Gabriel handed Santana a box as she made her way toward the door, ready to take it down to the U-Haul truck parked outside. As Santana reached the doorway, Brett appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes narrowing in concern. "What are you doing?" he whispered, his tone a mix of annoyance and worry.

Santana looked at him, confusion written across her face. "I'm bringing this box in from the truck," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Brett quickly descended the stairs and took the box from her hands. "You shouldn't be carrying anything," he quietly scolded, his expression softening but still stern.

"It's not that heavy," Santana said with a shrug, trying to downplay the situation. "I don't care. You're pregnant, Santana," Brett reminded her, his voice firm but gentle. He turned and headed upstairs with the box, leaving Santana standing in the doorway watching him as he disappeared down into the house, a sigh escaping her lips. She knew he was right, but she couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to be involved and helpful.

Gabriel came up behind Santana, his voice laced with annoyance. "Are you going to be lazy all day and not help us? You didn't help in the apartment when we brought up Pucks' stuff and took down yours, and now you're just standing around while me, Puck, and Brett do everything," he chided.

Santana turned to face him, her eyebrows knitting together in frustration. Before she could respond, Brett walked into the hall, his timing impeccable. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her neck, a gesture both possessive and comforting.

"I've left the boxes for you to start unpacking in our room," Brett said, tapping her butt lightly. Santana gave a small nod, a mixture of irritation and amusement playing on her features.

Gabriel sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "Brett, you're so under the thumb. You need to grow a pair. She'll eat you alive, bro," he said, shaking his head in disapproval, making Brett laugh.

With Gabriel grumbling, Santana made her way to Brett's room, now their room, and surveyed the boxes stacked neatly against the walls. The sight was both overwhelming and exciting. Each box represented a part of her life, her past, and her future. She took a deep breath and began to unpack, starting with a box labeled "clothes."

Santana was lost in thought when Brett appeared in the doorway, a mischievous smile on his face. "Need any help?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe. She looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. "I think I've got it, but thanks," she replied, her tone teasing.

Brett walked over and sat down beside her, picking up a piece of clothing and folding it neatly. "You know Gabe was just joking, right? He doesn't actually think you're lazy," he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Santana sighed, nodding. "I know. It's just... I want to be helpful. I don't want anyone to think I'm not pulling my weight." Brett reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're doing great. Moving is stressful enough and on top of that, you're secretly pregnant. Just take it one step at a time." She smiled at him, grateful for his reassurance. "Thanks, Brett."

By the time evening fell, the house was mostly unpacked. Santana stood back and admired their handiwork, a sense of accomplishment settling over her. It was starting to feel like home, their home.

Brett walked in from dropping the truck off, looking tired but happy. "Looks great in here," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She leaned into him, feeling content. "It does. Thank you for being so amazing today." He kissed the top of her head. "Anything for you."

They were broken out of their moment by the sound of the front door opening and the lively chatter that followed. Quinn entered the house first, followed by Puck and Gabriel, each carrying bags of Chinese takeout. The aroma of the dishes filled the air, making everyone's stomachs rumble in anticipation.

"Wow, Brett," Quinn said, scanning the open-plan living area with wide eyes. "No wonder she wanted to live here." Her tone was a mix of admiration and good-natured envy, punctuated by a smile. Quinn's gaze shifted to Puck, her eyebrow arched in playful challenge. "When are you surprising me with a house like this?" she asked.

Puck shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I can barely afford our rent with my decorating business," he admitted, his tone light despite the reality of his words. Quinn shook her head with a chuckle, but there was no real disappointment in her eyes. She turned back to Santana, her smile genuine. "This place is beautiful," she said, helping to take the containers out of the bags.

Brett was in the kitchen, grabbing sodas for everyone. He handed them out, earning a disappointed groan from Puck. "Where's the alcohol?" Puck complained, his face twisted in mock outrage.

Brett shrugged apologetically, casting a quick glance at Santana. "I forgot to buy some," he said, trying to play it cool. Santana gave him a small, reassuring smile, grateful for his discretion. The last thing she wanted was to raise any questions about why she wasn't drinking.

They all gathered around the dining table, the spread of Chinese food looking more appetizing by the second. Plates were filled, chopsticks were grabbed, and soon the room was filled with the sound of happy munching and lively conversation.

The enjoyment of a new chapter in their lives soon came to an abrupt end for Santana, who up until this point had experienced no side effects from her pregnancy. At ten weeks, everything changed. She found herself exhausted all the time, her body ached, and morning sickness was a cruel joke because she had all-day sickness. This relentless nausea made her even more hormonal and irritable, leaving her feeling utterly miserable.

One particularly rough evening, Santana lay on the couch, clutching a bucket just in case. Brett sat at her feet, diligently massaging them in an attempt to provide some comfort. He was telling her about a particularly difficult client at work, hoping to distract her from her discomfort.

"Brett, shut up, please," she snapped suddenly, her voice strained with irritation and fatigue. Brett's mouth fell open in surprise, his hands freezing mid-massage. "What?" he asked, bewildered by her outburst. "Your voice right now is not helping me calm my nausea," she explained, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths. "Just... please, stop talking."

Brett nodded slowly, resuming the foot massage in silence. He understood that Santana's irritability wasn't really directed at him; it was the pregnancy hormones and the constant, unrelenting sickness taking their toll on her, but Santana's days blurred into a haze of nausea and fatigue. She spent most of her time on the couch, trying to find a position that didn't make her feel worse. Even the simplest tasks seemed monumental.

Another evening, Brett sat beside Santana, gently stroking her hair as they watched a movie. "I can't believe how different this is from how I thought it would be," Santana confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel so useless, and I'm constantly sick. It's like my body has betrayed me."

Brett squeezed her hand. "You're not useless, Santana. You're growing our baby. That in itself is a monumental task. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. Just take it one day at a time."

Despite Brett's unwavering support, there were moments when Santana's frustration boiled over. One morning, as she struggled to keep down her breakfast, she burst into tears, throwing her toast across the kitchen in a fit of anger. "I can't do this," she cried, her voice filled with despair. "I can't handle feeling this way all the time. It's too much."

Her outburst made Oliver and James jump. The two boys exchanged wide-eyed glances, before James' face split into a smile as he was about to laugh. He caught Brett's stern glare and the silent shake of his head, indicating that now was not the time for humor. Oliver, sensing the gravity of the situation, sweetly offered his bowl of Lucky Charms to Santana.

"Here, Mama," he said softly, holding the bowl up to her. The gesture melted Santana's heart and brought fresh tears to her eyes. Before she could respond, Brett walked over and wrapped her in a tight hug, his arms a solid and comforting presence around her shaking frame. "It's going to be okay," Brett whispered into her hair. "We'll get through this together."

Santana buried her face in his chest, the sobs slowly subsiding as she drew strength from his calm demeanor. She nodded, unable to speak, but grateful for his unwavering support. The boys, sensing that things were calming down, resumed their breakfast with a newfound quietness, their eyes occasionally darting to Brett and Santana.

As week ten turned into week eleven, there was a glimmer of hope. Santana's nausea began to lessen, slightly, and she found herself able to eat small meals without immediately feeling sick. It wasn't a complete turnaround, but it was a start. Brett noticed the change too, his relief palpable. "You're looking a little better," he remarked one evening as they sat together on the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"Still tired and achy, but the nausea isn't as bad," Santana admitted. "It's a small victory, but I'll take it." Brett smiled, squeezing her hand. "That's progress. We'll take it one day at a time" as he moved his hand onto Santana's ever so slightly bloated belly. "Do you ever think about what the baby will be like?" he asked softly. "All the time," Santana replied, her voice tinged with wonder. "I wonder if they'll have your eyes or my hair. If they'll be quiet like you or loud like me."

Brett chuckled, his mind wandering to the possibilities. "I hope it looks like you," he said softly. "I already have two twins in James and Oliver. Emily's genes didn't even put up a fight with mine," he added with a laugh. "But that Lopez gene is a strong one."

Santana couldn't help but laugh at his comment, the sound light and melodious. James, who was sprawled on the floor watching a movie with Oliver, turned around with a glare, annoyed at the interruption. Brett and Santana shared an amused glance, trying to stifle their laughter to avoid further irritating him.

Brett continued, still chuckling. "I'm surprised I even managed to get you pregnant. I thought the Lopez genes would have sucker-punched my sperm out of the running." Santana laughed harder, her eyes sparkling. "It's because I love you," she said, her voice softening. "My guard was down."

Brett's smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Well, I'm glad for that," he whispered, his lips lingering on her skin. As the boys' movie played on in the background, Santana rested her head on Brett's shoulder, feeling a sense of peace and contentment.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Santana lifted her head slightly to look at Brett. "How do you feel about telling Emily's parents?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with concern. "I mean, we're telling our families in three weeks, and I just want to make sure you're okay with everything."

Brett's expression shifted slightly, a shadow of contemplation crossing his face. He sighed, a small, almost imperceptible sound, before he answered. "I think it's the right thing to do," he began, his voice steady but with a hint of hesitation. "I've been thinking about it a lot, actually." Santana nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. Emily's parents had been a part of his life for so long, and even though Emily was gone, they still held a place in his heart. "Do you think they'll be upset?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud would make the situation more real.

Brett considered this for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think they'll understand; they know life moves on." Santana felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She knew how complicated the situation was, how delicate the balance between honoring Emily's memory and building a future together could be. "I just want to make sure they're okay with it," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. "I don't want them to feel like we're replacing Emily or forgetting about her."

Brett shook his head gently, his eyes meeting hers with a look of understanding. "We could never forget Emily," he said softly. "She'll always be a part of our lives, a part of the boys' lives. But that doesn't mean we can't move forward, can't create something new. They know that. And I think they'll be happy for us, even if it's a little hard at first."

Brett's hand continued to rest gently on Santana's stomach, his fingers tracing light, soothing circles over the fabric of her shirt. He chuckled softly, but there was a note of genuine apprehension in his voice as he admitted, "I'm more nervous about telling your abuela than anyone else."

Santana couldn't help but laugh at his confession, the sound bubbling up from deep within her. The idea of Brett being afraid of her abuela was both endearing and entirely understandable. "You should be," she teased, her tone light but her words carrying a hint of truth. "She'll probably curse you for life for getting me pregnant without a ring on my finger."

Brett let out a sigh, though it was clear he wasn't taking her words entirely lightly. "Yeah, I figured that might be the case. But I'm serious, Santana—how do we break the news to her without, you know, triggering her wrath?"

Santana grinned, the corners of her mouth lifting in amusement as she leaned back against the couch. "Well," she began, drawing out the word as if considering her options, "for starters, maybe don't eat any of her food until after she's forgiven you. Let's just say no amount of free accounting is going to stop her from slipping something into your meal."

Brett's eyes widened slightly, though he could tell from the sparkle in Santana's eyes that she was mostly joking. Mostly. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely sure.

Santana laughed again, shaking her head. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "She's old school, you know? In her mind, things are supposed to happen in a certain order: marriage, then babies. The fact that we're doing it the other way around might not sit too well with her."

Brett nodded, his expression thoughtful as he considered her words. "I get that," he said after a moment. "I know this isn't the way she would have wanted things to go, and I respect that. But I hope she'll see that we're committed to each other, that we're building a life together—just maybe not in the order she would have preferred."

Santana's smile was soft as she gazed into Brett's eyes, her hand gently cradling his cheek. "Seriously, Brett," she said, her voice steady and full of warmth, "don't worry about anyone else. As long as we're happy and the boys, then that's all that matters. Let's just focus on being positive and ignore any outside noise."

Brett held her gaze, taking in her words. She was right. What mattered most was the happiness and well-being of their little family unit—the two of them, plus James and Oliver, and the baby on the way. Before he could respond, a small voice broke through their tender moment. "Shush!" James called out, his tone a perfect mix of impatience and exasperation. "We're watching a movie, and you're both ruining it!"

"Sorry, bud," Brett said with a smile, his voice light as he addressed his son. "We'll be quiet."

James gave them a quick nod of approval before turning his attention back to the movie, satisfied that the grown-ups would finally let him and Oliver watch in peace. Brett and Santana exchanged amused glances as her hand found his, squeezing it gently.

With the movie finally over and the boys tucked away in bed, Brett descended the stairs with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of mild frustration. The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Santana stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing a pot with a focused expression. She glanced up as Brett entered, her eyes softening at the sight of him.

"Oliver still won't sleep in his own room," Brett said, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and fatigue. He leaned against the counter, watching as Santana rinsed the pot and set it aside to dry. "Every night, it's the same story. He just won't settle unless he's in James' room."

Santana wiped her hands on a dish towel, her brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe we should put their beds back as bunk beds," she suggested. "That might make him feel more comfortable."

Brett nodded thoughtfully, considering the idea. "But James really wants his own room now. He's been saying he's too old to share a room with Oliver. And honestly, I get it. He's getting to that age where he wants his own space."

Santana bit her lip, considering the situation. "Maybe ask James what he thinks?" she proposed. "We could get another bed for Oliver's room. That way, when one of them is ready to move out of the shared space, we'll be prepared."

Brett nodded again, this time with more certainty. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," he agreed. Then, as if the weight of the day had finally caught up with him, he stepped forward and pulled Santana into a hug, his arms wrapping around her waist. She leaned into him, letting herself relax in the warmth of his embrace.

Brett's hands began to wander, sliding down her back and coming to rest on her ass. He nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck, planting a gentle kiss just below her ear. "I missed you today," he murmured, his voice low and a little husky, but Santana quickly pulled his hands away, stepping back slightly and shaking her head. "Absolutely not," she said firmly, though her tone was softened by the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Brett looked at her with wide, confused eyes, clearly taken aback by the sudden change in mood. "What? Why?" he asked, his tone edging on a whine as he tried to pull her back toward him. "It's been like two weeks already."

Santana sighed, her expression shifting from playful to weary. "I'm sorry, Brett," she said, running a hand through her dark hair. "But I honestly couldn't think of anything worse right now. The thought of us having sex makes me want to vomit." She shuddered, her face twisting in discomfort.

Brett's shoulders slumped, and he let out a dramatic, exaggerated groan. Santana looked up at him, her eyes soft with gratitude and love. "I appreciate you being so patient with me. This pregnancy is... it's just a lot right now. My body feels like it's completely out of control, and I'm still trying to adjust to everything that's happening."

Brett nodded, his expression serious. "I get it," he said, though they both knew he could never fully understand what she was going through. But he was trying, and that was what mattered. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help, okay? Even if it's just keeping the boys occupied away from the house so you can rest."

Santana's heart swelled with affection for him. She reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. "You're already doing so much," she told him. "Just being here with me, supporting me... that's all I need right now."

Blue Eyes (40 Chapters) - now uploading exclusively on AO3

Santiago and Dani have recently moved from New York to a quiet Ohio neighborhood, but while Dani thrives in their new life, Santiago struggles to adjust. Dani is ecstatic about her childhood best friend, Brittany, moving to town with her fiancé, Sam, and eagerly anticipates rekindling their bond. Santiago, however, feels disconnected, unable to share her enthusiasm. When Dani shows him a photo of Brittany and Sam, Santiago finds himself unexpectedly drawn to Brittany's presence, unsettled by an unexplainable pull toward her.

archiveofourown/ao3: TiagWilde