She calls your name. Stealing your attention away from the television screen. Her grasp tightens on your t-shirt as she cuddles in closer to your side.
"Hm?" You murmur, taken aback because you could have sworn she was asleep.
She's quiet a long while before speaking up again.
"I don't want to die."
Your body stills, even though you will it not to. You need to be strong you remind yourself. You need to be strong.
So you try to relax. You cover her hand clutching your shirt with your own, kiss the top of her head and pull her in close.
"I know, Q. I know." You end up whispering, trying your best to not break down completely.
Later, after she's gone to sleep her head on your chest, you lie awake. Your mind unwilling to let you sleep.
Carefully you slip out from the bed. You tuck her back in kissing her forehead before retreating from the room.
You make it two steps down the hall when you let it all go. The sobs you try to keep silent as the pain ruptures through your entire being with a vengeance.
"Why's and Quinn and fuck," fly silently from your mouth as you try to make sense of it.
As you slide down the wall you start to realize that maybe you can't.
This won't be a tragedy. It's something you've been telling yourself lately. Ever since the diagnosis.
When the thoughts creep in quietly, the what if's, and worst case scenarios, you remind yourself: This won't be a tragedy.
You repeat it to yourself as she grabs her coffee mug and the thought of her not being there seeps it's way in. This won't be a tragedy.
"Babe?" She says. "You okay?"
You nod, blinking away the unhappy thoughts. Grabbing her hand you smile, feeling her warm hand beneath yours holds you in the right now.
She leans across the counter giving you a sweet kiss on the lips.
"Good morning then." She whispers against your lips and you feel your smile coming again before leaning back in for another kiss.
You both bask in the early morning sun filtering through the kitchen blinds and most importantly each other. Trading kisses and sweet whispers until the coffee has gone lukewarm.
There's no talk of last night, of yesterday or ten months ago. It's just you and her. Alive and together.
Mercedes comes a week before Christmas. A duffel bag hanging off her shoulder and two large packages in hand.
Her smile is warm as always only this time you detect the slightest bit of apprehension. Her smile is a tad tight as you welcome her inside you and Quinn's home.
You offer to take the packages and she swipes them away. "No peaking. Now show me where I'll be staying so I can hide them."
You roll your eyes, shutting the door before leading her to the guest room. "This is my house. I can do what I want."
You hear her snort behind you. "Sure, Santana. Tell me again why you have Al Roker's cookbook on display in your kitchen?"
She cackles and the boisterous sound is a welcome one, so you don't even quip back.
"Are your parents coming up?" She ask once arriving in the guest room. She places the packages on the bed.
"I don't know. It's complicated."
She nods before placing her duffel bag next to the packages. The breath she lets out of her nose is a sure indication of what's coming next.
"How are you holding up?"
You look away, leaning on the doorway because like you said, it's complicated.
"Listen, Mercedes- I-." You stop yourself before taking a deep breath. She comes toward you and embraces you in a hug.
"It's okay. You don't have to explain anything."
It's then you start to sob again and you wonder if it'll ever stop. "I feel so useless."
"It's okay, we all do. Just let it out." She says. "Let it out."
It snows Christmas morning. Your heart leaps with the utmost joy you've had in a while as you stand in front of the window of your bedroom.
Quinn adores white Christmases. "It's a testament to the way things should be."
She had told you, long ago. Snuggled together watching the snowfall from Quinn's tiny dorm window in New Haven.
You turn your attention to her now, the rise and fall of her chest, her hair splayed over the pillows you share and you almost climb back into the bed. Wishing for a moment that if you did you could be transported back into that time where tomorrows seemed endless.
Instead you kneel beside her and push some of the hair from her face.
"Babe. Wake up." You say softly. "It's Christmas morning."
She grunts and you chuckle a bit. Watching as her eyebrows knit together, you speak up again. "It's snowing."
Instantly your meet with the eyes of the woman you love.
"Are you tired?" You ask.
"Is it really snowing?" She ask, combatting your question with one of her own.
You nod as she sits up and turns toward the window.
She watches as the snow falls a long while and you watch her. It's much later when she reaches out for your hand and you join her on the bed.
"Do you remember that Christmas we missed our flights home?"
You only smile and nod.
"I didn't care, because I had you and it end up snowing that morning."
"Yeah. You said white Christmas's are a testament to how things should be."
She finally takes her eyes off the snow and looks at you. Her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. "You remember that?"
"How could I forget? That was probably the best Christmas of my life."
"Even though we ate Doritos and Skittles for dinner."
"Hell. Fucking. Yeah."
She laughs leaning into you as your arm finds their way easily around her.
"You know, I think what you said about white Christmas's is true."
"Hm." She commits and your hands find hers.
"It's kinda like us. You and me together. It's a testament to how things should be."
It takes her a moment. To realize it. To connect what you've said and the way your holding her left hand in yours. But she does. The moment her eyes hit the ring on her finger she gasps.
"Santana."
A/N: I may continue this verse in the future but for now the following chapters will be one shots.
