"Do you want to keep her?" he asks.
She's suddenly thrust into the past––a past where she was asked the same question, standing before a window pane, looking out at a newborn child wrapped in a pink blanket. What does she do this time? What answer is she supposed to give him.
The clock ticks incessantly, loudly, harshly. It won't stop; with each passing tock, she feels as though the pressure against her increases. He needs an answer––a serious answer to the very serious question he just asked.
"Yes," she answers. There's no hesitation in her voice, no sense of weakness. Sure, she's afraid of what her answer could mean for their future, but it's what she wants. In hindsight, it's what she's always wanted. "Do you?"
She hears him sigh a happy sigh. With the bit of light shining into their room, she can see the faint outline of a smile on his face. His eyes look away to the door cracked open, nodding for her to do the same. She does.
"Beth?" he calls out. She expects no response, no answer. Instead, the door creaks open, reminding him that he needs to add a bit of oil to the hinges come tomorrow. "How long have you been standing there?"
Quinn sits up, reaches over for the lamp switch, and flicks it. The room suddenly fills with light, causing the two of them to flinch as their eyes adjust. Their daughter, with less pink in her hair after her shower, stands before them, adjusting from one foot to another.
"Not long," she answers. She bites her lip in that same manner her mother does, yet her eyes are cast down to the ground or something down there. Either way, she doesn't look them in the eye. "I just...couldn't sleep and I heard you guys talking."
"Come here," Quinn says, opening her arms out for the girl. There she goes again. She doesn't hesitate. Her maternal instincts haven't registered the years she's missed in her daughter's life.
Beth hesitates. She takes a cautious step, finally looking up at both of them. When she sees the smile on her father's face, an all too familiar one that mirrors her own, followed by a nod, she walks faster. In the blink of an eye, she wraps her arms around her mother's torso and begins to cry.
"I thought you guys didn't want me," she mumbles, breaths becoming shorter and shorter. Quinn places a kiss on her forehead, ushering her to breathe. "You were there and...then...you...weren't and..."
"Sweetie, that wasn't it," Quinn assures her, continuing to stroke her hair. "Things just became complicated between Shelby and us. We were young. We weren't making the best decisions. The only thing we wanted was for you to have everything you could, things we couldn't give you."
Puck gets up, goes toward the closet, and pulls out a shoebox. Quinn whispers at Beth to watch, just as Puck begins to show her the contents of the box. Pictures spanning from her fourth birthday to about a year or two ago begin to litter the space before her.
"She'd send us pictures from time to time," Puck explains. "But we weren't allowed to send anything to you. It was part of the deal we made. We wanted to be more involved. Believe me, we did. But she's right. Things just got complicated between us."
A shout for Quinn soon reaches their room. She pulls away from the girl, pressing another kiss to her forehead with a promise that she'll return soon. Off to check up on their son, who is probably plagued by another nightmare.
Puck grabs her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You look just like her, you know that?" he says. "Almost gave us a heart attack when you got here. We thought Quinn had traveled from the past."
The joke, however horrible it might be, gets a laugh out of his daughter. Without tissues in sight, she goes to wipe her nose with her arm. Puck stops her, grabbing his shirt from the foot of the bed and handing it to her.
"She'll kill me if I let you do that," he tells her. Another laugh. Now they're getting somewhere.
Quinn returns then, look of relief on her face. "Small nightmare," she tells them. "He's back to sleeping soundlessly."
Puck glances up at Beth and gives her a small nod before turning his attention to Quinn. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do this the right way."
Looks like it's time to make a few calls––come morning, that is. For now, they settle their sixteen year old daughter back into bed.
She falls asleep to the promise of things working out come tomorrow.