Author's Note: A Santaresa New Year's side-story with a touch of Faberry. Set after Now I Know My Life Is Sweetening.
Unbetaed so all mistakes are my own.
Wishing a safe and prosperous new year to you all.
Everybody Makes A Dream This Time Of Year
Everybody makes a dream this time of year
From now on it's gonna be good for you
All your friends and family
Gather 'round in peace and harmony
~New Year's Day, Carole King
Santana kisses her hot girlfriend at midnight to welcome in the new year. The kiss is not at all safe for polite company, but then it's not like she's ever pretended to be polite—and anyway, all of their friends are doing the same damn thing right now. She can't even hear Rachel's voice drowning out the chorus of Auld Lang Syne currently blasting from every apartment in the building, which can only mean that Quinn is undoubtedly keeping her wife's mouth otherwise occupied.
The party had been Teresa's idea. It's the first year they're shacking up and the first year that Santana actually has an apartment big enough to host her friends, and unlike Kurtsie, her version of an intimate gathering doesn't include half of Manhattan. It's just her and her lady, the Faborings, Red and Michigan (who are even more boring—well, one of them is anyway), Kurt and Harry, and Kate and her current piece of man-candy.
Teresa had invited her brothers too, but Vince (the nerdy one—all six-foot-four, lean muscular physique of him) had opted for a quiet night in with his wife while Tony (the self-proclaimed beefcake) had apparently had a more enticing offer—one with blonde hair and big tits and legs for miles. Tony is Santana's kind of guy.
She's not so much about the blondes these days though—not when she's got a hot, leggy brunette of her very own to keep her satisfied in and out of the bedroom. The past year has been really good to Santana, and she can only imagine that the next will be even better.
It's no surprise, really, that even Quinn isn't talented enough to distract Rachel from her urge to sing forever, and once she opens her mouth, everyone feels compelled to join in for a couple of choruses. Thankfully, it seems like all of Santana's neighbors are either doing the same thing or are out and about getting their parties on, because no one has called the cops on them yet, and they've all been a little loud and rowdy all night.
Well—almost all of them.
Santana's got an armful of Teresa and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol in her system, but her eyes keep coming back to Quinn with her serene smile and bright eyes as she lounges on the couch next to Rachel. She's been quieter than usual all night—not in that way where she's pulling the ice queen impression that she'd perfected back in school, freezing out everyone and making you wonder what the hell you did to piss her off this time, but in her general sense of being. It's like she's hanging back a little, just absorbing the merriment around her with a calm but distant amusement. And, yeah, Quinn tends to do that more often than not anyway, but there's just something different about her tonight that Santana can't quite put her finger on. Of course, Rachel seems more excitable than ever, so maybe it's just a weird effect of that—the freaky balancing of the scales that seems to happen with them sometimes that generally makes them both seem a little less extreme when taken as a whole.
Still, it tickles at her brain as the party starts to die down, which happens not very long after midnight comes and goes. Apparently, all of her friends are a bunch of old biddies. She plays the good hostess, though, gathering up coats and hats as her guests start making noises about getting home, and she and Teresa wish them all goodnight (or good morning—whatever) and one last happy new year as they go.
As it happens, the Faborings are the last ones to leave, mostly because Quinn had apparently dozed off on the couch sometime between bidding goodnight to Red and Michigan and Kate's tipsy exit in the arms of man-candy man.
"His name is Oscar," Teresa corrects with a poke to her hip as the door clicks closed behind them.
"He's too fine to be an Oscar," Santana protests, scrunching up her nose in distaste. "He needs a better name." One that doesn't make her think of little green muppets in garbage cans.
"Mister Candy Man isn't it," Teresa chides, shaking her head in disapproval. She's the only reason Santana doesn't actually say the full version of her nickname for the guy out loud—well, anymore. "You're lucky he actually finds you amusing."
"Oh, honey, I'm hilarious," Santana reminds her with a grin, following her back into the living room. "Just ask my nearest and dearest. Well, once they wake up," she adds, rolling her own eyes at the sight that greets her.
Quinn is curled up on the couch next to Rachel with her shoes kicked off and her head resting on Rachel's shoulder like a very bony pillow. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open and she looks uncomfortable as fuck but it's clear as day that she's asleep. Rachel's eyes are closed too, and the arm that isn't currently trapped beneath Quinn is propped up against the armrest, supporting her head, but—
"I'm awake, Santana," Rachel informs her quietly, opening her eyes. "And you're rarely as hilarious as you think you are."
"Says you," Santana grumbles before tipping her chin towards Quinn. "What's up with your wife?" she eyes the nearly full glass of wine resting on the coffee table next to Rachel's empty one. "I know she didn't drink enough to pass out." Santana had been watching.
An odd little smile pulls at Rachel's lips as she turns her head to glance at Quinn. "I think all the celebrating just caught up with her," she muses, reaching down to gently rub at the arm that's flung across her lap. Quinn shifts a little, breath hitching as she moves her arm away, but she doesn't open her eyes.
"Well, Resa and I have more celebrating to do...the private kind," Santana warns her. "So you better wake up sleeping beauty, 'cause you're not crashing here."
"You can stay if you want," Teresa immediately contradicts, her expression daring Santana to argue with her. "That couch pulls out." They'd upgraded Santana's old sleeper sofa for a newer model when they'd moved into this apartment three months ago. Technically, they have a second bedroom, but they'd turned it into an art studio for Teresa, and since Santana doesn't actually want any potential apartment guests getting comfortable enough to cramp her style, they'd forgone the second bed in there in favor of another comfy couch for the occasional creative break—and other things.
"That won't be necessary," Quinn mumbles sleepily, lifting her head as she visibly stretches out the kinks in her neck from her awkward position. "I was only resting my eyes."
Santana snickers. "That little bit of drool says otherwise," she teases, gesturing to the corner of her own lips with her pinky finger.
Quinn instantly lifts a hand to touch the same spot, cheeks turning pink when she undoubtedly feels the moisture there. "I must have been more tired than I thought," she admits, looking a little embarrassed.
"It's okay, baby," Rachel soothes, patting her thigh reassuringly. "You're allowed to be."
Quinn only smiles at her—one of those soft, secretive smiles that has Santana's eyebrows furrowing with suspicion as she studies them more closely.
"Is everyone else already gone?" Quinn asks, planting her stocking clad feet on the floor as she glances around the now quiet apartment.
"Kate and Oscar just left a few minutes ago," Teresa informs her, already starting to tidy up some of the mess they'd all left in the living room.
Quinn nods, glancing at Rachel. "We should probably get going too."
Rachel hums in agreement, but Teresa assures them, "There's really no hurry. You actually can crash here if you don't feel like dealing with the drunken stragglers still roaming the streets outside."
"Or, you know, just call an uber," Santana suggests grumpily. Yeah—they're her best friends and she loves them, whatever, but she really would rather be alone with her girlfriend to finish bringing in the New Year with a bang. Teresa blindly reaches out with the hand not currently juggling two empty wine glasses to flick Santana's arm in silent retribution.
Rachel rolls her eyes at Santana before aiming a grateful smile at Teresa. "We appreciate the offer to stay, but Quinn requires a real bed so that she can get a proper night's sleep. Well...morning's sleep, I suppose," she amends with a frown, eyeing her wife with mild concern. "No offense," she adds almost as an afterthought. "I'm sure your sofa bed is...perfectly adequate." Her tone clearly conveys that she doesn't find it adequate at all.
"Seemed adequate enough for her to drool all over not ten minutes ago," Santana points out, crossing her arms.
"Can we just forget that happened?" Quinn mutters as she finishes slipping on her shoes.
"You could always try drinking away the memory with the rest of your wine," Santana suggests slyly, tipping her chin towards the full glass still sitting in front of Quinn. "Seems a shame to waste it."
An odd expression flits over her face, and her lips twitch before she says, "I think I've had enough." But it's the almost panicked look that flashes over Rachel's face at the mention of Quinn finishing that glass that really sets off the warning bells for Santana.
"Really, Q?" she challenges with a smirk. "Because by my count, you've been nursing that same glass all night...and by nursing, I mean carrying it around and pretending to drink out of it." She's been paying attention—to that and the serene expression and the falling asleep on her couch in the middle of a party and the way Rachel's been fussing over her even more than usual. "You preggers again?"
And yeah—Rachel freezes and her eyes widen like a deer caught in the headlights while Quinn sighs, her lips curling into a proud little smirk while her right hand drifts over her belly like a flashing neon sign. "We aren't actually telling anyone yet."
Despite her accurate guess, Santana still feels a little sucker-punched by the confirmation, and her eyes widen as she looks Quinn over with the new knowledge pinging around in her head. "Holy shit. You are."
"Wait...what?" Teresa asks in mild confusion, having obviously thought Santana was just being her typical snarky self and teasing Quinn about her drinking habits, but it only takes a beat for her gaze to drift to Quinn. "You're pregnant?"
The smirk softens into another one of those serene smiles as she nods. "Five weeks last Friday."
"Oh, wow," Teresa breathes out in surprise, carefully setting the empty glasses back down on the table.
From the corner of her eye, Santana notices Rachel nervously twisting her wedding rings around on her finger, and a sense of uneasiness begins to crawl over her. "So I guess the tiny, loud, rugrats were on the calendar sooner rather than later." She very clearly recalls her last conversation with Quinn on the subject and Quinn's insistence that she and Rachel were on the same page, and despite her joking accusation at the time that Rachel had caved into Quinn's demands, Santana had actually chosen to believe that the same page meant that Quinn had agreed to wait until Rachel felt like she was ready.
Quinn's smile dims just enough for Santana to notice—mostly because she's still paying attention—and her eyes dart almost guiltily away from Santana to Rachel, who's still fidgeting with her rings, even as her posture stiffens with defensive determination. "Yes, well…after some discussion, we agreed that this would, in fact, be a fairly opportune time to expand our family."
"Must have been some discussion," Santana mutters, still studying Rachel. She can't quite tell if she really means that or if she's just quoting the party line for Quinn's sake.
Her besties both stay tellingly silent, but there's a noticeable narrowing of Quinn's eyes in warning and an almost pleading expression that settles on Rachel's face.
Teresa sends a frown in her direction, clearly picking up on the weird undercurrent that's running through the room, but her girlfriend, being the shrewd person that she is, chooses not to ask about it. Instead, she smiles at Quinn with genuine delight. "I can't believe you guys are having a baby. I'm really happy for you. We both are," she adds, reaching out to snag Santana's hand before giving it a hard tug. "Aren't we, Santana?"
Quinn and Rachel both look so fucking hopeful right then that the little voice that's been whispering doubts in her ear shuts up—at least long enough for her to say, "Yeah. Congrats on the munchkin-to-be."
With that, a grateful smile appears on Quinn's face. "Thank you." She reaches for Rachel's hand then, and Rachel finally abandons her nervous fidgeting to take it.
"It's still very early, obviously," Rachel says with a tremulous smile, "so we would very much appreciate your discretion until we're ready to make an official announcement."
"Absolutely," Teresa immediately agrees with a grin.
"Santana," Rachel prompts when she fails to immediately echo the sentiment. Frankly, Santana is too preoccupied with the sudden realization of just how early in this pregnancy Quinn actually is and—fuck!—that's probably why they haven't been singing it from the rooftops just yet.
"My lips are sealed," she promises, ignoring the weird churning in her stomach that feels a little like nervousness. Hell, she's kept her mouth shut about everything else so far—well, for the most part.
"Thank you, Santana," Rachel says with a relieved nod.
"So, when exactly are you due?" Teresa asks with genuine interest, sinking down into the adjacent chair.
Quinn's face lights up like a fucking supernova. "August twenty-ninth." And just like that, she's off and running with an epic breakdown of every intimate, baby-making medical procedure that Santana never wanted to know about. She sighs, leaning her hip against the chair that her girlfriend is sitting in as she half-listens to Quinn ramble on—and damned if Quinn isn't fully channeling a classic Rachel Berry, overly-informative monologue right now—while the reality of it all fully sinks in.
Quinn is pregnant again, this time happily so, and Santana tries not to notice just how atypically quiet Rachel is being throughout the whole revelation, because Quinn really is fucking glowing. It's everything that was missing the first time around, and Santana quickly realizes that she wants this for Quinn. She really is happy for her—and for Rachel, assuming Rachel is actually happy.
That annoying little voice starts whispering in her ear again every time her gaze drifts back to Rachel. She can't seem to forget the one conversation they'd had last summer about Quinn's need to breed and how very not ready for a baby Rachel had felt at the time—a sentiment that Santana had understood perfectly. So when Quinn is (mostly) talked out and excuses herself to the bathroom before they leave, Santana (not-so) subtly suggests that Teresa make up a care package of leftover finger food, "Especially all that vegetarian crap you made us buy," so the new moms-to-be don't have to worry about lunch tomorrow—or, well, technically today. Teresa gives her an odd look, but since it'll mean less for her to clean up and cram into the fridge, she shrugs and agrees.
"That really isn't necessary," Rachel attempts, but—
"Yeah, it is," Santana reiterates, attempting to convey through her expression just how necessary it is. Thankfully, Rachel actually seems to catch the hint for a change and politely thanks Teresa.
The very second they're left alone, Santana pounces. "C'mon, shortstack. I'll help you with your coats," she offers, grabbing Rachel's hand and dragging her into the foyer.
"Santana! I can walk myself to the closet," Rachel hisses, stumbling along behind her until Santana stops them by the front door—as far away from the bathroom and the kitchen as she can get them without actually stepping outside the apartment.
"Tell me the truth," she demands with a concerned frown, making a Herculean effort to keep her voice low. "Are you and Q really on the same page about this? Or did you roll over just to make her happy? Because last time I checked, you weren't ready for kids yet."
"And yet you told me to, and I quote," she lifts her hands to mime those damn quotation marks, "fix your shit."
Santana shakes her head in frustration, reaching out to push one of Rachel's hands down. "You know I meant talking to your wife and getting her to understand why you wanted to wait."
Rachel huffs, crossing her arms, clearly annoyed. "And as I'm certain Quinn has already told you, we did talk about it." Her eyes dart away tellingly. "Eventually," she adds a little guiltily before she shakes her head and sighs, dropping her arms as she meets Santana's questioning gaze once again. "Look, there was never going to be a perfect time to have a baby. I know that. And the more Quinn and I talked about it, the more I realized that…that I just needed to put aside my fears and take the plunge. My hesitation was only hurting us both."
"But you're happy about it, yeah?" Santana pushes, needing to make sure.
Rachel's expression instantly transforms before Santana's eyes. "It's a baby. With Quinn," she breathes out—her lips curling into a dreamy smile and her eyes fucking sparkling. "I'm…" She shakes her head in awe. "I don't even have the words."
Santana holds her hands up in a lame attempt to shield herself from the adoration practically radiating off of Rachel. "Okay. The pathetic heart-eyes tell me we're good." She feels a lot better about the whole baby thing now, seeing how stupidly enamoured Rachel already is with the bun in Quinn's oven.
"We are?" Rachel asks in mild amusement.
Santana shrugs. "I'm just making sure you're not gonna do anything stupid to have Quinn showing up on my doorstep in tears again." That hadn't been a fun night, dealing with a sniffling, weepy mess of crazy Q.
Rachel instantly sobers. "I won't. Not intentionally, in any case."
"Good," Santana approves with a nod, reassured that that her friends really are on the same page and that Rachel is as happy about the kidlet as Quinn.
Rachel's face goes all soft again. "Thank you, Santana."
"For what?" She'd basically just given her the third degree about her mommy issues. There's no way she should be thanking Santana for that.
Rachel continues to stare at her with that doe-eyed expression. "For caring. For being there for Quinn. For understanding my hesitation. For…not interfering." She quirks an eyebrow, tilting her head as she clearly reconsiders her words. "Well, overmuch."
Santana shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, like I said...I didn't want dragged into your baby-making drama."
Rachel briefly presses her lips together to contain her smile, nodding. "Still, I know it must have been difficult for you to fight your natural urge to...as you would say...get up in our business once you were dragged into it."
Santana holds up a finger. "One; I wouldn't say that," she insists on principle (even though she probably would) before pointing at Rachel, "and you should never, ever say it again." She ignores Rachel's little huff of protest. "And two," she lifts a second finger, "you're assuming I actually cared enough to ask."
She did, and they both know it. She'd finagled Rachel into a lunch date just to see how she was holding up after the baby bomb Quinn had dropped on her, and she'd checked up on Quinn after Rachel's opening night to make sure their tense, hasty retreat from the afterparty wasn't a sign of another blowout. Come to think of it, Quinn had been in an awfully chipper mood that day, claiming her marriage was in a really good place now and that Santana should stop worrying about them. That sneaky bitch was probably already plotting how fast she could get them to the fertility clinic.
"In any case, I'm grateful," Rachel tells her with unconcealed affection.
Santana valiantly fights off the blush that wants to spread across her cheeks, mumbling a dismissive, "Whatever," before she moves to open up the closet. "Now grab your coats before our better halves come looking for us."
Rachel does so with a roll of her eyes and a grin, and it's a good thing too, because Quinn is done with her potty break, and Teresa is already handing off the care package she'd made with a speculative eye on Santana as she escorts Rachel back into the living room.
It's not until after they've bid the Fabrays goodnight—well, good morning—complete with congratulatory hugs, that Teresa drags her down onto the couch with a pointed look. "So, I guess you knew they were trying to get pregnant."
"No, I actually didn't," Santana denies, still slightly annoyed at being left out of the loop on that front. "I only knew the subject had come up."
"Did it come up last summer by any chance?" Teresa asks knowingly, clearly having put together the pieces of the puzzle. After all, she'd been there to witness Santana's mood right after Quinn had come crying to her about Rachel not wanting kids.
Santana sighs, shifting around on the couch to get comfortable because she knows her girlfriend is about to ask all those questions she didn't ask back in August. "They weren't exactly on the same page about it at the time."
"That's why you were so worried about them," Teresa realizes.
"Yeah," Santana admits. The fact that they'd had such a big fight about starting a family when she'd thought their marriage was rock solid had really thrown her for a loop. Santana had started to wonder how the hell she was supposed to believe that she could make a new relationship work if it turned out that those two couldn't get it right, even after everything they'd already been through together.
Teresa nods in understanding. "Kids are a pretty big thing to disagree about."
"Yeah, well…according to the midget, it was more about the timing than the having," Santana explains with a wry smile, "which is a good thing, since Q's already knocked up."
"Quinn seems over the moon about it, so I'm guessing she's not the one who had an issue with the timing."
"You'd be guessing right," Santana confirms with a nod. Her girlfriend really does have a knack for reading people, but that one could have been spotted by a blind Martian lost on Pluto. "Rachel wanted to wait a few more years." And Santana had never blamed her for that. "You know, career shit and all." She's got her own career shit going on, so she'd fully sympathized with Rachel's reasoning.
Teresa hums thoughtfully. "Well, she obviously changed her mind."
"Or had Quinn change it for her," Santana speculates, knowing that, for as self-involved as Rachel can still manage to be at times, she also can't (and never could) stand to see Quinn in pain. She'd twist herself into a pretzel if it meant getting Quinn to smile at her.
Really, Santana should have figured out just how gay Berry had been for Fabray back when they were still kids. It would have saved them all a ton of angst—mostly Quinn.
"Are you worried Rachel isn't fully on board with this?" Teresa asks her with a concerned frown.
There's no denying that she had been at first, but, "Nah. I think she's all in on the crazy, hormonal, preggo train too. She's just riding in the caboose while Quinn is full steam ahead in the engine."
Teresa chuckles at the description, shaking her head before her expression turns thoughtful again. "Rachel did seem a little nervous when they told us."
Santana shrugs. "Yeah, well…I doubt that's going away anytime soon." Or ever. And considering how early in the game it still is, and knowing what a control freak Rachel can be, the nervousness makes a hell of a lot of sense to Santana. "But she had stars and baby rattles in her eyes when I asked her about it, so I think it's all good."
Tersesa's brows furrow. "When did you….?" She trails off, realization lighting her face. "I knew you wouldn't offer to give away food without a reason." She points an accusatory finger at Santana. "You just wanted to get rid of me so you could give Rachel the third degree."
"I wasn't getting rid of you," Santana defends, holding up her hands in supplication. "I was getting rid of those gross veggie rolls that we don't eat." She gestures back and forth between them, but Teresa only arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, so Santana sighs. "Fine. I wanted to grill the midget, okay?"
She really hates the suspicious look she's getting from her girlfriend. "You are actually happy for them, aren't you? That wasn't a lie."
"Hey. I'm thrilled. Quinn's freaking hilarious when she's pregnant."
"Santana," Teresa scolds, fighting back a grin as she gives Santana's shoulder a playful shove.
Laughing, Santana catches her hand and brings it down into her lap. "For realz. I'm totally happy for them," she vows with sincerity. She knows how messed up Quinn had been after giving up Beth and how much she wants a family with Rachel, and now that Santana is pretty sure that Rachel wants it just as much, she can let herself be happy that her friends get to have this together. "That kid's gonna be smothered in love." And Santana might just be one of the people doing the smothering.
Teresa squeezes her hand, face going soft. "There's no doubt."
It feels like they're having a moment, so, of course, Santana feels compelled to ask the obvious question. "You ever think about it?"
"Having kids?" Teresa verifies, not looking very surprised by the question.
Santana nods, dropping her eyes down to their joined hands. "We should probably talk about it, right?" She shrugs, aiming for a nonchalance she doesn't actually feel. "See if it's gonna be one of those walls we can't get over." Like Teresa said, it's a pretty big thing to disagree about, so it's probably better to know up front where they stand on the subject—although, in retrospect, they maybe should have talked about this before they'd even moved in together.
"Do you want kids?" Teresa asks after what feels like a really heavy silence.
Santana defiantly meets her girlfriend's probing blue eyes "I asked you first."
"Don't do that," Teresa warns with a tiny frown.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Santana lets go of Teresa's hand, crossing her arms in a reflexive effort at self-preservation. "Look, I never really thought much about it before Q decided to breed again." Her life has been a blissfully kid-free zone up until now. "Hell, I didn't even think I could manage to hold down a serious relationship with my marathon hours at the hospital."
A loving smile appears on Teresa's face, and she reaches out to lay a hand on Santana's shoulder, rubbing it in reassurance "You've been doing a pretty good job on that front, Ana."
A little shiver of pleasure races down Santana's spine at the tender affirmation, and she gazes at her girlfriend once again, grateful that she'd gotten lucky enough to find a woman who can put up with both her long, crazy hours and the bitchy mood they so often leave her in. And okay—maybe some of her other less than admirable personality quirks too. Keeping Teresa is worth kicking down some walls.
"Yeah, but there's no way I'd have the time or energy to deal with a rugrat too."
"Is that ever? Or just right now?" Teresa asks in a way that doesn't betray anything but curiosity.
Santana shrugs again, uncrossing her arms. "I mean, I'm obviously in no hurry ruin this perfect body with stretch marks." She gestures to herself because—hey, she's hot and they both know it. "But it'd also be kind of a shame not to pass all of my natural awesomeness on to another generation." Because, again, she's hot and brilliant and a fucking catch. And she's sure that Teresa's amused grin is because she agrees. "Just not until after I'm through with my residency and settled into a nice, cushy practice of my own." She really does get where Rachel had been coming from with the wanting to wait until her career isn't pulling her in a dozen different directions at once.
"So you do want kids?" And again, Teresa's tone isn't giving anything away.
"I'm not desperate to have them or anything," Santana is quick to say. Back when she'd been with Brittany, there'd been some vague mention of babies in the (very) distant future that had never come to be, but Santana had been far too young and—yeah—too selfish at the time to really give it any serious consideration. "But I," she hesitates, glancing away self-consciously, "I think maybe I could be someone's cool mom someday." She has Teresa now, and a life she's pretty proud of, and her best friends are spawning, and damn it!—she actually thinks she might want to do that someday too.
"Really?" Teresa challenges with an odd little smirk. "Because I think you'd probably be someone's scary, overprotective mom who'd kick the ass of anybody that hurts your baby."
Okay, so that's probably a fair assessment, but, "You say that like it's mutually exclusive from being the cool mom." Santana's badassery is one of her coolest qualities.
Teresa laughs, eyes twinkling with merriment. "I'd obviously be the cool mom, Ana." She touches her chest with a smirk. "I mean...bartender, artist, and I ride a motorcycle."
Santana's heart flutters oddly at the teasing. "Ignoring the fact that our hypothetical kids are getting nowhere near your bike," because cool, baddass mom or not, she's not fucking crazy. Her kids aren't getting on a motorcycle until they're thirty, no matter how much Santana likes sitting on the back of Teresa's. "I guess you being the cool mom means you actually want those hypothetical kids someday?" She silently cringes at that little note of hopefulness she can hear in her voice.
"I'm definitely not in any hurry either," Teresa warns her, "but yeah. I always figured I'd end up having at least one someday." She offers Santana a reassuring smile. "But I also don't feel like I need to have one for my life to be complete." She shrugs. "I know I'm still pretty young, so maybe that might change in another four or five years, but right now," she reaches up to stroke her fingers across Santana's cheek, "even if you decide that you never want kids, it wouldn't be a dealbreaker for me."
Relief floods through Santana, and she grins, snagging Teresa's hand. "So...I guess we'll be revisiting this discussion in a few years then?" The thought of it isn't nearly the big, scary animal it used to be.
"Guess so," Teresa replies with a grin of her own. "I'll still be the cool mom though."
Santana's grin turns into a smirk. "Guess I'll have to be the hot mom then." Teresa gives her a look, twisting her hand in mild retribution. "The hotter mom," Santana amends cockily, tugging her girlfriend closer.
Laughing, Teresa shakes her head but willingly curls into Santana's body until she's practically in her lap "There's that ego I know and love," she murmurs, sliding her hand into Santana's hair.
"You love all of me, querida," Santana purrs, wrapping her arms around her lady, utterly content with the current turn of events.
"I do," Teresa agrees before putting her mouth to much better use.
It's the very best way to start a brand new year. Santana's besties are still blissfully wed and spawning a little rugrat of their very own, and her other nearest and dearests are all happily in various stages of the monogamy cycle, and this living with her lover is turning out to be a really good deal for her, especially when they're very much on the same page about the direction they seem to be heading in.
Oh, yeah. Santana has a feeling that it's going to be a really good year.