Santana spotted Quinn among the bustling travelers at JFK. She blinked, and suddenly, Quinn launched herself at her, wrapping Santana in a tight hug.
"I've missed you, San!" Quinn exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. Santana laughed, the sound a mix of relief and joy. "I've missed you too," she said, hugging her back as tightly.
"Have you missed this?" Quinn asked, gesturing around at the chaotic airport, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Not," Santana replied with a laugh, shaking her head as they navigated through the sea of people to find a cab. The city was as chaotic as she remembered, a sharp contrast to the quieter life she had been living with Brett in Florida.
"It's a shame Brett couldn't come because of work" Quinn commented as they waited for a cab, a hint of disappointment in her voice. Santana felt a pang of guilt but quickly masked it.
"Yeah, he's super busy," she said, keeping up the lie Brett had concocted. She didn't want to delve into the real reason Brett wasn't with her; this trip was supposed to be a break from all that. "I can't wait to get my drink on," she added, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.
Quinn raised an eyebrow, grinning. "What's this? Husband is away, so you're acting like a 21-year-old?"
"Something like that," Santana replied with a smile. "Plus, I want to meet your new man. Kurt's told me all about Biff. Also, what kind of name is Biff? Who's his brother, Marty McFly?"
Quinn burst into laughter. "He does look hot, though, so well done," Santana added, making them laugh even harder.
They finally hailed a cab and settled into the backseat, the cityscape whizzing past them as they caught up on each other's lives. Quinn filled Santana in on all the details about her new boyfriend, Biff. Despite the unusual name, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and Santana was eager to meet him.
"You'll love him, San. He's got this old-school charm that's hard to resist," Quinn said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Well, he better be good enough for my best friend," Santana teased, making Quinn blush.
As they arrived at Quinn's apartment, Santana couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. The place hadn't changed much, and it felt like stepping back into a part of her past life, one that was carefree and uncomplicated. Their apartment was a cozy space filled with memories of late-night chats, shared laughter, and a lot of wine.
Quinn poured them each a glass of wine as they settled onto the couch. They talked about everything and nothing, letting the conversation flow naturally. Santana found herself relaxing for the first time in months, the weight of her recent struggles temporarily lifting.
"So, tell me more about Biff" Santana said, leaning back into the couch. "What's his story?"
Quinn smiled, a dreamy look in her eyes. "He's amazing, San. We met at a gallery opening. He's an artist, and his work is incredible. He's got this passion for life that's infectious."
Santana listened, genuinely happy for her friend. It was good to see Quinn so content, so full of life. It reminded her of how she used to feel before the stress of infertility had started to consume her and Brett's lives.
"And how is married life?" Quinn asked, her tone gentle as they settled into the cozy comfort of her apartment. She leaned back on the couch, cradling a glass of wine in her hand.
Santana laughed, a sound that felt foreign and yet so welcome. "I bet your neighbors love you two being in sweet honeymoon bliss for the past four months" Quinn continued, grinning mischievously.
"Yeah," Santana said, shaking her head with a smile. "It's been... interesting."
"Interesting?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."
"No, it's just... you know." Santana replied, trying to keep her tone light.
"Are you guys still trying for a baby?" Quinn asked, her expression softening with genuine concern. Santana hesitated, the familiar pang of frustration and sadness tightening her chest. "Kind of," she said slowly. "We've put a pause on it for a few months."
"Good," Quinn said, nodding. "Sometimes you just need to take a step back and breathe."
Santana nodded, grateful for Quinn's understanding. "Yeah, we saw a doctor. Everything was fine and normal, so that's a relief."
"Thank God," Quinn said, her face reflecting the same relief Santana felt. Just then, Quinn's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and her eyes lit up. "Oh, it's Brett. Shall I call him?"
"You don't have to" Santana said quickly, but Quinn was already hitting the call button. "Hey, Brett!" Quinn said excitedly, pointing the camera to Santana. "You don't have to worry, she's here."
"Hey," Brett said awkwardly, his voice tinny through the speaker. Santana felt a strange twist in her stomach at the sound of his voice. "Don't worry, I'll look after her," Quinn said to Brett, her tone playful.
"I know you will" Brett replied, forcing a smile. "I'll leave you two alone then."
"Okay, bye, Brett," Quinn said, turning the camera back to Santana. "Bye," Santana said awkwardly before taking a big gulp of her wine. She immediately poured herself another glass as the call ended.
"Shall we put on a movie?" Quinn suggested, sensing the tension. "Yes, please," Santana said, eager to change the subject.
As the movie played, Santana tried to lose herself in the familiar comfort of the story, but her mind kept drifting back to Brett. She could still see the hurt in his eyes, head ar the strain in his voice. She knew they had a lot to work through, but for now, she was grateful for the temporary escape that Quinn provided.
They stayed up late into the night, watching movies and reminiscing about their college days. Quinn's laughter was infectious, and Santana found herself genuinely enjoying the evening.
Santana woke up to the sun streaming through the large windows on Quinn's couch. "Morning, sleepyhead," Quinn teased, looking up from her screen. "Ready for a day of fun?"
Santana laughed, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Absolutely. What's the plan?"
"Well, I thought we could spend the day exploring Brooklyn," Quinn suggested. "Maybe hit up some of the local shops and cafes, then head into the city later to meet up with everyone."
"Sounds perfect," Santana said, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of seeing her old friends. It had been too long since they'd all been together.
They spent the day wandering through Brooklyn, visiting quirky boutiques and sipping lattes at quaint coffee shops. The familiar rhythm of their friendship fell into place effortlessly, and Santana found herself genuinely enjoying the simplicity of the day. They laughed and reminisced, Quinn's infectious energy lifting Santana's spirits.
As evening approached, they made their way to the city. The streets of Manhattan were buzzing with life, the neon lights casting a vibrant glow over everything. Santana felt a surge of nostalgia and excitement as they approached the bar where they were meeting Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, Rachel, Sugar, and Tina.
"SATAN!" Kurt's voice rang out the moment Santana and Quinn walked in. He pushed his way through the crowd, a wide grin on his face as he immediately grabbed a shot glass from the table and thrust it toward Santana. "Welcome back! You need to have this," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Santana accepted the shot, barely taking a moment to appreciate the strong liquor before tossing it back. The burn was immediate and sharp, but the rush of alcohol was a welcome distraction. She chased it with a vodka soda, feeling the familiar comfort of her friends and the atmosphere slowly easing her tension.
Santana laughed and knocked back the shot without hesitation. The burn of the alcohol was quick and warm, settling into a comfortable buzz almost immediately. She followed it with a vodka soda, feeling the familiar, easy camaraderie of her friends wash over her.
They found a booth and settled in, catching up on each other's lives. Biff soon joined them, kissing Quinn on the side of her head as he arrived. Quinn beamed and pulled him closer, introducing him to Santana. "This is my sister-in-law slash best friend, Santana," Quinn said proudly. "Hey, Santana" Biff greeted warmly, offering a friendly hug. "I've heard so much about you. It's great to finally meet you in person."
Santana returned the hug, appreciating his genuine friendliness. "Nice to meet you too, Biff," she said, her voice light but sincere
The group quickly fell into comfortable conversation, catching up on the latest happenings, gossip, and life updates. Mercedes and Santana reminisced about old times, their conversation punctuated by laughter and shared stories. Rachel filled Santana in on her latest Broadway adventures, while Tina and Sugar eagerly filled in the details of their latest work projects.
As the night wore on and the group's conversation grew louder, Biff seamlessly integrated himself into the lively chatter. Santana found herself enjoying his company more than she had anticipated. He was charming and easy to talk to, and his playful banter with Quinn showcased their close relationship. It was clear that he fit right in with the rest of the group.
After a while, the group decided to move on from the bar to a nearby club. The promise of a night of dancing and more drinks seemed to energize everyone. Santana, already feeling the effects of the alcohol, eagerly followed along, ready to let loose and fully embrace the night.
The club was a sensory overload—the pounding music, flashing lights, and the rhythmic movement of bodies on the dance floor. Santana dove into the crowd with a sense of abandon, her inhibitions melting away as the alcohol took effect. Mercedes was right beside her, and the two of them immediately fell into an energetic dance routine, their movements synchronized and full of life. The beat of the music seemed to pulse through their bodies, driving them to move and groove without a care in the world.
Santana's laughter was loud and carefree as she and Mercedes danced together, their camaraderie evident in their every move. She felt a surge of freedom and joy that had been elusive in recent months. The worries and pressures that had weighed on her felt distant, overshadowed by the sheer exhilaration of the moment.
As the night continued, Santana's sense of euphoria only grew. She drank more, the effects of the alcohol amplifying her high spirits and making her more outgoing and animated. She danced with everyone, moving from one group to another, laughing and chatting with whoever crossed her path. Her interactions were uninhibited, her usual reserve replaced with a boldness she hadn't felt in a long time.
The night was a blur of flashing lights, pounding music, and the ever-present warmth of friendship. Santana danced until she was breathless, her clothes sticking to her from the heat and exertion. At some point, she lost track of time, completely absorbed in the experience.
Eventually, the music began to slow down, and the energy of the club shifted. Santana found herself at the edge of the dance floor, feeling the familiar haze of alcohol and fatigue. She leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and trying to steady herself. The pulsating lights seemed to blur together, and she could hear snippets of conversation and laughter from her friends, but everything felt distant.
Quinn appeared beside her, her face flushed from dancing and excitement. She looked at Santana with a mixture of concern and affection. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the fading music.
"Yeah, just a little tipsy," Santana admitted with a smile. "I think I need a break." Quinn nodded, understanding. "Let's get some water and maybe find a place to sit for a bit."
They made their way to the bar, where Santana gratefully accepted a glass of water. She sipped slowly, feeling the cool liquid start to clear the fog of alcohol. Quinn kept her company, talking in low tones and checking in on her, making sure she was okay.
Biff eventually joined them, his expression thoughtful. "How's she doing?" he asked Quinn, his concern genuine. "She's fine," Quinn assured him. "Just needs to hydrate and rest for a bit."
Biff nodded, giving Santana a reassuring smile. "If you need anything, just let me know."
"Thanks, Biff," Santana said, appreciating his kindness. "I'm good. Just needed a little breather."
When the group finally decided to head home, Santana felt a mix of relief and contentment. She was exhausted but happy, her spirits lifted by the time spent with her friends and the joyful chaos of the night. Quinn, Biff, and the others helped her get a cab back to Quinn's apartment, their support a comforting presence.
Santana walked into the coffee shop, her sunglasses shielding her eyes from the harsh morning light. The previous night's festivities had left her with a slight hangover, but she was grateful for the distraction. She spotted Kurt at a corner table, already waiting with her coffee. The sight of him brought a genuine smile to her face.
"Are you feeling it today?" Kurt asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he handed her the cup. She nodded, taking a grateful sip. "You have no idea. This is my fuel," she said, savoring the rich taste.
Kurt leaned back in his chair, a curious look on his face. "You never told me about the honeymoon cruise. How were the Caribbean adventures?"
Santana's face lit up at the memory. "It was incredible," she began, her voice filled with nostalgia. "Each island was more beautiful than the last. We swam with turtles and sunbathes and even hiked to waterfalls. It was the perfect getaway."
Kurt sighed dreamily. "That sounds amazing. When Blaine finally asks me to marry him, I'm hoping our wedding will be half as beautiful as yours and Brett's." Santana laughed. "Oh, it will be. It'll be the greatest gay event of the century. I can't wait to see it."
Kurt chuckled, shaking his head. "How long are you back for?" he asked. "Just four days," she replied. "I have to get back to work. But I needed a break from the world of Miami and some comfort."
"Am I a comfort person for you, Santana?" Kurt asked, pretending to be shocked. She rolled her eyes, a playful smirk on her lips. "You know you are," she said. "I just needed to escape for a bit."
"Does that break include a certain husband?" Kurt asked with a knowing smirk. Santana laughed, nodding. "He's been a pain in my ass recently" she admitted, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"So, the honeymoon is over?" Kurt asked gently. Santana nodded, laughing softly. "Something like that," she said, not wanting to delve into the details of her and Brett's struggles.
Before she knew it, Quinn was dropping her off at the airport. The days had flown by in a blur of laughter, shopping, and heart-to-heart conversations. Quinn pulled up to the curb, her expression a mix of sadness and understanding.
"See you at Thanksgiving, I guess?" Quinn asked. Santana sighed, unsure of their plans. "I'm not sure if we're spending it in Ohio this year or Miami."
Quinn nodded. "Brett hasn't said anything about you guys going to Ohio" she pointed out. Santana rolled her eyes, making Quinn laugh. "He's probably hoping we can avoid the topic altogether, as per usual" she said.
Quinn hugged her tightly. "Take care of yourself, San. And call me if you need anything."
"I will," Santana promised, feeling a pang of longing as she watched Quinn drive away. She turned and made her way through the airport, her mind racing with thoughts of the past few days and the uncertain future ahead.
Santana's Uber pulled up at the apartment, the familiar sight of her building bringing a mixture of relief and apprehension. She grabbed her suitcase and took a deep breath before heading inside. The quiet click of the door closing behind her was immediately met with a barrage of unwelcome sights. Brett was slumped on the couch in his boxers, engrossed in a movie looking as if he hadn't shaved or washed for days. Takeout cartons cluttered the kitchen island, and his shoes were scattered haphazardly in the entryway.
"What the hell happened in here?" she asked aloud, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and disbelief. Brett's head turned at the sound of her voice. "Santana," he smiled weakly, "I didn't know you were coming back tonight. I would have picked you up."
"It's okay," she said, her tone weary as she dragged her suitcase into their bedroom. The sight of the unmade bed, stained with pasta sauce, made her sigh heavily. "Brett, this place is a mess. It's 9 p.m., and we're going to have to wash the bed sheets. There's pasta sauce all over it."
"Sorry," he muttered quietly.
"Who the hell eats pasta in bed?" she muttered, exasperated, as she began pulling the sheets off the bed. "You can clean the kitchen, n", she told him, her voice firm.
He nodded, getting up to fetch a trash bag. "How was New York?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "It was great" she replied, busying herself with stripping the bed.
He nodded again, his movements slow and lethargic. "Did you, uh, did you tell them?"
"Tell them what?" she asked, turning to look at him. "That you're leaving me?" he said sadly, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and resignation. "I'm not leaving you, Brett. For the hundredth time, I just need some space."
"Did you tell them about why you wanted space, then?" he asked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Nope," she said, her tone clipped. "Really? Not even Quinn?" he pressed.
"Not even Quinn. No one knows anything, and it's none of their business," she said, picking up his shoes and putting them away.
The apartment was eerily silent as they went about their tasks. Santana threw the sheets into the washing machine, her mind racing. The past few days in New York had been a temporary escape, but the reality of her situation hit her hard now that she was back. She could feel the tension between them, thick and suffocating.
Brett was in the kitchen, methodically cleaning up the mess he had made. He glanced at her occasionally, his expression a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap that had grown between them, but the words wouldn't come.
"Brett," she began softly, "we can't keep going on like this. We need to talk about what's happening with us."
He looked up, his eyes filled wita desperate hope. "I know, Santana. I know. I just... I don't know how to fix this."
"We need help," she said, her voice steady. "We need to see a therapist. We can't do this on our own."
He nodded slowly. "I agree. I'll find someone tomorrow and make an appointment."
The next morning, Brett made good on his promise and found a therapist who could see them later that week. They both felt a mixture of anxiety and relief at the prospect of getting professional help. The days leading up to the appointment were tense, but there was a newfound sense of purpose between them.
On the day of the appointment, they arrived at the therapist's office, with a mixture of nervousness and hope. The anticipation of finally addressing their issues was palpable between them. Dr. Marshall greeted them warmly, her calming presence a welcome relief. She led them into a comfortable room filled with soft lighting and plush chairs, creating a safe space for them to open up.
They settled into their seats, and Dr. Marshall began the session with a gentle, encouraging tone. "I'm glad you both are here. Let's start by talking about your relationship and the issues you've been facing."
Brett took a deep breath and began. "We've been married for five months now, but we've been together for five years. Everything was great until I found out I'm essentially infertile." His voice wavered slightly, the words heavy with the weight of his emotions. "I've been struggling with feeling worthy, feeling like a man. It's hard not being able to have children naturally. It makes me feel... less."
Santana glanced at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of empathy and frustration. "Brett's reaction to this news has been really hard on us. He's closed off, pushed me away, and it's made me feel isolated and unwanted." Her voice was steady, but the underlying pain was evident.
Dr. Marshall nodded, absorbing their words. "Infertility is a very challenging issue for any couple to face. Brett, it's completely natural to feel the way you do. Society often puts a lot of pressure on men to be providers and protectors, and when something like this happens, it can feel like a personal failure. But it's important to remember that infertility doesn't define your worth or your masculinity."
Brett looked down, his shoulders slumped. "I know that logically, but it's hard to accept it emotionally. I've always wanted to be a dad, and now I feel like I've let Santana down."
Santana reached out, placing a hand on his. "You haven't let me down, Brett. I love you for who you are, not for your ability to have children. But your shutting me out has made this so much harder for both of us."
Dr. Marshall interjected, her voice gentle. "Santana, it's clear that you're both deeply affected by this situation. Communication is key here. Brett, how do you feel when Santana tries to talk to you about this?"
Brett sighed. "I feel... ashamed. Like I'm being reminded of my failure."
Dr. Marshall nodded. "That's understandable. But pushing Santana away isn't the solution. You both need to find a way to navigate this together. It's not just about having a child; it's about how you support each other through the highs and lows of life."
Santana's eyes welled up with tears. "I just want to feel close to him again. I want us to be a team, no matter what we're facing."
Dr. Marshall leaned forward slightly. "Brett, what do you think is stopping you from letting Santana in?"
Brett was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I guess... I'm afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable, of admitting that I'm not okay. I've always been the strong one, the one who holds everything together."
Santana squeezed his hand. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Brett. We're partners. We're supposed to lean on each other."
Dr. Marshall smiled gently. "That's exactly right. Vulnerability can be a strength in a relationship. It allows for deeper connection and understanding. Brett, it's okay to admit that you're struggling. Santana is here to support you, not judge you."
The session continued with Dr. Marshall guiding them through exercises to improve their communication and emotional intimacy. They talked about their fears, hopes, and the steps they could take to support each other better. By the end of the session, they both felt a renewed sense of hope and determination.
As they left the therapist's office, the tension between them had eased slightly. They had taken a significant step towards healing, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders.
That evening, they sat on the couch together, a comfortable silence enveloping them. Brett turned to Santana, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Thank you for not giving up on me."