"Next."

"What? You didn't even let me fi—"

"Shut it Hudson."

"Ugh!"

Quinn watches as Finn kicks a chair and leaves.

"Good riddance. He sounds like a pooping zombie."

"I guess so Britt. But, we've said no to seven people already."

Brittany scrunches her nose and spins to sit on the chair.

"We'll still be awesome without a piano or a singer Q."

"We are, B, but who ever heard of a band with only a guitar and drums?"

"We'll be even more awesomer when we make it big, then."

"Let's just wait and see if these guys can impress us."

Quinn looks down at her list. There are two people left.

"Berry, Rachel!"

A short brunette comes in, her clothes looking like the lovechild of RuPaul's and a librarian's. If she ever gets in, Quinn's going to have to burn her wardrobe.

"Hello, I am Rachel Barbra Berry, though you may already know this from my countless performances at the local community center. Frankly, I am quite surprised that the two of you haven't been knocking at my metaphorical and literal door, begging for my talent to fill the empty spot in your proposed band and complete the soon-to-be trio, though this may be due to the fact that you may have thought that I would say no immediately after you asked. Rest assured that I will gladly take on any 'gig', as each one will enhance the autobiography I plan to write after I succeed in Broadway."

Good god, does she even breathe?

"Prepare to get your proverbial socks knocked off."

Quinn looks to her right and sees Brittany's eyebrows furrowed in distaste. Her best friend hates people who think they're bigger than they actually are; that's the reason why she absolutely abhors Finn.

The big mouth, Rachel, starts singing.

Wow. She's actually good.

Problem is, they don't plan on playing showtunes.

"Next."

"What? Are you deaf? I murdered that solo!"

"Sorry Berry. Showtunes, not our type."

"Well, I never."

She storms off, and Quinn's thankful that she won't have to deal with that every practice.

She crosses out Rachel from the list and looks at the last name near the bottom of the paper. If she doesn't cut it, they're going to have to see how long a two-instrument band can last.

"Lopez, Santana!"

A girl walks into the garage, and, well…

Quinn's no homo, but this girl is really, really hot.

Judging from the tongue hanging out of her mouth, Brittany thinks so too.

"Santana Lopez. I just moved in, and I saw your flyer. I'm auditioning for the piano."

"Yeah, the piano's over there."

She watches Brittany as her eyes follow Lopez's ass as she bends down to plug in the instrument. She can't say she's less than slightly amused. She elbows Brittany.

"Keep it in your pants, B."

"Shut it Q."

"The Blue Belles, what do I do?"

Quinn stops her teasing to see the new girl looking at them with a bemused expression. Blue bells?

"Give us all you've got."

Lopez starts playing, and at first, Quinn's disappointed. This girl sounds like she has years of experience, but classical music's like showtunes: not really their thing. But then the tone shifts, fluidly, might she add, and Quinn's pleased, to say the least.

Lopez goes through several more genres, all as if they were part of the same song.

They've got their piano player.

"You're in."

"Since I was the only one left, I expected that."

"You're good."

"I know."

Quinn…doesn't know how to feel about this girl.

"Well then, Lopez, we're still pretty much useless without a vocalist. Doubt there'll be anyone willing to pay for an instrumental girl band."

"Oh, I can sing."

Santana starts playing the opening notes to a song. She opens her mouth and—

Damn. She can.

Her voice is raspy, though at the same time silky smooth, and, like, is that even possible? It's soft and it's rich, and when she croons, it leaves shivers down Quinn's spine.

Quinn's not sure if she likes her attitude, but there's no chance in hell of her letting Santana Lopez get away.

It's been three months since they've met, and Quinn still hasn't gotten to like Santana. In fact, she's been doing the opposite.

Things were slow at the start, but once people heard them, well, they've been getting offers left and right. They've even been offered a weekly spot at Scandals. So they practiced almost every day in Brittany's garage.

Really, Quinn and Santana should have gotten closer; the problem is, the former hates the latter.

She hates her cocky attitude, she hates her answering back, she hates that she's as talented, if not more so, as her, she hates pretty much everything about her.

But what she hates most is that she's pulling Brittany away from her.

It used to be just the two of them against the world. They shared their secrets, their hopes, their fears, their dreams. They knew each other as much as they knew themselves.

And then Santana barged in, and what Quinn had with Brittany wasn't special anymore.

She hangs out with her more often these days, Santana. Brittany used to invite her to come with them, but then Quinn felt like a third wheel, which she should never be when it comes to Brittany. But then she's there, and she has no idea what those two are talking about, so eventually, she just stopped coming.

If it wasn't for the band, she'd have stopped altogether.

It's hard, you know, when the person you consider closer than a sister finds someone else.

Quinn's tuning her guitar after practice, and Brittany and Santana are off on one side talking, again. She hears the feet on concrete and turns around to see Brittany walking towards her. Santana must have ran off.

"San's volunteering at the children's hospital."

Quinn bets Santana enjoys that. She bets that Santana enjoys holding screaming kids down, watching their tears wet their cheeks as the doctor approaches, holding in his dominant hand a syringe bigger than it, enjoys feeling the children fidget under her touch, as the needle comes closer and closer to their skin, enjoys hearing their wailing increase as the needle breaks their skin, foreign liqui—

"Quinn?"

She grunts in answer.

"I know you don't like Santana."

Quinn doesn't answer. She just keeps on tuning her guitar, even when her eyes start to sting.

"I'm sorry I'm not with you a lot."

Her vision starts blurring.

"I think I'm in love."

Quinn blinks. She feels arms wrap around her and a face bury itself in between her neck and her shoulder.

"I-think-I'm-in-love-with-someone-but-my-best-friend-hates-her-and-I-don't-know-what-to-do-because-I-love-both-of-them-so-much-and-it-hurts-a-lot-because-it's-like-if-I-choose-one-I-have-to-choose-over-the-other-and-I-don't-want-to-do-that-what-do-I-do."

Brittany never cries, but Quinn feels something wet brush her skin.

"I don't hate her."

"Mmpphthoffwoodeed." (Translation: I thought you did.)

"I did. I thought she was stealing my best friend away from me."

Quinn feels arms tighten around her.

"But then I found out that my best friend was in love with her. The heart wants what the heart wants."

Quinn feels Brittany's head move, as if she was nodding.

"So, when did you find out?"

"Pthamowmenthtseecaymeen." (Translation: The moment she came in.)

Quinn chuckles a bit.

"When I told you to keep it in your pants?"

Brittany nods.

"Should have known."

"Aympthoorifuinn." (Translation: I'm sorry Quinn.)

"It's okay Britt. I think I just didn't want to be replaced."

"Thoololweyzbimaybesthprend." (Translation: You'll always be my best friend.)

"You too."

Quinn wraps her hands around her from behind and rocks side to side. Like what they used to do before.

"Three months and you haven't asked her out yet? You planning to anytime soon?"

Quinn feels a smile on her shoulder.

"This last song's for all the single gays out there. Hope you find love, guys."

Quinn takes a glance at Brittany and sees one corner of her mouth curled up.

She finds it amusing that her best friend's proposing to a girl to be her girlfriend in a gay bar.

Fitting even.

They go through the song, and they knock it out of the park, as always. Quinn's not sure, but she thinks Santana's a little more into it than usual.

All so very fitting.

The song ends to a standing ovation.

"Thank you guys, you've been gre—"

"Wait."

Quinn sees Brittany leaning into her mike, just as planned.

"Quinn and I prepared one more song for you guys. Well, for one girl actually. Quinn, you ready?"

Quinn starts off the song, and she sees Santana's eyebrows furrow in confusion. The song goes on, and she just sits there on her piano stool. Eventually, a small smile graces her lips, and, as the song ends, Quinn swears she sees her eyes sparkling.

"Santana Lopez, will you be my girlfriend?"

Santana smiles even wider, and she walks towards the back of the drum set, where her girlfriend is. She embraces her, and Quinn feels stupid for not realizing it in the first place.

Eventually, they separate, and Santana starts walking towards…her?

There's a small smile on her lips.

"I'm not the hugging type Fabray, but—"

She wraps her arms around Quinn.

"—thank you."

Quinn might like Santana Lopez after all.

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