Fic: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Thirteen]
Title: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Thirteen]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: little over 5k this part
Notes in Part One
[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]
--
When Santana wakes up the next morning it's to the smell of waffles drifting into the bedroom and the distant sound of music. It takes her a full thirty seconds to blink her eyes awake and figure out where she is. Then she hears the music turn to a soft jazzy tune, the sound of Rachel's voice absently singing along trailing after it and the memories of last night come back to her.
Right, Quinn and Rachel are there and from the sounds coming from the kitchen, Brittany's making them waffles. She presses the back of her head into the pillow under her and rubs a hand over her face, pleased when the action doesn't produce the expected pain like it had for the past few days. At least something's healing.
The sheets next to her are cold to the touch and she's shocked for a minute because Brittany almost never beats her out of bed, at least not to the point where the sheets get cold. It's practically unheard of. She's not sure what it means, but she thinks it probably has something to do with how much sleep she needed and she can't deny how rested she actually feels. Her muscles ache as she stretches her body and lets out a loud yawn, her jaw cracking as she does it.
The room is warm and there's the lingering scent of Brittany on the pillow next to her so she puts serious consideration into not getting out of bed at all right now. She has about zero interest in leaving her bedroom because doing so means the day officially starts and she has to deal with reality and psychotic criminals and the thunderstorm she can see creeping over the city from outside her window. Nope, staying in bed and pretending like everything is perfectly okay in her world seems like a much better option.
But then she hears the familiar sound of socked feet sliding across the hardwood floor of the hallway and footsteps making their way to the bedroom, the soft thudding settling in her chest like an ache. Brittany bounces in seconds later and smiles widely when she notices Santana, her blonde hair still a tangled, attractive mess on her head.
"You're awake!" Brittany exclaims, hopping over to the bed and draping her body on top of Santana's. "I made waffles," she announces before kissing Santana.
"I smell that," Santana comments, smiling against Brittany's lips. Her girlfriend tastes like coffee and maple syrup and Santana finds her hands creeping up the back of Brittany's shirt before she can even think about it.
"Rachel's high on her pills," she whispers, wiggling her hips into Santana's distractingly.
Santana shifts her legs so Brittany drops between them. "Yeah?"
"It's funny," Brittany replies, nodding and giggling. Santana kisses her just because she can, blocking out thoughts of the real world for long moments.
Then, all of a sudden, Brittany jumps up off of Santana until she's standing by their bed, her arm darting out to grab Santana's wrist and pull her out as well. "Come on, S. Your waffles are getting cold."
Santana lets herself get dragged off the mattress and stands up, shrugging on a pair of police-issue sweatpants and a t-shirt before following Brittany out into the kitchen. It's altogether surreal, to walk into her kitchen with Brittany and see it in complete disarray - bowls and silverware across the counter tops, coffee warming in the pot on the stove, the milk still sitting out by the fridge. And Quinn and Rachel, making out by her sink. Of course.
"God," Santana says as the couple comes into view. "I get enough of this when I stay at your place, do you really have to infect my apartment with it too?"
Brittany laughs as she reaches into a cabinet to grab a coffee mug, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring the liquid into the cup. Rachel just holds her hand up, palm facing Santana in a talk to the hand gesture, and fails to disengage her lips from Quinn's.
Not one to be deterred by Rachel Berry, Santana makes a gagging noise as she passes her friends and takes the freshly poured coffee from Brittany with a grateful smile. "Aren't you an invalid, Berry? Isn't it like irresponsible for Quinn to be all up against you like that?" She takes a seat as she says it, mouth watering at the plate of waffles set in front of her. Brittany comes around the counter to sit next to her.
This time, Rachel does pull back, turns to Santana and slaps a grin on her face that Santana thinks might actually break the girl's cheekbones. Quinn, on the other hand, looks completely gobsmacked, eyes wide and her focus failing to leave Rachel's face. If Santana weren't so busy trying to rile Rachel, she'd be laughing pretty hard at Quinn.
"I feel much better. Thank you, Santana," Rachel says, her voice way too loud for the early hour and the expression on her face entirely too happy for someone with cracked ribs. "The medication I was prescribed has done wonders for alleviating the pain in my ribs."
Santana raises both her eyebrows and turns to Brittany. "Wow," she comments. "You weren't kidding."
Brittany's nose scrunches up as she smiles, lips pursed together. Before anyone else can say anything though, the music playing in the kitchen shifts songs and Rachel starts singing. Loudly. Quinn jumps back as the sound hits her at close range.
"Rach," Quinn says, trying to grab the other girl's wrists. "You should lie down."
Rachel somehow manages to look completely horrified and exasperated at the same time as she turns towards her wife, her singing trailing off. "Quinn," Rachel starts, raising both eyebrows and leaning towards the blonde girl. Santana almost gets out of her chair at the way Rachel is standing, positive the shorter girl is about to take a nose dive into an unsuspecting Quinn Fabray, but Rachel manages to stay upright and continue talking. "The pills are very effective. I'm fine. See?!"
This time Santana does get up out of her chair as she sees Rachel move her hands out in front of her, looking like she's preparing to slam them onto her ribs, a gesture, Santana assumes, meant to prove to Quinn she's feeling no pain. Thankfully, Quinn recognizes the motion as well and darts her hands out to wrap around Rachel's wrists, stopping the motion before she can do any damage.
"Rach," the blonde attorney says, her voice calm and low, like she's talking to a small child. "Your ribs are not healed. Just because they don't hurt right now, doesn't mean they're better."
Rachel's lips smack together as she stares at Quinn dubiously, her eyes fluttering open and closed. Santana laughs as she sits back down and lifts her fork up, eyes roaming her plate of waffles to find the best area of attack. Brittany chuckles next to her and knocks her toes against Santana's calf.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Rachel step forward, and her fork clatters back to the table as she realizes the brunette has gone back to the making out portion of her high. Not that Quinn looks like she's minding this side effect. At all.
"Oh my God," Santana blurts out. "I'm trying to freakin' eat here!"
Rachel pulls away again, Quinn's hands still wrapped around her wrists, and blinks slowly at Santana. "Maybe I should lie down."
Brittany giggles from her place next to Santana and Quinn makes an answering sound. Santana just shakes her head and goes back to her waffles.
--
Santana woke up slowly as the light from her bedroom window hit her eyes. She quickly squeezed her eyes back closed and tried to figure out how the hell she forgot to close her blinds last night. Then she became aware of the heavy arm across her stomach and the warm breath, beating hotly against the back of her neck.
Right. Brittany was the reason she forgot to close her blinds. Her blonde girlfriend was easily the most distracting person Santana had ever met and when they got back from that party last night, closing the blinds had been the last thing Santana was thinking about. Now, awake at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, she was wishing she hadn't been so distracted last night.
She moved to get out of bed and cross the floor to the window but when she went to remove Brittany's arm from her waist, the blonde girl only tightened her grip, mumbling incoherently into Santana's hair and snuggling deeper into her back.
"Britt," she whispered, tapping the arm around her lightly and looking over her shoulder. "I gotta get up."
Brittany shook her head lightly. "Saturday. No school."
Santana chuckled. "I know, babe. I gotta close the blinds."
The taller girl pulled back a little, her arm sliding across Santana's abs, and squinted at Santana's face grumpily, eyes snapping shut as they slid towards the window. "Oh," she said, as she rolled all the way over onto her back and flung her arm over her eyes.
Santana stood up and padded across the carpet towards the window, tugging the string on the right to pull the blinds over the glass. She was halfway back to bed when she heard the loud bang of a door slamming shut downstairs and two sets of footsteps pound into the house.
Brittany's arm flew off her face as she sat up, startled by the sound. "I thought your parents were gone for the weekend," she said to Santana.
"Me too," she answered, walking cautiously to the door. Her heart started to beat faster as she heard the footsteps come up the stairs, the wood creaking loudly as whoever it was made their way to the upper level. She gave Brittany a wide eyed look.
Her parents were gone for the weekend - some three-day convention for her father's business. It was a common occurrence, her mother almost always accompanied him on these trips, and Santana got used to staying home alone from an early age. These days though, she was with Brittany every waking and non-waking moment of her life, so it really didn't matter as much.
But now here she was, home alone with her girlfriend, and some intruder was making their way up to her bedroom. She grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall by her desk and wrapped her hands around the wooden handle. Her dad would probably skin her alive for getting blood on the bat - it was a birthday gift, signed by Ernie Banks in 1977 - but it was the only thing on hand she could use as a weapon.
Brittany jumped out of bed and scrambled to stand behind her, hands gripping the back of Santana's tank top as they both kept their eyes on the door. Her palms started to sweat as she readjusted her grip on the bat and swallowed thickly against fear. The footsteps stopped in front of her door and Santana felt her eyes open even wider as the door knob turned and Brittany's grip tightened in her shirt, the fabric pulling taut across her stomach.
The door slid open and she heard Brittany gasp softly from behind her, the sound causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. Santana raised the bat over her shoulder, prepared to deliver a mean strike to whoever was about to attack them. That is, until she realized the intruder was in fact her father, looking between the bat and her with a blank expression. She just barely pulled her swing back as she recognized the large body in her doorway.
"Papi!" She exclaimed, her breath coming out in relieved pants. Brittany's fingers released her shirt as the other girl realized what was going on.
"Your mother and I are home," he announced in a gruff voice and Santana fought against rolling her eyes at the obviousness of his statement. She let her arms fall down to her side, the bat loosely gripped in her left hand.
"Why?" Her parents had never come home early from a work-weekend. In fact, they were more likely to extend their stay than shorten it. She can't remember the last Saturday her parents were actually home and the way her father looked made her uneasy as he stood there in the same clothes she had seen him in yesterday, his hair a scruffy mess and his eyes bloodshoot.
He stared her down before answering the question, a weariness settling in around his eyes that she couldn't place. "That's irrelevant," he answered, his tone leaving no room for questions. She could hear Brittany shifting around behind her, could imagine the way her girlfriend's eyes were downcast and the way she was probably biting her lip. She didn't really want to make Brittany witness a frosty stand off between her and her father.
So instead of questioning him further she just nodded. "Okay."
"You're on your own for dinner," he said, before shutting the door.
She turned back to Brittany, setting the bat back down by her desk and tugging her girlfriend by the wrist back to the bed. "Come on, let's go back to sleep," she said.
"That was weird," Brittany commented in a soft voice as they settled back into the bed. She shuffled over until her side was against Santana's and Santana let her back sink into the mattress, enjoying the way Brittany's breath hit the side of her neck.
"Yeah," Santana replied. She stared at her ceiling for the next hour, Brittany snoring softly into her shoulder.
Her parents die in a car crash a week later.
--
"It could just be a coincidence," Quinn says, holding a coffee cup with both hands as she stands next to Santana. They're facing the living room window, Rachel passed out on the couch behind them and Santana can hear Brittany cleaning up the kitchen. "I mean, I freaked out at first, but it could totally be a coincidence."
Santana shifts her feet back and forth, one arm crossed over her chest and the other bringing her own cup of coffee to her lips. "Could be," she agrees. She peeks a glance over her shoulder to the couch and watches Quinn follow her line of sight. "But we don't have much to go on right now. It couldn't hurt to eliminate the possibility."
Quinn purses her lips and takes a long look at where Rachel's sleeping, a bottle of pills resting on the table next to her. "Yeah," she lets out finally. "Okay, what do you need from me?"
"Can you think of any reason, any reason at all, that he'd be in the city?"
The attorney shakes her head, sipping her coffee before answering. "I told you. The only reason that they were ever here, was to come see me. A few weekends here and there and that's it." Quinn blows out a long breath, the air momentarily steaming up the glass window in front of her. "I mean, he's an investment banker. He does most of his work from home. It's not like he'd be up here on business."
Santana nods, her eyes roaming the buildings outside her window. "Okay, well. I'm going to call him and ask."
"I can call him," Quinn says, looking sideways at Santana.
"No, it's better coming from me."
"Santana, he's my father." Quinn sets her coffee cup on a table and props her fists on her hips, turning to face Santana with a stony expression.
The rain beats against the window, a constant thumping sounding flowing over their conversation and Santana lets her eyes focus in and out on the droplets. "And this is my case," she says. "Let me do my job. You do yours."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Oh and what exactly is my job in all this, sit here and wait?"
Santana turns to look at her, unblinking. "I made a promise. I have to go to work so I can catch this guy and end it," she whispers, glancing towards the kitchen as she hears Brittany talking to Nemo. "You know what your job is."
Quinn looks in the direction of the kitchen too, staring for a long moment before turning her eyes back to Santana. "Yeah," she says. "Okay."
--
Santana watched with wide eyes as Rachel Berry let out a long string of expletives at the bartender. She turned to Quinn. "What's wrong with her?"
Quinn popped a peanut in her mouth and shrugged, shaking her head with a soft smile. "My parents cancelled on dinner tonight," Quinn answered.
"And she's mad?" Santana looked back at Rachel again as the shorter girl blurted out a loud, indignant yelp and leaned further over the bar top.
"Apparently," Quinn replied. "Something about how they're not making a substantial enough effort, or not giving us enough notice about cancelling." Quinn shakes her head again. "I don't know, she changes what she's mad about every five minutes. I think it's more about not having another chance to convince my parents how legitimate our marriage is."
Santana chuckled and watched as Rachel made a particularly wild gesture at the poor guy tending bar. "A year ago she would have been thrilled about not having to sit through that."
"Things change," Quinn said.
"I didn't know your parents were in town," Santana replied, picking her nail against the top of her beer bottle and glancing at her friend.
"Just to visit I guess," Quinn responded before taking a long pull of her beer. "It was really last minute too," she continued after she swallowed. "Called me on Thursday to tell me they were coming in. I guess my father had some other friends in the area he wanted to visit, I don't know."
Santana shrugged in response. It wasn't totally unusual for Quinn's parents to show up out of the blue, they were always coming to the city on random weekends, catching dinner with Quinn and critiquing her life choices for a full three days. "Well, I'm sure they'll find some free time to come tell you what a failure you are."
Quinn laughed and raised her bottle to Santana. "True."
Rachel, now seemingly finished berating the bartender, came back to where they were standing, sliding her arm around Quinn's waist and reaching for the attorney's beer, taking a long swig before putting it down on the bar top. She looked between Quinn and Santana, noting the surprised amusement on both their faces.
"What?" Rachel asked, a defiant expression on her face as if she was just waiting for another reason to yell at someone.
Santana rolled her eyes. "Nothing."
Quinn smiled and pressed a kiss to Rachel's temple, sliding an arm over her shoulder and pulling the girl further into her side. "You're hot when you're mad."
Rachel smiled and tucked her head into Quinn's neck before looking at Santana. "Where's Brittany?"
"Bathroom," Santana replied in a bored tone. She eyed the shelf of liquor behind the bar and tried to decide what shots they should do next. Lemon drop maybe? Dead Nazi?
--
She kisses Brittany goodbye in the doorway, swallowing hard as her girlfriend's hands slide inside her jacket and scratch lightly at the small of her back. "I'll be back this afternoon," she says softly, kissing her one more time.
Brittany smiles, squeezing her hips before releasing her. "Be careful."
"Always," Santana responds with a wink before turning and heading out the door.
She nods at the uniform stationed in her hallway and walks quickly to the elevator, taking the ride down and striding through the front doors, out into the rain. The storm clouds blanket the city in darkness, even at the early hour, and Santana shivers against the chill in the air, pulling up the collar of her trench coat and ducking her head down.
The ride to the station takes about twenty minutes and when she walks to her desk, shaking the water off her coat as she enters the bullpen, Finn and Matt are already there waiting for her.
"Morning," she greets.
They both nod at her and it's then that she notices the hesitant expressions on both their faces. Her eyes dart between them as she throws her coat over her chair. There's a file folder clutched tightly in Finn's hand but neither of them seem like they're going to actually like, speak to her.
"What?" Santana asks, grabbing the pink slips of messages on the top of her desk and shuffling through them.
Finn glances quickly at Matt and swallows before answering. "We went through Pike's visitor logs from prison."
Her head snaps up and she looks at them with interest. "And?"
"And, well, we almost didn't catch it, but he had a visitor about a month before he was released," Finn continues. Santana watches his adam's apple bob up and down as the taller man swallows and shifts his eyes to Matt again.
She snaps her fingers in front of them, making them both jump. "Get to the point, Hudson."
"Right," he says, exhaling and nodding rapidly. "Well he used a fake name and everything, but the security camera footage was included and well," Finn takes a deep breath again, pausing. "After everyone's reaction to it last night, I recognized him."
Matt nods next to him and Santana feels dread punch her in the stomach. She already knows who they're talking about before she even sees the picture. "Russell Fabray," she breathes out, opening the file Finn hands her.
So much for it being a coincidence.
--
"So how's work, Santana?" Mrs. Fabray asked, practiced politeness in her voice.
Santana glanced up at Quinn across the table. "It's good, thanks for asking," she answered, a tight smile across her lips.
"That's nice. Catch any interesting criminals lately? I do love a good true crime story." The older woman leans forward over the table, an interested expression on her face as she reaches for her martini.
"No, not really," Santana denied, not up for talking about work at the dinner table. Especially this dinner table.
"Santana caught a big bad guy today," Brittany offered from her seat next to Santana. She shot a look at her girlfriend, but Brittany just shrugged. "You did," she whispered to Santana.
Quinn's mom tilted her head at Brittany with a smile and Santana could hear Quinn laugh under her breath. "Oh?"
Santana nodded, resigned. "Yeah, a guy named Roger Pike," she explained. "He's one of the hired guns for a local organized crime family."
"I didn't know organized crime was that bad in the city," Quinn's dad responded, speaking for the first time that evening. Santana turned to the other end of the table to watch him tip a glass of scotch against this lips.
"It's not," Quinn commented. "Organized crime is down 20% this year from last."
Russell Fabray shot his eyebrows up quickly in acknowledgement but didn't say anything else, just smiled tightly at his daughter and went back to sipping his drink.
They didn't discuss the topic the rest of the meal but Santana couldn't fight the way she felt Mr. Fabray's eyes on her the whole dinner.
--
Puck is sitting up in bed when she walks into his hospital room and she chuckles loudly as she watches him scoop jello into his mouth unhappily.
He whips his head towards her at the sound and narrows his eyes until he notices the white bag she has clutched in her left hand and his nose twitches. "You are my favorite," he says, reaching out towards the bag.
She pulls it away. "Who said it was for you?"
"Fuck you, Lopez," he growls. "Give me that damn burrito."
Santana rolls her eyes but chucks the bag onto the table in front of him, watching with a disgusted expression as he rips open the tin foil package inside and stuffs a corner of it the burrito into his mouth. The box she was carrying with it hits the ground beside his bed with a dull thud.
"How's it going?" Puck gets out around the food in his mouth.
"Quinn's dad visited Pike in the hospital," Santana says, wanting to get it out there so they can start figuring this thing out.
Puck chokes on his burrito, beating a fist against his chest before he can speak. "Shit," he intones, setting the food on his tray and staring at her.
"Yeah," she agrees, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
"See if you can have him tailed," Puck commands, wiping his hands against each other.
Santana nods. "I was going to. Thought I'd run it all by you first."
"Have him tailed," Puck repeats.
He reaches out to grab her jacket, pulling her in close to the bed and reaching into her pocket. Her phone is in her hand before she can yell at him for manhandling her. When she doesn't flip her phone open and dial right away he looks at her with a confused expression.
"What are you doing?"
She looks away from him, eyes darting outside his window where the rain is falling down in sheets. Lightning cracks against the dark sky, illuminating the buildings across the city. She doesn't want to say it, but it comes out anyway. "He's my best friend's dad," she whispers.
And because Puck understands how much she hates that she feels this way, hates that she cares about it at all, he plucks the phone out of her hand wordlessly and dials the number, pressing the phone to his own ear as it connects.
--
"I think I want to be a cop." Santana whispered, staring at the ceiling in Brittany's bedroom.
She felt her girlfriend roll over to her stomach next to her, lifting up on her elbows and staring down at Santana's face. "A cop?"
"Yeah," Santana said, swallowing. She hadn't told anyone yet but she'd been thinking about it for awhile. College wasn't really something on her radar after high school and being a cop always kind of interested her. Especially after her parents died.
"Cool," Brittany breathed, tracing a line across Santana's shoulder.
Santana rolled her head to the side to look at the blonde next to her. "You think so?"
Brittany nodded, smiling. "Cops are hot," she said, biting her lower lip. Then, Brittany tilted her head and frowned.
"What?" Santana asked, when Brittany didn't say anything.
"If I got in trouble, would you have to arrest me?" Brittany asked. "Because I tend to get in trouble whether I want to or not."
"B," Santana said, rubbing her thumb over the furrow in her girlfriend's brow. "If you're in trouble, chances are I am too."
A wide grin spread across Brittany's face, replacing the worry there seconds before. "Good point," Brittany said before kissing her.
Brittany rolled on top of her, her hands traveling down Santana's sides and her tongue stroking into Santana's mouth. A whimper escaped her involuntarily when Brittany abruptly pulled away, frowning again.
"Wait, how is that good?"
Santana rolled her eyes before wrapping her arms around Brittany's neck, pulling the other girl back down. "Don't worry about it."
Brittany smiled in response, worry wiped from her face.
--
She leaves Puck thumbing through old case files on Pike in his hospital bed and heads back to her building, intent on sitting in her apartment with Brittany while she waited for news from the guys she dispatched to locate Russell Fabray.
On the way to the subway she sees a small market and stops in without thinking about it. Before she realizes what she's doing, she's buying a pack of cigarettes and walking back out of the store. The third thwack of the pack against her palm shocks recognition into her and she pauses, eyes the trash can near the curb and considers for a moment throwing them out. But they were expensive, and even without lighting a stick, she can already taste the smoke against the back of her throat.
She stands there for a long moment, the rain beating down on her head, the pack of cigarettes held tight against her palm and the brick wall behind her digging into her shoulder blades. Brittany's face flashes across her brain and she makes her decision, chucking the full pack into the can in front of her and listening to it hit the bottom. She stares at it for a minute, a part of her actually thinking about digging it back up, but she forces herself to turn on her heal and keep walking.
Her phone rings from her pocket and she pulls it out and puts it to her ear, stepping into an alley up ahead and finding some shelter from the rain under a fire escape as she answers.
"Lopez," she says in a clipped tone.
"Detective," she hears a man's voice say, sounding smug. "How are you today?"
She narrows her eyes in suspicion, cold creeping up her spine as she looks around the empty alley. "Who is this?"
"Oh," the voice says with a chuckle. "I think you know."
It's like getting a bucket of ice water poured over her already soaked head. "Pike," she seethes wishing she was at the station, or next to Puck. Somewhere, anywhere but alone on an empty side street.
Pike laughs and the sound makes her fist clench. "Very good," he commends.
"What do you want?" Santana asks, her heart beating fast against her ribcage.
"Well, detective. I'm calling to tell you that I have something of your's. Something I think you might want back."
Her stomach turns over and bile rises in her throat. "What?"
"Here," Pike says, amusement still coating his tone. "I'll let you talk to her."
Her knees give out as a familiar voice comes across the line and she hits the ground hard. "Santana?"
Rain water seeps through her pants and the palm of her right hand digs into the coarse pavement under it, but she can't get her throat to work, can't get words to come out. Fear and disbelief grip her by the neck and her vision starts to go black. Brittany.
The sound of rustling comes down the line and a yelp of pain Santana recognizes as her girlfriend. The sounds shock her voice back into function. "Pike, you so much as touch her," she threatens.
"Oh, Lopez," Pike interrupts, clucking his tongue. "You know that's not how this works."
"I swear to God," she continues.
"We'll be in touch," he says, and then all she can hear is a dial tone.
Her phone slips out of her hand, dropping heavily onto the street under her, but she doesn't notice, too focused on breathing in and out as she stares at the rain falling into puddles of the pavement.
Part Fourteen