Quinn's lips still tingled even after Santana stepped away. It took everything that she had in her, years of Fabray training and practice with not letting emotions come through, to actually watch Santana walk away from her. Quinn had never considered herself to be one of those girls that'd been hit with the Bella Swan syndrome; she'd never been one of those sappy, overly dramatic girls who practically had to breathe in their partner because their whole lives were tied up with their mate. She wasn't one of those people that thought the world had ended because they were apart.

But while watching the distance grow between them, the only thing that she could think about was all the things that you didn't say to someone because you thought that you would have a lifetime to say them. Things like, she liked Mondays better than Fridays because she liked coming home to Santana being there, as opposed to the days when she got off of work first, and came home to an empty apartment. Things like she absolutely hated waking up early on Saturday morning, but loved the fact that Santana insisted on cooking breakfast for her. Things like, she thought it was indescribably cute that Santana danced when she cleaned, and sometimes purposely left scuff marks or soap stains in the shower if she knew it was Santana's turn to clean, just so she could sneak up on her, and watch her ass move to whatever beat was playing on her iPod.

She could handle being away from her wife; she had done so often over the years, so it wasn't that Santana was leaving for three weeks that made Quinn anxious; it was that haunting premonition that she wasn't going to come back. Good things never stayed good for very long in Quinn's life. She had learned a long time ago that if it was good, that meant something was probably going to come along fairly soon to mess things up. Despite how she came across, she hadn't been surprised when Santana told her that she didn't have her phone on her, because she had watched Santana carefully leave it in their bedroom. She knew, too, that Santana had taken her gun with her, because the gun she had left her with was a beginner's gun, which meant it wasn't Santana's. No gun and no cell phone meant that this wasn't an average business trip.

And then there was Quinn's own gut feeling aboutBones. Not a feeling in her bones, but the showBones.Particularly the episode that Santana had turned off. Quinn had the unsettling feeling that if it had been any other episode of the show, her wife wouldn't have even bothered to turn the TV off, so she wondered what it was about that episode that Santana didn't want her to see? Was it one of the ones where Sealy got shot?

Although she fully planned on going private eye on Santana's apartment while she as gone, the idea of going back home after Santana left was so very unappealing, so she called Mercedes up, thankful that her friend wasn't the type to lay in the bed all day. She went over to her friend's townhome with a pint of skim milk, and half a dozen donuts fresh from the bakery. Mercedes looked grumpy, she was still in her night clothes, and her hair was still wrapped, but she opened the door, and invited Quinn inside. She may getupearly, but it took her hours to get ready for the day on the weekends. "What's the matter?" she questioned.

"Santana left for work today," Quinn said. "She won't be back until the end of September."

Mercedes evaluated her best girl's pout. "Aw…come here, girl," Mercedes cooed, offering her arms to Quinn. "It's only for a little while."

Quinn sniffed. "What if she doesn't come back?" It felt weird, admitting her feelings out in the open like that, but she and Mercedes always had a brutal honesty with each other. Quinn had always seemed to open up to this woman when she couldn't seem to open up to anyone else.

"Of course she's coming back. Why wouldn't she?"

Quinn pulled back to give Mercedes a look. "Oh that. Well, let's not stay stood in the doorway."

"Do you have Netflix," Quinn sniffled.

Mercedes seemed a little taken aback. "Uh…yeah. Movie marathon?"

"Can we?"

Mercedes nodded. They got through a whole movie in near silence before Quinn asked for the remote. She typed inBonesand was hit with a series of titles. It took until the fifth season for Quinn to find the one that she was looking for, all the while Mercedes gave her a sideways look.

"How's Young?" Quinn questioned, just to get her friend's eyes off of her. It worked, because suddenly Mercedes was no longer looking at her, but at the floor. Quinn noticed, and after hitting play, she turned to look at Mercedes.

"We decided to take a break," Mercedes finally said. She looked embarrassed and frustrated. "Sam and I…we kind of did a you and Santana after the reception, and I realized that I still sort of have a lot of feelings for Sam, you know? And if I feel that way, it's really not fair to Young to string him along when I still have feelings for someone else."

"But Young is such a gentleman. And he wassosweet! I thought he was perfect for you, 'Mercy."

"Me, too. And if he really is the match that God has for me then we'll find our way back to each other. Besides…do you think Mercedes Young sounds right?"

"Over Mercedes Evans you mean?"

Mercedes cheeks glowed. "Sam and I aren't…" she faltered, "it just doesn't work with us."

"It didn't work with me and Santana either," Quinn said, softly. Her words returned her to her worries, and her worries brought her back to the screen. She pressed play.

"Santana and I are both dying to know, what's his first name?"

Mercedes chuckled softly. "You know I only got around to finding that out about a week before the wedding. It's Anthony, girl."

"Anthony Young…is he related to Vince?"

"I never asked," Mercedes said sarcastically. "I'll get on that."

Quinn's eyes fell to Cam carrying a pregnancy stick around the office. "Maybe Santana's pregnant?"

Mercedes eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing, ignore me."

Mercedes frowned beside her. Quinn went back to watching the episode. She didn't have long to wait before it struck her what had set off silent alarm bells with Santana. She had seen this episode before; at one time or another she had watched just about every episode ofBones. This episode wasn't one where Booth got shot, it was the one where government agents took over the lab and they had to figure out the cause of death of a corpse who could have been one of the presidents. Quinn kind of gasped.

Mercedes looked up as if she was being pulled out of a deep thought. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said quickly. Mercedes didn't look like she believed her.

"People don't usually gasp over nothing," she pointed out.

Quinn gave a false smile. "Really, it's nothing," Quinn insisted unconvincingly, but Mercedes seemed to be in her own world, which left Quinn alone to be in hers. And her world seemed to be getting smaller and smaller as the realization fell on her, the reason she was suspicious of Santana turning off this episode. The federal agency that had taken over the Jefferson had claimed to be the General Services Administration. The one her wife claimed to work for. Obviously that seemed to be a half-truth, or a downright lie on the show, but if that were the case then why shut the episode off? Quinn knew that television and real life weren't the same thing. The only conclusion she could come up with, was that the real life GSA might do something other than selling paper.

Quinn had looked, at both their bank statement and the GSA website. She had read through the services they provided. She had no doubt that Santana worked for them, or that they offered the services that they said. But after seeing the take-over on the television show, a nagging voice started protesting. Oddly, the voice that was suddenly ringing in Quinn's ear wasn't Booth's, or Brennan's, or Santana's, but her Accounting 101 teacher back in her freshman year, as he talked about the basics of accounting."Accountants like every number, every dollar, accounted for. One cheat that business, and Politicians, do all the time, however, is when there's a line item that you don't know where it belongs, but you still need somewhere to put it, it gets filed away as 'general services'.

Those words repeated over and over in her head, until they became interspersed with a conversation that she and Santana once had."What's your definition of a spy?"

Quinn's face wrinkled as she thought about it. "Someone who works for a secret government agency, who is trained to be able to kill someone with their thumb, and goes around protecting the union from foreign and domestic terrorists."

"You watch too many movies," Santana chided… Yes, I have a top secret security clearance, and yes I work for a government agency, but not a top secret one…by your definition, I am not a spy.

Her, Quinn's,definition. She never asked her wife what Santana's definition of a spy was.

Quinn woke up sweating and gasping for air, tightly clutching Santana's pillow to her. Her eyes sought out a piece of familiarity, landing on the alarm clock that sat by her side table. From its glow she could see the gun that Santana had left with her in front of a picture that had just been added to the night stand. She stared at the photo of her and Santana at Martha's Vineyard, and she fought back the wave of loneliness that had taken a sudden hold of her. Quinn had barely talked to Santana since they said good-bye at the airport, and it made Quinn anxious. She knew Santana wasn't doing some office job, and had been doing her very best not to think about it, but she just had a dream…and she really,reallyjust needed to hear Santana's voice right now.

Quinn's hands tangled in the bed sheets, gripping them in frustration at the absence of a body that was supposed to be in the bed beside her. Quinn reached for her phone, dialing Santana's number from memory, praying that Santana would pick up her phone. When her wife's phone started ringing on the table beside her, she accepted that Santana really wasn't going to pick up, and she had to go another night without talking to her.

She let the phone ring to voicemail and listened to Santana's message. "You've reached Santana Fabray-Lopez's voicemail. If you're listening to this sexy voice right now that means I didn't get to the phone in time to answer. If you're not as sexy as this voice, I'm unlikely to call you back, but if you are, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can. Ha, ha. I'm just kidding, babe. You know I'm only yours. Stop listening to me, and leave your message now."

Quinn gave a sad chuckle as she listened to the message, knowing that Santana had changed it recently because she normally sounded far more professional. She was tempted to call back, just to listen to it again, but she hung up her phone without leaving a message. Just as she was sitting her phone down she saw that she had an unlistened to voicemail, which was odd because she didn't remember her phone ringing. She connected to her mailbox.

"Quinn? Hey, babe, it's me. Your wife. It's too early in the morning for you to be up and worrying so much. Go back to sleep, baby. I'm fine, and you need your beauty sleep. Whatever you saw, it's just a dream. I'm okay, and I'll be back home soon. I promise."

Quinn was just about to hit repeat, when she heard the second voicemail. "Hey, Babe, it's me again. Your beautiful, lovely, and sexy as hell wife. I just realized that I didn't tell you that I loved you on that last message so I just wanted to call back to say that in case you still didn't know. I love you. Today, tomorrow, and forever. So, there, I said it. Please go to bed now. Love you baby, and nighty-night….yes, I really did say nighty night, so sleep!"

"Night," Quinn whispered, even though Santana wasn't there to hear it. Santana knew her, she reminded herself. And she knew Santana. Santana made a promise to her, so that meant that everything was alright. She burrowed into Santana's pillow, allowing her smell to engulf her. She held on to that, and tried not to think about anything else. Santana made a promise and she never broke her promises.

Once the adrenaline wore off, the pain hit her like a freight truck. "He shot me!" she gasped. "Like he actually fucking shot me! I'm wearing a bullet proof vest, and he shot me in my arm! Like what the hell? Why don't they make bullet proofshirts?"

"Are you done rambling?"

"I just can't believe he shot me!"

"If you don't chill,I'llshoot you. I've had worse than a shot in the arm before. And you're bleeding, S, put some pressure on the wound. Are you new?"

With the subs being properly detained by the back-up unit, Bryne moved to address Santana's wound. She examined the area, and smiled. "Ah, you caught your first bullet. I feel like I should take a picture or something. Or like hit you for not following orders."

"What I was supposed to do, just sit there and twiddle my thumbs while god knows what happened?"

"Yes," Bryne said firmly, but her eyes said 'Thank you'. "That way, paperwork doesn't have to be done on dumb ass analysts that aren't supposed to be getting shot."

"Thenwhywas I issued a gun," Santana said smartly. Underneath, however, she was still kind of shaky. The adrenaline rush was amazing, but now that it was over, she only saw the ways that she, Bryne, or both could have ended up dead.

Bryne produced a first aid kit from a hidden pocket. She pulled a set of latex gloves on, and before Santana could make a joke about it, her fingers were prodding the wound. "Oh, shit that fucking burns," Santana hissed. "How bad is it?"

"You'll live," Bryne said dryly.

"Is the bullet still in there?"

"No, it just got flesh. A good chunk too, but you lucked out. The bullet didn't really enter, just kind of skimmed by. You've got some sort of guardian angel up there."

"It hurts this much and it's only a flesh wound? I thought like flesh wounds weren't supposed to hurt? Like you could get shot, and just keep rolling."

Bryne gave her a look. "There's no such thing as a flesh wound. That's on TV. You've got nerves and pain sensors everywhere. Give me your hand."

Santana did as she was told. Brnye pushed her left hand up against the wound. "Keep pressure on it. And take shallower breaths. I don't want you passing out on me. Oh, shit! What's that on the wall beside you?"

Santana's head turned. "What's wh-," Santana stopped mid-sentence because Bryne had jammed a needle in her arm, an inch above where her hand was.

"The fuck?" Santana yelled, trying to pull away.

"You looked like a screamer," Bryne said casually. She spread out materials on the table between them, and even now Bryne kept an eye on the screens. Cass, and her drivers should be returning, and she didn't want to miss it when they did. In fact, if Santana wasn't busy bleeding all over the place, she'd still be over there.

"Shouldn't we be going to a hospital?"

Bryne gave her the most 'are you a moron' look imaginable. She looked like she wanted to knock her on the head 'could've had a V-8' style. "What the hell do you think that we've been doing for the past couple of days?" she questioned. "Playing cricket? All gunshot wounds have to be reported to the authorities. It is generallynota good idea to leave a record of your existence floating around when you're supposed to be a ghost. Now be quiet; I have to concentrate. Oh, and hold on to this."

Bryne slid a piece of metal piping into Santana's hand. "What's this for?" Santana didn't have to wait for an answer. She felt a sharp prick going into her arm; Bryne was stitching her up. And although the wound itself was numb, watching Bryne work made Santana nauseous. If she threw up, she'd never be able to live that down.

When Bryne was finished, she handed Santana a satellite phone. "What's this for?"

"Call your wife," Bryne commanded.

Santana nodded, and did as she was told.

Santana and Bryne were at the mall in El Paso after overseeing the shipment of the warehouse's contents to White Sands where it would stay under guard until the recovery team picked it up and sent it who knows where. Bryne, whose hair was now tucked beneath a realistic purple and orange wig, and was looking every bit the battered wife as she sported a deep purple bruise over her left eye and cheek from where the gun came in contact with it, was busy enjoying an ice cream cone, as if she didn't have a care in the world. "I'm just saying, I think it's a bad idea."

"I just got shot in the arm. If I want to cut my hair, I'm going to cut my hair!"

Bryne grimaced. "Okay, but the wife's not going to like it."

"Not really her choice."

Bryne snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Okay, so how is it that you get to have your hair purple and orange, but I can't cut mine?"

"This color will fade out by the time I have to go back to work, and I'm not going back home to someone."

Santana studied the wig and Bryne's eyebrows.

"What color is your hair naturally?"

"I was born bald."

Santana steered them over to the salon. Bryne just followed, eager smile on her face.

"It's not like I'm getting a tattoo or anything."

Bryne held up her hands, one of which still had the ice cream in it. "Hey, it's your funeral. Seems a shame to survive a duel, just to get killed by the misses but that's just me."

"If I didn't have to worry about apprehension, it wouldn't have been nearly so close."

"Be glad that command wanted them to be apprehended; it's not easy to kill someone."

There weren't a lot of people in front of her, so they didn't have long to wait. "So what do you want today?" the stylist questioned.

An hour and a half later, Santana stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. "Well?"

Santana took a while to orient her face to this new change. She had never had short hair before. Although her ass and chest came first and second, her hair was like her next best feature. All of her past girlfriends, hook-ups, partners, etc. had run their fingers through it, luxuriating in it. It was so short now that it didn't even come down to her shoulders. She couldn't put it in a high pony any more, and even though it was 11 years since high school, Santana was certain that Sue Sylvester had just been alerted to the fact that one of her former head Cheerios had cut her hair.

Santana turned pleading eyes on Bryne. "What doyouthink?"

It kind of looked like Jennifer Lawrence's 2014 hair cut in the front, with in the classic 'Rachel' cut in the back. All she needed was a wife beater and a large pair of hoop earrings and she would look like a hipper, sexier version of Alex Nunez from Degrassi.

"If you were going to go short you could have at least gone with a more lesbian haircut." Santana glowered at Bryne. "Just saying. But I like it."

"Do you?"

"I think it kind of suits you," Bryne assured her.

Santana tugged on her shortened locks. "Quinn's going to kill me."

Santana allowed herself a day off before she got started on the paperwork to turn into her case handler, and before she had to completely slip into the Corporate America role so she could do her work for Little, Brown. The book, which had a release date for October 1st, had a huge production budget for a children's book because it was written by a Hollywood stud/adoptive father, and people contended that it was going to be the nextbigthing. Santana wasn't so sure how true that was, but she had no problem marketing it as such. She spent the next week and a half in Arizona, in New Mexico, in Oklahoma, and Texas, conducting polls, setting up promotional displays, and her favorite, reading the new book to the kids at the local Children's hospitals. It was something she had started doing on her own, and still continued because it made good press for her company.

The day before Phil's first day of school, she went back and forth about flying back to Boston, just to walk him into his first class. She kept trying to convince herself that because Arizona was three hours behind Boston, that even though she had engagements from the very beginning of the work day, that she had time to do it. (She didn't). In the end, she had to settle for a phone call, instead of a flight.

An almost tearful smile spread across her face when Hazel put Phil on the phone. Phil didn't disappoint her with his enthusiasm. "Mama!"

"How's my little man?"

"I'm not little!" he protested. "I'm big!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, mijo? How's mybigman?"

"I did the dishes today all by myself! Well mommy washed the pans, but I did the silverware and the plates. And I start big people school tomorrow!"

"Do you really?"

"Yes…really, and guess what, mama."

"Que mijo?"

"I'm a Ninja Turtle!"

"Oh no, how'd that happen? Did you eat something radioactive while I was away?"

"No! But I've got new jeans, and a Ninja Turtle t-shirt, and new Ninja Turtle shoes!"

"Whoa, that's a lot of Ninja Turtles!"

"Yeah, and I even got a Ninja Turtle folder!"

"Which turtle are you?"

"Michelangelo," he said without any hesitation.

"You sure? What about Leonardo?" she tried, foolishly being optimistic only to have him quickly crush her hopes.

"Leo? Mom, no one likes Leo! Everyoneknowshe'sboring."

Ay dios, Santana thought, rubbing her eyes. She had this sudden premonition, 11 years down the road, of a teenage Phillip sneaking out, partying, chasing after girls; Santana incarnate when she was in high school. As soon as she got off the phone, she was going to call her mom and apologize. That and say about 10 Hail Mary's. But there was no way her non-biological child would end up just like her, right? Gloria seemed like the quiet, studious type, so surely Phil would grow to be the same, right? She made another mental note to find out what kind of kid Gloria had been in high school.

"In the mix of all that Turtle stuff, did you get the book that I sent you?"

"Yes!" he said, eagerly. "Can I read it to you?"

"Sure. When it's time for bed, you can read it to me. Are you excited about starting school?"

She could practically hear him bouncing on the bed. "Super excited! We went to check my name on the door, and guess what, guess what?"

"Ooh what?"

"My teacher's name is Ms. Phillips, just like me!"

"Wow. Maybe you two can start a club."

"That would be cool!"

"Do you remember the four things I told you to remember?"

"Do my best, no matter who's watching. Be respectful and kind, and try to make friends. Don't ever let anyone make me feel bad about myself, and don't be afraid to be smarter and more talented than other people because I'm a Lopez, so I most likely already am anyway."

Santana chuckled to herself. "That's right, mijo!"

He gave a contented sigh. "Tomorrow's going to begreat!I really wish that you could be there with me and mommy to walk me into my classroom."

"Me, too, mijo. I know I won't be able to be there for your first day, but once I get back I'll walk you to class, okay?"

He had to think about it. "When do you come back from fighting crime?"

"Is that what mommy told you I was doing?"

"No, but you're a superhero, and that's what superhero's do, right? They fight crime."

Santana gave a soft chuckle. "Yes, that's what superhero's do. I will be back four days after your birthday."

"You're going to miss my birthday?"

"I'm sorry, mijo, but I'll be back for your birthday party. Quinn and I are throwing you a very special birthday bash, remember?"

Phil didn't seem mollified and he took a minute to think about it. "Okay…"

"Mijo, don't be upset. Your birthday's during the week, so we wouldn't be able to do anything anyway because you have to get up bright and early the next day for school, and me and mommy both have to work. And I'll call you first thing in the morning to sing you happy birthday."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"Prometo. I promise."

"Okay. Are you bringing me back anything cool from your crime fighting?"

The little con artist. Santana smiled, and shook her head. "What would you like me to bring you back?" She had a fairly good idea she already knew what he'd want.

"A Michelangelo action figure!"

"Mijo, I am in Arizona. That's a completely different state from the one we live in, in a different region from everything that you are used to. I'm in the desert; in a different cultural background, one your mami shares. Don't you want something that you can't buy in a Target in any city anywhere in the country?"

Phil made his thinking sound. "No. I want a turtle! Ooh, and the party bus too, please? I'll be really, really good at school if you get it!"

"I'll think about it."

She wondered if Hazel would kill her if she ended up bringing back an actual turtle. She could do it, and if Hazel didn't want the thing at her place, she could always keep it at Quinn's. She didn't entertain the thought for very long. Although the thought of the look on Phil's face when he saw it was thoroughly tempting, Santana knew she'd end up taking care of it, and she didn't want any pets at the moment.

"Let me talk to mommy for a second, and while I'm doing that, how about you get ready for bed so that you can read to me, okay?"

"Okay. Mommy!"

Santana pulled the phone away to save her ears. She could tell immediately when Hazel took the phone from Phil. "Hey."

"Hi, how's Arizona?" Hazel's voice sounded off. Santana noticed when she first called, but it seemed more pronounced now. There was something going on with her.

"Good," Santana answered. She didn't elaborate. "How are you doing, Hazel? Is everything okay?"

"I'm taking my son to his first ever day of 'big boy' school," she joked. "Of course I'm okay?"

"Yes, but how areyou?"

"Honestly, I'm good, Santana; thank you for your concern."

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? And that means if you want to talk or anything like that."

"I will," Hazel responded, and Santana had absolutely no confidence that she was taking her words to heart. "Hey, Santana?"

"Yep?"

"I…just wanted to say that…I owe you a lot, and I don't know if I ever really thanked you properly. You're a good friend, and you're going to make a great mom."

"Er...thanks," Santana said, not really sure what to do with that statement.

"Here's Phil back for you. Bye."

"Night, Haze."

"Mama?"

Santana brushed the strangeness of the conversation aside, and smiled. "Si, mijo?"

"Are you ready?"

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yep."

"Did you kiss mommy goodnight, and tell her you love her more than anything else in the world?"

"One second!"

Phil rushed off, and was back a minute later. "Ready?"

"Are you in your jammies?"

"Yep! Are you inyourjammies?"

Santana looked over her clothing. "Yep."

"Okay, close your eyes." He waited an appropriate amount of time. "Are they closed?"

"Si," Santana fibbed.

"Okay,Mr. Frog & Mr. Toad."

Santana listened to him read, remembering how it wasn't too long ago that he was small enough to sleep on her chest, and now he was starting kindergarten, and was big enough to read to her. He wasn't a baby anymore. He was even losing that baby voice.

Phil actually managed to get all the way to the end of the book, but he hit the last page, and the next thing Santana heard was snoring. "Phil? Mijo? Night, mijo."

Santana kissed the phone, before she disconnected the call.

She undressed, got comfortable in her bed, and pulled her laptop to her. She called Quinn on Skype, smiling widely at the sight of her face picking up almost immediately. Santana smiled just as widely.

"Hey, baby."

"What's wrong, San?" Quinn questioned immediately.

Santana shook her head. "Phil starts his first day of school tomorrow, and I've just been kind of thinking about it. What if he gets scared? What if he doesn't make any friends, what if one of the kids tries to pick on him? He's probably going to be the smallest one there; he's the youngest in his grade."

Quinn snickered.

Santana frowned. "Why are you laughing?"

"You just sound so much like a mom right now. It's cute."

"I amnotcute!"

"You are totally cute. And I think it's funny that you're really worried about anyone picking onhim.I bet tomorrow he finds the biggest kid on the playground, instigates a fight, and afterwards kisses the prettiest girl around, and tells her that what he did was all for her."

Santana wondered if she should call Phil back to offer that sage advice.

"Nah, he still thinks kisses are icky."

"We'll see how long that lasts," Quinn teased. "He'll be fine, Santana."

Santana fidgeted on the bed. She adjusted the laptop. "Phil likes Michelangelo the best, you know the orange Ninja Turtle, and I was thinking. Do you thinkourchildren are going to be little hellions?"

Quinn gave a full out laugh. "Santana have you metus? Anything related to us is going to be a force to be reckoned with, and I'd bet both of our parents would tell us that we deserve it."

"I think we should adopt."

"No way, Fablo. You promised you'd carry first, and I'm definitely holding you to that promise. I'm dying to have you pregnant, and me not."

"Did I ever tell you I was sorry for that in high school?"

"Unh unh, too late for that. After all the crap you put me through when I was pregnant, I gets to get my payback."

Santana groaned loudly. "Ew…Quinnie, your Lima Heights Adjacent accent is horrible."

"YourLima Heights Adjacent accent was horrible. You totally lucked out that our classmates were total idiots and no one called you on it."

"What're you talking about? I could totally kick anyone's ass, anytime, anywhere."

"Right, and is that why Lauren used you as a mop?"

"I was on my period."

"Unh huh."

"Where are you at right now?"

"My apartment."

"Did you go snooping yet?"

"I do not need to lower myself to snooping," Quinn said haughtily.

"So…yes?" Santana questioned knowingly.

"Yes," Quinn reluctantly admitted. "Wheredo you hide the chocolate?"

"Get off it, Q, that's for me to know and you to never find out."

"Have you been alone at your place the whole time?"

"Mostly. Mercedes and I are going to have an old fashioned high school slumber party this weekend, though."

Santana quickly fired off a text to Mercedes.Need favor. Will do anything for you in return.

Mercedes: What's that?

"Really? Are you going to invite Britt over?"

Santana: Make Quinn breakfast on Saturday morning for me?

Mercedes: So. Freaking. Cute.

Mercedes: Just so you know, that was my stink face.

"Yeah, we'll get right on it. By the way, did you know that Tamara's pregnant?"

"She cheated on Brittany?"

"No, they planned it."

"And she didn't even tell me? How rude!"

"Oh, and speaking of that, Young and 'Cedes are officially over."

"I'm going to kill Sam! If she gets back with him, I'm pulling some teeth."

"As much as I liked Young for her, if that's what she wants to do, I'm not going to say anything to her about it. When you have kids, you try to raise them up right, show them the proper way, but they grow up and they become their own people."

Santana laughed. "I know, I know, but I had just settled on their perfect ship name: Yome. Yo me."

"I miss you," Quinn said unexpectedly.

"I miss you, too, babe. I haven't been able to sleep right without your elbows digging into my stomach, or the sound of your snoring."

"Uh no, Flopez, you're the snorer." Quinn's smile floundered. "Are you coming home soon?"

"Week and a half, and then I'll be back in your arms. Hardly any time at all, and when you wake up tomorrow morning, it'll be even closer to me being there."

"I don't like sleeping alone. You've grown on me, San."

"You've grown on me, too, babe. Do you want me to sing you to sleep tonight?"

"Please?"

After thinking it over, Santana decided on the Backstreet Boys'Spanish Eyessubstituting 'hazel' for 'Spanish'. Santana watched those hazels slowly close until all she could see were the backs of eyelids. Quinn's head tilted at an angle, her mouth opened slightly, her breath evening out. "Te amo, baby."

"Luv you too, San," Quinn whispered back sleepily. Santana curled around the laptop and watched her sleep until she fell asleep.

"San! Santana!"

Santana smiled at the sound of her wife's voice. She'd barely spotted her in the crowd before lips met hers roughly. Santana didn't care. She was kissing Quinn back just as fiercely, pulling her closer to her, her hand tangling in her hair. When the kiss broke off, they just stood there, foreheads pressed against each other, locked in an embrace.

"Oh my god, babe, I missed you so much," Santana panted. Both of them were breathing hard.

"Me too," Quinn assured her. "We seriously need to get your bags and get home, because we've got some serious catching up to do."

Quinn paused in a comical way, and Santana realized that it was because she had just noticed Santana's haircut. Since they were usually both lying down when they Skyped this was really the first time that Quinn was seeing it.

"What did youdo?"

Santana's fingers self-consciously went up to her hair. "I thought I'd cut it, what do you think?"

"You cut your hair."

Santana shrugged. "I thought a change would be good."

"You cut your hair," Quinn repeated in disbelief.

"Babe, how many times have you cut your hair?"

"That's different. I'm me. You're…," she waved. "It's just gone!"

Quinn hit her on the arm in a joking way, and Santana recoiled, taken off guard. "Ow, babe," she hissed before she realized what she was doing.

"Ow…what ow…? I barely touched you!"

"You kind of got me on the arm there," Santana said. "It's just a little sore."

Quinn was pulling up the sleeve of her wife's shirt, stopping when she saw the white gauze wrapped around her bicep. Before Santana could protest, she was unwrapping the gauze to reveal Santana's still bruised arm with the stitched up wound. They both seemed to have forgotten that they were in the middle of an airport. "What happened?" Quinn demanded, her face getting all scary. "First the hair, then this."

"You don't like the hair?"

"I…never seen you with a short hair style before."

"Yeah, but what do you think?"

Quinn bit her lip, her eyes darkening. "It's alright," Quinn said, aiming for nonchalance, but Santana had already seen the lust in her wife's eyes. Quinn liked the haircut. "Whether or not I like it is not the point," Quinn said. "You're supposed to come back to me the way you left me. Whole, and mine."

"I'm still yours, babe. And I'm whole."

"Then why do you have a bandage on your arm?"

"I kind of fell on the edge of a filing cabinet. That could happen here." It wasn't a lie. Santana had fallen on a cabinet after she had been shot for the sole purpose of being able to tell her wife something that wasn't quite the truth, but wasn't a lie.

"Any other disfigurement I should know about?"

"Are you saying that my hair is disfigured?"

"Not at all." Quinn kissed her, but left enough room so that she could look her wife in her eyes. Santana slid her hand down Quinn's arm, to her hand. "But next time wait until you're home to go changing, okay?"

Santana read what Quinn wasn't saying in the spaces, and she nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry." She lifted Quinn's chin. "I'm not going anywhere for a really long time." Santana slid her hand down Quinn's arm, to her hand. "Okay?"

Quinn nodded. "As long as you promise."

"I do."

"Okay."

Santana gave Quinn's hand an extra squeeze before they went to reclaim Santana's suitcases, and find the car. Quinn had driven Santana's and after luggage was placed in the trunk, Santana got behind the wheel. "I know you want to head straight home, but do you mind, since we're out and all, if we drive to Framingham? I got Phil this really neat turquoise necklace, and some other stuff, and I want to give it to him now before I forget." Santana also wanted to hold him in her arms, and make sure that he was okay. Ever since she got shot, she felt herself becoming more protective.

Santana surprisingly got no resistance from Quinn. "Yeah, sure." She tugged on the hand that wasn't on the steering wheel. "What'd you bringme?"

"Babe, I had something delivered to the house for every day I was gone."

"Yeah, but that was stuff ordered off of Amazon; you can do that from anywhere. I want souvenirs."

"Ah, damn it, I'm going to have to fly back out to the southwest again. I knew I forgot something."

"Santana Quintanilla Fabray-Lopez, you better not-,"

Santana's phone rang. She smirked at Quinn before connecting the call. "Santana Fabray-Lopez speaking."

"There's something I have to tell you," Bryne said.

"Now? I'm in the car with Quinn."

Quinn cocked a brow at the mention of her name. "Yes, now."

Santana felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle at the seriousness of Bryne's voice, and because the timing of the call felt far too coincidental.

"What?"

"Something happened while you were gone." Bryne switched over to German, so Santana did the same.

"Something like what?" Quinn gave her a look at Santana's use of the foreign language. Santana covered the mouth piece. "Explain later," she mouthed. "Something, like someone was in one of my apartments while I was gone, someone's got a trail on me, something happened to or with geliebte?" It was their word for Quinn.

"Something like Hazel provided evidence to the States' Department against Oleg Katayev."

Santana felt the world suddenly spinning wildly around her. Her heart rate picked up so quickly that she almost pulled off to the side of the road because she thought she was going to start hyperventilating. She concentrated on the ringing in her ears to calm her down, and pressed down on the gas medal. "She did what? Why? She doesn't know Katayev," Santana hissed.

"Jenna had involvement with him-,"

"Schiesdreck!Jennadid. Not Gloria. Jenna met Katayev eight years ago; I was there! I've been keeping track of him since then, so I knowshe'shad involvement; Hazel didn't show up anywhere, and even if Jenna dealt with him after that, which I know she didn't, she for damn sure wouldn't have brought him around Hazel!"

"The evidence indicates otherwise."

"Evidence that she was spoon fed!" Evidence that Santana may or may not have collected herself. "How could you even entertain the thought?"

"It wasn't me."

"So what does this mean?"

"You know what it means. You know how this works."

Santana's hand slammed down on the steering wheel and an expletive fell from her mouth.

Beside her, Quinn recoiled at the sound of anger and frustration in Santana's voice. "San, what is it?"

"You set me up!" Realization was slowly falling over Santana. It was Bryne who had first pointed out Gloria/Hazel to her. Bryne knew that she and Jenna were associates, but not entirely close. Bryne knew that Jenna had connections with one of Boston's largest Russian mob families. She blinked and realized she was crying. What the fuck?

Bryne's voice was eerily calm. "I didn't."

"Is that whyIhad to be the one to go to Arizona? So this could be set up? You knew! You knew, and you didn't tell me! Was this what this was about? Get close to Jenna, find out what I could on Katayev, get close to Gloria any way I could, and…try to weasel pillow talk confessions from her-?"

"I said, I didn't know! I had no idea!"

"So when the State Department said they needed a witness, you didn't give them her name?"

"Nobody came to me."

"Schiesdreck," Santana bristled. "You're supposed to be my friend!"

Santana could hear a change on the line at the word. "I am an agent, Santana, always that first. My duty has always, and will always be to my country above everything else. How many times did I warn you about that?Yourefused to listen? But I didn'tknow, okay? No one set you up."

Distantly, Santana could feel Quinn squeezing her hand. "San, what is it? Please tell me. You're scaring me."

When Santana pulled into the parking lot of Hazel's apartment complex, Santana removed her piece and bullets from her suitcase, quickly loading the gun before tucking it into her waist band as she exited the car. "Stay here," she ordered Quinn, placing a barely there kiss on her lips before she got out of the car.

She dashed up the stairs taking them three at a time. She barreled down the walkway as if her life depended on it. A confused Quinn followed behind her as fast as she could. She was so intent on catching up with her, that when she turned into the apartment she ended up running into Santana standing in the doorway. Literally. She ran into the back of her wife because Santana had only gone in as far as the door, and had stopped right there.

Quinn may have only been able to figure out a few snippets of the conversation Santana'd been having, but from the tone of it she knew that whatever it was wasn't good. That Santana was just standing there after rushing inside made Quinn really certain she didn't want to know why Santana had stopped in the doorway. Quinn didn't know Hazel enough to be concerned or worried about her well-being, and her relationship with Phil was solely through Santana. She was getting to know him better, starting to like him, even, but her concern for him was because of those two things; not because she was otherwise felt bound to the kid.

She almost didn't want to look over Santana's shoulder, fearing the worst, but when she did, she saw…nothing. Thankfully, no dead bodies were lying there in a pool of blood. There was no blood, no bodies, but there were also no clothes strewn around, or toys laying out either. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No TV, no sofa, no pictures hanging up. Even the scruff mark on the wall that Quinn had noticed once before, was gone.

"Wo?" Santana demanded into the phone after the shock wore off.

There was a noise, a creak in the floorboards that meant someone was in the apartment with them. It happened too quickly for Quinn to react, but Santana already had her gun out, and had positioned herself so that Quinn was entirely behind her. Santana made the realization that the feedback in her ear meant that the person was Bryne two seconds before Bryne stepped into view. She kept her gun leveled on her though.

"Wo sind sie? Where are they?"

"I don't know, Santana. WITSEC has them."

"Shecan'ttestify against Katayev. If she does that she'll have a target placed on her back, and we both know she doesn't know anything."

"They needed a witness."

"She doesn't know anything!"

"Her testimony has the power to put the man away for life."

"His family willkillher!"

She felt a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Santana?" Quinn questioned from behind her.

"Wait for me in the car," Santana said, not taking her eyes off of Bryne. Her trigger finger itched.

"Put the gun away, Santana," Bryne calmly instructed. Bryne never told her to put her gun away. Usually she encouraged her to keep it out. That teeny, tiny voice inside of her warned her that she should probably listen to Bryne, but she ignored it.

"I know you might not care about that, but she has a son! My son."

"I risked serious censure on my job helping her get away from Jenna, so don't pull that card on me! I had nothing to do with this Santana. I told you I didn't know."

"Then why are you here?"

"So you wouldn't flip your shit and go completely crazy. To remind you that you can't go looking for them. To remind you that they're safe, and protected,"

"I was protecting them!"

"You let her stay 30 minutes away from a city where she's supposed to be dead! Do you know how incredibly stupid and dangerous that was! Not just for them, but for you as well. We're just lucky that Jenna was just now possibly thinking that something might not be on the up and up. You got too close, and you allowed it to cloud your judgment. The Marshalls will take care of them. They know their job."

Everything around her just felt so damned heavy. It made sense, it made all the sense in the world. That was the problem: all the sense in the world put Phil God knows where, where she couldn't see him, where she couldn't pick him up, where she couldn't hold him, or read him to sleep at night. She knew that this, Hazel disappearing in the middle of the night, had always been the possible (probable) outcome, and yet she still allowed herself to get attached. She really felt like she couldn't trust her judgment anymore. Hell, was she doing anything right?

A soft hand on her back alerted her to Quinn's presence. Slowly, she lowered her gun. Bryne took a cautious step towards Santana. "This…was left for you."

She lowered her eyes to see what was in her hands. It was a plaster cast of Phil's hands with the wordsI love my Mamicarved into the hardened clay. Santana reached out to take the hand imprint. Her hand folding over his. "They'll be taken care of."

She knew that was true, but it didn't stop it from hurting. Bryne gave Santana one last look before she walked around her and Quinn, and out the apartment door.

After several silent minutes, Quinn silently slid her hand into Santana's hand. Santana looked at her for the first time since Quinn had followed her inside. "You're supposed to be in the car."

Quinn's free hand moved to cup Santana's cheek in her hand. She used her thumb to wipe away fallen tears. "I'm where I'm supposed to be."

Santana's shoulders sagged because if there was one person in her life who could honestly understand what she felt like, it was the woman in front of her. She had given birth, and had to give up her child, possibly the worst hell, short of death, that a mother could go through, and what's worse she went through it almost completely alone. Thank God that Mercedes had the sense she'd lacked back then.

Santana hadn't given birth to Phil, but she had held him on the day he was born. She had changed his diapers, and stayed up with him when he was sick, and spent hours on the phone with him, just listening to him say non-sense words. She had cheered him on at his first steps, and brought him books, and taught him how to read, and to cook. Her heart had expanded to let him in…and just like that, he was gone. If she had known then that the day before she left was going to be the last time that she would hold him, she would have held him just a little bit tighter.

She felt Quinn standing beside her, silently offering her reassurances. Quinn didn't realize it, but she had such an amazing heart, a compassionate soul, and despite everything that Santana had put her through, she was letting her know that she was still here with her and always would be. The tears Santana managed not to cry in front of Bryne rolled down her face now. "I love you," Santana blubbered. "So, so very much."

"You better," Quinn returned. She brushed away a few more of Santana's tears before she kissed her. "Let's go home now; we've got some talking to do, ja?"

Santana gave a sad sniffle. "Ja."