Disclaimer: I don't own Glee (if I did it would probably be called The Brittany and Santana Show, and all the other characters would only be there to help advance their plot) nor its characters.
A/N: This story has been practically stalking me everywhere I go, seriously, even in the shower. It clearly has no idea of personal space; so, I finally gave in and started to put it on paper. Hope you enjoy it!
Mischances, Stances and Stolen Glances
New York City, NY – 2007
Santana turned her keys and entered the familiar foyer of the duplex apartment she called home. She instinctively dropped the keys into a multicolored, artsy bowl that sat elegantly on top of a contemporary sideboard.
"Babe, you're home?" she called while quickly, and reflexively, checking her appearance on the mirror that hung above the sideboard. One of her many habits.
"In the kitchen," came a small voice from somewhat far away.
Santana walked through the spacious place towards the targeted room, her heels making clicking sounds as they touched the hardwood floor.
"Hey," she said after entering the room, smiling softly at the blonde behind the kitchen's marble island.
"Hi, babe," Brittany replied, looking up from the food she was making, and wearing a smile that matched her wife's. "How was your day?" she quickly added, watching Santana sling her black pea coat and white doctor's coat on the back of a kitchen chair.
"Busy, I guess boob jobs will never go out of style," the brunette plastic surgeon answered playfully, turning to see her wife.
"You'd know," the blue-eyed woman quipped, letting a wider grin take over her face.
"Hey!" Santana exclaimed in a high-pitched voice while inching closer to Brittany, and finally laying a kiss on the blonde's lips. One that was initially intended to be a peck, but turned out to linger longer than originally expected. "You know you love them," she added after pulling apart with her trademark smirk set on her face.
"How about your day?" the Latina asked leaning on the island. "You know, you shouldn't be on your feet making dinner. I should be the one doing it, in fact, let me take over," she said after a beat, pulling Brittany away from the stove, which finally exposed her protuberant bump, and guiding her to one of the kitchen's chairs where the blonde sat against her will.
"Pregnancy is not a disease, San. You should know that, you're the doctor here," the blonde chastised, albeit weakly. Deep down she liked how much her wife cared for her.
"I know, B; but you probably have been on your feet all day. No need to push it, you know," the brunette tried to appease the other woman while tucking some blonde stray hair behind her wife's ear with affection.
It must have worked because Brittany didn't say another word; she just flashed the Latina one of those sweet smiles of hers, and Santana's heart simply melted. She couldn't help but reciprocate it.
"Can I have a little chat with our child now?" Santana beamed squatting down, and touching the blue-eyed woman's belly.
"After dinner. I'm starving," Brittany informed lightly, swatting her wife's hands and motioning for her to go to the stove.
"Ok, I'm going, I'm going," Santana said, heading for the island. "What are we having anyway?" she further enquired.
"Stuffed pepper, and broccoli salad."
"Sounds good," the brunette said, getting acquainted with the ingredients and Brittany's progress.
"The stuffing is already done, and the broccoli has probably finished steaming by now. All you have to do is stuff the peppers, pop them in the oven and whip up the salad," Brittany offered offhandedly looking at Santana.
"Got it. So, again, how was your day?" Santana asked while washing the red peppers.
"Tiring. Quinn and I tried to talk to the upstairs owner. Again. And I gotta tell you, the lady won't budge to save her life," Brittany complained, playing with one of the green apples from the kitchen's table center bowl.
"Jeez, Britt! Aren't you and Q tired of this dance? I mean, the old lady is a bitch, that pretty much we've already established. Can't you guys, I don't know… buy one of the next door places and do some construction to join the spaces and expand the dance studio? This is getting crazy," the Latina spat.
"It is, but you know the area. The places next door are all well-established businesses. There's no way they would sell."
"You're right. That's Soho for ya," Santana quipped, putting the by then stuffed peppers in the oven.
"We'll just have to keep insisting, and one day we will wear the old lady down," Brittany said, finally putting the apple back in its place.
Santana stopped what she was doing, and turned her head sharply to her wife.
"You do realize that sounded incredibly dirty, don't you?" the brunette woman rhetorically asked, arching one eyebrow and smirking. "And also so very gross," she added, trying to shake the unwelcomed image from her brain.
"You do realize your mind is in the gutter, don't you, San?" the blonde mimicked the Latina's rhetorical intonation, but unable to muffle a light chuckle afterwards.
Santana smiled and shook her head.
"Let's just set the table to eat, ok," she said nearing her wife and cupping her cheek gently, being rewarded with a slight pull-down and a sweet peck on the lips.
Brittany sat on their large, grey living room sofa, flipping through People magazine while Santana sat on the opposite side giving her a foot massage, and occasionally talking to the baby.
"Which one, the blue or the silver?" Brittany enquired for the umpteenth time, turning the magazine towards Santana so she could choose between the two dresses.
"The silver. Definitely. Way sexier," the brunette said after leaning closer to the magazine to judge precisely.
"Me too," the pregnant woman concurred, pulling the magazine back.
"You three, baby?" the Latina enquired the belly, completely switching to her baby-talk voice, and quitting on the massage altogether to properly lean in and talk directly to the bump. "Of course you three! You're totally going to have awesome taste, just like your mommies. Aren't you?" she concluded, wearing this foolish smile on her face.
Brittany tore her eyes away from the magazine to look at her wife briefly.
"Remind me again, babe… why do we have to film this talk thing every day?" the blonde asked, looking accusingly at the camera on top of their beautiful, wooden coffee table.
"Well, it will be nice to watch it years from now. For our child too. Besides, we are totally made for the camera: we're both young and hot…" Santana said, but was interrupted by her wife.
"I don't feel so hot right now. Look at this belly," Brittany whined, almost pouting.
The Latina started to laugh, which granted her a glare from her pregnant wife, which then made her stop laughing completely.
"Come on, Britt, you're what? 4 months now, right? And your bump isn't even that noticeable," Santana said softly and reassuringly, unable to completely erase the smile from her face.
"Besides, personally…" she added, grabbing the blonde's waist firmly with both hands and teasingly hovering above her.
"I think you're hotter now…" she lowered her voice and her head, lips mere inches from Brittany's. The pregnant woman, whose magazine was long discarded to the floor, tried to catch her wife's lips, but the brunette pulled back swiftly. Such a tease, the blue-eyed woman thought.
"Than ever," Santana finished with a husky tone, finally taking Brittany's bottom lip in her own. Her tongue was about to request entrance, but the blonde's beat her to it, finding hers and engaging in a sensual battle. She heard a soft, low moan escaping Brittany's throat and it stimulated her to move her lips faster, hands tangling in her wife's hair. Then, another moan came from her own throat as Brittany grazed her fingers on that sensitive spot on the small of her back.
They both felt the need to come out for air, and Santana adjusted herself straight back on the sofa.
"Ok, I guess I believe you now," Brittany said through a smirk, adjusting herself as well after retrieving the magazine from the floor.
"Guess?" Santana countered, matching her wife's smirk.
Brittany went back to her reading and Santana back to her baby-talk.
"By the way, you know that more than half of all this footage you have is completely inappropriate for a child, right?" Brittany mocked. Smiling and shaking her head.
"One word, babe: editing. .ing," Santana replied.
"Isn't that right, little man? Or little lady?" the brunette baby-talked, face inches from the blonde's belly. "Seriously, how many ultrasounds by now, Britt?" she turned back to her regular voice, looking at her wife.
"Three," the pregnant woman deadpanned, not looking away from the magazine. "Pink or red?" she turned the People to Santana.
"Pink," Santana said with confidence, and Brittany nodded her agreement. "Did you hear that, baby?" baby voice back on. "Three ultrasounds; 3D ultrasounds, I must add, and every time you manage to cover your private parts! What's up with that?" she enquired indignantly.
Then, after stealing a glance at her wife's hidden face behind the magazine, the Latina chanced.
"Why so bashful, huh?" Haven't you met your mommy?" she asked, trying to contain a grin.
Brittany slowly lowered her magazine.
"…ies," the blonde said. Seeing her wife's confusion she amended. "Mommies, you're more of an exhibitionist than I am, Santana," Brittany said midst a playful smile.
"Am not," she told the bump after a silent beat, clearly experiencing feelings of regression.
"Is too," her wife countered in the same spirit, leaning forward to better talk to her own belly.
Both laughed out loud, and the blonde cast her magazine aside.
"Have you thought more about names?" Brittany asked softly, placing her hand on top of Santana's, which was already on top of her belly. The contact of their yellow gold wedding bands making a tiny clicking sound.
"The other day I thought of Oliver, or Julian, if it's a boy," the pregnant woman added.
"Hmm, I like those," Santana replied, rubbing a thumb over her wife's index finger.
"For a girl I thought of Spencer. I know how you like unisex names," Brittany said, smiling.
"I so do. I like Sophie, too," Santana was barely whispering, she didn't know why though. "Oh, and Zoey. I love Zoey," the brunette looked up at Brittany with a glint in her eye. Right at that moment the blonde couldn't remember ever seeing her wife look so beautiful.
"All wonderful options, S," Brittany replied, unable to stop leaning forward to lay a kiss on the Latina's cheek. "I think we should go to bed now. I'm kinda tired," she added while standing up.
Santana nodded her agreement and went to turn off the camera.
"Hey, Britts, how is your schedule tomorrow?" Santana asked from their en suite bathroom.
"Normal. Why?" the blue-eyed woman replied, transferring the many decorative pillows from the bed to the white loveseat.
"I was wondering, maybe you could swing by the practice so we can try another ultrasound," came the muffled voice from a toothbrush-filled mouth.
Brittany couldn't help but smile at her wife's curiosity. Santana had been completely frustrated to not know if their baby was a boy or a girl.
"I don't know. I don't have an appointment, San."
"Who said you need one? I'm sure Stella won't mind. It's not like she doesn't own me favors. Besides, if she doesn't do it, I'll do it myself."
"Ok, then; I guess I can swing by after lunch," Brittany said, sitting down on their king sized bed.
"Great, it's a date," the brunette said with a smile on her face, entering their bedroom in track shorts, and a navy t-shirt with Columbia written across in white letters.
Brittany grabbed a small bottle of baby oil from the nightstand.
"Want some help with that?" Santana asked, walking towards her wife. Her smile quickly morphing into a smirk.
Brittany matched said smile and handed the Latina the bottle.
"Lie down," the brunette commanded, shaking the bottle to mix its content.
"You don't have to ask me twice," the blonde replied with a mischievous smile on her face, and did what she was told; taking the opportunity to push her pajamas' pants down a bit, and to pull her tank top up, finally exposing her whole bump.
Santana started to rub the oil on her wife's belly. Slowly, gently, making sure not to miss one single spot of that milky, soft skin. Who needed stretch marks? Not her beautiful, perfect, incredibly hot wife. That's for sure.
A comfortable silence fell upon the two women. The television was on, the sound very low. Neither was watching the late night talk show. It was there just for background noise.
Brittany decided to break the silence.
"What do you think the baby will look like?" she said, leaning on a stack of fluffy pillows, and looking down affectionately at Santana, who busied herself trying to thoroughly rub the belly.
"Hopefully exactly like you," the brunette deadpanned without missing a beat, and not taking her eyes from the blonde's bump.
"No, I want him, or her, to look like you."
"You know that's not really possible, babe," Santana softly said looking directly into Brittany's eyes, still not stopping to rub her belly, and letting a sweet smile take over her features.
Silence again. Brittany had that look on her face, Santana's trained eyes on all things Brittany swiftly assessed with a stolen glance. A look that conveyed, without a doubt, that she was thinking. Hard. Santana could read her wife like no one else. The blue-eyed woman's brows were a tad furrowed, her nose a little scrunched, her mouth a tad pushed to the side… God, I love her! The brunette thought, taking in her wife's cute antics.
"But we chose someone who looks exactly like you," Brittany complained, her trademark pout firmly in place.
"Well, the donor doesn't look exactly like me, honey," Santana said, chuckling. "But, yeah, we share the exact same biotype," she added.
"So, it's possible, right?" the blonde sort of pleaded, puppy dog eyes in place.
"Well, I guess, in a way… yes, it's kinda possible," the Latina conceded, finishing the belly rub.
Brittany clapped her hands enthusiastically like a small child, and Santana grinned widely. She loved seeing the blonde this happy. In fact, seeing her wife happy made her, Santana, ten times happier. And people still wondered why she catered to the woman's every whim. If only they knew the selfless selfishness behind their peculiar and perfect symbiosis…
"Ok, can we actually go to bed now?" Santana asked.
Brittany didn't even respond, she just started to pull down the comforter and get under the voluminous thing. Her wife simply followed suit, turning off the television and the lights before getting settled under the covers. They instinctively cuddled. Brittany took the bigger spoon position, sliding an arm beneath Santana's, upon the brunette's waist, and intertwining their fingers. The blonde gently planted a light kiss on her wife's exposed neck, followed quickly by a typical nuzzle. It was their thing, after all. Brittany couldn't help but notice, after all these years, how soft her skin still was.
And they were taken by the silence of the night.
After a short while 'though, Brittany whispered, "San?" But there was no answer. "San?" she tried once more, giving her wife a soft shake.
"Hmm," the brunette hummed absentmindedly.
"Are you awake?"
"Uh huh," came another humming.
It took another short while for the pregnant woman to speak, "Are you… happy? I mean, with all of this?"
That got Santana's attention, and she turned right away to face her wife. To look her in the eyes. They never hid anything from her. And she was met by the full force of that pair of blue eyes. That unique shade that was so familiar and entrancing to her, a perfect mixture of translucent aqua, blue and… beauty. From the first time the couple had kissed in high school, Santana knew that she would never be able to get over them. She would never be able to get over her. And it had scared her like nothing before.
"Where did that come from?" the Latina asked softly, her voice a bit alarmed. Even though she had come a long way with her insecurity issues, deep down, there was still a tiny part of Santana – her self-destructive, self-doubting stripes that she could never completely paint over – which still believed she didn't deserve Brittany. That she didn't deserve this life.
"I just feel so, so happy right now. I don't think I've ever been this happy," the blonde murmured facing her wife, their hands one each under their pillows and faces inches from one another. "Not even when we saw that baby duck being born," she added with adorable disbelief on her face.
Santana smiled at her wife's barely untouched innocence, releasing a breath she wasn't even aware of still being holding. And then she tenderly cupped one of the blonde's cheeks.
"I'm happy too, babe. Sickeningly so," she said in that sweet tone that was reserved for Brittany, and Brittany alone. "To be completely honest, I never thought that someone like me could even get this happy," the Latina added, not even having to explain to her wife how someone like her was. They both knew Santana wasn't the happy-go-luck type. In earnest, she was exactly the opposite. And Brittany proud herself to be the one person who could always bring the happy to her wife's ness.
Brittany pulled Santana closer and kissed her. It was chaste, and delicate, and intimate. They both just let themselves go, glad to have each other.
"Ok, now, can we finally go to sleep?" Santana asked, pulling apart.
Brittany grinned and nodded. Then, seconds later, before they even got resettled, she asked sheepishly "Could you get me a bottle of water first, babe?"
Santana cocked her head at her wife. Then, before she could say something snarky, she remembered this was her wife. Who was carrying their child.
"Sure, I gotta grab my phone and pager that I left downstairs anyway," she said, getting out of bed.
"Who has the best wife in the world? I do!" the blonde replied playfully. "Love you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the brunette joked dismissively, walking away from their bed.
When she was nearing the bedroom's door 'though, Santana turned around to her wife, with a smile on her face, and called "Hey, Britts," the pregnant woman shifted beneath the comforter to face her, "I love you t –" the Latina was interrupted by an unbelievable wave of pain shooting through her head.
Brittany watched as her wife's face morphed from the sweetest of smiles to this disconcerting picture of sheer pain. She watched in shock as Santana threw her hands up to cradle her head, and grunted an awful sound of pain that Brittany would never be able to erase from her mind. Then, the brunette collapsed to the hardwood floor. It all took mere seconds, but every frame of time seemed like an eternity to the pregnant woman, who rushed as fast as she possibly could to her wife's side.
"San?" she pleaded desperately, cradling the smaller woman's body. "San, please, talk to me!" tears began to stream frantically down her face.
"Santana!" the blonde shouted, shaking her wife, but getting no response yet again.
Brittany knew she had to do something. Fast. She rushed to Santana's nightstand and grabbed their cordless phone with unsteady hands. Then, she quickly dialed the three numbers.
"911, how can I help you?" a man's voice answered.
"My wife," the pregnant woman said through sobs, rushing back to the brunette's side, "she, she just collapsed," she added, resuming the cradling.
"Is she conscious, ma'am?"
"No… she isn't waking up. She won't wake up!"
"Stay calm, ma'am. Can you tell me what happened exactly?"
"You gotta send an ambulance. She isn't waking up, please!"
"It's on its way. We pinpointed your location already, ma'am. West Village, Manhattan right?"
Brittany nodded, not realizing he couldn't actually see her. "12th street with 6th Avenue. Apartment building 1552, apartment 21C. Please, hurry."
"Ok, so, what exactly happened ma'am? The information will help the medics."
"I, I don't know. She just put her hands in her head, cried in pain and collapsed. I, uh, I… I don't understand this. She was fine moments ago. Totally fine," the blonde deadpanned through tears, mumbling more to herself than to anyone else.
"Everything will be fine. They should be arriving in 2 minutes," the man said reassuringly.
That ambulance ride to the hospital seemed surreal. Everything about that night's latest developments seemed surreal as they played again and again in Brittany's mind.
"…and the BP?" she heard the lady paramedic ask her partner.
"Stable," he answered, checking the monitor.
"You should take this blanket. It's freezing, you'll catch a cold," the blonde medic said, turning her attention to Brittany while handing her a blanket.
Brittany was clearly in shock. She looked down and saw that she was still in her pajamas, and then she turned back to the woman with a blank stare.
"It won't be good for the baby," the medic added gauging her bump, and realizing the shocked state the other woman was in.
Brittany instantly took it, wrapping the blanket around herself. Honestly, she didn't feel cold. All she felt was completely numb. She didn't take her eyes from her wife, 'though. Santana looked so small and fragile laying there on that gurney, and that terrified the blonde, 'cause that was precisely everything that her wife was not. Her attention was then grabbed by the sight of the brunette's hand. Her left hand. The one adorned with their wedding band, and another stream of tears cascaded down her face. However, they did not contain the urge she felt to link their pinkies together. Even 'though with every second that passed it hurt like hell not to feel any pressure back.
"ETA, Pete?" the male medic asked the ambulance driver.
"2 to Presbyterian."
"She did her internship there," Brittany mumbled lowly and absentmindedly to herself.
"She stopped breathing. Damn it!" he exclaimed.
"What's happening? Babe?" the pregnant woman sobbed.
"I'll bag her. We're almost there, they can intubate her," the blonde lady medic said.
"Please, San… Don't…" Brittany pleaded, not letting go of her wife's pinkie.
Quinn and Rachel came bursting through the waiting area's double door. They spotted their friend immediately, and rushed to her side. She looked so out of it, and terribly lost.
"B, we're here. What happened?" Quinn said, sitting on the chair next to her friend and rubbing her back soothingly.
"How are you, honey?" Rachel asked worriedly, over her wife's question, while sitting on Brittany's other side.
The pregnant woman didn't respond. Quinn and Rachel exchanged a concerned look.
"Britt?" Quinn tried again gently.
Only at that moment the taller blonde seemed to have registered her friends' arrival.
"Hey, B," the smaller blonde cooed, looking directly into blue, tear stained eyes.
"Q, San… It was horrible," Brittany barely whispered, tears beginning to well up again in her eyes.
"Tell us what happened, sweetie," Rachel murmured, rubbing one of her friend's knees.
"Jimmy. Jimmy should be here," the blue-eyed woman deadpanned as Santana's friend sprang randomly to her mind.
"I called him, Britt. He should be here at any second," the hazel-eyed blonde reassured. "So, what exactly happened? You were so vague on the phone."
"I, I have no idea. We were fine. She was fine. We were happy. We were both so happy. She said it. She said that… She did. Then she just…" Brittany tried to recollect as she mumbled, "…she just cradled her head and cried this awful… awful sound of pain…" the blonde's tears started to fall again, "…and she finally collapsed to the ground. There was nothing I could do. I wish…" she got lost to the sobs.
"It's ok, honey. There was nothing you could have done more," Quinn tried to calm Brittany as she enveloped the taller blonde in a tight hug.
"Did the doctors come by to say anything yet?" she asked without letting go of her friend, and then felt the woman shaking her head against her shoulder.
Quinn felt her own eyes starting to well up, then she looked at her wife and the brunette's tears were already falling down her face.
Jimmy burst through the doors in the same fashion as the couple of women had done mere moments before. Concern written all over his face. The British man had known Santana for a long time. They met in Columbia, taking the same classes in hopes to get to Med School, became lab partners, and then both got into Columbia P&S and survived to tell the tale. Now they were partners in a private practice, along with five other doctors. More than that, they were friends. Santana liked to tease him, to bust his chops, but again, that is Santana Pierce-Lopez. That's who she is. But she also didn't throw words around like "friend" without really meaning them. And Jimmy was that to her, openly admitting it or not. He was even a bridesman at her and Brittany's wedding. And as far as the guy was concerned, Santana was his best friend.
"Girls," he acknowledged tensely with a nod, looking down as he stood in front of them. "What happened? How is she?" he asked in a rush. "How are you, Britt?" he slowed way down, and turned his whole attention to his best friend's pregnant wife.
Quinn and Rachel passed along to James the little information they had learned from Brittany minutes ago. They thought it would be easier. The woman seemed to be in and out of this alarming catatonic state. More in than out actually.
The man took a really good look at Brittany and his heart ached. She looked so fragile sitting there wrapped around that cheap blanket.
"Here, darling," the shaggy-haired man softly said, with a smile on his face while taking off his camel woolen overcoat. "Let's get you in this," he added kneeling down in front of the blonde, and replacing the blanket with the coat.
Brittany managed to hug him, and then went back into her shell.
The minutes began to pass, turning into hours. Santana's other associates filled the room one by one in the first couple of hours: Anna, then Stella, Grace and John after, and finally Noah. They all paced back and forth, starving for news. And then dawn arrived.
"This is ridiculous! We should have heard something by now," Jimmy spat angrily.
"You know it's an ICH, James; those take time," Noah, who was a brain surgeon, said matter-of-factly. One thing the guy couldn't be accused of was having tact.
That piece of information immediately got Brittany's attention.
"What? What's an ICH?" she asked softly to no one in particularly. After all, the room was filled with doctors.
Everyone shot Noah a reproaching look. Why, he didn't know; but the others had been trying not to worry the already bewildered pregnant woman.
"It's a cerebral hemorrhage," the blond brain surgeon replied when no one else volunteered.
He saw the confusion in the pregnant woman's eyes and remembered she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed; so, he simplified by saying, "It's a bleeding in the brain."
It's not like Noah was an ass – most times, anyway. He just liked to call it like it was.
"That sounds serious," Brittany stated worriedly, both hands on her lap.
"It can be," Noah declared, shoving his hands in his pockets. He liked Lopez, he certainly wished for the best. This didn't mean he was going to ignore the worst. "Or – "
Brittany furrowed her brows, and it looked like she was going to start crying all over again.
"You've said enough, Tyler," Jimmy cut him off, not angrily 'though, and stepped closer to Brittany. "Don't worry, Britt. We're not even sure if that's what she has. In fact, San and I interned here, remember? If I'm not mistaken, Covington, our supervisor, still works here. I'll go and see if he can tell me anything, alright?" the tall man added in his charming accent, shooting Quinn a 'take care of her' look.
"I'll go with you," John, the short psychiatrist, simply put it, placing a comforting hand on Jimmy's shoulder.
"…right. Just reschedule all of our patients. Let them know why. No, no Jane, you don't have to come. Besides, someone needs to hold the fort. I have to go now, Jimmy and John are just returning," Grace told their receptionist over the phone. "Yeah, I'll call you later to let you know," the ashy brunette ended the conversation, shutting her cell.
All heads turned expectantly to the men. It took them long enough, so everyone assumed they knew something. Brittany stood up, looking rather small in her larger friend's overcoat. Her blue eyes trained on Jimmy's hazel ones.
"It was an ICH," the British man stated simply what everyone already suspected.
"How is she? Is she going to be ok?" Brittany asked without missing a beat, she couldn't handle not knowing where she stood anymore.
"The bleeding was quite near the brainstem. That's a tricky and difficult area to work around, that's why it's taken so long. But, apparently, they managed to stop the bleeding and restore normal blood flow. Dr. Reyes, one of her doctors, the lead surgeon anyway, was just closing up. He should be coming to talk to you in a short while," Jimmy let out ceremoniously, unable to stop shifting his weight from one foot to another.
"Reyes is a great doctor," Noah stated from his chair.
Brittany was still taking in everything Jimmy had just told her.
"But, is she going to be ok, Jimmy?" the blonde woman asked, craving certainty.
"The surgery was a success," John stepped in, sensing Jimmy couldn't give anything other than what the woman wanted to hear, hence the silence. "Still, she slipped into a coma shorter after arriving at the hospital, and hasn't come out of it since. She isn't breathing on her own. I guess it all rests in the next 24 hours. She has to regain consciousness by then, otherwise…" he let the implications hang in the air.
"If anyone can come out of this is Santana. You know she's a fighter," Quinn said softly to Brittany, coming to stand by her side.
Brittany felt dizzy. This was too much, simply too much. Santana had to come out of this. Not waking up wasn't an option, because she, Brittany Pierce-Lopez, could not live without her wife. So, she held on to that. She held on to the hope that the Latina would be ok. That they would even laugh about this entire ordeal one day. Together.
Dr. Reyes entered the waiting area 20 minutes later, and basically told his patient's wife and friends the same things the other two doctors had earlier.
That was that: Santana had to wake up in the next 24 hours.
24 hours turned into 48. 48 hours turned into 72. 72 hours turned into a month. Then two. Three. Four. Five months. Santana did not wake up.
Brittany had their baby. The only reason she was able to survive the whole excruciating nightmare. Quinn was there in the delivery room. So was Annie Pierce, her mother. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
After the birth, Rob and Annie Pierce decided it was best for their daughter to move back to Lima with them. They knew she had great friends in Quinn, Rachel, and Jimmy – the baby's godparents, as she and Santana long ago decided – but her friends had their own careers, their own lives; and Brittany, although strongly determined to make it for the baby's sake, still needed help to cope with everything. From time to time she cracked, and someone needed to be there to pick up the pieces.
Martin and Nina Lopez were heartbroken. After the many months of their daughter's persistent coma, the doctors tried to sway them and Brittany to pull the plug. After all, Santana had been clear in the past about being against prolonging life artificially. They pointed out to Dr. Lopez that he would recommend the same thing if it was one of their patients, but Martin put his foot down. He barked that that was not one of his patients. That was his daughter, and he and his wife would care for her until the day they died. Or, at least, until she did. He omitted that last part 'though. If there was even one chance in a billion to have her back, they would take it. They were glad to know Brittany would be going to Lima to stay. Martin and Nina weren't exactly the warmest of types, in fact, they were remarkably cold, but that didn't mean love wasn't present there. They were excited to be part of their grandchild's life. A grandchild that their daughter was so over the moon to meet, but sadly, would probably never have the opportunity. So, they made sure to arrange her transfer to Dr. Lopez's hospital back in Lima, making sure their daughter's doctors knew that money was not an issue. She should be transferred as fast and as comfortable as possible.
Lima, OH – 2011
"Please, baby, stop playing with your food," Brittany softly told her child, closing the fridge's door.
"Peanut butter and jelly, or ham and cheese?" the blonde asked.
"PB&J!" the child said excitedly.
"PB&J it is!" Brittany mimicked the infant's excitement. "Now hurry up, sweetie. It's almost time for school," she added, making the sandwich.
They were interrupted by the phone ringing.
"Hello," Brittany answered, lathering a generous coat of peanut butter onto a slice of bread.
"Yes, this is she," the dancer said, pressing the cordless phone against her shoulder in order to open the jelly jar.
Suddenly her eyes started to grow wider and wider as she heard what the person on the other side of the line told her. And then she couldn't say anything else. Her heart began to beat uncontrollably fast. Her hands faltered, and she just dropped the jelly jar. The object fell to the floor with a loud crashing sound, startling the blonde out of her daze.
"Yes, yes, uh… I've heard you. Thanks for calling," the blue-eyed woman managed to muster, a stunned look still on her face.
Brittany just stood there in utter shock.
"Who dropped a handkerchief?" a person entering the kitchen asked jokingly.
"It's wasn't a handkerchief, silly. Mommy dropped the jelly jar," the child replied matter-of-factly, not getting the joke.
"What happened?" the person asked worriedly, taking in the dancer's shocked face for the first time.
"Go brush your teeth, honey," Brittany told the child, who readily obliged, leaving the kitchen in a dash.
Brittany took a deep breath, and looked into her wife's eyes.
"It was the hospital," she informed solemnly. "It's Santana. She… she woke up," Brittany finished in disbelief, still holding the phone with the tightest of grips.
So, what did you think? Should I stick to it? Comments are highly appreciated :)