To address the concerns from the comments: I am sorry that you feel frustrated or tricked into reading this FF since I had tagged it as Brittana. In my mind, it is Brittana and Faberry, at the crux of it. I don't mean to mislead anyone and I wholeheartedly apologize for that. I do have the arc of this story planned out and if you will bear with me and my pace, I hope that you will see where this strange journey will take us. I should point out that my medical knowledge comes from my profession as a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) Nurse. I apologize for the use of medical jargon. Basically, Rachel has a placental abruption, where in the placenta abrupts, or tears away from her uterus. It is classified in stages and hers it pretty severe. Nuchal cord means that the umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby neck, in this case twice. Santana draws upon her medical expertise and the principles of NRP (neonatal resuscitation) to save the baby. So, I hope that clarifies some thing for y'all. I give you the next chapter; suggested listening: Santana & Brittany's rendition of "Landslide"

Chapter 6

The last of my ballet students was leaving the studio. I was just cleaning up and going towards sound system when it came on: Landslide. Whenever I heard this song, I am brought back to that day, in the choir room. We are sitting on stools, with Holly between us, you singing how you felt to me, in front of everyone. I couldn't believe that this was how you felt and this was the way you were telling me. I knew that you loved me and you knew that I loved you. But this was so huge for you- to be that vulnerable, not just in front of me, but in front of the Glee club. I was so proud of you and I was even more taken aback by what happened after that. Before I knew it, I was singing along and meandering around the dance studio, dancing, as I remembered you approaching my locker. Your whispered confession; you finally told me that you loved me and just wanted me. It hurt me so much to turn you away that day and I will never forget that look on your face. I know that I had to do it because you finally acknowledging how you felt was just the first step that you needed to take to fully become the person I knew you could be. But, it hurt me even more to know that I was the one that caused you so much pain and anguish. I was sorry that I hurt you so badly but I was not sorry for doing it. As difficult as it was to be apart, I knew that it was necessary part for you to begin your road to acceptance. As the the final guitar chords played out, I did eight pirouettes and was shocked to hear applause. I turned around and saw my daughter, Barby, standing in the doorway.

"Jeez, Mom, way to show off," she said sheeplishly, before breaking out into a grin.

"Well, I have to prove to you that I still got it right?" I said, as I realized that my eyes had welled up in remembering you. In order to hide that from Barby, I challenged her to a pirouette duel. Loser was going to buy hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Never one to back down from a challenge, which I swear her competitive streak definitely comes from Rachel, she accepted. And just like her mama, she specified the rules.

"Three tries each. Your 8 counts as your 1st try, k? Here I go..."

I regained control of my emotions as I watched my talented daughter easily pull off 10 pirouettes. I was so proud of her and the woman she was becoming. She really did have the best of both of us, I thought as stood by and watched.

"Beat that, Mom!" she said triumphantly.

I still knew that I had it in me and I could be competitive too. So, I bested her and did 12 pirouettes. I looked at her and with the wave of my hand signaled her turn.

She was in the middle of her 13th when my cell phone rang. I ran over to get it when she exclaimed, "Fourteen! I'm so gonna win!" Then, she looked at my face and knew that something was gravely wrong. I turned as pale as a sheet and slumped down to the floor. After I heard Sam say that my wife was in the hospital and she had delivered our baby, I didn't hear the rest. Barby must have picked the phone out of my hand and talked to her Uncle Sam. She has your strength, Rachel and she was the one who brought me to you.

They were all sitting in waiting room, minus Mercedes and Marley, who are at Quinn and Santana's home with the kids. I was barely holding it all together, after my collapse at the dance studio. I just wanted to get you as fast as a NYC cab could go. We found our way to the surgical waiting room.. It wasn't until I saw Q, that I fell into her arms, sobbing and shaking against her.

I hate hospitals. The smell of the disinfectant, the austere lights, and the white coats walking up and down the halls made me ill. My dad was diagnosed with Adult Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) when I was only 8 years old. I had to spend a lot of time in the hospital, between all of the tests, chemotherapy, and radiation. Dr. Antonio Lopez, Santana's dad, was his oncologist. Her mom, Maribel, was also a doctor, an ob-gyn, and she was always on call. For Santana, being in the hospital was home. She helped to make it bearable and we became fast friends. My father went in and out of remission, but he kept beating the odds. He was able to see my oldest sister, Hannah, graduate from medical school and dance with her at her wedding. He was able to see my older brother, Hendrik, Jr. make it to the NBA. We were all hoping that he would be able to see me, his baby girl, graduate from McKinley. But, the summer before Senior year he relapsed again.

Dr. Lopez had told us that if he were to relapse again, that he would be limited in his treatment options. It was quite a miracle that he was still alive. Although he needed a walker to get around and a wheelchair when he was really tired, he was still involved in all our lives and our activities. He never missed any of Hannah's Brainiac meets, Hendrik's basketball games, or my dance recitals. Sometimes I forgot that he was even sick.

My mom and him sat us kids down and told us that he had relapsed and that this time it had spread to his lungs. My sister just closed her eyes and instinctively placed her hand on her baby bump, as her husband grabbed her hand. Hendrik stared straight ahead, as if the words just bounced off of his force field. I was crying as I went to sit on my papa's lap in his wheelchair. I was his little girl. He was the one who put me in my first tutu and ballet shoes.

He spoke in a certain, determined, practiced way. He took my mother's hand as he said, "After weighing my options with Dr. Lopez, we agree that we are out of options this time around. Doing more chemo and radiation will not have a great success rate, considering where the cancer had spread."

Hannah cleared her throat before speaking, "Well, I need to talk to Dr. Lopez. There has to be some clinical trial. I mean, right now, I am involved in a study, dad, about this specific instance. There just has to be more we can do."

He looked right at her, with sad eyes. "I am tired, Hannah-banana. I am so tired of fighting. He said that doing treatment would just make my last months miserable. He said that doing that would give me, at best, 6 more months, that would be filled with pain and suffering. I want to be able to enjoy the time I have left with you kids and your mom."

Hendrik armor's came down as he pounded his fist into the couch before storming off, expletives flying in rage out of his mouth.

"I'll go to him," my mom said out loud, while Jeff, my brother-in-law comforted my sister.

My dad took a stray hair and tucked it behind my ear. I put my head on his shoulder and began to sob uncontrollably.

"Hey, hey now, my baby girl. Come on. It will be okay, I promise."

After a few moments, I manage to speak, "Okay? How will it be okay, Papa? You are giving up. You going to die. You are going to leave me; leave us? How is THAT okay? None of it is," I cry out before I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tight as I can, as if that would keep him here with me.

I blink as that memory washes over me. He passed away right before Thanksgiving, his favorite holiday. Hannah had given birth to a boy, Hendrik the 3rd, in October, so Dad was able to meet his grandson. But he never got to see my Senior Recital or New Directions win Nationals.

All of us dealt with our grief in different ways. My mom, as devastated as she was, sought comfort in knowing my dad's pain was over. She got involved in a Widow Cancer Group and volunteering on the Cancer Ward. Hannah and Jeff were engrossed with taking care of their infant son. Hendrik took all his pain and translated it into his best year in the NBA. It seemed that my whole family was finding a way to make it through, even thrive, without my dad.

I couldn't. The only one I let in was Santana. Everyone else thought I was coping. I still made it to Cheerios practice and Glee Club. My schoolwork was the thing I just couldn't handle. I was never the best student. Santana always told me how smart I was, that I was a "unicorn." I came to learn that I had an unconventional type of intelligence: it was an emotional intelligence. I had an eternally optimistic outlook on the world. I never understood why people chose to be mad and upset. I always thought it was easier to just be happy and I tried to spread my cheer. Often, people mistook my optimism and innocence for stupidity. Santana never put me down or called me stupid. She knew that I was a different kind of genius. I could read people really well and sense what they were feeling. I was the best at reading Santana. I just wasn't the best with the Emancipation Proclamation or Shakespeare.

Senior year, Santana was in AP Biology, Chemistry, and English. The only classes we had together were Spanish, History, and Home Economics. She had always done my Spanish homework and helped me on the tests. However, this was the first time we didn't have all of the same classes. She wanted to switch out of the AP classes, as soon as she found out I was flunking after Fall Quarter. I convinced her that I would do better, try harder, and even got Tina to tutor me. So, she didn't switch her classes, as much as she wanted to.

Mr. Schue noticed me struggling. He was the only one who saw thru the facade. He talked to Miss Pillsbury and she called me into her office on the first day of school after winter break.

"Brittany, how was your winter break?"

I just dissolved into tears. It was the first Christmas without my dad. Christmas was always my favorite holiday. The decorating, the smell of cookies wafting through the house, the crisp, cold air that nipped you nose- it all made me so happy. I thought that that time of year brought out the best in everyone. I mean, how could you be mad or sad, when you see children sitting on Santa's lap or when you are singing Christmas hymns at church? Now, all the things that made me love this holiday season, just made me more depressed. Since it was Trey's 1st Christmas, we all tried our best to make it great for him. I tried as best as I could, to be present at Midnight Mass, even as Fr. George mentioned my dad amongst the parishoners of our church that had died this past year. I made it thru Christmas dinner and the opening of presents. But when I was finally alone in my room, I couldn't fake it anymore. I wept into my pillow, shaking as the tears tumbled down. I knew where I had to be.

I snuck out of my house and rode my bike over to Santana's house. I climbed up the tree, right outside of her window. I opened it and creeped in as softly and silently as I could. I saw her sleeping peacefully and it brought the first genuine smile to my face that whole day. I took off my mittens, shrugged off my peacoat, unwrapped my scarf around my neck and just watched her in the moonlight.

My dad was so wonderful when I told him about us. He said that he kind of always knew and that it was okay to love another girl because it is the love that matters, not the gender of the person.

And I was so in love with Santana. It was her that kept me going. She had finally found the courage I knew she always had, to finally be free, open and proud. She was so proud to walk down the halls of McKinley with me, arm in arm; to kiss me at our lockers, before she went off to Chemistry lab. She was the only thing I looked forward to everyday.

I got up from her reading chair and pulled down my flannel pajama pants to my boy shorts and slipped under the sheets with her. She turned around and enveloped me in her arms. Santana was always so warm. She always said it was her fiery Latina blood running through her veins. I suddenly felt guilty to be here, in my girlfriend's bed. I should be in my own bed, dealing with my own sadness. I shouldn't be here, bringing my sadness and coldness into the room of the person I loved the most in this whole world. She must have felt my hesitation; Santana knew me so well. We were so attuned to each other that sometimes we didn't even need words. She placed a gentle, feather-light kiss on my lips. I could tell that she was smiling into it; she could tell that I wasn't. San pulled back to look at me, seeing my sad, tear-filled blue eyes. I could barely make out her dark chocolate eyes, thru my tears and the darkness.

Santana didn't break the silence with words. Maybe it was because she didn't know what to say. I didn't know what she could have said to make me feel any better. The thing is that, with Santana, her actions truly did speak louder than her words. I learned that a long time ago. I learned to see what she doing, rather that what she was saying. I think that was why everyone at McKinley thought she was a cold-hearted bitch. She could talk a big game, toss insults here and there. No one ever saw what she did: volunteered on the children's cancer ward at Lima General Hospital; sang in her church choir every Sunday; tutored elementary school kids in Lima Heights. She was the most amazing person I had ever met. People thought she had a heart of stone; I knew she had a heart of gold.

She began to thumb away my tears until they slowly stopped falling. I was about to say something, but she stopped me, by kissing me again and again and again. This was how Santana knew how to comfort me. This was how she showed me that she loved me. Even when she was too scared to admit it to herself back when we were sophomores, I knew that she loved me. Her actions told me so, just like they did now. If anything, I knew it even more, because she had accepted it in herself. By finally embracing that part of her being, Santana was able to finally be the person I knew she could always be. I think that everyday, she was beginning to see that person she could be, too. Santana made love to me that night. It was one of those nights I will never forget. She gave the best Christmas gift I could have ever wanted: herself.

I couldn't believe that I was thinking of that as my wife was in the Operating Room, possibly dying. Why was I thinking of Santana, of being in her arms, at a time like this? I started violently shaking, trying to shake the memory out of mind. Quinn's arms hugged me, trying to ease my trembles. I was slowing down, until I realized that I had just thought about my best friend's wife. Here she was, comforting me, crying for me and my wife, and I had just remembered an intimate memory I has shared with her wife. I had to get away. I broke free from her embrace and ran to the place I knew no one would find me.