Fic: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Eighteen]
Title: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Part Eighteen]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: little under 5k this part
Notes in Part One
NOTE: You should all go look at this done by a different artist and proof that my readers are THE BEST AT LIFE. SO GUYZ, go stare at that for awhile. I'm going to put together an art post with better credit and the rest of the art I've been giving because some of the stuff for this fic is too epic to try and post right here. Seriously, I am so impressed it's unreal. SO LOOK FOR IT IN THE MASTER. Or follow me on Tumblr because a lot of awesome art gets thrown around there. YEAH, SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION. I JUST DID IT THERE.
[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen]
--
Santana doesn't know how long they stand there in that utility closet, her head held in Brittany's hands and their eyes locked together. There's a low buzzing from the light on the ceiling and she can make out the sound of a wheelchair being rolled down the hallway outside. But she doesn't move, just stands there and lets herself calm down, lets all the emotion pass through her until only this remains. This here with Brittany, the only thing that makes sense right now.
She swallows. Breathes. Blinks.
"Are you okay?" Brittany asks in a whisper.
Tears prick her eyes again and she shakes her head, pursing her lips. She's not okay. She's not. And Brittany's hands are the only things holding her up right now.
So Brittany just keeps talking. "What happened?"
The words are right there, on the tip of her tongue, begging to come out. She wants to unload, to yell about Quinn and Rachel and betrayal and how the world is so messed up and what did she ever do to deserve this but nothing comes out. She wants to hit herself, punch herself right in the face, because here she is, angrier at Quinn than she's ever been, hurt more than she's ever been hurt and she can't bring herself to tell Brittany. Can't talk bad about her best friend. She's protecting her even when she wants to punch her. It's so stupid and she feels anger rush through her so fast it nearly makes her fall over again.
She stares at Brittany, her jaw dropped open but no words coming out. On a gut level, when she really searches inside herself, she trusts Brittany. More than anyone. Even after six months of despair she still trusts her with everything, but there's a part of her, a small part, that trusts Quinn more. Her whole life it's always been Quinn and Brittany. When she was young, they were always there. When her parents died, it was just the three of them. When she moved to the city, it was together. Quinn is as much a part of her as her own flesh and blood and for the first time in her entire life she feels like she can't trust her, like everything they've ever been together is a lie and for some reason those feelings, the sharp stab of betrayal, is tainting Brittany too.
Because Brittany left. She left. Brittany left and Quinn never did. And now Brittany's back and Santana feels like Quinn is leaving and she's just so sick of people leaving her.
So instead of telling Brittany the truth, instead of letting more emotion pour out of her like a leaky faucet, she closes up, shuts down and forces herself to be steady. She looks right into Brittany's eyes as she straightens and grabs Brittany's hands from her face.
"I have to talk to Puck," she lets out, her throat hurting as the words come out.
Hurt flashes across Brittany's face, her brow furrowing quickly and her mouth dropping open in surprise. Hesitation floods through Santana because even through anger and pain and chaos she doesn't want to hurt Brittany, can't stand the thought that she has. It's even worse because she can see the white bandage spread across Brittany's forehead, the one on her wrist and the way her hair is still a tangled mess from the warehouse. Her girlfriend was kidnapped. Kidnapped. Their roles should be reversed right now, Santana comforting Brittany, urging her to talk about it, holding her through the fear and instead it's Brittany holding Santana together, keeping her upright. She feels like such an asshole, a self-absorbed, useless asshole.
And even beyond that she wants to tell Brittany, and that's the worst part, but she's so confused, so messed up inside her own head that the only person she thinks that can unwind her is Puck. Puck who cuts through emotion like a pro, who is better at beating her back into shape than almost anyone. That's what she needs right now, not comfort but attitude.
"Santana," Brittany starts, moving her hands out of Santana's grasp to pull their hips together. "What happened?"
She tries not to let the warmth of Brittany's body affect her, or the strong hands tracing her hipbones; she tries to resist it, tries not let it lull her into false security but she was never very good at doing that and it seems she still isn't.
So when Brittany slides a hand into her jacket and around to her back, the warmth of her palm bleeding through her shirt, Santana's jaw falls open and the words all come rushing out.
--
"Hey, B," Santana yawned as she walked in the apartment after a night shift. She threw her hat, keys, wallets, and phone on the table in the entryway and walked into the kitchen.
Brittany was at the counter, mixing waffle batter and the place was a mess, flour covering half the surfaces, milk spilled in places, bowls and spoons spread across the counters. Santana chuckled, walking up to her girlfriend and dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder before sliding over to the carafe of coffee sitting next to her and grabbing a mug already waiting for her.
"Morning," Brittany greeted, a wide, happy light to her face.
"Any of those waffles for me?" Santana asked, eying the stack Brittany had on a plate next to her.
"You didn't eat anything with Quinn?"
Santana shrugged, bringing her coffee to her lips and turning to lean her butt against the counter. She didn't eat anything with Quinn because her best friend fucking ditched her. Ditched her to go to some crazy new breakfast place with her crazy new girlfriend. Santana shook her head at the memory of Quinn's message, tried not to let it bother her the way she knew it did.
Brittany stopped stirring the batter in her bowl to observe Santana. "What happened?"
It made her feel worse too, to know that she was visibly upset about the whole damn thing because, god, how old is she, ten? She felt more like a loser than she ever had so she pushed away from the counter and set her coffee down.
"Nothing happened," she denied, walking out of the kitchen and unbuttoning her shirt. "I'm going to go change."
She got to the bedroom, stripped out of her uniform and pulled on a tank top, standing in the middle of the room in only her underwear. A sigh blew out of her and she eyed the bed. She wasn't really tired yet, and she was hungry, but she felt stupid and that was making her want to fall into bed more than anything.
She debated the merits of sleeping versus eating for a few minutes but didn't get the chance to make a decision before Brittany was bounding into the room, coming up behind her and sliding her arms around Santana's waist.
"What's the matter?" Brittany asked again, honing in on Santana's mood accurately, a skill she'd been using since they were kids. "Did Quinn do something at breakfast?"
Santana shook her head and pulled out of Brittany's embrace. "I said nothing happened. I'm just tired." She winced as the words came out because she knew that Brittany was well aware that I'm just tired was totally code for my day was terrible.
She moved past her girlfriend and tried to make her way back to the kitchen but Brittany grabbed her wrist, tugged her backwards and spun her, backing Santana up until she hit the wall near their door.
"What happened at breakfast?" Brittany asked, her hips pushing into Santana's and her hands falling to rest on her hips.
"I told you-," Santana tried once more, but Brittany stopped her with a squeeze to her hipbone.
"You lied to me," Brittany interrupted. The blonde slid one of the hands resting on Santana's hip around to her back, traveling up the back of her tank top to palm bare skin. The warmth of it shot through Santana and her post-work plan shifted.
Sex, then waffles and then sleep. She could work with this.
Instead of answering Brittany's question, instead of denying that nothing happened at breakfast or admitting that breakfast never actually happened, she sagged further into the wall behind her, brought her arms around Brittany's back to pull her in closer and lifted her chin up to press her mouth to the blonde's, their lips inches apart.
They stood there for long, hot minutes, blocking the world out as their lips slanted against each other's, but when Santana slid a hand up Brittany's back to snap her bra off, the blonde girl pulled back and gave her an admonishing smile.
Brittany brought a hand back to grab Santana's and pull it back around and she hated the way she could feel her lip jutting out at being denied. She was halfway through a what the hell when Brittany pushed her hips forward and stole the breath right out of Santana's words.
"Tell me what happened," Brittany repeated for the billionth time this morning. Their lips were still close together, the scent of hot waffles, syrup and coffee lingering between them and Santana felt her eyelids flutter at the sensation.
But she held her resolve and shook her head. "Nothing happened," she denied again.
Brittany smirked in a way that to most people would look completely innocent but Santana knew her girlfriend better than she knew herself and that look was anything but innocent. That look meant Brittany wanted something and she was going to get it.
A sharp breath left her and her thighs trembled when Brittany leaned forward and pressed kisses down her jawbone, the hand on her back sliding upward and the other finding its place on her hipbone and tracing the waistband of her underwear there.
"What's wrong?" Brittany asked again, the question a hot, whispered breath in her ear.
"You're playing dirty," Santana managed to gasp out, choking on the words when sharp teeth pulled at the skin below her ear.
She felt Brittany nod against her neck, and a smile spread against her skin there. "I am," Brittany agreed and it made Santana chuckle a little bit.
Normally, she'd be peeved at being handled this way, at Brittany trying to force her to talk about her feelings, but she kind of wanted to tell her anyway. She hated the way it all made her feel, that was still true, but if she could tell anyone it would Brittany, if anyone would make her feel a little less stupid, it would be Brittany.
So when Brittany's hand traveled up her shirt to cup her breast her jaw dropped open and the words fell out. "Quinn ditched me."
Movement stopped and Brittany lifted her head to look into Santana's eyes. Her expression wasn't full of concern or sad or pitying the way Santana half expected it to be, it was more blank that anything, as Brittany heard the words and processed what they meant.
Santana didn't have to say more, she knew Brittany would hear all the layers of meaning packed into the three words so she just waited, tried to ignore the urge to cant her hips forward and pull Brittany's hand from her chest to a location more south.
After about a minute, 52 seconds to be exact, Brittany pursed her lips and smiled tightly, nodding a little bit before resuming her trek down Santana's collarbone with her lips.
"What are you doing?" Santana asked, the question rushing out of her and into Brittany's hair. She didn't expect to have to explain anything to her girlfriend, but she half expected Brittany to give her a semi-long lecture on how it's okay that Quinn has new friends and that she still loves Santana and blah, blah, blah. Santana knew this Rachel Berry character was going to ruin their lives.
Brittany chuckled. "Making you feel better. Then I'm going to make you waffles," she answered, lifting her head up again so they could look at each other. "Is that okay?"
Santana nodded rapidly and sighed in relief as Brittany ducked back down and her hand started to trail down her abs. Yeah, that was more than okay. That was perfect.
--
It takes about ten minutes for Santana to get all the words out, to say them all without it making her want to punch out at the wall, but she does it and takes a moment of satisfaction at Brittany's appalled expression. At least now she feels like someone's on her side.
The blonde girl doesn't say anything, but Santana knows what she's thinking. "Yeah, I know," she says.
Brittany blinks, runs her thumbs up Santana's sides. "Wow."
"Yeah."
"What are you going to do?"
Santana blows a heavy breath out and looks around the small closet, shifts her feet a little, bringing her closer into Brittany. This is the hard part. Where to go from here. "I'm going to talk to Puck," she answers finally. "I can't," she pauses. Because actually, this is the hard part. The part where she admits she's way too close to this thing, that she can't see the forest for the trees anymore and she's lost all ability to do her job. Not that she actually has a job anymore.
But she doesn't need to say the words because Brittany must see them written all over her face. "You need to talk to Puck," her girlfriend repeats.
Santana nods and Brittany smiles.
--
When they exit the closet, Puck is leaning against the wall across the hallway with a leer spread across his face and a waggle of his eyebrows to greet them. Santana rolls her eyes at the sight and reaches down to tangle her fingers with Brittany's, pulling the other girl close to her side. Her partner pushes off the wall and walks toward her and she crosses the hall in his direction.
"How'd it go with Quinn?" He asks, stopping to stand in front of her.
Her fingers squeeze Brittany's hard before answering. She lets her thoughts reorganize, explaining it all to Brittany having actually helped her sort some things out. Things beyond the devastation over her parents and her best friends and things more connected to the task at hand. Pike, Mr. Fabray, the Cain organization. "It's more complicated than we originally thought."
"Okay," Puck replies, his brow scrunches up as he looks down at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means I need you to go talk to her now. I don't think," she swallows and looks down the hall for a minute, hating what she's about to say. "I don't think I can handle it anymore."
Puck's surprised. Shocked even. It's clear as day all over his face - the way his eyes go big and his shoulders pull back and the fast, sharp exhale he lets out through his nose. "You can't handle it anymore," he repeats, as if saying the words will help them make sense.
"I just can't talk to her right now," Santana says, not looking at Puck or Brittany. "I think it would be better if you did it."
She looks up at him then, makes eye contact and hopes he gets it, hopes he doesn't press it because if she has to talk about it, explain it, she'll just throw the whole plan out the window and take it all back. As a cop, she knows she's way past too emotional. She left too emotional somewhere back two days ago, but she hates the idea that she can't do her job. It makes her feel like she's lost, like the bad guys won.
Puck looks her up and down and then at Brittany who gives him a wide grin he can't help but return. "Okay," he says, with a small smile for Santana. He reaches forward and claps his hand on her shoulder, squeezing briefly before releasing and turning to walk down the hallway and around the corner towards Quinn's room.
Santana stands there for a minute, staring at the corner Puck disappeared around until Brittany tugs gently on her hand. "What now?"
She turns to look at her girlfriend and shrugs. "Now we wait."
--
Ten minutes later and Puck is still talking to Quinn. Santana and Brittany are parked on a hospital bench, hands clasped tightly together and Santana rolls the back of her head against the wall as Brittany snuggles deeper into her shoulder. Her leg bobs up and down and she can feel herself getting anxious.
Part of her wants to go back and talk to Quinn, the initial emotion has left her and she's still hurt and pissed and kind of wants to slap the blonde off Quinn's pretty little head but she can remember Quinn's last words, the way she said there was more to it and now all of a sudden Santana needs to hear the rest. Feels a small shred of hope that the last bit is redeeming, that maybe she doesn't have to lose both the memory of her parents and her best friend today.
Brittany slides her free hand down Santana's thigh and squeezes it near the knee. "Just go talk to her," she whispers into the collar of Santana's coat.
Her teeth come down on her lower lip and she turns to look down the hallway, eyes zeroing in on the door she knows is Quinn's. She stares at it for a minute, indecision warring with curiosity in her system before Brittany lets her hand go and stands up.
"I'll go get coffee," she announces but just as she's turning to leave, silent encouragement for Santana to go talk to Quinn, she darts her hand out and grabs Brittany's again.
"Come with," she commands, not looking Brittany in the eyes.
She doesn't need to look up to see the smile because Brittany just tugs her up and out of the chair and leads them down the hallway to Quinn's room.
--
The disadvantage to working in criminal law was that Quinn had to deal with all the crazies. Mostly Santana found this hilarious considering her best friend's last job, but then it stopped being funny all of a sudden because a particular criminal got particularly angry with the DA's office one day and decided to take it out on its employees.
Santana got the call during lunch, halfway through one of Puck's new sandwich experiments that was actually tasting pretty delicious - not that she'd ever tell him that. Ever. She didn't hear much past DA, Fabray and attack before she was racing out of the bullpen, her sandwich left forgotten on her desk.
It all happened long before Santana was made aware of it so she ends up racing to the hospital, calling Brittany on the way and not stopping until she skidded to a halt outside the room with her best friend. Rachel came out the door right as Santana got there, her eyes red and puffy and wearing the most ridiculous costume Santana had ever seen. Which was saying something.
Any other day the costume would be prime ammunition for insults. It'd be like Christmas in May because Rachel would have set herself up so beautifully, but Santana couldn't focus on that right now, instead she looked right over Rachel's shoulder into the room.
Rachel reached a hand out and grabbed Santana's arm. "She's going to be okay," she said, smiling quickly.
"What happened?" Santana croaked, looking down at the brunette.
"Some guy got a razor into the courtroom and wasn't too happy about his guilty verdict," Rachel explained, her words thick and full of tears.
Santana nodded and clenched her fists at her side.
"Who?" Santana asked.
Rachel shook her head. "They didn't say," she answered.
"She's working on that prostitution ring case," Santana whispered absently. "Fuck, I knew that shit was bad news."
She turned around and paced away from the door, running her hand up through her hair.
"So did she, that's her job," Rachel said to Santana's back.
"Yeah, that's her job," Santana agreed turning to face Rachel again. "She did her job and I didn't do mine."
Rachel opened her mouth in confusion but Santana brushed past her before she had a chance to ask for an explanation. Not that Santana really had one to give.
--
Santana bursts into the hospital room and three heads whip up to look at her. Puck looking confused, Rachel looking pissed and Quinn looking at her with the saddest expression Santana thinks she's ever seen, and she spends most of her time with Brittany and Rachel, that's saying something.
Puck takes a step towards her. "Lopez," he starts, but she holds a hand up.
"Listen," she says, and she looks towards Quinn. "I don't know what to think right now. I don't know what to think about you or about me or about anything else but I do know one thing."
She pauses and looks around. Rachel smirks and Santana rolls her eyes because she's about to lay a big sappy speech on all of them and of course Rachel would be happy about that.
"This is about all of us right now and we can't afford to be messed up. We need to figure this shit out. Together. All of us."
It's a short speech, but Santana isn't much for words and Brittany interlocks their fingers together so she doesn't really care all that much.
"You already got Pike," Quinn says.
Puck nods. "Matt and Finn just got him to the hospital."
Santana shakes her head. "I'm not talking about Pike. Pike is old news. I'm talking about your father," she says to Quinn.
Quinn swallows and narrows her eyes. "Santana," Quinn starts.
"There's more to this whole story and you're going to tell me. You're going to tell me and then we're going to put our brains together and go after him."
Rachel drifts a hand down her stomach and takes a step towards Santana, her mouth dropping open to speak.
"No," Santana says before the brunette can make a sound. "You tell me the rest and then we go after him. That's the deal."
A chuckle breaks past Rachel's lips and Santana throws an incredulous glance her way. "I was going to say I agree with you."
Shock runs through her and it must be clear on her face because the whole room laughs and the tension eases slightly.
"Okay," Santana says after glaring at every laughing person in the room. "Spill."
Quinn takes a deep breath and swallows before talking.
--
"What would you do if Brittany wanted you to do something you didn't want to do?" Quinn asked, spinning a bowl of pretzels on the counter.
"Brittany's gone," Santana replied, anger and pain rolling through her, fresh but dulled slightly by time.
"What did you do then?"
"Are you drunk?" She wasn't above punching her friend for being an insensitive bitch, but there's a near empty bottle of tequila on the table between them and she doesn't feel like breaking a nail today.
"I need you to answer the question," Quinn said and something in her voice, in the way she avoided eye contact made Santana comply.
"I do what I want, fool," Santana answered.
Quinn rolled her eyes and popped a pretzel in her mouth. "I mean when Brittany wanted Nemo, you said no, right?"
Santana glanced around the bar and clenched her jaw. It was pretty empty for a Friday night, but she liked it that way. It was quiet except for the clanking of glasses and the hushed murmurs from some of the booths.
"I thought we agreed some topics were off the table."
"We never agreed to that," Quinn denied.
"It was an implied contract."
"That's really where you want to take this argument?" Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
"Don't talk about Brittany," Santana said, hoping that would be enough.
"I'm not," Quinn denied. "I'm talking about your dog."
It punched her right through the gut because her dog was gone and so was her girlfriend but she let the alcohol rub the edges of memory to a hazy state and tried to resist the urge to bolt from the table.
"I love my dog," Santana replied, evading the question.
"But you didn't want one."
"What's this about?" She stared at her friend with narrowed eyes.
"Nothing, I'm just curious."
Then it dawned on Santana. "What does Rachel want?"
Quinn shook her head rapidly. Too rapidly to be believable. "Nothing."
"Oh shit, what does she want? A house? An autographed bust of Streisand for your foyer? A baby?" Santana started to laugh thankful for the distraction away from thoughts of Brittany and her dog and depression.
But the blood runs out of Quinn's face and Santana jerks backwards as she takes in Quinn's expression. "Q?"
"Nevermind, I have to go," Quinn said, standing abruptly and racing out of the bar before Santana could stop her.
--
Santana listens as Quinn and Puck discuss her father, discuss the situation in a way she knows is trying to avoid talking about any of the real issues. Like Santana's parents or whatever it was that Quinn hadn't told her yet. She knows enough right now. She knows enough to know that Russell Fabray had to be taken out, had to be arrested or murdered or beaten to a pulp so that his reign of terror ended. It was the first time she didn't really care about the why of it all. Didn't want to know what his motivation was or why he waited so long to do it or how he found Roger Pike.
Right now all Santana cares about is pain. The pain she's feeling, the pain Brittany's feeling, the pain Quinn's feeling, the pain Pike inflicted, the pain her parents felt and the pain she's going to deliver. Nothing else.
"So do you have any proof at all about what your dad was doing?" Puck asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
Santana walks over to the window and surveys the city outside, hears the sheets of Quinn's bed rustle and watches the rain drip down the glass.
"The files at my old job would be the best, if they're still there, but I don't have access to them anymore."
Santana spins around. "You don't have anything at your place? Nothing?"
Quinn looks up at the ceiling as if the answers are stored there. "I mean, there might be something. I'd have to look."
"I can look," Santana offers, taking a step towards the bed.
But Quinn shakes her head. "You wouldn't know what you're looking for and you can't get in."
Out of the corner of her eye Santana sees Brittany take a seat on one of the chairs scattered about. "Well, you can't exactly get up."
Then Rachel pipes up, moves away from Quinn and towards Santana. "I know what to look for. I can go with Santana."
Quinn sits up abruptly before flinging back just as fast, grabbing her leg in pain and yelping out in surprise.
"Quinn!" Rachel exclaims moving closer to the bed.
"You're not going," Quinn gets out past clenched teeth. Santana stands at the foot of the bed, her hands on the railing there as Brittany stands up and Puck moves closer too, all concerned with the way Quinn's face looks, twisted in pain.
"I know what to look for, just as well as you do," Rachel argues, stroking hair off Quinn's forehead and looking somewhere between concerned and determined.
"Not safe," Quinn denies, shaking her head.
"I'll be fine," Rachel whispers, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the attorney's temple. "We have to end this and you're in no shape to move. I'm the only one that could possibly help them."
Santana hates it. Hates it because she has to rely on Rachel Berry to finish this thing. Rachel Berry who's basically been a thorn in her side since they day they met, who represents everything that's eating away at her about Quinn right now. Looking at Rachel, all she can think about is how Quinn told her first, about how she told Rachel all about her parents and Santana just wants to lash out at something.
But she stamps down on the emotion with force, swallows against the bitter taste in her mouth. She hates this plan but it's a good one. They can't take Quinn back to the apartment, and Rachel is their next best bet, their only next bet. All this other crap, their friendship, and her childhood, all her emotions. There will be time later to deal with that, time after she deals with the present issue, finding the bad guy, taking him down. Even if he is her best friend's dad.
She needs to do this to feel like something is right in the world. She needs to do this to focus. She needs to do this.
"She's right," she says after a few seconds. "Berry's right. She'll come with us."
Quinn looks like she's about to protest, angrily, and Santana anticipates the fight with a certain amount of glee, but Puck's phone rings before any words can come out and he turns his back to them to answer, speaking in short, clipped tones while they all stare at him.
When he turns back around his expression is blank, flipping his phone closed and shoving it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
"That was Rutherford," he announces. "Pike's dead."
Part Nineteen