A/N: I'm so, so sorry, you guys. I should not have started another story especially when I know real life is getting more demanding each day. I'll try to make a more workable and reasonable schedule for the updates. I hope this update is worth the wait though and that I could perhaps get a more enthusiastic reaction from you lovely readers.
I just had my nails done and I'm completely happy with my new polish. I badly needed that after this never ending Bram fiasco. Oh, btw, I'm so done with Glee. Thank god for spoilers or I would have watched this damn show only to get disappointed and furious with each episode. I fucking loathe Bram and it hasn't even started yet. I'll probably just watch clips of Naya/Santana somewhere. I love Heath but I cannot watch Brittany be all lovey dovey and stupid with Sam while the fandom still makes their own headcanons from their "between the lines" relationship.
Title: Living With Mrs Pierce
Pairing: Brittany / Santana
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Glee. Fuck you, Ryan Murphy.
Chapter 3
"Did you just call my son 'little Sam'?" Santana padded down the stairs with Isabella in her arms.
It was hard to maintain the smile on her face but she can't afford to falter her mask and disappoint her children. It was hard enough for her babies to lose their mama. It would only make things worse if she, herself, became emotionally inaccessible and unstable right in front of them.
It was really painful, though.
She almost lost it when she had to ran back up to her in-law's upstairs guest room after putting her daughter there for a nap just thirty minutes ago, and see her crying pitifully from a nightmare. Mama was leaving them, her beautiful girl had recounted. "She leaves us for always," Izzie pouted pleading Santana with her big brown eyes for assurance that what she had dreamt wasn't true.
Santana didn't know what to tell her child, her brain too drained to function from willing herself to stop the tears from falling. She didn't know whether Izzie was referring to the fights she had witnessed between her parents or if she heard, for a fact, from someone that her mama has passed away and learned what that means.
But Santana had mustered a smile she knew looked too sad and far from comforting. She just hoped Izzie would take it as how she had meant it to be—a smile that says "I will always be here for you two."
She drew her daughter to her chest and hugged her tightly when she felt she couldn't hold back her own tears any longer so her daughter would not witness the shattering of some of the pieces of her fragile heart.
She couldn't say what Izzie wanted to hear. So Santana merely kissed her baby's hair and whisper her own hope, instead. "We will get by."
Later, she would try and explain to her baby why mama cannot be with them any longer or why these new faces gathering in grandma and pa's house are all looking sad. For now-
Santana sighed holding her daughter tighter, drawing strength from her.
For now, she's still learning to be braver. Stronger. Bigger.
The small flicker in Izzie's eyes when she saw her Uncle Sam made her own smile wider.
"I did," Sam grinned bouncing Sammy in his lap.
"Well, as long as you don't call your little friend under there that, we wouldn't have a problem," Santana teased looking at his lap past her son. The huge blush and startled look on his face and the squeal from little Sammy who sensed the playful banter between two of his favourite people drew a genuine chuckle from her.
"I don't," Sam defended weakly. "Besides, it's not my fault you named your son after me."
Sam's eyes widened and added, "Not that I'm not happy or grateful about it or anything." You couldn't take back and change a name, right?
Izzie was giggling with her little brother, all traces of tears and sadness in her eyes from before forgotten for now, and that was enough for Santana to keep their childish banter going.
"Oh please, you cried like a baby when we didn't name Izzie 'Samantha.' Your huge guppy mouth almost swallowed my hospital room from all your whining!"
Isabella doubled in laughter in Santana's arms. "Uncle Sam is a big baby!" She grabbed her mommy's face with her small hands to look at her, "I don't cry like that, right, mommy? 'cause I'm a big sister?"
Santana smiled wider. "That's right, sweetie. You are a big girl now," she cooed nuzzling her nose with her own in an eskimo kiss. She put her daughter on the couch to sit next to Sam so she can pay the same attention and affection to her two-year old who had been squirming in Sam's arms since he saw her wanting to be picked up.
"Fuck my life," another voice filtered the room. She was too preoccupied in trying to make her children laugh that she wasn't aware there was another person in the room with them.
It was a mere whisper but Santana's hand automatically reached for her son's ears to dull out the curse word.
Samuel Nathaniel Pierce still had a problem speaking even though he babbles a lot. After being assured by his pedia that he doesn't have any abnormalities or sickness that could explain this and hinder his growth, she and Quinn had been working to try and get him to talk proper words but no matter how much they ask him, he still refuses to budge.
She really didn't want her son's first word to be a bad one.
Her eyes immediately landed on a beautiful woman whose head is turned heavenwards. She could see the strain in the woman's slender yet strong neck as it swallows a lump in her throat under the loose pink and blue chequered scarf. Her eyes caught on to the flexing of her arms as she gripped her sides, how her tight abs danced as they contracted under her white tank top and her small breasts expand from each heavy breathes she took. Her eyes scanned lower following the long lithe path which seems to go on forever down to the tips of the combat boots which tucks the washed denim jeans she was wearing.
If Santana had been thinking clearly, she would have realized she had just been checking out another woman other than her wife and she would have chastised herself for the level of inappropriateness of such action especially a day after her wife's passing.
But stare she did, her conscious mind so innocently questioning who this woman was and how she was related to Quinn.
As brown finally meets familiar blue pools, Santana immediately knew the answer to the woman's identity. She could never forget those piercing blue eyes which had always looked at her and Quinn with intense hatred and perhaps even disgust.
Or was it hurt?
She had real trouble reading the middle-Pierce after Quinn and her came clean to the true nature of their relationship.
The falling out deeply wounded Santana since Brittany had always been her favourite Pierce and it seemed like Brittany was really fond of her as well. But after they came out, Brittany had been more and more distant to Quinn and outright refused acknowledging Santana's existence. She had tried many times to talk and explain to her only to get the door slammed on her face. And when they graduated and visited during holidays, Brittany always managed to avoid them favouring on hanging out with her friends or locking herself in her room blaring some obnoxious music.
She expected that kind of shunning from a lot of people but not from any of the Pierces, especially not from sweet, innocent little Britt-y. The girl was clearly homophobic. She said so to her wife who merely laughed and told her she was being silly—but what else could it be, right?
"Princess?" Santana let out unwittingly, still not believing her eyes. But then she remembered what Brittany had accidentally blurted out a while ago.
"Fuck my life."
Was Santana really that disdainful a human being that her mere presence would make her lament attending her own sister's funeral?
No. Santana hardened her face. Brittany clearly hadn't changed at all in her views on her and her sexuality. She would not lose sleep again overthinking what she could possibly have done to win a little girl's acceptance and win back her affection. Brittany's a grown woman now and if she still had a problem with homosexuality, then she'd just have to deal with it until she leaves again.
"Brittany," she amended curtly adjusting her grip on Sammy, her voice strong and confident daring the other woman to make the mistake of saying something homophobic to her and especially to her children to justify clawing her eyes out and bitch-slapping her till kingdom come.
"San-tana," Brittany nodded to her meekly, eyes darting everywhere but her. Her face was a deep shade of crimson and her voice was laced with fear and something she couldn't pinpoint.
Santana blinked. She didn't expect this reaction at all.
Why was she blushing? She looked down at her dress to see if Sammy had tugged her dress again a little too low and flashed her boob out for everyone to see. It was not.
Santana's eyes darted at Brittany again. She would keep an eye on her. She didn't know what this woman is playing but she would never let Brittany mess with her and her family. Tomorrow, after the funeral, she would pack her bags again and hopefully, leave her and her family in peace for good to pick up the pieces of their once contented and comfortable lives.
xox
xox
Brittany watched as her family, friends, and neighbours slowly gathered inside the chapel.
There was a light buzzing of murmured conversations filling the room. Brittany's gaze flitted around the room spotting some faces she's not familiar with. By the attire they were wearing, she guessed they were Quinn's colleagues at the law firm she worked for. She nodded back to some family friends who acknowledged her. Brittany saw some of her high school friends amongst the crowd. Puck and Brodie gave her a curt nod while Tina and Mercedes smiled at her. Brittany mustered a small grateful smile to them before she turned back to the front of the chapel, her gaze automatically searching and landing on Santana, without any thought, where she sat in vigil at the very first row with a napping Samuel on her arms and a gloomy Isabella tucked to her side.
To say it was awkward and disconcerting between her and Santana would be a huge understatement.
She would have been thrilled to know that Santana is taking interest on her. But not like this.
Brittany didn't know why she was in the receiving end of Santana's death glares. She could feel the prick of Santana's stares at the back of her head with every movement she makes. The Latina would jump from her seat and clutch the couch tightly every time Brittany tries to converse and play with Sammy and Izzie. And whenever Brittany finally gathers the courage to look up and meet her stares, Santana would give her this far too sweet smile to be genuine and look back to whatever she pretends she was doing.
Things only went from bad to worse when Brittany got assigned to Quinn and Santana's guest room and bunk with Sam as her and Sam's old rooms had been relegated to her aunts and uncles' use who flew all the way from Amsterdam.
She was almost sure Santana would self-combust when her mother informed her of the sleeping arrangement, which Brittany later concluded was not the plan they had agreed on. But again, being the proper lady that she surely is, Santana managed to compose herself enough to offer a tight smile through gritted teeth.
Their home was a luxurious two and a half-story Spanish Colonial Revival style complete with four bedrooms, a huge entertainment and game room, two offices, a small gym, a backyard pool, a now barely-used cellar, and even real palm trees which Brittany is sure were imported as such and replanted there.
Brittany immediately fell in love with the place—a true getaway right in the outskirts of Lima. She had been to resorts with such intricate architecture in Mexico and the Caribbean, but this by far was her favourite especially since Santana and two of the most amazing kids she ever met lives there.
Brittany looked back to Isabella as the little girl stared longingly at the casket. Brittany felt a tinge of sadness for the little girl. She had heard the whispered conversation and sobs between the mother and child as she walked to her room right across Izzie's. She didn't mean to pry but she caught on to some of the exchange to know that Santana had been explaining to Isabella about life and death.
She could see in their faces how last night's conversation took a toll on them, particularly on Santana. Santana had been generally uncommunicative except to her children. She could see her stiffen at every words of consolation given to her and her eyes dull down with every monotonous retelling of Quinn's futile battle with cancer. Brittany had asked her mother to take over greeting their guests to give Santana some well-deserved reprieve.
She took a packet of gum from her pocket and immediately chewed on two. Without thinking, Brittany walked up to the two girls and plopped down right next to Izzie. She could see from the corner of her eyes how two sets of brown eyes were now looking perplexedly at her, one with a hint of hostility, the other with genuine curiosity.
Anything to take their minds off of things for a little bit, Brittany thought.
Still without looking at her audience directly, Brittany blew a huge bubble of gum. The youngest Pierce's eyes widened and twinkled in amazement as the blue bubble got bigger and bigger and bigger before her eyes reflecting her and her mother's disjointed figures in its surface. Brittany raised a hand in a flicking position as she waited for the little girl to catch on and cover her ears.
Brittany noted in amusement how Santana's eyes widened and her free hand impulsively went up to cover Izzie's ear and cradled the other one to her side as her own eyes immediately closed, her whole body tensing in fear and anticipation. The blonde internally chuckled. She didn't know Santana is afraid of loud noises—well, she didn't know a lot of things about Santana.
A loud bang and fits of giggle echoed through the room, breaking the once sombre atmosphere and gaining the attention of the whole community.
The glare and slap on the back of the head Brittany received from her mother was worth it though as she heard Izzie's giggles and even Santana's short but pretty much genuine chuckle as the blonde gently pulled the gum mask from her face and hair. She felt bad though when Samuel startled awake crying from the loud noise and Santana yet again gave her the evil eye. She really should have thought that one through.
"Do it again! Do it again!" Izzie chanted.
Brittany offered her a wide smile, "Well, we can't here." She looked up to Santana's eyes, silently asking for permission. Santana was still eyeing her dangerously but gave in after she looked down at her daughter's puppy eyes and pout with a nod.
"May I regale you, fine lady, a walk in the courtyard?" Brittany lowered her voice and bowed before Isabella which drew a new fit of laughter from the little girl.
"You're silly." But she still took the offered hand as they made their way outside.
After doing the same trick for a few times, and running and fooling around in the backyard lawn, the solemn silence caught up to them as they sit at the steps of the chapel.
"What are you thinking about, princess?" Brittany prodded gently as she watched the girl look up at the sky through squinted eyes.
"Mama," Izzie answered truthfully. "Mommy said mama is super weak and sleepy and she need a super long, long nap. But…" she paused, eyes still gazing at the sky. "I don't understand why she need to sleep there when she can do it at home," she finished with brows scrunched, pointing where the clouds and the afternoon sun meet.
She looked back at the still dazed Brittany as she pouted and continued in a small voice. "I promise mommy I will be quiet and be the bestest good girl and I will keep Sammy quiet so mama can come back… but mommy just cried and I don't know what else to do."
Brittany held back her own tears as she listened to Isabella speak. She could not imagine how hard the past year had been for Quinn and her family.
I didn't know, a small voice at the back of her brain reminded her but she felt guilty nonetheless. Thoughts of what if's and what could have been's riddled her mind. She thought of what their life would be like now that Quinn's gone. How would this affect Isabella, particularly Samuel who still has no idea on what was happening? How would Santana manage being a single mother? Who's going to take care of Santana after she takes care of her children?
She searched for the most comforting words she could offer the child.
She reached for the little girl and cuddled her in her lap, tucking her head under her chin. "It's not your fault, princess. Mama just needs to be up in the sky so Mama can look out for you and Sammy even better even while she rests in bed. And for now, you have to take care of mommy like she takes care of you, okay?"
Izzie looked back at Brittany with big teary eyes searching for truth at her words. After finding what she was looking for, she solemnly nodded. "I promise."
She smiled down and reached her right pinky towards the girl. "Pinky-promise you would help mommy take care of you and the little man?"
Isabella let out a small smile as she reached her own pinky to link with the bigger one. "I pinky-promise."
Brittany tucked her more fiercely under her chin, savouring this quiet moment with her mini-Santana. She wanted so badly to be in this family's life in any way or form but she's not blind or dumb to know that Santana would not be happy about that.
"That's my girl."
xox
xox
"Britt-annyyyyy!"
The loud banging of the double doors of the chapel and the loud, piercing—screeching even—wails disturbed, yet again, the solemnity of the room.
"Britt-annyyyyy!"
A small brunette in an all-black attire—complete with the huge dark shades that cover almost her entire face and a black sunhat with huge brims laced under the chin to keep in place—came barrelling down the aisle towards the casket.
The whole community buzzed with murmurs of protests and curiosity at the identity of the crasher.
"This is an outrage!"
"No, I don't remember ever seeing her."
"She's probably the other woman."
"The attorney has another woman?!"
Samuel's wails of his own protests on yet again being startled awake followed subsequently, merely a minute or two of hushing the little boy back to sleep after the little incident with Brittany.
What. The. Fuck. Is going on? What the hell is this mental case doing in here, ruining their small and peaceful commemoration of her wife's life?
"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm arouuuuunnnd... Nothing's gonna harm youuuuuu..."
Is she singing? Santana eyed the woman incredulously as she tried to pacify little Samuel's cries. Who the fuck is this and who the fuck still wears that? The woman seemed to come straight out from a black and white Hepburn flick for midgets.
"Oh, Brittany! Why did you leave me so soon? Not even giving us a chance to get to know me more? And to think that the last thing I told you was to drop dead…" the woman hiccuped, her face contorted in agony as if she was having trouble pooping. "And here you are now, all dead and…" she paused mid-whine as she studied the face of the dead woman more closely through the glass.
"Wow! Why do you look different? I mean, I know dead people are supposed to be pale but, by golly, what a lovely nose!"
Sam cleared his throat as he took cautious steps, tapping her on the shoulder and taking a step back just as quickly in fear of the wild short lady.
"Tha-that's Quinn…" Sam spoke weakly as soon as he got the attention of the woman.
The woman blinked at him then looked back and forth between Sam and the casket.
Realizing she still had an audience to please, she slumped her whole body to the casket theatrically whining louder and sobbing harder for everyone to hear.
"And to think I didn't even know you make your friends call you queen! Oh, Brittany, we really were meant to be! I once asked my dads and my publicist to call me 'Your Majesty.' And then there's this one time…"
"What the F-U- freaking-C-K is going on here?!" Santana seethed, transferring little Sammy to his uncle so she can give this bitch a piece of her mind. And her knuckles.
"Oh, my name is Rachel Barbra Berry. You must have recognized me from the critically-acclaimed, 12-nights only, Off-Broadway show, 'Maid in 22nd Avenue.' And you are?" Rachel grinned widely, her face devoid of tears as she reached out her hand and finally take off her dark shades so that her fans can recognize her easily.
"I'm gonna kick your ass and bury you instead if you don't get the eff out right now and leave us in peace to say our final goodbyes to my wife, Quinn Pierce—your friend, Brittany's sister." Santana may or may not have hissed Brittany's name. But you know what they say about the company you keep. This is just another thing to add to the list of why Brittany is no good.
"Oh." Rachel blinked. She watched at the corner of her eyes as men and women shook their head at her in loathing and dismay as the silence was again replaced with murmurs.
"So this is sufficiently awkward," Rachel laughed half-heartedly to the fuming wife to try and ease the tension.
What should she do now? Should she fake fainting to try and divert their attention? She bet running like a little girl would not salvage what is left of her dignity…
Oh, who was she kidding. She is Rachel Barbra Berry, after all—she has more than enough self-esteem to light up an entire planet. Okay, think, Rachel. Think! What would Barbra do?
"So, you are the wife, you say? I bet you feel a lot better now knowing there has been a mix up and that your wife isn't really cheating on you, huh?" The widow merely continued fuming at Rachel.
"That dress is gorgeous! I saw a woman dressed like that at a club. Turns out she was a hooker…" Rachel's eyes widened as she saw the beautiful woman's fists clench tightly at her sides.
"N-N-Not that I think you look like a hooker or anything… Or that I have anything against Latina hookers… I-I-I mean, I'm sure you would make a lovely hooker, if you want to…" The woman took a menacing step towards her, her face flushed with anger. Rachel took a step back—she would never admit this to her memoir, but she literally is ten seconds away from peeing her pants.
Oh god, Rachel, just stop talking. She might as well dig her own grave and bury herself alive at this point.
"So, where, did you say, that pit you were talking about was again?"
xox
Note: Song from the Broadway Musical Sweeny Todd's "Not While I'm Around"
A/N #2: I know. I'm sorry there is still not much Brittana in this chapter. :( I'm sad too. :( I can't wait to start writing the fluff.
Alright, you know what to do (I hope).