Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.


"I was wondering when the fun would start." – Fiona Glenanne


Chapter 3

After leaving the Hilton with all credit cards sticking out of her wallet, Quinn is at the end of her wits as she sits in front of a bank employee. Really, it wouldn't take a lot for her to just smash the guy's computer and slap the bejesus out of him.

"I don't care what the computer says. I want my money from my account." She says once more in a controlled voice in an attempt to hide her rising temper.

"I understand that ma'am. I—" The man stops in mid-sentence when the blonde fixes him a glare she usually reserves for interrogation. Quinn figured this is an emergency situation and using her death glare is warranted. It seems to do the work because the man visibly shrank in his seat. "Let me check with the manager." The employee says in a shaky voice as he stands up.

Tapping her fingers on the desk, the blonde looked over her shoulder to see the guy talking to his manager. Quinn tries to take a peek on the computer but quickly retracts her head when she hears the employee make his way back the table. She smiles sweetly at the guy when he finally takes his seat.

"All we know is that the account is frozen." The man tells her. 'No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think we've been sitting here for the past hour, Einstein?' She thinks to herself. The blonde raises her eyebrows and fought the desire to yell 'bloody idiot' at the man's face. 'Is it so hard to tell me something I don't know?' Quinn asks herself in her head.

As if reading her thoughts, the man turns his gaze at the computer monitor and continues, "The code is government related."

The burned spy closed her eyes and grimaces internally when she heard the words 'government related.' Right. What did she expect? She's burned. That's spy speak for 'totally fucked.'

The man takes in her expression of defeat and proceeds to tell her, "If you care to discuss this with the police..." He trails off with a smug smile on his face.

After resisting the sudden urge to wipe the conceited smile off the employee's face with a well-placed kick to the jaw, Quinn stood up and exited the bank.

'Oy vey.'


Ex-spy Quinn Fabray is still fuming when she stepped out of the bus and made her way to Central Park. She's quickly reaching the end of her rope. First, she's woken up by a rude psycho that is her ex-girlfriend. Then she finds out that her bank accounts are frozen and her credit trashed. And finally, she knows it's only a matter of time before her mother contacts her.

'Goddamned Berry for calling my mother!' She thinks. It's quickly becoming her favorite pastime to add foul language after her ex-girlfriend's name.

A teenager approaches her to give out some fliers. How appropriate, it was about the end of the world. Psshh. What are the odds?

After quickly finding a payphone, she dials her handler's office number. "Hello?" She hears on the other end.

"I need to speak with Will Schuester." The blonde says.

"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that—" Even before the secretary behind a desk she's picturing finishes the sentence, Quinn immediately speaks in an urgent tone. "He's my case officer. I need to speak with him."

"Ma'am—" The lady on the other end says in an attempt to interrupt Quinn.

"I know the protocol. I know you're just doing your job. But I don't have access to a secure line." The burned spy says trying to keep her voice even.

"I'm sorry Ma'am but—"

"This is Quinn Fabray! Just put Schue on the phone!" Her voice rising as she runs her left hand through her short blonde hair in utter infuriation.

"Ma'am, I can't—"

At that, the burned spy finally loses all her cool, the day's events catching up on her. "He's my handler! I worked with him for eight goddamned years!" Quinn finally bursts out, not caring that she's attracting attention from a few passers-by.

"There's no one—" The lady on the other end tries to say in a half-hearted attempt to placate the person yelling at her.

The blonde, however, will be having none of it.

"Please." She says in a significantly calmer tone. "We trained together. There's a photo of him with Idina Menzel and Taye Diggs that he keeps on his bottom drawer. He mixes his own hair gel. He has his own recipe for that, can you believe it? He has a shirt framed in his office with a print that says butt chin on it." The tired burned spy draws out a long breath in an attempt to cool herself down.

"He's a friend, okay? Just please let me speak to him." Quinn says in resigned tone.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but there's really—"

"I cannot express enough how urgent this is!" The blonde says as renewed exasperation rushes through her. "Just put him on the goddamned—"

Click.

"No! No! Don't you dare hang up on me!" She says to the beeping phone. The blonde sighs.

"You hung up on me." She finally says in a defeated tone.


Figuring that there's virtually nothing she can accomplish by being on other end of the phone, she settled herself to finding the address to The Security Inc. where a friend works. If she's going to be forced to stay in New York, she might as well scour the city for old associates. Determined reach the end of her burn notice, the blonde knows that she has to at least scrape some cash together.

And that is how Quinn Fabray found herself standing outside the private security firm's corporate office. She sighs and puts on her best show face as she enters the building. The blonde sees a woman behind the reception area. The burned spy calculated her moves and decided that the best play would be to approach the receptionist.

"Hi." Quinn says in a friendly tone before removing her aviators and looking at the woman through captivating hazel eyes.

The receptionist flashes her smile before replying, "Good afternoon, do you have an appointment?" The lady in the suit asks her while looking at the monitor.

The blonde takes her time in pinning the woman with an intense stare before replying smoothly, "As a matter of fact, I do—" she looks at the woman's nameplate and continues, "—Jen."

Quinn considers it a success when an imminent blush appeared on the woman's cheeks. But just for good measure and bragging rights, she leans forward to touch the receptionist's forearm. When she sees the lady's lips quiver while looking at her shyly, she decides to continue on with her plan. Satisfied that the woman was now thoroughly distracted and holding her gaze, she flicks a pen from the table, sending it to the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the blonde says. "Let me get that."

"No. It's okay, I got it." The receptionist was already bending down, cleavage in prime view.

If it was any other day, Quinn would have really enjoyed the spectacle. But right now, she was too busy looking at the monitor from her peripheral trying to pick out names. She found one that had just the right time for a meeting with the right person on schedule.

'Tierrainney Maples.' She mentally repeats. 'Who the hell names their kid that? How do you even pronounce it?' Her gaze settled back to the front just as the receptionist looks back up at her with a flirty smile.

"My name is Tierrainney Maples, I believe I have an appointment." She says to the woman behind the desk, crossing her fingers that she got the pronunciation right.

The receptionist looked at her computer to find the name and makes a phone call to confirm the meeting. "Yes. Suite 450." She says while handing Quinn a visitor's pass, making sure to touch the blonde's hand.

The burned spy wasted no more words and turned towards the elevator leaving a dumbfounded receptionist behind her.


When Quinn reaches the spacious office, she shows the secretary her pass. The woman motions for her to sit down while she knocks on the door behind. A muffled voice telling the secretary to let 'Tierrainney' in is heard. With a grateful smile to the secretary, she steps towards the open door for her 'meeting.'

"Ms. Maples, what can I do for you?" A black haired woman in an expensive looking suit voices without looking up.

"Guess again. I have a better name than that." The ex-spy replies in an amused tone.

Santana Lopez snaps her head up as soon as she heard the voice. Only one person she knows have that cool husky tone that seems to always come with a smirk. Her mouth opened and her brows furrowed as she takes in the form of one Quinn Fabray standing in front of her.

"Wow. What an office." The blonde whistles before sitting down on the couch. She bounces a couple of times before helping herself out to a candy from the coffee table.

When the security consultant recovered from her shock, she finally realizes that there's a burned spy in her office. She stands up, bypassing the blonde and quickly locks the door. When the Latina made her way back, she stood in front of Quinn with arms crossed.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" She says in a hushed tone. "You cannot be here." The Latina says as she returns to sit back down behind her desk.

"You heard them." The blonde sing-songs.

"Are you kidding?" Santana gestures in exasperation. "You've been flagged on every government list." She sighs and covers her face with both hands. When she puts them down, she studies Quinn carefully. "Why didn't you call me?" The Latina finally asks.

"Would you have seen me if I did?" The blonde asks with raised brows.

"Of course not." The Latina answers, her lips quirking up.

The burned spy only looks at her with an amused smile.

An audible sigh was heard from the security consultant. "Of course I would, Q. You know that." Santana tells her in a gentle tone.

"Well, I didn't really know where to start. Hell, I didn't even know that I would be dropped in New York. Let alone have my bank accounts turn untouchable." the blonde answers her.

Santana regards her friend with a soft expression. Quinn looked really stressed out. She's never seen the blonde in this state ever since they were teenagers. She sighs and turns to the burned spy. "But Q, what the hell? We both know how good you are at pissing people off. But this? This is taking it to a whole new level." The Latina tells the tired woman in front of her.

"It's a mistake, S. It has to be." Quinn says in a weary voice. The blonde looks up at the woman she's grown up with. She has been the one to impart the Latina knowledge about the trade. As a spy, and an FBI agent before that, Quinn was there to give advices to Santana for her security work. Of course, she does this without breaking protocol and not sharing covert US government intelligence with her friend.

She looks at her with pleading eyes and says, "Just tell me what you've heard."

The Hispanic woman lets out another sigh. She really wishes she could help her friend. Working in one of New York's largest private security firm gives her a lot of opportunity to hear things that other people don't usually see on the six o'clock news. Quinn is not a bad person. Sure, the blonde knows a lot of tricks to make people hate her, but she will never do anything to betray her government. But there's really nothing for her to go on right now. Everything was hush-hush about Quinn's 'termination.'

"I wish I could tell you something, Q. But all I've heard is that you're out." Santana says and hold her hands up. "I don't have any details."

"What? I'm just out? That's it?" The burned spy says quickly in a rising tone.

"Q! Calm down, okay? What am I? You're complaint hotline? I really don't know anything about your burn notice." The Latina says in an exasperated tone. "Everything was swept under the rug. It was all quiet and nobody I know has heard anything." The security consultant continues looking at her friend, trying to convince her that she's telling the truth. Because she really is. "Don't you think I've asked around after I heard? Jesus, Q! You're my friend." She finally says while looking at the blonde through unwavering black eyes.

Quinn lets out a shaky breathe trying to compose herself. When she looks up again at her friend, a sheepish smile was in place.

"I'm sorry, S. Everything's just a mess right now." The ex-spy says while scratching the back of her neck. The blonde looks at the Latina in front of her and tried to measure how far her friend is willing to help her.

On Santana's part, she's already knows what that look meant. Her friend is about to ask her for something. Well, to her credit, she's actually anticipated this.

Finally, Quinn looks at her with puppy dog eyes. "S, I'm broke." She says with a pout added for effect. Upon seeing the Latina's hesitation, she quickly continues, "I'm a burned spy. I can't exactly go up to them and say, 'Hi! I used to be on your employee list! Can I have my clearance papers so I can start looking for another job?' If I'm going to sort this out, I need to put together some cash."

"Quinn—"

"Sanny..." The blonde cuts her friend off in an overly sweet voice.

"Q—"

"Tana..." The ex-spy says with an innocent smile.

"Okay, fine." Santana exhales in defeat. Leave it to Quinn Fabray to make everyone give up because of her annoying persistence. "But Q, I don't exactly have wads of cash lying around." The security consultant says to her friend, trying not to give her any wrong ideas. "And I can't exactly write you a check. You're like non-existent as of this moment." She finishes in a serious tone.

Quinn opens her mouth only to close it again. She knows that her friend is right. But she also knows that the Latina can at least do something to help her with her financial problems.

True enough, Santana was looking at her as if to mull over her decision.

"But there may be something, okay?" The security consultant opens her laptop to search for something. "Let me call Puck." She says while looking at her monitor.

"Puck? As in Noah? Noah Puckerman? You still work with him?" The blonde says in an amused tone. She chuckles and sees the Latina glaring at her. So she quickly adds, "Well I was just wondering how you two haven't killed each other yet."

"That makes two of us." Santana says. "And to answer your question, yes, I still work with him." When she sees her friend about to make a comment, she quickly adds, "But not if I can help it."

This seems to shut Quinn up. The blonde settles for simply waiting until her friend finds what she's looking for. She thinks about her bestfriend. She hasn't seen Noah for so long. And even if anyone sends the Spetsnaz after her, she will still not admit it, but she actually misses Puckerman.

As if reading her friend's unasked question, Santana turns to the blonde and answers it for her. "Puckerman's been drinking, sponging off of every rich divorcee in the Upper East Side." She looks back at her laptop to see that she's found the job for Quinn. "He comes to me for freelance work whenever he's between sugar mommies."

Quinn smiles at hearing how Noah's been doing. Some things never really change.

"So what's the job?" The burned spy finally asks.

"The money here is going to be a bit thin, Q." The Latina warns her. Quinn just waves her off, signalling that it doesn't really matter because this is pretty much the only job offer she has right now. "Okay, a guy called the office a few days ago. He said he's in some kind of trouble or something." Santana tells her.

"What kind of trouble?" The blonde asks.

"I don't exactly have details. We talked price and the guy was up and breaking his piggy bank." The security consultant explains. "We didn't get into it. I told him the job was a little small for us." Santana continues. "But the guy sounded desperate and so I told him I'll keep my eye open." She finishes.

"You're all heart, Lopez." Quinn says to her friend in a smiling voice.

"Shut up, Fabray." The Latina answered in the same playful voice. She knows this is her friend's way of thanking her. "So, do you want the job or not?" She asks the blonde just to make sure.

Quinn only nods at her. She really has no other options left. The last thing she wanted to do was thrust herself into the dirty world of espionage and burn notice dossiers without some financial back up, no matter how small. The gig Santana is offering seemed to be a good place to start.

"Okay then, I'll call Puck." The Latina says. She looks at her friend thoughtfully before reaching for her wallet to take out a couple of bills. Santana placed it in Quinn's hand before telling her, "Get yourself cleaned up."

"Thanks, San." The blonde tells her after accepting the money and putting it in her pocket. She turned to leave the office but Santana stopped her.

"Where will you be staying?" The Latina asked. She knows she cannot actually offer the blonde a place to stay. But whether her friend will have a roof over her head or not is something she needed to find out.

The blonde reaches around her neck to take out a gold necklace with a key latched onto it. Santana looked at it and nodded her head in understanding. It was the key to an apartment Quinn bought years ago as soon as she was able to. Santana knew just how much her friend had wanted to get herself and her belongings away from her father at that time.

Quinn offers the Latina another grateful smile before twisting the doorknob. Just when she was about to open the door, the burned spy looked back to her friend.

"Say hello to Britt for me." The blonde calls out over her shoulder.

Santana smiled at hearing her girlfriend's name.

"Will do, Q." She says.

After a thoughtful second, she also calls out to her friend. "Hey!" And Quinn turned back to fully look at the Latina. The Latina smiled and says, "Good luck, Quinn." in a soft voice.

The blonde smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Santana." And she finally turned her back to reach for the door and exit the office.


After picking up a few supplies, Quinn made her way through the streets of Brooklyn and entered the apartment she hasn't seen for years. Up until few days ago, she was sending money to her mom in order to pay for the utility bills and monthly cleaning bill of the apartment. Now, she has no idea where to get the money.

She didn't really want to return to her apartment. It seemed foreign to her now. A lot of memories are brought back by the place. She originally purchased it to get away from under her father's thumb when she was still working for the FBI. But he's already dead. And even before he died on a plane crash, when she came to work for the CIA, she just simply never found the time to put it in the market. Truth be told, Quinn's kind of thankful now that she never got around to selling the apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was occupy the guest bedroom at her mom's place.

But she is too tired to worry about all of that right now. All she wants is to get inside her two-bedroom apartment. Maybe eat some of the bacon she bought, then sleep on her comfortable bed.

She puts the key in the knob and pushed it all the way in. The blonde turned the piece of metal clockwise. After hearing the lock click, she used her shoulders to push the door.

The sight that greeted the ex-spy made her stop in her tracks.

Literally hundreds of surveillance photos covered the hardwood floor of her apartment. There are pictures of her on the motorcycle being chased by Borris' men. There are those consisted of her boarding the passenger plane from Nigeria.

Some of the photos were more recent.

Photos of her ducking in an alleyway behind the motel as Rachel distracts the FBI agents. There were even photos of the FBI men themselves strewn haphazardly across the floor.

Too many pictures.

Quinn leaving the Hilton. Quinn stepping out of the bank. Quinn entering the private security firm.

The burned spy's jaw clenched. Her muscles tensed. Fists closing and tightening themselves.

After making sure that there is no sign of any intruder left on her apartment, she turned her attention on the messy collage in front of her. One thing's for sure, whoever was watching is tracking her every move.

There's nothing worse for her than knowing she's being played. Someone is pulling strings.

Who?

Not some intelligence agency bureaucrat in a cubicle, for sure. This is someone with more style. Not FBI either, they're not this creative and they don't do surveillance on their own guys.

This is someone who knows what they're doing.

Someone who wants to send a message: "Welcome to New York."


A/N 1: I can't tell you enough how urgent this is. Review. Yes, you. I really need to know if people are at least interested in this story before I fully immerse myself into it. So review. Please. I need them, they nudge me forward.

A/N 2: Okay, so who's excited for Quinn's first side job? Squee! I won't do every side job in Burn Notice but I will be borrowing some of my favorite episodes and connect them with the flow of this fic. So if you have any episode you would love to see, review or message me.