The week between Christmas and New Year is hard. Every morning, Santana wakes up and stares at herself in the mirror, hoping today will be the day that she feels better. And every day, she doesn't. Every day, she feels like she's being swallowed whole by something she can't control. Every day, she hates herself just a little bit more that she can't be the wife and mother that her wife and children deserve. Every day, she hopes that Brittany doesn't decide she's had enough of the snapping and the crying and the staring off in to space. Every day, she thanks whoever is out there listening that this woman loves her, and tolerates her when she's a complete disaster.
For New Years Eve, Santana resolves to take Brittany out. It feels like a thousand years ago when they last has a date, and Brittany deserves a night away. She deserves a night where they can be the two of them, just like they used to be. She deserves a night where her wife manages to be a human being, and change out of spit-up covered clothes and stops crying for five minutes. So Santana makes reservations. She books dinner downtown, away from the chaos of Times Square. She pumps enough milk that her mom can feed the twins. And if she wasn't so damn scared about leaving those brand new babies overnight, she would have booked a hotel room too. She's trying. She's trying as hard as she possibly can, because it's the best she can do.
Because she feels terrible to leave the boys out of their New Year celebration—torn, as she always is—Santana arranges an early midnight for them at five o'clock, before her mom will come to watch them for the duration of the evening. She drags herself out of the house, and she gets sparkling cider and party hats and streamers. She doesn't care how much it will grate on her nerves, she'll let Liam bang on the pots and pans that she was never allowed, and she helps him into his little jacket and tie, while Brittany dresses Max and Oliver in matching tuxedo rompers.
Once she and Brittany are dressed in their formalwear to go out, the five of them celebrate together as a family, with Brittany setting the timer to count down to their fake midnight. Liam whoops and hollers, and Max cries a little at the sound of the pots and pans, while Oliver just stares in fascination. They kiss their sons once, twice, three times, but Brittany and Santana save their own kiss for Itheir/I midnight, much later on in the evening.
Because Santana didn't want the stress of finding a cab on a holiday, she made sure to arrange for a car to pick them up. Once Maribel arrives, Brittany helps Santana into her coat, and they leave together. In the back seat of the car, Santana finds Brittany's hand, and silently, she brings it to her lips, kissing the back of it. With everything that swirls around in her mind, she has an overwhelming fear that Brittany doesn't think she loves her. It terrifies her, it makes her feel like she's about to spiral out of control, but with that one small gesture, Santana attempts to convey just how much she does.
"Thank you for taking me out tonight, Santana. You really didn't have to do this. I would have been totally fine watching the ball drop at home."
"I wanted to." Santana shrugs. "It's just been…a really bad month, and…you're just really good to me. I can't make any of this up to you, Britt, but…I thought a night out would at least be a start."
"I love you, sweetheart. I know that it's really hard for me to let you into your head, but I'm in this with you. I don't ever want you to feel like it's something you have to make up to me. I knew who you were when I married you, and my marriage vows are serious to me. In sickness and in health. You're sick, and I'm here."
"I hate being sick." Santana stifles the tears that threaten to fall. "The reason I take all these damn pills is so I don't have to be. I've stayed…mostly stable for years, or, at least as stable as I could be, but this has thrown me for a loop, and I don't feel like myself."
"I can tell. And that's why I've really tried not to snap back at you when you've been so combative. I know that is not you talking."
"It doesn't make it right."
"No, it doesn't." Brittany shakes her head. "But I can understand it, and I don't love you any less for it. This whole thing has been really hard on me too."
"I know, and I've been shit at recognizing that. You've taken care of everything for me and the boys. You told me in the hospital how hard it was for you to see Oliver, and I just…haven't even asked you since."
"It's still hard sometimes." Brittany confesses. "I know you think about it all the time, how you're a surgeon and you couldn't help him, and so do I. I know this is so dumb, but I look at his head and think I should have gone in there and done his stitches because I worry about scar tissue that might bother him down the line. I think about how maybe if I'd gone into a different field than plastics, then I'd have a much better idea of how to help him as he grows, and an understanding of what complications he might face. Or I think I should have gone into psychiatry, because then maybe I could help you. And then I remember that my plastics expertise helps Liam, and makes sure he gets the best care. So largely, I feel torn at every moment."
"I didn't realize." Santana says softly.
"I know, and I don't begrudge you for that. I want you to get better, so you don't feel like you're about to snap all the time. I'm torn, but I can handle it. Honey…I just want you to feel good again."
"I want that too. I feel like…I haven't even gotten to enjoy Max and Oliver. I've been all over the place since I found out we were having twins, and now they're here and I just…can't feel happy about it. Every time one of them cries, I feel like I want to curl into a ball and die. I'm trying to get past it."
"You're doing everything you can, Santana. You got through Christmas, and tonight, it's me and you."
"I selfishly needed this so much."
"I selfishly needed it too."
When they get to dinner, Santana pulls out Brittany's chair, and sinks down into her own. She's already exhausted, but she'll be damned if that lets her stop her from spending the night with her wife. When the server brings over a bottle of wine, she take that much needed sip, letting the acidity sit on her tongue, letting the rush of it hit her body. She won't have more than a glass, careful right now not to mix too much alcohol with her medication, and even more careful not to taint her milk, but that first taste calms her, settles her. And across the table, Brittany gives her a loving smile, and she gives one in return, reaching to grab her hand, squeezing it, and feeling the strength that it provides for her.
They make idle chatter as they eat, nothing too big, nothing too serious. After dinner, they dance. It's still a little painful for Santana to do so, but she wants to. She wants the feeling of being in Brittany's arms. Brittany always leads, because she's secretly the most amazing dancer, and Santana loves that feeling of being guided by the woman she loves. In a lot of ways, she feels like that them of their relationship has been sidelined by the difficult situation they've been in, but when Santana looks in Brittany's eyes, and feels her hands on her waist, she remembers who they are, she remembers why she fell in love with this beautiful, strong, amazing woman. Brittany is her rock, Brittany is her saving grace, and she just wants Brittany to know that in spite of everything else, that she appreciates what an amazing human being she is.
"I haven't told you tonight how beautiful you look." Santana whispers, arms wrapped around Brittany's neck.
"Thank you, Santana. So do you." Brittany kisses her lips gently.
"Did you think last New Year that we'd be here?"
"I bought your ring the first week of January, and I'd told you at Christmas that I'd promised to buy you one. The way everything worked out isn't how I expected, but I'm so glad it did."
"You don't regret marrying me?"
"Santana Lopez." Brittany shakes her head. "There is nothing in the world I regret less than marrying you. I know it's been a hard year, but there's been so much good in it. We got married, you got your scar tissue fixed, we had two beautiful boys, Liam is doing is well. My life has taken the most amazing turn since I met you."
"Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that. You've always been so together, and I've always been so…not."
"I think…seeing you carry twins was the most together thing I've ever seen a person do. Your pregnancy was so hard, and yet you kept it together until the very end. As much as I was thrilled that you wanted us to do this together, I was concerned."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Santana asks, as Brittany dips her carefully, supporting her lower back so she doesn't put too much pressure on her abdomen.
"Because I trust that you know your body, and I knew that I'd be here for you, whatever happened."
"It was a lot for me to expect of you…"
"Those boys are as much mine as they are yours. I didn't carry them, but I can carry you through it. I'm not going to lie and say it's easy for me. Seeing the woman I love most in the world feel pain is one of the hardest things I've done, and that says a lot. But my mom has been really supportive, and talked me off the ledge quite a few times."
"I…" Santana takes a breath, having not realized that Brittany had been speaking to her mom. "I'm glad you've had her. I…wish you had me."
"I've always had you, Santana. Don't ever think that I haven't. But right now, I just need to have someone else I can talk to."
"I understand that." She nods, and Brittany pulls her closer. "We're terrible at dancing and forgetting."
"Do you want to dance and forget?"
"No, I want to dance to remember." Santana murmurs, then finds herself laughing a little. "That was really Hotel California."
"Maybe a little." Brittany laughs in response. "Let me pull you closer, then we'll dance as long as you can stand up."
They dance until Santana feels sore all over, and she nearly collapses back into the chair at their table. As tired as she is, she's determined to make it to midnight. She's determined not to fall asleep sitting up in the restaurant. She's determined to just be human, until maybe she turns back to a pumpkin at midnight…or however that metaphor goes. It's Brittany though who nudges her at eleven-thirty, her own eyes drooping from the lack of sleep two newborns bring. It's Brittany who asks her if she wants to go home, to spend the rest of their evening together and in comfortable clothes. Santana, with her sides pinched by the dress that's a little too small, agrees, and Brittany finds them a cab, while Santana stands wrapped in her coat in the entryway of the restaurant.
There's traffic on the cab ride home, and Santana gets antsy as she listens to the radio, and watches the numbers tick up on the radio clock. At eleven-fifty-eight, and still five blocks from home, Santana asks the cabbie to let them out, and she tunes into the broadcast from Times Square on her phone.
"What are you doing?" Brittany asks, cocking her head to the side.
"I can't start the new year with you in the dirty backseat of a cab. I just need…to apparently kiss you in front of an Indian restaurant instead."
"It doesn't matter where I kiss you, Santana." Brittany leans in, kissing her over and over again, until they hear the cheers of Happy New Year! through Santana's phone. "It's going to be a better year, okay?"
"Okay." Santana nods soberly, taking Brittany's hand to walk home. It's hard for her to believe it. It's hard for her to feel any sort of joy right now, but she clings to it like a life raft. She clings to it, because it's all she can do.
When they get into the house, Maribel sits with a glass of champagne on the couch. Liam lays with his head in her lap, and the twins sleep in their matching bouncers in front of her, still clad in their tuxedo rompers. Santana pauses for a moment, watching as Brittany kneels down the kiss Max and Oliver first, studying their little faces. When she's through with them, she goes to Liam, cradling his cheek in her hand and just taking him in. It's a sight Santana loves more than anything, and she slides off her shoes slowly, not wanting to break the moment.
"I hope you don't mind I kept them down here with me." Maribel murmurs. "Oliver is the only one who made it to midnight. He just went back down."
"The hospital lights." Santana says absently. "He's up a lot at night."
"Mommy Noodle?" Liam reaches his hands over his head and slurs sleepily. "You home?"
"We're home, Sir." She approaches him and gently kisses his head.
"It's New Years again? I didn't see the big ball, okey?"
"That's okay." Wishing she could lift him into her arms and hug him, Santana settles for sitting at his side and ruffling his hair. "We'll watch it together tomorrow."
After Maribel waves them away, telling her she'll settle into the guest room when she's ready, Brittany carries Liam up to his bed, and Santana carefully lifts Max and Oliver into her arms. She takes each stair slowly, so cautious that she might slip and drop them, and when she's finally in the bedroom, she breathes a sigh of relief. Though she knows she should put them down while they're sleeping, or she's going to have at least one crying baby on her hands, Santana chooses anyway to hold them in her arms. For a long time, she looks at Max, sound asleep, with his face wrinkles up. Anxiety flares in her chest, thinking that maybe she doesn't pay him enough attention, that maybe she's so often concerned with Oliver's head, and Oliver's breathing, and Oliver's eating, and Oliver's…everything, that Max doesn't get enough love from her. It's irrational, for certain, but the idea of it causes a pit to form in her stomach, before she lays Oliver in the bassinet and chooses to just hold Max, if only for a little while.
"My Max." She whispers, and he blinks opens up his eyes, though he doesn't cry. "My strong boy. I knew it might be time to feel you soon. Oliver got a bottle from grandma before bed, so how about a little me and you time, hmm?"
As exhausted as Santana is, she has this visceral need to keep her eyes open and engage with Max. Most of her night feedings have been in a state of utter exhaustion, where she's side nursing and attempting to stay awake while one or both of the boys are latched on to her, but having him cradled in her arms in the low light, even still in her evening wear, is soothing to her. She has to keep doing this. She has to keep pushing herself to manage beyond what she thinks she can.
Struggling, Santana manages to unzip the back of her dress, and she lets the top fall down her shoulders. The hook on her regular bra is even harder with one hand, but she gets the whole thing off and guides Max to her breast, just staring down at him when her latches on. He's a gentler eater than Oliver is, and Santana sits back against the headboard of the bed, cradling his head and allowing him the much needed alone time with her.
"Someone's awake." Brittany comes in the room, smiling as she unzips her dress and pulls a t-shirt out of the top drawer of the dresser.
"He wanted some moms time, I think. Do you…um…maybe want to sit with us?"
"I'd really love that." She quickly pulls the pins from her hair, striking Santana with how beautiful she looks. Santana watches her until the bed dips beside her, and Brittany looks over her shoulder at Max. "I haven't had the chance to tell you how beautiful you look when you do that."
"What?"
"Nurse. It looks like it comes so natural to you."
"It doesn't at all." Santana shakes her head. "It's honestly exhausting and takes so much more out of me than I thought it would."
"You know, Santana, if you—"
"No. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends it, and especially for Oliver, I need to do it. It's getting easier. I just…I'm glad I could nurse Max alone tonight. I feel like…he had this to himself for the first few weeks, and then Oliver came home, and I've been like…neglecting him. Balance is so hard."
"Trust me, I feel it too. We went from one child to three so quickly, and especially with everything you've been going through, just to find a moment of peace is…near impossible."
"I'm sorry I've made it harder." Tears begin to stream down Santana's cheeks.
"Please don't apologize for that, Santana." Brittany wipes her tears from her cheeks, then the lone tear on Max's face. "It'll be better soon."
"Is it terrible that I'm aching to go back to work? I've got everything in the world right here in this house, and yet…I just can't wait to get in the operating room. I need to cut something open. I need to heal someone, so I don't feel like such a damn failure."
"I don't think it's terrible. But, if you need to take an extra few weeks—"
"I really don't want to. I feel like it's been a hundred years since I was in the hospital, and that place was my life, before this was. I want to go back at six weeks. I've been thinking of talking to Shelby, but I didn't want to do that until I talked to you."
"Thank you for that. If you think you'll be ready, I'm not going to tell you that I don't think you should go. I know how important it is for you to get back there."
"The only time in my life I can guarantee that I won't be crippled by anxiety is when I'm in the OR. I…I'm insecure about a lot of things. Whether I'm a good wife, or a good mother, or a good person, but I know that I'm a good doctor. Maybe even a great one. I think I need to feel that way, so I can get myself back on track. I feel like…I'm off balance, and I feel like shit saying it, because I should be good at all those other things. I love you, I love our kids, so it's not you, it's just…"
"I know, Santana." Brittany leans over and kisses her head. "And I know that me saying I think you're amazing doesn't change what goes on in your head. But promise me, please, if it's too much, you'll take another leave."
"Okay." Santana nods. "I promise. But these goddamn pills should be working by then…I'm still so pissed at myself that I didn't take them those few days. God, last time…"
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Brittany murmurs, absently picking a string from Max's romper. She gets Santana, and Santana knows that, and appreciates it, more than she can ever know how to say.
"My second year of med school. I was studying for my finals, and I'd been awake for three days. The meds made me tired, so I went off them. I barely made it through my exams, before I was a crying, hysterical mess. I know that it was combined with lack of sleep and stress, but Mercedes had to take me down to the ER at Bellevue, because I didn't want anyone at Columbia to find out about it. I was sedated, and slept it off at Mercedes' parents' house for like…four days. I never want to get to that point again, especially because I knew enough about withdrawal symptoms to do that. I'm just…I don't know. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For going on about this again tonight. What a way to start the new year."
"Santana." Brittany gets up again, and grabs Santana one of her shirts so she can change out of her dress when she's done with Max. "I'm really happy we went out tonight. That's more than I expected this year, and I love that you arranged it."
"Why are you like this?"
"I love when you say that, you know." Brittany lays down on the bed, staring up at Santana.
"Why?"
"Because it reminds me of when we first started dating, and your eyes would sparkle every time I said something nice to you."
"I…you still make me sparkle."
"Do I?"
"So much." Santana confesses softly. "I…know that I'm crap with a lot of things, especially now, but…you do make me feel like I'm special. And I wish I could be the same with you."
"You are. You always have been. Honey, we work in a hospital. We have the most gossipy interns, and probably even more gossipy nurses. I heard all about you in the beginning, before you would let me get to know you. I heard how you slept with girls in bar bathrooms, and how you were kind of mean to everyone. So when I think about how you chose to be with me, to have something real with me, it makes me feel like I'm something special."
"You are. You're…you're everything I don't deserve."
"You do though. You deserve so much happiness, and that's why I try so hard to give it to you."
"I am happy, Britt. That's what so frustrating and hard to explain. I feel like such a goddamn wreck, and have this unshakable…anxiety and sadness, but…I'm also so happy with my life. God, that sounds so insane."
"I'm not going to pretend I understand it, but…I'd just really like to help you get through it."
"You are. You do, every day." Santana shakes her head and watches a sleeping Max unlatch and spread out across her arms, nose wrinkled, eyes scrunched. "Why me?"
"What?"
"Why did you want this all with me? I see the way people look at you. Men, women, they're like, totally infatuated with you at first glance. People who didn't rip their scrub top up to show you how fucked up they are inside and out. Why did you choose me?"
"Because I didn't want anyone else. I was engaged to a woman who was seemingly perfect, to everyone on the outside. She looked put together and attentive and loving to me. She never stopped smiling until we were home, and she'd show her jealousy and selfishness. You forget, Santana, she made me choose her or Liam." Brittany sighs, rubbing her thumb over Santana's exposed clavicle.
"It's just still so hard to believe that someone could Ido/I that. I might be fucked up, but I could never…"
"I know. Trust me, I know. But you…You've never pretended to be something you weren't. As much as you drove me crazy when I first started working at Columbia, you also intrigued me. There are so many fake people in the world, but you're not one of them. And you have the most amazing heart. I saw it with the conjoined twins, I saw it when you played with Liam on your office floor. I see it with me, when you stop into my office with a coffee or a bagel, or just a kiss. You feel things really hard, and I consider myself lucky that I get to feel your love every day."
"I've been shit at showing it lately."
"You have, just a little." Brittany teases. "But I don't need bagels or coffee or even kisses to feel it. It's in your eyes, Santana, even when you don't think it is."
"I miss making love to you." Santana confesses, kissing Max's head, and putting him beside Oliver in the bassinet. "It's been…too long."
"I miss it too." Brittany hands Santana her t-shirt, and Santana pulls her dress down her body, exposing the healing caesarean incision. "You're healing well."
"I was just looking at it this morning. At least something good came out of this scar."
"I think—" Brittany wriggles down the bed as Santana pulls her shirt over her head. She presses the softest kisses on Santana's stretched skin, avoiding the surgical wound—because they both know the last thing she needs to do is spread bacteria to it—and Santana weaves her fingers through Brittany's hair. "That I'm even more attracted to you now than I ever was before."
"Babe, you've got some weird taste." Santana can't help but laugh, though her voice is thick with unshed tears.
"No." Brittany pulls down Santana's t-shirt to cover up her stomach, and slides back up so she lays facing Santana. "You've got battle scars, and battle scars are really sexy."
"I can't wait—" Santana kisses Brittany's lips over and over again, laying so her front is as closely pressed to Brittany's as it can be, without aggravating her healing cut. "Until I can feel you inside of me again. I can't wait until I have the strength to make you cry out my name."
"As much as I'm looking forward to that." Brittany kisses Santana's ear, and rubs her lower back. "I missed this intimacy even more. I missed holding you in my arms and kissing you just like this."
"I'm sorry I wasn't ready." Santana tucks her face into Brittany's neck, and feels that safe, loving warmth, the one that always engulfs her when she lets Brittany hold her close. "I'm sorry I was pushing away from you because I was so sick over feeling anything but scared as hell."
"You're here now, Santana. We're here, and I'm not letting you go."