A/N: You guys asked for a multi-chap Brittana fic, you got yourselves a multi-chap Brittana fic.

So, after the kiss we got in Dublin (fuck yeah! So proud to be Irish) I went off into a tangent when I got home and started writing like a futhermucker. So this is a baby fic. A fluffy baby fic that literally made me vomit up fairy dust.

Enjoy :)

Chapter 1

Having kids hasn't been very high on her list of things do - well, there was that brief time in high school during the whole 'in denial about my feelings' fiasco where Santana had more or less fantasized about having little blue eyed blonde babies. But she thought she'd gotten over that. Apparently not.

She's a music producer now with her own budding record label that already has three chart topping acts. She's worked herself to the bone to get to where she is, screaming at talent scouts and sneering at budding diva's looking for contracts. And now she's finally in a stable situation where she's got people to run the business in her absence while her maternal clock goes off.

And boy has it gone off. It's been happening a lot lately actually. When Santana sits down at her favourite table in the coffee shop by work and sees a mother roll in with a baby stroller and an adorable gurgling little human strapped in, her heart squeezes. Or when she passes her secretary's desk and see's all the pictures of gap toothed little children with chocolate smeared across their faces, the smile she wears is tender and loving. Or every single time Santana sees her wife and thinks about what a beautiful family they'd be, her ovaries literally quiver with the need to have a baby.

But it's a topic she hasn't broached with Brittany yet. For one, the blonde is away on tour with Jessie J and won't be back for another month. So Santana has to suffer in silence, working late every night so that she doesn't have to walk into an empty apartment and smile tightly whenever her friends visit with their kids.

But God, she doesn't think she can take one more second of this.

She's so ready to be a mom. So ready for them to be a family with the cat, the ballet classes and piano lessons. Ready for the school run, the packed lunches and big kid beds. The family nights her son will hate and the trips to the park their daughter will be so excited about. Jesus ... is she getting teary eyed over this?

She totally is. Ugh.

But that's to be expected really. She's just drowned her baby induced sorrows in about five cans of Bulmer's and watched some awful episode of One Tree Hill that never fails to make her think of Brittany. She's curled up on the sofa, watching static and crying softly into a pillow that she's got crushed to her chest.

Santana's just so tired of being alone. She wants her wife home and she wants them to talk about this new aching need Santana has that makes her sniffle whenever Brittany's older sister emails them pictures of their nephew.

With a new reckless fire in her system (the kind of fire that only comes from alcohol) Santana throws the pillow across their living room and reaches out to the coffee table to pick up her phone. Hitting the familiar number that flashes up as Wifey, Santana waits for Brittany to pick up, rubbing her damp eyes and reclining into their sofa.

Brittany picks up on the fourth ring and before she can even get her "Hi sweetie!" out, Santana is already sobbing incoherently down the line.

"Sweetheart?" Brittany gasps, the panic in her voice tangible. "Santana what's wrong? Are you ok?"

"Britt-" Santana hiccups. "Britt I want a baby." More tears.

Brittany seems frozen on the other line, astonished breath the only sound Santana can hear over her own wheezing. And just as she's about to succumb to a fresh wave of tears and wail about pacifiers and high chairs, Brittany says softly, "A baby?"

"A baby, Britt," Santana affirms. "I want one. I want a family, Brittany."

She hears someone say something on Brittany's end. It sounds like she's in a restaurant. There's chatter on her line and the sound of cutlery against plates and loud rambunctious laughter that can only come from Brittany's dancer colleagues.

"With me?" And her wife's voice sounds so small, so unsure, that it makes Santana's brow furrow in confusion. Who else would she want to share the miracle of life with?

"Of course with you, Britt-Britt." Santana bites her lip.

"Santana, I'm at a restaurant right now. I'm just going to pay and head back to the hotel straight away and then I'll call you ok?" Brittany sounds rushed and the scraping of a chair comes loud and clear. Her wife is literally going to dash back to her hotel room.

"Ok," Santana says softly. "I'll be waiting."

She hangs up and drops on her side on the couch with a moan. She doesn't know what to think now. Does Brittany not want to have a kid? Does she think their schedules are too fully loaded to also include the burden of a child? After all, Brittany has become quite active in the industry, finally dancing on the global stage like she's always wanted.

Her phone rings again twenty minutes later. Santana covers her face briefly with her hands, takes a deep breath and then answers the call.

"Santana, were you serious?" is the first thing she hears in lieu of a greeting.

"Yeah."

There's silence for a moment and tears start to prickle behind Santana's eyes.

"I'm coming home."

The Latina's chest seizes at this and she chokes a bit. "W-what? Brittany, you can't! You're still on tour!"

Brittany's tone is firm and leaves no room for argument. "I'm coming home, Santana." And then Santana starts crying when she hears Brittany hiccup, a sure sign that her wife has succumbed to her own tears.

"I'm sorry, Britt. I'm so sorry." Santana's whole world seems to be caving in now. She doesn't want to lose her wife over this. Nothing is worth that. They can work past this. Santana can learn to ignore that burning ache in her chest whenever she sees a family in the street.

"Why? Why are you sorry? You have no idea how happy I am right now," Brittany says thickly. "I want a family with you so badly, Santana."

"Y-you do?"

The dancer laughs that full laugh that makes butterflies unfurl in Santana's chest like tiny flowers. "Santana, I've wanted a baby with you since we were sixteen. And I'm getting the earliest flight home so that we can make that dream happen."

Fireworks and sunlight and marching bands. That's all that goes through Santana's mind. Pure relief and joy. The love that she has for her amazing wife is overflowing, leaking out of her in tsunami sized waves.

"I love you," she croaks.

"I love you too," Brittany murmurs, "So much." Santana smiles at that. "I'm going to pack now, Honey. I'll be home soon."

"Ok. I miss you. Hurry."

"I miss you too. And I will."

"Love you," Santana says again before hanging up.

She closes her eyes, lets the phone drop to the floor and smiles wordlessly up at the ceiling. She's gonna be a mommy.

It's the next day and she's at work. 11 A.M and in the boardroom talking with a new client they're hoping to sign on. He's a young man of about seventeen from a small town in Texas with a voice that induces goose bumps. Santana would be lying if she didn't admit that the guy reminds her of Sam Evans from high school minus the Justin Beiber repertoire. Her kid's only got jazz on his mind.

The kid is over the moon when Santana hands the contract over to his parents and agent with a smile. "I hope that we'll be able to work with you very soon, Timothy. When you've read over the contract please do not hesitate to ring us. My secretary will give you a number to call on your way out."

Timothy beams and Santana shares a look with her assistant. Give or take a year and the kid could be huge. She hopes they can clinch this deal quickly though because, as sweet as he is, Santana has other fish to fry and other employees to meet.

By lunch she's met with countless talent scouts who are all convinced they've found the next biggest thing. So Santana has been forced to set up at least twenty meetings for next month with these hopeful artists and now she's got this huge headache that comes from a loaded workload and last nights booze intake.

But then her mind wanders to her wife. About the conversation they had together and what it means for their lives and future. Thanks to her inability to keep her emotions in check under the influence of alcohol they're about to become parents. But then again, isn't that how most pregnancies happen?

She's in her office typing an email to Kurt about their trip joint business trip to L.A next week when her secretary Wendy knocks against the glass door. Santana looks up and smiles for her to come in.

"Mrs. Pierce, your 12.30 is here."

The Latina arches an eyebrow at the other woman. She never scheduled a 12.30 meeting. From 12 to 1 she's off the clock, everyone knows that. But Wendy's wearing this huge grin and it's so disconcerting that Santana merely sighs and nods.

"Bring 'em in. Oh, and could you be a doll and tell Mathew to call Rachel Berry for me? Tell him that Taylor Swift called about a possible collaboration."

Wendy salutes and Santana sends her a curious expression.

A moment later she hears the door open and sees a mass of blonde hair and the brightest smile New York has to offer before she's vaulting out of her chair and jumping into her wife's arms, legs locking around Brittany's waist. They're kissing furiously instantly and Brittany spins them in lazy circles, smiling into every kiss and running loving fingers through her wife's hair.

They break apart slowly, eyes closed and foreheads touching. Brittany adjusts her grip on her wife and Santana locks her arms more securely around the blonde's neck as they breathe together, softly and intimately. It's everything they've both missed in the past three months of separation; excluding those odd weekends when Santana flew into whatever State the tour had stopped in.

"Hi," Brittany whispers sweetly, blue eyes fluttering open to connect with warm brown.

"Hi." Santana smiles and reached forward for one more kiss before her entire staff notices through the glass that their boss is really a huge mush ball of fluff.

Brittany lets her drop to the floor with a huge giddy smile that makes the edges of her eyes crinkle in that adorable way that Santana loves. She makes a 'wait here' motion with her hand and skips out of the room before coming back in with a small box tied with a red bow.

"I got you something."

Santana giggles as her wife hands it over and, with anticipation and eagerness, carefully opens the gift. She gasps when she sees what's inside and places the box on her desk, taking the contents in her hands and turning back to face Brittany with a tearful smile.

It's a white onesie with a fat cat on the chest that is velvet soft to the touch.

"Britt?"

"For our baby," Brittany offers with her trademark one shoulder shrug. "Jessie helped me pick it out before they dropped me at the airport. I liked it 'cause it looked like Lord Tubbington."

Santana exhales choppily because Jessie J, pop diva, has just given her opinion on something their child will be wearing.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Santana whispers in complete and absolute awe of the woman standing before her.

Brittany kisses her in response.

Santana cuts her day short and hands the reigns to the VP of the label; a competent father of three called Henry who almost salivates when Santana tells him the news. Brittany fist bumps Wendy on their way out and Santana rolls her eyes at her secretary and wife, muttering about the plotting women in her life. The blonde for her part only laughs and wraps Santana up in a protective embrace as they walk out onto the street and decide to go to the nearest little café for a quick lunch.

After, Brittany leads them home fondly nuzzling her wife's cheek as they walk. Santana bathes in the attention with a heart fit to burst. Even when they are at the door to their apartment the dancer seems reluctant to break contact and she envelops the Latina from behind as Santana digs into her purse for her keys.

Brittany smiles into her wife's neck and goes about placing delicate kisses along the woman's jaw and neck, nibbling slightly on the sensitive flesh. Santana moans and all but drags the other woman into the open doorway once she's got the stupid thing open, spinning in the loose embrace just as Brittany bends to crush their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

"Someone's ea-" Santana pants, "Eager."

Brittany shakes her head, pulls her shirt over her head and cups Santana's jaw in her hands, closing the door with her foot as an afterthought. Her lips slide slowly and sensually over her wife's until Santana is breaking away to rip her own shirt off.

With a low growl Brittany sweeps the Latina off her feet and kisses her soundly, murmuring, "You're gonna be so pregnant after I'm done with you."

Santana chuckles lowly feeling heat travel through her body like wildfire. "It doesn't work like that, Britt." She groans when Brittany sucks at a sensitive spot on her neck and begins to walk them towards their bedroom.

"Well, I'm sure gonna try."

All the necessary appointments have been made, doctors visited and future-grandparents and aunts alerted. Everything has been orchestrated magnificently for this one morning. But nothing prepares her for what she feels after the procedure has been finished and she and Brittany step hand in hand back into regular New York city life.

All day she's in another world with one hand on her stomach and the other holding onto her wife tightly. It's surreal to think that she's carrying a little bit of Brittany inside of her, microscopic eggs that might grow into a baby. Their baby.

Brittany's more emotional about this than even Santana. The Latina occasionally catches her wife smiling down at her flat stomach with tears in her eyes, pretending to look around the bustling street when Santana meets her gaze. It's all kinds of adorable and comforting to know that Brittany wants this just as much as she does.

But they're a long way off yet. The doctor told them to wait to weeks minimum before taking a pregnancy test but Santana's kind of worried they won't even be able to wait that long. She saw the same doubt in Brittany's eyes when their eyes had locked after that particular comment.

Two weeks.

They could wait two weeks ... right?

To stay busy Santana buries herself in work and Brittany calls her lawyer to dissolve the contract she has with the record company affiliated to Jessie J for the tour. Even with permission from the star and the tour manager, Brittany is still in breach of contract as far as the label is concerned for ditching. But with a couple of phone calls and a favour from Rachel Berry, the dancer eases her way out of trouble and scores a new gig close to home. The things you can achieve if you know the right people...

The first week passes without a hitch and nothing in their daily routines change much apart from Santana becoming increasingly more absent in the workplace. Henry is absolutely over the moon with the new responsibilities he finds himself with when, at the end of the week, Santana tells him that she'll be out of commission for most of the remaining year and to only refer to her when absolutely necessary. Of course Brittany's thrilled because now they can spend long hours in their room before the dancer has to rush to the studio in the afternoon.

The second week however is a little more testing. Because now the goal is in plain sight and so close. Santana can't bury herself in work anymore and instead calls Kurt to babble excitedly over the phone on how excited and nervous she is. The very bewildered man wisely writes it off as hormones (because there's no way in hell Satan just giggled at him) Then on the other end of the spectrum, Brittany becomes quite irate with anyone that isn't Santana. She snaps at her dancer colleagues - which is highly unusual of her - and blows up over the smallest thing. The studio choreographer had to hold her back from flooring a guy one afternoon for making a less than tasteful remark about her mental capacity.

Fair to say both women (and Kurt) are highly relieved when the end of the second week rolls around and Santana orders Brittany to buy two of the best pregnancy tests. The blonde sprints to the drug store and comes back twenty minutes later with the wanted goods as they both shuffle into the bathroom.

Brittany watches her reflection in the mirror as Santana uses the two pregnancy tests and lays them on the edge of the bathtub. The Latina washes her hands and the blonde moves to sit on the toilet seat, patting her lap for her wife to sit on as they wait.

Three minutes pass before Santana reaches nervously for the first test and Brittany handles the second one with the utmost reverence. They look at each other, kiss tightly for good luck and simultaneously look down.

Santana gasps.

Brittany's eyes widen.

"Positive," they breathe together, scarcely able to comprehend what this means.

They got it on the first go. The first go.

And then Santana is jumping around the bathroom singing "You got me pregnant! You got me pregnant!" and Brittany is right behind her yelling ecstatically while doing the running man on the tiles in her socks before she slips and falls hard on her ass with a howling laugh.

"I have to tell everyone!" And Santana races out of the bathroom as Brittany picks herself up and rubs at her tailbone, hurting but unable to wipe the huge beaming smile off her face.

She does tell everyone. Courtesy of phone calls, Skype and Facebook the entire world knows that 'Santana Pierce: Has just been knocked up by her amazing Wifey. Best be on the lookout for blonde babiez from Lima Heights Adjacent biatches!'

The Facebook post alone has generated two hundred likes and one hundred comments, most of which are from their old Glee Club.

Not that Brittany cares who knows. She's chuffed - smug that she was able to put that brilliant smile on Santana's face and so insanely proud that this amazing creature is carrying her baby. And she's gotten so many congratulation from big names in the Industry for her achievement that she's bordering on smug. Jessie was one of the firsts, followed closely by Nicki Minaj (they'd worked together on a music video last year) as well as other artists she's worked or briefly collaborated with at some time or another.

Brittany is so in love with her life it should be illegal.

When she thinks about it, none of this would be a reality if she'd never pushed for Santana to talk about her feelings all those years back in high school. If they hadn't sung those songs, confessed those deeply buried emotions, questioned everything it meant to be proud of yourself...

But hell, now she knows for sure that Santana's proud of herself. Proud of them. Proud of their family.

Brittany smiles through her cool-down stretches and moves across the studio floor when she's finished for the day, gathering her bag and zipping up her jacket. She bids farewell to the other dancers and heads out into the rain, smiling up at the dark clouds that don't even faze her good mood.

This morning she'd caught her wife studying her reflection in their floor length bedroom mirror, running her fingers down the expanse of skin where their baby was growing. Santana is 4 weeks pregnant and showing a tiny bump which means her favourite jeans are a little bit of a tight fit without being totally un-wearable. Brittany had sat up in bed beaming, watching Santana's expression and the light in her eyes when she'd pulled at said jeans and giggled excitedly.

"Yo, BDizzle!"

Brittany stops in the middle of the street and blinks curiously at the sudden and unexpected apparition of Mike Chang jogging his way towards her. She laughs when he sweeps her off her feet and spins her in the middle of Manhattan, crushing her in a huge bear hug.

"Mike!" she cries, breaking way from the embrace to grin at him. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in London?"

The man throws an arm around her shoulders and together they begin to walk down the street. "I was until last week. Me and some guys got called to work on a music video with Rhianna so I decided to come home for the week before flying out to L.A."

Brittany whistles, impressed. Mike nudges her slightly. "What 'bout you, B? Any new projects?"

She nods happily, pride shooting through her chest. "Santana and I are having a baby! Oh, and I'm working with Lady Gaga's dance crew for this new weird video she's working on or something." She shrugs a little at the last part. It's not really important next to their pregnancy news.

Mike's eyes boggle widely and he stops them again in the centre of the street to pull her into a massive hug where they both jump and squeal like teenagers. Brittany's always loved that about Mike. He's never grown up and still finds the time to be that best guy friend Brittany had counted on in high school.

"Oh my God, Brittany! That's amazing! A baby and Lady Gaga? Girl, you've got it going on!"

Brittany laughs. Doesn't she know it.

She invites Mike back to their place for a milkshake and some leftover lasagne. They laugh over their lunch as he tells her stories of the McKinley reunion Brittany and Santana hadn't been able to attend last year due to their work schedules. Apparently Lauren has slimmed to an impressive size two and Principal Figgins got so drunk he began to grind up against a truly horrified past student (who just happened to be a cop) and was arrested for drunk behaviour and indecency.

Brittany returns the favour by filling Mike in on the latest happenings in the Pierce household. She tells him about her three months touring with Jessie J and Santana's record label. She also warns him about New York sewers and especially the crocodile called Snappy who lives under the Theatre District. He promises her not to venture down there alone.

They take the party to the living room and crank the stereo up as Brittany cheers the man on. Mike dougies on top of the coffee table, Brittany joins him soon after and it feels just like when they were kids. They move fluidly with the beat and dance atop the sofa and around the armchairs with whoops of delight.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING TO MY LIVING ROOM?"

Brittany flails in surprise and falls off the back of the sofa at her wife's indignant cry just as Mike lands with a thump on the carpeted floor. Rising to their feet unsteadily, both dancers smile sheepishly for the scowling Latina who has her arms crossed and is looking at them with a hard expression.

"Um," Brittany pants, flushed. "Hi, Santana."

"It was all her idea!" Mike declares and points at the blonde who turns to shoot him a highly affronted look.

Santana sighs used to this by now, and spins on her heels bound for the kitchen. Over her shoulder she calls, "Just clean up your mess."

Mike nods ferociously before Brittany tackles him to the floor for ratting her out. They do eventually clean up the living room and Santana kisses Mike's cheek in farewell when he declares that he's got to run back home to his girlfriend. He and Brittany do a complicated handshake that makes the Latina chuckle and roll her eyes before he's whistling down the corridor and they close the apartment door.

Brittany kisses her wife gently and flops down on their armchair, urging her with what she hopes is an adorable nose twitch to take residence on her lap. Santana does so and leans back against the blonde sighing when she feels two strong arms lock around her midsection.

"What'd you get up to today?" Brittany says as she turns the TV on and holds a laugh back when Santana gasps excitedly at a re-run of Housewives of Orange County.

The Latina shrugs in the embrace. "Just went for coffee with Berry and then we hit some boutiques. I got these killer heels you're gonna die for."

"Ugh. I hate that we're not the same shoe size."

"Not my fault you've got huge feet."

Brittany tickles her in retaliation and Santana squirms, shrieking at her to stop. The blonde ends the attack with a slow kiss that has them both smiling the moments their lips touch.

"Mm." Santana breaks away with a warm glint in her eyes. "It's ok, I think your huge feet are cute."

"You're weird," Brittany comments.

Santana shrugs, turning back to face the TV. "Hey, you're the one who married me."

Brittany bites her lip through the huge ass grin on her face, interlocking her fingers with Santana's over the Latina's small prodding bump.

"I know," she says.

A/N: Ok guys. Challenge for you. In your reviews tell me whether you think the baby should be a boy or a girl and I'll see which is more popular.