Quinn should be asleep. She really really should be asleep. Thankfully everybody else finally is. She had tried to send everyone to bed early, had tried to cut off the wine before anyone even got tipsy. No-one can say she hadn't at least tried. After all it's her responsibility to make sure tomorrow goes ahead without any hitches, and Quinn Fabray always takes her responsibilities seriously. She had even suggested to Brittany that they remove all alcohol from the house before the others arrived, just to be on the safe side, but Brittany had just laughed and shook her head, as if Quinn had just made some hilarious joke. She had worried that meant Brittany had planned on getting drunk tonight, but in fact Brittany hasn't had even a drop. Instead it's Mercedes and Tina who have emptied at least four bottles of wine between them. Though Quinn may have had a glass or three.
Mercedes and Tina are passed out on the sofa, though Quinn isn't too concerned. Two hungover bridesmaids are the least of her worries about tomorrow. Besides she's sure that jet lag is playing some part. They both had only flown in this afternoon, whereas she's been in San Francisco for a week now, making sure everything is in place. She knows she's maybe taken over this wedding a little bit, well, okay a lot, but isn't she allowed to as maid of honor? It's not that she doesn't trust them to plan their own wedding, it's just well, she doesn't trust them. She also doesn't trust the rest of the Glee club. It's been years since they were all in a room together and that can only mean trouble. Not that everyone is going to be there. She gets the feeling that Finn's invitation may have been lost in the post. She's still surprised by Brittany's ability to hold a grudge.
She sighs when it finally sinks in that it's almost three am, and she can't help wondering if there's any point in going to bed at this time. Brittany went upstairs around two hours ago, though Quinn isn't sure how she's even able to think about sleeping. Though it's a good thing if she does get some sleep. Quinn knows from experience that a sleep deprived Brittany is a dangerous Brittany.
She's still debating whether to drag herself upstairs to the spare room or if sleeping here, slumped over the kitchen table is a better idea, when her cellphone starts to ring. She's been expecting this call, it's just a surprise it's taken this long. She takes a deep breath, then answers it. "What?"
"I just called to say I hate you."
Yeah, this is going to be exactly what she expected. "For any particular reason or just in general, Santana?"
If she'd been more alert she would have known better than to ask that question, would have realised that it's an open invitation for Santana to subject her to a twenty minute rant on all the ways Quinn's wronged her over the years. But she isn't really in any state to be dealing with Santana's special brand of crazy right now.
"Oh gee, let me think. What possible reason could there be for me to hate you, Fabray?" Unfortunately the damage is done. "Do you think maybe it's because you banished me to this hellhole for the night, while you get to stay in my house with my girl?" Quinn wants to point out that the five-star hotel room that she's shelling out for can hardly be called a hellhole, but Santana isn't finished. "Or maybe it's because not only did you seem to think I needed a babysitter, but you sent me Puckerman and Trouty Mouth."
She decides not to tell Santana that she didn't exactly have much choice, that nobody else was stupid enough to volunteer to Santana-sit on tonight of all nights. She also doesn't tell her that Puck's only there because she's paying him. But hey, at least Sam had been eager to help. "Well I figured between the two of them, at least they would have no problem dragging your ass back over the border if you decided to flee to Mexico."
There's only silence in response and Quinn quickly sits up, hoping that she hasn't just given Santana any ideas. "S? You there?"
"Yeah, I was just trying to work out which offended me more. That you think I'd run out on Britt like that, or that you think I couldn't take those two losers."
"No second thoughts then?"
Santana scoffs. "Oh please, I've got this down." The way her voice wavers ever so slightly tells Quinn otherwise.
"You're terrified, aren't you?"
Quinn thinks that's normal, but she isn't exactly an expert on the subject. "You'll be fine."
"Yeah, I know, but it just sucks that Brittany gets your company, and I have to put up with these assholes."
"It can't be that bad."
"They hired a stripper, Quinn. A stripper!"
She'll kill them. She gave them three simple instructions. Number One, don't let Santana out of their sight just in case she decides to go all Runaway Bride on them. Two, don't get her blind drunk or stoned, as tomorrow will be stressful enough without everyone having to deal with a hungover Santana Lopez as well. And number three, no strippers as Brittany will find out and then Brittany will be mad and a pissed off Brittany is never a good thing.
Quinn tries to stay calm, getting stressed out isn't going to help anyone. "Well it is your last night of freedom, so I suppose if there's a time for you to be appreciating other women, then this is it."
"The only woman I want to appreciate is Brittany, and you're currently stopping me from doing that, Quinn, and that is not a smart thing to do."
There's going to be payback of some kind over this, Quinn is starting to realise that, but as long as Santana is at the other end of a telephone line, then she's safe. She decides to try and appease Santana anyway, to try and point out the bright side. "Just think about how much more special this time apart will make the wedding night though."
It seems to work as Santana sighs. "I suppose."
"Trust me, okay. Now go get some sleep because I do not want Snix making an appearance tomorrow because you're too tired to function properly." Maybe it wasn't one of her better ideas to trust Santana's well-being to Sam and Puck, as they seem to be doing a lousy job of it.
"I can't sleep."
Quinn almost suggests Santana take some sleeping pills, but quickly thinks better of it. "It's just nerves, S. Relax, nothing is going to wrong."
"No, it's not that. I just..." She hears Santana take a deep breath. "Quinn, can I not just come home?"
She's never heard Santana's voice sound so small and pathetic before, and Quinn starts to feel guilty about insisting she spend the night away from Brittany. She's determined to stand her ground though. "Santana, no. You know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding." The last time one of her friends broke that particular tradition, Quinn got hit by a truck, and she isn't about to tempt fate.
"It's just I miss her, Q. I miss her so fucking much."
She can't help rolling her eyes. "It's one night. One night and then after tomorrow you get to spend the rest of your life with her. You're seriously telling me that you can't survive twenty four hours apart?" It only now hits her that maybe they can't. They have always been scarily co-dependent on each other. Santana's silence only confirms her suspicions. "Really? I don't know if that's the most adorable or most pathetic thing I've ever heard."
"Shut up, Fabray." Santana really doesn't sound amused.
"When's the last time you actually spent the night apart?"
When her question is only met with silence, she thinks that she isn't going to get an answer, but then Santana laughs. "You know, Q, I honestly can't remember."
Quinn finds herself smiling, and something tells her Santana is too. "Santana?"
"You're getting married tomorrow."
They're both silent for a while, letting that sink in. Soon Quinn finds herself fighting back a yawn. "Seriously though, Santana, go and at least try to get some sleep."
"Fine, whatever. I still hate you though, Fabray. Just saying." Santana hangs up before Quinn has chance to respond to that, leaving her shaking her head.
She really should take her own advice and so she climbs to her feet and makes her way upstairs, careful not to wake the others as she does so. As she's passing by Brittany's room, she's sure she can hear Brittany speaking in a low whisper. Maybe Brittany is more stressed about tomorrow than she had been letting on and is having some kind of debate with herself. Or maybe she's having a complete meltdown in there. Quinn decides she'd better check. She stops and knocks on the door.
She can hear movement inside the room, then Brittany calls out, "Hold on." More shuffling, then Brittany opens the door. "What?"
"Just checking if you're okay." Quinn raises an eyebrow.
Brittany certainly doesn't look stressed. In fact she looks incredibly relaxed. Too relaxed. "Yeah, I'm good." She then starts to close the door in Quinn's face and Quinn has to quickly put a hand out to stop her, frowning.
"Do you need anything?"
Brittany looks like she's about to say something, but then just shakes her head. "Nope." She pushes the door again and this time Quinn lets her close it. Brittany doesn't shut it fully though, instead she's left it ajar. Quinn starts to walk away, one of the floorboards creaking as she does, but then something makes her stop and she creeps back to the door, leaning as close as she can and just listens.
"Okay, she's gone. It really didn't work?" Brittany sighs. "You did tell her there was a stripper, right? And she was cool with that? Damn, maybe I should have asked her to hire me a stripper." She hears Brittany laugh. "Relax, San, I'm kidding. You know the only woman I want giving me lap-dances is you."
Quinn's about to burst into the room and tell Brittany they're busted, but something stops her when Brittany lowers her voice and she hears her say, "I love you too, Santana. All these years and I still love you more than anything in the world."
Quinn suddenly feels like she's intruding, like she isn't supposed to be hearing this conversation. They'll be making enough public declarations of love tomorrow, for now she should let them have this, a private moment that's just for them.
She's backing away from the door when that damn floorboard creaks again and she freezes. She relaxes when Brittany speaks again, a little louder now. "Yeah...what am I wearing? Your Stanford hoodie. Why?"
Quinn freezes. Okay, so she really shouldn't be listening in on this conversation.
"Oh...well I'm not wearing anything but your Stanford hoodie if that helps. Now why don't you tell me what you're wearing, though I'm kinda hoping the answer is nothing at all, because then there'd be nothing stopping me from dropping to my knees and..."
Yeah, Quinn should definitely not be listening in on this conversation. She turns to run, but somehow manages to trip over her own feet in her hurry to get out of earshot. She hits the carpet and can't stop herself from letting out a yell. She looks up to find Brittany standing in the doorway, her cellphone pressed to her ear, head tilted as she stares down at her. There's a slight smirk on Brittany's lips as she speaks into the phone. "Yeah, it worked...No, she didn't break anything...Don't be mean."
Quinn sits up, rubbing at her arm, realisation hitting her that Brittany knew she was eavesdropping the whole time. "Brittany, will you tell your fiancee that she's a bitch?"
Brittany simply shrugs. "Santana says you're a bitch for not letting her stay here tonight, and I kinda have to agree with her."
Brittany frowns. "Quinn, come on, when have we ever cared about tradition?"
So maybe Brittany has a point there, but then they really shouldn't have asked her to be their maid of honor. Not that they did actually if she's honest. She may have volunteered her services, but still, they're stuck with her now. "It's one night," Quinn grumbles.
"Exactly." Brittany's frown deepens, and she's looking down at Quinn like she can't understand why she doesn't get it. "But Santana says that as long as you keep Rachel on a short leash tomorrow, don't let her sing more than is absolutely necessary and don't let her hug Santana, then we'll forgive you."
Something tells Quinn those might be more Brittany's terms than Santana's. Either way she's going to have her work cut out making that happen. "And if I fail?"
"You won't fail, Quinn. We have total confidence in you." Brittany smiles at her, then bounces off back into the bedroom, leaving Quinn still sat on the floor. She soon pokes her head back out the room though. "Hey Quinn, is it bad luck to have phone sex with the bride before the wedding? Because Santana says it isn't, but I just wanted to check."
Quinn holds her head in her hands. She really should have learned by now not to be involved in any wedding parties. "I'd just like to point out that Rachel has appointed herself as my understudy for tomorrow. So if I end having a heart attack before the ceremony, or get into a traffic accident of any kind, you do realise that you get Rachel Berry as your maid of honor?"
Brittany's face falls. "So is that a yes to the phone sex, or not?"
Quinn can only sigh and climbs to her feet. "I give up. Should never have answered my cell. Should have just ignored it and let Santana rant at my voice mail, but no, had to answer it." She shakes her head and walks down the hallway.
She stops and glances back at Brittany, not really sure she wants to ask. "Yeah?"
Brittany only shrugs though. "Thanks for, you know, everything."
Quinn nods, then slowly makes her way to the spare room where she promptly collapses onto the bed. It doesn't take long for her to fall asleep, only to find herself haunted by dreams where she's chasing Rachel Berry around a reception hall, while Rachel continuously belts out Broadway hit after Broadway hit. Maybe staying awake wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.