A/N

This is my first …anything, fanfiction, attempt at putting thing up literature-wise online…so yeah. I'm a complete amateur and I crave constructive criticism. Enjoy whatever lies below my fellow shippers.

:D

Links- Tell me if they don't work: (Change the first p in pttp to an 'h' and the first p in ppg to a 'j' for both links)

Santana's Uniform (Imagine it on a girl. XP)-

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Brittany's Ride-

. /2010/04/07/1293282/FordGTHO2_

Thoughts are in italics

P.S – My inspiration came in part from the song Mrs. Officer by Lil Wayne...yeah…lol

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with FOX, Glee, any of the people that are part of the "crew", or any of the actors/actresses mentioned in this story. I am not making profit in any way from this.

"- the details on Pierce are in the email I sent you. Also, be careful. She is manipulative…Officer Lopez, do you copy?" the question snapped Santana out of her daydream of going home and enjoying the carnitas and spicy tamale soup she was planning on preparing tonight , quickly blinking away her confusion she picks up her dispatcher and replies, "Yes. I'll be on the lookout for this….Britney Spears person?"

A sigh comes from her lieutenant from her mocking tone, "Brittany. Pierce." He quipped, clearly not amused. She shrugs a small smirk on her face from her little joke. "We had a source give us a concrete lead on her and she is due to pass by you in about 2 hours. Read your email immediately. This is serious, Lopez. Over."

The officer just rolls her eyes, checking her appearance in the mirror and running her fingers through her inky black hair, before saying a quick reply into the walkie. The girl looks around the dinky car repair shop she's stopped in front of to pay "full attention" to the details on this special objective for her. She honestly doesn't know why they couldn't let someone else do this. If this criminal was really as badass as they say then how come they didn't send a big shot F.B.I dude to handle it and not some small town Ohio cop.

Reglossing her lips in the reflection of the rearview mirror, "This is probably the most action this crappy little town has gotten in 50 years," she murmurs glancing out the window at the nearly empty streets and small shops. The girl concludes this whole thing has been exaggerated by the small minded people here. Putting her makeup in her glove box and pushing her aviators down from her hair onto her nose, she remembers her email and begrudgingly starts up the slow computer nestled in the spot where the radio should be. Another reason it's hard to not be bored when she has to be posted somewhere.

About 10 minutes later, she is reading her email and she doesn't think her eyebrows have raised this high since she found out Manhands and Pillsbury Slowboy were getting hitched in high school and wanted her to be a bridesmaid. Blowing out her breath she begins to feel a bit nervous. What if this is truly a huge problem she is responsible for? I mean this is some T.V show shit right here. Going over her email again she lets her dark brown orbs linger on the words, "largest drug lord in North America, only second to Ricardo Paschinas who is supposedly in hiding in Brazil." Nibbling her lip she cuts her eyes to the sign above the shop, why would a criminal that huge want to come to Hummel's Tires and Lube for, she thinks. Looking at the time she stiffens, only around an hour left. Scrolling down she reads the description of said drug lord.

Her jaw has never dropped so fast. Blonde, tall, slim and toned, female. Defining features: seems to have infatuation with ducks, pandas, (Lord Tubbington), and unicorns. Attitude: seems innocent and odd but upon further speculation is decidedly intelligent. Transportation: car changes every day, usually is found on the side of the road; deserted. Also travels by jet.

Brittany S. Pierce is the most wanted criminal in America since 1936. In short, her along with a few accomplices have created a new drug that causes heightened senses and accelerated thinking. The drug supposedly cures autism and some forms of cancer. Brittany and 4 others were first targeted by federal police when caught slipping doses to hospital patients on October 3, 2011. The patients were tested and though diseased patients only improved mentally, mentally challenged and cancerous patients were cured physically and improved mentally. Side effects of drug are unknown and this could in fact be a form of terrorism. Since then the drug has been traded in the black market but has not yet been picked up by ordinary street drug dealers. The money this group has made is unknown but is estimated to be around 800 million dollars that year.

"Holy Fuck," Santana breathes. A link was provided at the bottom of the page. Adjusting her position in her seat she contemplates clicking the link but seeing as her mind has already been fried, she's not sure if she can handle anything else right now. The information is turning around in her head and she can't bring herself to form an opinion on what she's read except that its… a big deal and if she's being truthful kind of amazing.

Starting her police car, she hibernates her computer, and pulls out of the parking lot of the shop. She drives to the back of the building and slightly off the road to hide the car behind some shrubbery. She convinces herself it's for her cover and not because she's terrified right now. Cutting her engine, she turns on her personal walkie and steps out of the car. Running her hands down her uniform she straightens her shirt and pants, tightens her holster belt and runs a finger over her Taser, going through a mental checklist. Looking down her side at her two pairs of handcuffs, she then pats her gun and lastly she looks in the reflection of her window. She nods her head; she knows is one of the few officers that can pull off this uniform. Checking her watch the person is supposed to turn up in 15 minutes, frowning she contemplates calling Puck, her fellow officer, and telling him that she can't do this. Rolling her shoulders, she thinks of her strengths. She's badass and all and.. impressively strong for her size, not to mention her aim is ridiculously good.

"I'm Santana Lopez. I'm hot, fearless, and….terrified." She shakes her head wondering for not the first time how she ended up doing this as a career. It was just supposed to be a hold over job until she could afford to attend school in New York to become a famous singer and performer and now, this. She doesn't think she can wrap her mind around this situation under the pressure but what she does know is that she needs to do what she can; she also doesn't let her mind wonder to the ramifications of if she fails this mission. She may not care about this job but she does care about her rep and people's lives.

Leaning against her car, she lets her mind wonder back to link. She can't help but wonder what she's really up against….or that's what she tells herself.

2 minutes later she is starting up her computer again, tapping her fingers on the wheel and twirling the end of ponytail around her finger as she waits for Windows to resume. Soon enough the link is there in front of her, she hovers the mouse over it before clicking it.

A picture of the blonde is shown in high quality, slowly revealing itself from top to bottom. The plain white background with her name, height, and weight printed to right convinces her that this is "Brittany's" most wanted picture. Blonde hair is beginning to show and Santana cusses at the sluggishness of the computer. Every inch that slowly loads makes her more and more impatient to see the woman. A smooth pale forehead is shown before her eyebrows are. Next are her eyes, which cause Santana to inhale swiftly. They were…extraordinary. She finds herself staring at them so long she doesn't notice the rest of the picture loading. Unwillingly she lets herself admit that they are the most perfect, brilliant blue she's ever seen, dropping her eyes down she sees a straight nose sprinkled with freckles and smiling pink lips underneath. Shifting her eyes to her cheeks, freckles were also sprinkled lightly there. Pearly white teeth are displayed with the sharp points of her canines just above her slightly fuller bottom lip. Staring at her face, Santana swallows thickly. At the corner of the blondes upper lip was a small mole. …Fuck. Pressing the down arrow, the column of girl's pale neck is shown and Santana's eyebrows furrow as she studies the image. A deep looking single red scratch mares the left side of the girl's neck which continues down her chest and into the tattered collar of her tanktop, scrolling down to the bottom of the page the complete damage to the shirt is exposed. Small holes and loose strings littered the sides of her shirt near her ribs and a large rip exhibited the girl's abs with a newly formed bruise beside her bellybutton. Long pale fingers with rainbow nails gripped the hem of the obscenely short shorts the blonde donned and the officer could not stop her eyes from tracing up the girl's frame, to her trim arms and down her toned legs. Lastly, the Latina's eyes come to rest on the girl's feet that appear to be clad in some sort of house shoes that have panda heads attached. Weird, she doesn't look like a perp. She looks like a model.

Taking a long blink to process what she'd seen, the officer closed the window and flopped back into her seat. It's pretty rare I see someone who I think is hotter than me…but damn, she gives me a run for my money. I think I maybe could take her, with a taser, because her muscles are a bit intimidating and from her height she has a good 4 inches on me, pretty tall for a woman. Instead of leering, I should be analyzing this situation the best that I can, this…woman could truly be dangerous, and if so it's pretty sick to use people as guinea pigs, especially when they are already with an ailment. Straightening her shoulders, Santana gathers her professionalism, pride, and confidence. Glancing at the clock she realizes the suspect is due to arrive in around 3 minutes and as her mind tries to relapse into disbelief and panic, even a hint of nervousness?... a sense of responsibility washes over her and she composes herself.

Grabbing her dispatcher she updates her lieutenant, knowing he was probably pulling out the few hairs he does have out waiting on her confirmations. "Lopez- Code: 10-84, and I need verification on if I need a 10-85 or should be prepared for a 10-88?"

Holding onto the dispatcher Santana exits the car peering through the brush for any vehicles nearing Burt's shop. Nibbling her lip, she ponders a way to either gather information or arrest her, obviously it's not going to be easy if she hasn't been captured yet.

"Unfortunately you need to be ready for anything, but I have squad posted adjacent to the Wal-Mart on Pine Lane so if we have an 88 then try to lead her there" The brunette nods her head, he continues, "also please just do whatever you can to get anything on this perp. The entire force is at a loss on how to get a handle on this situation. Which is usually common with an OC but this is one of the biggest since the 1940's"

"Copy, Loo. I'll do my best. Do you I need to use my number now?" "Yeah."

She waited for him to repeat her number to her but all she received was silence. Impatiently she squinted; she didn't want to be talking when the perp arrived.

"You know the worst thing that happens in this town is petty shoplifting and tows, so…you know I don't remember my number right?"

A chuckle could be heard over the receiver "098."

"Copy." Putting the walkie back in its slot she cut the engine of her car and pocketed the keys. Closing the door, she walks to the edge of the tree line and turns on her portable walkie. "098, 098, 098," She mumbles to herself quietly.

Jolting, she remember the notepad the resides on her belt, pulling it out she jots down the 3 numbers before tires on gravel cause her narrowed eyes to turn to the driveway. Placing the notepad back on her belt, the brunette immediately takes in the vehicle itself.

Her jaw absolutely drops.

She takes a moment to appreciate the car. Raising her eyebrows she eyes the car. "Nice." She drawls. Furrowing her eyebrows notices it looks somewhat familiar; she goes through her mind trying to name the car on instinct, a habit she gained from hanging around her older brothers, as she observes the body and shape of the car. Popping a piece of gum into her mouth, she chews slowly.

…this is definitely a Ford Falcon, but I'm not sure if it's a GTHO or a GTHT but its headlights are too modern. And it's too wide to be a Phase 2…so a Phase 3? Who even has….must be some collector, Phase 3's are only in Australia and Europe right now. Shaking her head, she huffs. That's a damn nice car. The Officer frowns at her lack of concentration and shifts her eyes around in fear that during her eyesex with the car she missed other cars passing.

Not hearing any other sounds, satisfied, Santana looks back to the Falcon, tilting her head as she tries to catch a glance of who is behind the wheel. Expecting the typical collector, an aged man, her eyes widen impossibly as a shock of long blonde hair and a smooth pale face invade her vision.

Realizing who is behind the wheel, hyperventilating, the Latina snatches at her dispatcher, "I have an 86, Loo. At 5:06." "Copy," is uttered quickly back at her.

Clenching her fists, she stares at the car, the side windows are tinted but she can make out movement. Stiffening, watches silently as the car parks near the front, just out of her sight. Easing out of her hiding spot behind a tree, she walks briskly around the back of the building to peer around the side. Now that she is closer, she can hear…laughter? Straining her ears she hears what sounds like someone singing badly over music. Just as she is about the inch closer to crouch behind a vending machine, the music stops and the purring of the engine ends abruptly.

Jesus. Don't let them come over this way.

Gulping, nearly swallowing her gum, the officer shifts to press her back against the wall just before 3 cars doors are opened and closed, feeling adrenaline seep through her veins; her logic, shaky from nervousness, becomes sharper.

I need to check her car out.

Light chatter that she can't make out gently ebbs away as the suspected 3 people enter the garage, only a couple words can be discerned.

"-Kurt and Burt rhyme I just noticed that-", "-stuff works-", "-excited, right? -", "-bacon-"

Santana can't make sense of the words. When the talking can no longer be heard she waits a few beats before she decides to make her move for the car. Running as quietly as she could across gravel, she approaches the car and crouches. Raising slightly the determined officer attempts to look out the window shes next to, but its tint doesn't allow her to see the other side. Frowning she slowly moves to close to the trunk of the car and peers over the side.

Thank God. All Clear.

Keeping her eyes on the empty garage, she reasons they must have went inside the shop. She takes her walkie off of her belt and whispers. "098 here. I need a 10-84."

"Copy." Flinching she turns the volume down on her device. Her eyes dart around making sure no was around before, she crouches back down and leans to read the license plate number.

"934-UN1" I read. Pressing down the button I repeat the numbers into the dispatcher. "State?"

I look above the numbers. "Loo, it only says ACT."

For a couple moments all that could be heard was the window blowing, habitually she started chewing on her gum, wishing he could hurry up. Santana knew his computer was probably just as slow as hers.

"-Alright, Purty Burty." A deep laugh could be heard. "Thank you like..so much. This was literally the only place I could go in America for help with Sugar."

Santana's eyes widened. They were nearing the door. Scrambling up, she frantically looked for a place to remain undiscovered. Pressing her lips together she looked at the space between the car and ground. Wincing as she looked towards the garage, considering just running back to her cherry top. As the creak of the door sounded, the wide-eyed girl scurried underneath the car.

Breathing hard, she squeezes her eyes tight and says a small prayer. She had no idea what these people are truly capable of. They could capture her and do experiment on her. A shudder runs down her back. Panting she stares at the door from her limited perspective, the door opens and a pair of worn boots come into sight.

….hold on. Burt knows her? Why hasn't he turned her in? I need to talk to him a.s.a.p. I can't believe he's participating in helping her…

Next a pair of flawless boots appears beside the worn ones, it's obviously Kurt, Burt's son, who is gayer than anything…ever. 3 pairs of shoes appear after, a pair of cutesy polka dot flats, black and white converse, and a pair of semi-formal shoes.

"Well, Lets go, guys. You know we can't really be anywhere for too long." I laid back female voice sounded out, seemingly coming from the direction of the flats.

"Puh-lease. I think we're pretty safe in "Lama-a" Ohio." The dude in the formal shoes responds.

Everyone seems to laugh at that before a quiet but sensual voice chipped in, flawless, sounding as if the person was either right on the cusp of hoarseness or huskiness. Brown eyes cut to the converse and stared. It was her.

The conversation could hardly be heard over Santana's pounding heart. A few more words were spoken and a couple thank you's were exchanges, mostly from the quiet voice before the shoes shuffled away and all that remained was the lone pair of converse sneakers.

When Burt's car pulled out of the driveway, the shoes still remained and she grew paranoid.

Does she know I'm here?

After around a minute, the shoes turned and went back into the building. "Need my keys.." the girl thought out loud.

Santana frowned.

….oh no.

As soon as the door closed, Santana wriggled and tried the drag herself from underneath the car. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on her neck from the heat beneath the car, at the exact moment she was about to roll from under the car. Static screeched from her walkie. Gasping her fumbling hands reach under herself to turn it off, but there isn't enough room to slide her hand down.

"098?" She grimaces. "Vehicle is in fact, stolen. It is under the name Heather Morris, though it hasn't been reported missing. Over."

Painfully, Santana turns onto her back, gravel digging into her spine and palms as she does so. Reaching down, the frantic girl cuts the switch on her walkie, taking a damp, hot breath.

Finally. She thinks.

But then, the door opens and the converse shoes are walking briskly across the threshold.

Santana's heart stops and she holds her breath, praying. She's never been this terrified.

"…yeah, that's why I said we should meet her from now on. Like no one comes over here…I think its because they don't want to catch the gay from Kurt, or something." Keeping her eyes on the shoes, she reasons the girl must be on the phone and she's also just got a lead on apparently one of their headquarters. Light babble sounds from supposedly the girl's phone before she responds, walking towards the car.

Santana bites her lip, looking at the pipes above her. "I'm not sure when I'll meet you guys, probably around 10:00 pm. I still can't really tell time." A pause. "I haven't learned that yet, I'm more focused on our main goal…I'm still developing." "Can you please stop talking so loud, Sugar is sick and she says you're yelling is making her feel worse and you know the worse she feels the longer it takes to fix her." Another longer pause follows, until the criminal hangs up.

"They just don't get my focus, Sugar. But lets not focus on the bad things only the good. Lets get you fixed up, you have a cold." Bewildered, Santana's lips press into a straight line…Is she talking to her car? Or is this code talk or something? I'm making note of this.

The car door opens, snapping her back to reality, that she's about to get ran over. Not knowing what else to do, Santana clamps her hands onto the hot pipes above then connects her feet as well, pulling herself up off the car. Shaking with muscle tension and fright, the officer clenches her limbs tighter as the engine starts. The car begins backing out of the parking space and Santana feels hot air on her fingers, the pipes are getting warmer, but she can't let go.

Dios mio. Mami. If you are watching over me in heaven. Ayudame. Por favor. I can't keep this up for long.

Turning the car heads in the direction of the open garage, parking inside. Santana breathes a sigh of relief. Yet she was too afraid to let go even after the ignition was cut. She could hear shuffling within the car, and then the girl swung the door open and got out, closing it behind her. The shoes walked away from the car in the direction of a tool box that rested on the ground beside some tires. Crouching the perp snatched up the tool box quickly and placed it on a rolling cart. The cart was pushed towards the car then the shoes disappeared into the house but not before a button were pressed and the garage closed.

By this time, Santana was shaking violently at the tension in her stomach and arms, the moment the shoes were out of sight. She dropped to the ground with a pained grunt. The smooth concrete under her made it easier for her to slide from under the car. Standing erect, she turned on her walkie. "098. Copy. I'm inside the possible new headquarters of the perp, Burt's Lube and Tires. Pierce was accompanied by undetermined accomplices, 3 to be exact. I'm not sure what to do next, sir. I seem to be trapped in his garage. Speed Over."

"Copy. We need her taken down, Lopez. Use you're better judgment and do what you have to do. If given the chance go down. She is a major threat and I'd suggest you keep your gun and taser about you. Over." "Copy. I'll do my best. 098, out."

She flicked her walkie off and took her gun out of its holster. Biting her lip, she glanced at the door, imagining the girl. She imagined her terrified electric blue eyes looking at the gun pointed in her direction then at Santana, innocently scared and upset. What if shes really just trying to help people? Has anyone every though of that? Have they tried to talk to her at all or understand? Next images of broken and deformed people pop into her brain and a small voice tells her, 'or she could be a terrorists, the girl may have some screws loose, she doesn't know how to tell time.' Clenching her jaw, Santana grasps her gun. Despite my confusion, this is my job, God know how many lives depend on me. Steeling herself, she prepares for confronting the girl and taking her down. The officer has always been good at concealing her feeling and this is the one time it really mattered. Pointing her gun at the door, she waited.

Hope you guys enjoyed that. I also really hope some of you liked it enough to review. Even if it's just a smiley face or 1 word, it means a lot to me. Sorry for any mistakes, don't be afraid to give me any constructive criticism and I'll be updating this soon.