Spirit Exchange Fic! I can see you in the snow..., for caroline_shea
Holiday Wish Fulfilled for: caroline_shea
Title: I can see you in the snow, and I can tell that you’ve been crying
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Brittany/Santana
Warnings: Miscarriage
Word count: ~ 5,000
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
Summary: For the prompt: Santana/Brittany, Snow Angels. Title taken from ‘Silent Night’ by Sixpence None the Richer.
A/N: Thank you to my wonderful Beta, liquoricesky!
Santana stands just alongside the massive snow fort that’s being constructed, the icy wind whipping her already flushed cheeks. Her eyes sting and a couple hot tears steal over her cheeks, her lower lip quivering as she watches the other children meticulously build up the east wall. Santana Lopez is not used to hearing the word ‘No’.
She fights the urge to stomp her feet and demand that they let her play; even though she’s only six she knows that playground politics ran rampant at her new school and if she intrudes on their game without an invitation, she’ll surely be shunned from the ‘popular’ group. She stands next to the fort, staring at it as she fumes and tries to decide the best way to gain access to the game. Demanding is out, as is punching down one of the walls, and those are the only two options she can currently come up with. A few more tears roll over her cheeks as frustration wells up inside of her; she just wants to play.
Her breath escapes in a sharp little squeak as a small body collides with hers, shoving her back into the nearest snow bank and knocking the wind out of her. A small blonde girl grins at her as she lies on top of her, eyes sparkling as she giggles,
“I’m Brittany.”
“Santana,” Santana wheezes, giving a little wiggle before groaning, “Get off!”
The girl, Brittany, rolls off and collapses in the fluffy snow next to her, still grinning as she says,
“I heard Joey say you couldn’t play on the fort, he’s a stinkyhead.”
Santana frowns, not keen on having her squashed pride brought to light, but Brittany just keeps smiling,
“D’you just come here?”
Santana nods, “We moved here three weeks ago.”
“I like you.” Brittany decides, extending a mittened hand to grab onto Santana’s, “Let’s make snow angels - snow angels make me feel better and you look sad, you don’t hafta cry.”
Santana blushes, wiping determinedly at her cheeks with her free hand, the tears burning a little as they freeze on her hot cheeks. She looks at Brittany and then at the snow bank before quietly asking,
“Snow angels?”
Brittany looks appalled that she has no idea what a snow angel is and promptly begins thrashing her arms and legs, ordering that Santana do the same. She reluctantly follows suit and a laugh bubbles up in her chest as she wiggles in the snow, this is fun - more fun that the stupid fort, even! Brittany stops when Santana laughs and releases her hand,
“This is the careful part, you can’t wreck the snow angel when you get up because of squishy boots. Watch...”
Santana watches as Brittany seems to launch herself of the ground, balancing before she turns and gives an approving nod to her snow angel. She looks at Santana but Santana frowns, still laying with her arms and legs splayed,
“I dunno how!”
Brittany carefully avoids the edges of her snow angel, grabbing Santana’s hands and hauling her to her feet, catching her as she stumbles forward to avoid squishing the bottom half. Santana’s eyes widen as Brittany goes to the head of their angels and adds a little circular halo and ‘S + B’ above the two of them. They do look like angels. She grins,
“Whoa!”
She grins even wider when Brittany hugs her, their puffy coats squishing between them, and says,
“I want you to be my best friend.”
Santana looks at her, blue eyes bright with eagerness and excitement at the possibility of finding a new friend, and nods,
“Ok.”
Brittany squeezes her even tighter and presses a peck to her wind whipped cheek,
“Best friends forever and ever.”
*
The news comes on October 31st, Halloween.
The phone rings while Brittany’s applying a thick layer of eyeliner and she carefully sets the tube down before jogging for the phone, nearly tripping over their three legged pitbull, Ginny, a rescue from Brittany’s position at the local animal hospital, in her rush to answer,
“Hello?”
“Hello, may I please speak to Santana Lopez?”
She darts a quick look to their ensuite bathroom where Santana is crouched in front of the toilet, dressed in only fishnet stockings and a tightly wound corset, holding her hair back with one hand and taking slow, deep breaths,
“Uh - she’s a little busy at the moment, can I take a message?”
“Is Brittany Pierce there?”
“Speaking.”
“I’m calling from Dr. Wells’ office, just to pass along the news that Ms. Lopez’s pregnancy test came back positive.”
“Really?!” Brittany squeaks, “Oh, thank you for calling! Thank you so much.”
“Congratulations. Have Ms. Lopez call us to set up a prenatal visit sometime within the next couple weeks.”
Brittany hangs up, positively bouncing with excitement as she blurts,
“San, the fertility doctor called back - you are pregnant!”
Santana just turns to face the toilet and vomits, moaning miserably.
*
They don’t make it to the Halloween party, Santana spends the night lying next to the toilet with a plate of saltines and a glass of water while Brittany hands out candy in half of her black cat costume, periodically calling,
“Oh Santana, come see this one! We are definitely dressing our baby up as an (insert questionable costume choice for a four month old) next year!”
When Santana’s finally able to pull herself off the bathroom floor, she stumbles to the couch and curls up on it, pressing a hand against her rolling stomach as Brittany tucks an afghan around her and strokes her hair back to press a light kiss to her temple. Ginny hauls herself from their bedroom to the living room, scrambling to get up onto the couch and curl up over Santana’s feet, eyes darting between her two masters as she struggles to understand. Brittany ruffles the dog’s ears good naturedly before making a move for Santana’s lips but Santana puts up a hand, pushing her away,
“I don’t want to puke in your mouth, later.”
Brittany scrunches her nose but presses a kiss to the tip of Santana’s nose, “D’you want anything? Toast? Applesauce? Fruit gushers?”
Santana lets out a noise, a cross between an anguished moan and a laugh, “Don’t even talk to me about food.”
Brittany just laughs, giving Santana’s shoulder a little rub as she says,
“Alright, I’ll get you some fresh water.”
Before she can make it to the kitchen, the doorbell rings and she makes a run for it, squealing happily as she cries,
“Santana, it’s a washing machine! Our baby would look so good as a washing machine!”
Santana can’t help but laugh before she calls back,
“B, our baby is doomed!”
*
They talk about keeping it a secret for a couple days but they’ve both been waiting so long; thousands upon thousands of dollars invested in sperm donors and in vitro fertilization, months of failed procedures, and the news just starts to tumble out. First it’s Quinn and Rachel, then their parents, and before they know it they have cards expressing congratulations lining three quarters of the shelving in their kitchen. Santana fingers one of the cards anxiously and murmurs,
“Britt, I don’t think we should tell anyone else.”
Brittany grins, ducking to press a kiss to Santana’s t-shirt clad stomach, “You should stop worrying.”
Santana nods, running her fingers through Brittany’s hair while she talks to Santana’s belly, but the following day she carefully arranges all the cards in a neat pile and shoves them to the back of their junk drawer.
*
Santana hugs her arms around herself, shivering as they wander in and out of the rows of Christmas trees, branches heavy with snow. Brittany’s face is drawn into a tight, contemplative expression as she studies the individual trees, occasionally murmuring things like too tall or not wide enough. Santana laughs, teeth chattering as she asks,
“What are you, some kind of Christmas tree expert?”
Brittany’s expression changes automatically, brightening into a sunny grin, “We always went out to cut down our own Christmas tree when I was little, you know that! It has to be perfect.”
It takes another thirty minutes but Brittany finally stands in front of a tree and holds her arms up, proclaiming,
“This is our tree.”
Santana loops an arm around her neck, pressing a kiss to her chilly cheek, and says, “You are such a goofball.”
Brittany squirms away and Santana holds on to the top of the tree, squinting as the needles pick at her face, while Brittany wiggles underneath with the saw to sever the trunk. Once it’s down, Brittany bumps Santana away and admonishes,
“Pregnant ladies shouldn’t haul trees, let me do it.”
Santana laughs as she watches Brittany single-handedly haul the tree back to the tractor. They both climb back up into the bales of hay and wait for the other families to haul their trees back from the forest, listening to the jangle of Christmas bells on the horses’ harnesses as the stamp impatiently and tug at the wagon. Brittany slings an arm around Santana and pulls her in close, bringing her other hand to the imperceptible swell of Santana’s belly,
“D’you think she’d like the tree?”
Santana laughs, “B, it’s like the size of a penny... and you don’t know it’s a girl.”
“I think it’s a girl.” She says, nuzzling her nose against Santana’s cheek.
Santana rolls her eyes, “You can’t possibly know that.”
“It will be a girl and I will right, and I’ll tell you that as soon as you deliver.” Brittany says adamantly.
Santana scrunches her nose, narrowing her eyes, “I will kick you out.”
Brittany pouts until Santana presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, admonishing, “Well, don’t be a smartass!”
“You love me.” Brittany insists, peppering her cheeks with more kisses.
Santana swats her away, “Shut up, I do not.”
“You do.” Brittany sing songs.
Santana relents, laughing as Brittany pinches her side before admitting,
“Fine, but only a little.”
“A lot.” Brittany mock whispers, knocking Santana’s shoulder with her own as she laughs.
*
They’re out Christmas shopping when Brittany comes up to her, grinning, with a small ornament dangling from her fingertips. Santana looks at it, then up at Brittany, and frowns slightly,
“B, I’m only three months pregnant.”
“I know,” She insists, “But technically it is the baby’s first Christmas, right? I just think it could be fun to put it on the tree.”
“I dunno...” Santana hedges, but Brittany’s already added the trinket to their cart and darted off to grab another string of faux cranberries to decorate their tree.
She picks it up and glances around the store to try and find its place, but in the end she decides that maybe it isn’t such a horrible thing to have one tiny Christmas ornament before the baby is born. She fingers the ribboned edge of the simple ornament and smiles a little before putting it back in the cart. She takes a quick look around to ensure that Brittany is enthralled in the cranberry section before darting to the miscellaneous section of the store in search of a slap chop, the next item on Brittany’s Christmas list.
The girl is crazy, but Santana loves her just the same.
*
They finally find time to decorate the tree on the 19th and they flick off the lights once it’s finished, letting the multicoloured glow of string lights illuminate the room. Santana carefully arranges a manger scene beneath the tree; she isn’t the most devout of Christians but it is tradition and Santana loves tradition. True to one of their other longstanding traditions, Brittany makes cider and brings in two steaming mugs, a candy cane alongside both of them, and they curl up on the couch to watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.
Santana rests her head in Brittany’s lap and Brittany’s hand falls to her waist, her thumb rubbing along the subtle curve of her belly. Santana shifts, lazily sucking at her candy cane while she tries to get comfortable, feeling achy and a little off. Brittany’s hand moves to her hair, playing with it gently and massaging her scalp until Santana is lulled to a near sleep by the soothing motion. She moans a little before struggling to sit up,
“Gotta pee, can you pause it?”
Brittany nods, stilling the movie while Santana straightens and heads for the bathroom. She winces, a hand coming to her belly as the stretch of getting up makes her insides tighten. She straightens her flyaway hair in the mirror, pinching her cheeks to get a little colour in them before shimmying out of her too-tight jeans. She freezes when she gets them halfway down her thighs, eyes widening in alarm.
Her panties are soaked in blood.
She just stands there, shocked, until blood begins to slide down her thigh and she scrambles to sit down. Now that she’s been up and moving the cramps start to come, hard tightening in the lower part of her abdomen. She doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if she should stay there, pull her pants up, cry, scream, so she does absolutely nothing and sits there, watching as the water in the toilet turns red.
A few minutes (hours, days, weeks) pass, there’s a knock at the door and Brittany’s voice queries,
“Babe, are you ok? Do you want saltines? A bottle of water? Are you sick?”
She can’t reply. Her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth and her hands are gripped around the toilet seat. Pain turns her inside out and she lets out a high little whimper, stiffening as a band of pain wraps her from belly to spine and crushes.
“San, what is it? Santana!? I’m coming in on the count of three, One.”
Please.
“Two.”
Please, someone come.
“Three, Santana - I’m coming in.”
Thank you.
*
They end up in the ER because Santana doesn’t stop bleeding and Brittany sits next to her in the waiting room, crying softly, while Santana stares straight ahead with a stony expression on her face. She feels numb, she feels nothing. She squeezes Brittany’s hand when she sniffles lightly and Brittany squeezes back, but they don’t speak until Santana’s called in and they start asking questions about the miscarriage. Santana stammers answers to the questions and purses her lips, closing her eyes as they do the invasive pelvic. The doctor confirms that she’s miscarried and then she’s admitted to the floor before they take her to the OR to stop her bleeding.
Brittany is still crying when she meets her in the recovery room and Santana reaches for her hand, sleepily croaking,
“M’sorry.”
“Don’t,” Brittany whimpers, “It’s not your fault, it just happened.”
“M’sorry.” Santana repeats, her mind too fuzzy and cluttered from the anaesthetic to come up with anything else.
Brittany presses a kiss to her forehead and smoothes her hair back soothingly, watching Santana drift in and out of consciousness as she tries to fight the drugs,
“Shhh, I’m sorry too San.”
*
They go home that evening, shortly after the D & C. Santana’s still woozy and disoriented so Brittany sets her up on the downstairs couch to avoid the hazard of stairs. Brittany scrambles around the house, hunting for a pair of fresh pyjamas, a couple of Gravol and a small basin (because Santana’s already been sick twice) and when she comes back to the living room, she stops in the doorway. Ginny is standing in front of Santana, tail between her legs and head down while Santana plays with her ears absentmindedly. She listens quietly as Santana murmurs,
“Baby’s gone, Ginny.”
The dog doesn’t understand, clearly, but she sinks down next to the couch where Santana can keep a hand on her head, and lets out a weary sigh. Brittany steps in quietly, setting the fresh pyjamas on the coffee table and urging Santana to sit up to swallow the Gravol. She settles back on the couch and Brittany tugs a blanket over her, tucking it around her tightly. She moves to go sit in one of their chairs but Santana catches her by the wrist and hoarsely murmurs,
“Where’re you going?”
“I just - just over - ”
Santana shakes her head and wiggles back against the back of the couch, “Stay with me.”
Brittany nods, slipping out of her sweater and shoes before squishing on the couch in front of Santana, her back flush against Santana’s chest. Santana slides an arm around her waist and while Brittany expects to feel or see tears, there are none. She lets out a little sound and pushes into Santana a little more, suddenly feeling so exhausted. A few tears spill over her cheeks and Santana wipes them away, humming soothing noises by her ear and making Brittany feel like shit because she should be the one doing this. She struggles to stifle her tears, but it was a baby for both of them and she can’t help but feel a pang over the loss; she loved that baby already.
Santana rubs Brittany’s arm gently until she drifts off, but she doesn’t fall asleep for a long, long time that evening.
*
Santana slips into a very quiet, almost catatonic, state for the next few days and Brittany tuts around her, plumping pillows and bringing her glasses of ginger ale. Santana barely gets up off the couch, glaring at the Christmas tree and the lights outside, as if their cheeriness is mocking her. Ginny stays by her side constantly, trailing after her when she goes to make a snack or change her clothes, even whining pitifully by the door when she won’t let her in to the bathroom. Santana appreciates the ‘thought’ but it gets irritating pretty quickly. She finally grits her teeth and orders the dog away when she trips over her on her way to the kitchen.
Brittany lets the listless, ‘screw the world’ attitude last for four days, until Christmas Eve. She pulls out Santana’s down filled jacket, ivory knitted mittens and hat and forces her into them. Santana protests but Brittany takes her arm, feeds it through her sleeve and zips her into her jacket before handing her the mittens and tugging the tight knitted hat over her head. She slips into her own coat before determinedly saying,
“We’re going for a walk.”
Ginny bounds between them, tail wagging frantically as Brittany snaps the red leash emblazoned with Christmas trees to her collar. Santana squints at the pair of them before saying,
“B, I’m not...”
“You can go for a walk.” She says adamantly, locking the door behind them.
She takes Santana’s hand in her free one and keeps Ginny under control with the other as they step out into light snowfall, chilly night air whipping around them as they head down the street. Brittany hums softly, Jingle Bell Rock, as they walk along the snowy sidewalk and Santana gives her hand a little squeeze (I love you). Brittany smiles, her cheeks rosy from the cold and eyes sparkling with the reflection of the strings of lights hanging from the rooftops. Brittany waits until they get to the local park to let Ginny off the lead and Santana cracks a grin as the dog takes off, barrelling through snow drifts before stopping to roll in the fluffy snow, barking and snapping at the falling flakes.
“C’mon.” Brittany urges, pulling Santana to the nearest snowbank and flopping down on her back.
Santana shakes her head, “B, it’s too cold - I don’t want to get my jeans all wet.”
“You can change when we get home.” She insists, tugging on Santana’s ankle.
Before Brittany can pull her off her feet, she relents and sinks down in the snow next to her. The night sky is heavy with snow clouds and the trees sparkle, branches laden with snow and twinkle lights. Brittany moves her arms and legs at her side before tilting her head towards Santana,
“Hey, San - remember snow angels?”
Santana smiles a little, nodding, “Yeah, I remember.”
“C’mon, do it. Snow angels make you happy.”
Santana’s smile drops but she obeys, stretching her arms and legs out to make patterns in the snow. She stays splayed like a starfish for a long moment, staring up at the trees as her eyes start to burn. Brittany sits up, bracing her arms behind her and leaving little handprints in the middle of her angel, and says,
“Kiss me.”
Brittany tastes like ice and vanilla, a hint of peppermint hot chocolate, and Santana closes her eyes, revelling in the small comfort. Brittany’s hand, bare and freezing, grips at the back of her neck to hold her in the kiss, thumb rubbing at the wispy hairs straying from her ponytail. Santana pulls back to breathe before re-engaging in the kiss, a lump pressing hard in her throat. Brittany pulls away to murmur, love you, and the facade shatters. Santana’s face crumples and tears pour over her cheeks as she starts to sob. It’s almost as if Brittany was waiting for her breakdown; she pulls her tight to her chest and presses a kiss to her forehead, rubbing her back slowly as she cries.
“I’m sorry, San. I’m so sorry.” She murmurs, pressing another kiss to her temple.
She sucks in a convulsive breath before sobbing, “I-I just want my baby.”
“Shh, I know.” Brittany hums, holding her close and letting her cry herself dry.
It takes a good, long while, but the tears slow and then stop completely and Santana rubs at her swollen eyes, sniffling quietly. Brittany presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, wipes a couple of lingering tears away and quietly asks,
“Any better?”
Santana shrugs noncommittally and Brittany squeezes her shoulder a little, turning her head to whistle loudly. Ginny comes racing from the far corner of the park, tongue lolling as she circles them and barks happily. Santana manages a tiny grin as Ginny licks her cheek, taking Brittany’s outstretched hand and struggling to get to her feet, dusting the snow off her bottom as she stands.
“What do you think,” Brittany asks, re-fastening the leash, “Hot chocolate and Home Alone when we get back to the house? I bought mini marshmallows for the occasion - oh, and those battered shrimp that you love.”
Santana nods as Brittany fits an arm around her shoulder and squeezes, “Yeah, that sounds great.”
“We’ll be ok, y’know.” Brittany says quietly, once they’ve started back towards the house, making sure they pass the houses that are draped in ornate strings of lights and Christmas paraphernalia on their way.
Santana looks up with a small, sad smile and murmurs,
“I know.”
*
The second call comes October 17th, almost a year to the day later.
Santana gets the call this time and quietly thanks them for letting her know. She tells Brittany over dinner and Brittany squeezes her hand tightly; there are no whoops of joy or congratulations, but a tight, tense acknowledgement that maybe this time it’ll work. They lay low, don’t tell anyone about the pregnancy and stay in for Halloween and Thanksgiving. They don’t go out to cut their own Christmas tree down and the baby aisles are avoided while they do their Christmas shopping. Christmas passes with Santana’s first trimester and they quietly start to plan, not wanting to get ahead of themselves, but more optimistic now that they’ve moved out of the high risk period.
The ultrasound at 16 weeks shows a healthy baby and the doctor assures them there’s no reason to believe that Santana won’t be able to carry to term, that everything is progressing well and she can’t see any obvious abnormalities. Santana’s belly rounds and grows, a small but obvious protrusion beneath her shirt, and as month five comes to an end they buy a crib and start to baby proof their small town home. Ginny surveys the new items with interest and Santana scolds her mercilessly when she finds her sleeping with one of the baby blankets tucked beneath her front paws, drool soaking the patterned fleece.
Week 24 passes and they both heave sighs of relief as they pass the age of viability, but Santana rubs her belly lightly and whispers a gentle reminder,
“Not yet, baby. Not yet.”
They set up the crib, decorate the nursery in soft yellows and greens, and Santana starts planning for her maternity leave while Brittany scrambles to get more hours at the clinic so she can take parental leave after the baby’s born. They have a little scare at 33 weeks, when Santana slips going out the back door to call Ginny in, and has a handful of painful contractions. They spend a night in the hospital for observation and Santana takes a couple days off to stay on bedrest, before deciding to take an early maternity leave just in case. She spends her days doing what Brittany smilingly calls nesting, packing away diapers and making sure they have enough onesies to make it through a week where laundry may or may not be done.
The baby comes on May 15th, after eighteen hours of natural labour and an excruciating two hours of pushing, entering the world with a furious squawk and a wide eyed expression of utter shock. Santana cradles her against her chest as Brittany presses kisses to her sweat dampened forehead, murmuring I love you’s and I’m so proud of you’s until she’s blue in the face. Santana looks up, positively beaming, and catches Brittany in a kiss,
“I love you too. Look how beautiful she is.”
Brittany nods, grinning as she strokes a finger down the baby’s little arm as she continues to squall. The baby has dark, inky hair and the brightest eyes they’ve ever seen, a deep blue. Santana cups a trembling hand around her head and brings her up on her chest, pressing a kiss to her little head, laughing,
“I love her so much already.”
“Me too.” Brittany murmurs, marvelling as the baby winds her hand around her pinky.
The baby finally quiets, looking between the two of them and scanning the room with a bewildered expression. Brittany waits until they’ve cleaned both Santana and the baby up to ask,
“Are you happy?”
Santana jiggles the baby a little before looking up and grinning,
“So happy.”
*
Nina Alida Lopez-Pierce is seven months old for her first Christmas, baffled by the snow and winter gear but captivated by the glowing lights, seasonal songs and elderly men dressed up in bright red suits. Brittany and Santana are absolutely determined to give their daughter the best Christmas experience, trekking from mall to mall to find the best presents, get copies upon copies of pictures of her sitting on Santa’s knee and picking out the perfect tree.
“Let’s go for a walk.” Brittany says on Christmas Eve, dressing Nina in her puffy snow suit and pressing a kiss to her button nose, making her giggle.
Santana whistles and Ginny comes scrambling to the front door while Santana eases into her winter coat, stifling a yawn as she reaches for the leash. Brittany smiles softly,
“Tired? You’re not even going to make it until midnight, Santa.”
“That’s what you’re here for.” Santana says around another yawn, stepping out the front door and pausing for Brittany to get out the door with the baby.
Nina throws her head back, laughing as snowflakes settle on her cheeks, and Santana grins as they head out towards the park, reaching over to take Brittany’s hand. They walk in comfortable silence, only punctuated by the occasional giggle or squeal of excitement as Nina outstretches her arms towards the decorated houses. They get to the park close to ten and it’s empty save for a couple kids making a snowman and a handful of dog walkers. Ginny’s let off the leash but, after a short lived romp, she flops down in the snow and watches as Brittany sets Nina down, letting her try and grasp handfuls of snow with her thick mittens.
“C’mere.” Brittany giggles, catching Santana by surprise by grabbing her around the waist and tugging her to the ground.
She falls on top of Brittany, collapsing with a startled squeak, before pressing a quick kiss to her lips,
“You’re crazy, B.”
“Snow angels.” She dictates, pushes Santana off of her and splaying her arms and legs.
“But we’re not sad.” Santana says, watching Brittany stretch her arms as far as they’ll go.
“Snow angels are for when you’re happy too.” She says, staring at Santana until she flops back in the snow and makes an angel, chuckling when Brittany launches herself up to observe the perfect snow angel.
She stays lying in the middle of her angel while Brittany gets the baby, carefully laying her between their two angels and stretching her arms and legs until a mini angel is formed between the two of them. Nina squawks indignantly until Brittany lifts her, letting her take ineffective steps supported by Brittany’s arms, until she collapses against Santana’s side, giggling wildly.
“You silly girl.” Santana admonishes with a smile, lifting the baby and holding her up above her as she giggles again and squirms until she’s stretched out across Santana’s chest.
Brittany stretches out alongside them and Ginny even comes over to settle by their heads, letting out a contented groan as she sinks into the snow. Santana inches her hand out of her glove and reaches for Brittany’s, tangling their fingers together before pulling Brittany into a quick kiss,
“Love you.”
Brittany grins, tousling their daughter’s curls a little before she says,
“I love you too.”
*
-
1. (pairing) Brittany/Santana: snow angels
Title: I can see you in the snow, and I can tell that you’ve been crying
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Brittany/Santana
Warnings: Miscarriage
Word count: ~ 5,000
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
Summary: For the prompt: Santana/Brittany, Snow Angels. Title taken from ‘Silent Night’ by Sixpence None the Richer.
A/N: Thank you to my wonderful Beta, liquoricesky!
Santana stands just alongside the massive snow fort that’s being constructed, the icy wind whipping her already flushed cheeks. Her eyes sting and a couple hot tears steal over her cheeks, her lower lip quivering as she watches the other children meticulously build up the east wall. Santana Lopez is not used to hearing the word ‘No’.
She fights the urge to stomp her feet and demand that they let her play; even though she’s only six she knows that playground politics ran rampant at her new school and if she intrudes on their game without an invitation, she’ll surely be shunned from the ‘popular’ group. She stands next to the fort, staring at it as she fumes and tries to decide the best way to gain access to the game. Demanding is out, as is punching down one of the walls, and those are the only two options she can currently come up with. A few more tears roll over her cheeks as frustration wells up inside of her; she just wants to play.
Her breath escapes in a sharp little squeak as a small body collides with hers, shoving her back into the nearest snow bank and knocking the wind out of her. A small blonde girl grins at her as she lies on top of her, eyes sparkling as she giggles,
“I’m Brittany.”
“Santana,” Santana wheezes, giving a little wiggle before groaning, “Get off!”
The girl, Brittany, rolls off and collapses in the fluffy snow next to her, still grinning as she says,
“I heard Joey say you couldn’t play on the fort, he’s a stinkyhead.”
Santana frowns, not keen on having her squashed pride brought to light, but Brittany just keeps smiling,
“D’you just come here?”
Santana nods, “We moved here three weeks ago.”
“I like you.” Brittany decides, extending a mittened hand to grab onto Santana’s, “Let’s make snow angels - snow angels make me feel better and you look sad, you don’t hafta cry.”
Santana blushes, wiping determinedly at her cheeks with her free hand, the tears burning a little as they freeze on her hot cheeks. She looks at Brittany and then at the snow bank before quietly asking,
“Snow angels?”
Brittany looks appalled that she has no idea what a snow angel is and promptly begins thrashing her arms and legs, ordering that Santana do the same. She reluctantly follows suit and a laugh bubbles up in her chest as she wiggles in the snow, this is fun - more fun that the stupid fort, even! Brittany stops when Santana laughs and releases her hand,
“This is the careful part, you can’t wreck the snow angel when you get up because of squishy boots. Watch...”
Santana watches as Brittany seems to launch herself of the ground, balancing before she turns and gives an approving nod to her snow angel. She looks at Santana but Santana frowns, still laying with her arms and legs splayed,
“I dunno how!”
Brittany carefully avoids the edges of her snow angel, grabbing Santana’s hands and hauling her to her feet, catching her as she stumbles forward to avoid squishing the bottom half. Santana’s eyes widen as Brittany goes to the head of their angels and adds a little circular halo and ‘S + B’ above the two of them. They do look like angels. She grins,
“Whoa!”
She grins even wider when Brittany hugs her, their puffy coats squishing between them, and says,
“I want you to be my best friend.”
Santana looks at her, blue eyes bright with eagerness and excitement at the possibility of finding a new friend, and nods,
“Ok.”
Brittany squeezes her even tighter and presses a peck to her wind whipped cheek,
“Best friends forever and ever.”
*
The news comes on October 31st, Halloween.
The phone rings while Brittany’s applying a thick layer of eyeliner and she carefully sets the tube down before jogging for the phone, nearly tripping over their three legged pitbull, Ginny, a rescue from Brittany’s position at the local animal hospital, in her rush to answer,
“Hello?”
“Hello, may I please speak to Santana Lopez?”
She darts a quick look to their ensuite bathroom where Santana is crouched in front of the toilet, dressed in only fishnet stockings and a tightly wound corset, holding her hair back with one hand and taking slow, deep breaths,
“Uh - she’s a little busy at the moment, can I take a message?”
“Is Brittany Pierce there?”
“Speaking.”
“I’m calling from Dr. Wells’ office, just to pass along the news that Ms. Lopez’s pregnancy test came back positive.”
“Really?!” Brittany squeaks, “Oh, thank you for calling! Thank you so much.”
“Congratulations. Have Ms. Lopez call us to set up a prenatal visit sometime within the next couple weeks.”
Brittany hangs up, positively bouncing with excitement as she blurts,
“San, the fertility doctor called back - you are pregnant!”
Santana just turns to face the toilet and vomits, moaning miserably.
*
They don’t make it to the Halloween party, Santana spends the night lying next to the toilet with a plate of saltines and a glass of water while Brittany hands out candy in half of her black cat costume, periodically calling,
“Oh Santana, come see this one! We are definitely dressing our baby up as an (insert questionable costume choice for a four month old) next year!”
When Santana’s finally able to pull herself off the bathroom floor, she stumbles to the couch and curls up on it, pressing a hand against her rolling stomach as Brittany tucks an afghan around her and strokes her hair back to press a light kiss to her temple. Ginny hauls herself from their bedroom to the living room, scrambling to get up onto the couch and curl up over Santana’s feet, eyes darting between her two masters as she struggles to understand. Brittany ruffles the dog’s ears good naturedly before making a move for Santana’s lips but Santana puts up a hand, pushing her away,
“I don’t want to puke in your mouth, later.”
Brittany scrunches her nose but presses a kiss to the tip of Santana’s nose, “D’you want anything? Toast? Applesauce? Fruit gushers?”
Santana lets out a noise, a cross between an anguished moan and a laugh, “Don’t even talk to me about food.”
Brittany just laughs, giving Santana’s shoulder a little rub as she says,
“Alright, I’ll get you some fresh water.”
Before she can make it to the kitchen, the doorbell rings and she makes a run for it, squealing happily as she cries,
“Santana, it’s a washing machine! Our baby would look so good as a washing machine!”
Santana can’t help but laugh before she calls back,
“B, our baby is doomed!”
*
They talk about keeping it a secret for a couple days but they’ve both been waiting so long; thousands upon thousands of dollars invested in sperm donors and in vitro fertilization, months of failed procedures, and the news just starts to tumble out. First it’s Quinn and Rachel, then their parents, and before they know it they have cards expressing congratulations lining three quarters of the shelving in their kitchen. Santana fingers one of the cards anxiously and murmurs,
“Britt, I don’t think we should tell anyone else.”
Brittany grins, ducking to press a kiss to Santana’s t-shirt clad stomach, “You should stop worrying.”
Santana nods, running her fingers through Brittany’s hair while she talks to Santana’s belly, but the following day she carefully arranges all the cards in a neat pile and shoves them to the back of their junk drawer.
*
Santana hugs her arms around herself, shivering as they wander in and out of the rows of Christmas trees, branches heavy with snow. Brittany’s face is drawn into a tight, contemplative expression as she studies the individual trees, occasionally murmuring things like too tall or not wide enough. Santana laughs, teeth chattering as she asks,
“What are you, some kind of Christmas tree expert?”
Brittany’s expression changes automatically, brightening into a sunny grin, “We always went out to cut down our own Christmas tree when I was little, you know that! It has to be perfect.”
It takes another thirty minutes but Brittany finally stands in front of a tree and holds her arms up, proclaiming,
“This is our tree.”
Santana loops an arm around her neck, pressing a kiss to her chilly cheek, and says, “You are such a goofball.”
Brittany squirms away and Santana holds on to the top of the tree, squinting as the needles pick at her face, while Brittany wiggles underneath with the saw to sever the trunk. Once it’s down, Brittany bumps Santana away and admonishes,
“Pregnant ladies shouldn’t haul trees, let me do it.”
Santana laughs as she watches Brittany single-handedly haul the tree back to the tractor. They both climb back up into the bales of hay and wait for the other families to haul their trees back from the forest, listening to the jangle of Christmas bells on the horses’ harnesses as the stamp impatiently and tug at the wagon. Brittany slings an arm around Santana and pulls her in close, bringing her other hand to the imperceptible swell of Santana’s belly,
“D’you think she’d like the tree?”
Santana laughs, “B, it’s like the size of a penny... and you don’t know it’s a girl.”
“I think it’s a girl.” She says, nuzzling her nose against Santana’s cheek.
Santana rolls her eyes, “You can’t possibly know that.”
“It will be a girl and I will right, and I’ll tell you that as soon as you deliver.” Brittany says adamantly.
Santana scrunches her nose, narrowing her eyes, “I will kick you out.”
Brittany pouts until Santana presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, admonishing, “Well, don’t be a smartass!”
“You love me.” Brittany insists, peppering her cheeks with more kisses.
Santana swats her away, “Shut up, I do not.”
“You do.” Brittany sing songs.
Santana relents, laughing as Brittany pinches her side before admitting,
“Fine, but only a little.”
“A lot.” Brittany mock whispers, knocking Santana’s shoulder with her own as she laughs.
*
They’re out Christmas shopping when Brittany comes up to her, grinning, with a small ornament dangling from her fingertips. Santana looks at it, then up at Brittany, and frowns slightly,
“B, I’m only three months pregnant.”
“I know,” She insists, “But technically it is the baby’s first Christmas, right? I just think it could be fun to put it on the tree.”
“I dunno...” Santana hedges, but Brittany’s already added the trinket to their cart and darted off to grab another string of faux cranberries to decorate their tree.
She picks it up and glances around the store to try and find its place, but in the end she decides that maybe it isn’t such a horrible thing to have one tiny Christmas ornament before the baby is born. She fingers the ribboned edge of the simple ornament and smiles a little before putting it back in the cart. She takes a quick look around to ensure that Brittany is enthralled in the cranberry section before darting to the miscellaneous section of the store in search of a slap chop, the next item on Brittany’s Christmas list.
The girl is crazy, but Santana loves her just the same.
*
They finally find time to decorate the tree on the 19th and they flick off the lights once it’s finished, letting the multicoloured glow of string lights illuminate the room. Santana carefully arranges a manger scene beneath the tree; she isn’t the most devout of Christians but it is tradition and Santana loves tradition. True to one of their other longstanding traditions, Brittany makes cider and brings in two steaming mugs, a candy cane alongside both of them, and they curl up on the couch to watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.
Santana rests her head in Brittany’s lap and Brittany’s hand falls to her waist, her thumb rubbing along the subtle curve of her belly. Santana shifts, lazily sucking at her candy cane while she tries to get comfortable, feeling achy and a little off. Brittany’s hand moves to her hair, playing with it gently and massaging her scalp until Santana is lulled to a near sleep by the soothing motion. She moans a little before struggling to sit up,
“Gotta pee, can you pause it?”
Brittany nods, stilling the movie while Santana straightens and heads for the bathroom. She winces, a hand coming to her belly as the stretch of getting up makes her insides tighten. She straightens her flyaway hair in the mirror, pinching her cheeks to get a little colour in them before shimmying out of her too-tight jeans. She freezes when she gets them halfway down her thighs, eyes widening in alarm.
Her panties are soaked in blood.
She just stands there, shocked, until blood begins to slide down her thigh and she scrambles to sit down. Now that she’s been up and moving the cramps start to come, hard tightening in the lower part of her abdomen. She doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if she should stay there, pull her pants up, cry, scream, so she does absolutely nothing and sits there, watching as the water in the toilet turns red.
A few minutes (hours, days, weeks) pass, there’s a knock at the door and Brittany’s voice queries,
“Babe, are you ok? Do you want saltines? A bottle of water? Are you sick?”
She can’t reply. Her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth and her hands are gripped around the toilet seat. Pain turns her inside out and she lets out a high little whimper, stiffening as a band of pain wraps her from belly to spine and crushes.
“San, what is it? Santana!? I’m coming in on the count of three, One.”
Please.
“Two.”
Please, someone come.
“Three, Santana - I’m coming in.”
Thank you.
*
They end up in the ER because Santana doesn’t stop bleeding and Brittany sits next to her in the waiting room, crying softly, while Santana stares straight ahead with a stony expression on her face. She feels numb, she feels nothing. She squeezes Brittany’s hand when she sniffles lightly and Brittany squeezes back, but they don’t speak until Santana’s called in and they start asking questions about the miscarriage. Santana stammers answers to the questions and purses her lips, closing her eyes as they do the invasive pelvic. The doctor confirms that she’s miscarried and then she’s admitted to the floor before they take her to the OR to stop her bleeding.
Brittany is still crying when she meets her in the recovery room and Santana reaches for her hand, sleepily croaking,
“M’sorry.”
“Don’t,” Brittany whimpers, “It’s not your fault, it just happened.”
“M’sorry.” Santana repeats, her mind too fuzzy and cluttered from the anaesthetic to come up with anything else.
Brittany presses a kiss to her forehead and smoothes her hair back soothingly, watching Santana drift in and out of consciousness as she tries to fight the drugs,
“Shhh, I’m sorry too San.”
*
They go home that evening, shortly after the D & C. Santana’s still woozy and disoriented so Brittany sets her up on the downstairs couch to avoid the hazard of stairs. Brittany scrambles around the house, hunting for a pair of fresh pyjamas, a couple of Gravol and a small basin (because Santana’s already been sick twice) and when she comes back to the living room, she stops in the doorway. Ginny is standing in front of Santana, tail between her legs and head down while Santana plays with her ears absentmindedly. She listens quietly as Santana murmurs,
“Baby’s gone, Ginny.”
The dog doesn’t understand, clearly, but she sinks down next to the couch where Santana can keep a hand on her head, and lets out a weary sigh. Brittany steps in quietly, setting the fresh pyjamas on the coffee table and urging Santana to sit up to swallow the Gravol. She settles back on the couch and Brittany tugs a blanket over her, tucking it around her tightly. She moves to go sit in one of their chairs but Santana catches her by the wrist and hoarsely murmurs,
“Where’re you going?”
“I just - just over - ”
Santana shakes her head and wiggles back against the back of the couch, “Stay with me.”
Brittany nods, slipping out of her sweater and shoes before squishing on the couch in front of Santana, her back flush against Santana’s chest. Santana slides an arm around her waist and while Brittany expects to feel or see tears, there are none. She lets out a little sound and pushes into Santana a little more, suddenly feeling so exhausted. A few tears spill over her cheeks and Santana wipes them away, humming soothing noises by her ear and making Brittany feel like shit because she should be the one doing this. She struggles to stifle her tears, but it was a baby for both of them and she can’t help but feel a pang over the loss; she loved that baby already.
Santana rubs Brittany’s arm gently until she drifts off, but she doesn’t fall asleep for a long, long time that evening.
*
Santana slips into a very quiet, almost catatonic, state for the next few days and Brittany tuts around her, plumping pillows and bringing her glasses of ginger ale. Santana barely gets up off the couch, glaring at the Christmas tree and the lights outside, as if their cheeriness is mocking her. Ginny stays by her side constantly, trailing after her when she goes to make a snack or change her clothes, even whining pitifully by the door when she won’t let her in to the bathroom. Santana appreciates the ‘thought’ but it gets irritating pretty quickly. She finally grits her teeth and orders the dog away when she trips over her on her way to the kitchen.
Brittany lets the listless, ‘screw the world’ attitude last for four days, until Christmas Eve. She pulls out Santana’s down filled jacket, ivory knitted mittens and hat and forces her into them. Santana protests but Brittany takes her arm, feeds it through her sleeve and zips her into her jacket before handing her the mittens and tugging the tight knitted hat over her head. She slips into her own coat before determinedly saying,
“We’re going for a walk.”
Ginny bounds between them, tail wagging frantically as Brittany snaps the red leash emblazoned with Christmas trees to her collar. Santana squints at the pair of them before saying,
“B, I’m not...”
“You can go for a walk.” She says adamantly, locking the door behind them.
She takes Santana’s hand in her free one and keeps Ginny under control with the other as they step out into light snowfall, chilly night air whipping around them as they head down the street. Brittany hums softly, Jingle Bell Rock, as they walk along the snowy sidewalk and Santana gives her hand a little squeeze (I love you). Brittany smiles, her cheeks rosy from the cold and eyes sparkling with the reflection of the strings of lights hanging from the rooftops. Brittany waits until they get to the local park to let Ginny off the lead and Santana cracks a grin as the dog takes off, barrelling through snow drifts before stopping to roll in the fluffy snow, barking and snapping at the falling flakes.
“C’mon.” Brittany urges, pulling Santana to the nearest snowbank and flopping down on her back.
Santana shakes her head, “B, it’s too cold - I don’t want to get my jeans all wet.”
“You can change when we get home.” She insists, tugging on Santana’s ankle.
Before Brittany can pull her off her feet, she relents and sinks down in the snow next to her. The night sky is heavy with snow clouds and the trees sparkle, branches laden with snow and twinkle lights. Brittany moves her arms and legs at her side before tilting her head towards Santana,
“Hey, San - remember snow angels?”
Santana smiles a little, nodding, “Yeah, I remember.”
“C’mon, do it. Snow angels make you happy.”
Santana’s smile drops but she obeys, stretching her arms and legs out to make patterns in the snow. She stays splayed like a starfish for a long moment, staring up at the trees as her eyes start to burn. Brittany sits up, bracing her arms behind her and leaving little handprints in the middle of her angel, and says,
“Kiss me.”
Brittany tastes like ice and vanilla, a hint of peppermint hot chocolate, and Santana closes her eyes, revelling in the small comfort. Brittany’s hand, bare and freezing, grips at the back of her neck to hold her in the kiss, thumb rubbing at the wispy hairs straying from her ponytail. Santana pulls back to breathe before re-engaging in the kiss, a lump pressing hard in her throat. Brittany pulls away to murmur, love you, and the facade shatters. Santana’s face crumples and tears pour over her cheeks as she starts to sob. It’s almost as if Brittany was waiting for her breakdown; she pulls her tight to her chest and presses a kiss to her forehead, rubbing her back slowly as she cries.
“I’m sorry, San. I’m so sorry.” She murmurs, pressing another kiss to her temple.
She sucks in a convulsive breath before sobbing, “I-I just want my baby.”
“Shh, I know.” Brittany hums, holding her close and letting her cry herself dry.
It takes a good, long while, but the tears slow and then stop completely and Santana rubs at her swollen eyes, sniffling quietly. Brittany presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, wipes a couple of lingering tears away and quietly asks,
“Any better?”
Santana shrugs noncommittally and Brittany squeezes her shoulder a little, turning her head to whistle loudly. Ginny comes racing from the far corner of the park, tongue lolling as she circles them and barks happily. Santana manages a tiny grin as Ginny licks her cheek, taking Brittany’s outstretched hand and struggling to get to her feet, dusting the snow off her bottom as she stands.
“What do you think,” Brittany asks, re-fastening the leash, “Hot chocolate and Home Alone when we get back to the house? I bought mini marshmallows for the occasion - oh, and those battered shrimp that you love.”
Santana nods as Brittany fits an arm around her shoulder and squeezes, “Yeah, that sounds great.”
“We’ll be ok, y’know.” Brittany says quietly, once they’ve started back towards the house, making sure they pass the houses that are draped in ornate strings of lights and Christmas paraphernalia on their way.
Santana looks up with a small, sad smile and murmurs,
“I know.”
*
The second call comes October 17th, almost a year to the day later.
Santana gets the call this time and quietly thanks them for letting her know. She tells Brittany over dinner and Brittany squeezes her hand tightly; there are no whoops of joy or congratulations, but a tight, tense acknowledgement that maybe this time it’ll work. They lay low, don’t tell anyone about the pregnancy and stay in for Halloween and Thanksgiving. They don’t go out to cut their own Christmas tree down and the baby aisles are avoided while they do their Christmas shopping. Christmas passes with Santana’s first trimester and they quietly start to plan, not wanting to get ahead of themselves, but more optimistic now that they’ve moved out of the high risk period.
The ultrasound at 16 weeks shows a healthy baby and the doctor assures them there’s no reason to believe that Santana won’t be able to carry to term, that everything is progressing well and she can’t see any obvious abnormalities. Santana’s belly rounds and grows, a small but obvious protrusion beneath her shirt, and as month five comes to an end they buy a crib and start to baby proof their small town home. Ginny surveys the new items with interest and Santana scolds her mercilessly when she finds her sleeping with one of the baby blankets tucked beneath her front paws, drool soaking the patterned fleece.
Week 24 passes and they both heave sighs of relief as they pass the age of viability, but Santana rubs her belly lightly and whispers a gentle reminder,
“Not yet, baby. Not yet.”
They set up the crib, decorate the nursery in soft yellows and greens, and Santana starts planning for her maternity leave while Brittany scrambles to get more hours at the clinic so she can take parental leave after the baby’s born. They have a little scare at 33 weeks, when Santana slips going out the back door to call Ginny in, and has a handful of painful contractions. They spend a night in the hospital for observation and Santana takes a couple days off to stay on bedrest, before deciding to take an early maternity leave just in case. She spends her days doing what Brittany smilingly calls nesting, packing away diapers and making sure they have enough onesies to make it through a week where laundry may or may not be done.
The baby comes on May 15th, after eighteen hours of natural labour and an excruciating two hours of pushing, entering the world with a furious squawk and a wide eyed expression of utter shock. Santana cradles her against her chest as Brittany presses kisses to her sweat dampened forehead, murmuring I love you’s and I’m so proud of you’s until she’s blue in the face. Santana looks up, positively beaming, and catches Brittany in a kiss,
“I love you too. Look how beautiful she is.”
Brittany nods, grinning as she strokes a finger down the baby’s little arm as she continues to squall. The baby has dark, inky hair and the brightest eyes they’ve ever seen, a deep blue. Santana cups a trembling hand around her head and brings her up on her chest, pressing a kiss to her little head, laughing,
“I love her so much already.”
“Me too.” Brittany murmurs, marvelling as the baby winds her hand around her pinky.
The baby finally quiets, looking between the two of them and scanning the room with a bewildered expression. Brittany waits until they’ve cleaned both Santana and the baby up to ask,
“Are you happy?”
Santana jiggles the baby a little before looking up and grinning,
“So happy.”
*
Nina Alida Lopez-Pierce is seven months old for her first Christmas, baffled by the snow and winter gear but captivated by the glowing lights, seasonal songs and elderly men dressed up in bright red suits. Brittany and Santana are absolutely determined to give their daughter the best Christmas experience, trekking from mall to mall to find the best presents, get copies upon copies of pictures of her sitting on Santa’s knee and picking out the perfect tree.
“Let’s go for a walk.” Brittany says on Christmas Eve, dressing Nina in her puffy snow suit and pressing a kiss to her button nose, making her giggle.
Santana whistles and Ginny comes scrambling to the front door while Santana eases into her winter coat, stifling a yawn as she reaches for the leash. Brittany smiles softly,
“Tired? You’re not even going to make it until midnight, Santa.”
“That’s what you’re here for.” Santana says around another yawn, stepping out the front door and pausing for Brittany to get out the door with the baby.
Nina throws her head back, laughing as snowflakes settle on her cheeks, and Santana grins as they head out towards the park, reaching over to take Brittany’s hand. They walk in comfortable silence, only punctuated by the occasional giggle or squeal of excitement as Nina outstretches her arms towards the decorated houses. They get to the park close to ten and it’s empty save for a couple kids making a snowman and a handful of dog walkers. Ginny’s let off the leash but, after a short lived romp, she flops down in the snow and watches as Brittany sets Nina down, letting her try and grasp handfuls of snow with her thick mittens.
“C’mere.” Brittany giggles, catching Santana by surprise by grabbing her around the waist and tugging her to the ground.
She falls on top of Brittany, collapsing with a startled squeak, before pressing a quick kiss to her lips,
“You’re crazy, B.”
“Snow angels.” She dictates, pushes Santana off of her and splaying her arms and legs.
“But we’re not sad.” Santana says, watching Brittany stretch her arms as far as they’ll go.
“Snow angels are for when you’re happy too.” She says, staring at Santana until she flops back in the snow and makes an angel, chuckling when Brittany launches herself up to observe the perfect snow angel.
She stays lying in the middle of her angel while Brittany gets the baby, carefully laying her between their two angels and stretching her arms and legs until a mini angel is formed between the two of them. Nina squawks indignantly until Brittany lifts her, letting her take ineffective steps supported by Brittany’s arms, until she collapses against Santana’s side, giggling wildly.
“You silly girl.” Santana admonishes with a smile, lifting the baby and holding her up above her as she giggles again and squirms until she’s stretched out across Santana’s chest.
Brittany stretches out alongside them and Ginny even comes over to settle by their heads, letting out a contented groan as she sinks into the snow. Santana inches her hand out of her glove and reaches for Brittany’s, tangling their fingers together before pulling Brittany into a quick kiss,
“Love you.”
Brittany grins, tousling their daughter’s curls a little before she says,
“I love you too.”
*
-
1. (pairing) Brittany/Santana: snow angels