Title: Living With Mrs Pierce

Pairing: Brittany/Santana

Rating: M for future chapters

Summary: Two jaded individuals find love in the most unexpected place. Warning: Character death

Disclaimer: I would own Glee and all of the characters. For now, I'll stick to fan fiction.

A/N: I got bored waiting for my fave stories to update and downloads to finish so. I hate that the title is a dead, sorry for the pun, give-away to the whole plot of the story, but, oh well. At least, you know what you're getting yourself into. As they say, it's not about the destination, it's about the journey.

Prologue

03:05 am. Lima, Ohio.

A loud piercing wail echoes through the corridors of the usually eerily silent halls of the Lima General Hospital. The nurses lounging and talking in the nurse's station were suddenly startled by a beeping sound in the monitor. Code red in Room 305. A few nurses rushed into the room, two of them trying to pry the still wailing woman from the patient. She was small in stature and should have been easily handled by just one man but they had been in this job for so long and they knew they shouldn't underestimate the will of a person to be close and give comfort to their loved one especially during these times.

"Ma'am, please. Let us try to do our job," one of the male nurses trying to subdue the struggling woman pleaded.

The woman winced at his words. Job. The rational part of her knew that this is merely a job for these people and she shouldn't take offence in them thinking so. She should know, she had lived with one of them for eighteen years. But it's funny how your perspective changes when it comes to your loved ones. She liked to think that the people who take care of her wife actually cares for her like she, herself, cares for her wife. As if that would make a huge difference. As if that extra love and care is the deciding factor between life and death. She was almost sure that if she had been a nurse and a doctor, she would have saved her wife from this terrible disease. She suddenly regretted not going through medical school as she was set to do as a child, one she was so sure she would never regret on not doing.

"Well, there isn't a job for you to do now, is there?" She bitterly mocks back with as much venom she could muster at that moment. She tried to be spiteful to the nurses, she really did but the reality dawning on her from her own words hurt her more than it did them.

The man winced, realizing he had said the wrong thing to try and pacify the woman. But despite the anger in her voice, he could only see the endless sadness and agony in her eyes. The woman was now less frantic in her struggling as if all her fire and energy from before was dowsed down by a truck load of ice that is her words.

"I just want to be with her," she whispered.

Before the nurse could appease her that they would do everything they can to try and resuscitate her wife, the doctor finally came into the doors, eyes still heavy with sleep. The men had finally succeeded in accompanying the woman out of the room. They more like dragged her than escorted her for she had suddenly gone limp in their arms and without their support, they were sure the woman would fall in a heap on the sterile floor. She was no longer struggling, no longer wailing her lungs out. Her desperate bouts of tears from before were reduced to mere unconscious sobs.

She had never grieved this hard before. But it's as if her mind and body knew exactly what to do without her knowledge. She was unconsciously building her walls up, up, and up to shield her from reality. From the words she was sure the doctor would say when she comes through that door. From the world where her wife is no longer there. She had numbed herself from the hurt, pain, and anguish she was sure she would feel the rest of her life. "Though death do us part," she whispered without thought to the cold artificial air of the hospital corridors.

The doctor burst through the doors again, still with sombre eyes. She wasn't sure if it was still from her lack of sleep or from the spiel she had to give to the patients' grieving loved ones. She was only there for formalities, she knew. To make the news official. But she maintained eye contact until she finally tells her what she already knew but still secretly tried to block out.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Pierce," the doctor finally says.

"No, you're not. You're just doing your job and now it's done," she whispered back. But unlike before, there were no bitterness and sadness in her voice. It was just a fact. A fact stated in an eerily lifeless voice by an eerily lifeless grieving woman. And she indeed felt that she, herself, died. Or at least, a part of her died with her lover.

The doctor let go of her words and continued to tell her the details of her wife's complications that led to her death. But she shut them all off.

She knew what she would say to her. She knew them all too well. They had been going in and out of the hospital for almost a year. A few times, she had let herself fully believe she would survive this. That they would survive this. But as her wife's health slowly started to wane even with the thousands of prescription drugs and the chemotherapies and radiation therapies she had taken her to, that hope that kept her staying sane all those months had started to diminish as well.

They had been preparing for this day. Well, it's more of her wife preparing her and their kids for this day. She had blocked all her words out when her wife starts talking about finances, and lawyers, and burials, and getting a new wife by keeping busy with their children. And what adorable children they have.

Isabella is four years old and is a perfect replica of her as a kid. She had dark brown eyes and curls and pouty lips. But the nose-the nose is so like her mama's. Samuel, on the other hand, has golden ruffled hair like her mama. It always reminds her of her wife's during the early mornings or after their midnight canoodling before she had to shave them off. He is two years younger than Isabella but their laughter and innocent, sometimes incoherent, ramblings had filled their home with so much joy despite the somberness they tried not to acknowledge that seeps into their home behind closed bathroom and bedroom doors especially in the last couple of months.

Yes, it is much easier to talk about how gorgeous and perfect their kids are than...

"Mrs Pierce?" She was suddenly brought back to reality by a nudge on her arm. "I asked if there is someone else you'd like to call?"

Still with an addled mind, she simply nodded. She found herself sitting in the lounge without really knowing how she got there. The doctor apologized again, and left saying she'll be in her office if she wanted to see her or when her other family members arrived but she just ignored her and got her phone and dialed the second number in her list next to her wife's. She needn't wait a long time before the other woman finally picks up as if she had been expecting the call. She knew however that she hadn't really slept a wink since the day her wife was diagnosed with Burkitt's lymphoma. None of them had.

"Mom," she tried as she waited for her brain to cooperate and tell her exactly what the doctor had told her, what had exactly happened. But what exactly happened was… "It's over." She can't bring herself to say the D-word. Somehow, it hadn't really crossed her mind. At least, not really.

She heard muffled sobs on the other line. She knew Elena Pierce was trying to hold back her emotions for her sake and for the sake of her grandchildren who were sleeping over. Finally, she reined everything in, and asked her, "Are you okay?"

"Are the kids sleeping alright?" She asked instead. She really didn't want to answer that and she was already dreading to be asked that same question for the next month or so.

"Yes, they slept as soon as we got here," she sighed. She was thankful Elena didn't insist on asking her to share her feelings. That's one of the qualities she loved most in her mother-in-law. Once, when she and her wife fought, she hadn't asked who was at fault, nor did she take her daughter's side like her own mother would probably have done. She just understandingly took their children in as she looked for her wife who had stormed off.

There was silence in the line, still lost in their own loss: the first, of her wife; and the latter, of her daughter.

"I should come there to… You shouldn't be alone during this hard time," Elena finally said.

She knew her mother-in-law fully meant it. She had never doubted that woman. But she also knew she wanted to be there as soon as possible for her first born. And how could anyone argue with that, really?

"I'll tell Martin that he should stay with the kids and just leave in the morning," she explained further, as if hearing her questions.

"Thank you," she simply said. They both knew it was not only for this day but for all the times Elena had been there for the couple. She was like a mother even to her. She had been since they were merely teenage kids discovering themselves and fooling around.

"And Santana…" Santana waited as Elena find her words. She knew what was coming: a huge barrage of words of consolation, or empty words as she'd like to call them. She expected that from other people, but she's surprised her mother-in-law would fall for the same thing.

Elena must've caught herself for she said instead, "I'll be there soon." And the call ended.

Santana shut her eyes and gave herself a moment's reprieve. She had a couple of months to prepare herself for this. Not that she had tried even the slightest to prepare herself for this day. She never dealt well with problems and her wife knew this. When a problem comes her way, she either runs the other direction or pretends it doesn't exist until it fixes itself or her wife fixes them for her. But who could really blame her? Not a single thing in the world could prepare anyone to the loss of their loved one.

Whether she hated it or not, she didn't really have a choice. She didn't have the luxury of grieving for her own loss, not when she have their kids to take care of and love twice as much now that their other mother could no longer be there for them physically. She couldn't drown herself in alcohol or her own sorrows, not when she needed to be back on her feet fast and get a job after being a stay-at-home mom for four years.

She didn't know how long she had stayed in that uncomfortable hospital chair and fell into a listless sleep pleading for her wife to come back and murmuring her name over and over again.

As Elena walked towards the seemingly lifeless Latina, she noted the distress on crumpled eyebrows and tensed jaw. She felt the same ache Santana was wearing on her face as she saw her lips tremble in a slight pout as she called her daughter's name over and over…

"Quinn… Quinn… Quinn…"

Disclaimer # 2: I love Quinn, I really do. But I had to and this is first and foremost, a Brittana-Endgame story. To those who like Quinn as well, the least I could give you is that she would be viewed in a good light. Also, Don't forget to R&R. Your comments, questions, ideas, or whathaveyou's are deeply appreciated.