AU, Santana hasn't seen Brittany in nearly ten years. She's dreamed of the moment she would see the blonde again but she never expected to it would be in the middle of a murder investigation.
A/N – I was inspired by a ridiculously good crime fic on lj and thought I'd give it a try. The title is They Say Bad Things Happen for a Reason and seriously, it's awesome. This is rated T for language. There are F-bombs but that's about it. I don't own anything you recognize.
Paved with Good Intentions
Santana Lopez wiped a hand over her face tiredly. It was well past time for her shift to end.
"What is it this time?" She asked.
"Lover's quarrel apparently, boyfriend ends up with five rounds in him, killed pretty much instantly. Girlfriend is already down at the station." Puck replied as if this was an every day occurrence. It almost was.
Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman had gone from best friends in high school to one of the most effective detective teams in the City. They went through the police academy together after high school when Santana had been in the middle of her first real personal crisis and had no idea what to do with her life. Without Puck, Santana wasn't sure where she would have ended up. The two were closer than ever and had managed to become partners after years together on the street beat.
Santana smiled at a high school memory that flashed through her mind. She and Puck hanging out just about every Friday night after the football games, drinking smuggled beer in the back of his pick up truck. Quinn would be there, lecturing about how they were going to hell. And Brittany, Brittany would also be there.
At the thought of blonde hair and blue eyes, Santana's smile faded. Ten years ago, if anyone would have said that Santana and Brittany would have lost touch and not spoken in that many years, Santana would have smirked before decking them. It would have been impossible. They were inseparable and madly in love.
But, times change, people come and go as the seasons of life change and all the other stupid cliché sayings Santana hated. The brunette found herself wondering again how almost ten years could have passed without the blonde in her life. She quickly tucked the painful memories of their split out of her mind as they pulled up to the latest crime scene.
The sun had long since set and the flickering streetlights cast a dim glow over the block. Puck pulled up to where the black and white cruisers were parked with their lights flashing. They flashed their badges at the uniformed officer standing by the door and slipped past the yellow police tape. They made their way to an apartment in the back of the rundown building.
"What have we got Rico?" Puck called as they finally reached the room where their latest homicide went down.
Rico was a burly man in his late forties but looked much older. He liked to joke that he had been a detective since before Santana and Puck were even thought of by their parents. He turned at the sound of their entrance and waved slightly.
"This fella sure pissed somebody off. Looks like a .38. Four rounds to the chest, one in the gut and one…across the room, lodged in the floor. The shots to the body look to be from pretty close range. This poor bastard didn't have a chance."
Santana approached the body, her lips set in a grim line. She'd witnessed a crime scene much like this plenty of times in the past. She briefly wondered if she should be concerned that a scene of this sort had basically stopped having any real effect on her. She glanced around and took in her surroundings.
Decent apartment for the sketchy neighborhood. The décor was a bit random, as if the owner couldn't decide on a style. Her eye wandered to the kitchen, which was brightly colored, and an absolute wreck with dishes everywhere; on the counter, in the sink. The difference between the kitchen and the living room was drastic, in color and atmosphere.
The living room, where the body was currently being photographed, was supposed to be warm and inviting based on the deep, rich color choices but instead felt cold and barely lived in. Santana felt certain the chilly atmosphere was due to more than just the body in the floor. There were no pictures, no magazines, no evidence at all that any living being actually spent time in the room.
Santana glanced back once again toward the kitchen adjoining the living room. A duck magnet on the refrigerator caught her attention and she found herself thinking about Brittany for the second time in just a few short minutes. In fact, she couldn't shake the feeling that the whole kitchen just screamed "Brittany" to her. The color, the brightness, the absolute mess, the box of green tea on the counter, and the duck magnet. She chuckled at the thought of a kitchen reminding her of Brittany, considering the blonde had only managed to cook two meals in the entire time that Santana had known her that didn't involve a fire of some sort.
She wandered further into the apartment trying to get a feel for the place and for the victim. There were hardly any personal affects anywhere in the place, nothing more than generic art pieces that merely matched the wall colors. The other rooms were just as cold and empty as the living room. But Santana eventually found herself in a bedroom and felt her heart clench painfully as yet another reminder of Brittany surfaced.
The bed was unmade and the sheets were rumpled. A pair of ballet slippers was sitting in the windowsill and there were items of clothing strewn about everywhere, much as the dishes were in the kitchen. Even the scent remaining from whoever lived there had a warmth to it. This room had a warm lived in feeling to it that made Santana slightly uncomfortable. She immediately remembered beds with rumpled sheets and two bodies tangled.
Santana sighed and left the bedroom, heading back to the body, her reason for being in the apartment at all. Focus Lopez, do your damn job, she thought to herself. She squatted down next to the body. Rico was right, definitely close range. She glanced up at the man's face, nice looking guy, late 20's to early 30's, clean cut, nice clothes. Minus the blood and five bullet holes of course.
"What the hell did you do to deserve this?" She muttered to the still form. Santana stood back to her feet and saw Puck and Rico talking off to the side. "You say the girlfriend is already down at the station?"
Rico turned back and nodded in Santana's direction. "A neighbor called in the shots. She was sitting right there on the couch waiting when the first unit showed up. The gun was in the middle of the floor, near that stray bullet. She didn't put up a fight at all; in fact she didn't really say much of anything. Got a call back, evidence tech found traces of gunpowder on her right hand. We're just waiting for the lab to get back to us on fingerprints on the gun. Seems pretty open and shut."
Santana nodded. "Who is this guy? We got an ID yet?"
"Name's Jackson Vicks according to his drivers license. We don't know much else yet." Rico answered. "Haven't even gotten a name out of the girl yet as far as I know. Like I said, she didn't say much. But she's waiting for you down at the station Lopez, I'm sure you'll crack her."
Santana smirked. She would indeed. As anyone who knew her from high school would easily attest to, she had a knack for cracking people. Santana was a damn good detective and she was proud of it.
"Easy Lopez, that big ego of yours still has to fit into my car." Puck chuckled, knowing precisely what she was thinking, as usual.
"Please," she scoffed, "I'm good and we both know it so why pretend otherwise? I'll have this bitch singing in twenty minutes. If I'm wrong I'll buy you a drink."
"Fuck that, you'll pick up my whole damn tab."
Santana laughed in agreement as they stepped back out into the hallway. Before exiting, she turned and yelled back to Rico, "I want everything you can find on this guy on my desk tomorrow morning." Rico grunted and continued processing the crime scene without looking up.
Santana and Puck made their way back out into the street and Santana groaned when she realized it had started raining. She pulled her coat tighter around her thin frame to ward off the night chill.
"Perfect night for a crime of passion." She muttered. "Let's get this over with so I can finally go home."
A few minutes later they pulled into the station. Santana strode to her desk to drop off her belongings and pick up a tape recorder and notepad for the interview. Before she could head to the interview room however, a blonde slid up beside her and leaned against her desk, arms crossed and smirking.
"Lopez, you're keeping late hours, as usual. You're always working yet you can't seem to manage to get a single report to me on time."
Santana looked up and smiled wryly. "Evening Fabray, don't mind me, just getting back from another shots fired and dead body call. Sorry for thinking that's a little more important than typing up a report on that drug dealer you're about to nail."
Quinn Fabray was one of the most respected District Attorney's in the City, even at her young age. She was thorough and hard-hitting. And with much the same morally superior attitude from high school, she was bound and determined to clean up the City.
"Santana, we go to trial in two days. I need that report."
"No you don't." Santana replied. "You know that case like the back of your hand just like you know all of your cases. You're going to kick ass like always Quinn. But if it'll make you feel better, I won't interview the chick who just brutally murdered her boyfriend and I'll type that report right up."
Quinn sighed. "You are such an ass Santana."
"And you still love me." The brunette replied with a cheeky grin.
She knew it was true. She knew Quinn loved her and would do just about anything for her. Just as she would return the favor but neither would ever admit to it, at least not unless forced to. Their strained relationship in high school had mended itself as the years went on but that didn't mean they had to hug it out every day. Santana couldn't help but think that she and Quinn growing closer had a lot to do with the fact that Brittany had left.
Santana had been crushed. Quinn too really. They were the unholy trinity and were suddenly reduced to a duo. They had no choice but regroup and support each other. Even Puck had been affected by Brittany's leaving and understood that the other two girls were grieving a loss of sorts. He had in fact only tried to sleep with them twice in an effort to "comfort" them.
Quinn grinned and shook her head. "Tomorrow, Santana, I need it tomorrow."
"Yes ma'am, first thing tomorrow. Now if it's ok with you, I'm going to go get a confession from a murderer. See you tomorrow."
Quinn sighed again and stepped away from Santana's desk. "See you tomorrow. And San? Go home at a decent hour tonight and try to get some rest. You look god-awful."
"Bitch."
Santana watched as Quinn left chuckling. She gathered her things and waved Puck over.
"You ready to finally take a crack at this crazy bitch?" he asked as he stepped up.
"Just watch me work my magic Puckerman."
"Let's blow this shit and go work a little magic back at my place." He replied with a suggestive waggle of his brows. His chuckled died down at Santana's death glare.
"You are still a pig. Now come on, I'd like to get home at some point tonight."
The trip to the interrogation room was silent with Santana throwing the occasional glare over her shoulder at Puck or at anyone who stepped into her path. They met a uniformed officer at the door and he nodded.
"She's all yours Detective."
Santana let out a long exhale, mentally preparing herself for the exchange. She was an expert at getting confessions. This girl didn't stand a chance. Santana's smirk returned and she pushed through the door. She wasn't quite sure what she was expecting to be met with as she entered the small room. But she certainly wasn't expecting familiar blonde hair and blue eyes as open and deep as the ocean.
Santana's heart clenched and she was certain some force had just sucked all the oxygen out of the room. There, with blood still splattered on her clothing, was the girl who still haunted her dreams.
"Brittany?"