A/N: So, instead of giving up on my fics for a while (which I seriously considered), I've decided to create something else I can focus on instead. Fair warning though, unlike my other fics, this one will not be updated until there's a sizable interest in it. If you want more of it, review. If you don't then...well, don't. Also, Thief!Rachel wins at life :)
Disclaimer: The characters of Glee are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. No copyright infringement is intended.
Modus Operandi
Part 1
Bright and early, it was another forecast mulligan in the month of March; just like every year it was a melting pot of weather. Frigid temperatures reeked havoc on the city with the giddy pleasure of vandals on hell night, fogging the windows and chilling the floors in one of the many garish penthouses in New York.
Currently, the occupant of said penthouse was in bed, lightly snoring under a warm down comforter, completely oblivious to the outside world. Her long dark locks were a mess of knots and tangles, clashing with the stark white bedding around her, and one long tanned leg had been haphazardly thrown over the side of the bed sometime during the night.
The moment was serene and kind of adorable—when the brunette started sleep talking orders to the horrible dancing penguins in her dreams—but as usual things so precious never last.
"Berry," a loud voiced boomed from outside the door. "I know you're in there! Open the damn door or I'll go find Streisand and force a whole damn wheel of Gouda down her throat!"
The girl in bed just grumbled a faint, "Johnny, there's no pop in your lock. I must insist that you try again."
It obviously wasn't the response the demanding voice was looking for because it was still muffled by a door. "Berry, I swear to God, if you don't—"
"You're silly, S. We can just use my key," a soft voice laughed and seconds later the heavy door swung open.
A fiery Latina marched in, looking a lot more menacing than the moment required, while her blonde counterpart skipped in afterward. Both were dressed in a similar fashion to their personalities—jeans and Converse, leather and stiletto boots—and the more dominant one had left the little patience she had in the hall.
"Berry, get the hell up!" she yelled and started stalking towards the unaware girl still in bed.
When the door to her room slammed open, the brunette in bed shot up and almost simultaneously fell to the floor.
"What the, Barbra?" she cried while gently rubbing her forehead. "Do you have any idea—"
"Don't even start," the Latina demanded before cocking her head to the side and looking at the blonde peeking over her shoulder. "Get Berry some clothes. I threw up in my mouth a little just now from seeing her Brazilian wax."
"Okay, S," the girl said happily and skipped towards the large walk in closet a little ways from the door.
The girl on the floor rolled her eyes and pushed herself up to her feet so she was standing in just a rumpled navy tank top. "Santana, can you ever make an low key entrance? The phone is an excellent tool to use for such a situation."
"Hells no," replied Santana sarcastically. "So the Brazilian means you're getting somewhere with that waitress, huh?"
The girl opened her mouth to argue otherwise when the blonde reappeared at her side with an arm full of clothes. "Rachel totally tapped the waitress last night."
The brunette turned to gap at the blonde incredulously before shaking her head. "Brittany, how—"
"Dear lord, Berry, even I know it's the hair. What the hell did you do, fuck her standing on your head?"
"I resent the crass nature you are using to describe my personal life, not that there is anything to tell. I merely asked her out for coffee—"
"Yeah, don't care," Santana interrupted with a wave of her hand. "As long as your loosened up and got laid. I've been having a hard time not shooting you while you go on your five hour rants about the benefits of a Vegan diet, which before you ask, no I'd rather die than live off rabbit food for the rest of my life."
Rachel was in the middle of pulling on the tiny white shorts Brittany had given her, when she looked up with a frown. "While I take great offence to your lack of understanding for my personal dietary choices and the helpless animals around the world, I was not with the waitress last night."
"Right," Santana laughed with a roll of her eyes. "Then where were you? You certainly weren't here because me and B were here banging on the door for an hour."
Rachel sighed and quickly walked by Santana into the hall, the Latina instantly trailed after her.
Neither spoke until they reached the kitchen. It was a nice space: lots of dark granite, cherry wood and stainless steel. The most redeeming feature had always been the view offered to a person if they turned the right way and looked out at the skyline through the large ceiling high windows afforded to the penthouse suite. If only it wasn't blocked by that grotesque grand piano Rachel insisted on buying the moment she moved in.
"If you must know," Rachel called over her shoulder while routing through her cabinets for a coffee cup, "I was—"
A banging on the door caused Rachel to jump in surprise, thankfully she hadn't yet found a mug because she was sure it would've been pieces on the floor. The clicking of Santana's heels stopped abruptly from somewhere just beyond the threshold of the kitchen.
"Who the hell is that?" she growled, clearly annoyed by the interruption to her interrogation.
Rachel shrugged and moved from the kitchen to answer the door while Santana gently pulled Brittany with her to the stools set up around the kitchen counter. The open floor plan gave Santana a perfect view of the door and the rat's nest at the back of Rachel's head. She had so been with the waitress.
The brunette opened the door and when she subtly moved to lean against it to block the view of the apartment from her guests, Santana sighed.
"B," she said softly and the blonde looked up at her with a giant smile. "Go in to Rachel's room, okay? I'll come get you later."
Brittany tilted her head to the side, clearly confused by the request before her eyes lit up in understanding. "The police?"
Santana nodded, even though the way Rachel's body stiffened the moment she opened the door said it was much more serious than that. The Latina just didn't have the heart to tell the blonde otherwise. When Brittany was out of sight, Santana rolled her eyes at the conversation at the door.
"You do know that I have a legal right to refuse you entrance into my home. You have no probable cause for such a breach of my personal space. Furthermore—"
Santana couldn't hear what was said but seconds later Rachel was stepping away from the door with a dramatic wave of her arms.
Apparently, they were coming in. She couldn't have them scaring Brittany and when her eyes caught Rachel's she seemed to be thinking the same thing, until a giant burly man sauntering his way in to the foyer broke their eye contact.
Rachel frowned in disgust as she eyed the dark strip of hair on his otherwise shaved head and the barely leather jacket was enough to make Santana sneer mockingly. His arrogant smirk just completed the overly sad package.
When he spotted Santana, he drank her in greedily with darkening eyes. "Ah, you have company."
The Latina fought the urge she had to beat his face in and shook her head instead. "Yeah and you must be a total riot at parties, Captain Obvious."
His fists clenched briefly and Santana was able to ignore the warning glare Rachel shot her when a blonde woman stepped in the apartment, stopping beside the Neanderthal.
"Hello, I'm Detective Quinn Fabray and this is my partner, Detective Puckerman," the blonde said primly and Santana really had nothing to say against the woman, besides the questionable—and extremely nauseating—company she kept.
Her stylish black trench coat was open slightly, falling carelessly to her sides. It was intentional so the gold shield and semi-automatic strapped to her belt could be displayed with the dazzling arrogance of entitled authority. The navy blouse did everything to bring out the dangerous glints of hazel in her eyes and soft blonde curls fell over her shoulders looking like a stream of gold silk. Unlike her partner, this package was anything but sad.
"You two can call me, Puck," the meathead said smoothly and all three women just shook their heads.
"The detectives were telling me about a robbery at a jewelry store last week in Soho," Rachel explained to Santana until she turned to stare at the blonde with wide eyes. "We aren't suspects, are we?"
Quinn looked over at Rachel, taking in the brunette's rather mused appearance with a blatant swipe of the eyes, before shaking her head. "No, no, nothing like that. We just wanted to talk to you because your name came up in the course of our investigation."
"Berry?" Santana laughed, almost toppling off the stool in a fit of uncharacteristic giggles. "There's no possible way. She thinks it's stealing when she doesn't tip a waitress fifteen percent and she practically went into a panic attack at lunch last week when she realized she didn't have enough change."
Rachel huffed in annoyance and glared menacingly at Santana. "I merely enjoy supporting the up and comers in the entertainment industry. It is more than likely that over half of the wait staff that has ever served us were aspiring actors and I don't have to imagine how hard it can be. After all, we are in the business."
Santana rolled her eyes. "We sell music, Berry, not hopes and dreams."
Rachel opened her mouth to retort with a usual long-winded response but Puck beat her to it. "What do you two do exactly?"
"I'm completely appalled by your audacity to ask such a question. Do you even listen to music at all?" Rachel gasped, before she scurried to her purse, hanging near the door, and returned with two small cards that she handed to the both of them. "We co-founded, DangerStar Records. I'm sure you've heard of some of our artists: Country singer, Big Willie Miles, our recently signed J-pop boy band, 4pop or the Olivia Newton John cover band, Sylvester."
"Berry, give it a rest, already," Santana groaned before narrowing her eyes onto the crime fighting duo. "Why are you here again?"
Quinn looked amused, the slight quirk of her lips gave her away but Santana had to hand it to her, she recovered nicely. "Actually, Miss Berry bought a pair of cufflinks at the jewelry store that was robbed and we just need confirmation of the purchase for our records. You did buy them, correct?"
Rachel beamed brightly and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, they were a wedding gift for my Daddy. He's gone for years using these distasteful faux gold ones, they literally never match with anything, and my fathers were renewing their wedding vows in Hawaii last weekend so it was the perfect time for an upgrade. The ceremony was wonderful, on the beach actually. I have pictures if either of you are interested."
Puck's face contorted with obvious distaste for the idea while the blonde detective just smiled and shook her head. "Maybe some other time. We really need to get back to the station. If you could show us a copy of the receipt, we'll be on our way."
"Yeah," Puck smirked. "If you have an extra copy lying around, you can give it to us and get back to whatever you were doing before we arrived."
His eyes trailed over Rachel's appearance with a smirk that made Santana's jaw clench and Rachel hug her body protectively. Thankfully, Quinn stepped forward in her partner's eye line before Santana pounced.
"So do you have the receipt?" she asked softly with a slight tilt of her head.
Rachel's head snapped up and she nodded quickly before making her way to the desk that rested against a rust coloured accent wall adjacent to the large windows Santana liked so much. The desk was old, an antique that had most likely been restored some time before Rachel bought it. She fell in love with the natural wood and the almost battered quality to it, even though it still stood so strong. She quickly pulled out a drawer and flipped through her files before drawing out the sheet she needed.
Rachel moved back to hand it to the blonde with a smile. "Anything else?"
Quinn slowly shook her head, her eyes studying Rachel's face. "No, that's it. We'll be in touch, if we happen to have any other questions."
"Yeah, I'm sure you will," Santana snorted and Rachel glared darkly at her before turning back to her guests.
"Please forgive her, she doesn't do very well until she's working her way toward alcoholic. Please let me walk you to the door, you are after all guests in my home," Rachel exclaimed with another bright smile.
"Unwanted guests," Santana mumbled, though everybody was too far away to hear her anyway.
Rachel was still beaming up at the blonde and Santana felt her stomach churn a little. The Berry mating ritual was not something pleasant to watch.
"Under the circumstances, I can't very well say with the upmost honesty that I'll be seeing you again, since the receipt was all you were after," the tiny brunette explained. "So I'll just bid you farewell."
Both detectives were in the hall and much to Rachel and Puck's surprise, Quinn turned back to face the woman inside the door.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe you'll think of something that pertains to the case. I already have your number…" the blonde trailed off, holding up the card Rachel had given her. "So, here's mine, just in case."
The detective retrieved a similar card from her coat and held it out for the other woman to take.
"I'll be sure to do that," Rachel teased before taking the card with a small smile.
When she finally shut the door and turned around, Santana was looking at her with a look of utter revulsion. "You're actually thinking about calling her. That's so disgusting."
"Don't be ridiculous, Santana," Rachel scoffed. "Of course not, though she was quite beautiful."
"Oh my God and you wonder why I drink?" Santana yelled with an exaggerated growl of aggravation. "You can't do this right now. You really think it was a coincidence that they just happened to pick your name, out of the hundreds of people that bought something from that store, for a home visit?"
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, clearly not appreciating the accusation. "No, I didn't and I don't understand why you continue to underestimate me. I mean if memory serves, it was your idea to buy those cufflinks in the first place to research the store."
Santana's eyes narrowed at the insult to her plan. It was flawless; Berry didn't know anything. "Well, they obviously have an informant so my idea wasn't the problem, was it?"
"Well, it wasn't me," Rachel huffed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "There's only one person that is spineless enough to give them your name."
"Hummel," Santana growled and Rachel tried not to wince when she heard the Latina's teeth grind together angrily.
Rachel rubbed her eyes, tiredly, it was really too early for Santana. She tried her best to placate the volatile woman anyway, not that it ever really worked. "Right, so we're master thieves, lets figure out a proper course of action before we retrieve the Van Gogh next month because you know I can't perform with a conflicted psyche."
Santana still looked mad enough to kill but she managed to smirk confidently as a plan formed in her mind's eye. "Let's find out a bit more about you're new eye-fuck buddy, shall we?"
Rachel sighed but didn't say anything because her efforts would be in vain—they always were where Santana was concerned.