Epilogue part 1

Six years later.

- o -

Santana's life had been thrown upside down over the past six years. She was now standing in front of a stadium, filled with enough people to populate a tiny city. They were chanting her name, crying and yelling all kinds of incomprehensible words which Santana could only guess the meaning of. She had a two-second break between each song. Two seconds to catch her breath and cool down before another round under the burning rays of the spotlights. However, each time that the treasured two-second break came, she couldn't help but think to herself what a battle it had been.

If you had told Santana six years ago that she would be standing here, she wouldn't have believed you. If you had told her two years ago that she would be standing here, she would have laughed at you and she certainly would have broken down in tears in the same moment.

Santana's presence here was a blessing - a blessing she didn't think she'd ever experience. But when the decision had been taken to make her big come back, they had prepared themselves. Santana had prepared her team, the technical members - musicians, make up artists - as well as the legal branch - PRs, lawyers, bodyguards. There wasn't a single detail she hadn't covered. Brittany had also prepared the family and friends. They were both aware people would try to seduce them - would try to negotiate any details they could get a grasp on and sell it to media.

These thoughts filled two whole seconds; first, she thought about her kids. Always the kids (any day, any time) She was a little ashamed to admit it but there was a hierarchy in place. Gracie first and foremost, with the rest of the pack hot on her tracks. Santana had almost lost her, twice. Which was twice more than a parent could afford. The car crash had traumatised Santana, Brittany and the twins. And Gracie had only escalated the worry when Santana had given birth. God knows Gracie was aware of it. Not consciously of course, she was a very caring little girl. Although she definitely, and irrevocably, was a cause of worry for her parents. If there was a tree around Gracie was sure to be found climbing it before they could stop her. If there was a pool, she'd be playing with the flapping water at the edges before they could even put her in a swimsuit. Not to mention her love of fire and chimneys, especially burning things in chimneys, especially burning highly-flammable things in because "It looks like sparkles!".

Gracie seemed to live life with urgency, as if every day was her last day. She had to try everything that crossed her mind. She was a child of action - ready to take on all that the world had to offer. So yeah, Gracie always came first.

Her brother … well that was another story. He was a seducer. He had been a calm baby, way too passive compared to his tornado of a twin sister. He personified the calmness of the sea, peaceful and reassuring. He had eyes that spoke volumes. He wore his charm with ease - that grin hanging on his lips. He'd very quickly understood that he was breaking hearts and taking names when he just tilted his head to the side, smiled widely and batted his eyelashes. Oh yeah, he was a real charmer. Santana couldn't stop from thinking that he was the new generation of gayness in the family. Brittany denied the claims, demanding that her wife stop trying to influence the boy. He'd be whatever he wanted to be and it was not up for debate.

If Santana had any doubts, which she hadn't at all, the arrival of twins had highlighted Brittany's natural motherly instinct. It was tattooed on her .. there was no other possibility. With exhaustion, Santana had discovered an authoritarian tendency of her own mothering instincts. Sometimes, she just couldn't bear being so tired and became spontaneously when the kids made too much noise or tread too close. Brittany however never abandoned herself to aggressiveness. She might crawl into bed every night, she might have the skin tone of a zombie, yet she couldn't seem to make herself scold the kids for… acting like kids.

While Sophia had grown up watching her parents operate as a team, always on the same page, she had discovered a new system. There was a hierarchy in the scolding as well. Santana was always yelling for the little things (too much noise, too much dirt, etc etc.) Then, there was a stage in the scolding where they really knew it would be serious : if Brittany glanced to Santana and said the hallowed words "Let me take care of this". If this stage was reached it was almost certain that Santana's forehead would showcase bright purple veins, her breathing would be erratic and her tanned skin would darken. "Let me take care of this" meant Brittany would be grouping all the kids together around a table until they'd apologize, explain why they did whatever it was that had gotten them into trouble, and a never ending righteous speech on Brittany's part.

Think that's an easy scolding? Brittany's trick was to make it last for hours. Even if only one child was being scolded, Brittany grouped them together every single time. She usually made herself tea in a giant mug, took all the kids to the dining room - a room with nothing other than a table and some chairs and sipped her tea with great patience until the probable anger she felt disappeared. When she had finally centered herself, discussions might start. The kids had quickly learned that it was pointless to fight Brittany's authority .. her strange placating, peaceful and yelling-free authority.

She would lock the family in, sit and start sipping her tea... and wait. Wait until they stopped drumming on the table, stopped calling for Santana, stopped crying, stopped shrieking, stop accusing each other one of starting the trouble and stopped discussing the "fairness" of the punishment. Usually, it lasted long enough for Brittany to finish her tea. When the children were empty of crocodile tears, of the aggressiveness, when they were numb from crying she'd eventually put her mug down and start speaking.

Slowly but surely after many repetitions, the kids resigned themselves to their fates. Then the magic of team power operated. Sophia had finally taken her big sister role at heart and started policing the group to spare herself the dining room over stupid drawings on walls - signed by Lucas - or cut and burned plants - a specialty of Gracie's. Brittany's patience... Santana harbored none.

Their little Sophia. Brittany and Santana had prepared her more than anyone for Santana's big come back. The twins were six, they were still too small to truly comprehend what would be happening. Sophia however was about to turn eleven and teenage rebellions were begging to rear their ugly heads. Nevertheless, she was smart enough to understand what Santana's return to the stage would entail Her fragile and hormonal teenage mind should not suffer due to her mother's fame. She should not suffer from media frenzy. She should not suffer from it at all, period. So they had spoken with her about everything. She had shown a certain interest in the legal part of the affair. She and Quinn had started a friendship now that she was a habitual visitor. Quinn would crash in the guest bedroom once in a while to fix a detail, a contract, or to simply empty a bottle of wine with her friends.

Sophia loved Chloe but she had come to think that Quinn was the aunt meant for her. She loved her occupation. Quinn seemed so smart and powerful in her tight grey suits, with her large rolling leather case to carry all her files to the Pierce's. Brittany and Santana had let her team up with Quinn, who diligently shared her knowledge with Sophia on anything and everything legalese. And the more she grew up, the more her parents felt bits of teenage Santana appeared in her.

Lately, her strategy to run the tribe and manage her parents was quite pitiless. Divide and conquer. Like a lawyer, she endeavoured to track down any apparent flaw in her parents' system which she could use to defend herself or the tribe. Like a lawyer, she mastered detailed and thoughtful speeches to create alibis or start debates. Like a tiny Santana, she excelled in balancing her charming temper and manipulative manners. Like a tiny Santana, she was strong and loving.

Of course, Santana got along very well with her first daughter. It would be hard not to. However, Brittany struggled on her part. Something broke the day Sophia had looked her in the eye and had asked her, in a vicious and defying tone, if she truly thought she was her real mother. Had Sophia meant it? Absolutely not. Yet she had dared to ask. Since that day, Brittany feared her a little. She had stopped trying to negotiate with her and forced her passive-scolding on her instead, from the fear that she might dare to say such things again. Or even say worse, an affirmative and very clear sentence, like: "You are not my mother". With her dream of motherhood damaged, Brittany behaved differently towards Santana as well. They might share a lot, but they would never share their kind of parenthood. Santana was a bio-mom, Brittany an adoptive one. They had different prerogatives. However, with time, this little struggle between them eventually settled down by itself. Why? Because one particular aspect of their youth was leaving them. They were aging, and they were being tormented by the looming expiration date. A date that they would never know when to expect. The twins were still little, but they were growing up fast and they'd soon be as independent as Sophia. Even Gracie with her love of fire had been taking it easy. On a morning like any other, Brittany had looked at herself in the mirror. She was watching Santana get out of the shower, her body marked with life : two pregnancies erased with surgery, a flat stomach and brand new boobs, skin toned and smoothed with laser sessions and intense workouts. She had looked at herself again : flat stomach and toned body... like she had always been since she embraced womanhood decades ago. She had one scar, only one. Besides that, she was almost left untouched by aging, or by time slowly passing by. But her apparent youth was an illusion. She had been perfectly aware of her real age and what it meant. She had turned to face Santana, who was drying herself with a towel. "If you ever want one more, we have to do it now." "One more what?" "Toddler."

Santana couldn't care less about her own expiration date. She had assumed her duty twice, and believe her, she had had enough. That was exactly why she had gone "oh so crazy" with surgery. She gave herself a brand new body, a sexy and hot piece of ass, no way she'd destroy it again. She had needed it, as a woman. She had needed to feel like a woman again, not like a human bottle of baby milk and a cuddling machine. She had needed that surgery, to get power back in the bedroom, for the sake of her marriage, of her love for Brittany. She simply couldn't stand anymore the condition of "recovering mom" that had seemed to take forever. Now, she was a woman again. Not just a mom. A mom indeed, but a wife, a singer, a lover. But she had understood Brittany. She actually had wondered how long it would take before her biological clock would ring. If Brittany wanted one more, it would be her wife's choice and she would support her, obviously. When you have three, you can have four. It would not be much of a change with already such a big family. But here's the thing : three were alright. It was a lot of work. If Brittany would have required Santana to give her one more, she would have say no. Because she couldn't physically and mentally go through all of it again. She couldn't afford it and she didn't want it either. She also knew well what it felt like to be pregnant, and for that very reason, knowing her wife was aging, she herself couldn't ask Brittany for one more. Brittany getting pregnant would mean quite a risky pregnancy - a subject Santana had studied very closely. It would mean having to deal with their energetic and time consuming household with a soldier shot down for 9 months, if not more, if you count the recovering time. And after all, that was considering that all the medical baby stuff worked. What if it didn't work? How would Brittany feel while having to deal with a body that was becoming more and more sterile as days passed? What if they told her wife she actually wouldn't be able to carry at all, ever?

A fourth baby was a tough decision, on all levels. They had discussed it for a very long time, way longer than the previous times. Did they really want a fourth? What would Brittany want for herself: taste the joy of carrying another life or leave things how they were, forever? Could their family even afford a fourth? Would the kids want an addition to the group? And if it didn't work, would Brittany manage? So many "if's" and "what about's" that they had to ponder on.

Finally, they had ended up making a decision. They would give it a try. In Brittany's defense, she had admitted that Sophia had changed her way of seeing things since that question : "Are you sure you're my real mother?" Maybe their family needed some regulation. If Brittany happened to seal the family with a very last child, there would be no biological or adoptive mom anymore. They'd be both. No more difference. It had seemed extremely important to Brittany. Santana had clearly understood that it wasn't about having a baby, a new "toy" to play with, like Sophia might have been when they had decided to have her. They had wanted a kid to seal their love, like how one would get married or get an engagement ring. This possible new baby was more about the perfect balance of their family. Brittany had explained she sometimes felt like their family was a Jenga game, dangerously suspended, and that they needed some glue to fix it together. To her, this dangling feeling was coming from the fact that they didn't really know what they were doing with Soph' - not that they did it wrong. No one ever knows what to do when they welcome their first child. They managed the twins because they simply couldn't afford not to; two are one hell of an ordeal to deal with. She felt like they needed more tenderness, they needed to break that system that had settled in their house out of hurry and lack of time to really dive in deep in happiness. They all needed to bond over something that would get them all on the same page. As a couple, they could do this by erasing this difference in their very personal relation to parenthood; as a family, by getting all the kids working on welcoming someone which she knew would happen without competition or jealousy, like what might have happened with Sophia and the twins. And very selfishly, yes, she also wanted to know what it felt like to have someone growing inside yourself. Santana hadn't really discussed anything. Her questions were only meant to make sure they had thought of everything before signing up for this commitment.

They had found themselves in Ferguson's office. They had ended up getting Brittany on hormonal treatment. They had waited for The Call. The had ended up crying tears of joy, reuniting all the family to spill the big news. Readjusting to a new way to run the family was sometimes difficult. Sophia had been the most difficult. Brittany - and her hormones - had been confused and unsure on how to proceed, now that the role of adoptive mother she had embraced ten years before was challenged. More than ever, she had felt it: that there really was a tiny difference between a biological and adoptive mom, tiny yet important. And she had been so terribly overwhelmed with these new sensations of her body and mind changing... and feeling that baby kick! What a wonder! A baby boy, how funny considering she had wanted a newborn to balance the family and they were getting a tie: two boys, two girls. Readjusting was hard but she was sure, they were all sure, it was for the best. Until that night...

Santana had woken up in a hurry, her leg had felt hot and wet. Right against her, her wife was feverish, sweaty, she could see drops on her forehead through the darkness. She had turned the lights on to find their bed soaked in blood and Brittany unconscious. The paramedics had saved her wife, not their son. They couldn't do anything, he was already dead by the time they had gotten there. There were nothing they could possibly do, his heart had stopped so suddenly, erasing his essence of life. Through this dramatic storm of shock and sadness, they had to make a decision. The boy was born dead on the very limit of administrative procedures: they could either give him a name and bury him, or throw him out with the rest of the Hospital waste. How could they even say that to them, how could they ask them what they wanted to do with the body! They had called him Celestino, after Santana's long lost granddad, It meant "heavenly" in Spanish. Lucas had brought that up that idea despite his own will. He loved The Lion King, Santana always sang the Broadway version to the kids. He had asked if the baby boy had became one of the stars Simba looks at when he thinks of his dad. Santana hadn't found anything else to say than "He does", before breaking down crying for the hundredth time. Brittany couldn't speak anymore. Her voice was stuck in her throat, the only sounds escaping it were raw and guttural cries, the sound of her deepest self falling apart.

This had been a terrible year for them, that's an understatement. Brittany hadn't left her bed for… a long time. Longer than anyone would be willing to admit. Santana had managed to hold the family somewhat together. The show the parents had been putting on for the kids hadn't been nice to see. The kids had understood on their own that there was no room left for trying to fool them, for crocodile tears. Santana and Brittany, mostly Brittany, had been surviving more than living. Quoting Santana's words when asked about her wife's condition, "She's breathing. About the rest... I don't even know." Slowly, Santana had gone back to work. She had songs hidden in the drawers for years, and had decided it was the time to dig in these said drawers and do something with them. She had re-written almost everything. She hadn't been particularly fond of what she had been composing, yet she had no other choice. It was either about drowning like Brittany or fighting her way back into life for their kids' sake. They might have lost one, but the other three were unfairly paying the price. She had been moving on, travelling far from where Brittany had been stuck. At some point, the distance between them became way too dramatic for Santana to even pretend being able to understand how Brittany was feeling. Brittany had remained the exact same for weeks, months maybe: a weepy mess lost in a sea of sheets, refusing to eat and speak, even to leave her bed. It had gotten to that point where Santana simply didn't know what else to do.

The miracle happened on a very sad night. The kids were used to setting the table for dinner, but that night Lucas hadn't bothered setting a plate for Brittany. Santana had complained, he had rebelled with a "She won't come anyway so I think we should stop putting a plate for her. She never shows up, so why are you yelling at me?" That night, Santana had knelt by Brittany's side of the bed, her eyes reddened by the struggle to keep her tears inside, her skin tainted in grey as all the blood had deserted her veins. She had felt so damn empty. Empty from any solution, any miraculous solution that would solve everything. Since Celestino had died, never had she been so honest with her wife. She had broken down in tears, pouring her heart in a wrenching speech about how she could not keep going this way, that she had to fight for the kids, that she couldn't abandon them over sadness, that she had to hold them together. But she told Brittany in a long monologue that she would stop fighting for her. That she had to admit that she could do nothing for her. That Brittany had her own struggle to deal with and she had to accept that it was her's and her's only. That it was about Brittany and Celestino only, their bond, their loss of each other. That she deeply loved her no matter what, and because she loved her to the bone, she had poured the saddest and most dramatic sentence she would ever say, "If you feel you don't belong to me anymore, if you feel you belong to… his side, then... leave." She had explained she could manage until the kids are old enough to be on their own, that she would survive long enough to make sure they'd be forever okay. She'd manage to live without her because she'd know Brittany would be with him. That they'd be good together. Happy together. Santana told Brittany that she had promised the day they married to always make sure she'd be happy. And lately, she had come to the conclusion that she'd be happier dead, with him, than alive in a world where she no longer belonged.

Brittany had felt like Santana could finally understand how she had been feeling all along. Miscarrying had felt like cutting her heart in two and she felt compelled to seek out that missing part. She had held that insanely small baby, blue-skinned and lifeless. She had held it for hours before a nurse had wrestled him out of her arms. It was not natural for a parent to buy a coffin. It was even less natural to buy a coffin that was so incredibly small. It was not the natural order of things. And Brittany couldn't picture an end to her suffering. She had been thinking of killing herself every second of every day. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't find the strength to leave this world, to make such a final decision. When she had looked up at Santana drowning in her own tears with her honesty and love hammering on her laboured breathing, she had understood that it wasn't about finding enough strength to leave. She might not be able to live without Celestino, but she wouldn't be able to be without Santana either. It was about choosing one over another. She had opened up. She had explained how she felt, that she was sorry to have put all of them through this. Guilt colored her words as it had been her very own decision to have a fourth. She had been perfectly aware of the game rules and she had decided to play anyway. It was her burden, from the very second it had started existing until the day she'd die. She had a hard time seeing the kids, because, if she was being completely honest… their kids had kept reminding her that she had failed, just by their very existence. Her struggle had been real and Santana had been barely guessing it all along. After a long conversation of several hours, Brittany stopped speaking, looking ashamed. "Take me somewhere." she had whispered. "Where?" "Anywhere."

Within an hour, Santana had packed a suitcase, bought flight tickets, and by the next morning, they left. Where did they go? Nobody would ever know. Chloe had received a text saying to come over at 7am sharp. By the time she had gotten there, Brittany was already in the car, and Santana had had the keys in hand ready to leave. They had been gone for ten days, ten days without a text or a call. Santana had precisely specified they would turn their phones off, they'd be gone, "for Brittany's sake." That was all Chloe ever got. When they had come back home, both were in much better shape. It was striking actually. Whatever they had done, it had worked perfectly. Brittany ran into the kids when they got home. She hadn't headed to the opposite side of the house like usual. "How was school?" she asked. The kids' jaws dropped, she was speaking! She was interacting! It was equally awesome and terrific. She hugged Lucas, him particularly… because he was a boy. She hugged him with her life, as if it was the first and last hug they'd ever share. Sophia spotted a tattoo on Santana's forearm while the latter was pulling their luggage in the apartment. It was still reddish and swollen. The tattoo was of rather big flowers, which looked like they featured all the colours that ever existed. Sophia demanded to see it closer, but Santana pulled down her sleeve and dismissed her with a "Later." Later, she would tell her it's adult business, parents' business, it's between Mommy and she, and no, she would not tell where they had been, that she hadn't gotten a tattoo for fun, and again, "it's between Mommy and me. You have to respect that we might have secrets. We all have secrets. Including you. Including us." Her expression made it clear that she wasn't joking around. Nobody dared asking her again where they had gone.

Step by step, Brittany walked into life again. She resumed living a routine, really slowly, and with great effort. She got back on her feet eventually, resumed working, smiling, and even laughing. She reassured Santana that it might have been hard but that she was well and truly back, and that she shouldn't be worried about her. They had stopped talking about Celestino. On his sad birthday, only the two of them put a candle on his grave. And they wouldn't talk about it, about him, until the next year. They had to move on, together. Brittany would be working on new projects, Santana would go back to music, her own music.

That was the story flashing right before her eyes during the two-second break between each song. This stage, she owned it. She deserved it, every inch of it. Each fan yelling, she deserved it. Her success was untouched by a long absence away from the public eye. She deserved it. She was feeding on the energy created by all the people around her. The sweat of her forehead was art, it was talent bursting through her skin. Her mad breathing, it was all these emotions she had kept inside unable to voice them. Now she was singing them, hurling them. Her music style had taken a big turn. Her jazzy voice was all forgotten. It became husky, raw, deeper than before. She was singing with desperation, the sounds scraping their way out with necessary ferocity. She was singing from her heart, nobody was doubting that. Once you heard her, you were convinced that she had survived hell. That was why she had so much success despite having been gone for so long from the shiny side of the music industry. There was so much honesty in her singing, one couldn't remain impassive to such life force.

Santana swiped up a bottle of water, refreshed her throat, and killed the rest of the concert. When the lights went off for good, she felt extremely satisfied. Each concert she put on was better than the previous one. The adrenaline… how could she forget how good it felt! She didn't waste any time. She jumped in the car, drove herself to the airport, took a private flight and headed home. After every concert, she headed home. She would not spend a night without Brittany. That would keep her from world tours for the moment, but really, who cared. It was a grueling routine, but it was worth it. It was worth it ten times over.

She entered the apartment around 3 in the morning. She took her shoes off quietly in order not to wake anyone up and snuck into her bedroom with great agility. Her feet barely grazed the ground. Brittany wasn't disturbed from her sleep at all. Santana undressed, slid herself in between the sheets, and warmed herself against the bare back of her wife. A whimper of pleasure escaped Brittany's mouth. Santana guessed she wasn't as sound asleep as she seemed.

"I missed you tonight…" She croaked in a sleepy tone. She turned around to face Santana, slowly put her arms around her and pushed her into a long lasting kiss. "Do you still have some energy for me?"

Santana smiled wide. Her wife was so sleepy that she could barely open her eyes, yet she was asking for energy… "What for?"

Stretching, groaning a little, Brittany pushed the sheets to uncover them in quite a lazy move. "For that…"

Despite the lack of light, Santana saw very well her wife's small sensual moves from the one who had been horny all night. She bit her lip, fighting her massive desire to make love to her. "Go to sleep Hun, we can do that tomorrow."

Brittany complained with groans. Powering through her tiredness, she pushed Santana over, straddled her, fought to open her blue eyes and softly stretched over her, what Santana… adored watching. The latter let her hands wander up her wife's stomach. "I want to see you."

"Hold on." With the same slow and sensual behavior, she bent over her to light a candle she had planned to use for the night. She fell back on Santana, softly, sweetly. She parted her wife's legs, slid her own in between, and did what it'd take to warm her woman up.

"Stop," Santana pushed her and smirked. "I said I wanted to see you."

"Hm…" Brittany parted her legs and fell on her back. She opened them wide so Santana could contemplate what she liked best. She had no body issues, not one. She might have had one in the past: a pregnant belly that fell flat too soon. But it was all fixed with her large tattoo. She had flowers matching Santana's. Bigger ones, colourful ones, that were painted all over her right side and most of her stomach. Her stomach was far from looking hollow when so decorated. Brittany loved it, she loved every petal of her bouquet. Santana's new favorite game? Drawing with her finger every feature of this gigantic tattoo. Brittany grasped her hand and forcefully pulled it down on her. "Hurry…"

Under her finger, it was wet and warm. No doubt Brittany had helped herself while waiting for her to come back home, no doubt that she actually wasn't sleepy, she was drunk with desire. Santana grinned so hard she could feel her cheek muscles pulling, her nose skin wrinkling. Right now, she and Brittany were in a truly, really, overwhelmingly solid… happy place.

Hello readers! It's been a long time since I last posted and I'm deeply sorry about that. Let's just say that I had a really difficult year? Now I'm trying to get back to writing so... normally... I'll be posting more regularly. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, which I know is a bit different than usual. I'm just trying to get a fresh start in the story, hence the "6 years later". Let me know what you think about it :)