Day 4: Future
Rating: PG
Summary: Another wedding … always a wedding.

"What is it with you and weddings?" There was a playful lilt in Santana's sleepy voice that made Quinn grin into her pillow.

Contemplating the question, Quinn closed her eyes, rolled onto her side and pulled their shared covers tightly over her shoulder. The movement caused the other woman to press against her back, the warmth of her body seeping into Quinn's skin, and she curled her arm comfortably over Quinn's side.

Santana had a point. What began with the failed joining in matrimony of their former teacher and their former school counselor began a trend – a coping mechanism the two friends used to survive five wedding ceremonies and four (and a half) receptions.

The first time, they'd written it off as a one-time thing. For Santana, it was a good time and she was getting to experience something she wouldn't dare admit to as a fantasy. It was Quinn, after all.

She'd seen the other woman flirt with men – boys – before. But she'd never been on the receiving end of her half-lidded gaze or coy smile – and Santana didn't even know how to describe Quinn's sudden and constant need to touch. If she wasn't adjusting Santana's necklace very near her plunging neckline, then she was trailing her fingers along the other woman's forearm as she admired her bracelet.

Quinn, of course, wrote it off as college experimentation. It was easier than figuring out a way to rationalize her actions. It wasn't very becoming of a future-Yale graduate to explain her motives with "I dunno – I just wanted to?"

It was impulsive and that wasn't something Quinn often allowed herself to be. Quinn and impulsive were a dangerous combination. Unlike her attempt to seduce Puck, she hadn't come up with a plan to get Santana in bed. She hadn't considered Santana an option before that night and Quinn couldn't come up with a good reason to explain why that changed.

It wasn't the way Santana's dressed hugged her curves – Quinn was used to seeing Santana in outfits that flattered her figure. It wasn't the alcohol – she and her friend drank together plenty of times. It wasn't even banding together over the catastrophe that was the non-wedding – the pair of friends had endured many catastrophic events together and not once had they landed in bed together.

With no other reasons, Quinn felt the need to chalk it up to an experiment. It was something she wanted to try and she did. The end.

Or it would have been if she didn't find herself feeling a sense of déjà vu following Shue's real wedding to Ms. Pillsbury – now Mrs. Schuester.

They celebrated with their friends, sang songs for their mentor and, in the morning, found themselves trying to reason why they were waking up beside each other.

Santana shrugged it off, happy for the opportunity of a repeat performance. It sure as hell beat sleeping alone or, even worse, sharing a hotel room with Mercedes. She loved the girl but she'd quickly grown tired of listening to her friend debate with herself the topic of chastity. Do it or don't. Santana didn't care – she just wanted the girl to make up her mind. It's not like it was her business who Mercedes slept with (or didn't, as the case may be).

That was the sentiment she shared with Quinn as she watched the other woman hurriedly shimmy into her dress from the evening before. It was none of anyone's business with whom Santana slept or did anything else. Though she wasn't sure why it was important, Santana promised their secret was safe with her.

Not that it mattered. Santana would have had to rent a billboard in Times Square for Quinn to find out if she told anyone. In the months between the Schuester wedding and the Chang-squared wedding, Quinn all but disappeared. Under the pretense of being "too busy," her trips to the city for opening nights and semi-impromptu reunions were no longer infrequent. They were nonexistent.

As they helped Tina get ready for her big day – doing her make-up, helping her with her dress and reminding her to breathe every so often - Santana and Quinn flitted around each other without actually acknowledging the other's presence. But they were in each other's orbits and, come the morning, they found themselves in a very familiar situation.

It took Kurt calling her out for Santana to question the trend. Three cosmos and two male strippers into his bachelor party, he threw his arm over her shoulder and asked, "How long can I count on you to stick around at the reception?"

"Depends," she answered. "If it's non-stop Village People, I'll be outta there before In the Navy starts. Why?"

Tightening his arm and shaking his friend closer to him, he grinned. "I don't want you sneaking off with Quinn before the champagne waterfall. It's going to be glorious."

Santana tried to pull out of his half-cuddle but he held tightly. She twisted her head and squinted at him, unsure if he was drunk or crazier than she'd originally allowed herself to believe. (She could only do so much crazy in one apartment and she'd already credited the majority to Rachel).

"I want everyone's eyes on me. So you're not allowed to dance with Quinn because it's not your wedding," he continued. He poked his finger into her shoulder and winked much too much like some big-headed cartoon character. "Yet."

At the way Santana's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in surprise, her friend squealed out a giggle. "It's not like it's a secret. Blaine and I were talking about it this morning. I think you should make it official but he seems to think secret rendezvous are romantic … "

"You're delusional. Sleep it off Hummel," was all she could manage to say before leaving him in the wake of her speedy exit.

Out of spite, she made sure to occupy the space on the dance floor next to Kurt and his new husband. She held Quinn closely during the slow songs and didn't let go of her hands for the fast songs – which made dancing to YMCA more than a little difficult.

And the champagne fountain? Santana was pretty sure Quinn was divested of her dress before the tuxedoed server poured the first drop. That'd teach Kurt to shoot his mouth off about things beyond his minute comprehension.

It wasn't quite morning when Santana, her head pillowed comfortably on Quinn's arm, informed the other woman of the discussion. The last thing she wanted was for Quinn to think she'd reneged on her promise to keep their activities private.

Quinn pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing as she considered Santana's story, and eventually said, "Okay."

Santana had no idea what the one word reply meant but judging by the kiss Quinn pressed to the side of her head and the way her arm tightened around her as she closed her eyes, that was the end of the conversation.

Brittany's wedding to the vet tech responsible for saving Lord Tubbington's life - apparently the cat confused a roll of pennies for a hot dog – was the last that season. All of their friends in committed relationships had gotten married and those who weren't had no reason to believe they'd be writing their vows any time in the near future.

It was an outdoor affair and unlike any of the celebrations they'd shared together.

The bridesmaids wore sundresses and sandals instead of cocktail dresses and heels. They spent the evening before braiding each other's hair instead of shoving dollar bills in a dancer's g-string. And, with prompting – also known as badgering - from Kurt and Rachel, Santana requested that Quinn arrive to the venue with her instead of consciously bumping into her there.

At the reception, Brittany handed each of her two closest friends flowers from her bouquet, and both women rolled their eyes and vehemently shook their heads. The crowd, made up of a mix of some of their oldest friends and a bunch of strangers, cheered as Santana bit her lip and Quinn hid her reddening face in the other woman's neck. The display made the party-goers continue their applause with zeal.

Even later that evening in the hotel room was different. The marathon - that wild grasp for something that would almost definitely not be available again – was replaced with something not quite as tenuous. When they moved slowly together, it wasn't to tease or to torture to a breaking point, but to be attentive and to savor the experience. For once it was something more than the fear of missing check-out that spurred the frantic motions that left them breathless.

It wasn't the dawn that nudged them to get just a few hours of sleep in the comfort of each other's arms. Curling against each other was their reward for navigating as far as they had. When they chose to close their eyes, their arms wrapped around each other, it was a settling in – an acknowledgment that the physical was just part of what they shared.

It would be nearly two years before everyone reunited for another wedding. For those who hadn't seen their relationship grow, Santana took great joy in embarrassing Quinn by suggesting to their friends that the evening of Brittany's wedding, behind closed hotel room doors, was when they officially began. Perhaps on principal or perhaps because she rarely agreed with the other woman, Quinn insisted it was before that – when Santana called and made a case for them attending together.

Brittany, of course, adamantly argued that it was because she gave them flowers from her wedding bouquet.

As they snuck away from the reception and took an all-too familiar path, they decided it didn't matter how they started. That was the past and they were content to keep their eyes forward, keenly focused on their future.

With Santana's arm snuggly around her, Quinn shifted just enough to push her hand out of the covers to trace her fingers light over the ring on the other woman's finger.

She knew Santana's question was rhetorical – teasing, even – but, once she'd pulled herself out of the memories of celebrating everyone else's wedding nights, she couldn't help but answer, "Maybe I just like happy endings."