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Santana's favourite shop in Lima is the drugstore. She doesn't have a lot of options, since this place is stupidly small, and the let is too expensive for many businesses to stay for long. The 'town centre' is a pathetic cluster of red bricked buildings, mostly empty, with boarded windows.
Lima Drugstore, however, stands in all its red-brick glory, the windows permanently filled with fliers and leaflets, offering deals or job. Before this summer, Santana would spend many hours in the cramped aisles, testing products and occasionally, slipping a cheap eyeliner into her pocket (it was to make up for the expensive eyebrows pencils).
But this summer, the hottest on record, the store has one more quality that draws Santana in.
A functioning air conditioning unit.
Each morning, before it gets too hot, Santana will take a trip down to Lima town centre. The place is deserted. Most families have hot-tailed it out of Lima, going somewhere with a beach, or even just somewhere cold. But Santana's parents have been working, and she's not really well enough to travel anywhere.
She'll go into the drugstore and spend a while inspecting the different products. She'll test foundation shades on her left forearm, and lipstick shades on her right forearm, until it looks like she's been attacked by a bizarre tattoo artist. If the mean cashier (there's two, both women. The blonde haired one is a bitch. The blue haired one is really sweet) gives her a look of irritation, then she'll take a trip to the only other occupied space in Lima Town Centre.
This is a tiny convenience store, stocking dirty magazines, milk and other drinks, and equipped with a tiny freezer full of popsicles. So Santana will purchase one and then sit on the window ledge of the least-derelict empty lot, still containing most of the window glass.
This is how she spends the days where she doesn't have therapy. Her Mami wasn't a fan, but her therapist, Dr Williams was surprisingly approving of her odd habits.
"It's good for you to be out around town. Your social well-being is an important part of your mental well being, and I have a feeling I'm the only person outside your family that you've talked to in quite a while."
She has a point. Other than a brief conversation with Quinn the other day, she's only spoken to her parents since even before the start of summer. So if a few words exchanged with a cashier is going make her brain stop beings stupid, then she's more than happy to indulge.
It's time for her trip to the convenience store. Dr Williams was also approving of this, since casual snacking is apparently one of many keys to Santana's recovery. She's really meant to be having a popsicle that isn't just flavoured ice, but that's a bit far for now.
She hesitates while choosing the flavour, stuck between cherry or strawberry or raspberry.
"Hey, you, close the door! You're gonna melt all the stuff in there!" The owner calls from behind the till. Santana raises a hand in apology, then closes her eyes and reaches into the freezer, letting fate decide what flavour.
Fate has decided on a strawberry flavoured popsicle, and so she pays for it with one of the crumpled dollars from her pocket, then takes it to her favourite spot. In the shade, with the brick so worn it's no longer sharp, and with nobody around to bother her.
She's just licking the sticky strawberry syrup off of her wrist, when the door to the drugstore beside her opens, and the last person she was expecting to see walks out.
"I don't see you for months, and then I see you twice in one week? Seriously, Q, I'm startin' to think that you're stalking me." Santana says, as Quinn turns to look at her, the bag she's holding twisting uncomfortably in her hands.
"I would have said the same thing. Each time I arrive somewhere, you're there. If anything, you're stalking me." She replies, raising one perfect eyebrow. Santana shrugs.
"Touché. So, watcha buying?"
"Just picking up our prescriptions. What are you doing, other than getting on the cashiers nerves."
"She talked about me?"
"She asked me to check if the strange dark haired girl who dresses like a boy was outside. I'm guessing she was meaning you."
"That's mean. This is Brittany's shirt. And clothing has no gender, that's what Mercedes told me Kurt said."
"I'll tell the cashier that the strange girl is still outside then."
"Nope, I'll leave her alone. She's a bitch anyways. I'll walk you home, then go home. I've been here, like, all day."
"Uhm, if you want. I was actually going to go the long way."
"Why?"
"My mom isn't home, and I don't like being there by myself."
Santana doesn't press Quinn to tell her why. She falls into step beside the other girl, and has one of her incredible brainwaves.
"You should come to mine for dinner! Seriously, my Mami hasn't shut up about wanting you to come over. Plus, Dr Williams gave me the goal of eating with someone. That can be you!"
"Really? I don't know."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to impose on you and your parents."
"My dad isn't home anyways, and I can text my mom now. Come on."
Santana bats her eyelashes, pleading with Quinn, who rolls her eyes.
"Are you that lonely, that you're willingly spending time with me?"
"Hey, you're blonde and taller than me. Might as well be Britt."
"I'm not coming over to make out with you. As I've told you before, I'm not into that."
"Relax, I'm not going to jump you."
Quinn doesn't protest anymore, instead she resigns herself to the idea.
"Fine, I'll come over."
"Yay!"
Santana texts her mom. Quinn literally has to pull her off of the road as a car drives towards her oblivious friend.
"Santana! Eyes on the road. Don't text and walk."
Santana just shrugs and puts her phone back into her pocket. Death doesn't scare her. She runs a hand through her hair when Quinn sighs in frustration. Her hair isn't in its usual braids, but hangs in a tangled mass down her back. It's almost waist length, and has reverted back to its full curly state.
"So, Q, how've you been. How's therapy?"
"It's fine. I cried the other day."
"Is that unusual?"
"Yes. Very. Dr Williams was very pleased with herself. Kind of psychotic on her part, if you ask me, but that's just her."
"She's definitely a robot." Santana comments.
"Yeah, she actually is. She's way too perfect."
"I know! And her hair is always so nice. Even in this heat, it's not gone frizzy." Santana pulls a hand through her own hair. Quinn nods, aware that her own is a complete mess.
"Her skin is amazing too. So glowy, and she never gets any acne." Quinn adds. The two girls are silent for a second.
"I think we're both in love with her." Santana says. Quinn nudges her, but it's out of fun rather than irritation.
They're on the path that takes them to Quinn's estate, several streets lined with mansions, sprawling gardens, and shiny cars. Santana knows this route as well as she knows the one to her own house (take the next left, cross the street, go over the stairs that lead to a bridge crossing the freeway, then down and two rights, two lefts. Her house is on the end of the street. She likes to narrate her journey home. Makes it more fun).
It's been well over a year since she's been to Quinn's house. But it could have just been yesterday. The lawns are all still perfectly maintained, and the smell of freshly cut grass lingers in the still air. Like the rest of the town, this place is deserted. Most of these families probably have houses elsewhere.
Quinn's house (mansion) is also empty. Two cars sit in the driveway, Judy Fabray's silver Porsche, and Quinn's red Volkswagen Beetle, affectionately named 'the cockroach' by Santana.
As Quinn rifles through her bag for the keys, Santana lifts up the hair from her neck and fans it. She's still too hot. And that's even while standing on the porch, being shaded from the aggressive sun.
"Aren't you going to come in?" Quinn asks from inside, holding the door open. Santana hesitates, but she's going to melt if she's out in this heat for a minute longer.
"Yeah."
The Fabray household is dark and stuffy, and in its usual tidy state. Santana can't think of a time when it was ever messy. Quinn goes straight through to the kitchen, sitting the bag on the table.
"Is there anything I can bring to yours? Food, drink..?" Quinn asks. Santana shakes her head, looking up from her phone.
"We should be good." She replies.
"I'll maybe bring some wine. For your mom. To say thank you." Quinn still worries, opening cupboards. Santana just sights at her pointless panic.
"What are you, forty? You don't need to bring a present. You're our guest." She assures her.
As always, Quinn gets her way. Now armed with a bottle of wine in a bag, her and Santana leave the house, stepping back out into the hot, still, air. Despite it being late afternoon, the sun is relentlessly hot, and shows no signs of moving from its place high in the sky.
Quinn could find her way to Santana's house in the dark. And she has, many times, when the two used to sneak it to parties. Or when Santana would go to parties, and Quinn would have to bring her back to hers so her mother didn't find out her little Santanita had been drinking.
A few cars drive along the freeway, moving at a sluggish pace. Quinn and Santana walk along the bridge that overlooks it. A yellow car drives by, moving at the same sluggish pace as everything else in this town. Santana raises her arm to punch Quinn. A warning glance from the other girl tells her that it isn't welcome.
"Have you learned to drive yet?" Quinn asks. Santana shakes her head.
"Nope. I'm not allowed to, not until I get better."
"Probably a good thing. You'd let your rage take control."
"Excuse you, Miss Fabray. I've been in a car with you. Don't pretend you've not screamed at the asshole in front of you."
"I don't remember that at all." Quinn denies, and continues to deny all of Santana's examples of why Quinn isn't a calm driver. This takes them all the way to Santana's house.
Santana's estate is probably the loudest corner of Lima. Kids run in and out of paddling pools or sprinklers, radios tuned into different stations play out of kitchen windows. The grass here doesn't need cut. It's dry, and Quinn can hear it crunching under her feet as they walk up Santana's drive.
Maribel Lopez has her radio turned way up, and is singing along as the two girls enter her house. Quinn is hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. How many times has she entered this house, to Maribel singing and the smell of delicious food drifting towards her.
"Santanita, shoes off. I just vaccumed. And Quinn, come in! Mija, you look so pretty."
Quinn offers the bag with the wine in it to Maribel, who waves it away.
"You're our guest. You don't need a present." She says, almost exactly quoting Santana from earlier. Quinn doesn't relent, but sits it on the counter with the intention of 'forgetting' to take it home with her.
Maribel hugs her. Quinn almost cries again, because it's all so...nice. She feels so safe in these arms, in this kitchen, with these two people. This is, quite possibly, her happy place.
"Dinner isn't quite ready. I'll call you when it's done. And Santana-" Maribel catches them as they go to walk up the stairs -"if your room isn't tidy, then you're sleeping outside."
Santana nods and keeps walking. The second they're on the landing, she grabs Quinn's arm.
"Q, if you snitch-"
"I'm not going to tell your mom that your room is messy. In all the time I've known you, I don't think I've ever seen the carpet."
"Bitch." Santana drops her arm and walks along the landing. The Lopez's have evidently been clearing out: boxes are stacked along the hallway, with different labels on them- 'baby pictures', 'winter clothes', 'S clothes 2007-2009'.
Santana's room is one of Quinn's favourite places. It's small, but it always felt safe. It's tucked away in a corner of the house, in which the previous owners had built some sort of bizarre extension, leaving half-rooms and dead ends. It makes the already small house feel even smaller. Santana room, though, is the best.
Quinn looks at the black walls, remembers how Santana painted them during her goth phase. She remembers 13 year old Santana all in black, with impressive winged eyeliner and a bunch of fake piercings.
"Remember when you were a goth?" She blurts out. Santana turns back to face her.
"I thought we agreed never to talk of that. But yeah, I can't forget it. Why did you..?"
"I don't know. It was just looking at your room again. Reminded me of it."
"You tried to be goth as well, didn't you?"
"Yes. Well, I got as far as the black nail polish. My parents wouldn't let me do anything more."
"It's a shame. You would look hot as a goth."
"Thanks. You too."
As they talk, Quinn finds herself folding the clothes draped over Santana's bed. The other girl sits on her desk chair, knees tucked under her chin, and biting her nails.
"You don't have to clean my room for me, y'know. I don't mind the mess. It's comfy."
"It's just getting the clothes off your bed. You can throw them around the floor if it makes you feel any better."
"That would, actually, make me feel better."
Quinn just raises her middle finger in the direction of Santana, not even bothering to look at her. She places the pile of clothes on the ground. Now there is space on the bed, and Santana comes to sit beside her. They both rest their backs on the wall- Quinn's knees are drawn up to her chest, and Santana stretches her legs out.
There's some scrapes on them from where she had sat on the dry brick wall. The pinkish marks show up on her tan, and she absent mindedly traces a finger across them.
She's suddenly aware of how tired she is. This summer has been spent with her re-learning how to live, and her mom has banned her from all her unhealthy habits from before (she uses 'before' a lot. She supposes she means before she hated herself). That has meant no more coffee, or highly caffeinated products that she used to trick her body into having energy.
But this means that she can't do much without getting tired. Even with her new meal plan, she still finds herself exhausted by the smallest things- in this case, a slow walk around Lima.
"How did you know you loved Brittany?" Quinn asks. Santana shrugs.
"I guess I just always knew. Even before I knew I liked girls, I always liked her. I would have been happy with being her best friend forever."
"Then what changed?"
"I don't really know. I mean, she's beautiful. She always has been, but over the last year, she's really really changed. And that made me realise I was attracted to her. If that's what you meant."
"Mhm."
"I've always cared about her. Ever since I met her. That's never changed, and it will never change. And earlier in the year, when we didn't talk for a while, that was when I realised I loved her. I felt like I was missing part of me, not being around her."
Santana can tell that her face is red, and she's embarrassed from ranting on about her silly little crush. But Quinn just nods.
Quinn has felt alone for most of her life. For as long as she can remember, she's been an independent machine, getting by alone. She was under the belief that Santana was the same. It's what held them together; loneliness.
But now Santana is in love with Brittany, and she seems happier. Quinn didn't think it was genetically possible for Santana to like someone, yet here she is blushing and smiling over a girl.
Quinn doesn't think she could ever love someone.
She's never really seen love. Her parents are an absolute joke, with no romance at all. She's never seen the sparks between couples like Finn and Rachel- they're cute, but alien to her. She can't imagine having someone like that.
"And so, you love Brittany?"
"Yeah. What about you?"
"I mean, I like Brittany, but not in-"
"Not Brittany, you idiot. In general."
"Oh. Uhm, no. There's nobody. I don't really think I'm in the place to be dating anyone. Even then, I'm not sure I could love someone."
"Really? There's like, not even a teensy tiny crush? On some rando?"
Quinn loves Santana. She doesn't love her in a romantic way, but in a platonic way. She would live the rest of her life with the other girl, just to feel less alone. Santana is the only person, Quinn has realised, that makes her feel happy.
"No. I'm still figuring out who I am. Getting into any sort of relationship right now would be a bad idea."
"I get that. I feel better having someone, but we're all different."
They're quiet now. Quinn crosses and uncrosses her legs. When her skirt shifts, Santana can see faint scars on her thighs.
"When did you start?"
Quinn raises an eyebrow.
"Start what."
Santana searches for the right words.
"Umm, y'know. The reason you're in therapy."
"You can say self-harming. I won't cry."
"I wasn't sure..."
"I get it. Same way I don't know what to say about your thing."
"Mhm."
When Santana keeps looking at Quinn, the blonde realises she never answered the question.
"Oh. A while ago."
"Pre-Beth?"
Translation: when we were still friends?
"Mhm. It's been a thing for a while."
Santana notes that Quinn uses present, not past tense, but she decides not to pick her up on it.
She wonders how she didn't notice before, but then again, it's easy to hide. Santana's an expert at hiding things, at convincing herself everything is okay, to the point where she actually believes it.
She thinks of Quinn taping up what she assumed were sore or stretched muscles, of the cardigans she wore almost all year around, of the stack of silver bracelets that adorned her wrists during the summer and warmer months.
She realises that she's been an idiot.
"Don't beat yourself up. You couldn't have known. I felt like it wasn't part of me."
"But we were always together. I should have picked up on it."
"The same way I should have realised you losing an insane amount of weight in a short amount of time, not eating, and disappearing to the bathroom any time you did eat, wasn't normal?"
Okay. Fair.
Santana’s silence is the answer she gives to Quinn’s question, and the two move off the topic. They talk about school, future plans, lighter things.
Santana is happy to have her best friend back. Brittany is her girlfriend, and would still be considered her best friend. But it’s different. The lines are too blurred. Quinn is different, and she still loves her.
Quinn is just happy to have a friend.
They’re allowed to eat dinner in Santana’s room (Maribel approves of the clean space, courtesy of Quinn), and watch a movie. Santana, out of habit, leans on Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn leans into her, also out of habit.
Their friendship is muscle memory . The same way they talk the same way as they always have, and make the same jokes.
Santana falls asleep. She’s exhausted all the time, and is just surprised she lasted this long.
Quinn just pulls a blanket over the other girl, and checks that she’s comfortable.
She knows she should probably go home, but what’s there?
She’s safe here, and the happiest she’s been in a while. So she’ll just stay for a little bit. Promise.