Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Despite Quinn's protests, Santana decides to visit the address Brittany had given her. She couldn't find any job. So while waiting for the committee's decision, she might as well just start practicing law.

She can't mope and wait around forever.

She's surprised to see that Brittany's office is located at a prime building in Manhattan. Not only that, the two rooms that she's offering at five hundred dollars a month is a bargain. She knows that. She knows she could never find any place elsewhere for that amount. Hell, Brittany might as well just give it to her for free.

"I don't think I'll need two rooms." She states.

"Oh. Okay then. Which one do you prefer?" Brittany asks.

"The smaller one."

"Okay."

"How much would that be?"

"Uh. 150."

"Look, Britt. I appreciate what you're doing, but please don't treat me like an imbecile fool who can't pay for anything."

"I'm not. It's just, the two rooms were for five hundred. But this is smaller. So it shouldn't be divided equally."

"Right."

"How about a deal, San? When your business starts rolling, we'll talk about an increase. How does that sound?"

"I'll take it."

"Perfect. When do you want to move your things in? I have someone who will help you."

"No need. Quinn will be the one who'll set up the office tomorrow. But thanks anyway."

"Uh. That's cool."

"I'll come back with the rent. Thank you, Brittany."

"Anytime."

Brittany gave Santana the sign that bears her name which the two later place at the lawyer's door.

Santana Lopez

Attorney at Law

They both watch the sign with mixed feelings - one has disbelief written all over her face, the other has a look of pride.

Now that she has an office, the only thing that's missing are the clients.

After selling her class ring (and that watch that her father gave her on her 18th birthday) to pay for a couple of months' rent (both her office and apartment), she decides that it's time to get back on her feet. No longer able to afford even the cheapest meals, she would drink coffee and a slice of wheat bread for breakfast, and the same bread for dinner. She doesn't eat lunch.

For the next couple of days, she will come to her office by 8 am and just watch the clock (provided by Brittany after she insisted that every 'tenant' gets one) hit the five p.m. mark. There will be no client.

Not a single one.

Then, dejectedly, she'll lock her door and go back home or crash at Quinn's apartment.

The pattern continued for a couple more days, only this time, she would find Brittany's secretary coming in during fixed intervals - 9 am, 12 noon and 3 pm - each time holding a container of snacks, lunch, soup or sandwiches and her favorite coffee. When confronted as to why she knows what her favorite coffee is, Candice, the secretary, offers a shrug and a nonchalant 'It's my favorite, so I thought I'd buy you one. Didn't know you'd like it too. So.'

At the start of her second week, she receives a call from Georgia Smith.

"Good morning Atty. Smith." She answers nervously.

"Good morning Miss Lopez. How are you doing?"

"I've been better, but thank you for asking."

"This will be quick. After our talk, I recommended that the disbarment proceedings against you be dropped. Now after that, the committee members deliberated and the official decision has been reached today. Miss Lopez, I'm happy to inform you that the disbarment proceedings has been dropped. You may proceed with your practice."

Santana closes her eyes and offered a heartfelt prayer. "This means a lot to me. Thank you so much."

"Don't. Thanking me would mean I've done it for you. I just did my job, Miss Lopez."

"I know. But still, thank you."

"Can I know if you intend to practice law here in New York?"

"Yes. May I ask why, Ma'am?" She asks in confusion.

"Just a word of caution. The District Attorney is not happy with our decision. I can't tell you the exact words but he wants me to deliver a message to you in case you decide to practice here."

"What is it, Ma'am?" She grabs her pen, needing something to release her stress on to.

"He said and I quote, "I will wipe her out". Or something to that effect."

"Message received Madam." Santana chuckles dryly.

"Just work hard. Nothing's going to happen to you if you work hard and are honest and fair. Anyway, I have to go. I just called to break the news to you before you hear it from anybody else, as discussed before. Thank you for time and have a good day." The line went dead before Santana could thank the older lawyer further.

Santana remains rooted on her seat, eyes fixed on the clock.

She could finally start over.

Or just start, period.

The worst is over.

Or is it?

/

Santana's first client came to her office exactly a month since she moved into Brittany's floor. He wants Santana to handle a probate.

Ryan Mitts looks eerily familiar but she can't seem to place him. Santana's positive she's seen him before, but she has rack her brains out and came up empty-handed.

"So, can you help me?" He asks, not looking directly at the lawyer.

"Of course. Are you the sole executor?"

"Yes."

"Any challenges to the will?"

"None that I know of."

"Great. I'll look into the will and all the corresponding taxes. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Cool. I'll meet you at your office tomorrow. 9 am good?"

"That's good."

"Alright." He smiles at Santana and hurriedly heads for the door.

"Sorry, but I just can't shake this feeling that I know you. Have we met before?" The lawyers questions.

"No. We haven't." Ryan answers swiftly.

"I guess. Sorry." He offers her another awkward glance before nodding curtly and exiting her office.

/

Santana gets another case a week later, this time, an altercation case between two affluent men (boys).

"Alright Mr. Benson, I understand that you want to file a case against Matthew Camp. Now please tell me what happened at the bar that night."

James Benson retells the story of the fight that caused damages to his face and limbs.

"He started it?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Do you know him before the incident?"

"Yes Ma'am. We went to the same college years ago."

"And you've been involved in fights before? With him?"

"Little fights, mostly verbal. We never really got to the point where we physically attacked each other."

"Until last night."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Have you done anything that warrants such a reaction from Mr. Camp?"

"No, Ma'am I haven't. We just really didn't like each other from the get go. Or maybe, it has something to do with us being business competitors. We both own restaurants, adjacent to each other."

"I see. I understand that this happened two nights ago. Did you file a police report?"

"Yeah."

"Have you went to the doctor to get a medical report?"

"Yes."

"At least your sense hasn't been completely knocked out of your head." She mutters under her breath,

"Sorry, Atty. Lopez?"

"Nothing. Anyway, where did you hear about me?"

"You're a bit popular on the streets." He answers shyly, albeit evasively.

"Hmm. I'm not listed in any directory or something. I just got this office a month ago. How did you find me?"

"Uh. From a friend?"

"From a friend. Tell me, do I know this friend of yours?" James gulps before answering.

"No, Atty. Lopez. I think she - no he, he just heard it from a friend of a friend or something." He fidgets in his chair.

"Okay. I'll work on this case and I'll get back to you tomorrow. For now, please stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Right. I will."

/

Santana confronted Quinn about her suspicions.

"Don't lie to me, Fabray. You sent those guys, didn't you?"

"What guys?"

"The clients?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't sent one soul to your office."

"You're not lying."

"Of course I'm not."

"But why would those affluent men choose me to handle their cases?"

"I don't know, Santana. Maybe that's because those news had a tiny part mentioning your educational background and achievements? They weren't all bad, I tell you."

"Right."

"Look. They went to you because they thought you're the best person for the job. End of discussion. By the way, have you seen Schuester's interview about his plans for next year's elections? Man was livid! The reporter kept on shoving the poll numbers on his face. He's trailing by 5 points behind me, by the way."

"Ugh. I don't want to hear that name. I just came out of the nightmare that is Will Schuester and I don't intend on reliving it."

Similar cases came to Santana's office in the coming weeks. She should be happy. She's starting to get her own clients, a couple of them coming back for some more cases or simple legal advices. Yet she craves that courtroom thrill. More often than not, her cases didn't reach the court. She was able to settle them off court (which is technically good) but Santana yearns for more. She wants to be like her Dad, representing the poor and marginalized. Now, she feels like she's doing him a disservice - having rich clients, and most of all, tainting his good name after the controversy she got into.

One morning, on her second month at her own practice, she gets a visit from an old friend.

"Noah?"

"Hey Lopez." Noah Puckerman walks towards his old flame and friend and hugs her.

"It's really you. What happened to your mohawk?" She teases as her eyes landed on him. The years have been good on Puck. He looks different, more proper. He's wearing a light blue long sleeves, tucked in his well-pressed jeans and nicely polished leather shoes.

"I've outgrown my mohawk." He laughs sheepishly.

"Please sit down. I can only offer you water. Things aren't as good as I expected them to be." She kids.

"No, it's okay. Do you have an appointment or something? It's almost lunch time. Let's go out?"

"I'm waiting for the twist."

"What twist?"

"Are you for real? You're not going to say something stupid or perverted?"

"Nah." He laughs. "Not me anymore."

"What happened to you."

"Can we talk about it over lunch? I'm starving."

"Fine. Let me just -."

"And don't bring any money. I'm paying." Santana narrows her eyes at him.

"I can't help but be scared, Noah. The last time you took me to lunch, we ended up ditching because you had no money!" Puck gamely grabs his wallet and pulls out a couple of bills.

"I have money now, trust me. No more ditching."

"Fine. Just know that if you do something wrong, I'll be sure to put you in jail."

"Got it." The two walk out of the lawyer's office and decided to dine at the nearby restaurant, Back Door, a diner that prides itself with giving the customers a private dining experience. After ordering, Santana starts to question Puck.

"So what do you do now?"

"You really didn't keep tabs with anyone, did you?" He sneers.

"I was busy!" Santana defends herself, causing Noah to smile affectionately at her.

"Yeah, yeah! College and Law School." He says, making a face. "Anyway, after highschool, you know I went to LA right?" Santana nods, motioning for Puck to continue. "Well, things didn't work out as I expected them to. I pretty much worked all the odd jobs you could think of. Then I got into modelling about three years after highschool. Nothing fancy, but they helped pay the bills. Then I got cast for a music video of an up and coming artist. We were goofing around during the shoot and the producers heard me singing. Long story short, they signed me up, I put out an album, it flopped big time. They offered me a job in the label instead and I started out writing songs with them until they promoted me to one of their music execs. I look for new talents and help out in putting out all those songs."

"Wow Noah! That's wonderful!"

"You're one to talk! Harvard and Yale? Now you're a lawyer." He says with pride in his voice. He dated Santana briefly in highschool and despite their relationship not working out (something he will honestly admit was his fault to anyone who asks), he genuinely cared for Santana. He still does. He knew even back then that the girl will be destined for greater things. When Santana dated Brittany, Puck was a personal witness to something epic. He was hurt when he saw Santana so devastated.

"It was a helluva rough time, Noah. I'm sure you know why." She looks at him knowingly.

"Of course. I watched the news everyday since it broke out. I wanted to call you but I couldn't get your number. I tried contacting Quinn but I think that woman never checks her phone."

"She was in London and as soon as she returned, she closed her personal phone because people would not stop bothering her."

"I never believed Schuester, you know? He looks so greasy, he scares me." He crunches his face in disgust, earning a few chuckles from the woman in front of her.

"Gross. And how did you find me, by the way?"

"I flew to Lima and asked your Mom." Santana's eyes widen at the information.

"Really?"

"Like, I begged, woman! She caved in. Said you specifically requested that she doesn't give out your address because you need some space."

"I haven't come home for a while now."

"She's doing great, San. Looks amazing too." He offers sincerely.

"That's good to hear." Their food arrives, stopping their conversation momentarily. As soon as the waitress left, they talk some more; catching up.

"You know, I'm still waiting for the real reason you're here." Santana ribs. "Come on, I know you wanted to see how I am, but you could have just called me. Mom would not have given you my address if it's not urgent."

Puck clears his throat and looks into Santana's eyes. He's busted, not because he's too easy to read, but because Santana always knows when somebody's lying. It's like her gift.

"I need your help -."

"I knew it!" She fist-pumps, as if getting the answer to a difficult Quiz Bee question.

"Well, not really for me."

"Your girlfriend? Your mom?"

"No. My mother's dead, by the way. Four years ago. Lung cancer."

"Oh shit. I'm sorry, Noah."

"It's cool. I just sometimes wish that she'd live to see me today, you know? She only saw the mess that was me." He smiles remorsefully.

"She's definitely proud of you. What's important is the now."

"This is getting depressing."

"I know. So come on! What do you need?"

"It's Lauren actually..."

"Lauren? As in Zizes? Who did she beat this time?"

"It's serious, Santana."

"Fine. Tell me what happened."

"We got back together after highschool -."

"Gross."

"Will you listen?"

"Uh oh."

"We lived in LA for a while but then broke up again -."

"Inevitably."

"And she moved to New York. I had no idea what happened to her until about a month ago. Her sister looked for me in LA to ask for my help. Santana, Lauren's in jail."

"Where?" Santana turns serious.

"Bedford Hills."

"Offense?"

"She's serving jail for assault of her landlady. Six months. She has already served four months of her sentence."

"Assault?"

"Look, Santana. When we were in LA, she changed. Like, really changed. But when she got here in New York, she got involved with bad people. Like, very bad people. Think: Highschool me but a hundred times worse. She robbed stores and got into fights. She was also an underground fighter - you know? People beating each other up for money?"

"Of course I know what that is!"

"Sorry."

"So she's serving jail. She has two months left. What do you want me to do? Bring her out? Let her complete her sentence, Noah. That might soften her up."

"You don't get it, Lopez." Puck mutters lowly. "Listen to me. While inside Bedford, she killed a fellow inmate. She's facing the death penalty. I've visited her and she insisted that it was self-defense."

"What the actual fuck, Noah?"

"I've talked to a bunch of lawyers already and nobody would take the case. Please, Santana? You're the only one who can help her." He pleads.

"Is there any witness to the murder?"

"Yeah. About a hundred. It happened in the grounds, while they were exercising."

"No."

"Santana -."

"No Noah! Do you have any idea what you're asking of me? You're asking me to get into another war while I'm still recuperating from a bomb explosion! I suffered from all the media lambasting and I have yet to move on from that and now you want me to defend a murderer. You might as well shoot me, Noah. Can't you see the media circus that will accompany that case?"

"Please, Santana. I'm sorry. But I know that you're the only person who can help her."

"I'm sorry, Noah. I want to help, but I will not represent her."

"It was self-defense, Santana."

"Can the one hundred witnesses say that?"

"Can you take a look at it, please? I'm begging you. I'l pay for -."

"It's not about the money, Noah! God! If you only knew!"

"San -."

"This is not just about Lauren. You want me to break it down for you? I will. If I'm lucky, Schuester will take on this case because he wants to destroy me. You can look up his career record if you want some information into the way he works. That's the best case scenario. It's about humiliating me at the expense of Lauren. It's about inflicting that trauma in me as soon as Zizes dies of lethal injection because then, it will be my fault -."

"It won't -."

"No you listen. He won't give a damn about Lauren. In the end, she'll be just a pawn in his game. Do you get me, Puck? It's a lose-lose situation. It's career suicide for me and death for Zizes."

"I do. Of course I do. But I'm desperate here, Santana. You're the only person capable of defending her. I know you've always wanted to be like Miguel. He defended the marginalized - those people who nobody believed in or listened to -."

"Don't bring my father into this, Noah." Santana warns, grateful that they came in early and there are very few people in the restaurant.

"I bet my life that it was self-defense, San. Nobody believes her but me and her sister. But I'm telling you, she's not a bad person."

"You may believe that, but the only important question will be: will the jury believe that?"

"I think you can make them."

"Look, I can't promise anything. The best I could do is to take a look into it. This doesn't mean I'm representing her."

"That's more than enough to me, Santana. Thank you."

"You love her, huh?"

"I care for her." He says evasively.

"Even if you've hurt her?"

"Forget those who hurt you yesterday, but don't forget who loves you tenderly today." He says with a wink.

Santana will find herself thinking about Puck's last words. It seemed like he was speaking about Lauren.

It just felt like he wasn't.

Not really.

/

Santana's walking absentmindedly back to her office when she feels a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she sees Brittany.

"Are you okay, San?"

"Yeah. I'm just thinking."

"Hmm." Brittany nods, evidently worried. "Good lunch?"

"Yeah. Food was great."

"That was Puck, right?"

"Hmm."

"He seems, uh, matured and uh, tamed." Santana chuckles and Brittany knows she'll do anything to hear that sound again. Before they know it, they've reached their respective doors. Santana's hand is on the knob, Puck's words echoing in her head.

"Forget those who hurt you yesterday, but don't forget who loves you tenderly today."

"Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you really do?"

"You mean my work?"

"Yes."

"Well, I give out information to my clients."

"What kind of information?"

"Whatever they need." She answers, noticing Santana's eyes glowing. "Why? Do you need anything? I can..." She trails on, unsure of what Santana really wants.

"Do you know Lauren Zizes?"

"No. But I can. You know, know her for you." Brittany mentally slapped herself for being incoherent. "Do you want to come inside my office and discuss it? That is, if you're not doing something or meeting someone."

"Nah. My next meeting is at 4. Are you sure it's okay? I mean, you must be working on something."

"It's cool. Come on in." She holds the door for Santana and waits for her to get in before closing it.

"You have a very, different, office." Santana notes. Indeed, Brittany's office is quirky and is a far cry from the traditional work office (like Santana's bare one). Children could very much love Brittany's office.

"Yeah. Bad?"

"Nah. It's so cool."

"So I'm cool?" Brittany teases, that sense of familiarity slowly creeping in.

"Yep. A little old, but cool nonetheless." Santana ribs back.

"Hey! I resent that! I'm not old."

"Yes, you are. You're 31. But it's okay. People who are 50 should have offices like this. Kinda amazeballs."

"You're not so young yourself, so stop using that word."

"I think I'll paint my office black. That'd be badass. Am I allowed to, by the way?"

"Of course. You can do anything you want." They fell into a comfortable silence until Santana breaks it.

"So. About that Zizes thing?"

"Oh yeah! Let me just get my pad and pencil."

"You still use pad and pencil?"

"Yeah. Why? It makes me feel badass, as you succinctly put it. And I think better when I write things down. So tell me about Zizes and what you want to know about her."

Santana starts with who Lauren is, why Santana wants to know things about her, and the circumstances surrounding her case. She then enumerates the questions she wants to be answered and as soon as she's done, Brittany looks at the paper pensively.

"You can't represent her, San." She says softly. "She's too...risky for your career."

"I know. I just want to take a look into it. I promised Noah that."

"Okay. Also, word on the street is that Schuester is starting a confidential file on you so he'll know every client you take on. He's going to go up against you in all the cases you'll take - big or small."

"Perfect. I just have the perfect life." Before Brittany could say anything, Candice bursts into the office with an announcement.

"Atty. Lopez, Miss Fabray has entered your office. She looks pissed."

"She always looks pissed. I'll be there, Candice, thank you."

"Anytime. Oh! And there are a couple of guys and girls who came here before lunch. I think they wanted a photo with you or something. Good thing they can't get in without the door pass. Good job, boss Brittany!"

"It's the media's fault." Brittany huffs. "Has anybody harassed you at home or wherever?"

"Yes. I moved in with Quinn because of that. A man broke into my apartment one night, trying to snoop at my files."

"Have you filed a report?" Britt asks, alarm shooting in her chest.

"Of course. Quinn and Atty. Smith had the court issue a restraining order against the guy. Apparently, he's working for some media outlet."

"Just be careful."

"I will. And Quinn's home security is topnotch. I can finally sleep."

"That's good."

"Yeah. Anyway, I gotta go. Thank you for your help, Britt."

"Anytime. And please, don't take the case."

"Hmm."

Brittany looks at Santana's retreating form anxiously. She has enough reason to worry. When they were talking, Santana had that look in her eyes. Brittany knows that if she sees an opening - no matter how tiny or almost impossible it is - she's going to dive in.

And from what she's been hearing about Will Schuester, he's just waiting for his own opening too.

He'll be like a ferocious tiger waiting for his prey.

/

Notes:

1.) In this story, Puck and Quinn did not date, ergo, no Beth.

2.) New York does not have a death penalty at the moment. For this story however, death penalty is practiced.

Let me know what you think! All errors are my fault :P