Cigarette Daydreams

Chapter Three

They sleep in the next day, all the way until the sun is high in the sky and the sound of cars rushing back and forth drown out the early morning bird calls. Quinn's legs are tangled with Santana's so intricately that she almost can't tell which are hers, if it weren't for the stark contrast in skin tone it would have taken her a lot longer. There's a fluttering feeling in her chest as she thinks back to countless mornings she would wake up to this same sight, wrapped in Santana's arms, as if they were protecting her from all the bad in the world. She stiffens her arms and legs in an attempt to stretch with what little moving space she has, and the action is enough to stir Santana from her sleep.

"Good morning," she says with a sleepy smile and Quinn thinks this is what home is supposed to feel like; waking up at noon wrapped up in your best friend and not a care in the world. She wishes she could've come home a long time ago.

"Morning," she mumbles back. There's a shyness in her voice that wasn't there last night, and she thinks the proper rest she had was enough to snap her out of whatever fairy tale she was living in, where her and Santana were still best friends. She thinks she needs to let something venomous bubble up from the dark pits of her soul to get Santana to stop looking at her like everything is okay again, but she can't; she doesn't want to. She likes basking in the warmth her friend's presence provides, likes hanging onto every word Santana says as if her life depends on it.  She's spent too long holding herself up alone, and falling into someone else just feels too good to let go of. Santana needs this, she reminds herself, as if she's alleviating some sort of guilt she feels for letting herself feel something other than sadness.

"You're thinking too loud," Santana groans as burrows her face deep into her pillow and the chuckle that leaves her throat surprises even her. It's deep and hearty and it's the most genuine laugh she's heard from herself lately. Santana looks so smug and proud and Quinn's heart swells at the sight.

"Sorry, when you get into Yale your intelligence tends to get too much for others to handle," she jokes in a way that is so familiar for them it makes something warm settle around them like a second blanket.

"Can it, Fabray." The narrow-eyed glare holds absolutely no ounce of hostility and it's broken immediately when Quinn flashes the cheekiest grin she can muster. She likes this. It's how things used to be except they're grown up now. Even more grown up than when she was twelve and on a diet that could pass for starvation, more than when they were eleven and Santana was sent to the nurse's office with blood all over her after beating up the racist boy in their class. Quinn wonders if they were always too grown up and now they're just growing into it. The way stress lingers on Santana's face, even in her most relaxed moments, makes Quinn think that's exactly what it is.

Something softens in the air between them and Quinn feels what little is left of her walls crumble to the ground. There's no running from Santana this time, and she thinks her friend knows that.

"I missed you too, you know. A lot." The words come out without her permission, but she can't find it in her to mind as they keep pouring out. "When I was pregnant with Beth, I would always think about how you'd probably be just as stressed about what I could or couldn't do, probably even more than I was." They both laugh softly at the truth in her statement, but her words lay heavy on their hearts. "I wanted you to come into the room with me when I was giving birth but, I don't know. I thought you would be weirded out by a sweaty, panting, pregnant girl dragging you along with her."

Santana sounds choked up when she finally speaks. "I wish you did. I heard Puckerman looked like he was about to faint, wish I could've seen that for myself." There's no actual malice in her voice and it makes Quinn scoot closer to wrap her arms around the other girl.

"I'm sorry I screwed everything up," she whispers, and Santana's grip tightens.

"You didn't." There's no room for argument. Santana says it as a fact and Quinn has to take it as one. "I love you, Q."