a/n ('nother shout out to Roch (gleerant on tumblr) for use of her Sugar!verse, and to JJ (themostrandomfandom on tumblr) too)
(If you're not familiar with the verse, Britt and San have a baby - by parthenogenesis - Roch and JJ go large - who gets into Britt's time machine to become Sugar. This is before she's born).
Waiting
Somewhere around forever, it's a minute til noon.
They've been sitting in the waiting room. It feels like forever. Brittany can count on her fingers and the toes of one foot how many months it's been actually, but it feels like they've been spit out of the event horizon on an infinite outward trajectory. Four hundred fifty-seven days of temperature taking, viscosity monitoring, injecting and being injected with crazy-making chemicals, trips to the money floor of the clinic, fertility to the left and plastic surgery to the right, no insurance necessary because no insurance covers it, but who's counting? Egg collection sucks, and they fucking die over and over. Nobody knows why.
This is new; there are no guarantees. On the money floor there are never guarantees, only success stories and odds. They've spent enough to cover a couple months in a top-floor ocean-view room on Kauai, with room service, but who's counting? The injections have them both on edge. Have had them both on edge, for four hundred forty-three days. The stress has gutted their sex drives. Santana has put on some weight. It's not like she doesn't look fine, she does, but she's uncomfortable, and she's pissed that Brittany hasn't. Brittany reminds herself all day every day to roll with it, reconnect with why she's here in the first place, and treat herself and the love of her life gently. It takes work.
She'd been prepared to wait for Santana for a long time, even, but they'd both caved after just a few weeks. This is something she thought she could do, but after two hundred seventy-nine days, something seemed to go numb inside. She steeled herself, came back to the task daily. Why are we doing this? What are the steps? What is the next step?
Baby baby honey baby you know I'd love our baby even if it didn't come from us. Did she say that aloud? After three hundred sixty-three days she'd called a house meeting. How long can this go on? Why are we doing it this way, exactly?
They'd fought. In their way, silently, avoiding eye contact, but somehow always ending up glued together in the mornings. Isn't Happily Ever After supposed to be easy? But it never has been. Loving her is easy. It's the easiest thing. Being with her is necessary. Like water. Ever After is work, being conscious of how they are different, and they are so different, and accepting their limitations as much as possible, filling in where the other is unable. Seeking help where both of them suck.
Making babies together is one of those places. Who'd a thunk it?
So much chemistry between them, but among them? Not so much. So, to the money floor. Brittany was over it. If it didn't take this time, she really doesn't want to continue. She doesn't want another fight. She hates fighting Santana. But she loves Santana. Like water.
Santana's thumb nervously, almost abrasively, strokes the places between her knuckles.
This is the time. This is the time to be right here, right now. Because this time is the time. This time has to happen, this time. Brittany stills Santana's hands, looks into her eyes. She knows. This is the time. The PA with the clipboard calls them.
This is her cue. This is when she invokes all the calm and positive she can connect with and evokes all the cozy comfort Santana needs. Touch is key. They stand. Brittany steadies her arm, the most ladylike gentlemanly lady ever, then places a hand low on her back. Santana is avoiding eye contact again. Baby baby baby baby baby. This is the time, baby. Brittany places her other hand on Santana's cheek, careful but also possessive. Their eyes meet, sink into each other. This is the time, baby. This is the time, baby. This time. This time.
She.
(She!)
She is the time baby.