Sugar the Brittana baby, because I can. Her true timeline through her parents' eyes. I own nothing.
It wasn't like they could tell at first sight or anything.
In the wake of that sudden, bursting splendor of science, of the announcement on the news and the confirmation from the grinning doctor, of Brittany overjoyed on the phone with her mother and Santana pocketing her dusty First Communion rosary on the way to a church she had avoided for ten years, Cassidy showed up pink and perfect. She looked at the world with Brittany's wonder shining through Santana's dark eyes, another beautiful baby in that first miracle generation, and Santana called her that—mi milagrita—as she settled soft blankets under a delicate chin.
Their second night home, Brittany watched Santana tuck their daughter into her white crib and heard the hushed words. "You're good with her," Brittany whispered in the doorway, and Santana gave her that shy look she got when something sounded too good to be true.
"Really?" she whispered back, voice gleaming and tremulous, and she twisted her wedding band around her finger. Brittany stilled those twitching hands with her own and, with a smile and a kiss, nodded.
On the way out of the pediatrician's office two days after Cassidy's third birthday, Santana's hand resting gently on the little head of auburn hair that resembled no one's as much as Santana's abuela's, Brittany asked, "So which preschool do you think we should pick?"
"Hold on to me, mija, there are cars here," Santana was saying, pressing Cassidy's body against her leg. Cassidy smacked her green sucker against her lips and looked around the parking lot aimlessly, but her little fingers curled around the hem of Santana's red shirt. Santana glanced from the road to Brittany as they crossed toward their car. "I said I don't know." Her lips slanted in what might once have been disdain, but now signaled a more benign thoughtfulness. "I didn't like Peddlebrook. But I thought we still had some time."
Brittany shrugged. "We do," she allowed as Santana unlocked the car. "C'mon, sugar," she coaxed, sharing a smile with Cassidy and hooking her hands under Cassidy's arms to heft her into the car seat. "Up you go. Whee!"
"What do you think?" Santana asked, leaning under Brittany's elbow to buckle Cassidy in. Brittany trailed a finger absently down Santana's spine. "I mean, they all know what they're doing, right?"
"Can we go to the park?" Cassidy asked with the saliva-slick lollipop balanced precariously between her fingers.
Brittany smiled—Cassidy's vowels were still rolling uneasily—and leaned in to nuzzle their noses together. "Of course, Cass, but first we've gotta get Mami back to work. Is your seatbelt tight?"
Cassidy nodded seriously. Brittany kissed her forehead and stepped back to shut the door. As she climbed into the front seat, glancing at Cassidy through the side mirror out of habit, she said to Santana, "I mean, we ceded out the bad ones already."
"Weeded."
"Right." Brittany's eyes scanned the road as Santana drove out of the lot. She bit the inside of her cheek. "I really liked Montessori."
Santana's hands flexed on the wheel. "I did too," she said cautiously. She glanced in the rear view mirror and out the window again, pressing the gas gently to merge into traffic. "But what if the show doesn't pick up?"
A crunch: the sucker cracking in half in Cassidy's mouth. Brittany leaned around her seat, lips curling gently, and asked, "Hey, sweetie, you finish your sucker?" Cassidy hesitated, but nodded, pulling the cleaned white stick from between her teeth. The last piece of the lollipop bulged in her left cheek as she chewed noisily. Brittany took the stick, discarding it in the plastic grocery bag hooked between the seats, and offered an open palm. "That was quick! Gimme five." Cassidy grinned and obeyed, straining against the belt to reach Brittany's hand. Brittany rummaged in her purse and took out a small plush T-rex. She leaned back and walked it across the three purple Band-Aids on Cassidy's knee, making growling noises until Cassidy squealed in delight.
When she relinquished the toy into Cassidy's capable hands, Brittany leaned back and propped her elbows against the console. "You don't think the show'll pick up?" she asked, although they'd already discussed this way too thoroughly when Rachel first called them.
Santana bristled at the accusation and shot Brittany a look. "You know that's not what I mean," she said shortly. "I just want to consider everything." She honked her way through a yellow left turn arrow. "I don't want her moving preschools when she's trying to make friends."
"She won't have to," Brittany assured, waiting for Santana to meet her eyes and soften.
A sigh. "I'm sorry, Britt-Britt." Years of practice had smoothed the words out, the way waves sanded down stones. "I just hate having to pick," she admitted, squeezing the steering wheel again.
"I know." Brittany tucked wayward black hair behind Santana's ear and earned a tender look. She smiled and pinched the earlobe. "We still have a little time."
The growling noises behind them pitched into a squeak. Brittany turned and laughed, retrieving the toy from the floor. "That's why you always lose Mario Kart," she teased, and Cassidy's little mouth gaped in dismay.
"Do not!" she yelled indignantly, grabbing at the toy. "I just let you win because Mami always beats you and I don't want you to feel bad." She tilted her nose up proudly into the air.
Santana snorted. "She's already learning some prima donna crap from Berry," she snarked.
"Watch your tongue," Brittany teased back, sticking her own out in emphasis. Santana laughed; their language was markedly mild nowadays.
As she parked in front of the office building, Santana pulled Brittany into a light kiss. "I'd rather watch yours," she said with a grin, tapping Brittany's nose. She climbed into the back and ruffled Cassidy's hair. "Now you be good," she said, pinching a chubby cheek affectionately. "And your little friend, too." She poked the dinosaur's belly.
"Or what?" Cassidy challenged, head tilted haughtily back again.
Santana smirked. "Or else you'll have to eat peas tonight."
Cassidy squealed in horror. "No!"
Santana just laughed and tickled her under the ribs. "Bye, milagrita," she cooed as Cassidy giggled.
"Bye, Mami."
"And how old are you now?"
Five grubby fingers. "Five," Cassidy narrated.
"Wow," Kurt gushed, "no wonder you've gotten so big!"
Cassidy beamed and licked peanut butter off her thumb. Brittany knelt beside her, finally scavenging Wet Ones from her purse, and pulled Cassidy's hand away from her mouth to wipe it clean.
Kurt fidgeted happily, right hand cupping his left elbow and left hand cradling his face. He turned to Santana, smile growing dry. "Maybe she wouldn't seem so big if you two visited more," he suggested pointedly, brows raised and eyes bright.
Santana shrugged, and her lips tugged back in a resigned, what can you do way.
Cassidy stuck her free arm into Brittany's handbag curiously as Brittany finished cleaning her pinkie. "No, honey," she scolded, and gently warded Cassidy off by standing up and pulling the bag out of reach.
"Are you in school yet?" Kurt asked Cassidy, squatting to her height.
Her face pinched. "Duh!" she exclaimed, though in some circles kindergarten wouldn't have counted. "I go to Motta-sorry."
"Montessori," Santana translated with a little smile.
Kurt looked up and chuckled wryly. "With a glare like that, she's definitely yours," he said mildly.
Santana laughed and locked her hand to Brittany's. "That's what they tell me."
By third grade, Cassidy was already a pack leader. With her eyes and smile burning bright and her long hair like a flame in the summer sun, she streaked across the soccer field like a spark or a bolt of lightning. Like Brittany, she went where she wanted; like Santana, nothing could stop her.
Standing behind clumps of faded lawn chairs and parents who all seemed deathly overtired or unreasonably overexcited, Brittany leaned her elbow against Santana's shoulder and smiled, proudly following her sightline to their little miracle taking the game by storm.
After a moment, Santana asked softly, "Can you even believe this is real?"
The breeze, light and hazy like summer itself, teased Brittany's ponytail and Santana's long, loose hair. Brittany breathed it in and let her gaze flicker between Cassidy loping across the field and Santana's smooth, awed face. She moved her free hand to cup Santana's cheek; their eyes met.
"Yes," she whispered back.
Two months before Cassidy's thirteenth birthday, at dinner with Brittany's newly engaged sister Lilly, Cassidy brought up the home videos she'd watched two days prior.
"How could you even understand me?" she demanded around her braces, shoveling food around her plate. "I sounded so weird and slurry!"
Santana just chuckled; Brittany humored her and explained, "We were around you 24/7."
Santana cut in, unable to help herself. "Call it self-defense."
"Mami!" Cassidy whined in protest. Lilly used her napkin to shield a smirk.
"Actually, it was pretty funny, now that I think about it," Santana continued, tone mockingly thoughtful. "You said all kinds of weird stuff. Like pasketty instead of spaghetti." She looked at Brittany across the table. "And—remember Motta-sorry? That was a good one."
Cassidy threw the crust of her roll at Santana, but Santana was caught by a strange shift in Brittany's eyes. She tensed. "Britt?"
Brittany just shook her head. Later, after Lilly had retired to the guest room with a book and Cassidy had been tucked into bed, Brittany hesitantly leaned against the bathroom doorframe. Around the toothpaste foam in her mouth, Santana asked, "What is it, baby?"
A deep sigh. Brittany squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, letting the bright spots settle into distinct edges. Santana's edges. "You're gonna think I'm crazy," Brittany groaned.
Santana spat out the toothpaste, rinsed her mouth, and, smiling, tugged Brittany toward her by the waistband. "I'd never think you're crazy," she soothed, rocking onto her tiptoes to kiss Brittany's temple. Her hands settled on Brittany's waist. "And even if you were, you'd be my favorite kind of crazy."
Brittany sighed uneasily. "San," she began, and it took a moment to collect her thoughts under the eyes that had driven her drunk and dizzy since blurriest, earliest memory. She wet her lips. "Doesn't Cass…" Santana was waiting. Brittany took a deep breath and let her face crumple in uncertainty. "Doesn't Cass kind of look like Sugar Motta?"
"So it works. What do we do with it?"
Santana's voice trembled with nerves, but underneath hung the same note of determination that had pushed her to the top of the Cheerio pyramid and the corporate hierarchy. Brittany shifted where she leaned against the trash can and watched Santana pace their garage.
Three checks and re-checks of the WMHS yearbook and a year's time had confirmed with startling finality the uncanny resemblance between Cassidy Pierce-Lopez and Sugar Motta. Santana and Brittany both held a gut-wrenching conviction that the coincidence was connected to the engineering project that had busied Brittany during Cassidy's first three years of life, between Brittany's last professional dancing gig and her first engagement as Rachel's choreographer.
Now, faced with the Frankenstein's monster of all dilapidated DeLoreans, Brittany wondered if her energy might have been more safely spent elsewhere, far away from Back to the Future.
"We can't do anything with it," Brittany said tentatively. Santana turned her head to look at Brittany and slowed her pace. Brittany shrugged. "We can't sell it, lest it fall into evil hands." A smile of helpless, contented love spilled across Santana's face. Brittany continued, smiling back a little, "And if we destroy it, we'll mess up the whole backward-time curriculum."
"Continuum?"
Brittany nodded. "If we saw her, it means she went back. For her to go back, she has to—you know. Go back. From here."
Santana eyed the car as if it were about to become a Transformer and squash them like bugs.
"Okay," she said finally. "If you say so. You built the damn thing."
When the alert from the DeLorean's fire-up module flashed across Brittany's phone, she'd almost forgotten it existed.
She barely had enough time to get to the kitchen and pour the coffee she knew she'd need for this conversation before Cassidy ran in from the garage. Her bandana had changed, in the past fifteen minutes, from dark gray with a white pattern to splotchy tye-dye. Brittany raised an eyebrow as she tilted her coffee mug to take a sip; after sixteen years with Cassidy and a lifetime with Santana, the habit had rubbed off on her.
"And where have you been, Cassidy?" she asked, careful to avoid pulling sugar from her litany of pet names for her daughter.
Cassidy winced. "What do you mean?" she asked as she checked her watch and gulped.
Brittany nodded seriously toward the kitchen table—site of all Family Talks—and took her customary seat, cradling her coffee between warming hands. Cassidy sank slowly into her chair. Her eyes darted around the room almost longingly, and Brittany realized it had been some time since Cassidy had seen it.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Brittany asked as gently as she could.
Cassidy looked at her with wide, startled eyes. "What do you mean, Mom?" she dodged. Her voice had shrunk, the way it did when she felt guilty; when she felt indignant, wrongly accused, she got loud and angry like Santana.
Brittany smiled. "Who do you think built the car, honey?" she teased, sipping her coffee. Cassidy's mouth opened and shut; she stared in shock. Brittany laughed. "Anyway, did you have a good time? Learn anything interesting?"
Cassidy bit her lip and struggled to answer. "Yeah."
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
Another pause.
"Yeah."
Brittany tilted her head, tracing the handle of her mug with her fingertips. She coaxed, "So. Tell me."
Cassidy shot her a look of confusion. "Huh?"
Raising the coffee to her lips again, Brittany laughed aloud. "C'mon, I built it. The least you can do is tell me about your trip."
Cassidy blinked. She considered.
"Yeah. Okay."