"The controversy over the long-discussed dangerous behavior of the paparazzi has been brought to a brand new level. The President of United States announced that a law is going to be voted on to protect privacy. This follows the very sad accident caused just ten days ago by a paparazzi who stood in the way of Santana Lopez's car, almost costing the life of the expecting superstar. The President already announced that measures would be taken, such as restraining orders, jail sentences and of course financial compensation. Paparazzi agencies are fulminating. They claim the right to use the sacrosanct American freedom to work. In the President's words himself, "Where does freedom end and harassment begin when lives are being put in danger." In the meantime, celebrities all over United States welcome this news with the greatest relief. However, neither Santana Lopez herself nor her wife Brittany Pierce still haven't spoken a word since the terrible accident. The couple is still reported to be locked in at home, which does not calm the rumours about a possible miscarriage. Even if sources confirmed that she's out of danger and actually resting away from prying eyes, none of these said sources have been able to confirm the details about Santana Lopez's actual condition. May I personally add that I'm actually glad we don't, this family deserves some peace after such a traumatic event. Let's just wish the best for them and let's pray they're not paying the dramatic consequences of some idiots' selfishness. And now, the weather broadcast with -"
Brittany turned the TV off. She threw the remote onto their messy bed and resumed dressing herself with a chic grey suit. "I knew we were right to vote for him."
"God bless America to have voted for him. For once, they got their shit together," Santana joked. "We should write him a letter to thank him."
Brittany smiled at her wife lying on the covers. She arranged the white collar of her strict buttoned-up shirt. "As you wish."
"Babe, help me get dressed," Santana called, willing to get up.
Brittany rushed. "Santana, please. I'm begging you. I can go alone..."
"But I wanna go! This is a happy day, I want to be there!"
"I know, but can't you just rest and be happy from here?" Brittany pleaded for the hundredth time. "We're gonna win anyway, you don't have to come..."
"Britt," Santana stated quite coldly. "I want to see Quinn cut them and most importantly, I want to see their faces when we win. I want them to see what they did to me in front of a court. That'd make me really happy."
Brittany shrugged, defeated. Her mind already imagined what the mess would look like in front of the courthouse. Thousands paparazzi and news networks waiting to get a peek at the up until then invisible couple. What had started by a simple complaint against Shelley Caraggio had turned into the trial of the year in the media industry. Quinn hadn't lost a second inciting them to press charges against all the paparazzi who had caused the accident. By the time Quinn had pronounced the words "general trial for the Shelley and paparazzi cases", Brittany had already been running to the police station. However, she had tried everything to convince her wife to stay in bed and actually not go with her. Considering Santana's condition, Brittany's protectiveness was, for once, necessary. Santana just couldn't walk. Technically she could, taking three seconds per step, out of breath after two minutes walking. Her broken ribs were putting pressure on her lungs, she couldn't exhale and inhale how she wanted, or needed. The only position making her feel fine was when she was resting, completely flat, not doing anything. There was nothing else she could do without feeling pain. And when she was in pain, she couldn't do anything about it: no painkillers allowed because of the babies. Imagining Santana trying to walk through a crowd, sitting on uncomfortable chairs - when she could barely sit - was just making Brittany feel sick.
She crouched, took Santana's hand. "I beg you..."
"I need to go," Santana didn't compromise. "Help me," she said raising an arm, requiring support.
Sighing, Brittany agreed, only because she was forced to. She slid an arm around her wife to help her sit up. Santana tried to keep her painful groans quiet all along. Sitting was such a simple gesture, yet it was freaking killing her.
"I have a black dress in the second closet," Santana gritted her teeth as she instructed.
When she was sure Santana could hold like that for a second, Brittany went to catch the dress. She opened the loose cloth, preparing it for Santana to pass her head first, and then her arms. If she could. Santana had never taken so long to get dressed. She tightened her jaw all along, focusing hard on doing it fast so the pain wouldn't last longer than that.
"The shoes, before I get up..." Santana herself feared the moment she'd have to switch position from sitting to standing up. Those five seconds when her whole body would be throbbing had nothing tempting. Santana would have sighed when she finally had her shoes on. But she couldn't, sighing hurt too much. Brittany slid an arm again under her shoulder to support her the best she could. "Ugh..."
"Easy... I got you, easy..." Brittany took all Santana's weight on her as she made her move. She smoothed her dress, making it fall to recover until her feet.
"Fuck them all, just... Fuck them all," Santana groaned, finally standing after long seconds of painful dizziness.
Brittany's heart shrunk. "You want to put your coat on now?" she tentatively said.
"Ugh no. Just put it over my shoulders. It will work like that."
"Ok. Let's go then..." Right now, Brittany wanted to die.
They took a slow path through the apartment. In the living-room, everybody was waiting for them. Quinn was already wearing her attorney outfit, a whole box of files on her lap. The two bodyguards Brittany had hired were sipping coffee and chatting with a cop. Chloe was trying to sidetrack Sophia's train of thoughts, the little girl wanted to go with her moms, but they had made very clear she wouldn't leave the house. Everybody moved, stopping their routine. The cop exited the apartment, running to let his coworkers know that they'd have to leave soon. Their cars would encircle the Pierce's one, making sure to keep the couple safe for their first outing since the accident. Brittany didn't drive anymore, the bodyguards did.
The bodyguards had started to feel at home. They came every morning and every night to help Brittany get Sophia to school and come back. One would have believed such an accident would have make the paparazzi reconsider their manners, but it wasn't the case. In fact, it was even worse. The fact that nobody knew if the babies were okay was just driving them crazy. The super muscular men put their cups in the sink and one left to get the new car Brittany had needed to buy. There wasn't a bigger car than she one she had chosen. There wasn't a safer one. Brittany wasn't the richest of the couple. She didn't have in her bank account the same amount of money as Santana did. Nevertheless, she would have spent every single penny she had to buy that damn war machine the car salesman had showed her.
Twice as much time as usual had been necessary for Santana to walk to the elevator and then to the car. Santana discovered the new car, groaning in pain every once in a while. She smirked at the luxurious vehicle, the inside making clear that the doors wouldn't bend even if a tank was driving to them. The closer they got to the courthouse, the bigger the crowd of cameras was. The car halted in front of the door, protected by a horde of policemen.
"You know what they say, you only live once," Santana joked to ease her wife.
She stared at the great stairway that led to the entrance, and the absolute jungle of wild animals waiting all around. All journalists would turn into bloodthirsty sharks once her feet would show. She'd have to walk, with her insanely slow pace, under the growling questions.
"That's not funny," Brittany sighed. She tightened Santana's coat on her wife's shoulders. She was getting them ready to brave the mediatised storm. "It's them!", "It's them!" people shouted outside. Brittany shrugged. "Nope, that doesn't make me laugh at all..."
"Come on girls, it's gonna be fine! We'll win, and I'm pretty sure they all will be prohibited from being here after the trial," Quinn cheered. She went to open the door on her side, "Let's go!"
The policemen had a hard time maintaining the crowd on the sides. Even with their bodyguards blocking the view, Brittany had to curl around her wife to protect her. Slowly, Santana managed to walk.
"Santana, are you faking it to win the trial?","Have you lost the babies?" the questions came hurtling to their ears. Santana held her coat closer, hiding her bigger bump. "Mrs Pierce, care to comment the miscarriage rumours?", "What are your thoughts about the President's proposition about privacy?"
"My clients will not be answering any questions," Quinn interjected.
Santana snuggled in her wife's embrace as she braced herself to start climbing the stairs. Brittany held her a little tighter, accompanying her every move with strong support. They remained stoic as the questions people were throwing at them became more horrible by every second. Santana struggled to raise her feet. She gasped, was forced to hold her bump under the flashes.
"You're alright? They kicked you in the ribs again?" Brittany worried, curling even more to hide her. Santana nodded, rubbing the pain away.
"She's still pregnant!", "She's still pregnant!", "Santana, twins or triplets!", "Are they twins?!" the journalists howled.
"Keep going my love, there's only five steps left," Brittany lovingly whispered.
Santana sighed. She wasn't the courageous mother she had been until then. The pain was making her reconsider the situation. She tried to breathe despite the pressure of her broken ribs. "It hurts..."
Brittany tightened her jaw. She peeked around and called a bodyguard. "Carry her to the courtroom, she can't keep walking," she instructed to the mountain of muscles.
"Won't it hurt her?" he worried.
Santana peeked over their shoulders. The flashes were flying from everywhere and yet she was stuck on her step. "Whatever, I've gotta move fast from here anyway... I can't afford waiting for someone to bring a wheelchair for me, carry me, come on!"
Sighing, the bodyguard caught her the softest he could. She was a lightweight for him anyway. She winced, grunted. Being carried away was no good at all but she had way too much pain to be proud and courageous in front of the cameras for long minutes. They all escaped the jungle much faster and soon reached the peaceful silence of the courtroom, Santana fighting the pressure of being held by gritting her teeth so hard not to groan loudly.
"Where do I put her down, Mrs Pierce?" he inquired on their way.
"Darragh, that's your name, right?" Santana asked in a husky voice from the pain. He nodded. "I think that now you have your hands on my butt, we can work on a first name basis and you can talk to me."
Brittany snorted. She showed the last seat in the front row and the bodyguard fulfilled the orders. On the other side of the room, the accused stared. They had a very clear answer if they had been wondering if Santana was faking it for weeks.
"Easy, easy..." Santana grit her teeth and groaned as Darragh was putting her down despite the very small room between the bench and the table. "Oh fuck, it hurts..."
"I'm sorry, I'm doing my best..." Darragh felt bad.
"I know, don't worry about that. Taking a shower makes me cry so..." she tapped on his shoulder when she was finally down. She cracked a reassuring smile, the best she could do.
Shelley Caraggio and the paparazzi glared. America's Sweetheart was injured and badly so, apparently. The whole trial would only turn into a long waiting game until the details of their failure would be exposed. Now it was crystal clear.
The trial started. Quinn was a beast, her deep voice contrasting with the accused's attorneys' own. She was determined to win, to take care of her friends with her best effort. She was throwing arguments to the judge with fierce determination, confirming to Brittany and Santana that the smart blonde would get the best for them. She had no pity, especially when Shelley Caraggio was to testify in the witness stand.
"Mrs Caraggio, or may I call you Mrs Greneal since you just lost at your divorce trial," Quinn threw, making Shelley feel even more uncomfortable.
"Irrelevant," her attorney responded.
"Mrs Fabray, please continue," the judge instructed.
"Mrs Caraggio, what was your motivation to contact the press and let them know about my client's condition?" Quinn pointed at Santana.
Shelley fidgeted in her seat, uneasy under the whole audience's stare. "I needed to find a way to help my family to handle my divorce proceedings."
"The real motivation," Quinn insisted, arms crossed.
Shelley coughed. "I needed money to pay my bills."
"You indeed needed money to pay for your Dior jewelry, evidence N°36, deposition by Mr Hayworth who figured you were the one to give the scoop away," Quinn stated as the judge flipped through the files to see the said piece of evidence. "That was indeed a real emergency. Is it this sense of priorities that led you to lose not only your divorce but also the full custody of your son?"
"Irrelevant, we're not here to put my client through a second divorce, your honor," Shelley's attorney stood up raging.
"Mrs Fabray, please stay focused on the case," the judge softly scolded. "Keep going."
"I don't have any more questions for Mrs Caraggio," she turned around and winked at her friends very discreetly. A little scolding from the judge was totally worth for the image the jury would get of Shelley. "I'm calling to the stand Mrs Brittany Pierce."
Brittany let out a deep breath. She stroked Santana's back in support. She hated leaving her alone on that uncomfortable bench. She took a path to the box and crossed Shelley on her way out. The accused didn't dare looking up.
"Mrs Pierce," Quinn cracked a smile, it always sounded funny to call her friend this way. "Can you explain how Mrs Caraggio's initiative has upset your life?"
"Well..." Brittany riveted her eyes on Santana. "Obviously, it led to my wife getting badly hurt. If my fame is pretty new, hers started a long time ago. But we've never had this much trouble."
"Objection," Shelley's lawyer threw. "Mrs Brittany Pierce got injured five years ago as a direct consequence of the publishing of wedding pictures."
"But that has nothing to do with it! That was a homophobic mad man who stabbed me, not a horde of paparazzi following us seven days a week, 24 hours a day! You can't compare, these are two completely different things."
"Did you...you and your wife, have a plan about a possible announcement of Mrs Santana Pierce's pregnancy? That maybe Mrs Caraggio's initiative kept from happening?" Quinn calmly asked, stoical.
"Yeah, of course we did. Our plan was pretty much safe, hm... We wanted to wait as long as possible before announcing it, something like four to five months in. Santana would have kept a low profile until she started to really show. Then she would have started to work from home and actually pretty much hide from paparazzi by staying at home. This is how it was supposed to happen but Mrs Caraggio spilled it before we were actually ready."
"How do you think Mrs Caraggio figured it out?"
"Honestly, I don't know. Besides scrutinizing Santana each time she went to drop Sophia to school... We went to a birthday party where she was but Santana wasn't showing a lot by then. Misters Hayworth, the party's organizers, had figured it out by then. But only because they are our friends, they know us. I mean, they figured something was up and put the pieces together on their own but we didn't tell anyone anything, even to them. There had been rumours at school, but nobody had something serious to hold on to. I figure that Mrs Caraggio just sold the scoop making it sound as if it was sure, that's the only possibility."
"Can you elaborate on the "making it sound sure" thing?"
"Well, it's pretty simple. We were peacefully living our life and one day one paparazzo showed up at Sophia's school. The morning after, there were ten etc. It took less than a week for the frenzy to start. They wouldn't have act like that if they weren't sure to get something. They have never chased us like that, the way they just did."
"Even when Mrs Santana Pierce was expecting your daughter Sophia?"
"Even by then. We had been free to follow our plan back then. We had announced her pregnancy by the fifth month and she had spent the rest of her pregnancy resting at home. Just like we were supposed to do this time."
"Do you feel personally in danger now?"
"Of course I do. But my own safety is less important than Santana's," Brittany admitted from the bottom of her heart.
Quinn frowned. "Explain."
"She's carrying my kids," Brittany breathed out under Santana's sad stare. "On the day of accident, I lent my own car to Santana because mine was the safest. For once, I couldn't drive her because I had a very important meeting and believe me, I had a bad feeling all along. I knew that since we'd been both on the road that day, they wouldn't follow me. That's exactly what happened. I had none and Santana had all of them. They only chase me when they know Santana's at home so they can ask me questions or when I'm with Sophia so they can take pictures of her. They don't care about me."
"Are you afraid of what might happen next?"
"I'm not sure. The frenzy is nowhere calmer but Santana just can't go out anymore. She's too sick for that so... they can't chase her either for the moment. What I'm really worried about is when the babies will be born. They're not afraid to chase a pregnant woman, would they be afraid to chase a car with newborns in it?"
Quinn smiled, between worried and compassionate. "I understand. I don't have any more questions, thank you Mrs Pierce."
The judge nodded, scribbling. "Do you have any questions for Mrs Pierce?" he asked in the direction of the accused's' team of attorneys.
"No, your Honor. We'd like to question Mrs Santana Pierce," a lawyer announced, standing up as Brittany and Quinn left the central part of the courtroom.
"Considering my client's condition, would your Honor allow her to be auditioned from her seat?" Quinn called.
"Allowed," the judge nodded.
"Mrs Pierce," the opponent's attorney stood in front of her. "I think you're faking your medical condition."
"I'm sorry?" Santana would have jolted. She indeed had expected the opponents to lessen their responsibility in what had happened. Yet sitting was killing her the way it did, and she had hard time swallowing the fact someone could accuse her of... faking it.
"Your medical report had been signed by Dr Jorge Lopez who, I assume, is your father. This invalidates its accuracy. I've had broken ribs. It takes less than three weeks to heal, nothing like the two to three months required in your record. I think you're faking it."
"Santana, you don't have to answer that," Quinn whispered."My client's medical report had been signed by the doctor who took care of her in the ER, who indeed happens to be her father, but it had also been signed by her obstetrician, who is not related to my client. Its accuracy is legitimate."
"Oh but I can answer that question," Santana spat, bitter. "Fine, you had broken ribs. I assume you had cortisone, and most importantly, I'm pretty sure you didn't have twins growing inside, pushing on the lungs, hence pushing on your ribs. And I'm even more certain that you don't have kids because if you did, you'd know that expecting women have discomfort because your body making room for the babies, hence your back hurts, your insides hurt, even your bladder hurts. Add broken ribs to the equation and every single move you make nearly breaks you. And you can't take any medication or you might risk your babies' condition since twins mean risky pregnancy or easy miscarriage. Any medication is strictly prohibited. Does that answer your question?"
The attorney sniffed. He flipped through his file, looking for another question. Quinn smiled at her friend. If Santana needed to switch to law instead of music, her career was all set.
"Do you have a second opinion to justify this question?" the judge threw to the attorney.
"I did but her medical record hadn't stipulated that Mrs Pierce is expecting twins-"
"So your question is invalidated," the judge stated to Quinn's greatest satisfaction. "Mrs Pierce is obviously making a big effort on her part to be here today, so next question. And a decent one, please."
"Mrs Pierce, you're pleading against physical injury. The investigation showed that no harm had been intentionally caused. The actual cause of the accident is the bad weather, just like any other accident on a pouring day, evidence N°19, the accident police report. Do you have a proof that some of my clients intentionally hit your car?"
Santana took a second to think about the question. The heavy silence in the room was deafening. "I don't."
"Your Honor, Mrs Santana Pierce invalidates her pleading herself. I don't have any more questions, thank you," he left.
Quinn stood up, with the firm intention to erase from the jury's minds Santana's answer. She took a second in front of the couple, gave them a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry but I have to do it," she whispered to them. "I demand the jury to see the evidence N°28, a paparazzi video seized by the Police consequently to the accident."
Someone brought a TV set and the video aired. As soon as Santana saw the very first image, she looked away. She caught Brittany's hand in need of support. Those images were simply painful to her and it would soon be for Brittany as well.
"Pass in front of him, pass through!" a paparazzo yelled to the driver of his scooter. The camera was all pointed on Santana's car. "Faster! Faster! Oh shit, she's opening her window!"
"I get you want pictures but you're fucking risking your life here! It's pouring rain, go home!" Santana's voice rang over the sound of scooters and waterfalls of rain.
"First warning," Quinn stated coldly.
"Try to get closer!" the paparazzo instructed to his co-worker. Flashes were skimming on Santana's car, the rain only made it worse. A scooter crossed Santana's way, everything recorded in camera. "Holy shit! Brake, brake!"
"Are you serious! Hey, hey! I'm being serious here! Do your thing if you want but what you're doing is fucking dangerous right now! For me and for you! Leave room for my car!" Santana fulminated.
"Second warning," Quinn let out pointing at the screen. Brittany slid an arm around her wife's shoulders, protective. Yet she couldn't stop watching it. She got the chance to know exactly what had happened even if it was breaking her heart.
The dance of scooters was just getting scarier at every second. Braking and speeding up were the only religion those dancers seemed to have. Brittany felt so sad. "I'm so sorry I left you alone..." she whispered in her wife's ear. Santana snuggled.
"If you leave me no choice, I'm gonna drive my way out and it'd be too bad for you if one of you get hurt in the way," Santana threatened on screen.
"Third warning."
The sounds of a scooter braking hard deafened the camera, the sound being suddenly all icy. "Fuck! Leave it, I don't want to get hurt! Get away from here!" the paparazzi instructed.
The camera moved to a much larger angle as the scooter parted. Now all Santana's car and its cloud of scooters surrounding it was showing on the screen. Another scooter crossed in front of her and Santana's car braked just in time. Brittany jolted. She imagined everything happening in the car. Santana's panicked expression, her swearing. Maybe even holding her stomach in pure protectiveness over the babies. Brittany rubbed her forehead, trying to hold growing tears.
"Does someone need to be killed so you understand how risky this is?!" Santana yelled.
"Fourth warning."
The camera barely had time to record Santana winding her window back before a loud and icy bang resonated. "Brake, brake, brake!" the paparazzi shouted. The image went blurry, shaking. Another bang sounded, like an explosion of crashing metal. "What the fuck just happened?"
"Her car crashed!"
"No fucking way!" The camera turned all around, looking for the right car in the mess of stopped cars and scooters. The paparazzo caught sight of Santana's car, and most importantly its broken door which looked more like origami than metal.
Quinn stopped the video. Brittany took her arm back and bent forward on the table. She hid under her hand, fighting hard tears and guilt.
"It's not your fault..." Santana tried to reassure for the hundredth time, as a huge hole throbbed in her chest.
"I should have driven you, I should have rescheduled my meeting... I should have been the one driving," Brittany's voice trembled.
"You couldn't know..." Santana stroked her wife's back. The jury didn't miss a thing of their sick exchange. Their honesty was heartbreaking.
"I told you I had a bad feeling," Brittany weeped. "I should have trusted myself."
"But you did! Imagine what could have happened if I had been in my car..."
Brittany looked up, her eyes drowned in tears. How easy was reading her biggest fears. She was holding on her father-in-law's words, "If Santana had been in her car, her door would have been destroyed and not only Santana would have lost the babies, but her life would have been seriously in danger." Brittany embraced Santana again, as softly as possible not to harm her in any way. She put a shy kiss on her temple, a light attempt at some tenderness in the stressful courtroom.
"Indeed my client hasn't been directly and physically threatened, yet she has very clearly warned about the danger of the situation by four times. And she was right. You don't need clairvoyant skills to figure that such driving under such weather conditions is not only dangerous but actually dead threatening. Yet nobody listened to her, they all decided not to listen despite the risks. What happened is no surprise, the video is pretty clear about it. That's why I think my client is in her right to plead against intentional physical injury. The cause of the accident clearly is the paparazzi's behavior, not my client's driving skills," Quinn pleaded to the judge and jury. "Mrs Santana Pierce, can you confirm the jury the seriousness of your accident and injuries?"
"Hm..." Santana pushed her tears away. "The car is completely totalled and the only reason why I haven't miscarried is because my ribs created a natural barrier to the piece of metal which pierced me."
"Confirmed by evidences N°14 and 15," Quinn threw to the audience.
"It's a miracle that they're still here..." Santana weeped, way too emotional as the end of the trial was coming. She couldn't stop herself, she stroked her stomach, biting her bottom lip to stop the sobs from spilling through.
"I don't have any more questions for my client," Quinn went back to her seat.
The judge sighed, exhausted by all the testimonies of the paparazzi, Shelley and the hurt couple. "Since the testimonies are now complete, we'll withdraw to deliberate." He stood up and left with the jury without giving away any expression that could provide some kind of answer on how the trial would end.
Quinn relaxed. Out of habit, she made herself comfortable and sat on the table, folding her legs. "It's gonna be easy peasy, don't worry," she smiled. "Now we wait for my triumph to shine..."
"Fabray not kicking some ass would be a first," Santana managed to joke despite the ordeal. She fidgeted uneasy.
"Are you alright?" Brittany worried right away. Santana made a face. She'd be better in her bed. It was the only place where she could be "alright". "Will we have to wait for long?" She asked Quinn, concerned.
"Oh they'll be quick, I'm sure. They just need to find a sentence for each accused so one hour maybe?"
Santana sighed. She looked at Brittany with pleading eyes. "Can I lay on you for a while? I can't stand just sitting here for one hour of nothing..."
No need to negotiate. Brittany took a comfy and open position on the bench, arms all wide to welcome Santana. The latter slowly switched position from the terrible one she had. Snuggling, the pressure on her stomach softened. It wasn't paradise, yet it was still better than before.
"Seriously, you can lay on the bench. I doubt someone will say something to you, and even so, they'd taste my fist if they do," Quinn said around a friendly smile.
Santana wondered. This trial had lasted for hours already, she was exhausted. Perhaps laying for a while wouldn't be a bad idea. Brittany didn't wait for her to decide, she already grabbed her coat to make a sort of cushion and slid it under her wife's back. She tapped on her own thigh playfully.
"Come on my love, nap time! Those muscles make very nice pillows," Brittany tempted.
Chuckling, Santana complied. She lied down with Brittany's help, careful not to make any wrong moves. One leg up on the bench, the other and then she was ready to take a decent pause in the middle of the stressful trial. Indeed, Brittany's thigh was warm and comfortable. The fake cushion under her back was quite relieving. She relaxed, all eyes up on her wife stroking her hair lovingly. All the audience chatting rocked her to sleep. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered.
"Feeling better?" Brittany cooed, keeping stroking.
Santana nodded. A couple of seconds after, she stopped fighting the nap calling for her. She fell asleep.
Brittany breathed out, gazing at her. "This whole trial thing has her exhausted... I'm happy it's almost done. Maybe she'll sleep better from now on."
"Was she worried?" Quinn inquired, concerned.
"Yeah... She just can't stop talking about it. She's so angry that you know, she's brooding over it, over and over again. I really hope it turns out well... I don't care about the money or anything, I just want Santana to be able to turn over a new leaf."
Quinn bit her lip. "I understand... You know, I'd be really surprised if we don't get restraining orders. If we're lucky, they'd set a legal precedent and they'd do what the President announced."
Brittany was thoughtful, taking Santana's locks one by one and making them fall softly. "But what would it change? We'd get restraining orders for the ones who chased her, but the others..."
"That's what I'm talking about. If they use jurisprudence, they're gonna forbid any paparazzi to follow you. That's what I'm hoping for! They wouldn't be able to follow you, anywhere."
"Don't make me dream of impossible things..." Brittany cracked a smile. "She's so scared of them now. I've always been the one too protective and she was the one fighting for us not taking any precautions but now, even she has hard time seeing me leaving the house. She's just... so scared, that it might happen to me or Soph'."
Quinn didn't know what to say. She knew what she wanted for her friends. She had fought hard to get it. She could understand the situation, yet she had no idea what it actually felt like. "She doesn't want to go out anymore?"
"No. It's even breaking her heart to see us go, even to school. Well, I'm saying that but she's way too sick to go out anyway. You see it with your own eyes," Brittany said, somehow bitter. "But honestly, even when she gets better, I really doubt she'd leave the house for any other reason than medical appointments. Or you know, delivering," she smiled.
She softly stroked Santana's stomach. But she couldn't caress the skin under the dress, the bandages made an unpleasant barrier. Plastic sounds replaced the velvet ones that had always accompany their strokes.
"Perhaps she'll be better once the trial is over. She can move on!"
"I hope so..." Brittany sighed. "I just can't wait for it to be over. I want to focus on happy things. You know, buying the babies some clothes and furniture, painting their room..." she cooed all eyes on Santana. "This accident thing just keeps us hanging in some dark place when we should be happy and excited. It's so irritating."
"Just an hour Brittany and you will be free to focus on whatever you want, I promise," Quinn reassured.
- o -
Santana wanted to run, jump everywhere yet her feet were glued to the ground. Again, always, she had to walk very carefully, way too carefully for her dancing heart.
"Hurry!" she stressed Brittany, the blonde on her way to push the button of the elevator.
"Babe, I can hurry but you can't so I don't see the point," Brittany joked.
"Oh, you..." Santana maintained her chuckles. She made her scarf slide and went to whip her wife with it. Well, she could have done it if the wide gesture needed to lead this motion wasn't beating the crap out of her. The pain stopped her right in her tracks, the scarf hanging in the air.
Brittany laughed. "Sweetie, leave the whipping for the bedroom when you're no longer injured."
"Blah blah blah," Santana made a face. "I won't be hurt forever!"
The blonde walked her into the elevator, "Come on, frustrated whipping Mama, our daughter's waiting."
Santana made her way in with slow steps. However when the doors flew closed, they both realized how different things felt like now. They were alone. No bodyguards, no parents or friends to help them out with the crowd, no lawyer. Just the two of them together, exactly how it should be. Brittany smiled. Their apartment building's hall was silent, the elevator as well. Everything was quiet.
"Do you hear that?" she grinned.
Santana frowned.
"The silence," Brittany pronounced it as a blessing.
Suddenly, Santana paid attention to the noise around. Only the metallic ethereal sound of the elevator was beating along their heartbeats. Nothing else was less to hear. She sighed, happy.
An unusual feeling of loneliness led them to their front door. As if nobody cared about them. As if they had nothing special. They enjoyed that feeling more than one possibly could. Their hearts were all light when Brittany turned the knob of their apartment door.
"Moms! Moms! Moms!" Sophia stormed, almost stumbling over her dress, which was a little too long, Chloe at her heels. "I saw you on TV! You were on TV!"
"We won against the bad guys, babydoll, we won!" Santana laughed out.
"They can't follow us from now on!" Brittany explained just as thrilled. She heaved her daughter and drown the light brown hair under a sea of kisses.
"Really?!" Sophia frowned despite the happy news. Now she had gotten accustomed to the jungle, a siberian desert instead was hard to picture.
"Yeah, really!" Brittany skipped to the large windows of the living-room, until then protected with large curtains. She pulled them forcefully, way too happy to care. Holding her baby close, she opened the window wide so they could peek down on the street together. "See! There's nobody!"
"Taaaalalalalala my mommies are better than youuuuu!" Sophia sang to the invisible crowd. She gasped, locked eyes with her mom. "We need to celebrate! Mommy, we need to have a party so they will feel super sad because no one loves them and everybody will be at our party!"
Brittany peeked back inside at Santana. The latter was already glued to the couch, shattered by such a stressful day despite the insane happiness throbbing in her heart.
"Aw baby, that's a great idea but... how about we have a pajama party instead? They will be so mad not to be invited. We'll have popcorn and they won't!" Brittany negotiated. All she wanted was to enjoy the lightness of a normal life, a happy and calm life knowing her family safe. "This way, Mama can party with us."
"Yes!" Sophia beamed.
Blessed, Brittany put Sophia down and closed the window. She took a second to contemplate the beauty of the empty sidewalks as she did. No hurriedly parked cars, no scooters, no flashes. There was just the emptiness of the cold concrete left to enjoy. She took a deep gulp of air, refilling her lung with the sweetest sensation of finally being... cool.
Santana readjusted her position in the couch and pulled the covers over her, well-decided not to ever move again. "The judge said that they aren't allowed to follow us until the babies' birth or it'd be jail right away. He came to talk to us after the trial, he said that it was the best he could do considering that the law the President was talking about, you know... Have you heard about that?" Santana answered Chloe's zillion questions.
"The privacy thing?"
"Yeah! Since it hasn't been voted on yet, the judge couldn't sentence that. So in the meantime, he charged the accused for unintentional manslaughter attempts against me and the kids, so you can imagine the sentences the accused got... Maximum penalty, trebled," Santana giggled.
"...Trebled? They're not even born."
"Well it doesn't matter, the judge considered them as human beings anyway so the law applied. Gosh I'm so happy," she snuggled in the cushions. "You should have seen that... bitch's face," Santana whispered for her daughter's safety, "when the judge told the sentence. I'm pretty sure she lost everything between her divorce and this trial."
"What do you mean?"
"Well she cried when she heard how much she'll have to pay. $50,000 for me and $25,000 per each baby. Her ex-husband is already paying for their kid's school... I bet my ass she's gonna have to sell her house," Santana snorted, thrilled to know that very dark times were about to come for Shelley Caraggio.
Chloe smiled wide, "ouch..."
"Oh yeah, she won't be creeping around my babies any time soon, believe me..."
"So technically you're free until their birth?" Chloe tried to get everything. "Why not later?"
"I told you, because he couldn't do anything further!" Santana let out. Chloe frowned, trying to understand the flow of disconnected information.
"He said until the delivery because he put Santana's condition in front to justify the sentence. He said that once they're born, we can press charges against the first pap we bump into so we can have another trial and this time, the President's law will be voted so the judge, him or another, will use that law to give us full serenity," Brittany explained all smiles.
Chloe scratched her head. "Another trial?! How's that good news?"
Brittany laughed. "Sis, if we have to go to another trial so we can walk in streets all peacefully, I'd do it thousand times." She breathed fresh air deeply. "It's so good to see there's a justice after all."
"Mommy, if there's nobody outside anymore, can we go walk Mr Mango?" Sophia pleaded looking up at Brittany.
The blonde smiled wide. They hadn't walked the poor dog themselves for weeks, months maybe. The task of walking the bundle of fur had been relegated to family, bodyguards, anybody that could actually leave the house. The poor dog missed his mistress, her cuddles and games.
"Go find his leash, we'll go in a minute," Brittany agreed.
No need to be told twice, Sophia was already yelling excitedly through the apartment to go find the leather rope she had hoped touching again one day. The three adults laughed at the little girl.
"A brand new world full of possibilities for our beloved bug," Santana kidded.
"You don't mind if we go out without you?" Brittany crouched in front of her wife.
"Are you serious?! Oh my god, go! You need some nice mother/daughter alone time, sweetie," Santana stroked the blonde's face. "Take your time! Don't worry about me, I'm gonna eat my weight in ice cream as my very own celebration," she giggled.
"Alright then... What about you? You wanna come?" she called for her sister.
"Nah, go without me. I won't be around for much longer anyway, I gotta see my man," Chloe said around a smile.
"Mommy, I'm ready, Mommy! Mommy!" Sophia rushed in, the leash dragging on the ground behind her and the puppy trying to catch its end. She waited at her mom's feet, looking up with pleading eyes to go as soon as possible.
Brittany ruffled her hair. She left for the kitchen and hurriedly prepared everything her wife might need while she'd be away. In other words, she put a huge box of ice cream out of the freezer, a big spoon and a glass of water. Santana's eyes shone bright when she came back with the frozen treasure. Within a second, the lid had popped and the spoon was digging deep in those creamy mountains.
"Oh gosh, I've waited for this all day," Santana let out beyond blessed. The spoon disappeared again between her luscious lips.
Brittany smiled. All curled up under a cover, the ice cream carton put on her stomach and ready to watch a movie and fall asleep, Santana couldn't look more content. She seemed so happy that broken ribs sounded like a distant memory.
Brittany closed her coat, stuffed her scarf in it, ready to brave the coldness of the fading day while walking the dog. She had never thought she possibly would be able to live this, a random family life, ever again.
"Do you need anything else, my love?"
Santana snapped her fingers in the air. "Remote!" Laughing, her wife grabbed it on the coffee table. Santana snapped again, "my phone!" Brittany flipped in the pockets of the brunette's coat and handed it out. The latter beamed. Remote and phone on her left, spoon on her right, she was all set for a marvelous moment. "Mi amor, you may now go explore far-off lands, I'll keep the castle safe!"
Chloe stared. "I think we just lost her..."
"Leave her alone," Brittany giggled. "We won't be too long," she kissed her wife's forehead before gesturing for Sophia to head out.
"Oh but I hope you will be! Have fun girls!" Santana shouted over the couch.
- o -
"Come on baby, run, faster!" Brittany yelled in the park, about to throw a ball in the air.
The yellow ball pierced the air like a cannonball. Sophia and her dog ran fast to get it. She slipped, head first on the wet lawn. Her high-pitched cries resonated right away, barely softened by Mr Mango licking affectionately her face covered in mud.
Smiling, Brittany rushed to save her beloved daughter from torrents of crying. "Did you hurt yourself, sweetie?"
"Mommy... I-... I-... fell," Sophia sobbed out. She tried to remove the mud from her eyes but her hands were dirty from the fall. It was pointless anyway. Brittany couldn't hold a chuckle at the sight.
"I know, I saw... But it's alright, it's just some dirt," she softly said, helping her to stand back up. She fumbled in her pocket to find tissue to help clean her up. Sophia peeked at her pink coat covered in mud stains, the worst of the drama happening right before her eyes.
"But I'm-... I'm... all dirty!" she sobbed even more. "Mommy, my coat is dirty!"
"God, you're such a diva..." Brittany grumbled, quietly beneath the sound of her daughter's cries. "Shh baby, it's fine! We're gonna put your coat in the washing machine, it'll be super clean!"
Sophia choked, swallowing her tears. "R-r-really?"
"Of course sweetheart," she smiled finishing cleaning her face. "It'll look like brand new, don't worry 'bout that. Come on, gimme your hands." Brittany wiped her fingers, those miniature replicas of Santana's. "One finger, two fingers..." she sang to push away the bad memory of the fall.
Sophia watched her do with big eyes. Softly, she calmed down. "Mommy, is true that babies are dirty? I don't like dirty things."
Brittany chuckled. "Who told you that?"
"Barry. He said that his dads clean Lindsey all the time."
She smiled, "they're not dirty. They just need to get their diapers changed quite often. They smell very good most of time."
"What do they smell like?"
Brittany had hard time not grinning. How dear were those memories of Sophia as a baby, her soft and innocent perfume. In her dreams, she remembered her smelling, so pure and fresh. She'd recognize that fragrance through millions. That was an indescribable feeling. "Oh... I don't know, they smell very sweet, very... soft."
"Like candy?"
Brittany laughed. "No, not at all. It's really hard to describe but trust me, the twins will smell good and will be very clean. Speaking about clean kids, you are now very clean, my sweetheart!" she stood up, stuffing the dirty tissues in her pocket.
"Thank you Mommy," Sophia was now satisfied. "Can we go home now?"
The blonde whistled, calling the dog. Once the puppy was back, they were ready to head back home. She grabbed her tiny hand and they slowly exited the park.
"Do babies take showers?" Sophia inquired. The little talk had upsetted her curiosity.
"They take baths."
"What else do they do?"
They cry, Brittany thought. But perhaps now was the time to draw the sweetest portrait possible of what a real baby was. "Not much. They sleep a lot, they eat and they take baths."
"What do they eat?"
Brittany peeked down at Sophia. She was staring with big eyes, from the one expecting more information than her mother could possibly provide. Being 4, what a lovely age. Brittany realized that after the pouting age, the random crying age, they were in for the curious age. She was growing up, that was for sure. She was growing up too fast. Her daughter was patiently waiting for an answer, thrilled to get one.
"Mommy, what do they eat?" Sophia let out, insisting while pulling on their handhold.
"You know what they eat, sweetie. It's just like the doll Grandma' Julie gave you, you know, the little baby with the milk bottle. Real babies eat milk too." Sophia gasped, putting the pieces together. "Mama will give the twins milk at first."
"Why Mama, not you?"
"Because it's Mama who got the milk for them. I don't have some myself."
"But we have milk in the fridge!"
Brittany snorted. She focused on the street life as they were getting closer to home. "It's not the same kind of milk. Babies need a special milk."
"What kind of special milk? Can you buy it at the supermarket too?"
She had hard time not laughing. There she was, explaining nursing to her todd. "Well, you can buy powdered milk at supermarket, but Mama and I won't buy this because Mama can make real milk on her own."
Sophia paused straight and frowned, stopping her mother in her walking and forcing Gogo to struggle with his collar. "But... how? I thought milk was coming from the cow? It's what it's written on the milk bottle in the fridge!"
"Not always-"
"But you told me it was coming from the cow! You told me that was written on the milk bottle!" Sophia almost yelled. "You lied to me?!"
Brittany laughed. "No! I didn't lie to you, the milk in the fridge comes from the cow but the babies' milk comes from the baby's mom."
"But you, you can't? You're my mom!"
Brittany scratched her head, picturing no end to the questioning. "It's the mom who carries the baby who can make milk."
"But how?" Sophia stared, demanding an answer as she pulled on her mother's hand.
What she was about to do wasn't the best idea, yet Brittany didn't really have a sea of options in front of her. "You know what, ask Mama when we get back home. She'll explain it to you. Can we keep walking now? It's starting to be really dark, sweetie."
Sophia complied and resumed walking. Her pout stuck on her lips until they got home. She just couldn't wait for Santana to explain, explain everything, explain all of it. Sadly, her disappointment knew no bounds when she bumped into Santana sleeping peacefully on the couch. She'd have to wait.
She peeked at Brittany coming around. She wetted her eyes, pouted a bit, a deceptive face she had mastered months ago. "You need to wake her up so she can tell me," she demanded.
"No, nope, you're not waking her up," Brittany almost mocked the suggestion. "Wait until she wakes up on her own, go!" she gestured to go play elsewhere not to bother Santana.
Brittany melted at the sight. Santana had fallen asleep. To be honest, she had passed out pathetically. The spoon still stuffed her mouth, the TV was playing without anybody to watch it. Chloe was gone, probably for a while since Santana had seemingly made herself very comfortable before nodding off. She had kicked her shoes off, the pair carelessly lying on the ground. She had put some cushions under her knees to ease her back, and had cleared three quarters of the new ice cream carton. By some sort of miracle, she was still holding the carton of melted cream threatening to drop on the cover she was curling under.
Enamoured, Brittany grabbed the container and put it away. The next step was a tad riskier. She very carefully held the spoon, got rid of the clenching fingers, while managing to keep it firmly inside the Latina's mouth. She felt like a thief stealing a diamond, using cat-like smooth gestures not to wake her up. Santana barely moved, way too lost in her resting paradise.
The household remained quiet until later that night. Brittany reverently prepared everything the family might need to recover from the emotional rollercoaster that day had been. She had time to feed Sophia her dinner, make some popcorn and start a movie without Santana ever surfacing. She heaved her wife's knees to sit on the couch right next to her. She gazed at her stroking her legs over and over again as Sophia was completely absorbed by her movie. A perfect night. That night was just sheer perfection. They finally were back to their old selves, a happy and peaceful family. They were enjoying a moment at home because they wanted to, not because they couldn't go anywhere because of chasing paparazzi. Finally, they had control back. Thankfully, they had it all back. Sheer happiness was calling for them, and nothing else.
Santana grumbled, waking up was actually painful considering the marvel this nap had been. She needed time to figure out where she was and if she was still in the same century as before. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, bracing herself to open her eyes. Sitting on the ground right next to Brittany's feet, Sophia heard the subtle movements of her expecting mom.
"You're awake?" she hurried under Brittany's tender smiles.
"Hm?" Santana groaned, feeling like she'd been punched in the face.
"Mama, I have a question!" Sophia stood up in no time, determined to put an end to that disturbing milky case.
"What question, babydoll?" the brunette attempted at opening her eyes.
"The milk you'll give to the babies, how do you make it?"
Yup, punched right in the face. Santana stared for long seconds, her brain - still just waking up - had a hard time understanding the question. She peeked at Brittany softly giggling and back at Sophia waiting for her answer as if her life depended on it.
"Mama! The milk! How do you make it?!"
"Ugh," Santana faked falling asleep again. Waking up was actually a terrible idea. Brittany couldn't contain her laughter any longer. They'd start their new happy and carefree life tomorrow.