Title: Familiar Strangers
Author: J Rease
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.
Summary: Brittany has a rare brain condition. What happens when Brittany can't recognize her own newborn daughter's face? VERY loosely based on Prosopagnosia, also known as face blindness.
Author's Note: From this prompt from havenforafrazzledmind:
Santana/Brittany. A struggle in their relationship later in life. Infidelity? illness? Who plays Santa Claus this year?
Popping my Brittana cherry. Go easy on me I'm trying. All mistakes are mine. I feel a bit rusty.
Familiar Strangers
For havenforafrazzledmind on tumblr.
Having a child was the most glorious thing Brittany could have done with her body. No dance would ever compare to it; at least none she had done herself. She experienced the movements of childbirth with appreciative eyes. She found sustenance in pain and beauty in the aftermath. Karinn was born naturally, twisting from Brittany's womb and dancing into the world without tears. Her daughter; their daughter had stared directly into her eyes without fear- like she had been here before and knew what to expect. Brittany stared back, unwavering, lost in her child's eyes and the loud whimpers of Santana's happy crying.
Then she felt it happen.
The edges of her vision began to blur. And Brittany tried to remember as much of her daughter's face as she could; even if it would change so quickly in the coming weeks. She tried to remember the contrast of her browned skin and crystal blue eyes. She tried to force the dimple in her chin to commit to memory. Brittany tried so hard to remember her daughter's toothless smile, so maybe later she can fill in the blanks to a face that would only disappear in a crowd.
She tried to hold on to that moment, but time moved and she'd lost everything but that first glance.
Santana held their child, rocking Karinn against her with tears still storming down her face-a face that Brittany could never forget because Santana had been there before her condition had deleted the building blocks of recognition. She only wished Karinn looked like Santana, so it wouldn't be as hard to guess the features on her itty bitty face. The nurses took their baby girl for tests, and tired, Brittany slept.
. . . ( ). . .
"Which one, San?"
Brittany couldn't read the tiny letters on the clear beds in the nursery. All the pink and blue hats sat atop heads she couldn't make out. Santana put her hand at the bottom of Brittany's back. She led her over to the corner of the glass and she pointed at the tiny little person lying still in her crib.
"She's the only one not crying, Britt. Our girl is so tough."
Brittany smiled, getting lost in the wriggling little girl staring at the ceiling. Karinn had a three little moles on her left foot; Brittany would remember that— she could. They watched their daughter through the glass, Santana's reassuring hand never leaving the bottom of Brittany's back.
"Everyone is on their way...maybe you should get some sleep."
Brittany nodded to her wife, and let her lead the way back to her room.
. . . ( ). . .
When Santana came back, they had moved Karinn to Brittany's hospital room. The tiny see through crib sat next to Brittany's bed, and her baby wiggled contently inside of it. There were too many people here to see their child all at once, so they came in groups of three. These faces were faces she wouldn't forget. Some of them were hazy (like Mercedes, who she got to know at the beginning of her diagnosis), and others were ingrained in her memory like she had seen them yesterday (like Quinn, who had come in bashfully holding Rachel's hand). They came in, coddling and smiling and playing with her daughter until everyone had had a chance to catch up; until visiting hours were over. Santana kissed her before she left to drive their friends to their hotels.
Brittany was left alone to feed Karinn; who wouldn't latch to her at first. But hunger won out and she gave her daughter nourishment as she reflected on what life would bring them.
Brittany can never remember the name of her condition. Santana just calls it face blindness, because Brittany can never pronounce the long P word. Brittany remembers how it started. High school wasn't the easiest for her. Remembering details of things she didn't care to learn had left her uninterested. Doctors gave her prognosis and medicine for imaginary conditions (like dyslexia, adhd, one doctor had even told her parents that she may be on the autism spectrum). But nothing worked, and her condition only got worse. When they finally gave her condition a name, doctors didn't know how to treat such a selective case. She remembered her parents, close friends, and constant fixtures (like Mr. Schue), but she could never recognize the people who came into her life after her sophomore year of high school.
That was the year everything started to fade.
Santana helped her cope. They played games like guess the haircut- where Brittany would recognize people by the color of their arms and their hairstyle. Sometimes, Brittany used to think that her brain erased people she did recognize (like when she thought the girl on her prom committee was Rachel...because of her ugly sweater and knee socks). Most people just attributed it to her being stupid; but Santana would never let her believe that.
During her repeated senior year, Brittany was lost. She threw herself into her books for once, hoping to avoid the blurry faces of her unknown classmates, and she graduated without a C on her report card. She and Santana had broken up countless times that year, but they managed to work things out in the time it took Brittany to move to New York.
It was nice to have someone so familiar to her again. Santana was one of the few people Brittany could see with her eyes shut... And that was something she needed to hold on to.
The baby fell away from her, seemingly full. She put Karinn's head in the crook of her neck and she patted softly against her fragile skin. It took a few moments, but she belched (then threw up), and Brittany changed her little hospital onesy and put her down to sleep. She would never see her daughter's face again; she could never recall the features all her friends said she would grow up to share with Brittany. But she would remember every single thing else.
. . . ( ). . .
By trade, Brittany is a linguist. To date, she fluently speaks six different languages. Most people she knew expected her to grow up and become some famous dancer; some well-known choreographer. Dancing was a passion she could pursue in her own time. People rarely asked her what she thought she would do with her life; the ones who did were often shocked she actually knew what that something was. How many people she'd surprised when she got her first assignment; translating at some political function in D.C..
Maternity leave nearly drove her insane. Brittany was never good with inactivity; she always needed something to do. She was home constantly, tailoring her day around her daughter while Santana worked. She wished desperately that she could dance, but her stitches hadn't healed and her body was still broken from childbirth. She had too much time to wonder about seeing Karinn's face; if her mind would let her vision clear to see what's behind the blur. Brittany learns who her daughter is through body language. She knows that when Karinn kicks her feet, she's wet. When she's hungry, her tiny hands ball into fists and she holds her breath before wailing. Brittany fixes her hair with pretty purple ribbons, because the royal color contrasts so beautifully with her tan skin (she hates to admit it; but the ribbons are there more for Brittany than anything else). Every day she learns something new about her child; and every day that passes she loses a bit of faith that she'll ever see her smile.
Before Brittany realizes it; her maternity leave is over, and it's Karinn's first day at day care. Santana comes with her, carrying her purple baby bag as they leave their daughter behind with other babies without faces. Brittany cries. Santana holds her. They repeat the process every day until they can drop her off without tears. Santana picks her up most days; because sometimes the day care takes out Karinn's purple ribbons and Brittany panics until one of the staff brings her baby to her.
Brittany almost always checks beneath Karinn's sock on days like that, making sure there are three moles on her foot before driving home.
. . . ( ). . .
Karinn's first word is "no". They only know it's her first word because she shakes her head and crosses her arms at the spoonful of mashed peas Santana tries to feed her for breakfast. Brittany almost drops the pan of eggs she's holding and Santana picks their daughter up from her high chair and swings her happily around the room.
"Do you want more peas, baby?"
And Karinn's head shakes from side to side as she giggles in Santana's arms.
"No!" Her baby shouts it with purpose around a mouth full of chuckles.
Brittany watches with rapt attention; her ears alive with the sound of her daughter's voice. She'll never forget the sound.
. . . ( ). . .
Karinn takes her first step at her first birthday party. Of course, Artie has his camera ready as she all but runs into Santana's arms at the sight of the clown. Brittany drops the cake when she sees it, and she runs over to her daughter with her arms outstretched. Karinn wobbles over, a chorus of Mama on her tongue as Brittany accepts her teetering baby. They eat the birthday cake off the kitchen floor, and no one but Rachel really protests too much.
. . . ( ). . .
Brittany knows her baby by her walk by the time she turns five. She can point her out of a crowd without panic, and the sound of Karinn's voice always solidifies her recognition. She still puts purple ribbons in Karinn's hair because the little girl has grown accustomed to having them there (along with the purple headbands Rachel keeps dropping off in abundance). Brittany is used to Karinn's line of questioning. Her rambunctious little girl wants to know the answers to everything. Brittany doesn't mind often, and she can usually answer questions with her child goggles on.
"Mama how do you see me?"
Karinn's thumb is in her mouth, so the words come out jumbled. The little girl is coloring at the kitchen table, her feet swinging back and forth nonchalantly. Brittany doesn't know how to answer her for a moment- she thought having two mothers would be Karinn's most important question. She puts down the dish she's washing and she goes over to where her baby is sitting.
"What do you mean, sweetie? I see you how you are..."
"Well Mommy says you can't see me like other people can. Am I hiding from your eyes?"
Brittany takes a moment before running her fingertips down the length of Karinn's face. She feels two beautiful eyes (San tells her they're so blue they look like glass sometimes), a button nose, and full, pouty lips.
"I can see you with my hands. I know your voice and how you smell and the sound of your laughter. You're not hiding. I just see you from my heart; I see you without eyes."
Karinn sits back against the chair, the purple crayon in her hand. She sits back up in a flurry of motion before scribbling haphazardly on her drawing paper. She slides the sheet over to Brittany when she's done, and Brittany marvels in the connection her daughter made on paper.
There's a little girl with a dress on. Her purple bow lopsided. Her heart is drawn in the middle of her chest below a face with only squiggly lines as the features.
"Is this what you see, Mama?"
Brittany can only nod as she wipes away a tear before it falls.
"Yea, sweetie. Just like that."
Karinn sighs heavily.
"Will I see like that too one day?"
A tear falls before Brittany catches it.
"Let's hope not sweetie, I hope the way you see faces stay the same."
She can tell her daughter is smiling when she speaks next.
"Well as long as I remember you and Mommy, I will be okay."
It's one of the first pictures Karinn has drawn specifically for their refrigerator. Brittany never takes it down.
. . . ( ). . .
Before she was inseminated, Brittany didn't know if she wanted children. She couldn't fathom making a child with a stranger; wondering whose traits her daughter possessed other than her own. So when they set out to get pregnant, they found a man similar to Santana in ethnicity, features, as well interests. It had been a long search, but they finally found a man whose sperm would be as similar to Santana's had she had the right plumbing.
So it shocked her when Karinn started picking up Santana's habits. It shocked her when she could compare Santana's body language to Karinn's. It made her smile when her daughter's chuckle sounded so much like her wife's. As the years flew by, Brittany couldn't find too many things Karinn had in common with her other than DNA.
"Mama, why does math exist?"
Brittany smirked, looking to her seven year old daughter as she sat slumped over her homework, curtains of sandy brown and blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders.
"Math is the only way teachers are allowed to torture students, baby. It'll get easier. When I was younger, I hated math too. Just like you do now."
Brittany imagines Karinn smiling. She sees high cheekbones and the dimple in her chin. In her head she can almost grasp the lazy smile her daughter gives her.
"Well, if fractions are this hard...I don't know how much easier this could get."
Karinn begins humming. Brittany knows the tune from one of Santana's old Amy Winehouse cd's. Humming has become a tick of Karinn's- usually when she was thinking too hard about how she should ask a question-
"Well, if me and Mommy like all the same things...what parts of me are like you?"
Brittany thinks for a few moments.
"Well...you love magic. And you love Sir Tubbs the third almost as much as I loved his great granddad. You like to dance as much as I do-"
"Now that you bring that up, Mama, we should talk about that."
"What, dancing?"
"Yea... Mommy said I can only join a class if I was really sure. And it was between gymnastics and ballet. She said whatever I picked I would have stick with it. Cuz Karinn Pierce-Lopez don't quit nothin..." Karinn makes odd hand gestures that Brittany is sure Santana taught her. Her daughter continues. "... At least that's what Mommy said. She said both of them is going to be gruelsome."
"Gruesome."
Karinn clucks her tongue.
"Right. That. She said if I do this, that it would be like a promise. And I think... I think...no I'm sure want to dance, Mama. Just like you. I don't care how long it takes, I just want to dance. I'll try hard and I won't quit and I know I can be as good as Aunt Quinn and I'll practice as hard as Uncle Mike and I won't stop ever if you just say it's okay-"
Brittany feels tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. Her daughter breathes in a deep breath, and Brittany stops her from continuing a very Rachel Berry rant.
"Okay. You can do it, but only if you really want to. And only...only if we can practice together sometimes."
It's one of the first times she aches so badly to see her daughter's face. She closes her eyes when Karinn hugs her, and she pretends for a few seconds she can see her daughter's smile.
. . . ( ). . .
Quinn had come to visit the day after Karinn's twelfth birthday. She brought her big sketch pad and her drawing and shading pencils, and she made Karinn sit for hours to draw her portrait. In her tutu. Karinn had been selected to star in Swan Lake, and Quinn wanted to give her something personal for the big event.
Quinn had been practicing for months, busy with her art classes in between acting gigs, and Brittany watched quietly as Karinn sat as still as she possibly could. Quinn refused to let Brittany see anything until she finished, and honestly-Brittany hadn't expected to see anything at all. But when Quinn turned the page toward Brittany, shades of grey and ashen contours of her daughters face smiled beautifully back at her.
Karinn's hair was twisted in a wavy bun by her infamous ribbon. Small wisps of hair dangled in her eyes and down her chin. Her eyebrows were thick and unruly in the most childish of ways. High cheekbones stretched beside a slender nose, and full lips lead to a soul touching smile. The dimple in her chin had to quiver when she cried, and Brittany couldn't talk herself out of the logistics of Karinn favoring Santana.
The only color Quinn had used on the piece was the blue of Karinn's eyes; which shimmered so fiercely like her own.
. . .
The first doctor they went to claimed what Brittany saw wouldn't change anything. No matter how much Brittany stared at her picture, her daughter's face was still a blur whenever she looked away. As one doctor put it, they were "pretty pictures on a canvas that your mind can't associate to real people."
They kept looking.
When they found Dr. Anne Carlson, she and Santana thought it would lead to the first step in her recovery. Anne was an art therapist specializing in creative alternatives and art inspired remedies- and she was the most enthusiastic therapist they had met thus far. Brittany's therapy trials began, and Santana and Karinn were supportive through the highs and lows. Brittany pressed on even when there was nothing to show for the effort and hard work she'd dedicated to getting better. One thing Brittany did know about therapy was that through pictures, she had a different view of the world.
Soon, the shaded and hand drawn pictures filled in the gaps her mind created. When she looked to her daughter, she could always let the pencil drawing take the place of her face. As time progressed, she began to depend solely on drawn pictures to better cope with her fading recognition.
Brittany kept a copy Quinn's drawing of Karinn in her wallet.
. . . ( ). . .
By the time Karinn turned thirteen, Brittany could close her eyes and picture her face without aid. Sure, it took dozens of lifelike pencil drawings to get her there (pictures with different facial expressions; different frowns and smiles), but it was better than not knowing; being unable to imagine. The next face she managed to remember belonged to a little girl named Shannon. She'd walked into her and Santana's home holding onto Quinn's hand; shy and polite but cautious. Rachel followed after, a wallet sized drawing clutched in her hand. Shannon was Quinn and Rachel's daughter.
The adoption had finally gone through.
Brittany and Santana had been so happy for them, and even more when Shannon and Karinn hit it off, giggling and whispering secrets between them when it was time to leave. Brittany could close her eyes and picture the two of them together; and it felt like progress.
. . . . ( ). . .
Between work, therapy and Karinn's extra-curriculars Brittany and Santana rarely had time alone between the two of them. She hadn't noticed until the house was empty, Karinn gone for the weekend for a sleep over at Shannon's; her first official sleep over ever. Santana had a random weekend off, and Brittany found herself missing the freedom they had before parenthood. She snuggled closer into Santana's chest, ignoring the random movie playing on the television screen.
She stared at her wife. Age had done Santana well. She remembers every feature of Santana's face. Even when she closes her eyes, she can see the love of her life through the darkness. It's sweet; that Santana will never be a stranger to her...that her face is ingrained so deeply in her memory. She sometimes wishes she knew where the switch was. She wishes she knew the trick to remembering, to never forgetting.
She wishes she had that switch for everyone.
Age has done them both well- she grew out of her naiveté, she played by all the rules grown-ups were supposed to play by; she didn't hide behind her rainbow tinted glasses anymore. But through the maturity, she is still optimistic. She still gets to believe in magic. She expects that her world with Santana will never change. She expects her eyes to never forget this face; one of her most important.
"Why are you staring at me that way?"
Brittany smiles. It's slow and it heats her cheeks and Santana should know what admiration looks like after all these years.
"You, silly. Who else would I stare at that way?"
Santana chuckles.
"Well...why are you staring?"
"Because you're so beautiful; I never want to forget your face."
She kisses Santana, long and soft. She lets her eyes close and Brittany isn't afraid that she'll fade from the place behind her eyelids.
"Well, Britts, I think that's impossible now. And even if you ever do forget... I'll be here to help you remember."
Brittany believes her; she really does.
. . . ( ). . .
"Sometimes I get tired of seeing things this way."
Brittany shakes her head even though she has no thoughts to clear; even though she's talking on the telephone.
"I mean... Sam- I feel like I'm stuck in this big comic book. All I see is caricatures on human bodies. Big grey shaded bobble heads- I just; I want to make progress. I want to be able to see everyone's kids without those stupid pictures. It's getting so...frustrating."
"Is it better than not seeing anything?"
Brittany sighs.
"Of course it's better. But now I just expect so much more. Every little step further I get... I wonder if I will get closer to a cure or step further away from it."
She hears Sam yawn. She's sure that he's rocking his son in his arms...she's sure he's tired over in California.
"Brittany just- it'll get easier. You'll find your compass and it'll lead you somewhere where you can see again. It'll get better. I'm sure it will."
She lets Sam go soon after, sitting at her vanity with the phone clutched to her chest. She didn't tell him what she wanted to tell him. She didn't tell anyone what was really happening. When she set the phone down and looked into her mirror, she couldn't recognize the person staring back at her.
. . . ( ). . .
She doesn't look in mirrors. For the longest time, she's in denial. She told herself that she'd never lose sight of herself. She figured it was a trick her mind was playing. She would run her fingers down her own face and try her best to put the puzzle pieces back together. For a long time they didn't fit. When she told Anne, the woman put her hand on her knee and told her that it would get worse before it got better, and all they could do was wait. And then Anne smiled. It's the first time Brittany has seen the woman, and she's breathtakingly real in front of her.
Brittany could only smile back at her.
The next person she sees is Shannon. It was her seventeenth birthday, and they were all at Quinn and Rachel's place. It was the moment Shannon blew her candles out that she saw her.
She kept that picture in her wallet. A real one with color. And skin and smiles.
The next face she sees without help is the face of Micah Johnston, the boy who took Karinn to prom.
She wishes she could forget that one (because who wants to remember the boy who broke their daughter's heart?).
Every day that passed, Brittany hoped would be the day she saw Karinn in living color.
She waited patiently.
. . . ( ). . .
Karinn gets into a dance academy. It's one of the best in New York City, and they are proud to watch their daughter major in ballet. She's nailed the lead role in every performance; she's headlined every recital. They've been to every show, since the beginning. Brittany has been waiting for the moment her switch will flick and she'll see her daughter for the first time. She watches her daughter move, gliding on tip toe flawlessly; extending her legs and falling delicately back into position. She watches her daughter enjoying the fluidity of dance; she watches her daughter completely at ease on the stage.
Brittany starts crying when the music comes to a close; and somewhere inside of her, a switch flicks.
The crowd is throwing roses at her daughter's feet; Karinn is smiling and blushing at the same time and Brittany is taken with the color in her cheeks. She's wearing her purple ribbon, curly strands tumble and halo her face; her perfect face.
It's the first time she's seen Karinn so truly since birth.
Karinn smiles at them warmly.
Brittany won't ever forget the sight.
End.