Fic: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Twelve]
Title: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Twelve]
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]
--
Thunder claps in the distance as Santana makes her way down the street, the rain feeling cold and biting against her face. She hates that she had to leave her apartment but she needs to talk to Puck. She needs to talk to her partner because that's what she does. She solves crimes, but she always does it with Puck and she's having trouble thinking clearly without him sitting beside her.
Quinn was a mess when she left, shock and fear all over her face as she kept staring at the picture of her father. Eventually Santana just grabbed the photo out of her hands, handed her a stiff drink, and sat her on the couch next to a sleeping Rachel Berry. She told Brittany to make sure Quinn didn't do anything stupid. Not the most sound plan she ever had, but it would have to do.
She wouldn't have even left if Finn and Matt hadn't agreed to stay. Well, actually, she almost didn't leave because they agreed to stay. Possessiveness is part of her personality, she can't control it, and leaving Brittany under Finn's protection ate at her. But two cops in the apartment, one outside the door and two in a car on the street was reassuring enough that she felt she could leave, despite the fear from finding Brittany gone earlier still lingering in the back of her brain.
She had to leave because she had to talk to Puck. Had to tell him about the new development and had to talk it all through with him. It's the only thing she could think of doing right now.
So here she is, walking briskly through the rain to the subway, her hands in the pockets of her trench coat and her hair plastered to the sides of her face, soaked from the rain. For whatever reason, she's hyper aware of the gun under her right arm, the way it presses into her side and they way she can feel the heat from her skin warming the grip. It's paranoia. She knows it is, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to grab at the weapon, hold it out in her hand, safety off and ready to shoot at anyone that threatened her. She takes a deep breath and keeps her hands in her pockets as she takes the steps underground and out of the rain.
The station is relatively empty when she gets there, just a few late-night commuters and some homeless people lingering in the station's dry warmth. Compared to the zoo this place becomes at rush hour, it's practically deserted. The lights are dim and the place smells like old rain-soaked sewage. She kind of loves it, finds it comforting even as her nose wrinkles up at the stench. Warm air blasts from the subway tunnel and washes over her face as she strokes wet hair off her forehead, shaking her coat out, trying to get dry. The sound of her boots stomping on the ground is loud and a sleeping hobo in the corner jumps up from his newspaper blanket, an empty liquor bottle rolling out from underneath it.
She almost doesn't notice him. Almost. But paying attention to her surroundings, noticing small details, picking out criminals from a crowd are all skills she lists on her resume. It's what makes her a great detective, what made her the youngest one on the force.
The lights in the station flicker as she steps up to the platform to wait for the next train, the toes of her shoes creeping up to the yellow warning strip on the edge. It's like the itch from before, the one starting at the back of her neck and creeping down her spine. Her whole body tenses as she feels it and her shoulders creep upwards as she realizes what it means.
She forces nonchalance through her muscles, keeps her body still and wills herself not to spin around wildly. Instead, she pulls her phone out of her pocket with her right hand, flips it open and presses a few buttons at random before putting it to her ear. Her left hand clenches and releases, desire to palm her gun racing through her. She spins then, as if trying to find shelter to make a quiet phone call and walks up to a board displaying all the train times. Her eyes dart around the station casually, trying to place the source of her sudden itch.
That's when she spots him, standing on the other edge of the platform and staring right at her, a maniacal smile on his lips. Pike.
Her phone nearly drops out of her fingers as her eyes go wide and her stomach turns over, but she manages to shut it quickly and put it in her pocket, reaching for her gun with her other hand at the same time and turning towards Roger Pike, a shout about to leave her lips.
He lets out a barking laugh before she can yell at him, the sound echoing loudly across the station before he turns and bolts, straight up the stairs and out of the station.
She only hesitates a second before her hand is taking out her gun and she's running right after him, sprinting up the stairs and back out into the rain.
Her coat flaps open as she reaches the top of the stairs and the rain is obscuring her vision as she tries to find him on the dark street. She twirls around, her eyes squinting against the rain until she makes out a dark figure, running north down the road. She takes off again, her legs pumping hard and fast, her hand tight around the grip of her gun.
Three blocks later, she sees him take a right down an alley up ahead and she follows, desperate to catch him, the air beating hard in her lungs and her feet pounding on the pavement, rain water splashing up against her pants. Bastard is fast. She spins around the corner into the alley expecting to see him on the other side, turning the corner or climbing a fire escape but he's nowhere that she can see. She races forward to the where the alley lets out into another street and slides around the corner, looking left and right to see if he's on the street.
But he's nowhere to be seen. She lost him. Her gun feels heavy where it's hanging at her side. She readjusts her grip, her fingers slick from the rain.
She turns around and glances up, eyes roaming the wire ladders on the sides of the alley, trying to make out a figure climbing them but there's nothing, just rain in her eyes and the flickering of a street light to her left, illuminating a small space in the alley.
Both of her hands grab her gun as she walks slowly down the sidewalk, eying the few cars on the street to see if he's in one or behind one, but it's to no avail. He's gone. She walks back into the alley and frustration floods through her.
Her back hits the brick wall behind her and she sags into it, trying to catch her breath and calm her nerves. She fucking lost him. She pushes off the wall and spins around, kicking out violently against the bricks in frustration as tears nearly leave her eyes. Her chance to end it and she fucking lost him. God dammit.
She puts her gun back under her arm and wipes a wet hand against her eyes. Fuck. Her legs ache from the short chase but it's nothing against the pain in her chest knowing she just fucking lost the bad guy.
Santana pulls her phone back out and dials a number, glancing around the alley as she heads back the way she came, breath coming out of her mouth in a pant. Dispatch picks up the phone on the other line and she reports what just happened, orders a squad car to patrol the area in a five mile radius and gives the dispatcher a description of what Pike was wearing.
The walk back to the station is long and cold.
--
She's wet and pissed when she finally gets to the hospital, the adrenaline still sifting through her bones and frustration putting a permanent sneer on her face. She's so preoccupied with beating herself up that she can't even enjoy the way the night guard recoils at the look on her face.
Puck is awake when she gets to his room, flipping through channels on the small TV mounted on the wall. His face breaks into a wide smile when he notices her but it's quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow and concern all over his features.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Pike was at the damn subway station by my building," she responds.
Puck sits up straighter in bed and turns off the TV. "What?!"
"I chased him three blocks and down an alley and then I fucking lost him," she continues, kicking out at a chair placed by his bed.
"Why didn't you shoot him?" Puck asks, anger clouding his features.
Her head snaps up, surprised at the question. "What?"
"You should have fucking shot him when you saw him."
"I was in a subway station."
He blinks. "So?"
"So there were people there, I can't just fucking shoot at someone with civilians all over the place," she answers, incredulity replacing frustration. Wasn't Puck just telling her how stupid it was to try and kill this guy?
"It's late, there's like five people at your station at this time of night."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Santana asks, now concerned that maybe they gave her partner too many drugs, or that the explosion gave him serious brain damage.
"Dude, the guy fucking blew up my car," he says, his jaw tense as he forces the words out. "He almost destroyed my fucking face and I'm going to have this monster scar on my forearm. He deserves a bullet between his eyes. As if you needed any more reasons to kill him."
It's then that she remembers why she's here and that her partner is laid up in a hospital bed with burns all over his body. "Your face doesn't look that bad," she says, finally noticing him.
He brings up his fingers to his cheek before replying. "Yeah, some genius plastic surgeon was on call when I came in. Did pretty good work. They say I'll look just like my gorgeous self when I get out of here." He holds his forearm out for her to inspect. "This is the only damn reminder I'll have of the whole thing," he adds.
She sees the bandage on his arm, blood seeping through in a thin line and wonders how it happened. Probably scraped it on something when he slid across the street. The whole scene races back through her brain and she swallows thickly against the memory.
"Chicks dig scars," she comments, willing her voice to stay even.
"I know, right?" A smug smile takes residence on his face and she can't do anything but grin in return. "You would know."
Her hand reaches up automatically, rubbing the space near her shoulder where a bullet nearly killed her. "Well mine's way cooler."
"Are you kidding me? A fucking car exploded. In front of me. I am way more badass than you now," he argues.
"Oh yeah, that giant bandage on your arm is such a turn on," she mocks, even though she basically told him as much seconds before. "And that hospital gown," she continues. "I don't know how I'm not just mounting you right now."
He laughs, loud and deep right from the belly and she feels light for the first time in an hour, happy to see her partner alive and well and cracking jokes from his hospital bed. It does a lot to get her head on straight.
"So why are you really here?" He asks, when the laughter stops.
She knows she should probably say to make sure you're okay but her brain shifts straight to business and the anger she carried before about losing Pike in the street snaps right back into place. She pulls a file out from the back of her pants, tucked under her shirt to keep it dry. She's pleased she kind of succeeded considering she kept the thing there throughout the whole chase and didn't end up losing it as well.
The file makes a wet thumping sound as she throws it on the meal table, projecting over Puck's bed. He looks at her curiously before reaching out and opening it, pulling out the photo that shocked Quinn earlier.
She doesn't say anything, just lets him look at the photo and figure it out for himself. He's met Quinn's dad enough to recognize him; Quinn was always dragging both of them along to family dinners saying she'd need police protection to stop either her or Rachel from committing homicide at some point during the meal. Both Quinn and Rachel had hot and quick tempers that tended to be exacerbated around Quinn's parents and their open disapproval of their relationship.
Realization crosses Puck's face as his eyes scan the photo. He sets it down and picks up the case notes that Santana brought with it, a low "What the hell?" escaping his lips.
"It can't just be a coincidence," Santana finally says.
Puck shakes his head, agreeing. "What was he doing here?"
"Quinn can't remember. She doesn't know if she knew he was here or anything."
"Well if he's involved, it all makes more sense now," Puck says.
"It does?"
"Hitting Rachel?" Puck turns to look at her, putting the papers back in the file. "Yeah."
Santana thinks about that. If Mr. Fabray was involved in this whole Pike mess then she guesses it would make sense that Quinn and Rachel would be involved. But he's her father. Would he really be a part of something this dark, this terrible?
She doesn't really know what to say so she settles for, "Quinn won't like that."
"No," Puck agrees. "But we can't disregard this. We should look through all the files on the Cain family, Pike's old crew, and ask Quinn to jot down any times she can remember her parents being in the city."
"Yeah, good idea," she answers.
"Someone needs to talk to him eventually," Puck adds.
"That's what I'm concerned about," she admits. "Quinn can't know. She'll want to to do it herself and that will all go to hell."
"True, but it should be you," he says. "He knows you, it could work to your advantage. If he's involved with this thing, anyway."
Santana shakes her head. "This is so screwed up. You realize what this means?"
"That if Fabray's dad is involved that it probably means he's part of the Cain operation? Yeah," Puck says, solemnly.
"Q's gonna flip."
"Well then we need to nail this guy and fast. Before she has time to figure it out."
"By 'we' you mean 'me'." She points at herself as she says it.
"No, I mean you and me."
"Puck, you're on your back in a hospital bed," she starts.
"I can fucking read. Maybe I can't run a mile or shoot my gun but I can fucking read, Lopez," he interjects. "Bring me the files. I can still be useful"
She nods, an affectionate laugh escaping her at his determination.
"Tomorrow morning," he adds. "Tonight you should go home and get some more sleep. Let that hot girl of yours lick your wounds," Puck says, a leer on his face that makes her roll her eyes.
She walks up to the bed, her hand reaching down to rest on top of his. "I'm glad you're okay," she says softly.
"Thanks," he whispers.
--
"Why aren't you ready?" Santana asked as she walked into the bedroom and saw Brittany laying in their bed in just her sweatpants.
"I don't want to go," Brittany said.
"What do you mean you don't want to go? We have to go."
"Quinn's dad gives me the creeps," Brittany whispered, turning to her side and watching Santana as she stepped up to the closet. "He's always given me the creeps."
"Which is why we have to go. Quinn needs us there."
"I don't get why he comes anyway," Brittany said, standing and walking up behind Santana. She wrapped her arms around Santana's waist and rested her chin on her shoulder. "He just spends the whole dinner getting mad at Quinn and talking mysterious phone calls," Brittany explained.
Santana nodded distractedly, searching their closet in order to find Brittany some clothes. "We won't stay very long."
Brittany hummed in her ear before sweeping Santana's hair aside and pressing a lingering kiss on the side of her neck. Santana blinked slowly and tried to focus on the task at hand, knowing if they didn't leave soon they'd be late and Quinn would probably scratch her eyes out.
But then Brittany traced her fingertips across Santana's stomach and kissed a path along her jaw and any responsibility to being punctual she might have been feeling rushed right out of her. She felt Brittany chuckle, the sound making her girlfriend's chest shake against her back and Santana shook her head at how easy she was to seduce. It was embarrassing.
She turned in Brittany's embrace and pressed her hips forward, forcing the taller girl to step backwards towards the bed.
"We can be late," Santana said as she pushed a laughing Brittany down into the mattress.
--
The smell of hot pizza hits her as she walks back into her apartment and she hears laughter coming from her kitchen. She expects to see five people sitting at the counter but when she gets there she sees only three.
"Where are Hudson and Rutherford?" Santana asks, shrugging her jacket off as she walks up to them and feeling her mouth water as she eyes the open pizza box.
"They went home. Said they'd call you tomorrow morning about meeting back up," Quinn answers, lifting a slice of pepperoni into her mouth. Rachel is sitting next to her, head bowed and focused intently on picking up a piece of mangled pizza from her plate. Santana reflects, not for the first time, on just how weird Rachel Berry is. She remembers the time they first had pizza together and Santana had watched with horror as the other girl scraped off all the cheese from the slice before eating it. Seriously. Weirdest girl ever. The cheese is the best part.
"Probably for the best anyway," Santana comments.
Brittany looks up at her, Santana smiling hello and just like that her girlfriend is out of her chair and in front of her, hands gripping her cheeks and concerned eyes taking in her expression. "Why are you upset?" Brittany asks.
The question startles her, so unused to having someone who reads her so effectively back in her life, so it takes her a few beats to respond. "I'm not," she denies, even though she knows it's useless. But she can't talk about seeing Pike at the station right now. Not in front of Quinn. She eyes the glass by her best friend's hand and the bottle of Glenlivet on the counter. She definitely cannot tell Quinn.
Brittany opens her mouth and Santana can tell that her girlfriend is about to call bullshit so she widens her eyes and just stares at Brittany, willing the other girl to understand that she can't talk about it right now. She brings a hand up to squeeze the blonde's hip. It was always their silent signal, the one that says, I promise to explain it all later.
It works. Brittany nods and kisses Santana softly before turning back to the counter and grabbing a slice of pizza and dangling it above Santana's mouth. She chuckles, ignoring the eye roll Quinn gives the display, and lets Brittany feed her the pizza.
She looks at Rachel as she's chewing, the shorter girl sitting stiffly at the counter and eating her pizza slowly. "How you doing, Berry? They give you any fun pain meds?"
Rachel just grimaces and nods, picking up her pizza and taking a small bite. Quinn reaches over to tuck a piece of hair behind Rachel's ear. "Tired?" She asks softly.
"I've been sleeping all afternoon," Rachel complains, putting her pizza back down on the plate.
"You got hit by a car," Quinn deadpans.
"Two days ago," Rachel bites back.
A low laugh escapes Santana and she has to turn away from the counter to avoid Quinn's death glare.
Santana slides an arm around Brittany's waist as her girlfriend snuggles into her side and Brittany lets out a small giggle, turning to Santana and whispering softly in her ear. "She sounds like you."
Santana pulls back at the words, an offended expression shadowing her face. "Did you actually just compare me to Berry?" She squeaks out, loudly. "I think that's the meanest thing you've ever said to me."
"I'm right here," Rachel says, dryly and unamused.
Santana just laughs and feels like, for a moment, everything's okay in the world.
--
"Santana!" Brittany exclaimed, coming into the living room. "You're not supposed to be up."
"I've been sitting around all day. I'm fine."
Brittany put both hands on her hips as she observed her from across the room. "You were shot."
"Two weeks ago!" She said as she tried to get up off the couch, forcing herself not to acknowledge the unpleasant ache in her shoulder at the motion.
Brittany came over and put her hands gently on Santana's shoulders, being careful not to disturb the healing wound on her chest. "Lay back down," Brittany commanded.
Santana thought about arguing, even opened her mouth to do so, but one look at Brittany's face, her don't-even-dare-argue-with-me-I-am-not-amused face, and Santana decided shutting up would be the best course of action.
--
"You guys can take the bed," Santana offers when she sees Rachel move to lay back down on the couch. She knows that couch intimately. As much as she doesn't want to give up her bed, she just got it back after all, she's seen the way Rachel tried to mask her pain the whole evening. She'd probably be a lot more comfortable in the bed and plus, sleeping on that couch with two people? It's always an interesting experience. One she wouldn't mind reacquainting herself with when it came to Brittany.
Quinn looks like she's going to accept the offer but Rachel's voice comes from the couch. "I'm not moving."
"Rach, I think the bed would be more comfortable," Quinn argues, leaning over the back of the couch to look at Rachel and raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not moving, Quinn. I just got here," Rachel repeats, reaching out to grab a bottle of pills on the coffee table. Quinn just kept staring at her. "I'm serious," Rachel continues. "I'm not moving. Put your ass on this floor."
Quinn puts her hands up and shrugs her shoulders, turning to look at Santana with an amused smile. "Thanks, anyway."
Brittany laughs at their friends before tugging Santana's wrist and dragging her to the bedroom. "Extra pillows and shit in the hall closet," she yells out over her shoulder. Quinn waves her away.
When they get to the bedroom Brittany takes a seat on the bed while Santana walks into the bathroom, throwing her gun on the beside table and stripping her shirt off along the way.
"So what happened?" Brittany asks, leaning back on the mattress.
Santana turns in the bathroom doorway, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her shoulder into the side of the doorway. "Pike was at the train station."
Brittany jumps up from where she's sitting. "What?!"
Santana nods. "Yeah. I chased him three fucking blocks before I lost him." The shame of it all pours back into her and she closes her eyes, shaking her head at the thought.
"Are you okay?"
She looks back up. "Pissed that I lost him, but yeah. I'm fine."
"Wow," Brittany says, staring at Santana.
"Yeah," she agrees before turning back around to the sink. They don't say anything else, but Brittany comes into the bathroom, leans her back against the wall behind Santana and just stands there.
It's comfortable and Santana feels the warmth of the moment do wonders for relaxing her muscles. Then she sees it. It's small and insignificant but it feels huge to Santana, like it represents her whole world and it reminds her of something she hasn't had time to process.
Brittany's toothbrush. In the holder next to her's. For a moment she tries to figure out how she didn't notice it before. Maybe it wasn't there, or maybe her brain just wasn't ready to see it, but now she does, now it looks like the brightest object in the whole room and she feels her breath hitch at the sight of it.
She lifts her eyes up and meets Brittany's in the mirror. The blonde girl is looking at her curiously, having noticed the way Santana was sort of just staring at the toothbrushes instead of doing the normal thing, like picking one up and using it for its intended purpose.
A wave of irritation passes over her because Brittany's back, she's her girlfriend again and she's moving her stuff back into her apartment and fucking Roger Pike is ruining it all for her. She hasn't had time to be happy about it, to allow her brain to come to terms with it and it pisses her off.
She stamps the feeling down though, because Brittany is still looking at her and Santana's just kind of standing there like a moron, staring at her and failing to brush her teeth or anything. Brittany probably thinks she's having a mental breakdown or something.
So she does the only logical thing to do when she realizes after six months of complete depression the love of her life is standing behind her, still in love with her, and a part of her life again. She turns around, walks forward, and kisses Brittany, pushing her back into the wall.
Brittany lets out a surprised gasp at the assault, but recovers quickly, her hands grabbing in Santana's hair as her chest arches up off the wall. Arousal strikes through her, quick like lighting as she brings her hands to grasp the bottom of Brittany's shirt, tugging upwards. She breaks the kiss briefly to pull the material off the other girl before pressing back in, groaning at the feel of Brittany's bare stomach flush against her own.
Santana drags her palm up Brittany's side, the skin underneath it radiating heat against her hand. Brittany's chest arches upward again when Santana palms her breast, lets her thumb circle over a nipple before pinching lightly. Brittany's tongue strokes inside her mouth, curling around teeth and their breath mingles hotly between them. It sends another jolt through Santana and she feels desperation creep up through her stomach.
She lets her hand move in between them, traveling over tight abs that make her mouth water and under the waistband of Brittany's pants, not bothering to take them off in her hurry. This is about reconnection, about realizing that she can actually do this now, she can take Brittany up against their bathroom wall, or in their shower, or in their kitchen and it's real, true. It's not some fleeting dream that she'll wake up from in an hour.
Brittany's nails scratch against the back of her neck as Santana lets her fingers trail through hot, wet flesh, tugging on Brittany's bottom lip with her teeth as she does it. She feels her girlfriend's knees give out and her back sink into the wall as Santana enters her slowly, softly, two fingers finding purchase inside her while her thumb wanders further north. Santana presses closer, letting her arm sneak between the wall and Brittany's waist, keeping the other girl upright.
She pulls away from Brittany's lips to kiss down her neck, biting softly at the skin beneath her jaw as her hand thrusts between them, Brittany's gasps of pleasure hot in her ear. She spares a fleeting thought to her two friends in the other room, trying to decide if they can hear what's going on. She's not really modest and neither is her girlfriend but she knows her two friends need sleep, and loud sex noises would probably keep the pair awake. But when Brittany's hands scratch down her back and her hips cant hard against Santana's hand, she stops caring altogether.
Brittany's legs start to buckle again, strong thighs shaking with the strain of staying upright. Her breath grows ragged and Santana can tell she's close, can feel it in the way Brittany's heart beats against her own chest. She bites down on the flesh beneath Brittany's ear and presses her thumb hard into Brittany's clit before flicking against it back and forth. Air rushes out of Brittany's mouth and Santana pulls back to watch it happen, the blonde's eyes wide open in wonder, her jaw slack as her orgasm rushes through her and Santana feels it all around her fingers, closes her eyes with how good it all feels.
It's hot and gorgeous and when she opens her eyes to take in Brittany's expression, it makes Santana's vision swarm with arousal. Then, Brittany's legs actually do give out completely and Santana has to readjust the grip she has around her girlfriend's waist, pulling out of her with her other hand and enjoying the way Brittany licks her lips at the sensation.
She kisses Brittany, slow and lazy and the blonde runs soft fingertips across the tops of Santana's shoulders. Then Brittany pulls away, her head thumping against the wall and she blinks slowly at Santana. "What was that for?" She says, her voice hoarse.
Santana smiles. "I love you."
Happiness settles across Brittany's face and she grins widely at Santana, her fingers tracing lines along her cheek bones. "You're pretty," Brittany whispers after a few moments of just standing there.
Santana's smile turns into a smirk. "I know."
Brittany laughs, deep and throatily and it makes Santana's stomach flip over at the sound of it. The blonde brings her mouth to Santana's ear, her lips brushing across her jaw along the way. "What do you say," Brittany says, the feeling of her warm breath causing Santana's eyes to close again. "We take this party to the bed?"
Santana thinks that's about the best plan she's heard today.
Part Thirteen