Santana never really lost track of her surroundings. Even when she wasn't consciously looking, she always knew who and what was in a room with her. From the moment she could talk, her aunt had ceaselessly drilled it into her until it was second nature. It was an ability that made her excel at any sport or physical activity.

Sure, when it came to dancing, Brittany would always be better. And that Bible-bitch Quinn had a certain ruthlessness that put her ahead in the race for Head Cheer-bitch. But Santana knew that she was the true superstar Cheerio. She was the one who would ride the Cheerios to a full scholarship at whatever school Brittany settled on, even if she didn't need it, with the college trust fund her Papa had started when she was born, leaving the losers in Lima behind.

After another Sue Sylvester certified, special morning Cheerio practice, Santana had a quick lunch with her aunt while Brittany took her little sister to soccer camp. Over a minuscule bowl her aunt's famous sopas, oh how she hated The Sylvester Cheerio diet, she relayed the news about the sudden appearance of her long lost cousin, apparently the girlfriend of one Buffy Summers, no less. Santana had then followed Brittany to her afternoon dance class. When school started up again the following week, she'd have less time to spend with her favorite blonde, so she planned to make the most of it.

They weren't alone but they might as well have been. Sure she'd seen her cousin go into Madame Miriam's office. And watched Berry stomp into the studio like a munchkin in a poppy field before storming off to the small locker room. But none of that mattered. Brittany was dancing. And when Brittany danced, Santana felt loved, felt a part of herself vibrate in joy.

Brittany had been Santana's Secret Keeper almost from the moment they met, in 4th grade. There were so many things about her, her family, her life, that only Brittany understood. That Brittany fiercely protected.

But when it came down to it, they really protected each other.

She'd once asked Brittany why she was so different in school. Why only their families saw the real Brittany. The Brittany with the near-photographic memory and taste for convoluted jokes. The Brittany she adored. Even for Brittany, the answer had been really out there. It had taken her years to understand the brilliance of her best friend.

"I am who you need me to be, San," she'd said, placing her hand over Santana's heart. "They see us but not the real us." She ran her other hand through Santana's hair. "They see the illusion of the protector. The knight in shining armor. But they don't see that the knight is really the maiden, protected in her tower. I'll always protect your heart."

They were alone at the time, as they often were those first few years, so Santana wasn't afraid to let herself cry. And to vow to herself that, no matter how things between them went, Brit would always be her first priority, even before family.

Not all of the secrets they shared were big. Only Brit knew her favorite book, favorite day, and what her first tattoo meant. But those were best friend secrets.

The first real secret she'd ever shared with Brittany was about her family. Sure, her father, a doctor at Lima General, was the youngest son of a prominent Brazilian family who worked because he wanted to, not because they needed the money. But her aunt, her father's sister, who'd raised her and her older brother after the death of her mother, the family head, traced her lineage back to Itchakomi Ishaia, a daughter of a great Natchez leader, an actual native American princess.

It had been exciting to consider herself a princess. Even if it was a secret. She could still remember how all the girls in grade school dressed up and pretended to be princesses for Halloween. Competition to be Pocahontas for the school play could be vicious, but she was the real deal. But even if she couldn't tell, not that anyone would have understood the connection, she still knew. But she'd told Brittany and it made all the difference. And it wasn't the only secret they shared.

Only Brittany knew about her obsession with badass cheerleaders. About her collection of memorabilia of real and fictional cheerleaders. And her collection of custom Barbies modeled on them. Knew her secret favorite movie was about a cheerleader.

And she knew that she hadn't been able to hide her excitement, from Brittany, when Coach introduced them to her new assistant. Summers had been pretty badass as cheerleaders go, even before Santana found out the truth. There weren't many cheerleaders who dared to burn down a school building.

Finding out she'd been hunting vampires at the time added that extra bit of admiration. And she'd obviously kept in shape since then. Santana wondered if her family was in the same business. The first Lopez to come to America had been part of a team of Portuguese demon hunters working for the Church. Family legend had it that after he rescued the granddaughter of Itchakomi from a demon in Mexico City they wandered all over the Americas before settling in the colonies that later became Brazil.

When they were fourteen, Santana's brother Miguel took them to meet their first demons. Her disappointment that all of the demons living in Lima were neutral lasted a month, until he took her on a road trip to Detroit for a family hunt to clean out an old factory. She killed her first vampire that weekend. Sure, it was some weak-ass minion one of her cousins had held still while she staked it, but it was an awesome rush hearing that poof of air rushing in as it burst into dust. Something she shared with only Brittany, who was too nice to kill anything but was always ready to help her clean up afterward.

If Berry only knew that Brad, the creepy piano guy who could play any song anyone asked, was a demon. Santana couldn't help smirking whenever she thought about it. Only Brit and herself seemed to know what he was, though she occasionally suspected Coach knew from the look she always gave him when she wandered into the choir room for another go at her favorite game, the Scheuster Smackdown.

She heard the door opening but continued to watch Brittany, until she stopped and nodded. Nodding back, Santana reached into her purse and took out the small, brown envelope. Rising gracefully to her feet, Santana turned towards the office. She might not be the awesomeness in movement that was Brittany but a princess such as herself was always smooth, always special, always dignified.

Without saying a word, she silently walked over to the two women who'd come out of the office. Stopping in front of her cousin, she handed over the letter, not bothering to introduce herself. If her cousin didn't know who she was, she would. Soon.

Santana chatted quietly with Brittany while they waited for the studio to clear. She ignored Berry, like she always did. She didn't hate the girl but found it easier to ignore her. And if Berry wanted to worship at her feet, so be it. This was her first chance to really talk with her heart. Contrary to popular belief, she and Brit did not hang 24/7. They both had families and responsibilities. Often, the dance studio was the only place they could have private conversations or just be together without interruption.

"Things are gonna to get crazy, Brit," Santana told her. "A badass like Buffy Summers isn't in a place like Lima for fun."

"I bet if you ask she'll take you hunting," Brittany told her. "She's been doing this for a long time. She probably knows way more than Miguel."

Santana nodded. Her brother was an awesome demon hunter, but Summers was one of her heroes.

"They're cute together, her and your cousin," Brittany added. "Maybe we can double date."

"You want to date?" she asked, surprised. Their families were always teasing them about their closeness over the years but they'd never formally defined their relationship. There were the boys they teased, made out with, and on rare occasions more. And then there was them. No matter what happened with anyone else.

"If you want?" Brittany said, looking at her nervously. Santana thought it was cute, though she would never admit it to anyone.