Internal Affairs
Chapter 2
You watch Santana take the tequila to her lips. She kicks it back slow but manages the entire contents of the glass with no trouble. She has done this before, you can tell. She takes the lime in-between her teeth and sucks, her eyes squinting for a minute against the bitter taste.
You already told yourself that if she takes another shot there is no way you are going to watch her lick a wet spot onto her hand again for the salt.
"I told you it was good tequila," you manage with a slight smile on your face.
You are both sitting at the bar, facing the TVs now. It seems easier somehow to not face each other as you drink. As you allow whatever this is to marinate between you. This new sense of professionalism, this new relationship. You don't really know what is going on but you also know that you're not going to find out on a Friday night in the middle of this bar. But maybe you will be able to learn something...
"How did you find this place?"
Her words shift you out of the alcohol induced conversation you are carrying on in your own head.
"I figured you would know," you reply not bothering to hide the slight sarcasm in your voice.
She only sits there and looks at you through the mirror behind the bar. Watching you. Waiting for you to answer her question.
"I moved into my apartment 3 years ago and found the bar a few days later. It wasn't long until it was a regular hangout for me since it is so close. Plus they serve food until 10 and I there's no point in cooking for just me so it was a nice place I could go after I got off shift and wind down."
You don't mention the fact that with it being walking distance it keeps you out of trouble. You figure she knows.
"It's nice," she says to you looking down at her now empty glass. "Feels very welcoming."
You nod. But you don't want her to be the only one asking questions. You have plenty of your own.
"Where do you like to go?"
She turns her head to look you in the eye, her own eyes slightly widened. You think she is taken aback by the question but you figure if she knows so much about you surely you can ask her questions that are really nothing more than small talk. And deflection.
"Nowhere." But she hesitates like she's given something away and it takes her a moment to regain her composure. "Um, I am a fan of bars like this. Something within the neighborhood, something close to home."
You can tell she isn't going to give you details about her life. You feel annoyed since she has confessed to knowing so much about you but honestly you're too exhausted and don't feel like challenging her. You don't feel like trying to read her. You don't know what you feel right now... but you do know your mission night was to feel nothing. That was the whole point of you coming out here tonight. Getting drunk.
John is busy so you grab the bottle yourself to pour each of you another shot of the Eduardo.
"How did you know I would be here?"
She is hesitant again. She doesn't feel comfortable talking with you. Not here. She had no problem telling you all she knew about you in her office a few hours ago. But it was safe there. She was in control. Here you are on a more even playing field and perhaps you have the upper hand because this is your space. Your bar. But it makes you think…
You turn and face her. She swivels slightly toward you in the chair.
"Have you ever been here before?" you ask her.
She turns back and squares herself again to the bar. She takes a deep breath and exhales and says nothing. But you realize that she is answering you without words.
She has been here. In some way her being here prior to tonight revolved around you.
You feel the anger start low in your gut all over again.
She is given an out though as John comes over and refills your water glasses again. Santana looks up at the TVs. John eyes her and then looks at you with a tilt of his head and a smirk on his face. If she notices she doesn't let on but you know what he's thinking. You furrow your brow at him. He simply smiles and walks down to grab another order from a server.
"I should get going," she says and you try to maintain your composure because you have so many questions. And you don't want her to leave.
"But you have to finish that last shot," you reply eyeing the glass in front of her. "It is against the law to waste good tequila. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you." You wonder if she reads too far into the statement.
She smiles slightly and picks up the shot glass. No salt this time, she simply shoots back the liquid and sets the glass back onto the bar. She doesn't even wait for you to join her in the drink.
"I'll be in touch," she tells you as she gathers her purse and begins to seek out her wallet from inside.
"I got it," you tell her referring to the tip. "You already bought the entire bottle of tequila."
She smiles at you again. Her eyes meet yours. Electric.
"Goodnight Brittany."
You just about melt hearing your name from her lips for the first time.
"Goodnight Santana."
She walks back toward the bar entrance and you stop following her out of your peripheral vision about half way and you stare blindly at the tequila in front of you. You hear the chime of the door and you know she is gone.
You have so many questions. What does this mean? When will she be in touch? What is this help she said she needed? How could she have been here before if you were here? You would have remembered that. You would have picked her out of a crowd, you just know it.
None of these questions could be something you can answer now. You don't even think you want to know.
You wonder if you can finish this bottle before you pass out. That's the one question you can answer. Perhaps the only thing right now you can control. You shoot the tequila in front of you and pick up the bottle, fill your glass again and decide to find out.
/
You wake up to the sun streaming in from your windows. You roll onto your back and try to gather yourself as you come from that state of sleep to being awake. You realize it is quite possible that your mouth has never been this dry in your entire life. Fucking tequila. Fucking Eduardo...
You sit up with a shot.
Tequila.
Santana.
The sudden movement to a sitting position ends up being a very bad idea as your head spins. Your stomach isn't quite sure if it's going to cooperate with you this morning either since you didn't cooperate very well with it last night. By the way, you did finish the bottle it reminds you.
You recall the evening at least up until Santana left. Then all you remember is the haze. That state where events were just on the tip of your tongue but not quite reachable. You do remember walking home but even that isn't quite all there.
You're glad you have the weekend off because you have a raging headache and because you have things you need to do. You find yourself in the kitchen after a hot shower getting yourself some aspirin and water. You give Lord Tubbington fresh food and water and he silently thanks you by nudging through your legs as he makes his way to the bowls.
You open the front door and grab the paper. Lay it on the table and eat a sandwich since you don't really like breakfast foods unless you are in the mood. Plus your stomach needs something on it quickly. You're confident there is still alcohol in there that needs to be absorbed.
Routines sound good right about now.
It's Saturday and it's going to be pretty outside or so says the paper as you flip through the main headlines. Maybe you will go down to the park and feed the ducks. You need some more down time. Something mindless to occupy you and to hopefully allow you time to get rid of this hangover.
You grab your keys, wallet and phone and head out the door.
There's a gas station a few blocks from the park and you stop there to buy a loaf of bread. Cherokee Park is beautiful and is very crowded today but you manage to find a parking spot not too far from the edge of the pond. You find yourself down by the water and you don't really even remembering walking there. You are thinking about the last week. Everything that has happened.
The ducks are hungry and before you know it the loaf of bread is gone and you walk to a bench away from the pond, a signal to the ducks that they need to move on to someone else.
It is relatively loud by the bench as there is a large family gathering under a rotunda by the swings. Celebrating a birthday it appears. The adults are sitting at picnic tables and visiting while the kids play on swings and slides and other contraptions that make up the play land.
You smile but it is bittersweet. You remember being that 8 year old blonde girl hanging upside down from the monkey bars while your parents watched. Your dad helping your baby sister on the other end of the see saw and you seemed like you were so high in the air for those moments until it was your turn to fall back down to earth… only to push off again.
You look around some more and see joggers and walkers and people with their dogs on a leash. Picnics with blankets and traditional baskets. Kids walking on the concrete that surround the huge fountain that makes up the middle of this main part of the park. A mother scolding her child to get away from it before she accidently gets her dress wet.
The fountain. Something about seeing it clicks in your mind.
The fountain.
You remember.
You pull out your phone and go to the text message screen. You scroll past all the texts of concern and then well wishes from friends. There were quite a few and with everything going on you completely forgot about the message.
The one you received while you were in Breadstix with Sam at lunch that day.
8p at Cherokee Park fountain, it read.
But that was last Monday and you obviously hadn't shown up. But you had never heard back either.
The number was blocked so there was no way to reply. But this isn't the only way your C.I.'s can reach you. You suddenly wonder if it might have been Artie. And if it wasn't then it was entirely possible that he might be able to find out who it had been. There was one way to find out.
It was early in the morning the first time you met with Artie. You remember because the sun was just rising over the trees by the fountain. He had contacted you via phone when you were working on a case about 2 years ago. A woman had been assaulted and beaten to within an inch of her life. While you didn't normally handle these types of cases there was no other woman on duty when the call came in from the hospital and you volunteered to take it after learning the victim in question had specifically asked for a female. You can only imagine the trauma that she had been through so you didn't hesitate to say ok.
When you got back from the hospital after taking the woman's statement you had a message left by a man saying her had some information on a woman who had been attacked. He asked to meet you at the Cherokee Park fountain at 9 am the next day. You were there a few minutes before 9 when a man came down the path to the fountain in a wheelchair. He had a latte sitting in his lap between his legs and a camera around his neck. Like he was there to take pictures or something. You knew right off the bat that he wasn't. He was too nervous, a slight sheen across his brow which made no sense because it was cool in the morning. But you didn't want to scare him off so you just stood by the fountain looking at the sun and waiting for him to speak.
It was only a few moments before you heard "Detective Pierce?"
You replied only with a slight arch of your eyebrow and the words, "Yes. And you are…?"
"My name is Artie and I left you a message about the assault on the woman."
You reach your hand out to shake his confirming you suspicions that he is outside his element. His grip is sweaty. "Why did you want to meet here instead of coming down to the station to give us this information?"
He took a sip of his latte and was slow to reply. "I work as a volunteer in the homeless shelter down on 27th Street. I hear a lot from the people who come in to the facility – both men and women since we have locked segregation for each sex. A man came in last night and was talking to someone else in the shelter and mentioned that he knew the guy who attacked the woman earlier that evening. I don't want to cause an issue with me volunteering at the shelter as it is important to me but I knew I couldn't withhold this from the authorities."
Artie begins to tell you what he knows about the man he heard this from and when you can find him in the shelter. You write all the information down that Artie tells you and you again thank him for it.
"I think I could provide information to you from time to time," he tells you as you both make your way down the path to the place where your cars are parked. "What would be the best way to reach you?"
You give him your cell phone number and tell him that he can always contact you by sending a text to meet you at the fountain.
Artie has been a reliable source over the past 2 years. He has heard things in his role as a volunteer that most people don't in their normal course of work. Word on the streets always seems to flow through the shelters and he has given you many tips that resulted in arrests. Including the assault on the woman that first brought you together. That scumbag got 25 years. And he quite likely never would have been caught without that original information from Artie.
You decide to wait until things settle down and you are back at work before contacting him.
You also decide you are going to go into the precinct for a bit. While it is Saturday, you know the paperwork is piling up from your unplanned absence over the course of the last 5 days. The paperwork isn't going to file itself. You head back to your car, leaving behind the ducks that have moved on to the next bread-giving human.
/
Your desk is an absolute disaster. Not just from the paperwork but from the pile of letters that are sitting by your keyboard. Kept together by a rubber band that seems to be close to snapping.
"What are you doing here Pierce?"
Dave Karofsky has been a detective for the past 10 years. He isn't the type of detective you ever want to be. He's lazy and lacks compassion. His demeanor toward many victims shows that lack of compassion. His belly that hangs over his belt shows the lazy.
"Just coming in to catch up on some paperwork Dave," you reply while trying to gather the rubber banded letters and place them on the floor.
"Yeah," Karofksy continues. "All those have been coming in over the past few days since the shooting. I guess shooting scumbags means people like the police again."
You choose to ignore him because you can tell he is itching to get you going. What's new. He knows you think that's crap and that many officers don't even un-holster their gun in their careers let alone shoot someone. Maybe coming in here was a bad idea. You really don't have the patience to deal with Karofsky's bullshit when the day is gorgeous like this and you are still a little shattered from everything that has happened.
You turn your computer on and reach to grab your desk phone so you can check your messages. Hearing the automated system tell you there are 37 messages waiting you decide you are not going to start this endeavor without coffee. Your hangover has subsided but some good old fashion caffeine might help get you into gear. You stand and head to the break room down the hall. You run into several other officers and they all take a few minutes to check on you and ask about your partner Sam.
You need to call him back but it just hasn't seemed a priority.
By the time you are heading back to your desk with now lukewarm coffee in your hand it has been about 15 minutes. You sit the coffee on the desk and reach back to pick up the phone when you see it.
A card is sitting right next to the handset, on top of the numbers so you couldn't even dial out without removing it. It's a business card and in neat handwriting it reads "Sunday. 4p". You turn it over and almost drop it.
The other side reads Dr. Chase Strathorn.
You stand and look around. No one even looks up and thankfully Karofsky's on the phone. You don't want to call attention to yourself but you know that somehow between when you went to get coffee and you came back Santana was here. Jesus Christ was she following you? You are sure she must be aware that you are off until Monday and yet she knew enough to know you would be here.
"Fuck this," you mumble aloud, grabbing your keys and turning off the computer. You weren't gone that long so maybe she's still in the building.
You are coming down the main hall when you hear the sound of heels clicking against the floor. You look up to catch just a glimpse of dark hair rounding a corner and you take off in a sprint. You're at the same corner within seconds and see the door to the bathroom shutting and without hesitation you slam it open ready to confront Santana.
Rachel.
It's Rachel by the sink when you enter the bathroom and she jumps from the whirlwind that is you coming in.
"Jesus Christ Detective," she starts. "You scared me to death!"
You feel a tad bit guilty about startling her but there are more pressing issues to contend with at the moment.
"Did you put this on my phone," you demand holding the business card reading the fake doctor's name in front of her face.
"I did," Rachel replies. "The Lieutenant asked me to do so when she called me this morning. She said you would be in sometime today and she wanted me to get it on your desk before you arrived but I was a little late and saw your computer was on. I simply placed it by your phone as instructed."
"How in the hell did she know I was coming here?" Your anger now is more overwhelming than when Santana first confessed to this in Dr. Strathorn's office. "Is she following me?"
Rachel drops her head slightly and takes a deep breath. She looks around before realizing no one is going to overhear this conversation taking place in the women's bathroom where there is only one stall.
"She is very good at her job Detective. She has studied you for a long time and is familiar enough with you to understand your patterns and the way you reason. She isn't always right of course but I will be honest.. ..the majority of the time she is."
Rachel looks at you like you are getting ready to argue but the truth is there is no point. The only thing you can do to keep control of this situation is to perhaps somehow throw Santana off her game. Otherwise you know you are just a lackey to her and you aren't going to have that.
"Where is she?"
Rachel's eyes grow wide and her mouth opens for a moment before she tries to answer.
"I…I don't know where she is Detective."
"That's complete and utter bullshit Rachel and we both know it," you growl at her. "And from the look on your face moments ago I am sure that no one has ever actually asked you that question when it comes to your boss. But I can assure you that while your boss may know a lot about me, she doesn't know everything. I am not predictable like a little Pavlovian dog who hears the bell ring and comes running. I am not a little plaything that can be beckoned and commanded as to where to go and when to be there. I don't care how great she thinks she is or how good at her job she is or how much she claims to need me. I am a highly decorated Detective and I have my own deductive reasoning abilities. If you won't tell me where she is then I guess I'll have to figure it out myself. But keep in mind that you people came to me for help and yet you haven't told me anything about what's going on. You have followed me, kept files on intimate parts of my life and I am sure the violation I am feeling now from all of that will be nothing compared to once I get the true picture…. If I am ever given it. But I ask one simple question of you and that's too much. Fuck this whole thing Rachel. And you can tell that to Santana tomorrow at 4p because my ass is going to be as far away from Dr. Chase Strathorn's office as is humanly possible. Tell Santana she can find some other schmuck to give her the 'help' she needs."
You're panting and need to catch your breath.
Rachel just stands there. There is a light in her eyes that wasn't there before during your outburst. She doesn't say a word and the two of you continue to lock eyes for a few more moments until you turn to open the bathroom door back to the hall.
"It's Saturday," Rachel states quietly looking at the floor.
"Yeah?" You reply turning to look at her again.
She's almost whispering. "If Santana goes out there is only one place she goes on Saturdays."
"And where is that Rachel?"
Rachel returns her eyes to yours before she replies.
"Nowhere."
/
You pull up to the bar and find a place to park in the back because you want to gather your surroundings before you go in. You have heard of this bar before but because it is in the opposite direction of the way you travel home, you haven't ever had the occasion to go in.
The sign outside is lit up because it's nearly 10:00 and night has fallen.
Nowhere, it reads.
You walk in and it's filled with people. The actual bar lies against the entire left wall and it reminds you of Seasons where you and Santana shared tequila last night. There are no bar stools though and the section is fairly narrow. You walk up to the bar and ask for a Bacardi and Diet from the attractive male bartender who smiles at you with bleached out white teeth and a mohawk.
""Hey, I don't think I have seen you here before," he tells you handing back your card that he swiped to keep your tab open. "I'm Puck."
You offer him a slight smile but you have to talk up to be heard over the music that is thumping loud out of speakers you cannot see.
"Brittany," you reply.
You're slightly turned against the bar so you can scan the room but still make it look like you might be carrying on a conversation with Puck. You see people all around the bar area and some outside on the open patio but there is no sign of who you are looking for. The bar itself doesn't appear to be very large so your first thought is she isn't here.
"Are you here for the open mic?" Puck asks.
You pause and look back to him.
"Yeah."
"It's back through there," Puck replies and points towards a hallway with two swinging saloon type doors across the walk through. "I think they may have just started."
You push through the doors slowly and quickly survey the room. There are tables and chairs lining around a small stage that takes up the far end of the wall. It is all in a slight semi-circle and you can tell this must be a popular venue because even with all the people out front, this room is filled to near capacity.
There is a man singing on the stage with a guitar in hand. Some soulful song whose words aren't resonating with you at this point because you are still scanning the room. But it sounds decent enough.
You manage to take a seat at a table far in the back, nearly pushed into a corner. The table is small and you surmise only used for cocktails between the two people that were designed to share it. Larger parties were up closer to the stage. You guess the room seats about 100 with a little standing room if needed. The lights are low said for the stage which is lit up like a Christmas tree. There is little chance that any one up there performing will be able to see into the crowd more than the first few tables.
Guitar man finishes his song to applause by the audience. You can't really make out anyone in particular because you are still trying to adjust to the lighting. You are still occupied going over the room when a server comes up to you and checks to see if you're ok.
"Do you need another drink," the pretty girl asks.
You look down and see that you have just a swallow of the rum left and repeat your order to her. You tell her you have a tab at the bar with Puck and she tells you she'll be right back and wanders out through the doors to the bar.
You are still surveying the audience but you cannot make out much other than the back of patron's heads and profiles.
After a few minutes, pretty-server-girl comes back and hands you the new drink with a napkin and leans over to grab your now empty glass. The music is cueing up for the next open mic performer, you can hear it in the background behind the noise of people chatting between songs.
You look up to thank the server for the drink but your mouth stays open and no words come out.
On the stage in front of the microphone is Santana. The music grows louder and the chatting ceases.
"I hear the ticking of the clock, I'm laying here the room's pitch dark.
I wonder where you are tonight, no answer on the telephone.
And the night goes by so very slow,
Oh I hope that it won't end though. Alone."
She is singing Heart's Alone but not in the rocked out version that they are famous for but the slow, heart wrenching version that is more Celine Dion.
She's not only singing it. She is singing it well.
"Til now, I only got by on my own. I never really cared until I met you.
And now it chills me to the bone. How do I get you alone?"
Unlike the guy before her with his soulful sound that you listened to but didn't hear, Santana's words seem to hit you in the gut with the power behind them. The electricity is there again even though she doesn't know you are here. You find her incredibly beautiful.
"You don't know how long I have wanted to touch your lips and hold you tight.
You don't know how long I have waited and I was going to tell you tonight.
But the secret is still my own. And my love for you is still unknown. Alone."
The music is swells during the interlude and you have time to judge what you have just heard. Santana's voice is husky and sultry and - let's face it - incredibly sexy. But she is sad as she sings it. You can feel it, hear it in the way she delivers the lines. She is making your heart beat faster for reasons you cannot truly understand.
She is singing the chorus into the microphone again and she doesn't look up once into the crowd. It looks like her eyes are closed. You wonder what she is thinking about as she is singing. You don't know anything about her and all this is doing is making you want to change that. But you feel guilty now. Like you have stumbled into something too private. Even after all that Santana knows about you, this makes you feel you have crossed a line.
She is finishing the song and you are still sitting there, nearly in awe.
You realize you have to get out of there before she can possibly see you and this is the best time.
You stand, leaving your drink and walk toward the saloon doors just as Santana is singing the last of the lines. You need to close your tab with Puck the bartender and that's going to take a minute and now you're picking up the pace because you really, really don't want to run into her.
You glance to the side as you are getting ready to slide through the doors and you see a man leaning against the wall by the stage with a huge grin on his face. You didn't notice him before.
You can't help yourself but to stop for a moment when the crowd applauds loudly as Santana thanks them in the microphone and walks off the stage….and right into the arms of the man who wraps her into a huge hug and kisses her quickly on her lips before guiding her away from the stage and….. right toward the doors where you're standing.
You push through them as fast as possible and walk rapidly to the front of the bar. You are trying not to make your fleeing so obvious but there is absolutely no way you are going to let her see you now. You shove through the crowd by the door and get out to the patio before you break into a trot now that you have some room. You are around the corner to your car before you stop and try to catch your breath. You try to convince yourself that the pang in your heart is just nerves because you were afraid to be caught but your head isn't buying it.
You unlock the door, turn the motor over and exhale deeply in your car, trying to collect your thoughts. You did learn some things tonight so there is that. Santana sings. Santana has a boyfriend. Santana sings sad songs in anonymity at an open mic night at a bar called Nowhere.
Santana has a boyfriend.
You pull out from behind the bar where you had parked and turn left and back to your apartment.
It's only a little after 11 when you get home but you are done for the night. Exhausted.
You feel hot and sticky so you jump into the shower and after drying off and lotioning up you slip into your tank top and panties and slide into bed. Lord Tubbington jumps up and walks over your legs to assume his position at the bottom of your bed after you have given him a few scratches under his chin.
You move to turn off the light and see your phone on the night stand along with the business card reminding you that Santana is expecting you to meet her tomorrow at 4p. Like you have a chance in hell of forgetting.
The room nearly goes dark with a flip of the switch of your lamp but there is still a small light glowing from your phone as you turn over and away from it. You're so tired you know you will be asleep within seconds.
After a minute goes by the light on your phone is gone, signaling your download as complete. You added a new song to your iTunes account.
Alone.