Spirit Exchange Fic! Baby, It’s Cold Outside, for gleefics
Holiday Wish Fulfilled for: gleefics
Title: Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairings/Characters: Brittany/Santana
Warnings: none
Word count: little under 4k
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
Summary: Santana and Brittany trek into the Ohio wilderness to cut down their own Christmas tree.
A/N: Happy Christmas!
They have a perfectly good, clean, classy artificial tree. Santana likes their tree. She doesn’t have to clean up pine needles and she doesn’t have to carry a real tree into the house and it only takes about a half hour to get it up and finished for the Christmas season.
When she was younger, her parents had a real tree and while the smell of pine in the house will always make her feel warmth and nostalgia for Christmas season past, she remembers with distant bitterness how she was always tasked with the unfortunate job of constantly vacuuming errant needles all over their living room.
So to be clear. Santana really likes their fake Christmas tree.
Brittany likes it too. Or so she claimed at one time in their lives. Yet despite years of complete contentment, Brittany’s standing in front of Santana, wool hat covering her head, huge leather mittens and a large, down coat that Santana recognizes as her own with the most discontent look on her face as she stares at the box in the living room, XMAS TREE scrawled, years ago, on the front by Santana.
Santana hears the question before Brittany voices it.
It’s Mike Chang’s fault. Him and that Asian girlfriend of his, Tina. If he hadn’t raved to Brittany about their tradition of cutting down their own damn tree every year, Brittany wouldn’t have come home with stars in her eyes, raving about how they should get a real tree too and then Santana wouldn’t be here right now. She hates that look Brittany gives her - the one that makes Santana want to do stupid things like hug Brittany or smile or make a joke that is entirely lame just to wipe the damn sad expression off her face.
Santana’s pretty sure Brittany knows exactly how effective that look is because just behind the pout is this little quirk of the mouth like Brittany’s going to laugh and there’s this barely detectable wrinkle near Brittany’s bright blue eyes like she’s smiling.
Santana hates how well that look works.
-
They should have moved to California. Hawaii. Fucking Africa.
But no. They had to stay in Ohio where it gets cold in the winter and it snows and there are large patches of land with just nothing there but trees and ground and snow. Brittany likes it. Which, Santana supposes, at the end of the day is all that matters, but it doesn’t make Santana like it any more.
To Santana, snow is an irritation. It’s only use is aesthetic - making Christmases look like Norman Rockwell paintings and making winter cabins look better in the real estate pages. Other than that, all snow does is cause traffic accidents and frostbite and add ten minutes to her morning because she has to wipe her damn car off.
Brittany skips ahead of her, the snow flying in spurts of fluffy white as she kicks her feet up as she moves. Santana’s breath makes a white fog in front of her face as she sighs. They could have gone to like...a tree farm or whatever. Those places in town that sell real trees and tie them up for you and put them on the car and if Santana flashed enough green their direction, would even carry the tree into the house for them.
But no, Brittany wanted the experience of chopping down their own tree and dragging it back. Which is why they’re out here on some property Mike’s parents or distant cousins or someone weirdly related to him owns, so they can find a tree, cut it down and string lights on it. Joy. Twenty minutes of walking and they’re still not at their destination.
“I like winter.” Brittany jumps, two feet forward, into the snow and turns her head over her shoulder to smile at Santana.
She purses her lips together, halting as Brittany doesn’t move and observing her with an exasperated eye. “Yeah, I know.”
The blue fabric of Brittany’s coat rides up as the she bends over towards the snow and the chill in Santana’s cheeks dissipates a little as she takes in the smooth skin of Brittany’s back. It shocks back into her, of course, when cold, white snow comes careening at her from Brittany’s hand. She turns just in time, the snowball smacking into her temple.
Swiping at it, she glowers and shifts her shoulders around as some of the snow drips down the collar of her jacket. Feet away from her, ankle deep in snow, Brittany giggles.
“Nice,” she grumbles, flicking the snow off her gloves and shaking her head a little.
She trudges forward in the snow, stubbornly refusing to look at Brittany’s pouting face as she passes. She’d like to stew in her bad mood a little longer, thank you very much.
Another snowball hits her in the back, right between the shoulder blades, with a hard thud. Brittany always had impeccable aim. It stops her in her tracks, glaring ahead at the snow covered forest trail as she tries to collect her irritation and not snap at her laughing blonde girlfriend. Stuck out in the wilderness in the middle of Ohio winter is one thing; stuck out here in a fight with Brittany is another.
The large wood cutting ax she’s holding in her left hand feels heavy and cold. She shifts it between her hands as she breathes in and out slowly, and Brittany stomps up next to her, an annoyingly happy expression on her face.
“Cute,” Santana bites out.
Brittany’s shoulder bumps into hers and she stumbles a few steps in the snow as they start moving again. “Lighten up, S. This is supposed to be fun.”
“Yeah, tons of fun. Can we just pick a tree and get on with it?”
“These are too big.” Santana turns to see Brittany stopped, head tipped back to observe the sky and the looming pine trees above them.
Santana rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know. We have to get out by their actual Christmas tree lot.”
“Oh right.” Brittany moves again, jumping ahead of Santana and continuing her snow-kicking path from earlier. White flakes start to fall in Santana’s vision. She blinks upward at the dreary grey sky and sighs. Her car is going to be covered in snow by the time they get back. Wonderful.
Shifting the ax back to her good hand, she stuffs her right into her pocket and pulls her boots out of the snow, making her way after Brittany.
-
“Just pick one,” Santana grumbles, watching Brittany tap her gloved fingers against her mouth in contemplation. She hits the ax against the branches of a nearby tree and looks back up at the sky, raining snow down on her head.
“It has to be perfect,” Brittany whispers, reverently. Crouching, Brittany moves around the trees, reaching out to touch their branches as her eyes roam around, taking in all the details. Seriously, this is not that hard.
“They’re all the same, Brittany. Just choose one so we can kill it and call it a day.”
Brittany’s got her hand on a particularly tall Christmas tree - one Santana knows will never fit in their living room - when she shoots up, eyes wide in horror as they turn on Santana. “K-kill it?”
Santana would smack her hand against her face if it wasn’t currently holding a rather sharp weapon. “Yes, kill it. What did you think was going to happen?”
“We can’t kill it.” Brittany shakes her head back and forth rapidly, backing away from the tree she’s next to and shaking her hands at it. “I don’t want to kill the tree. What did the tree ever do to me?”
Realization hits Santana in the back of her head, her bad mood plummeting deep into her stomach. “No,” she intones lowly. “No way. We did not come this far just so you could back out. No.”
Clenching her jaw and gripping the axe tighter, Santana spins and walks towards the first tree she finds, swinging the axe back and pulling it forward until it thwacks into the trunk. Okay, so maybe she’s never done this before. Whatever, she understands the basic principle. She tugs back, to bring it out, but it won’t budge.
“Santana!” Brittany’s gasp of horror makes her turn for a second, but she’s adamant not to let it stop her. She’ll cut the tree down, drag it back and Brittany will just have to get over it. “Stop it!”
“No,” she gets out forcefully. She could be home right now, listening to Nat King Cole croon on her new state-of-the-art stereo system, drinking alcohol-laden eggnog and having sex with her ridiculously hot blonde girlfriend under their perfectly good artificial tree. Instead, she’s shin deep in snow, a chill dampness creeping up her legs (and really why did she choose jeans), her hands are freezing, her cheeks worse off, and her girlfriend has suddenly had a change of heart about this whole endeavor. She is not going to spend the next month on an artificial tree advocacy crusade Brittany will surely start, hearing her go on for hours about the evils of Christmas tree farming. She walked all the way out here and they are cutting down this damn tree.
Brittany’s still yelling at her to stop, but she manages to get the axe out again, frustration pumping heat and strength into her as she propels forward and lodges the axe into the trunk again, bouncing backwards and letting go of the wooden handle as she does it. She should have made Puck come with them. Or fucking Mike Chang. It’s his damn fault she’s here anyway.
Flexing her hands out and clenching them, she nods at the ax, determined, and makes a move to step back towards the tree when Brittany’s body flies into her from the side, pushing them both over with a painful thud into the snow.
“Ow, fuck, Britt,” Santana gasps, the breath ripped out of her. “That fucking hurt.”
“You were killing the tree, Santana!” Brittany’s breath hits her, warm on Santana’s cheeks as she lies in the snow trying to catch her breath and squirming under her surprisingly heavy girlfriend.
“You were fine with it an hour ago!”
Brittany pushes up, hands planted in the snow aside Santana’s head and glowers down at her. “I didn’t think about it.”
“Yeah, I know.” She needs to get Brittany off her. Strangely, this is not the most comfortable feeling in the world and she’s still pissed.
“We can’t kill the tree.”
“We’re going to kill the damn tree. Now get off me.”
Brittany frowns. “No.”
Santana gathers snow in her left hand, packing it into a ball. If Brittany refuses to move, she’ll make her move. “Move,” Santana orders again. “Brittany I swear to God-.”
“No.”
With a little effort, Santana manages to get her arm up and towards Brittany’s head, smacking the snow onto the stocking cap there and pumping her hips up to roll them. Brittany jerks back with a shocked squeak and Santana manages to propel her over onto her back, scrambling up and off her. It’s a harder task than normal, because there’s a lot of snow and she’s still a little winded. Stumbling sideways a little, Santana gets her feet under her and makes her way towards the tree she’s planning on cutting down.
She’s inches from the axe when Brittany’s body hits her again and they’re back where they started, lying in the snow with Brittany on top of her, sucking in breath. “Fuck, what the Hell?”
“Stop trying to kill the tree!” Brittany exclaims, shoving at Santana’s shoulder. “You big jerk.”
“Stop physically abusing me!” Santana gasps, pushing back against Brittany’s hands. Sometimes, she forgets how strong Brittany is. “This was your damn idea!”
It takes all the strength Santana can muster, but she focuses on her first obstacle, beating Brittany, and manages to manhandle her way out from under Brittany, pushing the blonde into the snow and moving backwards. Her feet slip in the snow and she falls over, onto her ass, but she grabs a handful of snow on her way down and flings it in Brittany’s direction, smirking when it hits Brittany straight in the face. Yeah, she can aim too.
Brittany makes an indignant grumble as she wipes the snow off her face with one hand and makes a snowball with her other. Santana pumps her legs and hands up as she tries to move away, standing and scooping up more snow as she gives Brittany a moving target instead of a stationary one.
The next snowball flings past Santana’s right ear with a cold burst of wind. She cocks her arm back and lets her own snowball zing towards Brittany, bending over a few feet away. It hits her in the hip, but Santana doesn’t stay still long enough to enjoy it, she’s busy shaping her next weapon, still moving, zigzagging between trees.
Brittany’s boots make a soft crunching sound as they move in pursuit of Santana. The next snowball hits Santana in the back of her head, dripping down the back collar of her jacket, but she pays it no mind as she throws her own counter attack, missing Brittany’s shoulder by inches.
Her breath is coming in harsh pants, the cold air in her chest aching a little, but her cheeks are warm and her mind is focused. She gets two more snowballs off, one hitting Brittany in the arm and the other falling a few inches short.
Crouched behind a tree, Santana pushes her back against the bark and peers around the trunk to spot Brittany a few feet away, next to her own tree and grinning manically at Santana.
Even from this distance, Santana can see Brittany’s eyebrow quirk up towards the wool rim of her hat. “Hiding? That’s not like you.”
“Biding my time before I destroy you,” Santana counters, smirking. She lops a snowball in Brittany’s direction and laughs when her girlfriend darts back behind the tree for cover. “Hiding?” she taunts.
Santana hears a laughing, growling sound as Brittany suddenly appears, head bowed as she barrels towards Santana. Eyes widening, Santana launches upward, moving away as fast as she can, her boots heavy in the deep snow.
Brittany takes her down again and they fall, this time face first in the snow, but Santana’s laughing, the sound making white puffs of air in front of her face. She can hear Brittany’s laughter too, muffled by the fabric of Santana's jacket.
“Bitch,” she jokes, her warm cheek cooling in the snow under it.
Brittany lifts up a little so Santana can roll to her back and when Brittany settles back down, their hips snug together, it’s not as uncomfortable as the first time. “You’re not killing that tree, Santana,” Brittany says seriously. Brittany’s cheeks are flushed, the skin around her eyes wrinkled in mirth and her face is framed by falling snow, the sound of their breathing the only thing Santana can hear.
“Fine,” she concedes, her gloved hands grasping uselessly at the slippery material of Brittany’s coat at her hips.
A bright smile spreads across Brittany’s lips and the air leaves Santana’s lungs again, a comfortable ache settling in her chest as Brittany presses a warm kiss against Santana’s mouth. “I love you,” Brittany mumbles.
“You too,” Santana replies, bringing her head back up to lock their lips together again. It’s not the warmth of their house, or under their fake tree and Nat King Cole isn’t crooning in the background, but it’ll do. Brittany’s warm on top of her, and Santana can smell the chill scent of fresh snow and pine and if she stretches her hearing enough, the sound of snow hitting the ground softly trickles into her ear.
-
“You’re kidding me.”
“The snow covered our tracks!” Brittany twirls around, arms spread out as she observes the ground, a fresh layer of snow having made their tracks disappear.
“Great, we have no idea where we are.” The wind blows snow against Santana’s cheeks. She glowers and looks around, but there’s nothing to see but trees, trees, trees, and snow.
“Well, I know where we are,” Brittany argues. “I just don’t know where everything else is.”
Santana purses her lips, eyebrows raised slightly. “Hilarious.”
“It’s fine,” Brittany says, walking over to Santana and grabbing her free hand. “Let’s just walk.”
“How do you know you’re going the right direction? Do you really want to walk miles the wrong way?”
Brittany tugs Santana forward and she allows herself to be pulled. Her jeans are wet from having spent so much time on the ground and the warmth from their fight is creeping out of her, leaving a worse chill than before. “It’s fine, this is the right way.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Santana halts, keeping their hands locked, and laughing a little as Brittany gets jerked back with the sudden stop. “We’re lost. Where’s your phone?”
A guilty look shadows Brittany’s face. “The car?”
“The car.”
Brittany nods. “Yeah.”
“Great,” Santana mumbles.
“Well where is yours?”
Santana’s eyes dart away. She pauses, considers not answering before finally admitting, “The car.”
Brittany smiles triumphantly.
“Whatever.” She pulls her hands out of Brittany’s and walks around in a circle, eyes searching out across the forest. “Fantastic. We’re lost.”
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Brittany shrug, still smiling. “It’s just more time we get to spend together.”
Santana turns towards her incredulously. “We can be together at home. Remember that place? With the heating and the blankets and the fake tree and the liquor cabinet and the heat?”
Brittany pouts. “What’s so bad about here?”
Hands on her hips, Santana stares at her girlfriend for a moment, disbelieving. “It’s cold!”
Brittany stalks towards her and for a second Santana’s afraid she’s going to get tackled again, but her girlfriend stops inches away. She tugs her gloves off and stores them in the pockets of her coat before splaying warm fingers across Santana’s cheeks and smiling.
“Merry Christmas,” Brittany mutters, leaning forward a little.
Santana’s eyes are drawn to Brittany’s mouth, inches from her own and she swallows in anticipation, suddenly not feeling so very cold. “Merry Christmas,” she manages to mumble back.
Brittany ghosts her lips over Santana’s, a small smile there as her fingers tug Santana’s face closer. Impatient, Santana surges forward and presses their mouths together, her right arm wrapping around Brittany’s waist, as her left hand drops the ax.
They kiss for a long while, Brittany’s teeth biting lightly at Santana’s bottom lip, her hands still locked on Santana’s face and, really, Santana doesn’t think she could ever get sick of this.
Brittany pulls away and Santana feels her head fall forward, her lips unconsciously seeking out Brittany’s. “Still cold?”
Santana blinks. “No,” she confesses.
A blonde eyebrow quirks up. “Still care about being lost?”
Santana thinks about that. “Yeah,” she says after a bit. “I do.”
Brittany smirks like she knows what Santana’s actually saying, but she doesn’t call her out on it, just presses forward and kisses her again. “How about now?” Brittany steps back, her hands falling from Santana’s cheeks, laughing a little at what must be an amused expression on Santana’s face.
“I think I’m going to pissed about it for a little longer,” Santana jokes. She grabs onto the two strings dangling from Brittany’s stocking cap and tugs forward. She muffles Brittany’s laugh with her lips.
-
They miraculously find their way back to their car eventually, Brittany claiming that she recognizes the trees even though they all look pretty much the same to Santana. She says as much to Brittany which starts another mini-argument about how Santana’s attitude is why she was so cavalier about killing the tree in the first place.
As Santana expected, her car is covered in snow. She glowers at the sight of it, sighing as she finds her keys to unlock the trunk. Throwing the axe inside, she trades it for the snow scraper stored there, this heavy duty blue thing she bought at the gas station last year. Brittany’s standing at the passenger door, pushing snow off the handle.
“Start the car,” Santana orders as she chucks the keys in Brittany’s direction.
Brittany moves around to the driver side, managing to pull open the door after a few strong tugs and get inside. The car roars to life as Santana uses her brush to scrape the snow off the front headlights and hood. Her legs are cold and her cheeks are cold and the snow on the car is heavy, a tired ache settling in her arms after even just a minute.
Then, out of nowhere, a wave of snow comes flying at her face. She closes her eyes just in time, but the cold snow covers her, dripping down into her shirt as she blinks it away and rubs a hand over her face. She turns to see Brittany, window rolled down and staring at her guiltily, the windshield wipers of the car, moving back and forth in her periphery.
“Really?”
Brittany shrugs. “Sorry.”
Santana nods and looks around. “Can you come out here for a second?”
“Why?”
“I just need your help with something.”
“What?”
“It’s fine, Britt,” Santana says softly. Trying to sound reassuring. “Honestly, I just need your help with something really quick.”
The car door opens and Brittany steps out, slamming the door shut behind her and stepping towards Santana.
Dropping the scraper onto the ground, Santana rushes to gather as much snow as she possibly can. Brittany barely has time to turn away before Santana’s dumping it on her head, flinging as much of it in the direction of her girlfriend as she can.
Brittany flails against the assault and laughs loudly, the sound joining Santana’s own as they run around the car, their snowball fight returning with renewed vigor. Santana pushes Brittany into a snowbank and lands on top of her, scooping nearby snow over Brittany’s covered head.
-
Heat blasts their faces as they drive back, the snow still coming down hard outside. Santana drives cautiously, though she’d like to speed. Her jeans have reached an uncomfortable level of dampness and there’s a chill sweat dripping down her back under the heavy fabric of her sweater. Their jackets lay discarded in the back seat as Brittany unties her boots next to her, tugging them off and flexing her sock covered toes out in front of the heat vents.
A Christmas carol plays softly out of the car stereo and Brittany drops her feet down, reaching across the center console to grip Santana’s hand, resting on the gear shift.
Yeah, they got lost for no good reason, and Santana spent hours being cold and wet in the middle of the Ohio wilderness, but the day wasn’t a total loss. In fact, Santana thinks that maybe she actually had fun.
Brittany tangles their fingers together and shifts to turn the volume of the radio up with her free hand. Satisfied, she turns to Santana with a smile.
Santana glances over briefly, squeezing her girlfriend’s hand. “What?”
“We’re so doing this again next year,” Brittany says, moving over to press a warm kiss to Santana’s cheek.
Horrified, Santana’s eyes widen on the snowy road in front of them.
-
Prompt: Brittany leads Santana into the wilderness of Ohio to search for the perfect Christmas tree. Of course, they get lost.