As hard as Santana tries to follow Roz's orders to relax, after the first day, she just can't seem to quiet her mind. Psychically, she takes it easy, having lunch with her mom to plan the absolutely-not-a-surprise-I-swear-to-God-Ma baby shower, folding clothes in the nursery, sorting out Liam's things that have grown to small for him, and starting a first year of school list for him, organizing some of the things she needs done for her mother to watch him and the babies, whatever it takes to not go completely insane. But internally, she's jumpy. Internally, she feels like she exists in the state of a silent scream. She doesn't like being restricted. She doesn't like feeling like she has no control over her own life. And most of all, she doesn't like feeling afraid.
She knows it's coming, before her visit with Roz, and she tells Brittany as much, laying in bed the night before. She's taken her own blood pressure enough times to know that it hasn't gone down, and her panic over it probably just sends the numbers straight through the roof. The idea of bed rest has her in a complete tizzy, but the idea of hurting her babies has her even worse, and it sends Brittany running for the trash can when she starts gagging in bed, and finally empties her entire stomach in a fit of nauseous anxiety.
Santana doesn't cry when Roz actually prescribes modified bed rest for her. She goes almost…catatonic, she thinks, just nodding as her doctor speaks, and swallowing the growing lump in the back of her throat. She knows the words she's saying, high risk, and extra precaution, monitoring and expected outcome. She's saidthe words probably thousands of times herself, but she never expected to be this patient. She never thought she'd be fearing for the safety of the two little lives she loves so much, never thought she'd be stuck mostly in her bed, resting, so her babies don't come too early.
Knowing what was coming, Santana thinks, Brittany had asked Maribel to pick up Liam from day care, and bring him back to her house for a sleepover. Santana knows he loves that, knows her mom loves it just as much, but still, she feels sick, she feels invalid, she feels…awful. And when she's done with Roz, scheduling her appointment for the next week, Brittany goes with her to talk to Shelby, to let her know that she has to be out until the twins are born, on top of her already planned for maternity leave. Of course, as she always is, Shelby is supportive, sending them well wishes and prayers and just…sympathy. But it doesn't make Santana feel better. It makes her feel more concerned, it makes her feel like she's going to be violently sick, right on Shelby's office floor.
On the way home, she holds Brittany's hand tightly on the center console of the car. She needs the grip on her, needs the grip on reality, and Brittany squeezes tight, kissing the inside of her wrist, and whispering that she loves her. Santana's other hand rests on her ever growing belly, feeling her babies as they twist and kick and play. They're real. They're so real, and she knows that no matter how frustrated she gets, she would do absolutely anything to make sure they stay right where they belong, until it's safe enough to deliver them.
"I can take the day tomorrow. We can lay in bed together, and then have your mom bring back Liam late in the afternoon."
"Will you?" Santana's voice cracks, through attempting to be strong about this, through pretending that she isn't so utterly desperate for her wife to care for her, though Brittany always does.
"Of course I will. I have a phone call I can't reschedule, but I can do it from home."
"Okay." She nods. "Okay, thank you."
"Like I promised, Santana, I'm right here. You're not doing this alone, okay?"
"Okay. Okay." Santana lets out a shuddering breath. "Okay."
Following Roz's orders, Santana goes up to bed as soon as she gets home. She lays on her side, and she traces her fingertips over her taut skin. She draws hearts and stars and swirls, trying to calm herself down enough so she can breath. When she does, she sings, softly, smoothly, the way she does whenever she's alone with her babies. Tonight, she sings the second verse of You Are My Sunshine, and she cries, as she gets to the other night dears, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms. She's scared, no, she terrified, and her tears turn to sobs, just as Brittany walks in carrying the re-heated chicken Marsala that she'd made for dinner last night.
"Honey." Brittany sets the plate down, and crawls quickly to Santana's side, gathering her up in her arms. "Oh, Santana."
"Please let's not be doctors tonight." Santana clings to her. "Let's pretend I'm a…a journalist, and you're a math professor, and we don't know anything about medicine. And then just promise me without any basis in medical knowledge to make stupid sweeping generalizations that we're fine, that everything is going to alright."
"What if I tell you as a doctor that I have—"
"No." Santana shakes her head. "No full confidence. No M.D. stuff. Just pretend you're Dr. Pierce Ph.D., promising me that it's going to be okay."
"Okay." Brittany concedes, holding Santana tighter. "Okay. You're going to be just fine, sweetheart. You're strong, and brave, and beautiful, and you're going to be just fine."
After Santana picks at her dinner, she lays down to sleep. It's a restless sleep, but she tries to keep her eyes closed, tries to do those bullshit meditation techniques she read about on the internet. They don't work, she decides, and finally, at 2:23 in the morning, she opens her eyes, and finds Brittany sitting on her thighs, head bowed and hands folded.
"Brittany?" Santana murmurs.
"Mhmm?" Her eyes snap open, and Santana bites her lip.
"Are you praying?"
"I—yes. I was."
"I didn't realize you prayed. I've never seen you…"
"I don't, typically, at least not often. God is probably over me only doing this when I need Him to do me a favor."
"I—I don't even think I knew you were religious, or even what your religion is."
"I was raised Presbyterian. Liam was baptized in the church my parents used to go to. They stopped after my sister…my father said he gave up on God when He took his baby away. I've taken Liam to church a few times in Boston. My sister and her husband took him every Sunday. She'd nurse him in the pew, and she was comfortable there. I guess…I was talking to her too, asking her to put in a good word on our behalf."
"You're afraid." Santana swallows hard at the thought.
"You're my wife. I don't believe it's possible not to feel afraid when you're hurting."
"Do you think something is going to happen?" Santana forgets all she'd said earlier about pretending they're not doctors, about promising it will be okay.
"I don't. But that doesn't make me worry any less. I love you, Santana, more than I've ever loved anyone but our son and these babies. I just want to make sure you and they are well, no matter what means I have to use to insure it."
"I haven't even been thinking about how you must feel. I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "I've been so caught up in myself."
"The last thing I want is for you to worry about me. I just want you to take care of you. And—" Brittany gingerly places her hands on Santana's stomach. "Them. I'm going to cancel my trip to Atlanta."
"Brittany. No you're not. It's the American Board of Plastic Surgery conference. You're going. I'm fine here. My mom will come stay with us. I need you to just, not…I need you to go. I need not everything to stop. Okay?"
"Santana."
"Please, Britt. Please go to it. It's a big deal, and nothing is going to change here. I'll still be in bed, and you'll still be able to buy me Chicago popcorn in the middle of the night when you get back."
"Is that a hint that you want Chicago popcorn?" Brittany laughs, wiping away her lingering tears.
"You don't have to go. I'm fine."
"I may have stashed a few bags somewhere in case."
"Please throw it out the minute I give birth. I swear, I'm going to gain a thousand pounds with all the crap I want in the middle of the night. But…can you get me it?"
While Brittany goes downstairs, Santana shuffles to sit against the headboard. Day, night, she guesses it doesn't make a difference, even if modified bedrest does mean that she can at least not lay down the entireday, and she can go as far as a walk around the corner, so long as she doesn't overextert herself, or do any kind of lifting, and she spends the majority of her day sitting or laying down. She needs to deal with her blood pressure, she needs to eliminate the risk of premature birth. She needs these babies to be healthy, or she'll never forgive herself.
"Popcorn, and a cherry lemonade." Brittany smiles tiredly, holding up the bowl and glass.
"I really love you, you know." Santana sucks in a breath.
"I do know, and I really love you too."
"I mean it though, what I said before the popcorn." She takes the bowl, as Brittany sets the glass beside her. "That I don't want you to cancel your trip. I'm okay. Liam'll be okay. My mom wouldn't pass up the opportunity to stuff me with food and make me watch Julia Roberts movies with her."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Santana reaches for her lemonade, and takes a long sip, kissing Brittany with sticky lips. "It's a two hour flight. If I need you, I know you'll get back to me, and we'll FaceTime whenever you're free. Please, Britt, I need you to go."
"Okay…if you want me to, I will."
"Good." Santana puts down the bag of popcorn and snuggles into Brittany's side. "How hard are you going to judge me if I don't get up and brush my teeth again?"
"I won't at all. Go back to sleep, honey. I love you."
"Love you too, Britt."
With Brittany's hands mapping her abdomen, Santana falls asleep again. She knows it'll be hard with her wife gone for three days, she knows she's going to miss falling asleep in her arms after the hard days, knows that she can barely handle not kissing her for a few hours, but she can't have her stay. She can't have her miss something so important. She wants her to go to Atlanta, and be the amazing Dr. Pierce. She wants her babies to know that their mama is something so amazing, and that she's so proud of her. This is the woman she married, this is the woman she loves, and just because Santana is on bedrest, she doesn't want Brittany to give up something to vitally important to her career.
When she wakes up in the morning, Santana is uncomfortable. That's not a new thing for her, she's felt it for weeks, as the twins take up more and more space than her tiny frame has to offer, but as she shimmies into a sitting position in bed, she runs through her own vitals, checking her pulse, gauging her temperature, considering grabbing her blood pressure cuff and making sure it hasn't gotten worse overnight. As she closes her eyes, resting her head on the headboard, she hears the shower running, and she wishes Brittany could stay home. She wishes Brittany could rub her belly and stroke her hair and kiss her face all day, until she's comfortable enough to fall asleep. But she can't, and Santana has to spend three-quarters of her day laid up and trying to rest, when she's more restless than she's ever been before.
She hears Liam's hard feet on the wood floor, and she opens her eyes slowly, watching him press his chin to the edge and stare at her intently. His hair is sleep cowlicked, and his pajama bottoms are on backwards, but the way he rests his little chin on his hands makes her wish she could scoop him up, hug him close, kiss his forehead. She assumes her mom dropped him off earlier, and she is so glad for the sight of him.
"Mommy Noodle, you meti-dating?"
"No." Santana laughs a little. "That's more of a Mama thing, baby. I'm just resting my eyes a little."
"But you just sleeped!"
"You're right." She pats the bed, urging him to try and climb up, even if it's difficult with the low muscle tone in his arm. "But Dr. Roz said I need to get lots and lots of rest for the babies, so I thought that might help them."
"Hi, Brian. Hi, Captain America." Liam manages to get up, and presses his face into Santana's belly.
"Brian and Captain America, huh? So today they're not girls? What happened to Ms. Frizzle and Abby Caddaby?"
"I think maybe we need four." He tells her very seriously. "All the names."
"Four?" Brittany comes out from the bathroom, towel drying her hair. "That's an awful lot of babies to fit inside Mommy's belly."
"Mommy Noodle, I think you make some room?"
"I think my belly is a little full right now, Sir. But remember, we'll add all those names to our list and then we'll choose when we see them, right?"
"Right!" He gives her two thumbs up. "These are the bestest ones!"
"They are very good ones." She smoothes down his hair and thumbs his cheek as he keeps searching her stomach for moving babies with his hands. "Thank you for giving me my morning tummy rub, Liam."
"You really are doing such a nice job." Brittany beams. "Can I help you a little? Maybe I'll rub Mommy's shoulders while you do her belly?"
"Britt, it's okay, you don't have to…"
"I'd love to." Brittany sits down beside her in her robe, and gently squeezes her shoulders. "How about I bring Thai home for dinner tonight?"
"Yeah, that sounds really good." Santana nods, resigned to the fact that she can't even cook. "Thank you."
"Of course. I made you some chicken salad for lunch too."
"You're honestly too good to me, Brittany."
"You're carrying my children, and you have quite a bit of pressure on you. The least I can do is take care of your meals, okay?"
"Okay. But seriously, I'm lucky to have you."
"And me!" Liam pipes up, and Santana and Brittany share a laugh.
"I think, Sir, that your Mama and I are both very lucky to have you."
Santana takes a shower after Brittany leaves, being careful and quick and the same time, and she takes the stairs slowly once she's dressed, settling in for the day on the couch. After an hour of watching infomercials for things she would never buy, she finally picks up the phone to call her mom. She hasn't even told her she's been put on bedrest, though she'd voiced her concerns that it would happen earlier in the week., and she's sure Brittany talked to her earlier when she dropped Liam off.
"Good morning, honey. Maribel answers the phone. "It's good to hear your voice."
"Is everything alright, Ma?" Anxiety spikes through Santana, and she grips the couch cushion.
"Everything's just fine, I'm just glad to hear from you. How are you feeling?"
"Not…terrible, I guess. Brittany told you?"
"She did. And she asked me to stay with you and that grandson of mine next week when she goes to Atlanta."
"Do you mind doing it? I really want her to go, and I know she won't, if she thinks things aren't taken care of here."
"I'm happy to do it. Maybe we'll get some junk food, watch some movies at night, and get to talk a bit?"
"We talk every day now, Mama."
"Oh, I know that." Maribel sighs. "I just mean in person."
"Sure, whatever you want. Can't do much but sit around and talk. You should probably bring Scrabble too. We'll compete like we used to."
"I love that idea. Sweetheart, how are you feeling though, truly?"
"Not awful, and I think that's what's frustrating. I know I could be on my feet at work. I…hate being away from the hospital. I know it's dumb, but I'm a surgeon. I think I was born to have a scalpel in my hand. I know that he….insisted on it, but that never made me love it any less. And now…I feel like part of me is missing, even as I'm filled up with two of the best things that ever happened to me. I guess I just don't really have any hobbies outside of the hospital."
"I imagine that would be hard. And you have everything done for the nursery?"
"I mean, I'm not going to sew blankets or anything. There's as much of it done as I can do. Britt will have to finish the rest. I don't know, I guess I'll start a journal for them. Tell them about my life while I'm laid up."
"I did that with you, you know."
"You kept a journal?" Santana's jaw drops.
"I did. For about five months. I thought I'd give it to you during your first pregnancy, but with you having a son before that, I wasn't sure when was appropriate."
"I'd love to read it, Ma, if you want to share."
"I'd love to share it with you. When I come by tomorrow, I'll bring it."
When Santana finally gets off the phone with her mom, she reaches over to the side table and opens the drawer to pull out the notebook she'd bought months ago. It's swirled with stars and constellations on the cover, and the pages are simple and lined. She knows she's not the sentimental type, who will fill the pages of some gorgeous baby journal with photos and milestones—that's something Brittany will give their children, she's certain, since she has an adoption book she made for Liam tucked away, wanting him to have something someday, after the journal her sister kept was lost in the fire. But she'll write. She'll tell them stories, she'll share things about her and Brittany, about Liam, about how she feels with them inside her, and she'll keep her sanity. Closing her eyes just for a moment, she takes her good pen, and begins to write.
Dear Babies,
I'm still not quite sure how we got here, but I'm your mom. You Mommy Noodle, maybe, if your big brother teaches you, but either way, I love you both. The story of how you came to be began in an elevator, when half of upper Manhattan was without power. I'd never met your Mama before, even though she'd been at the hospital for a little while before the power went out. My first reaction to her was that she was gorgeous…and my second was to be an utter bitch. You'll learn that about me as you grow, I'm not always the softest and sweetest. But luckily, she loves me anyway.
It becomes hard to stop when Santana begins, and she fills page after page with stories, until her swollen fingers cramp, and her eyelids droop. She found a distraction. She'll do what she has to, and she'll get these babies to term without any further complications, no matter what.