A/N: A big thank you to all who have reviewed, followed, favourited, and read this story.

Quinn pulled up right outside Tuckers a minute before eleven. The weather had been dreary recently and tonight was no different. She braced herself before opening the door and stepped out under a torrent of rain. Luckily, it was only a ten second dash before she reached shelter.

Still, that had been enough time for water to collect in her hair. Running her hand through her short mop, she was reminded of just why she had chosen to shear her locks off a year ago. It was a decision she did not regret.

She shrugged off her wet jacket and with some reluctance, stepped into Tuckers. Tuckers was a joint that for some reason, Santana seemed to enjoy frequenting. The place reeked of cigarette smoke, the food was barely edible and the service was pitiful. She cringed when a screech pierced her ears and glared over to where the "band" was playing. Oh yes, how could she forget to mention the music, if you could even call it that.

Fidgeting irritably, she scanned the bar and came up empty. Of course, Santana would be late. She snarled off an offer from a slimy douchebag who wanted to buy her a drink and managed to jockey her way to a corner booth. When a bored, middle-aged waitress came by to get her order, she decided that even a dive such as Tuckers couldn't go wrong with a bottle of sparkling water.

After placing her order, she took a book out from her bag only to realise that the waitress was still hovering above her, her pencil tapping impatiently on her notebook. A slight frown crossed her face. "That's my order."

The waitress scowled down at her and clucked her tongue in annoyance. "A bottle of water? You sure that's all you want?"

Quinn nodded, unbothered by the waitress' shortness. She would prefer to get back to her book but she had been brought up to be polite.

"Yes, thank you."

With an annoyed huff, the waitress flounced off and returned much later to slam a bottle down in front of Quinn, who now had her nose buried in her book.

"You sure you don't want anything else?"

"No thank you." She said without looking up.

"Look here lady…"

Quinn's lips pursed. She was just getting to the good part. If this waitress went ahead and ran her mouth, she would…

"Yo Sunny, ignore the prude."

The interruption allowed her the time needed to release the tension she was feeling.

"She's with me – probably on a diet again. I'll have me a burger and a beer. Oh yes, and one basket of your delectable fries."

"She's with you?" The waitress' tone was hardly polite but Quinn didn't bother correcting her attitude.

"Yeah. Why? Think she's too good for me?" Santana challenged, slipping into the seat across from Quinn. Her dark hair was wet and pulled up into a ponytail. Once she was seated, she tugged off the band holding her hair and ran her fingers through to untangle the locks.

Sunny gave a nasty laugh and shook her head. "Hardly. More like the other way round. You could do better girl."

Quinn finally set her book aside and looked up, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Ladies, I'm right here."

"I don't give a.."

Santana was quick to cut in before the conversation could sour. "Sunny? You know I love you but hurry up with the food, will ya? I'm starving!"

"Aren't you always? And dry yourself up! You're dripping water all over my floor." Sunny grumbled but she left to get their orders in, not before giving Quinn another unfriendly onceover and tossing Santana a clean dishrag.

Satisfied they would be unbothered for some time, Quinn set out her notebook and pen. "You're late."

"You should be glad I even came." Santana said, seemingly distracted as she glanced about the bar, but Quinn knew she was just checking the area for potential eavesdroppers. She didn't know why Santana bothered though. She could hardly hear herself over the ear-splitting tragedy of the band. "Wouldn't want you choking the life out of poor Sunny just because you couldn't wait to find out what happened in your precious book. Want me to break it down for you?"

Very coolly, Quinn twisted the cap off her bottle and took a much-needed sip. Barely ten minutes in this place and the smoke was irritating her throat. "I wasn't going to choke poor Sunny. And no thank you, I detest spoilers."

She really shouldn't have said that because Santana loved stepping on her toes. The mischievous glint in her eye was very telling of what she was about to do next. "Shame. Since you loathe spoilers, I shan't tell you how T.J., annoying as he is, will eventually get the shit beaten out of him by his two white friends. I shall also not tell you that in order to save him from being lynched, Papa Logan set his own land on fire. I shall also not tell you that…"

"Do you want me to beat the shit out of you?"

Santana scoffed. "You can try."

Quinn's unamused glare had Santana shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "But we're not here to fight. Right Detective?"

"Glad you know that." Santana only called her by her rank when she knew she had ruffled her feathers. "We are also not here to talk about Roll of Thunder, intriguing as it is." Despite her cool façade, she couldn't help herself from asking the next question. "But why was T.J. beaten up?"

As expected, Santana's feral smile grew. "But detective, I wouldn't want to get the shit beaten out of.. Ow. Fuck! What did you kick me for?"

Now, it was Quinn's turn to gloat. "You know why."

"Fuck you. That hurts like a bitch."

"So why was T.J. beaten up?"

"Fuck if I.. Ow! Stop th..Ow! Ok fine! Because he robbed a store and his stinking two-faced, white friends turned on him. Happy?" Santana glared, rubbing at her bruised shin.

Satisfied, Quinn leaned back and smiled pleasantly. "Very."

"Why are you reading that book anyway? Thought you would read something more fitting of your high intellect."

"Your sarcasm isn't lost on me."

"That's the point innit?"

"My little cousin is doing the book in school. I'm surprised you even read."

"Hey! I'm literate okay."

Quinn paused when she realised Santana was genuinely offended. Her eyes softened. "I wasn't implying anything."

"Just because I'm a…" She trailed off and turned away. "Forget it."

"I wasn't implying anything. I'm sorry if you thought I was."

"Said forget it." Though Santana's tone was still harsh, the way she turned her body back to Quinn showed all was forgiven. That was why Quinn always had a soft spot for her informant – she was hard on the outside but peel apart the layers, and you find a marshmallow.

"Fuck you bitch. That really hurt."

Well ok. Maybe not exactly a marshmallow, but Santana had a soft side to her.

"So, shall we get down to business?"

"How about not, at least till I've food in front of me."

As if on cue, Sunny sauntered up and set down a greasy plate of burger, a basket of fries and a pint of beer on their table.

"There's your food. Surely you can eat and talk."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Always so bossy. Thanks Sunny." Santana beamed at their dour-faced waitress and tucked in.

"So first things first - Rick Nelson. What do you know about him?"

Santana shook her head, even as she munched on her fries. "Nuh-uh. You know how this works. What do you know about Ricky?"

Quinn sighed. She had never had a more uncooperative snitch but Santana was a good informant. She knew the comings and goings of almost all the drug activities in Washington Heights. More importantly, she was as ethical as a dealer was going to get, if the incident in the afternoon was anything to go by. Since she couldn't afford to lose this source of information, Quinn conceded. "We know he's a kingpin. He takes orders from one main apartment…"

"His own home."

".. and sends the orders out to several rented apartments, where all the drugs are kept. That's where he sells."

Santana made a humming sound to show she was listening.

"Based on our records, Rick has been charged with rape thrice, once in 2000, then in 2009 and 2012. All charges were eventually dropped, same with the battery charges he sustained over the years."

"Fucker." Santana commented through a mouthful of bread and meat.

Quinn's eyes brows lifted. "I find that suspicious."

"Of course it is."

Interested, Quinn leaned forward. "You mentioned a connection earlier in the afternoon."

"And that connection has nothing to do with your case."

"Santana."

"You're a narcotics officer. Rick's connection isn't in that business."

"If it affects my case…"

"It doesn't." Santana insisted, swallowing her food with a big swig of beer. Taking in the woman's toned figure, Quinn wondered with some envy where all her calories went. For a small woman, Santana was quite a big eater.

"Fine." She accepted the answer, knowing she would get nothing else from her informant. For now. "What we don't know is.. you've got mayo right here." Quinn pointed to the left corner of her own mouth and handed a napkin over to Santana. "To your left. Yeah right there. Ok. So while we know where Nelson's home is, we have no idea where the other apartments are."

Done with her burger, Santana crumpled the napkin and tossed it onto her empty plate. She then pulled the basket of fries closer for easier access. "Then find them."

"We would, if we knew where to start."

"Well I can't help you there. I don't know anything."

Quinn blinked in surprise. Now that was a first. "Nelson practically runs the scene in Washington Heights."

"So?"

"You work the streets in Washington Heights."

Santana chewed on a fry. "Again, so?"

"So how could you not have some information about him?"

Santana laughed. "Girl, use your brain. You've just laid out the facts for me. Ricky is a violent person who likes pretty girls. But somehow, all charges made against him have dropped faster than flies. So what do you think?"

"You're hiding information."

Santana rolled her eyes and tossed a fry at Quinn. "Wrong answer. Are you sure you're a detective?" Luckily for Quinn, she was quick enough to avoid the oily stick of potato. It ended up bouncing harmlessly on the surface behind her, leaving behind a greasy smear. "It means I'm smart enough to mind my own business while Ricky minds his. I don't bother him. He don't bother me. It's simple math."

"It's bad grammar." Quinn corrected.

"Whatever. So if you're done here, I'm done here. I'm gonna go now." She wiped her fingers on a fresh piece of napkin, then started to rise. But Quinn slapped a hand down on hers.

"Hands off."

"I'm not finished."

With a dramatic sigh, Santana flopped back into her seat, yanked her hand out from under Quinn's and crossed her arms. "Well spit it out then. Some of us actually want to make it home tonight."

"When will you be able to get me some information?"

Santana's arms fell to the table. "When? When?" She laughed mirthlessly. "Have you not been listening? There's no when Quinn. I'm not getting into this."

"The department will pay you."

Even with the prospect of money, Santana shook her head. "There's not enough money you can give me to do this. Get someone else."

"I don't have someone else."

"Then too bad."

She hated to use this card. She really did but when Santana tried to leave again, she saw no choice. "Then you can get ready to go back to jail."

That got Santana back into her seat. "Fuck you. You can't hold that above me forever."

"Try me."

She saw the way Santana's jaw worked and knew she was seething. She would too if their roles were reversed.

"Think of your grandmother Santana."

The hands on the table clenched into dangerous fists and when Santana spoke, her voice was but a harsh whisper. "Don't you fucking dare pull her into this. She knows nothing. She has nothing to do with what I'm doing."

Quinn frowned. "I meant the money she could use. She's sick, isn't she?"

The anger rose a notch. "You've been stalking me?"

"I wouldn't say stalking. I like to think I take care of my own."

Santana snorted. "Yeah right. That's why you're muscling me into a corner. Another thing white girl: I'm nobody's person. I take care of myself."

"Santana, listen. If you can help us, if you can get us the information we need, the department will pay you a.."

Santana threw her arms up into the air in exasperation. "Don't you get it? Money's not going to be worth jack to me if I'm dead! I've told you and I'll tell you again. Ricky has dangerous connections. I'm not interested in becoming one of your statistics."

Quinn's forehead scrunched up in confusion. "Our statistics?"

"You think I don't know how you sick fucks work? We risk our lives getting you what you need. You give us a nice sum of money, then leave us to the wolves. You get your catch, and people like us get killed. You kill two birds in one stone. Very clever but it's not going to work on me."

Her frown deepened. Santana's allegation was insulting, but more than that, it hurt. "We've worked together for two years now. You think I would do that to you?"

Santana let out a bitter laugh. "Worked together? You think we…" She laughed again – a short, ugly laugh. Then as her eyes locked onto Quinn's, her face darkened into a scowl. "I work for you. We've never worked together. You hardly ever leave me with a choice."

Quinn found she had no reply to that.

"And the bit about throwing me to the wolves? You've just never had the opportunity to do that. Until now."

That Quinn could rebut. "That's not true. I don't intend to leave you unguarded if it's as dangerous as you claim."

"It is as dangerous as I claim. Take my fucking word for it."

"Then let us protect you. We have a programme…"

Santana didn't even let her finish before she tore in. "What? The WPP? That programme is a fuck load of crap. I've heard stories. I'm not exchanging one prison for another."

"It's not a prison. You'll be assigned security agents. You'll be kept safe. You get a standard allowance, you get enough money to buy a car, some furniture. They take care of your expenses, whatever you need – medical, dental – they'll pay for everything."

"Including my funeral service? No thanks. I'll take jail anytime." For the third time, Santana stood up. Her eyes glittered coldly; her face was as dark as a storm cloud. "Better for me to be put away than to end up in a box. It's bad enough for a mother to attend her daughter's funeral. But her granddaughter's?" Santana laughed humourlessly and shook her head. "No thank you. I'm not putting my abuela through that."

Recognising a dead-end when she saw one, Quinn rose to her feet in a last-ditch attempt to persuade Santana. "What if I can give you my word that you and your grandmother will be kept safe?"

She needn't have tried. "Your word means jack shit to me. Your kind doesn't give a fuck about us."

"That's not true." Quinn protested but even as she said it, she felt guilty. Here she was implying that she cared when she was at the same time, coercing Santana into doing something that could possibly endanger her life. Talk about hypocritical.

Something must have shown in her expression because Santana softened. The tension eased out of her shoulders, the hardness disappeared as she sighed heavily. In that moment, she simply looked world-weary. "Look Quinn, for a cop, you're decent. And I like to think that for a drug-dealer, I'm decent too. But you don't know my world like I do. The cops.. Let's just say you're always going to be the good guys, even when you're not."

"What are you trying to say Santana?"

"We're just statistics to you. No, don't disagree yet." Santana held up a hand when Quinn started shaking her head. "Your job requires you to see the bigger picture. It's all about the greater good and if you lose a few black sheep along the way, so much the better."

"That's.. that's.." That's not true. That's not fair, she wanted to say. But she couldn't, because Santana's words held truth even if they weren't fair. But nothing in this world was fair and Santana wasn't done.

"Who's to say that's wrong or right? But that's the trouble with grey areas innit? And our jobs? The kind of things we do? They put us in the grey so much it's hard to keep our heads above the water but we both gotta do what we gotta do. Besides, even if you really cared, you're just one person against the whole system and that really isn't enough."

It was difficult to argue against that.

"But if you're going to take me in, just do me this favour? Keep it from my Abuela."

"Santana.."

"Just this one favour."

Their eyes locked. Time slowed down. Quinn was the first to look away. "Just.. just mull over it for a week, would you?"

"I don't need one week to mull but I could use the week." She gave Quinn a curt nod then turned to leave. "Remember to tip Sunny."

It was only then that Quinn remembered they hadn't paid. Grumbling to herself, she reluctantly pulled out her wallet to pay for a meal she hadn't eaten. Bitch didn't even thank her for the treat. Typical.

Next update: Sat/Sun