Yeah, so, this fic... I'm sorry I haven't updated it in well over six months. I just haven't felt like writing in it for a multitude of reasons. :( But people have been asking if I've abandoned it, and well, no, I haven't. I still have so much planned for this story, and I'm hoping that maybe this chapter will help kick start my writing in it again.

That being said, I'll admit upfront that this chapter is pretty crappy. I struggled a lot with the dialogue at the end, but eventually just had to go with what was there and stop obsessing over it, or risk not having anything to update at all.

So yeah, keep that in mind while reading it. But I do answer some questions, and reveal some more pieces to the puzzle that is their back-story. I'm hoping that if I get some good feedback, I'll get back into the swing of this fic. I guess we'll see. :)

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the update! And like always, I would really love to know what you think!

Chapter 08

Flashback, San

Your arms are trembling and your hips ache, but you keep going. In. Out. In. Out. Thrusting into your lover as the sweat drips down your face and neck and into the valley between your breasts. You're tired and you're in pain, but you can't stop. You can't stop until she's come at least once. "I... I... fuuuck..." you cry out in agony and frustration as you suddenly fall off the girl and onto your side, your body having completely given out.

As you lay there panting and wheezing, your chest rising and falling dramatically with each desperately needed intake of air, you're acutely aware of the object still seated inside you. Gripping the strapless Feeldoe, you ease it out of yourself and let it fall to the mattress next to your thigh. "Fuuuuck... Just... Just give me... Just give me a few minutes... to recover... " you insist in between gasps for breath, rolling now onto your back and crossing your arms up over your face. You can't stand to look at the girl next to you, you're so embarrassed.

"San, it's okay," Brittany responds kindly, her voice steady and without any discernible trace or hint of your recent, and supposedly joint, exertion. It makes you feel even worse, though, knowing that you couldn't even work your girlfriend up enough for her to be out of breath, let alone were able to bring her to orgasm. "Really, it's okay."

You groan and shake your head. "No, it's not okay," you tell her, putting your arms back down by your sides as you chance a glance at her calm, and not at all winded, face. "I used to be so good at this." You're pouting now, but considering the fact it's been almost a year since you've gotten your lover to climax, you feel that your tiny internal tantrum is justified.

Brittany gives you a look, and you immediately feel guilty for putting so much importance on, what is comparatively, a rather inconsequential act. But you can't help it. You're well past the days where your girlfriend simply opening her eyes and instantly recognizing you were the biggest thrills you could ever possibly hope for or imagine.

"You are still good at this," Brittany insists, but her words don't hold as much conviction as they used to. This argument is an old one, and one that she knows she's never going to win. "Really San, it's the meds; this is just a side effect of them. You know this." She reaches out and brushes some stray hair from your forehead; the thick, damp, locks clumping awkwardly together across your slick skin. You've been trying to grow your bangs out, and right now they are in that much loathed stage, where they aren't yet long enough to put behind your ears, but are now too long to leave hanging down over your eyes.

You grumble at her fussing, and at her explanation, and promptly bat her hand away. "Yeah, I know," you sigh in concession, knowing in your head that she's right, and that her inability to achieve orgasm isn't actually related to anything you're doing. That doesn't stop your heart from continuing to feel guilty and responsible, though. Because even if the medications are really to blame, you're the reason she needs to be on them in the first place.

The two of you lay there in silence for a few minutes, seemingly lost in your contradicting thoughts and feelings about what had happened almost a year ago, and consequently, what it has meant for your relationship, and your lives in general. Glancing around the tiny closet of a bedroom you both share, you can't help but wonder if this is where you'd be had things not gone the way that they had; if you had just driven the girl home that night, instead of forcing her to call her mother for a ride.

She doesn't blame you for the accident. At least, not outwardly, or in any manner that you could easily point a finger at as proof that she does, indeed, hate you. It's incredibly frustrating, her seeming ambivalence towards the role you had so obviously played in bringing about the horrors of that night, and you honestly wish that one day she'd just snap and lay into you like you deserve.

"So, I was thinking... Maybe I could talk to my doctor about not taking that pill anymore?" Brittany's voice breaks through your self loathing, and you blink at her in confusion for a few seconds, letting her words marinate in your mind until finally it clicks what it is she's suggesting. Immediately you shake your head, pulling yourself into a sitting position despite your bodies continued protests against any and all types of physical exertion.

"Nuh uh, no way Brit. You need that medication," you tell her adamantly, watching as she struggles not to look hurt by the ferocity and conclusiveness of your words. You honestly don't mean to make her feel bad, but this is an argument you have no intentions of ever letting her win. She needs that medication, even if it is the reason your sex life is completely and painfully dead.

Brittany doesn't look convinced though, and you shake your head at her, holding your hand up to keep her from speaking. This shouldn't even be a discussion, and you find yourself wanting to shut it down before it even begins. "Honey, are you aware that you've actually managed to shower every single day this week? And without Rikki or myself dragging you out of bed and into the tub?" She looks surprised at this, and then thoughtful, almost like she's trying to recall the last seven days to see if you're telling her the truth. You are though. You'd never lie about something like this.

"Britt, I don't know if you can't recognize it since the changes are happening with you, but the past few weeks have been such a huge improvement from how badly things had been going. I mean, when's the last time you've found yourself crying for no reason?" She looks offended here, and you wince at how poorly that came out. "For no immediate reason. Come on, you know what I meant." There's a long stretch of silence here, and you start to worry she's going to insist otherwise, but eventually she nods, forgiving you for your slip.

"Brittany, you know that I love you, and that I only want what's best for you." You reach out and take her hands into your own, gripping onto them tightly. She nods once again, silently giving you permission to finish what it is you have to say, despite the fact you haven't allowed her the chance to do the same. "So even if you can't admit it to yourself yet, I know that you've been feeling a lot less depressed since you've been on the medication."

She's staring at you with such intensity now, it's almost impossible for you to keep up eye contact with her. But as hard as it is to gaze into her darkening, emotion filled irises, you don't allow yourself to look away. "Brittany, honey, I know that there are side effects you don't like. And I know that I was just complaining about not being able to get you off. But honestly sweety, it's not that important to me. I would much rather you be happy, and healthy, and functional."

There's tears in her eyes now, and you gently wipe them away with your thumbs. You can tell from her reaction that she agrees with you, but there still seems to be something bothering her. "Baby, what is it? You can tell me. I'm sorry I cut you off earlier." She tries to turn her head away, but you cup her cheeks, keeping her from doing so. She's getting even more upset now, and this only confirms for you that there is something big she's not telling you. "Is this about why you wanted to stop taking the meds?

She nods as best she can with your hands still cradling her face, her eyes desperately trying to blink back her sudden onslaught of tears. "Okay, well, what is it? Why do you want to stop taking them?" Despite your earlier determination to not let this become a discussion, you understand now that at the very least, you do owe her the chance to explain. Even if the answer she does end up giving you is not something you'd have ever expected to hear from her.

"Because, Santana. I... I want to have a baby."