So sorry for the delay everyone! School is absolutely nuts this year, so you'll forgive me if there are gaps I hope. This chapter will be short, but the next will be longer and the gang will be off to their first mission in Paris. Enjoy and please review.

Chapter 9:

Quinn Fabray was not a forgiving woman. The blood boiled up into her face as she watched the pair walk towards the plane from her seat next to the window. Santana's hand rested low on the tall blonde's back, her lips parted in a wide smile. She had never smiled at Quinn that way, not once in the three years they had been together. This new smile was warm, full, real. It played upon her lips like a tree bowing gracefully to the breeze that was Brittany's gaze. When Santana had smiled at Quinn, it had been guarded and non-committal. It had been afraid. Quinn always knew that Santana had been afraid of her. Santana had always tried to hold on to her heat, to the fire burning within her that unleashed itself in scorching, licking words and fists when she was threatened. But Quinn was a glacier. A mountain of cold, black, ice, and Santana burned too hot and short to melt her down, to reach the small, warm pool within her. And now, seeing Santana that way, languishing her love upon Brittany, Quinn felt as though she were drowning in her own pool. But Quinn Fabray's response to drowning wasn't fear; it was rage.

As Santana and Brittany entered the small plane and walked down the aisle, past Quinn and Rachel, who's sprightly chatter Quinn had automatically tuned out, Quinn grabbed Rachel by the neck and pulled her toward her, stifling her incessant chatter with her own tongue, plundering Rachel's mouth and claiming all that was hers. Quinn grinned into Rachel's lips as she heard an uncomfortable clearing of Santana's throat and could feel her coffee eyes on her as she passed. It was still there. She knew it. Some of the residual spark still crackled and barked within Santana and Quinn knew that she was just the conductor rod to bring it screaming out in all its white hot glory.

The only problem was Brittany. The bubbly blonde was an unexpected wrench in the works. Quinn had been watching her, ever since her arrival, and she knew that Brittany had been watching her as well. But, much to her pleasure, Brittany's gaze did not hold the fear and apprehension that it rightly should have, but instead, a keen interest that Quinn intended to take full advantage of. She knew she would not be able to draw Santana away from Brittany. But Brittany from Santana? That might be another story. And if Brittany succumbed, she knew Santana would crumble, and the only thing left would be for Quinn to pick up the pieces and put her back together just the way she wanted.

Quinn was drawn out of her daze by the prodding lips of the minute brunette next to her. Quinn grunted and shirked her off, sitting straighter in her seat and locking her eyes on the ground skating beneath them as they took off. They were going there to kill, but Paris was supposed to be the City of Love. And Santana, Quinn knew, was a hopeless romantic at heart.