The rental car came to a stop in front of a semi-familiar looking house. Santana breathed out slowly. "So I guess this is it."

Quinn placed a comforting hand on Santana's neck. "You're being ridiculous. My family's not that bad."

Santana snorted. "Oh, it's too late to try to pretend about that, Barbie."

Neither of them moved to get out of the car. Santana stared at the home in front of them. "What did your dad do? Get the same house just in smaller size?"

Quinn laughed. "I thought the same thing! And he married a Prudence. It's like a match pair: Judy and Prudy."

"But she's not a blonde."

"Surprisingly enough."

Santana turned towards Quinn. "Well…?" she questioned expectantly.

"Well what?"

"If I'm supposed to be playing the doting wifey this weekend, that makes you my gentlewoman, which means you're opening my doors."

Quinn got that 'Why did I marry this woman' look on her face, as she slipped from the car to walk around and open it for her wife. Santana fluttered her eyelashes once she righted herself before throwing a hand over Quinn's shoulder. "Carry me!"

"Get. Off!"

Prudence was there to greet them as soon as Quinn knocked. "Quinn, Santana," she said, cheerfully. "We're so glad that you could make it. Russ is in the library on the phone. Come in! He'll be out in a few minutes."

They exchanged identical glances as they crossed over the threshold, thrown off by the cheerful nature of this woman. She gave the two of them a brief tour of the downstairs. In the living room, Quinn was startled to see that besides a picture of Frannie with her husband and two children, was a picture of her and Santana. "Did you know he put that up?" Quinn whispered to her wife. Santana shook her head.

"No."

Santana gave Quinn a sideways glance, watching as Quinn tried to reconcile the picture to the man she knew her father to be. She couldn't imagine that man having a picture of his gay (bi) daughter and her wife hanging on the wall for anyone to see. After seeing that she needed a moment, so Santana stepped away and followed Prudence out of the room.

Santana wouldn't have minded her own moment because Russell's house was giving her flashbacks to high school. On those rare visits to the Fabray manor, Quinn had had to practically sneak Santana in the house, past the monstrous study, up to Quinn's room where even with a floor and a door between the man, Santana had been constantly warned against making 'excessive' noise. This had been followed by the Judy depression years which had pretty much been the same. Whenever Judy had been home, it was safe to assume that she was hung over. It had kind of just become common place for them to spend the time over at Brittany's or Santana's to avoid that altogether.

Santana shook her head of the memories. Some childhood. She just hoped that this weekend wasn't going to be reminiscent of those years.

"I've pulled out all the pots and pans that you might need and I got everything you put on the list that you emailed me, but if you need anything, just tell me, and we'll be happy to get it for you."

Santana looked over the red-headed Judy Fabray. "Did Russell put you through this, too?" Santana questioned.

Prudence merely smiled. "It's tradition."

Wednesday morning, Santana woke early to get started on the day. Before they left Boston, Santana had called home and her mom walked her though making Thanksgiving, and what needed to be cooked and when. Prior to this she had never put much thought into how all that food got on that table at the right time, but after talking to her mami she was realizing that it was a feat that took super human strength, and years of practice, to get it down to a science. Santana didn't have years, but she figured that as long as every got something to eat and every Fabray who came left still alive, she would count the whole affair a success.

Prudence was up just as early to make breakfast. Upon entering the kitchen she gave an amused glance at Santana's dry erase board where Santana had categorized every dish that she was making with a reminder of what temperature the item needed to be cooked at, and when it needed to be prepared. By her side she had a notebook of the recipes as well. "Is this your very first Thanksgiving doing this?" she questioned kindly.

Santana nodded, taking a seat at the bar. "Between my mom and dad's family battling it out in the kitchen, I never had to help out when I was younger. My abuela was always trying to drag me into the kitchen, but I usually had friends over, either Quinn or Brittany or both, so I had excuses not to help out."

"It is so amazing that you three have been friends as long as you have."

Santana blushed. "It really is. If you're fixing up breakfast you're going to earn some real points with Quinn if you-,"

Prudence beat her to it, holding up a white paper wrapped package. "Benton's Smoky Mountain hickory smoked country bacon and Dixon's wild cherrywood-smoked bacon. Does Quinn prefer waffles or pancakes?"

"Waffles," Santana answered.

Moments later a tired voice said, "Hey sweetie," and a hand snaked its way around Santana's waist. "What're you guys doing?"

"Mmm, you better be my wife, or else I guess I'm in trouble."

Quinn's lips tickled the back of Santana's neck. "And if I wasn't?"

"Well, then you might be my wife soon cause there's no way I'd let someone that feels as good as you go."

Quinn let go of her hold so she could stretch properly. "Why are you two up so early?"

"The question is why are you just getting up? Don't forget that you promised to help me with all of the prep work."

"I didn't forget. I promise, I'm all yours for the day."

"Just that long?" Santana questioned teasingly.

Quinn pushed on her shoulder. "God, you're really getting corny, you know that?"

"Oh whatevs, Fablo, you know you like it when I get all romantic and shit." Quinn smiled but didn't say anything. Santana gestured. "Prudence is making us breakfast."

"If that's okay," Prudence quickly said.

"Oh, don't worry. Quinn's a total breakfast whore, aren't you baby? She forces me out of bed first thing every Saturday morning, don't you?"

Quinn staged a gasp. "Hey! You promised! And I told you that you didn't have to, but you said that you like cooking for me."

Santana turned on the stool, pulling Quinn to her. "I do."

Conversation was friendly between the three of them while Prudence worked on breakfast and Santana and Quinn got started on the first dish. A lot of the side dishes were going to be done ahead of time, with mostly the meat and potatoes being cooked tomorrow. They worked in companionable silence for a fair amount of time before Russell came into the kitchen. "Good morning," he said in his boisterous voice. "How are you ladies doing in here?"

Santana didn't know how to respond, and Quinn just nodded. "Do you need help with anything?"

Santana looked over at Quinn, curious. Did Russell even know how to make his way around a kitchen? "No, thank you, dad, we're fine."

"Do you need me to make a run to the market?"

"Not yet, Russ, but we'll keep you in the loop."

"Okay. Remember, I am here for you." Russell went to a far cabinet and pulled down four mugs. "Hot chocolate or coffee?"

Surprisingly, Quinn smiled. "Hot chocolate!" Santana said the same, following her wife's lead.

"Prue?"

"Hot chocolate, please, dear."

Russ talked as he moved. "I was thinking that later, once Judy, and Frannie and company get here, we could go out looking for a Christmas tree…if you guys are up to it. Does that sound like something you'd like to do?"

Santana waited for Quinn to make the decision. "That sounds…great…dad."

He smiled, and at the sight of it Santana wondered if she had ever once seen a smile on the man's face before. She was sure she hadn't. When the cocoa was done, Russell melted candy canes into the four mugs, and passed them around. As soon as Quinn had taken hers, she held her mug back out to him expectantly, and without hesitating he dropped three mini marshmallows into them. Santana quickly followed suit.

"How many?" he questioned.

"Five?"

Russell obliged her. "Would you like some too, honey?" Prudence held up her hand, and shook her head.

Santana quickly discovered why Quinn was so eager as soon as she took her first sip. It was simply the best cup of hot chocolate she'd ever tasted. Like seriously, the best. Quinn gave her a questioning look, and Santana let her eyes roll back into her head.

"Good?" Russell questioned, knowingly.

Santana gave a flick of her head. "It's alright," she answered. Beside her Quinn snickered.

Santana was halfway through her cup when Russell broke the silence that was falling. "So, Santana. My daughter brought it to my attention some months ago that I never took the time to really get to know you, and I wish to apologize for that."

"Umm…it's okay?"

"No, it's not, but I am trying to work on that. L…Quinn was telling me about your job earlier. How's that going?"

Santana gave a slight nod, resisting the urge to boast, something Russell no doubt halfway expected her to do. At the moment she had plenty to boast about. Her presentation had gone well, and she was scheduled to have a project meeting as soon as they got back from the holiday. Her team also had a book launching on Christmas Eve, and while they weren't expecting a Tiger Prince like premier, they were expecting it to be a hit, if not a best seller. "It's going well. I'm lucky enough that I get to enjoy what I do."

"You work at Little, Brown, correct?"

"Yes." She wasn't about to add the 'sir'. Sir was a sign of respect, and even though she was encouraging of her wife repairing her relationship with her father, he hadn't earned her respect. Not yet.

"What department?"

"Publishing. I do formatting."

Santana was expecting him to look unimpressed, but his look said the opposite. "A long time ago my family used to do stamping. It's how we got our start."

Quinn was astonished when that sentence triggered a half hour conversation between Santana and her dad. Although she was curious about this tidbit of her family's history, she wasn't able to get a word in edgewise, as Santana and Russell got into heavy talk about different printing presses, inks, and styles that carried them all the way through breakfast.

Judy's arrival seemed perfectly timed with the arrival of Frannie, her husband, Frank, and their two kids, Skye and Franklin, Jr., and Santana was glad as all attention seemed to shift to the prodigal daughter returning home. Judy must have sensed Santana feeling a little off because she pressed a kiss to her cheek. "How are you, sweetheart? Maribel sends her love. You look good, by the way."

Beside them, Frannie was actually doting on her younger sister, and the two of them were talking a mile a minute while Frankie held up his hands to be picked up. "Shy, this one is not," Frannie said, as Quinn bent down to pick him up like she did this often.

After they were all settled in, they bundled back up and drove out to the Taylor Christmas Tree Farm near the Ohio University campus. It was still early enough for them to have their pick of the trees, and Franklin and Russell led the hunt for the perfect one. Quinn slid her hand inside Santana's while they lazily looked, in no real hurry to choose. "Should we make this our Christmas tradition?" Quinn questioned quietly. Her eyes were on her niece and nephew who were running around the adults. She was semi worried about how Santana would react to them, but she seemed fine, occasional playing with the two of them.

"Finding a tree at Thanksgiving?" she questioned.

Quinn nodded. "Did you guys have real trees or fake ones growing up?"

"Fake ones. Definitely. Abuela was scared of spiders riding in with them, so we had a plastic one every year, but it was really nice." Quinn had been present for a couple of the Lopez's Christmas' so Santana filled her in on the traditions that Quinn hadn't been there for. "Christmas was incredibly traditional in our house. There was a big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve, and then after we came back from midnight mass my parents let me open one gift. If I got up before my parents, I could open my stocking, too. Then it was mass, and after that it was a big Christmas breakfast, and then finally we got to open presents. Every year I had to choose one of my presents to give away, and as an incentive to be good and not annoy the hell out of my parents and aunts and uncles during the day, if we didn't get into any fights, break any toys, or what not, we didn't have to go to the evening mass."

"I'm guessing you were the only Lopez besides your abuela in the pew?"

Santana laughed and gave a nod. "Without fail, every year, my cousins seemed to get the best stuff, even if it was the same stuff I got. And one year I didn't want to give away any of my stuff, so my parents threatened to take it all back. I told them to prove it, and I ended up not getting any of my Christmas gifts until March."

"I wouldn't have given them to you at all. Did you guys do Christmas pajamas?"

Santana shook her head. "Nope. I didn't even know that was supposed to be a thing until Philip was born, and Hazel said that they'd always gotten special pajamas on Christmas Eve to wear the next day. Did you?"

"When we spent our Christmases with my mom's sister she would give them to me and Frannie, but not when it was just Russell and Judy. Christmas was a production, just like everything else. Dad would pick the perfect tree, and mom would decorate it to mall display standards. Our house looked like a picture from Southern Living, and our light displays were legendary."

"I remember."

"It was all about the show."

"We don't have to be about the show, babe. Though at least one year I want to turn our house into a complete winter wonderland."

"I like that. Our house."

They paused because Skye seemed to have fallen on a Christmas tree that was tall and lanky, wide in some places and skinny in others. It was the kind of tree that spent most of the holiday out of sight and usually would be sold to the poor bloke who procrastinated down to the last minute.

"I forgot to tell you: Cynthia sent five more houses that she wants us to look at next Saturday."

"Okay. Did the Fabrays open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day?"

"Christmas Day, after church. Some years we were able to convince our parents to let us open up our presents before church, but after awhile we realized that that was worse than actually waiting because then we knew what we had, and we wanted to hurry up and get back home to them.

"How did you, did you celebrate Christmas with Phil?"

Santana nodded. "I don't think that we made any traditions, not really, besides the pajamas. I just followed Hazel's lead. She didn't make a big Christmas or Christmas Eve dinner because she didn't know how to cook; she grew up with a maid. And Christmas was kind of hard for her. Phil was conceived at Christmastime, and from what I understand, it wasn't under the best of conditions. Those first two years were kind of bland, anyway, since he was still a baby, and didn't really grasp the concept of Christmas. Or of wearing funny hats so he could have his picture taken. The year after that, Phil pulled the Christmas tree down on top of himself and had to be rushed to the hospital, which caused this big fight between me and Hazel, and she ended up throwing out the tree.

"Three and four were good years, though. Both years we sat around in our pajamas all day and munched on caramel chocolate popcorn and watched every single Christmas special on TV, his favorite was Mister Magoo's Christmas. Oh, and last year, Phil had somehow got it into his head, probably from some little punk at his preschool, that Santa physically punished bad kids, and that he had somehow made his naughty list."

Santana shook her head from the absurdity of it, laughing at the memory. "He was so terrified that he had evoked Santa's wrath that he attached himself to our side all of Christmas Eve, even when he, or we, had to go to the bathroom. To get him to finally go to sleep, we finally had to tell him that Santa Claus was made up, and that he was just pretend because sometimes it's fun for people to play pretend. Which then resulted in me spending half of Christmas Day explaining to him the difference between telling a lie, and playing pretend. The worst thing about it is, you've met him, he wasn't being a smart aleck or anything, he just didn't get it. It was late in the afternoon before he finally gave it up and opened his presents. And then everything was great."

"Philip doesn't believe in Santa anymore?"

Santana shook her head. "Nope."

"But he still believes in superheroes?"

"And talking, partying turtles. Don't apply logic to Lopez, Quinn, I've told you this before."

"Do you think we should do the Santa thing with our kids? Is a fireplace already on our list?"

"I don't think so, but that's easy enough to remedy."

"Good, because I really, really want a fireplace."

Quinn was envisioning her and Santana spending cold nights snuggled in front of one, drinking wine, and possibly each other.

"I'll make sure Cynthia knows." Santana shrugged a shoulder, giving Quinn's earlier question some more thought. "I don't know. On one side of it, it's Christmas, and it wouldn't be Christmas without Santana Claus, and her reindeer, and the elves. I remember waiting up nights trying to hear sleigh bells, and I sat out cookies for him, and carrots for the reindeer, and I used to get so excited, and that was fun. But then there's the other side of it. First thing, you're lying to your kids. Flat out lying, especially if you continue to tell them there's a Santa once they ask if he's real. Phil was just so confused by it all, and didn't understand why it was not okay to lie, but it was okay to play pretend, but it was also not okay for him to play pretend with us.

"Then you take into consideration working mothers like Hazel. They spend all year struggling to make sure that ends meet, pinching pennies here and there and giving up small comforts so that they can buy presents for Christmas, which to me is the real spirit of Christmas, only to give away all credit to a fictional man who doesn't even know their kid. Kids spend a good portion of the year hearing that if they're good Santa will bring them what they want for Christmas, but if they're poor, or they don't get what they want, they're stuck thinking that they weren't good enough, even if they had been, and if they were bad and you give them gifts, what kind of message does that send to them? I know I might be over thinking it, but I'm not sure."

"I didn't believe in Santa past four," Quinn offered, with a shrug. "Frannie ruined it for me, and when I cried about it my dad said that I didn't need to believe in a fat man in a red suit because Christmas was about Christ and nothing else."

Santana gave her wife an extra tight hug. "Hey, whatever we do tell our kids, we will always treat them with kindness and compassion, and be respectful of their feelings." Santana smiled up at her wife in a way that she knew Quinn loved. It was sweet and endearing, and just the slightest bit sarcastic. "That's the true meaning of Christmas, Quinn Fabray!" she said in her best Linus voice.

"Lopez." Quinn gently pushed her away. "You're such an ass."

Santana turned around and swayed her hips. "Yeah, but you love it."