. Bright red, the school colors of Lima University. Amidst the esteemed professors in their black gowns, Sue stood out like a sore thumb. She was wearing a bright red gown, which had been altered to taper into pant legs to look like her other tracksuits. She’d left the gown on the back, so it hung like a red cape, complete with an actual train.Santana was having trouble comprehending what she was seeing. Following in Sue’s wake, like a lowly bridesmaid, was her personal assistant, Becky. She arranged the train so it laid just right as Sue walked across the stage.“She’s out of her damn mind.” Mercedes said to Tina, a little too loudly.Santana snorted.As the team and the rest of the stadium watched, Sue made her way to the podium to whisper something in President Figgins ear right in the middle of whatever he’d been saying.“Uh…okay, ladies and gentlemen. Our tennis coach, Sue Sylvester, has a few, brief words she would like to say. Sue?” Figgins said, stepping aside.“Here we go…” Quinn whispered under her breath, taking another large swig out of the flask.“No score and four years ago, a young Sue Sylvester was begged–nay–berated! By Figgins to come to this hick town and rescue their nonexistent tennis program. It was a nearly impossible task. The previous athletes were largely farmer’s kids from the area. Yuck. Those inbred people from backwoods Kentucky would probably produce smarter offspring. But I, Sue Sylvester, out of the goodness of my heart, agreed to try. Ohio, after two days here, I was praying for just one day without being visually assaulted by uglies and fatties!” Sue began, insulting nearly every person in the audience immediately. She smiled charmingly into the crowd as she spoke.Quinn was shaking with suppressed laughter as Sue continued. The stadium was quiet as the bewildered audience tried to figure out what was going on.“Quite the revisionist history.” Santana said to Quinn out of the corner of her mouth.The truth was that Sue had blackmailed Figgins into getting the position, as well as her exorbitant salary. It wasn’t that she wasn’t qualified for the job. She was considered a legal liability to hire, given her reputation.“...but I said, President Figgins, tear down that wall! I brought in actual talent, trained by none other than myself, Sue Sylvester. Once I reallocated all of the men’s athletics scholarship money to women’s tennis, some real players were willing to come out here and build a real legacy.”Sue continued to drone on. The girls eventually started to play a drinking game based on things they bet she would say. Take a drink every time Sue called herself by her full name. Take a drink every time Sue insulted the people of Ohio.“Take a drink every time Sue lies about her age.” Tina piped up.“...there I was, going for my fourth consecutive NCAA national championship, all before the age of thirty.”They groaned in unison as Sue immediately triggered that rule. The flask made its way to each of them in turn.“Take a drink every time Sue plagiarizes a famous speech.” Quinn added.It happened very often, it turned out. Some were less obvious than others, but they’d caught at least five obvious instances thus far. Santana glanced at her watch. Sue had been speaking for forty-five minutes, and showed no signs of stopping.“...I have a dream…”“I know she did not just try doing MLK!” Mercedes said angrily.The crowd was getting restless at this point. The initial shock of witnessing all that Sue Sylvester was–in her delusion glory–had faded away. People were getting up to leave. Figgins was visibly sweating. He’d tried to steer Sue off stage already twice. Someone finally cut power to the mic.Sue had a furious argument with Figgins before it was turned back on.“Apparently some people still want to go through with this boring ceremony. I guess I’ll cut to my closing remarks, because my neck is getting tired of holding all these medals. The past four years have been a testament to my hard work at this school. And I have no doubt that the next four years can be equally as successful!”Figgins tried to start an applause and guide her away from the microphone.Sue pushed him off and wrenched the mic back. “However, this is my official announcement that I will be quitting, effective immediately. I’d like to announce I’ll be coaching my two star players into their professional careers. Like I once ushered Serena and Venus into their careers, I will do it once more. I can’t say I’ll miss it here, at all. But I know you’ll miss me. I’ve commissioned a giant gold statue of myself, to be placed in the quad, so all those who miss me have a place to gather and remember me. Not to worry, Ohio, the athletics department funding was put to great use. President Figgins, though our affair was brief, it was also unremarkable. Give me liberty or give me death! And that’s how Sue sees it!”Silence from the crowd. The flask had long since made its last round, it was dry as a bone. Mercedes and Tina were drunk. Quinn was drunker than she’d ever been, and was worried about walking out of here in her heels. Santana…was she asleep behind those sunglasses? Quinn nudged her.
“Santana? Are you feeling okay?”Santana stood up suddenly. “That’s my coach!” She yelled, clapping enthusiastically. The rest of the tennis team stood right after, applauding as well. Everyone else followed, a beat later, but surprisingly loud.Sue took several bows before she sat back down, in Figgins’ own seat.Figgins mopped his brow before approaching the microphone.“Unfortunately we no longer have time for our student body president and valedictorian, Sunshine Corazon, to give her speech. I’m told her family flew from the Philippines to be here. I congratulate you on your achievements. We will commence with commencement now, as quickly as possible.”Santana didn’t really react, but Quinn’s head snapped sideways towards Sunshine. Why was Figgins calling her by her nickname? Unless it was another Sunshine? How on earth did she manage to be student body president and valedictorian, on top of being on the GPA squad? Sunshine’s face was blocked from view by her cap, so Quinn couldn’t see her expression.The ceremony moved forward quite quickly. The tennis team had luckily snagged a spot close up to the stage, so they were some of the first rows to walk across the stage.Always a pro, Santana strutted across the stage in her heels with ease, waving up at her family. Quinn, just behind her in line, had to focus quite hard to follow in her footsteps.They walked straight out of the stadium and to the tennis clubhouse, where Sue was throwing herself a farewell party. She graciously allowed the graduating students and their families to attend as well, as long as they arrived with a gift.Before their families arrived, Santana and Quinn got their pictures taken by one of Sue’s personal photographers. She always had one following her, filming or snapping photos for “posterity.” They kept taking them until Quinn was sure they’d gotten a good one.As the Lopezes and Fabrays arrived, more tennis families came in with them. They took a quick picture with their daughters before wandering away. Neither girl was particularly close to their family. Quinn knew her dad was more excited to network with the other rich parents than spend any time with her. She could hear him bragging about the suite from across the room.Santana was having a little too much fun, acting completely out of character. Quinn needed to get a handle on her before Sue noticed.“Have you eaten anything today?” Quinn asked, drawing Santana aside. “My protein shake.”“Oookay, we need to eat. I’ll grab us some sandwiches. Go wait for me in the back office.” Quinn gave her a gentle nudge in the right direction.Santana obeyed, thank god. She was waiting on the couch in Sue’s secondary office when Quinn came back, two paper plates laden with food. Quinn hadn’t eaten much either, just a muffin earlier in the morning. The champagne and tequila in her stomach could not be a good mix, especially on a nearly empty stomach.They ate in a companionable silence. Santana draped her legs comfortably over Quinn’s lap.As they were finishing, Sunshine came in.“Oh, sorry to bother you. I left some stuff in here…I’ll come back later.” Sunshine said quickly, backing out of the room.“Wait! Come back, it’s fine.” Quinn insisted. Santana just sighed. Sunshine tiptoed around, gathering files from a cabinet.“Hey, was that you that Figgins was talking about? You were valedictorian, and student body president?” Quinn asked, overcome with curiosity. She’d spent several hours a day with Sunshine for four years, and didn’t know a thing about her.“Oh, um, yeah.” Sunshine looked uncomfortable.“That’s amazing. I don’t know how you had time to do all that. What are you doing, after all this?” Quinn gestured around the office, indicating her time in college.“I actually just found out I got into medical school–” Sunshine started, as Santana raised a finger to shut her up.“Enough. How’d my physicsss final go?” Santana slurred. Quinn internally winced.Sunshine was, or had been, responsible for their grades. She did any homework they asked, and would even take tests for them. Quinn had never made Sunshine take any tests for her, and homework only on very rare occasions.Santana was lazy. She actually did all her homework, oddly enough, but always made Sunshine take her tests for her. The crazy thing was, Santana was smart enough to ace the tests on her own. Quinn once printed a fresh copy of a test that Sunshine had just returned to her and made Santana take it.Sunshine always made sure to get good grades, but never too suspiciously high. She always missed at least a few questions. Santana got a hundred percent.“Good, I got an A minus on it.”“You mean I got an A minus.” Santana corrected, pointing at herself.Sunshine quickly nodded and turned to leave.“What kinda nickname is Sunshine anyways?” Santana snapped, sitting up. Uh-oh. Quinn sensed Santana’s mood had soured, and unfortunately it looked like Sunshine was going to catch her wrath.Sue appeared suddenly and silently. “Some people’s parents already gave them stupid names so I don’t even have to come up with them on my own.”Santana laughed loudly.“Goodbye, Sunshine.” Sue dismissed her. She eyed Santana and Quinn closely.“I appreciated your support after my speech, Santana.” Sue started, pacing back and forth. “However, I don’t appreciate you breaking my rules, and so flagrantly. No alcohol, ever.”“We didn’t–” Quinn started.“Don’t lie to my face, Q, and insult my intelligence. Both of you get the hell out of here, right now. I’ll see you nice and early tomorrow for conditioning. My athletes don’t treat their bodies like trash. If you still want a coach, you’ll listen to me from now on.”Quinn stood, and turned to tug Santana up behind her. They stumbled towards the door.Santana grabbed the doorframe and turned back. “We can’t have one day without your rules?”
Quinn held her breath. Sober Santana would never have dared to talk back to Sue. She might talk shit later, but never to her face.“You’ve already taken the day, haven’t you? Now you’ll have the consequences.”Santana scoffed.“Don’t treat us like children. We’re not your high school kids anymore, Sue.”Sue’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Lopez. I’ve made you a star, but I can make another, brighter star just as easily.”“Pshh. Who else would ever want to be coached by you?”Sue turned red. “I’ll have you know I receive inquiries all the time from other players. In fact, just today I was asked to interview to coach another up and coming pro. Some absolute phenom from the east coast. She’s only been playing for a year, but she’s got a lot of people talking.”“Sounds like a prank call to me. No pro has only been playing tennis for a year.” Santana sneered. She was only getting more riled up.Quinn had only seen her this drunk once before, the summer after they graduated high school. It was actually why they’d established the four drink maximum rule.Sue looked at Quinn now. “Get her out of here, Fabray. Now.”Quinn physically pushed Santana out of the office and into the back storage room. Santana may be incredibly strong, but so was Quinn. Quinn also had an inch or two on her, and significantly less alcohol in her system. Santana was forced to step backwards, or else she’d fall on her ass. Quinn shoved her right up against the wall.“Would you calm down, dumbass?” Quinn hissed, getting right up in her face. Santana struggled, but Quinn held her there until she stopped moving.“Let’s get out of here.” Quinn finally said, releasing Santana cautiously.“Fine. But I’m not going home.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“That’s sloppy! You’re sloppy babies!” Sue shouted through her megaphone at Quinn and Santana.

For probably the thousandth time in the last six weeks, Quinn mentally cursed Santana. If not for the disastrous graduation day, they’d only be doing their normally hellish training with Sue. Instead, they’d been on Sue’s shit list for the entire summer so far.

After Sue kicked them out of her party, Santana refused to go home. So she and Quinn walked around until they stumbled across a house party. They’d crashed it, despite not even knowing whose house it was.

Santana had even claimed next at the beer pong table for herself and Quinn. Once she was bored of that party, Quinn arranged to meet up with Mercedes and Tina again at a bar downtown. They’d just finished dinner with their families, and were doing a sort of bar crawl through all the popular college bars in town. None of them had been in any before, per Sue’s rules. Except Mercedes, who came to one for karaoke nights sometimes.

As the impromptu crawl proceeded and the night went on, Santana’s family was blowing up her phone. She ignored each and every call. Quinn finally called Mirabel on her own phone and told them they were at a tennis party and they’d see them tomorrow before they left town. Santana’s mom wasn’t happy and asked to speak to Santana.

Quinn looked up, where Santana had been dancing on the bar with Mercedes. As Quinn watched, they started arguing and suddenly got into a shoving match. She hung up on Mirabel.

“Santana! Get down right now!” Quinn screamed, trying to be heard above the din. Tina was tugging Mercedes’ arm, forcing her off the bar before gravity took her down.

Santana ignored Quinn, predictably, and started cursing at Mercedes in an unintelligible mix of English and Spanish. She launched herself off the bar at Mercedes, who stepped out of the way, letting Santana hit the floor hard.

Santana tried to stand, but her ankle gave out under her. Quinn yanked her up.

“What’s going on, Mercedes?” Quinn demanded.

“I don’t know! We were just dancing. I accidentally bumped her a little, and she lost her shit. Started telling me I suck at tennis and I’ll never make it going pro. Crazy bitch.” Mercedes shook her head.

Tina led her away. “I’ll see you soon, Santana, and I’ll beat your ass!” Mercedes called over her shoulder as she left.

Quinn had to wrap Santana in a tight bear hug to prevent her from going after Mercedes again.

She’d dragged a limping and furious Santana back to their apartment. Then spent the night alternately holding Santana’s hair while she puked or icing her rapidly swelling ankle.

So suffice it to say, every training session with Sue since had been nightmarish. That first morning was so traumatic that Quinn had blocked it out entirely. Each and every day Sue pushed them past their breaking points, and both girls were downing pain killers just to be able to get home. Santana’s ankle injury was another issue, as she’d opted to hide it from Sue entirely. Not the smartest idea, but Quinn fully understood why. Sue would probably have murdered Santana. So she wrapped it every day, and hid it under taller socks. She had sock lines now but it was well worth it. Luckily, the ankle appeared to be healing, if slowly.

Graduation had been in June, and it was the end of July. They were still living in their college apartment, still training on campus somehow. Despite Sue’s threats to find other players to coach, she’d stuck with them. Santana was quite confident Sue had made the whole thing up, about her getting an interview elsewhere. Quinn wasn’t so sure, it was an odd story, which made it more believable to her. The details were too weird to be made up.

Sue claimed to have a master plan for the two of them, though she would only divulge anything about it when she felt necessary. Which was driving Santana up the wall. They’d already missed several tournaments that could have started earning them points.

They’d just finished their third and final training session of the day, and both girls had collapsed onto the bench to catch their breath. Sue dispatched Becky to bring her golf cart directly to the court, so Sue didn’t have to walk the 25 yards to the parking lot.

“Ladies, we have business to discuss. Dinner at my house tonight, I’ll see you in an hour.” Sue clapped her hands and hopped onto the golf cart as Becky returned for her, zooming away.

“Ugh. I might fall asleep at Sue’s dining room table.” Quinn moaned, resting her head against the fence. Santana just hummed in agreement.

After another ten minutes of sitting and rehydrating, they stood to leave. It fought every instinct in their bodies to rise, but they’d learn from painful, painful experience that if they sat too long after practice their muscles would completely stiffen up. The best thing was a scalding shower, which kept them loose enough to keep coming back to practice every day. So they limped to Santana’s car and went home to shower and change before going to Sue’s.

Arriving at Sue's in a fresh set of Lima U warm up sweats, Santana mentally thanked God that Sue’s house was a single story. Going up their apartment stairs at the end of every day almost sent her over the edge.

Becky admitted them and led them to Sue’s massive dining table, where she was already halfway through a giant plate loaded in steak, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. Sue waved them over to empty seats.

Becky brought them their own plates, which had significantly less food than Sue’s. She kept them on a very rigid and limited diet. Neither girl was given any potatoes at all, instead having more asparagus.

Wolfing their food down, the girls were left to sit silently and watch Sue finish her meal. Sue made no effort to speak at all, or further acknowledge their presence.

Once she’d finished and summoned another glass of red wine for herself only, Sue turned her attention towards them.

“So, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. It’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.” Sue swirled her wine around, building suspense.

Santana shot a grin at Quinn, who returned it. Finally!

“What tournament are we playing first?” Santana said, leaning forward.

“Patience, Lopez. I didn’t say anything about any tournaments. You’re not ready.” Sue took another sip of her wine. “We will be going down to my condo in Boca to continue our training.”

“Why? We’re already better than every other collegiate player that’s starting their professional careers. Kitty Wilde already got a wild card to play Wimbledon. We’re both better than her. Why are we wasting our time?” Santana demanded, trying to keep her temper in check. Quinn laid a hand on her knee under the table, a silent warning, but she wanted to hear Sue’s explanation too.

“You question Sue Sylvester’s methods?” Sue sighed. “First of all, I’m in desperate need of some R&R, and I look, incredibly, even better with a tan. Secondly, I don’t want you two just jumping into tournaments. We have an opportunity to build a fanbase, a following, for the two of you before you join the tour. Most importantly, we need a team behind you. And for that we need sponsors–”

“How are we supposed to find sponsors if they aren’t watching us play? There's a rumor that Kitty’s already in talks with sponsors.” Santana interrupted.

“If you’d let me finish, Tweedledum, I was getting to that. Yes, Kitty got a wild card, and yes, the media and sponsors have an interest in her right now. However, do you know how she got the wild card?”

Both girls shook their heads.

“Kitty’s a distant cousin of the Middletons. That’s not been mentioned, but the truth is that there was a royal influence here. And it’s not public knowledge. Thanks to my spies, and Becky’s research, I discovered their connection. So, while it may seem everything’s going Kitty’s way right now, I can tell you how this will play out. Kitty, as a wild-card, will be going against Rublevska in the first round. She will be crushed, and once the press reveals how she got her wild card spot, well, I don’t think she’ll be receiving many sponsorship offers.”

“Genius. No one likes a nepo baby.” Quinn said, under her breath.

“So imagine how refreshing it will be, when a profile about the two of you comes out in the press just weeks later. How you’ve stayed humble, working hard to be ready before joining the tour. Maybe playing in some charity tournaments.” Sue continued. It was sounding better, the more Sue explained everything.

“You’ll have all of America foaming at the mouth to see you when you officially join the tour next year.”

“NEXT YEAR?”

“Yes, Lopez, next year. Unless you’ve got a spare ankle hidden somewhere in your tennis bag?”

Santana sputtered. Quinn froze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My ankle’s fine.” She finally said, stiffly.

“You continue to insult me.” Sue shakes her head wryly. “Let’s see what’s under that sock then.”

Santana hesitated.

“You really thought I didn’t notice, huh? I suppose neither of you Einsteins noticed we've not done any exercises that would put undue strain on the ankles?”

“Tell that to my ankle.” Santana muttered, defeated.

“You’re leaving for Boca in two days. Pack up. Becky will oversee the moving truck and get you to the airport. I’ll see you there.” Sue said, rising from the table.

The girls, clearly dismissed, rose slowly to leave. As they passed Sue on their way to the door, she grabbed Santana’s arm, stopping her.

“And in the future, Lopez, I might suggest you don’t lie to your coach about getting hurt and risk a more permanent injury. As irritating as you are, we are a team.” Sue said calmly. “And Quinn–you might think you were doing her a favor by staying quiet, but I can assure you, you were not. Your partnership needs to come first. Get your shit together, and get out of my house.”

Sue steered them to the door, slamming it behind them.

—

The drive home was silent. Both girls were deep in thought. Santana was still stewing about the fact that they weren’t going to join the tour until after the new year. The discussion was not over, but she’d leave it alone for now. Sue did have a point; her ankle wasn’t healed yet. But as soon as it was, she’d be playing, with or without Sue’s approval.

Quinn was thinking about their move to Florida. She’d been there on vacation once with her family. It was not a fond memory. She wondered if Sue would really get them some good media attention. Mostly she was worried about her relationship with Santana. When Sue told her they needed to be partners first, it sounded wrong. But maybe there was some truth to it? Or she needed to be a better friend, stop letting Santana get away with stupid bullshit. She should’ve reported Santana’s injury, and let Santana be pissed at her. But she also couldn’t imagine that their partnership would have been improved if she had told on Santana. Santana could hold a serious grudge, and already had volatile mood swings. Quinn being Santana’s best friend was the only reason Santana could even play doubles. No one else could handle being Santana’s partner, Quinn was sure of that. But this was Quinn’s career too. As they got home, she gave up thinking about it for the night. She was too exhausted.

As Quinn was brushing her teeth, Santana appeared behind her in the mirror.

“Please tell me Boca is near the beach, and not in some shitty swamp.”

—-

The next two days were an absolute blur. Sue had already left for Florida, so the two of them had no practices or workouts. Instead they spent two boiling days in their apartment, alternately packing and yelling at each other about packing. Quinn’s stuff was pretty easy to pack, as she was very organized. Santana’s stuff…well, it looked like it exploded everywhere. Somehow she spread it out even more while packing. Quinn kept finding items of Santana’s in her boxes. Santana would beg her for help, Quinn would refuse for hours, cave and start helping, and then blow up when she found Santana in the next room scrolling on her phone instead of working. Suffice it to say, when Becky finally showed up with the moving truck, Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. Running out of time, they’d finally just started throwing everything of Santana’s into boxes at random. There wasn’t much point in organizing it anyways. Their stuff was mixed up together, but Quinn was past caring.

That evening, they sat on their now bare carpet, eating their last meal in the apartment. Sue had booked them a red-eye for that night.

“Can’t believe we’re finally leaving.” Quinn remarked, looking around the empty room.

“I can. I can’t believe it took so long. It felt like we were here for an eternity.”

“It felt fast to me. I’ll miss it, a little.” Quinn admitted quietly.

“What’s to miss?” Santana said brusquely.

“I don’t know. We had some good times here. I mean, four championships, that was pretty amazing. And we had some fun nights out. We kinda ruled this place.”

Santana smiled as a few memories flashed through her mind. “Yeah, beating UCLA was the best. And to end with an overhead to their captain’s face…I’ll never forget that.”

“You’re a sociopath. I was thinking of our ring ceremonies with the team.”

Santana shrugged like she accepted that about herself. “Just think, soon we’ll be winning our own trophies and money. No more carrying a stupid team on our back.”

Quinn swatted at her. “I liked being on a team.”

“You would.” Santana scoffed. “Maybe you can suggest that the WTA changes to a team format so you can make friends!”

“Why is it such a bad thing to have friends?”

“It’s a competitive sport, Quinn, not summer camp. You can win, or you can make friends, but you can’t have both. I want to win.”

Quinn shook her head sadly. She rose to her feet and offered her hand to Santana to pull her to her feet.

“Time to go, Becky’s almost here.”

“Florida’s not ready for us.” Santana said, impulsively spinning Quinn around before giving her a nuggie.

Quinn smoothed her hair back into place, faux-glaring at Santana.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for Florida.” She muttered.

—--

When they arrived at the Boca Raton airport, it was still the early morning hours. As they got in the cab, heading for the address Sue sent them, Quinn suddenly had a horrible thought.

“Santana, you don’t think that–we’re not staying with Sue, right?”

They’d not thought about it, in all the rush to leave Lima. It was a scary proposition. Sue hadn’t said anything about where they’d be staying, just that she had a condo here.

Santana blanched at the thought. “No, no way! She wouldn’t want to live with us either. I think.”

They waited anxiously to see where they arrived. Thankfully, it pulled up to a big coral house in a residential neighborhood. As they approached the door, they saw that it was ajar.

Santana shot Quinn a curious look before pushing it cautiously open. The house was dark.

“Sue?” Santana called, her voice betraying her fear.

They cautiously stepped further into the house, approaching the kitchen. The moonlight illuminated the white counters.

“Maybe it’s the wrong house?” Quinn whispered. They were inching slowly forward.

Suddenly, a flashlight snapped on, illuminating Sue Sylvester’s face eerily.

“So much for my vacation.” Sue lamented.

Santana, hand on her heart, switched the overhead lights on. “Why are you sitting in the dark? So creepy.”

“Just wanted to welcome you to my parent’s home. You’ll be staying here.”

“Your parents? They’re still alive?” Santana said incredulously. Quinn elbowed her, hard.

“Yes, Lopez, not sure why that’s so surprising. They’re Nazi hunters, so they’re not here much. You’ll have the place to yourselves, but I’m just down the street, so I can keep an eye on you two. Beachfront condo. We’ve got our own private court that we can use until we join a club, I expect you both will be there tomorrow at 6 a.m.”

Sue rose and disappeared through the front door.

“Why is she like that?” Santana wondered aloud, sounding grumpy. She was always a terror when she hadn’t gotten good sleep, and she hadn’t slept well on the flight. Quinn shrugged.

“Let’s check the house out. I–we–need to take a nap.” Quinn suggested, turning on more lights as she walked.

Thankfully, you’d never know it was Sue’s parents’ house. In fact, it was very new and felt like it was staged for sale. There were no personal artifacts anywhere. It had four large bedrooms, of which the girls claimed the two biggest. The best part was that it had a pool and hot tub in the backyard, completely surrounded by tinted glass walls. To keep out gators and other Florida wildlife, Quinn recalled from her last time here.

Later this afternoon, the moving trucks should arrive with their stuff and they could start unpacking. For now, though, it was four a.m., and they needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow they’d start training again, and they needed all the rest they could get.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

August
The sun was rising over the ocean, creating a beautiful landscape of pink and purple clouds. Santana and Quinn sat on the sand watching. This had become a tradition of theirs since their first week in Boca Raton. Before their first workout, they walked down to the beach to watch the sunrise. Once it was fully up, they’d leave their clothes on the sand and run straight into the waves. It was easier to just run in, otherwise you had time to feel the cold and back out. Not that the water was that cold. But it was so early in the day that the air was cold.After a quick, refreshing dip, Sue would show up on the beach and they’d begin their morning session, which was conditioning. The girls got up, diving in. It was Santana’s favorite part of the day. Ten minutes later, Sue came out, and the day began in earnest. Sue had them do some form of running every day, though it hadn’t ever been the same twice. Sometimes they had sprints on the sand. Or they’d shuffle sideways with rubber bands between their calves, making it more difficult. Or Sue would simply tell them to run to the lighthouse, which made for a five mile round trip run. Or she’d bring cones and they’d race each other while doing suicides. Sometimes they didn’t run, but would do something else torturous. Bear crawl from jetty to jetty, burpees, tread water with their upper bodies out of the water. She never lacked for a creative workout. The sand made it extra difficult.It was always hard, but everything that they’d been doing up to that point meant that they were fit enough to keep up. They were always drenched in sweat by the time they finished, two hours later; today was no different. The Florida sun was unforgiving, but it was working for them. Santana had deepened her naturally olive skin, giving her a beautiful glow. Quinn, having suffered several sunburns, finally built up her own tan. She had a million freckles too, which her mom would cringe at. Santana said they made her green eyes pop like crazy though, so that was a plus. The sun, sand, and sea water was like the best skincare in the world. They dove in the ocean again to cool off, before having a break. They went home, showered, and ate a real breakfast. Sue’s diet called for some form of fruit, protein, and carbs. Bacon was not on the approved list, but Quinn loved bacon, so occasionally they’d cheat a little.After their break, it was time for tennis at the club. They drilled with Sue and Becky, both separately and together. Towards the end of the session, they played a few matches. Sometimes singles against each other. Lately though, Sue had been bringing other local players to play them at singles or doubles. Sue wanted them sharp and ready in both their singles and doubles games. It was fun to play against other pros, or hitting partners. None of the pros were that highly ranked of course, but they were already on tour. Quinn had been nervous about playing other pros, but found that both she and Santana were able to hold their own. They didn’t always win, but they never lost badly either. Sue was never happy when they lost, of course, but Quinn suspected that Sue was pleased with how they were doing so far.As far as doubles went, they were just about unstoppable. There’s a certain chemistry between them, as partners of nearly ten years and best friends, that other teams just can’t match. They can pretty much read each other’s minds and anticipate each other’s moves before they’re made, which makes it difficult to ever get a winner past them. They’ve got a special situation and everyone knows it. Sue has happily reported that the other coaches are worried about the pair of them. Santana’s ankle still twinged every once in a while, but for the most part it was better. A few more weeks and she’d stop taping it altogether. She couldn’t wait, because then she could start playing tournaments. Santana had already started hinting to Sue that they should really start racking up some points at tournaments before next year. Unfortunately, you can’t just enter into the best tournaments, you have to earn points to qualify. Or get given a wild card, like Kitty, but that’s usually reserved for more established players coming back from injuries or other exceptional situations. Most of the players have to start at the bottom, playing smaller tournaments and gradually qualifying for more important tournaments as they earn points. The winner of a tournament gets the most points, but other participants also earn points depending on how far they made it in the tournament. Bigger tournaments come with more points for winning, and of course bigger prizes. The season is almost nearly year round, and points don’t reset at the end of the season. They can count for up to 52 weeks, though they only count the best 16 scores during that time period for singles, or best 11 scores for doubles (they’re scored separately). So most everyone on tour has a year’s worth of points. Santana and Quinn are starting at ground zero. Santana wants to start, so badly. She’s got big dreams, and she’s gotta get the points to even get close to those dreams. Actually playing professional tennis feels like a carrot Sue’s dangling in front of her, but she never lets her catch it. She’s also never gone so long without playing a real match. She misses it. After three to four hours of tennis, the girls take a lunch break. Becky typically brings them a Sue-approved lunch, and they eat in one of the conference rooms of the clubhouse. Sometimes Sue comes in and talks to them about random things: other players, clubhouse gossip, new strategies she’d come up with, or just herself. Today, they’re spared Sue’s presence during lunch. After lunch, they alternate between either weights, core, or balance/flexibility. This portion of the day was usually somewhere between 1-2 hours. Today they did core.Finally, they watch tapes. Sue critiques films she’d taken of them, pointing out areas of weakness or where improvement was needed. They also watch films of other players at tournaments to assess them. Quinn and Santana take notes and then discuss together what they’d noticed. Sue listens in, sometimes adding in things they may have missed. For all Sue’s faults, it’s during this time of the day that Santana appreciates her the most as a coach. Sue doesn’t miss a thing. She notices every little detail and knows just how to exploit things to their benefit. It’s scary, but impressive at the same time.As they finish up, Santana and Quinn pack up a couple of tapes to watch on their day off, which is tomorrow. They have to have rest, but Sue encourages them to still do something productive with their time.“Santana, Q, I’ve got some exciting news.” Sue announces suddenly, looking up from her phone. “I’ve just received an email from my contact at ESPN. They’d like to feature you two in next month’s magazine.”Quinn squeals, squeezing Santana’s hand. Sue smiled, a rarity.“This is it, girls, it’s happening. This is the moment; we need to seize it. I expect that after this article comes out, you’ll be a lot busier. We all will be. We need to ride the wave of this PR, so I’ve decided you’ll play in a local charity tournament at the end of September. I will of course make sure this is advertised as your debut, so to speak, in the article. We’ll see where it goes from there. They’ll be coming here next Friday for a photoshoot and to interview us. They’ll mostly be talking to me, but I’m sure they have some questions for you two as well. You need to nail this. Be professional, and charming.” Sue eyed Santana at that last line. “This is a huge opportunity. You two are my stars, don’t let me down. See you Monday.”Sue swept out of the room. It was kind of creepy how quietly she got around.Once Sue was out of sight, Santana swept Quinn up into the air, laughing. Quinn, at 5’6”, only had an inch of height over Santana but it never failed to surprise her when Santana did this.“Ow, you’re squeezing too tight, put me down!” Quinn laughed, out of breath.“We’re gonna be famoussss!” Santana cheered. “And we’re going to look smokin’ in that magazine.”“God, could you get any more full of yourself?” Quinn drawled, although she was feeling a giddy energy in her chest.------When they got home, they quickly ate dinner before hopping in the pool.It felt blissful to float and let their sore muscles take a break. The best part of Quinn’s day, however, was their end of day hot tub. If the pool was blissful, the hot tub was pure heaven. The heat, the jets, the silence. Well, it was never all that silent actually. But it was silent enough for Quinn. She could let her brain turn off a bit, since she didn’t need to be listening to everything Sue was saying. Santana might be chattering, but she was well-versed in tuning her in or out as needed. Tonight they were both buzzing off the high of Sue’s news, so Quinn was listening to Santana.While Quinn let the jets work their magic on her back, Santana kept jumping in and out of the hot tub to run to her room and grab different magazines. She was trailing a puddle of water through the house. At least it was tile, Quinn thought. No permanent damage done.“Look at this pose!” Santana said for the millionth time, shoving a soggy magazine in Quinn’s face.Quinn obligingly opened her eyes. The model, a beautiful redheaded woman, had her head resting on her fist, one eyebrow raised. She was modeling a watch.“We won’t be doing that pose, I can guarantee that.” Quinn stated.“Why not? It’s so, like, sophisticated.”“Because we’re not Steve Jobs. We’ll probably be posed like back to back or something lame like media day. Maybe hugging our racquets again.” Media day at Lima U was always a fun break from practice, but the photographers always had the most boring, overdone suggestions for their poses. The poses Quinn and Santana came up with were always better looking.Santana grunted unhappily. She kept flipping through the magazine impatiently.Quinn heard a splash as Santana exited the hot tub again. She frowned.“You know, San, there’s not going to be any water left in here if you keep getting out!”Santana stuck her tongue out at Quinn. “You’re such a mom. Do you want a marg?”Quinn smirked, nodding. Besides bacon, they also occasionally cheated by having frozen margs. Only ever on Saturday nights when there was no training the next day. And they’d returned to their four drink limit, usually stopping at two or three anyways. Tonight, Quinn had a feeling they’d celebrate and hit their limit.As the blender roared from the kitchen, Quinn picked up some of Santana’s discarded magazines to take a look for herself. They were a random assortment. They were just getting whatever Sue’s parents had subscribed to. Santana read them all, probably because she was bored. She seemed to have endless energy. Quinn noted with a grin that Santana had forwarded her Nat Geo subscription to their new place.As Santana came back, bringing a whole tray with her, Quinn couldn’t help but poke fun.“What poses did you think you’d find in this one?” She held up the Nat Geo.Santana squinted to read it. Then frowned as she got closer, carefully setting the tray down. It held a pitcher of frozen margarita, two glasses, a plate of salt, and slices of a lime. Santana never half-assed anything.“I just grabbed everything I had. Don’t hate, that shit’s interesting.” She shrugged, dipping a foot back in.“Wait, I have some magazines in my room. Before you get back in, go grab them. ALL of them. They’re on my desk. Vogues
and I don’t know what else.” Quinn said before Santana could get any further.Santana came back in a few minutes, arms full with ten more magazines. She dumped them on the rock edge of the hot tub, and jumped back in, splashing Quinn.Quinn glared at her. “You’re like a child, sometimes. A closeted nerd child who should really wear her glasses so she doesn’t get wrinkles from squinting all the time.”Santana pouted, sticking out her already plump lips further. “The glasses are so not hot. They bring down my vibe.”“What vibe is that exactly?” Quinn inquired.“Brilliant-ingenue-sexy-mysterious tennis player.” Santana rattled off, standing up to rub a lime down her abs suggestively.“Oh my god. Your head is going to pop!” Quinn groaned. “If you didn’t have Sue around to let all that hot air out, I think you’d have floated away by now. Also, you’re like the least mysterious person I know.”“Oh, please, I am so mysterious.” Santana dipped fully under again, striking a pose as she surfaced.“Santana, I can read your face like a damn book. Steam literally comes out of your ears when you’re mad, and you do this thing with your eyebrows—yes, just like that! When you’re annoyed.”Santana crossed her arms. “Well, maybe you can. But nobody else can.”Quinn made a noncommittal noise.“Anyways, I’m serious about the glasses thing. Just wear them when you’re reading at home, it’s not like anyone else will see you. You’ll thank me in thirty years when you don’t have a permanent look on your face like you’re pooping.”“Damn, bitch, okay!” Santana splashed her. “But I’m pretty sure in thirty years they’ll have discovered a way to reverse aging. Or maybe I’ll have enough Botox to look permanently in my twenties.”“Pass me my marg, you’re gonna give me a headache.” Quinn responded.Santana passed a marg and a magazine. “Help me look.”Quinn flipped through as she sipped, leaning up against the edge. The problem was that these were high fashion magazines, not sports magazines, so the poses didn’t really translate.“We’d look ridiculous doing any of these. They all just like to throw their arms up in weird ways and wear ugly outfits.” Quinn mused aloud, looking at a picture of Blake Lively.“I think I found a helpful one finally.” Santana showed Quinn the cover, Sports Illustrated, swimsuit edition.Santana dropped it to stand up again, hooking her thumbs in her bikini bottoms to drag them suggestively lower like the model she’d opened it to.“What do you think about this pose?"“Jesus, Santana!” Quinn held up a hand to block her vision. “You’re about to flash me. And you look ridiculous.”“I do not! Besides, sex sells.” Santana insisted. She experimented with other Sports Illustrated poses.Quinn choked on her margarita. “Ew, you sound like a frat guy. I thought I was done with those.”Santana winked at her cheekily, cheek dimpling.“You really want to come out the gate with that approach? I thought you wanted to be known for your talent, not your looks.” Quinn said slyly, knowing this would shut Santana up.“Of course. But why can’t I be the best and hottest?” Santana whined. “Back to sophisticated, I guess.”They had less than five minutes of silent flipping before both girls got bored of it.“I give up. I’ll just do whatever they tell me and hope it turns out good.” Quinn decided, tossing her magazine away.“Yeah, let’s not overthink it.”“These are really good, by the way.” Quinn said, nodding down to her drink, which she’d almost finished.“Duh. Looks like we both need a top up.” Santana generously refilled both of their glasses. She kept switching sides of the hot tub, moving to the step, edge, out completely, back in completely.“I’m trying to relax, Santana, can you sit still?” Quinn finally spoke up.“What are you doing with your first million, Q?” Santana changed the subject, but settled on the step. For now at least.“Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”“Just play along, I’m curious.” Santana was staring at her intently, even though Quinn’s eyes had been closed.Sometimes Santana got in a weird mood where she practically begged for Quinn’s attention, and wanted to just talk, talk, talk. It was like she needed to know every single thing about Quinn, and was genuinely very interested in what Quinn had to say. Quinn found it sort of endearing but also strange and occasionally too much. Tonight she leaned towards endearing. She wished everyone could see this side of Santana. Correction: she wished Santana would let anyone else see this side of her. Then people wouldn’t be so intimidated by her, and she might make another friend or two.“Okay…let me think.” Quinn took a sip of her margarita, the ice contrasting deliciously with the hot water she was sitting in. She ran her fingers across the sweat on the glass, dabbing it on her forehead.“I’m buying a nice house, outright. By the beach, I think. I’ve loved living here.”“Okay, which beach? What does the house look like?” Santana leaned forward, waiting for Quinn to paint her a picture.“Hmm. I want warm water still, but more remote. Florida’s too…Florida. And muggy. Maybe…Hawaii?”Santana nodded, letting Quinn continue.“I really like the Hawaiian style of house, actually. You know, with the big, wide roofs? And a big lanai wrapping around the house. I’d like a brightly colored one, maybe emerald green. White trim. Not too big, but comfortable. Nice and well-decorated inside. And a great view of course. And no one for a mile or two, so it’s quiet and private.”Santana hummed; now her eyes were closed.
“Keep going.”“What else is there to say? I want a hammock in the backyard, between two palm trees.”“Is there a guest room for me?”“Do you really need to ask?”Santana grinned. “No.”“Okay, let’s hear yours.”“Okay, I’m doing the same shit. Big ass beach house, but not in Hawaii. That’s so far away. I’m thinking of the California coast, somewhere on the PCH. Malibu? Or maybe further north, like Santa Barbara.”“You’ll need like five million then.”“Sure, okay, my first five million. I want a Cape Cod style. Shingles, of course, so classic. Maybe like a warm gray or navy blue. It’s up on a cliff somewhere I can see the sun rise and set every day. And a tennis court. I’m picturing crazy Fourth of July parties up there. I have heated floors, and a bunch of other fancy stuff, just because I can.”“Wow, quite the palace. And who else lives there with you?” Quinn asked, now enjoying the game herself.“My private chef, of course.”“Naturally. I meant besides your whole staff. They’d have separate quarters anyways.” Quinn jokes.“Right. Sometimes I invite you over when I get bored. Maybe I’ll pick up a trophy husband somewhere along the way. And he can be like a total airhead and star in the first season of Real Househusbands of Santa Barbara. And I’ll be the pro athlete wife, who’s off cheating and whatever else I’m supposed to do in that role. Get remarried three times, to younger men each time?”Quinn cracked up. “Dream big, Santana. I can’t wait to watch this unfold. And are you having children with any of these airheads?”Santana bit her lip, thinking hard like it was a real decision she was making.“That’s a hard one, Q. On one hand, it seems a real waste to not pass these genetics down. On the other hand, not sure I’m the mothering type. Do you think I can afford full-time nannies within that 5 mil?”“No, you can’t afford it, you blew it all on the house and butlers. You have to raise them.”“Risky business. I don’t think so. Wouldn’t want to screw them up. Maybe I can donate my eggs and email them once they’re fully cooked as adults?”“Why do you think you’d screw them up?” Quinn asked. Santana might be speaking in a sarcastic tone, but Quinn knew she wasn’t joking that she thought she’d screw her kids up.“Because I have no idea what to do. How to be a good parent.” Santana’s eyes stared down into the water.“I don’t think anyone does, really. They just do their best.”“Or they don’t. We didn’t exactly have the best examples, Q.”Quinn stared at Santana until she made eye contact. “That doesn’t define who we’re going to be. Our parents are idiots. But maybe they’re examples of what not to do.”Santana laughed. “You know, you’re right. If I just do the opposite of what they did, I think I’ll be the best parent in the world.”“Exactly. Sounds like a plan.” Quinn smiled grimly, stomach feeling a little unsettled with all this talk of their parents.“So now that we’ve established you’d be a great mom, how many kids do you want? Boys, girls, a mix? What are you naming them?”“Hm…two for sure. One kid is lonely. I think…one boy and one girl, just see what both are like. Names, who knows. That requires a lot of thinking. I have to eliminate anyone I’ve hated, which is pretty much everyone I’ve met. Actually, I have to eliminate names of everyone I know, or else they’ll think I’m naming it after them…You go.”“So your daughter won’t be named Quinn? I’m insulted.”Santana shook her head emphatically. “Hell no. Here, hand me your glass, it’s refill time.”Quinn obliged. The margaritas were hitting her now. So pleasant. This was the best feeling, she wanted to bottle it up. She could almost just fall asleep here, floating. Except Santana was in the mood to talk, so she needed to use her brain at least.“Let’s see, I think you’re right. More than one kid for sure. I think…maybe four. Is that crazy?” She looked at Santana to see her reaction.“I’ll hear you out here, but yeah it’s nuts. Why four?”“Okay, so, if you have two that’s great. Except if they don’t get along. Like me and Franny. So I’m thinking I should have at least three. But then…what if two of them gang up on the third? That’s so sad. So I think I need an even four, so they can have two pairs if they don’t like each other.”Santana smiled wryly. “We’re, like, so fucked up.”“Yeah…what’re we gonna do about that? Like you said, we’re fully cooked already. Speaking of, your birthday’s coming up.”“Yeah, so?”“Let’s celebrate.”Santana made a sour face.“You only turn twenty-two once. And it’s your wish birthday. Twenty two on the twenty second!”“I hate my birthday. I don’t want to do anything.”“Nothing crazy. We can just have a movie night, or go out to dinner or something. Or have another margs night at least. Something.” Quinn cajoled. Santana always dragged her feet about her birthday, and bitched and moaned, but Quinn knew she’d be sad if they didn’t do anything.“I’ll think about it. I’m getting overheated, I’m gonna get out soon I think.” Santana said, getting squirrely again, moving to the ledge. Conversation over. Quinn knew the signs. She was getting hot herself actually.“Yeah, me too. After we rinse off, want to watch something?” Quinn asked nonchalantly.Sometimes, after a deep conversation, or whatever it was they’d just had, Santana just wanted to be near Quinn. She secretly loved sleeping over in Quinn’s bed, but she’d never admit it. She didn’t know that Quinn knew, but Quinn definitely knew. Quinn had picked up on the pattern towards the end of high school, and now that she noticed it, she tried to make it easier for Santana. Santana has always had a really hard time asking for what she needs, or even acknowledging that she needs anything or anyone at all.In high school, Santana would suggest watching a movie or show together. She used to test the waters, telling Quinn she felt pretty sleepy and might fall asleep. Maybe she should just go back to her bed? Quinn agreed the first few times, thinking Santana didn’t actually want to watch anything. Then one time she caught sight of Santana’s dimple, just a flash of it, when Quinn just told her to stay, it was fine if she fell asleep.So now sometimes Quinn offers to watch something first if she sensed Santana might want to have a sleepover, and usually she was right. And when Quinn asked first, Santana didn’t feel the need to pretend she was super tired and could “accidentally” fall asleep. She just slept over in Quinn’s bed. And held onto Quinn all night like she was a human-sized teddy bear. Quinn didn’t mind. It was just a funny little routine they had.“Yeah, sure.” Santana grinned as she turned away, but Quinn caught the beginning of it and smiled to herself.Yeah, the mysterious Santana Lopez.They cooled down and rinsed the chlorine off in the patio shower before going inside to put on their pajamas. Santana came into Quinn’s room while Quinn was braiding her hair. If she didn’t it was a complete rats' nest in the morning. Santana took the ends of Quinn’s hair from her and finished it.Quinn reached for the remote, turned off the lights, and started scrolling Netflix. She was into true crime lately. It sounded weird to fall asleep to, but the hosts always had soothing, deep voices.Santana got under the covers on the other side of Quinn’s queen bed. Quinn waited, amused, for Santana’s pillow to make its way to her shoulder. She always inched it over slowly, like Quinn wouldn’t notice.Quinn scooted over a bit to speed things up. She was actually tired tonight and was kinda over the whole charade. The pillow moving an inch every few minutes, closely followed by Santana herself. Just when she was close enough to Quinn, she’d feign sleep and then slowly wrap herself around Quinn’s right side.Suddenly, she had the urge to just call Santana out…they’d been doing this long enough. Santana was relaxed, a little drunk, and they’d been cuddling for years. Maybe they could just drop all the pretense.Quinn thought to herself for a few minutes, imagining different scenarios of how Santana might react. It was fifty-fifty that she'd react poorly and run away, or go with it. Quinn sighed. She decided to take a slightly different tact. She’d not fully call her out, but be vulnerable herself. Or pretend to be vulnerable.“San?” Quinn whispered. “You awake?”“Yeah, what’s up?” Santana said immediately, belying her apparent tiredness.“You know, I’m kinda cold from rinsing off and the AC.”“Yeah?”“Yeah. Can we cuddle a little? Like we sometimes do when we’re asleep?”Silence. Quinn was about to say never mind and give Santana the out, when Santana scooted closer.“Yeah.” Santana whispered, right by Quinn’s ear. “You know…I like when we do that. Sometimes.”“I know you do. I do too.” Quinn said baldly.“So maybe…you don’t have to sneak over like a sloth anymore?” Quinn continued, waiting with bated breath for Santana’s response.Santana stiffened instantly. But then she started to shake with laughter, so Quinn knew it was okay.“I…yeah. Okay.”Quinn snorted. “You’re such a dork. I wonder how many hours of your life you’ve wasted worming your way over here in the dark. When you could’ve just said, ‘Quinn, can we cuddle tonight?’”Santana sat up, eyes bugging out at Quinn as she wavered between laughing and getting mad. She was a little embarrassed, but not too bad, Quinn could tell. Progress.“I hate you.” Santana finally huffed, flopping back down on her back.Quinn grabbed Santana’s arms and wrapped them around herself like Santana eventually would have.“Let’s not pretend anymore. It’s comforting. No need to make a big deal.” Quinn reaffirmed.Santana took a deep breath. Then she put her leg over Quinn’s, settling up against Quinn's side. Her head was fully on Quinn’s shoulder.“Goodnight, Q.” She said finally.“'Night, San.”Quinn turned off the TV. Because the truth was, they were both exhausted, and they didn’t need to leave it on to play Santana’s games anymore. They could just go to sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The day of Santana’s birthday, which fell on a Saturday this year, was a training day like any other. She’d made Quinn swear up and down not to mention that it was her birthday to anyone else. Quinn rolled her eyes, but agreed. Santana could not prevent Quinn from celebrating though. So this morning Quinn had filled Santana’s room with balloons before pouncing on Santana to wake her up. She’d even tried to sing happy birthday to her as they ate breakfast, but Santana covered her ears with her hands.After a particularly brutal weightlifting session, it was all Santana could do to keep her eyes open through watching tapes. She felt like she was back in high school, watching the clock in class until she could leave and go play tennis. Except today she wanted to get home and relax with Q. Three eternities later, Sue excused them. Santana breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted a hot shower and her bed, ASAP.“I made us dinner reservations for that Italian place that practice player was talking about last week.” Quinn said as they walked out of the club.“Ugh, I’m tired, Q. Let’s just hit the hot tub and call it good.” Santana said.“So am I. But we’ve gotta get out more. And today’s a perfect excuse, it’s your birthday!”“Shh!” Santana hissed, looking around to make sure no one they knew over heard that. The practice players and other pros were overly friendly for her liking. One had even invited them to a game night the other day. They politely declined. Or Quinn did, Santana wouldn’t have been so polite. And yet, despite her general iciness towards them, they were always smiling at her and trying to strike up a conversation. Had Sue not always been around, watching, Santana would have already torn several to shreds with words alone. But she was trying to be, you know, professional. Her previous antics from college would not fly anymore, they’d get her in trouble.“You’re so dramatic. You’d be upset if we weren’t doing anything. And don’t try to deny it either.” Quinn pointed out. Santana was too tired to argue, and maybe there was a little truth to that.So an hour and a half later found her sitting in a leather booth in a nice Italian place called Breadstix. It was actually their first time going out to eat in Boca Raton. They didn’t get out much, except to pick up take out a couple times. Half the time Santana had it delivered to the house anyways.They’d both dressed up for the occasion. Quinn wore a light pink A-line dress. Santana had on a short strapless black dress. They’d turned more than a few heads as they’d entered the restaurant, which made Santana perk up a little.The waitress took their drink orders. They’d both ordered water. Santana only liked to have water with her food. But Quinn thought they’d probably have some margaritas when they got home. She came by again to drop off free breadsticks, which was what the practice player had been raving about. As Santana took her first bite, she looked up to Quinn, only to be shocked by what she saw over her shoulder.Just behind Quinn, walking towards their table, was Sue and Becky.“Did you invite Sue?!” Santana breathed in disbelief, ducking down in hopes they didn’t see her.“Wha–?” Quinn started.“Ladies, make room. I’ve brought a present.” Sue said, sliding in the booth next to Quinn. Becky sat next to Santana.Santana was boring holes into Quinn’s skull, until she read the confusion across her face.“What are you talking about?” Quinn asked suspiciously. She was looking back at Santana, pleading with her eyes that she’d had nothing to do with this.“I just got our advance copy of ESPN magazine.” Sue said. Becky produced it from her purse. Santana snatched it immediately. She and Quinn simultaneously moved closer to the center of the round booth so they could both read it. One of the advertised articles on the cover was “Top Twenty Athletes to Watch.” That would be theirs.“Page 18.” Sue stated, watching the girls as they flipped to the page and took it in.It was actually page 18 and page 19, because they’d been given a two page spread. One side was an action shot of them playing, the other a posed photo on the beach during morning training. Or it was supposed to be one of the posed ones. Santana scowled as she looked at the photo they’d selected. It wasn’t one of the dozens of poses they’d done, where she’d tried to look intimidating. They picked a candid one, one Santana didn’t even realize was being captured. Quinn had made a whispered comment about the photographer, and made Santana laugh.So they’d caught her mid-laugh on camera, Quinn holding her forearm to lean towards her ear. Quinn’s eyes were crinkled, looking mischievous. Santana thought it was an odd choice, but at least she didn’t look ugly. She just looked nice, nicer than she really is. The action shot, though, Santana looked amazing. And scary. She was fully extended, hitting a forehand, both feet off the ground. Her focus was on the ball, brows furrowed just a little. Each and every muscle in her arms was flexed. She looked impressive. Quinn was in the foreground, eyes on their opponent’s side, racquet held ready. While Santana’s eyes drank in every detail of the pictures, Quinn started reading the article aloud. It was only two paragraphs.“‘The world is waiting for the pro debut of the undefeated Lima U duo of Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez. It’s just a question of when their coach of the past eight years–yes, eight years! — decides it’s the right time. For Coach Sue Sylvester, it was never a matter of if these two would make it pro, but when. It’s virtually unheard of for a coach to take on two players at once. But for Sylvester, it was an easy decision: “With my many years of experience as a coach, I never considered it, until I saw them play together. They’re both absolutely incredible individual tennis players, and they are a perfect match as doubles partners.” Sylvester recruited the pair when they were freshmen in high school, bringing them to her tennis academy to train. She followed them to college, where they’ve had the most successful collegiate careers in history as both players and coach. The pair credit their success to both the length and strength of their friendship. Fabray said, “We’ve been partners for eight years now, which is crazy to think about. But more than that, we’re best friends. We grew up together, you know? The trust we have for each other on the court just can’t be replicated overnight.” It’s an incredible picture Fabray describes, of the foundation between two best friends. But, I must confess, I had a few questions. The biggest one is what I imagine any tennis fan is thinking: what about their singles careers? Singles is where the lion’s share of the glory in tennis is. So I asked, how competitive are they with each other when it comes to their singles careers? They’ve each traded the singles title and runner-up for the NCAA, each snagging two wins. Lopez grins before answering me. “It can be difficult for sure. Of course we’re competitive with each other. Playing against someone every day who knows your game better than anyone else has only pushed me to get more creative, and made me a better singles player. And we both know–we’re never going easy on each other, we’re coming with all we’ve got.” As for Sylvester, she puts it more simply: “Iron sharpens iron.” Sylvester has revealed that the pair will play publicly for the first time since graduating next month, at the ALS Foundation’s Boca Raton Tournament. I’ll be following their careers, that’s for sure. Together they’ve been a force, but only time will tell if Fabray and Lopez can stand on their own two feet as individuals.’” Quinn read.“‘Only time will tell’?” Santana wrinkled her nose. “Like we haven’t already won a million singles titles!”“Everyone seems to think you two are the next Bryan brothers.” Sue admitted. A compliment, as doubles players. But not really as singles players.“We’re our own thing. We’ll dominate in both areas.” Santana said confidently.“So what’s the deal with this tournament, Sue? How much prize money is on the table?”“It’s for charity, we don’t get prize money!” Quinn snapped at Santana.“I want to see the football players.” Becky piped up. Quinn handed the magazine over and Becky flipped back to some of the other featured athletes.“Correct–this is more for exposure.” Sue helped herself to the breadsticks. “You’ll mostly be playing other young pros as well as some older retired ones in a friendly, round-robin tournament.”Santana groaned, laying her head on the table. “When do we get to actually play? A regular match, not some stupid fake tournament.”“We’ll see. But just because it's a friendly tournament doesn’t mean it’s stupid. I happen to know a lot of well-connected people will be there. This is your first opportunity to impress some potential sponsors, so take it seriously. But—stay friendly, Santana. You don’t need to kill any retired fan-favorites with an overhead to the face. You’re putting on a show for fans and raising money, not competing for a title. So be nice and make friends with everyone you meet, you never know who could help you in your career.”“Okay, okay. I’ll play nice. What sponsors will be there?”“Assume that it could be the best of the best. This is your first impression, make it a good one.” Sue munched down on another breadstick, leaving crumbs all over the table.“Um, Coach?” Becky said, eyes wide. “You should see this.”To Quinn and Santana’s befuddlement, Becky handed the magazine back to Sue. Santana wondered if she’d somehow had a nip slip, or if there was something in her teeth in one of the pictures. Sue was reading another page. It was upside down and hard to see in the dark lights of the restaurant, so they had to wait to see what it was.“Unbelievable. I’ll have Ryerson’s head on a stick for this. He said you were the only tennis players.” Sue spat, sliding the magazine back to the girls.On the very last page of featured athletes, was a picture of a ballerina. She stood on her toe, in what was it called? Pointe. Santana noticed that she held a tennis racquet in her hand. Santana squinted to read it herself, since Quinn was clearly already skimming the article on her own. It was a much shorter paragraph. And she’d only been given half a page of coverage. It stated that she was a talented dancer who’d picked up a racquet and found she had a natural talent for the game. Her coach, Will Schuester, saw her at the park and started working with her. She’d already been playing some low-level tournaments, and doing quite well, getting second place at a recent one. The author stated that she had some “unconventional methods” but didn’t go into further detail. Her name was Brittany Pierce, and she was predicted to take everyone by surprise.“Reads like human interest to me. There’s no way she’s that good.” Quinn decided, looking up. “It’s like those stupid stories you see on the news. It’s interesting, and they had a page to fill.”“I don’t know, Q. Why does she have an agent then?” Santana said skeptically, still reading the end of the article.“She’s probably trying to leverage this into acting or something. I mean, she’s gorgeous. I’m sure just this article will give her the exposure she wants to do something else.”Santana studied the picture hard for the first time, once she pulled it closer to herself. The ballerina, Brittany, had been photographed in silhouette. Half of her face was in shadow, but the lit half was elegant. She was looking down, the slope of her cheekbones creating a shadow that led to her small bow-shaped lips. Her hair was slicked back in a bun, but it was light blonde, and looked natural. Her eyebrows had a nice arch to them. Santana wished she could see her eyes. She could tell a lot about a person by their eyes.“Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.” Sue said ominously. “And the stink always follows Will Schuester.”“You know him?” Santana asked.
“You don’t remember him, San? He and his wife Terri used to coach at Ohio State together. They had that huge doping scandal. His wife went down for it, he claimed he had no idea, and they couldn’t prove he knew about it. Then they got divorced. He basically disappeared off the face of the planet. Everyone thought he was in on it.” Quinn supplied. She had an encyclopedic knowledge of the entire tennis community.
“Yes, he’s my nemesis. And I’d thought I’d seen the last of him. But of course, he’d swoop in like this.”
“This was the girl! Months ago, the dancer who you had an interview with!” Quinn exclaimed, as everything clicked in her brain.
Sue grimaced but didn’t deny it. “Yes. I never interviewed. She said she’d already found a coach.”
“You were gonna ditch us, just like that? For this hack?” Santana’s eyes narrowed at Sue.
“Bad business to not take every interview; it’s nothing personal. I wanted to see her play at the very least. Apparently she’s got a crazy fast serve.”
“How tall is she?” Santana asked, looking at the ballerina’s long legs.
“She’s five eight.”
Not that tall, for women’s tennis. The average was about 5’9”. So it was interesting that she had such a fast serve, usually height played a big factor in serving speed.
“I’ve got to go handle this crisis. And the reappearance of Will Schuester. See you Monday.” Sue suddenly said, slamming her hands on the table as she rose. Becky followed, taking a handful of breadsticks on the way out.
She left the magazine, which sat awkwardly on the table, ruining the evening.
“Well, that sucks.” Santana mumbled, stirring the ice in her water with her straw.
Quinn put the magazine in her purse. “Forget it. We have a much bigger feature, no one’s going to notice that little footnote about a dancer.”
“Sue didn’t seem to think so. She seems worried.” Santana countered.
“Sue’s a freak. She’s more worried about that other coach. I don’t know why, he’s not got any respect anymore. Let’s just enjoy the dinner.”
The food came a few minutes later, but it was somber. Santana picked at her food, even though she’d been starving a few minutes ago. It felt like their big moment had been overshadowed.
Quinn tried to start a conversation several times, but Santana would either grunt or answer yes or no, making no effort to keep it going. So she gave up.
After Santana’s complimentary birthday brownie came out, they boxed it and took their leftovers home.
“Want to hit the hot tub?” Quinn asked once she’d set her keys down.
“Nah.”
“Margs?”“Nah.”
“Movie? Please?”“Okay.”
“Great, meet me in my room. I’m going to make popcorn.”
Santana turned without a word to her own room to take off her nice dress and put PJs on. Quinn made extra buttery popcorn and grabbed them a couple of water bottles from the fridge.
Santana was already under the covers of Quinn’s bed when Quinn came in with the movie queued up already. Quinn set the popcorn down on her bedside dresser.
“What’d you pick?”
“ Pitch Perfect .” One of Santana’s favorites, that she never tired of.
“Again?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Fine. Can you braid my hair?”
Santana sat up against the headboard, making room for Quinn to sit between her legs. The movie started playing and they were both so engrossed that they forgot about Quinn’s hair. Santana just absentmindedly ran her fingers through it, putting Quinn to sleep. Less than ten minutes into the movie, she was snoring lightly, leaning back against Santana.
Santana watched, but her mind was racing about the article. She wanted a crystal ball so she could see her future. Was the article going to help launch their careers? Was this other girl, Brittany, actually any threat to them? How would they perform in the pros?
Once the movie ended and she turned the TV off, she laid in the dark for a long, long time before finally drifting off to sleep.
—-
September
The day of the tournament had Santana bouncing off the walls, annoying the shit out of Quinn. Sue had told them yesterday that they’d only be playing doubles together, no singles. So Quinn was stuck with her for the day.
“I’m going to kick ass today.” She yelled at Quinn. She had her huge headphones on, so she didn’t realize how loud she was being.
Quinn motioned for her to take them off. Santana slid them onto her neck.
“ We are going to kick ass today.” Quinn amended, with a pointed look.
“Yeah, of course. Isn’t that what I just said?”
Quinn shook her head and returned to frying up her bacon. After they ate, they’d head directly to the club to start warming up. In all likelihood, it would just be a fun day of tennis. Quinn actually appreciated Sue selecting a low-pressure event for their first ‘pro’ tournament. They were going to play two matches. The first would be against another recent college grad they’d actually played against before, and her partner, a low-ranking pro just coming back from injury. The second would be against a pair of retired legends. Quinn knew them, of course, but Santana just called them the grandmas. Not very respectful, but no one had ever claimed that Santana Lopez was respectful.
—-Santana was like a caged tiger, absolutely taut with barely-contained energy. During warmups she kept putting too much force behind the ball, hitting them out. Fine, now was the time to get that out of her system.
Quinn was worried she’d get too intense during the match. It would not be the first time. Her temper flared easily, and she’d take it out on everyone around her. The opponents usually, but she’d been known to argue with a line judge or lash out at Quinn too.
The longer they warmed up, the better she got. Her shots started landing on the line, and eventually inside the lines nearly every time. Quinn was relieved, but knew she needed to keep a close eye on Santana during the match.
Finally they moved to the center court of the club they were playing at for their final warmups. Santana started warming up on her serves, completely absorbed in tennis. Quinn did too, of course, but she couldn’t help but sneak glances into the stands. Mostly just rich looking people. She picked out some other players, and some college coaches. No one crazy. She relaxed, trying to focus on her own serves.
After a final pep talk from Sue, the match began. The younger player, who they'd faced in college, thankfully wasn’t super good. Nor did she have an ugly history with them, probably because she hadn’t been good in college either. No reason for Santana to bitch out someone she was already crushing on the court. The pro was really good though, even coming off an injury.
They had a simple strategy, which was to hit to the weaker player. Textbook stuff. Quinn felt confident as soon as the first game was over, when Santana had easily held her serve. They knew what to do, it had just been a while. It felt good to shake off the rust.
The pro served next, easily holding as well. Quinn's serve didn’t go as quick as Santana’s, but they held it without much trouble. It was 2-1, and now it was the weaker player’s turn to serve. In tennis, it’s easier to win your own serve, and expected for players to win when they’re serving. To win a match without going to a tiebreaker, however, you have to be able to win on your opponent’s serve, known as breaking their serve.
When their opponent’s first serve was out, Santana turned back to grin at Quinn. Quinn knew the grin well. It reminded her of a shark who’d just sensed blood in the water. Her second was in, but considerably slower. Quinn returned it deep cross court, right in the back corner. The girl lunged but couldn’t get her racquet on it.
As Quinn approached the net, Santana gave her a low high five.
“Piece of cake.” She muttered at Quinn.
And it was. The final score was 6-3. Both girls had played well, and even had a few aces apiece.
They shook hands with their opponents before they had a break. Another match would be played, and they’d play again afterwards.
They met up with Sue and Becky to debrief, and get some water. The Florida sun was always punishing. As they watched the other match idly, Sue went through their strengths and weaknesses as always until it was time for their next match.
—--Two and a half hours later, the girls walked off the court victorious again. It wasn’t quite as sweet a victory, as they’d been playing a pair of fifty-somethings. But they’d done well, and been polite.
Santana was in such a good mood she didn’t even complain about there being no prize. As she and Quinn headed to the locker room to get cleaned up before the silent auction began, a man approached the two of them.
“Excuse me, I just wanted to say how impressed I was watching you two today.” The man said, smiling widely. He had short, gelled black hair and was impeccably dressed in all white.
“Thank you.” Santana said slowly, looking at Quinn curiously. Quinn ran through her mental directory of important tennis people, but came up blank. She shrugged a little, she had no idea who this guy was.

“I’ve been following your careers for a few years now, I’m excited to see where you’re going!” The man continued.
“Thanks. We’re excited too.” Quinn said. A fan, then. Hopefully not a creepy one. The girls started to walk away.
“Sorry–can I give you my card? I’d love to talk more about your careers, sometime.” He pulled business cards out of his wallet, handing one to each girl.
Santana skimmed it. Blaine Anderson, sports agent. His contact information. No company, that was interesting.
“I’m not sure what your plan is as far as entering tournaments this year, but I’ve got a connection at the United Friendly Cup in Sydney, it’s at the end of December. It’s really fun, and there’s a big New Year’s Party.” Blaine started talking.When the girls just stared at him, he cleared his throat.
“Right, my point. I’d be interested in keeping in contact with both of you, and talking about the possibility of you entering the tournament as wild cards. And also the possibility of me representing you both in the future. Anyways, I’ll let you go now. Just wanted to say hello. Think about it and let me know, you can reach me by phone or email. Bye.” He walked away, back towards center court.
“That was weird.”
“Yeah. I wonder if Sue knows him?” Quinn said, as she saw Sue making a beeline for them. She’d probably seen the whole interaction.
“Sydney–sounds like a good time.” Santana mused, eyes twinkling.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

November and December, for pro tennis players, are usually quieter months of the year. Time for rest, rejuvenation, vacation, maybe. Of course, there are always tournaments going on, but the Grand Slams are over.

For Santana and Quinn, most of these months were spent the same as they’d spent the whole summer, with a brutal training regiment. No more tournaments followed the charity tournament. Just the daily grind to show Sue they were ready. The last few weeks, in particular, she’d been testing Santana’s ankle to make sure she was fully healed. She told Sue she felt great, but Sue had to see it for herself.

After much thought (and cajoling), Sue had decided that they would accept the wild card invitations from Blaine Anderson and compete in the friendly in Sydney. It would have no impact on starting their ranking, annoyingly, but it would at least be played like a normal tournament. Low stakes, low reward.

The real exciting thing about it was the chance to finally become part of the tennis scene. The United Friendly was being played in tandem with the United Cup, an actual tournament, being played in Sydney at the same time. So there’d be a lot of players, coaches, and fans around. Blaine had offered them tickets to the United Cup as well, so they could go watch.

After this tournament, Sue announced that they’d begin. For real. The WTA pro circuit starts in Australia, and generally stays in the southern hemisphere for a while. As newbies, however, they just can’t jump into the major tournaments. They have to play ITF, or International Tennis Federation, tournaments to earn points first. They wouldn’t even appear on the WTA rankings until they’d earned at least 10 points, or had earned points from three different tournaments.

The WTA has just over a thousand ranked players. The highest players have thousands of points, earned from playing the bigger tournaments. Bigger tournaments award more points. They’re named for the amount of the points the winner will get. WTA tournaments range from W125 (winner gets 125 points) all the way up to Grand Slams (winner gets 2000 points). The other competitors in a tournament will earn points depending on their placement.

The ITF tournaments range from W15 to W100. Santana and Quinn will be starting at one of these tournaments to try to earn points so they can be ranked. It can take players years in ITF tournaments to get on the rankings. Neither girl intended to waste time playing ITF for long, they wanted to climb the rankings as quickly as possible.

Even once you’re ranked, entry to tournaments isn’t guaranteed. There’s so many factors, and a limited number of spots. Usually 128 singles spots, to be exact. For over a thousand ranked women.

They can always hope to be offered wild cards, and they have a good shot at it too. They are the best players to come out of college this year, no question, so that’s earned them some clout, and interest. But winning, that’s the only way to make sure you’re playing the big tournaments. The highest ranked players are guaranteed spots.

Sue would be handling all the confusing ins and outs of entering them in tournaments, and all that, for the most part. She’d told them they’d be competing in their first ITF tournament in January, after the friendly, but not which one. They would focus on one at a time.

Having just returned from quick trips home for Christmas, Quinn and Santana were packing for their flight tomorrow. Or flights, really. They’d be flying to Dallas first, before making the 17 hour flight on to Sydney. They had lots of experience packing for trips, but never this long. In college, they were usually only gone overnight, since a match will finish in a day. Or on more rare occasions, a weekend or long weekend, for a tournament. But they’d never been on a ten-day tennis trip, so packing was proving more difficult than the past.

“How many outfits are you bringing?” Santana asked for the second time. She’d asked a minute ago, but wasn’t listening when Quinn answered.

Quinn sighed. “I’m bringing six outfits for the tournament. And an extra one just in case. Then for regular clothes, maybe four tops and four shorts, and a couple of dresses. I want some options.”

“Okay, let’s coordinate our outfits. We can lay them out on the couch.” Santana suggested. They’d only be playing doubles, yet again, so they should try to look good together.

“No more red, Santana, I’m so over it.” Quinn insisted, as Santana brought out some of her favorite outfits.

Santana stuck her bottom lip out. “Red’s my color!”

“Just one then. We’ve been wearing red for eight years, let’s try some other colors for once.”

Once the tennis outfits were selected, they put them in their new giant suitcases. Quinn’s were nice and folded, while Santana’s were balled up and thrown in haphazardly.

It was actually more difficult for them to pick their regular clothes. So many options, and who knew who’d they meet? Or if they’d be shown on TV while at the United Cup. Santana was really worried about that possibility, though Quinn privately thought it was the least of their worries.

In the end, they both picked simple clothes they felt comfortable in and knew would look good on them. Sunglasses and hats too, to combat the strong Australian sun.

“What about for the New Year’s party?” Quinn said, scanning her suitcase.

“Let’s go shopping there. Worst case we can wear one of our other dresses.” Santana suggested, sick of packing already. Quinn looked unsure about that, but agreed anyway.

Santana threw in a bunch of random stuff. Pajamas, shoes, socks, makeup, hairbrush...what was she missing? As something crossed her mind she’d grab it and throw it in. Once she’d run out of ideas she gave it up. Her suitcase barely closed as it was. She’d had to sit on it to zip it up.

“You know, if you folded your clothes, you’d have a lot more room.” Quinn remarked, watching as Santana hefted her suitcase over by the front door.

“Yeah, yeah.” Santana grumbled.

“Did you remember to pack your contacts?”

After Quinn kept imitating Santana’s squinty face, Santana had finally caved and gone to the eye doctor. They’d given her contacts since she hated her glasses and couldn’t wear them while playing tennis. Well–they made those sport goggles. But she’d rather play blind than wear those in public.

“Yes, Mother.” Santana said sarcastically, lying through her teeth. When Quinn wandered away for a moment, Santana shoved them in Quinn’s suitcase under her toiletry bag.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Quinn needled, when Santana flopped on the couch and started watching

Killing Eve

.

“Yes!”

“Okay. Pause that, I want to watch. I’m almost done.”

Santana sighed dramatically but paused nonetheless.

Once Quinn finished, she put her suitcase next to Santana’s and joined her on the couch. They only watched one episode before bed, since they needed to get up early to go to the airport.

“G’night, Q.” Santana said as she shuffled off to her room.

“Don’t you mean, g’day?” Quinn joked, adopting an Australian accent.

Santana shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling at that.

—-

Nearly 24 hours later, they arrived in Sydney. Blaine came and met them at baggage claim. He’d offered to give them a ride to their hotel, which was nice. Sue warned them not to get attached to Blaine or commit to anything, but seemed more than happy to have a personal chauffeur at the moment.

They’d left Boca Raton at 5 a.m. for the airport to catch the first flight to Dallas. After a two hour layover, they’d boarded their flight to Sydney. Which took a whopping seventeen hours. So they’d been traveling for over twenty four hours at this point. Not to mention the sixteen hour time difference. Santana tried to calculate what time it was at home. About six a.m. she thought. Here in Sydney it was 10 p.m.

It was very disorienting. Santana was glad it was late enough that they weren’t expected to get dinner with Blaine or anything. He just dropped them off and said he’d see them later.

They all split up to their hotel rooms. She and Quinn had adjoining rooms, so after setting her stuff down and putting on pajamas, Santana went through their shared door to see what Quinn was doing.

Quinn was already in bed. She hadn’t slept a wink since they’d left, so she was already half-asleep. Santana had slept a little, but never fell into a deep sleep. Her body was exhausted, but her mind wasn’t. She’d normally be starting practice at this time.

When Quinn grunted at her, Santana realized she’d just been standing there, staring off into space.

Quinn threw the comforter back on the other side of the bed, even though she could hardly keep her eyes open.

Santana bit back a grin and crawled in beside her. She’d actually be able to fall asleep in here. She often had trouble falling asleep unless she had something to distract her from her racing mind. The TV was usually on all night when she slept on her own, or a podcast if the TV’s brightness was bugging her. Listening to Quinn’s relaxed breathing seemed to do the trick too.

Quinn threw an arm over Santana as she got comfortable. Within minutes she was completely asleep. Santana mimicked her slow breathing until she fell asleep too, a few minutes later.

—-

One week later

Jet lag was a bitch, Santana had learned over the past week. They were halfway through the Friendly Tournament, and doing well. Her sleep was still fucked up though, and every day she would have random moments of fatigue. Sometimes she felt like she was living in a weird alternate universe, or walking through a dream. There was just a sense of strangeness that lingered as a result of completely reversing her schedule.

She’d not dared to complain about it in front of Sue though, because she already knew what Sue would say. This was part of being a professional tennis player, suck it up.

After that first night, she’d moved back to her room. They needed space sometimes, Santana knew from experience, or they’d start to get irritable with each other. So she stayed away from Quinn the rest of the week, but laid awake until the early morning hours.

Today they had a day off from the tournament, but they’d still have a full day. First they’d be using Blaine’s tickets to go watch the real United Cup. Later that night they’d meet with Blaine for dinner, ostensibly to talk business. Quinn wanted to squeeze in sightseeing and maybe some shopping in between. So it’d be a busy day.

After a quick breakfast at the hotel, their group met Blaine in the lobby. He’d drive them to the tournament too.

Neither girl being a morning person, they let Sue yammer on to Blaine while they took in the sights through the windows. The drive wasn’t too far, and soon they were entering the tournament.

“What match do you want to watch?” Blaine asked, looking at each of them. The tournament was still in the round robin portion. The tournament was composed of 18 teams representing their countries, who played in six groups of three in round robin matches. Half played in Perth, half in Sydney. After the first week, the top three teams from each city, as well as the next runner up, would qualify for quarterfinals. The winners would all finish the tournament in Sydney for semifinals and the final.

Santana would’ve loved to watch the USA, of course, but they were playing in Perth. She’d not even been watching that much, to be honest. They were playing their own tournament after all. Quinn hadn’t been watching much either, but was following on social media.

“Let’s go watch Switzerland vs. France.” Quinn said. The five of them made their way to their seats, which were decent. The match was already halfway through.

The heat was sweltering. Being in the southern hemisphere, it was the Australian summer. Quinn’s dress was sticking to her back before long.

Hot as it was, Santana was enthralled watching pro tennis live for the first time in her life. Kinda funny she’d never been to a pro tournament before. It was amazing. The Swiss girl was on fire, running her opponent ragged. Santana’s head snapped back and forth with the ball.

Quinn knew exactly who they were, and kept talking about their records, stats, ranking, like Santana cared. She’d never cared to follow pro players really. She’d watch the Grand Slam finals of course, but other than that didn’t watch. What did the rest of it matter, except for the final match? Who cared about the rankings, besides maybe the top 10? The only exception, now that she’d graduated, was following the careers of her peers. Like Kitty. Who’d, as Sue predicted, basically vanished off the face of the earth after getting her ass kicked in the second round of Wimbledon. As she’d simultaneously been getting her ass kicked by the British media for her connection to Kate Middleton.

While Quinn continued to babble on, Santana was envisioning herself on the court, representing the United States. The players were like goddesses to her, and she wanted to be one of them. Shining with sweat, putting everything into every point. She couldn’t wait until it was her down there.

As the match finished up, Blaine walked with them to the next court, where mixed doubles was just starting. Argentina vs. Australia.

“I’ve got a meeting I need to attend, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Just give me the passes back tonight at dinner.” Blaine said apologetically as he left.

“Other meetings?” Santana said once Blaine was out of earshot, feeling a bit slighted. She’d thought Blaine was just courting them.

“Of course, Santana, he’s just starting out on his own. He’s got to keep his options open.” Quinn responded.

“How do you know that?” Santana said, having failed to find Blaine with a google search.

Quinn looked at her incredulously. “Were you not listening in the car at all?”

No, Santana had not been. She shrugged.

“Sue gave him the fifth degree. He basically told us his life story.”

“Gimme the SparkNotes then.”

“He graduated college two years ago, having graduated in only three years. He worked at Knowles and Turner as an assistant to another agent. The agent had just signed Matt Rutherford. After working there, Blaine saw how he could do better. So he quit, and took Matt with him. He got Matt signed with Gatorade. Now he’s trying to sign other players, especially as Matt just had shoulder surgery.”

Quinn rattled this off easily. Only context and Quinn’s reverent tone gave Santana the knowledge that Knowles and Turner were obviously a big deal. Matt Rutherford she’d heard of. He’d won the French Open earlier this year, and gotten runner up at the US Open. So Blaine wasn’t some nobody, and he had more balls than Santana had given him credit for. Stealing a huge player from an agency made her like him more.

“Well, let’s sign with him then.” Santana decided impulsively.

“If he even offers. He’d be taking a risk on us at this point.” Quinn said, shooting Santana down.

“Not really. More of an early-investment thing,” Santana quipped, grinning confidently. “Okay, shut up now, the match is starting.”

—--

Three days later

The tournament continued to go well for the doubles team of Fabray and Lopez. Santana felt inspired by watching the United Cup, and it helped her push through the growing fatigue. Quinn seemed to be feeding off Santana, or so Santana had joked. Tomorrow they’d be competing in the finals of the Friendly Cup.

The dinner with Blaine –not so well. Santana had genuinely thought he’d offer to sign with them, but Quinn ended up being right. After pitching himself and the benefits of signing with an independent agent, he’d gotten down to it. He’d assured them he thought they’d be amazing, and would be ranked in no time, but he couldn’t commit yet. Not until he could see them play for a while. In the meantime, he’d keep in contact with them. He promised that he’d be the first guy knocking on their door when the time came. Now that she knew Blaine wasn’t some nobody, she found she wanted him to represent them. So it was frustrating that she knew he’d be seeking other players while they were forced to go play a bunch of unimportant tournaments.

Today was their last day off, and Quinn had insisted they sightsee. They’d gone to the Sydney Zoo in the morning. As if they’d come all the way across the world and not see the kangaroos and koalas. Quinn dragged Santana to get their picture holding a koala. A little dorky, but the picture was cute, even Santana could admit that.

Santana kept her distance from the kangaroos. She’d seen one too many videos of kangaroos beating the shit out of people. She snuck up behind a small one for a quick picture at Quinn’s insistence, but backed away as soon as she’d taken it. Quinn gave her a funny look but didn’t comment, thank God.

They’d also decided to hit Bondi Beach that day, at the end of their run. Training and conditioning continued even with everything else. It was just lighter, and worked around their tournament schedule. So they ran along a popular trail that followed the Sydney coastline. They’d stop at Bondi at the end to rest and take a dip. The view was beautiful. The trail winded around one stunning cove after another. The Australians seemed to like building pools right at the edge of the ocean, which was weird but cool.

Despite enjoying the view, both girls were more than ready to hit the beach once it finally came into sight. It was crowded this time of year, but less so than a weekend at least, but from the path looking down on it there was plenty of room. As they ran the last hundred yards or so, Santana’s attention was drawn to a flash of sun reflecting off someone’s phone. The girl holding it was just beneath them on a towel. She laid on her stomach and was wrapping her earbuds up around her phone.

She had blonde hair and a willowy build. As she stood to go swim, Santana felt the hot flare of jealousy that she thought she’d overcome a long time ago. The girl had the most insanely perfect body Santana had ever seen. And she wasn’t even close enough to see it that well! Not an ounce of fat on her body, just a healthy amount of muscles. Santana was in the best shape of her life, yet she wanted suddenly to look like this girl instead. She was much too short and had too many muscles from tennis. There’s a reason why most models are on the taller side. The girl was wearing what would be a sinfully small blue bikini in the US, but fit in with the rest of the Australians on the beach. Santana felt irritated watching her dive into the water. She felt like the girl was someone she knew…a famous model? An actress? She couldn’t place her.

Suddenly, Santana kicked a curb she hadn’t seen coming, since her eyes had still been on the girl below.

Luckily Quinn caught her by the arm before she fully went down.

“Jeez, Santana, watch where you’re going.” Quinn huffed. She wiped her brow, which was soaked with sweat.

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone famous. A model or something.” Santana looked back briefly, but she’d lost the girl amongst the rest of the swimmers.

“I can’t believe you don’t follow tennis, but you keep up with all the tabloids. It’s probably rotting your brain.” Quinn panted as they drew to a stop, finally having reached the sand.

It was true, Santana had a real weakness for pop culture and trashy reality shows. Quinn claimed to hate them too, but she always seemed to hover when Santana was watching her shows.

“I’m dying. Let’s hit the water.” Santana suggested, not wanting to rehash this argument for the millionth time. Maybe she’d see that girl again up close, and figure out who she was. Quinn might recognize her too.

They changed and dropped their stuff on the hot sand, having to run to the water so they didn’t burn their feet. The cool water felt incredible, but the current and waves were a little wilder than they were used to in Florida.

Once they’d lowered their body temperature enough, they got out of the rough surf. Quinn would allow for a little tanning before they had to go. They still needed to find New Year’s Eve dresses. The party was only two days away.

As they ran back to their towels, Santana looked for the girl again to point her out to Quinn. No sign of her, or her towel. She’d vanished.

—--

New Year’s Eve party

Showing up to the hotel for the New Year’s party was a shock, to say the least. Blaine had invited them to the exclusive party, but they’d had no idea how exclusive. The hotel was clearly five stars. They passed two security checkpoints: one at the front door into the lobby, and another as they exited the elevator to the rooftop.

As they wandered the rooftop, both girls wondered privately if they’d underdressed. They’d spent a few hundred dollars each on a new dress and shoes for the occasion. But everyone here was dressed to the nines. Sue and Becky had gone off on their own to do some tennis espionage. A ridiculous thing to announce, let alone to actually go do. But no doubt, they’d be doing it.

Santana snagged a passing waiter by the elbow and took two champagne flutes off his tray, handing one to Quinn. It was nearing eight o’clock and the sun was just setting over the Sydney Harbor. The hotel’s rooftop looked over the Opera House and the Sydney Harbor Bridge, where the fireworks would be going off in a few hours.

“How much do you think that necklace cost?” Santana muttered out the side of her mouth, nodding her head slightly towards a passing woman. Her neck must’ve been aching with the weight of her giant necklace, adorned with hundreds of sparkling diamonds.

“That cannot be real.” Quinn breathed back.

“It’s real. Look around, this is not a place where people are wearing fake diamonds.” Santana replied, scanning the party herself.

The girls amused themselves for a good hour just watching people. The party was full of famous tennis players, past and present, and other surprising celebrities. It reminded Santana of when she and Quinn were watching the US Open last summer. During breaks in the match, the camera would pan to the stands, showing someone like Brad Pitt.

Quinn provided a running commentary of the tennis players; Santana supplied the names of all the minor and major celebrities they saw. They moved eventually to a dinner table. Dinner was being served somewhat informally given the rest of the party. They had a bar where you could serve yourself as you pleased. The food was boujee though. They were serving whole lobsters, among other expensive dishes.

Santana had gorged herself on a lobster already, as well as most of Quinn’s. She was feeling pleasantly full and buzzing off three glasses of champagne. No reason not to celebrate the evening, and make the most of it. They’d won the tournament yesterday. She was still a little sore from the last match actually, not that she could feel that so much anymore. She felt content looking around the room. Looking at her future.

So when Quinn whined that they were being antisocial, Santana was reluctant to get up from the table. It was comfortable here. Quinn poked her for a while, but it wasn’t until the band started playing that Santana allowed herself to be dragged away from the table.

The band was actually a pretty famous one, having become a household name in the last two years or so. They’d been nominated for album of the year last year. Santana couldn’t remember the exact name, something to do with a pool? The lead singer, mohawk and all, looked just right in a grungy band. His voice was pretty good in person too.

The girls entered the crowded dance floor, spinning each other around and laughing. Within a few minutes, they were approached by a pair of young tennis players. They were Spanish, and only spoke a few words of English. Still, they were fun to dance with.

“I think I just saw Blaine! We should go say hi.” Quinn said into Santana’s ear as they danced. Santana nodded and they left the dance floor, waving goodbye to the boys. The boys looked bummed, but turned away to keep dancing before the girls were even out of sight.

The party had gotten so crowded it was hard to keep track of anyone. Just as quickly as she’d seen Blaine, Quinn lost him.

“Are you sure it was even Blaine?” Santana complained, feet itching to get back to dancing.

“Yes, I’m positive. Keep your eyes peeled, we need to thank him for inviting us tonight.” Quinn insisted, dragging Santana around.

After a good ten minutes of searching, they were about to give up when Santana finally spotted him across the room.

“He’s over by the dessert table!”

They made a beeline, trying to keep Blaine in view as people kept crossing in front of them. He was talking to someone else, though they were blocked from view by another group of people at a standing table just in front of them.

Santana was going to suggest they come back when Blaine was alone, but Quinn was calling out to him before she could speak up.

As they navigated through the last of the tables, Blaine and the other person came into clear sight. Both turned at the sound of Quinn’s voice.

Blaine was standing with a blonde, who was several inches taller than Blaine in her heels. Quinn surged forward, dropping Santana’s arm in favor of giving Blaine a big hug. Santana and the girl were left awkwardly standing to the side watching.

“Blaine, we just wanted to say thank you so much for inviting us tonight! And to Sydney in general.” Quinn gushed as she pulled back.

“Oh, of course. I’m glad you both could make it.” Blaine said, looking a little flustered.

After a beat, Santana realized she should thank him too.

“Yeah, thanks, Blaine. Sweet party.” Santana added.

“You’re welcome. Swanky parties are a real perk of the job.” Blaine said, smiling.

There was an awkward pause where no one said anything. Should they walk away now?

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Quinn said, turning to the blonde with her politician smile on.

Blaine blushed. “I’m sorry, so rude of me not to introduce you. This is B—”

The girl interrupted him, though. “I know you.”

She spoke not to Quinn, but directly to Santana.

Santana turned her full attention to the blonde for the first time. She was wearing a dark teal dress that sparkled lightly under the dim lights in the room and matching ankle-strap heels. Her left leg was peeking out through a high slit in the dress. She had on a black leather motorcycle jacket, an odd choice in the Sydney heat, but it worked somehow. Her hair was half-up, half-down. Down the middle of her head was a braid that ended in a small bun at her crown, the sides down and curled in loose waves. She had a healthy pink color that suggested a recent sunburn.

There was a lot to take in, but Santana froze when she made eye contact. The girl had the most striking eyes Santana had ever seen. They were slightly slanted, and reminded Santana a little of a cat’s. They were a dark shade of blue that matched her teal dress, and they were looking directly back into Santana’s eyes. She felt like the girl could read her mind as the intelligent eyes held eye contact with her own.

When Santana failed to respond, the girl continued.

“You were in that magazine. I liked the picture of you.” She said simply.

Santana finally managed to tear her eyes away from the girl’s.

“Oh…yeah. Um, thanks.” Santana responded slowly. So she’d seen the action shot of Santana in

ESPN

.

“And you. You were in the magazine too.” The girl added, turning back to Quinn, finally shaking the hand Quinn had valiantly left hanging in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Santana, Quinn, this is Britt. Britt, meet Santana and Quinn.” Blaine took over at last. There was something familiar about the girl, but Santana couldn’t figure it out.

“Nice to meet you. How do you two know each other?” Quinn asked, sounding a little puzzled herself. Santana’s brain was lagging, probably due to the champagne.

“Blaine’s my agent. Well, he will be, once we sign all the law papers.”

Quinn shot a tight look at Santana, a flash of hurt flickering across her face for just a moment. Blaine flushed, looking like he’d like to disappear. So Blaine had just signed this girl, even though he couldn’t commit to them yet.

Santana felt the distant rumblings of anger boiling up deep inside her, but her brain was still trying to fight the alcohol induced sluggishness. Who was this girl, who Blaine clearly thought was better than them?

“Agent? For…tennis?” Quinn repeated, voice betraying her surprise.

The girl smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth, turning towards Blaine. As she turned, everything clicked in Santana’s brain, the last puzzle piece falling into place just as she saw the girl—Britt’s—profile. It was lit up from behind by a roving strobe light.

“Yeah, I play tennis now. Coach Schuester says that I can make more money that way.”

Quinn cocked her head, confused by the girl’s response. She plays tennis

now

? What the hell did that mean? She had a strange way of speaking, something naive and childlike about it.

Santana licked her dry lips before she finally managed to spit it out, what she’d just realized.

“You’re the ballerina.” Santana voiced, so low and raspy she wasn’t sure they’d all heard her.

Quinn’s slightly furrowed brow slackened suddenly as it dawned on her too, who this girl was.

“Yes!” The girl clapped her hands, looked excited. “Did you see my picture too?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Head spinning, Santana mumbled something about the bathroom and dragged Quinn off with her. She had to get away from Blaine before she lost her shit on him. And his newest client. Britt— Brittany Pierce. The fucking ballerina.
Santana didn’t look back, just weaved through the crowd with Quinn in tow until she found a door. Bursting out of the loud room, the girls found themselves on a large balcony. There were a few people out here enjoying the view, but it was pretty quiet. After all, anyone inside could see the view through the glass panels wrapping around the whole floor.
When she collapsed onto a couch in a private corner of the balcony, she released a huge gasp of air. Santana realized she hadn’t taken a breath since they’d fled from Blaine and Brittany. Quinn fell heavily beside her, sinking into the couch cushions.
Neither of them spoke for five minutes. Quinn just stared out at the Sydney skyline. Santana couldn’t look further than her hands on her lap, twisting anxiously.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Santana finally said. She felt a sudden wave of exhaustion come over her. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to be in bed, and asleep as soon as possible.Quinn turned towards Santana. She watched Santana’s hands wringing for a moment before she put her hands on them, stilling all movement. Santana looked up.“We can’t.”
“Yes, we can. I need to leave.”
“No.” Quinn said firmly, but not happily. “I’m annoyed too, Santana, but we cannot leave. We need to stay until midnight.”
“Why?” Santana said incredulously. “I’m not really in the mood to party anymore, Q.”
“Because, we came here to network. Blaine invited us, and we’re not running out of here just after learning he signed someone else.”
“Why not? Fuck Blaine! He was clearly just jerking us around all week.” Santana snarled, pulling her hands out of Quinn’s grasp.
Quinn sighed. “It feels like it, yeah, but that doesn’t really make any sense. He spent a lot of his time and money on us, getting us a wildcard. I think he’s still interested, but he definitely won’t be if we act like immature babies and leave. And even if he’s not still interested–we’ve got a party full of other agents and contacts to make. Let’s make the most of it.”
Quinn’s cool logic was only scratching the surface of Santana’s rage, like a rock skipped across a deep lake. She was hearing it, but not really taking it in. Santana wished she knew how Quinn could compartmentalize her emotions and gather her thoughts so quickly.
“He won’t even notice if we leave. It’s not like we’d seen him at all tonight. He’s clearly been wooing her . And what the fuck is that, he signed a dancer? Has she been playing?” Santana vomited her thoughts as they crossed her mind.
“He’ll notice. I’d notice if I was him, especially if two of my prospective clients just ran away from me.” Quinn said, glaring at Santana.Santana stood, voice getting louder. “What else did you want me to do!? I was about to go all Lima Heights on his ass. And her too! Would you have preferred that?”
Quinn sank her nails into Santana’s forearm, yanking her back down.
“Shut up!” Quinn hissed, looking around to make sure no one had heard Santana’s outburst.
“God, you really need to learn how to control your emotions. I’m not always going to be around to restrain you. We are going back into the party, and staying until midnight. We will smile and be pleasant to Blaine if we see him. We will appear to be having the best time ever. Is that clear?” Quinn continued, in what Santana called her queen bitch voice: icy and direct, no room for argument.
Santana pulled her forearm back, wincing. She was about to tell Quinn to fuck off, but then she looked into Quinn’s eyes. Her eyes were normally a pretty shade somewhere between green and hazel, steely and guarded, except for occasionally reflecting a hint of Quinn’s wry sort of humor. Tonight they were dark and furious, swirling with a mixture of confusion and determination. Santana saw a rare glimpse into Quinn’s inner thoughts, and realized that Quinn was actually more pissed off than she was.
“Fine. But I’m not going to pretend to be having a blast in there.” Santana relented.
“Fine.”
Santana stood to go inside, but was tugged down again, thankfully without Quinn’s freaking claws in her arm this time.

“I need another minute.” Quinn said. Santana didn’t respond. They sat in heavy silence, both looking at the lit up city beneath them.
The door opened again as a couple came outside, the sounds of the party pulling them out of their thoughts.
“I don’t know if she’s been playing. Probably if Blaine’s already signing her. But clearly we underestimated her.” Quinn answered Santana’s earlier questions out of blue. Santana detected a hint of guilt in Quinn’s voice. She prided herself on knowing everything about everyone, and they’d both written off this Brittany girl without much thought. There was clearly more to her as a tennis player than as the subject of a magazine puff piece.
Santana didn’t respond, just squeezed Quinn’s shoulder as she rose. She offered Quinn a hand up and they made their way back inside.—----11:15 p.m.
The past two hours had felt excruciatingly slow. Santana had planted herself at an empty table in the corner of the room. It was wedged between the stage and the wall, and also conveniently near to the kitchen. The caterers were easy to flag down as they came through the double doors with fresh bottles of champagne. It was loud too. Annoying at first, but actually it helped dissuade people from talking to her. One of the Spanish players had spotted her here earlier and tried to strike up a conversation. Between having to yell over the speakers, the language barrier (well, fake language barrier since Santana had been raised speaking Spanish), and Santana’s complete disinterest in the guy, he’d left pretty quickly.
Quinn had been flitting around the party striking up conversations with anyone and everyone. Santana watched from afar, unable to keep from smirking into her flute as Quinn used her doe eyed look on a middle aged man. Hopefully he was someone important, because he was clearly obsessed with her already.
She came by a few times to check on Santana and sit for a few minutes. Santana could see her coming back now.
Quinn sat in the chair next to her. She didn’t say a word, no point. She tapped her glass against Santana’s though, and they each took a sip. The band was really good at least, even if Santana might have permanent hearing damage from sitting right next to them.As she watched the band, the lead singer looked over towards her table. Santana could swear he looked right at her for a few seconds before turning back towards the crowd.
After Quinn finished her drink, she stood and wandered off again. Santana simply didn’t have the mental energy to be making small talk with strangers. Quinn had mobilized though, determined to make the most of their night. Hard to believe they’d been dancing without a care in the world not long ago.
“Hey, we’re going to take a little break. We’ve got a great DJ in the meantime. We’ll be back in 30 minutes to ring in the new year!” The singer said as their latest song was ending.
A flash of blonde on the dancefloor caught Santana’s eye. She thought it was Quinn at first, but as it bobbed closer to Santana she saw that it wasn’t. It was the ballerina.
Santana sank lower in her seat. She prayed that she wasn’t spotted sulking over here. No such luck. The ballerina broke free of the dance floor at last, face brightening as she saw Santana.
She was flushed and a little sweaty from dancing. Santana was mentally cursing as she approached. Could this night get any worse?
“Hi. Can I sit here?” She said as she reached Santana. Santana grunted in assent.
The ballerina poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, leftover from dinner. Santana was fighting every antsy cell in her body that wanted her to get up and run away again. But that would not be playing it cool. She kept waiting for the ballerina to talk, but it took her a while.
After two glasses of water, she finally broke the silence.
“Are you feeling better now?” She said, looking at Santana with those unnerving blue eyes.
“Huh?” Santana’s brow furrowed.
“Earlier, when you ran to the bathroom. Weren’t you sick?”
“Oh… yeah.”
“Are you feeling any better?” She repeated. Santana’s skin was prickling with irritation.“Sure.”
“Good!” The blonde smiled widely. Santana wondered why she was pretending to care.
“You should come dance with me when the band goes back on. I bet you’re a totally awesome dancer!” She continued.
“I don’t feel good enough to dance.” Santana quickly said. Why couldn’t this bitch read a room?
“Oh, ok. Well it’s nice to sit for a while.” The ballerina said. She leaned closer to Santana. “Everyone here just keeps asking me questions. They’re so nice but it’s hard to remember so many names and faces.”
“What are they asking you?” Santana couldn’t help but ask, knowing she probably wouldn’t like the answer, but curiosity got the better of her.
“A lot of questions about tennis. I don’t really know how to answer most of them.” The blonde responded, frowning. “Or personal questions. I don’t like to answer those, especially to strangers.”
Santana hummed noncommittally, praying a server would come out soon with more champagne. Anything to make this night, this conversation, more bearable. Brittany lapsed into silence again, thankfully. Santana wished she’d leave the table already.
It was a little funny, though, watching Quinn’s eyes widen comically when she saw who was sitting next to her. And seeing how she beelined to the table to intervene, possibly to save the ballerina before Santana murdered her.
“Hi!” Brittany said brightly when Quinn sat down. Quinn quirked an eyebrow at Santana, who shrugged.
“Hi. What are you two doing over here?” Quinn inquired.
“Just sitting.” Brittany responded. “Well, I asked if Santana wanted to come dance with me but she’s not feeling good enough.”
Quinn shot a curious glance at Santana but went along with it.
“Do you want to dance?” Brittany continued, turning to Quinn with more interest. Quinn was reminded, absurdly, of her niece asking her to dance at her cousin’s wedding. Her niece was three at the time.
“Um, maybe in a bit. I’m taking a breather for a moment.”
Brittany nodded, pouring herself another glass of water. Santana contributed nothing, she just sat with arms crossed, looking checked out.
“So, Brittany, where are you from?” Quinn said after an awkward pause. She might as well get the scoop on this girl while they were sitting here.
“New York. Well, I grew up in North Carolina. But I’ve lived in New York for the last five years.”“Wow, New York. Did you go to the US Open?” Quinn responded with a sort of false interest that only Santana picked up on.
“What’s that?”
Santana’s jaw dropped and she sat up with interest.
“You’re joking.” Santana said, watching Brittany’s face carefully.“No. What is it?” Brittany said, blue eyes looking completely guileless.
“The tennis tournament?”
“Oh. I haven’t learned all those yet.” Brittany said seriously. “I’m still trying to understand all the rules.”
Santana turned to Quinn, shocked. Quinn’s eyes were flicking rapidly between each of Brittany’s eyes, trying to decide if she was fucking with them or not.
“How long have you been playing again?” Quinn leaned forward.
“Um, like a year and a half? Coach Schue only started training me this year though, because I was still dancing for a while.”
“That’s…quite a story.” Quinn deadpanned.
Some of the band members were coming back to the stage after their break, getting their instruments on and tuned. It would be midnight soon.
“Oh, hey, I forgot! I’m playing in a tournament later this month. Will you be playing there? Maybe we can hangout!” Brittany gushed, grinning at Santana. Privately, Santana would rather put a staple gun to every finger.
“Which tournament?” Quinn questioned. There was a good chance they’d be at the same tournament, since they were just starting out. They still didn’t know where they’d be, since Sue hadn’t told them yet.“It’s the Ho…something? I can’t remember.” Brittany blushed.
“Not the Hobart International?” Quinn said incredulously.
“Yes! That’s it! Will you be there?” Brittany sounded excited. She must have no friends, if she was so eager to hang out with Quinn and Santana. Especially when they weren’t being especially friendly to her.
Santana felt a wave of rage come over her. The champagne had sort of dulled her senses before, but now it was making her more emotional than normal. She pushed back from the table abruptly, needing to get away before she snapped. Because why the fuck was some nobody like Brittany Pierce getting to play in the Hobart International already? It’s a WTA250, not some beginner tournament. Unless the girl is a complete psychopathic actress, she’s so new to the sport that she doesn’t even know the rules yet!
She turned to walk away, only to run into someone. The person grabbed her arms, steadying her before she fell.
Santana looked up, into the eyes of the lead singer of the band.
“Sorry, are you okay?” He said, still holding her arms.
“Yeah.” Santana looked into his dark hazel eyes, and felt her anger dissipate a tiny bit. He had a scruffy look, but handsome. A five o’clock shadow on his face didn’t hide the sharp jawline. His eyes were a little sunken but had an intriguing glint in them. And that mohawk…he looked like trouble. Santana felt a hint of attraction towards him. Trouble was always her type in men.
“You probably have to get back up there.” Santana finally said, biting her lip but holding eye contact. The singer looked unhappy at the words.
“Yeah…I do, unfortunately, have to get back up there.” He said, finally letting go of Santana’s arms but still standing quite close to her. “But maybe I’ll see you later?” His eyes dropped briefly to Santana’s lips before returning to her eyes.
Santana was suddenly conscious that Brittany and Quinn were watching this whole interaction.
“Maybe I’ll see you at midnight.” Santana said confidently. The guy grinned broadly at her. She brushed past him, walking away as she’d originally intended.
He reached out to stop her.
“Hold on, what’s your name?”
“Santana.”

“Santana.” He repeated slowly, eyes drinking her in. “My friends call me Puck. I’ll be seeing you.”
With a wink, Puck turned back and continued onto the stage. Santana decided to track down another glass of champagne while she was up.
—--She snagged a glass and returned to her seat at the table, ignoring Quinn’s hard look at her.
Brittany was still babbling about Hobart, to Santana’s annoyance. She tried to tune her out, but couldn’t help hearing some things. She let Quinn make nice with Brittany, and keep the conversation going.
“And Blaine is so nice! He’s going to help Coach Schue pick what tournaments I play in. And all sorts of other stuff too, he said. You never said, will you be in Hobart?”
“No. We’ll be somewhere else.” Quinn said flatly. Santana gritted her teeth, biting her tongue so hard she thought it might bleed.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Coach Schue was just explaining how I’ll be traveling, like, all the time. But I didn’t realize that everyone didn’t play all the same tournaments. It seems lonely, traveling all the time. I mean, Coach is great, but I haven’t seen my friends in a long time…I miss them a lot.” Brittany confessed, like they’d known each other for ages. “It’s nice to meet some other girls my age.”
Santana cringed at Brittany’s openness. She felt almost embarrassed for her, if she weren’t irritating the shit out of her right now. She was just so…clueless.
“I’m just excited to meet everyone. Maybe we could have a sleepover sometime!” Brittany said, cheeks glowing. Santana couldn’t stop the urge to bring her back down to Earth.
“What are you talking about? You want to have a sleepover with other players?” Santana snorted.
Brittany turned back towards her, having been facing Quinn before.
“Yeah, they’re fun, and you can play games where you get to know each other better.”
“What are you, five? This isn’t summer camp. It’s professional tennis. People aren’t friends, let alone having sleepovers.” Santana stated.
“Why aren’t they friends? Aren’t you two friends?” Brittany asked, looking upset.
Quinn jumped in, trying to cut Santana off before she really got going. “Players have friends, of course. But there’s, you know, rivalries too. But, yes, we are friends.”
“Let’s not sugarcoat things, Q. Players may pretend to be friendly, but at the end of the day, we’re all competing against each other. It’s you or them. And it’s different for us, we’re partners, we have to be friends.”
“But it’s just a competition. You can be sad that you lost and still be happy for the winner.”
Santana rolled her eyes. “You don’t seem to get it.”
“It’s like dance auditions. Everyone tries out and only a few people get a big part. But you can be happy for your friends that got the big parts, even if you didn’t.”
“This isn’t some small-town production of The Nutcracker . You’re going to get eaten alive out there with that attitude.” Santana snarled, thoroughly pissed off.
Brittany physically recoiled, looking like Santana had just slapped her. Santana smirked at the expression on her face.
“Shut up, Santana.” Quinn said, looking pissed herself. “Don’t mind her, Brittany, she’s clearly had too much to drink. Do you still want to go dance?”
Brittany’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. I start saying things I shouldn’t when I have too much to drink, too. Yeah, I’d love to dance!”
Santana opened her mouth, fully intending to state that she’d meant every single word, but Quinn clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Go ahead, Brittany, we’ll be right behind you.” Quinn said, smiling sweetly. Brittany looked nervously at Santana one last time, but stood quickly and walked onto the dancefloor.
Quinn spun back to Santana, eyes glinting dangerously. “What the fuck is your problem!?”
“My problem is that she’s completely naive! There’s nothing I said that wasn’t completely true. Clearly everyone else is handling her with baby gloves. She should thank me for being honest.” Santana burst out, now that Quinn removed the hand from her mouth.
“Maybe it was true, mostly, but you didn’t have to be so harsh about it!”
“She needed a reality check from whatever fantasyland she was living in! I mean, sleepovers, Q? That was ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but did you ever stop and think maybe she could help us get signed with Blaine?” Quinn whispered urgently, even though Brittany was well out of earshot. “Maybe being friends with her would help us out.”
“I doubt it.” Santana said, but inside she had to admit Quinn had a point. Brittany was possibly the most confusing person Santana had ever met, but clearly Blaine saw something in her worth investing in.
“It doesn’t hurt to be nice. It can only help. So stop being a raging bitch and come dance. And enough champagne!” Quinn finished, pulling Santana up. Santana sighed dramatically but followed obediently enough.
They actually had trouble finding Brittany, because she’d wormed her way to the middle of the dancefloor. Quinn spotted her eventually and dragged Santana by the hand through the crowd. It was too loud to talk, but Brittany flashed them a grin when she saw them.
For a ballerina, she was surprisingly not uptight. She got down just like everyone else, but with a sense of rhythm and graceful fluidity that made her stand out. The current song playing was one of the band’s most popular. Everyone knew it and was singing loudly.
Despite her bad mood, Santana couldn’t just stand sulkily in the middle of the dance floor. She nodded her head along to the music, watching Quinn and Brittany. Mostly Brittany, who’d unknowingly created a small circle around herself of people watching her dance. There was something mesmerizing about it. Her eyes were closed, and she just moved in whatever way came naturally.
The song changed into a more fast-paced cover of “Low.” Brittany’s eyes flew open and she said something to them that neither could hear.
She grabbed Quinn’s hand and drew her closer, spinning her around. Quinn couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected move. Santana started to move more herself, carefully in her heels. She was a little unsteady on her feet. As the song reached the chorus, Brittany grabbed Quinn’s hips and pulled her flush against Brittany’s front, and dropped along with each ‘low’, pulling Quinn down with her. Santana’s eyes just about bugged out of her head at the move. It would have been too much, except Brittany had a goofy grin on her face the whole time. They popped back up together.
“Apple bottom jeans!” Quinn sang.
“Boots with the fur!” Brittany shouted.
“The whole club was looking at her!” They yelled in unison, both pointing at Santana. Fuck it, Santana thought. Forget being mad about the whole Brittany/Blaine situation; she just wanted to dance. That was a problem for tomorrow. And she so rarely got to see Quinn let loose like this.
“She hit the floor!” Santana joined in, letting herself fully relax and dance. Brittany’s grin widened.
Brittany held her hand out for Santana to grab, waiting with a hesitant grin on her face. Santana only paused a second before grabbing it. Like a pro, Brittany spun Santana with one hand and Quinn with the other. The room was spinning a little more than the move called for, Santana thought. She was losing her balance, damn her high heels. Brittany released Quinn’s hand and expertly caught Santana around her lower back, dipping her.
Santana was already falling, but Brittany caught her and made it look like they’d done it intentionally. She pulled Santana back up, leaving her hands on Santana’s hips to steady her while she dropped down again. Looking up at Santana from below, Brittany gave her an intense look before wiggling her eyebrows. Strange, Santana thought, to watch Brittany dance after talking to her earlier. There was something so innocent about her demeanor, but on the dancefloor that all disappeared. Except for the funny faces.
Santana thought she’d surprise Brittany by rapping all of Flo Rida’s parts, but Brittany knew it all too. What the hell kind of ballerina was she?
The girls blew off steam on the dance floor as a bunch of other hits played. A bunch of popular covers back to back to back, it was so much fun. Quinn had a paranoid moment when she thought she saw Sue, but she brushed it off. They deserved time off too, one night of fun wouldn’t ruin all their other hard work.
As the last song wound down, the DJ spoke up.“Alright, one minute ‘til midnight! Let the countdown begin!” He said into the mic. All the TVs in the room suddenly showed a timer at 60 seconds that began counting down in sync.
“Let’s go watch the fireworks!” Brittany said, grabbing both girls by the hand and heading towards the balcony. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea though, so a bunch of people just kinda got clumped together by the windows.
“Ten, nine, eight…” Everyone chanted, looking out at the Sydney Harbor Bridge in anticipation.
Movement caught Santana’s eye, and she turned. There was the singer, Puck, heading towards her. Oh yeah, she’d forgotten about him.
She dropped Brittany’s hand and turned to fight through the crush of people towards him.
Just as it reached midnight, they reached each other. The cheer went up from the crowd, fireworks erupting across the city.
Puck started to say something, but Santana lunged forward and cut him off with her lips. He stiffened in surprise, but only for half a second. He’d come to find her after all, so he couldn’t be that surprised.
Santana kissed him hard, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Puck returned the kiss eagerly, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like alcohol, rum maybe, and smoke. The stubble on his face scratched her face a little as he moved. He ran his hand up Santana’s neck and buried it in her hair.
After a good thirty seconds, it was starting to get indecent so Santana pulled away breathlessly. Puck leaned in again, but she pushed his chest back a little.
“What’s wrong?” Puck said, brow furrowed in confusion.
“Nothing. I just…d’you wanna take this elsewhere?” Santana said quietly. Puck’s eyes brightened.
“Yeah, yes.” Puck patted his pockets frantically. “Just need my room key. Gimme one second.” He jogged off towards the stage. Santana wiped her lip a little and ran her fingers through her hair.
Quinn clamped a hand on Santana’s shoulder and spun her around. Not expecting that, Santana had to take a step to the side to catch her balance.
“What are you doing with that guy?” Quinn demanded. Brittany had come with her, but she stood back watching.
“What does it look like I’m doing with that guy?” Santana quipped, a smug smile on her face.
“Making a bad decision. You’re drunk off your ass.” Quinn said, color rising in her cheeks.
“Go away, Quinn. I wants to get my mack on, and you’re not going to stop me.” Santana said, crossing her arms defiantly.
“Santana, he looks like he hasn’t showered in several days.” Quinn argued. “So gross.”
“Oh, please, you’re just jealous. I’m going to go have hot sex with the lead singer of the Pool…whatever their name is, and you’re not.” Santana sneered, face turning ugly.
“Really, San? You think I’m jealous of this? I just don’t want to deal with you after this, like I always do. You have the worst taste in men, especially when you’re drunk.” Quinn continued. “And you getting some STD or pregnant would be really inconvenient for me.”
Santana scoffed. “I think I know how to handle myself, Q. So you can fuck off. Maybe you and little miss ballerina here can go have a sleepover!”
Quinn’s face was now bright red, and she was about to snap on Santana when Puck returned.
“Hello, ladies. Are you coming with?” Puck said, smirking. “I saw you all dancing. Pretty fucking hot.”
Quinn wrinkled up her face in disgust. Brittany looked down at her feet awkwardly.
Santana cuffed Puck on the arm. “Let’s go.”
He acquiesced, but kept his eyes on Quinn and Brittany for a few more uncomfortable seconds.
“You picked a real charmer, Santana! Don’t come crying to me.” Quinn called out after them. Santana threw up her middle finger behind her back, not bothering to look back.
“It looks like he glued a dead squirrel to his head.” Brittany said quietly, looking at Puck’s head as he walked away.
Quinn huffed out a laugh, despite her anger.
The DJ took over again, the music picking up now that the fireworks had ended.
“Dance?” Quinn finally said, unsure what else to do. Going to her hotel just to sit up and worry about Santana sounded like a terrible idea. At least she could distract herself here.
Brittany nodded. She still looked a little upset by Puck’s comments.
—---

2:30 a.m.

“Fucking Santana.” Quinn cursed, looking down at her cell phone. The party was still going strong, though a lot of the older people had started leaving. It was now mostly people under 40.
The girls had been dancing for a few hours after midnight. Quinn kept checking her phone, but Santana’s location was still in the hotel so she wasn’t too worried. She’d left it on the table just for ten minutes while she and Brittany went to find the bathroom, and now she had a bunch of missed calls and texts from Santana.
“What?” Brittany asked, looking over Quinn’s shoulder.
“She’s been calling me and texting, but we missed them because I left my phone here.” Quinn explained. “Her texts are complete gibberish though.”
From Santana (2:19 a.m.): Quen cn eou da;novw wiothFrom Santana (2:21 a.m.): alsdi loced oote ze thweon fsuite
From Santana (2:22 a.m.): um aslepyt und urd here? hweun mu hoesl sue ? dihw eel o goo?“I have to go find her.” Quinn said apologetically to Brittany. “You can totally stay though, she’s not your problem.”
Brittany shrugged. “Nah, I’m ready to leave too. I don’t even know anyone here and I’m pretty tired. Why don’t I help you find her before I go?”
Quinn let out a sigh of relief. “That’d be great, thank you.”
There had been a handful of other times she’d had to go rescue Santana from herself, and it could be difficult getting her around. There was a bigger problem tonight, since Sue or Becky or Blaine could be around to see Santana being a mess. Not great. Not to mention any other important people whose first impression of Santana was potentially going to come from this party. Getting her out of here as fast as possible would be best.
Quinn texted Santana, and kept trying to call her phone, but there was no answer. She probably fell asleep, but it made Quinn nervous just the same. And mad.“Keep calling her.” Brittany said, “But we should probably start looking around the hotel for her.”
Quinn wasn’t happy about it, but Brittany was right. Santana might just be asleep in Puck’s room, but she also could be wandering around trying to find Quinn to get home.
They checked the whole top floor where the party was first, and then made their way systematically downward, floor by floor. Quinn assumed that they would be on a higher floor, that the band would be in a nice room. There was no sign of her though as they made their way down five floors. They couldn’t just knock on every door either, it was the middle of the night.
“I don’t know what to do.” Quinn finally said, feeling defeated. They’d been searching for thirty minutes, and hadn’t received any more calls or texts from Santana. “We’ve probably missed his room by now.”
“Let’s go back up to the party. I’m sure someone there knows Puck, maybe the DJ or one of his bandmates if they’re still around.” Brittany suggested. Quinn nodded. Seemed like a slim chance, but she didn’t know what else to do. She doubted the front desk would give them Puck’s room number.The party was still going strong, but a little smaller than before. The girls looked carefully for anyone that looked like they might be part of the band.
“That guy!” Brittany pointed out. “The white guy with dreadlocks, wasn’t he playing the bass?”
Quinn had no idea. But she went up anyway to ask. They had nothing to lose.
—-
4:15 a.m.
Quinn and Brittany finally made it through the door of Quinn’s hotel room, each supporting one of Santana’s limp arms.
“Here, just set her down on the bed.” Quinn whispered. They gently set her down, careful not to let her front side touch the bed.
The guy with dreads had been part of the band, thankfully. His name was Joe, and he was a really nice guy. He shook his head when they explained the situation, seeming just as irritated with Puck as Quinn was with Santana. Luckily he wasn’t drunk like almost everyone else, and he’d led them to Puck’s room. The two of them were sharing a two bedroom suite, so he had the room key.
They’d knocked, but no one answered, so Joe let them in. Puck was asleep face down on the bed in his boxers, but Santana wasn’t there. Quinn started to panic until Brittany called out from the bathroom.
Quinn had entered to see Santana passed out in the bathtub. Her dress was most of the way on, just the side was unzipped, but the whole front was covered in throw-up.
“Great.” Quinn had muttered, bitterly. They were able to rouse Santana, but she kept falling asleep.
Brittany found a towel Quinn used to get the worst of the vomit off so they could get Santana into an Uber. Quinn tried to get Brittany to go back to her own hotel, but she insisted on helping Quinn, for which Quinn was grateful.
And now, they’d managed to get her back without running into Sue, Becky, or Blaine. It was a minor miracle.
“Thank you, Brittany, for your help. You can go get some sleep now, I’ll take it from here.” Quinn said, smiling weakly.
“Are you sure? I can help move her to her bed.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. She usually sleeps in here with me anyways.” Quinn said without thinking. She would not usually admit that, but perhaps the fatigue, the champagne, or the hours they’d spent together tonight had worn her guard down a little.
“Okay, I’ll head out.” Brittany headed for the door. “I’ll see you…sometime?”
Quinn’s face softened. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll run into each other sometime soon.”
Brittany nodded, and closed the door softly behind her. As she was getting in the elevator, it hit her. She’d left her purse at the party. And she didn’t know the name of her hotel. It was on the key card, so she hadn’t needed to know it. But that key card was at the other hotel…what was it called again? She cursed her poor memory.
As she reached the lobby, Brittany hit the button to go back up. Quinn would know the name of the hotel the party was at. Unsure of which door had been Quinn’s, Brittany made an educated guess. No answer. She tried the next one down.
Right when Brittany was about to move on, the door swung open. Quinn was standing there, looking mad. She’d changed into her pajamas, but the room behind her was different. Quinn’s room had been clean, well-lit, and had Santana on the bed. This room was dark, clothes were strewn everywhere, and it was empty. Brittany was confused.
“Sorry to bother you. I left my hotel card at the other hotel. I can’t remember the name of my hotel or the hotel the party was at. What was it called again?” Brittany said quickly.
“It’s the…” Quinn said slowly, trying to think of the name of the hotel. “Shit, I don’t remember either.” She laughed lightly.
“Ah, that’s okay. I can take a taxi to the harbor bridge, and walk from there. I’ll recognize it, I think.” Brittany said, though she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to recognize it from the outside.
“No way, that’s insane. You can't wander around this late by yourself. Why don’t you stay here for the night?” Quinn said, opening the door wider.
“No, that’s okay. Really, I’m sure I can find it. I don’t want to bother you.” Brittany insisted, remembering the flash of anger on Quinn’s face when she’d opened the door again. Quinn seemed to read her mind.
“Oh, I thought you might be Puck. This is Santana’s room, technically.” Quinn pointed behind her. “I heard knocking through our adjoining door and thought maybe she’d given him her room number earlier or something. I was about to go off on him.”
“Oh. Are you sure it’s all right?” Brittany said, bouncing from foot to foot nervously.
“Yes, you saved my ass and Santana’s tonight. It’s the least we could do.” Quinn said, standing back so Brittany could come in. “Here, come back into my room for a second. I’ll get you some pajamas.”
Brittany stepped out through the connecting door back into Quinn’s room. She’d turned off the overhead lighting but left the bedside lamp on. Quinn passed her bed towards the window, where her suitcase was lying open. Brittany’s eyes followed the movement, and she was surprised to see that Quinn had already managed to take Santana’s dress off. She laid there in her matching black lacy bra and underwear, and funnily, her high heels were still on. Brittany averted her eyes, feeling like she was intruding. Not on purpose, but still. She couldn’t help but notice how tiny Santana was.
Quinn finally found some pajamas and handed them to Brittany.
“I’d let you take my bed, but since Pukey’s already in there, I think you should sleep in her bed. Sorry I don’t have clean sheets or anything.” Quinn whispered, trying not to wake Santana.
“That’s fine, I’m so exhausted I’ll just pass out.” Brittany said with a smile.
“Alright. There should be a spare toothbrush in Santana’s bathroom that the hotel left for us. We brought our own so we haven’t used them. And there’s shampoo and stuff in the shower too, if you want to shower now or in the morning. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be up for a couple more minutes probably but then I’ll pass out too.” Quinn continued, wracking her brain to think of anything else Brittany might need.
“Okay, thanks Quinn.” Brittany said, stepping through the door to Santana’s room. She turned on the bathroom light, but quickly turned it off again. Way too bright. She copied Quinn instead and turned on the much weaker lamp, and left the bathroom door open so she could see. The toothbrush was there, thankfully. She changed out of her dress and put on Quinn’s borrowed pajamas. The shorts were a little short on her but otherwise they were perfect. She washed the makeup from her face as well as possible with just her hands and water. She hadn’t worn that much so it should be fine.
As Brittany reached down to pick up her dress, she noticed some other clothes under the sink. She grabbed them too, bringing them out into the faint light.
They looked like Santana’s pajamas. A big Lima U t-shirt and pair of black sweatshorts. Brittany felt bad bugging Quinn, but Santana looked so cold in there…maybe she’d just offer them?
She debated for a couple of minutes, then decided she’d better go now while Quinn was awake.
Knocking softly, Brittany pushed the door open again when Quinn called back. Clutching the clothes, Brittany tiptoed in. Quinn had similarly washed her makeup off, and taken all the bobby pins out of her hair. Loose curls floated around her head at random. She had taken off Santana’s shoes finally, and managed to get Santana propped up a bit on the pillows. She was wiping Santana’s face gently with a makeup remover when Brittany came in.
“Hi, I found these and thought you might want them. She looked cold.” Brittany said softly, holding out the pajamas.“Thanks, I was just about to look for those. I thought she’d left them in here.” Quinn said. “They seem to just crank the AC here so it does get pretty cold at night.”
“Hey, could you help me get her shirt on? It’s a pain to get her arms into it.” Quinn asked suddenly when Brittany turned to go.
“Sure.” Brittany said, turning back.
Quinn nudged Santana until she grunted. “Sit up Santana! We need to put your pajamas on.”
Quinn poked her in the side several times until she finally sat up a little, head hanging forward so her hair fell like a curtain in front of her face.
“Now lean forward a bit more.” Quinn prodded, pushing her back. Santana did, and Quinn reached around to unhook her bra. It loosened and Quinn quickly tugged it off Santana’s arms, tossing it aside.
“Head up.” Quinn commanded, pulling the t-shirt over Santana’s head quickly.
“Give me an arm,” Quinn continued, yanking Santana’s arm through her side. “Okay, give Brittany your other arm.”
Santana only lifted her arms halfway up, forcing Quinn and Brittany to reach through the arms of the shirt and tug her hand back through.
Santana suddenly seemed to process what Quinn had said. She looked up at Brittany, blinking slowly.
“Why’re you here?” She said, confused. Brittany wanted to escape before Santana could get mad at her.
“She helped literally carry you back to our hotel, Santana. Maybe you could say ‘thank you, Brittany.’”Santana frowned. “She stole Blaine.”
Quinn flicked Santana’s arm. “No she didn’t. Say thank you.”
Santana sighed. “Thanks I guess.”
“You’re welcome.” Brittany whispered. Santana seemed to be falling asleep again. What did she mean, that she’d stolen Blaine?
“Wait, San, let’s put your shorts on.” Quinn urged, shaking her shoulder.
“Nah. Just c’mere already.” Santana mumbled, holding her arms out wide for Quinn. Quinn looked sideways at Brittany, blushing a little. Brittany felt like she was intruding on…something. She wasn’t quite sure what it was yet.
Time for her to go to bed. She walked quickly back towards Santana’s room, whispering a last goodnight. Quinn laid down on the bed next to Santana. Santana immediately rolled over and latched onto Quinn like she was a giant teddy bear.
“Mm, Quinn…” Santana said, half-asleep and speaking into Quinn’s neck. Brittany quickly reached to shut the door.

“Let’s get under the covers, San, it’s cold in here.” Quinn said back softly, the sound just barely loud enough for Brittany to hear as the door clicked shut.
Even though Brittany had a lot on her mind, it was nearly morning and she was exhausted. Her body fell gratefully into Santana’s unmade bed, and she was asleep within seconds.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next day was terrible for everyone involved.
Brittany rose after only a few hours of sleep, slipping out before Quinn or Santana woke up. She used a piece of the hotel stationary to leave a note for Quinn with her phone number on it. She hoped they could become friends; she really liked hanging out with Quinn at the party. And Quinn was a good person – she could tell. Not only from how Quinn had taken care of Santana last night, but she’d always had an accurate gut intuition about people. Quinn gave her a good feeling. Santana was more of a confusing feeling, so Brittany wasn’t sure yet about her. She’d had a good feeling when she saw Santana’s picture in the magazine, but in person…she made Brittany nervous. And she could be pretty mean, too. It was intriguing though, because Brittany had always gotten her gut feeling, good or bad, from her first meeting of someone. Santana was the only exception.
She called her coach once she woke, and he was pissed at her for disappearing last night. Brittany tried to explain she didn’t want to wake him up, but he said he’d been worried sick when he hadn’t heard back from her this morning. He yelled at her more in person, and it left her with a lingering guilt.
Santana woke three separate times during the early morning to continue throwing up. She tried to move as slowly as possible because it made the pounding in her head soften fractionally. She didn’t disturb Quinn. She had no memory of the night before, but knew her history with drinking all too well. And knew Quinn would probably not be happy with her. So the longer she could avoid that, the better. She threw up, washed out her mouth, and crawled back into bed with Q to pass out again.
Quinn finally woke up when Santana got up for the fourth time to throw up, at 10:30. Santana, shivering, rolled away from Quinn to run to the bathroom. Quinn couldn’t help but grimace in sympathy, even if Santana deserved it. Her own stomach didn’t feel so good and rumbled ominously. Quinn silently prayed that she wouldn’t throw up herself.
The toilet flushed, followed by the tap running in the bathroom. Santana slunk back into the room, thinking Quinn was still asleep. As she slid back under the covers, Quinn took a little pleasure in startling her by opening her eyes suddenly.
“Jesus, Q.” Santana said huskily, eyes wide.
Quinn didn’t respond, just rolled over to check her phone. She had several texts from Sue. They’d be checking out of the hotel, and heading to the airport later this afternoon. Who knew where they were heading, Sue still hadn’t told them. She clearly got some kind of pleasure in holding information over their heads at all times.
Santana seemed to remember they were leaving suddenly.
“Fuck, what time do we need to leave?” Santana croaked, arm thrown across her eyes to block what little light was getting through their heavy curtains.
“Looks like Becky got us a late checkout. But that’s at noon, so we need to start moving.” Quinn responded, reading all of Sue’s texts.
“I’m going to order room service. Do you think you can keep anything down?” Quinn continued, looking at Santana dubiously.
“No.”
“I’ll get you some toast. You can try it.” Quinn decided. She was starving, and hoped a big meal might settle her stomach.
Quinn, stretching, got up to pack her stuff. She took an Advil first, and tossed the bottle to Santana, who took two.
As Quinn picked up the phone to order their food, she pulled the comforter off Santana. She was curled up pathetically, still shaking a little. Her hair was an absolute lion’s mane around her face.
“Go shower, you smell like vomit.” Quinn said, pointing towards Santana’s room. “And don’t think for a second I’m going to pack for you.”
Santana groaned at the thought of getting vertical again and laid in bed another ten minutes before Quinn started pulling her by the legs out of the bed.
“Take all your shit out of here.” Quinn instructed, shoving Santana’s pajama shorts into her arms and gesturing at the rest of Santana’s clothes strewn about Quinn’s room. When had she kicked those off, Santana wondered? Santana winced as she bent down to grab some of her tennis clothes. The sudden movement made it feel like an axe was splitting her head in two.
She shuffled back into her own room, dropping the clothes into a pile on the floor. She dropped the few clothes she had on into the pile as well and went straight into the shower. Maybe it would revive her a little.
The steamy shower felt amazing and helped ease some of the tension in her head. Seeing herself in the mirror afterwards was brutal though. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, as if she’d just been crying for hours, and had dark bags beneath them. She had several bruises on her arms and hips. A new blister on her foot from her stupid heels. And most irritating, a dark purple hickey on the side of her neck. Fuck me, Santana thought, rubbing at the bruise like it might help. Who left that there?
She dressed in her sweats, threw her hair up in a bun, and began the painstaking task of packing her suitcase while having the worst hangover of her life. Her clothes, as at home, had made their way all across the room. On the floor, under the bed, and even, Santana spotted, tangled up in her sheets.
As she reached across the bed to lift the sheets, she found several pairs of socks. The sheets smelled different. A little citrusy something. Maybe the detergent the hotel used, although they hadn’t been changed in a few days.
She threw all her clothes in the suitcase in a big ball. It would be a bitch to close, but what else is new? As she started picking up all her makeup and food wrappers from the desk, Santana noticed something was written on the pad of paper there.The handwriting was a little messy, but Santana made out, “Had fun with you last night & Quinn - B” and was followed by a phone number. Santana was floored. Had Quinn hooked up with someone last night? Because she clearly had, or at least had an intense makeout judging by the hickey. Did they both hookup with someone? That was not something Quinn did. Ever.
Santana strode back into Quinn’s room, holding the note in the air.
“Quinn, what happened last night?” Santana demanded.
“You’re feeling better.” Quinn observed archly. Someone knocked on the door, and Quinn answered. It was the room service. As soon as she’d pulled the cart into the room, Santana answered.“Not really. Just answer my question.” She sat on Quinn’s bed heavily.
“I’ll let you piece it together.” Quinn said harshly, digging into her bacon and eggs.
“That bad?” Santana said ruefully. She wasn’t sure how bad she may have been, since Quinn was in business mode this morning. Now it seemed she was going to be punished with a general iciness, until Quinn decided otherwise.
“Oh, you have no idea.” Quinn responded under her breath, but not so quiet that Santana couldn’t catch it.Santana took a piece of toast, nibbling cautiously. Once the first few bites went down, she scarfed down several whole pieces in quick succession. Quinn’s cheeks were getting their color back as she ate, getting that light rosy glow in them again.
“Okay, well tell me who left this note in my room, at least.” Santana said, stealing a small sip of Quinn’s orange juice. Quinn glanced at the note with curiosity. Once she scanned it, she suppressed a smile.
“Figure it out for yourself.” Quinn insisted, finishing up her fruit cup and standing to get back to her own packing.
Santana wracked her brain desperately, but her memories of the party were all distorted and out of order. She could get flashes of things, but the whole picture wouldn’t come together.
“Ah, fuck!” Santana exclaimed, jumping to her feet and running to Quinn’s bathroom. Quinn sighed as she heard Santana retching again. It wasn’t as fun teasing Santana when she was so miserable. She resolved to keep holding out though, remembering how she’d had to wash Santana’s vomit off her own hands last night. Disgusting.
Quinn pocketed the note so she could save Brittany’s number later.
—-
Later that day
“I’m never flying again.” Santana complained as they finally, finally exited their plane in LA.
Quinn checked her watch. “Well, not for two hours at least. And I think the more logical response would be ‘I’m never drinking again.’”They’d just gotten in off the long flight back to the States. Their layover was at LAX this time, before they flew back to Florida.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” Santana whined. She looked like hell, Quinn thought. Santana had finally stopped throwing up only a few hours ago. She’d spent most of the plane locked in the tiny lavatory, throwing up. Or for the last stretch of the flight when turbulence hit, fighting with the flight attendants to let her unbuckle her seat and go back to the bathroom. She’d instead thrown up the last two times into paper bags. It was brutal to watch, but extra brutal to sit next to.
The girls found a burger place to eat at. They sat in a quiet corner. Quinn wasn’t feeling that hungry, but found she had quite an appetite once her food arrived. Santana positively wolfed hers down. She was finally able to keep food down.
She kept stealing Quinn’s fries after she’d eaten all of her own.“Quinn. Are you really not going to tell me what happened last night?”
“I told you, figure it out yourself. Or maybe don’t drink so much that you have to ask me what happened!” Quinn maintained stubbornly.
“Please, Q, I spent the whole flight trying to figure it out. I thought it’d distract me. But I can’t remember.” Santana stuck her lip out, looking so pathetic that Quinn had to laugh. “All I know is someone left the mother of all hickeys on my neck.”
“Tell you what, tell me what you remember. Start at the beginning, and I’ll tell you if you’re right or not.”
Santana huffed, but Quinn’s crossed arms told her she’d not get any further by begging.
“Fine. We got there and we split up from Sue and Becky.” Santana began, looking up at the ceiling as she thought. “Then we sat at the table for a bit. And we got dinner. I remember that lobster…”
Quinn nodded. Santana’s brain got a little fuzzy past dinner.
“We…were dancing, right?”
“Yes.”
“We were with those two Spanish guys, dancing for a while. And then…”
“We went to say hello to Blaine.” Quinn supplied, watching as Santana struggled to continue.
“Blaine…oh yeah, yeah. Okay, I remember now.” Santana said slowly, clearly not fully remembering.
“Wait a second…is…was Blaine the B person!?” Santana said in horror. “Holy shit. I could have sworn he was playing for the other team, though!”
Quinn’s mouth dropped in shock as Santana’s mind made a tremendous leap. Damn, she really didn’t remember much.
Before Quinn could comprehend that (let alone respond) Santana continued talking, eyes flicking back and forth behind her eyelids, which were closed in concentration. She recalled the note: “Had fun with you last night & Quinn.” And Santana had woken up in Quinn’s bed, without pants on. Had fun with you & Quinn…Oh my God…“Quinn, did I really…? Did we have a threesome with Blaine? Was it so he’d sign us?” Santana said in a hushed voice, looking panicked.
Quinn held for another second, the longest of Santana’s life, before she burst into laughter. Santana relaxed just a notch, but still waited, annoyed, for Quinn to clear everything up.
“Santana, why on Earth would you think that?” Quinn finally said, as she gasped for air. Her stomach actually hurt from laughing so hard.
“I don’t know, Q! That’s the last thing I remember well. And B stands for Blaine! And, I woke up in your bed without pants on, which is weird. And that note, it said they had fun with me AND you! With both of us! What does that mean?! And someone gave me this hickey!” Santana ranted, feeling a little defensive.
Quinn shook her head, still grinning broadly. She pulled the crumpled note out of her pocket and handed it back to Santana“There’s so many things wrong with your mind.” Quinn began. “First of all, I’m insulted that you thought not only that you’d sink that low, but also think I’d do it with you.”
Santana blushed a little, feeling ridiculous.
“Secondly, your drunk ass was being difficult and you refused to put your shorts on. Also, Blaine is definitely gay. And we already have his phone number, so that doesn’t even make sense for him to leave it.”
Santana pointed at the note, but Quinn continued.
“And this note does not say ‘had fun last night with you & Quinn’. It says ‘had fun last night smiley face Quinn’. It’s not saying you and Quinn. It’s saying "you, smiley face, Quinn.” It was for me.”
“Okay, I’m so confused. Who did you hook up with then? Why was the note in my room? Who gave me the hickey?” Santana inquired. Looking more closely at the note, she could see the little smiley face now instead of the ampersand she’d seen before.
“Go back. We saw Blaine, and we went to say hi.” Quinn prodded.
“Yeah, we walked over to Blaine…” Santana’s mind conjured the image suddenly. “But I didn’t want to interrupt him. He was talking to…the ballerina!”
Santana scowled at the memory, the whole conversation coming back to her. “He signed her. That fucking bastard.”
“Yes. That’s right.” Quinn said, looking upset at the reminder. “Then you said something about the bathroom and ran away, and I went with you.”
Santana recalled now, how she’d been filled with rage. She’d grabbed Quinn and fled, as far away as she could get from Blaine and the ballerina.
“Oh yeah…we sat outside for a while, didn’t we?” Santana said.
“Yeah, out on the balcony. You wanted to leave, but I convinced you to stay. I should’ve taken you back to the hotel.” Quinn scowled.“Spilled milk, Q. Forget it. Then what happened?”
“You sat at a table for hours, drinking yourself stupid. I tried to meet some people, but I’d come to check on you. Not often enough, though. But then Brittany sat with you, and I was afraid you’d try to strangle her, so I suggested we dance.” Quinn recounted.
Brittany. The ballerina. A flash of dancing came back to Santana. Brittany dancing against Quinn. Her feline eyes looking up at Santana. Why the hell did they dance with her? They don’t like her.Santana made a sour face.
“That seemed to work just fine. It was actually pretty fun.” Quinn continued. “Until midnight.”
“What happened at midnight?” Santana tensed up, looking intently at Quinn.
“You started kissing the singer from the band, do you remember that at all?” Quinn quirked an eyebrow. Santana just shook her head, no memories detected.
“We argued about it, but you went off with him. Puck. What a douche. I stayed with Brittany and we kept dancing.”
“Okay…and?”
“And then you blew up my phone with nonsensical texts, stopped answering, and we had to search for you. It took us hours.” Quinn said flatly. “We had to go around the party until we found another guy from the band to help us. We found you passed out in Puck’s hotel tub, covered in vomit. Thank God Brittany was there, she helped me sneak you out of there and back to our hotel.”
Santana recoiled sharply. Brittany, of all people, had seen her like that? And helped carry her home? Quinn watched her reaction carefully, taking less satisfaction from it than she’d thought.“I…really?” Santana said weakly.
“Yeah. Really. And once we got back, Brittany realized she’d left her hotel key card at the party, and we couldn’t remember what hotel the party was at. So I let her stay over. You were in my bed, so I told her to sleep in your room. That’s why she left the note in there. And she wasn’t talking about having fun hooking up, just having fun. I know that’s probably a foreign concept to you, that people can have fun without getting completely shit faced and having sex.”
“Wow. Um, that’s a lot.” Santana said in a small voice. She was ashamed, Quinn could tell. Getting her to admit to that was another thing.
“Yeah. Feel free to apologize to me, and Brittany too. You said some mean things to her. And she still helped carry you home. Even helped me put your pajamas on. She must be some kind of saint.” Quinn shot back.
Santana felt a burst of embarrassment course through her. Shame and embarrassment. She felt really, really mortified at the thought of Brittany seeing all that. Not that she cared about Brittany, or cared that she’d insulted her really. But now Brittany had seen her at her weakest, literally.
This was a girl who’d stolen her agent. And who she’d be playing against someday in the near future. And she’d seen Santana covered in her own vomit. She’d freaking dressed Santana! Like she was some kind of helpless child. Santana imagined the two of them, Quinn and Brittany, moving her around like she was a doll, laughing at her. Why had Quinn let Brittany do that? Santana’s whole face was radiating heat, even up to the tips of her ears.“What the fuck, Q?” Santana growled.
Quinn’s jaw tightened instantly. “What?”
“You just, you asked her to do all that! Why? She’s a complete stranger!”
“I just told her I had to find you, she wanted to help.”
“You shouldn’t have LET her! I would never have done that to you!” Santana insisted heatedly, slamming her hands on the table.
Quinn’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me? Done what, exactly, to you?”
“Let an opponent– our enemy!– see you like that. I’m supposed to intimidate her. Scare her. How can I do that, when she’s seen me so…so vulnerable like that. I cannot believe you just let her be there. What if she tells the story to the press?”
Quinn sat dumbfounded for a solid thirty seconds, processing the insane things Santana just said. The insane things Santana had just accused her of!“Let me know when you’ve gotten your head out of your ass.” Quinn finally said, walking away without another word.
—--
The next day

As Santana and Quinn walked into their film session after training, Santana felt like she’d been hit by a bus. They’d gotten home late last night, but Sue hadn’t given them the day off today to rest. She told them they’d need to get used to traveling all the time, so they could start now. Just as she’d almost been used to the time change in Sydney, they’d been thrust back to Florida time. Not to mention, the hangover had taken it out of her and left her feeling empty to start the day. And Quinn still hadn’t talked to her since their fight at the airport. Santana was looking forward to her bed. If she went straight home and ate dinner quickly, she thought she could get as much as eleven hours of sleep before training again tomorrow morning.
Sue swept into the room, connecting her laptop to the large screen. She started up a recording of a match without saying anything. It was on a clay court, which they didn’t get to play on very often.
“You’ll be playing in Daytona Beach next week.” Sue spoke over the film. “On a clay court. So we’ll be going there in two days, to get more practice time on clay. You’ll have to play qualifying matches to enter, but I don’t foresee that being a problem.”
“Singles?” Santana said immediately, sitting up straighter in her seat.
“Doubles only for this one. Quiet. Watch the match.”
Santana bit her tongue, holding back all the questions she had about this tournament. She watched the match, but wasn’t fully focused on it.
When it was over, Sue asked them what they noticed was different about clay.
“The ball bounces slower, but higher. It will make spin exaggerated. Creates longer rallies.” Quinn recited, as if reading from a textbook.
“Good. What type of player will be favored here?”
“Conservative. Someone who plays at the baseline, more defensive. Also someone who uses a lot of drop shots or spin.” Quinn continued. If Santana weren’t still denying having read the Harry Potter series, she’d call Quinn ‘Hermione’ for being such a know-it-all.“Excellent, Q. So which of you two will be more suited for clay?”
“Quinn.” Santana said, crossing her arms.
“Yes. Fabray tends to be more conservative on the court. So we’re going to work on slowing your game down, Lopez, and letting Fabray take more shots instead of attacking at the net.”
Santana didn’t like hearing that; she wanted to play her game. She and Quinn worked so well in part because they have such different styles. Santana tended to play hard and fast. From her serve on, she gives each shot everything she has, aiming to hit winners at every opportunity. It’s risky, but it works for her. Especially being a lefty, she wants to take the match by storm and not let her opponent get used to her whirlwind style of play. Quinn, on the other hand, will let every point drag on, rallying for a while and trying to force her opponent to make an error. She plays with grace and variation, tossing in lobs and drop shots, chips and baseline shots, like she’s at an exhibition match. Only when she sees a perfect moment will Quinn try for a winner, striking the ball with amazing precision and placement, often surprising her opponent with the sudden change of pace.
Sue continued to play the tape, letting the girls watch the players themselves more closely, and how the points were playing out. She kept pointing out when the players got too aggressive, or conversely, too hesitant when they had an opportunity to end the point.
Santana listened with half an ear, stewing internally that Quinn’s style of play kept getting highlighted. The logical side of her knew Sue was trying to help them succeed, but it felt a little like she was being criticized for how she naturally played. She wished they could play singles, and she could let her performance speak for itself.
—-
One week later, Jan. 9th: Daytona Beach
The night after a qualifying match for the tournament, Santana and Quinn were at the tournament facilities, getting massaged to help out their recovery. They’d played two matches so far, and would need to win a third to get into the actual tournament. It hadn’t been terribly difficult, though Santana was still adjusting to playing on clay.
They typically stretched themselves out, or occasionally had help from Becky, but being at a real tournament meant they had staff to do that for players. Both girls were taking full advantage, even though the clay court was easier on their bodies.
Quinn reached for the television remote. The TV in front of them was currently on the tennis channel, the commentators looking forward to the Australian Open already. She switched the channel to other tournaments, finally stopping on one.
“Look!” Quinn said, causing Santana to open her eyes a crack. This channel was showing an active match that was just beginning.
“What?” Santana said drowsily. She was on her back, having to look upside down to see the TV. The masseuse was working out Santana’s calves expertly. Quinn, on her stomach, had a better view.
“It’s Brittany.” Quinn said, eyes locked on the screen. Santana rolled over abruptly, nearly kicking the masseuse as she did so. Recovering swiftly, the masseuse started instead on the back of Santana’s thighs.
Sure enough, there was the tall blonde up at the net for the coin flip. They watched as she lost the toss. Her opponent, as expected, chose to serve first. Brittany, who would get to choose the side, chose wrong.
As the server, you want to have the sun behind you if possible, so it’s not in your eyes as you serve. Since Brittany would be receiving first, she should have chosen the side that would be more optimal for serving over the whole match. She just stayed on her side, though, instead of taking the better side.
“What the hell is she doing?” Quinn muttered.
“What the hell is she wearing?” Santana wondered aloud, taking in Brittany’s odd outfit. She had normal enough clothes on, wearing a tight white tank top and matching skirt. The odd part was the knee-length socks, and her hair. Her hair was up in a perfectly round bun, tied up with a light pink satin ribbon that made a large bow.
Quinn didn’t respond. Both girls sat in silence as the match began for real.
Brittany’s opponent, a shorter Brazilian girl named Pereira, wound up for her serve. It landed right down the center of the box, but Brittany barely got her racquet on it. She didn’t bounce on her feet like most tennis players, but stood woodenly. The next two serves were much the same. Brittany would stick out the racquet, but not even really get a good swing on it. It was mystifying. The serves weren’t that fast, for a pro.
When it was 40-love, Brittany finally got her racquet around, but hit the ball into the stands, losing the first game badly.
“She’s awful!” Santana crowed, a wide grin on her face. Quinn frowned, wheels turning in her head.
On Brittany’s serve, she didn’t serve very hard, but they were in. Pereira returned them hard, taking advantage of the softballs she was being served up. Brittany didn’t move very fast after them. One point she didn’t move at all, as the ball landed in the opposite corner.Santana was laughing aloud as she watched. What a joke. She couldn’t wait until Blaine called them up again to replace this dud he’d signed.
As Pereira started the third game with a serve, Brittany took an open position and whipped the ball back down the line, way out of Pereira’s reach. Pereira blinked in surprise, shaking her head.
“Whoa.” Quinn said.
“Fluke, that was a lucky shot.” Santana said confidently.
Pereira served again from the ad side. Brittany ran around the ball to make it a forehand, arms extending for a baseline shot crosscourt. Pereira, having oriented herself at the center of the baseline, started to go to her left to get it. Right before the ball met Brittany’s racquet, she dropped her arm dramatically.
The ball went left off Brittany’s racquet instead of right as it had looked, bouncing in the forecourt and coming off the ground back towards the net. She’d snuck a nasty slice. No one had seen it coming, including Pereira. She stood dumbly in the right corner, watching the ball hit the net and die.
“The fuck?” Santana exclaimed, shooing the masseuse away impatiently and sitting up on the table.
Quinn dismissed hers as well, thanking her quietly before turning back to the TV.
As they watched the match, the Brittany of the first two games completely transformed. She completely outplayed Pereira the rest of the set, winning 6-2. She rarely even dropped a point to Pereira. It was like watching Serena Williams play a high schooler.
The most intriguing thing, Quinn thought, was that Brittany didn’t have a clear style. She was completely unpredictable. Putting herself in Pereira’s shoes, Quinn would have reacted in the same ways. And would have looked equally foolish. Brittany, put simply, played circles around Pereira. In Brittany’s shoes, Quinn would have done everything differently. Brittany would have an open court for a winner, only to hit behind Pereira down the line as she struggled to run back. She’d come up to the net and then return to the baseline. She took a lob at the baseline as an overhead. Everything she did was conventionally wrong, but worked. It was also incredibly graceful and athletic. Her serve mechanics were odd, but her serve was blazingly fast. Each seemed to have a different spin on it. She slid easily on the clay, though rarely needed to. She had an odd habit of spinning completely to get a ball when she needed to change direction.
The second set revealed something else about Brittany. The score was already 4-0, and Pereira was serving. She was up 30-0, having hit two winners that even Brittany couldn’t run down. As she served towards Brittany's backhand, Brittany hit a one-handed backhand. Except…it looked strange.
“She just hit a forehand with her left hand.” Santana translated aloud the confusing thing Quinn was still processing.
“No, no. She’s right-handed.”
“Yes, Quinn, I know. But I know what I just saw. It’s what my forehand looks like.”
The crowd was slow to pick up on it, but as they watched, Brittany kept using her left and right hands interchangeably. She’d taken backhands earlier with two hands, but now was playing as a lefty…and a righty. She even served her last few games with her racquet in her left hand.
Quinn and Santana watched in awe as Brittany crushed Pereira in straight sets, 6-2, 6-0. She shook Pereira’s hand, looking barely winded. Pereira was exhausted, breathing heavily as she turned away. Brittany smiled, waving up at the cheering crowd.
It was, hands down, the most bizarre tennis match either girl had ever seen.“I have to play her.” Santana uttered to herself, just loud enough for Quinn to hear.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Friday, Jan. 13th
“Game, set, match, Fabray/Lopez.” The umpire said into his microphone.
Santana ran over to Quinn, who’d just served an ace for the final point of their semi-finals match.
“Finals, Fabray, let’s go!” Santana cheered as she picked Quinn up off the ground in a crushing hug. Quinn just laughed, swatting at Santana’s shoulder to put her down.
As they approached the net to shake their opponents hand, Santana saw Sue and Becky cheering for them in the crowd. Privately, Santana felt like Sue’s praise was the most affirming thing to see. Even over winning sometimes. It was just so rare that Sue showed she thought they were doing good. Sure, she’d clap and shout encouragement, but very rarely had Santana seen her stand up and cheer like she was doing now.
Glowing happily, the girls collapsed briefly in their seats to drink some water and pack up their bags. Quinn couldn’t believe they would be playing in the finals of their first ever professional match. She knew they were good, but it felt a little surreal to be doing so well already. Even in a smaller tournament, she was proud of them.
The girls rose together and headed back into the facilities.
Sue was waiting for them in the gym area they’d been using all tournament. Santana and Quinn got onto two stationary bikes for their customary cool-down.
“Excellent, ladies. Let’s finish this thing tomorrow, huh?” Sue said, pacing in front of them. They nodded in tandem.Sue continued to give them notes, small areas of improvement, but didn’t actually have all that much to say. They’d played just about flawlessly. As Sue turned to leave, Santana spoke up.
“Where are we going after this?” Santana said cockily, wiping her forehead with the edge of her shirt.
“One thing at a time, Lopez.” Sue said, eyes narrowed. She swept out of the room. Quinn just shook her head at Santana’s attitude.
As they finished up on the bikes, Quinn cocked her head towards the back of the room. Time for their ice bath. Santana hated it, but Quinn didn’t mind it much. It was painful at first, but the ice could at least clear her mind.
They quickly rinsed off and changed into fresh sports bras and spandex shorts, which would be good for stretching out later too. Santana grabbed the TV remote and flicked it on. Quinn groaned internally. They’d been watching every single one of Brittany’s matches. Almost all the Hobart matches actually, but Santana only paid attention to Brittany’s.
It was nice that Quinn wasn’t watching alone anymore. But sometimes she missed the silence. Santana would rant and rave through each match, criticizing all the players and explaining what she would’ve done differently. It was tomorrow, the 14th, already in Hobart, so it was the finals. And Brittany had made it to the finals. Quinn expected Santana would be seething with jealousy at this one if Brittany won.Brittany’s match was already halfway through when Santana turned to that channel. Brittany was up 4-3, and serving. As she aced her opponent with a left-handed serve, the TV flashed her serve speed. 115 mph.
“Damn.” Santana said through her chattering teeth. She was struggling to slow her hyperventilating from the icy shock of the tub.
As the girls watched, Brittany held her serve and broke her opponent’s serve, winning herself the first set 6-3. The girls got out of the tub and toweled off. Santana gratefully called for a trainer immediately, while Quinn defrosted a bit longer in a fluffy robe.
The trainer expertly stretched Santana’s muscles, but as she warmed back up she had more to say about the match. Quinn finally put her earbuds in subtly so she could relax. Santana didn’t even notice, as it was normal for her to speak and not get much response from Quinn.
Brittany won the second set as well, 7-5, winning her the first place prize in her first ever major tournament. The volume of Santana’s voice rose in tandem with her jealousy, and Quinn huffed, tugging out her earbuds that were no longer useful.
“I swear, we should’ve been playing singles and doubles already!”
“For all Sue’s supposed connections, I don’t know how she couldn’t manage to get us a wild-card at a bigger tournament.”
“I’ll bet once she plays another lefty, she’ll go down, hard.”
Quinn deigned to respond drolly, “What, another lefty like you?”Ignoring this, or perhaps not registering it, Santana just kept going.
“Once we win tomorrow, we should join the WTA. No more of this ITF, baby crap. We’re better than this.”
Sue, ever quiet, snuck into the room again.
“Lopez, shut your overlarge trap. Lay back down and get stretched out.” Sue snapped, taking everyone by surprise.
Santana jumped up instead, doubling down. She started accusing Sue of sabotaging them, of being a terrible coach, of holding them back. Quinn rubbed her temples, wishing to be anywhere else. Santana switched into Spanish, hands gesturing wildly.
Sue just stood there, letting Santana run out of steam. She snuck a look at her watch after several minutes.
“Are you done?” Sue finally said, once Santana had stopped yelling. Santana crossed her arms, scowling, but didn’t say anything else.
“I didn’t even bother listening to what you were saying, but I’m getting the gist: you’re blaming me for the ballerina’s success? Is that correct?”
Santana flushed a little. It sounded ridiculous, but wasn’t exactly wrong, Quinn thought.
“No! That’s not—” Santana attempted.
Sue put her hand up in the air to stop her. “Zip it.”
“Tennis is a physical game. But you know what’s more important than a physical game?” Sue paused, looking at both Santana and Quinn’s faces. “The mental game. And judging by your little outbursts, Lopez, perhaps you’re not the player that you think you are. Your mental game is all over the place, and until you get that in order, it will dictate your physical game. I’ve put up with it until now because it reminded me of a young Sue Sylvester, but it’s getting a little tired. Perhaps I need to focus exclusively on Q’s singles career going forward.”
Santana slumped into a chair at Sue’s words. Quinn winced, thinking she’d been a little harsh.
“Although I’m not sure either of you have your head screwed on straight. It’s not healthy to be obsessed with watching one player all the time. Particularly if you’re not going to be playing them anytime soon. I’d focus on the match–and players–in front of you tomorrow, instead of some girl playing halfway across the world.”
Sue spun and exited the room as quickly as she’d arrived.
The trainers, wisely, followed her out the door. They’d seen enough of Santana to know they don’t want to be around for the aftermath of Sue’s vicious words.
Quinn started packing up in silence, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Santana was ominously quiet but had agitated, jerky movements as she also started to pack up.It didn’t drop until they were back at their hotel that night. Quinn put on tennis, flicking quickly past a recap of the tournament in Hobart where Brittany was being interviewed after her win.“I wasn’t watching her. I was watching the tournament! As Sue has been telling me to do for years now.” Santana complained quietly.
“Yeah, I know.” Quinn said, recalling Santana’s complete lack of interest in the other Hobart matches. Not the time to side with Sue. They did have a match to win tomorrow.
Santana went off and showered, but it was obviously still bothering her when she came out of the bathroom. Toweling off her hair, she laid on her bed on her stomach, facing away from the TV.
“Fucking Sue. I swear she gets off on threatening to quit on us.” Santana spat out of nowhere.
Quinn looked up from her phone, startled, and set it down slowly. She felt compelled to point out the truth.
“Well…you did threaten to fire her first.”
Santana’s head snapped to the side to glare at Quinn.
“You did! I know it was in Spanish, but I’ve heard you say it enough to know what you said. And so has Sue.” Quinn stood her ground in spite of the angry heat radiating off of Santana.
“She was being a complete bitch. That’s not how a coach should act. They’re supposed to be, like, supportive, and shit.”
Quinn shot her own look at Santana. “She’s also supposed to make us better.”
Santana stomped into the bathroom, trading her towel for a hairbrush. She ripped aggressively through her hair. The tearing noises as she plowed through the knots in her hair made Quinn want to cover her ears.
“Don’t be like that, Santana. You know she’s right. We should have been watching the films of Nicolls and Stewart.”
They’d be playing against Nicolls and Stewart tomorrow in the finals, and hadn’t seen them play other than in passing, at one of their early round matches.
“C’mere.” Quinn patted the center of her bed. Santana wanted to resist, Quinn could read across her face, but ultimately sat down.
Quinn set up her laptop at the foot of her bed with film of their opponents that Sue had sent yesterday. Santana stiffened, but didn’t argue. As Quinn took the hairbrush from her grip she surrendered it easily.Quine carefully brushed through the knots in Santana’s hair, taking her time. They watched the film together without saying anything.
Once it was over, Santana stood to go back to her bed. Wordlessly, Quinn tugged her back down by the arm and started to braid her now brushed hair. It was half-dry and getting frizzy from the Florida humidity.
Tugging her own hair tie off her wrist, Quinn finished the end of the braid. Usually, playing with her hair was Santana’s kryptonite and made her drowsy. Tonight she was still keyed up, but Quinn couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Santana stood again to go to her bed, turning back briefly.
“I didn’t need to see their tapes to beat them. You and I, together,” Santana paused briefly on the last word, slightly glazed eyes catching Quinn’s. “We can beat anyone.”
Despite the confidence of the words, Santana’s face looked a little doubtful.
“I know that. It can’t hurt to be as prepared as possible though, like Sue said.” Quinn agreed softly.
Santana’s brow only furrowed a little and she sat on the edge of her bed, turning off the lamp abruptly. Quinn frowned as she pulled back the comforter and got into her own bed.“Santana.” Quinn said firmly, before Santana could turn away. Suddenly, Quinn thought she knew what was wrong, what was bothering Santana so much about this particular argument with Sue.“Sue was right,” Quinn started, “about most of what she said.”
Quinn sensed rather than saw Santana freeze like a deer in headlights, waiting to see what Quinn would say next.
“But she will never quit on you. And if she ever tried…just know I would never keep being coached by her. We’re a package deal. Besides, nobody does my best friend dirty and gets away with it, especially not Sue Sylvester.”
The blue glow of the laptop just barely illuminated the slack relief wash over Santana’s features. Quinn’s eyes were straining to see in the dim light, but she swore the hint of the smile came across Santana’s lips just before, in a rustle of bedsheets, Santana practically crushed her in a tight hug.
Quinn’s surprised laugh came out as a silent puff of air, literally squeezed out of her by Santana’s arms wrapping around her back. Amused, Quinn tried to catch her breath to make a lighthearted joke.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Santana nuzzled her face deep into Quinn’s neck and Quinn felt the tears running down Santana’s cheeks. Oh, Quinn thinks blankly, rubbing Santana’s back soothingly instead. Santana’s shaking with the effort to suppress her sobs, trying to hide that she’s crying, even as her tears betray her by blatantly marking Quinn’s neck.
Santana sniffled, pulling back to swipe at her nose. Quinn’s eyes stared into hers too intensely for her liking and she started to pull back further in embarrassment.
Quinn just pulled her back into a hug, tucking her under the comforter too.
“Oh, San…” Quinn said, barely a whisper. “You know I love you.”
Santana couldn’t speak, but Quinn felt all the air rush out of her lungs as she sighed deeply, melting into Quinn’s bed in relief and falling asleep within a few minutes.
The next day
“I had no doubt in them.” Sue said into the microphone. “This is just the first win to start off their careers. You’ll be seeing them everywhere - you can bet your bottom dollar on it.”
Santana rolled her eyes, but smirked just the same. Who’s mental game was bad, again, Sue? she wanted to call out, but Sue was giving an important interview to Tennis.com about their win today.
The first win, at their first tournament. Not too shabby.
They’d played on absolute fire, the best match they’d ever played together. They were just perfectly in sync, and each placing every shot perfectly. It felt like the highest high to play like that, and Santana wanted to feel it all the time. It was addictive. God, that one point where Santana served and followed it in, and then Quinn got the overhead, but it was returned and then —
Santana was taken out of her reverie by Quinn’s elbow gently nudging her.
“Let’s get stretched out, S. I want to get out of here ASAP, get on the road. The jacuzzi at home is calling our names.”
—---WTA Rankings:

Singles
Quinn Fabray: N/ASantana Lopez: N/ABrittany Pierce: 272
Doubles
Quinn Fabray: 1131Santana Lopez: 1131Brittany Pierce: N/A

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Indian Wells, CA, Monday, March 6th
In between practice sessions, Santana couldn’t help but to check the updated WTA rankings. They came out every Monday, except for if the Monday fell during the middle of a major or grand slam tournament. Luckily, the BNP Paribas didn’t start for two more days.
Scanning the doubles rankings, Santana finally reached the scores of exactly 100, which she and Quinn shared. After their first W25 tournament, they’d competed in another in Florida, Arizona, and California, winning all three. So they each had 100 points even, and a tied ranking of #587 in doubles.
It was slow going, but at least they were winning. And Sue still wasn’t charging them for her time, thank God. She’d take their winnings later, but as for now, each girl was only taking home somewhere between one and two thousand for each tournament win. Their careers were mostly funded by Sue, which they’d pay for in the future, and also the Lopez and Fabray family credit cards.
What Santana had really been itching for was getting to the bigger tournaments, with more prize money and more points and more prestige. And they were here now, at BNP Paribas, thanks to Blaine actually. He’d secured them a chance to play in the qualifying round, and they’d made it into the real tournament.
Speaking of Blaine, that reminded her of Brittany. Sue had made it clear that she should focus on watching players she’d actually be playing, and she’d listened for the most part. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking up Brittany’s singles ranking. She didn’t have to scroll far. There, #35 in the world in singles, was Brittany S. Pierce. Clicking on her profile, Santana saw that she’d managed to win a few more tournaments since Hobart. Damn, Santana thought.
—-
Indian Wells, CA, Friday, March 10th

After winning their second match of the tournament, Quinn and Santana quickly went through their post-match routine before showering and heading to the catering tents. It was only open to players and coaches. The food was alright, but the most fun thing to do was people-watching. Suddenly they had been thrust into an environment full of all the legendary players they’d grown up watching, and both girls were enjoying the novelty of the experience. They just had to be cool about it.
The girls grabbed some chicken Caesar salad wraps and filled up their water bottles, looking for an empty table. As Quinn scanned the room, she saw a familiar face. She nodded in that direction to call Santana’s attention to Brittany, sitting by herself at a small four person table in the corner.
“No, Quinn. We just finished playing, I’m too tired to play fake nice right now.” Santana stated, turning the other direction.
Too late, though, Brittany had seen them and was waving enthusiastically. Santana rolled her eyes, but followed Quinn towards her.
Quinn sat in the seat next to Brittany, leaving Santana to sit on the other side. Brittany was gabbing already. Santana tried to tune her out and eat her wrap, but couldn’t seem to do it.
“I’m so glad we’re playing the same tournament finally!” Brittany gushed. “I had so much fun on New Year’s.”
“Yeah, me too.” Quinn said. “And you’ve been killing it on the court, I’ve seen.”
“Thanks! You girls have been too, I’ve been watching all your matches when I can.” Brittany beamed at Quinn. “The ones that have been televised anyways.”
Santana frowned at Brittany’s unintentional barb. She didn’t even seem to realize what she’d said, or the unspoken implication that the tournaments they’d been playing were so insignificant that they weren’t televised.
“That’s nice of you. We’ve watched you too, almost all of Hobart. Didn’t we, Santana?” Quinn prompted Santana to join the conversation.
“Uh-huh. So are you getting a bunch of sponsors now that you’re ranked highly?” Santana pried. Quinn widened her eyes at Santana’s baldness, but Brittany didn’t seem to mind.
“I guess, yeah. Blaine and Will are trying to help me decide which offers are best. Blaine said if I do well at this tournament they’ll probably be even more, and they might increase how much they’re offering me.” Brittany said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“That’s great—”
“Who’s offered you? How much are they offering?” Santana leaned forward.
“Santana! You cannot ask her that.” Quinn immediately snapped, looking shocked.
“I don’t mind. I’d tell you, but I’m not allowed to. I signed those papers, that makes it confident. At least until I pick one.”
Quinn paused, trying to process that. “Confidential?”
Santana smirked.“Yeah.” Brittany blushed. “Sorry, I get words mixed up a lot.”
“Anyways, are you playing singles this time? Maybe we’ll get to play with each other!” Brittany moved on.
“Wanky.” Santana said under her breath.
Quinn shot her another warning look. “No, not yet. Just doubles for now.”
Brittany stuck out her lip. “Well, we should still hang out sometime this week. I mean, if you want to.”
“I’m not sure we’ll have time between matches, practicing, and recovery. But maybe at the end of the tournament. When we’ve both won!” Quinn joked.
“I don’t know if I’ll have time. I’m going straight to the Miami Open after. It starts the day after finals here.” Brittany said, sounding disappointed. “Why don’t you come to dinner tomorrow night?”
Santana was wondering how Brittany was able to do frivolous things like go out to dinner during a tournament. It would be their day off, since all three of them had played today, but still. Not to mention heading to another tournament so soon. Quinn hesitated too, leaving Brittany unanswered a bit too long.
“Sorry, you guys probably have other stuff to do. Nevermind.” Brittany said quickly, returning her focus on her burger.
“We’d just have to check with Sue.” Quinn said.
“Oh, ok. Well I’m sure she can come too. Blaine said it’s his favorite restaurant and—”
“Blaine’s going?” Santana interrupted. Brittany nodded.
“Yeah. He has a timeshare nearby, so he’s spent a lot of time here.” Brittany explained.
“What kind of guy has a timeshare in his twenties? Aren’t those, like, scams for elderly people?” Santana said savagely. Brittany’s jaw dropped but then she started giggling. Quinn rubbed her temples.
“I’m sure we can make it, Brittany, what I meant is that we have to make sure Sue doesn’t have something else planned for us that night.” Quinn said quickly. Getting another opportunity to have Blaine’s attention was definitely not something they should miss.
Brittany finished the last of her fries, balling up the wrapper from her basket.
“Great! I’ve got to go meet Will, text me if you can make it. You found my note, right? With my number on it?” Brittany stood to leave.
“Yes. I will. See you later.” Quinn said, sneaking a glance at Santana. Did they ever find the note.
“Bye!” Brittany waved, walking away with a spring in her step.
Once she was out of earshot, Santana groaned. “God, she’s annoying. She’s got, like, too much energy going on.”
“You’re lucky she’s so sweet; you were asking super rude questions. You don’t ask people about money. Or insult an agent to his client.”
Santana shrugged, attacking her forgotten Caesar wrap with gusto. “If she wasn’t his client, I wouldn’t even be talking to her at all.”
“That’s really fucked up, Santana.”
“Oh, please. You were all like ‘we’re busy’, ‘we have to ask Sue’, until she mentioned Blaine being there.”
Quinn crossed her arms. “Yeah. Everything I said is true. But it does sound like it could be an opportunity to prioritize…”

Santana snorted. “You want to use her too. I’m just being straight-up about it, and you’re pretending you want to be friends so you don’t feel guilty about using her.”
“Two things can be true at once. I like Brittany.” Quinn shot back. “I’d go to dinner with her even if Blaine wasn’t going.”
“Sure. I doubt Sue will even let us go.”
“I’ll handle Sue. What we really need to worry about is having you practice appropriate conversation topics, since you seem to love asking super invasive questions.”
—---
Indian Wells, CA, Saturday, March 11th
Nearly two hours into dinner, Santana was wishing she could be asleep back in her hotel room. Blaine hadn’t thought they’d need a reservation since his friend worked here and always got him a table. Only, his friend wasn’t working tonight after all. So they’d waited outside for 30 minutes with the other schmucks, sweating in the desert heat, before finally being seated.
The food was good, Santana could admit. It was a beautiful Italian restaurant. It was just busy, and the food had taken a long time to come out. She’d been sitting there listening to Blaine drone on about all sorts of things, his many trips here, the tournament, when Matt Rutherford would be recovered enough to play again. It was fine, but their careers hadn’t been mentioned at all. So she was starting to feel like she’d come to this for no reason at all.
Just when they were finishing up, some acquaintance of Blaine’s walked in, and Blaine went over to chat with him. He left his credit card on the bill which was nice, but now they were stuck sitting in the booth.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom before we leave.” Quinn said, sliding out the end of the booth.
Santana swirled the ice around in her water with the straw. Fucking Quinn, why would she leave her alone with Brittany?
Looking up, Santana saw Brittany was picking at her nails, looking a little uncertain too. Unfortunately, she sensed Santana’s gaze, and looked up too.
“So, are you still seeing that guy?” Brittany said, eyes darting around Santana’s face nervously.
“What guy?”
“From the band. On New Year’s. He was hot in a grungy kind of way.” Brittany said.
Santana nearly laughed out loud. What was his name again? Something stupid…Puck.
“Oh, yeah, not really.”
“Oh. I saw that his band is playing at Coachella this year. I think I’m going to take a few weeks off after Miami and go to that. Blaine gets free tickets, and he said I could stay at his place with him and his friends if I want.”
“Nice.”
“I was wondering if you’d be there too, maybe, to watch him or something. But I guess not.”
Santana suddenly felt a bit defensive. Did Brittany think he’d dumped her?
“Yeah, it wasn’t serious like that. I mean, he gave me his number, but I’ve been busy with tennis so I haven’t texted him.” She lied.
“Totally. Plus he was bad.”
Santana cocked her head. She didn’t quite remember that night, so she wasn’t sure what Brittany meant by that. “What do you mean?”
“He left you in that bathtub by yourself, when you were sick, and went to bed. That’s not very nice.”
Santana flushed with embarrassment at the reminder that Brittany had seen her that night, at her worst.
“I…I think he was probably asleep already, and I went in there to throw up.”
Brittany frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. But he was also sort of creepy towards me and Quinn before you left the party.”
“Um, how so?”
“He suggested Quinn and I join you.” Brittany shivered at the thought, looking disgusted.
“What a perv. I bet that raised Quinn’s hackles.”
Brittany looked at Santana curiously. “You were there too. You just said ‘Let’s leave.’ Or something.”
“Oh. Right.” Santana said. God, did he really say that in front of her?

“You don’t remember.” Brittany said suddenly, eyes searching Santana’s.
“Yeah, I remember now that you reminded me.”
“You don’t have to lie. I can tell. You have very…expressive eyes.” Brittany offered quietly.
Santana snorted, dropping her eyes onto the table and picked up her water glass. “No, I don’t.”
Brittany shrugged. “I think you do. It’s not a bad thing. They’re really pretty too.”
Santana choked on her water, coughing harshly for a good thirty seconds. Brittany looked concerned, but Santana waved her off.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not dating him. You can do way better than that. I don’t think I want to go watch his band again. I know they’re one of Blaine’s favorite bands though, so Blaine’s super excited about that.”
Blaine and Quinn suddenly reappeared. “What am I super excited about?”
Santana felt her heart start pounding. Oh, God. If Brittany recounts her hookup with Puck to Blaine, that would be so embarrassing.
Brittany winked at Santana. “Oh, we were just talking about Coachella. And how you and I are both excited to go.”
Blaine grinned widely. “Oh, yeah! I went for the first time last year, it’s hard to secure my place during those weekends. I’m super excited to go again this year. Have you girls been before?”
Quinn and Santana both shook their heads.
“Well, I don’t know what your plans are, but I can probably get more free tickets from a friend of mine. If you’re interested, let me know.”
“Wow, thanks, Blaine! That sounds like a great time, I’m just not sure of our schedules yet for tennis.” Quinn said.
“Of course. When will you girls be playing singles, by the way? Or have you decided to stick with doubles?” Blaine asked. Finally, they were talking about their careers.
“Very soon.” Santana said hopefully, not really knowing if this was true. Sue wouldn’t say.
“Great. Looking forward to watching. Listen, I’ve gotta get going. But I’ll be in Miami next month with Brittany, maybe we can chat again? I’d love to get Sue’s ear too about your singles careers. Depending on your performance here, you might leverage your success into some more wild cards in singles, at bigger tournaments.” Blaine stood, collecting his credit card from the table.
“Yeah, absolutely.” Quinn confirmed. The girls stood up too, walking out the front to the balmy air. The heat was terrible during the day, but it mellowed at night and felt pretty nice.
“And let me know about Coachella, too. You can crash at my place if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch or air mattress. I keep inviting more people, probably too many, but the more the merrier, right?” Blaine joked as they walked towards their cars.
“Absolutely. Thanks for dinner, it was really nice to catch up.” Quinn said, always polite.“Of course. Goodnight.” Blaine nodded, ducking into his car.
The girls walked a little further towards their cars at the back of the parking lot.
“This is me.” Brittany pointed to a white Jeep. She stepped forward to hug Quinn, and then Santana. She squeezed tightly before stepping back. Santana could smell a faint citrusy smell that was familiar.“I’m glad you could both make it. I’ll see you around the tournament, right? And in Miami?”
“Thanks for inviting us. Yeah, we’ll definitely see you soon. Good luck!” Quinn said happily, unlocking their rental car a few places away. She looked pointedly at Santana.
“Yeah, thanks.” Santana muttered.
“Good luck to you too. We should have a girl’s night in Miami! Blaine’s great and all, but he talks a lot. It’s kinda boring sometimes.” Brittany admitted.“Sure. Goodnight!” Quinn called as she walked to the car. Brittany waved, watching them getting into the car before getting in her own.
Santana adjusted the radio on their rental car as Quinn exited the parking lot, looking for something upbeat to distract her from whatever that dinner had been.
“Why the fuck did you agree to ‘girl’s night’?” Santana complained. “That sounds hellish.”
Quinn huffed. “What did you want me to say? No?”
“I don’t know, come up with something. Maybe we should try to get another agent. We’re going to be stuck with her all the time. Blaine seems to just follow her on tour.”
“We don’t have any other interest from other agents yet. We can seek some out I guess. But I don’t get what your problem with her is. She’s like the nicest person I’ve ever met.”
“My problem is that I’m trying to play tennis, not make friends, and she doesn’t seem to pick up on that.” Santana said harshly. “And if Blaine hadn’t signed with her, I bet he’d have signed us both already.”
“Santana, we don’t know that. We didn’t even know her then, so getting to know her is only going to help us as far as signing with Blaine goes.”
“It’s not helping my sanity. She was asking me a bunch of questions about that guy I hooked up with on New Year’s, it was annoying. It felt like she felt, like, pity for me or something, and was saying how he was mean to me.” Santana ranted.
“Sounds like she was just trying to keep the conversation going. Sure, she’s a little over eager, but why are you getting so worked up about it?”
“It’s irritating. She also said I have ‘expressive eyes’, and she thinks they’re pretty. Can you believe that? Those are weird things to say to someone you barely know.” Santana elaborated, trying to put words to the uncomfortable way Brittany made her feel. That unsettled, flighty feeling in her gut when Brittany looked right in her eyes.“You’re mad that she…complimented you?” Quinn said quizzically.
“No…no! She’s just always around, and asking us to hang out. It’s pathetic. I want her to leave us alone. I’m not going to stupid girl’s night.” Santana said in a raised voice.“Enough, Santana. We’ll see what happens. Let’s focus on the tournament and worry about that later. Or, you know, not worry about it, since it’s not a big deal or worth getting upset about.”
“I’m not upset!” Santana yelled.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The good news, to Santana, was that she and Quinn did not end up making it to girl’s night with Brittany in Miami after all. The bad news was the reason why: Quinn injured her knee during the quarterfinals at Indian Wells. They were forced to pull out mid-match, which was frustrating because they’d been playing so well. It felt like their chance to get more attention, and they’d fallen short of their potential. Still, it was necessary. She’d been diagnosed later with a Grade 1 ACL sprain, which would take somewhere between 2-4 weeks to heal. They’d at least made more money, and further improved their doubles ranking.
With Quinn out for the count, Sue decided to pivot, and allow Santana to play in a singles tournament. She’d gotten a spot to play at a W25 tournament in Jackson, Mississippi in early April. It was a clay court, not her favorite, but she’d done alright. Santana had been surprised by how challenging it was to go back to singles after so long in doubles only. She’d never admit, but she missed having Q on the court with her. Quinn had a funny way of keeping her head on straight; she always seemed to know the right words to get Santana back on track when needed. By herself, it was lonely. She was fighting against her own thoughts the whole time, and only had herself to blame.
She managed to get to the finals by some mixture of scrappiness, will, and luck. The morning of the match, she’d overheard some coaches talking about Brittany’s success at the Miami Open, just off the heels of her semi-finals run at Indian Wells. During that match, she felt totally off. The ball just wasn’t coming off her racquet right, and she felt sluggish. Nothing went her way, and she felt like every move she made was the wrong choice.
Sue rightfully reamed her out afterwards. Santana couldn’t describe what happened, since she didn’t quite understand herself. Quinn tried to comfort her, but that only felt like further salt in the wound. For the first time, Santana found herself doubting her ability to succeed as a singles player. If she was struggling already, at a W25 tournament, how would she ever get to a Grand Slam?
Once Quinn gave up trying to cheer her up, Santana decided to distract herself by texting Puck. That, at least, would make her feel good about herself.
The night after dinner with Brittany, when she’d reminded Santana of Puck, Santana had looked him up on Instagram out of curiosity. Something about Brittany’s judgement and opinion of Puck rubbed Santana the wrong way. She’d been about to DM him, when she saw he’d actually sent a DM request that she’d missed. It was from New Year’s Day.Puck’s DM read: Heyyy, had fun last nite. Wouldn’t mind hanging again ;) how long you in sydney forSantana didn’t remember the night so didn’t care much about repeating it, but had something else in mind. As someone who prided themselves on pop culture knowledge, she knew all too well the power of PR couples. She’d make a great PR manager herself, she thought. Anyways, she wanted to speed up her name recognition in the tennis world. What better way than being spotted with Noah Puckerman of The Pool Boys. Of his million Instagram followers, surely some would become interested enough to follow her. At least, that was the goal.
So she’d cheekily responded, 3 and a half months later: do I know u?
Puck followed her that day, and thus began their flirtatious texting. For several weeks now, they’d sent steamy messages back and forth. Santana had indirectly hinted at meeting up soon and Puck seemed very interested.
Checking her phone, she saw his latest messages. He’d wished her luck on the match, which was surprisingly sweet. Scowling at the reminder of her loss, she fired back:

Taking some time off soon to loosen up…know anybody who could help w that?

Puck responded just a few minutes later, with the raised hand emoji and a message.
Puck: Come out to LA this weekend, i know just the guy
Santana: can’t this weekend, tournamentAs she waited for his response to her lie, Santana prayed she’d get the invite she was fishing for. Really, Brittany had given her the idea. Coachella would be the perfect place to get spotted with Puck. So many fans recording everything, someone would be bound to catch a “private” moment between the two of them.
Puck: damn, that sucks. Going to be playing some shows the next couple weekends, then on tour. Maybe you can be a groupie ;)
Santana huffed in frustration. Like she wanted to be Puck’s groupie. He’s close to the invite. C’mon, Puck, use your brain, Santana prayed silently.
Santana: maybe…but i’ll be playing full time again after april. That’s alright, ive got a pro on stand-byPuck: come out to coachella, i’ve got a vip pass for youSantana: idk, that’s my friends bday weekend, don’t want to ditch our plansPuck: bring your friend. I’ll hook u up
Puck: cmon santana, ur driving me crazy
Santana: i’ll ask my friend but don’t count on itWith that, Santana slipped her phone away smugly. Gotta play a little hard to get. Most girls would jump at the chance to get a VIP pass to Coachella from a boy band member, but she wasn’t most people. And she knew the rules of the game. The surest way to keep Puck interested was to seem a little indifferent, guys seemed to love that.
—----Friday, April 14th, Coachella Music Festival
Quinn couldn’t believe they’d actually managed to get here. Santana had somehow finagled two VIP passes for herself and Quinn for the whole weekend, courtesy of that idiot Puck. Quinn was hesitant to accept them, but he was nicer this time. He wished Quinn a happy birthday, which Quinn accepted with confusion due to Santana frantically nodding at her behind Puck’s back. Santana could be so weird.
For all the hype about Coachella, the reality was a little more uncomfortable than the cute social media pictures portrayed. It was in the desert, so it was roasting outside. It was also incredibly dusty. A lot of people, probably veterans of the festival, wore bandanas to cover their faces. Quinn was also still in a knee brace, which wasn’t fun or cute.“I’m going to text Brittany.” Quinn announced to Santana, as they stood in line to get drinks. It was still early in the day, so they were just walking around and exploring everything.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. She can’t even get into the same areas as us.”
“She can if we go out into the main part, like we are now. C’mon, it’ll be fun to see her.”“For you, maybe. I’m just here to see Puck– and Beyonce.” Santana smiled at the thought. Her plan was falling right into place. She grabbed their cold drinks and led Quinn to an empty spot on the grass where they could sit.Quinn groaned. “What do you even see in that asshole?”
“His face, his abs, him being the lead singer of a famous band…should I continue?”
“Shallow as ever.” Quinn remarked. “Don’t you ever want someone to like you for you, instead of just wanting to hook up with you?”
“Not really. I’m not some sap like you. Not that that’s been working out, has it?” Santana raised her eyebrows, but there was only teasing in her tone.
“It will someday. Until then, I’ll leave the Puckermans of the world to you, I guess.” Quinn sighed, leaning back in the dry grass.
—-Saturday, April 14th, Coachella Music Festival
They didn’t see Brittany until the second day of the festival, when they ran into her in the late afternoon. Quinn had been surprised not to hear back from Brittany, but she’d explained that her phone had been stolen the day before.
“I can’t believe you’re here! Why aren’t you staying at Blaine’s?” Brittany babbled as they grabbed tacos together.
“We thought it’d be a little crowded there, didn’t want to impose.” Quinn answered demurely.
Brittany nodded. “Smart. To be honest, it is a little crowded. Blaine has about six friends there, and they’re fun but it’s tight quarters.” She smiled as she described everyone getting ready in the morning, fussing over outfits and hair-dos and makeup.
“I love your outfit, by the way, Santana.” Brittany said at the conclusion of her story. Santana was wearing all black, short denim shorts with frayed edges, and a corset-style tank top, finished off with black boots, and a black bandana (she’d learned from the first day).
“Thanks.” Santana mumbled, trying to focus on her tacos.
“So where is Blaine’s crew?” Quinn asked, to keep the conversation flowing.
“Oh, I think they went to meet up with some other friends. They said something about Molly, she must be a friend of Blaine’s too.”
Santana snorted. Quinn couldn’t help but smile at Brittany’s innocence, but she explained kindly.
“Maybe. Or they might have meant molly, like the drug. I think it’s pretty popular to take it here.” Quinn said.
“Oh. Right.” Brittany nodded. “What does that one do again?”
“Well, I’ve never tried it, but it’s supposed to make you really happy.”
“That sounds like fun. But it’s already so happy here, I can’t imagine needing a drug for that.” Brittany said seriously.
“Of course you can’t.” Santana said flatly.
“Why do you say that?” Brittany asked.
“You’ve got your whole rainbows-and-unicorns thing going on.” Santana said, gesturing towards Brittany. “It’s like you’ve got sunshine coming out of your ass all the time. Although I’d say it’s an act, no one can be that happy all the time.”
“I’m not acting.” Brittany said firmly, looking upset.
“Shut up, Santana.” Quinn snapped. “Let’s go check out Glass Animals.”
—--
Saturday, 11:30 p.m.

Beyonce’s set was nearing its finish and despite the long, hot day, all three girls wished it wouldn’t end. They’d bounced around all day, hitting all their favorite bands and performers. It was exhausting.
Puck’s band, The Pool Boys, had played just before Beyonce’s performance started, and they’d raced over from the other stage to get here. Thank God for the VIP tickets. Otherwise they’d have been in the back of the crowd. Brittany’s ticket wasn’t VIP, but when Puck arrived with his ID, all he had to say was “she’s with me” and that did the trick. Not that Santana was happy about it, but whatever.
The other perk of the VIP area was that it had its own bar, and the drinks were flowing. Puck had at first kept a possessive grip on Santana’s hips so he could grind on her, which rapidly lost its appeal when she realized no one was looking over at them. No civilian paparazzi were paying attention. So she started asking him to grab drinks, and he’d bring a round back for everyone.
As she’d started to dance closer to Quinn and Brittany, and Puck disappeared to take a bump of coke, he’d stopped grabbing her. He just watched appreciatively. Brittany’s dancing once again caught Santana’s attention. She must be the best dancer she’d ever seen. It was so natural, confident, and lacked any care. Brittany could flip a switch between getting down and goofing off, especially when she pulled out the entire “Single Ladies” choreography.
Beyonce was finishing up “Love On Top”, and the crowd waited with baited breath for what would play next. As the opening beats started, there was a massive cheer for “Crazy In Love.”
Quinn screamed along, making Santana grin. Brittany danced circles around them, winding her arms across Quinn’s shoulders, down Santana’s arm, grabbing Quinn’s hands. Santana wasn’t thinking, just dancing. Brittany came closer to her again, slipping her hands onto Santana’s sides and running them from her hips to her ribs and back again. As they spun together, Santana caught sight of Puck watching them.
Puck looked like he was in heaven. He was practically drooling, mouth slightly agape. Brittany pulled ever closer, until her front was flush with Santana’s back. As her hands dropped to Santana’s hips again, Santana suddenly felt dizzy and warm, and a little short of breath. She was too hot; overheating, really, in this crowd. She might have had too many drinks. And she should stop messing around with the girls in front of Puck. Those should be his hands on her, not Brittany’s. She wrenched away suddenly, leaving Brittany’s arms hanging in the air a moment before she recovered, pivoting towards Quinn again.
Santana stumbled over to Puck. His eyes didn’t leave her body until she was in his arms, when he finally looked up at her lips, and very briefly, her eyes.
She didn’t like the dazed look in his eyes, or the way they flickered back towards Quinn and Brittany over her head. Santana started kissing Puck’s neck slowly, and then more aggressively when he squeezed her waist.
“Where’s the afterparty, Puckerman?” Santana whispered in his ear.
“Wherever you are.” Puck said back, looking down at her hungrily. Santana shivered slightly at the blatant lust in Puck’s eyes, and the rush of power she felt from his reaction. She’d have him wrapped around her finger in no time.
“Let me go say ‘bye.” Santana said softly, running her hand down Puck’s chest. He nodded blankly as she pulled away to run back to the girls.
“I’m going with Puck. See you tomorrow.” Santana half-shouted over the music in Quinn’s direction.
Quinn frowned at her, but shrugged after a moment. Nothing will get in the way of Santana. At least Santana’s not completely wasted tonight, she’ll be alright, Quinn thought. With Puck, yes, but she’ll be capable of taking care of herself.
Impulsively, Quinn turned to Brittany. “Want to sleepover tonight? And we can get ready together tomorrow?”
Brittany’s concerned brows relaxed at Quinn’s words. She clapped like a kid, jumping up and down in excitement.
“Yes, totally! Maybe we can get ready at Blaine’s and you can meet all his nice friends.” Brittany said, beaming. “What time will you be back tonight?” She directed her question at Santana.
Santana snorted, crossing her arms. “I won’t be back tonight. I’ll be with Puck. All night long.”
“Oh. Right. Have fun, then.” Brittany said quietly, barely loud enough to make out. The show had stopped, but the noise of the crowd continued.
Santana turned away without another word, and Quinn and Brittany watched unhappily as she made her way back to Puck’s side.
With a sigh, Quinn looped her arm through Brittany’s. “C’mon, Britt, let’s get out of here. There’s a couple of scooters hidden in a bush with our names on them.”“What?” Brittany laughed, confused.
“Just a trick Santana and I used at college graduation. Thought we’d try it again to beat the traffic and avoid a $200 Uber ride.”
—--
12:30 a.m.
Giggling, Brittany parked the scooter on the sidewalk in front of Quinn and Santana’s rental house. Quinn was laughing too as she pulled up just behind her, narrowly avoiding a collision with Brittany’s scooter.
“C’mon.” Quinn whispered once her scooter was parked. She grabbed Brittany’s hand and pulled her through the side yard of the house. Brittany was confused until Quinn explained, once they’d entered the backyard, that they’d only rented the guesthouse out for the weekend, not the whole place.
Quinn gave her a quick tour of the guesthouse, which consisted of two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room with a kitchenette. Brittany looked with interest into the second bedroom, clearly Santana’s, and the chaos and clothes strewn about.
“Want something to drink?” Quinn asked, standing at the open refrigerator. “We’ve got some margarita stuff here, I can make you one.”
“Sure, that sounds great. I should probably have some water too.” Brittany said, moving back into the living area.
“Yeah, me too. It feels like the air here sucks all the water out of my body.” Quinn said with a grinning, handing Brittany a water bottle before she started on the margaritas.
“Yeah, me too. It’s so fun but I’m exhausted.” Brittany commiserated, relaxing into the couch.
“Yeah, seriously. My knee and feet are killing me. Should’ve gone for comfort over style.” Quinn said. “Want to hit the hot tub for a bit before bed?”
“It’s not too late for that?” Brittany thought aloud.
“No, they said it’s fine as long as we’re quiet. I’m pretty sure the house is rented out to someone else too, haven’t even seen them.”
“Okay!” Brittany said eagerly. “I don’t have a swimsuit though.”
“You can borrow one. Here’s your drink. I’ll grab you one and we can get changed.” Quinn said, handing Brittany a delicious looking margarita on the rocks.
Once changed, the girls went back out the slider and over to the hot tub, which overlooked the pool.
As Quinn sank into the deliciously hot water, she sighed with contentment. “Ah, this feels amazing. This is one of Santana’s and my favorite things to do, margs and hot tub.”
Brittany nodded. “It’s nice. Will says I shouldn’t drink that much, I kinda miss being in college and having more freedom.”
“Yeah, Sue doesn’t want us to either. But we still do sometimes. Plus our place in Florida has a pool and hot tub, so it’s nice to relax every once in a while.”
“Santana relaxes too?” Brittany asked with curiosity, unable to imagine the intense girl kicking back in a hot tub.
Quinn grinned knowingly. “Hard to believe, I know, but she does, very rarely, manage to relax a little.”
Brittany blushed that she’d let that thought slip.
“So you live together too?” Brittany asked to change the subject.“Yeah, since the beginning of high school.”
“High school?”
“Yeah, we went to a tennis academy, so we lived in dorms like college.” Quinn explained.
“Oh, wow you guys go way back. No wonder you play so well together.” Brittany mused.
“Yeah, you get close when you’re best friends, roommates, AND tennis partners. We’re basically attached at the hip.” Quinn joked flippantly.
“You seemed really close on New Year’s, even after she was with Puck.” Brittany couldn’t help but say, remembering Quinn’s words that night when she offered to help move Santana– ‘She usually sleeps in here with me anyways.’ Brittany had been a little curious about their dynamic since then, but hadn’t had the nerve to bring it up until now.
Quinn picked up what she was asking, clearly; she eyed Brittany carefully before responding.“Yeah, I’d say we’re like sisters at this point, but I’m way closer with Santana than my actual sister.” Quinn said slowly. “I love her, but she also drives me insane. And I’m sure she thinks the same of me.”
Brittany felt, oddly, a strange sense of relief she didn’t understand. Shaking that off, she decided to further indulge her curiosity, while she had Quinn alone.
“That’s cool. I guess I just…you guys seem so different.”
Quinn laughed at the awkward look on Brittany’s face as she said that.
“Yeah, we have our differences for sure, probably you’ve noticed in our personalities. I’m more…calm, usually, or uptight, Santana says. Santana is hot and cold, and intense, which can be frustrating– or fun, depending on the situation.” Quinn gave Brittany a quick smile. “But we’re pretty similar too. We’re both really ambitious, especially with tennis, and have a similar sense of humor. And I’d say we’re both really loyal people.”
“Sounds like you complement each other.” Brittany observed. “I wish I had a best friend like that.”
“Yeah, sure. To be honest though, it took a really long time for us to become friends. And it’s still not always easy.” Quinn laughed lightly.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It took years. Sometimes I feel like I’m still getting to know her, and always will be.” Quinn smiled wanly, but Brittany could tell she wasn’t kidding.“How’d you do it?”
“I basically had to wear her down. She’s such a…complicated person.” Quinn smiled to herself as she recalled an early memory of herself and Santana, when she’d finally just shouted at Santana to clean up their room. Santana had silently started cleaning, and after that, they’d been friends.
“You know, I’ve never thought about it before. Or explained it out loud, I guess. But she pushed me away for a long time. Kinda like she was testing to see how much I’d take of her shit. And when I not only stuck around, but eventually stood up to her, it felt like I’d passed a test and was in.” Quinn continued.
“I wish she was here tonight. I’d like to hear her side of this story.” Brittany said.“Ha! I don’t think we’d be talking about this if she were here. She probably wouldn’t like me psychoanalyzing her to you, so please keep it between us.” Quinn said, taking a big swig of water after.
“Why not?” Brittany asked. She didn’t really get why Santana could be so closed off towards her. Plus, everything Quinn had said about Santana, for the most part, Brittany already knew from her few interactions with Santana.“I don’t know. She doesn’t trust people easily and she’s a very private person, even though you wouldn’t think so by how she acts sometimes.”
“She could trust me. I want to get to know her better too.” Brittany admitted.
“I know, Britt.” Quinn agreed. “Just be patient, give her time. She’s a little bit slow – I already know you’re awesome.”
Brittany giggled, but wished Santana already liked her.
“Trust me, once you're in good with her, she won’t shut up. She loves to have all these deep conversations at random times.”
“About what?” Brittany couldn’t help but ask.
“Anything at all, everything. Last time, it was what I’d change about myself, if I could change anything. Looks, personality, whatever. It got really deep.”
“Wow. I can’t imagine that.”
“I know, right. And then she’ll go suck on Puck’s neck in public. It’s like there’s two people inside her sometimes, fighting for control.” Quinn laughed, but stopped when she saw Brittany wasn’t laughing or smiling along.
“I hope you don’t think I’m shitting on her. I say it all with love. And I wouldn’t change a thing about her, it’s all just part of who Santana is. She’s a lot, but she’s my favorite person in the world.” Quinn continued, earnestly.

“No, of course not. I can tell you care a lot about her.” Brittany said hastily.
“Enough about Santana and I, tell me more about you. I know you’re from North Carolina, right? Are you still based there?” Quinn inquired.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m not really based anywhere. Will wanted to see how playing went, and I haven’t had time to get settled anywhere. We’re thinking either here in California, or maybe Florida.”
“You should join us in Boca Raton, then we could hang out more!” Quinn said genuinely. “So I have to ask – is it really true you just picked up a racquet one day and were this good? Or is that just the story for the media? I swear, I won’t tell anyone, just tell me the truth.”
Brittany chuckled. “That would be fun, I’ll talk to Will about it. The truth is…I had played tennis before.”
Brittany let Quinn react to this for a second before she clarified.
“But not really played. I think I took one lesson when I was six, and my coach told my parents I wasn’t coordinated enough to play and I was asked to not come back. I was always super clumsy, and about six inches taller than the other kids my age. They actually put me in dance classes to work on my coordination. And that’s not a secret, but it wasn’t really significant enough to count.”
Quinn was intrigued. “Really?! I can’t imagine you being uncoordinated. You look so graceful on the court. I guess dancing worked! It’s pretty amazing how you’ve picked up tennis so quickly. I’m a little jealous.”
“Yeah, luckily the dance worked. Then I was super into dance, so I never played other sports. I did cheerleading in high school for fun, but that was about it.”
“Wow, pretty cool you’re here now. What do your family and friends think?”
“My friends are mostly in the arts, so I don’t think they really understood until I was on the TV. To be fair, I’m still trying to learn more about the sport myself so I get it. And my parents are proud, but they know next to nothing about tennis too. But they’re always supportive of me, they just have to work a lot.”
“That’s nice that they’re supportive. Our families, mine and Santana’s, have always been lukewarm about it, to be honest. None of them played, so they don’t understand why we’re so into it. I think they just think it’s such a long shot to be successful, so why try? I’m pretty sure my dad would prefer I just got married and had kids.” Quinn tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but it crept in anyways.
“I’m sorry, that sucks. I hope they come around more.” Brittany said lamely, wishing she knew what to say to make Quinn feel better.“I’m sure they will, once they can mooch off our names. Nothing the Fabrays love more than status.” Quinn said wryly. “Anyways, I’m starting to get wrinkled, are you ready to go to bed?”
Brittany nodded and they got out, collecting their glasses and water bottles as they went. After they’d each had a quick rinse off in the shower, Quinn loaned her some pajamas. Quinn insisted Brittany take her bed, and she’d take Santana’s for the night.
“Goodnight.” Quinn said, closing the door to Santana’s room.
—----
4:15 a.m.
A very drunk Santana made her way down the side yard of the AirBnB, cursing the owners for not having motion-sensored lighting. Her phone was dead otherwise she’d have used the flashlight.
Puck had ordered her an Uber to get back here. She’d accompanied him to an after party at someone’s mansion, full of other band members and singers from Coachella. It was cool, and she got to meet a lot of people. Not that she knew most of them, they were not exactly the headliners. It was still fun, but she kinda wished she’d brought Quinn along with her.
Finally, once she’d had a few more drinks to deal with all the socializing, Puck had led her away and back to the hotel he was staying in. They’d finally hooked up, even though Santana was not really in the mood by that time. It was fine, but she hadn’t wanted to stay over. Puck tried to get her to stay, but she could tell he just wanted to have sex again in the morning, and she was so not up for that.
So she’d asked for an Uber home, and he’d finally ordered it. She was exhausted and dusty and sweaty. She couldn’t wait to shower and go to sleep.
Tripping on the rug, she cursed softly, closing the slider behind her. Thankfully Quinn hadn’t locked it, or else she’d have been screwed. Santana kicked off her shoes immediately and chugged an entire water bottle at the fridge. Shedding her clothes as she walked, she went into the bathroom and turned the shower on to lukewarm.
The slight chill in the shower felt amazing. She had to keep a hand against the shower wall to steady herself, but it was worth it, to wash all the sweat and dirt off.
Once she was done, she quickly toweled off and threw on her white tank top and sweat shorts, still on the floor from this morning. Releasing her hair from the bun, she brushed her teeth and then grabbed another water from the fridge before heading for bed.
Quinn’s door was still open, which was unusual; Quinn usually closed her door at night. Santana didn’t think anything of it, simply went in and closed it behind her.
By the faint moonlight, she could see the familiar blonde hair splayed across the pillow, Quinn’s little blue pjs with hearts on them. Santana set her water on the bedside table and slid under the covers behind Quinn. She snuggled right up to her, causing Quinn to stir.
Quinn rolled over and Santana rolled too; she felt like being the little spoon tonight. When Quinn didn’t move further, Santana huffed and backed into her, grabbing Quinn’s arm and draping it around her own waist. There, Santana thought, drifting into sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The bright sunlight made its appearance painfully known - right into Santana’s eyes, making the early throbbings of a hangover headache flare up. She hoped to keep sleeping it off longer. Determined to fall back asleep before she fully woke up, she rolled over and clung to Quinn’s side tightly, burying her face in Quinn’s neck to block out the light.
At the movement, Brittany stirred. She was always quick to wake in the morning, but it took her a second to place where she was and what had woken her up. She was in Quinn’s room, and, opening her eyes just a sliver, Brittany just barely held back a gasp of surprise at the dark hair in her face and the warm body hugging her. She’d been awoken by…Santana?
Brittany’s mind started racing as she took in the situation, trying to figure out why on earth Santana was here, cuddling her. It didn’t take longer than a minute to piece together what had likely happened. Santana must have come back late last night, sometime after she and Quinn went to bed, and climbed into bed, thinking Brittany was Quinn.
Which meant…Santana would be pretty surprised if she woke up and found herself in bed with Brittany. Brittany swallowed nervously, imagining how Santana might react. She clearly didn’t like her much already and this couldn’t help.
Brittany could feel Santana’s soft breaths hitting her neck. God, she was holding on so tightly. If she could just slowly back away, maybe she could sneak out of the bed, leaving Santana none the wiser.
Deciding to risk it, Brittany started to disentangle her limbs from Santana’s. It proved difficult, since Santana was basically wrapped around her left side. She moved in small increments, only centimeters at time, pausing to gauge Santana’s wakefulness.
Once most of her lower body had been edged away from Santana, Brittany cautiously reached to lift Santana’s hand off her stomach.
“Mmm..uh-uh.” Santana suddenly mumbled at Brittany’s touch, shaking her head. Brittany froze.
Santana seemed to relax fully. Brittany waited for five minutes before trying again.
Santana clutched at Brittany’s shirt, pulling her close again. Brittany instinctively pulled her head away at the same time.
“Q,” Santana rasped out, “Come back here.”
Brittany didn’t move, but just watched Santana’s face fearfully now that she wasn’t tucked into her neck. Brittany’s eyes drank in Santana’s face, which was somehow even more strikingly beautiful when relaxed in sleep. Her eyes roamed lower, blushing when she noticed that Santana’s tight tank top had ridden halfway up in the night, revealing tanned abs.
Feeling uncomfortable, Brittany started to sit up fully. Santana kept her eyes shut tightly, but a pouty look had come over her face, a small crease between her eyebrows. Brittany bit her lip and waited for the moment Santana would open her eyes and see she wasn’t Quinn.
“Can you shut the blinds? My head's killing.” Santana asked. Brittany rolled away happily, casting the room into near darkness again once she’d pulled the blinds down. She hesitated then, unsure where to go. She was up for the day, that was for sure. Maybe she’d go sit on the couch until Quinn woke up? Brittany tiptoed for the door.
As she passed the bed, Santana suddenly flung her arm out to stop her.
“I really want to sleep some more of this hangover off.”
Brittany sighed, unsure what to do and of what Santana meant by this. Santana spoke up again just before she opened her mouth to confess that it was her, not Quinn, that Santana was talking to.

“Can you just lay down and play with my hair until I fall back asleep? Please, Quinn…” Santana begged quietly.
Brittany slowly sat on the edge of the bed. She felt like she should tell Santana…but she also felt bad because that was sure to wake her up fully. Fat chance she’d fall back to sleep after that shock.
Fuck it, Brittany thought, turning towards to Santana and making herself comfortable against the headboard. At least it was dark again. Santana sighed happily as Brittany’s hands started playing with her hair gently.
“S’good…” Santana mumbled before falling back asleep. Brittany found herself mesmerized by the action and the feel of Santana’s long black hair between her fingers, so much thicker than her own hair. She absentmindedly played with it even after Santana had been asleep for a while, braiding and unbraiding, scratching small circles into Santana’s scalp.
Once she came out of her trance, Brittany cautiously inched off the bed, sneaking out the door finally. She got herself a glass of water and sat on the couch for a while, enjoying the view as the sun rose higher in the early morning sky. Checking the clock on the stove, Brittany saw that it was just past 7 a.m. She grabbed the throw blanket and tried to get comfortable.
—Quinn didn’t emerge until around 8:30, looking surprised to see Brittany on the couch.
“You’re up earlier than I’d have thought, after our late night.” Quinn said finally, once she’d taken her first sip of coffee.
“Yeah…” Brittany said.“Are you feeling ok? You seem, I don’t know, weird. Do you want some food?”
Quinn walked over to the cabinets, pulling some bread out for toast. The neighbor’s lawn mower started up, loud.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s kinda a funny story, actually–” Brittany started.
“Oww! What the hell?” Quinn cursed, as she kicked a boot that was left in the middle of the floor. It hadn’t been there last night.
Quinn looked up Brittany with sudden understanding.
“Why the fuck do old people have such a hard on for mowing their lawn in the early morning?!” Santana cursed from Quinn’s room.
Quinn’s eyes widened comically, looking from her room back at Brittany.
“Santana? What time did you come back?” Quinn asked, as Santana came moping out of the bedroom. Brittany nearly laughed aloud at her wild bedhead, hair in a lion’s mane around her face.
“I don’t know, Q, really late. Or really early.” Santana shuffled to the fridge, placing a cold water bottle against her temple.
“Did you kick Brittany to the couch?” Quinn said accusingly.
Santana turned sharply, finally registering Brittany’s presence on the couch. “Brittany?”
Santana had forgotten that Quinn invited Brittany to sleepover. But here she was, in their guesthouse, on their couch, wearing some of Quinn’s pajamas. Santana’s eyes narrowed in thought; she’d come back, and crawled into Quinn’s bed. But hadn’t Quinn been wearing those?
Locking eyes with Brittany with horror written across her face, Santana was internally panicking. Please, please, please, Santana prayed, don’t tell me I crawled into bed with Brittany last night. Maybe Quinn has two pairs of those pajamas? Looking to Quinn quickly, her last hope was dashed when she saw Quinn wasn’t in a matching set of pjs, but some sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“Santana, that is so beyond rude!” Quinn said angrily, taking their silence for confirmation.
Brittany could see Santana was freaking out, and jumped in to defend her innocent mistake.
“No, no, she didn’t kick me out! I couldn’t sleep in there so I came out here and I guess I fell asleep.” Brittany covered for Santana.
“She didn’t scare the crap out of you coming in?” Quinn asked curiously. “I’m guessing she wasn’t quiet. Luckily I’m a deep sleeper.”
“No, I didn’t wake up when she…got back.” Brittany said slowly.
Santana was dumbfounded, recalling everything. She’d cuddled up to Brittany, made Brittany spoon her, and this morning…Brittany had played with her hair to help her fall back asleep. Oh God. Why on earth had she gone along with that? And why was she lying to Quinn about it right now? Fucking fuck. She spun around and went to her own room, slamming the door behind her.
Brittany winced. She didn’t know if she’d done the right thing, by not telling Quinn. But she’d felt instinctually that Santana wouldn’t want her to say anything, at least not right then. Maybe she’d been wrong though. Was it weird that she hadn’t said something earlier this morning? She was just trying to let her sleep…It seemed like she’d never get Santana to like her.
—Santana did, in fact, ice Brittany out entirely the whole day. She’d act somewhat normal when other people were around, like at Blaine’s house, when they’d all gotten ready together. But she wouldn’t directly talk to Brittany unless forced, and in the little moments they had alone together, she ignored her pointedly.
Brittany was dying to just talk about it, get the awkwardness away already, but she never had the opportunity. Quinn seemed to pick up on it too, calling Santana out privately, but she couldn’t force them to get along.
Brittany ended up spending most of the day with Blaine and his friends, feeling miserable about it. She’d had so much fun yesterday with the girls, and now this. Over some stupid sleeping arrangements. She met up with them again for a quick dinner before the last headliner of the weekend. Quinn said goodbye, but Santana ran off with Puck without a backwards glance. and that was the last she saw of them, for a while.—
August 28th, New York
Today would be the first round of the U.S. Open. Brittany sat in her hotel room, watching the Tennis Channel for a few minutes before it was time for her to head to the courts. The commentators were, unsurprisingly, talking about Santana.
Since April, Santana’s star had been on the rise, albeit in a slower way than Brittany’s had risen. Not long after Coachella, a DailyMail article came out identifying her as the mystery girl seen out with Noah Puckerman.
The commentators were currently going over Santana’s year thus far, and how she got her spot at the US Open, her very first Grand Slam tournament.
“She won or was runner-up in a series of ITF tournaments in April and May, then went international, going far at tournaments across Europe and racking up points. Then more recently she came home to the US and won the Bank of the West tournament in California, bringing her to a ranking of #42 in the world. If you’re paying attention, she’s gone from unranked at the beginning of the year to top 50. Pretty amazing!” One of the commentators said.
“I have to say, there’s this new crop of American players coming up right now that are going to give everyone a run for their money. We’ve got Lopez, obviously Brittany Pierce has been an absolute force this year, and let’s not forget, Lopez’s doubles partner, Quinn Fabray. She’s been dealing with an injury, and hasn’t gotten to play as much, but recently has also been winning ITF tournaments.”
“Absolutely, I couldn’t agree more. My money’s on Lopez or Pierce for this tournament, there’s just such a greater motivation here, to win at your home slam. For Pierce, New York was her home city during college. And Lopez, of course, to be at the US Open for her first Slam? I can’t think of a bigger moment for her, to win at home. And as for Fabray’s future, I’ll go out on a limb here. I think not only will these three be top-rated players in the next decade, but I think that trio specifically will be a force in the next Olympics.”
“Alright, alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. We’re two and half years out from Olympics qualifiers – we’ll have to wait and see! If you’re right, Dan, maybe they’ll get a catchy name like the gymnasts do.” The women commentator said.
“I’d love to see it. We’re heading into live coverage for the first round, at Arthur Ashe Stadium. But please, someone tweet us your name ideas for our American women. Tennis trio? I don’t know, I’m not paid for my creativity.” The man chuckled, and the cameras switched to showing the first match of the day.
Brittany sighed, shutting off the TV. She’d, of course, been keeping an eye on how Quinn and Santana were doing, which was great. Santana was #42, and Quinn had jumped to the high 100s after her recovery. She didn’t love the way everyone was talking about them; herself
specifically, the pressure of her position was starting to get to her.
At the beginning, everyone was delighted by her skills and success, so anything she won was a pleasant surprise. Now that she was at the top, anything less than a win felt like a disappointment to everyone. And winning was just expected. This tournament in particular, everyone had been talking it up for her.
Now Santana was getting the same attention, so Brittany imagined she must be feeling nervous too. Or maybe not, she never appeared nervous. Her relationship with Puck was always all over social media, and she always seemed to have a confident smirk on her face.
Brittany always felt like it was a punch in the gut when she saw a picture of the two of them together. She couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, other than she didn’t think he was a good guy for anyone to date, and it was especially annoying because it didn’t seem like Santana had liked him that much.
Brittany was the number 11 seed, and in the same bracket as Santana, who’d just squeezed in after her last tournament win. If they both won, they could eventually play each other in the semi-finals.
Gathering her belongings, Brittany tried to calm her nerves. She was actually excited to see Quinn and Santana again, especially after the weird note they’d ended on last time. She hoped she’d get a chance to talk to Santana about it, especially before they might play each other. She was kinda dreading that possibility…but she also wanted them both to succeed and get that far in the tournament.
It would be an interesting tournament, that’s for sure. Brittany was most excited that her college friends would be here to watch her. It felt like being a tennis player had completely splintered her life – into a before and after. It was lonely, traveling all year. She was so excited to see them again and catch up, it had been almost a year since she’d seen them all.—Santana tuned out Sue’s pep talk in the car over to the courts. She was in her own head, psyching herself up. She’d been working her ass off to get here, and she needed to make this count.
First, her weekend with Puck had paid off big time. Her name was out there, and it gave her a boost in popularity, some more wild cards into tournaments. She’d grinded, trying to keep getting into bigger tournaments so she could earn more points. And finally - she’d qualified for her first Grand Slam. She was in the Top 50 players, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she was number 1.
She knew she’d have to beat Brittany, most likely, to get to the finals. Good. She’d been dreaming about getting the chance to beat Brittany’s ass once and for all, and knock that smile off her face. Maybe then she’d leave Santana and Quinn alone.
When her phone chimed, Santana didn’t look at it. It could only be her family or Puckerman. Neither of whom she wanted to talk to today. Puckerman would hit her up occasionally, flying to meet her or flying her out to meet him a few times when their schedules allowed for it. Her family had finally deigned to come watch her play. It could only be the pressure of their friends that got them here; she knew her dad would rather be at the hospital. Both her parents were workaholics, in fact. She hoped they’d brought her Abuela, at least. She was hard on Santana, but at least she showed an interest in Santana’s life; she’d basically been raised by her Abuela until she was old enough to stay home by herself. Shortly after, she’d gone off to the tennis academy.
But whatever they had to say to her, she didn’t want to read it right now. Puck pissed her off easily and her parents had a way of always saying the wrong thing. She needed to focus on her tennis. She intended on winning this one.
As she entered the facilities to drop her stuff off, she quickly ducked into the bathroom when she saw a familiar flash of blonde hair coming down the hallway. Of course, Brittany would be the first person she saw here. Hopefully she hadn’t seen her.
Santana busied herself fixing her hair in the mirror, waiting until she thought it was safe to leave.
As she exited the bathroom, she couldn’t believe her luck. There was Brittany, standing right outside.
“Hi!” Brittany said exuberantly, waving even though Santana was right next to her.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Hey.”
“I thought I saw you go in there, but thought it might be weird to follow you into the bathroom.” Brittany laughed nervously. “Especially in case it wasn’t actually you.”
“Yeah, that would be weird.” Santana said flatly, turning to leave. To her frustration, Brittany turned to walk alongside her.“Anyways, it’s great to see you again. I had so much fun at Coachella, did you? It’s so cool we’re finally playing the same tournaments. Is Quinn coming to this tournament?” Brittany spoke at a mile a minute. “I hope she is. My friends from college are here, maybe we can all hang out and you can meet them!”
“Look, Energizer Bunny, I don’t have time for all these questions or to socialize with whoever. Quinn is here, you can ask her.” Santana said, trying to speed up and put some distance between them. Brittany’s long legs kept up easily.
“Sorry, I know I can be a lot in the morning. I’m just a morning person, I guess.” Brittany frowned briefly before continuing. “Where is Quinn, is she here yet or coming later?”
“Why don’t you just text her? I’m not Quinn’s keeper.” Santana snapped.
Brittany blinked, taken aback. “Okay…I just assumed that you’d be together like usual.”
Santana came to a halt, forcing Brittany to turn back. “Is there anything else? Or can I go warm-up now?”
“Are you mad at me?” Brittany said loudly, cocking her head. Santana looked around, hoping no one overheard that. She grabbed Brittany’s arm and dragged her down a side hall.
“Are you insane? You can’t just be saying that shit in here. There’s press everywhere.” Santana hissed. The hallway was completely empty.
Brittany shrugged. “Are you?”
“No. Why would I be mad at you?” Santana crossed her arms.
“I don’t know why. But you’re acting mad at me by the way you talk.”
“I’m not. I just don’t have time to keep talking right now. I want to focus on my tennis, okay?” Santana insisted, still sounding angry.
“You don’t have time to talk while walking to the courts? I was walking with you.” Brittany pointed out, quite fairly.
Santana grimaced. “God, Brittany, I just don’t feel like it! Goodbye.”
Santana tried to walk away, but Brittany pulled her back by the wrist.
“If I did something, or said something, to make you mad, just tell me what it is so I can fix it, or not do it anymore.” Brittany begged, looking at Santana straight on. “Please.”
Santana snatched her wrist back. She couldn’t believe how annoying Brittany was being, yet again.
Brittany’s blue eyes widened. “Was it the Coachella thing? I wanted to talk to you after but didn’t really get a chance before we left. To be honest, I thought you kinda avoided me that Sunday. I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but you crawled into bed with me. I didn’t even realize until the morning, I swear!”
Santana shushed her. “You cannot be saying shit like that here.”
“Was that it? Is that why you’re mad?” Brittany pressed.
“I’m not mad!” Santana insisted, whispered tone rising. “But…why didn’t you say anything once you woke up?”
“I was going to, but you just seemed so tired. So I thought I’d just let you go back to sleep.”
“So you were going to pretend that never happened, and you thought that was normal?”
“Well, I thought I’d tell you later. And I already knew you and Quinn sleep together all the time.” Brittany said, matter-of-factly.Santana rubbed her temples. Brittany would be the death of her if she didn’t learn to shut up when they were in public. All of her statements could be taken out of context and start rumors.“Okay…but why’d you lie about it to Quinn?” Santana said slowly, remembering how odd that morning had been.
Brittany looked guilty. “I don’t know. I just saw your face, and you looked…scared. So I pretended it never happened. But I felt bad after, because Quinn’s always so nice to me.”
“Unlike me, huh?” Santana snarled, suddenly super pissed off.
“Wha–?” Brittany started, but Santana held up her hand.
“Look, Brittany, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve tried to be polite, but obviously that’s not working. The truth is, you’re annoying me. I don’t want to be friends with you, or meet your stupid friends from college. We’re competitors; we might even play each other at this tournament. So us being friends is never going to happen. You can keep hanging out with Quinn, whatever, but please, for the love of God, leave me out of it.” Santana couldn’t help the words bubbling out of her, even as Brittany’s face slackened in shock the longer she talked.Brittany’s blue eyes welled up with tears as Santana finished, causing her to duck her head in embarrassment. She didn’t really know what to say to that.
“Good luck, Santana.” Brittany choked out, brushing past her and making a beeline for the locker room.
Santana felt a twinge of guilt, but shook it off as she made her way to the court. Now, finally, Brittany would stop bothering her. It wasn’t her fault the girl couldn’t read social cues to save her life. Santana reassured herself, at least now Brittany knew and could stop putting energy into a nonexistent friendship.
WTA Rankings

Singles
Quinn Fabray: 184Santana Lopez: 42Brittany Pierce: 13
Doubles
Quinn Fabray: 851Santana Lopez: 851Brittany Pierce: N/A

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was with great displeasure that Santana watched on the monitors as Brittany advanced to the next round, against Santana. She’d just finished her own match and was completely exhausted so coming into the training room to see this was just the cherry on top of a shit sundae.
They’d have a day off tomorrow before playing the following day. She would love to stretch out, shower, and head to the hotel to relax. That wasn’t in the cards for today. After several days of avoiding her family as much as possible, they’d finally appealed to Quinn to arrange something. Quinn sold them on a quick lunch today and a behind-the-scenes tour of the grounds, courtesy of Santana’s guest passes. It had better be quick.
Santana finished her stretches and took a quick shower, dressing in her comfy sweatsuit and throwing on sneakers. Her phone had several texts from her parents, asking where she was. She may have stretched out her post-match routine a little longer than it normally takes. Once Quinn started calling, she reluctantly dragged herself out of the locker room.
As she made her way to the players cafeteria, she saw none other than Brittany Pierce walking towards her again, with a small group with her. Santana averted her eyes but held her head high as she walked quickly by, but couldn’t resist a quick glance.
Brittany’s eyes met hers immediately, and she nodded a little. Santana’s gaze skirted away quickly to Brittany’s companions. A tall Asian guy, a short dark-haired girl with bangs, and a pale boy with coiffed hair and the most garish outfit on.
“Is that her?” The dark-haired girl whispered, much louder than a whisper. “That’s Santana?”
The pale boy shushed her and pulled her along faster. Santana’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, wondering what Brittany had told them about her. Nothing good, she could imagine.
Even once Santana was past them, she could still hear Brittany’s voice.
“Wait for me here, guys. I’ll be right out and then we can head to lunch.” She said briefly.
Thank God, Santana thought, as she stepped into the daylight between buildings, that she wasn’t stuck going to some lame lunch with Brittany’s friends.
Speaking of lunch, her family was already eating without her when she found them in the tent. Quinn looked at her apologetically and rose to get food with Santana once she arrived.
“Great match, today, mija.” Her dad said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
“Thanks.” Santana murmured, focused on her lunch.
“It’s so good to finally see you more than a quick hug, you’re so busy!” Her mom added.
Santana felt a flare of annoyance. What did they expect? She was a pro tennis player at a Grand Slam, this was quite literally her job.
“I know, Mom. I have a strict routine to keep me from getting injured, hopefully.” Santana said, forcing herself to stay calm.
“Of course, of course. I just hoped we’d get to see you more, since we came all the way up here.”
“You’re lucky to see her off the courts at all, usually she eats lunch between drills.” Quinn joked lamely. Santana shot her a look, grateful for the effort.
They ate in awkward silence for a few minutes. Santana was trying to figure out how quickly she could drag them through their tour, given her Abuela’s slow pace.
“Santanita, where are your manners? You’re eating like the house is on fire.” Her Abuela admonished her sharply.
“Lo siento, Abuela.” Santana muttered, chastised.
“Tell me, where is the boyfriend today?” Abuela continued, eyeing Santana.
“Boyfriend?” Santana asked, eyebrows raised.
“Si, that singer. My friend Rosa, she showed me a picture of you two. He has that awful hair. Shouldn’t he be here?” Abuela looked around the tent like Puck was hiding somewhere.
Santana wanted to disappear. “Ah, no, he’s not here.”
Her father leaned forward, intrigued. “Boyfriend? I haven’t heard anything about this. Tell us about him, Santana.”
“Um…well, he’s the lead singer of a band. The Pool Boys, maybe you’ve heard of them.” Santana said slowly. As if Puckerman was her boyfriend. Screw that nosy bitch Rosa for showing Abuela pictures of them.
“I haven’t.” Her mother chirped, looking surprised at the news too. “That’s it? How’d you two meet? Why isn’t he here?”
Santana shrugged, feeling cornered.
“He’s very busy on tour, right, San? We got introduced to him by a mutual friend, and they just hit it off. They’re such a cute couple.” Quinn jumped in, trying to fabricate a nicer version of the truth.
“Well, we’ll have to meet him soon. What’s his name? Do you have a picture?” Her mom continued.
“His name is Noah. No, I don’t have a picture.” Santana said shortly, pushing her food around on her plate.
“I don’t like the looks of him.” Abuela said darkly. Santana wondered which picture Abuela had seen.
“Okay, Abuela.” Santana sighed.
“Don’t be rude to me, Santanita, I raised you better. He looks like he’s troubled. Is he bad news, Quinn?” Abuela rounded on Quinn.
“Um…no, he’s a really, just great guy.” Quinn stammered. “Oh, excuse me, I’m going to go say hello to our friend!”
Santana saw that Brittany had just entered the tent with her friends. Quinn made a beeline for them, to avoid answering Abuela’s intuitive gaze. To add to this wonderful lunch, she led them back over.
Brittany’s friends settled themselves at the next table over. Brittany herself sat as far as possible and avoided Santana’s eye.
“This is our friend, Brittany, and her friends.” Quinn introduced. “And these are Santana’s parents and grandma.”
“Hi, I’m Mirabel, and this is my husband, Victor, and my mother-in-law, Alma.” Santana’s mom said warmly.
The girl with bangs, the loudmouth, spoke up on their behalf. “Pleased to meet you all. I’m Rachel Berry. We all went to university with Brittany, here in New York. This is Kurt and Mike.” She pointed to the pale boy and the Asian boy in turn. Santana hated her instantly.
“Ah, yes, Brittany Pierce! We saw your match the other day, you’re amazing!” Victor gushed. “Lefty and righty, what an ability.”
Santana couldn’t believe her dad. He’d never, ever praised her like that about tennis. And here he was, giving Brittany, a stranger, compliments on her skills.
“Yes, wonderful. I didn’t realize you were friends with our Santana.” Mirabel continued, beaming.
Brittany nodded humbly, uncharacteristically quiet, and pointedly avoided eye contact with Santana.
“We couldn’t wait to meet Brittany’s new tennis friends,” Rachel said loudly. “We’ve heard so much about both of you.”
Quinn looked pleased by that. Santana could tell Brittany clearly hadn’t shared that Santana bitched her out yesterday, or they wouldn’t be so friendly.
“We’ve heard about you, too!” Quinn said, smiling. “Too bad these two have such a big match to prepare for, or you all could show us around New York.”
“I’m sure we can find time. When’s your next match, Britt?” Rachel said bossily. Clearly, she knew nothing about tennis.
“Day after tomorrow.” Brittany said.
“Hm. I think we can make that work. Ooh, how about a murder mystery party tomorrow night at the loft?” Rachel clapped her hands.
“Sounds fun.” Quinn said. “I’ll come, even if Santana can’t make it.” Santana nodded absentmindedly.
“Not the night before a match.” Santana spit out. Not ever, if she could speak her mind.“Oh, come on, Santana, take a night off! If Brittany can, you can, right?” Rachel pressed. Santana’s nails started digging into her skin.
“I don’t think I should take it off either, Rach.” Brittany spoke up.
Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but Kurt stopped her. “Leave her alone, Rachel. There’ll be enough time after the tournament. We want Brittany to win first, then we can solve a murder.”
Everyone chuckled. Brittany smiled wanly, while Santana felt her jaw tighten.
“Who are you playing in the next round?” Kurt continued, looking at Brittany. “I’m so bummed Serena’s not playing this year.”
Brittany looked miserable as she said quietly. “I’ll be playing Santana, actually.”
Everyone but Quinn suddenly looked very uncomfortable, not having realized this.
“Well, go easy on her, Brittany.” Santana’s dad tried to break the ice with a poor joke. Quinn’s eyes widened.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.” Santana snapped, wiping the hesitant smiles off everyone’s faces.
Victor’s face fell and he winced. “Oh, I’m just teasing, Santanita. What’s a little game between friends, anyways, huh?”
“It’s actually my career now.” Santana continued, rising to leave.
“I’d never go easy on Santana.” Brittany said suddenly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous for a match before, actually.”
Santana stormed off. After a brief awkward pause, Brittany rose and followed her.
Brittany had to take big steps, eventually almost jogging, to catch Santana. She gently touched Santana’s arm, and she turned violently, wrenching her arm back.
“What?!” Santana snarled, a wild glint in her eye.
Brittany instinctively stepped backward to get further away. Anything she had planned to say disappeared from her head.
“I…just…”
“Spit it out, already.”
“I - sorry.” Brittany said, and she turned and went back to her friends, leaving Santana standing there.She couldn’t believe her bad luck that Quinn had dragged them over right after Santana told her to leave her alone. Even if Santana had hurt her feelings, Brittany had intended on doing as she wished and giving her space. It wasn’t her fault, but Brittany still felt bad. Especially when the conversation took such an awkward turn.
Back inside, her friends had tried to pick up a conversation again with the Lopez family. Quinn looked at Brittany curiously, asking silently about Santana. Brittany shrugged slightly, and watched as Quinn’s shoulders drooped. Rachel was going on and on about some off-off-Broadway show that her friend was starring in. Kurt patted Brittany’s leg under the table, seeming to sense the stress she was feeling.
When Rachel finally took a breath, Quinn jumped in.
“Hey, how about that tour now? I’ll show you all around.” She looked at the Lopezes for confirmation. Maribel looked grateful for the excuse to leave; Victor was still looking guiltily into his plate.
“Finally.” Alma said drolly, rising slowly with her cane. “I need to take my afternoon siesta soon.”
As they walked away, Quinn waved awkwardly.
“Do you think…will Santana join us?” Victor asked Quinn miserably as they walked away.
Rachel had the sense, at the very least, to wait until they were out of earshot to start asking questions.
“What was that?” She said urgently as Quinn ushered Alma out the door.
“It’s just, Santana.” Brittany said, helpless to explain everything.
“I thought you two were friends.”
Kurt sighed dramatically. “Rachel, that was less about Brittany and more about her dad, right? At least, that’s what I thought.”
“Still, she’s a bit…intense. Isn’t she?” Rachel countered.
Brittany struggled to respond. “Uh, I guess.”
“Is she normally like that?” Rachel continued, leaning towards Brittany.
Mike rescued Brittany, seeing the look on her face. “Lay off her, Rachel. They’re both probably nervous about the match, so let’s let Brittany focus on that. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know Santana better later.”
Brittany shot Mike a grateful look, declining to disavow that notion. What would she even say? Actually, Santana pretty much hates me, and doesn’t want anything to do with me or us.
Rachel sniffed. “Well, Quinn seemed nice enough. Do you think she’ll still come to our murder mystery night?”
Kurt groaned, and Brittany and Mike couldn’t help but laugh.—After a quick tour of the venue for the tournament, Quinn walked the Lopezes out and parted ways with them, rushing back to the locker room to look for Santana. She’d wanted to chase after her earlier but worried that her family would follow, which wouldn’t have ended well.
Nearly an hour of scouring every inch of the facilities, Quinn decided Santana must have gone back to the hotel. She walked back the fifteen minutes it took, trying to think about what she’d say when she got there.
Letting herself first into her own room, she then continued through the adjoining door to Santana’s room. She found Santana on the floor with her headphones on, blasting it loud enough that Quinn could clearly hear the song.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Quinn poked Santana with her foot cautiously. Santana’s eyes flew open, clearly startled. Quinn mimed taking her headphones off and Santana rolled her eyes but did so anyway.
“How’d the tour go?” Santana inquired sarcastically.
“Fine. Wish you’d stayed though.”
Santana shrugged. “I can’t stand to be around them that long.”
“You can take my family around then, if they ever bother to show up to something.”
“I’ll just introduce your dad to the biggest player in eyeshot and we can leave him there.” Santana joked, though the smile on her face didn’t quite meet her eyes.
Quinn smiled reflexively. “What happened? Why were you so upset?”
“I think you heard my dad’s asshole comment.”
“Yeah.” Quinn paused. “But even before that. I kept having to jump in for you.”
“I wasn’t expecting the whole Puck thing. How the fuck did my Abuela of all people see that?” Santana groaned.
“I don’t know.” Quinn smiled ruefully. “So when’s Puck meeting the parents?”
“Never, if I have any say about it.” Santana shivered at the thought. “God, wasn’t that other girl annoying?”
“Rachel? She was…a bit much.”
“That’s an understatement. She was loud, obnoxious, and had the most annoying voice I’ve ever heard. Have fun at the murder mystery night, by the way.”
“Ah, I think I’ll skip that if Brittany’s not even going. Besides, I want to be here with you, help you get ready.” Quinn said casually.
Santana grunted.
“We should watch Brittany’s recent matches; Sue would approve now.” Quinn continued with a grin, still trying to lighten the mood.
“I don’t want to watch her do anything.” Santana snarled.
Quinn froze, looking at Santana curiously. She’d been extra short-tempered during the entire tournament. Quinn had assumed it was because her family was here, but now she was thinking it might be something else.
“What’s your problem?”
“I can’t get away from her!” Santana said.“Well, she’s on the tour. It’s not like you’ll play her very often, it’ll be rare.” Quinn said calmly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Quinn lifted her eyebrows at Santana, waiting for her to elaborate.“I can’t stand her, that’s all. It feels like everytime I turn around, there she is. It makes my body literally get hot with irritation.”
“But she’s perfectly nice to me, and you. I don’t understand why she bothers you so much…other than if it’s about her tennis ability? You can beat her, San, you’re just as good if not better than her.”
“You don’t see how fake she is. I can see through her whole Little-Miss-Perfect thing going on. It’s all for the media, and probably a mind-game to fuck with her opponents.”
“What are you talking about? Mind games?” Quinn couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous Santana sounded right now. Santana sat up, furious.
“Clearly, it’s working on you. Why don’t you go watch my tapes with her, then? You can point out all my many flaws for her.” Santana said, dangerously low.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Santana. This is ridiculous.”
“You’re defending her.”
“Yes, well, she hasn’t done anything, as far as I can tell. Unless there’s something she said, or did, that would justify this freak-out? Did she say something when she came after you at lunch?” Quinn asked.
“Nothing much.” Santana looked away. “Just sorry.”“Sorry? For what?”
“I guess bringing her friends over, or something.” Santana rolled away from Quinn.
“But I brought them over, not her. And why would she be sorry about that?”
“I don’t know, Quinn.” Santana snapped, voice raising.
Quinn sat up straighter. “Santana. Brittany was being pretty quiet, now that I think about it. Which is not like her. What did she have to be sorry for? Did something happen?”
“Maybe she’s just quiet when her loud friend is around ‘cause no one else can get a word in.”
Quinn waited, watching Santana squirm and struggle not to meet her eyes directly.
“Santana. I’m waiting.”
“Ok, fine. I maybe asked her to give me some space.” Santana admitted.
As Quinn opened her mouth, eyes flashing angrily, Santana held up a hand and jumped to her feet.“I can’t get away from her anywhere! She’s at tournaments, she’s at Coachella, she’s attached at the fucking hip to Blaine. It’s so…impossible to get away from her. Even today. I ask her to give me space, and then there you go inviting her and her friends to sit with us!” Santana ranted, pacing. “She’s driving me insane!”Breathing hard, Santana flopped down on the bed, wrapping her arms around her head.
“You…what?”
“I asked her to give me space! And then, guess what, we both won our matches, so now I’m playing her. And then there she is at lunch, and my stupid father is tripping over himself to compliment her. I’m sick of it.”“Some space. What are you talking about? We barely ever see her.” Quinn repeated, mystified. “And when we do see her, you barely speak to her.”
“Well, she’s always around, and always wants to talk or hangout again or whatever. You know how she is. She’s been following us around like a pathetic little puppy.” Santana continued, getting worked up again.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What, exactly, did you say to her?”
“I don’t know, okay? She was up in my grill at like 7 a.m., and I just started saying things. I just said, like, leave me alone. We're probably playing against each other, and we’re not friends, we’re competitors. And now we are playing against each other! So I was right. I said she could still hang out with you if she wants to.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”
Santana shrugged.
“So she was apologizing for just being near you? Because you basically told her to fuck off.” Quinn spoke her thoughts aloud.
Santana nodded once.
“That’s horrible, Santana.”
“I didn’t mean to say it like that.” Santana protested.
“But you meant to say it.” Quinn said.
“It needed to be said.” Santana insisted. “I wanted her to leave me alone.”
Quinn fell back on the bed. “I don’t get why her being nice bothers you so much. I thought you had fun the times we’ve hung out with her.”
Santana had no reply to that. Quinn stood, heading back to her own room.
“You need to apologize.”
Santana started to disagree, but this time Quinn held up her hand.“I have no idea what’s going on with you. But you need to get over this…thing with Brittany.” Quinn said. “Put whatever weird energy this into winning the match, apologize to her, and then forget about it. Let me know if you’re ready to watch the tapes anytime soon, like a real professional.”