Fic: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Epilogue]
Title: They Say Bad Things Happen For A Reason [Epilogue]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: around 2k this part
Notes in Part One
Special Note: This was revised from my original posting as it was cut down to size by LJ's character limits and I felt the desire to add a flashback to its original content. Other than that, this is nothing new, just giving it its separate post for the sake of space.
[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] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty]
--
One month later
Santana shifts her umbrella in one hand as it blocks out the rain above her, Rachel is standing next to her, bundled in a raincoat and huddled under the umbrella. Santana entertains herself by minutely moving it to expose the shorter girl to the rain. Puck, standing next to her, but exposed entirely to the rain, laughs every time Rachel squirms.
Quinn’s standing not too far away, leaning heavily on a silver cane, but dressed impeccably in a gunmetal grey suit, dark trench coat on her shoulders to ward off the rain.
A podium stands before her and assorted members of the press are scattered on the steps of the courthouse, waiting for DA Quinn Fabray to address the public.
Santana can make out Brittany’s bundled form at the bottom of the steps near a hot dog cart, standing under an umbrella of her own next to Mike, Nemo on a leash in front of her. She sends a quick smile at the pair before turning to look at her friend.
Then, through the rain and the rush of cars passing on the street, Quinn’s voice cuts across the noise, clear and succinct and determined.
“As you all may know, the police have recently apprehended my father, Russell Fabray, as a part of a long term investigation into suspected mob-related criminal activities that occurred over a month ago.”
A hushed sound of interest ripples across the crowd as microphones strain forward in the rain to catch Quinn’s speech.
“Obviously, there has been some question as to my ability to try this case, to work towards sending my own father to prison but I assure you, my professionalism should stand for itself.” Quinn gestures to a group of people behind her, dressed in suits and standing under their own black umbrellas. “A team of attorneys have been assigned to this case and steps have been taken to ensure the highest standards of professional ethics are observed.”
The rain beats loudly against the umbrella above Santana’s head and Rachel shifts closer to her as Quinn readjusts her grip on her cane, the only evidence of any residual pain.
“Let me be clear,” Quinn says. “I may share a name with this man, I may share blood, but my attachment to him ends there.”
Her voice is hard and unwavering and Santana can almost feel the way it affects the crowd, the way they all stand up straighter, lean even closer and no one makes a sound.
“He systematically attacked my family, and was ruthless in his pursuit to destroy those closest to me. Russell Fabray is a criminal,” she continues, emphasizing the last word firmly. “And I will do my very best to see that our legal system brings him to justice.”
Quinn takes a deep breath and stares out at the crowd. “Organized crime is a dark stain upon this city. A battle we all fight daily. All of us. We must remain vigilant, we must stand strong.”
Santana feels Rachel move next to her and she looks down, watches the brunette stare transfixed at her wife, her head bobbing up and down slightly and a low almost silent tune bubbling out of her lips.
She rolls her eyes and looks away. Freakshow is probably humming the end theme to freakin’ Batman right now. Pregnancy hormones. They go to the brain. Five more months of Rachel’s special brand of crazy and she’s going to end up cutting someone. Probably Quinn for sticking her with this problem in the first place.
Quinn’s voice cuts her out of her thoughts and Santana tries to stop herself from hearing some epic end theme in her head too. But there’s Quinn, standing in front of her, a healing wound in her leg and a determined posture radiating forth and she can’t stop herself.
She remembers the moment she finally caught Quinn’s dad, she remembers calling Quinn with the news, and remembers the celebratory beer she shared with Puck. She remembers the victory hug Brittany gave her afterward, standing in their new apartment, the apartment they bought together and she remembers the waffles with whipped cream and sprinkles she had in the morning. She remembers Rachel's relief at hearing Santana tell the story and the proud slap on the back she got from the captain.
She doesn't think she'll ever forget it. Any of it.
--
It took a month of chasing shadows, of constantly feeling one step behind, of coming close to admitting defeat before Santana actually caught Russell Fabray.
And he was hiding in plain sight. When she found him, when Puck called her with the lead and they geared up for the search, she didn't know whether to slap herself or laugh. She settled for loading her gun and slipping a vest over her shoulders, padding the velcro down and watching Puck do the same.
He hadn't gone far, some big summer home about an hour out of the city. Santana didn't get it, why he didn't high tail it to the other side of the country, or for that matter cross the border. He was clearly on the run, clearly knew they were after him, and he hid right under her nose.
There he was, in a house Santana vaguely remembered from her childhood, that she had played in one long summer weekend a lifetime ago. It was a house she thought the Fabray's sold over a decade ago, that she had completely forgotten about when they went over known addresses.
The old Fabray summer mansion was a plantation style home with a long front yard and big white pillars on the porch and it felt so strange to drive up to it, knowing the criminal it housed inside.
For that very reason, because things felt weird and strange and so unlike the last twenty times they had pulled up to houses and buildings, Santana knew they had him, that this was it.
"He's here," she whispered to Puck.
"Let's get him," her partner replied.
--
He was in his office when their team burst inside, and the scene felt like it should have, the way she imagined it the first time. He was behind his desk, a tumbler of scotch in one hand and phone in the other.
The look on his face when she leveled her gun on his chest, when Puck did the same, was more satisfying than any arrest Santana had ever made. She could hear Quinn's mother let out a horrified gasp behind her, restrained by another officer and Santana swallowed against the buzzing in her ears.
This was it, it was over. She had him. Her jaw clenched, her thigh threatened to shake but her aim remained steady.
"Russell Fabray, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit crimes, for the attempted murder of Rachel Berry," she started as she walked forward with Puck, flanking him. It was like a heavy weight off her chest as she listed off his sins, felt it shoot out of her like lead out of the barrel of her gun.
When she had finished and she was next to him, reaching back with one hand for her handcuffs, but keeping her gaze and gun pointed straight at him, he threw his phone down on the desk next to his abandoned scotch and turned towards her.
"This isn't over, detective. No matter what you and my daughter may think," he said, looking at her with undisguised contempt.
She smirked up at him, holstered her gun and twirled her handcuffs on one finger. "Oh it so is."
"What do you think this really accomplishes?" He continued, as she clapped the cuffs on his wrists with a satisfying clank.
"Oh this?" Santana asked, the anger and pain of memory rushing through her, the hurt this man caused everyone pushing forward in her brain. "This puts you in a damp, dank, nasty cell with a large inmate named Bob where you won't see the light of day for many years."
"You really think I'm going to prison?" He threw back, laughing as she passed him to Puck who pulled him forward. "Me? Prison? You clearly don't know how this works, what I do, who I know."
"You forget, Mr. Fabray," Santana said, a smirk pulling at her lips and fake politeness dripping over her tone. "I have an in with the DA. I know people too."
As anger crashed over his features and Puck knocked him forward out of the house Santana winked at him and let herself feel victorious for the first time in months.
--
The hug Quinn gave her when they finally saw each other afterward, the way her fingers clenched into Santana's back and her face burrowed into her shoulder, was more comforting than just about any other hug she had ever received. They hung on to each other for long moments, let the past flow over them and their pain ebb away.
The picture in the next day's paper was of the two of them, arms linked and smiling widely. The pride on Quinn's face as she looked at Santana made her feel more powerful than just about anything else. The headline felt like it was ripped straight out of a comic, made them both look like superheroes and Santana let herself take a deep easy breath as Brittany cut the article out and pasted it to their fridge.
CRIME FIGHTING DUO FABRAY AND LOPEZ EXPOSE UNDERGROUND CRIME BOSS. RESPECTED BANKER RUSSELL FABRAY FACING 25 YEARS IN PRISON.
--
Her memory burns away and as she watches Quinn speak to the crowd about justice and honor and determination, well, she kind of feels like superhero. Quinn certainly looks the part.
“Russell Fabray is but one piece of this puzzle. This war is not over and we must keep on fighting its battles. Thank you.”
The blonde steps down from the podium and turns away, ignoring the questions blurted out from the press as a colleague takes her place and fields the inquiries.
She walks up to where Santana is standing, Rachel stepping out into the rain to loop her arm through Quinn’s, the one not holding the cane.
“Let’s go home,” Quinn whispers out, looking at both Puck and Santana.
Santana’s eyes drift over Quinn’s shoulder to where Brittany is walking forward, Nemo in front of her and Mike lingering behind.
“Let’s go to Tahiti,” Santana suggests as Brittany comes within earshot.
“Family vacation!” The blonde claps, but keeps her voice low as to not interrupt the press conference still happening.
The group moves to walk away, back down the stairs and away from the crowd.
Rachel moves up to where Brittany is walking, greeting Nemo and talking, rapidfire to the blonde girl about god knows what. Santana swears, if that midget gives Brittany any funny ideas about reproducing she is going to push her down a flight of stairs.
Quinn lingers behind, walking slowly, her limp much less noticeable than it was weeks before. Santana comes up next to her as Puck walks down to greet Mike, clapping him on the back and pointing to a shiny new motorcycle parked by the curb.
“Thanks,” Quinn comments, looking upward as Santana positions the umbrella above them and blocks out the rain.
“You did good,” Santana replies.
“Of course I did,” Quinn throws back, scoffing but smiling at her.
“We make a good team,” Santana continues, watching Brittany laugh at something Rachel is saying. She feels complete, whole, fixed.
“We’re Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez,” Quinn says, turning to look at Santana. “What did you expect?”
Santana laughs, really laughs, deep and hard and it cuts right across the group of them. “Good point,” she says, nodding at her friend. “Good fucking point.”
She watches Puck grab Rachel around the waist and carry her out into the rain, the brunette squealing at the attack as Mike and Brittany laugh, bumping their shoulders into each other.
“Hey,” Santana says and Quinn raises an eyebrow at her in question.
“I never said congratulations,” she continues as they turn down the block and head for a well-known diner down the street.
“For what?” Quinn asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Santana cocks her head towards Rachel, now with soaking hair and lecturing Puck about catching a cold and immaturity and a bunch of other things Santana doesn’t care about.
Quinn looks over and a smile crosses her face, wide and easy and Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen Quinn look so happy. “Thanks, S.”
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Santana jokes, watching Brittany restrain Rachel from punching Puck in the arm. She lets out a little chuckle at the display and the terrified look on Mike’s face. Nemo barks at all of them.
“Are you?”
Santana jerks to look at her. “What?”
“Well it’s your godchild, after all,” Quinn explains, tilting her head as if Santana should have realized this ages ago.
Santana stares at her friends, watches Puck hold his hands out defensively as Rachel finally calms down and Brittany lets her go. She looks back to Quinn who’s still staring at her in amusement.
“Me?” She points to herself in disbelief as her steps slow and Brittany breaks off from the group ahead to join them, handing her umbrella to Rachel.
Quinn laughs and walks in front of her, towards where Rachel is waiting. “Who else?” Quinn throws over her shoulder.
Brittany smiles as she gets close, loops her arm through Santana’s, and tugs her faster towards the diner.
“You okay?”
Santana blinks up at her girlfriend, studies the flush in her cheeks and the lightness in her eyes and lets the warmth of her press into her side. Nemo walks ahead of them and yaps, pulling Brittany’s arm forward in his haste.
She looks to where her friends are disappearing inside the diner and grabs the leash out of Brittany’s hand and smiles. Feels a stillness pass through her that hasn’t been there in months.
“I’m perfect,” she answers. “Absolutely perfect.”
--