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Title: Follow the Leader
Fandom: Glee
Pairing,Character(s): Santana/Quinn
Rating: G
Spoilers: General spoilers for current episodes
Summary: Only in her head would Santana admit that she’d follow Quinn Fabray anywhere. Which was why she currently had no excuse for her whereabouts.
It never had to do with popularity. That wasn’t why Santana had joined the Cheerios. Nor was it the automatic increase in her dating stock. Nor was it because Sue Sylvester, after spying the limber Latina doing a backflip in the front courtyard freshman year, had manipulated her mother into ordering Santana onto the team, although that had definitely happened. Talk of sports scholarships or anything involving getting her daughters into college had always gotten Anna Lopez on board with pretty much anything-- It was how Santana had convinced her mom into taking her to the gyno’s office for birth control.
No, it wasn’t that. It could have been a number of things, but it was only one thing. Or rather, one person.
She’d followed her onto the Cheerios. She’d followed her onto the Chastity Club, despite loving sex more than cookie dough ice cream or Nana Lopez’s neighborhood famous empanadas. She’d even followed her to the Southern Baptist church (despite being Catholic) and on one of the creepiest youth retreats she’d ever seen. Seriously. Those people needed to get a grip.
She’d even followed her with Puck and then Finn, even if Finn technically hadn’t gotten any to begin with. Whatever. She had been there, and being with them was like, one step from being there with her.
Only in her head would Santana admit that she’d follow Quinn Fabray anywhere. Which was why she currently had no excuse for her whereabouts when Quinn asked quietly:
“Why did you decide to take me for my check up?”
Quinn was currently laying on that cot with the stirrups, her legs spread underneath the paper skirt and her hand resting of the soft rise of her baby belly. Quinn had looked softer and more vulnerable in general since being booted from the Cheerios.
Santana couldn’t say, “Because Puck’s busy porking his way through the PTA moms.”
And she couldn’t say, “Because you looked like a frikkin’ kicked puppy when you realized practice made you miss the bus.”
Santana licked her lips and looked up at the diagram of a woman’s body. In the end, she chose, “Don’t you hate how they make you wait forever with your knees akimbo? Any other time, if I have to wait with my legs spread for more than a minute, the shop is closed. Like, hurry up. I have things to do.”
“Yeah,” Quinn murmured.
She’d been quieter for the past few weeks, ever since Finn had found out about the real babydaddy. Santana didn’t blame Quinn for spreading the lies around. It wasn’t like she had anyone who would really support her if the truth were known. And that was more and more obvious. The girl was currently couch surfing, trying to stay out of the local group home. Santana would never turn up pregnant-- she was too careful for that-- but if she did, she wouldn’t be kicked out of the house. She would have to sit through tag-teamed screaming in Spanglish for about nine hours, but she wouldn’t be kicked out. It was like, almost something you’d hear of happening in a third world country or back in the 50s or something. Not in the 21st century in Ohio.
“Hey.” Santana didn’t turn her head, but she could practically feel Quinn’s eyes on her.
There was a long silence before Quinn asked, “What?”
“When Brit’s tired of sharing her couch, you can take another turn with my house. Sleepover season for my sisters has shifted to their friends’ houses.”
“Oh.”
When an effusive “thank you, best friend ever” did not spring forth, Santana swiveled her head around to glare at Quinn. Quinn was staring at her baby bump again.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I have a place to stay, S.”
“Well, good. I didn’t need you around enabling me to pig out anyway.”
“That’s me. Bad influence.”
Dr. Chin came in and began to cheerfully chatter at Quinn, asking her about how she felt, and about a series of symptoms that caused Santana’s lips to take a sour curve.
“So, who’s your friend? Is that handsome boyfriend of your not coming?”
Santana could see Quinn’s body tense up. Her voice a thin thread of string, Quinn answered, “No, he’s not.”
“He’s dumb as a brick. So is the babydaddy,” Santana spit out. “They couldn’t find their asses with a flashlight and Mapquest, let alone a doctor’s office. We don’t need them.”
“Oh.”
Well, that had been like swearing in front of Nana. But Quinn giggled softly into her hand, and suddenly it was worth the tension in the room.
Chin let the moment pass and got on with her job. Her hand went in between Quinn’s legs, and Quinn’s eyes widened, then rolled to the ceiling. Santana frowned. For her these visits were practically nothing, nothing to cause that distressed look on Quinn’s face, anyway. There had been more aggressive things down there for Santana.
She was about to issue out a snarky comment to tell Quinn to get over it, but her hands moved faster than her mouth. One took Quinn’s hand and the other went around her shoulders. The unexpected moment of tenderness caught Santana by surprise. Quinn squeezed her hand, breathing quickly, and Santana squeezed back.
When Chin was finally done, she pulled back and gave Quinn a lecture about her weight and vitamins and stress management and all that crap.
“We’ll need you to pay on your way out,” Chin noted as she opened the door.
“Dammit.” Quinn took her feet out of the stirrups and reached over for her purse. She pulled out a folded envelop and began frantically counting a crumbled wad of ones. No doubt whatever Puck had given her after paying for the dinner with that girl Megaboobs that Santana had seen him with while she and Brittany were out for sushi.
“Aren’t gyno exams like a hundred dollars or something?”
“Yes, S, a hundred and thirty-five dollars to be exact,” Quinn snapped.
“Well, don’t railroad your hormones all over me.” Santana crossed her arms and turned away from her.
Quinn sighed. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate you taking me here.”
“Whatever.” Santana sighed loudly. She looked at Quinn briefly through the corner of her eyes, then frowned again and grabbed her own purse. “Tuck the pittance Puck handed over away. I’ll put it on my mom’s credit card.”
“No, you won’t,” Quinn said automatically.
“Okay, this whole self-made woman thing is bullshit, and I’m over it.” Santana waved her card in the air. “I’m paying. See if you can waddle fast enough to stop me.”
“Why are you doing this? You don’t ever pay, for anyone,” Quinn pointed out, arching a delicate brow high.
Santana couldn’t answer, “You make my heart flutter and my head stupid.”
So she answered, “I’m having a chocolate craving, and a preggo’s the only one who won’t judge me, okay?”
She took Quinn’s hand and helped her up. “C’mon. Let’s get fat.”
Quinn’s lips quirked slowly to the side. “Yeah? Puck’s always telling me to go easy on the high calorie foods.”
“You heard the fat Asian lady.” Santana motioned toward the door. “No dieting during pregnancy. It’s stupid. You’ll have babies that Brittney has to tutor.”
Quinn laughed and turned toward her clothes to change. “Don’t look, okay?”
“Like I want to.” She so wanted to. And she did sneak a few peeks. It was weird how Santana’s brain stubbornly refused to stop being attracted to Quinn, even now that her body was changing.
The skirt slipped up her legs then over a pert, rounded ass. Quinn still wore such conservative clothes. Funny how the pregnant girl was the one who dressed conservatively. Skirts of appropriate length, tights to keep her legs from actually showing, sweaters in pastels. The conservative clothes were starting to look a bit worn and ill-fitting, though. It wouldn’t be long now before they wouldn’t fit at all.
Santana took Quinn’s hand when she was finished dressing, and despite Quinn’s suspicious eyes (which actually made Santana feel quite proud of the effect of her carefully constructed persona), she lead her out into the waiting room to pay. Then they would go out for something sweet to indulge in, and Santana would get her gossiping about Berry’s latest fashion travesties, Mr. Schuster’s abortion of a hairstyle, and how long before there was another serious defection from the glee club over solo distribution.
Santana couldn’t guess where they were going, but she knew she’d go willingly, wherever Quinn needed to go, as long as she allowed Santana to follow.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing,Character(s): Santana/Quinn
Rating: G
Spoilers: General spoilers for current episodes
Summary: Only in her head would Santana admit that she’d follow Quinn Fabray anywhere. Which was why she currently had no excuse for her whereabouts.
It never had to do with popularity. That wasn’t why Santana had joined the Cheerios. Nor was it the automatic increase in her dating stock. Nor was it because Sue Sylvester, after spying the limber Latina doing a backflip in the front courtyard freshman year, had manipulated her mother into ordering Santana onto the team, although that had definitely happened. Talk of sports scholarships or anything involving getting her daughters into college had always gotten Anna Lopez on board with pretty much anything-- It was how Santana had convinced her mom into taking her to the gyno’s office for birth control.
No, it wasn’t that. It could have been a number of things, but it was only one thing. Or rather, one person.
She’d followed her onto the Cheerios. She’d followed her onto the Chastity Club, despite loving sex more than cookie dough ice cream or Nana Lopez’s neighborhood famous empanadas. She’d even followed her to the Southern Baptist church (despite being Catholic) and on one of the creepiest youth retreats she’d ever seen. Seriously. Those people needed to get a grip.
She’d even followed her with Puck and then Finn, even if Finn technically hadn’t gotten any to begin with. Whatever. She had been there, and being with them was like, one step from being there with her.
Only in her head would Santana admit that she’d follow Quinn Fabray anywhere. Which was why she currently had no excuse for her whereabouts when Quinn asked quietly:
“Why did you decide to take me for my check up?”
Quinn was currently laying on that cot with the stirrups, her legs spread underneath the paper skirt and her hand resting of the soft rise of her baby belly. Quinn had looked softer and more vulnerable in general since being booted from the Cheerios.
Santana couldn’t say, “Because Puck’s busy porking his way through the PTA moms.”
And she couldn’t say, “Because you looked like a frikkin’ kicked puppy when you realized practice made you miss the bus.”
Santana licked her lips and looked up at the diagram of a woman’s body. In the end, she chose, “Don’t you hate how they make you wait forever with your knees akimbo? Any other time, if I have to wait with my legs spread for more than a minute, the shop is closed. Like, hurry up. I have things to do.”
“Yeah,” Quinn murmured.
She’d been quieter for the past few weeks, ever since Finn had found out about the real babydaddy. Santana didn’t blame Quinn for spreading the lies around. It wasn’t like she had anyone who would really support her if the truth were known. And that was more and more obvious. The girl was currently couch surfing, trying to stay out of the local group home. Santana would never turn up pregnant-- she was too careful for that-- but if she did, she wouldn’t be kicked out of the house. She would have to sit through tag-teamed screaming in Spanglish for about nine hours, but she wouldn’t be kicked out. It was like, almost something you’d hear of happening in a third world country or back in the 50s or something. Not in the 21st century in Ohio.
“Hey.” Santana didn’t turn her head, but she could practically feel Quinn’s eyes on her.
There was a long silence before Quinn asked, “What?”
“When Brit’s tired of sharing her couch, you can take another turn with my house. Sleepover season for my sisters has shifted to their friends’ houses.”
“Oh.”
When an effusive “thank you, best friend ever” did not spring forth, Santana swiveled her head around to glare at Quinn. Quinn was staring at her baby bump again.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I have a place to stay, S.”
“Well, good. I didn’t need you around enabling me to pig out anyway.”
“That’s me. Bad influence.”
Dr. Chin came in and began to cheerfully chatter at Quinn, asking her about how she felt, and about a series of symptoms that caused Santana’s lips to take a sour curve.
“So, who’s your friend? Is that handsome boyfriend of your not coming?”
Santana could see Quinn’s body tense up. Her voice a thin thread of string, Quinn answered, “No, he’s not.”
“He’s dumb as a brick. So is the babydaddy,” Santana spit out. “They couldn’t find their asses with a flashlight and Mapquest, let alone a doctor’s office. We don’t need them.”
“Oh.”
Well, that had been like swearing in front of Nana. But Quinn giggled softly into her hand, and suddenly it was worth the tension in the room.
Chin let the moment pass and got on with her job. Her hand went in between Quinn’s legs, and Quinn’s eyes widened, then rolled to the ceiling. Santana frowned. For her these visits were practically nothing, nothing to cause that distressed look on Quinn’s face, anyway. There had been more aggressive things down there for Santana.
She was about to issue out a snarky comment to tell Quinn to get over it, but her hands moved faster than her mouth. One took Quinn’s hand and the other went around her shoulders. The unexpected moment of tenderness caught Santana by surprise. Quinn squeezed her hand, breathing quickly, and Santana squeezed back.
When Chin was finally done, she pulled back and gave Quinn a lecture about her weight and vitamins and stress management and all that crap.
“We’ll need you to pay on your way out,” Chin noted as she opened the door.
“Dammit.” Quinn took her feet out of the stirrups and reached over for her purse. She pulled out a folded envelop and began frantically counting a crumbled wad of ones. No doubt whatever Puck had given her after paying for the dinner with that girl Megaboobs that Santana had seen him with while she and Brittany were out for sushi.
“Aren’t gyno exams like a hundred dollars or something?”
“Yes, S, a hundred and thirty-five dollars to be exact,” Quinn snapped.
“Well, don’t railroad your hormones all over me.” Santana crossed her arms and turned away from her.
Quinn sighed. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate you taking me here.”
“Whatever.” Santana sighed loudly. She looked at Quinn briefly through the corner of her eyes, then frowned again and grabbed her own purse. “Tuck the pittance Puck handed over away. I’ll put it on my mom’s credit card.”
“No, you won’t,” Quinn said automatically.
“Okay, this whole self-made woman thing is bullshit, and I’m over it.” Santana waved her card in the air. “I’m paying. See if you can waddle fast enough to stop me.”
“Why are you doing this? You don’t ever pay, for anyone,” Quinn pointed out, arching a delicate brow high.
Santana couldn’t answer, “You make my heart flutter and my head stupid.”
So she answered, “I’m having a chocolate craving, and a preggo’s the only one who won’t judge me, okay?”
She took Quinn’s hand and helped her up. “C’mon. Let’s get fat.”
Quinn’s lips quirked slowly to the side. “Yeah? Puck’s always telling me to go easy on the high calorie foods.”
“You heard the fat Asian lady.” Santana motioned toward the door. “No dieting during pregnancy. It’s stupid. You’ll have babies that Brittney has to tutor.”
Quinn laughed and turned toward her clothes to change. “Don’t look, okay?”
“Like I want to.” She so wanted to. And she did sneak a few peeks. It was weird how Santana’s brain stubbornly refused to stop being attracted to Quinn, even now that her body was changing.
The skirt slipped up her legs then over a pert, rounded ass. Quinn still wore such conservative clothes. Funny how the pregnant girl was the one who dressed conservatively. Skirts of appropriate length, tights to keep her legs from actually showing, sweaters in pastels. The conservative clothes were starting to look a bit worn and ill-fitting, though. It wouldn’t be long now before they wouldn’t fit at all.
Santana took Quinn’s hand when she was finished dressing, and despite Quinn’s suspicious eyes (which actually made Santana feel quite proud of the effect of her carefully constructed persona), she lead her out into the waiting room to pay. Then they would go out for something sweet to indulge in, and Santana would get her gossiping about Berry’s latest fashion travesties, Mr. Schuster’s abortion of a hairstyle, and how long before there was another serious defection from the glee club over solo distribution.
Santana couldn’t guess where they were going, but she knew she’d go willingly, wherever Quinn needed to go, as long as she allowed Santana to follow.
