Fic: Breakdowns and Breakthroughs (14/14)
Title: Breakdowns and Breakthroughs (14/14)
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Rating: PG-13 fort this part
Word Count: 2,135
Spoliers: None, really.
Disclaimer: Not at all like what I usually write. A little angsty, but knowing me, it’ll turn fluffy at some point. Some trauma triggers in there. Be warned.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don’t own these characters.
A/N: Thanks to my beta, sky_splitz for encouraging me to test out these new, angsty waters.
***Guys, the end is here! There may or may not be an epilogue coming, but for now, this is it. I hope you've enjoyed reading my story, and that - at least once in a while - it has made you smile. Please comment and let me know what you think, now that it's all done. And again, thank you so much for reading.***
“On April 12th, 2009, Santana Lopez was walking home from school,” DA Richardson said, standing still as she addressed the jury. “After dropping off her best friend, a complete stranger - John White - grabbed her from behind and shoved into the trunk of his car. He took her to a remote location, cleaned her, and raped her repeatedly. He then attempted to remove every trace of the attack - proving that his actions were pre-meditated - before completely disappearing.”
In the front row of the courtroom, Santana sat between her parents. She was sick and tired of constantly feeling like she was about to fall off of a cliff.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Santana shaking. With a sad sigh, she reached over Mrs. Lopez’s lap and gripped Santana’s hand. Mrs. Lopez smiled and placed her right hand on top of Rachel and Santana’s. Mr. Lopez did the same. From the row behind them, Santana felt Brittany’s soft, feminine hand on her left shoulder, then Puck’s rough one on her right shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” Quinn whispered, leaning forward. “We’ll take care of you. And if he isn’t convicted, I’ll stick Puck on him.”
Santana’s lip quirked up slightly as the tears began to fall silently down her cheek.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this has gone beyond the realm of accusation, beyond a simple ‘He said, she said,’” the DA continued, walking slowly to one end of the jury, and then to the other. “Indeed, this chain of events is fact; you’ve heard testimony from the detectives and the forensics team responsible for this case that indisputably places Ms. Lopez in the trunk of Mr. White’s car. You’ve seen the photographic evidence of the bruises that Ms. Lopez sustained after the attack. You’ve heard testimony from the doctors that performed her exam, testimony that attests to non-consensual intercourse and that matches John White’s DNA to the samples collected from Ms. Lopez during her examination. You’ve heard Ms. Lopez’s personal account of the most horrific day of her life; you’ve listened, in detail, to what she went through when John White abducted and brutalized her. What you haven’t heard, however, is testimony from the accused. You haven’t heard Mr. White tell you that he hasn’t done anything wrong, explain a potential misunderstanding, offer an alternative chain of events. Certainly, Mr. White has the right to remain silent, to refuse to incriminate himself, and to refrain from committing perjury. Certainly, we don’t know if that’s the case here. But I’m sure you’re wondering, like I am, why Mr. Lane hasn’t called his client to the stand.”
Santana watched as the members of the jury shifted in their chairs. She thought she saw a few of them nod, but she just couldn’t be sure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of the pitfalls of my profession is that I have to continuously place myself in the position of my clients. The experiences that they’ve had, more often than not, are overwhelmingly terrifying and it’s my job to imagine myself going through them. It’s not easy, and it’s painful. But, for just a moment, I’d like to ask you to do the same. Ladies, imagine yourself back in high school. Gentlemen, imagine your mothers, your grandmothers, your wives, your sisters, your daughters. Imagine them in the place of Ms. Lopez, walking home from school, being kidnapped, beaten, and violently raped.”
Santana gripped Rachel’s hand as the DA continued, making eye contact with each member of the jury.
“I’d like to say that I, myself, would have the courage that Ms. Lopez has shown in testifying against Mr. White, in reliving the worst day of her life, and in facing the battering accusations from the defense. But, honestly, I don’t know if I could. And I hope I never find out. I hope none of you ever find out. Ladies and gentlemen, this case - unlike most things in life - does not have a grey area. It is completely black and white. Living Ms. Lopez’s experience, even for a moment, gave me a great deal of clarity and I sincerely hope that it gives you the same. Convict John White of kidnapping. Convict him of rape. Help me get John White off of the street, away from your mothers, your grandmothers, your wives, your sisters, your daughters. Away from you.”
After waiting for a beat, the DA walked back to her table and sat down. “Your honor, the prosecution rests.”
“Your closing statements, Mr. Lane,” the judge said.
“Thank you, your honor,” Mr. Lane said, standing and smiling at Santana before making his way over to the jury.
Santana felt the anger bubbling up inside of her and glanced at Rachel. The tips of her girlfriend’s ears were bright red, her eyebrows furrowed in pure, unadultered hatred. It was kind of cute, actually.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I hope you’re enjoying the show so far,” Mr. Lane said, grinning.
“What a douchebag,” Mr. Schuester whispered behind Santana’s parents.
“That's one thing we can agree one, William,” Coach Sylvester whispered..
Santana almost laughed.
“We’ve all heard Ms. Lopez’s testimony,” Mr. Lane continued. “I’m not a monster - the story that Ms. Lopez told is heartbreaking, truly, and I don’t doubt that she went through something traumatic on the day of April 12th, 2009. No, I’m certainly not arguing that. I am, however, stipulating that a grey area does, in fact, exist in this situation. Ms. Lopez is a troubled young lady. She admitted to allowing rumors of her sexual exploits to continue unchecked - she liked the attention, she told us so herself.”
“I want to roll over that guy’s nuts,” Artie whispered.
“Me too,” Kurt replied.
“Me three,” Puck said.
“Later,” Mercedes whispered back.
“In a small town like this, rumors don’t often stay within the boundaries of high school,” Mr. Lane continued. “Yes, John White did engage Ms. Lopez, but he didn’t do it in a vacuum. He had heard the same rumors that Ms. Lopez’s classmates heard, the same rumors that she herself encouraged. He found her, and he approached her. He called to her, and she ignored him.”
Santana felt all of the color drain from her face. She wanted to stand up and shout, scream that Lane was lying.
“She didn’t tell you this, because she doesn’t remember it. And that is completely understandable. Ms. Lopez went through a trauma; or, rather, she believes that she went through a trauma. After the alleged attack, Ms. Lopez saw a therapist - a professional with thirty years of experience that promptly diagnosed her with PTSD. And, as we all know, memory loss is a potential symptom of PTSD. Children block out memories of abuse, soldiers block out memories of war - all in a subconscious effort to allow themselves a chance to function in normal society. If a trauma such as the one that Ms. Lopez described truly happened, it would be reasonable, even expected, for her memory to erase details…details, perhaps, that might make her more accountable for the events that took place. She wants to believe it is all her attacker’s fault, so that’s what her memory is showing her. It’s possible.”
“I’m going to roll Artie over that guy’s nuts,” Finn said.
“I’m going to watch,” Tina whispered.
“And laugh,” Mike agreed.
“You’ll have to beat me there,” Rachel whispered, turning slightly to face her friends. “And I have four inch stilettos on. Rolling won’t be necessary.”
“It’s possible,” Mr. Lane repeated. “Ms. Lopez is a troubled girl with a history of lying about her sexual experiences. It’s possible that she’s doing the same now. And it’s possible that she simply isn’t remembering what actually happened. Ms. Richardson’s job was to prove to you, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Mr. White attacked Ms. Lopez without any provocation, without any reason. Personally, I don’t think she did. But it’s not up to me, it’s up to you. I’d say that there’s a reasonable doubt that this case is more of a grey area than Ms. Richardson would like to admit. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, acquit my client. Uphold justice. Your honor, the defense rests.”
Mike and Finn had to hold Puck down in his chair when Mr. Lane walked past them to sit down.
“Very well,” the judge said. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are excused to deliberate.”
…
The entire Glee club, plus most of the Glee club parents, were in the court cafeteria a few hours later when the Bailiff came in to tell them that the jury had made a decision.
“That was quick,” Santana said, biting her nails as she walked back to the court room.
“I’m confident that the jury made its decision so quickly because the right path was so glaringly obvious. Right, Ms. Richardson?”
The DA nodded. “Let’s hope so.”
…
Back in the courtroom, the judge tapped her gavel. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a decision?”
“We have, your honor,” The foreman, a fifty-something man with graying hair, said.
As the Bailiff took a white piece of paper from the foreman and handed it to the judge, Santana felt her heart rattling against her ribcage.
“I’m scared,” she whispered to Rachel, who was now sitting next to her.
“I know,” Rachel said, squeezing her girlfriend’s hand. “Me too.”
The judge read the paper, handed it to the Bailiff to deliver back to the foreman.
“And what say you?”
Santana took a deep breath.
“In the matter of the State of Ohio v. John White…”
Everything seemed to be going in slow motion.
“We find the defendant…”
Santana closed her eyes and gripped Rachel’s hand.
“Guilty of all charges.”
Santana vaguely heard Rachel scream next to her, felt her friends gripping at her shoulders, her arms, felt her mother’s tears as they cascaded down her neck.
“Santana, baby, it’s over,” Rachel said after a moment, sitting down next to her girlfriend.
“It is?” Santana said, finally opening her eyes. One huge tear fell from her eyelashes. “It’s over?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, her heart shattering and expanding at the same time. “He’s going away for a long, long time. You did it.”
Santana nodded and stood up. She wasn’t upright for more than a few seconds before her legs gave out and she fell backwards onto the bench, holding her head between her knees as sobs wracked her body.
Brittany and Quinn simultaneously jumped over the bench and rubbed Santana’s back as Rachel whispered in her ear.
“Let it all out, baby,” Rachel said. “It’s over.”
Once Santana had calmed down a bit, she grabbed her parents and hugged them fiercely. Then, as the rest of the people filed out of the courtroom, she walked over to the DA and Detective Faulkner and did the same.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered in their ears.
Before they could respond, Santana felt a tap on her back. She turned around just in time to see the Bailiff dragging John White out of the court room and into custody.
“Ms. Lopez, congratulations,” Mr. Lane said. “No hard feelings, I hope?”
Santana felt Detective Faulkner’s grip tighten on her arm. Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how she chose to look at it - none of them saw Rachel launch herself at Mr. Lane soon enough. Luckily for Rachel, another detective grabbed her before she did any real damage, but not before she landed a solid punch to Lane’s face.
“Did you see that?!” Lane said, clutching his nose. “She attacked me!”
The judge shook her head and left the courtroom.
Everybody was silent.
“Didn’t see a thing,” Faulkner finally said.
“Me either,” Artie said, jovially, as he rolled over Lane’s foot.
“Come on!” Lane yelled, hopping on his unharmed foot.
“Oh look, I dropped my pencil,” Puck said, crouching down on the ground. “I better get it.”
As he stood back up, he brought his forearm up, hard, between Lane’s legs.
Lane let out a squeak, then doubled over on the floor.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Lane,” Santana said, bending down in front of the attorney. “No hard feelings. For a while, I’d imagine.”
"Well done, Lopez," Coach Sylvester said, grinning ear to ear.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Faulkner said, leading everybody out of the courtroom. “Rachel, Artie, Puck…let’s talk about community service, shall we?”
In a manner of minutes, Santana’s life was infinitely less complicated. Yes, she was still damaged and she would be for a long time.
But whenever she felt herself start to panic, whenever the stress became too much, she reached out to Rachel, to her parents, to her friends. She had a network now, a network that she was no longer too proud to accept.
And, when all else failed, Santana thought of Rachel - her very own flying diva - as she leapt at Mr. Lane. And then she laughed. Every time.
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Rating: PG-13 fort this part
Word Count: 2,135
Spoliers: None, really.
Disclaimer: Not at all like what I usually write. A little angsty, but knowing me, it’ll turn fluffy at some point. Some trauma triggers in there. Be warned.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don’t own these characters.
A/N: Thanks to my beta, sky_splitz for encouraging me to test out these new, angsty waters.
***Guys, the end is here! There may or may not be an epilogue coming, but for now, this is it. I hope you've enjoyed reading my story, and that - at least once in a while - it has made you smile. Please comment and let me know what you think, now that it's all done. And again, thank you so much for reading.***
“On April 12th, 2009, Santana Lopez was walking home from school,” DA Richardson said, standing still as she addressed the jury. “After dropping off her best friend, a complete stranger - John White - grabbed her from behind and shoved into the trunk of his car. He took her to a remote location, cleaned her, and raped her repeatedly. He then attempted to remove every trace of the attack - proving that his actions were pre-meditated - before completely disappearing.”
In the front row of the courtroom, Santana sat between her parents. She was sick and tired of constantly feeling like she was about to fall off of a cliff.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Santana shaking. With a sad sigh, she reached over Mrs. Lopez’s lap and gripped Santana’s hand. Mrs. Lopez smiled and placed her right hand on top of Rachel and Santana’s. Mr. Lopez did the same. From the row behind them, Santana felt Brittany’s soft, feminine hand on her left shoulder, then Puck’s rough one on her right shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” Quinn whispered, leaning forward. “We’ll take care of you. And if he isn’t convicted, I’ll stick Puck on him.”
Santana’s lip quirked up slightly as the tears began to fall silently down her cheek.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this has gone beyond the realm of accusation, beyond a simple ‘He said, she said,’” the DA continued, walking slowly to one end of the jury, and then to the other. “Indeed, this chain of events is fact; you’ve heard testimony from the detectives and the forensics team responsible for this case that indisputably places Ms. Lopez in the trunk of Mr. White’s car. You’ve seen the photographic evidence of the bruises that Ms. Lopez sustained after the attack. You’ve heard testimony from the doctors that performed her exam, testimony that attests to non-consensual intercourse and that matches John White’s DNA to the samples collected from Ms. Lopez during her examination. You’ve heard Ms. Lopez’s personal account of the most horrific day of her life; you’ve listened, in detail, to what she went through when John White abducted and brutalized her. What you haven’t heard, however, is testimony from the accused. You haven’t heard Mr. White tell you that he hasn’t done anything wrong, explain a potential misunderstanding, offer an alternative chain of events. Certainly, Mr. White has the right to remain silent, to refuse to incriminate himself, and to refrain from committing perjury. Certainly, we don’t know if that’s the case here. But I’m sure you’re wondering, like I am, why Mr. Lane hasn’t called his client to the stand.”
Santana watched as the members of the jury shifted in their chairs. She thought she saw a few of them nod, but she just couldn’t be sure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of the pitfalls of my profession is that I have to continuously place myself in the position of my clients. The experiences that they’ve had, more often than not, are overwhelmingly terrifying and it’s my job to imagine myself going through them. It’s not easy, and it’s painful. But, for just a moment, I’d like to ask you to do the same. Ladies, imagine yourself back in high school. Gentlemen, imagine your mothers, your grandmothers, your wives, your sisters, your daughters. Imagine them in the place of Ms. Lopez, walking home from school, being kidnapped, beaten, and violently raped.”
Santana gripped Rachel’s hand as the DA continued, making eye contact with each member of the jury.
“I’d like to say that I, myself, would have the courage that Ms. Lopez has shown in testifying against Mr. White, in reliving the worst day of her life, and in facing the battering accusations from the defense. But, honestly, I don’t know if I could. And I hope I never find out. I hope none of you ever find out. Ladies and gentlemen, this case - unlike most things in life - does not have a grey area. It is completely black and white. Living Ms. Lopez’s experience, even for a moment, gave me a great deal of clarity and I sincerely hope that it gives you the same. Convict John White of kidnapping. Convict him of rape. Help me get John White off of the street, away from your mothers, your grandmothers, your wives, your sisters, your daughters. Away from you.”
After waiting for a beat, the DA walked back to her table and sat down. “Your honor, the prosecution rests.”
“Your closing statements, Mr. Lane,” the judge said.
“Thank you, your honor,” Mr. Lane said, standing and smiling at Santana before making his way over to the jury.
Santana felt the anger bubbling up inside of her and glanced at Rachel. The tips of her girlfriend’s ears were bright red, her eyebrows furrowed in pure, unadultered hatred. It was kind of cute, actually.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I hope you’re enjoying the show so far,” Mr. Lane said, grinning.
“What a douchebag,” Mr. Schuester whispered behind Santana’s parents.
“That's one thing we can agree one, William,” Coach Sylvester whispered..
Santana almost laughed.
“We’ve all heard Ms. Lopez’s testimony,” Mr. Lane continued. “I’m not a monster - the story that Ms. Lopez told is heartbreaking, truly, and I don’t doubt that she went through something traumatic on the day of April 12th, 2009. No, I’m certainly not arguing that. I am, however, stipulating that a grey area does, in fact, exist in this situation. Ms. Lopez is a troubled young lady. She admitted to allowing rumors of her sexual exploits to continue unchecked - she liked the attention, she told us so herself.”
“I want to roll over that guy’s nuts,” Artie whispered.
“Me too,” Kurt replied.
“Me three,” Puck said.
“Later,” Mercedes whispered back.
“In a small town like this, rumors don’t often stay within the boundaries of high school,” Mr. Lane continued. “Yes, John White did engage Ms. Lopez, but he didn’t do it in a vacuum. He had heard the same rumors that Ms. Lopez’s classmates heard, the same rumors that she herself encouraged. He found her, and he approached her. He called to her, and she ignored him.”
Santana felt all of the color drain from her face. She wanted to stand up and shout, scream that Lane was lying.
“She didn’t tell you this, because she doesn’t remember it. And that is completely understandable. Ms. Lopez went through a trauma; or, rather, she believes that she went through a trauma. After the alleged attack, Ms. Lopez saw a therapist - a professional with thirty years of experience that promptly diagnosed her with PTSD. And, as we all know, memory loss is a potential symptom of PTSD. Children block out memories of abuse, soldiers block out memories of war - all in a subconscious effort to allow themselves a chance to function in normal society. If a trauma such as the one that Ms. Lopez described truly happened, it would be reasonable, even expected, for her memory to erase details…details, perhaps, that might make her more accountable for the events that took place. She wants to believe it is all her attacker’s fault, so that’s what her memory is showing her. It’s possible.”
“I’m going to roll Artie over that guy’s nuts,” Finn said.
“I’m going to watch,” Tina whispered.
“And laugh,” Mike agreed.
“You’ll have to beat me there,” Rachel whispered, turning slightly to face her friends. “And I have four inch stilettos on. Rolling won’t be necessary.”
“It’s possible,” Mr. Lane repeated. “Ms. Lopez is a troubled girl with a history of lying about her sexual experiences. It’s possible that she’s doing the same now. And it’s possible that she simply isn’t remembering what actually happened. Ms. Richardson’s job was to prove to you, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Mr. White attacked Ms. Lopez without any provocation, without any reason. Personally, I don’t think she did. But it’s not up to me, it’s up to you. I’d say that there’s a reasonable doubt that this case is more of a grey area than Ms. Richardson would like to admit. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, acquit my client. Uphold justice. Your honor, the defense rests.”
Mike and Finn had to hold Puck down in his chair when Mr. Lane walked past them to sit down.
“Very well,” the judge said. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are excused to deliberate.”
…
The entire Glee club, plus most of the Glee club parents, were in the court cafeteria a few hours later when the Bailiff came in to tell them that the jury had made a decision.
“That was quick,” Santana said, biting her nails as she walked back to the court room.
“I’m confident that the jury made its decision so quickly because the right path was so glaringly obvious. Right, Ms. Richardson?”
The DA nodded. “Let’s hope so.”
…
Back in the courtroom, the judge tapped her gavel. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a decision?”
“We have, your honor,” The foreman, a fifty-something man with graying hair, said.
As the Bailiff took a white piece of paper from the foreman and handed it to the judge, Santana felt her heart rattling against her ribcage.
“I’m scared,” she whispered to Rachel, who was now sitting next to her.
“I know,” Rachel said, squeezing her girlfriend’s hand. “Me too.”
The judge read the paper, handed it to the Bailiff to deliver back to the foreman.
“And what say you?”
Santana took a deep breath.
“In the matter of the State of Ohio v. John White…”
Everything seemed to be going in slow motion.
“We find the defendant…”
Santana closed her eyes and gripped Rachel’s hand.
“Guilty of all charges.”
Santana vaguely heard Rachel scream next to her, felt her friends gripping at her shoulders, her arms, felt her mother’s tears as they cascaded down her neck.
“Santana, baby, it’s over,” Rachel said after a moment, sitting down next to her girlfriend.
“It is?” Santana said, finally opening her eyes. One huge tear fell from her eyelashes. “It’s over?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, her heart shattering and expanding at the same time. “He’s going away for a long, long time. You did it.”
Santana nodded and stood up. She wasn’t upright for more than a few seconds before her legs gave out and she fell backwards onto the bench, holding her head between her knees as sobs wracked her body.
Brittany and Quinn simultaneously jumped over the bench and rubbed Santana’s back as Rachel whispered in her ear.
“Let it all out, baby,” Rachel said. “It’s over.”
Once Santana had calmed down a bit, she grabbed her parents and hugged them fiercely. Then, as the rest of the people filed out of the courtroom, she walked over to the DA and Detective Faulkner and did the same.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered in their ears.
Before they could respond, Santana felt a tap on her back. She turned around just in time to see the Bailiff dragging John White out of the court room and into custody.
“Ms. Lopez, congratulations,” Mr. Lane said. “No hard feelings, I hope?”
Santana felt Detective Faulkner’s grip tighten on her arm. Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how she chose to look at it - none of them saw Rachel launch herself at Mr. Lane soon enough. Luckily for Rachel, another detective grabbed her before she did any real damage, but not before she landed a solid punch to Lane’s face.
“Did you see that?!” Lane said, clutching his nose. “She attacked me!”
The judge shook her head and left the courtroom.
Everybody was silent.
“Didn’t see a thing,” Faulkner finally said.
“Me either,” Artie said, jovially, as he rolled over Lane’s foot.
“Come on!” Lane yelled, hopping on his unharmed foot.
“Oh look, I dropped my pencil,” Puck said, crouching down on the ground. “I better get it.”
As he stood back up, he brought his forearm up, hard, between Lane’s legs.
Lane let out a squeak, then doubled over on the floor.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Lane,” Santana said, bending down in front of the attorney. “No hard feelings. For a while, I’d imagine.”
"Well done, Lopez," Coach Sylvester said, grinning ear to ear.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Faulkner said, leading everybody out of the courtroom. “Rachel, Artie, Puck…let’s talk about community service, shall we?”
In a manner of minutes, Santana’s life was infinitely less complicated. Yes, she was still damaged and she would be for a long time.
But whenever she felt herself start to panic, whenever the stress became too much, she reached out to Rachel, to her parents, to her friends. She had a network now, a network that she was no longer too proud to accept.
And, when all else failed, Santana thought of Rachel - her very own flying diva - as she leapt at Mr. Lane. And then she laughed. Every time.