Thank so much for all the reviews, you are the best!

I have a lousy habit of not answering people, sorry.

sharkgeek - once all the shit goes down, I'm thinking of throwing in a little bit of jealous Santana

nayalove - they both do pretty much the same thing and they're both hiding it from each other. Now that's getting in the way and going to cause friction.

crystalynn2006 - that's what I want you to believe :P

hamonrye - you'll have to wait and see. This chapter describes her job a little bit

I have so much fun writing this, I can hardly wait for me to update lol. I hope you have fun reading it as well.

Chapter 5

"Oh shit," Brittany slaps the pillow next to her where Santana should be but of course she's not there that's why she lets her arm fall helpless. She's going to be so late.

The first thing she does is text Santana

TO SANTANA:

Why didn't you wake me up honey! My new boss isn't going to be impressed and it's all your fault

FROM SANTANA:

Thought you had a day off, I wish I did. I can't even sit straight and I have a meeting in five. Last night was really something :p

Brittany smiles to herself, of course it was something. It was like a dozen orgasms.

She thinks fast of what she has to do. Shower is one, can't go to work smelling like a sex machine. She runs her hands over her suits in her closet and picks one at random, discards the jacket and lays the white button down and skirt on the bed. On second thought she dashes to Santana's closet remembering a certain piece of paper.

It's not there, neither is the matching boot. Shit.

TO SANTANA:

Are you wearing your black knee high boots?

FROM SANTANA:

Yeah. You didn't tell me you wanted them today.

TO SANTANA:

It's alright, just wanted to know. I'm running late have a good day honey.

FROM SANTANA:

Same to you baby, I love you. I'll call you in a bit. 3

Brittany sighs. She thinks of sending Santana another text warning her not to look in the boot but then Santana will definitely look so she throws her phone on the bed and hops in the shower.

Brittany had called Rachel to ask for directions to St. James headquarters. Rachel said she was doing her a huge favor by even talking on the phone during her break; her vocal glands were suffering with every word she said. She sure said a lot of words for someone who didn't want to talk. If Rachel had only given her the address from the get go, she'd be sparing her voice 24 more hours of life.

She got it anyways along with an earful of Rachel's theories that expanded longer than advanced calculus. Rachel should have bought her excuse that she was going there to get Rory's signature because she didn't believe Rachel could get them VIP passes. Brittany smiled a wicked grin to herself. Now she was sure to get a pass because Rachel had practically swore on the earth's destruction that she could get one, and Rachel just used up about another two years of voice life.

St. James Production wasn't far from her neighborhood, which she thanked the heavens for, being ten minutes late isn't too bad an impression. Some people are never late but they always look like they planned to arrive right on the dot, only they're heaving and wiping sweat off with the arms of their shirt, gross, which says they would have been late if they hadn't scurried to knock that other person off the bus to get in first. At least she looked like she used those extra ten minutes to look like Maria Sharapova and do her makeup to Scarlett Johansson perfection.

With confidence, Brittany pushes through the revolving doors, click-clacking in perfect rhythm all the way up to the front counter.

"I'm here to see Mr. St. James," She looks at the reception guy with disinterested.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Brittany notices how his thick Indian eyebrows wiggle like caterpillars. Who does he think he is? She really can't respect a guy bush brows that thick, seriously, something could fall into them and it'd be irretrievable.

"I don't have all day Raj," She says in a monotone bored way. If she wasn't a kick ass agent she could totally be an actress, maybe she could try it after she finishes cleaning this job.

"Ok, name." He lays the accent on thick, like Brittany didn't already know he was an illegal immigrant who managed to get a decent job.

"You know what, Mr….don't have a name tag? I'm calling Mr. St. James right now and you'll be glad if you don't lose your job."

Brittany makes a snobbish face at him and digs her phone out of her purse.

Ten missed calls from Quinn, uh-oh. Brittany pretends to dial a number instead of calling Quinn back, she knows she's in trouble.

In true bitch fashion she flicks her hair over one shoulder and rolls her eyes at the clearly inappropriate looks some nearby men, including Indian face, are giving her.

Brittany really doesn't know what to do. How she's even supposed to get in or what she's supposed to say to St. James. She should just get over herself and call Quinn, confess and bear through her wrath.

As if God himself saw the plight of his hand-maiden, Jesse St. James walks out of the elevator in all his Armani Glory. She'd have thought he was God if he didn't pull down his shades to get a better look at her ass as he circled to the other side of her. God wouldn't have checked her out, that's like gross because she's supposed to be his daughter or something; whatever, she can't remember stuff from Sunday school so well anymore.

"Well, well Ms. Lavender … already an improvement from my last secretary. God, I hate those suit jackets with a million buttons."

So charming. Woman probably fall to his feet and worship his voice, he actually sounds like he could be a good singer. Rachel would have the same smooth effect if she didn't insist on emphasizing everything till the whole thing was an exclamation point.

"Actually, its La'-van-de, It's French," She counters. Actually it isn't, but anything to annoy him. Guys love annoying bitches; Mr. Japati is already completely in love with her. On another note, someone has really bad tastes in names. When her child comes along, Quinn is not naming him or her – no chance in hell.

"Ah," Jesse St. James says more amused than annoyed, "then I presume your name is pronounced Fee-lee-pa, rather than Phil –lip-pa."

Her day just gets worse.

"Whatever suits you Mr. St. James."

He throws his head back, like really throws his head back. Brittany sees about twenty flies fly in and out of his mouth.

"Oh, look. At. The. Time." He has trouble even seeing the time with his shades on. "Best be going, you'll learn your job on the way."

When Brittany was first assigned to be a programmer as her cover job she wasn't thrilled. Who wants to sit in front of a computer and pretend to put in stupid codes all day? Turns out that was fun and she soon learned to not always put in the right code – wrong codes were even more fun when you figure out how to put them in right.

This job blows compared to her real, not real job. And also kind of confusing.

If Brittany wrote a journal, which she certainly does not do (who has the patience for those things?) she'd describe her morning like this.

So, basically smooth criminal tells me to follow him with a bend of his finger, like seriously which macho man does that? Then I'm trapped in the middle of all these hunky body guards, I'm pretty tall but they are like ridiculous. Actually I should jot that down in a notebook, why does he have so many bodyguards, it's like he knows he's a criminal daring the police to find out what he's done.

His car is pretty nice, although it's boring after a while. He was so disappointed when my eyes didn't light up and I didn't start pressing every button and playing with things like I was in a new playground with a billion toys I'd never seen before. Well newsflash Mr. cool guy, I drive in limousines all the time, also helicopters and jet planes…so yeah, this is pretty boring even though there are some crazy gadgets in it that are absolutely useless – sunglass washing machine, blow dryer, wiper, waxer - really?

I guess shades are important when you're doing shady business. It's so no one can see into your eyes, people can know everything from looking into them.

But haha, I'm not just people, I don't need to look into your eyes smarty pants – I know what you're up to, too bad for you it isn't vice versa.

"Sorry if you didn't catch a few things here and there, happens to all newbies," Like hell I didn't catch a few things, PGP language obviously isn't supposed to be caught otherwise why encrypt it? Well, everything I was supposed to write about your business transactions are being sent to a place you really don't want them to be. Who you spying on heh? That guy, Martin wasn't a business partner, he was your personal bodyguard, I know cause I heard him talking to you before sending you along on this god awful long ride around the city. Like really, who just rides around the city in a limousine? Might as well not have an office.

"Let me take a look at your notes,"

Sure you can see them. The file for you of course, it's got all the details you need to enact your evil plans with the names of all your cohorts.

"Wow, you are good."

I hate your smile. You aren't even as handsome as Channing Tatum.

"That'll be it for today Ms. La'-von-dere', you're doing an excellent job."

Sure I am, you'll be dead or in prison before you get to go on that trip back to Ireland I saw scheduled for next week.

"I'd invite you to lunch but it's a private family matter, maybe tomorrow."

Or maybe never.

"You are going to love the places I take you, the jobs I give you, and of course the compensation."

Disgusting, I won't suck your dick for a zillion dollars. Also touch me again, no, graze me again, and your little finger will be sorry it ever came near me.

"Santana doesn't know I'm here," Brittany looks at the door for the third time in two minutes.

"Coming here is your choice, whether your wife knows or not isn't my concern. Now, how can I help you?" Dr. Richards leans comfortably on her left armrest, hands folded in a patient stance.

"Right, ummm…I actually don't have a lot of time and I have a lot to say but I don't know how to say it. Am I making sense? No, probably not …"

"Mrs. Lopez, would you like a fresh mint? I also have some very nice dark chocolate from Switzerland." Dr. Richards gets up and reaches into a beautifully carved compartment concealed in between the book case.

Brittany finds it odd she keeps her stash there.

"My cousin loves to bring them back from her trips; she works as secretary for the American ambassador there. Try one."

Dr. Richards puts the box of various white and dark chocolates in front of Brittany as she seats herself once more.

It isn't really polite to stare at them Brittany thinks so she takes one, out of good manners of course.

"Tell me about what Mrs. Lopez likes to do in her free time."

"Me? I like to do Santana….and…"

"No, I meant your wife."

"Oh, she mostly likes to do me," Brittany says without a hint of shame, "but I guess she likes to work in the garden, play with car engines, jump off of high things, I think this year she's going on this free-runner program. I hope she asks me to join her, I love running."

"Are you ok with how she uses her free time? Do you feel as if she spends too much time on these activities instead of with you?"

"Oh no," Brittany jumps a little, "she definitely puts me first. We do a lot of those things together actually."

"So, what seems to be the problem?"

"It's complicated," She settles into her chair with the wind blown out of her once again. "How far would you go to protect someone you love?"

"Is your wife in danger?"

"No, but there's always a possibility…like my job can be…hazardous."

"What sort of danger could possibly take place? If I'm correct you work as a computer programmer. And I'm assuming the danger is not you faltering or causing yourself physical harm, otherwise you wouldn't have mentioned protecting her."

"Well, you know…people don't always like programmers because they can pretty much get up in anyone's business." Brittany smiles sheepishly.

"Do you have the dirt on someone who might later seek revenge on you and yours?" Dr. Richards sits-up a bit straighter.

"Not exactly," Brittany buries her head in her hands, "I have a bad feeling about the job I've taken on and I don't want her to be hurt because of it…because of me."

"You should talk to her about it."

"But I can't! It's like …a super secret job…like Spiderman but without a costume. If she knows, I don't even want to know what will happen if she finds out."

"It's not healthy to have big secrets when you're in a relationship. You've been married for 6 years..."

"Seven...and a half"

"…Seven years, and dishonesty is one of those things that can ruin it in seconds. You have to decide if keeping something potentially damaging hidden is worth it, she's going to find out one day…you know it."

Brittany bites her lip. She's been trapped in warehouses, sewers and chimneys' before but nothing feels more suffocating than being trapped in a lie.

"So you think I should tell her?"

"I think you should let her know how you're feeling."

"Ok," Brittany exits the office chin drooping to her chest.

When Brittany gets home she's thought of a million ways to break the news that she's never been the girl Santana thinks she is. She also thinks of the repercussions. On one extreme, Santana could take it badly and their marriage could be over on the other side of the pendulum Santana could …the more Brittany thinks the less chance she can see of a positive outcome. Santana might forgive her for lying about their whole life together, but will they ever be the same? Not telling Santana and have her find out eventually would be just as bad.

There really is no good way out, and now she's got a killer headache.

Quinn keeps calling again and again, and Brittany knows she's just waiting to give her a piece of her mind so she lets Jason Mraz sing till she's irritated with his happy, carefree voice and turns her phone off altogether.

"See you tonight Sam," Santana puts her fist up for him to knock before stuffing her briefcase with her work.

She'd asked for Sam to be her assistant when she learned he was good at spotting sport talent, and he also made a good companion.

The day's work done, the duo agreed to meet later that night with Puck to go over their plans to kill Rory Flanagan.

Santana had asked Puck for some specific resources which Puck easily located. They were set to finish the job, even if it was risky not knowing the big picture. To them it was just a job; they followed the orders and picked up their paychecks.

To Santana though it meant another day to live, and soon it'd mean leaving behind a life of deception for one of honesty which she had been dreaming about lately.

She thinks of calling Brittany and telling her she's staying out late and not coming home for dinner. But she misses her sweet voice, her soft kisses, and her warm embrace.

Brittany won't mind her going out again as long as she goes home for dinner, because it's something they don't miss – ever.

Santana creaks open the door to their bedroom. She knew Brittany would be there since Brittany's car was in the garage but only their bedroom light shone dim, the rest of the house was dark when she entered.

Brittany must have been sleeping for awhile, Santana thinks since she forgot to make dinner. It isn't a problem, Santana just ordered Italian for them.

The sounds of the door opening, feet padding, and a body falling tired onto the bed, alerts Brittany to Santana's presence. She knows Santana's been home for a little while already, she heard her kill the engine even though Santana claims its stealth silent.

"Are you sick?" She puts the back of her hand to Brittany's forehead, feeling for heat. "You're kind of hot, should I check your temperature."

"No, I'm fine." Brittany stays talking to the wall.

So much for hurrying home expecting her wife to be all over her.

"Ok then, I'm just going to microwave some food for us. We can eat in bed if you don't feel like going down."

"You didn't even ask what I wanted."

Santana knows Brittany is pouting, she can hear the slight lisp.

"Sorry, what do you want to eat?"

"I want to eat out."

Her answer surprises Santana, usually she's the one getting them out of the house.

"Let's go then," Santana says enthusiastically. "Oh, wait. I have some paperwork to do with a colleague in an hour."

Brittany sits up straight, eyes wide albeit tired. "You can't! We're going on a date…I had it all planned…in my head."

"It's too short notice Britt," Santana whines, careful not to whine too much or Brittany will bring out the pout and she'll be forced to stop faking. "Can it be tomorrow?"

"But…ok,"

"You know I want to be with you rather then filling in forms, right?"

"Whatever."

Santana sighs. When Brittany says 'whatever' she really means fuck off and leave me alone now.

"I'll make it up to you ok? How about you get that hammock ready?" By the slight change on Brittany's face Santana knows she's won. She climbs onto the bed, right up to take Brittany's lobe in her mouth, "get it ready real good, you won't be sorry you're fantasy comes true."

With that Santana walks out shouting behind her if green-curry and rice is ok.

Brittany would be totally ok with how things worked out, except now she's being delayed. She had mustered up all her courage to spill the life altering news but now it's gone and she doesn't know if she'll be able to build it up again tomorrow.

She puts on a smile and pretends to be enjoying her meal anyways, for Santana's sake. She can't help but stare at Santana longingly as if she's already lost the love of her life.

If tonight is going to be their last like this then she's going to make it memorable, Santana will never forget her or what they had when she decides to leave or kick her out.

"That bad huh Britt?" Santana says after catching Brittany looking at her yet again, Brittany wants her bad.

"I can't wait for you to get back," Brittany's voice is husky and sexy and just about makes Santana cancel all her plans. But she can't, she's doing this for them.

"We could always…."

Brittany's already straddling her, taking the spoon out of her hand and pressing her head into her shoulder.

Santana's frozen for about two seconds before she regains control of her limbs and hugs Brittany tightly. "Hey sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I just…I want you to always remember one thing, remember how much I loved…love you. No one will ever love you as much as I do."

Santana doesn't know why but this moment is way too real, way too sentimental, and way too much like a nightmare she's been having of Brittany saying goodbye, sometimes it's Brittany dying or she's dying, either way it never ends good.

"Britt, you know you're stuck with me forever right? I want you to know that too."

Brittany just smiles knowing better and gets off Santana's lap. "You should probably get ready to leave soon honey, it's almost eight."

"I need a kiss from my wife first," Santana says seriously.

Brittany gives her what she needs, slowly, carefully, savoring every taste and every promise till their lips break apart and shatter them to pieces.

"I love you Britt, always"

"I know you do,"

And there it is the worst promise of them all.

"Hey Santana," Sam opens the door to his apartment. It's not even a room, hardly – at least it's tidy.

"So this is your top secret place huh?" Santana gives him a half hug and gets comfortable on his comforter. "Show me what you've got."

Sam and Puck had been given a list of assets for the job; it was a lot so Santana knew this was a big fish.

"Did you manage to get his schedule for the next few days?" Santana runs over the list of weapons, vehicles, and other field agents assigned to her.

Sam looks a bit sheepish biting his lip.

"You don't?" Santana doesn't want to believe it; sometimes her guys can be dumb as lambs. She feels like giving them to Robert Flanagan to chop up and ship off.

"We have up to this morning but we couldn't get through their system today, I swear it's pentagon level stuff. We've still got our experts on it."

"Fine, get me his schedule so far," Santana nearly dismisses the subject, "no wait, can I get the encrypted files? I have a source that might be able to help."

"Santana, you know we aren't allowed to involve outsiders."

"I know, I'm just going to ask a few questions that's all. I won't let them touch it." Santana holds her breath.

"Alright," Sam says after squinting into the light real hard, his method of thinking, "I'll get it to you tomorrow."

"Do we have people following him 24/7?"

"No, he's not in the country anymore."

"What! How are we supposed to kill him then?" Santana has this push pull feeling like the more they try to execute the next part of the plan they're moving a step backwards.

"No, that's not possible…we have tickets!" She suddenly remembered the phone call she'd gotten from Rachel about tickets to his show tomorrow night.

"You have tickets to his show? Who are you going with?" Sam asks.

"Date, she uhh…she likes him."

"Oh," Sam runs his hands through his long, messy hair, "I guess that schedule is useless then. He's hiding out somewhere we don't know."

"Look," Santana gets to business; all the missing information is not helping her move closer to nailing him. "I'm going to go home now, you keep me posted. Get me the encrypted schedule."

"Ok," Sam says. He's clearly tired and probably hungry.

He'd only joined their forces recently; the new guys rarely get nice compensation until they become team leaders like Santana.

Santana bid him goodnight and headed out to her car as quick as possible.

She races home only to be greeted by a dark house.

Curious, she slips inside the screen door at the back and feels for her pocket knife. As she walks up the stairs she realizes the house isn't completely dark, there are candles lit dimly on the second floor.

"Brittany?" she calls but gets no answer.

Santana walks straight to their bedroom. It's just how she left it.

"What happened to the hammocks darling?" Santana says out loud calling out to Brittany.

From behind she feels warm lips press against her bare neck and she relaxes. She closes her eyes as she sinks into Brittany, soft and warm and safe.

When she opens them again she can't see. There's a blindfold stopping her from seeing the angelic face she loves so much.

"Is this a game baby?" Santana says playfully, "I liked your other idea better. I want to see you."

Brittany's voice comes out deep and troubled, "you can't."

Something bad happened to Brittany while Santana was gone, try and read my mind :D

I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far. The plot is definitely thickening.