Fic: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Seven]
Title: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Seven]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5k this part
Notes in Part One
[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six]
--
Santana lets go of Brittany, pulling back and glaring out the door of their bedroom. She considers ignoring the doorbell for a whole 15 seconds, Brittany wiping at her eyes in front of her, before she remembers that there's actually things going on right now, like crazy stalker people and mysterious white envelopes and a best friend that was probably going to punch her the next time they saw each other. And her headache. She needs a gatorade, like yesterday.
But she wants to ignore it all, stand here with Brittany and keep hugging her because there's something that feels like uncertainty sitting between them. They're still in love and Santana's actually happy that Brittany stayed away because she lost her stupid phone and not for some more substantial reason, but she's unsure of where they stand, of what all this means. Are they back together? Is Brittany moving back? She needs answers and she needs to keep touching Brittany because she thinks maybe she's allowed to do that now but she's been a cop for a decade and that part of her brain is yelling at her to focus. There's a threat that has to be eliminated.
Nemo barks loudly from the entryway, his nails scratching at the door and Santana forces her head to reorganize its priorities.
So she shoots a smile to Brittany and walks to the door, putting her eye up against the peephole and rolling her eyes when she sees Puck standing in front of her, shifting back and forth on his feet nervously.
She swings the door open, holding Nemo back with her leg and stares at him. "Yes?"
"Can I come in or are you still in a shoving mood?"
She pushes the door open further and steps to the side, raising an eyebrow at him and fighting to suppress a grin at the chuckle Brittany lets out from behind her. Puck walks in and heads to the kitchen table, pulling out a file from under his jacket and throwing it on the table. Santana's eyes follows the motion and her body moves to sit next to him when she sees Brittany, staring at her from the kitchen doorway and she's torn again, knowing she has to work, but wanting to grab Brittany and lock her in the bedroom, not leaving until all her questions have answers.
Brittany seems to see the indecision and the conflict because she steps up to Santana and makes the choice for both of them, squeezing her hand and pressing a reassuring kiss against her lips.
"I have some phone calls to make," Brittany whispers, letting go of Santana's hand and stepping back.
Santana nods, has to stop herself form asking who exactly Brittany needs to call. She's not sure that's the kind of question she actually wants the answer to, not willing to hear names like Tina when whatever is fixed between them is still so fragile. So she smiles at the blonde girl and turns to sit next to Puck at the kitchen table, surveying the documents he has spread across it.
Puck turns to watch Brittany leave the room as Santana sits. "Did she just kiss you?" He asks, a gleam in his eye.
Santana rolls her eyes and keeps looking at the photos but her stomach is doing flip flops because, yeah, Brittany totally just kissed her like it was the most normal thing in the world and six months had just reversed themselves.
"Dude, she totally just kissed you," he hisses, leaning across the table. He brings his fist up just like he did at Rick's earlier and bounces his head up in down. "Score!"
Santana swats his hand away but allows herself a small grin. "Focus," she commands.
"Yeah," he responds, grinning at her like a little kid. "Sure."
He traces his hands over the pieces of paper and grabs the picture Santana recognizes from the bar, the one of Brittany and Rachel, the one that had Quinn in a rage.
"I don't know what to make of this," he says, sliding it over to her. "I mean, I know I told Quinn that he's only after Britt, but I mean, look at the fucking message." He flips the picture over.
In red chicken scratch the words it will ALL crumble are written across the glossy paper.
"I wouldn't think anything of it but why put it on a picture of her and Berry, why capitalize ALL?"
Santana nods, studying the words and turning the picture back over, this time actually making out the image in clear, distinct form. She rubs her temple absently, a headache still pounding under her forehead. Her cheek stings as her fingers pass over it and she winces at the memory of Quinn slapping her. She really needs to stop drinking. And talking while drunk. Both of those things.
"I should probably go talk to Quinn," she comments.
Puck laughs and lets out a low whistle. "Man was she pissed, what the hell did you say to her?"
"I was drunk," Santana says instead of answering.
"Yeah, you were," Puck agrees.
Santana drops her forehead into her hands, her elbows propped up on the table. "I gotta go over there," she lets out.
"Probably," Puck answers, grabbing the photo from Santana's hands and studying it for a moment. "I don't get it," he says to himself.
Santana looks at her watch, back at Puck and then out into her apartment, barely able to see the form of Brittany pacing in their bedroom down the hall, phone pressed to one ear. She doesn't want to leave, it's easily the last thing she wants to do, but she needs Quinn on her side and she knows what happens to wounds left untended. Plus, Quinn has a point. Rachel is on Pike's radar and none of them know why. Quinn is a part of this now whether she wants to be or not.
"Listen, can you stay here? Keep an eye on Britt?"
Puck nods, still staring at the picture, his hand playing with the edge of the file folder on the table. "Yeah, dude. No problem."
"Thanks," she says, squeezing his shoulder briefly.
She stands up from the table and walks back towards the bedroom, catching the tail end of Brittany's conversation.
"No, it's fine. I'll call you later," the blonde girl says into the phone. "Bye, Mike."
"Hey," Santana interjects as Brittany closes the phone.
"Hey," Brittany repeats.
"So I have to go out for a bit," she starts, watching Brittany's face fall. "I kind of need to talk to Quinn."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," she says, not willing to divulge the details of that particular conversation. "But I won't be gone long and Puck's going to stay here with you."
Brittany nods but Santana can tell she's unhappy and to be fair, Santana's not so happy about leaving either, but there's an itch in the back of her brain that tells her she needs to get to Quinn's. She needs to talk to her friend, straighten out this one thing so she can focus on the case, so she can focus on Brittany. Brittany, who's currently looking hesitant and unsure and Santana, as happy as she is that they had their little moment, minutes ago, hates the awkwardness that's settling around them. She's afraid if she let's it solidify she won't be able to cut back through it.
"Hey," she says softly, stepping forward and wrapping a hand around Brittany's wrist. "I know we have stuff to like, talk about or whatever."
Brittany bites her lip, nodding softly and Santana nearly faints with the urge to kiss her. Then she realizes she doesn't have to, Brittany already kissed her first.
She presses a soft kiss to Brittany's lips, tugging the wrist in her hand forward so their bodies collide. "I'm glad you're here," she says when they break apart.
"Me too," Brittany answers, finally smiling. "Good luck with Quinn."
--
She buys a gatorade and about six aspirin at the market down the street from her building. She eyes the cigarettes but resists the desire to add them to the list. She's chugging on the gatorade, taking long grateful pulls as she walks down the street and squints into the sun, unused to seeing it and glaring at the way it scratches at her headache. Relief floods through her when she pats her pockets and pulls out a rarely used pair of aviators, sliding them on her face and shielding her eyes from the bright light.
Her mind goes over the argument with Quinn from earlier and her brain starts to flash the pictures from Pike across her consciousness, adding words and facts as she does it. It doesn't make sense. She knows Pike is after her, after Brittany, the guy pretty much told her he was, but there's something in the pit of her stomach telling her Rachel plays a part in all this, that Quinn plays a part and she can't shake it.
When she gets to the building, not long later, her gatorade is empty and she's left staring up at the steps to Quinn and Rachel's apartment. God, she hopes Berry isn't home, because dealing with that on top of Quinn being mad at her and her lingering hangover would just be too much. She takes her sunglasses off and raps her knuckles against the wood.
And because God has some vendetta against her these days, Rachel answers the door after three knocks and immediately narrows her eyes at the sight of Santana.
"What did you do to Quinn?" Then Rachel seems to actually like notice Santana and gasps. "What did you do to your face?!"
"Can I come in, Berry?" Santana asks, feeling a twinge of guilt trace through her for the way she talked about the shorter girl earlier, but not really up for getting lectured by her.
"Yeah, of course," Rachel says, standing aside to let Santana in and studying her curiously. "Quinn's in the study."
"Thanks," she says, walking past the small brunette and heading straight back through the apartment.
She walks into the office without knocking and the blonde attorney is at her desk as expected, glasses on and papers all over its surface. Quinn has a picture in one hand, the same one Santana was looking at earlier and she realizes Puck must have made her a copy.
"Hey," she announces, walking into the room and plopping in one of Quinn's chairs.
Quinn doesn't even look up to acknowledge her presence. "What do you want?"
Santana takes a deep breath. "I was drunk."
"I was there," Quinn answers still refusing to look up.
"Look, I was in a bad place. I shouldn't have said that."
This time Quinn does look at her. "No," she says. "You shouldn't have."
Santana nods but doesn't say anything else.
"That's it?" Quinn asks, leaning back in her chair and sliding her glasses off, throwing them on the desk in front of her.
Santana shrugs.
"You suck at apologies," Quinn says, this time with a small resigned laugh.
"I'm sorry," Santana grumbles.
Quinn stares at her, exasperated before she says, "Remind me next time to smack you with my left hand."
Santana's brow furrows. "Why?"
Quinn holds her hand up, light reflecting off the giant ring on her finger and Santana nods. "Right, fair enough. So we're good?"
"We're fine. If I gave up on you every time you were a complete and total insensitive bitch, we would have stopped being friends a long time ago."
"True story," Santana jokes, but a long exhale escapes her in gratitude.
They sit there for a minute, in companionable silence, letting their friendship mend for a moment before Santana leans forward. She decides to plunge forward part of her needing to restore some normalcy and the other part genuinely concerned about the new development in the case. Pointing at the picture in Quinn's hand, she gives her friend a curious look.
"So, what did Berry say about the picture?"
Quinn looks back down at her desk, opening her mouth to answer but no words coming out. The answer shouldn't be that hard, Rachel Berry always has words to say about just anything you ask her to talk about so Quinn shouldn't be having problems recalling the other girl's feelings. Then it hits her.
"You haven't told her," Santana realizes, the words coming out like a surprised accusation.
"No," Quinn admits.
"Q, I know Berry. She won't like that."
"Yeah, probably not," Quinn agrees with a small grin, half affectionate, half worried.
"Tell me what?" Rachel says from the doorway. "What won't I like?"
Quinn jumps in surprise and then looks at Santana failing to come up with a better answer than, "Nothing."
Rachel eyes them suspiciously. "What are you hiding?"
Quinn looks to Santana again but the other girl just shrugs her shoulders, not really sure how Quinn thinks she could help.
"Quinn Fabray," Rachel intones drawing the name out, low and menacing. "Tell me."
Santana almost laughs because Quinn looks completely scared of the look on Rachel's face and for the first time ever Santana thinks she might have underestimated this girl.
Quinn slides the picture of Brittany and Rachel across her desk and gestures for Rachel to pick it up.
"Pike's been following you," Quinn swallows hard. "Well he's been following Brittany and you. And we don't know why."
Rachel tilts her head to the side and furrows her brow as she studies the picture before looking up to address Quinn. Santana almost expects the brunette to make some comment about how he didn't capture her at the right angle or the lighting makes her nose look bad but instead Rachel quirks her lips and asks, "You have seen my legs, right?" She points to the picture as she says it, indicating long legs left uncovered by the ridiculously short skirt the girl had on that day.
This time, Santana does laugh and it brings a lightness to the moment that wasn't there before.
"Rachel," Quinn says, with a light chuckle. "I'm being serious."
"And so am I," Rachel argues. "This is a picture of me and Brittany. There's been no other proof that he's singled me out, right?" This question directed at Santana who shakes her head in denial.
"Right, so he was watching Brittany and saw her associating with her wealthy, successful and highly attractive friend, Rachel Berry, who happens to be married to the equally successful and famous attorney, Quinn Fabray. What self-respecting photographer wouldn't take the picture? Even stalkers have standards," Rachel continues, looking at Quinn like this point is entirely obvious and it's a waste of her precious time to have to explain it to both of them. "As much as it pains me to admit, and I assure you it does, I highly doubt he's actually after me."
Santana shrugs, an amused grin spreading on her face despite the situation. "She has a point," she says to Quinn, the words tasting funny in her mouth as she says them.
Quinn sighs. "Still, we don't know for sure and until then we have to be on our guard."
Rachel rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by Quinn's concern and walks over around the desk to perch at Quinn's elbow. "It's cute that you're worried about me," she says softly, a finger reaching out to trace an eyebrow.
Santana opens her mouth to take some jab at the display of affection as she would usually do but Quinn seems to sense it and glares right at her before she can open her mouth. Normally it wouldn't deter her, but the sting in her cheek reminds her she should probably lay off the Rachel jokes for a little bit.
"Rach, this guy is serious," Quinn says, turning back to the girl on her desk. "I don't want to take any chances, not with you."
Rachel sighs. "Fine, but I have a very busy schedule to maintain. We're starting up full rehearsals this week and I can't have your little stalker paranoia interfering with the show's production."
"Awesome priorities," Santana mumbles under her breath, unable to help herself.
"Just be extra careful," Quinn says, knowing it's useless to ask for much else. Santana can see the way Quinn's fists clench and knows her friend well enough to realize she's seconds away from grabbing Rachel, strapping her in a chair and locking her in a closet, just to keep her safe. If Santana wasn't so disgusted by the whole thing, she thinks it might be kind of cute.
"I will," Rachel agrees, leaning over to press a kiss to Quinn's forehead. "I'm going to go make some food. I hope you two have hashed out whatever it is that had you at each other's throats today. It's very unseemly for such close friends to be at odds with each other."
"We're fine, Rach," Quinn says as the shorter girl slides of the desk and walks back around it.
"Any requests for food?"
"Roast turkey," Santana says, turning her head and smiling. "And blueberry pie."
Rachel rolls her eyes and exits.
--
"I got a promotion today," Quinn said, offhandedly.
Santana nearly spit the peanuts out of her mouth. "No shit," she said, turning to her friend and smiling.
"Yeah," Quinn answered, grinning. "Youngest junior partner in the firm ever."
"Q," Santana started. "That's awesome. That's totally awesome," she paused. "Look at us," she said, pointing between them. "A couple of successful, functioning adults."
Quinn chuckled. "I wouldn't take it that far."
"Yeah good point," Santana agreed, popping more peanuts in her mouth.
Quinn nodded. "I think I'm going to ask Rachel to move in with me," she said after a minute.
This time Santana actually did spit the peanuts out of her mouth, Quinn cringing and jumping back as it happened. "Why?" Santana asked, looking at her friend like she just told her she wanted to shave her head.
"What do you mean, why?" Quinn laughed.
"It's," Santana shook her head, trying to find words to state the obvious. "It's Rachel Berry. That's like," Santana brought her hands up to gesture around her head. "A lot of person. In a really small space. All the fucking time."
"I know," Quinn responded, looking down at the table, her expression uncharacteristically shy. "That's the best part."
Santana rolled her eyes, but signaled Joe to bring them celebratory shots of tequila.
--
"Look," Santana says. "Why don't you guys just come stay with me and Britt for awhile." She doesn't want to offer it because the idea of Rachel in her apartment all the time makes her want to claw her eyes out but she can see the concern seeping out of Quinn and there's a small part of her heart that wants to make it all better, desperate in a way she doesn't feel for most people. Plus, Quinn's a brilliant deductive reasoner, her skills would be helpful with the case but she'd be useless if she's worrying about Rachel all the time. Moving them all to one location was a smart strategic move.
Quinn looks at her, shocked by the offer. "Stay with you?"
"Yeah, I mean. I've got a squad car out front and guys at my door and I can't justify that kind of security at your place. It'll make you sleep easier."
Quinn muses over the suggestion, stares at Santana as if she's trying to figure out a really hard puzzle, but rocks back in her chair after awhile. "Okay, sure. Thanks, S."
Santana shrugs the gratitude off and stands up. "So get your sidekick and let's go, I told Brittany I wouldn't be gone that long."
"Okay," she says, standing up and stepping around her desk. They both make their way out of the study and into the hallway. "How's that going by the way?"
"S'fine, I guess," Santana rubs the back of her neck as they walk into the living room.
"You guess?"
"I don't know," she admits, not looking Quinn in the eye. "But it's better. She's," she gulps, having trouble forming the words as if speaking them would somehow make them untrue. "She's still in love with me."
"S, that's great," Quinn responds, her face brightening with happiness for her friends. "So you guys figured it all out?"
Santana shrugs. "We're working on it," Santana answers.
Quinn accepts that, nods and pats a hand reassuringly on Santana's shoulder. "Good," she says as they walk into the kitchen.
Santana twirls around in the open space when they get there, finding no sign of Rachel. "I thought she was cooking."
"Rachel?" Quinn yells into the apartment.
An extended silence greets the call and Quinn's eyes widen in sudden fear. Santana looks around, opening cabinets as if Rachel was hiding in them.
"Rach? Baby, where are you?" Quinn tries again, her voice growing more frantic. "What part of 'on our guard' was confusing to her?" Quinn mumbles.
Quinn's halfway out of the kitchen, heading to the bedroom when Santana notices a note on the table.
"Hey," she calls out, pointing at it when Quinn comes back in. She picks it up and reads it, Quinn doing the same over her shoulder.
Q, it reads. Ran to O'Malley's to buy fruit. Be back in 15. Love you. XOXO R
As if timed to perfection, a screeching of tires blares through the open window in the kitchen and a woman's yell pierces their ears. Quinn nearly falls over at the sound before she's running out of the kitchen and out the front door, Santana hot on her heels.
--
It's a horrific scene. Blood all over the pavement and Rachel's body limp on the ground. Quinn lets out a tortured groan as she takes it all in, running to where Rachel is and dropping to her knees beside her.
Santana flips her phone open and dials 911. Her eyes search the area as her phone connects, looking for any signs as to what happened.
"We need an ambulance. 29th and Archer. Now," she demands, giving the dispatcher her name and badge number.
She walks up behind Quinn and squats down next to her, feeling a bizarre twinge of worry for the lifeless brunette as she takes in Rachel's still form. "It's going to be okay, Q," she says in a whisper. "She'll be okay."
Quinn doesn't respond, just stares at Rachel in shock, tears running down her face, but her jaw clenched in silent rage.
--
"She's your best friend, San," Brittany argued, pulling her shirt off as they stood by the bed.
"Yeah, I know. That's what I'm saying. She's my best friend." Santana laid back on their bed, staring at the ceiling and plotting ways to rid her life of the plague named Rachel Berry.
"You can't hate your best friend's girlfriend," Brittany said, climbing onto the bed and on top of Santana, legs straddling her hips.
"Who says?"
Brittany brings her hands up to trail across Santana's chest. "It's a rule."
"It is not," Santana denied, rubbing her hands up Brittany's legs.
"I like Rachel."
"You like everyone."
"Santana," Brittany started, sounding exasperated.
"I don't like her, what's the big deal? She's annoying," Santana said. "And short. Quinn needs to accept these things."
Brittany shifted her hips, pressing into Santana and distracting the other girl from their conversation. "What if Quinn didn't like me?"
"Quinn likes you, Britt," she answered, distracted.
"I'm saying what if," Brittany continued.
"I'd smack her," Santana said without thinking, too preoccupied with the way Brittany's skin felt under her palms. She wrapped her arm around the girl's waist and sat up, bringing her lips to Brittany's neck.
"Exactly," Brittany said, arching her neck to the side and smiling.
Santana tried to pay attention to what was being said but Brittany smelled like that new perfume she bought last week and her skin felt soft and warm and the last thing she wanted to think about was Rachel Berry.
Brittany, however, felt the conversation was much more important than Santana did. She pushed against Santana's shoulders and leaned back.
"You need to give her a chance. For Quinn," Brittany demanded.
"Fine, whatever, I'll give her a chance," Santana agreed, desperate to decrease the space between her lips and Brittany's neck.
"Promise?"
"Promise," Santana repeated.
Brittany smiled, wrapped her arms around Santana's neck. "Awesome," she breathed. "You'll see, Rachel's great. She'll grow on you."
Santana rolled her eyes but wisely kept her mouth shut, grateful when Brittany finally shut up and pressed their lips together.
They didn't talk about Rachel the rest of the night.
--
"It was a car?"
"That's what the witnesses say," Santana answers, standing outside the hospital room where Rachel had been placed. She looks into the room and observes her friends, the blonde attorney sitting still in a chair next to the bed, one hand outstretched to grip Rachel's.
Puck ran a hand over his head and blew out a long breath. "Damn, I don't get it. Why go after Berry? Why a hit-and-run?"
"I don't either. Maybe it's a coincidence," she offers.
Puck gives her a disbelieving look. "Yeah, I don't believe that either," she admits.
"This is so messed up," Puck comments.
"Yeah," she agrees. Santana shakes her head, glances over to where Brittany's funneling in money to the vending machine down the hall. "Thanks for bringing Brittany."
"Of course," Puck answers, looking over at the blonde girl too. "I'm glad you guys are like, figuring it out whatever," Puck whispers, punching Santana in the arm softly.
"Me too," Santana says with a small grin. She's happy to have Brittany there, a balance to the terrified look in Quinn's face and the image of Rachel bleeding in the street. It's all still so uncertain, her relationship with her ex-girlfriend and she doesn't really know what's going on between them but she knows she wants Brittany next to her, is grateful for the support. She spent so many years leaning on Brittany, having it back at such a crucial time is like a strange dream she's going to wake up from at any moment.
Brittany comes up to the group and hands Santana a can of coke before twisting their arms together. She can read the fear all throughout Brittany's body, can feel it in the shaky fingers on her arm, so she turns her head towards the other girl and lets her lips graze her temple. "It's going to be okay, babe," she says.
Brittany smiles at her and nods before resting her head on Santana's shoulder, eyes locked on the room in front of them where Quinn sits, staring at Rachel.
Then, without warning, Quinn gets up and walks out of the room, staring at the three of them for a long minute before turning to her left and walking down the hallway.
"Where are you going?" Santana shouts out, worried about her friend.
Quinn turns back to look at her. "Taking a walk," she answers and Santana knows that's best friend code for doing something idiotic.
"Fabray," Santana starts, disengaging from Brittany and taking a step towards the attorney.
"No, Santana." Quinn puts up a hand to stop her. "I really am just going to take a walk. I could use the air."
Santana doesn't like it, every instinct in her is telling her to stop Quinn but she reads the honesty in the other girl's face so she nods, steps backwards and grabs Brittany's hand.
"Okay."
"Could you just," Quinn waves her hand towards the room she just exited, swallowing audibly. "Watch Rachel please?"
"Yeah," Brittany responds before Santana can.
She watches Quinn stomp away silently and disappear around the corner until Brittany tugs her into the hospital room.
--
"It's a bad idea," Santana said, rolling her eyes and propping her feet up on Quinn's desk.
"What is?" Quinn asked, swatting Santana's feet off with her hand.
"Proposing," Santana deadpans like it's obvious.
Quinn shook her head. "Whatever."
"You know what marriage is, right? It's like, forever. Forever, Fabray. With Rachel. Berry."
"Thanks, moron. I know what it means," Quinn answered. "You're the one that said it's not even legitimate anyway so what do you care?"
"I care because you're my best friend and if you get saddled with her I'm going to have to put up with her too," Santana replied.
"Well, build up a tolerance," Quinn said, flipping a small black box in her right hand and smiling evilly at Santana.
--
"You okay, babe?" Santana asks, sitting down next to Brittany and handing her a fresh bottle of grape juice. She stares at Rachel on the bed and not for the first time feels a large wave of guilt flow through her. She looks at her watch as she leans back in the chair. It's been an hour since Quinn left.
"Yeah," Brittany responds, twisting the cap off. "Hungry though. Do they have food here that isn't processed?"
"No," Santana laughs, turning away from Rachel to observe her girlfriend. "But I can grab you a Snickers out of the machine."
Brittany smiles at her and her stomach growls. "Yes, please."
Santana nods and gets up, exiting the room. Maybe she should go look for Quinn while she's out here.
She's about ten feet out of Rachel's room, just past the nurse's station when Quinn comes from around the corner, hair in disarray and eyes bloodshot. She sees Santana and her jaw clenches, her face showing a determination Santana can't figure out. She opens her mouth to yell at Quinn about where the hell she went and what the hell she was doing, but all of a sudden Quinn is in front of her, grabbing her arm and hauling her bodily into the stairwell, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing loudly in the small space. The attorney turns to the small window on the door, glancing out of it with a sudden paranoia that Santana doesn't know what to make of.
"What the hell, Q?"
Quinn takes a deep breath before whirling around to face Santana, grabbing the collar of her shirt and slamming the other girl against the wall. "You find this guy," she commands in a low whisper. "You find him and you kill him. Slowly and with a great deal of pain. I don't care how, just do it." Quinn's face is shadowed and menacing, intimidating in a way Santana nearly envies. "Promise me he'll feel it, promise me you'll end it."
It's a desperate request and Santana can see the pain around Quinn's eyes, sees the need for revenge as surely as she feels it answering in her own veins. It's the reason Quinn pulled her into the stairwell, the reason Quinn keeps her voice low and close to Santana's face. This isn't a demand that Santana do her job, this isn't a righteous defense of justice, this is just her best friend, with the woman she loves in a hospital room and the need to even the scales bleeding out of her like an open wound.
And because Santana gets it, because she understands Quinn on a fundamental, primal level and because above all that, Santana loves Quinn, she nods, puts both of her hands on Quinn's cheeks and looks her right in the eye.
"I promise."
Part Eight