Fic: The Ghosts in the Halls (3/?)
Title: The Ghosts in the Halls (3/?)
Pairing: Quinn/Rachel (eventually), Santana/Brittany (eventually)
Rating: R (eventual NC-17)
Length: 2768/11,000+ (so far)
Spoilers: None.
Summary: AU. Quinn and Santana are FBI Agents based in New York City.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I’m just taking them out for a spin.
Author’s Notes: Big thanks to spencer_t for the gorgeous art, marshmallowhobo for pushing me despite me thinking it’s crap (most of the time). And an_an0maly for being a super awesome dork like me and helping me daily with this. :D Also, thank you all for all the fantastic feedback. :)
Part I | Part II
They wait outside the office at the AD’s secretary’s desk before Emma ushers them in, stating in a singsong voice, “He’ll be right in, if you could just wait right here.” She walks out of the office before they can answer, her red hair bouncing as she goes.
Santana and Quinn sit down in the chairs in front of his desk. This is how it went. Weekly progress meetings with their Assistant Director. Meetings that were getting more and more uncomfortable. With too little to report in leads, it was usually just a reminder as to where they stood in the investigation. It wasn’t like they were unaware of how far they had to go, and the lives that hung in the balance. Quinn sighs, then sits up straight as she hears him enter behind them.
“Good morning, Santana, Quinn.” He nods at them, smiling, as he makes his way around his desk.
“Good morning, sir,” they both respond, not quite in unison.
He sits down, folding his hands in front of him as he leans toward them, his forearms on his desk. Several seconds pass as he looks at them with a half smile on his face before he leans back, his hands separating as he drums twice on his desk. “So. Coffee? I can get Emma to bring some in.”
“We’ve had some, thanks,” Quinn responds quickly. She hates when he gets off topic. Not that they’ve even gotten to the topic, yet. Forcing herself to keep her gaze steady, and not roll her eyes, she gives him a strained smile.
He nods again, his face twitching into an almost pained expression. “Well, then. I guess we should just get down to it.” His gaze moves back and forth between the two of them, before his eyes drop to his hands as they fold and unfold. The women quietly wait for him to continue, and he looks up again. His brow furrows, and his mouth curls downward slightly into what Santana calls his “constipation face.”
Quinn bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing, as she knows Santana has to do every time he makes that face, too.
“The fact of the matter,” Will begins, “is that we are not seeing…the results we would like to see.”
The humor is gone, and Quinn is biting the inside of her lip for an entirely different reason.
He sighs, shaking his head sadly. “I know it might be upsetting for you two, but I think this is really for the best.” He raises his hand, signaling behind them and Quinn hears the door open again. Will stands, causing Quinn and Santana to do the same. “Agents Hudson and Puckerman will be taking over the case.”
Quinn can’t help herself, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth finally too much, and she exclaims, “What?” Her voice is low, and she feels her throat tighten. Out of the corner of her eye she sees her partner cross her arms, brown eyes moving from Will, to Quinn and to the other two agents. Quinn can practically feel Puck’s grin burning her. “Are you joking?” Her eyes widen as she scoffs, “Those two? You expect them to do better? I don’t think Finn can even tie his own shoes!”
“Agent Fabray,” Will’s voice cuts through. “That’s enough. Now, I want us to view this as a chance to improve. We’ll be getting a different perspective on the case, a different analysis.” The AD smiles wide. “You’re not seeing the advantages to this change, Quinn.”
His voice is earnest, and Quinn swears she’s going to strangle him. “No. You’re right,” she snaps, “I’m not seeing any advantages to this. This bastard we’re chasing is smart. You’re not going to catch someone that intelligent with an overgrown boy,” she points at Finn, “whose reading level isn’t higher than Dr. Seuss, and who was only accepted in the Bureau because of his uncle on the Senate intelligence committee.” Finn’s brow knits as he processes what she’s saying. “And a manwhore,” her hand moves to aim at Puck, “whose only thought is whether he can date rape another eighteen year old tonight.”
Puck makes a choking noise, but AD Schuester steps in again, “Fabray, I said that’s enough. Those are hefty allegations about Agent Puckerman, first of all. You could face a disciplinary hearing for saying those kinds of things, you know.”
Quinn laughs bitterly, “Hah. Puck wouldn’t let that happen, because then they might investigate if there was any merit to my ‘allegations’ as you put it.”
“Hey.” They all turn to face Finn. “I can read!”
Quinn turns to face Will once more, raising her eyebrow in a look that clearly said “told you.”
Will closes his eyes for a moment. “I’ve made my decision,” he says when he opens them again. “It’s final.” After a pause he adds, “For now.”
Quinn opens her mouth to argue again, but Santana grabs her by the arm, muttering a quick thank you at Will as she leads Quinn from the office. She glares at Puck as she passes him.
Quinn wrenches out of Santana’s hold once the Latina closes the door behind them. “Get off me,” she grinds out, seething.
Santana lets go, standing still and just staring at her partner.
Quinn feels like her skin is crawling, and Santana not making a move, not making a sound, was making her want to scream. She can’t take it, and breaks the silence, “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything in there?” She’s fuming, and can’t remain still. “You actually thanked him? I didn’t realize that we were supposed to appreciate taking it up the ass.”
“Um, excuse me,” a quiet voice comes from behind them. She continues, tentatively, “I think, and you’ll probably agree, that this isn’t the best place to have this conversation?”
Santana shoots the wide-eyed redheaded secretary a scowl before walking away, leaving Quinn to stomp after her.
The dark haired woman glides across the office, cutting down rows of desks and cubes, dodging men and women in suits and avoiding the mail cart. She bypasses the elevators, instead heading for the stairs.
When the heavy door closes behind Quinn, the blonde can’t hold her tongue any longer. “Hey!” Her voice echoes in the empty stairwell, but Santana doesn’t stop, still moving down the stairs, leaving Quinn with no other option but to follow, taking two steps at a time.
They skip the main level, down into the basement which houses the firing range and the gym. Santana cuts through the pickup game of three-on-three basketball that some of the guys have going on the court, causing a couple of angry shouts as she deflects a pass, but she just keeps going.
Santana walks into the locker room, making her way to her locker and opening it. Quickly removing her double gun shoulder holster, Santana starts unbuttoning her shirt, turning to see Quinn stalking over to her. Sliding her shirt off her shoulders she turns back to her locker, grabbing a sports bra and shorts from the shelf.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Santana?”
Brown eyes slide shut as Santana calms herself. She unhooks her bra and tugs the red sports bra over her head before she whips around. “I’m changing, clearly.” She scowls before she takes off her pants, hanging them neatly in the locker. As she pulls on her shorts she looks at Quinn again. “What? Are you slow?” She gestures to the blonde’s locker. “Get dressed.” When Quinn doesn’t move, Santana stills. “Come on. You either want to fight or you don’t. And I’m not in the mood for just a war of words.” With that she turns, grabbing some athletic tape from her locker and slams it shut behind her. “I’ll be waiting.”
Quinn watches as Santana leaves her alone in the locker room. The quiet of the empty room is too much, and it makes her antsy. Not wanting to be alone with her thoughts, she quickly strips, tossing her clothes into her locker and pulling on black mesh shorts and a black sports bra. She ties her hair back and a few stray strands of soft blonde locks fall loose, framing her face.
By the time she’s out there, Santana has finished taping up her hands and is slipping on her padded gloves, the tips of her fingers visible at the ends. She tosses the tape to Quinn before heading over to some of the mats that are set up for sparring. They do this regularly, though not when angry with each other. They have both been trained in many different fighting styles, and all of them were fair game for their sparring sessions.
Quinn watches her as she absently tapes her hands. The brunette is bouncing around, throwing quick punches into the air before leaning into a kick. It enrages her, the sight of her partner so focused on something as trivial as this when they just lost their case. Considering neither had put on any protective gear other than the gloves, she doesn’t care that she did not do her finest work on her tape job. She yanks on her gloves quickly and joins Santana.
She doesn’t wait for Santana to acknowledge her presence, and her first punch hits the Latina low in the side of her ribs. The tanned woman reels back from the hit, surprise evident in her eyes, but it passes quickly and she sets her jaw. Quinn grins, cocky as she rolls back on her heels before lightly jumping from one foot to the other, loosening up. As quickly as the smirk appeared it’s gone again, her mouth a thin line as she moves to hit Santana again.
This time the other woman dodges it, ducking and hitting Quinn back with a quick jab that glances off her side. The brush of pain in her ribs sets her off, and she responds with a flurry of punches. Santana protects her face and midsection with her forearms and hands, allowing the hits to come. Quinn, complacent in her attack, kicks toward Santana’s side and is surprised by the other woman redirecting the kick and causing her to lose her balance and fall to the ground.
“Look at you,” Santana sneers. “You’re a mess.”
Quinn bounces back to her feet, rushing Santana again, but once more her partner deflects her punches and Quinn growls, “I may be a mess, but at least I care.” She hates that Santana is resting back, sliding out of her reach with each attempted hit. She can feel every muscle in her straining as she drops to sweep Santana’s legs.
The brunette jumps, avoiding the attack with a grin, and as Quinn rises Santana hits the blonde with a well placed uppercut to her mouth.
Santana sighs as she watches Quinn stagger back, her hand coming up to her face in reaction to the hit. “Stop acting like a child,” Santana admonishes.
Testing her jaw, she moves it from side to side with her hand before opening it. The metallic taste in her mouth causes her to run her thumb over her lip. She pulls her hand back with a hiss and sees the blood. Wiping her hand she leaves a small red streak across her flat stomach. “I’m not wearing a mouth guard, Santana.”
“Whose choice was that?”
Quinn slowly nods her agreement. “Fine then,” she murmurs before moving in again. She’s more cautious now, the two of them moving in circles, waiting for the other to make the first move. Quinn can feel the sweat beading on her skin, moving down over her toned arms and abs, and she can’t wait any longer. Each second that she sits back, each moment that passes with her and Santana engaged in this fight, each tick of the clock on the wall is a reminder to her. A reminder of the girls she didn’t save, of the girls that might continue to die because she couldn’t stop him.
She jumps forward, pouncing on Santana with a barrage of punches before Santana shoves her back. Quinn shouts, “Why don’t you care?” She moves in again, her rapidfire hits repelled by Santana’s forearms as the Latina protects herself.
“What? Because I can keep my mouth shut?” Santana counters finally, lashing out with a kick that hits Quinn below her raised arm and into her ribs. Quinn barely falters, still punching and fighting with everything she has. “No answer? Come on, Quinn,” Santana goads her. “What? Because I’m not screaming at my superior and running the risk of disciplinary actions, I don’t care?” Her eyes widen and her tone drips with sarcasm. She counters each of Quinn’s parries, blocking them with apparent ease. “Is it working for you, Quinn,” she bites out. “How many of them have you saved?”
Quinn can feel her arms start to burn from the exertion, the muscles screaming their dissent. She ignores it, pushing through and catching Santana just below her ribs and into her gut.
Santana groans quietly, wincing but quickly recovering with a flurry of quick hits to Quinn’s torso, succeeding in brushing the blonde back and making her double over, clutching her middle. Santana spits, “You think you’re helping these families? Do you think they’d be impressed by your self-control?” Santana closes in on Quinn as she straightens once more snarling, “They want someone to have dedication-”
Quinn cuts her off with a hard punch to the shoulder. “I don’t have dedication?” She scoffs.
Santana responds with another kick, this one nearly missing as Quinn moves out of the way. “Let.” A hard left punch to Quinn’s right bicep numbs the blonde’s arm. “Me.” The next hit from Santana’s right goes between Quinn’s left collarbone and shoulder, causing Quinn to rock backwards. “Finish.” The last punch is into Quinn’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her and the blonde drops to her knees.
Quinn’s mouth is open, her body trying to suck in some air, but her stomach roils, making Quinn think she’s going to be sick. Unable to breathe properly, she can’t say a word, which is what Santana wanted.
“Good. About fucking time you shut up,” Santana says, but her voice holds no humor. “They want someone with both dedication and a level head. The fact that you act like you’re the only one who cares is what is wrong with this situation, Quinn. I don’t care? That doesn’t even make sense. Can’t I do more for those girls, for their families, if I can keep my cool and evaluate the evidence objectively?” Her voice drops, “God knows that’s what I would have wanted.”
Quinn is still holding her stomach, trying to force air into her burning lungs when she realizes they have a spectator. It’s a flash of blonde hair and long legs as a woman quickly kneels down next to her, a cool hand on her shoulder and a softly whispered, “Are you okay?” Quinn winces, but nods her response as she takes tiny breaths and the blue eyes snap up to look at Santana angrily, “Did you do this to her?”
Santana’s brow furrows, surprised by the interruption and her lips part to reply, but she finds her mouth is dry under the piercing blue gaze of the woman before her. Her eyes flick back and forth between the two blondes, and she finds she is something she never is. Slightly ashamed. Shaking her head to clear it, she finds her voice and says, “We were sparring. It’s how it goes.” She looks away, wiping the sweat from her forehead before reaching down to help Quinn to her feet. Quinn sweeps her legs from under her instead, and Santana’s head smacks the mat with a loud thwap. Santana is furious that she let the strange blonde make her drop her guard. From the ground, Santana looks to the other woman. She possesses no obvious credentials, so Santana questions, rather abruptly, “What are you doing here?”
The woman rises and points to their right. Quinn and Santana turn to see a rather pale looking Finn standing by the door. “Agent Finn brought me down here,” she replies with a smile, the anger and concern gone now that Quinn is standing once more, and she reaches down to help Santana to her feet. “I’m Brittany, and you are supposed to help me.”
Quinn frowns at the bubbly woman’s perky demeanor, fearing that she needs a different kind of help than they can offer.
Part IV