Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

Quinn gazed longingly out at the window as her new partner, Sam, rambled on about the new case that had just fallen into their hands.

It was a cool day out and it would have been a great day for patrolling the streets if she had still been a beat cop. But she wasn't, and hadn't been for the past three years.

"So let me get this straight. We know this drug operation is run by this big fella called Rick Nelson. We know that he rents out apartments so he can stash, bag and sell cocaine. We also know that Nelson and his team takes at least a hundred cocaine orders a day." Sam paused just long enough for Quinn to nod her agreement. Her face showed a hint of a smile, not because her partner was amusing when he was agitated, but because she could see where he was going with this.

Sam was fairly new, fresh out of the Academy. He would be the typical All-American boy - blonde, fair and hunky – if not for his exceptionally large lips. That sometimes amused her as well.

"So despite knowing all of that," his arms drew a big circle in the air for emphasis, "there's still no way we can just go in and storm the place?"

With that teeny smile still on her face, Quinn shook her head wryly. The explosion was about to come.

"And why the hell not!"

And why the hell not? That was a question she asked herself everyday. If it were up to her and if she were five years less experienced, she would do exactly what Sam had proposed. But there were systems and rules in place, and they were there for a reason, as much of a pain as they could be. It was her duty to teach Sam that.

"Sure we can do that."

Sam's expression morphed from outrage to surprise. It was clear he had not been expecting that answer. "We can?"

"Of course we can." She repeated with a nod. "If we know the addresses of all of Nelson's apartments."

"Oh."

"And if we have a warrant."

Sam's face lit up. "So we can just get a warrant, storm the place, find the stash, arrest Nelson and interrogate him for the locations of the other apartments!"

That wasn't a bad idea except…

"Why would Nelson store the drugs in his own apartment?"

Sam deflated. "Darn. I didn't consider that."

"He wouldn't, which means we wouldn't be able to charge him. And the moment he knows we're on his tail, he's going to flee."

"So what do we do now?

"We find someone who would be able to sniff around and get us the locations; an actual place we can actually storm into and find something."

She saw the light bulb go off. "Are you thinking of using a snitch?"

"Yep." She popped a piece of gum into her mouth, then rose from her chair. "Not sure my snitch is going to like being called that though."

"Wha.. We're going right now?"

"Yeah. There's no better time than the present." Quinn shrugged then started walking, knowing her partner would follow.

"But.. But.."

"You're driving."

She knew throwing in that bone would shut him up. She didn't need to turn around to know Sam's eyes had widened into saucers and his jaw had slackened. After all, he had been wanting to drive her car for months now and like she said, there was no better time than the present. That and she would be needing something to pacify him once they reached their destination.

"You can't expect me to just stay here while you head out alone? Someone might just jump you! This isn't just any place. This is Washington Heights!" Sam protested.

As Quinn had expected, her partner hadn't been too happy about letting her out of the car alone. She glanced at her watch and sighed. This pointless argument had been going on for two and a half minutes now.

"I can handle myself Sam."

"Yeah, but.. but.. Why can't you just call that snitch of yours? She can meet us out here. It's safer!"

Quinn wanted to rub Sam over the head for his concern. She also wanted to strangle him for the naïve (some would say stupid) comment.

She settled for an amused laugh. "You do know a snitch is somewhat like a double agent right?"

Sam's blank expression told her he didn't understand what she was trying to say. She sighed. "We're sitting in a police cruiser." When that vacant look stayed in place, she rolled her eyes. "Oh for Christ's sake. She'll get made and killed before we can even start work."

Finally, the haze cleared and an embarrassed flush encompassed Sam's fair face. "Oh. Sorry."

Quinn rolled her eyes again, this time at herself for actually allowing herself to feel bad. "No, it's fine. Just.. just stay in the car ok?"

But of course, if there was anything she had learned about Sam over the past three months, it was that he was as stubborn as a mule.

"But.. but Quinn, I've heard stories of how snitches have stabbed their handlers in the back. Literally! Why don't you call your snitch and arrange for a meet-up? I mean.. I don't have to be there if you don't want me to, but at least it'll be some place safer."

She reminded herself that Sam wasn't trying to be deliberately annoying. He was just concerned and she didn't want to push him away. So she played nice. "She's not exactly trustworthy when it comes to meet-ups."

And maybe that wasn't the best thing to say because Sam panicked again and looked horrified. "Maybe we shouldn't approach her then."

Quinn couldn't help but laugh again at his expression. "Let's just say she's all bark but not bite."

But then, she remembered the time Santana had actually attempted to hit her, "Well, maybe she's a little bit of both but I can handle her. Besides, we'll need her."

When Sam scowled, obviously still displeased with her plan, she smiled and patted him fondly on the cheek, "You're a good partner but there's nothing to worry about."

"Tell me that the next time I ask you to stay in the car while I confront danger alone."

Like that would ever happen. Besides, "Santana isn't dangerous. She just doesn't like the police."

Sam scoffed and turned up his nose, "I wonder why. She doesn't have to know I'm with the force."

"Oh Sam, Santana would make you in a heartbeat. You look like a cop, you walk like a cop, you dress like a cop." And she would eat you alive. That last bit she decided to keep to herself.

He finally conceded. "Oh right fine, fine, fine. You win." As usual. "Good luck and be careful! Call me if you need me!"

Finally, Quinn thought as she stepped out of the car. Sam could be a pain but he was a good guy. She allowed herself a long stretch and took the time to orientate herself. She hardly ever came here anymore, and when she did, she tended to get lost. Hopefully, her trip today would be a smooth one. She offered Sam a wink, tucked her hands into her pockets and started walking.

The road turned into a narrow street. The street branched out into alleys that led to more alleys. As always, she was surprised at how people didn't get lost in the maze, especially in their drugged-up states. She was getting ready to admit defeat and call Santana for a meet-up when she heard a familiar voice. She smiled and started off in the direction.

Based on the voices, it seemed her snitch wasn't just hostile towards the police. It really was a wonder how Santana even managed to get customers. Or maybe not, she found herself reconsidering when she peeked around the brick wall. That girl was gorgeous, even when she was scowling. Or maybe, it was because she looked her best when she was scowling that she was always scowling.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. I don't deal to hardcore addicts so scram," Santana snarled.

"I really need.."

Based on what Quinn could see, the customer was a boy who could not have been over fifteen. He was dressed shabbily, his long greasy hair stuffed under an oversized baseball cap. He was constantly running the side of his finger across his nose, sniffing as he rubbed.

"No Eric, you don't. What you need is a rehab centre. Listen kid, do yourself a favour and get cleaned up," she stopped, took a dramatic whiff and scrunched her nose in disgust, "In all sense of the word. Now stop wasting my time and get."

"I have money…" the boy whined, tugging out an impressive handful of crumpled notes from his pocket, all but shoving them into Santana's face.

Quinn briefly wondered whose money he stole – his family? A girlfriend? A random passerby he'd pick-pocketed from the streets?

Apparently, Santana thought the same when she grabbed the boy's offending wrist with one hand and ripped the money out of his hands with the other, "Did you take this from your mum?"

"Just one bag. Please?" he begged.

He looked so pathetic and desperate that Quinn was tempted to applaud when Santana merely sneered and pocketed the money, "I'll return this to her."

"No!" he launched, fists raised and teeth bared, but soon found himself pinned to the wall, his arm pulled painfully behind his back. Quinn would have been impressed by the girl's speed if she hadn't already witnessed it two years ago, when they had first met.

"I can break your arm right now, but I don't want to upset your mum. And we both know you don't have the money to fix the bone. So here's what's going to happen. Stop moving," Santana ordered, pushing her forearm firmly against the boy's neck when he squirmed, "When I let go, you're going straight home because nobody and I repeat, nobody in this area is going to sell you shit."

He mumbled something that sounded like "bitch" to Quinn, something that was affirmed a few seconds later when Santana laughed, "Yes, I am and you better remember it. Now scram." Her voice had taken a dangerous edge.

When she released Eric, he took a furtive glance at her face and did as he was told.

"Fucking idiot. At least he was smart enough to cut his loss then," Santana muttered to herself, dusting off imaginary filth from her clothes.

Quinn waited till the sound of the boy's footsteps had faded before she stepped out of the shadows, "That was entertaining, though I thought it was a little hypocritical, don't you think?"

When Santana jumped at her voice, Quinn smirked. It had been a while since she had worked the streets and it was good to know she still had the stealth that got her so many nabs in her early days.

"Shit," Santana groused, with a hand to her heart, "Don't be a freak. Can't you appear like a normal person?"

"So you would hear me and take off? Yeah that would be smart," Quinn remarked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall.

Santana scoffed, "I've no time to play games with you. Are you lost? Your part of town is ten streets away and somewhere air-conditioned so scat. I have business here."

Quinn smiled, all bright eyes and white teeth, "Have you forgotten I'm a narcotics officer? Your business is my business." After a beat, she felt the need to ask, "And how do you keep your customers with that attitude?"

"Why the hell would I tell you my trade secrets?" Santana shot back, "And what do you want Fabray?"

"That's Detective Fabray to you."

"Whatever." She took a quick look at her watch and with obvious reluctance, gave Quinn her full attention. "Speak. I'll give you five minutes."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the abrasive treatment, "I would call you but you never…"

"Hang on," Santana held a finger up, her eyes darting to some place behind Quinn's shoulder "I heard you got a new boy toy."

"How did you.." Oh who was she kidding? Santana was her snitch for a reason.

"Where is he?"

"He's in the car," Quinn replied shortly, anxious to make full use of her five minutes. She knew exactly how much of a scrooge Santana could be when it came to time.

"Holy shiii… Are you insane? Do you want to get me killed?" Santana raced her fingers through her dark hair, rushing to the alley entrance to peer out left and right.

"Am I stupid? He's parked a few blocks away from here. And no one tailed me. I'm sure of it," Quinn forestalled her question when she saw her snitch open her mouth.

When Santana continued to look like she was going to have a heart attack, Quinn rolled her eyes again, "Chill out! I'm sure of it. Besides, like you once said before, I don't look like a cop. No one is going to make me. Now, can I talk already?" she snapped, impatience starting to seep through.

Still wary, Santana nodded tersely and Quinn decided to cut straight to the chase.

"Have you heard of Ricky Nelson?"

There was a drawn out moment, whereby Santana continued to study her, watchful and wary, "Maybe," she finally answered, shrugging her shoulders noncommittally. But they both knew the long time she had taken to answer the question was a dead giveaway.

"He owns a couple of apartments around the Washington Heights area. You live around there, don't you?"

"Doesn't mean I know him."

"Well, something tells me you do. Even if you don't, that doesn't matter. I've got a job for you."

"I'm not interested."

"I'm not offering it as an option."

Quinn was ready for the anger - the steely glint in Santana's eyes; the hard set of her jaw; the way her body went rigid. What Quinn had not been prepared for was the hint of fear that flickered in the brunette's eyes.

She hid it well and if it were anybody else, it would probably have gone undetected. But Quinn had been a cop for a long enough time to recognise fear for what it was, no matter how small the dosage.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked, curious.

As far as she knew, Santana prided herself on being fearless. She was daring, stubborn and plucky as hell, a trait that was by no means diminished by her big mouth and her equally big ego. So, it was no surprise when Santana's immediate response to that was an indignant "I'm not afraid."

Quinn merely gave the brunette her best intimidating stare. She hadn't been sure of its effect but when Santana squirmed, she knew she had won.

"Ricky is –" Santana bit her lip, struggling to find the right word to use, " – dangerous or rather, he's not but his connections are."

"Do you have a name?" Quinn reached into her pocket for her pen and notepad but before she could take it out, Santana's hand was on hers.

"Not here you idiot," she hissed under her breath and once again, looked to her left and right, "I'll meet you at Tuckers tonight, 11pm. That's when I get my break."

Quinn sighed. Everything with Santana was always a compromise. "Fine. Tuckers at 11pm it is." She unfolded her arms and started to leave.

"Don't bring your new boy toy."

Quinn quirked a brow and very slowly, turned around. "Careful there Lopez, or I would think you're jealous."

The responding scoff was instantaneous, as were the two fingers that shot up in the air. "Please. Only in your dreams. Now get out of here."

Not for the first time, she wondered why she tolerated such insolence.

A/N: Hello all. No, I have not forgotten about TLAP. But I had this idea and plot mapped out for the longest time. The story was inspired by a news article I came across in 2014 - an actual case known as "Operation Snowfall". That's where I extracted the details from. Having said that, this story is going to be a short one, probably a four-shot, and it should be completed by the end of next week. Next update on Wednesday.

Happy Monday y'all!