AN: Been trying to catch up on Once Upon a Time lately and this plot bunny wouldn't go away. This isn't a crossover with the show, I'm just borrowing the setting and premise. No OUAT characters make an appearance.

If you know your Once Upon a Time/Disney, it should be easy to figure out who the fairytale alter egos are. If not, you'll find out next chapter.

To those who are unsure, from what I've been told, you don't need to have had watched OUAT to understand this story.

As always, read. enjoy. review!

Snow.

She fucking hates snow.

And ice.

Winter in general, really.

Santana continues to glare in contempt out the frosted window. All that obnoxious marshmallow fluff people called snow was seriously everywhere. There wasn't a single surface that didn't look like it'd been barfed on by the abominable snowman.

It was disgusting. Give her summer any day. Or spring. Hell she'd even settle for autumn at this point. Anything that wasn't this.

Santana finally tears her gaze away.

The weather was just one of the many things she hated about this stupid town. Arguably it was the worst part about living in Storybrooke, especially around this time of year, but to Santana, the snow doesn't even compare to the unbearable monotony plaguing the town.

Every day here felt the same. Was the same. Every single day. And lately, it was a fact that was really starting to bother her.

(What made matters worse was knowing she was the only person who felt that way).

Hell. Just thinking about how fucking uneventful and dull as shit this place was made her want to burst out of her skin and attack something.

"Santana."

Santana snaps out of her thoughts. "Yeah?"

She turns her head to find Brittany looking at her with concern from behind her canvas. Santana follows Brittany's line of sight to the snapped pencil in her hands.

"You alright there, San?"

Whoops.

"Fine." Santana murmurs, releasing the broken pencil and swiping the pieces off her English paper.

Or what was supposed to be her English paper, anyways. If she'd bothered to keep her focus and actually write shit down.

"Why don't you take a break?" Brittany suggests.

"All I've been doing is taking a break." Santana slouches back in her chair, annoyed with herself.

Annoyed with the weather.

Annoyed with—

Santana shuts her eyes against that train of thought. Her temperament's been all out of whack lately. It doesn't take much for annoyance to escalate into something more and she's not about to let it get the better of her again so soon.

She stands to distract herself and walks over to Brittany's work area.

Brittany, her little artiste, loved to paint. (To the point where she clocked in twice as many hours in the school art room than the teacher herself did). And Santana admired her friend's passion. Really she did. But at the same time maybe even envied it a little too. She didn't have anything like that in her life, something she lived and breathed for. Hell Santana didn't even have a hobby. Unless Brittany counted as a hobby, which she's pretty sure she didn't.

"How's your homework coming along?" Santana asks.

She takes a peek at Brittany's current piece and is unsurprised by its beauty. Every time Brittany put paint and brush to canvas, a breathtaking work of art always came out of it.

Whereas whenever Santana attempted to paint something, it always turned out looking like a drunk animal fell into some paint, rolled around on the canvas, and then died on it.

"Santana?"

"Hmm?" Santana turns her attention back to Brittany.

"Do you ever feel like you're missing something?" Santana frowns a little at the random question. Not that she wasn't used to them with Brittany. "Like something you can't remember?"

Santana is at a loss on how to answer that, mainly because she doesn't understand. "Where'd that come from, B?"

Brittany shakes her head unknowingly, her eyes scrutinizing her work. Santana glances back at the portrait too, as if it might help her to gain some insight on where the blonde was coming from.

A late evening sky consisting of various sunset hues filled the canvas, with floating lights as the main focus, their glow dancing across the water depicted below.

Brittany's been drawing those lanterns a lot lately, she's noticed, but Santana doesn't know where they came from. It's not like Brittany has anything like them at home and she's certainly never seen them anywhere around town before.

"I dream about them a lot." Brittany says, unintentionally offering the explanation Santana was looking for. Like she often does. "So I figured that was my brain's way of saying I should get them down on a canvas so I can have them forever. They're so familiar, like I've seen them in person before, but I can't remember where."

Brittany cocks her head to the side, her lips pursed and brow cutely furrowed, as she tries to sort through her memories. It doesn't take long before that line of concentration quickly evaporates, derailed by more pressing matters.

"You never did answer my question." Brittany reminds her.

Right.

"Uh." Santana squints in thought, needing a second. "Do I feel like I can't remember things? I don't think so." Santana pulls another face, not liking how her answer comes out sounding more like a question.

She doesn't feel like she's a forgetful person, if that's what Brittany's getting at.

"Lucky." Brittany gets back to painting with a sigh. "I feel like I'm forgetting stuff all the time. Important stuff too. But it's not like forgetting to do a chore or do homework. Like..." She trails off for a second, searching for the right words, but is ultimately comes up empty-handed. "I don't know. Everything's hazy when I try to think back on it. Like I'm on cold medicine."

"I'm missing something." Brittany then states with a definitive nod. "I just don't know what."

When she looks over at Santana again, a sheepish grin overtakes her face. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"Well, yeah." Wait. Santana shakes her head, embarrassed herself. "I mean no...well, yes and no."

Brittany laughs. "You're so articulate, S." she teases.

"Whatever." Santana scoffs, playfully glaring at the blonde. The warning bell rings interrupts their moment, signaling the end of lunch. Her and Brittany share a look and a silent groan.

Brittany shakes her head as she begins cleaning up her work space. Santana helps her out so they get done faster. "I really should run for class president this year." Brittany murmurs. "I'd totally make it illegal to set a time limit on lunch."

"Okay." Santana chuckles. "I'll add that to your list of demands. Right under root beer water fountains and robot teachers."

"Don't forget topless Tuesdays!"

Santana scrunches her nose at the reminder. "Uh, how about just having taco Tuesdays instead?" Cause she is so not okay with half naked students walking around like it was Woodstock, burning her corneas one day out of the week.

"Or...how about topless taco Tuesdays?" Brittany suggests, linking their arms as they head out. "That's even better."

Santana laughs in spite of herself. "No, Britt, that's just wanky."

—

Group projects.

Ugh. Santana hated, loathed, despised, and abominated group projects. Anyone who wasn't Brittany was not someone she wanted to deal with, let alone have to work with.

But...because good grades equal graduation, which in turn equates to her getting the fuck of this town for good, Santana opts to keep her disdain to herself.

So while the rest of the class divides into teams of three and Brittany goes off in search of a partner for them, Santana sits slouched in her chair and picks at her nails in disinterest.

Santana doesn't care who it is they end up with. She'll hate him/her regardless.

"Got our third member!"

At that proud proclamation, Santana grudgingly shifts her attention away from her cuticles and lifts her gaze. She can't help the way her eyebrows lift at the sight before her. Because really of all people Brittany had brought back none other than Quinn Fabray to be round out their little trio.

Santana doesn't know the girl personally, never even spoken to her before, but because their school is small everyone around here at least knows of each other. Which is why she knows the girl's name.

It's definitely not because they're friends or anything.

That being said she doesn't know much about Fabray, aside from speculation. She's the quiet type, but not from shyness, Santana doesn't think. No way. She's more or less one one of those girls that gives off the 'I'm better than you therefore I refuse to associate with anyone' vibe so people automatically steer clear of her.

While Brittany goes about introducing them, Santana removes her boots from their perch on the table. She remembers Brittany once mentioning that she knew Quinn in some way - through family or something - but because Quinn's one of those people who like to keep to themselves, Brittany's never really tried to pursue a friendship.

Though now it looks as though Brittany might have changed her mind about that.

To which Santana responds by throwing her bestie her patented deadpanned 'no me gusta' face.

Fortunately Quinn steers clear of any attempts at socialization with her, choosing instead to take to a chair and keep quiet. Santana can't help but notice that, even when she's doing something as simple as sitting down, there's a regality to Quinn in the way she carried herself.

It isn't the first time that particular thought has crossed her mind.

...That's not to say that she thinks about Quinn regularly or anything. Or watches her in a weird, Swimfan kind of way. Cause Santana sure as hell doesn't. It's just a person had to be blind to not notice how whenever Quinn walked down the hallways kids parted like the red sea for her.

Like she was a fucking queen or something.

It was a strange sight to behold considering the blonde was by no means the HBIC of the school.

No, that title belonged to her.

"Don't think we're gonna pick up your slack for any reason whatsoever." Santana starts suddenly, that last thought evoking a sudden flare of competitiveness from within her.

Regardless of Quinn's uncanny ability to part a crowd without even trying, there was only room enough for one HBIC around here. And she sure as hell wasn't backing down anytime soon.

"You will be doing a third of the work. End of story. And if you end up being the reason we don't get anything higher than an A on this stupid assignment, I will kick your skinny white ass clear across town. Comprendes?"

Now this is the part where people usually go wide-eyed, gulp, shrink in fear, cower and nod...etc, all of which Santana is a-okay with. In fact she revels in it.

But Quinn, it seemed, was above all that. She doesn't so much as bat an eyelash at her threat. No instead of doing any of the above, she simply stares Santana dead in the eye and confirms her understanding in spanish.

And like, what the fuck? Santana knows for sure Quinn didn't learn that from Mr. Schuester. His class was a hot mess of misinformation and cringe worthy mispronunciations.

Santana blinks and so does Quinn, almost looking she hadn't been the only one who'd been surprised by the spanish to come rolling off her tongue.

Brittany nudges Santana out of her stupor. "You better watch what you say in spanish from now on, San." Brittany teases her, clearly amused by her reaction. "Quinn here is apparently fluent."

Quinn shakes her head quickly and opens her mouth to protest that remark, but Brittany's already turning back to her and asking, "Do you know any other languages?"

"I, uh, don't think so." Quinn answers under her breath. Santana tilts her head at that questionable answer, having definitely heard it despite Quinn's quiet tone. "I mean, no I don't."

Their teacher passes by and Brittany opts to let the subject drop and move onto their assignment. Brittany and Quinn get to talking from there, but meanwhile Santana's still staring at Quinn, left wondering what the hell just happened.

—

Santana stares at the open notebook before her, tired and annoyed. She's been rereading the same page for like, ever and she still hasn't managed to process a thing.

Ugh.

Santana turns her head away and takes a look around. She's in her abuela's restaurant now, with Brittany and Quinn, the three of them having chosen this place to work on their project. Well, it wasn't Santana's choice per say. She'd suggested it, sure, but they weren't supposed to agree to it.

Oh well. Whatever.

Looking across the way, Santana taps her nails in silent deliberation. She wants to go and get herself another soda, figuring the caffeine would help her to concentrate, but she doesn't want to risk her abuela cornering her again and another argument ensuing.

Them fighting was another thing that happened every day without fail. Her abuela liked to badger her every chance she got into taking on more waitressing shifts (as if Santana didn't work enough overtime as it was) but Santana would never give in. She knew what that vieja was really trying to do. Trying to get her to take on the extra responsibilities so that she could learn to run the restaurant, that way she could take over for her abuela when she ultimately retired.

Like hell that was gonna happen. No way was Santana spending the rest of her life in Storybrooke, stuck running her family's restaurante of all things.

With a shake of her head, Santana reverts her attention to the task at hand. Or at least tries to. She ultimately fails, Brittany's incessant chatter doing nothing to help her focus. Sighing, Santana discreetly casts a glance across the table at the other, non-Brittany blonde, sitting in front of her.

Rather than balancing out their chemical equations like she was supposed to, Quinn's attention was settled out of the frosted window, her chin in hand, the assignment completely forgotten.

Santana's gaze lingers, captivated by Quinn's pretty eyes in the light. If Santana wasn't so concerned with getting caught and being embarrassed, she probably would have stared a little longer. Not that she wanted to or anything, she was just trying to figure out what was going on in that blonde's head.

Santana liked to think herself quite perceptive, able to figure people out relatively fast and with little effort, but where Quinn Fabray was concerned she was for whatever reason drawing a big fat blank.

Unlike Brittany who was easier to read than a Dr. Seuss book but twice as much fun.

Santana's gaze drops back to the notebook in front of her, which is really Quinn's. She's supposed to be reading over the paragraphs Quinn wrote, to ensure it wasn't a rambling mess of crap that could potentially affect their grade, but the only thing that manages to catch her eye are the little drawings done in the margins.

"So I take it you're enjoying this weather."

Her voice startles Quinn out of her daze. As Quinn's gaze slides away from the window, her brow drawn together in mild curiosity. "What makes you think that?"

Santana wordlessly shows Quinn her own notebook and the sketches made within its pages. She'd first noticed the blonde's drawings in class earlier when Quinn was sitting with them. Every so often Santana would glance her way and find her idly doodling away. Drawing the same thing.

Snowflakes.

Granted they varied in size and shape and intricacy, but still all snowflakes.

Quinn shrugs, thinking nothing of the drawings but indications of her own boredom. "'Tis the season, right?"

"They say no two snowflakes are alike." Brittany chimes in from beside Santana. "I think that's pretty cool. They're just like people."

Disdain washes over Santana the longer she stares at Quinn's artsty fartsy doodles that are just so good it makes her stomach churn. In reality it has nothing to do with her being jealous of her talent or anything - she could care less about that - she just doesn't want to like the blonde and therefore is more than willing to jump on the 'hate train' at every given chance.

"Well I hate winter and everything that comes along with it."

Without missing a beat, Santana pushes the notebook across the table to Quinn.

"Yeah," Quinn doesn't seem afflicted by Santana's carelessness, but her eyes are rather sad as she quietly agrees, "Sometimes I do too."

For a split second, Santana feels her heart ache.

She quickly chooses to blame it on the artery clogging burrito she'd just indulged in and not on whatever that had really been.

—

"Is it okay if I invite Quinn to eat lunch with us from now on?" Brittany abruptly asks one day as they're walking along the main street of town.

Santana does a double take and unintentionally pulls a face at the prospect. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Isn't it enough that we work on this project after school?" Santana questions, her good mood slowly disintegrating at the prospect of having Quinn around even more. "Do we really need to hang out with her any more than that?"

Brittany frowns at her quizzically. "Why don't you like her?"

"She's...I dunno...weird." Santana finishes lamely. Truthfully there isn't any particular reason why she doesn't like the girl. She just doesn't.

Santana ignores Brittany's long stare. They obviously both know that was a beyond crappy excuse, but lucky for Santana, Brittany doesn't push it. Instead she returns to answering Santana's initial question of why?

"It'll be good for Quinn. She's always by herself."

Santana rolls her eyes. Like she cared about her well being. "Yeah and you ever think that maybe there's a reason for it?" Walking out onto the street, they look both ways before crossing to the other side. "For all we know she could be a serial killer. It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

Brittany snorts and throws her a sidelong glance. "Santana, she is not a serial killer."

Santana shakes her head quickly, confused. "What's with your sudden interest with hanging out with her anyways?"

"I know she likes to keep to herself but it's obvious that she's lonely." Brittany responds with a simple shrug. She looks back at Santana expectantly. "Don't you think?"

"I don't know." Lonesomeness wasn't exactly the vibe Santana got from Quinn, but there did seem to be like, a muted sadness to her. "And what if she doesn't want to hang around with us anymore than she has to?" Santana adds. "You can't force it if she doesn't want to, you know."

"I know that." Brittany nods, okay with the possibility.

But she's confident things will work out in her favor.

Santana can tell 'cause she's got that look, that oh-so-subtle smile playing across her lips.

"But it wouldn't be the first time I've gotten a lone wolf to join my flock." Brittany nudges her playfully, but Santana just rolls her eyes and keeps walking.

—

That night Santana has herself some weird ass dreams.

Her mind is normally not the type to venture into dreamland, usually too exhausted from work and school to even bother, but this time was different. This time she dreamt, of a forest not unlike the one that bordered the town.

When Santana thinks back on it - yeah, this dream stayed with her long after she woke up (which she's pretty sure isn't supposed to happen) - the word enchanting floats around in her head, like it's the word to use to describe the place. Which makes no sense whatsoever.

She's never used the word 'enchanting' in her life. It's not a word that belongs in her day to day vocabulary and it sure as hell isn't one she'd use to describe anything, let alone a stupid forest of all things.

The dream itself didn't make much sense either. Full moons, angry mobs, red cloaks.

Being that it wasn't a particularly pleasant situation, she woke up drenched in her own sweat. It was disconcerting as fuck, but at the same time, familiar in a way. Like she'd experienced this dream before. Maybe she had. Maybe it was an actual memory from one of her crazier weekend excursions...

Nah. Even at her drunkest she'd remember being chased around the fucking woods like a fucking animal.

Santana shakes her head as she walks into her next class.

Her subconscious comes up with the weirdest shit.

—

Santana had hoped Quinn wouldn't join them for lunch, in spite of Brittany's request, but today just wasn't Santana's fucking day. She should have known better than to take the blonde's initial reluctance as a good sign. No sane human being has ever snubbed an invitation from Brittany, the sweetest, most irresistible girl on the planet.

It's like physically impossible.

Since Brittany just finished painting, she's away in the restroom washing up, so right now it's just Quinn and Santana.

And silence.

Lots of it.

It's uncomfortable but nothing Santana can't handle. It helps that she has her lunch to preoccupy herself.

But even then she can't help but stare at Quinn and be annoyed by her presence.

But could you blame her? Quinn was sporting the most rigid posture Santana's ever seen on a person and just looking at her made Santana feel tense and on guard and for fuck's sake, Santana just wanted to enjoy her sandwich in peace.

"Could you like, relax?" Santana finally snaps after having gripped her sandwich with a little too much pressure for too long. "For two seconds?"

Quinn looks only mildly concerned by Santana's outburst. The response is nowhere near satisfying.

"I don't know, could you?"

That paired with the eyebrow raise Santana receives just makes her want to throw hands.

Brittany, where the fuck are you?

If she doesn't show up soon, Santana just might lose her shit.

Santana stands abruptly, unable to handle sitting down for another second. She begins pacing back and forth around the classroom.

She's in her head for a few moments before catching sight of Quinn's staring.

Santana stops, feeling weirdly self-conscious under Quinn's thoughtful gaze, but mostly annoyed. She looks at her and shrugs.

"What?"

Quinn lightly shakes her head.

"I was just thinking about your ring."

Her gaze slides back to Santana's hand.

"My ring?" Bewildered, Santana follows her gaze to the silver wolf's head on her right ring finger. Santana had swiped it from the local pawn shop ages ago because she'd thought it was cool. She'd always had a thing for wolves. They were badass, like her.

Santana looks back up. "What about it?"

"It seems fitting." Quinn shrugs, still not quite looking at her.

"How so?"

Quinn purses her lips, hesitating. Ultimately, she shakes her head and decides against whatever she was going to say. "Never mind. You don't seem to like anything that comes out of my mouth so let's just forget it."

"Well you're not wrong there." Santana walks back over to the table and takes to her chair again. "But while we're on the subject of accessories, you mind telling what's up with the gloves?"

Quinn stills for a moment. Then stares down at her hands like she hadn't realized until Santana pointed it out that she was still wearing her gloves.

"I suppose with this weather I'm so used to keeping them on that I sometimes forget take them off." Her embarrassment is obvious but Santana's not quite convinced by it.

How can someone forget that they have gloves on? They're on your hands for Christ's sake.

Santana silently watches Quinn remove her gloves finger by finger.

"You're weird." Santana eventually says when she's done.

"So are you." Quinn quietly retorts.

Santana just snorts.

As if.

"You know for a while I thought you were deaf." Quinn's brow furrows slightly at her seemingly random statement. "Or just a mute. Since you never talk."

Santana doesn't know why she's suddenly keeping conversation, but she'll chalk it up to boredom.

"Like any normal person I speak when spoken to." Quinn responds coolly. "I'd look like I was out of my mind if I started talking when no one was around to initiate conversation."

And there goes that damn eyebrow of hers again, subtly challenging Santana to declare something to the contrary.

Santana just rolls her eyes and gets back to her lunch.

"You know for a while whenever I'd see you walking around town, I assumed you were a streetwalker." At this Santana slightly chokes on her soda. "This was before I realized we went to school together."

Santana shakes her head quickly. "Excuse me?"

Did Quinn really just fucking say what Santana thinks she said?

"In my defense you do dress an awful lot like a hooker." Quinn's eyes fit over Santana's outfit to emphasize her point.

Santana glances down at her ensemble: a form fitting red dress, a cropped black jacket, and matching boots. Not your typical winter ensemble sure, and yeah it emphasized all her Latina loveliness in all the right ways, but that did not mean she resembled a fucking prostitute, thank you very much.

Santana narrows her eyes back at Quinn. "Have you been talking to my abuela?"

It's the only reasonable explanation. The only one who ever badmouthed her style was her grams. She absolutely hated how Santana dressed, especially how the color red dominated her wardrobe.

But seriously, what the hell did that old lady expect from someone whose middle name was Diabla?

Anyways.

Santana stares back at Quinn and in spite of herself, feels herself smiling. "There's more bitch to you than you let on, Fabray."

Quinn drops her gaze again but this time it's accompanied with a small teasing smirk.

It's the closest thing to a smile Santana's seen yet.

—

That night those same weird ass dreams from the other night start back up again. Like a movie taken off pause, Santana's subconscious was apparently eager to return to this 'enchanted forest' she'd dreamed up, even though all the scenarios so far weren't all that enjoyable.

So when she wakes up two hours before her alarm, all sweaty and shaken again, she swears she's going to invest in a bottle of sleeping pills.

—

The days that follow pretty much play out the same way, with Quinn joining them at lunch and after school to work on their project. Contrary to what Santana initially thought, it wasn't all that bad - having Quinn around.

Granted Quinn was still pretty reserved with them, (but that's just her, Santana figures) but with each passing day they were able to get her to talk a little more without her needing to be addressed first. It was progress, and Santana was just fine with how things were going, but she could tell it was not progress enough for Brittany.

She'll come around on her own, is what Santana finds herself having to repeatedly tell the blonde every time Quinn shies away from Brittany repeated attempts to turn them into absolute besties.

"I've decided something."

"What's that, B?" Santana asks distractedly. She's touching up her eyeliner here in the girl's bathroom, where her and Brittany have been taking their sweet time doing their business, neither one of them in a rush to get back to class. Who gave a flying rat's ass about the French Revolution anyways?

"I've decided what my next pet is going to be."

Brittany waits for Santana to tear her eyes away from her reflection before divulging her answer. "A chameleon." she enthuses, her eyes big and bright.

"A...chameleon? Like a lizard?"

Brittany nods, Santana's confusion doing nothing to dampen her excitement. "They're so cool. They can change colors to blend into their surroundings and everything."

"Uh, I don't know how well that's gonna go over with your folks, Britt." Santana begins delicately. "Or your cat. Lord Tubbington would probably try and eat it."

"He would not." Brittany scoffs. "They'd be best buds."

"That's what you think." Santana smiles, before turning back to her reflection. "But seriously. Why a chameleon? Why not another cat? Or a dog?"

Though Tubs would probably like that choice even less than a chameleon.

Brittany shrugs and swings her legs out in front of her. She's perched on the sink next to Santana. "I just think they're really cute. Can't you just imagine it chilling on my shoulder like all the time?" She gestures to her shoulder happily. "I could take him with me everywhere I go. I could bring him to school and he could help me out during tests by giving me the answers."

Santana laughs. "Oh so it's a talking chameleon you want?"

"All animals talk Santana, chameleons are no different." Brittany states matter-of-factly.

Santana caps her eyeliner, nodding. "Right."

"It'd be perfect." Brittany continues. "Cause chameleons are coldblooded so it'd be okay with being in this weather. Of course I'd still want to knit it a little scarf and hat so it doesn't catch a cold..." She cocks her head to the side as something else occurs to her. "You know I think Quinn is coldblooded too."

Santana looks back at her, bemused. "Yeah? What makes you think so?"

"In class today I accidentally brushed against her hand and it was like ice." Brittany explains. "It was weird because we were inside, yet her hand felt like she'd just shoved it in a pile of snow."

"So she's cold." Santana shrugs and zips up her makeup bag. "Matches her personality perfectly."

She says it as a joke, but Brittany doesn't take it as one and swats her arm for it. "Ow." Santana smiles through a wince. "Britt I was just kidding."

"That's not a nice thing to say, Santana." Brittany admonishes.

Her smile fades apologetically, realizing the blonde was being serious. "Sorry, B." she says again.

Sighing, Brittany's gaze drops to her hands in her lap. "I wish Quinn wasn't so sad all the time." she murmurs in a small forlorn voice, idly fiddling with the leg warmers she wears on her arms. "It makes me sad."

"I don't think she's sad, B." Santana tries to comfort, trying to ignore the pang in her heart she always gets at the sight of her bestie when she's down. "She's just likes to keep to herself. Some people are naturally like that. Just like some people are naturally bright and bubbly and happy like you."

"It's just..." Brittany blows out a breath and leans back against the wall. "I don't know. It's like there's something haunting her and she has like this heaviness weighing her down. I just want to get rid of whatever it is that's bothering her and make her smile."

"You do make her smile, Brittany." Santana insists.

Brittany shakes her head. "I mean like really smile. The ones she gives us never quite reach her eyes. They're polite and forced."

Santana purses her lips before answering. "That may be but you've got to admit that she's beginning to come around. Compared to that first day with us."

"There are moments, I guess." Brittany concedes. "When the real Quinn pokes through."

Santana stares, bemused. "Real Quinn?"

Brittany nods. "Every time I look at her, I don't know, somewhere deep down in my brain or my gut, or where ever it is, something is telling me that this isn't the girl I know. Like this isn't how Quinn Fabray is supposed to be."

Brittany continues before Santana can respond. "Which I know is crazy cause I know I don't really know her. But at the same time I feel like I do, I just can't remember." Brittany shakes her head, her lips drawing a pout. "See? This is what I was talking about the other day. Forgetting important stuff and feeling like I'm missing something. You know sometimes I even forget my middle name." She turns to Santana, suddenly fearful. "San, you don't think I have old timer's do you?"

"It's Alzheimer's, B." Santana gently corrects, still smiling. "And no I don't think you have it. You're way too young and awesome."

That seems to appease Brittany enough. A small blush creeps onto her face at the compliment. "Thanks." She hops off the sink as Santana gathers her things. Once she's back on her feet, Santana drapes an arm across her shoulders. "You're awesome too, San." Brittany beams.

Santana scoffs. "Psh. B, you know I'm way awesomer."

"Awesomer isn't a word." Brittany teases. "The correct term is more awesome."

To which Santana grins. "And she's smart too."

Brittany links their arms together and nods proudly. "Damn straight."

—

Santana hates how she can see her breath right in front of her face every time she exhales. It's super annoying. Plus she looks like a damn bull out here. All she needed was the ridiculous nose ring and she was set.

Frustrated, she tightens her grip on her cup of her abuela's famous chocolate caliente, silently wishing she was somewhere, anywhere but here.

"C'mon, Santana!" Brittany beckons for the millionth time, calling out to her from the frozen over pond she was happily skating on.

Santana just shakes her head in response.

Snow. Ice. Whatever form it was in, she wanted no part of. And no way in hell was she gonna put those death traps people called 'skates' on her feet and go cavorting on frozen water that, for all they knew, wasn't all that frozen.

Fuck that. She'll stay right where she is, thank you very much.

Brittany skates past her and says to her in warning, "I will give you five minutes to come to your senses before I drag you out here myself, Santana!"

Santana rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her scalding hot cocoa. As the burning liquid rushes down her throat and sends another burst of warmth to her insides, her gaze settles on the other blonde out on the ice.

It'd taken a little persuasion (okay, a lot) but Brittany eventually succeeded in getting Quinn to join her. It was a feat Brittany was so proud and excited by that, in her haste to get to the ice, she'd nearly yanked poor Quinn's arm out her socket.

Santana ducks her head, chuckling to herself at the memory. But when the breeze picks up, her smile fades and a scowl promptly replaces it as she's forced to scoot her thighs closer together in attempt to retain as much warmth as she can.

God damn this fucking weather.

Staring out ahead, Santana's left with no other option but to continue to watch the two blondes skate around. They're the only ones out here and while she could choose to occupy herself with a round of Angry Birds, there's no way in hell she's taking her hands off her only heat source to reach into her jacket pocket and get her phone. No way.

So she sits and stares, silently hoping one of them (Quinn) falls on her ass so she can get her chuckles on. But that doesn't look like there's any chance of that happening. Quinn was like... in her element. She seemed very much at peace out there on the ice. Lost in her own little world, her eyes closed in contentment as she glided around with as much elegance as a seasoned professional.

And the way she executed graceful little spins here and there, adding little flicks of her wrists to her moves like she was weaving some kind of invisible magic along the way, made things all the more impressive. She didn't even look like she was conscious of what she was doing, just going along with whatever her body felt was natural.

Santana would never admit it out loud, but Quinn was kind of captivating to watch.

"You look miserable."

Startled, her body involuntarily tenses, not expecting the girl she'd been admiring to be suddenly standing right in front of her. She could have sworn Quinn was just over there on the other side of the pond.

"I'm outside in below freezing temperatures, of course I look miserable." Santana snaps, annoyed to have been caught off guard.

"You'd be a lot less colder if you were doing something other than just sitting there like a bump on a log."

"I'm fine."

Quinn obviously isn't convinced. "Come on." Santana just stares and blinks when Quinn extends a gloved hand to her. "Join us."

Hadn't seen that coming, Santana can honestly say. Quinn doesn't do this kind of stuff. Brittany does.

Huh. Maybe Brittany was rubbing off on her fellow blonde.

Santana isn't quite sure how she feels about that.

"C'mon, Santana." Brittany skates over to them and stops next to Quinn. "We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way."

Santana quirks her brow. "Excuse me?"

Brittany chuckles, that mischievous grin of hers - the one that always spells trouble for Santana - firmly in place. "You heard me."

Next thing she knows has those blades of death strapped securely to her feet and two blondes, one on either side of her, carefully guiding her to the edge of the ice against her will.

Fucking blondes, man.

—

"If I die, I am so gonna haunt you two in the afterlife. Mark my words."

She feels like the biggest idiot in the world out here.

Like a toddler, Santana was locked in a squatted position, her hands held out, body bracing itself for the inevitable fall. And while Quinn was gently coaxing her forward, skating backwards to serve as the buffer should she lose her balance, Brittany was skating circles around her. Literally.

"You are not going to die, Santana." Quinn sighs.

Part of her mind is still reeling that Quinn was actually partaking in this cruel, unusual punishment. Cause sure she hung out with them, but usually kept herself at a distance. Helping Santana to properly ice skate just didn't seem like something she'd ever do.

"Quit being such a baby, San." Brittany teases, coming up behind her and touching her back. "You're so dramatic."

A very un-Santana like shriek escapes her then, much to her mortification. Thankfully Quinn's still holding onto her hands and leading her forward while Brittany begins pushing her from behind.

This whole thing is like a scene right out of Bambi. The one where Thumper's trying to teach him how to slide on the ice. Only in this case she has two blonde bunnies pushing her around and this scenario isn't so much cute as it is utterly pathetic.

"Okay. Okay." She's had just about enough of this. "Don't you guys think we should quit while we're ahead?"

She hasn't fallen yet, but the longer she stays out on this ice, the more she feels like she's pushing her luck.

When she receives nothing but stifled laughter in response, Santana groans pitifully. "C'mon. Don't make me beg." Much as she hates it, there's no getting out of this without their help.

Fortunately for her, Quinn is much more merciful than Brittany's being at the moment. With sympathetic eyes, Quinn carefully guides them to the edge of the ice.

"You're never gonna learn if you never try this on your own, San." Brittany reminds, a little disappointed they were bringing it in already. But she isn't too upset - how can she be when she actually got Quinn to help her tag team Santana?

"Who needs to know how to ice skate anyways? I've done just fine all these years without it and sure as hell don't..."

Her words trail off as the expected occurs. Well, it's actually partly unexpected considering it's Brittany's skate that catches on the ice and not hers. Either way, like Santana predicted, things take a turn for the worst before her feet are able to find solid ground.

A domino effect ensues as Brittany stumbles into the unstable Santana, the sudden impact of which sends Santana lurching forward into the arms of the unuspecting Quinn. With a collective shriek and subsequent groan, the three of them crash land into a disorganized heap, their bodies piled up on top of each other.

"Fucking ice." Santana growls, sandwiched against her will in between the two conspiratorial blondes. "No me gusta."

When Brittany rolls off her with a slight 'oomph', Santana promptly pushes away from Quinn so that she lands in between the two of them. All three of them are lying on their backs now.

That's when the laughter kicks in.

Brittany starts giggling first, because falling on your ass is apparently so damn funny, and Quinn follows suit shortly thereafter.

Though Santana doesn't find the situation all that ha-ha funny, the infectious laughter she finds herself surrounded by is impossible not to smile at. Her shoulders begin to shake with mild amusement, but it isn't until an uncharacteristic snort escapes the ever composed blonde on her left that Santana loses all restraint.

Uninhibited laughter rips through her, the kind that makes her ribs ache and her eyes flood with tears.

She's pretty sure it's the hardest she's ever laughed. And the first time she's seen Quinn really, truly, smile.

—

"I'm freezing my nuts off out here."

Santana shoves her gloved hands deeper in her jacket pockets, her jaw clenched. She's doing all she can to repress her body's natural inclination to shiver.

"I didn't realize you had nuts to freeze off, Santana."

"It's a figure of speech, bitch."

Santana redirects her glare to the blonde standing next to her. The one who didn't seem to be affected in the slightest by this weather, despite the fact that she was wearing only a relatively thin jacket.

"How the fuck are you not freezing too?" Santana huffs, disgruntled by the fact.

Quinn stares out into the distance and shrugs. "The cold has never bothered me."

Of course it doesn't.

Santana stamps her feet together, cold, cranky, and restless. She really wished Brittany would hurry up.

After they finished working on their project for the day, Brittany had dragged her and Quinn to the park to 'play' in the snow. But like hell that was gonna happen. Santana doesn't 'play' in snow. Which is why she'd paid off those snotnosed ginger-headed demon spawns of Satan Giardi triplets to keep her entertained. (Honestly, it didn't take much persuasion since they loved Brittany, but those little shits are con artists who are always looking to make a buck).

Santana glances around the park. Where the fuck are those kids' mom to drag them home? Isn't it like nap time or something?

After grinding her teeth, Santana resigns to the fact that she's gonna have to play the role of the killjoy parent and ruin Brittany's fun if she's going to get out of this fucking cold anytime soon.

"You know if you would just dress in appropriate winter clothes, you wouldn't be so cold all the time."

Santana narrows her eyes at Quinn.

Just because winter was being a real bitch didn't mean she was suddenly gonna cave in and be its little bitchlet like everyone else and suddenly start wearing parkas and shit.

Santana Lopez had too much pride for that god damnit.

Besides, she's fine. The weather's not that bad.

Quinn merely gives her that knowing sidelong look. Santana looks away. The subject is dropped after that.

As Santana stares out ahead, she huffs with the realization that she doesn't have the heart to pull Brittany away from her fun. Especially when she looks so damn adorable rolling around in the snow with those 'cute when they wanted to be' copper-headed hoodlums.

God damn. She really is pathetic when it comes to that girl.

Silently shaking her head, Santana's gaze wanders back to Quinn. (Because really she's got nothing else to look at). The blonde's eyes are blank and sad all at the same time. It's a look Santana's become accustomed to seeing whenever Quinn was left with her own thoughts.

She'll admit the sight has held her curiosity before but never enough for her to look into it. However, now the sight really bothers her for some reason and before she knows what she's doing, her cranky self is asking, "Okay what's your deal?"

It's something she's actually been wondering about for a while now. It's almost been a week since Quinn started hanging out with her and Britts and while they talk to each other, they don't really talk. Not about personal matters anyways.

Santana knows basically everything there is to know about Brittany but relatively nothing about Quinn and that doesn't sit well with her. She doesn't like not knowing about people. Not knowing whether or not they can be trusted. And Quinn seems like one of those girls you have to watch out for. The kind that can just as easily be your friend or your enemy, or both, at any given time.

"My deal?"

"Yeah. This quiet thing you've got going on, it seems wrong on you." She much preferred the Quinn that wasn't so uptight - the relaxed, almost carefree, one that'd made a surprise appearance after they'd gone ice-skating and fallen on their asses. "Like it's not really you."

Santana hadn't realized until she said those words out loud at now how true they felt. Now she's starting to get a better understanding of what Brittany had meant the other day.

Santana watches as Quinn's back straightens defensively at her remark. "No offense Santana but you don't know me."

"True, but I'm clever enough to know when something isn't right." She steps in front of Quinn in attempt to force eye contact. "So if this is some kind of an act you're pulling to try in attempt to dethrone me as HBIC-"

Quinn scoffs loudly, and her gaze narrows, because apparently the very idea of this being about popularity is ludicrous. "You're the one brought me into this equation. I didn't ask to be in it."

And deep down somewhere Santana knows that but she wouldn't be a Lopez if she wasn't always watching out for herself. Because of this she's naturally suspicious of all people and doesn't trust easily. Or at all. Brittany's been the one exception. And while there were moments this past week where she thought Quinn might be too, Santana can't ignore her gut instincts urging her to be careful around this girl.

"For the record Brittany asked you to join our group, not me." Santana's quick to correct.

And then with no other aim than to provoke, she adds, "Britt always did love a good charity case."

To her dismay Quinn doesn't lash out as Santana had hoped. It would've been nice to see the girl display some kind of human emotion. She's so fucking closed off, sometimes Santana wonders if she slapped the bitch would she even react?

"Is that what this is all about?" Quinn questions, sounding neither hurt or angered by it. "She feels sorry for me so that's why she wants me around?"

Santana shrugs. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

Quinn stares at her, disbelieving. "She's your best friend."

"Look all I know is that she thinks your lonely and sad and shit and just wants to make you happy."

Santana's exasperated and suddenly she wants out of this conversation. That whole thing about wanting to learn more about Quinn? Yeah she's over that now.

"Being alone and loneliness are two completely different things, Santana."

Santana doesn't say anything to that. She knows that to be very true.

"I'm just not comfortable being around other people, therefore I prefer to keep to myself."

They have that in common. People annoy the fuck out of her. They're just so goddamn stupid.

"So why keep hanging out with me and Brittany?" Santana dares ask.

Quinn glances back at her, brow raised. "Do I really need to answer that? You of all people should know that refusing any request that comes out of Brittany's mouth is damn near impossible to do. And as hard as it might be for you to believe, I've actually grown to enjoy your company. My presence here has nothing to do with your paranoid beliefs that I'm out to get you in some way. If I cared about being popular or being the HBIC I would have done something about ages ago."

Now that Santana believes. Quinn seemed like the type to go after what she wants.

"And the same goes for friends." Quinn continues. "If I had truly wanted them, I would have gone out and made some of my own volition." She pauses for a long moment. "Though I will admit that Brittany bringing us together has turned out to be, I don't know, a blessing in disguise."

Santana interrupts with another derisive snort as she looks away. "I don't know about blessing."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Look if you don't want me around just say so and I won't burden you with my presence any longer."

Santana looks back at her and sighs. "I don't-"

"Our project is over anyways." Quinn turns her head dismissively. "So there's no reason for us to continue this."

Santana shakes her head at her. "You really want that?" she questions disbelievingly. "To go back to being a total loner?"

Quinn brushes her, and the question, off. "It doesn't matter." She looks everywhere but at Santana, refusing to make eye contact. "It's for the best anyways."

A deep set frown pulls across Santana's face. "What's that supposed to mean? Best for who?"

Quinn's already set to walk away, but Santana grabs onto her arm at the last second. "Slow your roll, snowflake."

Quinn pulls out of her grasp. "Forget it, Santana."

Santana shakes her head and moves around in front of Quinn, preventing her from going anywhere. "If we're gonna be legit besties one day, you're gonna have to learn to open up, Fabray. Friends talk to each other."

Quinn stares at her, brow raised. "Oh so you want to be friends now? Santana, I get you're doing this for Brittany's sake but I don't need this so just stop. You clearly don't want me around, you don't trust me, and that's just fine with me. I really don't care what you think of me."

The snowflake tries to walk away again but once more Santana prevents her from doing so.

"Newsflash whether you like it or not you're obligated to continue hanging out with us from now on. Project or no project." At Quinn's quirked brow, Santana nods. "Yeah. Brittany's found a new bestie in you and there's no way in hell she's gonna just let you go back to being a sad, hot loner." She's going to ignore the fact that she just admitted to thinking Quinn is hot.

"And fyi I actually do like hanging out with you. From what you've let us see of you you're actually an alright bitch. But you're right, I don't trust you. But you know what? I don't trust anybody. Except Britts and my abuela. That doesn't mean I don't want you around. If I really didn't want you around, regardless of what Brittany wanted, I would have removed you from the equation like that." Santana snaps her fingers to emphasize her point. "I'm ruthless like that."

Quinn just shakes her head at her.

Santana sighs. "Look I don't want us to stop being," she gestures between them, "Whatever this is anymore than you do. There I admit it. You happy? Can we move past this now? I'm tired of talking about this."

All Santana gets is silence. Then, something in the air shifts along with the entirety of Quinn's persona. "I feel like I've hurt people before." she admits quietly, catching Santana off guard. "For as long as I can remember, I've always carried around this feeling like I have to be careful around others."

Her insides turn uneasily at the pain she sees reflected in Quinn's eyes.

How is it that she has the same effect on her that Brittany does? It has to be a blonde thing. Just has to.

"That's why I prefer to keep my distance. You can't hurt any one if you're alone."

Santana hesitates, still processing this new revelation, before eventually asking, "When you say hurt, do you mean emotionally or like...physically?"

Quinn doesn't get the chance to elaborate. The Giardi boys had evidently left for home and Brittany grew tired of playing by herself so she calls out to them in that moment. Or she calls out to Quinn, she should say.

"Hey Quinn do you wanna build a snowman?"

An innocent question that evoked the strangest of expressions on Quinn's face. Like something resonated within her in that moment.

Santana doesn't know what to make of it. She frowns unsurely. "Hey you okay?" she asks, turning legitimately concerned.

Quinn breaks from her daze and nods faintly. "Yeah, fine." She shakes her head, dropping her gaze, closing her eyes briefly. "I just...I don't know." She lifts her gaze and pushes down whatever she'd felt, whatever had caused that reaction.

In an instant, it's as if nothing had happened. Quinn was back to her composed self. "I'll be right there!" she calls to Brittany who'd still been waiting on a response.

Santana can't help but let her gaze linger quizzically on the blonde. What the hell was that? What just happened?

The only reason she doesn't ask is because quite frankly, she doesn't think Quinn even knows.

—

"That one looks like a breadstick."

Santana extends her arm to the sky and traces the outline with her hand.

Brittany just laughs. "Santana."

"What? It does." She drops her hand and cocks her head to the side. "Or a giant dong." she later adds.

They'd finished their snowman awhile ago and now the three of them were laying side by side (by side) on a heap of snow, staring up at the dark winter sky, trying to point out as many constellations as they could.

Brittany was a master at it, knowing all of them by heart. She loved astronomy, loved the stars and the planets and everything there was to know about them. So, of course, Santana's spent many a night stargazing with her best friend. Though she could never see the constellations Brittany pointed out to her. All she saw was stars. Lots and lots of stars. Occasionally she'd see them form shapes, like now, but usually she'd just take Britt's word for it when she'd point something out to her.

Quinn knew almost as many constellations as Brittany did, but wasn't able to spot them as easily in the sky as Brittany was, who'd been tracking stars her entire life.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it?" Brittany sighs dreamily, staring up at the stars in awe. "Couldn't you just lay here all night and watch the sky?"

"If we did Santana would freeze her nuts off for sure." Quinn teases from the other side of Brittany.

"Shove it, Fabray." Santana glares, though on the inside she's pleasantly relieved Quinn was comfortable enough to start teasing her again.

"We should probably get going." Quinn sighs, sitting upright. She looks around and sure enough they're the only ones out here. "It is getting pretty late."

"Yeah, I guess so." Brittany grudgingly does the same.

"Thank God." Santana eagerly gets to feet. "I was a minute away from straight up blacking out." She's only half-joking. They've been out here for so long that she was past being cold and was just numb now.

While Quinn and Brittany start down the hill, Santana hurries across the snow and hijacks her favorite red scarf from their adorably deformed snowman.

"Later, Olaf."

—

The three of them walk together until they reach the corner of Birch street (or Bitch street, as Santana often refers to it). Quinn's house is going left, Brittany's house is going right. Santana's place is also going right, but when they get ready to part ways, Brittany stops her and jabs her with her elbow.

Santana hisses under her breath, touching her ribcage. "What was that for?"

Brittany stares at her with wide eyes and subtly jerks her head to the side. "Walk her home." she whispers.

"What? Hell no." Santana's not gonna go out of her way just to walk Quinn home.

Brittany's gaze is unyielding. "Santana."

"Brittany." Santana returns in the same tone.

"You'd walk me home." Brittany points out, her eyebrow still raised.

Santana scoffs. "Yeah, because we live in the same direction."

Brittany shoots her a knowing look. They both know that while they live in the same general direction, her house is out of Santana's way, kind of, and that doesn't stop her from walking Brittany home.

But still...

"Santana," Brittany whines, glancing back and seeing Quinn standing a few feet away, looking like she was going to leave whether or not goodbyes were said. "Be a good friend."

"No. You walk her home."

Brittany sighs. "I would but I can't. I'm already going to be in enough trouble as it is for coming home so late without calling first." She takes another look at her Mickey Mouse watch and shakes her head.

"And like I'm not?"

"Just do it, Santana." Brittany huffs, starting to get annoyed. "She could get mugged or kidnapped if she doesn't have a buddy with her."

"So could you," Santana argues, "So you shouldn't be walking home alone either."

Brittany rolls her eyes, unconvinced with Santana's argument. "I'm perfectly capable of defending myself."

"Not without a frying pan you're not." Santana snorts.

Brittany playfully glares at her for that comment. "Whatever. Anyways this is Storybrooke, like the safest town on earth. Nothing ever happens here."

"Exactly. Which is why she doesn't need someone to walk her home. She's a big girl."

Brittany pleads with her eyes all big and sad, her lips drawn together in a pout. "Santana."

Santana throws her head back in a silent groan. Brittany knows she can't say no to that face. "Ugh. Fine. I'll walk her home. Jesus." She shakes her head, then points at the blonde, "You so owe me for this."

Brittany rolls her eyes again. "Don't act like it's such a chore, Santana." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and smirks. "You know you like her."

Santana crinkles her nose. "I do not."

Brittany shakes her head, smilingly. "Don't act like you don't have a thing for blondes, Santana." Brittany pinches her nose as she skips past her. "Cause we both know that you do!"

"Do not!" Santana calls after her. As Brittany bounds into the unsuspecting Quinn's arms for a goodbye hug, Santana just shakes her head.

It's so not adorable, is what she tells herself.

"Bye Quinn!" Her best friend further surprises their new friend, by kissing Quinn on the cheek before dashing off. Brittany never was one to shy away from showing affection, especially to those she liked.

When it's just the two of them, Quinn looks at her expectantly. Her cheeks are still a little flushed from Brittany's little display. "You're going my way?"

Santana shoves her hands in her pockets and sighs, nodding. "Looks that way."

—

"How long have you lived in Storybrooke?"

The question is abrupt, out of the blue. Her and Quinn have been walking in relative silence, and Santana had been enjoying it, up until the snowflake decided to change things.

Santana shrugs. "I don't know. For as long as I can remember." She turns and stares at her questionably. Quinn doesn't look too satisfied with her response. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

Silence.

Okay. Santana keeps walking, unsure of whether or not to let the subject drop, but Quinn speaks up again before she can think too much on it.

"For as long as I can remember." she echoes. "That's the common phrase people use when you ask them about their lives in Storybrooke. 'How long have you worked here?' For as long as I can remember. 'How long have you lived here?' For as long as I can remember. And yet no one really seems able to." Quinn turns and looks at her. "Have you ever noticed that?"

Santana can't say that she has, at least not before now. She tells her as much.

Sighing, Quinn lifts her gaze, her eyes watching the clouds slowly roll in, a sign of more snowfall to come. "There are a lot of things about my past I can't remember." she confesses quietly.

"Well...were you ever injured, like in a car accident or something? That could've affected your memory."

"No." Quinn huffs in frustration. Her breath shows in the air. "I wish. Then at least I'd have an explanation for this...haze."

She's starting to sound like Brittany.

"I don't remember my parents." Santana offers, the words spilling out before her brain could properly filter out a less telling response. "My abuela says my mom died when I was little and that my dad took off shortly after, but I have no memory of that whatsoever. Grams says it's just because I was really young when it happened, but I don't know...for as long as I can remember it's always just been me and my grams."

She doesn't know why she's telling Quinn this. She's only open with Brittany.

And shit, the snowflake's right. There's that saying again. For as long as I can remember.

"My parents aren't in the picture either. They died in a boating accident. Got caught up in a storm and capsized."

Santana grimaces. "Sorry." Another pause. She feels the inclination to at least try and lift the mood. "So do you live with your grams too?"

"No." Quinn shakes her head. "I don't live with anyone."

Santana raises her brow. "Wait. You live by yourself?"

Quinn just nods.

That was cool, there were days where Santana would give anything to get away from her grams and live on her own, but at the same time a little sad. She needed her alone time for sure but she couldn't imagine it being a permanent thing.

"I had a sister. But I..." Quinn trails off, unsure of how to finish that thought.

"What happened to her?" Santana gently probes.

Quinn shakes her head, at a loss. "I don't know...an accident. I can't remember the details." She releases a bitter scoff as she turns back to Santana. "Can you believe it? I don't even know how I lost my own sister."

"Maybe it's a repressed memory." Santana shrugs. "Like your subconscious is blocking it out or something." That's what she'd come to terms with regarding her own vague memories of her parents.

Quinn turns away again. It doesn't go unnoticed by Santana that her eyes were now glassy, burning with unshed emotion. "Must have been pretty traumatic then. Otherwise I'd be able to remember it, wouldn't I?"

Santana kicks a rock out of her path. "Yeah, maybe."

Quinn sniffles, trying to compose herself as quickly as she can. "You must think I'm very strange."

Santana shakes her head. "Not any stranger than the rest of this town. Actually," She turns and stares at Quinn with an approving smile, "You're alright, Fabray."

A sad smile graces Quinn's features as she disagrees, "No, not really." Which makes Santana's own smile falter.

"But in time I think I will be." she adds, catching sight of Santana's frown.

Santana just nods and clears her throat. She stares off to the side, needing a second. What is it about blondes that reduce her to a puddle of mush? Seriously. Another second and she might've just pulled that girl in for a much needed hug.

Gross.

"Yeah well," Realizing they had stopped in front of what Santana assumes is Quinn's apartment building, she turns to leave.

"See you later, Barbie." She waves over her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Satan."

Santana stops, then slowly turns around. Did she hear right?

A hint of a smile plays across Quinn's lips. "Don't tell me that's the first time you've ever been called that."

"No." Santana scoffs. "But you are the only one dumb enough to call me that to my face." Well, back, technically.

Quinn raises that perfectly arched brow of hers. "Should I be worried then?"

Santana does the same. "If you value your life, yes."

Quinn is unperturbed. Shaking her head, she turns back around. "I'll see you Monday, Santana."

The quirk of the blonde's lips does not go unnoticed by her. Bitch. Getting an idea, Santana smiles deviously to herself as she picks up a handful of snow from the ground and pats it into a ball.

When it's ready, she whips the snowball at Quinn's head with striking precision. Santana cackles at the sight and smiles triumphantly. Quinn doesn't say anything, but the expression on her face says it all for her.

Santana slowly begins backing away out of throwing range should the snowflake try and retaliate. Which she looks like she has every intention of doing.

"You fucking pelt me with that snow Fabray and I will end you." Santana warns, holding up a stern finger.

Quinn walks forward, patting a perfect snowball together in her gloved hands. "Threaten me all you want Santana." she shrugs with a smirk. "You don't intimidate me. You're all bark and no bite."

"Whatever." Santana scoffs. "You're all latte and no foam."

Quinn stops at that remark, her brow adorably furrowing. "What?"

Yeah, Santana doesn't even know what the means either. But she's not gonna fess up to it.

Grabbing another handful of snow, she launches it at Quinn before up and bolting around the corner. "Later."

She doesn't expect Quinn to chase after her - that's more Brittany's deal - but the blonde actually does and more than that, successfully pelts her with a snowball.

"Holy motherfucking goddamn son of a..." Gasping, Santana spins around, trying in vain to get the already melting ice from out underneath her clothes. "Jesus Christ. Are you trying to give me pneumonia? Fuck, I could get hypothermia from this shit and die!"

"You're very dramatic." Quinn comments, bemused. "And need I remind you that you are the one who started all this?"

Santana frowns unhappily. "Do that again and I'll bury your head in the snow." she warns. "Make you look like an ostrich."

Quinn walks right up to her and before Santana knows what hits her, the snowflake's blowing a handful of snow in her face like it was confetti.

As Santana brushes the flurries out of her face, Quinn tilts her head to the side. "You were saying?"

Santana pierces a withering glare at that cheeky blonde. "Oh it's on like donkey kong."

The words no sooner leave her lips then Quinn sprints in the opposite direction. Santana wastes no time in chasing after her.

There were no more words after that, save for a few insults and empty threats on Santana's part. Just rowdy giggles filling the desolate streets as they chased each other through town, trying to pelt each other with as much snow as possible.

It isn't before long that Santana has snow melting in places she'd rather didn't and a scratchy throat from the cold. She'd be a lot more pissed if she wasn't enjoying herself so much.

Slowing her pace, Santana grudgingly holds her hands up in surrender. She's out of breath and without ammunition. "Okay, okay. You win." The blonde was like a little snowball ninja and she'd sorely underestimated her.

The top of Quinn's head slowly emerges out from her current hiding spot behind the mailbox. Her piercing eyes narrow warily, unsure if this was some kind of a ploy to get her guard down.

"Truce?" She holds her hands up a little higher to show her sincerity and that she didn't anything hidden behind her back or anything.

While Quinn makes her way over to her, Santana tugs her red scarf loose. She'll probably regret it later when she's nursing a sore throat but right now she's too hot to care. "You wanna go bug Brittany?" she asks Quinn, still breathless.

She knows they'd just said their goodbyes for the night a little while ago, but - as much fun as she was having here with Quinn - she was missing her other blonde too.

Quinn brushes the snow off her shoulders and frowns. "Won't her parents mind us dropping by unannounced at this hour?"

"Nah." Santana waves it off dismissively, leading them in the right direction. "Britt's parents are cool."

—

"I thought you said her parents were cool." Quinn whispers, crouched down behind her as they maneuver stealth-mode like across Brittany's backyard.

"They are." Santana insists. "Well, usually." she amends. "But lately Britt's been lagging on her schoolwork and they kind of think I have something to do with it, so they try to limit just how much time we spend together." She rolls her eyes briefly at the thought.

"Then why are we here?"

"Because we don't have school tomorrow and if I go home now my abuela's just gonna hassle me into closing up the restaurant or doing something that isn't sitting on the couch and watching tv." Santana looks back at her and snorts. "Don't tell me you suddenly have pressing engagements to attend to, your highness?"

"No." Quinn glares. "I just don't want to get Brittany in trouble. And for all we know she doesn't even want company right now. It's impolite to just show up without an invitation, you know."

Santana rolls her eyes and whips out her cell phone, hitting the first number on her speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Hey, B." Santana lifts her gaze to the house in front of them. "Mind if me and Q stop by to hang out?"

"What?" Brittany's enthusiasm overtakes her surprise. "Of course not!"

Santana gives Quinn one of those 'I told you so' sidelong glances before reverting her attention forward. "Cool beans. We're in your backyard right now so open up your window and let us in girlie."

"I thought I heard something." Brittany chuckles, coming to the window and lifting it open. "Figured it was just the gnomes talking loudly again." She waves down at them.

Santana pockets her cell phone and hurries over to the side of the house where she knows Brittany's dad's ladder to be. "Make yourself useful, Q." she demands, prompting the girl to action.

Quinn reluctantly helps her with the ladder. "And why can't we just sneak in through the back door?"

"Wanky." Santana snickers.

"Where's the fun in that?" Brittany questions, hearing the question and leaning out her window. She beckons them forward. "Hurry up you two. It's freezing reindeer balls out here."

Santana more than willingly scampers up the ladder, relishing in the heat Brittany's bedroom offers. "Oh fuck yes." she sighs, walking deeper into her room and plopping herself down on the queen-sized bed, much to the dismay of Lord Tubbington who grudgingly scatters from his place.

"Sorry about the mess." Brittany says of her room, helping Quinn inside.

"No she's not." Santana says, still happily lying on her back.

"Were you guys outside long? Your noses are all red." Brittany inquires, closing her window.

Santana and Quinn share a knowing look. "Kind of." Santana answers vaguely, now propped up by her elbows.

"Well I'm gonna go sneak us some cookies and hot chocolate." Brittany declares now that she has company.

"If it's that instant crap from those god awful packets then I don't want any." Santana says. She likes the real stuff, thank you very much.

"You say that now." Brittany shakes her head, rolling her eyes playfully. "Be right back."

Santana kicks off her boots and shimmies up Brittany's bed to get comfortable. As she props herself up with pillows, she notices Quinn lingering uncomfortably by the window. "What are you waiting for? Take off your jacket and siéntate."

"I don't understand what we're doing here."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Jesus Fabray we're here to hang out. We're gonna gorge on junk food and watch crappy tv and if we're lucky," Turning onto her side, she props her head up with her hand and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Brittany will draw us like one of her french girls."

Her smirk falters at Quinn's blank expression. "I take it that means you've never seen Titanic." She rolls her eyes again and moves back to her previous spot. "Figures. There is so much we need to educate you on it's exhausting."

"You make me sound so uncultured." Quinn frowns. "I'll have you know I am well versed in a variety of subjects. Languages, history, art, political science..."

"Yawn." Santana rolls onto her other side, so that her back faced Quinn. "Wake me when Britt comes back with the grub."

Brittany walks back in shortly thereafter, carefully carrying along three mugs of hot chocolate - marshmallows included - and a plastic bag of snickerdoodle cookies.

After distributing the mugs of hot chocolate, Brittany joins Santana on her bed. Her brow furrows when she realizes Quinn was still standing by her desk.

"C'mon, Quinn." Brittany scoots over and pats the empty space between her and Santana. "We don't bite."

"Not unless you want us to." Santana gleams wolfishly, biting down playfully on her cookie.

Quinn looks tempted, but ultimately declines, choosing instead to sit at Brittany's desk. The carefree Quinn that had chased Santana out in the town square had apparently gone back into hiding.

They settle on One Tree Hill, a favorite of Brittany's, to watch. It's just like normal. Her and Brittany sitting on her bed, watching tv, drinking hot chocolate. Only now they've got Quinn.

Santana can tell Brittany wants desperately to say something, to try and convince Quinn to join them on the bed, by the way her gaze flickers from the television. Usually nothing can tear her eyes away from her OTH but not today.

Santana wants to remind her that she shouldn't try to push things but Quinn's right there and even if she whispered in Brittany's ear, the other blonde might still hear them.

Once One Tree Hill's over, Santana takes over the controls, while Brittany gets up in favor of painting. She walks over to her makeshift studio in the corner where an easel is set up. As she ties her apron around her waist, she notices that Quinn is sitting directly in her line of view.

Light bulb.

"Hey, Quinn." Brittany quickly switches out her current canvas for a new one, suddenly giddy with her new idea. "Is it alright if I paint you?"

Santana turns her head at that request, brow raised. Naturally she looks over at Quinn for her reaction. "Um...sure. Okay." She can tell Quinn's uncomfortable with the idea but she doesn't have the heart to reject Brittany.

Suddenly anxious, Quinn stands. She sets down her mug and fiddles with her hands, unsure of what to do with herself. "Do you need me to stand or...?"

Brittany shakes her head. "No, just sit back down and keep doing what you were doing before, you know watching tv and whatnot. Don't mind me. You just look really pretty with the way the light's hitting you now."

Brittany comes around and tilts her head to the side, carefully regarding Quinn.

Quinn shifts self-consciously under the taller blonde's gaze. "What?"

"Do you ever braid your hair?" Brittany wonders.

Quinn shakes her head, confused. "Not really. No."

Brittany whips around, her eyes alight. "San, do you think you could braid Quinn's hair for her? I've got this idea for her portrait and she'd look just phenomenal with her hair braided."

Santana smiles pityingly at Quinn, who looks uncomfortable enough as it is simply from suddenly being the subject of Brittany's newest piece. "Sure, B."

Brittany beams in triumph and twirls back around to face Quinn. "Is that okay with you?" she asks, giving the blonde that hopeful 'please say yes' smile.

Quinn releases another heavy sigh before giving Brittany a small consenting nod.

Brittany squeals her excitement. "Don't worry, Santana's really good at braiding hair." she assures.

"Psh." Santana pushes herself off the bed and cracks her knuckles. "I'm a master at it, Britt."

It doesn't take long for her to do a side braid on Quinn, as per Brittany's request. Once she's done, she steps in front of Quinn to examine her work. Santana purses her lips together. Something wasn't right, or rather, something was missing.

Quickly realizing what that something was, she makes quick dash to Brittany's bathroom to get some hair gel. She has it in Quinn's hair before Quinn can protest.

"Oh my god, San! You're a genius!" Brittany exclaims, looking up from her paints and seeing her creation. She quickly comes over to stand by Santana and admire her work. "That's so perfect. So..."

"Her." Santana quietly finishes.

It was so her.

And it stuns Santana just how much so.

With this pushed back, spiky, regal look, it was like she was seeing Quinn for the first time.

"Are you sure you've never worn your hair like this?" Santana questions, a little unnerved at just how familiar this situation suddenly was.

Like she's been here before. In this same situation. Santana takes a step back, struck with confusing case of déjà vu. She could have sworn she's seen that very hairstyle on Quinn before. Maybe at school?

"I assure you, no." Quinn stands and looks at herself in Brittany's mirror, unsure of what to make of her new hairstyle. "I don't even own hair gel."

The smile that helplessly tugs at the blonde's lips leads Santana to believe she quite liked it.

Which leaves Santana feeling ridiculously proud.

"Oh!" Brittany perks up with realization, inadvertently yanking Santana out of her moment. "I almost forgot!"

Both Santana and Quinn look over with curiosity as Brittany runs over to the other side of her room and pulls a folded piece of paper from out of her backpack. "Look at what I found posted in the girl's bathroom."

She unfolds the flyer and hands it to Quinn.

After a quick glance over Quinn's shoulder, Santana lifts her gaze to meet that of her exuberant best friend.

"What the fuck is the New Directions?"

—

Brittany wants to join glee club.

Glee club.

"Auditions are next week." Brittany informs, her eyes positively brimming with excitement.

"No way, Britt."

Glee club is social suicide and Brittany knows it, but of course, she doesn't care.

She's never cared about the opinions of others. She does what she loves regardless of what people may think or say. End of story.

Santana only wishes she could say the same and actually be honest about it.

Brittany pouts at her flat out rejection of the idea. Aside from painting, she just so happens to love to sing and dance. "C'mon San." she begs.

"Now that that creepy Mr. Ryerson isn't involved anymore, it sounds like it could be a lot of fun. And don't act like you can't sing or dance because we both know that you can."

True Santana was all kinds of crazy talented in that department but that didn't mean she wanted to spend what little free time she had singing and dancing to lame ass showtunes. She'd rather be taken out to the woods and shot down like a horse.

But in spite of all that, she fixes Brittany with a pleading stare, knowing that in the end the blonde was a mastermind at getting her way. All Brittany had to do was stare at her with those ridiculously pretty baby blues and smile that cute little smile and she'd cave faster than Eeyore's house on a blustery day.

(All these references to children's stories are all Brittany's doing, by the way.)

"Britt." she starts, groaning in that way that basically translates to don't make me do this.

"It'll be fun." Brittany persists, her eyes just as pleading, maybe more so. "The three of us can audition together -"

Quinn's head shoots up, her eyes suddenly wide with alarm. "Excuse me?"

Her fear makes this whole situation a little more okay with Santana. At least she'd be able to drag the snowflake down the road of public humiliation with her.

Heh.

"C'mon, Quinn." Brittany encourages. "It'll be a great bonding experience for all of us."

Santana shoots her best friend an unconvinced sidelong glance.

Quinn shakes her head, made ill at ease within a matter of seconds. "I think I'll pass, Brittany." she begins delicately, not wanting to hurt Brittany's feelings. "I'm not too comfortable performing in front of others. Or at all really."

"Don't worry, Quinn. Santana and I have your back from now on. We're not gonna let you embarrass yourself. Not that it's humanly possible. You're too awesome for that." Brittany babbles, grinning.

While touched, Quinn is still very much reluctant. And with good reason.

"We'll let you pick the song." Brittany offers, hoping it'd serve as persuasion enough.

"Hold up." Santana raises a hand, so not okay with that. She sends a quick look Quinn's way. "No offense but you might have crap taste in music and if I'm going to be roped into doing this," She glances back at the other blonde. "I want at least some say in what song we use to humiliate ourselves."

Brittany playfully rolls her eyes at her. "We are not going to humiliate ourselves. I mean how can we? We're a trinity now, and trinity's are epic, therefore our performance is going to be epic." she states matter-of-factly.

"An epic disaster." Santana corrects. Does Brittany even know if Quinn can sing or dance? Hell for all they know she's tone deaf and pigeon-toed.

"A trinity? As in...the Holy Trinity?" Quinn wonders.

Santana snorts. "I'm about as holy as I am straight."

Brittany smirks at that. "Unholy Trinity then." She raises her brow at Santana. "Better?"

"It's alright." she shrugs, conceding to a smile.

Brittany beams.

On the other side of the spectrum, Quinn's pursed her lips held a frown. "I don't know if I like being thought of as unholy."

Santana rolls her eyes at her in a sidelong glance. "Well get used to it, Fabray. The name stays." she declares.

Cause hey, if they're gonna be a trinity, they might as well be an unholy one.

"Just like our names on the glee club sign up sheet in the hall." Brittany nods, slipping it in there oh so subtly.

But not subtle enough to get it past both Santana and Quinn.

"What?" She shrugs innocently at the similar looks she receives from them both. "It's true. I wrote it in sharpie. That stuff stays on there for life."

Santana just chuckles. Surprisingly, so does Quinn.

—

That night no one went home, the three of them having spent the rest of night trying to come up with song selections for their sudden glee club audition. Santana, of course, suggested they do Amy Winehouse, while Brittany suggested girl groups, like TLC or Destiny's Child. From there Quinn suggested the Supremes because really, if it wasn't for them, none of those groups would even exist, and it was just so perfect that they just ran with it.

It turned out to be surprisingly fun, trying to make up choreography in Brittany's cluttered room while trying not to wake her parents up. And not to mention exhausting, but in the best way. Santana's not sure what time they passed out, but she's pretty sure it was already morning when they did.

Santana groans inwardly when she feels herself awakening, even though she was still dead tired. She refuses to open her eyes, so she can't tell what time it is, but if she'd had to guess it was probably around the time her alarm clock usually went off.

Ugh. It's fucking Saturday. Doesn't her body know that?

Frustrated, she buries her face further into her warm pillow with a sigh. She squeezes it closer to her body, not all prepared for it to go and exhale on her.

What the...?

Drowsily, Santana pulls back and slowly blinks her eyes open. It takes her a second to get her bearings, but when she does, she takes a look around and realizes she was in bed with Brittany and Quinn.

And were they, really...?

Yeah. They were all definitely spooning.

She's spooning Quinn, who's spooning Brittany. (Ironic that the tallest one of them all is the baby spoon).

Well, it could be worse. At least she wasn't getting her cuddles on with Lord Tubbington - that tabby was nothing but a fat ol' stink bomb with fur.

Santana rests her head back down against Quinn's shoulder. She's too sleepy to be truly bothered by their sleeping arrangements.

Quinn shifts slightly, awakened by Santana's movement. "You're drooling on my shirt, Santana." Quinn sighs, her voice thick with sleep.

"S'not mine." Santana mumbles, already well on her way to falling back asleep.

"I'm making you wash it."

"Fine, whatever. Shut up so I get my zzz's back on."

Santana hisses when Quinn takes the opportunity to jab her in the ribs. "Don't tell me to shut up." she orders sleepily.

"Yes, your highness."

Another jab.

"Don't call me that."

Santana curses under her breath. "Figures the only time you want to talk is at five o'clock in the freaking morning." she mutters.

"You're the one still talking." Quinn reminds. "And to yourself I might add."

"Shove it, Fabray. Afores I end you."

"Both of you shove it, or I'm throwing you out." Brittany declares grumpily, turning around to whack them both with her pillow.

Quinn shakes her head tiredly at the blonde. "So violent."

Behind her, Santana nods. "You should see her with a frying pan."

—

Later that morning, after they got in a little more sleep time, the three of them head over to abuela's restaurante for breakfast.

(Santana figures her abuela is less likely to murder her for sleeping over at Brittany's if there are people around).

"Remind me to take it easy on your mom's cookies next time, Britt." she says, a hand pressed against her admittedly upset stomach.

"We warned you." Brittany sighs, exchanging a sidelong glance with Quinn. "But you said you could handle it. Said Lopez's have iron stomachs."

"And we do. I just couldn't properly digest my food because someone disrupted by sleep pattern." Santana says, turning to glare at the other blonde in question.

Quinn rolls her eyes at her. "Your sleep patterns have nothing to do with your body's digestion process, Santana."

"Shows what you know." Santana scoffs.

"Hey." Both Quinn and Santana stop when Brittany suddenly grabs their arms. "Look at that."

Santana follows Brittany's gaze up to the clock tower across the street. Her brow automatically lifts at the sight.

"Someone finally fixed the clock." Quinn realizes.

For as long as Santana can remember - there's that saying again - the time on that clock has always been stuck on 8:15. It always used to annoy the hell out of her whenever she'd look up and see it on her way to school. Made her feel like no time was passing here at all, like everything and everyone here was stuck. Frozen in existence.

"Well it's about fucking time."

AN: Thanks for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated!