Disclaimer: I don't own Glee nor its original characters (if I did it would probably be called The Brittany and Santana Show, and all the other characters would only be there to help advance their plot).

A/N: A few things have to be said: a) thank you all so very much for the many reviews! I had no idea this story would be this well received. You guys are amazing and oh-so-kind, seriously; b) I'll try my hardest to update once a week, or even sooner if I get the chance, but shit happens sometimes; so, if I take longer, I apologize in advance; c) I have the whole story already planned in my head. From start to finish. And it will be a long ride, that's why I complained about the stalking thing. Having that many dialogue plaguing your head non-stop at inconvenient times is not exactly ideal. Anyhow, if I don't take your suggestions is only because things are all already laid out in my head. Every single detail in the story has its reasons, and it'll all pan out sooner or later. Also, I'm very headstrong and stubborn. So, those shortcomings may play a hand in that as well; and d) english is not my first language. All things considered, probably not even my second; so, please bear with me and forgive me for any butchering.

Mischances, Stances and Stolen Glances
||Chapter Two||

"Doctor," the nurse came rushing towards the man, "it's the patient from room 42," she added, handing him the chart, "she took her own tube out. She's awake," the woman in her mid-twenties finished.

"Santana Lopez?" he enquired, skimming through the chart.

The nurse nodded, and both rushed to room 42.

"Can you hear me, Miss Lopez?" the doctor in his late thirties asked.

"I already told the other nurse, yes," Santana replied in a husky voice.

"Can you recall anything that happened to you?"

"I, I remember I was talking to Britt, and then I felt this excruciating pain in my head," she squinted, trying to recall everything and process the information. "Was it a brain hemorrhage?" Santana asked softly after a beat.

He nodded.

"Please, follow the light," he commanded, checking her pupils with a tiny flashlight.

"Yeah, I know the drill," the Latina quipped. "Have you called Britt, yet? Have you called my wife?" she asked, looking at the nurse, whom she had asked this before.

"Let's check you out first, huh, Miss Lopez," Dr. Carson said before the nurse could say anything.

Santana was starting to lose the little patience she actually had.

"Can you feel this?" he pricked one of her toes.

"Ouch!" the brunette yelped. "Yeah, I can," she almost growled.

"Did you call her?" she asked the nurse again.

The woman just nodded, afraid to be reproached by the doctor. But that was more than enough to bring some piece of mind to the Latina. For that moment, anyway.

"How about this? Do you feel it?" the doctor asked, rolling a spiky instrument from her ankle to her waist. Santana nodded.

"Can you tell me your name?"

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes, but played along.

"Santana Pierce-Lopez."

"Who's the president?"

"Bush," she deadpanned. "Unfortunately," the Latina murmured under her breath.

Through her antics, Santana failed to notice the exchange of looks between Dr. Carson and the nurse.

"What year are we in, Miss Lopez?" he questioned further.

"God, haven't we had enough?" Santana complained, but after reading the negative on his face, "2007," she did growl this time.

"Yes, just as I suspected," the doctor stated.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no easy way to break this to you, Miss Lopez," the raven-haired doctor put gently, "but, we're in 2011. You've been in a coma for the last, well, for almost four years now," he concluded.

"What?" Santana asked in disbelief. She looked around, trying to situate herself. Four years? How was that possible? Suddenly all sorts of emotions were running through her head and body, she wanted to stand up and pace, but she felt the weakness in her legs. Of course, four years was plenty of time to cause atrophy to the best of muscles, she thought. She continued to roam the room with attentive eyes, and they landed on Dr. Carson's id. That hospital's name, it was where her father worked. Was she in Lima?

"Am I in Lima?" she asked no one in particular. It sounded more like a question to herself, really. "I'm not in New York. I'm in Lima," Santana deadpanned, trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

It was then that she started to hyperventilate.

"Calm down, Miss Lopez. It's all ok, you are in Lima," the doctor tried to reassure her.

"Why am I here? I'm not in New York. Where's Brittany? What's going on?" she babbled agitatedly, moving her arms in the same unruly manner.

"Please, calm down. I'll have to sedate you otherwise," the short man warned her.

The word "sedate" caught her attention. She needed to figure this out, she couldn't be sedated. Not at that critical moment. So, she began to check her temper. It was something she had plenty of experience with, anyhow.

"I would like to speak to my father then," the brunette stated, visibly calmer. "Please," she practically begged, and she hated to beg. "I'm sure you know him. He's chief of staff here. Dr. Martin Lopez? Even if he's in surgery, I don't care. I think he'd step out to talk to his no-longer comatose daughter," Santana added, regaining some of her edge back.

There was another look between Dr. Carson and the young nurse. This time Santana caught it, 'though.

"Look… I'll see what I can do," he said in a tone that the Latina couldn't decipher. "I'll come back to take you for some CTs later, ok?" Dr. Carson said before slipping out of room 42 with the nurse behind him.

Brittany sat behind her Ford Focus' steering wheel. She had been parked on the hospital's parking lot for the last 15 minutes, trying to calm herself down before going to see Santana. The woman was so nervous that even her breathing had become unsteady. She checked her appearance on the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, wiping some extra lip-gloss that had gone out of her lip line; result of this shakiness that refused to leave her hands. Despite many things – but especially better judgment – she had this uncontrollable need to look good for her wife, well, ex-wife.

And it was that particular topic that was giving Brittany so much grief, and nervousness. How could she look into those big brown eyes that once meant the whole world to her – and if she were to be honest, still do – and tell her that she had someone else? That she had married someone else? She simply… couldn't. She simply couldn't face her. No matter how irrefutable her reasons had been. It was much too much. A heartbreaking and devastating predicament. For both of them. However, on the other hand, she couldn't contain the pure joy to know that Santana was awake. That she would get to look into those big brown eyes once again. God, she dreamed of that so many nights!

Brittany was brought back from her bittersweet thoughts by the ring of her phone. She grabbed the object from the top of one of the car's dashboard compartments, Quinn's name was flashing on the screen.

"Hey," Brittany answered.

"Hi, B! Did you call me? I saw your missed call when I stepped out of the shower," Quinn spoke fast and animatedly.

"Yeah, I cal –" the blue-eyed blonde practically whispered, but was cut by an enthusiastic Quinn.

"I mean, I know we're not supposed to spend so much time in there, and God knows how preachy Rach can get about 'the awful state of our beloved Mother Nature', but, come on, right? I deserve some time to relax," the smaller blonde ranted.

"Q…" Brittany tried again in the same low voice.

"God, look at my hair! It totally decided to get rebel to –"

"Quinn!" she finally yelled through her cell, cutting off the other woman.

"Jesus, Britt! Don't you know it's still too early to yell?"

"Quinn… it's San. She woke up today," Brittany let out, resting her head against the steering wheel.

"What? Oh my, God…" Quinn said with disbelief all over her tone.

Several seconds passed.

"Quinn, say something," Brittany pleaded.

"Oh my, God…"

"You already said that."

"I know, I'm just… so happy," the petite blonde concluded, smiling broadly even 'though her friend couldn't see it. "San is… San is awake. I can't believe this, and I can't wait to see her and talk to her, and, I don't know," she started to babble.

"It's unbelievable, right?" Brittany asked wistfully, mimicking her friend's smile even 'though she couldn't see hers.

"B, why do I detect a hint of melancholy in your voice?" Quinn asked softly.

"You know why. I'll… I'll have to tell her, Q. Everything," she mumbled, tears starting to well up in her eyes; so, she pulled her head back to try to prevent them from falling.

"Oh…"

"Yeah…"

"I know this will be hard, Britt. I really do. But… it's San," Quinn put it matter-of-factly.

"Exactly," Brittany's reply came full of meaning, and followed by a long sigh.

They stayed silent for a while, just hearing each other breath.

"I'll go now, Q. I've been sitting on this hospital's parking lot for too long. I want to see her," the dancer said, drying the moisture of her eyes on her sleeve.

"I love you, B. Both of you," Quinn mumbled genuinely.

"You too, Q," Brittany replied, ending the call and throwing the cell in her purse.

She checked herself on the mirror one last time, grabbed her purse, and went to Santana.

Brittany walked straight to the nurses' station, moving with that ever-constant grace of the natural dancer she was.

"Hi, I'm Brittany Pierce. I got a call about the patient from room 42, Santana Lopez," she said, towering over the round-shaped counter while looking down at the middle-aged nurse.

The woman punched some keys on the computer's keyboard.

"Yes, I see. Could you wait for a second over there?" the nurse replied nonchalantly, pointing to some chairs. "Dr. Carson will be with you in a moment."

Brittany did what she was told, and in no time Dr. Carson did come to find her.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Michael Carson," the man said in a serious tone, stretching out his hand to her.

"Brittany Pierce," the blonde replied with a faint smile on her face, standing up and shaking on his offered hand.

"So, ma'am, I was with Miss Lopez shortly after she woke up, and I'm glad to say that she doesn't seem to be suffering from any sequelas regarding her time in a comatose state. I mean that she has complete feeling of her legs and her speech is coherent."

"That's excellent, doctor!"

"Yes, we haven't had the chance to scan her brain yet, but judging from the preliminary check-up, everything seems to be at least stable. However, she experienced a common problem with coma patients. She was completely unaware of the time elapsed. We had to tell her, and she became very agitated," he said slowly and professionally.

"Did you mention her parents?" the blue-eyed woman asked with concern on her face.

The dark-haired doctor merely shook his head, and then his pager went off.

"I have to go now. You can go in and see her," he informed. "Just try not to agitate her, please," Dr. Carson added, turning around to leave.

A few moments later Brittany stood in front of the door of room 42. An incredibly familiar door to her. One that she had entered countless times before, and yet… she felt petrified with the idea of going in now. However, Santana was in there. Just one single push away. Awake. And with that thought she found her courage.

Brittany pushed the door gently, like it was made of the most fragile china ever designed by men. She was met with a familiar sight of Santana lying in a hospital bed. However, the bed was inclined upright, and there was no tube covering that lovely, sexy mouth of hers.

Santana had her head turned, facing the window. She heard the door being opened, but thinking it was one of the annoying nurses coming to check on her for the eleventh time that morning, she didn't bother to turn around right away. When she finally decided to do so, the Latina was met with the sight of the one person, the only person she really wanted to see. Brittany stood there by the door, like out of one of her dreams.

Just like that brown eyes met blue ones, and they held each other's stare. Unreservedly, unabashedly, bitter-sweetly… Through their stare a thousand words were spoken; a silent language they had perfected and mastered along the many years they had known one another. Whose tears began to fall first, they would never know.

Brittany strode to Santana's bedside, enveloping the brunette in a tight hug after sitting on the edge of her bed.

"San… I missed you so much," the dancer cooed through sobs, turning her head to nuzzle the other woman's neck and breath in the Santana scent she had yearned for.

"Hey, don't cry, babe," Santana pleaded, running her hand through a blonde mane. "Come on, you're making me cry, too," she added softly.

"Here, let me look at you," the Latina stated, pulling away from the hug to inspect the blue-eyed woman's face.

Brittany didn't seem to have aged a day. She still had her bangin' body, her long blonde hair still held its shine, her face had managed to avoid wrinkles… but her eyes? Her blue eyes told a different story, Santana noticed. That innocence, that glee and spark that were once there had considerably faded away. Her gorgeous blue eyes were now somewhat blue. Realization that pained Santana beyond measure, but one that she decided better not to mention.

"Almost four years and you look exactly the same: so beautiful," Santana said sincerely, wiping some of Brittany's tears with her thumb.

The blonde couldn't help the blush that took over her cheeks without request. The Latina clearly still had an effect on her. Not a surprising discovery, 'though.

"Except for one thing," Santana whispered, shifting her adoring, yet concerned, gaze to Brittany's flat stomach. "Did you…" she asked, trailing off with scare.

Brittany broke into a wide smile, realizing what the brunette was getting at.

"We had a baby girl, San…"

"Britt… We did? A girl?" Santana cooed, a smile on her face and tears welling up her soft brown eyes again.

Brittany nodded, grinning. "Zoey. She's so smart, and funny, and beautiful, San… You'd be so proud," the blonde said wistfully.

"You chose Zoey," Santana stated in an emotional tone of voice.

"Of course, you should have seen the glint in your eyes when you mentioned that name," Brittany softly put it. "It's a good thing we made those videos," the dancer added, shooting a knowing look at the brunette, who understood it straight away.

"Here," Brittany said in a high pitch, still sitting beside Santana and rummaging through her big purse, "a picture of her, she's three now," she said taking her cell phone out.

She passed the object to Santana with her right hand. The little girl's picture was her cell's wallpaper.

"B, she is…" Santana could barely speak, looking at her daughter's picture. "She is… perfect. Just perfect," the brunette finished, tears rolling down her face.

Brittany's smile grew wider, if possible, and watching Santana cry brought tears of her own down her face.

"She has your hair," the blonde informed.

Santana couldn't contain a chuckle. Zoey was indeed a brunette.

"A couple shades lighter, 'though," the Latina piped in. "And she has your eyes," she mused, studying the picture with untamed interest.

"A couple shades darker, 'though," Brittany mimicked Santana.

"I can't believe she's this big," Santana said wistfully. "I missed so much…" she added, tearing her look away from the screen for the first time to look sadly at the blonde sitting beside her.

"You have all the time in the world to catch up now," Brittany said reassuringly, holding the brunette's free hand gently.

Santana offered her a bittersweet smile, and then handed the dancer's phone back, unable to contain stealing one last glance at her daughter's smiling face. While she was handing Brittany the phone back, 'though, something caught her eye. Something that made her heart clench in her chest, and her stomach turn in a wrenching knot.

A small silence fell upon them as Santana tried to assimilate things, and still manage to keep her emotions in check, to maintain her poker face.

"So…" the Latina finally managed to utter, doing her best to maintain a steady voice. "What's his name?" she finished curtly.

Brittany didn't fail to see the change in Santana's demeanor. Her warm eyes turned cold from one moment to another, and she was sure that the brunette was trying to fight some unknown need to scowl. Unsuccessfully, the blonde should add.

"What? Who?" Brittany asked, furrowing her brows in honest confusion.

"Your husband," Santana clarified bitterly, avoiding the blonde's searching gaze.

Brittany was caught completely off guard. It took her a few seconds – which seemed like hours – to recover from the shock.

"How did you –"

Santana raised her own left hand and interrupted Brittany, "Ours are… were like this," she proclaimed, referring to the yellow gold wedding band in her finger. "So, unless you felt it was out of style and decided on an update…" the Latina trailed off. Both women looking at Brittany's white gold wedding band.

"San, I…" Brittany mumbled, trying lamely to find words.

There it was, the moment she had dreaded; and she was failing epically at it.

"They said you wouldn't wake up and –" she tried to add, but was once again cut off.

"Don't. Just stop," Santana said, not angrily or loudly, just bitterly sad, trying to maintain a stoic façade. "You don't own me any explanations. Not anymore. That ring on your finger is clear proof of that," she scoffed.

And there it was, the hurt in Santana's eyes. She knew the Latina as well as the back of her hand, better even - come to think of it - just the other day she saw this freckle there that she hadn't noticed before; anyways, she knew Santana was trying to conceal any sign of pain, any sign of anything that could remotely be connected to weakness. However, no one could keep a façade 24/7, and the mere seconds that the brunette's faltered, Brittany was the one who always caught it.

"But I want to," Brittany stated.

"I rather not," Santana maintained her stance. "Please," she added, almost pleading, looking at anything but Brittany's eyes. At that the dancer could only comply with the Latina's wish, she knew how proud she was.

Short awkward silence.

"His name?" Santana asked, kicking herself mentally that curiosity was taking the best out of her.

After a beat Brittany answered, holding Santana's reluctant stare, "Her name is Jenna."

It felt like a square punch in the gut, "A girl?" she asked in surprise, taking a sharp intake of breath. The Latina didn't know why, but it felt even worse that it wasn't a guy. Perhaps because both girls have had their fair amount of boys in the past, but they always had been each other's only girl.

Brittany simply nodded, "You've ruined men for me," she stated, smiling to try to lighten the mood. It didn't quite work.

Santana emitted a sardonic sound. "I apologize," she said sarcastically, and Brittany felt the sting. She tried to grab Santana's hand again, but the brunette swiftly pulled it away. Another sting. More painful, 'though. The blonde felt tears threatening to fall.

Another short awkward silence. The wheels in their heads were spinning at full force.

"So, I think I'm starting to get the full picture here," Santana finally said in her best scheming tone of voice. "You met someone new, moved on – whatever you wanna call it - so my parents had to drag their comatose daughter's ass back to fucking Lima," the brunette added, and Brittany's eyes grew as big as saucers.

"How did you get here so fast, anyway? Do they have Concorde airplanes on crack that do New York–Ohio flights now?"

"How could you…" Brittany started angrily, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "How can you even think of something like that, Santana?" she managed to spit out.

Santana just shrugged, toning down the attitude a notch. She hadn't seen the blue-eyed woman this angry in ages.

"That's not what happened at all!"

"Enlighten me, then."

"I had to move back to Lima after Zoey was born," Brittany said in a softer tone. "I was having trouble coping with the fact that my wife wouldn't wake up again, and still I had a newborn baby to look after. So, my parents suggested the move, yours agreed, I sold my half on the studio to Quinn, and then we all came back."

They shared a look. Santana's ice melted… a bit.

"What about the kid? I mean, you two are obviously raising her together. Does Zoey even know who I am?"

"Santana!" Brittany admonished.

"What? I'm sorry if I'm having a little trouble to believe that anything is certain anymore," Santana snapped.

"Her name is Zoey Pierce-Lopez, Santana. Of course she knows who you are," Brittany said softly, trying to be patient. "Besides, we have been coming here to visit you every weekend since she was a baby. There's a bunch of her drawings in that drawer, you can check out later if you don't believe me," the dancer added, noticing that the brunette's eyes were a little warmer.

Santana fidgeted with one of her pajamas' buttons.

"You're her mother too, San, and you always will be. Nothing will ever change that," the blonde cooed reassuringly, successfully drawing Santana's eyes to her own.

They both just sat there. Exhausted to say the least. The conversation had been nothing but completely emotionally draining.

"Jenna and I –"

"I really don't want to know, Brittany," she sighed softly. "Not now," the brunette added dejectedly, and in an even softer tone. "Could you please get me my dad? I already asked a handful of these morons here, but nothing yet. He's probably in surgery but –"

"San?" Brittany cut her off tenderly, looking the Latina directly in the eye.

That look was all it took. It conveyed the essence of everything that had to be known. She always could read Brittany like a book.

"How?" Santana mustered.

"They –" Brittany began but was interrupted.

"Her too?" the brunette whispered in question, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay.

Brittany nodded sadly, unable to keep hers at bay.

"They were in a car crash."

"How, how long?" Santana mumbled the query. If she kept them short enough, she might make it without breaking in front of the blonde.

"It was right after Zoey's first birthday. I remember they came to the party," the blonde said through tears. "They loved her so much, San. They never said it, you know better than anyone how they were," Brittany added wistfully. "But the way they looked at her… It was the same way they looked at you, babe," she concluded, letting the term of endearment of yore slip.

Santana shook her head; it was beginning to get too hard not to cry. She needed Brittany out of there. She couldn't break in front of her. Not anymore. She no longer had the right to see her coming undone.

"Don't call me that anymore," Santana deadpanned, frankly it hurt too much to hear it after it had lost its whole meaning. "And, could you please leave?"

"I won't leave you alone now, San," Brittany declared, trying and failing again to grab the brunette's hand.

The Latina fought the urge to reply "You already did", which would only keep the blonde there longer; so, she settled for begging, at that moment it felt like the less of two evils, "Please, just leave me alone for a while."

Sensing the other woman's despair Brittany asked, "Are you absolutely sure? I can stay," she offered sincerely, hoping Santana would accept it.

"It would only hurt more," Santana stated firmly, hoping it would get her point across.

Brittany studied Santana, the brunette wanted to cry. There was no doubt about it. It hurt to know that her privileges of seeing the other woman break, and to be able to comfort her, had been so quickly revoked. She understood it, 'though. Santana was the proudest person she had ever known in her entire life. So, if space was what she needed now, the least she could do was give it to her. No matter how badly it hurt.

So, she nodded, smiled and got up from bed.

"I'll bring Zoey over tomorrow. I'm sure she will be dying to see you."

"That would be nice," Santana replied at her wit's end, looking up at the person who was once her wife.

With one last look back before closing the door, Brittany left room 42.

And Santana finally allowed herself to cry on her pillow. Over everything.

Brittany parked her Focus in front of her little dance studio. She had opened one in Lima after she moved back. It didn't even compare with the one back in New York, and with the work she did there. She took on teaching kids, teens, couples… whomever she could get her hands on really. In a nutshell, it paid the bills, and as long as she was dancing, she was happy.

From inside of the car she could already see Jenna leaning on her Nissan Versa, which was parked just in front of her own car. She got out of the vehicle and went to the smaller blonde.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Brittany enquired curiously, dropping the car keys in her purse.

"Yeah, but I called in a favor," the green-eyed woman said, kissing the dancer on the cheek. "I wanted to know how it went, how you were," Jenna added. She wore a Wal-Mart id card that hung around her neck and read 'Jenna Barnes – Assistant Manager'.

Brittany took a deep breath, sighed and leaned on the car beside Jenna.

"How it went? Well, it was hard. Really hard. Probably, no, definitely the hardest thing I've ever done in my life," she answered honestly.

They fell silent for a moment. Jenna wanted to press on how her wife felt, but thought wiser not to at that instant. Everything was still too new.

"And, are we… are we ok?" the green-eyed woman asked, looking sideways at her wife.

After a beat Brittany replied, "Yes, we are," then she placed a comforting hand on the other woman's shoulder, and felt Jenna's hair, which ended just above her shoulders, brush lightly against her knuckles. What a mess, Brittany thought.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. So, please, review it :)