Wednesday comes. Santana is a wreck. She considers cancelling all morning. Then she considers drinking all afternoon. She's being ridiculous. It's Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany, what's the big deal? Right, the big deal is that it's Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany, and she's feeling all kinds of things that she's not supposed to feel. Friends don't feel like this for each other, she doesn't feel like this ever. She doesn't let anyone too close, she doesn't let anyone see her for all that she really is.
She doesn't cancel. She doesn't drink. She doesn't cancel because of that little boy, who's waiting for her to come over. She doesn't drink, because showing up drunk at five-pm to a place where there's a child seems reckless and irresponsible. She does, however, pick up two bottles of wine—a red and a white, since she doesn't know which Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany, drinks—and cupcakes. All kids like cupcakes, right? The long-term patients on her floor certainly do. She thinks that's the only thing that they like more than beads.
It's 4:49 when she gets to the brownstone. It's too early, she decides, so she walks around the block once, twice, three times, until it's 5:01. A minute late seems far more acceptable than a minute early, even if she isdripping sweat from the late summer heat. Again, standing on the doorstep, she considers having her head checked. Brain ailments present themselves in strange ways. Perhaps her strange way is acting like this in front of Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany. She's really concerned. Maybe she should leave immediately for the hospital. Someone there can give her a neuro consult.
Before she can turn and run though, a little face peeks through the window. Doccer Santana! she can read on his mouth, Doccer Santana! Doccer Santana! Hi! The neuro consult will have to wait. She's not heartless,she won't turn her back on an excited kid.
Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany, opens the door, and Santana hears a whoop of excitement, followed by a tiny arm wrapping around her waist. She takes a breath, then another, then another. What is wrong with her? Why does dinner feel like an endeavor? She went through medical school for God's sake. She went through internship, residency, one of the most grueling pediatric surgery internships in the country. Surely, she can get through eating a hotdog.
"Doccer Santana! Doccer Santana! I makeded you a pitcher! Come see! Come see!"
"Sorry." Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany, mouths. "He's really excited."
"All good." Santana shrugs. "Uh, do you mind taking this stuff though?"
"You didn't have to bring anything." She smiles a little. "Definitely not wine, I've got plenty of that here."
"I mean, I didn't want to show up empty handed, so…" Her sentence trails off, as she allows herself to be lead through the entryway and into the living room, where chubby crayons are strewn about the coffee table, and paper after paper of scribbled drawing litters the floor.
"This-a one is for you! Okey?" Liam reaches with his left hand, and plucks a yellow and pink one from the disarray. "I's a huggin' babies, see?"
"You really like those hugging babies, huh, sir?"
"I not a sir, I a Liam! A Liam Con-a-wee Pierce!"
"Liam Connolly Pierce, huh? That's a long name for a short guy." Santana teases, and the little boy just giggles and giggles, like she's the funniest thing in the world.
"You like it? You like my pitcher?"
"I love it." She kneels down, tracing the colored lines with her hands. "Can I take it home with me?"
"Yes! Yes you can! Mama say that's why I give it!"
"Well I'm pretty lucky then, aren't I?"
"No, we lucky! Mama say you a very busy doccer, an'we lucky you comed to eat hotdogs!"
"Mama said that, huh?" Inexplicably, Santana feels that damn heat creeping up the back of her neck again, and the sound of Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany's voice nearly makes her jump out of her skin.
"Mama said what?"
"I's tellin' Doccer Santana that we lucky!"
"Well, Li, I think you're gonna feel even more lucky, when you see that Santana brought cupcakes too."
"You did?" His better eye goes wide, and then his whole face lights up with excitement. "You did? You did?"
"I did." She can't help but smile, and when he jumps on her to hug her, she can't help but squeeze him tightly back either. "I figured you might like them."
As it turns out for Santana, watching Dr. Pierce, no, Brittany make dinner becomes problematic. It's not her fault, really. Is there anyone who doesn't find a good looking woman in a tank top and shorts leaning over a barbecue incredibly attractive? She gulps her wine to deal with it—and is met with a giggle and a Mama say we needs to drinked it slow! from Liam—but really, she's a goner, and she knows it.
Somehow, after hotdogs and cupcakes—and a lot of wine, for Santana—Liam convinces her to read him his stories before bed. She wants to turn him down gently, tell him she's sure his Mama would love to read to him instead, make her exit from this torturous dinner where she just cannot physically stop looking at Brittany, but she finds herself nodding. She finds herself being led up the stairs to his bedroom, painted with the train map from New York to Boston, and covered in old railroad memorabilia. She finds herself sitting on the edge of his blue and white striped bed, and waiting for him to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth. She finds herself reading The Goodnight Train, and watching Brittany kiss his forehead after he fall asleep. And then, then Santana finds herself following her back downstairs, and letting her pour another glass of wine.
Brittany locks the back door, while Santana sits down on the couch, leaning into the soft pillows as she slowly sips her wine. She feels a shift in the air in the room, when Brittany comes back in, and she sucks in as much of it as she can. She's going to need it, she thinks. The wine has her head swimming, but the air, the air will…somehow make her brain function properly. At least she hopes.
"So, Liam's really into trains." Santana speaks the obvious, because it's easier to fill the space, easier to force words into it, than to let it hang there empty.
"Yeah, I pushed it a little, I guess."
"You're really into trains too?"
"No." She shakes her head, and laughs a little. "His dad was a railroad engineer."
"An Irish railroad engineer from Boston? Sounds like a song."
"How did you know he was Irish?" Brittany's brow furrows, and Santana bites her bottom lip.
"I, uh…sorry. I just, um, Liam said his name was Liam Connolly Pierce, and I just figured that maybe that was his…"
"You figured right." Brittany rakes her fingers through long locks, pulling them off her face. Santana is so used to seeing her with her hair pulled back at work, that it's striking to see it all hang loose. "I wanted to make it easier for him, to give him my last name. I mean, he was still an infant, even by the time the adoption was finalized. But I wasn't just going to erase his past."
"I'm really impressed by you." Santana expects the heat on her neck again at that admission, but it doesn't come. Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's something else. She doesn't know, she just know it's the truth.
"Anyone would have done the same thing."
"No, they wouldn't have. You're selling yourself short."
"Would you?" Her eyes are serious when she asks, and Santana is captivated by them.
"I'm an only child." She shrugs, but she can't tear herself from Brittany's question. "I don't think there's anyone in the world who loves me enough to give me their baby. But…if there were, I'd like to think I'd do what you did. That doesn't make it any less admirable though."
"Thank you." Brittany's voice is soft, and Santana's eyes go to her lips. There's so little space between them, and yet so much. "I love him, I'd never take back the choices I made."
"He loves you too. You're his favorite person, it's obvious."
"He doesn't know many people yet." Brittany laughs again, and it's Santana's turn to be serious.
"This is a weird thing you're doing."
"What?"
"Just, I don't know, being weird about it, I guess."
"I'm not." She takes another sip of her wine, then stands up. "I'm going to get another cupcake. Do you want one?"
"I don't want to overstay my welcome." Santana swirls her glass, but makes no effort to move.
"If you were I wouldn't have offered you more food. I like the company…the adult company."
"Okay, then yeah. I'll take another cupcake."
"And more wine?"
"Sure, why not? At this point, what's one more?"
As Brittany walks toward the kitchen, Santana watches her. This all feels too safe, too comfortable, too…unsettling. But she can't tear herself away. Maybe she's a glutton for punishment. Maybe she's playing with fire. But there's something holds her back from leaving, something pushes her far past the boundaries she'd drawn for herself before coming over.
They're quiet, as they eat the cupcakes. Santana savors the sugar in her mouth, followed by the bitter acidity of the wine, and she tries to ignore the heat she feels radiating from Brittany's bare leg, just inches away from her own. She tries to ignore it, but that doesn't mean it isn't there.
"You got…" Brittany gives her a cockeyed smile, then lifts her hand up to Santana's face, letting her thumb brush away chocolate frosting. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
Santana feels her heart pounding in her ears. She hears alarm bells blaring in her mind. But she doesn't pull away from the warm hand on her cheek. And Brittany doesn't retract it either. They just sit there, frozen, in this moment. They just sit there, until Santana sees Brittany's eyes go to her lips. They just sit there, until Santana is the one who loses every last ounce of carefully crafted control. The just sit there, until their lips meet, and Santana opens her mouth, seeking, seeking something she's never sought before.