A/N: So if things don't change, all the characters you need to know have appeared. I've just received a couple of part time work that I'll be taking on in the next two months so hopefully, that doesn't deter me from updating. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.
After sending a team down to Lexington Avenue to investigate the tampering of wires, Puck and Santana headed over to NYU to visit Professor William Michael Schuester, the first person on their list.
"Got his records?" Santana asked as she circled the campus car park for the third time.
"Yeah. No criminal records that the NYPD knows of." Puck said as he scanned his portable device. When he noticed they had stopped, he frowned, "You can't park here."
"Why not?" Santana challenged as she got out of her car. "He's a music teacher and he has no criminal records?"
Puck hurried after her, casting anxious glances behind his shoulder to where Santana had parked her car perpendicular to a blue Accord. "You can't park there! How will that car exit? And why is that surprising? Are you stereotyping? Like music types should have a drug record or something?"
"He shouldn't have double parked then. Serves him right," Santana took the stairs two at a time, "I'm just surprised that he doesn't have a blip in his records is all. Crazy college days and stuff you know? Let's see, staff room. This way."
"If we follow your logic, practically all of us in this city are going to have a blip on our criminal record. Are you sure it's this way?"
"Never doubt me."
They took the elevator up to the third floor where the staff rooms were and headed to room 303.
"Come in." A voice called from the inside after they had knocked the door.
"Professor William Schuester?"
"Ah hello. How may I help you?" The professor looked and dressed young for his age.
Santana pulled her badge out from her jeans pocket and watched as Schuester stiffened, "I'm Detective Lopez and this is Detective Puckerman, from the homicide department. We're investigating a case and we'll need your help."
"From the homicide department?" His fingers tightened over the pen he was holding. "Are my students –"
"Oh no, no!" Puck hurried to explain, "We've just had some nasty scares. Someone called to complain about maggot-infested chocolates and we're working on finding out who the culprit was."
Schuester's relief was palpable. "Oh thank God. For a moment there, I thought something bad had happened to one of my students. You never know you know, in New York."
While Puck and Schuester made small talk, Santana took in the office. William had obviously taken the time to make the office as cozy and as personal as he could. Posters of old bands such as Journey and The Beatles adorned his wall. On his table were a few framed pictures of the professor with a ginger-haired woman, a few stacks of papers and… two boxes of Godiva chocolates.
"You know," Santana cut in the moment there was a lull in conversation, "I used to attend school in NYU."
Schuester looked interested, or at least he tried to. "Really? And please take a seat. I've some time yet before my choral practice at 6."
"You teach the choir here? Which one?"
"The Madrigal Singers." Schuester beamed, obviously proud of his work. "Would you like some water or anything to eat? I have some chocolates."
"No thanks." Santana shook her head and smiled. Puck did the same.
"Actually, we would like to talk to you about the chocolates."
"Yes of course. Your partner has filled me in about what happened." He shuddered, "Such a waste of good chocolates. That might be the only way to get me off chocolates though." He laughed.
"So let's see," Santana hummed as she scanned her notes, "You bought twenty-five boxes of gift chocolates from the Godiva Lexington Branch on the 18th of August? That would be last Monday."
"Hmmm I can't remember but yeah I guess that would be right."
"You paid by credit?"
"Of course. Can't go carrying over a thousand dollars in my wallet." Schuester laughed a little nervously. Whether it was from their presence or from the thought of carrying so much money, she couldn't be sure.
"Do you often make a habit of buying batches of chocolates?"
"Not really," the professor shifted in his chair to get more comfortable, "They're expensive. But I thought I would get them for my kids you know?"
"Your kids?" Santana frowned. She hadn't seen any pictures of Schuester's children in his office and based on his record, he was married without children.
"Yeah my choir kids. We won a recent competition and I thought they all deserved a little gift, just to show my appreciation for the hard work they've put in." There was that proud smile again.
"You would spend a thousand dollars on your choir students? Wouldn't your wife be unhappy about that?"
"Emma? God no. Emma's lovely! She's close to my kids too."
"Do you remember where you were on the 13th of August, eight to eleven A.M.?"
That question seemed to take the professor by surprise and he considered the question for quite some time before asking for permission to check his calendar.
"Sure. Take your time."
"That would be a Wednesday yes? I was on urgent leave and home all day. Emma was sick and I wanted to be there for her."
And wasn't that convenient.
"Did you bring her to a doctor? Any receipts?"
Schuester shook his head, "Emma doesn't like seeing doctors. She's kind of a doctor herself. She's a guidance counsellor."
"That's nice. Tough job dealing with kids all day. Do you mind if I take a look around your office?"
He looked a little uncomfortable at that request but nodded. She took a quick look around and let Puck continue with the questions. Based on what she could see, there wasn't anything out of place. There were tons of music notes and books stacked on a bookshelf and piled on the floor. There was a mini fridge, where she found another box of chocolate inside.
"You really like chocolates, huh?"
"Like what you said, dealing with kids all day is stressful." Schuester smiled tightly. "Chocolates release endorphins."
"Hmmm" was all she said, and she made a note to check his statement with his students. She wouldn't be surprised if none of his students received any chocolates.
Their next stop was Barnard College, where they found their second person on the list in his dorm.
"Blaine Anderson?" Puck asked as he flashed his badge.
The freshman took a morose look at the badge and nodded, swinging his door a little wider so the detectives could step in.
"Hi. I'm Detective Puckerman and this is my partner, Detective Lopez."
"My ex-boyfriend didn't put you up to this right?" Blaine swayed on the spot. Judging from the can of beer in his hand and the several empty cans in the bin, they could safely assume he was inebriated.
"Er…" Puck stammered, not quite sure what to make of the question, "Not that I know of, no."
The room was crammed and very, very messy. Clothes were strewn everywhere and there were a few takeout boxes swept to the side of the room. It was quite disgusting really.
"Sorry for the mess." Blaine scratched his mop of curly hair and scowled, not looking sorry at all. "It's just a really bad time you know?"
"Ok. We just need to ask you a few questions and we'll get out of your way, if that's okay with you?"
"I'm single now. I have all the time in the world." Blaine proclaimed sullenly and sniffed.
"It's stated in Godiva's credit records that you bought twenty boxes of gift chocolates last week?"
"Yes I did. So?" The boy jutted his chin out a little defensively.
"What were they for?"
"To eat of course. Can't a guy eat without anyone checking up on them? Is it a crime now to eat? Are you sure it wasn't Kurt who put you up to this?"
"Er no."
"Because it sure feels like it."
"Mr. Anderson," Santana spoke up from where she was still standing by the closed door (she figured it was the only way she wouldn't dirty her shoes), "We have no idea who this Kurt is. We're just here on official NYPD business."
Blaine sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just that I'm just going through a really bad break-up now. My boyfriend and I had been together for two years now and then he breaks up with me because I've gained the freshman fifteen and it just hurts so bad you know?"
He sniffed again and for one terrifying moment, Santana thought he was about to burst into tears.
"I'm sorry to hear that. So you bought the chocolates for personal consumption?"
"I know I shouldn't eat so much. That'll just prove Kurt right."
"Not to mention they're bloody expensive," Puck muttered under his breath.
"But when I'm depressed, I just want to binge you know?"
"Where have you placed the chocolates?"
Blaine blinked up at them, "What?"
"You bought twenty boxes right? So where have you kept the chocolates?"
"Kept them? Why would I keep them? I bought them to eat!"
Now, it was Santana's turn to blink. "You've already finished the chocolates?"
"Well yeah. They're only twenty-four pieces and they're all bite-sized!" He was getting defensive again.
"When did you buy them?"
"Some time last week?"
"The credit records say Sunday. So that's six days ago. You finished twenty boxes in six days?"
"I guess." Blaine sulked, then slapped a palm to his forehead. "Oh god. That sounds like a lot of chocolates."
"That's 480 pieces Blaine." Puck did the mental sums and mouthed a "whoa" to his partner. "Where are the empty boxes?"
"I threw them away. Can't possibly leave them lying around, can I?" He slurred, but based on the empty takeout boxes accumulated over the week, it seemed that he could.
Customer number three was Brody Weston, a Broadway dancer for The Lion King. Rehearsals were still underway when they arrived at the Minksoff Theatre and it was only after use of verbal threat that the music director grudgingly agreed to pull Weston out.
He met them backstage, sweaty and annoyed, his face painted white and black for his role as one of the hyenas in the musical.
"What is this about?" He demanded. "I'm rehearsing for our opening night next week. This had better be important."
"Sorry to interrupt but this won't take long."
"It's taking long enough as it is." He snapped rudely. "I want to see your badges."
They flashed their badges.
"Look Mr. Weston. If you would cooperate, you can rejoin your rehearsals in no time. That or you can follow us down to the nearest police station and we can conduct our interview there."
"Are you threatening me?" Brody stalked forward, using his height to tower over her.
"No but it appears you are." Santana said mildly, refusing to back off. "You know, I have a friend who made something of herself in the Broadway industry. And based on what she told me, you need patience and a good attitude to work in your line. It's strange that I don't see any of those two traits in you. Now Mr. Weston," she continued, ignoring the angry curl of Brody's lips, "Give me your whereabouts on the 13th of August, between eight to eleven A.M."
"Are you accusing me of killing someone?"
"I don't recall mentioning a murder."
"Eric mentioned you two are from the homicide department. Look," Brody took a step back and rubbed his forehead, "I'm sorry for how I came on to you. Rehearsals have been brutal, opening night is in a couple of days and I've still not managed to get my steps down pat. I'm fucking stressed man."
"That's not my concern. Your whereabouts on the 13th of August, eight to eleven A.M., Mr. Anderson."
The sneer returned full force onto Brody's face. "I don't know."
Santana had had enough. Between her exhaustion, this guy's attitude, a dead body and a possible body count in the near future, she wasn't interested in being pushed around or taken for a fool.
"Listen up, donkey face. You trying to be funny means shit to me. If you can't give me a good answer or I find that you're lying, we take you down to an interrogation room and your understudy replaces you. And guess what? If I wanted to do that on your opening night, I can. Interesting fact, isn't it?"
She let that sink in and watched with satisfaction as Brody simmered, then nodded, his jaw tight.
"So for the third time, where the hell were you on the 13th of August, between eight to eleven A.M.?"
"Sleeping."
"Alone?"
"Yes." Brody gritted out. "We did scene rehearsals on Wednesday and I wasn't involved in that one. I remember clearly because I could finally get some rest."
"You were at your house?"
"Yes."
"See, that wasn't so hard was it? I ask, you answer. Now it says here that you bought twenty boxes of Godiva gift chocolates on Wednesday." Santana said, referring to the credit record, "Why so many?"
"I had a chocolate craving," Brody replied with a smirk.
"Don't fuck with me you son of a bitch." Santana growled and for the first time, Brody looked a little scared. "We're not playing games here. You spent over a grand on chocolates. Why?"
Brody licked his lips and looked over to Puck.
"I would answer her question if I were you." Puck advised.
"I bought them for dates okay?"
"Twenty boxes for one date?"
Brody scoffed, "One date? Who said anything about it being one date. What is this? The 16th century?"
"So you bought twenty boxes for twenty different dates? Based on the little I know about Broadway, a backup dancer doesn't earn that much. Or am I wrong?"
"Well yeah, what can I say? I know how to treat girls." That annoying smirk appeared again.
"Okay then Mr. Casanova, we would like to have the contacts of your twenty dates just so we can cross-check everything you've just told us."
Brody's eyes went wide, "What? That's an invasion of my privacy! It's against my rights!"
"And someone lost her rights when she was murdered. So your contacts, please. I can get your phone for you if you need me to."
When Brody remained where he was, Santana sighed, "Mr. Weston. I thought we had a clear understanding. You cooperate and we won't make things any more inconvenient for you."
"I can't give you their numbers okay?" His voice was soft and low.
"And why not?"
He cleared his throat and scanned the surroundings to ensure there was no one listening in, "They're customers. It's a policy."
Now, Santana frowned. "What?"
"It's like what you said okay? I don't earn enough as a Broadway dancer so I have a sideline job all right? It's not illegal."
She blinked but was careful to keep a straight face, "You're a gigolo?"
He shushed her furiously. "Keep it down, would you? No one can know about this!"
She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. He looked genuinely frazzled. "So when you said you were alone, sleeping on the 13th of August?"
"It's true."
"And you've given out all your chocolates?" She asked to clarify. As much as this dude was a jerk, she made it her job to cross off anyone she could on her list.
Brody gave a stiff nod, "It was a good week."
And because it was, she couldn't cross Brody Weston off her list just yet.
"So what do you think?" Puck asked when they were in the car, on the way back to the station.
"I think Brody Weston is a jerk."
"You think?" Puck snorted, "I know for a fact he is a jerk. Do you think he's our guy?"
Santana didn't even hesitate. "He's low on my list."
"And why's that?" Puck said, unsurprised. He had his own theories but still, it was always useful to have someone confirm his speculations. That's what a partner was for.
"For one, he's too impulsive. Our guy is anything but. Or at least, not yet. He's meticulous and he's a planner. I wouldn't be surprised if Weston has a record of getting into fights."
"He does actually," Puck looked up from his device, impressed, "One in a college and one in a bar. He was let off with a court-ordered anger management programme that lasted six weeks.
"There you go." Santana nodded, tapping a finger against her steering wheel. "With his temperament, he'll be unlikely to sit, plan and send out presents. On the other hand, I can see him bludgeoning Mary-Rae to death and ripping out her vocal chords. That part fits."
"But I thought you said our guy doesn't have anger issues?"
"I said our guy isn't impulsive. He obviously has anger issues. There is a difference."
"Why do you think he's angry?"
"That's for our profiler to pinpoint. But my guess? Probably women or fame issues. Regardless of which it is, I want to find out but if we're just looking at that, Brody fits. He's a gigolo who may see himself being used by women and a dancer who wishes he could be centre stage. It may be worth looking into him but I'll still put him low on my list. What do you think?"
"Yeah, I agree. Schuester beeps on my radar though." He caught Santana's smile. "You too?"
She hummed her agreement.
"Was it me or was he uncomfortable during the interview?"
"He was uncomfortable. Oh yes, you reminded me. Could you look up a list of his choir students? Check if all of them received a box of chocolates from him?"
"Okay. I'll get Davidson to do that. What?" Puck asked when he saw Santana aim a nasty look at him.
"Just because he's young doesn't mean you should bully him into doing your work."
"He's not that young! And I would do it myself if I were in the office. The connection is faster there!"
"Fine. And Blaine Anderson?"
"I don't know about him. I want to cross him off but.. he gobbled down 480 pieces of chocolates in a week! Like is that possible?"
"That just shows he should rethink his method of dealing with breakups. Did you notice the takeout boxes?"
"I would be blind AND anosmic if I hadn't. Man that place needs a disinfecting team."
Santana looked at him in surprise. "You know the word anosmic?"
"Oh shut up Lopez. I heard Rachel use it and looked it up."
Santana feigned shock. "You voluntarily looked up a word? My, my. Is this you? Is this my Puck?" For added effect, she placed a hand over her heart.
"Fuck you." Puck scowled, flipping her the finger. He would have preferred to cause her some physical pain but she was driving, so…back to Blaine. "If Brody Weston is low on your list, I'll put Blaine Anderson even lower. He's too short, don't you think?"
"Yeah but he's still tall enough to hit Mary-Rae top down. And I'm still bothered by the fact that he threw out his chocolate packaging but not his takeout boxes."
"It probably reminded him of his ex-boyfriend and his freshman fifteen." Puck sniggered meanly.
"Maybe," Santana said but she looked unconvinced, "But don't forget, we still have our mystery guy who snipped the wires of the security cameras. And he's top of my list. Now let's see if Smythe has finally dug up some useful shit that we can use." She concluded their discussion by yanking hard on her wheel and swinging into a lot.
"Look what the cat dragged in from the depth of hell?" Sebastian Smythe's silky voice irritated Santana's ears the moment they entered the lab. "Question is: Who's the cat and who's the one being dragged in?"
"Oh shut up you little bitchlet. I doubt even hell would want your scrawny ass. Where are my fingerprint results?"
Sebestian let out a long-suffering sigh and looked up from some bones he had been examining. She didn't even want to know what they were for, freak of nature that he was.
He went over to his folders, danced his fingers over them and finally pulled out one. "So." He said, then fell into silence as he re-read the scan analysis.
"Take your time, we've got all day."
"Shut it Lopez. People here actually need the quiet for their brains to work. Wouldn't expect you to know that considering you're lacking in that department."
The only reason why she let it slide was because she really wanted those results.
"They came up empty."
She leaned over his shoulder to take a look for herself. "Are you serious? You made me wait six days for this?"
"This is for the chocolates that came in yesterday, moron."
"Well duh. Of course, you wouldn't get anything! They passed through so many hands and he probably never touched them. I want to know if we got DNA under Mary-Rae's fingernails. Why the fuck did that take so long?"
"You can't rush the polymerase chain reaction." Sebastian told her evenly as he shuffled the papers. "No result."
"No result as in it's just her skin or she didn't scrape off enough of his skin when she clawed him?"
"Oh she got him good all right." He set aside the papers and turned to face her. "Okay let's teach your little brain one new thing today. Try to absorb it this time. For us to conduct a polymerase chain reaction in the first place, you need enough skin sample. So obviously, we got enough of that. The reason –"
"I know that already. Just get to the point, will you? Your noxious breath is giving me a migraine."
He ignored her insult and continued his lecture. "The reason why we have no result is because he has no criminal record. We can't match this DNA to those stored in our database."
So much for no result. They'd just hit a goldmine. Smyth just wanted a chance to show off. All he had to say in the first place was that they got a result but couldn't find a match. Bastard. But because she was so pleased with the piece of good news, she swallowed the barb on the tip of her tongue.
"Puck, did you hear him?" She turned to her partner with a wide smile.
"Yeah. So all we need now is to accumulate enough evidence against our suspects and this guy is ours."
Sebastian feigned a yawn but a hint of a smile ghosted his lips. He was after all, a fan of Mary-Rae and wanted this killer apprehended. "Looks like you're not complete idiots after all. Now since you have evidence to gather, I'll appreciate it if you get the hell out of my lab."
"What about my fingerprints for today?"
Sebestian gave her one of those slimy smiles that made her want to douse him with a bottle of disinfectant. "I wasn't aware that you had fingerprints considering how you can't be human."
"For once, you're right. I'm a fucking vampire who will be happy to bleed you dry if you don't get me some results tomorrow. Fingerprints for Godiva's cut wires, Smythe. Tomorrow." She tossed out behind her shoulder as a parting gift to the evil scientist and left him to his own devices.
Seeing how it was almost dinnertime, she wouldn't be surprised if he started munching on those bones he had been working on. She had never seen that guy eat. Maybe he was the vampire. Whatever, she didn't care.
What she did care about was whether Quinn had had her dinner. Hopeful, she pulled out her phone and dialed.
"Hey Courtney!" She spoke into the receiver cheerfully.
There was a slight pause before Quinn's voice came on. She sounded confused. "Santana?"
"Wanna have dinner with me, Court?"
"Erm this is Quinn." Now, in addition to sounding confused, Quinn also sounded a little peeved. Was that jealousy she detected?
"I was just thinking to myself how many blondes there were in the show you know? I could only come up with Courtney and Torrance. But even though Torrance was the lead character, Courtney was way hotter, not to mention she did that claw thing in the opening cheer?" She fanned herself with her hand and jerked her chin up at Puck when he gave her a look that screamed what the fuck? When Quinn started laughing softly, Santana stuck her tongue between her teeth and smiled, "So Court? Dinner?"
"Only if you promise not to call me that."
"Why not? Courtney is a pretty cool chick."
"Yeah but Torrance was head bitch. What if I told you I was head cheerleader in high school?"
Santana's brows shot up and she grinned, "Really? No shit."
Her girl was head cheerleader in high school. How about that? Was that hot or was that hot? She covered the mouthpiece of her phone to convey that information to Puck.
"Ask her if she has a photo of her in uniform."
"Oh fuck off. Not you, Quinn. I was talking to my idiotic partner." She was quick to say after she had shoved Puck away. "Don't give him a photo."
"Ok. How about you?"
"Me?" Santana's grin grew. "Yeah, I could use a photo. I was just thinking of getting some new photos for my wallet."
"Ok, I'll bring that for our date tonight." Quinn played along. Meanwhile, she started googling pictures of Courtney from Bring It On.
"But just so you don't get all haughty taughty, I was head cheerleader in high school too, and college." Santana shoved Puck again when he burst out laughing.
"Is that right?" Quinn was amused. "Bet you wouldn't have made head cheerleader if I had been in your school."
"Hey! You take that back!"
"How can I when I speak the truth. I was trained by the one and only Sue Sylvester."
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"You can't not know The Sue Sylvester!" Quinn sounded genuinely shocked.
"Well I'm telling you that I don't."
"How can you not know Sue Sylvester? She's a legend in the cheerleading community."
Santana scoffed, "Apparently so was I so how come you've never heard of me?"
"Ok that's it! We're pitting our skills against each other after dinner!"
"Oh a full stomach? You want to do handsprings on a full stomach?" Santana asked, incredulous.
"Are handsprings all you can do?"
"Please bitch. I can do handsprings WHILE cheering."
When Quinn snorted over the phone, Santana lifted a finger up, "I wasn't finished yet. With my eyes close. Ha! Beat that!"
"You're on! I'll beat your handsprings with a triple back handspring."
"Girlfriend, if you're Courtney or even Torrance, I'm Missy Pantone and everyone knows she's the one with da skills. I can take you. Bring it on Fabray."
"You do know Courtney was the one who referred to Missy as the uber dyke right?"
At that comment, Santana scrunched up her face in a grimace, "Right. Fine, you're Torrance then but I want to be Missy."
"I'm not sure you're badass enough, detective."
Santana let out a fake gasp. "I so am badass enough."
"If you say so, Santana."
Santana pouted, upset with Quinn's obliging answer.
"And don't pout."
"I'm not! I don't pout!" Santana was quick to reply, looking around as she did to see if Quinn was spying on her. How could she have known? "So I'll meet you at Central Park? I was thinking of having a picnic and I have some mats in the back of my car but oh shit. I forgot about your suit. Okay, ignore my suggestion, I don't know what I was thinking. We could just…"
"Shut up Santana. Central Park sounds wonderful. I'll bring a bottle of wine. Just give me five minutes and I'll be ready to leave. I drove to work so I'll just meet you there. Say in an hour's time?"
"Ok." Santana breathed, excited that this was actually happening. That this was finally happening.
Sure, it hadn't been planned, she wasn't dressed in her best dress and it was done on the spur of the moment. But that didn't matter because she was going on a date with Quinn Fabray.
Giddy with excitement, she ditched Puck as soon as she put down the phone and went about buying the necessities – a roasted chicken, a side of roasted vegetables, two apples, red solo cups for the wine, was she missing anything else?
Deep in thought, she almost dropped her shopping basket when her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Got the bottle of wine. See you soon :)
Just like that, she was out of the supermarket and on the way to the park.
When she pulled into the car park near the pond, she immediately remembered what she had forgotten.
Flowers! She had forgotten the damn flowers!
Slapping herself internally for that slip-up, she grabbed the bags and mat from the backseat, only to drop everything in shock when she felt someone press up against her.
"Relax. Relax. It's just me." Quinn's voice rasped in her ear before she could take her assailant down. "You're so jumpy detective."
"Quinn! Don't do that again! I almost punched you in the face." Santana's chest heaved up and down as she fought to even out her breathing.
"But you didn't," Quinn kissed the side of her lips as a greeting, then pulled away with an impish smile. "Come on. I'm hungry."
They laid out the mats before the pond and spread out the food. There were a few other couples spread out around the field but other than that, it was quiet and peaceful. While night had fallen, the distant lamps and overhead moon provided enough light for them to see what they were eating.
"Is the food okay?"
"Santana."
"What?"
"I know what you're thinking. Stop stressing."
"I'm not stressing."
"You've been asking me about everything for the past five minutes. Just shut up and eat. I'm enjoying myself."
Santana smiled sheepishly and did as she was told, munching on her chicken while she snuck glances at Quinn. She was so pretty and under the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal. As much as it sounded cheesy and she wanted to puke from all the romantic feelings swimming in her system, it was true. Quinn was beautiful and she couldn't believe she was out on a date with this woman.
"You're thinking too much."
Quinn's voice broke through her thoughts and Santana blinked to focus on the face staring right back at her. Without thinking, she touched Quinn's cheek in a tender moment and smiled, simply smiled like a goof and giggled. Yes, she fucking giggled and didn't realise it was her until she noticed Quinn laughing in amusement.
"Someone's in a good mood today." Quinn leaned into her warm touch and scooted forward so their knees were touching.
"And it'll be even better when I kick your ass later."
Quinn frowned and when she realised what Santana was referring to, she laughed again. God, she couldn't remember laughing this much for a long time.
"We're doing handsprings on a full stomach?" She mocked Santana, using her earlier words.
"Oh no. You didn't." Santana narrowed her eyes before setting her plate aside and jumping up to her feet. "Come on." She offered a hand for Quinn to take.
"Now?"
"Yeah, unless you're scared of losing. We've barely eaten."
"You've barely eaten." Quinn retorted but let herself be pulled up. "I'm not even dressed for this!"
"Stop making excuses for your imminent defeat." Santana shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the grass beside the mat.
She shot Quinn a cocky smirk then launched herself into an admittedly impressive backhand spring. After which, she spoiled her otherwise offhanded success by jumping in the air and whooping like a girl. That goof. Making a low bow, she swept her arm out to indicate that it was Quinn's turn to take the stage.
"I'm not dressed for this Santana and I thought you said you could do the stunt with your eyes closed?"
"Oh come on Quinn. It's dark out so my eyes are practically shut. And you can't back out. I'm wearing a shirt too."
"Yeah but you wear your shirt knowing that there is a possibility for wear and tear. I don't want my silk blouse to tear."
"I would have torn it off you anyway."
"Santana!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Santana laughed at her own crude joke, walking over to close the distance between them. "So admit it. I'm totally head bitch."
"Just for today." Quinn smiled despite herself, pleased to hear the detective's chuckle. It was such an insignificant win but it made the other woman so ridiculously happy.
Unable to resist, she fisted her hand in Santana's shirt and tugged, pulling her close enough for a kiss.
"So what do I get for winning?" Santana asked softly, her lips an inch from Quinn's. The kiss hovered there, just a breath away and smelling of herbs and pepper.
From the way Santana's eyes were flicking from her eyes to her lips, it was clear what she wanted. So Quinn gave her what she wanted. The victor deserved it after all.
Santana's mouth was soft and supple, more persuasive than possessive. Heat gathered like a fireball in the pit of her stomach when their tongues tangled, warming and spreading across her body.
She surrendered to the languid kiss, revelling in the touch and caresses. She could hear the hum of pleasure that sounded in Santana's throat, all but taste it as her mouth moved eagerly against hers.
Lips rubbed, tongues tasted, teeth nibbled and still it was not enough. It seemed nothing would ever be enough with Santana so they took their time. There was no rush here, no deadlines, no reports to be sent, no murderers to be caught. Here, it was just them and it was the world.
It was almost midnight when Santana stepped back into her own apartment, flushed with happiness.
When her phone vibrated to signal an incoming text, she smiled automatically when she saw Quinn's name on the screen.
Check your back pocket.
Right side of your jeans. (Love your ass by the way)
Santana grinned as she thought of Quinn's nice firm grip when they had kissed. Curious, she slipped her hand into her back pocket , where she easily found the mystery item.
She pulled it out to come face to face with a photo of Torrance Shipman. On the back of the photo, Quinn had written a short message in her elegant, cursive penmanship.
We both know who the real Big Red is.
She laughed all the way to bed.
A/N: More Bring It On references. Just for those who don't know what "Big Red" is, it was the nickname used for the head cheerleader before Torrance. (Thanks to the guest who corrected me on this!)
Meanwhile, let the guessing begin.