A/N: I know I said we were near the end, and well, this is it. I want to thank everyone who has stuck with me through this fiction, particularly the ever lovely nayalove, who was hands down my most dedicated reader. I hope this ending does the story justice, and that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.

With that said, I plan on finishing up my one-shot, 100 Years, which should be posted by the end of this week, and I've already begun work on another Britanna fic, an AU, who's first chapter should also be up this week. No definitive title yet, as I'm still getting a feel for the plot, but if you set up an author alert, you'll see it soon. :)

Again, thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, and alerted. I appreciate all of your support, and I will be forever grateful for your kind words.

Slipping the worn silver key into the familiar lock, Santana heard the latch click before nearly collapsing through the doorway as she fell into the threshold of her home. Intoxicating scents wafted across the room, and she let each wave wash over her before tossing her purse to the ground and slipping off her shoes and coat, putting both in their respective places and padding into the living room directly to her left. She placed a quick kiss on a freckled cheek tickled by overgrown blonde bangs, a moment's hesitation on her journey toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine and determine what creation her wife had thrown together for the evening, because it smelled heavenly. As she leaned over to observe the bubbling pots in front of her, she felt arms snuggle as easily as they could around her waist, pulling her close.

"Artichoke and spinach stuffed shells in alfredo sauce," she heard a soft voice coo over her shoulder. "Izzy is still upset that people eat ducks, so it's peanut butter and jelly every day for lunch and vegetarian dishes for dinner."

"I seem to remember Izzy's mom having the same problem when we were younger," Santana replied, giggling lightly before placing a warm kiss on her wife's cheek, a mirror image to the freckled cheek her lips had brushed moments ago.

"I think her Mami had just as hard a time with it. It's not easy to explain to a duck enthusiast that not everyone shares her love for her feathered friends," she replied cheekily, recalling Santana's look of sheer horror as Brittany cried in her arms over the thought that anyone would want to eat a 'poor baby duckling.' "Dinner will be ready in ten though, so go ahead and sit with Iz. I'll bring you your wine babe."

Dragging her tired limbs back in the direction of the couch she so craved, Santana flopped next to the small blonde tucked into the leathered cushions. Nudging her gently with a bony elbow, Isabel caught her mother's eyes, chocolate brown locking into an identical shade of mocha, before the two burst into a fit of giggles. Hoping she could continue the melody she'd fallen in love with four years ago, Santana leaned over her daughter, wiggling her fingers menacingly, and as she expected, Izzy cowered away, clutching her stomach as she allowed her body to shake in laughter.

"Isabella Danielle! Santana Marie!" The two immediately covered their mouths, praying their hands would stifle the continuous giggles still falling over their lips. "I swear, you two act like you're related. Could you please contain yourself enough to make it to the table in one piece?" the blonde said, attempting to hold back laughter of her own, as she held a hand protectively over her lower stomach.

"I need to be sure that you two have considered the risks of this," the doctor repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time. "This procedure is still in its infancy, and there is no guaranteed results, honestly."

The two women met each other's eyes, a look that spoke volumes fluttering between them, despite their doctor's obliviousness to the exchange. Santana nodded once to her wife, then again, more definitively in the doctor's direction.

"We're sure," she replied with conviction, settling back onto the hospital bed once more, shivering slightly, as the gown they had her in left little to the imagination, and even less toward general warmth. "Hit me with the drugs doc," she continued, winking at Brittany who giggled in return.

Chomping happily on her pasta, Isabel relayed every moment of her day, starting with her choice of breakfast cereals and mismatched socks, continuing on through a story about a little boy who threw up on the slide, not noticing the shade of green her mothers both turned, though definitely noticing her Mami's fist pump when she recalled kicking another boy in the shins for making fun of the sick child, and finishing with the coloring sheet she had for homework, in which she colored her unicorn purple.

The perfect combination of the two women in front of her, intelligent enough to discern a lie easily, yet still captivated by every day magic, the small child encompassed enough confidence to convince any person, peer or adult, that she was correct. She often lashed out, at anyone and everyone, including her mothers, when she was hurt, but returned promptly after with a pout and a sincere apology - her heart composed of nothing other than pure gold.

Similar stories told by other children, even her goddaughter, Emily, as similar as she was to Isabel, with long blonde locks and mischievous hazel eyes, her father's doing, could not captivate Santana's attention as well as could the small girl in front of her. Quinn and Puck had teased her for years, claiming she was whipped, but the hold Brittany had on her heart was miniscule in comparison to the wrapped parent she had become with Izzy, giving in to nearly her every desire. Surprising to everyone but the Latina herself, Brittany was the authoritative one in the relationship, often having to step in, keeping Santana from giving their daughter a third or fourth scoop of ice cream.

Santana lay back in the hospital bed, a bit woozy from the anesthesia, as the doctor checked the small incisions in her lower back, asking for what she was sure was the fiftieth time if she understood the process. The medication was clearly still taking effect, as the explanation she divulged was not medical in the slightest, though she could have given a textbook definition of the procedure, now that she was working at a hospital of her own, a member of the surgical team. "I got it Dr. H. You take my bone marrow, mess with it in the lab a little bit, and make lady sperm, so I can make lady babies with my lady," she slurred, drawing out the last word unnecessarily. Brittany clasped a hand over her mouth, attempting to stay at least somewhat professional about the process that would hopefully change their lives forever.

Doctors across the world had been doing research into this procedure, the crafting of reproductive tissue, eggs and sperm, from the stem cells in bone marrow, since 2007, and after successful trials in the laboratories with rodents, and a few other small animals, they had begun human trials. The head of medicine at the hospital Santana was working at recommended the pair, having known the doctor heading the trials, after having a light hearted chat over coffee with the caramel skinned surgeon, when she'd spoken about her and Brittany's disappointment in knowing that they would never had a child biologically their own.

It was a long shot, but easy had never been the way the pair had gone about doing things. They were both well aware of the risks, but the benefits seemed to outweigh those nagging doubts. Brittany was receiving hormone treatments to stimulate ovulation, and at the end of the month, they were prepared to make their first attempts at conception, even if it would be in a magnificently unromantic, overly sterile clinical technician's room.

"You're quiet tonight." The pair had been curled up in front of the fire for nearly a half an hour after putting their daughter to bed, one with a glass of wine, another a mug of peppermint tea, the only thing keeping her all-day morning sickness at bay.

Snuggling into her wife's shoulder, Santana nodded. "Just a long day at work, I guess. It's easy to forget about when Izzy's jumping off of the walls, but when it's calm? It gets harder." The blonde tugged her more closely, massaging the Latina's neck with one hand as she patiently waited for her to continue. "There was an accident on the highway earlier this afternoon, a young girl, probably still in high school. I couldn't help but think of Quinn, and how far we've all come since then." A small smile, one of recollection, fluttered across Brittany's face, as she thought back to how different things had been in high school.

"I mean, did anyone honestly expect her and Puck to end up together? McKinley's own sex addict and Q? It's just crazy how after everything, they have each other, and Em, and they're content. And us? Oh god," she recalled with a groan.

"We kept things interesting in high school at least," the blonde whispered, grinning. "The closeted lesbian, trying desperately to woo her stunning best friend away from a poor handicapped teenaged boy. That's the kind of thing they make TV shows out of Santana." Her wife returned the smile with a slight chuckle, resting a hand upon Brittany's cheek, pulling her in for a soft, albeit lingering kiss.

"Why don't you head up to bed babe? You look exhausted. I'll finish up the dishes, and meet you in five." The blonde's second pregnancy was easier than the first, but she couldn't deny that everything took extra effort, and she honestly could pass out just about anywhere at this point, so she made her way slowly toward their bedroom, too tired to try and point out that Santana had worked a sixteen hour shift, and deserved their bed as much, if not more, than she did.

Rinsing off the last of the soapy dishes in the sink, the Latina began flipping off the lights in the kitchen, readying herself for the soft pillows and warm body awaiting her upstairs. She caught herself lingering in front of the last downstairs light, a lamp set on the end table in the hallway. Grinning to herself, she reached up to click off the source of the soft glow that illuminated the room, taking an extra moment to stare down at the items covering the worn wooden surface. Six photographs, in a single frame, sat in front of the lamp in question, the sixth place filled just over seven years ago. There, frozen in moments of pure bliss, stood two generations of Lopez family members, and a third generation of Lopez-Pierces, the beginning of a new line. Underneath their childhood photo, Santana smiled at a candid shot they hadn't known was taken on their wedding day. Wrapped in each other's arms on the dance floor, the photographer had managed to catch the tail end of a private performance of Songbird, that Santana had been whispering into her wife's ear. Brittany's eyes were so full of love, and the smile filling the Latina's features was incomparable.

Fingering the frame gently, her eyes fell to the only other object on the small table, a silver charm bracelet, with a thin pink ribbon threaded through its links, with a single charm attached, engraved with a name, and a date: Sophia Faith Lopez-Pierce, December 24, 2015.

"Your mommies love you baby girl. Always have, always will. I hope we've made you proud."