A/N: We're nearing the end folks. There will be one more chapter after this one.
Chapter 14: Santana
The back door slams shut and Santana looks up to see her daughter leap across the back deck and onto the grass, throwing herself into the mass of tiny bodies running around laughing and screaming. Santana's brother is somewhere in the mix; the kids ganged up and somehow managed to get him down. Now they're climbing all over him.
She's sitting off to the side of the yard, next to her sister-in-law, supervising the fun. Ruby invited some of her friends from her kindergarten class and from her mini-me soccer team over for the afternoon, and Santana promised their parents that they'd be returned without injuries.
"I can't believe you're related to that man," Kathy says idly.
"I can't believe you're married to that man," Santana quips back. Who in their right mind would marry her brother?
"Oh, it was only for the money," she laughs, "No love involved."
"Good to know."
They continue to watch as Carlos tries to lift himself from the grass, reaching an arm into the air as if pleading to God for assistance as tiny bodies pull and tug on every square inch of him. There aren't that many children there, but all the moving limbs make it look like there could be enough to fill an elementary classroom, all shrieking with high pitched laughter.
Ruby pulls herself out of the tangle of bodies and runs over to Santana, sticking her tongue out and panting like a dog.
"Ruby," is all Santana says. Her tone is enough to get her point across.
"I'm the tiger," the little girl insists. "I'm Queen of the Jungle and have to save everyone from evil Uncle Carlos the Dinosaur. I have to act the part." She sticks her tongue out further and gives a loud pant.
Santana's lips pinch and she shakes her head. Her daughter is an odd one.
"Yeah, Santana," Kathy says, looking at Santana with a pinched expression, trying very hard not to show how amused she is, "She has to act the part."
Before Santana can respond, her daughter speaks up again, "Ben ate a mouthful of dirt. He's the mole."
Ben is Kathy's son.
Kathy slowly closes her eyes and exhales in the way only mothers can.
"Was there something you wanted, mija?" Santana asks, taking a sip of her lemonade.
Ruby gives her puppy-eyes so she hands the drink over. Her daughter's sticky hands greedily grab the glass and she slurps up a big gulp. "Sour," she says as she hands the glass back.
She smiles, "It's made from lemons, baby, they're sour."
Ruby nods, as if committing this to memory. "Aunt Quinn is here!" she suddenly bursts with her outside voice. "She's inside with the wheeley man and some blonde lady. I thought they were the clown but they weren't. Okay bye." Then she runs off, leaps, and latches her arms around her kneeling uncle's unsuspecting neck while growling madly.
Santana turns to her sister-in-law and opens her mouth, but Kathy beats her to it. "I'll make sure no one draws any blood, you go inside and see."
Santana smiles her thanks and makes her way inside, wondering why Quinn's here. She, Mike and their spawn are supposed to come by tomorrow, for Ruby's actual birthday.
She's also wondering why Quinn brought Artie along and who 'some blonde lady' is. If Artie has a new girl why is he bringing her here? And why is Quinn bringing Artie here in the first place, doesn't she have her own husband and small child to drag around? She hasn't even seen Artie since right after Ruby was born, why is he here now?
She finds them in the front room of the house. Quinn is sitting on the couch, legs crossed and foot tapping nervously. Artie is sitting in front of her in his wheelchair, and the other woman is standing by the fireplace, her back to Santana as she looks at the pictures. "Hey, Quinn, what're you…?"
As she speaks her eyes slide from Quinn to Artie to the stranger and then stall, unable to return to Quinn to finish her sentence. She's unable to finish her thought. The happy smile that was on her face when she entered the room falls away. Everything around her falls away.
This isn't just one of those moments she has sometimes, where she's in the grocery store or the mall or the gas station and sees a flash of blonde hair that pulls on her heart strings. They used to happen more before, but they're less frequent now. But this isn't one of those moments. This isn't one of those moments where her eyes try to follow the blonde while her muscles clench and her breath catches for a moment as her mind plays a trick on her, filling in what she isn't seeing but wishes she was.
This isn't like that.
She knows that body, even from behind. The colour of her hair, the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her back and her long, toned legs. She recognizes the easy posture, the round of her hips, the tips of her dangling fingers.
Her breath doesn't leave her in one big whoosh, leaving her stranded without air. It's more like it slowly slides away, thinning and thinning until there's nothing more for her to take in. She doesn't feel cold, or too hot. She doesn't feel dizzy or like she might pass out. She just feels.
Santana feels the way her heart thumps against her ribs as the woman turns. Feels her throat swallow, thick and slow, as the woman's eyes take in what she sees. Feels the blood rush through her veins as the realization shows on the woman's face. Feels her tongue go limp and heavy in her mouth as blue eyes connect with hers. Feels the long-missed tingle in her fingers as they try to reach out for what they haven't held for so long.
Brittany blinks, eyes flicking up and down over Santana, a soft smile on her lips. Her eyes show hesitation, almost fear, but her mouth holds a smile that reaches forward and pulls at Santana's chest, reaching for her heart inside her body. Not a hard or painful jerk that tries to rip her heart from inside her, just a familiar tug that reminds Santana's heart who it belongs to, in case it forgot.
Brittany doesn't speak, she waits. Her lips aren't pressed in a hard line, her body isn't tense or uncomfortable. She simply waits for Santana to do or say something first.
Santana's a little busy taking in a sight she was afraid she'd never see again to speak, though. She blinks a few times, lets out a small breath through her nose, and tries to return the small smile.
"Santana?"
It isn't Brittany's voice that breaks the silence that had blanketed them, its Artie's.
Santana's lips part, but all she can do is breathe. Her whole body feels like jello, as if the slightest touch could distort everything. She tries to speak, but no words come out.
Brittany takes pity on her, looking at Santana carefully before speaking. "Hi."
One word. One word and the illusion falls away. One word and the thick mist that had surrounded them turns into a chilling wind, whipping right down into the deepest part of her bones.
Her voice is still the same, the same sound, the same movements of her lips, the same words Santana's used to hearing. But that's all that's the same.
Santana staggers backwards a step, startled. That one word feels like ice clawing across her face in the world's most terrifying hail storm.
Somehow Artie's moved behind her, because she takes another step back and she bumps into the side of his chair. Her hand reaches out, clasping onto his chair handle, not only to keep her balance, but to ground her. Artie is familiar. Artie isn't a stranger. She knows Artie, he still feels and looks and sounds the same. Artie is safe.
Her mind is telling her that Brittany isn't safe.
"What…?" she tries, but that's the only word that will come out. She can't come up with any more to say to express her distress.
Artie's hand lifts to cover her own on his chair. She squeezes his chair handle harder, as if he can feel it and she were trying to communicate everything to him. She doesn't understand what's happening. She doesn't understand why she doesn't recognize the woman before her.
"Take a deep breath," Artie insists lowly, his voice gentle and assuring.
Santana obeys, gasping in a short breath and holding it inside her lungs.
His hand moves on top of hers to sooth her, his arm at an awkward angle. "Now breathe out, Santana."
Again she obeys. She finds she can't do anything more.
Quinn's moved forward by now, standing partly between Santana and Brittany. Her back is to Brittany, her hazel eyes are fixed on Santana, watching and calculating and willing to react no matter what Santana does. If she lunges, if she falls, if she flees, Quinn is watching her and ready.
"Santana, it's okay." Quinn says slowly.
Santana's eyes only stay on Quinn's for a moment before looking past her at Brittany. Brittany, who seems to sense the distress coating the room like too-thick icing. Santana watches as Brittany's lip gives a little tremble before her frown sets in and her shoulder's sag ever-so slightly.
"I'm sorry," Brittany breaths out, her voice a whisper.
The words rush against Santana like a wave and she takes a step to the side, away from Artie and breaking his contact with her. Quinn's moving though. She steps forward, placing her hand against Santana's other arm. Santana wants to, but doesn't try to shake Quinn off. Her body is too fixated on Brittany to do anything more.
"What's wrong with her?" she whispers to Quinn, the hysterics she's trying to hold down ebbing into her words.
Santana finds herself not listening for Quinn's response, but watching Brittany's instead. Brittany's face falls further and she blinks wetly a few times. She doesn't fully step back, away from what's going on, but she leans away, clearly hurt by Santana's words. She looks so apologetic and broken it makes Santana ache inside; Brittany should never look so hopeless when looking at her.
Quinn squeezes her arm tightly, "San, do you want to sit down while we explain?"
"No," she says, watching Brittany intently. Brittany, who looks like everything her heart remembers but feels so much like a stranger that it hurts.
Artie swings into her vision, positioning himself closer to Brittany now, seemingly to offer her comfort while Quinn steadies Santana.
Quinn's grip moves from her arm to pressing against her back, keeping her calm as she rubs small circles and begins to explain.
"She was in an accident, Santana."
"Oh," is all she can say. Her eyes haven't left Brittany.
Santana has pictured this happening before, Brittany coming home. She's dreamt and wished and begged and prayed for this moment, so many times and in so many ways that they all began to blur together into a heavy lump of longing in her heart. A lump that, as time went on, was less painful to carry, but was there nonetheless.
But never before has Santana pictured seeing Brittany again like this, when her body recognizes her but every intuitive sense inside her is telling her that this isn't Brittany.
She doesn't question Quinn, only waits. Waits, eyes never leaving Brittany, hoping Quinn will lead her through this.
"Santana, she was hit by a car."
Santana's eyes pull away from Brittany for a moment, glancing at Quinn and Artie to make sure she's heard properly before landing back on Brittany again, who gives a tiny nod, confirming what Quinn's said.
"She lost her memory."
Her legs wobble slightly, the room swaying a little bit around her; Quinn presses her hand harder against her back. She doesn't feel nauseous, doesn't feel dizzy, she is simply aware that everything is moving around her in ways they shouldn't.
"Quinn," she whispers. The room is feeling too thick and heavy around her. She can feel the heat radiating off Quinn's hand against her back, off her body standing so close to hers. Her touch begins to burn, becoming unbearable.
Santana needs a moment.
Quinn has known her long enough that she doesn't need words to understand what Santana's asking her. Her eyes studying Santana's face for a moment, searching, questioning that she'll be okay.
"Please," Santana breaths out, low and so only Quinn can hear.
Quinn's eyes leave hers and move to study Brittany and Santana holds her breath. Quinn is asking Brittany's permission. She's checking to make sure Brittany will be okay if she's left alone with Santana.
Santana doesn't understand any of this.
"Artie," Quinn says softly, "Why don't we give them a minute alone." It isn't a question, she isn't leaving room for anything but Artie's compliance.
Santana watches, mystified, as Artie doesn't look to her to make sure she'll be alright. She watches as he looks up at Brittany, just like Quinn did, to make sure she's okay with being left alone.
"It's alright," Brittany says softly, giving Artie's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. She looks nervous, but she smiles.
Artie sits still a moment longer, probably debating what would happen if he chose not to listen to Quinn, before nodding to himself and following Quinn from the room.
A heavy silence settles over them, Brittany smiling hesitantly at her, Santana trying her hardest to keep her lip from trembling. Everything inside her feels terrified, unsure of what's about to happen.
"I hit my head really hard," Brittany says, and it takes Santana a second to realize she's continuing with Quinn's story of what happened to her. "I lost all my memories. I didn't know who I was; my name, where I lived. I couldn't remember anything."
"Why," she croaks out thickly, frustrated her voice is betraying her, showing Brittany how hurt and confused she is. She wants to try and push it all down and be strong, but she's been strong for so long now.
"Why what?" Brittany asks patiently when Santana doesn't go on, her voice sweet and soft as ever.
"Why… if you couldn't remember," the words leave her heavy and fractured. "Why couldn't you…"
"Come back?" Brittany asks and Santana nods her head a bit too eagerly, willing Brittany to answer. "I didn't have any identification with me. I didn't know my own name, but I had nothing to remind me of it either. If I had had a bag or a wallet or a phone, they would have…"
They would have called Santana.
"When?"
"Five years ago. The accident was in Santa Clarita, that's the hospital I was in."
Santana tries to swallow the growing lump in her throat, "Quinn told you…"
"She explained what she could, yeah. That we… we had some sort of argument…"
Some sort of argument. Quinn didn't tell Brittany why they were arguing, that Brittany didn't like Santana trekking across the state when she was eight months pregnant for something work related that involved her staying in a hotel for a week.
"She," Brittany continues, her voice gentle, "said you didn't… no one knew if I…"
"Don't." She doesn't need to hear Brittany confirm it. If she was in Santa Clarita then the bus ticket wasn't a dud, Brittany had been going after her to apologize. She just got lost in between. She didn't leave her.
Brittany didn't leave her.
Santana smiles and gives a fluttering breath, "It doesn't matter."
"I'm sorry I-"
She cuts Brittany off again, tripping over her words in her haste, "N-no, no it isn't your fault."
It doesn't matter how or why she disappeared, it doesn't matter that Santana's spent five long years with a dancer-shaped hole in her heart. Brittany is here, with her now. That's all that matters. She's found her again.
The smile on Brittany's lips, first nervous and unsure, shifts to a shy one. Not uncomfortable, simply tiny and happy.
Santana finds herself smiling in response, laughing through a sob as a few tears run down her cheeks. Brittany's back. She may not remember, but she's back and that's all Santana needs. It doesn't matter if Brittany doesn't remember her, she remembers Brittany. She remembers everything there is to remember about Brittany. Santana can do it for both of them, and she can help Brittany build new memories.
"I don't know you anymore," she explains, and Santana feels her heart clench because no. Brittany can't be thinking that's it, that's all there is, that she's gone and seen Santana and now she's leaving again to go live the life she build for herself after the accident.
"I don't know you at all. But," the but catches Santana before she can say anything, her mind trying to calm her heart. She stays rooted on the spot, listening as Brittany finishes. "I… there's still something there, you know?" Santana finds herself nodding along with Brittany's words, treasuring them because she hasn't heard Brittany speak in so, so long. "Part of me knows you, even if I don't remember you. It's like… my mind doesn't know you, but my heart…" Her voice changes, from low and apologetic to suddenly insistent, "Do you sing?"
"What?" She half asks, half laughs, not expecting the question.
"Do you sing?" Brittany repeats, like this is the single most important thing in the world for her.
"I… yes."
And Brittany smiles, wide and bright. Santana has no idea what caused it, but God, how she's missed that smile.