Summary: Santana works for the Central Intelligence Agency, assigned to take down rogue operative B. Pierce. This is their story.
A/N: Some terms that you may or may not know. I suggest you read these before you read the chapter unless you play Call of Duty and watch tons of action movies.
Safety on a Gun: It's a switch on pistols that you have to move over if you want to shoot, without it moved you can't shoot. Obviously a safety precaution.
The Pit: Training grounds and home base for future CIA agents as a meeting place.
This one has been pulling at my brainsack for the past month and it's about time i write it out. Brittany may seem OOC this first chapter but, you'll see real Britty soon. I debated a long time of who to make the criminal and at first, it seemed obvious that Brittany should play good cop and Santana be the rogue but I started writing and this seemed more appropriate.
Prologue: Next Time
"Stop." Santana said and pointed the gun at Brittany, her figure between the iron sights.
Brittany paused only momentarily, slipping her cellphone into her pocket and brushing a couple strands of hair confidently past her shoulders as she turned to Santana. "Lopez", she acknowledged half heartedly. "You're good."
"Drop the gun, Pierce." Brittany did and Santana only grew more restless. The blonde rarely did as she was told and if she did, there was motive behind it.
As if sensing Santana's increase in tension, Brittany sought to draw more and more of it by waking several steps forward. "I'll shoot you," Santana warned.
"Do it," Brittany challenged, walking evenly paced still, wearing that smirk that only she knew how to wear. She paused only a two steps before her chest would have been point blank with Santana's gun. A long pregnant silence stretched between them before either one spoke. Santana's eyes never left the blonde's because she wasn't going to make that mistake again. "See? You won't do it."
"I will."
Brittany snorted, leaning forward slightly, voice dropping into a seductive whisper, "Sweetie, your gun is still on safety."
As soon as those words had left her mouth, leaving Santana momentarily paralyzed in shock, horror and- dare she say it- embarrassed, Brittany moved, slamming her hand on the other girl's, effectively knocking the gun out of their reach. "My assets are too important to you to jeopardize," she smirked, aware of the double entendre, "Or did Shuester request to bring me in alive? Or was that you trying not to hurt me? Maybe a Freudian slip?"
Santana ignored the taunts, focusing on dodging the Brittany's moves. She wasn't quick, not as quick as Santana was, but Brittany was smooth and strong, like a willow tree on a windy day. Should she land a hit it would leave more than a bruise, as Santana learned from their previous encounters.
"You never were good with the guns during our days in the Pit though San." Brittany laughed, ducking to avoid Santana's infamous right hook, " I remember when you shot Puckerman in the ass."
Santana gritted her teeth, trying not to get distracted by Brittany's words, choosing to focus on avoiding the next sets of melees and punches. "You know?" Brittany asked, eyes shimmering in the setting sun as if she enjoyed this, "I think, if things had turned out differently, you and I would have been great friends."
Santana made the mistake of scoffing at the egotistical assumption, the moment her mind metered even slightly from the problem at hand, she knew she had lost.
It's like always like this, Santana noted painfully as flawless white knuckles came into contact with her jaw, she makes the mistake of being drawn into those small comments, taunts, sexual perverses, reacting even the slightest of Brittany's remarks and she's sucked in. Into blue eyes and innocent-secretive smiles, threads of gold hair, the world seemed to darken to just Brittany in front of her before expanding, filling it up with nothing but fine, long limbs and- Brittany landed another punch just above her chest, sending her flying back.
The pain flared then receded into the back of her mind far too quickly. It should've hurt more right now, as should her jaw and her aching feet and the cut on her leg that has stung for the past half hour but it doesn't. Santana only faintly recalled the smell of vanilla and lavender, the hotel's bar soap, as she stepped back and regained her footing.
She pushed at the invasive world, reminding herself that Brittany S. Pierce was just another agent gone rogue and she's done this before. Like putting down a rabies infested dog, the agency has a splinter and Santana Lopez is the girl they call. But there is just this with Brittany, this that is something in those cat like eyes that challenged all the control she had taught herself, this that pushed at the boundaries of her sanity threatening to break all thresholds in her mind the moment she acknowledged Brittany as Brittany and not just a job.
She's sure that Brittany knew this too.
Santana fought it though, refocusing on the movements of arms and legs. She doesn't need to beat Brittany at this, she just needed to hold out long enough for the team to find her. Still, when Brittany heaved forward a little too far, leaving an opening, Santana took the opportunity to get even with her.
And failed.
Her aim missed Brittany's side and it's only when Brittany sidestepped it to gracefully grab hold of the attacking arm and bend it behind her back that she realized it was a trap. It's too late though, even as Santana jabbed her elbow backwards hoping to strike Brittany, they were taught this their first year in the Pit, a simple bait and switch move to lure your overconfident enemy into attacking and then using that to turn around and put them in a bind.
It was a stupid move.
It was stupid and simple but too damn effective move because Brittany has both her arms painfully twisted behind her back. Santana bit her tongue, swallowing back any sounds of pain.
"Agent Lopez." Brittany sing songed, breath brushing against the shell of Santana's ear. "Top of her class, barely twenty five of age and already one of the CIA's top agent and I have the honor of surviving your terrors not once or twice but three times."
"You should feel honored," Santana gruffed, poignantly ignoring the swell of breasts that was resting against her back, "I typically don't have to grace my target's presence that often."
"See? You and I could've totally been friends." Brittany laughed, all clear and pure, "Do I get a complimentary bouquet from you the next we meet then?"
Next time? Santana thought as Brittany's hand traveled to the juncture between her shoulder and neck, expertly finding her pressure point and pressing down hard. The last thing Santana recalled before blacking out was the brush of a pair of lips, barely grazing her cheek.
If you have an higher level literary skills/experience, you'll realize that this scene is a direct parllelism of a sex scene only toned down.
Tell me what you think. Next chapter will be longer. -Jules
