The next twelve days are excruciating. Brittany goes to Philadelphia for a conference, and though Santana briefly considers driving down with Liam for the weekend, she figures it will just be a distraction, and decides against it. Instead, she stays home and scrubs the house from top to bottom, she takes Liam to the Children's Museum, she takes him up to Westchester to have dinner at her mom's. She just stays as busy as she can, or else she might burst from a lethal combination of anxiousness and exhaustion.

On the seventh day, she bleeds. Santana refuses to get her hopes up about it, but when the bleeding stops and her period doesn't come, that becomes harder than she'd thought. Still though, she keeps Roz's warning in her mind. She doesn't buy a pregnancy test, she just tells Brittany about the bleeding and drops the subject.

The morning of her blood test, Santana gets a page for a mass trauma incident. In her office, she throws her scrubs on, and runs to the elevator, calling the fertility office on her way down to tell them she needs to reschedule for later on. Brittany is in the ambulance bay when she gets there, and Santana mimes that she changed it, before grabbing Adams and Rose and finding Shelby with them at her side.

Sylvester silences the chatter in the bay, and Santana feels a wave of nausea rush over her as the Chief describes the bus crash where there victims are coming from. Ninety-six injuries on a double bus at rush hour, half of the patients being transported to Lenox Hill, and the other half to this hospital. Because Pres has the better trauma unit, Santana knows that the bus passengers they get will be the ones worse off, and she fights the urge to be sick, thinking of the kids on their way to school, thinking of the devastating impact of their last mass trauma on Christmas Eve.

The sirens blare, and shouting commences in the bay, department heads barking orders as Sylvester ushers stretchers inside. Shelby grabs Santana by the forearm, giving her the first one, a twelve-year-old boy with shards of glass and metal protruding from his chest. His sobs and moans echo from the rafters, and the paramedic who wheels him over follows Santana to an area that has been cleared, reading off his vitals before Santana can yank the chart from his hand to get the process started faster.

"Hey, Donte." She soothes, using her most comforting voice as she leans over the child. "I'm Dr. Lopez, and we're going to get you all fixed up all right?"

"Where's my grandma?" He sobs, and Santana notices the restraints on his wrists, the way he tugs against them.

"What are these for?" She snaps at the paramedic, who blanches.

"To keep him from pulling at the gigantic shards of glass in his chest." He hisses in Santana's ear. "What do you think?"

"I'm just checking." She whips her head around, and back up Donte. "Okay, buddy, your grandma was on the bus with you?"

"Uh uh." He shakes his head, then wails in pain. "Get them out of me! Please!"

"Okay, okay. I'm going to do just that, I promise. How about we get your grandma on the phone and get her over here?"

"Please. Please."

Santana grabs an intern to get social services for her, and once she knows that Donte's grandmother is being contacted, she turns her attention back to her patient, pumping him up on painkillers and sedatives to at least ease his struggle. The window shards are deeply imbedded into his entire torso, but it's the chunk of metal below his heart that worries her. She can't remove it, not like this, and she searches for a trauma surgeon to advise her further. Instead, it's Mercedes that she spots first, and she grabs her, figuring someone with her cardio-thoracic skill would be just as good, if not better.

"It just missed the heart." Mercedes tells her. "But the left lung is punctured pretty badly, and that might be worse."

"Because he'll die slowly."

"There's probably a thirty-percent chance of him surviving the surgery, if we can get this out of him without causing more damage."

"So what are we going to do? How do we make those odds better?"

"We get him into surgery now, and we beat the clock. I'm going to clear my day, do you have anything urgent scheduled?"

"No." Santana glances down at the lump in her scrub pocket, where her phone is. Roz is in until six, she should be done by then, and if she's not…well, it won't change the results either way if she waits until tomorrow. "I'll call down for an OR."

In the elevator, Donte shakes, and Santana immediately fears that he's having a seizure. But he's not. He's just having a physical reaction to the pain, and the shaking makes him hurt more, causing him to howl out in pain. The sedatives are hardly doing anything, the pain is too raw, too intense, and he sobs for his grandmother. She's not here yet. Santana doesn't know when she'll be here, or how much of a mess things are outside due to the crash, but she knows that they can't wait to get him into surgery. At the thought of that, Santana feels like she could vomit. She can't imagine—no, she can't. She won't.

Two cardio residents are behind Santana at the sink, and she knots her Cat in the Hat scrub cap on her head before she leans over to scrub in. Through the glass, she sees Mercedes holding Donte's hand as Tina puts him under, and Santana has to blink away the prickling behind her eyes. This isn't like her, not at all, but for some reason, everything is getting to her today. Biting her tongue, she pushes in through the door to the OR, and she meets Mercedes' eyes across the table.

"I've got blood up here, I'm putting the interns on suction. We're removing the glass, suturing, and then we'll get the rod out. I hope your stitches are still as fast and tight as they were in med school."

"They are." Santana nods.

"I feel like I should say it's a beautiful day to save lives."

"Please don't. Let's just do this."

Across the table from each other, they work in dead silence, stitching angry lacerations, both avoiding what they know the real danger is for as long as possible. Santana watches the rise and fall of Donte's chest, the rise and fall of the hunk of metal, and she grinds her teeth, utterly determined to save his life. Utterly determined to beat the odds for him.

His heart rate drops dramatically before they finish removing the largest shards of glass, and Mercedes pushes back one of the interns in favor of her best scrub nurse. Santana knows it's time, and she cracks her knuckles, completely prepared to follow Mercedes' lead.

"I need you to pull this out, Santana. Not all at once, but I'll guide you."

"Okay." She nods, swallowing hard. "Whenever you're ready."

Santana can't believe the strength she has to muster just to move the metal the first half an inch, but she continues to listen to Mercedes, ignoring the blaring of machines that warn her of how ravaged this boy's body is. He was on his way to school, he has his whole life ahead of him, and yet…here he is, fighting for his life on their table. A wave of fresh nausea hits Santana again, but she doesn't release her steady grip on the metal that's smooth beneath her gloves.

She can't say she does much of the actual surgery, Mercedes' hands move surely and rapidly, and she just obeys, removing the rod further and further until she feels it pop out, and watches dark red blood flood Donte's chest. Without skipping a beat, Santana waits for her instructions from Mercedes, studying how her fingers delicately repair the mangled tissue of his lungs as machines scream angrily in the background, beeping frantically to warn them that he is no longer breathing.

But still, they don't stop, and when the blaring of the machines ceases, the silence is almost deafening. Time seems to freeze as the din is replaced with a steady beep, and a smile spreads across Mercedes' face. Santana hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath, until it all whooshes out of her. It's one of the marvels of medicine, Santana thinks, watching a body that the life has been sucked out of suddenly come back. And for a child who had such low survival odds going in, its even more miraculous. He's not out of the woods, she knows that for sure, and he'll have weeks in PICU, but he made it through the surgery. Mercedes is closing him up. He'll get to see his grandmother again, at the very least.

After talking to the social worker and Donte's grandmother with Mercedes, Santana wants a moment to herself. She grabs a bottle of water from the vending machine, and she sips it slowly, leaning against a wall in the empty hallway where she likes to hide.

Her back aches from the long surgery, and the press of the wall against it is on odd sort of comfort. If she's being honest with herself, she could easily cry right now, but not from pain. Just from…well, she's not entirely sure. Some surgeries just get to her, even if the patient survives. Some surgeries make her stop and just contemplate the fragility of life. It could have been her on that bus, or Brittany, or Liam. Not that they take the bus, but that's beside the point. Everything could be ripped away with one single misstep, and not even, necessarily, one of her own. They were going to work, to school, to the grocery store…

She shakes her head and pulls her hair down. There's blood down the front of her scrubs, and she feels the sudden urge to shower, to stand beneath the scalding water and rinse everything off of her. She can't remember the last time she showered at the hospital, or if she even knows where the locker room is, but she meanders down the hall, hoping she bumps into it.

As an afterthought, Santana considers the fact that she should have gone to her office for her regular clothes, but instead, she stops by the scrub machine and grabs a clean pair of dark scrubs to slip into. She has ten-minutes left of her shift, ten minutes until she…

"Fuck." She mutters, fishing her phone out of her pocket. With everything going on, she'd forgotten about her appointment. She'd forgotten that she'd spent the last twelve days obsessing about whether she was pregnant. And now…in ten minutes, she needs to be up in the fertility clinic.

Without time for the long shower she so desperately wants, Santana turns the water as hot as it can go, and shucks her scrubs before stepping into the spray. The shampoo that comes from the machines was quite clearly not designed for her hair, and it'll undoubtedly be a tangled mess when she finishes, but she can't help but wash it. While the conditioner sets in, she scrubs her body, feeling dry skin whisk off and down the drain. She needs to feel clean, she needs to be clean, since going to her obstetrics appointment with someone else's blood on her feels like the worst thing a person could possibly do.

Quickly, she dresses in the scrubs, rolling up the bottoms like she always has to when she's not wearing a pair of her own, and she takes the stairs to Brittany's office. She's just closing up her blinds when Santana gets there, and she turns to smile at her, that soft smile she gives when she knows it's been a hell of a day for both of them. Santana takes a breath at the sight, and she steps into Brittany's space, dropping her dirty scrub bag, and letting her engulf her in an embrace.

"I heard you did a miracle surgery."

"World travels fast." She breathes into Brittany's neck.

"You know how the interns are. Wilde was on my service, so she's always the first to spread gossip."

"I was mainly Mercedes. I had the pleasure of pulling a giant metal rod out of a twelve-year old's lung."

"I may not be in cardio, but I'd say that with certainty that you played an important role."

"He survived." Santana shrugs, that's all that matters. "What about you?"

"The bus driver's face was crushed. Is crushed, I should say. I did the first of at least a dozen maxillofacial reconstructive surgeries on her today."

"Jeeze." Her breath rushes out of her.

"That was a terrifying accident."

"I can't stop thinking about it. How things like that just…happen. To anyone. To people's wives, their kids…"

"I know." Brittany hugs her tighter, stroking her hair, tangled and damp.

"Some day to have a pregnancy test."

"I'm sure Roz would let you reschedule for the morning if you just want to go home. If you're pregnant, you'll still be then. If you're not, it won't change either."

"No. We should go. Going home isn't going to do anything, and honestly, if I'm not pregnant, I'm taking an Ambien."

"How about if you are, I give you a long, relaxing massage instead?" A slow, crooked smile appears on Brittany's face, and Santana can't help but smile in response.

"If I'm pregnant…" She shakes her head. "I can't, I'm sorry, I can't talk about that possibility until we know. So let's just…know."

In her too-big scrubs, Santana slides her fingers through Brittany's as they step into the elevator. She counts the floors as they go up, an anxiousness settling back in the pit of her stomach. Brittany opens one of the handled double doors for Santana, and she steps inside, breathing in the smell of lavender as she sinks down onto the plush waiting room chair. She's gotten used to this place over the past month, and she relaxes, squeezing Brittany's hand in her lap as they wait for Santana to be called in.

It takes a good twenty minutes, probably because Santana rescheduled, and then was late for her new appointment, but the nurse calls her back. While she checks vitals and draws Santana's blood, Santana watches Brittany examine the fetal structures on table. Brittany is brilliant, and even as a plastic surgeon, Santana is certain she knows the anatomy of each stage, and she smiles to herself. Brittany is nervous, she realizes. That's why she's so intently looking at the decor, and as the nurse fills the blood vials, Santana can't help but feel…better that she's not the only one.

The wait for the lab results to come in is excruciating. Santana keeps checking her watch, and thinking how long Liam has been in day care for far too long. She hates leaving him there. It's weird, maybe, how protective she is of him, considering he got along just fine before she came along, but she finds herself checking her pager more frequently during the day. She just wants to make sure nothing has gone wrong, she wants to make sure he knows they're there, if it does.

"Hey ladies." Roz knocks on the doorframe and steps inside. "Heard it was one hell of a day downstairs."

"Garbage truck collided with the M55 at rush hour. Hell might be better." Santana shudders and runs her hand through her hair, frowning when it catches on a tangle. "So…"

"So…" Roz cocks an eyebrow, teasing, Santana thinks. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Am I pregnant?"

"Cutting right to the chase, huh?" She laughs. "As I expected, the embryo did take on the first transfer, so yes, you are."

"Good." Santana tries to conceal her excitement, but a smile spreads across her face, and a laugh ripples from her chest as she looks at Brittany. "Babe."

"Wow." Brittany leans down and kisses her, ears turning red, Santana knows, when she remembers they're standing in front of Roz. "You're pregnant."

"It's early though…" She looks at Roz, furrowing her brow.

"You're right. But your numbers are looking good."

"But it's still early." She shakes her head. "Sorry, I'm just…cautious. I'll probably be like this while I'm giving birth, or 'til the kid is eighteen, or I'm dead, whichever. Are you sure I had a kid?"

Roz and Brittany share a laugh, and Brittany strokes Santana's cheek, "Cautious is good."

"I'm kind of stupid excited." Santana murmurs, looking at her lap. "Even if I feel like I might throw up."

"Me too. Not the vomiting part, but the excited part."

"See me in two days." Roz tells them. "I'll check your hCG again, and then we'll go from there."

"Why?"

"Because it needs to double." Brittany whispers, revealing how much she actually knows about this. Santana's heart pounds in her chest, overwhelmed by how much she loves this woman, and she nods.

"I'll sneak up between patients. Definitely easier for me that you're here."

"You'd probably never find time to come if I wasn't." She sucks her teeth.

Santana feels strange as Roz finishes up, talking about what she should continue to do and not do, about sex and baths and eight week ultrasounds. She'll see her in two days, but Santana is glad that she's thorough with her information. She needs thorough, or she'll probably have a heart attack at some point during this pregnancy. Of course she's excited, but also, she's so nervous that she feels bile rise in her throat.

They have a quiet night at home with Liam. Or, a night as quiet as it can be with a little boy who's been cooped up in daycare all day and just wants to run everywhere he possibly can. As promised, once he's in bed and Santana took another shower to deal with the mess she made of her hair, she lies naked face down on the bed, and Brittany hovers over her. Roz told her to continue to abstain from sex for the time being, but still, just the touch of Brittany's hands on her bare back feels so intimate. The heels of her hands into Santana's neck and shoulders, working out the tension that's been keeping her up at night, and Santana feels her smile when she kisses the back of her neck.

"It's kind of unreal, isn't it?" Santana asks, turning her head so she can look at Brittany. "I think I'm still trying to process all of my emotions."

"I figured as much, that's why I'm trying to be entirely calm about it."

"You're not calm?"

"I'm ecstatic. Statistically, I knew that you had the right set up circumstances to make you more likely then most to get pregnant on the first try, but that doesn't take away from how I feel right now."

"I'm really glad you're so happy." She smiles, rolling onto her side and reaching for her robe.

"Are you…not?"

"No, no, I really am. Just nervous I think. I feel like you've done a ton of research. When did you even have time for that?"

"I fit it in a little on airplanes and trains. The one thing that's not so bad about traveling, I actually read things I should read anyway."

"I haven't read at all. That's so irresponsible."

"It's not. Your body is what's going to do the work, not your mind. I just wanted to know what had changed since the last time I researched it."

"Last time?" Santana sits up, cinching the belt around her waist.

"I'd had a fleeting thought about a decade ago that maybe I'd be interested in having a baby myself. I read a few journals, and then decided I had no interest in doing it."

"Then, or ever?" She furrows her brow, suddenly stricken with a deep concern.

"I didn't want children then. I want children now. I want our son, and—" Brittany slides her hand up under Santana's robe, splaying her fingers out across her flat stomach. "I want whoever this little embryo is. If I could have dreamed up my life, it would have been this. It would have been you, laying here half-naked in our bed, after finding out we're having a baby."

"It does sound really amazing. And I think your hand there is making this feel more real to me."

"Is it?"

"Yeah." Santana closes her eyes. "I'm afraid to picture it, but I am."