Even though I can't respond to guest reviews, I appreciate them all the same! To the one guest who was talking about the tumblr post (n-i-g-h-t-s tumblr post/ 41412148840) I say hell yes I am definitely open to writing that for this fic.

Chapter 7: Changing Gears and DeLorean Doors

Brittany's not sure what it is but there's just something about the smell of paint thinner, grease, oil and gasoline mixed together that makes her feel at home. It's kind of strange, this she knows, and probably not at all safe for her body to be inhaling, but whenever she walks into her shop she takes a moment to stop and breath in that intoxicatingly wonderful smell.

Today is no exception, because today Brittany gets to work with all of those items at once. And to top it all off, the Maserati will have a shiny new coat of glossy pearled paint when she's done. There ain't nothing better.

She's hard pressed to admit, but regretful to deny, that Santana's whole proxy chip idea actually worked and Rory was able to overhaul all the cars information replacing it with all the info that they specifically handcrafted precisely for it. Now the car has only one registered owner, and it's Günther Warbler the alias that Hunter most often relies on when dawdling in illegal activities. It was actually Brittany who came up with the name, kind of a stick it to him for being such an ass. Hunter hates it for the most part, and that makes Brittany smile.

"Yo Pierce!" Mike calls from under the chassis of the Maserati that he's currently working on. In fact, they haven't really been working on much in the past day and a half since Brittany and Santana boosted the car. There are apparently a lot of things in the works though.

Brittany turns her attention from the shop stool she's perched on, pulling her hand away from the detail she's painting on the personalized die she purchased the other day. They're not your typical fuzzy dice and Brittany has a particular idea in mind for what she wants to design on them, and where exactly she wants to hang them. She's glancing in the direction of where Mike's voice came from but he doesn't make another peep so Brittany assumes he's waiting for her to come over to him. She hopes down from her stool and strides over to the edge of the creeper that's sticking out from under the car with half of Mike's lower body lying flat on it.

She kicks the edge of the creeper, "What Chang?" And hears a muffled 'ow' before Mike maneuvers himself out from under the car and gives Brittany a pointed glare. She can see a new smudge line of grease painted on the side of his temple, and assumes that's probably where he bumped his head. She feels mildly bad about that, but that's the extent of it. They've had enough back and forth and go around injuries that it's hard to feel too torn up over something so trivial. After her friend and fellow mechanic/booster rubs away the displacement of his fragile pride, Mike stands up and tosses his grease rag over his shoulder before strolling over to his workbench area, signaling for Brittany to follow behind.

"Check it out." He says as he holds out his mechanic exclusive iPad to her after tapping a few buttons on the surface. When Brittany grips the device and takes a look at the screen she becomes immediately awed. Laid out before Brittany's eyes, on the six-inch monitor screen, is a 3-D model of the Maserati they are currently working on. It shows, in detail, every little speck and function the car has undergone as well as the key areas that still need to be touched on.

"Wow, this is all from…"

"Santana's chip yeah and the added modifications you made. Santana said that the modifications were brilliant and she'd never seen anything like them. I'm telling you Pierce, the two of you together are absolutely unstoppable geniuses when it comes to cars." Mike interrupts, the excitement in his voice causing a small thrill to surge through Brittany's own body. She's been told a time or two by her crew how brilliant she is, even when she does such mundane and simply things as reformatting a car's computer chip, but to hear Mike say that Santana, someone wholly out of her crew, said something along the same lines about her, well, that makes her happier than she ever could have imagined.

"That's awesome Mike. You and Rory have done great work, can't wait to see what Joe does with the paint job. I'm not going to lie, it's kinda gonna suck to hand this car over to Hunter." Brittany muses as she gives her friend a pat on the back. He nods in agreement, but they both know that even if Hunter gets this car there's always a nicer, better, faster, sexier one out there for Brittany to get a hold of. Always.

"No Rory, in America the Delorean is not as popular as the Lamborghini."

Brittany and Mike turn their heads towards the direction of a verbal commotion occurring in the far corner where Joe and Rory emerge from the hall and into the shop. Brittany's eyes narrow in curiosity, Mike's remain their skeptical but softly focused self.

"What the hell?" Brittany mumbles as she and Mike listen closely to the other boy's conversation.

"But the doors are the same, so why wouldn't they be as popular?"

This comment seems to set Mike off, "Whoa now Irish. You can't just go around saying that Delorean doors are the same as Lambo doors. There's a difference."

Brittany rolls her eyes at her friends' antics and walks back over to the lounge couch parked in the corner of the shop. It's big and red, and really comfy. She picks up her own discarded iPad and flops down on the couch, crossing her jean clad legs at the ankles and propping her back against the armrest for comfort as she listens, albeit not so closely, to the conversation that's happening on the other end of the shop.

"Exactly, thank you Mike. That's what I was trying to tell Rory." Joe speaks up in response to Mike's precious retort to their Irish friend.

"Listen, I know I'm o'Irish and all but what yer saying is pure yoke ta me. Both doors open to the sky and-"

"They open differently! There's a difference!" Joe exclaims, and Brittany can just see the vein that's probably bulging out at his neck in anger. She also wouldn't be surprised if he's hopping back and forth in front of Rory in attempt to be intimidating and forthright in getting his point across.

"Seriously Rory, you can't say that because it's like saying that all women who wear short skirts and lipstick are straight. I think we all know for a fact, you can never base your opinion solely on the way a woman dresses." Brittany can feel Mike's eyes on her for a fraction of a second. "Just like you can't say that a Lambo door is anything like a Delorean door without prefacing the main point that they have different looks, different functions but the same outcome; badass till the end." Mike says and Brittany bobs her head in agreement before she scrunches her face up in disgust at the fact she's actually indulging in this argument. Her eyes return to her monitor.

"Well, how 'bout we ask Brittany?" Rory says next and Brittany's ears perk up but her body deflates, she was hoping that they would all keep her out of this particular conversation. She takes a moment before she turns to face them, and almost chuckles out loud at how expectant and desperate each one is looking at her individually.

"You want to know what I think?" She asks and they all nod eagerly in response. Brittany restrains herself from doing a full circle eye roll, she sets her iPad down on the table, mindful to not exit out of the current bio she's snooping on, before she folds her hands together in front of her lap and looks at the boys with assertion. "I think that this is why you guys can't get girls. You argue over ridiculous things like freaking doors for expensive cars that you'll never have the luxury of owning. If you want to find something that a girl is going to be interested in talking about, you're in the wrong damn place and you should be doing something more productive."

"I don't know. I kind of think talking about cars is sexy."

The tingle that runs down Brittany's spine would be enough indication as to who that voice belongs to if she didn't already recognize the raspy tone that accompanies it. She turns to find Santana leaned against the doorframe, again, and Brittany has to pause a moment to admit to herself that the woman really looks so much better in person. 'High quality' photos that are plastered all over the web, really just don't give Santana the justice she deserves. Brittany clears her throat when she reevaluates the fact that the woman she's been googling (literally) for the last few minutes is now standing before her and looking exceptionally hot.

"You would say that." Brittany jests and Santana smirks but shrugs her shoulder before glancing once more into Brittany's eyes and turning to strut away. Brittany holds back her groan at the way watching Santana's ass in that short tight dress makes her insides turn to mush and her mouth become excessively wet.

"The hotter they are." Brittany hears Mike mumble from his corner as he shakes his head. She turns to find him, and her other two friends, staring at the space in the door that Santana just vacated. Her forehead creases and her eyes narrow as she stands up from the seat and walks determined over to her crewmembers.

"I see the look in your eyes boys, so I'm only going to say this once. Santana is off limits, to all of you." Brittany says pointedly as she steps into their line of sight. She knows it's a dead ringer giveaway that she's possibly kind of thinking that she might have a thing for Santana by telling them not to even think about looking at the woman, but right now Brittany doesn't care. If she doesn't lay the law down now, she'll have a hell of a time trying to do it later, and Brittany's got the itching suspicion that the longer Santana and her crew stay here, the more attention that woman will draw to herself. It's inevitable.

Hot woman tend to have that effect on people.

Before any of the boys can respond to Brittany, another voice interrupts their little tête-à-tête.

"Brittany!" Brittany really needs to remind Quinn to tone it down a notch every now and again. When the shorter woman appears in the doorway she seems surprised at finding Brittany and the three guys standing their looking at her expectantly. She blinks and focuses on Brittany before speaking, this time much softer, "Peyton called, said your stuff was ready and you should come pick it up ohh ten minutes ago."

Brittany's eyes go wide for a second, having not been expecting to hear that name at all for a really long time. In fact hearing the name now, and knowing that she's in a heap of it for neglecting to pick up her specially ordered stuff on time kind of scares the shit out of Brittany. She's quick to flash one more look towards her crew members before she nods in Quinn's direction, earning a confused look in return as Brittany sprints off down the hall, intent on heading over to see Peyton as soon as humanly possible.

She's not anticipating running into the likes of Noah Puckerman and Santana Lopez having a hushed conversation a little ways down the hall, but when she stumbles upon them, while they remain oblivious to her presence, Brittany has a hard time not staying and listening in on their discussion. She has a wicked knack for eavesdropping even when it could land her in hot water, so sure her.

"Puck, I said that's not going to happen." Brittany hears Santana tell the boy as he stands a foot away from her. He huffs in frustration and runs a hand through his shaggy and unkempt Mohawk.

"Santana, I don't think you understand. Hec would understand, we've known each other so long." Puck says, his voice light and sensitive as if his words will cause the frightened flight of a scared little bird and Santana is that bird. Brittany watches as Puck takes a step forward and places one of his hands on Santana's hip. There's something like a red-hot angry flare that billows through Brittany's body when she witnesses that action. She feels her jaw clench as Puck takes another step closer to Santana, and she swears that if he so much as tries to touch her anymore Brittany will have words and fists with him.

Suddenly Brittany becomes aware of the fact that she's gripping the edge of the wall she's peering around so hard her fingertips are becoming numb, and she's thinking about tarnishing the boys everything because he's looking at the girl she finds attractive in a way that Brittany doesn't like. Because that's all it really is, Santana is super fine and Brittany's not about to deny it. They're acquaintances, and technically Puck probably has more right to her than Brittany. Hell, they might even already be dating and Brittany's just completely blowing this out of proportion. But they couldn't be dating. They couldn't. Could they?

Brittany turns her attention back towards the woman she holds a certain liking for and the boy who is inadvertently working his way higher up on her shit list. Brittany finds herself breathing a sigh of relief when Santana brushes Puck's hand off of her side and takes a step back with a shake of her head.

"Hec not being here but still possibly understanding is not a good enough reason. I don't know if there ever will be a good enough reason Noah, and I don't know if I can really apologize to you for that, but I need you to understand that." Brittany notices that when Santana uses her friend's first name, she does it with a particular certainty and undeniable finality. A shiver runs through Brittany's body and she's not entirely sure why. She watches as Puck's head lulls dejectedly and he nods once in defeat.

It's weird how Brittany has never felt more triumphant about a gesture in a conversation that she isn't even involved in. Though the moment is dashed in the next second when Santana turns away from Puck and starts walking back down the hall and directly towards her. Even though she usually wouldn't give two fucks about being caught listening in on someone else's conversation, Brittany starts to panic a little when she realizes that it would be Santana discovering her espionage. Something about that makes Brittany's stomach ping in a very unfamiliar and disheartening way. It's like she feels guilty about it or something.

So instead of running the risk of being caught, Brittany turns around and starts to quickly walk away, hoping that it will appear to Santana like she's on her way somewhere and didn't have any time whatsoever to listen in on any private conversations that may or may not have been happening. She gets about halfway down the hall when she hears her name being called.

"Brittany?" It's surprised and questioning, which Brittany supposes is probably a good sign. Maybe her whole stealth retreat thing worked. She pauses and slowly turns around to face Santana who suddenly looks relieved the moment they lock eyes. A small smile tugs on Santana's lips and Brittany feels a flutter erupt in her chest cavity. She looks momentarily at the area where her heart beats in wonderment, awed by such an occurrence. She's quite positive there has never been anyone in her life ever to evoke such a feeling in her body. It is both equal parts awesome and extremely terrifying.

"Oh hey, San…tana." Brittany fumbles through her greeting to the other woman. She had had her heart set on calling the girl San, it's short and easier and sounds pretty sexy but then she started to wonder if it would be appropriate. Would it be weird to just start using such formal inclinations? They are technically more than just formal with each other, there's that underlying layer of 'ease' that comes with knowing someone on more than a casual run in but not quite intimate friends yet. But does that moment of being suddenly 'at ease' give way to the use of cute little monikers and the shortening of one's name?

Brittany thinks she may be over analyzing the whole thing.

"Hey," Santana replies, and all of Brittany's fears and worries and theories fly right out the window at how casual and easy the woman's reply is, even if the initial greeting is followed by a brief pause of awkward silence. Santana's eyes dart around for a second and Brittany's narrow in curiosity. She looks at the darker skinned girl in question.

"So uh, where are you headed?" The question and tone remain casual, but something about the way a certain hope flashes in Santana's eyes tells Brittany it's anything but. A small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips because she becomes aware of the fact that Santana is fishing for a way inside her space and her time and Brittany's actually considering giving it to her.

"I'm on my way out, gotta pick up some stuff from a friend." Brittany responds to Santana's question. It's simple but remains precariously vague. It's just enough information without really giving anything away at all. Santana seems to catch on to this because her own eyes narrow a second later and she steps closer to Brittany before her left eyebrow rises in a high arch.

"Oh? Need any help?"

Brittany can't fight the smile that overcomes her face. She knows it's silly because Santana isn't really flirting with her in the way she'd be okay with her flirting, but she's possibly getting closer and that just causes Brittany to push a little more.

She shrugs, nonchalant to fit her mood "Well, that depends." She says, her eyes flicking up to peer into brown. She knows how bright her eyes are now; they're filled with mischief and merriment because she's in her element. She catches the way that Santana's throat subtly bobs as the other woman swallows.

"On what?" Santana asks, almost breathless.

"It depends on how fast you like to go, and how well you can hold on."

Brittany allows a second for the words to sink into Santana's thought process, she waits long enough for the woman to become exceptionally intrigued before she spins on her heel away from her and walks off towards the back end of the building where her other shop stands. Her special shop. It doesn't surprise her when she hears the soft patter of Santana's sporadic but elegant footfall behind her.

When Brittany walks into her other shop she flicks the light on and hears a gasp, she's not surprised really. If she wasn't aware of the shop, and responsible for furnishing it with about half of the seriously flawless looking street bikes she'd probably be surprised too. She glances over her shoulder to watch the look of astonishment that falls over Santana's face. She smiles a little, thankful her gut feeling lead her this way.

"Are these yours?"

Brittany smiles at the childlike ring Santana's voice has to it; like a kid in a candy store awed by the amount of goodies before her.

"Most of them."

There's another beat of silence as Brittany walks to the locker area and pulls out a jacket and a helmet and turns back to Santana holding them out expectantly. Santana takes them without much preamble, and Brittany is glad that she doesn't appear scared or apprehensive. She turns to the nearest bike, one of her favorites, a Kawasaki Ninja zx-6r with a special chrome yellow and black patterned paint job.

"She's beautiful." The words leave Santana's lips in that same 'in wonder' tone.

"She is." Brittany's eyes aren't looking at the bike in front of her, they avert at the last second when Santana's brown orbs glance up at her. There's a hint of a smile and a little something else that Brittany can't quite make out before Santana's eyes glance briefly towards the door.

"So, Lambo doors versus Delorean doors?"

Brittany's relieved that the tension seems to disappear the instant Santana asks that question.

"Yeah, crazy right? It's just ever since Rory joined our crew he finds some car fact that he is entirely fascinated by but we all think is utterly mundane and he questions it. Sometimes relentlessly. Generally it's just curiosity, but every once in a while he can really push the other guys buttons."

Santana bobs her head in understanding.

"What's your preference?"

The question should not seem like it came out of nowhere, it shouldn't blindside Brittany like a hard left tackle but it does because one second she's all confident and badass and the next second she flailing like a toddler who can't quite walk yet. She recovers quickly though. With a raise of her eyebrow and a suggestive smirk she replies to Santana's question.

"I thought that was obvious."

"Ahh, I see." Santana sees Brittany's call with her own raised eyebrow and raises the wager with a coy close-lipped smile. It does things to the inside of Brittany's chest and stomach that she's not prepared for. To save face and move on from the current quickly escalating situation, Brittany clears her throat.

"Still want to go with?" She questions with a waggle of her eyebrows, turning the mood casual and carefree again. Santana's eyebrow quirks at the cocky challenge Brittany has placed before her, as if she'd give up a chance like this.

"Let's go."

###############

It probably should have been a smooth process, and Brittany likes to believe that it would have been, if her brain hadn't been bumbling about slower than a snail and had kept up with the rest of her body. When she handed Santana the gear and then straddled the bike, turning up the choke and pressing the ignition button, she'd expected the other woman to put the gear on and settle on to the seat behind her. Easy enough right?

Wrong.

Brittany's still not positive if Santana did it on purpose or not, but judging from the way that the woman is holding onto her waist at present, she thinks that perhaps Santana meant to go through so many different, almost unnecessary actions when she mounted the bike behind Brittany some five minutes ago when they were still parked in the shop.

She'd started simple enough, placing one hand on Brittany's shoulder for balance and swinging her leg over the seat of the bike, settling down on the back of it, but that's when things started to get a little less innocent. Santana had been shuffling around behind her for what felt like ages and so Brittany finally reached behind her and grabbed the woman's hands, wrapping them securely around her own waist and drawing Santana's firm body up against the back of her own. She almost passed out when she felt those full breasts press into her back.

She hadn't thought that one through.

And Santana hasn't eased her grip around Brittany's waist since she first latched on. Not that Brittany's really complaining, it's just she doesn't want to crash the bike and explode in a fiery ball of fury because she can't really concentrate on anything but how sensually Santana's thumbs seem to be rubbing circles into her tensed stomach through the cotton material of her t-shirt. Not to mention the way Santana's face is pressed almost against Brittany's neck, with the open faced helmet she's wearing, and her warm breath is continuously blanketing the goose flesh ridden skin that's found there.

Brittany's counting down the seconds until she can breathe again. And waiting on the moment when her heart beat returns to normal from insanely erratic. Thankfully, she pulls into her friend's shop about ten minutes after leaving her own. As she parks the bike and cuts the engine, Brittany finds that Santana is still very much holding onto her. She pats the woman's hands and calls over her shoulder.

"We're here," She starts to say and turns to glance over her shoulder, finding herself swallowing a thick lump of something when she comes face to face with a smiling Santana, their faces only an inch apart, "You can get off now." Brittany squeaks out the last part while her eyes dart all over Santana's face and fail to not glance briefly at the woman's full, kissable lips. Lips that quirk into a knowing smile the second Brittany's eyes momentarily glance away from them.

There's a moment. Brittany's never really been a part of any moment like this before, but she's seen it in the movies. One-person stares intently at the other, they're eyes can't remain focused on any one aspect long enough to hint at what's going on, and then suddenly one of them is leaning in. She's not sure whom, but Brittany does know that her own face is getting closer and closer to that of Santana's. She knows that Santana's hands squeeze at her waist and draw their bodies closer.

Brittany's hand falls to Santana's thigh, wrapping around the side of it and anchoring Santana to her body and Brittany to reality. Their lips are a breath away and then they're not. It should be blissful. It should be perfect. Like in the movies, there's a kiss and then fireworks explode in the background and then the couple goes riding off happily ever after into the sunset.

Except, this isn't a movie.

The touch is so fleeting Brittany's not even sure it happens, but one second she's sure they're going to kiss and the next Santana's pulling her face back quicker than Brittany can say "What?" She notices that brown eyes are focused elsewhere, and when Brittany turns to look at where Santana's looking, her heart near drops to her stomach.

Standing before her, wielding a very intimidating wrench and a badass take no shit attitude, is a small but formidable woman in ripped cut offs that expose the never ending length of her legs a once white t-shirt now stained with grease and lord knows what else pulled tight against her obviously defined midsection and generous amount of breastage. A half sleeve of thorns and an angel in redemption scene cover her right arm. Dirty blonde hair falls in ringlets against the paleness of slim but toned shoulders and piercing hazel eyes stare expectantly at Brittany.

Santana is quick to release Brittany from her hold, slipping out of the hand that's placed against her thigh and Brittany immediately feels the loss. She doesn't quite have time to register that though because the next second, the girl standing outside of the big neon sign that's flashing "Sawyer's Garage" is striding over to Brittany and lifting her hand in one swift motion. The sting is quick but effective, the slap resonates through Brittany's face and her head whips in the other direction following the momentum of the blow.

Brittany's seriously reconsidering coming to see her once upon a time ago girlfriend, especially since it's obvious that said girl seems to still have hard feelings, but alas, life must go on. She lifts her head and tries to hold it high as her blue eyes stare into and study steeled hazel. She takes a deep breath, she can still feel how tense Santana sits behind her, and she mentally prepares for the road ahead.

"Hello to you too Peyton."

I actually listened to my brother and his friend have an argument about DeLorean doors and Lamborghini doors once. No joke, it was as eye rollingly ridiculous as the one I just described (but not quite as awesome.) Also, unfortunately for me, no hot girl came in to interrupt the conversation. Anyway, that's my story and I am sticking to it.