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.
A/N 1: Here's another update people! From here on, I may update every 2 or 3 days. So, let's sit down and blame it on real life. And enjoy reading, of course.
"When you have to get information about an enemy position, you have a choice: you can watch from a distance, slow and safe. Or you can go inside and take a look; quick, but potentially fatal." – Michael Westen
Chapter 6
When Quinn entered her apartment, she couldn't even begin to understand why she ran away from Rachel like that. And for the life of her, she couldn't fathom the reason why she held her breath until she heard the brunette's car drive away into the dead of night.
She sighed. Rachel and her weird mood swings. One time she wants to rip Quinn's head off, and another she's offering help with piercing brown expressive orbs. The ex-spy just didn't know how to react anymore. And she definitely, absolutely, does not do emotions. But why does it feel as if something is pressing down her heart?
"Confusing," the blonde muttered in the empty apartment while removing her boots.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"You have got to be kidding me!" She exclaimed exasperatedly. She spared a side glance at the clock. Almost 12am.
"What is it mom?" she said sleepily after pressing the call button, not bothering to hide the impatience on her voice. What? She really has no time for pleasantries. It's almost midnight, and she's just tired and confused because of Rachel and no, she can't be confused because she doesn't do—.
"I'm not your mom."
She was pulled from her inner ramblings as a very familiar voice sounded on the other line. She froze, she didn't think it would be this fast. Wiping away the last of her weariness, she gripped the phone on her hand tightly. This is what she's waiting for. But emotions flooded her and she couldn't even start answering the voice on the other end.
When the ex-spy kept silent, the caller continued speaking.
"So, imagine my surprise when I was pulled from my office and spent three hours being questioned by the FBI about your little present." William Schuester's baritone voice resounded over the phone, and the burned spy started functioning again.
"Oh, about that? Well, I thought it would get your attention. Calling you wasn't really an option, was it?" Quinn's voice dripped heavily with sarcasm and bitterness as she answered her former handler. "I guess it worked now, didn't it?"
"Quinn—,"
"No, Schue! You cannot reason out! You do not have the right to! How many times have I called, just wanting some answers? Huh?" Quinn was already fuming. Her burn notice combining with the events of the evening really pushed her to her limits. And now, she will vent out with the first person she can lash out to. Reason and modesty be damned. "Did you just accidentally erase me from your 'friends list'? Did you lose my number? Or did you just forget that I worked with you for eight fucking years! "
The blonde was panting after her tirade, knuckles white because of how tightly she was pressing them. She heard the man on the line sigh before answering, "I know your upset, but a fake pipe bomb? Really, Quinn?"
"What? Would you have rather it be a real one?
Will chuckled on the other end because of the lighter tone of her voice. He replied, "Look, Quinn, your burn notice is deep. And with things like this, I can't even begin to dig without risking other people in the office."
"Just tell me what you know," the blonde replied in weak tone as she sat on the edge of her bed.
"I literally have nothing to tell you Quinn. I've risked enough contacting you. But all I know is that this is big."
"Well then, just tell me who to talk to or I'm coming there to raise some hell. This time, it won't be just a fake pipe bomb." She's quickly reaching the end of her rope again. She can't get information from anyone, what was she supposed to do?
"Don't Quinn," Will said in a stern tone that he uses only when he's extremely serious. "You are on every FBI watchlist. You move, they pin you down. We're talking manhunt, police, everything—the works."
"What for?" Quinn exclaimed. What did she do? Why don't somebody just tell her what she did wrong?
"I don't know. I honestly don't know. But whoever burned you wants you in New York. I don't know why, who or what. But if you leave, it will be a huge mess." The serious tone of Will made her realize that the people who burned her must really be powerful and up the chain of command to pull this out. "Look, Quinn," her former handler's soft voice echoed, "for what it's worth, I think it's bull. A lot of people are still on your side." Will then added in a half joking tone, "But you pull another stunt like this and I won't be one of them. Take care of yourself, Quinn."
Click.
The burned spy ran her fingers through her hair as the line went dead. She knows it was extremely unfair that she coerced Will into contacting her by using the fake pipe bomb. And she knows that might be the last she'll ever hear from him. But now, she's running out of options. Nothing works, and now she knows that the people who burned her wanted to ice her. Why does it have to be her? She was doing just fine before the burn notice ruined her life, ruined everything she believed in.
Quinn will not admit it to anyone, but she's terrified. She's been terrified ever since that phone call in Nigeria. The burned spy moved her body to lie on the bed, every move an effort for her. She didn't even bother to remove her clothes because of the inner turmoil within her. She stared at the white ceiling and the pristine lights to urge her mind to go blank.
Because for the first time in a long time, she didn't want to think. She didn't want to move because she didn't know what to do.
And for the first time in a long time, Quinn Fabray cried herself to sleep.
After the burned spy woke up the next morning, fresh from her confusing dinner and discouraging conversation, she started to sift through her former handler's words. Contrary to William's belief, she knows this is something she can work her way through. He had already provided viable information for her. The person or persons who burned her are of high position.
It's an almost impossible task to find the people who burned her, but she knows that there are buttons to press. She'll shake whatever tree she can find, and wait until something falls out. Every piece of information will be crucial. The 'important and powerful' sons of bitches will be her first fishing expedition, and she will find who it is. She's Quinn Fabray after all.
But for now, she needed to earn her resources. And that means working on Carlos' case. With that, she started to clean up and get ready to meet with the 'art expert' that Mike provided her.
"You come highly recommended, Ms. Fabray," A tall, balding man named Walter asked Quinn as she entered the small but well-decorated office. She looked around as if trying to measure the art expert's worth. The man in front of her gave her a crooked smile while she appraised the place.
'This would be fun.'
The man sat down behind his desk and Quinn found her place on the chair in front of it. "So what can I do for you?" Walter asked.
"I'm looking for modernist paintings mostly. Could do some abstract too." She answered him confidently, raising an exquisite eyebrow.
The man tilted his head before saying, "We don't see much of those these days. Most of the specialists are headed out on the East." He smiles at her, and continues, "But there's nothing lost there, most of it are forged garbage anyway. I could give you impressionist paintings, though. That's a sight you can hang around your living room."
'Ah. Ever the salesman. Sorry, buddy, not gonna work.'
Quinn gave out a fake smile and tried to pry the man for more information. "That's quite an offer, but most of my collections are focused on modernists and abstracts." She knows she can get this man to crack, so she bit her lip before looking at the art expert. "I would really appreciate it if you could point me to someone who can add to my extensive collection."
She hid her smirk when she saw the man blink and almost drooled in front of her. Yep, she still haven't lost her touch. And the lip-biting still works. "I couldn't give you anything like that right now, Ms. Fabray, but there was a whole collection of exactly what you're looking for just early last year."
This intrigued the burned spy, and she decided to fish for more information. She ran her hand through her hair, only stopping it above her chest. "Interesting," she said. When the blonde saw the man sit up straight, she decided to go in for the next question. "Can you tell me who?"
Walter swallowed before answering, "I wish I remember the name but he's one of those rich land developers. It was all quiet," he paused "but people talk." He finished in a loud whisper.
Quinn forced her eyebrows not to knit together, but her mind was whirring so fast as she tried to process the information given to her. "Did it sell?"
"No, not in his price." The man said with a smirk. "But enough of that, would you like to look at some of the new impressionist paintings I've acquired?"
"I think that we could schedule the viewing for another time, Walter," She says in a sweet voice. "And thank you for the information, you've been a big help. If I need anything, I will keep your name in mind."
Before the man was able to formulate a response, the blonde was already hurrying out the door as pieces of the puzzle connected themselves in her mind. Land developer. Tried to sell paintings last year. At a high price. Didn't sell.
'Son of a bitch.'
She clenched her jaw as the last piece of information fell into place. The burned spy knows who did it, and she'll be damned if she doesn't put up a good fight for Carlos' sake.
'I'm coming for you.'
As soon as the blonde stepped out of the office, she quickly dialled Rachel's number. Weird date or not, she knows that the brunette's help would be invaluable. And besides, putting people in their rightful places isn't something her ex-girlfriend would forgo.
She waited patiently for an answer as the phone started to ring.
"Hello, Quinn," came Rachel's voice on the phone.
"Hey, Rach, listen I need a fav—"
"Actually, I was just about to call you," her ex-girlfriend drawled out. "I have found something that may be of extreme interest to you."
The blonde raised an eyebrow at Rachel's statement. What could the bomb expert have found this time? You know, besides new bombs.
"Well, what—"
"It's better if I show you, come at the Starlite Deli on West 44th. Get here fast, Fabray."
Click.
Quinn sighed. Just when she's starting to think that she's having the upper hand on the phone hanging up business, she's proven wrong.
'Here we go again.'
Good thing Walter's office was only a couple of blocks away from Rachel's location. A panting Quinn went inside the brunette's car as soon as she arrived.
"Well, what is so important?" the blonde demanded to the brunette looking at her with slight…disgust?
"You stink." Rachel deadpanned.
The sweaty woman's jaw went slack at her ex-girlfriend's declaration. Before she could formulate a retort, the smirking brunette continued, "Try not to damage the upholstery permanently, Fabray."
"Jeez, woman. Did you call me to run four blocks just to tell me I stink?" Quinn stared incredulously at the brunette.
"Partly," Rachel said playfully. "But I also wanted to show you that." And she smiled smugly while pointing inside the small deli in Times Square.
The burned spy followed her gaze to the direction of the brunette's finger. Behind the counter are two of the FBI men who were following her the other day. The baby-faced one had porcelain skin. He looked young, and most certainly didn't look like an FBI agent. Lord knows Quinn didn't look that…exquisite, for a lack of better term, when she was still a Fed. The other man had his legs crossed. He had black hair which was perfectly combed, without a single strand out of place.
Have things changed that much? Since when did FBI agents looked not like FBI agents?
But that didn't matter. On the same line of sight, in between the two agents was one very uncomfortable looking man. A guy with a mohawk Quinn would recognize anywhere.
Noah Puckerman.
The ex-spy sighed. It's not because she's disappointed that Noah was talking to the Feds. She's a spy. She knows how these things work. Of course they'd send some agents after her known associates. At least, she expected that they would do that. So, no, she wasn't really bothered that much by the revelation. She knows she can trust Noah to give them just enough to keep the government off her back.
What she's worried about is the brunette sitting next to her with a maniacal glint in her eyes. Crazy Berry is making an appearance and she better diffuse this before it explodes on everyone's faces.
Before the troubled blonde can speak, Rachel was already reaching out under her seat to pull out a sniper rifle. Quinn's eyes widened at the sight and she really didn't know whether to be amused or terrified.
"Rach…uh…Rachel? What do you think you're doing?"
"Oh, hush, Quinn. It's not like I'm going to kill Puckerman. Even if I never understood why you're friends with him, I won't kill him." The small woman holding the sniper rifle, peering into the scope smiled widely.
'Uh. Oh.' Quinn knows that smile. Yes, Rachel wouldn't kill Puck, but she's still looking for some damage.
"But, I will blow off that stupid mohawk he has running in his head. You know I don't like seeing anything resembling a dead animal."
'See. Damage. Oh, shit.'
The blonde panicked. Yes, Rachel is an excellent marksman. Or markswoman, whatever. But Quinn really didn't want to risk the last of her reputation and Puck's head for her trigger happy ex-girlfriend. So she made quick work of yanking the rifle from the brunette's grip and let it down on her side of the seat, as far from Rachel as possible.
"What the hell, Fabray?" Rachel said as her eyes narrowed at the blonde.
"Rachel, no. I highly doubt shooting a target between two FBI agents' presence would help my case. And before you ask, you still can't do it after they leave."
The brunette smirked at the ex-spy before acting her hand to reach out for the weapon. Quinn scrambled to get it away from her ex-girlfriend and Rachel laughed loudly at the blonde's antics.
"Relax, Fabray. If you say so, then fine. I just love it when you're on edge, total turn on." The brunette said while still laughing at the burned spy who was now rolling her eyes.
"But kidding aside, what do you plan to do with that?" Rachel asked as she pointed once more to the three conversing men inside the deli.
"I already expected this. And with Noah's previous stint with the SEAL, it's easy for him to become a target. I really don't care, I know how the FBI works. They were just sent here to babysit me." The blonde explained to Rachel. "But, they might now something. Just a little clue. Who knows? Maybe I can use them as messenger boys."
"If I don't get to wipe the godawful mohawk, do I get the honor of accompanying Ms. Quinn Fabray, then?" Her smirking ex-girlfriend asked.
The blonde sighed. It's not like she had a choice.
"Hi boys, having fun?" Rachel's sneering voice approached the three men even before Quinn could say anything.
The burned spy heard a sharp intake of breath from Noah as he closed his eyes tightly. She's not angry at him, she knows there's nothing he can do about it. But she decided to get some payback because he didn't come to her in the first place.
"Hey, Puck, what a coincidence bumping on you," the blonde said as she slid her arms across Noah's shoulders. "Would you like to introduce me to your FBI buddies?"
The porcelain-skinned agent raised his perfectly sculpted eyebrows and answered, "FBI? You got the wrong idea, miss."
Quinn smiled. Oh how she missed this game of cat and mouse with undertones behind each word. She decided to indulge in the game just for the sake of joining in.
"Ford outside has G-series plates. You have fast draw holsters hiding beneath those jackets. How much you want to bet that if I reach inside those suits, I'll find two ID's with FBI badges in it?" The burned spy smiled smugly as she saw the two men straighten up a little. Just like her ex-girlfriend, she loves getting people out of their comfort zones. And now, she has the upper hand.
So she decided to yank their chains a little more, just for show. "I don't know about the fashionable get up, though. But besides that, you guys scream FBI to me." Quinn looked around the deli, before saying louder, "They're Feds!"
Rachel chortled at her ex-girlfriend's own method of weirdness. In making people uneasy, they make a good tag team. So the brunette reached into the agent with black hair and crossed legs to tug at his delicate tie. She chuckled when he batted her hands away.
"I'm Special Agent Hummel and this is Special Agent Anderson." The one with the porcelain complexion said while pointing to his black-haired companion. Really, with the ex-girlfriends from hell, they didn't stand a chance.
Quinn smiled. Names. Good start. Rachel on the other hand wasn't finished, she smirked and looked at both men. Her face lit up, her eyebrow raised signifying that she was amused. Now, the blonde waited for another of her ex-girlfriend's crazy revelations.
"Are you guys, gay?"
The blonde couldn't help herself when a dignified snort came out of her. Her shoulders shook in laughter as she looked at the two FBI agents. Their reaction is just simply priceless. Hummel squeaked and Anderson blushed. Even Noah let out a chuckle which he immediately covered with a cough when the bomb maker looked sharply at him.
When Quinn came down from the high of the ridiculous situation, she turned serious. "So, do you even know why you're following me? 'Cause—"
"Don't know, don't care. Higher up the food chain." Special Agent Anderson cut her off before she even finished the sentence.
It confirmed a lot of things for the burned spy. The agents in front of her are sent to babysit her and her activities. The fact that they were just ordered like that with no questions asked meant that the person giving the command is someone high up the ladder.
"Great. Let's call your boss, maybe he can tell me."
"Those aren't our orders. Our orders are to keep tabs on you." Special Agent Hummel said as he started to get up from the stool.
The blonde's temper was quickly rising again. She's fed up of people not answering her and cutting her off before she even started speaking. "Well you give him a message. You tell him—"
"Sorry, this conversation has already gone too long. I do have a message for you though, Ms. Fabray." Special Agent Anderson's voice snapped her attention. "Don't go thinking you have nothing to lose. You still have a lot that can be taken away from you," he finished as he spared a glance at the brunette beside Quinn.
The burned spy's brows furrowed at the suggestion. She saw Rachel frown beside her as well.
"Is that a threat Agent Anderson?" Quinn said in a hard voice.
"No, not a threat Fabray, not a threat at all. Just the truth." Special Agent Anderson answered as he and his partner turned to leave the deli.
A/N 2: I realize that this chapter didn't contain much action but at least Quinn is moving forwards. And I hope that Rachel's crazy will be enough to give you guys a little bit of happiness. Action next chapter, I promise.
A/N 3: I really hope you guys review and tell me what you think. I may now sound like a broken record, but reviews are important. Without them, I get discouraged and unmotivated to write. This isn't a threat, this is the truth.
