Thank you for waiting patiently, although I don't know when the next update will be. I'm devastated by Brittany not graduating (she's my fuckin favorite ok?) right now and don't have the heart to do anything. I'm sure I'll come back with retaliating rage and write the shit out of Brittana because the glee writers don't seem to be able to do it. Sorry for the rant.
Enjoy
Chapter 2
The blankets on one side of the bed are already pulled back when Brittany wakes up. Her hand smooths over the sheets in a familiar sweep as she stretches. She can hear the hustle of activity in the bathroom and knows it's time to get up.
The shirt on her back is wrinkled and a tad short. It's no wonder how she got in it. She passes her partner on the way to use the toilets, using her lower eye-level to admire the naked tanned ass.
She smiles as she joins Santana at the long, two-person sink and puts her hand out for the toothpaste.
The other woman rakes her eyes up and down Brittany before returning to stare at her in the mirror. "My clothes always look good on you," she spits and rinses.
"You've got some toothpaste there honey," Brittany wipes the corner of Santana's mouth and hums a short, "uhm" when it's all off.
"Thanks sweetheart," Santana appreciates and leans on the marble sink while Brittany finishes brushing. "So, what did you think of Dr. Richards?"
"She clearly doesn't understand how woman can have just as much sex-drive as men."
"Good point," Santana adjusts the oversized t-shirt to hang off her shoulders better, "I thought her questions were elementary."
"But she had a nice office."
"A very nice office. A tad too formal in my opinion."
"Not everything is about comfort honey, like putting your used clothes in the wicker basket we have here. Remember we bought it from India for this very purpose?" Brittany demonstrates by removing Santana's shirt and putting it in the basket, leaving her completely naked.
"And she always has to make a point," Santana mutters under her breath while keeping her eyes trained on Brittany's perfect form moving back into the bedroom.
They cross paths again as they grab their keys from the bowl. There are just too many clothes to fit in the same closet.
"Have a great day," Santana barely looks at Brittany as she puts her coat on. Brittany does the same, flicking her golden hair to her right shoulder. "You too." They smile at each other in the soft reflection of the glass door and now they really are separate persons with different missions to fulfill.
The sun sets beautifully, but neither Lopez is home to enjoy it. Only after it's sunken below the streets does Brittany burst through the front door, hands full of grocery bags.
She drops her car keys in the bowl with perfect aim and walks to the kitchen to put free her arms of the weighty bags. She kicks her high-heels off and begins preparing a meal of roast chicken, with tasty gravy and leafy salad. Between chopping the vegetables and checking on the chicken she manages to change into a tank-top and a pair of jogging pants. Her apron goes back on as she gets back to her task.
The door bangs open just as the chicken turns golden.
"Hey honey,"
"Hey," Santana returns the greeting. "Am I on time?"
"You are, just on time." Brittany smiles and brings the food to the table.
Dinner is a simple and quiet affair. They sit at the same table they've shared since the day they got married, except they sit on opposite sides.
"Honey, did you forget?" Brittany begins. Santana immediately tunes in. It's rare they have a conversation at the table. Most of the talking they do after dark can't really be considered a conversation. More like demands and expressions; they also end with orgasms.
"Forget?" But of course now that Brittany brings it up she remembers. "No, I didn't forget sweetheart. I'll do it tomorrow." Then thinking it's maybe not enough she adds, "When you get home from work it'll be in the living-room waiting for you."
Brittany seems satisfied with the answer or she's bored with the conversation already because she's back to stabbing the chicken and sawing it off with a knife similar to how one would kill a victim, cool and collected.
The next day when Santana comes home Brittany isn't in the kitchen but in the living-room, adding the final touch to the Christmas tree. Her smile is replaced with quick action as she takes two giant steps across the room to catch her wife just as she loses balance.
"Well, if I didn't have perfect timing I don't know what to call this." She rights Brittany and admires how the star atop the tree sits comfy, shining and bright. "This tree is perfect sweetheart, and the lights are dazzling." She pecks her wife on the cheek.
"You forget everything about us is perfect." Brittany drags the chair to the kitchen with Santana in tow. "Dinner is served."
"I'm sorry I'm late," Santana loosens her top buttons and sinks into her seat, "but I didn't forget the tree."
"No, you didn't. I'm surprised."
All Santana can do is smirk.
Brittany goes on her nightly run while Santana searches the shelves of DVD's in the basement, looking for a particular race recording.
She emerges just as Brittany comes up the street.
Their neighbor waves from across the fence and Santana waves back out of courtesy as she waits for Brittany to reach the front porch. Her arm goes around Brittany's shoulder when she clears the steps and she kisses her wife.
To Mr. Keller just finished taking out the trash, they are the perfect couple. Everyone on 21st street will agree with him.
As if on the count of three a phone rings in the house followed another. "I'm just going to…" Santana doesn't need to finish her sentence.
"Sure, I'm going to get mine." Brittany dashes upstairs.
"It's tonight? But I thought he was going in next week." Santana slips into some trousers and changes her t-shirt for a suit. "It's short notice but I'll be there. I'll need ammo." She ruffles at shoe boxes at the bottom of her closet to find a pair leather Pierre Cardin's. "See you in ten." She hangs up as she stuffs her gun into the back of her pants and flies down the stairs.
She nearly runs into Brittany who is completely dressed as well, albeit less formal.
"A friend called needing my help with their computer… system crashed while they were encrypting files."
"No its fine," Santana wipes her sweaty hands, "I have some last minute details to go through with a client before we seal the deal."
"So, I'll see you later tonight?"
Santana thinks for a minute, "Right, the Hudson's place nine-thirty."
A hand brushes some powder off the shoulders of her suit. "You always look so good." Brittany retracts her hand.
"Can't let my wife be the only attractive one," Santana says flustered by the comment but also because her time for chit-chatting is running out.
"You need to go," Brittany knows, she can always tell when Santana begins to look at her surroundings.
"See you later sweetheart," she kisses Brittany on the cheek and clicks the center control on her keys. The car lights.
A minute later she can see Brittany's car tailing her and then turn out of sight at the corner.
8:15
In front of a dingy bar
Santana locks herself in the car hidden away from prying eyes.
"Here's your stuff. Do I have to debrief you again?" Puck with his angular jaw and horrid hair is the worst person Santana can ask for, not because he isn't good but he's been through a lot and he's a tad stupid. Having him around is like having a ticking bomb, useful, but able to blow up in your face any second.
"Only come if I call Puck, and that is a strict order." Santana places two guns in her boots, one in the back of her pants and one on the inside of her coat. She's analyzed this crime lord for a week, she knows his strength is the amount of body guards he has with him both in uniform and out. But he's fragile and relies too much on what he knows. He'll be easily surprised tonight when Santana gets to him.
"Okay, but be careful Santana. The guy is dangerous." Puck half pats half shoves her to get moving.
"Aren't they all?" She says through the crack at the top of the window. And she's gone, keeping close to the underbrush with her head low. In no time she has her back against the wall of the dirty establishment and a foot in the door.
Behind the stage at a high end strip club
"Review the plan for me one more time," Quinn finally gets the strap of Brittany's dress in the low, flashing lights.
"Get his attention, give him a lap dance and get his thumb print. You'll be waiting for me outside; we go to his hotel and finish the deed." Through the curtain, Brittany focuses her attention on the man sitting at a front table.
"I feel like I'm sending you out - a sheep among wolves. Look at the way they're undressing the poor girls with their eyes." Quinn stands behind her, watching.
"Remember, I'm a tiger hiding under sheep's skin. Just keep in contact." With that Brittany steps confidently onto the walkway leading to the stage where half a dozen barely clothes girls are waiting to be picked.
They don't have anything on her. She commands attention the minute she parts the gold sea of strippers in her shimmering deep blue outfit.
It's not long before her prey has picked her, "bad move," she whispers under her breath.
8:30
Below the first floor of the dirty bar, a gambling room with one large table.
Santana is quick to spot the wall of black suits covering the filth and grime of the cracked, blood smudged walls.
Her entrance is well announced with the banging open of the door and guns trained on her with the first step of her foot into their treasure cove. He's on point, sitting at the head of the round table, only because of all the men behind him.
"Who are you?" A clean shaved man as short as Santana searches her eyes, she's glad there's no sign he recognizes her under the beard and thick eyebrows she glares out from. The first sign of fear and she'll be riddled with a hundred bullets.
"Albert Edmund sent me;" She plays cool, "he wants to know what sort of crack-house you Chinese play in. By the looks of it he won't be impressed." She walks purposefully to the small drinks station and orders a beer.
"What's important is the money not the location. But if he has a better place, we may make an arrangement." The man whispers, his confidence faltering.
"I'm here to pass judgment and I haven't decided yet if you bunch are worth the money. Let me play a round with Mr. Zhung."
The man himself sits smug face, staring down his opponent as if using some old Chinese technique to devour a live soul.
"Not tonight," His correspondent apologizes. "He's settling a debt with an old friend."
Boldly, Santana walks up to the intense game of cards. She slams her hand on the wood making the knots rattle. "Let me take over this," She whispers into the ear of the trembling man opposite her target. His hope is failing and maybe he thinks she'll be distraction enough to give him a chance to run if tides become worse.
"You lose I die," He whispers back.
"I lose, we both do." Santana takes the man's seat and looks straight at her opponent. That he's surprised is to say the least, first advantage.
"Hello, lovely evening for a game,"
He knows he has the upper-hand and he says just as much in Chinese. "The bitch wants to die; this is more entertaining than I thought." She understands every word he says, another advantage.
She smirks at Mr. Zhung, head of the sex and slave trade in China. It's gross the things he's done to his fellow countrymen for money. He has so much filth on his hands; he couldn't wash it off if he used all the bleach in this world.
"Let's play," She winks at one of his body guards who winks back, advantage number three.
Inside a high-end strip club
The connection is almost instantaneous; with one wink the slightly overweight, terribly drunken man is calling her with a snap of his fingers. She responds like a cat to his command.
She feels his hands all over her and its kind of disgusting but it's exactly what she wants from him. All she has to do is smile coyly, make him want her. It's so simple; she knows she's got the natural charm and what man wouldn't want to touch a scarcely clothed woman? It's a winning combination.
Brittany leans in closer to his face. She can smell the heavy alcohol on his breath but it doesn't deter her. She's dancing up on him as if he were a weighty pole, the heat between them no doubt turning him on. Her bold move works as she feels his clumsy hand grip her cheek, he's too drunk to notice how she arranges his thumb and presses it further into her skin.
The dance finally ends. She walks away with $200 stuffed in her chest and a billion dollar fingerprint on her cheek.
8:45
Dirty bar, underground
"All in," Santana says, her eyes never giving away what she knows is about to happen. She's a natural at this game, and with the inside help there's no way she's losing. He keeps raising and so does she, just a little bit more, taking back as much as possible from the man who takes the very lives of people and sells them into slavery.
She's never one for doing a half-ass job, she's always all in.
If Mr. Zhung is surprised he doesn't show it. He's past the point of shock and now more than ever he gloats. He has the power, with one order everyone in the room could be dead.
Sam Evans, Santana's partner, visibly gulps at the dangerous game she's playing. It wasn't part of the plan to take that much money off of him. Santana is on the border between brash and brilliant.
"Show the river," Mr. Zhung sits back with a face of satisfaction. The game is his and he knows it.
Except it's not.
The final card is turned. Her opponents face changes but hers doesn't as she jumps onto the table and with one blow knocks him out.
In a split second all the guns are out and it feels like a badly balanced shoot-out is about to begin.
High-end club, behind the stage
Brittany rushes as fast as her feet can take her. High-heels were never good for getting away, especially fancy ones that are all looks and no comfort.
Quinn is already waiting for her, lights off and engine running low. But as soon as Brittany hops in and shuts the door they are off at full-speed to the Hilton.
Brittany emerges from the car, very much changed. She's out of her costume and into something she can work with. Through her ear piece, Quinn parked a block away gives her the go ahead.
The elevator ride to the top floor is short but every second counts. Breaking in is not a problem, she drops the unlocking gadget in her purse and takes a quick sweep of the room.
"Go to the bathroom," She follows Quinn's instruction, "use the detector on the walls."
The bathroom is huge and her detector is small, the longer it takes the more anxious she gets. It feels like forever till there's a soft beep, she moves left and the beep gets more intense; she's finally on the right track.
The beeping gets so loud she knows she's hit the jackpot. She quickly pulls on rubber gloves and presses on the tiled dolphins on the wall. There's a low buzz then the wall ejects just like she expected, the lid slides to the side revealing a safe.
9:00
Dingy bar, underground
There are three captives, one belonging to Santana and one to Sam. Santana's is in no position to give orders. The other, John Hiram is being held by the Chinese.
"Tell everyone to drop their guns." Sam orders his captive in Chinese. The second in command does as he says without hesitation.
Santana watches the men put their guns on the floor. "Tell them to let Mr. Hiram go and I'll take my gun off their boss."
Her orders are followed. While Sam still has a gun to the commanders head, Santana picks up all the guns on the floor and throws them in a pile near the exit. She sees to it that Mr. Hiram is safe with Puck before making another move.
"You won't get away with this," the captured man struggles with oxygen. Sam tightens his grip around the man's neck.
"We're taking him hostage," Santana signals for Sam to get moving and watches the men, gun trained, for any movement. In the corner of her eye she sees Sam dragging the man up through the door and up the stairs.
It's almost time.
She feels the restlessness in the room. She knows what's coming next, twenty men are about to open fire on her.
Taking a deep breath she pulls out the gun hidden under her coat and takes out six men before dashing. Two seconds later she's surrounded by bullets flying towards her. She makes it to the top floor and shoots down two more of her pursuers.
"Go," Santana orders Puck as she stops for a breath "If you have the Sam, the captive, and John. Go Now". He doesn't get to ask her if she's alright before she's back to exchanging shots with the enemy slowly getting the upper hand.
The best she can do is hide and pick them off one by one till she can escape to her car. The bar is big but now void of people who evacuated once the shooting started. Santana sucks in a deep breath, but she does so carefully, aware that the slightest noise can give off her position.
She checks that she has enough bullets. Close by one of the men walks past, Santana grabs him by the neck and twist, his body falls silently to the floor.
She's able to make it a few feet closer to the kitchen. She takes out two more men from her position crouched behind some barrels. Some men come to look at the dead bodies and try to figure out where the shots came from. She kills another three standing duck.
Feeling better that there are only another six men hunting her, she moves swiftly until she's made it into the kitchen. There's already someone in there. She manages to dislodge the gun from his hand but he throws a fist at her head and then at her side.
He's strong and fast, it's all Santana can do to block his lightning kicks and punches. She knows it's not long till the other find them, and it'll be more difficult for her to escape.
It's a battle of wits as well as strength and even though she's been defending herself against her attacker the whole time she finds an opening. As he kicks her aiming for her stomach, she ducks so low she's almost splayed out on the floor but her hand is swift in grabbing a frying pan. In one smooth move she stands up and whacks him from behind. His head bleeds instantly as he crumples dead.
She runs as fast as she can after that, three men in her pursuit. She makes it through the kitchen door to the great outdoors where she hides in the underbrush. The men look for her but in the dark she'll be impossible to find.
There's a sharp pain in her arm that she didn't notice before, but now it throbs. She touches the spot where a bullet must have hit her and smells the blood on her hand.
In the darkness she makes her way swiftly to where her car is hidden on an off road. She hasn't got much time, the men looking for her are the least of her worries now. She's got exactly five minutes to meet her wife, and it's never a good idea to keep her waiting.
Hilton hotel, top floor suite
Brittany works quickly, extracting a flash-drive Quinn gave to her and plugging it into a port in the safe. She puts in the correct information and finally peels the plastic off her cheek and sticks in onto the fingerprint scanner.
The safe unlocks.
"Too easy," Brittany mutters then grabs handfuls of documents from the safe, storing it in a bag.
"Britt, you have company." Quinn warns. They weren't expecting him to get back so soon.
Brittany makes her hands work faster till the safe is empty. But it's too late; she hears the door click open.
"Plan B, their in."
"Got it, you ready?"
"Ready." Quinn replies.
There's no way she can escape from the bathroom. There are no windows and no openings on the roof.
She takes a deep breath and stealthily tip-toes to the bathroom door, peeking out to see that everyone is in the bedroom.
She makes a mad dash to the balcony. What she doesn't expect is to be fired on by two bodyguards she hadn't seen.
Doing her best to dodge the shots she climbs onto the limb of the balcony and jumps off, letting her escape cape catch the wind as she falls gently from the 45th floor.
Without losing sweat, she grounds her feet on the pavement and looks up, saluting the lame attempts to shoot her down. Then she's getting into the escape car.
There's plenty of time left. It's only 9:15.
9:30
Brittany is parked in front of the Hudson house. She smacks her lips in the mirror after reapplying her lip gloss for the third time.
A car pulls up behind her and she smiles. Her wife is never late but never early, only ever on time. She gets out of her car, wine bottle in her arm and waits for Santana to lock up.
It takes her a minute to do so, having sped to the Hudson house. But she's a pro at multitasking, one hand on the wheel while the other cleans her wound. The bullet didn't go in too deep so with one hand and a pair of tweezers she was able to take it out and bandage herself. She ripped off the fake hair and stored it carefully in her briefcase. She'd let her hair out from its tight bun under her top hat which she also got rid of, placing it at the back.
All in all, she's a skilled driver she hardly needs eyes to go 120 on the back roads.
With a sigh Santana straightens her clothes out, doses herself with cologne and locks her car. She stretches her arm out for her waiting wife and leads them to the front porch of the Hudson home.
"Fixed that computer?" Santana kisses her wife on the cheek.
"Was a piece of cake, had time for a glass of wine and girl talk too."
"Good,"
"And how was the deal? Bet you had them wrapped around your finger." Brittany laughs easily into the cool night air.
"Taken care of; you know I'm the best sweetheart."
"I do," Brittany replies and raps on the front door, "I can't wait for you to tell Rachel Hudson how her lame punishment worked out."
"You mean the sex we had when we came home from Dr. Richards? I don't think I want to share that." Santana gets a playful hit on the shoulder
"I knew it couldn't go on too long, I can see every time you want to hold my hand. How are you taking this plan of 'less interdependence' honey?"
"It got me awesome sex," Santana cocks her eyebrow cheekily; "I say it's successful."
"only cus you broke the rules babe," Brittany laughs.
As the door opens and they are greeted by Finn and Rachel, they smile at each other like it's been a perfectly normal evening.