Even though the drive to the Vineyard wasn't long, by the time they pulled up to the Winnetu Oceanside Resort, located on the South beach of Martha's Vineyard, Santana was feeling sleepy. She wanted lunch, sex, and a nap, in that order, and was looking forward to the two of those things that she could actually have. Blinking at the brightness of the sun as she stepped from their car, she paused for a moment to slide on her sunglasses and let out a yawn. She stretched out until she heard something crack, before she rushing around to the other side of the car to open the door for Quinn.

"I know it's no Cabo," Santana said in a self-depreciating way as Quinn's hand found its way into her own and she was pulled to her feet, "but I think this is a nice substitute."

The location of their rendezvous was more Quinn's ideal than Santana's. The resort was abound with summer dresses, cardigans, polo shirts, colorful shorts, pull-overs, madras shirts, and sun hats. And kids. Lots of them. They navigated through the families in the lobby, only to run into Stepford children at every turn. One of the little boys that seemed to be parentless was tow-headed, and it made her wonder what a male Fabray would look like. God, hopefully not like Russell. She didn't think that she could love a child that looked like Russell. Now a little Santana on the other hand, boy or girl would looked incredibly hot.

Surprisingly, giving the venue, Quinn slid her hand into Santana's, and met her surprised expression with a grin.

Their bags were sat down in the bedroom, and after the bellhop left, Quinn immediately went to unloading their suitcases into the drawers, while Santana explored their suite. Santana thought that the garden cottages were more 'honey-moonish', but the Sankaty suite had an ocean view, so she had gone with that instead. She paused to take in a scene that made the fact that they were staying in one of the top family resorts in the country worth it.

"Babe, come take a look at this view!"

Quinn took a moment to finish unpacking before she went in search of Santana. She paused at the image of her wife framed on the balcony, her hair whipping around her, the pond visible, as well as the enticing view of the ocean in the distance. Quinn reached for her camera, and managed to get it out and aimed at her wife before Santana turned slightly. "Babe?" Quinn clicked the picture. Santana smiled in surprise. "What're you doing, Quinn?"

"Enjoying the scenery. It's gorgeous." Quinn sat the camera down, and slipped behind Santana, wrapping her arms around her waist. She rested her head on her shoulder. "Oh, and the view is nice, too." Quinn placed a few kisses on Santana's exposed neck before just resting her head there. "What're you thinking about?" Quinn questioned.

Santana's fingers trailed on the arms that held her. "That no one but me gets to be here with you like this. How all of those silly, naïve people over the years thought that they ever had a real shot with you. How so many people tried, yet I'm the one who succeeded in netting you."

"I am not some prize to be won," Quinn said in mock outrage.

Santana smiled. "And I was thinking about how lucky I am that I married a woman who can quote Disney movies but yet can talk about the existential crisis of the female protagonist in Aladdin."

"Did you say existential?" Quinn mused, nibbling on Santana's neck.

"Er… I meant really hard things."

Santana smiled when Quinn chuckled. Santana turned so that she could kiss her wife. "And I was thinking about how I get to taste these lips, and smell this smell, and how I could rip off the clothes on your body, and fuck you against every surface possible, and that you'd let me. Or that I can eat you for breakfast, lunch or dinner, whenever I want, forever and ever, though you know how much I really like those 'afternoon delights' best of all."

Quinn shook her head. "Ms. Pillsbury was so clueless."

"Mrs. Schuester, you mean."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Please tell me that you're as creeped out by them as I am. Emma's cool and all, and she's got a surprisingly bigger backbone than I thought, but there's just something about them that seems…predatory."

"Right!"

"So I'm not the only one?"

"Oh hell no. Like what does it say about Schuester that he made a teenager his best man, and he married a virgin who made him her whole world?" Santana shrugged. "To each their own, I guess." Santana got quiet again, thinking. "You ever wonder what the Gleeks say about us? You think, like, right now Tina or Rachel or Artie are sitting around discussing us? When they got my text do you think anyone was like 'About damn time,' or 'what the hell'?"

"That was my first thought when I first got the text," Quinn joked. "Quinn and Santana got married? Did the world end and I didn't notice?'"

"Oh fuck you, Fabray."

"I wish you would," Quinn got out before Santana was even done with her statement. Santana merely chuckled. "What do you think they said?"

Santana preened, puffing up her chest. "That we're fucking awesome. And we're fucking awesome together. And we're awesome fucking, too."

"One, you can't talking about fucking, unless you're going to fuck me. Two, I was thinking they were thinking more along the lines of how they can't believe how whipped you've become."

"Ah, that's not nice, baby. You don't have to say that you're whipped. Even though I completely made you my bitch." Santana punctuated her words with a quick cheek kiss.

"You aresomy bitch, Lopez. I'm still me but you, you turned into a complete and total softie."

Santana flexed her slightly larger than high school biceps. "Keep telling yourself that," she said in a low voice, which went directly from Santana's mouth to Quinn's abdomen.

Quinn hummed. "I love you, San."

Santana luxuriated in sound of those words washing over her. "Love you, too, babe."

"And just so we're clear, you didn't tame Quinn Fabray."

"Oh please, I have youbeggingfor it. 'Oh, oh oh God Santana, Fuck me. I'm your little bitch!"

"I've never said that I was your little bitch."

"Don't worry, babe, you will."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm a masochist."

"Ooh….we should explore! I bet you would make a great submissive. Once I get a ball gag on you, and a collar, ooh and a butt plug stretching you out and making you pliable for when I hit it fro the back," Santana ground against Quinn for good measure, "I bet I could have you licking my boots."

"It's good that you work in fiction, because that's some imagination you got there. On what planet would I be a sub when you are so obviously my bottom?"

"Quinne, where are your manners? You're not supposed to talk with a full mouth, and right now your mouth is completely full of shit."

Santana was in her own little world as she packed her things, slowly ticking off of the things on her list. She wasn't a plan packer, she was a last minute, stuff everything in her bag, kind of girl, but since this was business, and serious and stuff, she was packing in advance. When all that was left to pack were the items that she wouldn't pack until the morning, Santana went off in search of her wife who had surprisingly not been hanging around her as she packed. Santana found her sitting on the couch, surprisingly watching TV instead of curled up with a book.

Santana plopped down beside her. "What're you watching, babe?"

Quinn, who had been half falling asleep, smiled at Santana sleepily. "Bones."

Santana gave her a kiss on the neck. "I love Bones! Which episode?"

Quinn checked. "The Proof in the Pudding." She began to read off the description, "Mr. White and his team of gov-,"

Santana took the remote from Quinn's hand and turned the TV off. "Hey!" Quinn protested. "I was watching that!"

Santana wrapped her arms around her waist, dropping her head onto Quinn's shoulder. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Well, you didn't have to just like turn it off like that," she protested. She got a glance at Santana's expression and sobered at the same time that Santana said, "It's serious talk. Babe."

The expression froze on Quinn's face. "Oh. How serious?" she questioned.

Instead of immediately answering, Santana walked over to the alcove, and came back with a thick hard-back book in her hand.Patriot Games. She sat back down across from Quinn, sitting on her knee, the book planted on her lap. Quinn eyed the book.

"Real serious," Santana replied. "K, so this is just an uncomfortable conversation so I just want to have it real quick, like ripping a Band-Aid off." Santana's back straightened and she seemed to be steeling herself. Quinn carefully felt a mask slide into place. She had that sinking feeling in her gut, but was preparing for whatever her wife was about to say. They both exhaled the same breath they were holding in.

"So, I'm leaving first thing in the morning. 5:30." Quinn sighed, because she wasn't looking forward to the next three weeks without her wife. "I'll be back at 9:45 p.m. It makes me…somewhat uncomfortable…to be away for that long, so I have a few requests, pleas, and instructions. Umm…first one, it'll make me 10 times more comfortable if you spend the night either with Mercedes, Brittany, Hazel, or at your place; just not here. If you want to play super sleuth while I'm gone," she winked, "that's fine. You can dig all you want, but please do it during the daytime hours. I don't want you sleeping here alone."

Santana seemed to be waiting for Quinn to say something, but Quinn was busy processing. Moving on. "Two. If you can, and I know this is asking for a great deal, butifyou can, please visit Hazel. You don't have to do it a lot or anything, just like once…maybe? Umm…and you really, really don't have to do this, I just…if youdogo over to see her, can you give Phil a kiss for me, and to remind him that I love him?"

Quinn gave the most imperceptible of nods, and Santana looked instantly relieved, playing with the book in her hands. "Okay, this is probably the most important one of all. What's my magic numbers?" Quinn rolled her eyes. "Quinnie, it's important. What's my magic numbers?"

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Umm…55…09…15…er,"

"02 13, those are really important Quinn. I know it's on that picture, but I really need you to know those numbers by heart. Think of it as a date if it helps: 02-13-15, 09:55 or 09-15-55, 02:13."

"Okay, got it."

"Do you?" Santana demanded.

"I got it."

"What are they?"

"09 15 55 02 13. Do those numbers have any particular meaning to you?"

Santana smiled with her eyes. "Yes, those numbers mean practically everything to me, actually. Like I said, any kind of combination lock, or code, or whatever that I possess uses those numbers in varying combinations. While I'm away, I need you to promise me," Santana's eyes bored into Quinn's intensely, "to get me a Wednesday and Saturday Powerball ticket."

Quinn pushed Santana away as Santana laughed. "That's so not funny," Quinn said.

"I'm serious! Watch: the second you don't buy a ticket, that's the second that those numbers hit!"

"You know that Powerball is the same in every state, so you can buy your own tickets; Arizona has a lottery right?"

"Yes, but it's not the same. Boston could use the win."

"You are absolutely ridiculous, San, I want you to know that."

Santana leaned over to kiss her, but the book got in the way. Quinn's eyes fell to it, and when she looked back up she could see the serious look on her wife's face. "I didn't know you were a Tom Clancy fan."

It was a bad attempt at a joke, and for a second Santana's face scrunched up in confusion, and then she seemed to remember what she was holding. "Oh. That's the other part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

She ran her finger along the cut pages of the book. When Santana opened the first page of the book, Quinn saw how only the first few pages were actually loose like regular book pages, the rest were solid. Santana removed what was hidden inside. "Umm…I know we only briefly talked about this, but this is for you. It's a U22 Neos Inox."

Quinn eyed the gun that Santana was holding, and not knowing what else to say, she said, "That looks pretty fancy."

Santana gave a soft chuckle. "It's actually a beginner gun; for people who buy guns for looks and not…well…actual use. It's a .22, but it still does its job." As she talked Santana disassembled the gun in practiced movements, breaking it down to its individual components. Quinn thought about Santana once saying that she could assemble her gun, blindfolded, in 15 seconds. Santana caught Quinn's look, and gave a lopsided smile. Bring her eyes up to Quinn's, she sat the book aside, and without taking her eyes off of her, she put the gun back together, and took it apart faster than Quinn could keep up. Quinn forgot to count; really, Quinn forgot to breathe. And even though she wasn't a big advocate of guns, there was something about it that-,

Quinn surged forward, pushing Santana back on the bed, her lips pressing firmly to Santana's. "Really, babe, that does it for you?" Santana questioned.

Quinn ignored the statement, because she couldn't say what it was that turned her on so much, and she didn't want to think about it. Instead she pinned Santana to the bed, hands immediately falling to the bottom of her shirt. Santana reluctantly pulled her lips away. "Umm…babe?"

"Sssh," Quinn hissed.

Santana pulled away again. Quinn grunted, but settled on attacking her neck. "I'd be more than happy to make out with you, it's just, you know fire arms and sexy times…they don't really go hand in hand."

"It's disassembled."

"Yea, but still."

Quinn gave a louder grunt, but she let Santana up. Santana went about collecting the parts of the gun. She had to get down on her knees to collect the slide, which had slipped under the bed. She recovered it and sat back down beside Quinn. She was actually surprised that Quinn was taking this so well. "It's all cleaned, so there's no reason for you to have to take it apart, but you should always know the parts of a gun. Have you ever fired a weapon before?"

"Russell took me shooting a couple of times."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Of course he did." Despite her response, Santana instructed her as if she had never handled a gun before. She quickly went over the parts of the Beretta. She showed her how to load the gun, how to put on and take off the safety, how to point, how to aim, how to break it back down. "If someone comes at you, you aim for the chest. Center mass. Don't aim for the arm, or the leg, or the heart, because most likely you'll miss; you aim dead center, it's the biggest target."

Quinn swallowed, staring down at the weapon when Santana held it out to her. "Should I be worried?"

"There's no reason that you should be, no."

"And yet you're handing me a gun."

"Because I won't be here for three weeks, and say the zombie apocalypse happens. You'll need it to kill the fools standing in your way in front of the water."

"You can't kill a zombie with a gun."

"You can'tkilla zombie, period, and yes, yes you can kill zombies with guns. And I didn't say the gun was for zombies, I said that it was for the people standing in front of your water. You try to use that to save your life from zombies, you may as well just put some hot sauce on them brains of yorn cause they're already history."

"Did you say just say 'yorn'?"

"Yes, it's the perfect participle form of yours."

"That doesn't even come…just no." Quinn gently took the book out of Santana's hand, looking it over. "Just when I think that I'm starting to understand you, I find out that you keep a spare gun inPatriot Games."

"I like irony, babe," Santana said in reply.

"So are you actually copping to being a spy now?"

Santana cocked her head to the side. "Jack Ryan wasn't a spy. He was an analyst."

"Didn't he eventually work for the CIA?"

"Spoiler Alert, babe! And I honestly don't know, it's been so long since I've read any of the books." Santana's serious face came back down. "Okay, so I also put an additional 15k in the safe in my closet, which is why you need to know my numbers, and there's 25 more in Treasure Island. I don't actually anticipate anything happening, this is just like prepper stuff. You know, always be prepared and all that. So there's 50k in cash around the apartment if you need it, and I've got a locked box at the bank, but that's for like a real serious emergency, and you have to call Puck before you actually open the box, which reminds me, I programmed Detective Stef Thiessen's number into your phone. He's an officer at the Boston Police Department. Mostly he's a good friend who fixes parking tickets for me but if you need anything, you can call him, and he'll help you out."

Santana seemed to be going through a mental check list. "I think that's everything. Umm…do you know of anything that I forgot? Besides that I love you?"

Quinn thought about it, feeling the weight of the gun in the book, and thinking about the money just lying around the apartment. "Where do you hide the chocolate?" She had every plan on checking Robert Cormier'sThe Chocolate Waras soon as she was alone.

Santana smiled. "That's my secret, and I'm keeping it."

"You really won't tell me?"

Santana shook her head. "Nope."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

Quinn pinned Santana down. "Babe," Santana said warningly.

"You sure you're not going to tell me?" Quinn demanded.

"I am trained to detain a hostile combatant. You're going to want to think really hard about what you're about to do."

Quinn lowered her hands menacingly. "Are you telling me that big, bad Santana Lopez is ticklish?"

"Quinn…" her hands moved lower. Santana started laughing in anticipation. "You better not…"

Quinn dug her fingers into Santana's sides. Santana struggled, trying to get Quinn off of her but she was powerless beneath her. Quinn tickled her until Santana was breathless, and then she let up for only a few seconds before she started again.

"S-stop, Q!"

"What's that?" Quinn said, pretending like she couldn't hear her.

"Quinnie…puh-please?"

She dug in harder. "Who's the top?"

Santana struggled for breath, "Yo-you, you."

Quinn halted her attack, and watched as Santana's breathing slowly returned to normal. Hey it wasn't an orgasm, but it was kind of, sort of as good. A little.

"You're evil," Santana pouted.

"But you still love me."

Santana lifted as high as she could to give Quinn a kiss. "Only when you put out, babe." Santana rolled with Quinn as she sat up, switching their positions. She hovered over her wife. "Payback time."

Quinn only smirked. "I'm not ticklish." Santana rolled her hips between Quinn's legs.

"That's okay, I know your other weaknesses."

"That's not fair!"

Santana silenced her with her lips, biting down softly on Quinn's lower lip. She tugged gently, delighting when Quinn rewarded her with a low moan. Santana pinned her arms down over her head.

Santana pulled down the collar of Quinn's blouse with her teeth, placing kisses on the newly exposed skin. "I know you think that you can get away with whatever you're thinking since you're not going to be here for the next three weeks, but I just want to remind you, you still have to spend the rest of your life with me."

She gave an impish grin to Quinn. "Unh huh." Santana rolled her hips again, applying a little more pressure to her wife's very neglected core. "That'd just be wrong of me. To tease and not go through with it," she said, continuing to tease.

"Santana..."

"I wouldn't do that to you, babe."

Quinn pulled her down on top of her, fixing her eyes on Santana. The look that Quinn gave her instantly made her stop canting her hips.

"What are you really going to do, S?"

Santana rolled off Quinn, drawing her up with her. "Locate some stolen equipment and recover it before it gets sold." Quinn stared at her with a penetrating stare that hit Santana all the way to the gut.

She gestured. "Then what's all this about? Really?"

Santana chewed on her lip. "I haven't been away from you like this before."

"We've spent months apart in the past," Quinn reminded her.

Her words did nothing to ease the frown on Santana's face. "Yes, but not since we got married. For my piece of mind, I just…I need to know that you'll be safe."

Quinn gave her wife a condescending look. "Geez, San, you think this marriage thing turned me into a complete pussy, don't you? I'm still Quinn Fabray. Lopez."

Santana's face lit up. "I thought you hated that word!"

"It makes my point," Quinn dismissed. "I know how to take care of myself. I survived RussellandMcKinley High."

She nodded in agreement. "I know. You're a force to be reckoned with. But like I said before, and if you tell anyone I said this I will totally and mercilessly end you, but I know you're strong, and fierce, but I'm weak. I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing this for me."

Quinn hid a smile with an eye roll. "Okay, but you're close to reaching Edward Cullen levels of possessiveness."

"Oh please, babe! I haven't gone so far as to buy you an armored car because I don't think that you can walk down the street without tripping if I'm not there to protect you, and when are you just going to admit that you had a thing for ?"

"You seem awfully well versed on a series that you're so down on."

"I work in marketing children's fiction; I was practically forced to down that misogynistic codependent garbage. If Ieverget to the point where, I don't know, I have to follow you into the bathroom every time you pee, do the world a favor and put me out of my misery."

Quinn gave a halfway smirk. "Duly noted." She slipped a hand into her wife's holding it firmly. With her free she stroked Santana's cheek. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not all that strong either."

They watched television together until it got late enough that it was time for bed. The TV was turned off, they changed, and crawled in beside each other, Quinn turning out the light. Santana was the big spoon tonight, and she cradled Quinn softly in her arms, her head resting on Quinn's pillow. She closed her eyes, but she couldn't get her brain to shut off enough to fall asleep, even once it sounded like Quinn's breathing was evening out.

"Santana?" Quinn's voice called, breaking the silence that the two had been floating in for the past hour or so. "You awake?"

Santana didn't want to admit that she was because that would mean that she had things on her mind that were preventing her from falling asleep. "Yea, babe, I'm awake, what's up?"

Quinn turned, rolling closer to Santana. She reached for her hand. "You are coming back to me, right?"

Santana could tell that Quinn had been dying to ask those words all day, that she had sat on them, had fought with herself over asking them, but had finally broken down. It pained her that her wife had had that worry.

Santana tried to kiss reassurance into the top of her head. "Don't be stupid, Quinn. It's taken me years to train you; of course I'm coming back. I don't want anyone else benefitting from all my hard work."

Santana woke up early after very little sleep, and was pleased with herself for having loaded the car the night before so she didn't have to bother with doing it now. She mentally ran through her check-list, marking off the items one by one. She let Quinn sleep up until the moment that they had to leave.

"Will you be okay getting around while I'm gone?" Santana questioned, anxiously once they were in the car.

"Santana, I've managed to live 29 years without a chauffeur; I think I can manage three weeks."

"But I know how much you don't like to drive, babe."

Quinn's hand came down on top of Santana's. "I'll be fine." Santana would call Mercedes when she got to New York.

When they got up to the check-in, Santana asked for a moment from Quinn, as she wheeled her luggage up to the counter.

"I'm traveling with firearms," Santana told the ticket agent when she was going through the standard questions. She removed the two hard-cased locked boxes from her biggest suitcase, and when given the go ahead, she opened each box, showing the unloaded firearms. She had her Bond gun, and the one from beneath their bed. The box that it belonged in was still where it was supposed to be, and since Quinn couldn't open that box, and she didn't know about the Bond gun, there was no reason for her to know that Santana was traveling with firearms. She was already worried enough as it was.

After Santana's bags were out of sight, she and Quinn lingered as long as possible outside of the security check point. When Santana only had a few minutes left before she had to be at her gate, she finally told Quinn what she had been putting off saying. "I sent you an email with my itinerary. I'll call you when I get to New York, and when I land in Tucson." She paused. "I don't have my cell on me. It's sitting on my pillow back at the apartment."

Quinn's face scrunched up at this pronouncement. She purposely misunderstood her. "Do you want me to overnight it to you?"

"No. I can't travel with it," she quickly explained. "Once I leave Tucson, you can overnight it to me, or I can get a phone, and we can talk until we're both blue in the face, but while I'm in Tucson you won't be able to reach me on my cell."

The information slowly sank in with Quinn. "I'm not going to be able to talk to you for three weeks?"

"No, just one," Santana corrected. "Hopefully, not even that long. And we'll be able to talk; I mean, I'll call you when I can, and we'll talk. We won't go that whole time without talking. I promise, I'll call whenever I can. I just can't take my phone."

Santana watched Quinn go from angry to looking really, really small. Santana would have preferred angry Quinn to this uncertain and afraid one standing in front of her. She was completely thrown off when Quinn pulled her to her, bringing her forehead down to touch hers. "You swear…you're coming back?"

She only hesitated for a few seconds before she nodded. "Three weeks, and then I'm back. I swear on everything that I am." Quinn kissed her like she was kissing her good-bye.

"Quinn…" but she didn't know what to say past that. So she kissed her again, before she pulled away to get on her flight.

Santana felt shitty. She felt terrible. She had sat on this information, but couldn't bring herself to tell Quinn because the cell phone silence made it sound like Santana was doing something dangerous, and Santana really didn't want her wife to have that image sitting in her head all these weeks, or even days. She didn't want it to keep her up during the night. It was simple. Cell phones had GPS in them, you could track someone via GPS. Santana also had a 'safe' laptop. One that was sent to her by the agency whenever she did field work. One that had a security system on it that you couldn't buy at Best Buy. She didn't have a smart phone, though.

She didn't normally do field work. This was just one of the few times since she was 19 years old, and really she wasn't working in the 'field' so much as she was assisting. It had never bothered her before. She had never gone into it with so much nerves. It was just that this was the first time in her entire life that she felt like she was actuallyleavingsomeone to do her work. Sure Puck was her brother, and Brittany was her best friend, and there were her parents, her aunts, uncles, siblings, and abuela; she had friends, but that was something holy different than leaving your wife behind. She didn't like the feeling at all.

When Bryne answered the door she was the most dressed down that Santana had ever seen her (not that Santana had ever seen her dressed up, even in a club she was a minimalist). She was dressed in a pair of black dress pants, and a plain white wife beater. Her hair, black, was pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes casually took in Santana's appearance.

"How was the wedding?" she questioned.

Santana smiled, but then sighed. "It was good; stressful, and I hate having to leave her like that when we should be on the beach right now."

Bryne gave a wry smile. "I can't do anything about the beach," she said apologetically, "but I hear the desert can be magical."

Without warning, she pushed Santana up against the door. Santana watched her with an amused smile on her face.

"What's your wife think you're doing right now?"

An overwhelming feeling of guilt welled up in her. "Work."

"That's it?" Santana nodded.

Santana pushed back against Bryne, only to be pushed back into the door. "Nicht bewegen," she commanded. "Don't move."

Santana stood still, the smirk back in place. Bryne's hand slowly moved down one thigh first, before moving on to the slide deftly down the other. Her fingers traveled lightly over Santana's lower back, before moving them across the front of her abdomen. Santana's breath hitched for a second when Bryne's hands brushed over her breast, curling back over her shoulder. "Drei," she said confidently when she was done.

Santana kept her face blank, tilting her head.

Bryne unbuttoned the top button of Santana's jeans, undoing the zipper halfway. Fingers slid into the waist band of Santana's underwear. "Ein." She counted. She unbuttoned her blouse, pushing the fabric off of her shoulders so it pooled on the floor. "Zwei." Santana's smirk grew when Bryne reached for the bottom of her wife beater, tugging it upwards. Bryne gave a questioning look at the completely unsexy bra that Santana had chosen to wear, trailing a finger along the top of her bra before tugging softly on it. "Drei."

Santana gave Bryne a triumphant grin. "Zwei," she corrected.

"I counted three."

"Check the shoulder holster again."

Bryne looked to the holster that had been discarded with her shirt. She picked the item up, her hand tightening around it.

"Drei," Santana said, happily.

"What the hell, Santana! Is this a toy?"

"No, it's a lighter, I saw it at the gas station."

"Where's your service revolver?"

"In my bag."

"When's the last time you fired off a shot?"

"I took all three to the range before I got on the plane."

Bryne kind of flicked it at Santana. "Get rid of it," she commanded. "Knowing you, you'd forget you'd have the damn thing and reach for that instead of your gun, and unless you can burn a place down in three seconds flat, a fat lot of good it will do you."

Santana's smile didn't falter; Bryne was a sore loser.

"You're still so young," she remarked. "I don't like the hip holster, either."

Santana removed the Walther from the hip holster before buttoning her pants back up. "What's wrong with it? I was going to use a thigh holster, but I'd have to wear a skirt for that to be in any way convenient. Or shorts, and that just stops traffic."

"You have to unbutton your pants to get at it, and that's just wasted seconds. Stick with the bra and shoulder holster."

Bryne fell back against the bed. Santana looked around the ordered chaos of the hotel room. She motioned to the screens. "Did I interrupt anything?"

"Yeah, I think I saw a cat move two hours ago."

Santana sat down on the opposite bed. "What kind?"

"Are there different types of cats?" Bryne seemed serious. She shrugged. "I've taken stills of anything that's come up that even slightly resembles activity." She handed a stack of pictures over to Santana. "There's a camera stationed at both the front and sides. That stack of photos beside your right hand are traffic cams that are stationed at both the entrance and the exit of the warehouse compound."

"Paulson emailed them to me."

Bryne yawned. "You sure this is the right location?"

"Like I can't say a 100% yes, but I'm pretty positive, and my gut's not usually wrong."

Santana started to unpack her bags, setting up even more equipment in the room. From her laptop she connected to Verizon's server, and accessed the cell towers in the area. "Audio and visual," she said, as sound filled the room.

"I fucking hate stake-outs," Bryne grumped.

"Auf Deutsch," Santana teased.

"Verdammt, ich hasse Absteckungen." Bryne chewed on the end of her pen before she wrote something down. Santana looked over her shoulder to check what it was. She'd written down the time.

"Something happen?" she questioned.

"No. Just keeping a record. How was your abbreviated honeymoon?"

"No bikini that's for sure. But it was nice. Quinn's been really good about this whole thing, and when I get back, I'll be sure to make it up to her big time."

"She must have cut you off?"

Santana let her eyes flicker from one screen to the next. "No, we decided to take a break."

"She cut you off."

"No," Santana said more firmly. "In the past, instead of fixing our problems, we tried to fuck them away, and it didn't do us much good. I don't want that. Quinn's like the love of my life, and I want to make sure that we have a life together. We need to figure out a way to talk through our problems, instead of just letting them go unchecked."

"And how muchtalkingdid you do about this little field trip?" Bryne kept her eyes focused on the screens as she asked this question.

Santana wondered if she was being tested. "Just that I had to work."

"Secrets don't make lasting relationships."

"Are you telling me that I should tell her everything?"

"No, because that goes in breach of your contract. I'm merely pointing out that this isn't the kind of job that encourages lasting relationships. I mean for fuck's sake you were worried about missing a honeymoon even though youknowwhat's in that warehouse; you tracked it down after all." Santana bit down on her bottom lip. "Why do you think I'm still single?"

A teasing look crossed her features. "Because you couldn't get me to fall into bed with you?"

"Cute, kid. Cute. I've never seemed to have a problem with getting a girl to fall into bed with me." She considered for a moment. "Except when said girl was busy chasing after a Hazel-eyed blonde." Santana pointed a finger. "I never chased!"

"This job isn't exactly conducive to having lasting relationships. At least my side of it."

"But I'm not like you." Santana finally said. "I just analyze the situation, I don't…act. And I don't have like this super mysterious side life."

Bryne made a point to look at all of the equipment that was in the hotel room. "No? So you're busy pushing papers around in an office right now?"

Santana gave a resentful nudge to the hard backed case that was in front of her, causing it to tilt over.

"No, but it's not like I do this kind of thing every day, or even month. I mean I can count on both hands how many times I've actively been involved in the field. I couldn't…I mean before Quinn, sure, but how could I not…it's less about me now, and more about her. I couldn't even imagine what she'd do if I didn't…" Santana could just picture how Quinn's face would disappear behind a hard mask as she was informed the news. Outside she'd be completely collected, but inside she'd be ripped up, and there'd be no one to hold her together. "I just don't see how I could do this full time, now that I'm sharing my life with someone."

"Ask your friend Puck to explain it; he understands."

"What's Puck got to do with anything?"

"He's a soldier. He could find a dozen other jobs that offer the same pay; he's got military training, and there's jobs that ex-military get first crack at, and yet he stays in the military. Yeah, it's the Air Force, but they still see combat; there's always that chance he'll get deployed. Yet he reenlists. Do you think that he doesn't love Shelly?"

"I know he loves Shelly."

"What about you and his other family?" Santana nodded. "He does what he does because he knows that there is a higher purpose that he's been called to serve. He understands that; understands that by doing what he's doing, he's helping to give his wife, and whatever children they have, a better life. And you understand that, too, because you're here right now, instead of on your honeymoon. That, or you like feeling like a badass."

"I am a badass."

"Okay, just remember that," Bryne challenged. She threw a pillow at Santana. "Why don't you get some sleep? Who knows when's the next time you'll get a chance?"

"Shouldn't you be the one to sleep? How long have you been staring at that screen?"

"Don't worry, I blinked about an hour ago." She pointed to the other bed. Santana stripped and got beneath the covers. Travel fatigue took her over, and it wasn't long before she was asleep.

Bright and early on Monday morning, just a few minutes past 8, a lean, tan, raven-haired beauty wearing cut-off jean shorts that were so short they barely covered her underwear, and a sleeveless jean top that was tied just above the bellybutton, and was unbuttoned enough on the top to show off her amble cleavage, sashayed into the small, cramped office of the warehouse compound, her hips swaying so hard she could have been on the deck of a ship instead of on solid ground.

"Excuso me, excuso me," the woman said, counting on the man's ignorance of Spanish to not realize that her Spanglish was completely made up. "Are chu the manager here?"

The man's eyes roamed over the woman's body, trying to work his way through her broken English.

"I am."

"Ay dios!" she yelled, waving her arms around wildly. "Mi tonto como mierda boyfriend sent me out here in this damn heat, and I'm sweating so hard I've even got a pool under my boobs," she thrust her chest out, "and I'm supposed to unload the truck in our warehouse, but the hijo de puta forgot to give me the keys, and I don't know what to do. This heat's has my hair going all over the place, and I'm muy tired, and already broke a nail." She thrust the nail in front of the man's face so he could see where her perfect manicure had broken off.

The man nodded, trying his best to keep up.

"So, he's left me to unload de whole truck with just me and the dishwasher, and it's a 45 minute drive all de way back to the restaurant, and I need to be back in time for the lunch shift, and ay dios, mami told me, she said 'Rosie, never chu marry a gringo, but I didn't listen, no I don't know what to do," she said with a huff, resting her elbow on the counter, burying her head in her hand.

The manager shifted. "Erm…what's your boyfriend's name?" he questioned, pulling the ledger to him. The woman gave him a hopeful look. "Charlie Frinks."

"Charlie?"

"Frinks. Si. He tinks I'm gonna be the third Mrs. Frinks, but I can't get with no man of no action. You know what I'm a saying?"

The man nodded rapidly.

"Chu aren't a man of no action, are you?"

"No, no. I can let you borrow my key, but you have to return it as soon as you're done."

The woman kissed him flat on his fleshly lips. "Gracias, gracias!" She jumped up and down in her excitement, her breasts bouncing, nearly coming out of her top. "Chu are my new hero! I'll bring de key right back. Rapido, no?"

"Rapido," the man repeated.

She grinned, and blew him a kiss before sashaying out of the small office.

Santana kept her face composed until she was back in the black Mercedes sprinter van. "How'd it go?" Bryne questioned with a smile.

"Next time, just break the damn lock," Santana said, handing over the key to warehouse # 9 for Bryne to make a copy of.

"Your country thanks you,' Bryne joked.

Rosario made three other appearances that morning. Santana was learning as she went along. When she wore dresses or other clothes that showed off her fantastic body, people noticed. They couldn't take their eyes off of her. When she wore loose fitting jeans, a non-form fitting top, and sunglasses with her hair in a ponytail, and wore tennis shoes instead of two and three inch heels, she got substantially fewer looks. Also and sadly, she learned prejudices worked in her favor. She had discovered a long time ago that more people inquired into her business when she was wearing a business suit than when she wore polyester shirts with company logos on them.

Dressing like the help, like a worker, practically made her disappear. For this job she was dressed in a black and red polyester polo with the name "Speedy's Delivery" written on it, the name Rosario stitched over the pocket, her pony tail pulled through the hole in the cap. She may as well have been one of the pictures on the wall for the amount of acknowledgement that she got. No one noticed her. No one noticed when she walked down the main corridor to the upper level offices, or when she slipped into the janitor's office, closing the door behind her. She slid out her tablet from the delivery bag, and went to work.

"Now let's just hope that idiot opened that email," she whispered.

It only took a minute to find out that the answer was yes. Santana rolled her eyes at the fact that the floor manager had seriously ceded access to his company's entire network, solely because he opened an email attachment about kittens. His lapse in security meant that Santana's job had been made that much easier. Piggy backing on the email file that was sent was a downloadable file that allowed Santana to now have access to the floor manager's work computer and screen. He hadn't even locked the screen before he had gone to lunch. It was an added bonus that would save her time having to run a code breaker program, though she was beginning to think that this was the kind of guy whose password was the name of his cat. If he was Santana's employee, she would be handing him his ass right about now.

The screen on her tablet split into two, as she shifted through the database. It took her 20 minutes to gain access to the Wi-Fi system that the warehouse was hooked up to, and after doing a temporary black out of Vision Cable Company's server for 30 seconds, she was able to slip out of the closet unnoticed, fading easily back into the background.

"Honey, I'm home!" Santana called out as she sauntered into warehouse # 9. Santana made her way over to the corner of the warehouse that Bryne had staked for their purposes. Mr. Frinks hadn't frequented his warehouse space in months, they weren't worried he'd make a sudden reappearance. "Anything interesting happen while I was away?"

"Do you mind not making so much noise?" Bryne chastised. "And no. How'd hunting go?"

Santana whipped her tablet out, typed a few things, opened an app, and then they were looking at the inside of the other warehouse through its security feed. "You were right. The manager's a kitten man."

Bryne rolled her eyes. "You ever think about the utter lack of security by the people who are supposed to be guarding your information?"

"I have Comcast," Santana joked. "I'm sure we could gain access to the cameras itself, but that really wouldn't do anything for us, because assuming that this is being broadcast, there'd be no way to hide the scrolling screen, and these cameras don't scroll automatically. So far as I've been able to tell, every last one of them is trained on the doors, and none of them on the interior."

"So we don't have eyes inside, but it's good that they're all dedicated to the exits. As long as I don't use the doors, I can slip in undetected and there'd be no record of me coming or going. But just because this is the feed that we're getting, doesn't mean that there isn't a separate security system that's either not hooked up to the Wi-Fi or utilizes a separate service provider to broadcast. It also doesn't show if there's motion sensors either," Bryne noted. "But this is good work, Santana."

"I'm not done yet," Santana beamed. She brought up another screen. "So, I was thinking on the way over, even if we do confirm that this warehouse contains what we think it does, we still don't know who, which is why we're sitting, right?" She went on without waiting for an affirmative from Bryne. "So it would help if we knew who was moving said equipment, right?"

"Yea," Bryne said in a 'duh' voice.

"I mean without actually coming across them first."

"That would be ideal."

"What if we do a reverse IP look up?"

"How do we do that without being inside and gaining access to their computer?"

"Have you ever heard the expression you're too smart for your own good'?"

"Yes." Bryne nodded, urging her to get on with it.

"Well, okay so very complex systems expect to get hacked by other very complex systems, and if they're worth the thousands or even millions of dollars it takes to run them, they are protected against very intricate schemes. Sometimes they forget, however, to guard against very low level attacks, like, for instance, a free website that is typically loaded with a virus or two just to make you pay for going on a free site. It's like getting sucker punched by the smallest guy in the class.

"When you run a program called the speed test, it tells you why your connection has the speed that it has, including the unknowns that make it not perform at perhaps its best, which includes other servers interfering with it, background programs, etc, etc. So being that it's not an intrusive procedure, most software simply over looks it, and-," Santana pointed triumphantly as three IP addresses came up. "Forget to guard against it."

Santana pulled up google maps and all info and ran the three addresses. One pinged at an internet coffee shop in Manhattan. The other two were far more complex.

She wrote down the excess information.

"Impressive, Santana."

"I know. I've even managed to impress myself with this one. It makes it look like I actually have tech skills when we both know I don't. So get tech girl to run that IP address, and then, if we're lucky and they're stupid, we'll have some information on our guys."

"What about the Manhattan address?"

"It's probably attached to a ghost rider which pings random IP addresses based on an algorithm. But, like all algorithms it operates on a pattern, and you can use contextual glues to slowly build a diagram to figure out where the signal originates from. Well, I can't, but I know it can be done. I listened to Jenna explain it once, but me and tech," Santana waved a hand over her head. "I can just do the basics." She rethought that. "For us, anyway."

"Not on nerd level, but not on normal level either."

"Exactly. That's why we have tech guys."

Santana took off her book bag, and pulled out the blue prints that she got from City Hall. She spread the roll out on the table. "I come baring more gifts. I managed to secure the building plan for the warehouse, here is a schematic of the city sewer system beneath the compound, this is a schematic of the electrical system, and this one's plumbing. I was told that it would take two weeks to get these."

"You sound proud of yourself."

"I am."

"I feel like I should be giving you a cookie," Bryne remarked. Her eyes flicking back to the screens that she never spent too much time looking away from. She wrote down the time again.

"Save your accolades, I like bling. Oh, and one last thing. I did some snooping around at a few truck stops, and found out that someone ordered a private fleet of six trucks, but without drivers."

"So, that's a team of at least 7, I would say one guard per two trucks, and if it were me, I'd load two trucks, give it an hour or two head start, than load two more, and so on."

"Youwouldn't two do in one day."

"For what's in there, I would. No matter how they disbursed the system, if it's not the whole thing, it's worthless, so I'd want to keep the trip as together and concise as possible. Why don't you get some rest, and I'll wake you in about four hours?"

Santana felt like she was being told to take a nap, which essentially she was. It was still early in the afternoon, but Santana had done nothing but cat nap the day before, as had Bryne, and maybe she could use the rejuvenation to her system. She found the softest looking spot on the floor, and tried to make herself comfortable enough to go to sleep. There was a couch in the office of the warehouse, but Bryne had vetoed the idea of using it because they were supposed to stay as confined to the area as possible, and because she felt like it was too far from the warehouse door.

Bryne woke her in four hours, as promised, and after leaving Santana specific directions, spread out on the floor. Bryne was out like a light in a matter of seconds. It was a bit disconcerting; especially the way Bryne slept. She didn't do anything as freaky as sleeping with her eyes open, but she lay flat on her back, hands crossed over her abdomen, feet stretched out. She looked like a corpse in a coffin, and she moved about as much as well. Her breathing got shallow, but her features never relaxed. Santana wondered if that was a normal thing, like was she that way when she was asleep in her bed, too, or if it was just because they were on a recovery mission.

Santana couldn't sleep on her back. The only time that she did was when Quinn was curled up on top of her.

Once Santana started thinking about Quinn, she couldn't stop the thoughts that were flooding her mind. She missed her wife. It had only been a few days, but falling asleep without having Quinn beside her reminded her too sharply of those two horrible days when she'd had to go to sleep without her being in the bed with her, without hearing her tell her good-night, without having talked to her all day. Santana berated herself for the feelings that she was doing something wrong, because even with a normal job, her normal job in fact, people traveled for work all the time. When Quinn got higher up in her company, she'd probably be traveling, too. Santana reasoned that she just didn't like being away because they'd just gotten married, not because she had to constantly be in the presence of Quinn.

When Bryne woke, the sudden noise startled Santana out of the stupor that she had been falling into.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Bryne questioned.

Santana shook her head. "I think I saw your cat."

Bryne shook her head. "You fell asleep, didn't you?"

"I wasn't asleep."

"No…you just weren't here. Are you awake now?"

"Wide awake."

"Good. Time for recon."

"Now? It's," Santana checked the time. "Christ, it's 4:00 in the morning."

"Yea, and as you demonstrated, it's that time when people's minds start to lull, and it's still dark out."

Santana fixed her face into serious lines. "On your command."

"You know the drill. You stay here, you are my eyes. Quick in and out."

"Aye aye," Santana said sarcastically. She quickly got in a more serious mood, though, as they both did a quick check of equipment and supplies. They reaffirmed that they were on the same channel, and that Santana's audio and visual was working the way that it should.

"If something happens?"

"I call for back up."

"That's right, you call, you don't move your ass from that chair, do you understand me, Lopez?"

"Yeah, I got it."

Without another word, Bryne slipped from the building, surprisingly not making a sound as she exited. When she was alone, Santana let out a tense breath, feeling the adrenaline rush through her; same feeling she used to get ride before a competition. She tracked Bryne's movements via the screen, a call to command already dialed up and just waiting for her to push the button.

"How's it looking?"

Bryne's whispered voice nearly startled her, but she quickly settled back down. This was just like a cheer competition. "You're looking good. It's quiet."

While keeping an eye on the various screens, Santana watched Bryne's progression through the camera she was wearing. Bryne slipped into the sewer system via a drain. Once it was discovered that there was a grate that connected to the system, it was decided that this was going to be Bryne's in, that way she avoided the front, back, and side entrances…and the cameras that were stationed at them. As an added precaution, the had also recorded two hours of the feed from the cameras, and were broadcasting that recording instead of a live feed so that Bryne could actually stand right in front of the cameras and not be seen.

"Inside," Bryne updated her, though she could see that.

Santana oriented herself to the building. "Do you see that about 30 yards in front of you at 09:00?"

"Yeah. They're definitely getting ready to ship. I'm checking them out now."

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Santana's attention. "B? I just saw two black Lincoln Town cars turn into the compound. If they're heading towards you ETA at two and a half minutes." Santana glanced at Bryne's screen. Santana squinted trying to make out the image being presented to her. "What're you doing?"

"Trying to see into the crates."

"Well hurry up. Confirmed they are heading your way. 2 minutes."

"What is that?"

"B, come on! 90 seconds."

Santana could see Bryne shift, trying to get a better angle maybe. "I just have to check the other crates."

"No time. You've got about 60 seconds before you have company."

Bryne dropped down to her belly, slithering like a snake to the next crate. "30 seconds, B, you should be out of there."

"This is our package. Call it in."

"15 seconds, B. Cars have parked."

"Did you call it in?"

Santana briefly switched channels, and placed the call to command. "It's called in. You better be out of there, now. There in the front, you can slip out the back, or back down the drain."

"Do you recognize any of them?"

"Wo bist du?"

"I'm behind one of the crates," she snapped. "Do you recognize them?"

Santana looked at the men that got out of the first Town Car. The driver stayed inside. She ran the facial recognition software. She now had an open link with command so that anything she saw they saw. The other town car carried two people, a man, a woman, and a driver. They could have been out for a nice evening, except it was 4:30 in the morning.

The men from the first car spanned out. "B, you have one sub at the front of the warehouse, two more fanning out to cover the rear entrance."

"Santana?"

"Yes, go."

"The woman is Cass Bremerton, she's a known weapons trafficker. The one who hasn't moved an inch from her side, he's a ghost, a hired hand. The driver looks to be just a driver, the first one out of the car is a guy that goes by the nickname Vlad. He's essentially a do-boy. Got a bit of a jacket on Interpol, though. That's all I got for you. The others don't ping. I'll keep trying to find them."

"Thanks. B, did you hear that?"

"Ja."

"Six subs total, not counting the drivers. No…wait, the woman is getting back into the TC and they are driving away. 5 subs. The guy named Vlad, he's walking with a slightly limp, favoring his right leg. He' about 6'0, even. The ghost is maybe an inch shorter, 210, looks like." She continued to feed Bryne information. Cass, got back into the Town Car, and it drove off." She continued to relay the information. Bryne was no longer able to talk because all but one of the remaining guys had gone inside the warehouse.

"You no have two guys inside with you. No three, now."

For a couple of tense minutes, maybe even an hour, it looked like it was just going to be a waiting game, but things escalated quickly. Santana wasn't sure what happened, if Bryne's hiding place was discovered, or if she had stepped out at the wrong moment and had been caught. But there was a moment when she got a very good look at one of the guys, then the camera screen went blank. Bryne was still talking, though, quickly.

Santana was on her feet in seconds, checking to make sure she had her guns with her before she exited the warehouse. It prickled her skin how amazingly calm Bryne was as she fed Santana information in German. How many captors she saw, her surroundings, what they were wearing. Then her voice suddenly cut out, and Santana was running faster. She climbed up the fire escape, instead of going through the sewers as Bryne had done, because that would put her beneath the subs. People had a tendency to look down, but not up, so she was going with the tactical position. Santana moved on pure adrenaline, her mind blank with the exception of keeping in mind the images that she had seen through Bryne's eyes, and the blueprints for the warehouse.

She encountered no resistance getting to and around the building, or climbing up the fire escape. The escape, though, stopped about two feet short of the roof, so Santana had to stretch up as high as she could go, and jump, before pulling herself up by her fingertips. It took no effort to work the sky light open enough for her to slip her head and body inside; the problem was getting down from the skylight. There was a cat walk, about four feet down, almost directly beneath it. It was risky, and she didn't want to try for it unless she was sure she wouldn't make a sound when she fell. It took only a second for her to remind herself that it didn't matter, that Bryne was in trouble. She lowered herself as far as she could go, adjusted her gravity, and was pleased that she ended up dropping almost cat like onto the catwalk. She raced to the edge, remembering to stay low.

When she got to the stairwell, she paused. She saw three subs, the same number that Bryne had said. She had predicted that there was going to be a team of at least 10, so whether this was merely the advance guard, or her predictions were off, or there were more people on the way, Santana couldn't say, but she needed to get Bryne out of there now and the subs subdued so they couldn't warn the remaining subs to her presence.

Santana made it down the steps as fast as she could without causing any unnecessary noise. When she got to the bottom of the stairwell, she almost ran into one of the guys, a fourth, standing there, his back facing away from her, but he was moving, so it wouldn't be for long. She pulled out her gun, and very carefully hit him on the back of his neck. Catching him before he could fall to the ground. He was a lot heavier than Santana was expecting, but she thanked her cheerleading training for teaching her how to catch a falling body. She lowered him to the ground. Satisfied that he was actually knocked out, she cuffed him to the rail, sticking his sock in his mouth to keep him from yelling if he came to.

Just as she was congratulating herself, she heard a sound coming from the main part of the warehouse that sent her hair standing on end. It was the sound of something unyielding hitting flesh. She creeped around the corner, and saw to her great relief that Bryne was still alive. She was tied down to a chair, and a really mean looking dude had apparently just hit her with his pistol. Instead of outright killing her he seemed to be attempting to get information from Bryne. Good luck with that.

Somehow Bryne caught Santana's eye. Santana raised her gun to eye level, but Bryne gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Santana nodded, but didn't lower her gun, her finger itching when she saw the man raise his gun again to hit her with it. The movement was swift. Bryne had somehow wiggled part of her foot free, and the next time the guy got closer to her, she used her foot to push back against him, causing the chair to fall backwards. She rolled into the guy, taking his feet out from beneath him. The gun went clattering to the floor, accidentally discharging when it hit. A bullet ricocheted, hitting no one but the wall, something that oddly caused both Bryne and the sub to start screaming expletives at each other until Santana remembered what it was they were supposed to be recovering.

At the sound of the gun going off, footsteps followed. One sub they didn't plan for hit her like a freight train, knocking her to the ground, her gun falling from her hand. She saw the sub reaching for it, so she pushed it further out of reach. A hand came down against her neck. Santana's fingers went straight for the air pipe, at the same time landing a punch square in the center of the man's face. He groaned, but didn't roll off of her.

Stubborn, fucker.

Remembering that the best way to get people to do what you wanted physically, was to do the opposite, Santana rolled into his grip. This set him off balance, giving her the upper hand. She got him into a side head lock, cutting off his blood supply until he blacked out. Santana took a few necessary seconds to make sure he was disarmed, and to encase his hands in a pair of plastic cuffs before she moved to retrieve her discarded gun.

Santana had just a hair's warning, a chance glance out of the side of her eye. She spun and squeezed without really thinking about it."That's odd," she thought,"the sound came before I pulled the trigger."

Santana's shot hit the guy on the leg where she'd been aiming, and the guy doubled over. Moving quicker than Santana had, Bryne kicked away the weapon, and hit his wound with her elbow.

"Aww…" he grunted. She hit him with the broad side of her gun, before kicking him between the legs. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Bryne shouted something, but Santana didn't quite catch it. She still heard the remaining action around her but she couldn't focus. She looked down in shock at the blood on her shirt.Oh, Quinn.She thought as she recognized that the blood covering her was her own. She saw hazel eyes floating in front of her. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief.I was shot.