Hey guys! I'm so emotional right now because of tonight's episode of Glee. That Brittana moment gave me such waves of inspiration for this piece, so I'm sure I'll be updating more frequently now (or at least as frequent as my mid-terms allow). But anyway, I'm actually curious for your thoughts on the story so far. Reviews would are greatly appreciated! (or just talk to me on my tumblr mrsnayamarierivera) This chapter's just a pinch depressing, so...I'm not sure whether to tell you to enjoy it or none. Haha.

I jumped next to Brittany while she watched Saturday morning cartoons. I was never into those cartoons as a kid, but considering Brittany never really grew up like I did, she took pleasure in them. I let her do whatever she wanted, I had always been fine with her not acting her age. She had her moments where she was even wiser than me.

"Babe." I placed my hand on hers and stroked it gently. "You hungry?"

Since she was in charge of the cooking, it concerned me that she'd been up all morning and didn't make any breakfast. Not for me, but for herself. Chemo killed appetite sometimes, and that explained why she didn't bother making herself anything. But she needed to eat or else she would be weak.

She tiredly diverted her attention from the TV to me. God, she looked so exhausted. She was up all night vomiting her ass off, and I was sure she only got a couple of winks of sleep afterwards. It was stupid of me to ask if she was hungry since she probably didn't want to see food for a long time, but she really needed to eat.

"I don't know," she replied, and she weakly smiled at me. "Are you?"

"Only if you are." I was starving actually, but I didn't want to tell her that or else she'd feel guilty for making me hold up my appetite.

She always chose others over herself. I wasn't surprised when she nodded her head. "Okay."

I grabbed her hand and pulled her off the couch. I had no idea what the fuck I was going to make her since I wasn't a master chef, but maybe some eggs wouldn't be too hard to make. You just put them in the pan and wait, right? It was worth a shot.

"Alright, you've been privileged with the opportunity to watch Chef Lopierce shine as she attempts to make eggs for her beautiful wife," I announce in a deep manly voice, helping her sit at the kitchen island by pulling out her seat for her and pushing it in when she sat down. She giggled at my silliness, and it made me smile and temporarily forget for just a few seconds that she was sick.

"Oh I can't wait!" She bounced in her chair and clapped in excitement. Yes, that was the Brittany I remembered.

"Okay um…" Where do I start? Oh right. I opened the fridge to take out the carton of eggs. Yeah, this looked easy.

It was just unsettling that I had Brittany's eyes burning into my skin. Quite distracting.

I closed the fridge door and opened a cabinet to take out a pan. There were different sizes of pans, and I wasn't even sure which to choose. But I settled on a medium-sized one since that looked like it could hold enough eggs, and I turned the stove on. I didn't burn anything yet, so that was a good sign.

"How did you sleep last night?" I heard Brittany ask. Sometimes I hated it when she cared more about me than herself, she was the one who needed the sleep. I placed the pan on the stove and then took out an egg from the carton.

"Alright," I told her. "How are you feeling?"

"Better!" I loved to hear her cheerfulness but something told me she was just putting on a face so I felt better.

I inspected the egg to see how I should crack it. Brittany made it look so easy, so maybe it was that easy. I grabbed the egg with both hands on both ends and tapped it lightly against the rim of the pan. Nothing. "Fuck."

I tried again, a little harder this time. It cracked slightly but not enough for the insides to pour out.

I gritted my teeth. What, this egg though it was better than me? I'm Santana fucking Lopierce, I thought to myself. My own fucking eggs are superior to this one.

Angrily, I smashed the egg down. Yolk flew everywhere, from one of the knobs on the stove to my face. The slimy feeling of an unborn baby chick was really freaking gross, and my face was so red with anger I would be able to just cook what was left of the egg on my face.

Brittany broke into hysterical laughter. It was the most I'd heard her laugh in a while, and my anger quickly downgraded to extreme annoyance. I turned around and looked at her, and she got up from her seat and walked over to me.

"I'm fine with just having breakfast on your face," she joked, her pale face actually red from all the laughter. It was nice to see color on her face.

I rolled my eyes. Stupid egg. "I can make something as simple as eggs. I know I can. Fucking-" I stopped myself before I could go on a cursing rampage. I brought my hand up to wipe the egg off, but Brittany surprised me by grabbing my hand.

"Babe. It's okay," she told me quietly, smiling still. She leaned into my face, but instead of kissing me like I anticipated, she began to lick with egg off.

It tickled too. "Britt, what the hell are you doing?" I asked her with a chuckle.

Her tongue brushed along my left cheek, where most of the egg was. It was a bit gross to lick uncooked egg, but the feeling of her soft, wet tongue sent tingly sensations down my loins as I was reminded of how things used to be before she was diagnosed.

How long had it been since we had sex?

Her tongue moved to my nose. No, I didn't want it on my nose. I wanted it on my lips. And…well, somewhere else.

"Britt," I whispered.

She didn't answer me, but she was a smart girl because she knew exactly what I wanted. Her tongue moved from my nose straight down to my mouth. Yes. My mouth started to open to allow it entrance.

But just as I opened my mouth she swiftly moved it down to my chin. Ugh, was she being a cocktease again? I hated it when she did that.

I took a step back toward the kitchen island. Maybe I could be a tease too. But, since Brittany always won, she followed my lead and pushed me gently against the kitchen island.

Damn I thought I was getting somewhere.

I grabbed the edge of the kitchen island with both hands just as Brittany placed one hand on my neck. Her tongue trailed its way to the left side of my neck. Oh my God.

"Britt…"

Her tongue retracted back into her mouth and now she kissed me lightly on the neck. Soft, feathery kisses. But even the lightest kiss from her could make my panties explode. Just like right now.

Her hand moved down from my neck to my right breast. She squeezed it lightly, making me gasp. No, she couldn't be a tease now. Not after going without sex for so long.

"Britt…I swear if you don't stop teasing me…"

The crackling of the stove behind her seemed to agree with me.

For once, she obeyed me. Her hand that was on my breast went back up to my neck. She didn't stop kissing my neck, but now her kisses were slower and more sensual. I felt her unused hand pulling on the waistband of my pajama shorts. Yes.

Her long, slender fingers slithered into my shorts, right under the underwear. She was able to feel the wetness in my panties, but I wished that I could tell if she was turned on by it. She must've been, since she kept going.

Her pointer finger pressed against my clit.

"Britt!" I gasped.

She went from my neck to my ear and nibbled on it lightly. I was breathing heavily at this point, but I was conscious of the fact that she seemed indifferent. Usually she was breathing like she was asthmatic along with me, but she seemed perfectly normal.

Weird. But the pleasure was distracting me at the moment.

"Britt, please," I begged. I wanted her so badly. It'd been way too long.

Her finger began to rub my clit, and that sensation alone almost brought up my orgasm. But I fought it, I wanted to savor the moment. But I couldn't hide the loud moan of pleasure when she did so. It felt so fucking good.

She sucked harder on my ear. She deserved an award for being such a tease.

Her breathing was still normal though.

Why was is normal?

But why would I care right now, we were so close to-

But no. It was a thousand times better if she was just as pleasured.

And at this point she would usually be moaning to my moans.

Why wasn't she moaning?

Wait.

Another moan came up my throat, but I gulped it down. Something wasn't right. There was no heat between us. I was the only one giving out heat. Usually it was a million degrees in the room every time me and Brittany were having sex. But her skin was cold and inanimate.

Was she…not turned on at all?

"Britt." I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. "Britt."

She stopped rubbing me and looked at me in confusion. "What is it?"

I looked into her dead blue eyes. Her face wasn't even its usual tomato redness like it always was when she was turned on. What the fuck.

Alarmed, Brittany quickly yanked her hand out of my shorts. As she did so, I quickly shoved my hands into her own pants. She gasped, but in surprise not in pleasure.

She was completely dry down there. Not an ounce of moisture.

"Britt, you're not even turned on, are you?" I growled.

Her lower lip quivered as she looked at me with guilt. Her face said everything.

I took my hand out of her pants and leaned back into the kitchen island. I wasn't even sure what to say to her right now. I understood that she was just doing it for me, but I cared about her too much to have sex with her when she wasn't even enjoying it.

"I'm sorry Santana," she told me quietly.

I shook my head and crossed my arms. I knew exactly why she wasn't turned on – that fucking chemo. It killed her sex drive completely. I could tell right off the bat this was going to be a problem. Britt and I's marriage practically revolved around sex – not in a using each other sort of thing, it was just the way it'd been since high school. Losing that major factor could be a problem for us. And considering I was sexually frustrated as it was, it was only going to get worse if this kept going on.

"Britt," I finally sighed out. "Please. If you're never in the mood to have sex tell me, okay? It's unfair to you if I'm the only one having fun with it."

Her eyes began to water, which made my heart skip a beat in surprise. Whoa, I didn't want to make her cry, what was she doing?

"I wanted it Santana," she told me. "I really did." Tears began to flow down her cheeks, which made me panic. I didn't want her breaking down in front of me.

"Honey…" I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. "It's okay. I know you did. You just can't right now. It's okay."

She sobbed into my shoulder. She was probably more frustrated than I was, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do with her. I thought about what I could do to distract her for a little while. Then, I thought of a brilliant idea.

"Why don't I invite Quinn over, and we can talk about how we're going to get that baby?"

She stopped crying immediately. She pulled away from me and a huge smile was on her face. God, I was a genius.

She nodded cheerfully. I knew baby talk would solve the problem.

"Okay!"

"Surrogacy costs even more than regular IVF," Quinn said with a sigh.

We were in Britt and me's bedroom. Brittany and Quinn were sitting on my bed while I was leaning against the dresser, arms crossed. We'd been discussing possible ways of getting a kid for a good hour, and we still didn't find a solution.

While I just wanted to get a kid the fast and easy way and just adopt, Brittany wanted to be complicated and get a kid that could be biologically ours. But considering that it was impossible for two females to mate – and I actually had to explain this to her – Brittany finally decided she wanted to do in vitro fertilization. But that was super expensive.

"Well, Brittany can't get pregnant, and I don't want to get fat," I said.

Quinn frowned at me. "Seriously. You're worried about gaining a couple of pounds?"

I turned to Brittany. "Can't we just adopt a kid that would look like ours? Maybe from Mexico or something?" I'm not even Mexican but whatever.

"No Sannie. I want a baby that's actually ours. Well, one of ours. But then the baby can be both of ours."

She was being so frustrating, oh my God.

"So let's have Quinn carry the damn baby then," I growled. Brittany sighed in defeat.

"I'm going to go get some apple juice," she told us randomly, getting up from the bed. "I'll be right back." She gave me a quick glance before turning around and leaving the room.

Quinn scowled at me. "Santana, what the hell is wrong with you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"This is one of your wife's dying wishes and you're concerned about gaining weight?"

I looked at her before loosening up and sitting on the edge of the bed. I hung my head and rubbed the back of my neck in frustration. That wasn't why I didn't want to get pregnant.

"It's not that," I admitted to her. "I could care less about gaining weight. I just…" I placed my face into my hands. I could feel tears coming but nothing poured out. I was such a mess.

I could feel Quinn move around on the bed, and then I felt her hand on my back. "What is it, Santana?" she asked me.

"I don't want to go through this Quinn," I finally told her. I took my face out of my hands and look at her. The area around my eyes was moist, but I wasn't crying. "I don't want to have to deal with carrying this kid while she's dying at the same time. It isn't fair."

She gnawed on her bottom lip and tilted her head. Her face screamed pity and I wasn't so sure I liked that either. I didn't need pity, I didn't need sympathy. I just needed a way out of all this. Preferably the cure for cancer being discovered tomorrow.

"Santana…" Hearing my name just made me break down sobbing. That was a weird reason to snap, but crying was long overdue.

She rubbed my back sympathetically before speaking again. "Brittany's doing this for you. She just wants you to know that she'll be here even after she's gone."

I got frustrated with her answer. That wasn't what I wanted to hear at all, another reminder than my wife was dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it. "No!" I snapped. "What I want more than anything is for her to be healed. You have no idea what it's like to watch your soul mate die, Quinn. Your soul mate. As in your other half, the other person who's supposed to live and die with you."

I jumped up from the bed and spun around to face her. I was just letting off steam, and she was unfortunate enough to be my target for it. But I wasn't sorry. Not now, anyway.

"I'm dying with her Quinn. Except when we both die, I'm still going to be here. I'm going to be a meaningless, empty shell of a person because the one thing I need to live won't be around anymore." The heat on my face evaporated my tears. I was furious, not sad. I just wanted to punch something. Where the hell was Puck? I would've loved to punch Puck.

"It fucking sucks Quinn. What am I supposed to do when she's gone? I'm going to be in pain for the rest of my life. My life has no meaning without her. I love her too fucking much, I just…I can't do anything of this." I slammed my fist against the wall in anger, but then I began to cry again. None of this was fair. Why the fuck was all this happening?

"Santana?" That wasn't Quinn's voice.

I quickly turned around and swallowed the rest of my oncoming tears. Shit, I didn't want Brittany to see me like this. Though she saw enough, I wiped my eyes anyway. The side of my hand stung from smacking the wall, and I could've sworn there was a slight dent in the wall where I hit it.

"Hey Britt," I muttered. She was holding a glass of apple juice and was staring at me with wide, lifeless blue eyes.

Quinn was looking back and forth between us, eager to see what was going to happen next. Yeah, this all seemed like one big fucked up TV show.

Brittany ran over to me – or walked with haste, because she was careful not to spill her glass of apple juice – and wrapped one arm around me. I felt like crying again, but I fought it back this time. No more crying in front of her, I wouldn't allow it.

"I'll have the baby," I whispered into her ear, though I said it before I actually thought about what I said. That wasn't supposed to be decided right now. My emotions – my heart actually, was telling me to just do it. If Brittany wanted a baby, I'd do it for her.

She pulled away and gave me a smile, and I saw that her eyes were red with salty tears. She always felt like crying whenever she saw me cry, she was just connected to me like that.

"It's expensive," she told me, her smile weakening. Oh, now she was worried about the cost? I wasn't sure whether to laugh or scowl at her statement. But at least she cared.

"I'll go into my life savings, okay babe?"

She shook her head. "Santana no-"

I wasn't going to have her disagree with me after I finally agreed to bear her child. "That's it. I'll make the appointment tomorrow."

She choked out a laugh and tears fell down her face. Happy tears. As long as they weren't sad I would allow her to cry.

She leaned in to give me a long-lasting kiss. I savored it, enjoyed it. If we weren't having sex we at least needed to kiss a million times a day. As long as she was still able to kiss me, nothing else mattered.

It was just awkward that Quinn was right there next to us, but I wasn't too concerned about that right now.

"You're a fucking saint for helping me out with this," I said to Quinn as I handed her a big pot.

She laughed, putting the pot under the faucet then filling it with water. "I don't think you're supposed to put 'fuck' and 'saint' together Santana."

But she was a saint. She offered to stay late and help with the cooking since Brittany was too exhausted for another vomit fest a couple of hours ago and I had the cooking skills of a kindergartner. Actually, a kindergartener probably cooked better than me.

"Whatever. But thanks."

"Pass me the potatoes." She turned off the faucet and put the pot on the stove.

I opened the fridge and took out a sack of potatoes for Quinn to use. She was making chicken cutlets with mashed potatoes on the side. Just hearing the combination made my mouth water and my stomach growl. Why the fuck couldn't I cook like that?

I gave Quinn the potatoes, humming a random song as I did so. I watched her work her magic while I sat right on top of the kitchen island, not bothering to sit on a chair like a normal person for no reason at all.

"That song is so old," Quinn remarked while skinning the potatoes with a kitchen knife.

I smiled. "I love Amy Winehouse." I was humming Rehab, which came out like, ten years ago. I was devastated when she passed away a few years prior, she was my idol.

"You were a master at her songs." Quinn chuckled. "I remember telling you to lay off the cigarettes before you ended up losing your voice."

I smiled at the memories. "Says the one who smoked like an old man at a cigar shop during senior year."

Her face hardened. Oops, I probably shouldn't have brought that up.

"A lot happened senior year," she said in a deep and serious voice. Yeah, she was right though. I didn't want to think of senior year because the memories were too painful.

I quickly changed the subject. "So. I haven't seen Trouty Mouth for a while. Where has he been?"

I hoped my change of topic would loosen her up a little, but my mentioning of Sam just made her flinch and frown. Shit, what did I say wrong?

She was silent for a while, and my throat tightened in anxiety. Seriously, what did I do to make her look so…hurt? Why was she hurt? Oh God, her and Sam didn't break up did they?

"Sam and I aren't doing too well right now," she finally admitted. Now she was skinning the potatoes a little more aggressively.

I tilted my head to the side. "What? But you guys are invincible together."

She almost cut her finger with the next scrape. I was just saying all the wrong things today.

"It's just…we don't see each other as often. And we live together." She placed the skinless potato into an empty bowl she set up. She didn't grab another potato, instead she grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter with both hands and leaned against it. I bit my lip.

"I'm too busy at the hospital and then he's always too busy with his stupid bar. His stupid bar that my parents helped pay for." She angrily grabbed a potato and went knife crazy on it. "You won't believe the ridiculous hours he works until. Who the hell manages a bar until one in the morning?" She was finished with the potato lightning fast because she threw it into the bowl before I even had a chance to blink.

"Quinn the guy's had the bar for like a year, he just needs time to adjust to owning one." And his bar was pretty decent too, I visited there with Brittany a couple of times.

"I know," she sighed out, sounding calm suddenly. Uh-oh, she was turning crazy again. And I was right because she got worked up again. "I just…" She held an untouched potato in her hand and stared at it. "I just miss the romance, you know? He used to be so sweet and corny, buying me flowers every day and sometimes chocolate too. Where's that Sam?"

Sam never changed. He was always that kid from high school that fell in love way too quickly, socially awkward with his stupid science fiction film references, getting romance tips from the chick flicks Quinn always made him watch. He was a dork, but the sweetest guy anyone could ever have. Quinn was stupid for breaking up with him in junior year, and to this day I still couldn't believe it. But Quinn was smart now. Well, she was until right now, I had to question it now.

"I love him, so much. I'm not saying we should get married yet, even though we act like we're married. I just don't spend as much time with him as I used to. I miss staying indoors and watching his stupid Avatar movies. And, God, I miss the sex so much."

The last bit caught me off guard and made me snort in laughter. Ew, sexually active Quinn Fabray was gross. But this was better than when she was with Puck. That was just grotesque.

"Hey think of it this way." I was going to catch her off guard with something completely out of nowhere and personal. I needed to be this way so Quinn could stop complaining about the one thing in her life that made happy. Shit. "If you weren't with Sam you'd probably be fixing cars every day with Puck."

Her face dropped and she stared me down with wide eyes. Yeah, that was a bulls eye.

"That's not funny Santana," she told me gravely.

I smiled even though it was a bit sadistic of me to find her reaction amusing. "I know it's not."

That got her worked up again. She went back to peeling potatoes while I swung my leg back and forth on the kitchen island.

But she wasn't done talking. "Puck and me are over, Santana," she muttered.

The smile was still on my face. "Thank God too. The two of you were on the verge of creating a new, undiscovered STD together." Puck was still my friend but that wouldn't stop me from talking trash about him.

"We're not talking about this Santana," she snapped. I wasn't finished though.

"He's still squeamish at the sound of your name. It's like his dick deflates every time you come up in conversation, it's ridiculous-"

"We're not fucking talking about this Santana!" Ooh, she used the F word.

I raised my hands up as if she was arresting me. "Whoa Lucy Quinn, calm yourself. Brittany's taking a nap, remember?" I laughed. Her face was turning into a very deep red, so I decided to drop the subject before she threw a potato at me.

Though I knew it wasn't fair to treat her like that. She was here helping me and Brittany when she didn't have to, she was being Mother Teresa to us.

But I guess old habits die hard.