Author's Note: Written for the Quartie ficathon, obviously. And I know some of you will like this...because I constantly get reviews mentioning...this!

No prompt.

Nine Months

They had been married for eight months, to the day, when Quinn told Artie the big news.

"Artie," she whispered, taking his hand, once they were settled in bed. "I'm pregnant."

After the words were spoken, he stared at her for several long minutes before laughing. "I'm sorry, I thought you said you were pregnant."

Not in the least amused by her husband's reaction to what she had been waiting all day to tell him, Quinn frowned and withdrew her hand from his. "I did say that."

Mouth flopping open, Artie floundered for words to say. "I…you…we're…oh my God, Quinn! You're…you're pregnant!"

"Yes," she said, starting to grin, in spite of her annoyance over what had just occurred. "About a month along."

Wrapping both arms around her, he squeezed her, then pulled back, frantically eying her up and down, moving his hands to hover over stomach. "I didn't hurt it, did I?"

Taking his face in her hands, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "No, you didn't, babe."

Holding her much more gently, Artie smiled. "A baby…"

Two months later, Quinn had formed an intimate acquaintance with the toilet. It seemed every afternoon around three, she could be found hugging it, cheek pressed against the lid, taking deep breaths as she waited for the nausea for to pass. When Artie was home, he would hold her hair for her and rub her back…and sometimes say ridiculous things.

"When you're sick, does it mean the baby's sick too? Is the baby throwing up?"

Glancing up at him, tired eyes narrowing into an almost glare, she asked, "What?"

"I was just asking…" he trailed off, fingers pressing into her shoulder blades.

Slightly smiling, Quinn pulled herself into his lap and curled herself into a ball. "Silly."

Resting his chin on the top of the head, Artie murmured, "It was a legitimate question…"

Three months later, Artie had spent hours pouring over baby name websites. Each and every night, he went over possible names for the baby, even though they weren't sure if they were having a girl or boy. They had decided to wait until he or she was born to find out.

"Anastasia?"

"No," Quinn responded, not lifting her eyes from the novel she was reading. "We are not naming our daughter, if we have a daughter, after a lost Russian princess."

"Jaden? It can be a girl or boy's name."

"Artie, babe, do we have to figure out his or her name tonight?" she asked, closing her book and turning on her side to face him.

Reaching out, he touched his fingers to her pregnant belly. "I just think-" Stopping in mid sentence, his mouth fell open. "I felt him kick!" Though it wasn't the first time the baby had kicked, it was the first time Artie had felt it, as he always reached Quinn right as the baby ceased it's kicking every other time.

Glowing, Quinn watched, through half lidded eyes, at her excited husband before realizing what he had said. "Him?"

Two and a half months later, Quinn was screaming as she crushed Artie's hand in her own.

"I just want," she breathed. "To get this baby out of me!"

Wincing at the tight grip she had on him, Artie nodded. "I know, babe, I know."

After a few more hours and way too many contractions, Quinn held a beautiful and healthy baby boy in her arms. At her side, a choked up Artie stared at his baby boy's face.

"We have a baby boy," he finally said.

Not able to hold back her tears, Quinn quietly acknowledged his joy when she met his eyes.

They named him Michael, after Michael Scott, their shared favorite television character, which most people, mainly meaning Rachel, who had named her own daughter Elphaba, so who was she to judge, believed that method of choosing a name to be weird. But Quinn and Artie thought it, like their baby boy, was perfect.