Breaking Promises (For A Good Reason)
Santana/Brittany, PG-13, 4.5k
She's annoyed because it's three days later, and she's sitting here in the armchair in the Fabray-Berry residence's living room with a virgin cocktail in her hand, surrounded by her dance friends, and there's no Santana by her side.
She's annoyed because it's three days later, and she's sitting here in the armchair in the Fabray-Berry residence's living room with a virgin cocktail in her hand, surrounded by her dance friends, and there's no Santana by her side.
She's annoyed.
She would say pissed off but since the baby developed ears and started hearing thirteen weeks ago—she's now at thirty three weeks—she's told herself and Santana not to swear. You know, just in case.
But anyway, she's annoyed, because three days ago when Santana came home from work, she was on the phone to Quinn and apparently Rachel was throwing Brittany a baby shower. Of course she'd smiled and been all happy about it, but Santana? Not so much. She'd rolled her eyes and said that it was some lame attempt of Rachel's to possibly be thrown into the vote of 'godmother' — despite Santana saying from the very beginning that there was no way in hell Rachel was even going to touch Elijah, let alone be his damn godmother.
After a few conversations and slow but very persuasive kisses, Santana had rolled her eyes, set her hands on Brittany's hips and said that yeah, okay, maybe she would consider it.
Anyway, that conversation had lead to Santana groaning about going to a baby shower and Brittany had tugged on her sleeve and batted her lashes until Santana caved and said she'd go to the stupid baby shower.
But that's not why Brittany's annoyed.
She's annoyed because it's three days later, and she's sitting here in the armchair in the Fabray-Berry residence's living room with a virgin cocktail in her hand, surrounded by her dance friends, and there's no Santana by her side. There's no Santana in the kitchen, or in the hallway, or even standing outside with a cigarette that she'll promise she didn't smoke later. No. Instead, there's just no Santana because she's not here. She never turned up and Brittany's now drumming her fingertips along the swell of her stomach, and trying to find an outing of this conversation with Tina because it's still pretty awkward after the whole Asian fusion thing (also known as Tina and Mike hooking up) and because she's got her tongue at the ready to yell at her wife for breaking a promise.
"So how's the pregnancy going?" Tina asks, her voice a little too cheery. They were left together about five minutes ago because Rachel thought it'd be a good idea for them to 'reconcile' even though they were never... unreconciled? And now they're making awkward small talk.
Brittany nods slowly, sucking in her lower lip and flattening her palm against her bump without conscious thought. "It's good. I'm at thirty three weeks now so," she pats it gently to end her sentence.
"Wow, so... When's the baby's due date?"
"13th May," she says, eyes flicking around the room just in case Santana decides to show up. But nope, no sign. Brittany lets out a sigh and feels a pinch below her bump. Damn it. She needs to pee again. This pregnancy is making her pee like, a gallon a day. "Excuse me," she continues to Tina who looks just about as interested in this conversation as Brittany is. "Gotta pee."
Tina nods and Brittany parts, smiling at people as she weaves through them and heads for the bathroom, pulling out her phone as soon as she locks the door.
Where the hell is Santana?
//
The guy in the sky decides to really screw with Brittany when she leaves the toilet because as soon as she flips open the lock and sets a foot outside, she bumps straight into Mike.
It's been a while since they last talked outside of the studio, and even when they're at the studio, it's more of a nodding of the head and a weak smile in lieu of a greeting. Talking just feels a little uncomfortable, because really? How are you supposed to talk to a guy—not any guy, your ex fiancee—who you dumped for your best friend because you'd been in love with your best friend for as long as you could remember? Not to mention it still manages to create this pang of guilt, even if she knows Mike's happy with Tina and she's happier than she could've ever imagined with Santana. Some things just don't fade like that.
"Oh, Brittany," he says, coming to a stop and leaning back.
Brittany stumbles a little, cradling her stomach and holding the door as a support. "Oh, hi, Mike."
There's a little awkwardness in the air for a moment, where they both look around the hallway and shift awkwardly in their spot. But this is ridiculous. They used to talk all the time. Okay, sure, it was when they were together but that shouldn't change anything. It is possible for exes to be friends, after all.
"No Santana tonight?"
Brittany blinks, shocked that Mike spoke first. Her lips pop open to speak but then she's reminded of how Santana didn't show up tonight without even a damn text to explain why. It makes anger flare across her skin and she narrows her eyes, nostrils flaring in a way she knows Santana would find sexy.
"No," she grits, lifting her head. "She decided not to turn up."
"Well I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation."
Not exactly expecting the guy to defend her wife, Brittany jerks her neck and lifts a single eyebrow. "Mike, you don't need to defend her," she says softly. "I'm piss--annoyed with her. She should've turned up or at least send me a text."
"Yeah," Mike agrees, nodding his head. "She should've at least sent you a text, but it's Santana." He shrugs. "I'm sure she has a perfectly good reason for not being here."
Okay, seriously, why is Mike defending her? What's going on?
"Mike, honestly, you don't have to defend her."
"I'm not defending her, exactly," he drawls out, shoving his hands in his pockets and lifting both shoulders. "It's just... It's Santana."
Brittany just stares. What does that mean?
"What?"
Mike licks his lips. "It's Santana," he repeats like saying it the second time will make sense. It doesn't. "There's going to be a reasonable explanation for her not being here because it's your baby shower."
She's still not quite getting this...
"I'm just saying," he continues. "She loves you, Brittany. You'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to see that." Brittany's heart flutters. "And even though I know me and her didn't exactly... bond, back then," he coughs and she feels the awkwardness from earlier creep back into the conversation. "I can even tell you that she'd never do anything to..." he eyes her bump. "...annoy you, or hurt you or whatever." He throws in a shrug and Brittany can't not smile, so she stands there and does just that. "And I can tell that you even know that."
She chews on her lower lip for a moment, thinking about Mike's words. He does have a point, and considering he and Santana never did become buddies or whatever back when she was dating him, that works to prove his point? He doesn't know Santana and yet he can tell that she'd never do a single thing to hurt Brittany or to annoy her. Santana really does love her, and even to this day just thinking it makes her melt inside.
Shaking her head, she breathes out and strokes her hand over her baby bump. "I guess so. But still, she should be here."
"She should be. It's your baby shower," Mike agrees. "But don't get too angry at her because you don't know why she's not here."
It calms her down a little and Brittany just ends up bobbing her head and smiling at the guy, opening her arms to bring him in for a hug. It's a little weird—mostly because she has to lean over her bump—but also because they haven't hugged, but she feels like she needs it. Feels like it's the only way she can say thank you and he doesn't hesitate in hugging her back.
They pull apart, but then Mike pulls his lower lip down and excuses himself. "Sorry, nature calls."
Brittany just giggles and stands aside, feeling a lot better than she did a few minutes ago.
//
When she gets back to the living room, Rachel's right there, hand on hip and a frown on her face.
"Where have you been?"
Brittany turns her head to the right and juts her thumb behind her. "I was peeing," she explains, scrunching her nose up in confusion. Should she have been somewhere else?
"You were gone a while."
"It's not like I can control my pee outtake."
Rachel squints at her but then rolls her eyes and waves behind her. "Okay, well, we're doing your presents now and playing a few games after so go over there."
Fair eyebrows furrow at that, and Brittany almost lets her hormones get the better of her and tell Rachel it's her baby shower—not Rachel's—and that she can do whatever she wants, when she wants. But Brittany can't be bothered with the reaction Rachel will have—she's just such a drama queen—and Brittany just returns back to her armchair, smiling as all her friends crowd around and begin to pile presents up in front of her.
All the presents are amazing, and Brittany actually breathes a sigh of relief—and kind of panics, too—because the majority of the gifts she hadn't even thought of. She's giving birth in seven weeks and she hadn't thought of the simplest things that she needed to buy. And she's almost certainly sure Santana hasn't either which just makes the panic spike through her veins and prod at her skin. Oh God. Does this mean she's going to be a bad mother?
She really needs Santana here, right now.
Tears begin to form in her eyes before she can stop them and Rachel's right her her side, stroking her bicep and looking wholly concerned.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby kicking? Do you need something?"
The questions come out like rapid fire and Brittany just wipes the tears away, shaking her head and ignoring the fact that everyone's staring at her.
"No, I'm fine. Just hormones," she explains. She guesses the majority of it is but she could still really do with Santana here. "I just need to make a phone call."
Rachel stares at her for a moment but then steps out the way, allowing Brittany to push up, bump first, and make her way through the apartment to the spare bedroom. She reaches inside the pocket of her maternity jeans—grateful for the size of them—and grabs her phone, allowing her fingers to dial in the number from muscle memory.
The phone rings three times before Santana picks up, and Brittany shifts further up the bed, attempting to cross one leg over the other but finding it more uncomfortable than how she was sitting before.
"Hello?"
Brittany breathes out a sigh. Even hearing Santana's voice makes her feel better. "Hey."
"Britt, are you okay?"
"I'm fine..." she trails off, circling a finger over her belly button. "I just wanted to know where you are."
"Uh... Britt--I'm kind of... Shit." There's a clash in the background and another cursed whisper. "Crap, sorry. Babe, I've gotta go. Really busy."
Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together. Why is she getting suspicious and why is Santana being so off with her? "But San, I just—"
"Sorry, babe. Listen, I gotta go but speak later, okay? Love you."
The line rings out and Brittany lowers it from her ear, muttering "love you, too" to an empty room, the tears falling freely from her eyes.
//
The only problem with pregnancy hormones is that they change so drastically. It actually, believe it or not, gets quite annoying because a minute ago she was sitting in the spare room, crying to herself and now she's storming into the living room, eyes hard, jaw clenched and fists balled up by her sides as she searches for Quinn. But there's no sign of her and so she goes for the next best thing: Rachel.
"Where's Quinn?"
Rachel spins around and blinks, confused at Santana. "Wha—What?"
"Quinn," she repeats, harder. "Where is she?"
"Um... I don't—I don't know. Are you okay?"
Brittany lets her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath through her nose to quell some of the anger within. "Fine. I just need to leave."
She turns in the direction of the front door when her friend side steps her and jumps in front, blocking her entrance. Definitely not the best thing to do to an angry, pregnant woman but Rachel's never really thought about what she does before she does it. Brittany lowers her head and glares at the girl, keeping her voice low.
"Get out of my way. I need to go home."
Rachel's eyes grow wide and she shakes her head from side to side, fast. "No. You can't leave, I—I... We have games to play and...and—"
"I'm going home," Brittany interjects, not wanting to listen to her friend anymore. A hand grabs onto her thought and she spins around, eyes narrowing so far she can barely see out of them.
"You can't go home," Rachel blurts out, and it's that that starts getting Brittany suspicious. Why doesn't Rachel want her to go home?
"Why?"
"So—Sorry?"
Brittany straightens up, towering over the other girl. "Why can't I go home?"
Rachel begins moving her lips but no words come out. She looks like a gawping fish and Brittany raises a brow at her, the annoyance growing within as Rachel continues to stutter.
"Well?"
"You just can't," the girl finally says but it's not enough reason for Brittany.
So she just pushes her friend aside, grabs her coat and the bags of presents already packed by the door and leaves.
//
The moment she pulls into the parking spot outside her building, she jumps out the car, doesn't even bother taking the gifts out the back and marches into the house. The key slips as she tries to get it into the lock, and it frustrates her a little more but she doesn't care. All she wants to know is why the hell Santana wasn't there, why the hell Rachel was preventing her from leaving and why Santana was so short on the phone!
And she's sure as hell going to get her answers.
Throwing her keys and jacket onto the sofa, she storms through the house, metaphorical steam blowing out her ears. If they hadn't just had a carpet installed in the living room then she would probably have the added dramatic effect of heavy, angry footsteps, but she doesn't and that kind of annoys her more. The world doesn't even want her to be angry. Goddamn it.
By the time she reaches the hallway, and has searched the rest of the house, she figures there's only two places she could be. There'd be no reason for her to be in the spare bedroom which means--
Her stomach drops and every angry feeling disappears from her body. Why would Santana be in the bedroom?
"Santana?" She calls out, suddenly fearing what she's about to see. So many thoughts and possibilities as to why Santana's in the bedroom run through her mind, but they're so frantic and moving so fast that she can't reach out and grab one to mull it over. Instead, she begins to move slowly down the hall, tilting her head to the side to see if she can hear any movement or hushed whispers. "Honey?"
The second her feet meets the creaking floorboard outside the spare bedroom, the door opens and Santana's pushing past, quickly shutting it and pressing her back against it, covering the handle with her body. Her brown eyes are wide, her hair's tied up and messy and she's wearing nothing but baggy sweats and a bra. No shirt or anything.
Brittany's stomach drops for the second time in two minutes.
"Britt," Santana breathes, shocked by her presence. "Why are you home?"
Brittany pulls her eyebrows together and squints. "What are you doing?"
"You're home early."
She steps closer. Close enough that she can feels Santana's heavy and rapid breathing beat against her collarbone. "What..." her lips are dry so she wets them with a quick poke of her tongue. "What's going on?"
Santana's chest heaves heavily as she presses further back into the door, gripping the handle so tightly her skin covering her knuckles goes a bright white. "I—I... erm..." she trails off, and turns her head as if to look through the door. "You weren't supposed to be home for another hour."
She's seen this in movies. She's watched Love Actually and knows that when you come home to your spouse with tousled hair and half-dressed, it's not good. She's seen the films and she knows what's going on, and her hand moves subconsciously over her stomach as if it'll protect the baby from the news. It hurts and she can feel the heat prick at her eyelids as she swallows thickly, head already beginning to shake from left to right.
"Open the door," she whispers, but Santana's eyes widen and she shakes her head.
"No."
"Santana," Brittany says in her 'don't screw with me' tone. "Just open the door."
Apparently her tone works because Santana only hesitates for a second, gulping heavily and clenching her jaw before standing into the hall, letting the door free for Brittany to open. By now her heart's pounding so hard and fast it could break through her ribcage, and she takes in a deep breath, reaching out with a quivering hand to touch the too-warm door handle. Her eyes shut and she swears her life's about to end as she presses down and adds a little pressure, wincing internally when she hears the door swing open.
//
Her heart almost stops beating when she steps into the spare bedroom, but not for the reason she thought.
It's not the spare bedroom anymore...
Well, it is, but, it's completely changed.
The room is no longer beige, instead it's a color she knows as 'Peas In A Pod,' purely because she was flicking through different shades of green a few weeks back when she and Santana were looking for paint colors. The double bed that once lay in the middle of the room is no longer there, instead there's a traditional maple wood crafted cot bed and a matching chest of drawers and wardrobe each side of it. The left wall no longer contains a picture of Bob Marley either, instead it's lined with shelves and items that she and Santana have bought over the past seven and a half months. There's even a rocking chair beside the bed...
"It's the baby's room."
Brittany turns at her wife's words, eyes glistening with tears. "You—You decorated the—the baby's room?" She hiccups, stepping toward Santana.
Santana rubs the back of her neck and looks around. "Yeah," she says, but her face is completely uncertain and there's an ounce of worry Brittany picks up on. "I thought—You know, I could..." she looks up and meets blue eyes. "I thought I could surprise you," she explains, lifting a single shoulder.
The amount of love and adoration that surges through Brittany is almost overwhelming and before she can stop it, she just starts sobbing. She starts sobbing and whimpering and covers her mouth as she twists back around and scans the room, taking in the colors and fluffy toys that sit about the horizontal surfaces. She can't believe Santana did this for her. She can't believe Santana took time off and bought everything and did it down to the very tea. A few weeks back they were discussing designing the baby room and she's gone and done it. It's incredible and she can't seem to get any words out to express that.
"Britt?" Santana tugs gently on her sleeve and it causes her to turn around. "I know we said we'd do it together but I thought it'd be nice if I—"
The sentence is swiftly cut off as Brittany closes the gap between them and their mouths, pressing her lips to Santana's warm ones and humming as hands slide up her ribcage and thumbs graze over the sides of the baby bump. She kisses Santana and Santana never takes long to kiss back, and when she does she smiles and twists the kiss, shifting and allowing Brittany to suck in her lower lip. Pale hands slip up to the ponytail in her wife's hair and she pulls the band free, raking her fingers through Santana's hair and winding them through it afterward, deepening the kiss and pressing closer as Santana moans into her mouth.
With this kiss she says 'thank you'. She says 'I love you'. She says 'you mean the world to me' and yet even though Santana nods into it, sensing the words unspoken, Brittany doesn't feel like it's enough. But soon enough air becomes a need and she pulls back, but keeps their protruding features together; noses, chins, foreheads. Her eyes close and she licks her lips, when Santana nudges her nose up and kisses her softly, one last time, then returns to their previous position.
Slowly, blue eyes open and then she's staring deeply into brown, penetrating through the walls that no-one else has been able to get past before. She sees straight through Santana and it almost makes her melt when the love Santana has for her beams through everything else. Her hands untangle from dark hair, and come to cup tanned cheeks, the thumb of her right hand running along Santana's bottom lip and marveling at how they're still parted, like she wants to keep kissing her forever.
Brittany knows the feeling.
It's a few seconds when someone speaks, and it's Santana, whose voice is raspy and deep like she's just had her breath taken away. "So I'm guessing you like it?"
"I love it. I love it so much. I can't—I can't even begin to thank you, San."
Santana chuckles lightly and the sound warms Brittany's heart. "You don't need to thank me, baby. This is for us." She lets one hand fall from Brittany's ribcage to the swell of her stomach, palm pushing into the very front of it. "This is for us and him. For our family," she says, and her brown eyes stare so deeply into blue, Brittany almost faints with the love she feels. God. She's so in love and she's never going to tire of hearing the words 'our family.'
"I love you," she breathes.
Lips twitching, Santana kisses her again and whispers, "I love you, too," into her mouth.
They stay that close for a long minute, just gazing at each other and breathing in each others air until Santana snaps her head back and looks toward the wardrobe. Confused, Brittany cocks her head to the side and reaches out for her wife when Santana steps away, but she just shakes her head and holds up a hand, reaching for the handle of the wardrobe and yanking it open, revealing a tucked away Quinn, curled up with her knees pulled to her chest and just generally looking incredibly uncomfortable.
"Quinn?" Brittany squeaks. "What are you doing?"
Quinn turns and flashes one of those please don't kill me grins as she climbs out the closet, and scowls at Santana when she makes a remark about how it's not the first time she's come out the closet.
"I was—" her foot gets stuck and she yanks it forward, stumbling into the room. "I was helping Santana," she finally explains, brushing down her paint covered clothes. "And I was supposed to get out and back to the shower before you noticed I wasn't there but apparently that didn't go to plan."
"Wait..." Brittany's eyes drift to Santana, who's still very much topless. "Why is my wife in a bra and sweats?"
Hazel eyes widen and the blonde spins around, reaching back into the closet and twisting back around with an armful of paint covered clothes. "Your wife—" she pauses to throw the clothes at Santana. "—Had a suspicion that something would interrupt this," she gestures toward the room with her left hand. "So she bought in a change of clothes but you were too close for her to put a top on apparently." Her eyes narrow as they flash to Santana who smirks at Brittany as blue eyes do a slow trail of her wife's body, chiseled abs and tanned skin. "Although now I'm thinking it was just to distract you..."
Brittany's barely even listening to the other blonde as she stares into dark brown eyes, which are hooding slowly. She knows that look and her eyes unconsciously flicker down to her wife's groin but the sweat pants are too baggy that she can't see anything, so she just steps closer and hooks her fingers into Santana's sweatpants, tugging her forward until her stomach presses against the swell of Brittany's stomach.
"Yeah, okay, I'm totally getting out of here," Quinn announces, skipping out the door. "No need to say thanks, bitch!"
"No swearing!" Santana and Brittany both yell, eying the door and giggling when Quinn pops her head back in and gives them a weird look.
"I will never get you guys."
Santana's eyes narrow into a glare as they flash to Quinn. "Pretty good that you don't have to 'get us' then isn't it?" She fires back. "Just leave and go back to Danny Devito."
Hazel eyes roll but Quinn doesn't say anything and moments later, Brittany hears the front door open and shut as their friend leaves. She quickly pecks Santana's cheek and then wraps her arms around her neck, burying her face into a tanned shoulder, lips barely touching her skin and nose inhaling the deep scent of something exotic and tangy. That's not the shower gel she uses either, it's just Santana.
"You alright, baby?" Santana coos, stroking her hand over blonde hair.
Brittany pulls back and slides one arm away, keeping the other wrapped around Santana's shoulders as they both twist to look at the baby's room.
"I'm perfect," she whispers and brown eyes slide in her direction at the same time a tanned hand reaches over to rest high on the swell of her stomach.
"Seven weeks, Britt."
"Seven weeks, San." Brittany scrunches up her nose with excitement and closes her eyes when Santana stretches up and dusts a kiss across her bottom lip. "Oh and by the way, we've got a whole load of baby stuff in the car from the shower."
Santana just lets out a groan and rests her head against Brittany's shoulder. "This baby better be worth it," she jokes.
Brittany just smiles, and they both know Elijah's going to be more than worth it when he arrives.
She would say pissed off but since the baby developed ears and started hearing thirteen weeks ago—she's now at thirty three weeks—she's told herself and Santana not to swear. You know, just in case.
But anyway, she's annoyed, because three days ago when Santana came home from work, she was on the phone to Quinn and apparently Rachel was throwing Brittany a baby shower. Of course she'd smiled and been all happy about it, but Santana? Not so much. She'd rolled her eyes and said that it was some lame attempt of Rachel's to possibly be thrown into the vote of 'godmother' — despite Santana saying from the very beginning that there was no way in hell Rachel was even going to touch Elijah, let alone be his damn godmother.
After a few conversations and slow but very persuasive kisses, Santana had rolled her eyes, set her hands on Brittany's hips and said that yeah, okay, maybe she would consider it.
Anyway, that conversation had lead to Santana groaning about going to a baby shower and Brittany had tugged on her sleeve and batted her lashes until Santana caved and said she'd go to the stupid baby shower.
But that's not why Brittany's annoyed.
She's annoyed because it's three days later, and she's sitting here in the armchair in the Fabray-Berry residence's living room with a virgin cocktail in her hand, surrounded by her dance friends, and there's no Santana by her side. There's no Santana in the kitchen, or in the hallway, or even standing outside with a cigarette that she'll promise she didn't smoke later. No. Instead, there's just no Santana because she's not here. She never turned up and Brittany's now drumming her fingertips along the swell of her stomach, and trying to find an outing of this conversation with Tina because it's still pretty awkward after the whole Asian fusion thing (also known as Tina and Mike hooking up) and because she's got her tongue at the ready to yell at her wife for breaking a promise.
"So how's the pregnancy going?" Tina asks, her voice a little too cheery. They were left together about five minutes ago because Rachel thought it'd be a good idea for them to 'reconcile' even though they were never... unreconciled? And now they're making awkward small talk.
Brittany nods slowly, sucking in her lower lip and flattening her palm against her bump without conscious thought. "It's good. I'm at thirty three weeks now so," she pats it gently to end her sentence.
"Wow, so... When's the baby's due date?"
"13th May," she says, eyes flicking around the room just in case Santana decides to show up. But nope, no sign. Brittany lets out a sigh and feels a pinch below her bump. Damn it. She needs to pee again. This pregnancy is making her pee like, a gallon a day. "Excuse me," she continues to Tina who looks just about as interested in this conversation as Brittany is. "Gotta pee."
Tina nods and Brittany parts, smiling at people as she weaves through them and heads for the bathroom, pulling out her phone as soon as she locks the door.
Where the hell is Santana?
//
The guy in the sky decides to really screw with Brittany when she leaves the toilet because as soon as she flips open the lock and sets a foot outside, she bumps straight into Mike.
It's been a while since they last talked outside of the studio, and even when they're at the studio, it's more of a nodding of the head and a weak smile in lieu of a greeting. Talking just feels a little uncomfortable, because really? How are you supposed to talk to a guy—not any guy, your ex fiancee—who you dumped for your best friend because you'd been in love with your best friend for as long as you could remember? Not to mention it still manages to create this pang of guilt, even if she knows Mike's happy with Tina and she's happier than she could've ever imagined with Santana. Some things just don't fade like that.
"Oh, Brittany," he says, coming to a stop and leaning back.
Brittany stumbles a little, cradling her stomach and holding the door as a support. "Oh, hi, Mike."
There's a little awkwardness in the air for a moment, where they both look around the hallway and shift awkwardly in their spot. But this is ridiculous. They used to talk all the time. Okay, sure, it was when they were together but that shouldn't change anything. It is possible for exes to be friends, after all.
"No Santana tonight?"
Brittany blinks, shocked that Mike spoke first. Her lips pop open to speak but then she's reminded of how Santana didn't show up tonight without even a damn text to explain why. It makes anger flare across her skin and she narrows her eyes, nostrils flaring in a way she knows Santana would find sexy.
"No," she grits, lifting her head. "She decided not to turn up."
"Well I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation."
Not exactly expecting the guy to defend her wife, Brittany jerks her neck and lifts a single eyebrow. "Mike, you don't need to defend her," she says softly. "I'm piss--annoyed with her. She should've turned up or at least send me a text."
"Yeah," Mike agrees, nodding his head. "She should've at least sent you a text, but it's Santana." He shrugs. "I'm sure she has a perfectly good reason for not being here."
Okay, seriously, why is Mike defending her? What's going on?
"Mike, honestly, you don't have to defend her."
"I'm not defending her, exactly," he drawls out, shoving his hands in his pockets and lifting both shoulders. "It's just... It's Santana."
Brittany just stares. What does that mean?
"What?"
Mike licks his lips. "It's Santana," he repeats like saying it the second time will make sense. It doesn't. "There's going to be a reasonable explanation for her not being here because it's your baby shower."
She's still not quite getting this...
"I'm just saying," he continues. "She loves you, Brittany. You'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to see that." Brittany's heart flutters. "And even though I know me and her didn't exactly... bond, back then," he coughs and she feels the awkwardness from earlier creep back into the conversation. "I can even tell you that she'd never do anything to..." he eyes her bump. "...annoy you, or hurt you or whatever." He throws in a shrug and Brittany can't not smile, so she stands there and does just that. "And I can tell that you even know that."
She chews on her lower lip for a moment, thinking about Mike's words. He does have a point, and considering he and Santana never did become buddies or whatever back when she was dating him, that works to prove his point? He doesn't know Santana and yet he can tell that she'd never do a single thing to hurt Brittany or to annoy her. Santana really does love her, and even to this day just thinking it makes her melt inside.
Shaking her head, she breathes out and strokes her hand over her baby bump. "I guess so. But still, she should be here."
"She should be. It's your baby shower," Mike agrees. "But don't get too angry at her because you don't know why she's not here."
It calms her down a little and Brittany just ends up bobbing her head and smiling at the guy, opening her arms to bring him in for a hug. It's a little weird—mostly because she has to lean over her bump—but also because they haven't hugged, but she feels like she needs it. Feels like it's the only way she can say thank you and he doesn't hesitate in hugging her back.
They pull apart, but then Mike pulls his lower lip down and excuses himself. "Sorry, nature calls."
Brittany just giggles and stands aside, feeling a lot better than she did a few minutes ago.
//
When she gets back to the living room, Rachel's right there, hand on hip and a frown on her face.
"Where have you been?"
Brittany turns her head to the right and juts her thumb behind her. "I was peeing," she explains, scrunching her nose up in confusion. Should she have been somewhere else?
"You were gone a while."
"It's not like I can control my pee outtake."
Rachel squints at her but then rolls her eyes and waves behind her. "Okay, well, we're doing your presents now and playing a few games after so go over there."
Fair eyebrows furrow at that, and Brittany almost lets her hormones get the better of her and tell Rachel it's her baby shower—not Rachel's—and that she can do whatever she wants, when she wants. But Brittany can't be bothered with the reaction Rachel will have—she's just such a drama queen—and Brittany just returns back to her armchair, smiling as all her friends crowd around and begin to pile presents up in front of her.
All the presents are amazing, and Brittany actually breathes a sigh of relief—and kind of panics, too—because the majority of the gifts she hadn't even thought of. She's giving birth in seven weeks and she hadn't thought of the simplest things that she needed to buy. And she's almost certainly sure Santana hasn't either which just makes the panic spike through her veins and prod at her skin. Oh God. Does this mean she's going to be a bad mother?
She really needs Santana here, right now.
Tears begin to form in her eyes before she can stop them and Rachel's right her her side, stroking her bicep and looking wholly concerned.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby kicking? Do you need something?"
The questions come out like rapid fire and Brittany just wipes the tears away, shaking her head and ignoring the fact that everyone's staring at her.
"No, I'm fine. Just hormones," she explains. She guesses the majority of it is but she could still really do with Santana here. "I just need to make a phone call."
Rachel stares at her for a moment but then steps out the way, allowing Brittany to push up, bump first, and make her way through the apartment to the spare bedroom. She reaches inside the pocket of her maternity jeans—grateful for the size of them—and grabs her phone, allowing her fingers to dial in the number from muscle memory.
The phone rings three times before Santana picks up, and Brittany shifts further up the bed, attempting to cross one leg over the other but finding it more uncomfortable than how she was sitting before.
"Hello?"
Brittany breathes out a sigh. Even hearing Santana's voice makes her feel better. "Hey."
"Britt, are you okay?"
"I'm fine..." she trails off, circling a finger over her belly button. "I just wanted to know where you are."
"Uh... Britt--I'm kind of... Shit." There's a clash in the background and another cursed whisper. "Crap, sorry. Babe, I've gotta go. Really busy."
Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together. Why is she getting suspicious and why is Santana being so off with her? "But San, I just—"
"Sorry, babe. Listen, I gotta go but speak later, okay? Love you."
The line rings out and Brittany lowers it from her ear, muttering "love you, too" to an empty room, the tears falling freely from her eyes.
//
The only problem with pregnancy hormones is that they change so drastically. It actually, believe it or not, gets quite annoying because a minute ago she was sitting in the spare room, crying to herself and now she's storming into the living room, eyes hard, jaw clenched and fists balled up by her sides as she searches for Quinn. But there's no sign of her and so she goes for the next best thing: Rachel.
"Where's Quinn?"
Rachel spins around and blinks, confused at Santana. "Wha—What?"
"Quinn," she repeats, harder. "Where is she?"
"Um... I don't—I don't know. Are you okay?"
Brittany lets her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath through her nose to quell some of the anger within. "Fine. I just need to leave."
She turns in the direction of the front door when her friend side steps her and jumps in front, blocking her entrance. Definitely not the best thing to do to an angry, pregnant woman but Rachel's never really thought about what she does before she does it. Brittany lowers her head and glares at the girl, keeping her voice low.
"Get out of my way. I need to go home."
Rachel's eyes grow wide and she shakes her head from side to side, fast. "No. You can't leave, I—I... We have games to play and...and—"
"I'm going home," Brittany interjects, not wanting to listen to her friend anymore. A hand grabs onto her thought and she spins around, eyes narrowing so far she can barely see out of them.
"You can't go home," Rachel blurts out, and it's that that starts getting Brittany suspicious. Why doesn't Rachel want her to go home?
"Why?"
"So—Sorry?"
Brittany straightens up, towering over the other girl. "Why can't I go home?"
Rachel begins moving her lips but no words come out. She looks like a gawping fish and Brittany raises a brow at her, the annoyance growing within as Rachel continues to stutter.
"Well?"
"You just can't," the girl finally says but it's not enough reason for Brittany.
So she just pushes her friend aside, grabs her coat and the bags of presents already packed by the door and leaves.
//
The moment she pulls into the parking spot outside her building, she jumps out the car, doesn't even bother taking the gifts out the back and marches into the house. The key slips as she tries to get it into the lock, and it frustrates her a little more but she doesn't care. All she wants to know is why the hell Santana wasn't there, why the hell Rachel was preventing her from leaving and why Santana was so short on the phone!
And she's sure as hell going to get her answers.
Throwing her keys and jacket onto the sofa, she storms through the house, metaphorical steam blowing out her ears. If they hadn't just had a carpet installed in the living room then she would probably have the added dramatic effect of heavy, angry footsteps, but she doesn't and that kind of annoys her more. The world doesn't even want her to be angry. Goddamn it.
By the time she reaches the hallway, and has searched the rest of the house, she figures there's only two places she could be. There'd be no reason for her to be in the spare bedroom which means--
Her stomach drops and every angry feeling disappears from her body. Why would Santana be in the bedroom?
"Santana?" She calls out, suddenly fearing what she's about to see. So many thoughts and possibilities as to why Santana's in the bedroom run through her mind, but they're so frantic and moving so fast that she can't reach out and grab one to mull it over. Instead, she begins to move slowly down the hall, tilting her head to the side to see if she can hear any movement or hushed whispers. "Honey?"
The second her feet meets the creaking floorboard outside the spare bedroom, the door opens and Santana's pushing past, quickly shutting it and pressing her back against it, covering the handle with her body. Her brown eyes are wide, her hair's tied up and messy and she's wearing nothing but baggy sweats and a bra. No shirt or anything.
Brittany's stomach drops for the second time in two minutes.
"Britt," Santana breathes, shocked by her presence. "Why are you home?"
Brittany pulls her eyebrows together and squints. "What are you doing?"
"You're home early."
She steps closer. Close enough that she can feels Santana's heavy and rapid breathing beat against her collarbone. "What..." her lips are dry so she wets them with a quick poke of her tongue. "What's going on?"
Santana's chest heaves heavily as she presses further back into the door, gripping the handle so tightly her skin covering her knuckles goes a bright white. "I—I... erm..." she trails off, and turns her head as if to look through the door. "You weren't supposed to be home for another hour."
She's seen this in movies. She's watched Love Actually and knows that when you come home to your spouse with tousled hair and half-dressed, it's not good. She's seen the films and she knows what's going on, and her hand moves subconsciously over her stomach as if it'll protect the baby from the news. It hurts and she can feel the heat prick at her eyelids as she swallows thickly, head already beginning to shake from left to right.
"Open the door," she whispers, but Santana's eyes widen and she shakes her head.
"No."
"Santana," Brittany says in her 'don't screw with me' tone. "Just open the door."
Apparently her tone works because Santana only hesitates for a second, gulping heavily and clenching her jaw before standing into the hall, letting the door free for Brittany to open. By now her heart's pounding so hard and fast it could break through her ribcage, and she takes in a deep breath, reaching out with a quivering hand to touch the too-warm door handle. Her eyes shut and she swears her life's about to end as she presses down and adds a little pressure, wincing internally when she hears the door swing open.
//
Her heart almost stops beating when she steps into the spare bedroom, but not for the reason she thought.
It's not the spare bedroom anymore...
Well, it is, but, it's completely changed.
The room is no longer beige, instead it's a color she knows as 'Peas In A Pod,' purely because she was flicking through different shades of green a few weeks back when she and Santana were looking for paint colors. The double bed that once lay in the middle of the room is no longer there, instead there's a traditional maple wood crafted cot bed and a matching chest of drawers and wardrobe each side of it. The left wall no longer contains a picture of Bob Marley either, instead it's lined with shelves and items that she and Santana have bought over the past seven and a half months. There's even a rocking chair beside the bed...
"It's the baby's room."
Brittany turns at her wife's words, eyes glistening with tears. "You—You decorated the—the baby's room?" She hiccups, stepping toward Santana.
Santana rubs the back of her neck and looks around. "Yeah," she says, but her face is completely uncertain and there's an ounce of worry Brittany picks up on. "I thought—You know, I could..." she looks up and meets blue eyes. "I thought I could surprise you," she explains, lifting a single shoulder.
The amount of love and adoration that surges through Brittany is almost overwhelming and before she can stop it, she just starts sobbing. She starts sobbing and whimpering and covers her mouth as she twists back around and scans the room, taking in the colors and fluffy toys that sit about the horizontal surfaces. She can't believe Santana did this for her. She can't believe Santana took time off and bought everything and did it down to the very tea. A few weeks back they were discussing designing the baby room and she's gone and done it. It's incredible and she can't seem to get any words out to express that.
"Britt?" Santana tugs gently on her sleeve and it causes her to turn around. "I know we said we'd do it together but I thought it'd be nice if I—"
The sentence is swiftly cut off as Brittany closes the gap between them and their mouths, pressing her lips to Santana's warm ones and humming as hands slide up her ribcage and thumbs graze over the sides of the baby bump. She kisses Santana and Santana never takes long to kiss back, and when she does she smiles and twists the kiss, shifting and allowing Brittany to suck in her lower lip. Pale hands slip up to the ponytail in her wife's hair and she pulls the band free, raking her fingers through Santana's hair and winding them through it afterward, deepening the kiss and pressing closer as Santana moans into her mouth.
With this kiss she says 'thank you'. She says 'I love you'. She says 'you mean the world to me' and yet even though Santana nods into it, sensing the words unspoken, Brittany doesn't feel like it's enough. But soon enough air becomes a need and she pulls back, but keeps their protruding features together; noses, chins, foreheads. Her eyes close and she licks her lips, when Santana nudges her nose up and kisses her softly, one last time, then returns to their previous position.
Slowly, blue eyes open and then she's staring deeply into brown, penetrating through the walls that no-one else has been able to get past before. She sees straight through Santana and it almost makes her melt when the love Santana has for her beams through everything else. Her hands untangle from dark hair, and come to cup tanned cheeks, the thumb of her right hand running along Santana's bottom lip and marveling at how they're still parted, like she wants to keep kissing her forever.
Brittany knows the feeling.
It's a few seconds when someone speaks, and it's Santana, whose voice is raspy and deep like she's just had her breath taken away. "So I'm guessing you like it?"
"I love it. I love it so much. I can't—I can't even begin to thank you, San."
Santana chuckles lightly and the sound warms Brittany's heart. "You don't need to thank me, baby. This is for us." She lets one hand fall from Brittany's ribcage to the swell of her stomach, palm pushing into the very front of it. "This is for us and him. For our family," she says, and her brown eyes stare so deeply into blue, Brittany almost faints with the love she feels. God. She's so in love and she's never going to tire of hearing the words 'our family.'
"I love you," she breathes.
Lips twitching, Santana kisses her again and whispers, "I love you, too," into her mouth.
They stay that close for a long minute, just gazing at each other and breathing in each others air until Santana snaps her head back and looks toward the wardrobe. Confused, Brittany cocks her head to the side and reaches out for her wife when Santana steps away, but she just shakes her head and holds up a hand, reaching for the handle of the wardrobe and yanking it open, revealing a tucked away Quinn, curled up with her knees pulled to her chest and just generally looking incredibly uncomfortable.
"Quinn?" Brittany squeaks. "What are you doing?"
Quinn turns and flashes one of those please don't kill me grins as she climbs out the closet, and scowls at Santana when she makes a remark about how it's not the first time she's come out the closet.
"I was—" her foot gets stuck and she yanks it forward, stumbling into the room. "I was helping Santana," she finally explains, brushing down her paint covered clothes. "And I was supposed to get out and back to the shower before you noticed I wasn't there but apparently that didn't go to plan."
"Wait..." Brittany's eyes drift to Santana, who's still very much topless. "Why is my wife in a bra and sweats?"
Hazel eyes widen and the blonde spins around, reaching back into the closet and twisting back around with an armful of paint covered clothes. "Your wife—" she pauses to throw the clothes at Santana. "—Had a suspicion that something would interrupt this," she gestures toward the room with her left hand. "So she bought in a change of clothes but you were too close for her to put a top on apparently." Her eyes narrow as they flash to Santana who smirks at Brittany as blue eyes do a slow trail of her wife's body, chiseled abs and tanned skin. "Although now I'm thinking it was just to distract you..."
Brittany's barely even listening to the other blonde as she stares into dark brown eyes, which are hooding slowly. She knows that look and her eyes unconsciously flicker down to her wife's groin but the sweat pants are too baggy that she can't see anything, so she just steps closer and hooks her fingers into Santana's sweatpants, tugging her forward until her stomach presses against the swell of Brittany's stomach.
"Yeah, okay, I'm totally getting out of here," Quinn announces, skipping out the door. "No need to say thanks, bitch!"
"No swearing!" Santana and Brittany both yell, eying the door and giggling when Quinn pops her head back in and gives them a weird look.
"I will never get you guys."
Santana's eyes narrow into a glare as they flash to Quinn. "Pretty good that you don't have to 'get us' then isn't it?" She fires back. "Just leave and go back to Danny Devito."
Hazel eyes roll but Quinn doesn't say anything and moments later, Brittany hears the front door open and shut as their friend leaves. She quickly pecks Santana's cheek and then wraps her arms around her neck, burying her face into a tanned shoulder, lips barely touching her skin and nose inhaling the deep scent of something exotic and tangy. That's not the shower gel she uses either, it's just Santana.
"You alright, baby?" Santana coos, stroking her hand over blonde hair.
Brittany pulls back and slides one arm away, keeping the other wrapped around Santana's shoulders as they both twist to look at the baby's room.
"I'm perfect," she whispers and brown eyes slide in her direction at the same time a tanned hand reaches over to rest high on the swell of her stomach.
"Seven weeks, Britt."
"Seven weeks, San." Brittany scrunches up her nose with excitement and closes her eyes when Santana stretches up and dusts a kiss across her bottom lip. "Oh and by the way, we've got a whole load of baby stuff in the car from the shower."
Santana just lets out a groan and rests her head against Brittany's shoulder. "This baby better be worth it," she jokes.
Brittany just smiles, and they both know Elijah's going to be more than worth it when he arrives.