It's just so not fair. Not on any level. What have they done wrong? What has he done wrong? Because there's no way in hell Rachel deserves this. The first time it happens he's at work. He doesn't even fucking know until Rachel calls him to tell him that she needs picked up from New York Presbyterian. They'd been trying to have a baby.
Apparently she'd just been doing the dishes when she realized that there was blood dripping down her leg. She doesn't want to talk about it. He can't blame her for not wanting to talk about it. She makes him call their parents. They'd told them at ten weeks. So excited. It's so unfair that only two weeks later he has to tell his mother the news. Their baby is dead. Rachel takes it so hard. Like somehow it was her fault.
Nothing he says can sway her. She keeps having nightmares. She wakes up crying. She won't even let him hold her she just runs into the bathroom and locks the door. They fight. She's more angry at herself than anything else, and there's nothing he can do to help. He feels so helpless when they should be there for each other.
It takes an entire month before they even have sex again. She makes him wear a condom for the first time since she went on the pill at 18. He doesn't complain because she wants to stay off the pill. She's convinced that somehow being on the pill for so many years before she got pregnant somehow lead to her miscarriage. She says she wants to try again in a few months. Let the drugs work completely out of her system. He doesn't argue. They've done too much arguing lately.
She's pregnant again. This time they wait to tell their parents. Good thing too. Six weeks in he wakes up to screaming. Just screaming and more screaming. Rachel's lying beside him. Her arms are covered in blood, and those singer's lungs are letting out the most horrible, sustained note he's ever heard. When he finally gets her to the hospital, it's too late anyway. Rachel's lost so much blood… they couldn't save the baby.
This time Rachel is too quiet to fight. She won't eat. She barely sleeps and when she does it's out on the couch. Away from him. Rachel won't even look in their bedroom.
His beautiful wife is beautiful even in her sadness. Her stark features become starker. Her limbs start to thin, her collarbone begins to jut enough that it almost looks painful. Rachel is starting to look like some strange ballerina. Her large eyes too impossibly wide for her gaunt cheeks. He can't get through to her.
They're married, yes, but he hasn't felt like he's had a partner in months. Rachel retreated into her shell after the second miscarriage and nothing, nothing has been able to pull her back to him. Not dinners he's made or Puck and Santana's kids or even a vacation. He feels like such a failure, but he can't descend into the same depression that Rachel has. If he does, who's going to make sure that Rachel doesn't actually starve herself to death?
It's a full seven months before he sees her smile again, and even then it's only a brief glimpse. The sun peeking through the eye of the storm. She gets better though. Until finally one day she calls his name as he's cooking her dinner. She started eating more two weeks ago and is finally starting to look healthy again. "I'm so sorry." It's not all that needs to be said, but for now, it will do. He kisses the top of her head and quietly murmurs, "I know."
AN: And this is what I write when I'm trying to avoid schoolwork. Sorry there's no happy ending.