Rated T for Santana's unforgiving sailor mouth. This story is written very loosely, almost like a stream of consciousness. I would imagine Santana to be the type of person to curse frequently in her thoughts.
Inspired by the first time I ever looked after my nephew a couple years ago. When you're new to being around babies and how fragile they are, the realization that there is an infinite number of ways in which they can get irreparably damaged is terrifying. Don't underestimate it.
I don't own Glee or any of the characters involved in this story, except Alba.
And it's at that exact moment that Santana knows something is horribly wrong.
She knows enough about babies by now to know that they cry about pretty much everything. But no, apparently not her baby, because Alba is still sitting quietly in her carrier.
Her mother would have given her a crispy, new five dollar bill, ruffled her hair, and gone back to whatever superficial, trophy-wife event she had planned for the day. But damn it, Santana has spent the last ten years desperately trying not to become her mother, and she must be fucking insane to think that giving a baby money is going to rectify this situation. If anything, anything happens to her daughter just because she was too damn careless she will get that shotgun she knows is concealed in the back of Puck's truck and shoot herself in the face. Well... Maybe she'd ask Puck to pull the trigger for her.
This is her baby girl, her little piece of sunshine, the tiny princess to her castle, and the fact that the little girl is not crying after blasting her head against the hard wall is not just troubling, it is absolutely terrifying. And Santana feels like the world's worst mother as she kneels in front of an oblivious Alba and stares at her with a horrified expression.
Her daughter is smiling. The little girl just suffered some undeniably brutal brain damage, and she is now looking up into Santana's eyes, the corners of her mouth rising as the seconds pass and she lifts her little fists in the air, reaching out to touch her mother's frozen face. Well, fuck... It's worse than she thought. Alba's pain perception has obviously been obliterated by the impact. Santana ruined her daughter.
What have you done, Lopez? You've had her for less than a year and you already broke her.
Fuck, Brittany's going to hate her. Not only did she not finish cleaning out the garage like she had promised the night before, but she managed to give their daughter some irreversible brain trauma.
How could she have been so damn reckless? So damn irresponsible to not have taken the necessary precautions and make sure that Alba's carrier would not fucking move from where she'd set it on top of the counter?
Shaking her head in regretful shame, her eyes land on a pile of discarded items on the floor to her left. On top of the makeshift pile: a half-used tube of super glue. She slaps herself in the face. What was she thinking? It's so obvious.
You should have fucking super glued the carrier to the counter, moron!
Her graduate school diploma that Brittany had proudly hung up next to the bookcase in their living room was probably burning in its frame by now. What good was a master's degree if its owner couldn't even figure out how to properly ensure the safety of their own offspring? At least Alba's blonde mother was a genius; hopefully the little girl would take after her wife.
Santana had just wanted to enjoy some quality bonding time with her daughter while she went through the pile of boxes in the corner of the garage. She'd been careful, too… Or so she thought. Santana had Alba even strapped in her green car seat to keep her daughter from launching herself off the counter.
And Alba had been happy, so happy to see her silly Mama parade around in front of her holding odd items over her head and making blubbering noises. Santana had even found a bag of Brittany's old hats from high school, and had then gone ahead and piled them on, laughing along with her daughter while she counted just how many would fit before the small mountain collapsed, immediately eliciting Alba's tiny baby claps and excited laughter.
Her daughter's obvious contentment had been the perfect way to spend her unusual weekday off. It had been a while since she'd had this golden opportunity, and looking into Brittany's tired eyes that morning, Santana had quickly called Quinn and told her to take her wife out for the day and let her get a very well-deserved break. And she had totally not regretted that decision… until now.
She hadn't expected Alba's excitement to spread through her body, making the little girl shake with laughter. Shake violently, apparently, causing the carrier to tip to the side take her daughter with it. The loud thud against the wall had been followed by her Alba's confused whimper and Santana's very second heart attack (the first having occurred the day Brittany went into labor, of course).
What am I supposed to say to her when she gets home? Oh hey Britt, hope you had a nice day to relax and kick back today, but listen, I accidentally let our daughter slam her head against the wall so that's why she's acting kind of weird. No big deal, right?
Alba's eyes light up as Santana bends down and picks her up. A chubby little fist instantly wraps around Santana's hair as the older woman takes a deep breath and carries her daughter inside. Before closing the door after her, she reaches one hand back in the direction of the disaster zone and promptly flips the garage wall off.
Fuck that wall. Bitch has never met the fiery passion of the Lopez determination. No one hurts her daughter and gets away with it. She mentally reminds herself to have the garage wall demolished sometime next week. Her mind quickly drifts off to that old sledge hammer also found in the back of Puck's truck. The guy's similar inability to clean his car makes this even better. She'll beat the shit out of that wall herself.
With a renewed sense of purpose, she heads in the direction of the kitchen, intent on finding something cold to soothe her daughter's forehead. She wraps a paper towel around a bag of peas and carefully places it on the giant bump that's quickly beginning to turn an angry red.
Alba fusses at the cold sensation and makes some garbled noises. Santana kisses her daughter's cheek and wraps her arm more firmly around the tiny body. Whether these actions are meant to calm Alba down or herself, she's not sure. All she knows is that she's going to fix this. Alba is going to be just fine.
"Santana, you have to slow down. I'm not understanding anything. What happened to the baby?"
She decided to call Tina. The woman's a doctor, she must be of some use, right? Except, maybe not, because all she's been doing for the past five minutes is interrupt her with confused questions and just complete bewilderment.
…stupid Tina.
"Her head. She hit her head against the wall and I think she must have broken something or whatever because she's acting kind of weird and I'm starting to think she might have some permanent damage going on in her head because she's babbling more and trying to touch my face and making little faces at me and she's not even crying, she's just sitting there staring at me and—"
"Okay! I get it, calm down!"
"No no no, you don't understand." Santana continues pacing in front of the living room couch, where Alba is sitting quietly with a toothless smile on her face as she looks at her frantic mother. "Tina, something's not right. I can feel it!" She kneels in front of her daughter and stares at her, eyes wide in fear and the corners of her mouth frowning. "Call it mother's intuition, but something's not right with my baby."
"Mother's intuition… What?" The other woman on the phone pauses for a moment before continuing. "You're saying she hit her head? Where?"
"On that stupid garage wall, I wasn't looking and she—"
"No, Santana. I meant what part of her head?"
"Oh, the side. She tipped over in her carrier and banged her head on that useless wall."
"Well, was she unconscious at any time?"
"God no, she was awake."
"Okay, did she rupture her skin from the impact? Did she bleed?"
"Jeez, Tina." Santana now directs her frown at her phone. "These are some horrible questions you're asking. No, no blood."
"Did she bruise, then?"
"Yeah, I tried to cool it off with a bag of peas earlier. It's just red right now."
Tina makes a confused sound. "So what else happened? Any obvious dizziness? Vomiting?"
"No, none of that. Tina, are you asking the right questions? They don't seem to apply to my situation here."
"Well, I'm trying to figure out what the problem is, Santana. You're not giving me much to work with."
The problem? Isn't it enough that Alba is practically catatonic? Stupid Tina.
"The problem!? What kind of doctor are you?" Santana once again stands up, her eyebrows scrunching in slight alarm. "My daughter just whacked her head against the wall and she's acting like nothing even happened. There's something obviously wrong with all this. Shouldn't you know what's wrong with my baby? You're Asian! You're supposed to be a genius at your job!"
A few seconds pass before Tina replies. "First of all, that's incredibly racist. I may be slightly used to that from you by now, but that was unnecessary. And second, what am I supposed to diagnose? All you've said is that Alba hit her head and that she's not crying and is generally fine by now. I don't see the any major issues here other than her having a bruise for a few days."
"My daughter could have just gotten some brain damage from that fuu—" Alba's baby laugh stops her just in time. "…freaking wall, and you're not doing anything to help me out here. Why did I call you!? You're a horrible doctor!"
An annoyed grunt can be heard on the line, followed by some shuffling noises. It's about two minutes after that Tina finally continues. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm going to need to know just how bad that hit was. Can you remember what kind of noise was made when Alba's head collided with the wall?"
Okay, she's finally taking you seriously. Now to get down to business.
"Well, it was kind of like a…" Santana scratches the back in her neck while she replays the horrible, nightmare-inducing sound in her head. "A loud… BUMPH."
"Hmm, that kind of sound, huh?" She hears some muffled noises before Tina continues. "Well, did it sound hollow in any way?"
"Hollow? Well, I'm not totally sure. I guess? Why does that matter?"
There's an obvious hesitation. "It matters because it could tell me just how bad the impact was. If it was a more hollow sound, then it means the wall wasn't as hard as the more compact, firm noises from the cement walls, do you understand?"
Huh, well, alright. Santana guesses that does make sense in a way. Kicking a cement wall would sound different and definitely hurt more. Maybe Tina wasn't as stupid as she thought.
"Okay, yeah. Makes sense. It was kind of a hollow sound now that I think about it."
"Kind of? Santana, I need you to be really specific about this. The extent of Alba's injuries could very well be determined by that sound."
And that instantly sparks a new wave of terror through Santana. She wasn't doing anything right today. Why couldn't she just remember that stupid noise and help her daughter to live.
Awesome job mothering today, Santana.
"I… I don't remember. Damn it!" Santana starts pacing even more frantically while beating her head with her free hand. "Tina, I really don't know. It was kind of a BUMPH but it also could've been a sharper sound, I don't know!"
"Calm down, Santana. I need you to remain calm through this, okay? Help me, help Alba." Even more shuffling down the line before Tina speaks, her voice now a little bit higher. "Hey, Santana. How about you replicate that sound. That could help."
Santana pauses.
Did this bitch just… What. The. Fuck.
"You want me to hit my daughter against the wall?" She gasps (more like yells) indignantly. "What is wrong with you!?"
"No! No, Santana, no. I meant to imitate that sound by doing something else. You could, I don't know, hit the wall yourself or something?"
"Oh." She bites her lip in thought. "Like, punch the wall myself?"
"Uh, yeah. Try that. We'll see if it's the same sound."
"Okay, I'm on it. I'll call you back."
Hanging up, Santana gathers Alba in her arms gingerly, kissing the spot just above the forming bruise. "It's okay, baby girl. Your Mama's gonna figure this out, okay? Don't worry."
This time, Santana takes every precaution before finally setting Alba down. She places small boxes and containers all around the carrier, then uses duct tape to make sure that tragedy would not strike twice.
"Okay." She carefully shakes the carrier, pleased when it doesn't move at all. "Perfect." She smiles warmly at her daughter before calling Tina back.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I'm in the garage now. Do I just hit it?"
"That's the plan. Just go for it. I need to hear as close to the original sound as possible."
"Alright," Santana looks around the area for a minute, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, she just shrugs her shoulders before standing right in front of the wall, drawing her arm back. "Here we go, listen close." She brings her arm forward, knuckles colliding with the wall harshly.
Fwak.
"Wait, no. That's not it at all. Let me try again."
Fwaph.
"Maybe harder?"
Plack. Pamg. Pamph.
"Uh… Tina, it's not working." She shakes her wrist. "And my knuckles are starting to hurt."
"Hmm." She hears even more shuffling on the line.
What the heck is that?
"Hey, Tina. What's that noise? What are you doin—"
"It must be because you're punching the wall," Tina quickly interrupts. "You said Alba hit her head. The skull is much more firm than the bones in your hand. That's what's causing the different sound…" She trails off.
"Oh." She looks on, confused.
So she can't punch the wall. Santana looks at her bruising knuckles, then takes a look at the wall. Behind her, Alba's amused gurgles and shifting catches her attention. Her eyes instantly zero in on the red bruise on the side of her daughter's forehead.
Oh. Now I get it.
"So I have to hit my head too?"
"I think that's the only way to really duplicate the sound, Santana. Sorry." Tina sighs.
Santana purses her lips. "Okay, then."
She hears some muffled noises from the line, but is now too focused on just how to make this work.
Easy enough, right? Just slam my head against that dumbass wall.
"…here goes."
She grabs the phone away from her ear before closing her eyes. Sighing, she moves her head back. Then, headbutts the wall. Hard.
BUMPH.
"Ugh," she grunts, squinting her eyes as she hears Alba's laughter. Her daughter is a cruel little girl. "Tina, did you hear that? That was spot on."
"Oh, sorry Santana. I didn't hear that properly. I think you held the phone too far away from the impact. Can you try again? Maybe you're hitting to lightly, I really can't hear."
"Tina, what the hell?!" She shuts her eyes in frustration. "Ugh, listen close."
Again, Santana moves her head back, making sure to keep the phone nearer. This time, she puts more force in her forward movement.
BUMPH.
"Gah!" She brings her hand up to rub the now very sore spot. She hears what sounds like muffled giggles on the line. "Tina… Are you laughing!?"
"What?! No!" Tina clears her throat. "Of course I'm not. I was coughing." She hears a light cough. "I'm sick."
"Oh, okay..." Again, Santana can hear Alba's little chuckles. "Well, Alba is. Uh, that was the sound, by the way. Did you hear it?"
There's silence for a few moments before Tina responds, her voice sounding a bit down. "Yeah. I did. It sounded dull, Santana. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Do you feel like you have brain damage now?"
Santana takes a minute to think. "But she's a baby. Her head is way more fragile than mine. That doesn't count."
"She's fine, Santana," Tina's voice gets a bit warmer. "She was laughing just fine. I heard her. I think she must have been more shocked at the impact of the wall than hurt in any way, okay? Your daughter is okay, don't worry."
Santana looks back at Alba. The baby raises her head and locks eyes with her mother, grinning a cheeky smile and shaking her little fists in excitement.
Hay, bebé. You just gave your Mama a shorter lifespan.
"You sure, Tina?"
Tina chuckles. "Alba's okay, Santana. If her bruising gets any worse just make sure to cool it for a little bit and everything should be fine."
"Okay, great." Santana lets out a deep breath. "Thanks, Tina."
"No problem. Give Alba a kiss for me, okay?"
"I will." She pauses for a bit, debating whether or not to say the next part. "Umm, could we… Can you keep this conversation between you and me? I don't really want Bri—anyone knowing I just flipped out over a bruise, you know?"
There's the shuffling again, before Tina responds. "Sure thing, I won't tell anyone what happened. Promise."
"Cool, thanks again, Tina."
Putting her phone in her pocket, Santana turns around to unfasten the carrier from its contraption before scooping up Alba, hugging her daughter tight.
No more scares from you, little girl.
It's a little after 10:30pm when Santana and Brittany are finally snuggled in bed, ready to go to sleep. The curtains are down, the alarm is set, Brittany's half-filled glass of water is on her bedside table, Santana's trusty baseball bat is underneath her side of bed within reach (right next to the crowbar), and Alba's baby monitor is set to the highest volume, ready to alert her mothers at any time.
"Did you have a good time today, Britt?" Santana asks as she wraps her wife's arms closer around herself. After close to ten years of being together, she finally fully embraces her position as the little spoon, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped by the taller blonde.
Brittany yawns slightly before kissing the back of Santana's neck and replying. "I did, yeah. It was nice to have the day off. As much as I love being home with Alba, she seems to have your temper when it comes to pretty much everything. A whole day without any crying tantrums was relaxing."
"Hey!" Santana swats Brittany's arm lightly. "You love having us around. Don't deny it."
Santana hears the other woman chuckling and tightening their embrace. "I'm not. I missed you two like crazy. According to Quinn, I can't go a full five minutes without mentioning either of you."
"Oh yeah?" Santana smiles, turning her head to look back at her wife. "Well you were on my mind all day too, baby." She smirks. "If I weren't so damn tired right now, I'd tell you all about it. Maybe even show you some parts, too."
Brittany returns the smirk, lifting her head and peering down at Santana. "And if I weren't tired I'd try and demonstrate some stuff I learned from one of Quinn's Cosmo magazines today. Guaranteed to increase pleasure, it said." She closes her eyes and bites her lip dramatically. "It sounded hot."
Santana shifts around until she's on her back, looking up at her wife's scrunched face. "You sure you're tired? I could muster up some energy if you're up for it." Her smirk widens as brings a hand underneath Brittany's loose shirt and rests it on her ribcage.
The blonde opens her eyes and grins. "Well now that I think about it, I think I may just be up for a quick round." She leans her head down and kisses her wife's forehead, frowning when Santana flinches instantly. "What? What's wrong?"
Pain radiates from Santana's forehead, the skin still tender from her earlier headbutting match against the wall. She fights the urge to rub her hand on the bruise to soothe the pain away. Brittany had come home a bit late, and Santana had wisely decided to keep the lights low and her hair down to avoid any questioning.
"Nothing, I'm fine, sorry."
"Okay…" Brittany answers, unsure. She moves to straddle Santana and instantly sneaks her hands underneath the woman's tank top. "Since when do you sleep in a shirt, huh? I thought you said you couldn't stand summer." She lowers her body to whisper in Santana's ear. "Plus, it's totally slowing me down, here."
Santana bites her lip. Her wife is so damn hot. "Well, I'm not wearing anything underneath, so it's all good." She smirks before reaching up to grab Brittany's chin, moving her face just inches above her own. She licks her lips. "You sure you want to get started there, though?"
Brittany's eyes flutter quickly. "You're right. What was I thinking?" She crashes their lips together, her hands instantly moving up to grab the sides of Santana's head.
Once again, Santana tenses underneath the blonde's hands.
Ouch.
Brittany instantly lifts up, a worried look in her eyes. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, no. Sorry, baby. No, I just felt a chill, that's all."
"Oh," Brittany answers, now confused. She moves to lay her body fully on top of her wife's, snuggling her head in Santana's neck and wrapping her arms around her. "Are you getting sick, honey? Let me keep you warm."
Santana cringes uncomfortably. Brittany's head is pushing on her bruise slightly every time the blonde breathes. She subtly tries to move her head out of the way, but Brittany just burrows deeper into her body, even closer to the side of her head.
"Santana, why do you keep flinching?" Brittany raises her head to look down at Santana, a questioning expression on her face. "What's wrong?"
"I, uh… It's just…" Santana racks her brain for an acceptable excuse. "I hit my head… On the wa—DOOR! I hit my head on a door!" She lifts her hair away from her forehead. "See?"
Did you just lie to Brittany? Who are you?
"Oh, baby. Why didn't you say anything?" Brittany kisses the area around the forming bruise. "We talked about this, honey. You have to slow down. You can't just bust doors open in a hurry and not expect them to get angry and bounce back to hit you in the face. Which one was it this time?"
"The garage door…"
Close enough.
"Ouch. The garage door, huh?" Brittany goes back to spooning Santana's side, kissing her wife's bare shoulder.
"Yeah, it was… Uh… Traumatic…" Santana swallows hard. No, she never lies to her wife. Which is exactly why she's now starting to sweat while an uncomfortable feeling builds up in the pit of her stomach.
Damn it. Stay strong, Lopez.
"So uh, were you carrying Alba when you got hit? Because I saw she had a little bruise on her forehead too."
Santana body immediately goes rigid.
Oh, no. She's going to kill me. I'm a terrible, terrible mother. Oh my god, I'm horrible. I lied to my wife and got our baby daughter almost killed today. What the hell is wrong with me? I should just get down on my knees and start apologizing already. Maybe that way Brittany won't be so mad and she won't take Alba away from me. What if she does? What if she bans me from ever taking care of Alba ever again because I'm the world's biggest idiot…
"Santana?"
The brunette flinches. She looks at Brittany fully, her eyes wide with fear. "Britt… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… I just wanted to spend some time—"
Loud cries from the baby monitor instantly break Santana's nervous rambling.
Brittany instantly jumps off the bed, bending down to kiss Santana's lips lightly and flashing her a smile. "It's okay, honey. No big deal, alright? She's fine."
With that, Brittany skips out of the room and down the hall to their daughter's room, leaving Santana in despair.
Her wife's response had been… Surprisingly underwhelming. That was good, sure, but it didn't stop Santana from wanting to dig a hole in the ground to stick her head in and live the rest of her life as a shame-filled ostrich. Because really, who does that? Who lies to their wife about the well-being of their daughter?
You, apparently.
She really needs to stop being such a fuck-up.
"Hey, baby?" Brittany walks into the room, a now quiet Alba in her arms. The blonde crosses the room and sits next to Santana on the bed, their shoulders touching. "Now I feel bad about lying, too."
Santana raises her head from her hands, looking at Brittany questioningly.
"Quinn and I were at Tina's today."
"Huh?"
"We wanted to catch up with her." Brittany smiles sheepishly. "I was there when you called. Tina put you on speakerphone."
…what?
"You sounded so scared over a small bump like that. They wanted to tease you, I guess. We didn't think you'd actually believe the whole sound thing, you know?"
Santana turns her head to look Brittany in the eyes, a blank expression on her face. "So Alba was fine the whole time? That… That wasn't real?"
Brittany bites her lip and chuckles nervously. "Of course Alba was okay, baby. She just tipped over, barely felt it, probably. And uh, no… That was Quinn's idea."
You should feel really stupid right now. Quinn fucking Fabray just played you. Sound? What the fuck is that? Damn, you're dumb, Lopez.
"Oh." Santana brings a hand up to her face to touch her bruise. "So I hit my head for nothing?"
"Yeah, uh…" Brittany chews on her lip and looks down at their dozing daughter. "We thought you'd figure it out after punching the wall all those times. Tina kept it going, though."
Santana thinks it may be a much more productive idea to use Puckerman's sledge hammer on Tina's house, car… Everything, rather than on her dumbass garage wall. She vows to at least send her dear friend Tina some strongly-worded, yet still eloquent text messages the next morning.
Stupid Tina. Traitor.
"I'm sorry, honey. I stopped them right after I heard that second loud noise. I really didn't think you'd go that far just to replicate a sound."
"Well… I thought Alba was hurt, you know?" Santana purses her lips and looks down at her hands. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything when you came home. I thought you'd get really mad at me."
"Baby…" Brittany moves even closer to her wife, practically sitting on the other woman's lap by now. She kisses a tanned cheek and lays her head on Santana's shoulder. "It was an accident. Alba's fine, honey."
Santana wraps an arm around her wife, and brings her free hand to lightly stroke the baby hair on her daughter's head. "This little girl is gonna give me an actual heart attack someday."
Brittany chuckles. "I think she already did. You must've been in some kind of shock to actually ram your head against the garage wall that hard."
"I'm glad to know I didn't completely mess up our daughter today, then."
"I don't know, San." Brittany smiles fondly. "Alba seemed to be enjoying the show. Laughing at other people's pain; sounds like a Lopez thing."
Santana's smile widens. Her daughter is so great. Even if she was laughing at her expense, Santana's heart swells with pride. She leans down to kiss the tip of Alba's nose, smiling when her daughter frowns in annoyance before settling back to sleep.
"Hey Britt?"
Brittany hums in response, pushing back on Santana's body until the two women end up lying on their bed, their daughter safely sleeping on top of their bodies.
"I hope you don't mind being one of those modern, trendy house owners that park their cars out in the open, because next weekend I'm taking the garage wall down."
Her wife giggles quietly. "That's okay, honey. I didn't like it anyway." Brittany snuggles closer to Santana's body. "Although you might want to wear a hard hat this time, just in case."
"Already ahead of you." Santana replies, closing her eyes in contentment. "I ordered two, plus a special baby helmet. I'm all prepared."
Santana feels Brittany's grin into her shoulder. She slowly maneuvers both their bodies to lay correctly on the bed, creating a small space in between them for their daughter. As she reaches down to grab the forgotten sheets, she hears her wife's half-asleep voice.
"You should get some sleep soon, San. Tina's coming over tomorrow."
That sparks Santana's curiosity. "To check on Alba? I thought she said there was nothing to worry about."
"Nooo," Brittany sighs and kisses the top of her daughter's head. "To check on you, silly. She thinks that last hit against the wall may have actually damaged something. Just wanted to make sure."
A large frown instantly settles on Santana's face. She locks her jaw and stares across the bedroom unblinking. She knows their friend is kidding, of course. But still. The nerve of that sneaky Other Asian.
Fucking Tina.