After an x-ray, the doctor declared that Santana had broken two ribs ("I didn't break anything dickhead! I was assaulted!", both on the left side of her chest. She had been lucky no damage had been done to her lungs or heart ("Are you fucking kidding me right now? I have broken ribs. How is that lucky?)

Although the doctor had advised bed rest for the next two weeks, Quinn found Santana in one of her regular dealing spots, just after a week.

"Why are you out and about?"

Santana jumped at the voice but relaxed when she realised it was just Quinn. Still, the movement had jarred her healing ribs. "Fuck. Don't do that." She winced, resting her hand on the throbbing region.

"You really should be resting at home." Quinn's tone was light, but Santana noticed the disapproval in the hazel eyes as they scanned her form. She turned away, feeling slightly self-conscious.

Ever since Quinn had picked her up in the alley, something had shifted between them. They were now, dare she say, something like friends.

She rolled her eyes, more out of habit than from irritation. "I'm fine."

"Sure can't tell from your face. Didn't I tell you to ice the eye?" Without realising, she had reached out to gently thumb the bruised region. At least the swell had gone down.

"Yeah but I had to ice my ribs too. There's only so much freeze a person can take before they turn to ice."

"You're incorrigible." Quinn shook her head fondly before a thought struck her. "You mean there are actual people who would continue buying goods from you when you look like that?"

"Hey! I'm still hotter than most, if not all of the other bozos." Despite the bravado, Santana's hands still fluttered up to her face. So what? She was a fine female specimen. It was her prerogative to be vain.

"What you look like, Lopez, is shit. You look like shit." Quinn repeated for emphasis. "Go home."

"You go home." Santana responded childishly. "What are you doing here anyway? I haven't gotten anything new if you're here for information. Laying low, remember?"

Quinn frowned. "I remember." She couldn't help feeling a little offended. It had been her suggestion after all. It wasn't like she was going to put Santana in further danger after what happened mere days ago. "Can't I just swing by to check on you?"

She would have laughed at Santana's stupefied expression if she hadn't felt a little hurt by it. "Whatever. I just wanted to laugh in your face. How's your grandmother?"

Again, Santana looked at her strangely, her head angled to the side like she was trying to figure out the answer to a challenging problem. Finally, she blinked and shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "The doctors say she'll live. She's just shitting into a bag for now, at least until her asshole closes up."

"That… doesn't sound right. Your asshole is supposed to open, you know? So your poop has a way out?"

"Yeah? I guess that makes sense. It must be the bit before the asshole then."

"Were you even listening when the doctor was explaining how the operation worked?"

"Shut up." Santana scowled at her. "Nobody cares about stuff you can't see."

"So it's the colon then?" Quinn prompted, wanting to continue the conversation for entertainment purposes.

"Yeah, that. Whatever." Santana huffed, casually swiping her hand in the air. "So they cut her colon up to get the big ass, cancerous tumour out and they were supposed to reattach her colon back, but for some reason, they couldn't and so now there's a hole before her asshole and they have to wait for it to heal before she can shit normally."

"Shit."

Santana stifled a chuckle at the unintended pun. "Yeah."

"That sounds nasty."

"Wait till you smell it."

"Urgh." Quinn scrunched up her nose and shook her head vigorously to rid her brain of the image. She figured now was a good time to change the topic. "Soooo, we should be able to close this case up real soon. What are you going to do after that happens? Are we going to be back on opposite sides of the law?"

Santana snorted out a laugh. "What planet have you been living in Detective Fabray? If you haven't noticed, in which case you deserve to have your badge removed, we are on opposite sides of the law. We always have been. Got a problem with that?" Santana raised her eyebrows in challenge.

For some reason, Quinn found herself angry. Santana shouldn't be doing this. They shouldn't be forced to revert back to being enemies once this case was over, as they always were. "Actually I do."

"Excuse me?" Santana asked. It was clear from her shocked face that she hadn't been expecting Quinn's answer.

"I do have a problem with you dealing dope because against my better judgment, I've grown to be rather fond of you, but not when you look like this." She jabbed a finger at Santana's bruised face and made a circle. "You should be looking for a job that doesn't…." She choked on her words, suffocated by the influx of emotions. "This job is going to get you killed one day. You're not brutal enough for it."

Santana only stared at her, and she glared back defiantly, daring her to say something, anything that would prove her wrong.

Finally, Santana blinked. She did it slowly and with a frown, as if was still trying to process all that Quinn had said. "Are you saying I'm a softie?" She looked so appalled at the accusation that Quinn wanted to laugh.

"Yes." She replied instantly, still in that defiant tone. "You'll never be a kingpin."

"What? Who told you… I don't want to be a kingpin ok? If I did, I would have been one years ago. You think Ricky would be able to measure up to me if I had really chosen to contest his reign? Pffft." She puffed up her chest and scoffed. "And FYI, I don't just deal ok? I bartend at this place called Joe's. They serve really good steak and even better drinks. You should come by one day."

Now, it was Quinn's turn to be taken aback. "You do? Since when?"

"Yeah, since a couple of months back. I was thinking of making drinks full-time, like at a club or a hotel or something you know? Maybe attend some classes. Joe was saying I'm pretty good and… You don't have to look so shocked when I say I'm good at something. Close your mouth." Santana ordered, offended at the look on Quinn's face. "God, you're such a dick."

True enough, Quinn found that her jaw had dropped. "What? No I wasn't.. I'm just.." She stopped short, realising something incredibly amusing. "Santana, are you blushing?"

"What? No! No, I'm not! Ethnic people don't blush!"

"Oh my gosh. You totally are."

"No, I'm not. Stop smiling at me like that. It's creepy and you're delusional."

"This is hilarious. Can I take a picture?"

"What? No! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

She cracked up at the horrified look on Santana's face.

"Stop laughing. It's not funny."

But it was and Santana knew it when she eventually let a smile grace her lips. They ended up laughing until they were forced to stop because Santana's ribs hurt too much from the shaking.

If she had known it would be the last time they would see each other, she would have basked in the moment a little longer, or at least snapped a photo.

The department threw a celebration when they closed the case. Operation Snowfall was declared a success when they stormed Nelson's apartments and found enough evidence to charge him and his lackeys. The drug ring between New York City and the Dutchess County was officially broken.

She accepted the slaps on the back, the congratulations, the complimentary beer, but found herself feeling strangely empty. Sure, she had a major stake in helping bring Nelson down but someone else important was missing from this celebration, and she couldn't help but feel that person deserved it more.

"Hey, you ok?"

She looked up from where she was fiddling with her phone to see Sam offering her a Budweiser. She accepted it with a word of thanks.

"Yeah.. just glad this is finally over."

"Mmmm. It was a hell of a first job."

"Yeah it is. It's going to look good on your resume."

"Couldn't have done it without your snitch."

"She wouldn't like being called that." She said instinctively, looking back down at her phone with a tiny frown. It sure was taking a long time for Santana to reply to her "Nelson is finally dust. Wanna hang next Monday?" text. Bitch always ignored her messages whenever they weren't working on a case. She had to admit she was a little disappointed by the lack of response though. For some reason, she thought it would be different this time.

"So you've mentioned. Here." Sam held out another bottle of Budweiser, this one unopened. When Quinn merely lifted her eyebrows and tapped the drink she was currently sipping at, he smiled. "This one's not for you. I was thinking…" He scratched his head and cleared his throat in discomfort, his eyes landing everywhere except on hers. "I mean I've never met your girl but I think she deserves to be here as much as us, you know? So to our unofficial partner?" He asked hopefully, raising his bottle in the air.

She clinked her drink to his without hesitation. "You don't even have to ask."

When her phone chimed, she looked down to see a text notification. Santana had finally replied.

Hang me now. Bar is busy as fuck and I'm tired as fuck. I want a steak and beer. You're paying.

I'll pay for the steak. Sam will pay for the Budweiser.

This time, she didn't have to wait another hour for Santana's response.

Who the fuck is Sam?

She rolled her eyes and chuckled softly.

My partner.

Fuck that. He's not crashing ladies' night. I'll make you a drink.

She was halfway typing out her reply when her phone chimed once more.

But bring that Budweiser anyway.

She ended up snorting into her beer.

When Quinn stepped into the office on the following Monday morning, she was on cloud nine. She had just returned from the prosecutor's office and things weren't looking up for Rick Nelson and his twelve accomplices. Between them, they were facing over 140 charges and there was no way any of them would be escaping this one, not without waking up to prison walls for the next twenty years.

She was actually whistling when she made her way to her table and even the ever-stoic Erikson had looked up at her, a curious expression gracing his otherwise constantly expressionless face.

And then everything fell apart.

"Quinn! Have you heard?" Sam panted, chest heaving in his rush to get to her table. "I've been trying to call you!"

"Oh I was charging my…"

He didn't wait for her to finish. "There was a fire last night, Washington Heights. A really bad one. They've roped in the arson team."

"What?" Dread filled her. Sam wouldn't be telling her this if it didn't involve someone she knew, and the only person she knew who lived in Washington Heights was….

"It started in Santana's apartment." Her heart dropped. Her hair stood on their ends. "I heard from Schuester when I got in." He shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed nervously. "They said there was an explosion. Shit. Quinn. I'm so sorry. They said, they said.."

"What?" She wrapped her hands around his arms in a tight grip. "What did they say?"

"They said it may have been a gas leak, or.. or.."

"Or what Sam? Spit it out!"

"A bomb." He half-whispered. "It's too early to tell but there weren't any survivors Quinn. Not from that unit."

All the air deflated out of her and she sagged, releasing her hold on him.

"I'm so sorry Quinn. They suspect Nelson's cousin."

He continued speaking but all she heard was her own hard breathing and a roaring in her ears.

"Ricky is dangerous or rather, he's not but his connections are."

"I've told you and I'll tell you again. Ricky has dangerous connections. I'm not interested in becoming one of your statistics."

Maybe she blacked out for a while but she doubted that because when she opened her eyes, she was still standing and Sam was calling her name repeatedly with increasing anxiety.

When she finally met his gaze, he almost backpedalled from the heat and intensity behind her eyes.

"Did they take him in?" She asked, eyes hard and posture rigid. If he had x-ray vision, he would probably be able to see the blood sizzling under her skin.

"Yeah. Yeah." He stammered out. "He's in one of the interrogation rooms. Brown's heading the.." He stopped when he realised Quinn had turned her back on him and was already halfway across the room. "Where are you going"

"Just a few questions I have to ask." Quinn answered without looking back. A man to sort out.

"Wait.."

"I suggest you stay put if you don't want to get suspended."

"Oh boy." Sam whispered under his breath, looking helplessly after his partner's retreating back.

Something about her calm scared him. It reminded him of one of the snake documentaries he had been forced to watch with his girlfriend. They always were very, very still before they struck.

Shuddering, he gathered their shared files from her table and returned to his desk. He was kind of glad that he hadn't met this Santana because if the lost look in Quinn's eyes was anything to go by, he didn't want to know what it felt like to lose her.

Quinn felt nothing as she drove through the streets of Washington Heights. It was as if she had exhausted all energy and emotion after repeatedly punching Rocky in the face. That act of violence had done nothing but earned her a two-week suspension. She couldn't say she regretted it though.

It took her almost an hour to find the place she was looking for and even then, she almost missed the sign because it wasn't lit. She pulled into one of the lots outside the place and took a deep breath to steady her shaking hands. There was only one other car parked there, a beat up Nissan that looked like it had seen better days.

She was pleasantly surprised when she entered the bar. She had been expecting something grungy but this place with its cherry wood furniture and warm lighting was homely, even if it was mostly empty.

She glanced at her watch and chuckled bitterly to herself. Twelve noon. She was eight hours early for her dinner tonight but she didn't know where else to go that wasn't home.

"Welcome to Joe's bar. I'm Joe. What can I get for you?" A beefy, middle-aged man with twinkling eyes winked at her when she sat herself down in front of the bar.

"Erm I've heard good things about your steak. Medium-rare please."

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. "You've heard right. And what drink would you like to go with your meal?"

She opened her mouth to answer but ended up shaking her head.

"You haven't heard good things about our drinks?"

She attempted to laugh but ended up grimacing instead. "On the contrary, I've heard better things about your drinks."

In an instant, the large hands which had been wiping the bar stilled and the smile fell from his face. "You know Santana." Joe stated, jabbing a stout finger in front of her face. "She was right. I would never have made you for a cop." He said, more to himself than to her. "Sit, Quinn. You will have a drink." He proclaimed in a way that left no room for discussion, then he was gone before she could ask any questions.

He returned shortly, placing a glass of honey-coloured liquid before her.

At her questioning stare, he merely smiled in assurance. "Mint julep. Her choice. A ladies drink but enough in there to kick ass. Familiar tone?" He grinned when she perked up at the mention of Santana. "Now you wait here while I prepare your steak. We will not speak of this again." He touched his fingers to hers and very subtly sneaked a slip of paper under her palm.

She waited until he had disappeared into the kitchen. Then, very carefully and with great apprehension, she unfolded the little square of paper and read the messy scrawl on it.

Bitch, this drink's on me. Instructed Big Joe to add an extra shot coz you needs to loosen up your panties. Enjoy. - RC

She stared at the note, then at the drink, then back at the note again.

"Shit. Santana." She finally whispered under her breath.

She managed a short second of laughter before she started crying, huge, wracking sobs that shook her body. She was relieved. She was heartbroken. She was elated.

Through her tears, she sampled her drink, enjoying the way the cold washed down her burning throat. It was salty, it was sweet, it was bitter.

It was perfect.

A/N: And that ladies and gentlemen, wraps this story up. 10 points if you can guess what RC stands for and what that means for Santana.

A couple of you mentioned how there hasn't been any romantic Quinn/Santana interaction. That is correct. This is not a romance story. (Not exactly). I'm more interested in exploring what could have been. The title suggests as such. They're all ants in a large world and they do what they have to survive. On opposite ends of the law, it makes pursuing a romantic relationship difficult for either of them. That being said, whether or not they have feelings for one another is a different thing. That, I'll leave to your interpretation. That's partly why I've left the ending open :)

Nevertheless, thanks for reading and I hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.