After thirty-nine hours in the hospital, it becomes apparent that the Terbutaline is doing very little to stop Santana's labor. When Roz does her exam, and tells Santana that her blood pressure has continued to rise, and the safest bet is to do a c-section to get the twins out safely, Santana cries into Brittany's neck for twenty-minutes, then pulls herself together and comes to the realization that three days before Thanksgiving, she's going to give birth to the babies she's carried in her womb for as long as she possibly could. It's jarring, it's terrifying, but there's nothing she can do but go with it. There's nothing she can do but hope beyond everything else that they'll be strong enough, that they'll be okay.
She calls her mom before they take her into surgery, and she knows that Brittany does the same. She's a surgeon, so as she signs the consent forms, she runs through every fucking thing in her head that can possibly go wrong, and she holds her belly, just wanting them to be okay, just wanting the opportunity to hold them, to know them, to love them, and when she has a single moment alone with Brittany, she grabs her hands, and pulls her close.
"You know what I want, right? If you ever have to make the choice?"
"Santana…please." Tears fill Brittany's eyes, but Santana shakes her head.
"Brittany. Tell me. Please tell me you know."
"I…if it ever came down to it…I'd save them for you, okay? Do you know how hard it is for me to even say those words, even knowing that I won't ever have to make that choice? You have Roz, you have Holly for the twins, you have Sue Sylvester in the operating room with you, because you're one of her own."
"I know that. Goddamnit Brittany, I know that, but that doesn't mean shit and you know it." Santana snaps, her own anxiety just proving to be too much. She doesn't want to argue with Brittany right now, but sometimes everything just feels like too much, and this is one of those times where she can't even control herself. "I need to go in there knowing that you said that."
"You're the great love of my life, Santana, and I'd do anything you asked. But it destroys me to even think about it." Brittany pulls her close and kisses her lips, hard, and full of everything Santana can't bring herself to say. "I love you beyond words. I love you beyond whatever I imagined possible, and in a few hours, you're going to be okay."
"I love you too." Santana drops her forehead into Brittany's, and holds the side of her face. "I'm so glad you'll be in there with me."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world. You, and me, and our babies, okay? Everything else in the room is just extra. Except the scrub nurse. I made sure you have Emma."
"Oh, thank God." Santana laughs a little through he tears. "Then we know I won't die from infection or sepsis. I'd eat off Emma's OR floors."
"I know." Brittany smiles cautiously, kissing her again. "Let's go have some babies."
Because Santana is a surgeon, even as a patient, she inspects the operating room carefully as she's wheeled inside. She knows that Brittany is doing the same, and she watches her, all scrubbed in with her Wonder Woman cap on her head, as she surveys the room, checking the instruments, talking to Emma, making sure that everything is just as it should be. The weight of Santana's belly feels heavier than normal as she closes her eyes, wishing it were Tina giving her a local anesthetic and a sedative, but glad that she has Roz and Holly and Sylvester, at least. The best of the best. That's what matters for her babies. She'd have killed to have Holly in the room, but she didn't have to. Brittany took care of it, Brittany always takes care of everything.
Anxiety floods her chest as the epidural begins to take effect, and though she wishes she could watch Roz cut into her, assure that she's doing it exactly right—despite her own extremely limited knowledge of Caesarean sections—the curtain goes up between her and her belly. She hopes Brittany chooses to watch, she hopes Brittany is making sure she's doing it right, but Santana can do nothing else but close her eyes, squeeze her wife's hands, and just pray to anyone who is listening that all of them will come out of this alright.
"Okay, Dr. Lopez." Emma tells her. "We're starting now."
"Don't worry, kid." Holly assures her. "I'm right on hand to check on those babies of yours."
"Just breathe, Santana." Roz instructs, and maybe it makes her a horrible human being, but when people tell her to breathe, she always just wants to hold her breath, stop breathing forever, then punch the instruction giver in the face.
"You and I, sweetheart." Brittany whispers. "Just you and I."
It feels like an absolute eternity, waiting for anything to happen. Rationally, Santana knows that Roz is cutting through skin and muscle and tissue—which will probably never be the same again, and she has no idea why any human being in their right mind would opt for an elective c-section…though, she can't exactly talk, given her own series of elective surgeries—but irrationally, she's certain she's not hearing any cries because there will be no cries. Irrationally, she's convinced of the worst, and though she tries not to, she sobs on the operating table, until her throat and chest and head hurt, and she just wants to go to sleep forever.
"I can see one, Santana." Brittany murmurs. "She's about to take the first one out."
"Are they…"
"Small, but…I see movement."
"Okay. Okay." She breathes through the insufferable weight of her imaginary monster. "Okay."
"Here's baby number one." Roz announces, holding up the most beautiful newborn baby boy Santana has ever seen, and she weeps, holding Brittany's hand, until she feels something wash over her, and her monitor sounds loudly and angrily. "Your blood pressure is spiking a little more, let's get baby number two out and close you up."
"Feel a little nauseous." Santana mumbles, then lets her eyes drift close, overcome by too many sensations, overcome by…something she can't control.
When she wakes up again, Brittany is still at her side, and there's an oxygen mask on her face. It takes Santana a moment to realize that she'd gone unconscious, and the thought of it causes her to panic and try to sit up. The numbing below her waist doesn't allow it, and Brittany, face wet with tears holds her shoulders.
"It's okay. You're okay. And baby A is right over there…baby B, he…Holly took him into surgery. Roz is almost done closing you up now. And…" Brittany just continues to spew words, and Santana panics. Brittany isn't like this, she's never like this, and hearing the sheer terror in her voice is too much to handle.
"What's wrong with him? Can you go? Please, Britt. Go find out."
"I'm not allowed to go." Brittany shakes her head. "I…I tried, even though I didn't want to leave you. He has a brain bleed, and Holly says it's going to be fine, but they took him out of here so fast, I hardly got to see him. I don't…"
"Oh God. Oh my God, why? What did I do to him?" Santana gasps, and starts choking on bile in her throat.
"No, it wasn't anything you did. She said it happens sometimes. They're just…they're really small, but Roz said we can hold the first one when you're finished."
"Please Britt, go hold him now. Please. I need you to. He's probably so scared without his…his brother. Just…please."
"Okay. Okay." Brittany nods, and Santana closes her eyes when she kisses her forehead, completely numb everywhere at the idea that something is wrong with her son. Two days ago, she was worried about whether they'd be boys or girls. Today, she can't even process that they're boys, only that they're small, and one is having brain surgery at a few minutes old. It makes her sick, it fills her with self-loathing, it makes her just feel all around awful about herself as a human being.
"I'm all done closing you up, Santana. You did great, you'll heal really easily."
Santana just nods. She kind of wants to tell Roz that she doesn't give a fuck about how she'll heal. She wants to tell her she wishes she was dead, if it meant her newborn baby wasn't having brain surgery. If it meant Brittany could hold her other baby without worrying that he could get sick too. If it meant they were all okay, and she wasn't here. She knows she's supposed to be past this, but sometimes it rears its ugly head, and Roz talking about how easily she's going to heal just sets off a tailspin of anger that Santana isn't sure she'll be able to control.
"Santana." Brittany whispers, holding the smallest baby she's ever seen in her arms, still completely naked. "Look, little guy, I found your Mommy."
At Brittany's words, and the sight of that perfect little child, Santana absolutely melts. For just a moment in time, the rest fades away, and she looks into her son's eyes for the first time. It's a lot to handle, and she starts to sob again—as if she's done anything but for two days.
"I think this one was the kicker." Brittany tells her, pointing out the way his tiny legs move.
"Max." Santana swallows hard, remembering the boy name they'd tossed around one night for the baby who constantly kicked her underneath her ribs. "Do you still want to call him Max?"
"If that's what you want, I love Max." Brittany gently helps Santana undo her gown, and settles him on her bare chest. "There you go."
"I…can you…?"
"I am." She nods. "I have to. Even if they won't let me anywhere near him. But I just…had to give you Max first."
"Uh huh." Santana nods frantically. "I'm sorry…"
"Please don't be sorry." Brittany shakes her head, tears falling as she kisses Santana again, then Max. "He's going to be okay. It's Holly. He's going to be okay."
After Brittany leaves to go tend to their other son, Santana keeps a tight grasp on Max. Even as she's wheeled into recovery, and then into her room, she refuses to let him go. She's scared, so scared that if she does, they're going to take him away from her, they're going to say something is wrong with him, and that he needs surgery too. She knows herself, she knows that she can't handle both of her babies in surgery at the same time. She knows that she'll absolutely explode if she can't hold this tiny boy close to her heart, and feel his heart beating so quickly against her own. So she doesn't let him go. She doesn't let a nurse put a diaper on him. She doesn't let them touch him, because she needs him, and he's her baby, so he needs her too.
It breaks her heart a little more when she nurses for the first time without Brittany. Everything she'd envisioned, everything they'd planned has become the terrifying opposite. And while Max nurses, so hungry, she keeps looking at the door, keeps waiting for Brittany to come back with some kind of news about the baby she's never even been able to see.
"Save some, my love." Santana chokes. "Your brother is going to be hungry when he comes out of surgery too. You already know him, huh? But I've been waiting so long to meet you both. I know I fucked up and had you too early, but I swear, you can ask your big brother Liam, I'm usually a lot less of a mess when it comes to kids than I am where it comes to myself. I'm going to keep you guys really safe, and even more than me…your Mama…she's just something else."
He nurses for a long while, and then he falls asleep on her. She still won't let him go, even as she manages to get his diaper on him while he's asleep. She just…needs him close to her. She needs to know he's okay.
It feels like a lifetime before Brittany comes back, and when she does, Santana feels like she's aged as much. Santana wonders if she looks like that too. She wonders if the lack of sleep, of the stress, of everything has turned her grey and haggard—though Brittany doesn't, she just looks overwhelmed and worn down. There's a low ache in her belly, a missing, and when Brittany sits beside her, she feels tears spring to her eyes again.
"He's alright. He's out of surgery now, and Holly fixed the bleed. He's going to be okay. She promised me he's going to be okay."
"Can I see him? Can Max see him?"
"You can, through the glass for now. I'm not sure about Max…"
"It's his brother, Brittany. His twin. They can't keep him away."
"Santana, we both know they can. We've both…we've done it."
"Why do you have to be so goddamn rational right now." Santana hisses, though she doesn't mean to take it out on her. "I want to see our baby, I want him to be okay."
"Honey…I'm trying…"
"I don't want to give Max to them in case they take him away, but I can't take him with me, and…fuck. Fuck, Brittany, just fuck." Santana's sobs choke her, and she just keeps holding Max, trying to keep him safe from everything.
"Hey. Come here, come here, sweetheart." Brittany sinks down on the bed and gathers her into her arms. "Let's go see him. We'll take Max, and we'll look through the glass, okay?"
"Did you get to hold him?" Santana sniffles.
"Holly said in the morning. I promise you, Santana, she said he's going to be okay. She'll have a better idea of any challenges he might—"
"You just said he was okay."
"Santana."
"Don't Santana me, Brittany. Is he okay, or is something wrong? Those answers both can't be yes."
"But they can. He had brain surgery, but he's alive, and his vitals are good. He's moving, he's breathing, so yeah, he's going to be okay, no matter what else comes up."
"How can you just be so—" Santana clenches her fists at her side, frustrated, until she remembers Max on her chest and tries to calm herself down enough so she doesn't wake him up. "Take me to see him. I need to see our son."
"I'll get you a wheelchair."
While Brittany is gone from the room, Santana becomes overwhelmed by her grief and her guilt. She shouldn't have protested the bed rest so much. She shouldn't have jumped up at their shower. She should have taken it easy in the first months of her pregnancy instead of running around. She shouldn't have…she should have…she shouldn't have…she should have…they just play over and over again in her head, in agonizing cacophony with the pain that radiates through her whole body from her surgical incisions.
She's angry. She's so angry that this is happening to their baby. She's never even seen their son, because she lost consciousness in her own surgery, and he's already had his in the hours since he's been born. This is her. This is the curse of evil that's somehow cast over her, no matter how hard she tries to do right. It's her plight in life, and now, the worst thing of all has happened, she's passed that down to her son.
"We're going to see your brother, Max. We're going to see him, and…" Santana's tears fall on his face. "It's going to be okay. Mama's gonna make it okay for us."
When Brittany comes back with the wheelchair and a nurse helps Santana into it with Max, Santana doesn't say a word. She's distraught, she's exhausted, and she just wants to go back to a world where she felt like she was doing everything right and it was working. No, if she's wanting, she doesn't care about herself at all. She just wants the five-pound one-ounce boy in her arms, and his four-pound nine-ounce brother who just survived brain surgery to be okay. She wants them to meet Liam, she wants to take them home and swaddle them and love them. She wants everything to be normal, and she hates herself that it isn't.
For the entire way Brittany pushes her to the NICU, a path she's walked hundreds upon hundreds of times, Santana holds her breath. They pass her office, and she shudders. They pass her patient rooms, she shivers. She's spent too much time in this damn hospital to not be able to help her son, and part of her wants to scrub in and fix him her damn self. She's never had a god-complex before, but right now, as she waits to see her sick baby, she damn sure feels like she's the only one who can do anything right.
"Here he is." Brittany murmurs, when they get to the NICU, and Max's identical twin is encased in a plexiglass cradle. "There's our little fighter."
"Can you please stop sounding so calm? It's really freaking me out, and I don't like it." Santana snaps.
"Santana. I'm going to continue to sound calm, because I have no other choice." Brittany doesn't raise her voice, but Santana can tell she's on edge. And frankly, for the first time, she can't even bring herself to care.
Santana doesn't say anything else, she just stares at the beautiful little boy in the incubator, a tube down his throat, and his head bandaged. She's bandaged and intubated children more times than she could count, but seeing the child she gave birth to, hers and Brittany's child so sickly makes her feel sick.
"Do you want me to take Max, Santana?"
"Yeah." She nods, handing him over to Brittany carefully. "Don't let anyone take him."
"I won't. I promise."
Despite the pain, Santana stands so she can take in his full form. He's not the smallest baby she's ever seen, a product of her career, but he's so vulnerable, so helpless, and she wishes she could put Max in with him. Wishes he could bring him the strength that she's incapable of giving him. They're twins. They're supposed to be the same, and God, she wishes they were both as healthy as Max.
"I want to name him. I need this to not say Baby Lopez." Santana points to the tag on his incubator scornfully. "It's supposed to be Pierce-Lopez, and I need him to have a first name."
"Yeah, let's do that." Brittany nods, cradling Max to her chest. "And I'll take care of getting it changed on there."
"Oliver. You wanted to name one of them after Liv, and he's the one who should be named after your sister so he has…whatever kind of guardian something or whatever. Tell them his name is Oliver Pierce-Lopez, and his crib needs to say that."