OMG this chapter was like pulling teeth. I don't know why it was so hard to write. The last chapter only took me a few hours, whereas this one has taken me days. I hope it paid off though, and that you guys like it.

I reveal quite a bit of information in this one, about Brittany at least. I also introduce another canon character, as well as some new plot points for you guys to add to your growing collection of backstory puzzle pieces.

I didn't get very many reviews for the last chapter, and that made me very sad since I really rather liked it myself. But it was suggested to me that perhaps you guys are enjoying the 'present day' chapters more than the 'flashbacks' ones. If that's the case, I can try and focus more on getting those written and less on rotating evenly back and forth. Just let me know what your preference is, okay?

Reviews and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated.

I love you guys!


Chapter 07

Present Day, Brittany

You look at your watch and frown. It's been less than an hour since your impromptu stop at the gas station and already you have to pee again. Shifting in your seat, you squeeze your thighs together and begin to bounce your legs in a desperate attempt to somehow quell the sudden and urgent need to go. "San..." You half whisper, half whimper at your husband. You don't want to interrupt the heartbreakingingly beautiful song Mr. Shuester's most recent Glee Club is now performing, but even more than that, you don't want to wet yourself in public. "San, please..."

You watch as your husband slowly shifts his gaze from the somber, young faces of those currently singing, to yours; his eyebrows raising as he instantly recognizes your expression. "How bad?" He's already reaching for William, and you let him take the boy just as his future sibling round-house kicks your bladder.

All color leaves your face as you instinctively clench, glad that the chorus is still singing so that no one can hear you grunt. "Def-con One." You manage to get out as you practically shoot to your feet. There's no more exchange of words as you half climb, half scoot past your husband and daughter and into the empty aisle. Thankfully, you've been in this church before and know where the nearest restroom is. Ignoring the curious or concerned faces in the last few rows, you speed your way towards the double doors, praying you'll make it in time.

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"Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now..." you find yourself singing as you twist and tear up the clean wads of toilet paper in your hands. You'd made it into the ladies room without incident, only to discover that your body was capable of an even less amusing magic trick than an instantly full bladder: an instantly full bladder with a cork in it. "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go..." bouncing your knees, you try and concentrate on relieving yourself, though in the back of your mind all you can think about are those real life medical shows where women accidentally give birth while on the toilet. It's stupid and irrational and you aren't due for another 8 weeks, but every time you feel yourself relaxing and about to void, you picture William as one of those babies on the show and immediately tense back up. Okay, so maybe it's not so irrational, the fear of going into labor early.

Sighing in both frustration and pain, you lean to the side and rest your head on the stall divider. You must have been in there a good five minutes already, and without your phone to reassure your husband, you know it's only a matter of time before his own paranoia gets the best of him and he barges in, guns a blazing. You roll your eyes, remembering that 'scare' you'd had almost three weeks ago, and how Santino had managed to have half of the cities paramedics show up at your doorstep only to find out that you'd simply fallen asleep whilst taking a bath. After that, he'd expressly forbid you to lock any of the doors inside the house. You also weren't allowed to take any more baths. At least, none by yourself.

"Oooooh thiiiiiis suuuuuucks." You begin to thump your head into the thin wall, completely unaware of the individual that had just entered the restroom. That is, until you hear a soft clearing of a throat and a tentative voice asking if everything was alright. Sitting upright, you wince and blush in embarrassment as the thing you've been trying to do for the past few minutes suddenly starts up on its own. "Uhhhhh yeeeaaahhhhh..." You try and keep the immense relief from being evident in your response, but the small chuckle from the stranger only has your cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. You soon give up trying to suppress any further incriminating noises and simply focus on emptying your bladder; hoping that this time it'll actually stay that way.

Once satisfied that you really are empty, you busy yourself for a few more minutes in the stall; hoping that the person whom had interrupted you would leave so you wouldn't have to deal with the embarrassment of potential eye contact whilst washing your hands. No such luck though. It seems as if this person is content to stand around at one of the sinks, occasionally turning on the taps, but mostly just sniffling softly. Sighing, you finally finish up and flush before reaching out to unhook the latch to your stall. Occupying yourself with smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in your dress, you cross the small distance to the row of sinks, your eyes avoiding the silent, though obviously distressed individual just a few feet away. At least, that had been your plan. As it so happens, as soon as your hands make contact with the cold tap water of the automatic faucet, a voice you hadn't heard in over a decade gasps and calls out your name.

Straightening your shoulders as best you can in your pregnant state, you slowly turn to your right where your former cheerleading captain and once really good friend stands. "Quinn! It's good to see you." You start to smile at the woman, only to cry out in panicked surprise as she practically barrels right into you, her arms enveloping you in a massive hug. "Pregnant! I'm pregnant!" You instinctively cry out, folding your arms in front of you in an attempt to keep the overly excited woman at bay. It's not that you aren't equally as happy to see her, you just don't need the added strain on your body caused by her way too tight embrace.

Thankfully she gets the hint and quickly backs off, her hands held out in front of her as if to show that she hadn't meant any harm. Rolling your eyes, you glance down at your stomach and then back up at your former friend. "Please don't take that personally. I just, I kinda have a reason to be cautious... It's not you, I promise." You explain, part of you hoping she understands what you're implying, while another part is already regretting your putting the subject out there. Miscarriages and extremely pre-term labor really aren't the best conversation topics. Especially not with someone you haven't seen or heard from since high school.

"No, I totally get it. It's fine." Quinn immediately responds, and to your immense relief, leaves it at that. Relaxing the muscles you hadn't even realized you'd been clenching, you shift your body so that you can lean your hip against the countertop. You're really not supposed to be on your feet for any prolonged period of time, but you are pretty certain you can make a small exception in this case. "Seriously, Brittany, it's been like, forever..." The woman's smiling now, and you find yourself smiling back as you take in her rather drastic change of appearance. Her once long, blonde hair is now super short and almost pixie like. It's also darker, though still looks natural in contrast with her pale skin and hazel eyes. You like this look on her. It's definitely an improvement over the pink she'd sported during most of your senior year. "So, how are you? How have you been?" Her question pulls your attention back to the present, and you shake your head for a moment as you try and collect your thoughts.

"I'm good. Things are good." You eventually respond, biting your lower lip as the woman opposite you raises a well manicured eyebrow, as if to say that she knows you're lying. Or at least, sugar coating things for her. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn briefly to look at yourself in the large mirror hanging above the row of sinks. "Never could lie to you..." you muse with a laugh, glancing at the reflection next to yours as Quinn moves closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder. It's a strange feeling, though not an entirely uncomfortable one. The re-emerging familiarity is actually kind of nice.

"Uh huh... So, what is it? Santana still giving you trouble? Do I need to sort her out for you?" She's got her arms over her chest, her expression very much reminiscent of her sixteen year old 'High Bitch in Charge' self. You laugh, finding it just as amusing and irritating as you remember. "Alright, what did she do this time?" You want to wipe that knowing smirk off of her face, but also find her re-established concern rather comforting. Quinn always did have your back when things became strained between you and your then girlfriend.

"Nah, we're good." You decide not to correct her yet on her pronouns. Even though he'd given you permission to have this discussion without him, it just wouldn't feel right. Especially not with Quinn. Instead, you hold up your left hand and flash her the delicate gold band on your ring finger. "We've been married for about two years now." You grin at the immediate awe-struck look on the woman's face as she takes your hand into hers so she can inspect your ring more closely. "Not to shabby, right?"

"No, not to shabby at all." She shakes her head after a few moments, releasing your hand and smirking once more at you. "And you've got a baby on the way. Is this your guys first?"

You shake your head, frowning when you realize that you don't have your phone on you and can't show her any of the hundreds of photos you have stored in it. "Nope, third. We have a daughter, Sara, who's just turned eleven, and a son, William, who'll be five in the fall." You find yourself swelling with pride over that last fact. At how your son has managed to defy every single odd that's been thrown at him. At how the doctors had said he wouldn't even survive his first night, and yet here he is, about to celebrate his fifth birthday.

"Awww, that's so cool. I'm so happy for you guys." You can tell she wants to hug you again, though seems to settle with giving you one of the largest, most sincere smiles you've seen in a long time. Only, as quickly as it had appeared, it soon vanishes as a thoughtful, almost guilty look takes over her features. "I can't believe it's been thirteen years, Brit. I just, I really wish I had tried to keep in better contact with everyone." You find yourself nodding, wishing you had done the same. It's not as if social media sites like Facebook didn't make it obscenely easy to stay connected to people. And even if you weren't what your daughter would call 'tech savvy', you at least understood how to use Facebook. The FarmVille part of it, anyhow.

"I remember the last time I saw you was right before I moved to New Haven. I'd gone to see you in the hospital, you know, to say goodbye, and stuff..." She falters here, her eyes briefly locking onto yours before quickly shifting back down to her hands. You aren't really sure what your own feelings are doing, at this sudden and drastic reversal of topic, but you let her continue anyway. "I didn't think to call ahead first, so when I got there, they were just bringing you back from one of your surgeries. You were all drugged up and barely conscious... And I just... I tried saying goodbye, but... I doubt you even remember me being there." She looks up at you again, and even though you know what it is she so desperately wants to hear, you can't lie to her. Not about this.

Shaking your head slowly, you reach out and squeeze her shoulder in the same reassuring way she had done to yours just minutes prior. "To be honest, Q, I really don't remember much. Traumatic Brain Injury and all that." You weren't trying to be glib, it just sort of came out that way. "I did, however, keep all of the cards you guys sent me." This seems to snap Quinn out of her seemingly painful and prolonged apologetic state. "Okay, so maybe not all of them. I mean, the entire school? Really?" You relax a little when she cracks a smile, and continue on, "but the ones from you guys, from my friends, I kept those. They're actually in a shoebox somewhere in one of my closets. Or maybe under the bed... But anyway, the point is, I didn't throw them out. So, for whatever it's worth, even though I don't actually remember you visiting, Quinn, I do know that you were there, and that you cared." She doesn't seem to know how to respond, and you watch as eventually her eyes begin to grow damp again. "Okay, seriously, Q, you cry more than my husband does."

The words are out of your mouth before you realize what you're saying, and you watch in what seems like slow motion as both of the woman's eyebrows rise nearly to her hairline. "Husband?" She croaks out, her previous upset instantly vanishing as she attempts to digest this new and incongruous information. "Wait, I don't understand. I thought you said that you and Santana were married and-"

"Yeah... we are. It's just, kind of complicated..." You interrupt, starting to fidget as you desperately try and remember the speech Santino had insisted you rehearse with him. Unfortunately, being put on the spot like this, you can't remember a single word of it, and so can't help but flounder as you try and figure out how best to explain that Santana, technically, is your husband. "You see... Santana and I... well... Santana... She's actually... Santana's actually... kind of... no, not 'kind of'... is... Santana is... actually... a... boy."