Thanks so much for all the reviews. Seriously made my weekend and got me to writing. I'm still working on this so updates may sometimes be random and out of nowhere. But Christmas break is coming up so updates will most definitely be frequent. As requested, this one is longer and hopefully, will continue to get longer as the story continues.

Also, who is super excited about tonight's episode? The performances are going to awesome, some civil (hopefully) Faberry interaction and maybe a Brittana kiss...Maybe? Fingers crossed.

Well, enough of my rantings. Onto the story!

but first - Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, Faberrittana would be canon and the idea of Finchel would be erased from history

Chapter 2

If there's two things Santana hates; they are women AND her unrelenting love for them. She thought that she was one, that she could understand them. But no. Women are just too damn complicated. Take girl #2 for the week: Kirsten or Carlie or Cara or something like that. When she asked the tall, Italian waitress out after meeting the night before at a club, she thought that they would grab a bite from somewhere, catch a movie, go back to her place, get naked and then be done with it. But, of course, Carla (that's her name) wasn't that get-it-in-quick kinda chick.

"Are you seriously kicking me out right now?" Carla asks Santana in a raised tone. She had been standing the middle of Santana's messy two bedroom apartment living room for the better part of twenty minutes in her black lacy bra and matching thong ranting and raving about being forced to leave before the sun comes up. Santana, on the other hand, had already changed into a pair of black running shorts and a purple short sleeve under armor shirt and had started to wander about the room collecting the other girl's clothes and belongings. "Actually, I'm dead serious," she says, tossing the bundle of items at the front door, landing with a loud thud.

"What? No breakfast? No shower? Not even a goddamn kiss goodbye?" Carla stalks over to the door, grabs her things and starts to redress.

"Not really my thing. I thought I debriefed you on that last night in between orgasms."

"Omigod," Carla scoffs.

"Welp. Guess I didn't," the Latina says with a shrug. "Well, either way, you know now. Now, I have a run I'd like to start and you're sort of messin' up my schedule. So, por favor?" She opens the door and gestures to it with her free hand.

"Wow. Just wow. You are something else Santana Lopez. Truly something else, you know that?" Carla, after frantically putting on the rest of her clothing, grabs her black stilettos and bag and walks out the door. Just as the Latina starts to shut the door, Carla stops in the hallway and turns back towards the door. "Lose my number," she snaps.

"Already deleted, querida," Santana says, calmly while rolling her eyes.

"Bitch."

"Whore." SLAM! Just like she thought: .Complicated.

Back inside the apartment, Santana grabs her iPod from its dock on the table by the door and her headphones from the side of the couch before sitting down on it. She grabs her black and red Nike cross trainers from the floor, slips them on and gets busy tying the laces. "Fucking women would be so much more fun without the fucking emotions of all the fucking women," she thinks aloud.

"You know, someday one of those girls you kick out on their asses is going to come back to kick yours." She looks up and finds her favorite Puerto Rican drummer leaning against the door frame to the adjacent bedroom.

"Hey Luis," she says returning to her task. Luis is 25 year old Colombia graduate Santana met her freshman year there. He had been her undergrad Calculus TA and shortly after she dropped out at the end of her freshman year, offered her a jig singing with him and his band in New York after his graduation. Before you get concerned, they had a long chat about how she was into girls and he had no chance in hell getting with her and if the arrangement was indeed some sort of set up to get into her pants, she would promptly rip off his man parts with a pair of heated tongs.

So after spending some more time together and moving to New York with Luis's other best friend and band guitarist, Kevin, they found that they had the same goal in life: to make music and to use it to get as many girls as humanly possible. To say that after that revelation they became the best of friends would be an understatement. They pretty much became like siblings.

"You know, you're probably right," she starts, "but I don't keep a gun under my bed for no reason."

"First off, it's a pellet gun," she rolls her eyes, "so very little actual damage would ever be done if you shot it. And second, you couldn't shoot a woman if you tried." She pushes off the couch until she's standing.

"Hey, don't hate on my pellet gun. I've had Bitchslap since I was seventeen."

"You named it 'Bitchslap'?"

"Yeah. Puckerman hit me once and that thing stung like a fucking bitchslap. Well that and it tends to quiet bitches when they see it. Just like a,"

"Bitchslap," they say simultaneously.

"Exactly. And I so could shoot a woman, if necessary. I've gotten into plenty of fights with women. What about the girls from high school? What about Quinn? Mercedes? Lauren?" Luis pushes off the door frame, walks over to the small kitchen area, opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of water and finally takes a seat at the table.

"You never maliciously harm a woman you've either slept with or plan to sleep with," he says opening the bottle and taking a big swig. "Besides, all three of those fights took place in your angry, sexually repressed years, my former pressed lemon."

"True. I was sorta hiding way deep in the closet my sophomore and junior years."

"But now that you're out and my favorite lesbian,"

"I'm the only lesbian you know personally, jackass."

"Harsh. True, but harsh." She smirks devilishly before walking towards the door. "But like I was saying, now that you're out, you're a lot less violent. Or at least from what I've heard from the stories 'Cedes, Q and Britt like to tell."

"Trust me. I am."

"Regardless of whether or not you would assault a woman or not, the way you treat them is still pretty fucked up." She opens the door.

"I don't really care about what you think. But you wanna know what's fucked?

"What?"

"How you timed out after two minutes. Now that's pretty fucked up, if you ask me," she says, entering the hallway.

"WHAT?" he yells, scrambling to the door, spilling water from the bottle along the way.

"Yup. Briana told me everything about your date the other night, two minute man."

"All lies!"

"Sure."

"Look at this stuff.

Isn't it neat?

Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?"

'Oh dear Lord, kill me now,' Rachel thinks as she watches the bubbly red head try to capture the emotion of the teenaged mermaid. 'Why Disney people? I mean really. Part of your world?' She had already auditioned, like, five girls today for the role of Lucy and though the red head on the stage isn't singing terribly, Rachel doesn't see it. Becka said that the girl killed the dance audition, she did well reading for the part and her singing is up to par but to Rachel, the girl just doesn't seem to have the right attitude.

So lost in her thoughts, Rachel doesn't notice the girl on the stage stopped singing until she hears Caroline clapping in the seat next to her. By reflex, Rachel starts to clap as well, triggering a huge smile to appear on the red head's face. "That was very lovely, uh,"

"Sarah," the girl says.

"Right. Sarah. Like I said, that was lovely and we'll get back to you about the role by the end of the week," Rachel says, trying to sound as director-like as possible.

"Alright. Thank you for your time." She then scurries off the stage and Rachel lets out a long sigh.

"She was good, right?" Caroline asks, excitedly.

"Yeah. I guess," Rachel says, lacking the same the enthusiasm.

"What? You guess? She has it all. She can dance, act and sing. What is she missing?"

"I don't know. She doesn't have the right, uh, oh I don't know. Just something doesn't work." The small brunette slouches in her seat, rests her head on the back of the seat and lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You know who needs to stop working?" the blonde asks.

"Who?" Rachel answers, bringing her hands up to her face and covering her eyes with her palms.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes. You. You've been working too damn hard lately and that's probably messing with your judgment a bit. Since tomorrow's Saturday; I suggest we go out."

"I don't have the time."

"Then make the time. There's this new jazz club in Brooklyn that I hear has awesome food, drink and entertainment."

"But I don't wanna go out."

"I don't really care. We're going. Me, Becka, Gavin AND you." Rachel rolls her eyes and sighs. She had been sighing a lot since starting the production of her musical. But maybe her best friend has a point. She does need to relax. And what's a better way than to sit somewhere nice, sipping wine, and listening to jazz music? Definitely not the worst way to spend a Saturday night and trust, she had had worst Saturday nights.

Don't worry, some Pezberry interaction is coming in the next chapter. How do you think their first interaction after 4 years should go? I have it written one way but your comments could change it around. Sooo..

Review please. All CONSTRUCTIVE criticism will be taken into account. Reviews will improve my writing and your overall enjoyment of the story.

The faster you review; the faster I update.