Okay, this will be like the Glee pilot - first chapter is out here, I'll see if anyone reads this, then freaking two months later it will become a regular story. I think. And because it's a new story:
Friendships: Pezberry, Puckleberry; Fabang and Fabrevans(?)
Summary: Quinn didn't expect a simple case of art theft to get so out of hand. And Rachel didn't expect this simple mission to turn out to be her greatest adventure. - Wow did I just sound corny.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
Quinn knew she was going to become crazy if she had to see the tape one more time; she had been watching it on loop for hours now. The blurry, black and white recorded scenes affected her concentration hugely and she could already feel the approaching headache.
"Shit," she quietly cursed, stopping the running tape with a rough push.
She just couldn't figure out what the criminal in the tape wanted; he was clearly a professional. No amateur would dare to enter the Museum of Modern Art at night with all the security measures taken. But somehow, he had managed to turn off the whole security system in the museum, chloroformed all the employees working there in their night shift and even shut off all the cameras. Except for one; exactly the one camera that had recorded his actions of stealing five paintings in the same hall.
All this big preparation and effort of shutting down the whole museum just to steal five paintings.
That was why Quinn ruled out the most basic motive behind a theft; money. There had been at least three paintings of more value in the same hall, just at one arm's length, but the thief had only taken the five he had set his eyes on.
But what was even more unsettling, the thief had wanted to be recorded during his actions. Hence the tape in Quinn's possession. He had even waved into the camera once he had finished dismantling the last artwork; whenever Quinn came to this scene, all the muscles in her body would tense up as if she was preparing herself to lunge at the screen, diving into the scene to catch him.
The thief was clothed like a ninja; nothing of his face could be seen aside from a thin slit for the eyes. But with the bad quality of the surveillance camera, even the eyes weren't discernible. They could be red for all Quinn cared, she still wouldn't know.
The only hint that might eliminate a large percentage of potential thiefs was the lean and short statue of the criminal, suggesting the person to be a woman. No man had such a slender waist.
Quinn sighed to herself, pinching her nose in frustration. Long hours of work, yet nothing. They had nothing; they didn't know more than they did the day before and her boss was getting pushy, urging for progress, even if minimal.
It irked Quinn to no end that the boring case of stolen artworks had been thrown onto her lap without her consent.
Apparently, the stolen paintings were of heavy importance to the history of America and only the best detectives were to handle this case. Quinn was supposed to feel flattered that her captain, William Schuester, had suggested her as a suitable investigator in front of the mayor; but as honoring as the amount of responsibility put on her shoulders was, she deemed herself as a woman of action.
She needed the thrill, the kick, the adrenaline rushing through her veins whenever she was going after a hot trail in the city; she wasn't made for sitting in her office for countless hours, ruining her perfect eyes by staring at endless rolls of surveillance tapes. She was the elite, she was supposed to handle the big stuff, and not some robbery in a museum. Even if it was the Museum of Modern Art in midtown Manhatten, not ten minutes away from her precinct.
The only consolation for her pride was the fact that those stolen artworks were together almost as valuable as the Mona Lisa, which made her own value as a detective grow immensely as well, especially if she should be able to catch the thief. And another plus; the mayor of New York knew her by her name now.
Other than that, Quinn was heavily frustrated. She couldn't understand how one of her colleagues in her department, Finn Hudson, seemed to be so content with this type of work. He took over most of the paper work, obediently doing all the research that Quinn ordered him to do while she was out there, at the crime scenes, doing the physical work.
Hudson had already been doing that many years before she even got transferred here, which was one year ago; she was already about to lose her mind doing it for three days.
Granted, she was used to immediate succes after a few hours of searching and probing, but that might be because most of the criminals were simply too dilettante to pull a grand theft without leaving some kind of trace. Still, she couldn't fathom what made this art robbery different from all the others, just because the stolen items were more worth than ten years of her annual salary.
"Fabray, we got the suspect you wanted," Mike Chang, her loyal work partner informed her with a tired grin. Like her, he was given a task beneath his usual niveau, but he remained respectful about it and tried to see the positive side. He always tried to see the positive in everything, even in criminals; his calm and kind nature made him a perfect partner for Quinn.
They balanced each other out; Quinn liked the hard facts of reality while Mike used his imagination to play out the scenes of crime in his head. They hardly agreed on the same thing without arguing back and forth for at least an hour. Well, it was mostly Quinn who hotly argued, while Mike would calmly throw in new questions as impulses from time to time, causing Quinn to start again. She argued for them both.
But this time, both could worldlessly agree on the same thing; this case was starting to get on their nerves.
"You got Lopez?" Quinn asked in a hopeful tone, eager to leave her workplace to do some interrogation. If there was one place where she felt powerful and in charge, then it was the interrogation room. This was the place where she could let her aura of authority unfold, where her piercing eyes made even the toughest men cower back.
Quinn was well aware of her role as the bad cop. Unrelenting, stubborn, somewhat immune to the background story of any kind of people. Not easy to be intimidated, not one to back down, and even less of someone to let herself be provocated. But if her temperament happened to get the better of her, Mike would step in and be the nice cop. He didn't do it on purpose, he wasn't trying to use a psychological trick to win the criminals' trust. It was just his nature, he couldn't be cold or rude to anyone; he would treat a murderer the same way he would treat his grandmother: with utmost respect.
Behind his back, envious detectives called him weak and predicted that the lack of fear-inducing aura of his persona would one day cost him his life. But among the criminals, his respectful manner had earned him a good reputation, as much good reputation a cop in the underworld of crime could have. Criminals might not have morals, but they did value the asset respect.
Quinn had not seldomly found herself in a position where the criminal plainly asked if he could have Mike Chang interrogate him, because he at least would let him talk without interruption and judgement. She didn't mind as long as it got the people to confess. Because what she had learned in her years as a detective, these people in handcuffs were just human, too, and they wanted to be heard, to be acknowledged. Their intentions were sometimes pure, while their actions weren't.
"She put up a fight first, because we surprised her in the middle of a shopping tour."
Mike handed Quinn a thin folder which she accepted with a quiet thanks, her eyes already focused on the first page.
"Santana Lopez, 27. Charged twice for physical assault, one on a police officer, the other on a cab driver. Both charges were dropped," Mike quickly informed her.
Quinn stood up from her chair with a frown that quickly turned into a pained grimace. She had been in a sitting position for far too long. Desk work was certainly not her thing.
"I'm not quite sure about that one," Mike said. "Something about indirect connections to the mayor."
"The same mayor that wished us good luck on this case?"
"The very same."
"Maybe this will be easier than I thought. This can't be a coincidence."
"I wouldn't speak too soon."
Quinn rolled her eyes, but she did it with a smile. "Let's see if Lopez can speed up things a little bit, I don't think I will a survive a week of this."
Both headed to the interrogation room, where their first and only suspect was already waiting.
"She's got attitude, gotta give her that," Quinn muttered, her eyes piercing through the special window glass, which was mirrored inside. She closely observed a young and attractive Latina, who was either boredly looking at her fingernails or shooting a sassy smirk at the mirrored glass like she knew that she was being watched. "But she doesn't look like a thief to me."
"Too classy?" Mike asked, intrigued by the Latina, who had just winked in his direction. Could she possibly see behind the mirrored glass or was it just a lucky guess?
"Hm. She seems to be, though something about her tells me that it wasn't a trait she was born with. It came with the wealth."
Mike looked closer at the woman in the room. "You're right. Her prideful stance is wavering, she starts to feel annoyed now."
"Let's go in before she gets completely uncooperative," Quinn said, and they both strode into the interrogation room after politely knocking on the door.
The Latina looked up with a smirk, apparently amused by the situation she had found herself in. Quinn noticed grimly that the suspect showed no signs of nervousness or tension, quite on the contrary; she seemed to be exact the type of person to make a simple interrogation turn into hard, endless work.
"You know, I don't mind being stared at; no need to do it secretly behind these glasses. I'm hot and that's okay if it took you longer to come in and have the balls to talk to me."
As Quinn had predicted, the Latina had taken it upon herself to start the conversation, and by the tone of the opening note, this interrogation was going to be a long and possibly fruitless ride.
"Ms Lopez," Mike simply stated, a cordial form of greeting her.
The Latina scanned his face, recognition dawning on her own. "Ah. So you're the good guy here. Then I guess blondie over there will be the one to ride my ass hard."
She paused, her eyes trailing from Mike to Quinn, blatantly making a show of checking out her body. "Though by the looks of it, I wouldn't mind you riding -"
"Ms Lopez," Quinn curtly interrrupted her, already starting to feel irritated by the sheer audacity the woman possessed. "You have been charged twice because of physical assualt in your otherwise clean record, how is it that these charges got dismissed without further investigation?"
The suspect relaxed back in her chair. "And here I thought I got dragged here for a reason. Fuck, if that LV bag is gone by tomorrow, I will sue your fucking broke asses, cause I -"
"I told the salesman to save it up for you," Mike kindly said, not even having to raise his voice to be heard because the Latina had automatically stopped talking.
Quinn turned her face to the side to hide the shadow of an envious look sweeping over face. Sometimes, it still put a damper on her pride when Mike would achieve more than her with his kindness towards the criminals. She loved him dearly, he was her best friend since they had become partners, but her ambitious side was what drove her, what made Quinn who she was now. She couldn't help it, feeling this way, it wasn't as if she didn't grant him the success. Because if there was someone who deserved more recognition for his work, then it was Mike Chang.
"The bag will still be there tommorrow, though I'll never understand how someone is willing to spend a few thousands dollar for that," Mike said in a conversational tone, not once giving the impression that he was talking down to the suspect. He genuinely sounded like he was in wonder about this. "I think I chose the wrong job, what do you do for a living when you can afford that?"
The hispanic woman stared at him with a blank face, trying to figure out his angle. Then, with a flick of her long, black hair over her shoulder, a one-sided smirk settled on her lips.
"Nice try," she chuckled, tilting her head in a provocative manner. "Almost got on my good side when you saved the LV bag that's got my name written all over it."
Quinn felt her ego being soothed when Mike's attempt of winning Santana Lopez' trust was unsuccessful. She decided to step in.
"We can easily look that up with our computers, why don't you save us some work and just tell us?" Quinn said, looking at Lopez' file. It wasn't very up to date; the last time she had violated the law, she had been noted down as 'unemployed; college student'.
But the woman just crossed her arms and tilted her head to the other side, an unnerving grin gracing her features.
"Careful there, cause I'm earning the income for the both of us every month. You know the fucking amount of taxes I pay, so you losers can sit on your donut-eating asses all day, wasting the time of innocent people with pointless questions? So don't tell me to save you some work, because you need it to somehow make your job not seem completely useless."
She was testing Quinn's hard trained strings of patience, stretching and bending them, almost in a way the blonde had never experienced before. She put both of her hands on the table, which was the only thing separating her from the Latina and she wished there was a wall of glass inbetween them, so she wouldn't try to strangle her.
Mike immediately stepped to her side, ready to interfere if the situation demanded so. But he trusted Quinn enough not to do something that would go against her professional self.
"Ms Lopez," Quinn quietly said, almost calm and polite, but the distinct tone of threat loomed heavily in the air. Lopez noticed this change with a self-satisfied smirk, knowing that her attitude was making things more complicated than they should be. Her reaction just further aggravated Quinn, who was used to seeing men of steel cave in like melted butter under her scrutinizing gaze.
"Getting feisty, I see."
Mike looked between them; a light wrinkle on his forehead was the only indication of his growing worry. He didn't want the situation to escalade. He knew that Quinn hadn't been able to get out of her office for a few days, so being stuck in the same place for a longer period of time could be very unhealthy for a restless person like the blonde.
"I want to be very clear and very direct about this, so you will understand."
"I'm not the blonde one here."
Mike felt that now was an appropiate time to become nervous.
Quinn closed her eyes, her hands gripping the table so hard that the knuckles turned white.
"Let it all out, babe," the Latina further pushed, pushing the line.
The asian man already stretched out his hands, fully prepared to hold back a furious Quinn, but she didn't move. Hands propped on the table, she looked downwards when she suddenly said in a low voice, "How did you learn to talk like that, huh?"
This got the other two in the room to drop their masks for a short while, surprise flickering across their features.
"What are you talking about?"
Quinn didn't look up. She just shook her head slightly, blonde locks falling off her shoulders to frame her face, covering her expression like a curtain. The Latina didn't try to show it, but she was thrown off by this sudden change of tactic.
"You've got a sharp tongue. You're quick to fire back. But you don't know when to cease the fire, when to let it burn of its own accord."
Neither Lopez nor Mike could fully comprehend the words that were whispered in a silky voice. The suspect didn't like the new game she found herself in, she wasn't in control anymore. She needed to rip the strings of control back to herself.
"Listen there," the Latina started, but Quinn simply shook her head. Mike was dumbstruck when Lopez let herself be interrupted.
"You can pretend all you want," the detective calmly said, "but you've been burned many times before you knew how to fire back."
At this, Lopez' prideful and arrogant aura faltered. She didn't even try a comeback.
Quinn finally looked up, straight into the Latina's eyes. Where irritation had glowed in her hazel eyes before, they were now oddly empty, only tinged with the hint of pity.
"Tell me," she softly said. "How many times did it take for you to finally snap and learn to fight back? What made you turn your weakness into your weapon; why do you try to destroy people with the same weapon that tried to destroy you?"
If Mike had been impressed before by Quinn, then it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He watched Lopez face gaining a red tint, she was getting agitated. The tables had turned.
"Shut up," Lopez hissed, facing away, "you know nothing bout me."
Quinn easily nodded, almost in a good-natured way. "No, I don't," she agreed, "I never claimed I did. But I can recognize the difference between character traits that we're born with and character traits that we have forced on us to protect ourselves."
The blonde watched the other woman's reaction, closely searching for any signs that could give her away. After one last probing glance, she softened her gaze and stepped away from the table.
"I don't believe you're a bad person, Santana."
The Latina looked up at the mention of her first name, the vulnerability in her eyes shining through her crumbling mask of indifference.
"You just had bad things happen to you. But that doesn't make you a bad person."
Mike couldn't believe what he was seeing. The best detective of New York in action. It still amazed him whenever he witnessed Quinn cracking even the hardest shells.
Lopez shortly closed her eyes, sighing. Her tense shoulders slacked.
"Get on with the questions, I don't have all day."
The breakthrough. Quinn had done it.
Mike suppressed a relieved grin. Eighty percent of the work was done, the interrogation itself wouldn't be difficult as long as Lopez cooperated.
"I don't know if you heard the news," Quinn slowly began, now letting herself sit down opposite of Lopez. Mike quickly followed her lead. "But three days ago, the MoMA has been robbed."
"The Museum of Modern Art."
Lopez looked at her with a defiant glint in her eyes. "And how is that of my concern? I don't care for the ridiculous stuff that they call art, even I drew better when I was in kindergarten."
Quinn could feel Mike tensing up next to her, probably offended how Lopez called the abstract artworks ridiculous. She knew that he would try to argue with her over the perspective of art, so she put a hand on his thigh, warningly squeezing him. He leaned back in his chair with a quiet grunt.
"Well, if you have such a strong dislike towards the arts, then why is it that we have video material that can prove your visit at the museum three days before the robbery?"
When the Latina didn't immediately answer, Quinn wanted to innerly smirk in triumph but something about the way the other woman stayed silent didn't equal with her being guilty.
But Mike didn't think so, mistaking her silence as a non-verbal admission.
"Why did you specifically steal those five paintings?" he eagerly asked. "What is so valuable about them?"
Quinn looked at him in alarm, wanting him to stop setting Lopez off, but it was already too late. The Latina had gotten defensive, she was drawing up her walls.
"I'm not gonna put up with all this crap alone," she bitingly replied. "I want my lawyer."
Quinn innerly groaned. Lawyers just made things more complicated. But she couldn't disallow Lopez the right to call assistance.
She wordlessly nodded to Mike, who seemed peeved at himself now that he had recognized his mistake. He took the business card from Lopez' outstretched hand and stood up, leaving the interrogation room. His expression obviously showed that he was currently cursing himself for his hasty move.
Quinn had no choice but to cross her arms behind her head and wait. When she blankly stared at the ceiling lights, she missed the deceitful glint in her opposite's eyes.
A light knock on the door signalled the lawyer's arrival and Quinn stood up out of politeness. She didn't want to get on the wrong side of the lawyer, but as far as her experiences went, all of them were assholes. They were there to make money and even if the criminals were guilty as charged, they liked to draw out the inevitable process of getting them into a jail.
But once Mike stepped aside to reveal a beautiful brunette woman, around Lopez' age, Quinn was ready to change her opinion.
"I thought you were supposed to call a lawyer?" Quinn questioned Mike, but he was kind of busy staring at the gorgeous woman next to him, too.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm at the right place," she said with a radiant smile, confusing Quinn even more. The blonde just thought it was strange to see this type of woman in her interrogation room; she seemed too soft and too kind to be a lawyer. Her expressive eyes shone so bright with life and warmth, hardly intimidating nor authoritative. Only her attire, a branded woman's suit, suggested otherwise.
Quinn silently watched the petite brunette taking a seat next to Lopez, acknowledging her client with a minimal nod, which was reciprocated. The blonde tried to figure out their relation; they seemed to be acquainted with each other, but she couldn't tell how much. Did Lopez often need her lawyer?
"Can we continue?" Quinn asked, more directed at the brunette than at the Latina.
"I am ready if my client is," the lawyer said with a side glance at said client, who rolled with her eyes. "Get on with it."
Mike put a printed snapshot outtake of a surveillance tape onto the table, pointing to it while saying, "This is a snapshot from a surveillance camera at the information desk at the entrance of the MoMa. I believe that despite the bad quality of this picture, you cannot deny that this is Ms Lopez at the information desk."
Quinn watched the lawyer's reaction like a hawk when she was supposed to focus more on the suspect. But she couldn't help it, something about the woman drew her in. They way she held herself in complete self-confidence without coming off as arrogant and snobbish. That was new to Quinn and she wanted to learn, to observe. She wanted to know more about her.
"No, there is certainly no space for argument here," the brunette calmly said, her tone not indicating anything else but mere admission. Quinn was stunned. The lawyer worked quite differently than her peers. The detective was used to opposition even in the most obvious cases.
She shared a look with Mike, who furrowed his eyebrows.
"So your client can confirm her presence that day?" Mike pressed her on.
The brunette lawyer looked at the woman next to her, who nodded while working her jaw. Then she said in a light tone, like Quinn and Mike hadn't witnessed Lopez' reaction themselves, "Yes, she can confirm that."
Quinn cleared her throat. "Ms..." she trailed off, not knowing how to address the pretty lawyer.
"Berry. Rachel Berry," she helped out with a smile, so radiant that it was almost inappropiate in an interrogation room where people rarely smiled. And when, then only out of pure malice or insanity or both.
Clearing her throat again, Quinn added, "Ms Berry." She let the name ring out in the room. "According to the records of the security staff in this museum, Ms Lopez was striking with her attitude towards the people behind the information desk, which led to an intervention by five security members. Can she share the reason behind her behaviour that day?"
Berry gave her client an expectant look. The latter one slowly said, "I did nothing wrong. I only asked if some of the paintings were for sale, but that bitch laughed into my face, saying that I wouldn't be able to afford them anyway. So I guess I let out my inner bitch then."
Mike leaned in closer to Quinn, muttering into her ear, "She's telling the truth, that's what the security staff remembered, too. And the woman at the information desk is really kind of a bitch, she didn't believe me when I said I was a cop, not even when I showed her my badge."
Quinn didn't let the new information faze her. "So since you couldn't get those paintings the legal way, you decided to take the illegal path?"
Lopez' face turned into a deep scowl. Her lawyer immediately responded in a mild voice, "Detective, do you not deem rash conclusions as rather counterproductive? If you are searching for the delinquent based on mere behaviour, then I am afraid that there will be a large number of possible suspects. Furthermore, did my client ever mention wanting to purchase exactly the same paintings that have been stolen?"
Quinn had misjudged the lawyer. It wasn't that she didn't believe her to be competent enough to fulfill her job's duties, but she just didn't seem right for it. She would've rather guessed Lopez to be the sharp-mouthed lawyer.
"Well, before your arrival, Ms Lopez has admitted to not share a passion for those artworks. Then why is she contradicting herself by having had the wish to purchase a painting?" Mike jumped in when Quinn took longer to think of a response.
"I have no doubt that my client has a reasonable answer to this," Berry easily said, her light voice relaxed. Lopez just nodded, "My wife digs this art stuff. So I wanted to surprise her for our tenth year anniversary."
At this, Mike couldn't contain his romantic heart. "You've been together since seventeen?" he blurted out, forgetting for one moment his professional side. Quinn wanted to face-palm.
But Lopez didn't seem to mind, which honestly surprised Quinn. The previous aloof and distant expression got replaced with a proud look. "Together since high school, senior year."
Next to her, Berry allowed herself a soft, knowing smile towards her client. Quinn raised her eyebrows at that. So they did know each other beyond the vocational relations.
"And which painting did you have in mind?" Mike asked, having regained his serious tone again.
Lopez replied with no hesitation, "The Land of Fairytales. My girl loves abstract fantasy stuff."
Mike and Quinn shared a look, now knowing for sure that the suspect wasn't lying. No one was able to produce such a quick lie like a sure statement out of thin air, and they were pretty certain that the look of love couldn't be faked that well.
Nonetheless, for mere formalities, Quinn further questioned, with less urgency though, "Then one last question. Where were you this Tuesday between one am and three am?"
Lopez replied easily enough, "Between my wife's legs."
Suppressing a grimace at the additional piece of information, she said, "We will have your wife confirm that."
This was the cue for Berry to stand up. "Very well," she said with optimism, like they just had a successful business meeting. "If there are no further questions, I believe my client is dismissed."
Quinn stood up as well, stretching out her hand, "It was nice working with you. I wished I would meet lawyers like you more often."
Something in the brunette's eyes sparkled, making the detective believe that the ceiling lights were playing a trick on her mind. What was that in her eyes?
"The pleasure is on my side," Berry said with a charming smile, that suddenly twitched when she continued, "but if I were you, I wouldn't hope for more lawyers like me."
They shook hands, a firm and short contact, yet it made Quinn want to hold on to it longer. She didn't know what was wrong with her, she barely knew the other woman. But she had never met a woman quite like her, fascinating from looks to profession.
She couldn't let her go like that.
Mike seemed to be thinking the same thing. When they walked out of the interrogation room, he discreetly nudged her and pointedly looked at the brunette woman, who was about to leave the precinct with her client.
When Quinn failed to collect her usually huge bravado, he wasted one second face-palming, then quickly called after the two leaving women, "Ms Berry? Ms Lopez?"
Both turned around; one looking surprised, the other annoyed.
Mike jogged over to them, leaving Quinn stupidly standing by herself, trying to look everywhere but at the brunette lawyer.
"We want to thank you again for your cooperation," Mike began, "and we are sorry if we made quick assumptions. But this case is a big deal to us and we need all the help we can get, so if there is something you can contribute, then please feel free to do so. Rather a false lead than no lead at all, isn't it?"
He crossed his fingers behind his back and Quinn did so, too.
"Well," Berry took the bait and the blonde detective across the room held her breath, "I happen to possess a wide range of knowledge about paintings. Maybe we can all arrange a meeting for lunch some time, to discuss about the missing artworks?"
Quinn innerly let out a triumphant yell, which quickly muted when Mike said, "Oh, no, don't count me in, I'm more of a paper work dude. You should arrange a lunch meeting with Ms Fabray over there." And he pointed over his shoulder, straight to the dumbstruck detective behind him.
The brunette woman chuckled and looked over his shoulder, winking at her. Quinn felt her cheeks heating up.
"That can be arranged," she said with a smile and reached inside of her suit, taking out a business card between her pointer finger and middle finger. Mike accepted the card with a thanks and he felt like patting himself on the shoulder.
"Until next time," the brunette pleasantly said, this time actually leaving with her client, who looked less impressed because she had been kept waiting.
When both women disappeared behind closing elevator doors, Mike swiftly turned around like a dancer and he held up the business card in his hands, triumphantly saying, "No need to bow down, I know I'm a hero."
Quinn felt like squealing in excitement and shouting in horror; Mike had just set her up on a date with the beautiful brunette.
Still, the positive feelings in her body won, and she all but lunged at the card in Mike's hand. And it amused the raven-haired man to see a usually composed detective getting excited and nervous about the prospect of finding romance.
This boring art robbery case turned out to have some positive side effects.
As soon as both women stepped out of the precinct, both spotted a smug smile.
"I'm impressed," the Latina casually said, following the brunette to her car. "You seemed to have picked up a few things from me during my law studies, Berry."
Rachel allowed herself a graceful smile, gently shaking her head. "To be honest, Santana, I was rather acting. My knowledge doesn't range beyond the things I pick up from crime series."
Santana agreeingly hummed. "Either way, they're not as professional as they think to be. They completely swallowed my act as the bitch who doesn't know better."
"Ah, yes, for more sympathy," Rachel understandingly said. "They thought they had you figured out, didn't they?"
"Ha, yeah," the other woman laughed and waited for her friend to unlock the car. "You know what the blonde one said to me? 'You're not a bad person, Santana. You just had bad things happen to you.' I totally should've pulled a crying bitch then and there."
Rachel chuckled in amusement, unlocking her sport car so they both could get in.
"What did you do instead?" she asked once she sat behind the steering wheel.
"I did the vulnerability tour. You know, looking like she's called me out on my shit."
"Now I am the one impressed," Rachel said and she turned on the engine, the car coming alive with a loud roar. "It's nice to see that my studying for acting classes affected you as well. I think we were brilliant with the role switching."
Once the car was on the road, Santana suddenly asked with a smirk, "So are you gonna bang that detective?"
"Language, Santana," Rachel half-heartedly said, for which she earned an eye-roll, then she added, "Which one?"
"You seriously ask me that?" Santana incredulously asked. "Last time I checked, you were into chicks."
The brunette woman hummed tonelessly before she replied, "You know I can't. It's too dangerous to get emotionally involved, I can't afford to let things become awkward if we're planning on being around them until the sabotage is complete. It will take one month at least."
"Who said anything about emotions and all that crap?" Santana easily retorted, dismissively waving with her hand. "If you ask me, you should seduce her. Think about it; you'd have easy access to all the information you want, and that way, we have a better overview over their process, which means we're always one step ahead of them."
Fingers drumming on the steering wheel, Rachel hummed again as she mulled over her friend's words. Then she fiercely shook her head. "You haven't thought about the other side of the coin. Yes, I would have access to her work then, but she would have the same access to me. And you know that this is the last thing we need."
The Latina didn't have an immediate reply for this, because her partner in crime was right. This was a dangerous game to play, they couldn't try out a new strategy without thinking this through.
"Yeah," she finally gave in, sighing. "I get what you mean. The less she knows, the less she asks. There are only so many lies that we can tell without them starting to contradict each other. And I think we need Abrams to update the data on the precinct's computers; it was one month ago last time he hacked the system."
Rachel just agreeingly nodded. It wasn't her part of the job to care about these things; Santana had always been the one to control their connections to other criminals, who would occasionally work for them. As far as she remembered, Abrams was a wheelchair-bound engineer, who earned his additional income as a hacker.
"Such a shame, that detective seemed to be pretty into you."
Rolling her eyes, Rachel decided to change the topic, "So, what are you going to give Brittany for your anniversary?"
Santana blew up her cheeks and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You know, when you made me learn my lines about that 'The Land of Fairytales' crap, I seriously considered getting her something akin to it."
"Santana!" Rachel huffed out. "You could've told me sooner, I would've added that to the list."
"Nah," the Latina waved it off. "Would've disrupted our plan."
Seeing it as it was the truth, Rachel slowly nodded her head, and she focused her attention back on the streets.
"I'm still somewhat surprised that they actually went after you for interrogation. I almost thought that we needed to present them a more obvious link than just a minimal fight with an employee of the museum," she said, and she furrowed her eyebrows. Things were too perfect, too easy. There had to be a flaw in their plan.
Santana sensed that, too, but she knew better than to make herself crazy. Fate was on their side and she was going to take it. "They don't have any leads like they said themselves. They're desperate; desperate times demand desperate measures. I'm the only possible hint and I could easily fit the thief's description."
Rachel hummed again. Everything was going perfect because they had it perfectly planned. There was no flaw to be feared.
"The first step went very well then," she said to herself, already making up a plan in her mind. "If everything goes according to schedule, they'll be off this case in one month and we can advance with our mission."
"Good," Santana remarked, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, "because this is probably one of our most boring missions ever."
Rachel just smiled. "I wouldn't speak too soon."
Some people who've already read my Tumblr version of this, yes, I have changed the ending a bit. It seemed too OOC for me if Rachel was heartless about playing with other people's feelings. Not that this isn't too OOC already.
So tell me if this is any good and whether I should continue?