Fic: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Ten]
Title: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Ten]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: little under 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]
--
"Let me just say goodbye to Britt and then we can head out," Santana says, walking around the kitchen table as Puck does the same.
"Yeah, I'll go start the car," Puck replies, a smirk on his face that she has the urge to smack off. But instead of giving in and clocking him in the cheek she just throws him a look as he leaves, before walking down the hallway to the bedroom.
Brittany's sitting in bed when she gets there, the television across the room playing some morning cartoon and Santana is reminded once again how hot Brittany looks wearing Santana's clothes, sitting in their bed.
"Hey," Brittany says when she sees her. "How's Rach?"
"Cracked a few ribs and marred her face but she's good. She's back to the motormouth Rachel Berry we all know and love," Santana answers, sarcasm dripping off her voice.
Brittany nods, smiling. "I should call Quinn."
"I'm sure they'll come by here once she gets out, don't worry about it."
Santana walks over to sit on the bed next to Brittany and is about to inform her that she's heading out again when the other girl beats her to the punch.
"I know you probably have to go somewhere right now, but I thought about what you said."
Santana swallows, isn't sure she can handle clear, explicit answers to what she asked Brittany. In a way, she prefers the ambiguity. It may not mean that Brittany's back for good, but it sure as hell doesn't mean she's leaving. "Britt," she starts, all ready to give her now overused excuse of we don't have time.
"You have to go," Brittany interrupts. "I know. You're going to say we don't have time for this talk but I don't care." Brittany sets her jaw in a determined manner and it'd be really cute if Santana wasn't so worried about what that look meant. "There's never going to be enough time. There's a creepy guy out there that just hit Rach with a car and I need to have this talk with you." Brittany pauses and wipes at her eyes, turning away. "Life is crazy, and I need for us not to be."
Santana's not really sure what that means, but Brittany hasn't said stuff like you're right I'm leaving you again so she's able to keep breathing. "Okay," she draws out, trying to encourage the other girl to keep talking.
"You were the most important thing in my life," Brittany says and Santana closes her eyes briefly at the were. "More important than dancing. More important than ducks. More important than everything."
"Britt," Santana interjects, not totally positive she wants to hear the rest of this argument.
"No, I just need," Brittany gets out before stopping and looking straight at Santana. "You asked why I left."
Santana nods, tenses her body as if she's going to be hit.
"You were the most important thing. And then you said," Brittany swallows. "Then you said that your job was more important than me and then you were yelling at me to leave so I did. I went away. I thought that's what you wanted. When you didn't come after me, I just...," she trails off and Santana can see her blinking against tears.
"Britt," Santana says, reaching over to wipe a tear away with her thumb. She feels like punching someone as the memory of that night comes back to her, slicing through her gut and taking the air out of her lungs. If she'd just fucking kept her mouth shut. "I was tired and mad and my job is important. It's really important. But not as important as you. I shouldn't have said that it was."
"We were together for fifteen years," Brittany whispers. "I figured maybe you had just gotten bored with me or something."
Santana shakes her head, her throat closing. "Never," she says, in a low whisper, intensity flowing through the word. "You're it for me. You're it. I thought you knew that."
"I want to come home," Brittany says softly, so softly Santana almost doesn't catch it over the thudding of her heart.
When she registers what Brittany said, what it means, Santana feels like she's going to faint. Like she legitimately is going to fall over. Probably on to the floor. Embarrassingly.
"What?" She asks, if only to buy time to balance herself and avoid keeling over.
"Is that okay?" Brittany asks in a small voice.
Santana's eyes go wide and she just stares at Brittany, her breathing increasing with the beat of her heart and her vision blurring with what she thinks are tears. She tries to get the words fuck yes it's okay out of her mouth but all she can manage is rapid head nodding.
"Yeah?" Brittany asks, her eyes bright and glossy.
Santana just nods again, feeling like an incoherent idiot but not trusting her voice to actually form words over the lump in her throat.
Brittany grins, wide and infectious before tackling Santana off the bed, her back hitting the floor with a dull thump. If Santana wasn't so preoccupied with being happy she'd think it's hilarious that she actually did end up falling on the floor embarrassingly.
But Brittany presses her mouth to hers, her tongue demanding entrance and Santana can't do anything but pay attention to Brittany's body on top of hers. It takes her a second to start kissing back but when she does, warmth shoots straight through to her stomach and her hands come up to Brittany's back, holding the other girl against her and groaning into the feeling.
Brittany breaks away and kisses a trail down Santana's neck, teeth scraping over a pulse point and the actions shooting heat through her, like a punch to Santana's groin. When Brittany bites down on the skin beneath Santana's jaw, her hips jerk upward into the blonde girl and she can hear Brittany giggling at the reaction. Not one to allow Brittany the upper hand that easily, Santana pulls her away from her neck until they're kissing again, hotly and with intent because Santana feels the need to get off hit her hard in the gut.
Six months is a long ass time. Seriously. Especially when you're Santana and Brittany. Santana can't remember a time when they went three days without having sex much less months. Once they finally had it and Santana realized she was actually pretty adept at the act, they didn't go very often without. The three times they ended up naked together recently were not nearly enough to make up for all the time they lost.
Then it dawns on her. They're like, back together. She's pretty sure their conversation makes Brittany her girlfriend again and things like six month long sex droughts can be a thing of the past. And then she has another thought. Better than sex. Brittany's coming home.
Suddenly, the sex part isn't as important. Though, let's be clear, it's still pretty damn important. But now all she can think about is not sleeping on her couch anymore and getting lectured for smoking and eating waffles on Wednesday mornings and taking her dog for a walk. Santana lets what just happened wash over her, thinking she could probably keep kissing Brittany for ages, content to do only that forever, here on their bedroom floor with Puck waiting downstairs in his car.
Shit, Puck.
Santana rolls them over without breaking apart and settles her weight on top of Brittany. She let's it go on for a few more minutes because even though she just remembered she has to like, go catch a criminal or whatever, Brittany's got her hands tangled in Santana's hair now and she's running her nails over Santana's scalp.
"I gotta go, babe," she finally mumbles against Brittany's lips, trying to ignore the way she can taste Brittany on her tongue and the way Brittany's wrapped her leg around Santana's calf.
Brittany nods, her breath coming out in a pant and when Santana sees the flush in Brittany's cheeks she almost reconsiders leaving. Pike can't hurt either of them if they just stay locked in the bedroom, right? Santana thinks this is seriously a sound strategy but she can acknowledge its flaws.
She pulls away from the other girl and stands up, reaching down to help Brittany off the floor.
"I'll be back later. Don't go anywhere," she commands, her hand settling on Brittany's hip as she steps close to her.
"I won't," Brittany answers, stepping even closer to Santana and staring at her. "Be careful."
"Always," Santana replies with a smirk before kissing her and turning to walk away.
"I love you," Brittany calls out and Santana nearly slams into the door frame at the words. She catches herself before she does it and turns around, gulping at the open expression on Brittany's face.
"I love you too," she croaks, the words tasting familiar and strange in her mouth. She says it again, because she can, and walks back over to Brittany, kissing her for long moments before finally leaving.
--
When she finally gets out of the apartment and into Puck's car her partner is shaking his head at her disapprovingly.
"What kind of goodbye takes a half hour?"
Santana kind of wants to smack him again, or destroy his self esteem with her brilliant wit but all her body wants to do for some reason is smile.
"Holy crap is that a hickey?!" Puck exclaims.
Then her body seems to catch up to her brain and she actually does smack him. "Drive."
--
"Dude, are you guys in a fight or something?" Puck asked, low and out of the side of his mouth.
They were sitting at Santana's kitchen table, Puck there to pick her up for work and Brittany on the opposite side of the room, sitting at the counter, and glaring at Santana as she scooped cereal into her mouth.
Santana just rolled her eyes. "She's mad about last night. Even though I told her I was working." The last part was said louder and aimed at Brittany.
Brittany rolled her eyes right back at Santana and plopped her spoon in her bowl loudly before standing up and walking out of the kitchen. Santana watched as her girlfriend made her way back into the bedroom.
"Wow, she's pissed."
"Whatever, I fucking told her I had to work. What was I supposed to do? Tell the criminals 'hey sorry, I have to go to some stupid office party with my girlfriend,'" she says.
Puck shrugged but leaned over the table and looked her in the eye. "Look, I don't pretend to understand girl drama but I do know you and most likely whatever happened is your fault. I don't want to deal with you being all pissy today so could you just go fucking fix it and make up so we can get on with it? We got shit to do."
Santana leaned towards him so she could slug him in the arm, hard, but he dodged her reach and made a beeline for the door. "I'll be in the car. Fix it," he commanded, pointing at her with a glare before bolting out of the apartment.
She sighed. Truthfully, she hated it when Brittany was mad about something. It felt weird and unsettling and she knew she'd be a complete pain in the ass all day if she didn't fix it. So she walked back into the bedroom.
Any other argument, any other day, if she had more time and didn't have to leave for work or anything, she'd try and prove her point, convince Brittany that she was right and that her girlfriend shouldn't have been mad in the first place and they'd run circles around each other for hours. The fight would get heated and there'd probably be yelling (mostly on Santana's part),but it'd end in her apologizing and awesome makeup sex for an extended period of time. Sometimes Santana started fights just for these reasons.
This time, however, in the interest of time, Santana cut to the chase.
"I'm sorry," she said as she walked into their bedroom and sat on the bed next to Brittany.
The blonde snapped her head to look at Santana, surprise all across her face. "What?" She asked, clearly confused.
"I'm sorry. About last night."
Brittany opened and closed her mouth for a minute as if incapable of comprehending Santana's quick apology. But then, as Brittany seemed to process that Santana was actually apologizing instead of arguing a brilliant smile crossed her lips.
"Okay," her girlfriend said, enthusiastically.
"Okay?" Santana asked, a tad skeptical that it was really just that easy.
"Yeah, fine," Brittany said, leaning over to press her lips to Santana's.
"Britt," Santana started.
But Brittany shushed her and continued with the kissing, tugging Santana closer on the bed. "Less talking, more sexing," Brittany mumbled.
"Puck's waiting for me downstairs," Santana argued halfheartedly.
Brittany pulled back and raised an eyebrow at Santana. "So?"
"So, I have to go to work today."
"We had a fight. I was mad at you."
Santana blinked. "Yeah."
"So now I'm not anymore," Brittany commented, running a finger down Santana's neck.
"Good," Santana gulped.
"Yeah, and now it's time for make up sex."
When Brittany stroked her hand down Santana's chest, she forgot why it was so important that Puck was waiting in the first place.
--
An hour later Santana climbed into the front seat of Puck's car and ignored the glare she was getting from her partner. Puck reached over and tugged the collar of her jacket down, his finger poking a sore spot on her neck before she swatted the hand away and put her back to the door, glaring right back at him.
"If I get fired," Puck said as he started the car and pulled away from the curb. "I'm blaming your libido."
--
Puck pulls up to the address Santana gave him and they both let their eyes take in the building in front of them. It's an old warehouse and judging by the decaying paint and broken windows, it's abandoned. Santana laughs, getting a weird look from Puck.
She gestures out the car window to explain herself. "I mean come on. Creepy abandoned warehouse? Talk about unoriginal." It gets Puck to laugh with her as they open the doors and step out into the rain.
Santana sticks her left hand in her jacket, gripping her gun tightly as she walks towards the building and keeping her eyes alert. The sound of her boots splashing in the puddles on the ground sounds deafening even over the pounding of the rain around them, and she has to wipe water out of her eyes with her right hand just to see clearly.
"Think it's just a fake address?" Puck asks as he comes up next to her, squinting up at the roof of the building. "I mean, what are the chances he's here or something?"
"Probably," Santana agrees. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope he was."
Puck humms affirmatively and shrugs his jacket aside, letting his fingers rest on the grip of his gun. "Yeah, that'd be fucking fantastic. End this shit right here right now."
"For good," Santana adds, solemnly, as she walks up to a set of double doors on the side of the building and eyes the broken lock there.
Puck glances at her for a moment as if trying to read her tone before saying, "For good?"
"Yeah," Santana replies, distracted. She reaches out to tug the lock off and pushes the door open with the tips of her fingers, shielding her body to the side as she does it. It's empty inside, a large open room with abandoned furniture spread across the floor.
"Lopez, tell me you're not after this guy to kill him or some fucked up shit like that," Puck says. "They'll have your badge."
She looks over at him as they glide inside the entrance. "Okay, I'm not," she says, her voice low.
Puck opens his mouth to argue but seems to finally realize walking into a dangerous situation having this conversation is not the smartest thing to do.
They walk in slowly, Puck scanning high and to his right and Santana looking low and to her left. From the looks of it Pike's not there, not that she expected him to be. There's not a lot of hiding spots, the place is literally one big open space, so it only takes her a minute to determine he's probably not there. In fact, there's not a lot there period. She thinks there might have been rooms at one time, maybe even more floors judging by the spattering of broken concrete on the floor, but now it's just a massive space, devoid of anything other than debris. Then she spots it, a table in the back corner, the wall above it plastered in papers. She hits Puck's arm and points to the table.
When they get there Santana actually rolls her eyes at what they find because if a creepy abandoned warehouse is unoriginal than a creepy stalker shrine is definitely unoriginal.
"Wow," Puck comments, eyes roaming over the papers there. "When did our life become a cheesy procedural drama?"
"I know, right?" Santana says, fingering the nearest picture. It's a newspaper clipping from years ago, the small grainy picture is of her and Quinn standing on the steps of the police station. She remembers the day, they had just taken down a small drug ring in the Cain operation, a local mafia family that was on the up and up in the business. They got fifteen people indicted that day. The smiles Quinn and Santana are wearing in the picture reflect how proud she felt. It was one of her first big operations.
It's not the only picture of the two of them, most of the pictures in fact include both of them. More newspaper clippings of Quinn's bigger trials and of Santana's more famous collars. There's even some reviews of Rachel's performances that ran in the paper and more than a few photos of the four of them, Quinn, Rachel, Santana, and Brittany, together. Santana eyes the collection trying to figure out the connection, the common thread, the theme but her brain can't seem to connect the dots.
She settles for a low, "What the fuck?"
"Well it's clearly not just about you," Puck says, turning away from the table to look back out over the room.
"Yeah, well then what the fuck is it about? These are of all four of us," Santana continues. "What is he, pissed because I'm a cop or something? That Quinn's a lawyer?"
"He's a criminal. I hear they get kind of upset about our line of work."
"You're a cop," Santana says. "Where's your picture?"
"Good fucking point. What, am I not pretty enough?" Puck jokes.
Santana laughs but can't suppress the sickening feeling the pictures give her. He's been stalking all four of them, following them for fucking years. She feels like she's missing something, missing the big picture even though it's staring her right in the eyes. A clipping captures her attention, it's the newspaper coverage of one of Santana's busts, the one where she arrested Pike's wife and got her 25 years in federal prison.
The clipping isn't in a prominent position, just tossed next to the rest of them and it irks Santana because she thought this was what it was all about. Santana arrests Pike's wife, Pike goes after Brittany in retaliation. That made sense to Santana. Eye for an eye and all that jazz. But going after Rachel? She didn't even like Rachel.
"This is messed up. Get a team in here to collect this shit."
"Yeah," Puck answers. "Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps," he adds, opening his phone to call for a unit.
They make their way back out of the warehouse, eyes darting left and right at the shadows and Santana fingers the grip of her gun again, something making her want to pull it out into her hand. She feels an itch at the back of her head, like someone's watching them and she can't seem to shake it. So she stops, just outside the entrance to the building and looks around.
The street is pretty much empty, there aren't many other buildings around, just a rusted out set of railroad tracks about thirty yards away and an open field across the street. Still, something feels off and since she basically built a career on trusting her instincts she just keeps surveying her surroundings, hoping to catch something.
"What is it?" Puck asks, stuffing his phone back in his pocket a few feet in front of where she stopped.
"Do you get the feeling we're being watched?"
Puck spins, lets his gaze roam over the building and down the street, before shrugging at her and lifting his hands up. "This place would make anyone paranoid," he comments, turning back around and walking back to his car. But Santana still can't get the feeling to go away so she just stands there, watches as Puck takes his keys out of his pocket and moves to unlock the doors.
A flash of suspicion bursts through her like a shock and she's yelling at Puck before she can stop herself.
"Puck, wait!" She shouts, starting to run forward, her hand outstretched.
But it's too late. Puck turns as she yells it, but his thumb hits the button on his keys, the doors unlocking with a beep and seconds later the car explodes, a rush of flame punching out of it and sending Santana flying backwards, her back hitting the brick wall of the warehouse. Pain sears through her spine before everything goes black.
--
They were at Rick's after a long day at work, nursing beers in their corner booth. They weren't drunk, but they were getting there and Santana felt a pleasant buzz enter her brain and lower her inhibitions. It was the only reason she asked the next question.
"You'd take a bullet for me?" Santana asked, glancing sideways at Puck.
He looked at her like she just asked the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "In a fucking heartbeat."
She took a long pull of her beer as she thought about the answer. "Me too," she responded after she swallowed.
"I know," Puck said, kicking her leg affectionately under the table. "I know."
--
When she comes to, rain is pouring down into her eyes and her head is pounding like the worst hangover she's ever had. A minute passes before she realizes that she's not having a hangover and the memory of Puck's car exploding flashes through her brain.
"Shit," she groans as she tries to move. Great, fucking great. She's sore all over but her limbs seem to be in working order and if the ground around her is any indication she's not bleeding out.
She blinks slowly to get her vision to focus and wipes the rain out of her eyes. Puck's car is still on fire, its charred remains crackling sickeningly from across the street and when she looks a little further she can see Puck's still form not too far away.
Pain flushes through her as she scrambles to stand but she ignores it in place of the burning need to make sure Puck's okay.
He's not moving, but when she presses her ear to his chest she can make out a faint heartbeat and the tell tale signs of air creeping in and out of his lungs. His face is a mess, burnt and scrapped from his flight over the pavement but he's alive for now.
Just as she's flipping her phone open to call for an ambulance, their evidence team pulls up next to her and four guys jump out. She exhales in relief and calls out to them, her head starting to swim again with pain and adrenaline.
"Get him to a hospital," she barks out when the first guy gets near them.
--
"I'm sorry," Puck said, soft and under his breath as they drove down Lincoln Ave.
"For what?" Santana asked.
He gripped his fingers harder around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. "I should have gotten there sooner," he said after a moment.
Puck didn't have to explain what he meant by that, Santana knew. "If you had gotten there sooner we'd both be shot and then I'd probably be dead," Santana argued.
"If I had gotten there sooner I could have offed that guy before he shot you."
Santana thought about that. Thought about what it would have been like if Puck had arrived minutes earlier, when the guy pulled his gun out. But all she could see was both of them going down, of Puck never showing up and Santana bleeding out in the street, dying. "You don't know that."
"I should have gotten there sooner," Puck repeated, convinced.
"You got there when you got there," Santana said, turning in the passenger seat to face him. "And it saved my life."
--
It's late in the afternoon by the time she leaves the hospital. It strikes her as she's walking down the hallway that she's got three people in her life holed up in this place, three important, central people. Rachel, Quinn and Puck. As if stalking Brittany alone wasn't reason enough to want Pike dead.
She sees Quinn as she's leaving, standing at the nurses station signing papers and tells her friend to come by the apartment when she gets Rachel discharged. She needs them in her apartment, where it's safe, and where she can make sure of it herself. She needs to get her damn life back on its axis.
The lobby is quiet when she gets back to her building and she takes the elevator ride in silence, grateful to be still for the first time in awhile but wincing against the way her ears are still ringing. She closes her eyes against the annoying feeling but snaps them right back open when the image of Puck's car exploding replays in her head.
When she steps out onto her floor she makes her way slowly to her apartment, trying to walk off the aching soreness that still lingers in her joints. Thrown into a building by an exploding car. Brittany is going to love this. Then again, the fact that when she walks into the apartment Brittany is going to be there, that Brittany is going to be worried about her, makes her happier than she feels she should be allowed to be at the moment. At least one thing is good in her life.
She goes to unlock her door, nodding at the uniform guarding it when she notices something that makes her blood boil. He's asleep. He's fucking asleep.
Anger snaps through her and her hand lashes out, the back of it slapping across his face with a resounding smack. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She shouts out as his eyes open.
The guy falls over with the hit, yelping as it jolts him awake and he looks at her with shock and fear in his eyes. "There is a goddamn criminal on the loose," she continues now that she has his attention. "And he's gunning for my fucking girlfriend, who is inside this apartment and you're out here taking a goddamn snooze. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He opens his mouth and Santana feels her draw drop open. He's going to argue with her. He's going to try and fucking justify sleeping on the job. She closes the space between them and grabs the stiff collar of his shirt, hunching over as she pulls his face closer to his. "No, you shut the fuck up and go find your replacement. Now," she demands, releasing him.
He scrambles out of her reach and stands up, giving her one more look before bolting down the hallway to the elevator. She watches him disappear, rage still simmering beneath her skin before turning to enter her apartment when the elevator doors slide closed.
"Britt?" Santana calls out when she crosses the threshold, sliding the locks into place after closing the door. "Britt?" She tries again when she gets no answer.
It's like the same damn itch is back again, the one from the warehouse and her heart drops straight into her stomach when only silence greets her calls. Panic seeps into her body and she tries to fight the rise of bile creeping up her throat. There's no way this is happening. There's no way Puck gets a fucking explosion to the face and then Brittany is gone. There's no way.
She races through the apartment, searching every room and calling out for her girlfriend. She can't accept that her life is turning out this way. That the morning could start so amazing, that she finally felt like her life was getting back on track just to have it all crumple to pieces, to have everything holding her up stripped away.
By the time she's in the bedroom, staring at an empty bed she accepts what's staring her in the face.
Brittany's gone.
Part Eleven