Earlier today, before going to their trip, the three agents had a going-away lunch for themselves. It's their last chance to be their normal selves, and to celebrate their remaining typical hours. Typical because their lives don't usually include drug dens, a maniac, or anything else related.
Being sent to a task, the agents were expected to devise a strategy since they are supposed to be undercover. Often times, they pretend that they don't know each other and they live away from each other. Other times, however, they pretend to be a couple (usually Quinn and Blaine, because if Santana will take role of the wife, they all know there's too much gay for a heterosexual couple in there), or they play as siblings even though there's no least resemblance. It all depends on the situation.
For this time's assignment, they had to take different roles in the society. Obviously, since the point of interest are high school students, it is natural that they need to break through and get in the High School. Quinn will be a librarian, while Blaine becomes a senior student. Santana, however, being her lazy-ass self, takes place of the over-looker. It means that she's going to look outside the High School, where Quinn and Blaine's scope doesn't reach, and search for the potential den-runner or the den itself. She's just a plain citizen. Unemployed, bored, annoyed.
Given that they're believed to be strangers, no memorization of details must be needed. Quinn went for Lucy Hastings, because she thinks it sounds smart; Blaine as Devon Anderson, because he thinks it will look good on posters if he runs for Student Council President and he says that being too obvious is the same as being subtle; and Santana insisted that she's Jennifer Low, because it's such a tricky name. It could be a Jennifer Lopez or a Jennifer Lawrence and nobody could ever tell. Slick.
Nearing the end of their lunch, Blaine reminded them of the rules they formulated as a team. Somehow similar to a pact. "Nobody in that town must ever know our real identities. We cannot leave marks, not including the demolition of that drug den. Unnecessary interactions are to be ruled out, and as the most important rule, we cannot be attached to anyone. No one, not even a cat."
"A quick lay?" Santana tries, like she always does when these rules are being recited.
"One more mention of that question and you'll get a lay, Santana," Quinn speaks threateningly. "A lay on the floor, gasping for air. Because I'm going to put you down and suffocate the hell out of you."
Blaine laughs as Santana rolls her eyes, giving them the finger, which just makes him laugh even harder.
At the conclusion of their going-away lunch, the three of them are just happy to be working together. They even wonder why Shelby thinks they're mismatched; for them, they're not. They're perfectly matching. It's a plus when your co-workers can communicate well enough. But it's a much more plus when your co-workers are also your real friends.
Phone in hand, clad in a loose black sweatshirt and tight leather jeans, Santana walked the skirts of town. She stopped at Starbucks for a while to grab a quick cup of coffee, to awaken the life out of her. Even just by bit.
Santana wasn't lying when she told Quinn she'd search town to begin their work. She has entered any shop that's open, and has a possibility of becoming a drug den at night. No luck for tonight, though. The shops she's visited didn't come close to the signs she's finding. The people are even harder to tell and she's not in the mood for talking. She tried to give a suggesting look to one of those bulky, tattooed and pierced guys, going for a stereotype, and Santana's pretty sure she's given him an erection. It makes her want to gag. The suggesting look means she wants the D, drugs, not the D. Gross.
She was still hopeful, though. Santana walked aimlessly across streets, trying to find any indications. Her phone buzzed.
Agents, your cars and things are all waiting for you. Lucy Hastings, yours is parked out front BreadstiX. I've asked Ryder to refill the gas tank and to pick up the Uno Cards to your favor. Devon Anderson, yours is waiting outside the High School. It's a Black Camaro. It's brand new, be careful of her. You need reputation. Jennifer Low, go to the woods and there you will find your blue truck. Slightly dented, perfect look for an average person you're achieving. Variation is a must. All the luck, Shelby Corcoran.
As Santana read the text, she scoffed. Why did the pickup truck end up with her? She wanted anything but that! Lucky Blaine, he's got himself a brand new car. Which is pretty badass, may she add. Santana kicked a pebble lying flatly against the concrete floor, pissed at Shelby, or anyone in the CSSA, for assigning to her the stupid truck. She inwardly groans, but headed for the woods anyway.
As the moon shines bright, the sounds of crickets resonated all over the woods. Santana can already see the unfortunate truck, and she took her time walking, prolonging the union of the vehicle and herself. Branches cracked and dried leaves crunched with every step Santana makes. As if having the truck isn't already a burden, Shelby chose to place it in the woods. Lady's got favoritism, she thought.
Just beyond the truck, a pond exists. Santana was slightly shocked a faint quacking of ducks echoes as she comes closer to her reason. She wondered how this forest looks during the day. Once reaching the truck, she went straight for the driver's door and pulled it open. Her suitcases were at the back, and she was just looking for the key.
"Hey!" Somebody at the shotgun shouted, clearly surprised. "Who are you?!"
Santana's knuckles knocked against the car door due to surprise and it hurt. She caressed it with her other hand. "Ow," poofed from her mouth. Did the truck come up with a stranger? Is this Shelby's consolation? With the unlit truck, Santana couldn't quite make up who has she's startled, or who startled her. Either way suffices. Her scowl is establishing itself on the Latina's face. "As far as I'm told, this truck is mine. Who are you?!"
"Oh, right," Santana hears the stranger say, concluding it's an embarrassed girl. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" The strangers shuffles and gets out of the car.
Santana doesn't respond to that, a thing she does, and slams the car door closed. Another thing she does. Her gaze trails the stranger emerging from her truck. What if the woods was the place where drug dealers and teenagers meet and this one she's meeting is apparently a soldier of Jessie St. James Maniac Army? Her hardened expression burrowed further.
She's got to be one pretty drug dealer, Santana thought upon seeing the strangers face. The throbbing on her knuckles now seeming non-existent. Blue eyes were staring expectantly at her. The moonlight making them appear bluer. Being the agent she is, she took a quick overlook of the stranger: Blonde hair, a cat-printed shirt, long legs, and blue eyes (which were already noted). God, she's pretty. All that annoyance she felt vanished.
Santana snaps back to reality when the tall blonde asks her again, "are you okay?" The brunette clears her throat, not a thing she does, and says, "Uh, yes, I'm fine. Are you? Why are you even in my truck?"
The blonde's eyes crinkles as she smiles. Even prettier, Santana thought. "I was feeding the ducks over there," she tips her head towards the direction of the pond. "See, it's a Wednesday today, and I kind of forgot to drop by the afternoon and I just remembered, like, thirty minutes ago, that I should've fed the ducks today. So I went straight here and fed them. And that's when I saw your truck. I just wanted to sit, and I swear I didn't touch anything." The stranger raises her hands defensively, as if to prove her point. "Why is your truck out here in the open, though? Were you in the woods earlier?"
Her words baffle Santana. Baffle, not annoy. Santana supposes that if this was any other stranger, she would be utterly annoyed. But this stranger is not any other stranger. It's this tall and beautiful blonde. She thinks, why is she telling me this? She could give her apologies and just leave. Baffle is the least, amuse is the most.
Lying is like breathing to Santana. She's an undercover agent for duck's sake. However, something tugs at her insides when she tells the blonde a make-up story. She can't figure out why. "Yes, I was here earlier." She moves to the back of the truck to avoid her gaze, half really checking her luggage, half distracting herself.
The blonde follows her anyway. "Are you new in town?" She eyes the suitcases Santana's fiddling with, expression animated.
"I am, yes," Santana answers shortly, as if to convey she doesn't want to converse with her anymore. She just doesn't want to lie with this particular stranger, whoever she is. Her eyes seem to be too honest. "In fact, I am moving in to my apartment right now. So if you'll excuse me," she tells her, picking up the car key, chained with a note, splattered on the bed of the truck. It read: Gotta love the classic. Take care of her. Shelby. She rolls her eyes. You call this truck classic? It's unfortunate. She quickly puts the key in the back pocket of her pants.
"Oh, of course you are," the blonde mumbles with a pout, sounding like she doesn't want the brunette to go just yet. "Thanks for your truck, I guess. She's not that bad," she remarks.
Santana sensed that. She knew. She heard the implication of the stranger's tone that she wanted to talk with her. A slow smile played at her lips by the thought. Whatever Santana's next actions will be, it isn't very logical and doesn't reside with her undercover-agent-side at all. Or just by her general self. Santana isn't keen with making small talk with people she doesn't know. Furthermore, their second rule was to lessen any other unnecessary interactions with unnecessary people while on an assignment, and Santana is about to violate that. Maybe it's the blonde's eyes that's pulling her towards her, that makes Santana violate her team's rules, or maybe it's the quiet and honest ambience of the woods and the night, she can't really tell – but Santana knew she wants to talk with this stranger, too. For Santana, it's really odd. And what's more, she's okay with it. She moves to the back of the truck and pulls the tailgate open, and sits on the edge. "Yeah, she's not that bad. She's really bad."
The blonde stranger follows her and sits beside her as well, now seeming happy and satisfied. "What, it's just dents and paint scrapes. These could all be very easy to fix," she tells her with a smile.
"It's not worth it," Santana smirks, as if feeling pleased to tell the truck she's not going to undergo makeover. Her smirk turns into a smile when she saw the blonde looking at her. This stranger surely is contagious. Santana thinks that she likes it. "What?" she asks eventually, breaking the staring competition.
"Nothing," the blonde shakes her head bashfully. "It's just that I never had someone join me in the woods. They all say it's too weird, too stupid." At a fleeting moment, her eyes were sad.
Now, technically, Santana didn't really join her. She didn't feed the ducks like she did. However, she did stay with her. Earlier, Santana could have left there and then, but she didn't. She's staying. The reasons are still unknown. "Feeding the ducks is stupid?" She says, annoyed by the people who would think such. It's very kind and charitable for the stranger to do, and Santana didn't believe such people still exist until her. "Screw them. You're contributing to humanity, and they're not. Whatever they say doesn't really matter."
Her blue eyes shine with what, awe and relief. At least someone thinks her activities are not stupid. It's her first time to have someone who thinks so. Deciding the brunette wouldn't go anywhere else in the next minutes, she chose to grab the opportunity to talk to her. She feels like this girl, who owns the unworthy truck (or so she would call it), is a magnet attracting her. And she can't do anything to fight the force pulling towards her. It's not like she would, though. She's happy to be pulled into her. "I have thoughts," she starts. "But before that, I'd like you to know I'm Brittany. My name is Brittany."
Santana pauses for a moment and looks upward. Bright stars shine against the dark sky. Brittany, she kept it in the deepest pits of her brain just so she won't forget. No one in this town shall know their true identities. It's tattooed in her mind. For any undercover agent, whether beginner or pro, it's the most basic rule. If you want to keep your job, stay with the rules. That's it. She knows that. Then again, something tugs at her when the thought of introducing herself as Jennifer Low crossed her mind. Santana hopes the tugging feeling would stop. It's not welcomed. She doesn't say a name just yet. Instead, she asks, "What are your thoughts?"
"Nobody listens to my thoughts, since they all think it's not worth hearing for. I'm just warning you," Brittany says to her seriously. The brunette just raises a brow at her, as if asking her to prove her statement. "So," Brittany takes a breath, though she feels truly comfortable. "This past week, bank outbreaks were so prominent, right? Sam, he's my friend, says that it's weird that youngsters were the attackers, and what's more, they're succeeding. He has a point, but you know what idea all this bank robbery shenanigans sends me?"
Santana was full ears. Could Brittany be part of this worldwide takeover? She genuinely hopes she's not. She's too angelic for that. "What does it tell you?"
"It's a part of something bigger," Brittany declares.
Holy shit, Santana thought, you could be right. Her heart started to beat a little rapidly, not just by the sensitiveness of their topic, but also by the expression on Brittany's face. She's so concentrated on organizing her ideas her brows are furrowed. Attractive as damn.
The blonde goes on, "Everything we do ultimately affects somebody else. Like, if my cat Lord Tubbington decided to quit on smoking, the plants on my apartment would last longer, so me not having to place them elsewhere. If I stopped writing in crayons, the bookstore I bought it from won't earn as much, and the owner from it may be short a cent. If I chose not to open up a studio, the government won't get more taxes, thus fewer projects for this town and the people." She looks at her pointedly, "Do you see where I'm getting at?" The brunette nods at once, indifferent, catching up. She's glad she's listening. "It's all part of something bigger. Do you wanna know why?"
"Because everything is interconnected," they both say at the same time.
Brittany's eyes widen from shock, and Santana mutters a 'wow.' Both girls cannot believe they would say the same set of words at the same time. It's such a simple thing, maybe a coincidence, but it was remarkable. In that moment, Santana didn't know why, but she felt instantly closer to Brittany.
Santana grins at Brittany. She's not usually smiley, hell she is not smiley. If anything, she's grumpy and moody as damn. But with this girl? She has no idea why, but she's smiley. "You have so much going on in there," she tells her, pointing at her head.
"I know. And it's so nice someone's willing to listen when I let them out."
"Yeah, well," Santana shrugs nonchalantly, "I'm cool like that."
Brittany chuckles at her mock smugness, then goes back to her thoughts again. "Now, whoever commands those eighteen-year-olds to rob a bank and do unrighteous, rooted from a bad place. I'm sure. He, or she, or them, are so rotten they've decided to ruin a young person's life. I mean, those kids can't really think of robbing a bank by themselves for nothing, can they?"
"That's a bold theory, you know," Santana says. "What if they're just high and bored? Teenagers could be outrageous. You should know, you've been there."
"I have," Brittany nods. "But, I don't know, it makes so much sense in my head that someone's manipulating them. Like a mafia or something."
After that, Santana left that topic. Since there's the tugging feeling within her when she lies with this particular blonde, she's afraid she's going to blurt out information that are highly classified. Santana stirred away from the bank robbery outbreak talk, and both girls discussed lighter things. Brittany asked why she moved to this town, and what she does for a living. Santana told her the façade. It's not actually a lie, but it's not exactly the truth, either; which, in Santana's view, is better than a total lie. She told Brittany that she works as a consultant in an advertising company and she went here to work on a project. Smooth. Brittany seemed to believe her. Santana was relieved when she got away with that part, and happy to continue talking with her.
Apparently, Brittany wasn't lying when she said that she has thoughts. Plural. Brittany told her that if people were to brush their teeth before they eat, might as well put on their shoes before their socks. She also expressed that it's only premarital sex if you ever get to be married, and that life is sexually transmitted and is always fatal. As Santana listened to her speak her mind, she knew she would disagree to anyone who'd say Brittany's thoughts are stupid thoughts; maybe she's biased, but her thoughts are not stupid. It's just beyond normal; clever, even. No moment passed when she became bored.
"But what if the stars are just representation of us humans?" Brittany, gazing at the sky, pours her thoughts again, no holding anything back. She's very at ease with this brunette. "Some shine brighter, some are dim, some explode, some form a constellation, and some just stay as is. Nevertheless, stars. What if stars exist so as to remind us that we're supposed to fill a role, whatever that may be? We're never designed to be a nobody. I always thought like that. No, not always. I lost function the past year for some reasons, and one night I just got up from my bed, realizing how shit-ass my life has become. I'm a star, I remembered. So here am I."
Santana was mesmerized by her words. Earlier, it was her face that captured her. Now, however, it's Brittany's mind that enamored her. It's so beautiful, she thought. "Here you are, talking to me," she says, as if entranced by the blonde. Maybe she is.
"I mean, I'm opening a dance studio. I'm doing something with my life. Tomorrow will be the ribbon-cutting event. Probably that's why I forgot to feed the ducks. The opening day makes me anxious."
"Don't be, Brittany," Santana tells her confidently. "You have your way with your words. I'm sure everything will be as you pictured it."
Something glints in Brittany's eyes, and Santana can't tell what it was. Maybe disbelief and gratitude at once, she's not sure; but it's supposed to be something good since the blonde was beaming at her.
"Thank you," Brittany says.
As if on cue, her phone buzzed with Quinn's text. She gave a polite smile to Brittany, so as to excuse herself.
Jennifer Low, I hope you are already settled in at your new home at these moments. The dinner with Roz Washington went fine. But damn, she talked real fast. Anyway, did you find any hints or leads at all or did you just find yourself a quick lay? I require a response.
Santana rolled her eyes at Quinn's bossiness. Between their friendship, it's supposed to be normal. But so is being annoyed by each other. She quickly tapped a reply.
I don't know where I live, Hastings. Can you ask Shelby for me? I'm kinda pissed she gave me the truck. Ugh. But, yeah, I did search around town. And no, I haven't found anything yet. Real shit goes down tomorrow, though. I also require a response. With picture. Bitch.
Not any seconds later, Quinn complied with her requirements. There was a picture of Blaine and Quinn doing awful silly faces. Santana thinks they took it earlier at the diner, while Roz hadn't arrived yet. It was pretty hilarious, so Santana stifled a laugh. Below the image was Quinn's short caption: We got ourselves cool cars, and you don't. And that's when it isn't funny anymore.
Just send me the damned address when you get it. I'll cut you.
Santana would have enclosed her message with a picture of her raising her middle finger, but since Brittany is still with her, that didn't seem a possibility anymore; maybe later, when she knows where she lives. Santana thinks Brittany might find her unattractive in case she sees her raising the finger. Santana doesn't want that.
I love you, too, JLow. ;)
Deciding it's only fitting not to respond to Quinn's text anymore, she turns to Brittany, who, for the most part, was watching her. She felt conscious under her attention. She never feels that. Damn. Santana doesn't want this night to end just yet, but it has to. She has work to do and an identity to fulfill, and meeting a girl like Brittany was her luck. Or stars being interconnected. Whatever. All Santana wants now is to end this night right. "I know my car isn't that cool," Santana starts, "as that was already clearly explained by my friend." She raises her phone, as to emphasize what she means. "But, do you mind if I give you a ride back to your place? It's getting late. You can tell me where to drive, and I swear this truck isn't accident-prone, even if its features suggest otherwise." There was a hopeful smile plastered on Santana's face.
Brittany chuckles and it's like sweet melody to Santana's ears. "No, I don't mind. I trust this car well enough. Thank you."
"Ah, now," Santana gets off of the edge of the truck bed and extends her arm so as to be chivalrous towards Brittany. "Don't thank me yet, Miss. Do as such when we have reached your destination. In one piece."
The blonde taps the tip of the brunette's nose with her index finger, ignoring the offered hand.
Santana looked at Brittany incredulously.
"I just need to know you're real," she murmurs sheepishly and accepts the offered hand eventually.
"I am real," Santana mumbles. Though, on second thought, is she truly real?
Brittany realizes how gentle this brunette is being with her. She even opened the car door for her and told her to watch her head when entering the truck. It's sweet, really. But Brittany did feel a little sad when this very pretty stranger concluded the night already. Man, that text from whoever ruined it. Brittany pushed that idea away. She knows this girl had other commitments and she can't expect for her to just listen to her non-sense babbles all the while, right? Brittany did expect, though. The remaining time with the owner of the unfortunate and unworthy truck would not go to waste, Brittany decides. She hasn't felt connected with anyone for so long. And she also needs to know who this alluring brunette is.
The drive wasn't really long, but for the both girls, it seems that it was. They continued to talk, continued to be connected, continued to be happy. As if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Upon seeing the familiar surroundings, Brittany told the driver to pull over and that she's already here. Her initial reaction made Brittany lightheaded. She said, "Already?" Brittany replied with a consoling "I know."
"This is it then," Santana says, feigning theatrical touches. "How can something so good end so quickly? Life is truly so unfair."
Brittany giggles by the sight of her. "You know, there's only one opening dance studio here tomorrow," she suggests, hoping. Santana smiles at her, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. The brunette then gets out of the car, which takes Brittany by surprise. Instinctively, she reached for the car handle to get out as well, but the brunette was already there, opening the car door for her. Again. And who says chivalry is dead?
"If I find my way," Santana tells the blonde, the most honest she can be.
"Okay," Brittany nods, understanding once more that this woman before her had other commitments. Santana walks her to her door, which isn't very far. Not any moments later, they were at her porch.
"You live here by yourself?" Santana asks.
"No, I live with Sam, the one I told you earlier. He must be worrying about me now," Brittany lightly scratches the side of her head. Adorable. She goes on, "The room upstairs was recently emptied since the drunken occupant never paid her rent anymore, so it's just us here now."
Santana nods, expression unreadable.
"So, I really had a great time tonight." Brittany sounds like she just got off a date. She wishes it didn't come off like that. "And I have you to thank."
"I did, too," the brunette beams at her. "It's mutual."
"No, really, thank you," Brittany insists.
Santana looks at Brittany as if memorizing her features. "You are welcome," she says. She knows she can't be attached, she knows she can't violate the rules. But her logic ran out and she already have. She's so dead, and she can't even care. That's how into she is to this blonde. For fairness and whatever it's worth, though, Santana thinks that she should not bother this lady ever again. It's just one of those amazing and unforgettable nights and that will be full of what-would-be's and what-ifs the next morning. "Very well, then. I'm sure you'll do perfect at tomorrow's event. Have a good night, Brittany," Santana bids goodbye.
"Yeah, thanks, good night," Brittany mumbles, off-minded. Just when the brunette turns to leave, she stopped her. "Hey! You never told me your name!"
Santana stopped at her tracks, her eyes looking everywhere but Brittany. She's raking her brain for anything, for a plausible reason. Then she remembered. She remembered how Brittany made her feel, how attached she's been. Her name, her real name, the very least, she owes it to her. Santana, resigned, sighs, leaving her undercover agent side once again. She grins anyway. "Santana. I'm Santana."
"Santana," Brittany echoes. She doesn't know why, but it made her happier saying her name. "I'll see you again."
"I'll see you if the stars up above allows us to. So long, Brittany."
At her car, Santana has her head against the steering wheel. My God, she thought, Brittany's so beautiful. But it's just that: a beautiful face and a beautiful mind. She can't go any further. Somehow, however badass her job is, it pisses her off she's an undercover agent. Why did she meet her while on an assignment? The stars must have aligned incorrectly.
Her phone buzzed, startling her. She mumbles a 'shit,' but reads it anyway. It's a text from Quinn, the address of her new home enclosed in it. There's also a short 'good night, San XO' but she ignored that. Because, upon realization, and a little squinting just to be sure, she learned that she's going to be living with Brittany. Well, not exactly with, but upstairs. Still, under one roof. Her heart beats with excitement.
The stars never align incorrectly, Santana concludes.
Santana moved into her new home without so much notice. She brought her bags quietly and took her steps lightly as she ascends. She also didn't knock on Brittany's door. Santana didn't want to bother her. After all, she already said that to herself and Brittany's got a big day ahead of her tomorrow.
Her new home, as Brittany informed her, was recently emptied out. She entered and was greeted by a tidy and simple abode. There weren't shards of drunken bottles on the floor as she imagined. The walls were plain white. A worn couch that can seat three is situated at the right and a small TV set is across it. Behind that, which Santana supposes serves as the living room, is a medium table. There a note lies. It read: Home sweet home! I hope you will be fully adjusted to this place, and will be convenient to your assignment. All the love and the greatness to my three agents, Shelby. Santana rolled her eyes. Shelby and her notes, really. How she manages to put and sneak them in wherever she needs it to be, Santana can't be bothered to ponder. Further into her apartment, a narrow intersection splits the way into two. If she goes right, there will be the door that leads her to the quaint bedroom, which also bears her bathroom. If she goes left, there will be the kitchen. Santana couldn't care about the latter, she can dial the Chinese takeaway easily anyway.
Santana took a quick photo of herself, raising her middle finger and showing a wide background of her apartment. She sent it to Quinn and tapped a short caption: good night, Q. X
All in all, Santana was satisfied by her place. Not so much with her truck, still. Having her day spent, Santana didn't worry to unpack and fix her things. That could wait. Sleep cannot. She quickly dug a more comfy clothing to change into and went to bed readily. She knows Brittany may have infiltrated even the subconscious part of her mind. She's not complaining.
The thought that Brittany is just downstairs, probably sleeping soundly, made Santana go to sleep easier.