I would like for it to be known that I fully respect and admire the person that was and always will be Cory Montieth. Knowing this, any negative connotations made in reference to the character he played on Glee are solely towards just that; the character Finn Hudson that was created by RIB and not the actor whom played him. My deepest respects to Cory's friends, family, and fans. RIP Cory Monteith.

Chapter 3: Well I'll Be Fated

There are two things sure in life that Brittany has always known to be true and to follow to a T like her life depends on it; one, don't trust a guy that's as tall and as awkward as an ogre (if it stomps like a giant, you know?) and two, don't try to ignore the incessant pull you feel for a devilishly attractive girl that's as good as you are at the stuff you love, because you will fail.

Her dad always called it fate; the universe's inherent ability to know what the hell is going to happen with your life and how the fact that everything you do is predestined and planned out and all that shit. Brittany's been surrounded by the notion of fate since she was a little girl. It's so important in the Pierce household that her father named his crew Fati Manus, which is straight up Latin for 'Fate's Hand'. You really can't get more candid than that.

In a run around way, Garrick Pierce wanted everyone to know just how much he thought that he and his crew were the bringers of destiny, and that anyone who stood against them or raced against them were sure to get what life had planned out for them. In most cases that was to lose, but for those rare few, it was to join an elite crew that would set them up for life and always have their back. And that was how Brittany's life became so much more than simple and predictable.

In Brittany's life, there really is no predictable.

So yeah, besides being one of the heirs to such an ominous birthright, Brittany also had a few things she had to know and remember. The first was general knowledge, the second was much harder to grasp.

As it is, the second one has yet to happen to Brittany, mostly because there aren't many girls out there that can do the same things she can and still be interesting, and it's a certifiable fact that those who are similar to her always turn out to be one hundred percent straight. Regardless, it's an important thing to remember both for Brittany's heart and her sanity, just in case it ever does happen.

Things may seem like they'll be avoidable, but in the end you'll just fall that much harder. Better to just give in and get it over with. If it wasn't supposed to happen, it probably wouldn't right?

Fate and all.

The first 'rule' Brittany figured out the truth to the instant she met Finn Hudson. And it wasn't entirely because he held the likeliness of a giant. More or less it was his awkward bumbling that gave Brittany the thought to be cautious. Normally, evoking the hair on your arms to rise is typically not a good first impression.

Also, word to the wise, don't interrupt someone when they're stretched under a freaking car.

Brittany's halfway under the chassis of Hunter's Mustang, twisting her wrench and making light kicking moves with her legs. Normally she'd be dancing, but when you're under a vehicle that easily weights two-tons, it's best not to make any sudden movements.

She's jamming away to the music that plays through the right headphone of her Ipod when she hears a masculine voice, that's somewhere between pubescent teenager and guy pushing thirty, ring out through her shop.

"Uh, is this where I drop off the keys?"

It's not that the voice startles her (okay it does a little.) But it mostly severely pisses her off because who the hell is in her shop this damn early in the morning beside herself. It's seven a.m. for fuck's sake.

Brittany finishes tightening the lug before she wheels herself out from under the car and her eyes fall to a towering figure in the corner of the shop. If she thought she were any closer to figuring out how old this guy is she might take a gander at that, but she really just doesn't have a clue.

That's not the point anyway.

"Who the hell are you and why are you in my shop?" Brittany asks as she stands from her creeper and reaches out to grab a rag to wipe her hands off on. She kicks the creeper away from the car so she doesn't run the risk of stepping on it, or worse, someone else stepping on it and then she becoming liable for their idiocracy.

"Oh umm…I'm Finn. Hudson. Uhh, Hunter told me I could find you in here." The giant like man says and Brittany quirks her eyebrow before she folds her arms across her chest.

"Yeah it's my shop so that would make sense. But you still haven't told me why you're here, and it's quickly grating on my nerves."

Finn takes a bumbling step forward at Brittany's words and holds out his hand. Brittany notices a set of keys dangle from one of his fingers. She is hesitant to reach out and grab them but manages to do so without touching the guy.

"She's all yours now, we parked her outside for you." Finn gives Brittany a dopey grin before he turns and exits the shop from where he came. Brittany watches, still curious, until he's clearly out of sight before she turns and walks to the shop doors that open up the garage to the outside world.

Brittany is rather surprised to find a charcoal grey Ford GT parked out in front of her shop. Her jaw just about hits the asphalt. This isn't just any ole car. She is a rare and extremely expensive machine of beauty. The only way anyone could have gotten a hold of a car like this is by stealing it, something Brittany's always wanted to do. She'd very much like to meet the person responsible for boosting this beauty.

She walks over to the car and swipes the folded piece of paper that rests in the cars window underneath one of the wipers.

Thought you might like to take her for a ride. If you want a challenge, Red Rock's looking good this time of year.

While Brittany doesn't make it a habit of following the words of an ambiguous piece of paper, despite how the swirly uncoordinated slightly smudged letters look so pretty as they dawdle across the otherwise crisp white page, she has a feeling that this could pan out to be something pretty awesome. Whether or not it does remains a mystery for now, but she gets a wicked car out of the deal so it can't be all that bad.

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Thirty seconds later, Brittany is on the main highway heading west away from Vegas and towards the conservation.

When she arrives, she shouldn't be surprised, though she is, to find a particular Agent Orange Nissan parked exhibition style just past the park's entrance. Brittany tries not to roll her eyes but she can already feel the tension making itself present throughout her body as her muscles pull tight and her skin buzzes. She hates the way her body continues to react towards Santana, but like the Latina, Brittany's sensations run hot and cold and she hasn't quite got a handle on that.

She parks the GT next to Santana's car and takes a deep breath before slowly climbing out of the car and walking around to the front. Brittany sucks in a sharp breath when she finally spots the other woman, who is stretched out along her carbon fiber Nissan hood. Santana's brown leather boot clad feet are crossed at the ankles and her elbows rest at her sides, propping up her upper half.

A toned tan waist, defined in ways Brittany is not generally accustomed to seeing-lady abs like that are hard to come by, pokes out from under the too short, too tight cropped baby blue blouse tied at her ribs that Santana is wearing over a white and blue checkered fringe bra. Those long tan legs that Brittany will now deny she admired, whether that's the truth or not, extend from tastefully ripped and exceptionally short jean cutoffs.

At least she's dressed in a mildly appropriate outfit Brittany considers with an ironic chuckle as she wills the saliva to return to her parched mouth and dry throat. It's not the desert heat that's got her so choked up.

"Enjoy the ride?" Santana practically purrs from her perch on the hood and Brittany snaps her eyes up from where they had been lingering on the curve of the woman's hipbones. She immediately catches the knowing smirk that is pulled across deep red pouty lips and Brittany suspects she'd see a certain glint in those brown eyes of Santana's if she wasn't covering them up with extra large black sunglasses.

Brittany shrugs in answer, playing aloof. Really she's not fully capable of any form of suave speech at the moment so she's going to act like nothing affects her and play it cool. She never gets this worked up around women. Women get worked up around her.

"Interesting choice." Are the first words that fall from Brittany's lips in address to Santana. Of course she's talking about the Ford GT that was hand delivered to her, but now that she thinks about it there are definitely a few more things that statement could be applied to.

There's a few seconds of silence and Brittany becomes curious if Santana even heard her. She glances up to see a perfectly maintained eyebrow lifted a little higher than the plastic glasses on one side of Santana's face.

"I figured you would be one to appreciate the intricacies of what it took to boost her." Santana's tone is casual but fresh. It flows on the breeze like a dandelion waiting to fall. For some reason, Brittany finds herself smiling at both the words and the person from which they came from.

"I don't really know what you just said but I think I agree. Boosting that car, if you were in fact the one to do so, is a pretty stellar accomplishment and despite the fact I'm still on the proverbial fence about you and your crew, that's pretty cool in my book."

Santana cocks her head to the side at Brittany's words before she lifts up her hand and slowly removes her glasses. She studies Brittany for a good long minute as the woman shoves her hands in her loose fitting casual black pants. Even though Brittany is adorned with a simple This Is Vegas black tee and grey Chucks, her hair is tossed up in a messy ponytail, there's definitely something there to admire. It throws Santana off a bit.

"You can be sure that I was the one to boost her. I don't brag about things I don't pull off."

Brittany bobs her head at Santana's reply. Her resolve to hold anger towards this woman is becoming increasingly difficult.

"So you boost and race?"

"Just like you. Of course, there are areas I seem to excel at." Santana replies, shrugging her own shoulders as she pops her sunglasses back on her face and leans back against the windshield of her car. Her words spark something in Brittany, and she's suddenly reminded of why she puts so much distance between herself and others. No reason making friends or getting close if everyone is going to be so arrogant and expectant. Besides, she has to remember rule number two. It was the downfall of her father, and look where that got him.

"You may have some skills but I wouldn't say you're like me. I don't go around wearing scandalous short dresses or ridiculously high heels in an area they are sure to get ruined or I'm likely to hurt myself in." Brittany's resentment resurfaces as she considers that Santana isn't someone she should like. She's just another racer who happens to have a few skills and occasionally get lucky in a race.

Santana's demeanor seems to change just as quickly as Brittany's.

"What's your problem? You're all over the place. Are you sure this heat hasn't gone to your head?" She questions as she slides from the hood of her car, not failing to miss the way Brittany watches her every move with unreserved appreciation.

"My problem is that you think you can walk into my shop, my crew, my life and just start spewing off shit like you know what you're talking about. Maybe no one cares that you do things differently where you're if you want to stick around you'd better get that through your pretty little skull."

"You're unbelievable. You know what, don't worry I have to hone my own bitch half the time, I'd rather not deal with yours."

Before Brittany can say anything in reply, Santana makes her way around to the driver's side and easily slips into the car. She starts it up and revs it once in challenge before she shifts and speeds away, leaving a cloud of desert dust in her wake.

Brittany is left seriously irritated, watching those red taillights disappear once again.

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Brittany's reluctant to drive the GT back to the shop, seeing as how the reason she's able to drive the car at all is because of an absolutely stubborn to the bone piece of eye candy whose every waking action just grates Brittany to the bone. She hates that she can't get Santana out from under her skin. But Brittany also recognizes that if she drives the GT she has the potential of showing just how much she gives no fucks when she parks the car outside of her shop and then acts like the car is no big deal.

Brittany makes her way to her suite on the bottom floor of the building next to her shop. It resembles a condo like living area, complete with a single bedroom, bath and kitchen area. It works for her, and it's close to the cars. She's mumbling and grumbling to herself about a particular Latina she can't seem to shake from her mind as she changes into her running clothes, pulls on her Nike's and heads out the door with her Ipod firmly in hand.

Nothing like a good long run to clear her mind of things.

She's jogging down the more secluded section of highway that lines the outskirts of Vegas. It's a good three-mile trek and Brittany is bound and determined to tackle it. She's been feeling less than accomplished as of late, for lack of racing opportunity, and, if she's honest, lack of getting laid. It's a crucial part of Brittany's well-being.

As the asphalt pounds under her feet in tandem with her long and calculated strides, Brittany takes in a deep breath of that dry desert air. One thing that's always been good about living in a desert, it's a good distraction.

Sure, you've got the bright lights and big city life of the strip-which is fine on occasion-but Brittany enjoys the openness that this city provides her. She feels like there's an electrical current humming through her body and amplifying her adrenaline so that every step she takes just makes her feel that much more alive.

It's not until she glances at the surroundings in front of her that she notices she's not the only one out for a midday jog. Brittany finds that she's not at all disappointed that this mystery woman decided to run about the same time as her as she admires the woman's shapely toned ass swaying back and forth with the rhythm of her legs a good twenty feet or so in front of Brittany.

She admires it until she watches the woman veer off to a little roadside stand that's offering an assortment of beverages, tacos, and other fried Mexican foods and notices that the woman she's been admiring is none other than Santana Lopez. Brittany groans aloud as she slows her pace to ease her in line to talk to the woman.

"You have got to be kidding me. Is nothing I do sacred anymore?" She questions out loud, having every intention of Santana hearing her and feeling a little better about herself when she notices that the woman does.

"Brittany?" Santana asks in disbelief and Brittany wants to roll her eyes. This woman is almost insufferable.

"Look I get that you have to hang around the area for a while because your brother messed up, but that doesn't mean you have to trail me every chance you get or that we have to hang out. We're not friends." Brittany once again speaks up as she pays for a water bottle from the vendor and takes a healthy gulp, not minding the way some of the liquid splashes across her heated and parched skin.

She watches as Santana's face contorts into a look of incredulity and the woman scoffs before she crosses her arms over her sports bra covered chest and tilts her hip to the side in a stance of assertion.

"Let's get some things straight. First of all, you were trailing me and second of all, don't flatter yourself Paris, because I am not interested in you. I'm interested in keeping my body in prime shape and this particular stretch of highway reminded me of the paths I ran in Miami. It's cathartic, and if I'd known you were going to run it too I would have opted out to avoid this particular shit fest."

The words throw Brittany off at first. She hadn't expected Santana to reply with such feistiness, she kind of despises how her body reacts to it, and it pisses her off that she also kind of likes it.

"Maybe you should just try and avoid doing anything that might get in my way in general. Seeing as how you obviously can't handle it." Brittany shouts after Santana as the girl turns and walks in the direction that will lead her back to the shop. She halts in an instant and quickly whirls around to face Brittany; her cheeks tinted an angry color of red, her eyes flashing with unbridled fury. And then Santana releases her words upon Brittany once again.

"Oh my god, seriously? You need to step the fuck off. Get down off your high horse and stop acting like your precious life is over. You think I want to be in this horrid desert, in a place where no one trusts me or is even being remotely tolerant towards me? You think I want to be running from not only the police who have my brother but also the mob that threatens my crew, my family? You're not the only one around here who doesn't like what's happening. Just grow up and stop having such a mommy/daddy, spoilt child fit." Santana finally snaps.

Unfortunately, her rant was affective up until the point she mentioned the one thing that you don't mention around Brittany Pierce. Her mother. Almost as quickly as Santana spouted off the words, Brittany's face turns crimson in anger and her eyes narrow to slits. She takes a step towards the shorter girl who has the awareness to take a slight step back as she garners the fury brewing in Brittany.

"I could care less about your issues, princess," Brittany starts to say, emphasizing the word with as much disdain as she can before she continues, "the only thing I care about is the fact that you and your crew don't belong here. Seeing as how you've made it very clear that you don't want to be here, then I think it's prime opportunity for you to leave."

"You can't just kick us out. We made an arrangement with your brother and once again I'd like to point out that you don't intimidate me."

"Hunter doesn't run this crew by himself, and I'm pulling my older sibling rights to veto anything he's said to you. And frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn what you think about me." Brittany starts to say, trying not to wince at the way her words sound so harsh. Why does she care so much? She doesn't, it's just…things.

She sees the look in Santana's eyes that merely suggests she's going to fight this damn thing until her very breath, and Brittany doesn't have the energy nor the patience for that.

She has another way they can settle this all and to prove to this feisty thorn in her side that she's not just sitting high pony just for shits and giggles.

"Unless you think you have the metaphorical balls to best me in a race." Brittany suggests and Santana's own eyes narrow both in intrigue and curiosity. She allows Brittany to continue, because she has Santana's attention.

"One race, like the one we had before, quarter mile. If I win, you and your 'free shit' crew hops the fastest bus back to Miami, and we don't hear from you again" Brittany starts to say, her intolerance practically oozing from her body. She lifts her chin in poised superiority, as if her being whom she says she is gives her more power, more rights, more say than others.

"And if I win?"

Brittany shrugs at Santana's question, in a show that she hasn't really given much thought to that outcome occurring.

"If you win, you can stay and I'll leave you alone but no promises on me being cordial. Besides, you got lucky last time but if there's one thing I hate worse than losing, it's tying, so neither is likely to happen again. Fate's about to lend a hand."

Santana really wishes she could smear that arrogance right off Brittany's pretty little perfect face. One solid right hook to the girl's jaw and that would teach her not to smile so superciliously. Santana has about had it with just how high and mighty Brittany thinks of herself.

"Where?"

Brittany smirks at the rise she's gotten.

"Same place as last time. Tonight at midnight. No shows forfeit."

Santana's lip curls in anger at the insinuation.

"Fine. Let's get this started, because the sooner I kick your ass the sooner we can stop talking."

Tension, tension makes for the best action. And every actions causes a reaction...Thanks again to everyone!