A/N: Hope to see everyone at Brittanacon in August!

Internal Affairs

Chapter 5

You are up and at it a little earlier today. Your alarm went off at 9:30 am so you could head to the gym and get your work out in before you have to be at the precinct at 1 pm.

Sometimes you like to run just on the street in the neighborhood around your apartment and sometimes you like to hit the gym. Either way it feels good to be getting back to somewhat of a routine.

Plus you have to work off some of that Breadstix meal from last night.

The gym is only a few miles from home so it doesn't take you long to get there. The parking lot is fairly empty. You like coming in this time of day because most people are at work and the "lunch rush" won't arrive until after you have gone. You walk in, allow the girl at the desk to scan your membership pass on your keychain and head into the locker rooms to put your belongings. You get your iPhone, earbuds and arm band out and secure your other items in the locker.

You pretty much have your pick of the treadmills and you choose one furthest from the rather imposing TVs that litter the upper walls. You like the peace and quiet that comes with plugging in your music as well as the monotony of running. You can zone out and think about anything, everything or nothing at all.

Good luck with that.

You're a mile in on the treadmill and it's now the third time you are rehashing your dinner with Santana. Being a detective helps you remember the details...and make quick assessments of them. The way she used her fork told you she's left handed. Her hands allowed you to assume she frequents a professional parlor - nails were neat and trim, well-manicured and the polish had no chips. Her clothes, while restrained, were tailored and well pressed even after the long day. You know she accepts nothing but the best.

You remember as well how soft her skin was when she laid her hand on top of yours as you tried to slide your debit card off the table. The light scent of her perfume or lotion. Or maybe it was a mix of that with her own scent. You remind yourself mid stride to not go down that path.

You truly feel like it was progress for you both. You learned more about her and you also gave her some commitment that you are willing to throw caution to the wind a bit and allow yourself to trust her.

It was good she agreed to dinner. Maybe too good.

You continue at your pace and before you know it the treadmill is slowing down signaling your workout is over and it's now time for the cool down.

No such thing is possible with Santana on the brain.

You are sweating a bit more than usual because it has been nearly two weeks since you worked out but it feels good. You feel more normal. More in control. You wipe your face with the towel you had laid over the top of the treadmill and take a long swallow off your water bottle.

You have a lot to do today and you are excited to get back into work mode more and more. Maybe Schuester won't be on your ass so much to knock off too early. But you know you have a meeting tonight that you are not going to miss.

Your mystery person at the Cherokee Park Fountain.

You grab your items from the locker and head out toward home, draining the rest of the bottle of water on your way out.

It's good to be back in your routine.

/

You're getting out of the shower when you remember you are going to need to email Santana and tell her about the meeting later. You just want to keep her in the know and continue to build this bond of trust – the one you made last night which still feels very fragile and new. You both agreed to make the choice to trust one another. You are not interested in being one to break your word. She makes you not want to.

You get dressed even though your hair is still slightly damp from the shower. Black pants, white tank, black shirt that you only halfway button up the front. You keep it casual most of the time for work because you have to be flexible there but you know how to wear a dress when you need to. Or you can be fun too – your favorite shirt is one with blue songbirds on it. Not your usual detective type wear. While your days of constant shopping at the local thrift store may be over after you inherited the money when your parents died, your sense of silly is still pleasantly intact for the most part.

And you still go to the thrift store as well.

Sometimes this job is so heavy you need to keep it light.

You pull your hair back and touch up with light makeup – lip gloss and something around the eyes. It's only noon so you drink a quick protein shake and pull your laptop out to send Santana a quick message.

You smile a little to yourself as you type her name in greeting.

Santana,

I have a meeting tonight with a regular C.I. at 8. I wanted to let you know in case you were looking for me because it is somewhat off the grid.

By the way, thanks for taking me up on my offer for dinner.

Next time is on you.

~ B

You don't know how to end the email so you simply type your initial. Not your name or anything else. She'll know it's you of course but there's something a little more informal the way you have closed the email. Like you are on a path headed from business associates to acquaintances. You cannot call it friends.

But you hold out hope that maybe someday…...

"You agree, Lord T?" you ask aloud as you feel the cat wandering between your legs as you sit at the kitchen table. You hit send allowing any second thoughts to end there.

You close up the laptop and grab your keys. It's going to be a gorgeous day out and your mood is bright like the sun that is nearing its high point of the day.

Time to get to work.

/

Your work day is more of the same – more paperwork, more follow up, more dotting I's and crossing t's behind a desk – the part of the job you truly cannot stand. You have been here for 5 hours and your back is killing you from not moving from the chair but you can honestly say that Sam would be proud…. You have almost all the backlogged paperwork done from your cases. Putting your nose to the grindstone pays off every now and again even if you are bored to tears.

You stretch and walk into Schuester's office to let him know that you are about caught up but he's not at his desk. 'That's good,' you think to yourself because then he won't try to give you a hard time for leaving to meet your CI. Not that he would have a big problem with it normally but the whole "ease into it" thing has been his mantra for the past 2 days.

The precinct is busy but luckily for you it must be Karosfky's day off – you haven't seen him so you haven't had to deal with his bullshit. You pause for a moment on the way back to your desk and look around. You have missed the hustle, the loud voices, the excitement that comes with this job. You cannot imagine ever doing anything else.

You have about 90 minutes to kill before your meeting so you decide to run home first and head out to your car. It's still a beautiful day out and your mood is immediately brightened to be out from behind the desk. You unlock your door, sit and take a moment to put your sunglasses on as you turn over the engine.

You catch yourself glancing up for just a split second to see the windows that frame Dr. Chase Strathorn's office but there's no one staring out looking at you from several stories up.

You're not surprised but you're disappointed anyway.

You wonder what Santana is up to today. You drive home almost on autopilot, thinking to yourself about what must make up her day. You wonder for a split second if she ever thinks about you before you are chastising yourself in your mind and then aloud.

"Jesus, Brittany," you mutter in the protective confines of your car, "you are fucking ridiculous. No matter how incredibly gorgeous she is, she is off limits. No matter how she might look at you sometimes, she is simply doing her job…. Trying to read you and not trying to read into you. Let it go."

You pull into your spot and wonder if maybe you should give one of your friends a call this weekend. You need a night out with some drinking, dancing and fun – you have been doing the drinking part by yourself far too often. You drop the sunglasses in the built in flip holder above your dash, grab your bags and put your key into the lock of your front door, breathing out a sigh of relief of finally being home. You know you have to go back out in a bit but just to take 30 minutes or so to unwind is needed from the exhausting paperwork.

You shift through the mail and throw it on the kitchen island before sitting at the table to send a quick text to your friend Quinn to see if she wants to hook up for a drink on Saturday. Quinn's a chef at 21C – the freshest, hottest new restaurant in town. She won't get off until late but since the bars stay open until 4am it will just start to be hopping if she can meet you out.

You need some down time. And Quinn's a friend to have fun with hearing horror stories of her latest adventures with crazy servers and customers at 21C. And then suffer through the newest romantic gestures her boyfriend Noah has smothered her with – even though she always grins when she talks of them because you know she loves them no matter how much she tries to act annoyed. You already are crossing your fingers that the timing works out because you know by the end of Saturday night your stomach will be sore from the laughing. You also figure you will have to stay the night at her place or get a cab. You wants to get your drink on.

You head back to your bedroom and lay down on the bed, feet hanging off the side after laying down your holster and gun on the nightstand. Your phone chimes signaling the text you were counting on.

"I'm in," is all it says and you know you'll figure out the formal plans later.

You're pumped and excited, the lethargy evaporating from your bones after Quinn's reply. You can't wait for Saturday and its revelrie. You continue to lay there staring at the ceiling for a few minutes.

It isn't long before you sit up and grab the laptop from under the bed.

Booting it up gives you an adrenaline rush.

That comes to an abrupt end when you see no messages in your inbox.

You sigh and gently scratch under Lord Tubbington's chin as he commiserates with you on the bed.

So much for letting go.

/

It's 7:50 when you pull into the park and stop your car in the lot that borders the baseball diamond. You are nearly 300 feet from the fountain. This is not the lot you normally park in when you are going to meet with Artie but your gut took over on the way to the park. You want to make sure it's him meeting you before you walk up exposed. From this distance and angle you can see the fountain in its entirety and there is cover for you from view by the trees that separate the playground area from the ballpark.

This whole thing has made you more paranoid than you realized. Or maybe you are finally as cautious as you should have been all along.

It's early summer so the sun is still well up giving you a perfect view and it doesn't take but a few more moments before you see the wheelchair rolling up the sidewalk.

Artie.

You actually breathe a slight sigh of relief and feel a little annoyed at Santana. Her cryptic comments make you feel a bit off your game. Less confident in what you hold to be the truth.

You start your car once again and pull around to the adjacent lot now that you feel more comfortable. You are just a minute later than the 8 pm meeting time but Artie sees you and smiles as you walk toward him.

"Brittany," he calls to you warmly as you get within range of his voice, "I am so glad to see you and so happy that you are ok." You get closer to him and see that he looks slightly disheveled in his appearance. Dark circles, hair out of place. Even his glasses sit a little cock-eyed on his face.

"How have you been Artie?," you ask him as you take a seat on one of the benches next to where he has pulled his wheelchair. He has always appreciated that you don't stand when you speak with him. You get on his level so you can look him in the eye. There is no position of power here with him. He gives you information and you act upon it. Both of you are about doing what's best for others.

He really is a good guy.

But something is off with him tonight. You can tell as his eyes dart a bit while you get settled. You look around with him but there is nothing special to note. Families in the park enjoying their time together, watching their kids swinging and laughing on the playground. Runners out in singles, pairs and groups enjoying the decent weather and getting their miles in. Cherokee Park is unique in the city because of its size and the fact that the road is only one way. There is only one lane that travels through the park that you can use by car. The city mandated the other lane solely for the use of cyclists, walkers and runners

"Are you ok?" You are hesitant to ask because you can already clearly tell he's not.

"I'm better than you are Brittany," he tells you a little out of breath. "I was so upset to read about everything in the paper from last week and once I called into the station and learned you were coming back to work I knew I needed to get back in touch with you as soon as I could. I tried to contact you that night but we were not able to hook up and then of course everything hit the fan for you and your partner."

He's rambling and sweating and you're taken aback.

"What's going on Artie?," you ask him leaning closer as he does the same.

"I wasn't sure when I heard it at the shelter but then everything happened and I knew it had to be true," he looks at you wide eyed but manages to focus right before he finishes what he has to say.

"The shooting wasn't accidental Brittany. You were targeted from the get go."

You don't move. You don't blink. You don't even breathe.

Artie puts his hand on your knee as he brings his mouth close to your ear.

"Someone tried to kill you Brittany."

/

You really don't know what to think but you trust that what Artie has been telling you for the last 15 minutes is truly what he knows.

"Two weeks ago I was working handing out sandwiches on the street outside the shelter when a kid came up and asked if he could talk with me in private. I had seen him around and knew that he hung with a tough crowd but he's young – probably 14 or so – and I'm always trying to reach the ones that aren't in too deep," Artie said.

You're sitting very still next to him. You want to take some notes but for now you are listening intently trying to gather and memorize every word that he is saying so you can write it down later.

"When we went into the shelter we went back to my office and he closed the door. I got a bit nervous but that abated pretty quickly when I saw the kid was shaking like a leaf. He sat down across from my desk and told me that word on the street was that someone was interested in taking out a cop and members of his gang were looking into the job. One of them considering it was this kid's older brother and he was looking to me for advice on how to get him out of it."

Artie took a deep breath and continued.

"I told him that I knew someone on the force and that I would see what I could do to arrange for them – you – to meet him. That scared him though because he clammed up pretty tight after that and said he would be back in touch in a few days. I had no idea he was talking about something occurring so soon. Maybe he didn't either but I texted you that day to meet so I could tell you about this conversation. Obviously I was too late." Artie finished and then hung his head, his hair drooping over his glasses.

"Artie, look at me" you say and wait while he does. "There is nothing you could have done to change what happened. You had no idea when or where or anything else. Don't you dare forget all the times you made a huge difference in helping others with information you have given me. This is no exception – this information is vital into finding out who is involved. What you know may make all the difference."

You are trying to make him feel better when inside your head is spinning. You have so many questions and you tell Artie as much - advising him to stick to only what he knows and to be honest if he doesn't. There are no wrong answers.

Just facts.

You take out your notepad.

"I don't know his name," Artie tells you and you can sense his disappointment in that fact but he continues, "and I haven't seen him since that day. Believe me, I've looked."

"It's ok," you tell him. "Can you describe him for me?"

Artie tells you the kid's approximate weight, height, eye color, skin color and everything else he can think of including what he was wearing. Artie gives you time of day and weather and he even remembers and tells you about the other times he had seen the kid before. All of the information, while detailed, isn't unique to any person or group in particular and therefore of not much help.

"You said that you thought the person was trying to kill me," it sends a shiver down your spine actually saying the words out loud but you continue anyway, "why do you think that? That could have simply been a case of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Artie looks up at you and the scene is almost ominous. The way the sun has finally set and twilight is upon you matches how his eyes go dark when he replies.

"The domestic disturbance call you got which took you to the address….," he pauses and breathes in before finishing.

You're holding your breath.

"It wasn't real. Just like how the kid told me it was going to go down."

You stop writing in your notepad in mid sentence but your pen hovers just over the page. Your mind goes back there in an instant and you remember when you knocked on the door and the woman answered. Even now you can smell the burn of the cigarette she held in her hand as she opened the door.

"Why the hell are you people here?"

"We're responding to a call of domestic disturbance."

"What call?"

Only a second later you were running down the hall and you realize when you thought back to that night you focused only on the events that happened right after the chase began. Not what led you there in the first place.

You blink and you're back in front of Artie, your pen still hovering. You're about to say something to Artie when he finishes your thought for you.

"You need to check the 911 calls that went into precinct that night around the time of the incident and see if you can determine what number the call came from," Artie squints his eyes and exhales loudly and you can tell he has released the final weight off his chest that had been there for some time now.

"And you need to be careful Brittany," he finishes and places his hands against the wheels letting you know he's ready to go.

You know that you need to do all of those things but you know you need something else first.

Someone else.

Santana.

/

You get home and pull the duffel bag out from under your bed and ignore the computer. You don't have time to boot that thing up and see if she might check it sometime in the next several hours. You grab the burner phone she left you and turn it on.

You type the text as fast as you can, not bothering with sentence structure or anything else.

"We need to talk – urgent – suggest a place to meet"

You hit send and sit on the bed, hearing nothing but the sound of your own breath as you pant slightly and the thud of your heartbeat that pounds in your chest.

You simply cannot believe this is happening and you need to calm down a bit and think of a plan and how to handle it. You left the park after your talk with Artie and drove straight home, looking in the rearview mirror more often than you would normally. Your gun is now at your side and you know that's where it will be from here on out. Could it be possible that Artie has it wrong? There just seems to be too much that is of coincidence though for him to have misinterpreted the situation. And the kid that came to see him two weeks ago that laid out some of the information. That couldn't be just happenstance. That had to be part of this. Was the kid somehow related to Tremont Williams? Artie had said that the kid was concerned his older brother might take the job a part of a gang initiative.

You keep looking at the phone to see if you somehow missed a reply from Santana as you go over the events again and again in your head. You are going to need to relook at the entire case. Going to need to go interview the woman from the apartment complex whose door you knocked on. Should you tell Sam? Jesus Christ you have so much going on you don't even know where to start. And that makes you jump even more when in the midst of the tornado of thoughts and emotions in your head you hear a light knock on your front door.

You grab the Glock and feel your heart pound even harder if that was possible as you head down the hall and to the entrance to your apartment. Your gun is at your side as you sidle up to the door and peak slowly through the key hole to find your second heart-stopping surprise of the night. There, at the door to your home, stands Santana. You swing the door open and ignore her look of confusion when you grab her by the arm and pull her inside, shutting the door quickly as she steps into your hallway.

"Brittany…." Santana is trying to say something more but you are already coming down the hall toward the kitchen. You can feel her eyes boring into the back of your head as she is sizing you up trying to determine what in the hell is going on.

"Just come sit down and we'll talk," you tell her turning the light on to illuminate the table and chairs that sits in the middle of the room. You don't usually sit here because you have the island with the bar stools when you eat so the table looks brand new even though you have had it for some time. You swipe the placemats and napkins with their ringholders out of the way while you gesture for her to take a seat. She is standing there wearing a black shirt with a gray pair of slacks. The ever present necklace reflecting the light over the table.

Even frazzled and she is stunning.

"Do you want coffee? I can make coffee. Or maybe you would like a beer? Jesus I could certainly use a beer…." You are walking to the refrigerator while you ramble.

Before you get there Santana grabs you by both arms and spins you. You're so close now that a step toward her would mean you would be in her arms.

"Brittany," she is staring at you with a look that is beyond concern, "please stop and tell me what is going on?"

You take a deep breath and barely notice that her hands are still wrapped around each of your biceps.

"I met with my informant tonight," you slowly exhale as you begin the story.

Her eyes don't leave yours, even when you are on your second beer and she is still drinking the first as you sit next to each other in the chairs of your kitchen table. She listens and doesn't interrupt. She asks no questions and lets you tell the story in its entirety before she gets up and starts to pace back and forth.

You are sitting there, drained in every way imaginable but you still watch her as she walks back and forth until she finally opens the refrigerator herself and grabs another beer from the door and sits back down facing you. The beer sits unopened but you somehow feel a little tingle in your stomach at how familiar it was that she helped herself to something in your home.

You hear the words out of your mouth before you can stop them. Words that you haven't said since your parents died.

"Santana. I'm scared."

You notice her hands shaking slightly as she twists the cap off and lays it to the side and takes a long draw off the bottle. You know her well enough now to know this is how she processes things. She is quiet but it doesn't mean there aren't a million things going around in her head. She is deliberate as she tries to make sense of this new information. You just know she is going to figure it all out and tell you what you need to do. You need that; you need someone else to make this ok. With everything that has happened in the last two weeks you simply cannot take on anymore by yourself.

It suddenly dawns on you, right then in the middle of your kitchen, that there is no one else you would rather be in this with than Santana.

She stops pacing and looks at you. Her eyes catching yours and holding them intensely as she always does. She sits back down and lays her hand on top of yours that is resting on the table.

"We will figure this out Brittany. I have a lot of contacts and you are an incredible detective and we will dig into this and interview who we need to and canvas the area where we need to and we will figure this out."

It's Santana's turn to ramble.

You take another deep breath and try to work on calming yourself. Again you feel like you did the day you got the call about your parents' accident. You don't know whether to cry or scream. You don't know how to even take another step. It all is surreal.

Her hand still on yours brings you back to the moment you're in.

And you blurt out again without thinking.

"Will you stay here tonight?"

Santana's eyes go wide at the question but only for a split second before she seemingly gets her response under control. "Of course."

You wish you were asking her for a completely different reason but right now you only want the comfort of someone else there with you, even if in the seldom used guest room down the hall.

It isn't late but you are exhausted and it's evident on your face.

"Let me give you a quick tour and show you where the guest room is and then if you don't mind, I really think I just want to go to bed," you say to her softly while you stand and move into the kitchen to turn on the light under the microwave.

"There's plenty of food in the fridge and more beer if you want," you tell her as you dump the remaining of your own beer down the sink. The thought of one more sip makes you nauseous.

"It's ok, I ate a little while ago," she tells you and rises as well. "I am going out to my car to get a few things ok?"

You follow behind her down the hall to the front door and watch with it ajar as she retrieves a light satchel and walks back up your small sidewalk into the foyer again, waiting for you to turn off the light and lock the door.

"The guest room is right across from the hall bathroom," you tell her. "There's not a TV in there so if you're not tired you can feel free to stay here in the living room to have it on. Let me show you where the extra blankets are."

It isn't cold but you want her to be able to feel as home as possible since she is doing this for you so you open the closet door that houses the several blankets on the top shelf as well as boxes of your personal belongings that you never bothered to unpack when you moved in years ago.

"There's a bathroom in my room of course so the hallway one is yours to use. Extra towels under the sink and there are some travel sized shampoos and soaps there as well." You cannot imagine the crap you've picked up at some of the hotels you have vacationed or traveled to doing her justice but it's all you have.

You certainly didn't expect the day to end like this.

Santana's following you throughout the quick tour and walks back out to the kitchen behind you. She hasn't said anything but you know she's paying attention. You grab a water from the refrigerator as she sits down at the kitchen table, laying the satchel out and flipping back the leather straps to remove a laptop.

"I have some work to do so if you don't mind I will be up for a little while." It's not really a question but she wants you to know what she is doing. Probably so you don't hear some noise in the middle of the night and completely lose your shit.

You feel better almost that she is going to be awake at least until you can fall asleep. You feel even better when she removes her gun from the concealed holster that was unseen in the middle of her back. She is booting up her computer and you are still standing there.

She looks good at your kitchen table. Like she belongs there.

She catches you staring and smiles slightly. "It's going to be ok Brittany."

You almost believe her.

"Get some rest. If you need me, I'm here." Her smile still there, reaching her eyes and making them shine in a way that not only comforts you but allows you the confidence to smile back when you say to her "Thank you Santana. You have no idea how much this means to me."

There's a slight blush on the tips of your ears because it sounds so intense but you mean it.

"I told you we were partners in this now Brittany. I meant it."

You walk down the hall and hear the chime of her laptop signaling it's ready to go. You feel a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and you almost manage to sleep the entire night through but you do wake up once a little before 2 am. You wonder if Santana's still up but you don't have to wonder long because as soon as you crack the door to your room you hear the click-clack of the laptop keys being punched.

You fall back asleep almost immediately.

/

Your alarm goes off at 9:30 just like it always does. You stir for a few moments before you remember everything – including that Santana has stayed overnight. You get up, throw your hair back in a ponytail and head out toward the kitchen where you smell coffee already brewing.

You notice when you pass the guest room that the bed doesn't look slept in.

Santana is still wearing what she had on last night when she came and humming a tune as she goes about buttering a piece of toast. You clear your throat slightly because you don't want to startle her even though you think you could stand for an hour just looking at her. She stops humming and turns toward you, smiling again and handing you the piece of toast. "Good morning," she says to you turning to the cabinet to her left to get you down a mug for some coffee of your own.

"Hey," you reply to her feeling a bit sheepish. Here is this incredible, put together woman in front of you that stayed all night to make you feel safe and then made you coffee and toast for breakfast. By comparison here you stand in your plaid pajamas and your sleep still in the corners of your eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" She's now making herself a piece of toast after pouring you some coffee.

"Actually, I did," you tell her adding the cream to your mug. "I can't believe it given the events of yesterday."

"About that," Santana hesitates but then her voice picks up with her normal confidence. "I have emailed Rachel to get me a copy of the file from that night in total and the 911 calls placed. That was a good suggestion by your CI. I spoke at length via email last night with my superior to come up with some possible viable scenarios as to our next steps."

"Our?" you ask.

"Of course, Brittany. You are a valuable asset to us and we need to find out if this was specific to you like your CI maintains or if it involves something or someone else."

A valuable asset. .

"Anyway," she continues as she finishes off a swallow of coffee and begins to pick up her satchel, "I am glad you're up because I need to get home and shower before my meeting."

She pauses for a moment before she sets her coffee mug down and allows you to walk her to the front door. She opens her mouth several times like she is going to say something but nothing comes out.

"Thanks for staying last night Santana," you manage to say quietly as you unlock the door.

"Any time, Brittany," she says to you and stops. She is waiting for you to meet her eyes and when you do she continues. "I mean it."

"I'll be in touch later on today. I know you have been doing a lot of paperwork at the office and I would ask that you continue to do that today. Don't go out into the field until we can talk tonight and see what the next move will be. Can you do that for me?"

You nod your head slowly. You're still afraid but you think you'd do whatever she asked.

"Be careful today Brittany because we don't know what we're dealing with yet. It's been several weeks since the shooting with no additional attempts on your life which leads me to believe it isn't personal but we just don't know. I don't want you taking any risks in case I'm wrong."

You lean against the door frame as she walks out.

"You're important to us," she reminds you.

"I know, I know," you tell her with a sigh. "An important asset." You try not to sound bitter at the words.

She stops on the sidewalk next to her car. "You could never be just an asset, Brittany," she says. She doesn't wait for you to reply as she gets in a starts the engine.

You shut the door, lock it and lean against it before letting out a shaky laugh. The blush on your ears is more prominent than ever. Lucky for you she can't see it.

/

It's 2:50 and your hand is already cramping from the typing and writing. Your brain is cramping from the bullshit work. But you made a promise so here you are.

"Pierce," you hear your name called from the general area that is Captain Schuester's office, "can you come in for a few minutes?"

You welcome the break and walk into his office, moving to shut the door. "No need," he tells you as he motions for you to have a seat.

"Brittany, I wanted to chat with you and thank you for being so cooperative in handling the transition back to active duty. I know you hate being behind the desk all day."

You laugh aloud because here you've been begging to get back out there and the one day you made a promise not to do so is the day the Captain wants to start talking about it.

"But," he continues ignoring your sarcastic outburst, "as you know Sam is not going to be able to come back for 6-8 weeks given his injury and his rehab so I am assigning you a new partner."

"What? Wait a minute Captain," you are trying to not be loud because he left the door open probably on purpose so you would have to show some restraint. "I am not interested in taking some green new guy fresh on the streets to train him for a few months until Sam gets back. It's…."

"Pierce," Schuester stops you mid-sentence and stands up behind his desk, "first of all Danny has over five years as a detective and comes highly recommend from the 47th precinct. And second," he finishes motioning to someone over your shoulder, "Danny is female."

You're still facing your Captain when you begin to hear the faintest murmurs of the other detectives on the floor. Jesus did someone just whistle?

Fucking pigs.

You cannot hide your disdain for this entire situation when you mumble to Schuester, "What kind of girl goes by the name Danny?"

You should have known your big mouth would get you into trouble.

"Actually," the female voice tells you as you hear the soft click of the office door behind you, "it's Dani with an 'I'." You stand and turn at the same time.

You barely hear Schuester as he introduces you. "Brittany Pierce, meet your partner for the next two months, Detective Dani Star."

"Pleasure meeting you, Detective Pierce," Dani says extending her hand for you to shake.

"Likewise," you say on auto pilot. You don't even remember bringing your hand up to return the gesture.

You're too taken aback by the one fact that even your Captain doesn't know

You're shaking hands with one Lieutenant Santana Lopez.