Disclaimer: Own not. Profit not. Sue not.

Matsch's Law: A horrible ending is better than endless horrors.

AN: Future fic starring Special Agent Fabray, Broadway Superstar Rachel Berry, and Special Agent Peterson. If you haven't read any of the previous installments, Littlewood's Law in particular, you might be confused...

Quinn Fabray was not happy.

It was already shaping up to be one of those days and it was only ten in the morning. First she'd woken up alone, an hour before her alarm clock went off, and without the now practically mandatory presence of Rachel in her bed it had been impossible for her to go back to sleep. Then she'd gone to get dressed only to realize that the shirt she'd wanted to wear had shrunk mysteriously and one of her boots was missing. On top of that, when she'd picked Ryan up from his apartment his ridiculous dog had jumped on her in an overly exuberant greeting which had caused her to spill coffee on herself. Thus they'd been late to work as she'd had to run back and change her clothes – because SAC* Quinn Fabray was the picture of professionalism, from her steely demeanor to her classy but always work appropriate attire. After all, as she'd once pointed out to Rachel, chasing down criminals in pretty dresses was never going to be an okay idea.

But now, now she was finally at work and the day hadn't gotten any better, in fact it had gotten worse.

That's it, this is the last straw! She growled in frustration as she critically eyeballed the communal coffee pot in the break room.

Empty, of course.

"Dirty, rotten, coffee vampires," she seethed and stalked out of the room. "Shulte!"

"Yeah, boss!" The younger agent came bounding around the corner immediately and with surprising grace, considering his size. Quinn stared up at him, sighed, and shook her head. Conrad Shulte reminded her of a giant, affable, Mastiff puppy. Without the slobber. He towered over her but his 'eager-to-please' mentality and sweet, boyish features made him far less threatening. He often made her think of a thicker version of Finn Hudson, though the similarities really stopped past physical appearance. She poked his heavily muscled chest and he bent over closer to her height so she could speak to him without feeling like she was shouting up a mountain.

They'd had that discussion before.

"I have a very important, top secret, urgent mission for you. Seriously, it's life or death here," she whispered conspiratorially. He smirked at her, clearly already knowing where she was going with this. "Come with me."

Obediently he dogged her steps all the way back to her office, but he hesitated just outside the threshold. Quinn didn't like to bring people into her office if she could avoid it. That was her space, her sanctuary, and she didn't want people getting into the habit of coming in and feeling like it was a 'hang-out' space. Not that she wasn't sociable with her colleagues, she was, but her office was sacred.

She smirked to herself as she observed Conrad shifting from one foot to the other, fidgeting with his hands, trying to find some place to look. Taking pity on him she hurried a little bit more and dug into her purse.

"Coffee, black, don't even think about adding anything to it." She told him sternly as she returned to his side and pressed some cash into his meaty paw. "Venti, for the love of all things holy. If you feel a little disgruntled by this task just remember all the lives you're potentially saving."

He laughed then, put at ease by her joke as she'd intended, nodded and bounded off.

Quinn pursed her lips and let her hands fall to her hips as she looked up at the ceiling to consult the heavens. Dear god, all I'm asking is that you grant me the patience to get through this day! She marched back into her office and closed the door firmly behind her. It was glass so it wasn't like she was going to gain much privacy by the act, but she always did like the door closed. Her office was pretty much a human fish tank, but closing the door made her feel more secluded… and she could turn up her music while avoiding the noise pollution from the other bustling agents in the bullpen. Scratching absently at her cheek she fell into her chair and eyed the folder on her desk warily.

Crime scene photos were never her favorite.

She tilted her head until she heard her neck crack, then scooped up the folder and with a deep breath opened it.

They weren't anything new to her. Violence, death, spilt blood, torn flesh, and tears – lots of tears. It had become her world years ago and while seeing things of that nature would always twist her gut, she was sadly used to it now. She no longer heard the screams of the victims in her head.

"What are you saying?" She asked the nameless being responsible for the twisted, tortured, images she saw. The family photo gave her pause – and that happened more than she'd ever care to admit. The familiar squeeze in her chest stalled her as she looked at the toothless grin of a blonde haired baby.

A knock sounded on her door and pulled her up from the gore she was drowning in.

"What?" She called tiredly, unable to pry her eyes away from the baby in the photo.

"Qball."

She looked up at the nickname and waved Ryan into her inner sanctum. He shuffled in, appearing just as tired and rumpled as she felt.

"You have the Moore crime scene photos?"

With a grimace she held the folder in her hands aloft. He winced in chorus with her and dropped into the chair in front of her desk. His long hands scrubbed over his face and for a moment there were no other sounds than that of his skin rubbing together. Hazy blue eyes finally caught on hers and his hands stopped their movement and he shook his head once. She understood his non-verbal communication, she always did, and nodded slowly to let him know she was right there with him.

"We've got to catch him, Q," Ryan said, breaking their full silence. "I don't know about you but, God, I can't sleep."

Quinn opened the folder back up, pulled free each grisly photo, and started arranging them on her desk. Reconstructing the crime scene as best she could. "I know. I've seen all kinds of things doing this job. We both have. Things I can't get out of my head no matter how hard I try – and this is still one of the worst." She tapped a photo with one slender French tipped finger. "This is the part that I keep coming back to. I keep wondering what he's trying to tell us."

"He's mutilating them – I've seen fatal animal attacks that don't look half as bad as these." Ryan leaned forward wearily and spun the picture around so it was right side up for him. "Eyes torn out, 'sinner' carved all over the body. Quinn he turns them into jack-o-lanterns. What part of this makes sense to you?"

"I don't know. I just can't stop thinking why 'sinner'?" Quinn mused and settled her chin onto her palm. "The Moore's were squeaky clean, just like the others. Nothing at all that points to an obvious answer for that word. This isn't like 'Seven' or something ridiculous. He's calling these people out, but for what?"

"I don't know Quinn, but I wouldn't dig too deep in this creeps head. Who knows what he's talking about, he could just be crazy."

"No, there's something there, Ryan. I know there is." She drummed her fingers against her cheek, then closed her eyes.

Some days it was like the weight of the world was actually on her shoulders.

"Hey, so I was thinking – this case is beating us up, do you want to hit Murphy's with me later? We can have a pitcher… or four, and talk about something not work related for a couple of hours."

Her eyes felt like they were full of sand when she forced them back open, "I'm not sure that's a great idea."

"Yeah it is, I can see it in your face. You should bring Rachel." He slid his hand over the desk and gently squeezed the fingers on her free hand. "Just let it go for one night, give that high powered brain of yours a rest before you blow a circuit or whatever it is Terminators run on."

Sighing through her nose Quinn looked him in the eye, finding his bloodshot just like she knew hers to be. "Alright, but not too much or too late either. It would be my luck that we get called out tonight after getting trashed with you."

"That's never happened," he scoffed. She tapped her nose and knocked on her desk, which made him smile.

"Agent Fabray?"

Both senior agents turned to the door to see Conrad standing there with a sheepish grin and a large cup of what Quinn fervently hoped to be molten hot coffee. Ryan quirked an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Oh yeah, I see how it is. Turning us all into slaves now are you?"

"Shut up, Marine," she snarled sweetly and waved the younger man forward. He didn't even glance at the pictures on her desk when he handed her the coffee and she had to admire his restraint. Ever nosey, she knew she would have looked and instantly regretted the action were she in his shoes. "Read the nameplate on my desk, Ryan, what's it say?"

"Special Agent in Charge Quinn Fabray," Ryan snickered.

"Damn straight," she snarked back at him.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," he sneered.

Conrad stood mostly still during the entire exchange, back to his quiet shifting from giant foot to giant foot, staring at the poster above her chair like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "Thank you, Shulte, I really appreciate it."

"Resistance is futile," he shrugged and quickly exited her office amidst Ryan's laughter.

"Murphy's, tonight, bring your diva of a girlfriend, we'll talk more closer to the end of the day," Ryan said and stood. She tilted her head to look up at him as he paused. "Quinn? Don't stare at these all day."

She smiled to let him know she wouldn't (she would) and tracked his footsteps as he left. The second he was out of sight she pulled her cell phone out and dialed her favorite number from memory.

"Quinn!"

A genuine smile cracked her sleepy face at the cheerful greeting. "Hey Superstar," she said softly and leaned back in her chair, unable to focus on death when Rachel was talking to her.

"You have perfect timing, it's kind of creepy how you always manage to call at exactly the right time." Her voice was chipper, as always, and it was like a salve on a nasty sunburn to Quinn. She felt herself relaxing back into the seat at just the sound, one hand holding the phone tightly to her ear while the other rubbed soothing circles at her temple. "What's going on? Are we still meeting for lunch?"

"Yeah, of course we are. I can't wait to see you," she murmured. "You have no idea how much, Rach. This has not been my best day ever."

"Poor baby," Rachel cooed across the line and Quinn felt herself melting. "Are you going to eat another one of those gross hotdogs? I'm not sure I can witness that again. I'd be happy to bring you something healthier if you'd like? Your job is physically demanding, Quinn, you need to make sure you're eating right. Perhaps that's why you've been having a rough day?"

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head Quinn chuckled, "I'm not eating a hotdog for lunch. I brought my favorite soup – and I don't eat from street vendor's all the time, promise."

"What is your favorite soup?"

"Alphabet soup. Preferably Annie's Alphabet soup," she replied. Her mouth watered at the thought alone. There were few things that made her world as right as a big bowl of alphabet soup.

"I am unfamiliar with that, but it sounds like something you would like," Rachel giggled.

"I'm sure I should be mildly offended at whatever it is that you're implying." Sighing she brought her hand over from massaging her temple to pinch the bridge of her nose. "But I'm not. It's too good to hear your voice for me to even pretend otherwise."

"Aw, Quinn."

"Actually I was calling to see…" She paused as she caught a sudden flurry of movement outside her office. Ryan came at a jog up to her door, stopped when he saw her on the phone, but his eyes said it all. "Rachel, I have to go, but Ryan wanted to know if you and I could meet him for drinks later to kind of decompress. Would that work for you?"

"I – yes, drinks, decompress, Ryan. I think I got all that. I'll meet you at your apartment?"

"Sounds good, and Rachel – I don't know what's going on right now but I may not be able to meet for lunch after all." Quinn stood up and swiftly tucked all the photos back into their folder, clipped her shield to her belt and swung her neatly tailored jacket back on. "I have to go though, I'll text about lunch and call you about going out tonight, alright?"

"Okay, stay safe."

Every time Rachel said it, it never failed to make her smile. For just that one precious second she felt so loved and her mouth softened into what Ryan called her 'dopey for Berry' smile. She clutched the phone just a little tighter. "I will."

They never said goodbye. Ever. So, Quinn regretfully hit the disconnect button. Then, she rushed out the door, Ryan at her side filling her in as they hurried towards the elevator. She listened closely to the lurid details he was giving her and couldn't help but think that after this, drinks with Rachel would be a bit like heaven.

TBC...

*SAC - Special Agent in Charge