A/N: So, yes. I may or may not be back. HAHA. I was supposed to post this right after Quinntana Week but yeah, life happened. So, here it is.

*NOTE: This story follows all canon things up until the 100/101 episodes. You know what that means.*

[One: TWO OLD FRIENDS MEET AGAIN]

Maybe—maybe they've always been right about her: she's crazy.

She's a little bit screwed up and she's always resented them for thinking she's nuts until today—the day she steps out of the train into the cruel coldness of New York.

It's been a little over a year since she last saw everyone in this side of the East Coast. It's been a little over a year since the Glee Club disbanded.

It's been a little over a year since she last gave a fuck.

She doesn't understand why she's here right now, so yeah, maybe she's crazy—just about crazy enough to come back.

"Quinn," calls out a familiar high-pitched, over-excited voice.

She turns to her right and sees Rachel—still as tiny as ever—making her way to her. Under normal circumstances, Rachel would have been beaming by now but the reason she's here has forced Rachel to put on her serious face.

"Hey," Quinn greets with a small smile.

Rachel is in a black coat, somewhat a typical New Yorker outfit at this time of the year. The fall season has just kicked in and New York is somewhat chillier this year—if that's even a word.

Rachel gives her a quick hug before taking her luggage.

"I can carry that by myself," Quinn tells her.

Rachel only shrugs as if she heard nothing and links their arms together. "How was the train ride?" Rachel asks, ignoring her protest.

They start walking along with all the other people exiting the station. Quinn's other hand fiddles at the side of her cream-colored coat as Rachel wheels Quinn's luggage on her other side.

"It was okay. It's been a while since my last visit here, though."

Rachel nods, a small look of hurt crosses her face. She still doesn't understand why Quinn has actively avoided going to New York the past year. Quinn feels guilty about that; she just couldn't find the strength to tell her the truth.

Thankfully, Rachel drops the issue. If this was any other day, Quinn is certain Rachel would have asked her why but right now, it's obvious that the other girl has her priorities straight.

Quinn swallows as she braces herself for the talk. She knows why she's here. She agreed on being here but at the moment, all she can think of is turning back; and maybe, if Rachel was even just a couple of seconds late, Quinn would have probably taken the train back to New Haven.

She has always believed it's easier that way.

Rachel sighs, "I don't know what to do, Quinn."

"Maybe, you just have to let her make her own decisions."

Rachel stops on her tracks and gives Quinn an amused look, as if she can't believe Quinn just said that.

"What?" Quinn asks when Rachel won't stop looking at her.

"Quinn, Santana is your bestfriend."

"So is Brittany."

"You don't understand."

"Trust me, Rachel, I do."

Rachel easily hails a cab. They get in and soon as Rachel is done stating their destination, she turns to Quinn and looks at her, "Then you know this is a big mistake."

"Rachel, this is a decision they have to make together."

Rachel's eyes widen, "Santana doesn't even know what she wants to do with her life."

"That's their problem."

Frustrated, Rachel huffs, "I thought we agreed Santana needed an intervention. What are you even doing here?"

"To be honest, I don't know," Quinn says because that's the truth.

She didn't think twice about packing her bags or getting on that train to New York when she heard about the news. Brittany got the choreographer job; she will be based in Los Angeles.

And she's taking Santana with her.

When Rachel had insisted on giving Santana an intervention, she said yes without any form of hesitation. She's not even sure why but she remembered how scared she was thinking that in a few weeks, Santana won't be an hour and a half away anymore.

Sure, she hasn't showed up for over a year but that never meant she didn't want her friends near.

.

"Seriously, Berry?" Santana asks Rachel, sarcasm lacing in her tone.

Rachel stiffens, knowing well enough that Santana might burst anytime. While the two stand in the middle of the living room, Quinn just sits calmly on the couch, watching the scene in front of her.

They have arrived here a couple of minutes earlier and soon as Santana saw Quinn, she knew right away what Rachel was up to. To Quinn's disappointment, Santana didn't show any kind of excitement when she saw Quinn again. Santana didn't even smile or anything. It didn't even look like she hasn't seen Quinn in over a year.

Quinn's hurt, sure, but she's not one to be a baby. It's her fault after all but she's gonna lie if she said she didn't expect even just a little welcome warmth.

"Santana, you need to think this one through."

"So, you bring in Quinn? To what? To lecture me about the 222s of life?"

Quinn just pouts, she really loved the 222s of life.

Hey, that was brilliant.

"This girl has not been here for a year, Berry. What makes you think she knows what the hell is going on?" Santana says, not even sparing Quinn a glance.

Quinn sees it though, that butthurt look on Santana's face that she tries to mask with indifference—or her current annoyance with Rachel. Santana does so well with hiding her feelings but Quinn knows her; other times, that's a curse. Most days, Quinn uses it to her advantage.

"You're making a big mistake, Santana!"

Uh-oh. Wrong move, Rachel. Wrong move.

"Says the girl who almost got married in senior year."

"Almost, Santana! Almost!" Rachel yells. "If it hadn't been for Quinn's—"

They both pause—as if the world just stopped spinning at the mention of the accident.

Quinn rolls her eyes. Everybody should probably stop flinching when the accident comes up in a conversation.

"Whatever," Santana says, walking to the dining table where her coat rests. She grabs the coat and starts to put it on, "Whatever intervention you two have planned, save it for someone else 'cause I'm done. You can't talk me out of this."

Santana then walks to the door and walks out of the loft.

Quinn sighs.

"Do something, Quinn," Rachel prods.

Left without a choice, Quinn stands and runs after Santana.

.

"Santana!" Quinn calls out.

Santana was about to turn the block when she hears Quinn. "Go home, Barbie!" she yells.

Quinn keeps on running after her despite the chilly air of New York—of course she left her coat inside. It's not like Rachel gave her enough time to button her coat or something.

Damn it.

Quinn knows Santana has somehow slowed down because in a few moments, she's right behind Santana.

"I'm hungry," Quinn says, testing the waters.

Santana rolls her eyes, "Go back to New Haven and eat whatever it is Ivy League-ers eat."

"I can feel your utmost concern, thank you," Quinn banters, her voice shivering mid-sentence.

The crack in her voice makes Santana turn to her.

"Where the fuck is your coat?"

"Didn't have the time to put it back on," Quinn replies as she rubs her palms together and then puts them over her cheeks.

"Karma's a bitch," Santana says, turning her attention back ahead.

They start walking again with Quinn still trailing Santana.

"I'm not here for Rachel's intervention."

Santana snorts bitterly, "So, what, you just decided to come here and spend time with your bestfriend?"

"What's so wrong with that?"

Santana stops walking and turns around to face Quinn. Now, there's the unmasked look of hurt in her eyes, "You were gone for a year, Quinn. You refused to visit us and have claimed to be busy everytime we wanted to see you in Yale. What the fuck are you doing here now?"

Quinn takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the pain that starts building on her knees. Her knees take low temperatures seriously. "Rachel called me. She said you need an intervention."

Santana rolls her eyes so hard that it's almost funny. "I don't fucking need one, Quinn," Santana tells her full of conviction.

"I know," Quinn says, shivering under the cold breeze of New York City. "I'm here for the other reason Rachel called me for."

Santana stares at her for a moment, her features softening every second she spends looking into Quinn's eyes. Then, it quickly goes away, "And that is?"

"She said you need me here."

Something tugs at Quinn's heart with what she just said. It feels like her stomach would drop if ever Santana slams it back to her face.

Why would she need her? Santana's been fine here in New York with Brittany for the past year. Why would she need Quinn now?

Truthfully, Quinn didn't really feel like Santana did. She's felt so irrelevant for so long now that she really doesn't how to be needed anymore.

It is, perhaps, the saddest thing when people grow apart. Life happens and sometimes, there's really no way to fight it.

To her surprise, Santana doesn't deny it.

She just stares at Quinn in the eyes despite the tears that are threatening to betray her. It's in that moment Santana drops her guard. It's in that moment she lets Quinn see her. For a moment there, Quinn thought Santana was going to uncharacteristically burst into tears.

But Santana just grabs her by the wrist and takes her to the nearest diner they can get to.

Later that evening, before they step out of the diner—after Santana had practically forced her to try that huge ass burger—Santana takes her coat off and hands it to Quinn.

Quinn smiles and takes the coat.

She takes it as a positive sign.

.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Quinn lays on the other side of Rachel's bed. The brunette is already snoring lightly while Quinn just looks around and thinks how this place is so different from that loft back in Bushwick.

Yes, Rachel had moved out of the loft and into this one-bedroom Manhattan apartment after the debut of Funny Girl. Of course, she's now a rising Broadway star and living in one of the most dangerous places in Brooklyn is probably not the best idea.

Rachel had told her she would have taken Kurt and Santana—and Brittany—with her but this is all she can afford for now. And besides, it doesn't seem like Kurt and Santana would want to move out of that precious loft.

It's closer to Blaine and it's closer to that dance studio Brittany works at. It's closer to the diner, too, so yeah. Maybe, it's better this way.

The place though, despite it being so much better, doesn't feel like home. Quinn knows Rachel feels it, too.

Quinn tosses and turns for a few moments just thinking why she's about to spend the weekend here in New York. She's thinking about the rules she made for herself and she thinks about how she's breaking all of them right now.

Her phone beeps and just like what she expected, it's Santana.

Asshole.

Quinn actually laughs because Santana sometimes.

You're welcome, S.

Quinn smiles after sending the message.

Coming here, she knew Santana didn't need an intervention. What Santana needs is direction. None of them are getting younger and Santana's surrounded by people who know exactly what they're going for.

Santana, on the other hand, is lost.

Quinn doesn't exactly believe that Santana's direction is in those links she emailed her. A pastry school, the police academy, the New York School for the Deaf (to name some)—none of those would send Santana on her way.

None of those will give Santana a reason to stay but it's a start.

Another text.

You okay there?

Sometimes, it still surprises Quinn how Santana is when she allows herself to care.

Comfy and the house smells so much better. Plus, I don't need to worry about an intruder in the middle of the night.

Quinn could already feel Santana rolling her eyes at that.

Yeah but there's no unhealthy breakfast waiting for you. Berry is a freak.

Quinn smiles.

Wouldn't mind having a healthy breakfast once a year.

The reply is almost instant.

I know what you're doing, Q. Stop it. I'm going with Brittany.

There it is, the sinking feeling—the anxiety at the thought that Santana won't be in New York just in case her life falls apart.

Somehow, even though their friendship has been nothing but dysfunctional, Quinn couldn't imagine her life with Santana being 3, 000 miles away.

She reads the message again: I'm going with Brittany.

The words hurt the more she reads them; so she reads them again until her whole body accepts it. After all, Quinn is a masochist.

Her courage to talk to Santana into staying quickly goes away. She tries to type a lengthy message, like a speech full of reasons why she needs to stay. She deletes it because she knows none of those reasons ever equal to Brittany.

In Santana's life, no one ever really measured to Brittany.

Quinn has learned to accept this a long time ago; that's why she doesn't understand why she even bothered at all.

Before she could send another text, Santana beats her to it.

Your career suggestions can't make me stay, Q. I'm sorry but I've made up my mind. There's nothing left for me here.

Quinn closes her eyes, trying to fight the tears that's threatening to fall out.

God, I feel so stupid.

She doesn't know what to say so she replies with the one truth she knows.

I know, S. But it was worth a try.

She then rests her phone on the nightstand.

Maybe, it's also time to rest her case.

..

Meanwhile, back in Bushwick, Santana sits by the dining area as she stares at her laptop, at Quinn's email.

What an idiot, Santana thinks to herself.

Quinn has sent her links of workshops, jobs, and schools she can possibly sign up for. Santana laughed when she first saw it but then, she started clicking on the links. She saw how detailed they were. She saw how all of these things are sorted according to what could interest her.

It still amazes her sometimes how well Quinn knows her. Maybe, she has underestimated Quinn.

She sighs as she stares at the email. Santana's biggest problem is that she's always been lazy. She's probably the most ambitious lazy person in this planet, or the laziest ambitious person.

Whatever.

She likes to think she's a paradox—she wants the world but she doesn't want to put herself out there. That's why she never really thought about all of these things Quinn just dropped in her email. There are things in this email that she never really considered before—like a music school, or a pastry school; heck, even New York School for the Deaf sounds really interesting right now. It almost makes her laugh how Quinn still remembers how much they both enjoyed that sign language class they secretly signed up for the summer before junior year.

She will never admit it out loud but they both liked learning sign language. Again, she will never admit that out loud and neither will Quinn. It's not like learning sign language is a bad thing, it's a very good thing actually; what they'll never admit though is that they did and enjoyed it together.

Santana just stares at the email and thinks that this is Quinn Fabray's version of an intervention. Subtle, real classy, and there's not too much need for talking. It's a classic Quinn Fabray move—and Santana is impressed.

I know, S. But it was worth a try.

Santana bites at her bottom lip as she feels her heart sink because Quinn tried.

Quinn has a way of saying things without really saying them. Where Santana is all talk and less work, Quinn is all action before words. Her knowledge of the Quinn Fabray semantics tells her that this email?

This email is Quinn's other word for 'stay'.

[Let's talk on Tumblr shall we? Find me: emilystark21barelylegal]

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