Third date

"Wait, wait, wait! I want to carry you in," Santana insisted as she attempted to pick Brittany up bridal style and carry her along the hallway to her apartment.

Brittany giggled at the look on her girlfriend's face, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as they stumbled into the wall.

"That wasn't me, the floor wobbled," Santana insisted.

"Your apartment isn't on a boat, you wobbled," Brittany laughed, landing a soft boop onto Santana's nose with her finger.

"Or you had too much shrimp for dinner."

"Or you had too much to drink." Brittany looped her arms around Santana's neck and gazed adoringly at her. "Why are you carrying me like we just got married? Are you trying to tell me something?"

Santana's face got unusually warm and much to Brittany's delight she tried to hide and duck her face into Brittany's neck.

"Boo yah!" Brittany crowed, snapping her fingers next to Santana's ear. "Third date's a charm. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me for any longer."

"Shut up, doofus."

"It's so romantic when you call me pet names."

They staggered to a stop in front of Santana's apartment, the smiles and laughter momentarily forgotten as an ominous worry began to niggle at the sight of an envelope pinned to the door. Santana ripped it down from the bright pink chewing gum it had been attached with and let out a forced chuckle.

"I bet it's from that old crone in the apartment below. She's always telling me to shut up even when I tell her it's Sugar makes all the noise. I don't even know how Mrs Hagberg can hear anything, I'm sure she's stone deaf. She even had the nerve to shout at me when Sugar burnt lunch and set the smoke detectors off. The whole building had to be evacuated. It's not even fair because I don't even eat poptarts!"

"Does Mrs Hagberg always send her notes with the FBI seal on them?"

"No, she usually just comes after me with a broom," Santana huffed and tore open the letter.

###

Dear Santana,

The Director of the FBI, S. Sylvester, kindly requests your presence at noon tomorrow at the FBI HQ. Feel free to bring a plus one. Preferably Ms. Brittany S. Pierce. This is non negotiable.

Sincerest regards,

Rachel B. Berry

(Special Agent)

twitter at broadwayberry

###

Underneath the neatly typed letter was a hand written post script.

###

We have Sugar. Don't be late.

Love, Quinn

###

Brittany gasped, "What a heinous bitch."

She turned to look at Santana whose hand was shaking as she stared blankly at the paper.

"Santana?"

"What?" Santana's voice croaked and she looked up from the note. She cleared her throat. "You... uh... you... you should stay here. I'll go get her. You stay here."

"Uh, no."

"What? Brittany, please. You have to stay safe. I have to keep you safe."

"Santana, sweetie. We're a team now. We work together, we're stronger and smarter together. One big family and no one gets left behind."

"But, Brittany...," Santana began to blubber helpless tears of frustration. The late night, over indulgence of alcohol and the shock of finding her best friend missing was finally catching up to her all at once. "Shit just got really real," she said with a whimper.

"I know you're worried about her, sweetie, but she's learned from the best. She'll be okay for now."

"That's what I'm worried about," Santana sniffled pathetically. "She might do something stupid."

"We need a plan," Brittany calmly took Santana's key out of her pocket, opened the door and ushered her distraught girlfriend inside.

"Yes, Brittany, that's it. You're a genius. We're going in the front door," Santana slapped her fist into her palm determinedly, her tears momentarily halted.

"And then?" Brittany prompted.

"We get Sugar and exit through the front door."

"Honey, that's not really a plan."

"Plans suck," Santana huffed. "They never work and it ends up you just hafta go with the flow... and have backup." She sniffled, mournfully. "Sugar is my backup."

"She's a smart kid."

"She's a kid. She's a teeny, tiny, baby child. She's like, twelve."

"She's twenty one."

"Oh my god, Brittany. What if she meets an FBI agent and falls in love with them and runs off with them and I never see her again?"

"Santana," Brittany tried to placate her as she helped take her jacket off and removed her shoes. "I think you're drunk, and tired, and you've gone off on a huge tangent. The Director obviously wants to meet with us about something."

"My backup is kidnapped and yours is a cat," Santana whined, ending with a hiccup.

"I know, sweetie," Brittany rubbed her back soothingly and led her to the bedroom.

"Why aren't you as drunk as me? It's not fair."

"You're a lightweight, babe."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Do you think she'll be all right until I'm not drunk?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine. I more worried about if the FBI will be all right."

"Jerks," said Santana, flopping face down on her bed and muttered into her pillow. "I hope she gives Quinn a migraine."

Without warning she bolted upright narrowly missing cracking her Brittany's head. "I should ring her. Where's my phone, Britt?"

"Shhh, she'll be asleep now. It's 2am."

"You're right. You're so right. How're you so clever? Sugar's really mean if you wake her up. You're so smart, like, hot smart, and sexy, and funny, and you smell amazing. I love you."

Her face radiant with delight, Brittany watched Santana fondly as she kicked off her boots chuckling as Santana made little sighs of contentment as she snuggled into the bed.

"Okay, drunky. Sleepy time."

"If you wore glasses I'd die from the hotness, Britt," Santana mumbled.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Brittany let out a slow breath as her girlfriend finally passed out on the bed. She pulled out her phone and spoke into it. "

Kiki, call Lord Tubbington."

The phone went straight to voicemail and Brittany's own voice spoke back to her.

"Sorry, Lord Tubbington is on the night patrol right now. Try calling back after dawn. Unless you're selling religion, insurance or class A drugs - he doesn't want any!"

Brittany lay down next to Santana, setting her alarm for 6am. She smiled as Santana instinctively snuggled into her.

"Are you asleep?" Brittany whispered.

Santana made a strange noise which could have been anything.

"I've been thinking," Brittany spoke softly as she rubbed Santana's back. "You don't send an invite to someone you want to arrest. You just break down the door and catch them with their pants down. The director knows you and they have something we want."

Santana mumbled something into Brittany's side.

"That's right - Sugar. So, you must have something they want. But what? Diamonds?" She frowned in thought. "They can't prove that, and we didn't steal any paintings. so..." Brittany shook Santana lightly much to Santana's distress. "Santana, what do you have that they might want?"

Santana groaned and rolled over pinning Brittany to the bed then promptly fell asleep on top of her. Brittany ran her hand through Santana's hair and made herself comfortable.

"I guess there's only one way to find out."

FBI HQ – Noon the next day

"If you have laid one finger on her it will be the last thing you ever do with that-"

Brittany nudged her girlfriend interrupting her tirade against the poor receptionist in the lobby of the FBI HQ building. Santana turned around to see ten agents surrounding them, all with their guns trained directly on them.

"-finger..." she trailed off.

Agent Puckerman ran in between the two groups waving his arms and ordering the agents to stand down and disperse. He turned back to the women with a lopsided grin as he tucked his shirt into his pants.

"Sorry 'bout that. I was supposed to meet you but then I had to go real bad. You know, when nature calls and all that. I think it was the cafeteria mystery meat."

Santana rolled her eyes in disgust and folded her arms crossly.

"Follow me, ladies." Agent Puckerman began to lead them out of the hostile lobby. "Santana, sorry about this. If it makes you feel any better we're still trying to get that marker pen off of Hudson's head."

"Good. Keep him away from me, I am seriously not in the mood today."

"Sure thing. Did you you use some NASA space pen or industrial paint? Because it's not coming off."

"Stop talking to me, Puck."

Agent Puckerman led them to a large, bright briefing room with one person seated in the front row, their phone blasting out candy crush obnoxiously loud.

"That piece of shit owl," Sugar grumbled at her phone before spotting her rescue party. She was up and running as soon as she set eyes on them and leapt onto Santana, forcibly throwing herself into her arms.

"Oh my god, Santana, it was horrible. I had to sleep in a cell with a plastic sheet," she sobbed. "Do I smell of disinfectant?"

"Uh.. All I can smell is McDonald's breakfast."

Sugar wailed. "They made me eat a McMuffin for breakfast."

"What?" Puck protested. "Who doesn't like McDonald's breakfast?

Brittany leaned over and took a good sniff of the girl. "You smell amazing. Like bacon mixed with..." She sniffed again. "Is that Britney Spears?"

"Of course. Santana got it for me for Christmas," Sugar said through a teary smile.

"No, I didn't," said Santana in confusion.

"I bought it for you to give to me."

"It's not Christmas for another two and a half months."

"Can we just focus on me please. I've been kidnapped and you're complaining about Christmas already. You need to prioritise."

Santana sighed. "Sugar. Are you okay?"

"Am I okay? Ha!"

Puckerman stepped back at the melodramatic shout.

"They tricked me!" Sugar's outrage rushed to the front of her mind. "They said they were pizza delivery and I'd won a free pizza. I've never been so betrayed in my whole life."

Brittany stared on at her outburst in amazement. She'd never seen one of Sugar's rants up close before, only heard about them from Santana and she was sure Santana had been exaggerating.

"My lawyer will hear about this. I'll never be able to open the door to the pizza guy ever again. I am traumatised, Santana!" Santana nodded, obediently agreeing. "They've ruined pizza for me. You'll have to pay next time."

Santana opened her mouth to protest but was interrupted.

"Well, well, well, well, well. If it isn't Burglar Barbie and Agent Fake Boobs."

The group turned to find Director Sylvester glaring at them, flanked by smug looking Agents Fabray and Berry. "You've got some nerve showing your faces around here after the stunts you've pulled."

Brittany and Santana exchanged a puzzled glance.

"Uh, you wanted us to come here." Santana pointed out. "Blackmailed us, in fact, and I'm not an Agent, and these are real!"

"They are, I can vouch for them," Brittany raised her hand and grinned.

"That's enough of the pleasantries. Lets get down to business. Ladies, I invited you here today-"

"Blackmailed," Santana snapped.

"Kidnapped," Sugar huffed.

"Coerced," Brittany scowled.

The Directer ignored them all.

"-To inform you that the time has come for you to stand up for the good old stars and stripes. You must do your duty for your country."

They all stared at her blankly.

"Ladies, the United States of America needs you."

"I'm Dutch," Brittany responded instantly.

"I'm Canadian," Sugar followed immediately after with a shrug.

Sylvester's head pivoted like a Terminator, her body not moving with it, until she could stare at Santana. A razor sharp eyebrow raised as though daring her to argue.

Santana shrugged. "I don't give a crap."

"We need your help," Director Sylvester tried again. "There has been a threat against the President."

Rachel gasped. "There has?"

Quinn elbowed her. "Shut up, Berry," she hissed.

"Again, I'm Dutch," said Brittany.

"Our records indicate you have dual nationality, Ms. Pierce," Quinn interjected, stepping forward.

"Quinn, why are you talking to me like that? It's me, Brittany. B-R-I-T-T-A-N-Y."

A pained expression crossed Quinn's face. "I know, I know," she muttered.

"I'm Canadian," Sugar repeated.

"Are you really?" Rachel asked, fixing her wide eyed gaze on Sugar. "There is no record of you anywhere, Miss Motta."

Sugar clenched her jaw and took a small step closer to Santana whose eyes narrowed at Rachel in response.

"Don't you find that suspicious," Rachel cocked her head to the side dramatically, "Santana?"

"Bite me, Berry. She's with me and that's all you need to know."

Quinn crossed her arms and glared at the terrible trio. Santana glared back then sighed, her shoulders drooping.

"If you really want the truth," she reached up and put her arm around Sugar's shoulders. "I can't believe I'm telling you this but... I found Sugar as a baby on my doorstep swaddled in copies of Vogue."

Sugar nodded along agreeing with every word. "That's the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me, Jesus. Holla!"

If anyone had been watching Brittany at that moment they would have seen her bottom lip quiver for a split second before she resumed control of her expression.

"I told you they wouldn't co-operate," Quinn said quietly to the Director who was watching them all with something akin to amusement.

"If she's Canadian then she wouldn't be in your records anyway?" Brittany mused aloud.

"We have access to the Canadians records, we can get any data we want!" Rachel huffed and stuck her chest out with her hands on her hips.

"Then why don't you have Sugar's data?"

Rachel deflated a little and looked over to Sylvester for help. The Director frowned down at her.

"You, stop talking."

Rachel scowled and stepped back as Sylvester stepped uncomfortably close to Santana.

"You were in the FBI academy for a year, Lopez. What changed your mind?"

"I had to bunk with Berry. My request for room transfer was denied. I wasn't about to put up with that foghorn for four years."

"According to the 'top hundred criminals under thirty' list you're the fifth richest person in the country. And yet you've never filed a tax return..." Sylvester trailed off.

"You expect me to pay Quinn's wage with my hard earned taxes while she tries to catch me for reasons of pure speculation? I don't think so," Santana let out a sharp laugh.

"If that's all, we'll be going," Sugar tugged Santana by the arm. "I need to shower and throw up. Not in that order."

"Thank you for helping us with our enquiries," Rachel smiled at Sugar who was trying to tow Santana and Brittany out of the door with her.

"Hold up," Puckerman stepped forward blocking the door and Santana shoved him in the chest for good measure.

"Don't touch her, Puckerman," Brittany shoved him too.

"Hey," Puckerman looked offended. "What's with all the shoving?"

"Ouch," Sugar squealed as Quinn grabbed her arm. "Don't touch what you can't afford, Fabray!"

"Get your claws off her, Q," said Santana stepping up until she and Quinn were face to face, inches separating them as they glared at each other.

"Fifty on Quinn," said Puckerman.

"A hundred on Santana," Brittany scoffed.

"Nah, Q's got this. She is like crazy scary sometimes," said Puck.

"Whatever," Sugar snorted. "Santana's from Lima Heights, she'll kill you all."

"Shut up," the Director's voice rang out like a whip. Everyone halted their jostling and glaring matches and silence descended. "No one is going anywhere, and I suggest you all take a seat." Her tone left no room for argument.

"Whatever, Sue," said Santana, sitting next to Brittany and Sugar, the three Agents seated behind them all facing the Director. "You haven't even told us what you want. Spit it out or we're gone."

"I want you to investigate some property belonging to the Schuester syndicate."

"As in Will Schuester?" Rachel squeaked. "The owner of the 'Broadway Beats' Lounge?"

"He's hiding something. Something more than the usual drugs business. I have a source who informs me he's gained highly classified schematics to build some kind of machine. They think it's a weapon. Find out what's going on, I want to know what he's hiding."

She looked down at the six befuddled people in front of her.

Santana looked puzzled. "I don't understand, why do you want us?"

Apparently ignoring the question, Sylvester turned her attention to the woman next to her.

"Miss Pierce. You spent a year at MIT as some kind of prodigy when you suddenly quit. Why was that?"

"The climate didn't agree with Lord Tubbington," Brittany's eyes twinkled as she answered the Director.

"Lord what?"

"Her cat," offered Sugar, helpfully.

"Jesus Christ on pedallo. Give me strength, Pierce."

"Also, they wouldn't let me work on my own ideas. They just wanted to experiment on my brain." She noticed Sugar side eyeing her hard. "Not in a gross way, Sug. Ewww."

"Anyway, Pierce. Despite their attempts to drain your brain dry you appear to have retained your smarts, how else would you be giving my agents the run-around?"

"'S'not hard," Santana chuckled merrily until someone kicked the back of her chair. "Do that again Fabray, I dare you," she snapped.

"Why do you want to know about me?" Brittany asked, intrigued.

"I've heard tell that this machine is based upon one of your designs, procured during your time at MIT. Any idea what it could be?"

"What?" Brittany looked shocked. Santana watched her worriedly. "I didn't design any weapons, I would never design a weapon. I swear!"

Santana reached over the armrest to her. "It's okay, Britt. we know." She rubbed her thumb over the back of her hand comfortingly. "What sort of designs did you make?"

"Lots of things. A hover-board. A humane bug zapper. Um, a machine that makes you breakfast in bed, but I used that schematic to clean up cat sick, and I have a girlfriend now I don't need a robot to make me breakfast. They were all rough sketches though, I didn't get time to build any of them."

"That's what you want Brittany for, to identify the machine?"

"And stop it if she has to."

"What about us?" Sugar asked. "Is this all we are to you, bait to catch Britt?"

A grimace flickered over Sylvester's face. "No," she said reluctantly. "You're thieves."

"How dare you!" Sugar gasped indignantly.

"Allegedly," interjected Santana ignoring Sugar's theatrics.

"I want you to steal it."

"We don't do stuff like this," Santana protested. "Despite what shit Fabray says about me behind my back."

"You're quick, smart, and think on your feet. Which is more than I can say for some of my agents." An uncomfortable shuffling could be heard from the agents seated behind the thieves. "You stole forty million dollars worth of diamonds on a romantic whim."

"Did not."

"Lies, all lies."

"Never proven.

"Do what you've got to do and there may be a pardon in it for you all, and some legitimate papers for Miss Motta."

"What the...?"

"She said you may be considered for a pardon for your crimes," Rachel said loudly in case they misheard.

"First of all, I'm not deaf, Berry," Santana scowled at her. "Second of all, I think you'll find I have never been legitimately arrested or tried or acquitted for any crime. I don't know where you get this bizarre notion I need to be pardoned."

"Lets start with what you have been found guilty of, shall we?" Director Sylvester said ominously. "Vandalising government property, theft of government property, amongst other things. In 2009 the entire FBI academy hot water system was contaminated with blue dye and every single person who came into contact with it couldn't wash it off for three weeks."

Rachel gasped in horror. "That was you? My hair started to fall out because I washed it so many times!"

Santana sunk down a bit in her chair.

"I had to go to the Whitehouse to give a report... blue," the Director stared deep into Santana's soul.

Brittany sniggered. Santana bit her lip.

"I had to endure the next three years of my briefings with the President hearing blue jokes. 'Why so blue, Director? Everyone cheer up the FBI director, she's looking a little blue.'"

Puck coughed sounding suspiciously like a strangled laugh.

"Ahem," Santana cleared her throat and swiftly changed the focus. "Do you have any more information about the machine?" she asked as nonchalantly as possible.

Sylvester stared at her for another painful minute of silence. "That's where you'll begin. Question Mercedes Jones, find out whatever she can tell you about the weapon."

"Mercedes Jones?"

"The walk in. Berry."

Rachel jumped up beaming and stood at the front of the room to give her report ready for her chance to shine.

"Three days ago Gangster's moll, Mercedes Jones, entered the FBI building of her own accord-"

"Unlike some" coughed Sugar loudly at the same time Santana snorted and cracked up with laughter.

"What's funny about that? She handed herself into custody!" Rachel asked indignantly.

Quinn leant her head into her palm to hide her face. This was such a farce.

"That's enough," Sylvester snapped. She grabbed Santana by her shirt and pulled her to standing position. Brittany and Sugar stood up with them in alarm, hovering nearby just in case. Sue held Santana uncomfortably close.

"Either I get you tested for Ebola or you explain that disgusting noise you just made, Agent Lopez."

Santana gulped.

"I'm not an agent."

"You chose to put that uniform on once, and you cant act like it never happened." She let go of Santana who stared at her dazedly. "Now, I don't want to force you to do this with threats but I will find a way to deport your two friends here. Then, one day, Agent Fabray will catch you red handed and on that day I will throw away the key... Or you can accept this mission."

"Do we get paid? Ouch!" Sugar rubbed her ribs. "What? It's a legit question."

"No," answered Quinn.

"Do I get a gun?" Sugar asked.

"No."

"Unrestricted access to FBI files?"

"No."

"Shut up, Sugar. We haven't said we'll do it," Santana told her. Brittany leaned over and whispered in Santana's ear.

"You get unrestricted access to Agents Fabray and Berry," Sylvester continued.

"What?" The agents in question looked horrified.

"Whoa, this is where I draw the line," Santana held up a hand in protest.

"Berry, do you have those arrest warrants I asked for?"

"Yes, Director Sylvester."

"Oh okay," Santana dropped her hand again. "It's like that."

"Take Puckerman as well," offered Sylvester.

"Hell yes, this is going to be awesome." Brittany fist pumped.

"So, Lopez. What do you say?" asked Sylvester still wanting to hear the words from Santana's mouth.

Santana took a moment to gather her thoughts and enjoy a deep breath of sort of freedom. She looked over at her team. Brittany was excited, Sugar looked bored, Quinn looked like she was going to murder someone, Berry looked manic and Puckerman looked bewildered. It would be excruciating to work with the Federal Bureau of Idiots.

"There's one condition."

"Name it," Sylvester snapped.

"Brittany wants an FBI badge."

"And me."

"And Sugar gets one too."

"They're not agents!" Quinn protested.

"Temporary badges," Santana acquiesced.

"Done."

"Okay," Santana rubbed her nose giving herself a moment to think. "First off. 'Cedes Jones ain't no gangsters moll. She doesn't take second billing over anyone. Girl runs the show, headlines the show, and if she has walked in... something serious must be going down."

Sylvester almost smiled, looking at Santana with a glimmer of pride behind her stoic mask.

"Work with Fabray. Don't let me down," and strode out of the room.

The newly formed team stood around staring at each other, every one a little shocked at the outcome.

Puck cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence first. "I, uh, I have to go to the bathroom again."