Part II: Baby, You're the Rest of My Life
Rachel rests a palm against the closed door of their apartment as she stares unseeingly at the wood in front of her. Her mind is still spinning, replaying the conversation that she'd just had with Quinn—the one that caused her wife to walk out on her. Her stomach twists and turns over itself, and Rachel stumbles out of the entryway with trembling fingers pressed to her mouth to keep her dinner from making an untimely reappearance on the hardwood floor.
Collapsing onto the sofa, a bitter laugh escapes through her fingers before it turns into a choked sob, and she presses a hand to her churning stomach in the hope of calming it. There's a tightness in her chest that she hasn't felt in years—the heavy weight of fear and confusion that comes with an uncertain future. The first time she'd felt it, she'd been seventeen and waiting for a letter to appear from NYADA after foolishly piling all her hopes of making it to New York City into one school. She'd attempted to chase it away with a desperate engagement to her one sure thing, but she hadn't truly been able to breathe easily again until she'd been safely in Manhattan.
The second time she'd felt it had been a year later when she'd realized that her period hadn't yet come and all of her hopes and dreams had seemed to crash down on top of her with the possibility of a positive pregnancy test. The suffocation and desperation she'd felt had only ended two days later with the very welcomed proof that she hadn't fallen pregnant after all.
The third time—well, she'd never really told Quinn about that time in regards to her fears. She'd been twenty-two and finally waking up to the discovery that she'd fallen in love with her best friend who was very much a woman and who couldn't possibly (to her mind at that time) feel the same way about Rachel. The idea of telling Quinn about her feelings and potentially ruining their friendship had been just as crushing as the thought of never telling her and watching her fall in love with someone else. Rachel had made herself sick thinking about it until she'd finally worked up the courage to say something to Quinn. The outcome has been better than anything she'd ever dared to dream at the time.
But this—this weight on her chest is a terrible combination of all those hopes and dreams threatening to tip over the edge of an unknown abyss and the very real fear of losing Quinn because of her own reluctance to take this particular leap of faith.
Letting out another sob, Rachel leans forward on the sofa, dropping her head into her hands as she lets her tears come. Her thoughts spiral back through the years, searching for the moment that her current predicament had taken shape.
It certainly wasn't in high school. While witnessing everything that Quinn had gone through with her pregnancy had certainly made Rachel think twice about having sex before she was ready, in the end, it hadn't really changed anything for her. At sixteen, she'd felt invincible, and she'd simply decided that her future plans wouldn't dare to be disrupted by a pesky little thing like reality. She'd had her life planned out—the general end results if not every intricate detail of how to get there.
What she'd told Quinn in college had been true—Rachel had never bothered to think through the particulars of maintaining a long-term, successful, multi-faceted career in the entertainment industry while also trying to raise a family. She'd naively believed that she was just so exceptionally talented that all of the roles and awards she'd ever wanted would practically fall into her lap by the time she was twenty-five, and then maybe she could take a tiny, little three to four year break to get married and pop out two perfect kids in quick succession before jumping back into performing. Obviously, her chosen husband would be there waiting in the wings to do his part by marrying her when she told him to, impregnating her, and then taking care of the kids while she went back to work.
That abstract plan had been blown out of the water when she'd been forced to imagine actually being pregnant with Finn Hudson's baby at eighteen, having to drop out of school and get married to a guy who was barely earning enough money to pay his half of the rent in a job he'd hated—a guy who, no matter how sweet he'd been, had still needed Rachel to write down his schedule, draw him maps to the subway with step-by-step directions to wherever he'd needed to go, and budget out his money to get him through the day. Finn could have never taken care of a child at the time, and neither could she—not when she'd already been struggling to take care of herself and Finn even with little to no real responsibility on their shoulders.
She'd been so relieved when she'd finally gotten her period, and she'd sworn then and there that she wouldn't ever put herself in that position again until she was absolutely ready to have a child.
But living in New York, struggling to be good enough to win even the tiniest accolade from the instructors in her classes, and witnessing the work ethic and talent of her fellow classmates had thrown Rachel into the realization that nothing would be falling into her lap easily. She was going to have to work her ass off for every little success, and bringing a child into the life of a struggling actress had felt impossible to her at the time.
There hadn't been a reason to reevaluate her decision for years. She'd rebounded from Finn with Daniel, and then she'd dated Steven for all of three months—happy enough with their platonic relationship until she hadn't been. Charlie and Adam had been mistakes on every level—short but hardly sweet—and Peter, even though Rachel had genuinely loved him for a time, had never really felt like the one. Maybe that was because, on some level, her heart had already decided that Quinn was the one.
But Quinn could never get her pregnant—accidentally or otherwise. And Quinn already had a daughter, and for so long, she'd seemed so conflicted about Beth and the idea of more kids. And maybe Rachel had been a little relieved when it seemed like Quinn might not be in any hurry to complicate their idyllic life with a baby of their own.
It doesn't mean that Rachel never wants kids.
It doesn't.
Kids are wonderful.
But they're expensive. And they need a lot of attention. And things. Kids need things—like food and clothes and toys and doctors and medicine and space and education and patience and at least eighteen years of constant care and devotion.
And is she hyperventilating?
Rachel lifts her head and inhales deeply, struggling to even out her breathing and dissipate her minor anxiety attack. She still feels sick from her argument with Quinn, and the guilt that's currently raining down on top of her isn't helping the situation.
She really hadn't been lying to Quinn or putting her off or just saying what she wanted to hear. Maybe it had taken Rachel a few years to embrace the idea of starting a family, but when she'd promised her wife that she wanted that someday, she'd meant it. It's just—someday isn't supposed to happen this soon!
Rachel still has so many things she needs to accomplish with her career, and despite what Quinn seems to think, having a baby will mean that Rachel won't be able to devote the same level of time and energy to all of those other things she wants to do—not if she's devoting time and energy to a child as well. Something has to give, and Rachel is terrified it will be her—that she'll make the wrong choices and fail as a mother because she still wants everything too much.
Failing her own child would devastate her.
She's not ready to face that possibility—not yet. She just needs more time to get everything in order—to really establish herself in the industry and work out a good, solid five (or eight) year plan. Quinn has to understand that, doesn't she?
"Of course, she does," Rachel whispers shakily. "We'll start our family someday," she promises, but Oliver is the only one there to hear it, eyeing her curiously from his perch on the chair before making the leap over to the sofa and cuddling up next to her.
Rachel sinks her fingers into his soft fur and cries a little more, wishing that babies were as easy to take care of as their cat—the cat that still seems to like Quinn just a little bit more.
Fifty-seven minutes pass before Rachel gets a text that simply says, I'm at Santana's. I'll be home later.
It's already late, and Rachel frowns, wondering exactly when Quinn showed up at Santana's apartment and how much she's sharing about what took her there. The idea of Santana knowing this particular bit of their personal business doesn't sit well with Rachel for reasons she can't quite articulate. It feels too intimate, too private, too much like something that no one else should ever know.
It's what keeps Rachel from picking up the phone and calling Kurt or her dads to vent her own frustrations—that and the fear that they'll judge her or take Quinn's side.
There shouldn't be any sides for this.
Rachel hates this feeling. She wants Quinn home so that they can talk this out, reach some sort of resolution, and get back to their life. She'd thought everything was pretty wonderful right now—that they were both happy. Quinn has her books and a potential film deal in the works, and Rachel has her show. She's even been tinkering around with some lyrics, thinking she might try to write a few songs and get serious about a recording contract while she maybe tries to crossover into television with a guest role or two.
When did Quinn come down with such an acute case of baby fever? And how had Rachel missed it happening?
Maybe she really is that self-involved.
"Or maybe Quinn just dropped a baby bomb in my lap with no warning and let it explode in my face," Rachel mutters under her breath as she finishes cleaning up the kitchen in an effort to not dwell on the lateness of the hour or the fact that Quinn isn't home yet.
She should be in bed, happily curled into her wife and drifting into blissful dreams so that she can be well-rested for another long day of tech rehearsals tomorrow. She's so close to the first Broadway preview, and even though they'd gotten fairly good reviews in Chicago, a show can live or die by word of mouth after its premiere on the Great White Way. Rachel needs to be at her best on Tuesday night, and thanks to Quinn, she feels like that might be an impossibility now.
She's just about ready to call Santana directly and ask if Quinn is still there when she hears the door to their apartment finally open. Rachel rushes to meet her wife, nearly tripping over Oliver, who's doing the same thing.
"Quinn, you're home," she exclaims gratefully, studying Quinn's face in an attempt to gauge her current mood.
"I'm home," Quinn repeats flatly as she tosses her purse on the table. There's a slight rasp in her voice—the one she gets when she's been crying—and her eyes are glassy and red.
Rachel's stomach clenches again. "I was starting to worry."
Quinn shrugs. "I texted you."
She brushes past Rachel on her way to the kitchen, and Rachel follows after her with a troubled frown. "Yes, well, saying only that you were at Santana's apartment doesn't make me not worry."
"I can't help that," Quinn mutters, pausing to glance briefly around the clean kitchen with a blank expression before reaching for a glass in the cabinet.
Rachel watches her pour herself some water and take a sip before she leans heavily against the counter. There's an air of exhaustion in her posture, and her eyes resolutely refuse to meet Rachel's worried gaze. Rachel feels the weight on her chest increase, and she unconsciously begins to twist her wedding rings around her finger. "Did you…did you tell her…?"
"I needed to vent," Quinn admits unapologetically, and Rachel purses her lips, nodding jerkily. She can only imagine Santana's response to whatever Quinn might have said. "Don't worry," Quinn chides with a huff, finally meeting Rachel's eyes—her own snapping with mild annoyance. "Teresa had to work tonight, so she wasn't there, and Santana promised not to say anything to anyone until we figure out our shit."
Rachel suspects that was probably the least disdainful thing that Santana had said on the subject. "Do I need to worry that she'll show up and slap me for disappointing you?"
Quinn puffs out a frustrated breath. "She isn't taking sides," she reveals resignedly before turning to dump the rest of her water into the sink.
"Oh," Rachel breathes, a little surprised to hear that. Then again, she doesn't think Santana is in any big hurry to say hello to motherhood either, so maybe she might actually be sympathetic to Rachel's position. "Did talking to her help?"
Quinn shrugs again. "Maybe."
She's back to not meeting Rachel's eyes again, and aside from the one brief flash of irritation, Quinn's emotions are currently locked down tight. Rachel doesn't like it one bit. "Are…are we okay?" she asks haltingly.
"No."
The answer comes quickly, thrown at her with an air of detachment, and Rachel feels it cut through her like blade. "No?" she repeats in a pained whisper, clutching at her rolling stomach. In the space of a few seconds, Rachel envisions her marriage falling apart and Quinn packing up all her belongings and leaving—all because Rachel isn't ready for a baby yet.
Quinn's jaw tenses visibly as she shakes her head. "I can't just…be okay right now, Rachel. I need more time to…to get back to a place where I can be. So I'm sleeping in the other room tonight," she announces, pushing off the counter and brushing past Rachel again.
Rachel spins around quickly, grabbing for Quinn's hand to stop her. "Please don't do that," she begs tearfully.
Quinn stiffens under her touch, drawing in a deep breath and clearly struggling to keep her composure. "I'm probably going to cry myself to sleep tonight," she confesses in a strained voice, "and if…when I do, I really don't want you trying to comfort me." The admission cuts Rachel to the core, and she whimpers pathetically. "So it's better if you just let me have my space."
"For how long?" Rachel questions desperately.
Quinn's glistening eyes narrow. "I can't really predict when I'll be ready, Rachel," she spits cattily, echoing words that Rachel had used earlier.
Rachel chokes back a sob and lets go of Quinn's hand, nodding erratically. "O-okay. I…I probably deserve that."
Quinn sighs raggedly and runs a hand over her eyes, wiping away her tears. "No. You don't," she denies quietly. "I just…I'm obviously still disappointed," she admits sadly, "and I really don't want to make things worse by lashing out at you. You're not ready to have kids, and I…I have to accept that," she resolves, sniffling a little as she brushes away another stray tear. "I will. Eventually," she vows, and it almost seems like she's trying to convince herself more than Rachel. "But not tonight."
Rachel nods again, unable to do anything else but accept Quinn's need for time and space. "I…I understand," she promises, watching her wife turn and make her way through the apartment to the second bedroom while Rachel slowly shuffles along behind her—her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. There's still a distinct possibility that her dinner will make an unwelcome reappearance at some point tonight.
"Quinn," Rachel calls out right before Quinn disappears into the bedroom, grateful when she stops and turns her gaze back over her shoulder. "I love you," she says softly, trying to convey with her words and her eyes and her entire being just how very true those words are.
Quinn's eyes close, and her posture seems to deflate. "I know you do, Rachel. I love you too. I just can't talk to you right now." And with that, she slips inside the room and closes the door behind her with a quiet click.
Rachel lifts a hand to her mouth, silencing her sobs as she stares sorrowfully at the closed door. She feels sick—sick and sad and filled with the kind of soul-deep remorse that makes her want to crawl under a rock and never come out. She hates fighting with Quinn. She hates disappointing her even more. And she hates knowing that she's forcing Quinn to sacrifice something she so obviously wants.
But Rachel just can't see a way for them to reach a happy compromise right now.
With her heart breaking into a million pieces, she drags herself into the bedroom, drowning in a fresh wave of tears when her gaze lands on the bed that she'll be sleeping in alone tonight.
In fact, Rachel doesn't exactly sleep at all. She stares tearfully at the ceiling for the first hour or so, vacillating between guilt over her own aversion to starting a family and frustration with Quinn for being so obstinate in her all-or-nothing mentality.
So what if Rachel hasn't been actively planning for a baby yet? She's been kind of busy for the last few years planning her proposal to Quinn and then planning their wedding and planning around her schedule with Funny Girl so she could enjoy her newlywed state with Quinn to the best of her ability. And then she'd planned their honeymoon in Paris at the same time she'd been planning her next career move—and really, Confessions has eaten up a huge chunk of her time and energy over the last six months. When did she even have time to think about children?
Obviously, Quinn hasn't shared that particular problem.
Rachel rolls over on the mattress, punching at her pillow before she rubs at her tired, tear-gritty eyes. The bed feels too big and far too cold without Quinn next to her, and she dejectedly wonders how long it will be before Quinn will be ready to sleep beside her again.
At some point, Rachel does manage to fall into a brief, fitful sleep. The images behind her eyelids force her to see Quinn, smiling and happy with a baby cradled tenderly in her arms. Rachel can't seem to see the baby's face—she can only hear the cries—so she tries to get closer, feeling an increasing sense of desperation to hold them both, but every time she thinks she's close enough to touch them, Quinn slips farther away until she's laughing at Rachel and reminding her, 'you didn't want this anyway.'
Needless to say, Rachel is not feeling her best in the morning. She stumbles out of the bedroom, nearly tripping over Oliver again as he begs her for his breakfast, and into the bathroom, cringing when she gets a good look at her red, puffy eyes and the dark circles beneath them. She does the best she can with what she has to work with before padding out to the kitchen.
She honestly doesn't expect to find Quinn there. She'd figured her wife would still be barricaded in the other bedroom until after Rachel had left for the theatre, but Quinn is up and about, wearing the old robe she keeps in the back of the spare closet and frying up a few slices of French toast while the coffee brews. She doesn't look much better than Rachel feels.
"Good morning," Rachel greets timidly, slipping into the kitchen next to Quinn.
Quinn's only response is a gruff, "Morning."
Rachel ignores Oliver's eager chirps for food, focusing all her attention on her wife as she offers a tentative smile. "I…I missed you last night. You know I can't sleep without you."
"I didn't exactly sleep well either," Quinn admits tiredly, keeping her attention on the skillet as she flips a piece of toast over, "but being in the same bed wouldn't have changed that."
The words aren't said with any kind of spite—just a tired resignation—but they still settle heavily on Rachel's heart, and she reaches for her wife, laying a hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry, baby. Tell me what to do. How do I fix this?" she pleads, willing to do anything—well, almost anything—to get them back on solid ground.
Quinn shakes her head sadly. "You can't."
Rachel swallows heavily, feeling tears prick at her eyes again at the stoic acceptance in Quinn's tone and the quiet sorrow in her expression. She watches Quinn transfer a few pieces of the toast to a waiting plate, routinely going on with her day as if it's any other despite her unhappiness, and she thinks about all of the other times in the past when Quinn has had to push her own desires away and deal with disappointment without letting anyone see her pain.
"I don't want us to be broken," Rachel whimpers.
Quinn sighs. "We're not broken," she promises, turning to Rachel and offering her the plate with a thin smile that's more rueful than reassuring. "We're just a little bent right now."
"Quinn…"
"You should eat your breakfast," Quinn interrupts, nodding down to the plate she's still holding. "You have to get to rehearsal on time."
Frowning, Rachel reluctantly takes the plate. "I can call in sick."
"And do what?" Quinn challenges with an arched brow. "Keep apologizing for something you can't change? Engage in a few more pointless, circular conversations that do nothing but frustrate both of us?" She briefly closes her eyes, shaking her head again, before she pointedly orders Rachel to, "Go to the theatre. Focus on your show. I'll be here when you get home."
"Do you really think I'll be able to focus on performing today?" she questions petulantly, even though she knows that Quinn is right. Staying here and continuing to have the same conversation won't make anything better—in fact, it might only end up making everything worse.
"I think you're exceptionally talented and dedicated to your craft," Quinn responds easily. "A Rachel Berry off-day performance is still better than average."
Despite her general unrest, Rachel finds her mouth quirking up at the corner just a little because even when Quinn is mad at her, she still believes in her talent without hesitation—although being any shade of average, even better than, is unacceptable.
It would be even more unacceptable when it comes to motherhood.
The wayward thought has Rachel's tiny smile slipping away in an instant, and she averts her gaze from Quinn as the guilt churns in her stomach again. What little there was of her appetite disappears, but she dutifully takes her plate to the table and attempts to eat some of her breakfast, if for no other reason than that Quinn had made it for her. It sits as heavily in her stomach as Quinn's disappointment does on her heart.
xx
There's no happy resolution—no easy solution to send them quickly back into their blissful life. Rachel goes to her rehearsal (that's a clumsy, distracted mess so far from even being average that Rachel nearly cries) and returns home to a quiet, withdrawn Quinn. There's dinner on the table, and the anger and accusations have drained away, but there's a distance between them that Rachel doesn't know how to bridge.
Quinn sleeps in their bed that night, but she stays on her side of the mattress, refusing to breach the invisible wall between them.
In the days that follow, they simply don't talk about it. Their conversations about other subjects gradually lose a little of the strain, and their bodies gravitate closer to each other during the nights. But Rachel knows it's still there. She can feel it hanging between them like a fog, and she can see it lingering in sad, hazel eyes.
Quinn is there in the front row for the first Broadway preview of Confessions, cheering Rachel on, and to anyone looking, everything is exactly as it should be. Rachel has a good show with good reviews, and her wife is there supporting her with a proud smile on her lips—and if that smile doesn't always reach her eyes in quite the same way it used to, no one but Rachel notices.
It will take time. Rachel knows that. The tension between them is already fading away in tiny increments, and she knows if she just rides it out, they can put this behind them eventually.
Except they can't.
Rachel knows that too. Quinn's longing for a baby will always be there, hidden away in her heart, and Rachel will always be able to see it now. Oh, she's confident that she could expertly ignore it—she's done that enough in the past with other unpleasant truths that she didn't want to face—but she loves her wife too deeply to push this aside and never let it bother her.
It's bothering her.
It had been so easy to push the subject of babies to the side and forget about it when everything had been hypothetical and Quinn had been content to wait, but Quinn isn't content anymore, so Rachel keeps turning the issue over and over in her mind, looking for some solution that doesn't make her feel like she's on the verge of losing something vital with any decision she might make.
Because she does want everything that Quinn wants.
Someday.
And when exactly is this much discussed someday? whispers through her mind, taunting her.
Rachel doesn't have an answer, and she knows if she could only find one, she'd be able to fix this.
Her unsettled state is what has her sitting in the park eleven days after the baby bomb was dropped. Her show is still technically in previews until the end of the week, and Derek is still tweaking some of the choreography for maximum impact on this particular stage with the final working sets, so Rachel is still dealing with a few hours of rehearsals before the performances. She's attempting to enjoy the break between today's rehearsal and her seven o'clock show, soaking up the evening sun and the fresh air as she tries to keep her mind from dwelling on the lingering moments of melancholy that she senses in Quinn.
It's not working.
Not when she's noticing every family that happens to pass by—husbands and wives with rambunctious sons and daughters racing ahead of them, mothers with baby strollers doing their evening power walks to get back into shape, a father in a rumpled suit and loose tie giving his giggling daughter a piggyback ride, and a young mother jogging along beside her little girl as she wobbles precariously on her bicycle.
In the blink of an eye, Rachel imagines that it's Quinn racing along beside their daughter with protective arms outstretched to catch her if she falls, and the pang of longing she experiences brings tears to her eyes. She can picture it so perfectly—Quinn with her wide, joyful smile as she cheers on a beautiful little girl with blonde hair and hazel eyes and a fiercely determined expression.
Rachel wants that for Quinn—so very much—but whenever she tries to imagine herself in the picture, she keeps coming up empty.
Because you won't be there, she silently berates herself. You'll be off doing a show or on tour or stuck in a studio or auditioning because you need applause to live, and Quinn will be teaching your child how to ride a bike on her own exactly like that woman is doing.
And they'll both hate you for it as much as you'll hate yourself.
Shaking her head to dislodge the unhappy thought, Rachel wipes away the stray tears that had escaped down her cheeks and pulls herself up off the bench. She has a show to get to after all.
xx
"You were wonderful tonight. I'm so proud of you," Quinn says with a smile—a real one that reaches her eyes—as she hands Rachel a single rose in her dressing room after her performance.
Rachel takes the rose with a shy grin, lifting it to her nose to inhale the sweet scent. "Even though you've already seen the show over a dozen times?"
Quinn shrugs. "Opening nights are still special." And she'd still insisted on being there, front and center, even though Confessions has been playing in previews at this theatre for two weeks already.
"It still means everything to me that you're here for all of them," Rachel tells her appreciatively.
Quinn gently strokes Rachel's cheek, leaning in to brush a soft kiss over her lips, and Rachel revels in the contact. They've been steadily working their way back to the comfortable affection that has marked their relationship for so long, but the kisses have been a bit slower in coming, and Rachel has missed them more than she can say. All too soon, Quinn is pulling away, but she's still smiling softly, and that smile is everything to Rachel.
"Come on, we have a party to get you to," Quinn urges, dropping her hand and stepping back.
Rachel sighs, not particularly eager to attend the party. She'd much rather sign some autographs at the stage door before going home with Quinn to enjoy a few extra hours of sleep, but she knows she has to at least make an appearance. So she carefully lays her rose on her vanity table, finishes removing the last traces of Iris from her face and body, and changes into her dress before she and Quinn take a private car to Espace on 42nd Street where they'll rub elbows with her cast, crew, investors, and the A-List members of the audience who'd scored an invitation tonight. Rachel has come a long way from buying drinks for her friends at the bar that Robert Tremaine had rented out on the opening night of West Side Story.
Oh, some of her friends are here tonight too after attending the performance as Rachel's guests. Kurt and Harry are making connections with a few celebrities who seem as eager to wear a Kurt Hummel Original as he is to dress them for their next event. And Santana is taking advantage of the free hors d'oeuvres and open bar with Teresa at her side, looking a little star struck by some of the attendees and no doubt trying to think up an appropriately smooth approach to promoting her art to them. Josie had actually sweet-talked Sarah into attending the performance with her, and they'd given Rachel a lovely bouquet of irises (undoubtedly Josie's idea) to congratulate her when they'd briefly popped into her dressing room, but they'd opted out of the party because it isn't really Sarah's kind of thing—and really, putting Sarah Cartwright in a roomful of Broadway performers, producers, and enthusiasts probably isn't the best idea anyway. Her opinion on theater hasn't improved much over the years.
Actually, Rachel might be feeling just a tiny bit jealous of Sarah right now, because she's undoubtedly at home cuddled up with the woman she loves and not stuck in an uncomfortable dress and heels that pinch while she smiles her way through tedious conversations. Rachel shouldn't be feeling this way! She loves all of the attention and accolades that she's receiving for her performance—of course she does!—but she can't seem to enjoy any of it the way she should be.
Her eyes keep drifting to Quinn, who's wearing her own perfected smile and nodding along with (fake) interest to whatever is being said to her, and Rachel can't help but remember that Quinn does things like this for her—stands proudly at her side and charms her costars and producers because she wants to help Rachel achieve everything she desires. It makes Rachel's guilt over impeding one of Quinn's desires rise back to the surface with the force of a volcano, and she glances away remorsefully.
Unfortunately, her eyes land on Santana, who happens to be looking in her direction at the moment. Santana offers her a smile as she lifts her glass of champagne in silent toast, and there's no reason to think it's anything but a genuine gesture of congratulations, but because Rachel knows that Santana knows, she imagines it to be a silent challenge to her to stop being such a fucking coward.
It's not. Rachel knows it's not. She'd spoken to Santana not long after Quinn had shared their current disagreement with her, and Santana had confirmed in her Santana-way that she doesn't think either one of them is exactly wrong in what they want.
"I mean, I totally get why you wouldn't be ready. Kids are noisy, messy, smelly, little time-sucks," Santana had told her shamelessly, making Rachel wince at the bluntness. "But I also kinda get where Q is coming from," she'd added with a casual shrug. "The kid she popped out at sixteen is a year away from being a teenager herself. It probably makes the whole need to breed feel a little more urgent for her than it does for you or me."
The memory of Santana's words is still echoing in her ears when Rachel fully tunes back into the discussion around her. Her costar, Mark, had wandered over to join them in their conversation with the show's creator, Zachary, and his wife, Robin. Mark isn't exactly Rachel's favorite leading man. He's talented, obviously, and Rachel supposes he's nice enough in general, but he's been a little too fascinated by Rachel's marriage to Quinn in that way that too many men are whenever they imagine two attractive women together.
"So, Quinn," Mark says with a grin that he undoubtedly thinks is charming. "I imagine you'll be happy to finally take a break from the show now that we're officially open. I think you might have seen it more than Zach has at this point," he jokes, giving Zach a hardy pat on the back and earning a chuckle from him.
Rachel doesn't really find it overly amusing—she's proud to have Quinn in the audience to support her so often—and she feels a certain satisfaction when Quinn smiles politely and unabashedly tells Mark, "I enjoy watching Rachel perform."
"Spoken like a true stage wife," Zachary comments, sending an appreciative smile to his own wife. Robin has probably listened to every song and line of dialogue that Zachary has ever written more times than Rachel can even conceive, and the indulgent smile that she bestows on her husband is confirmation of that.
"It's nice that you have the flexibility to come see it so often though," Robin adds thoughtfully, looking back to Quinn. "You don't have to rearrange a work schedule to fit with Rachel's, and you don't have to worry about getting a sitter for any little ones on these late nights."
Rachel sucks in a quick breath as her gaze flies to Quinn. She watches the quiet pain fill in her wife's eyes, but Quinn smiles through it—frozen and polite despite the wound that Robin had unknowingly ripped open. "No. No worries there," Quinn confirms stiffly. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom," she explains, barely waiting for an acknowledgment before she slips away.
Rachel watches her go with a lump in her throat and an ache in her heart before glancing back to her companions with a weak smile. None of them seem at all concerned with Quinn's hasty departure, and Rachel knows it's a testament to Quinn's own formidable acting skills. "I'm actually feeling a bit parched. I think I need to go get some water," she announces, needing to make her own escape so she can go check on her wife.
"Oh, by all means," Zachary encourages. "You have to take care of that golden throat."
She forces herself to smile just a little wider as she nods. "Thank you, Zachary. For everything," she adds, grateful for the opportunity that he's given her. "It truly is a wonderful show. I'm proud to be a part of it." And with a final nod, she bids them goodnight before bypassing the bar and wait staff on her way to the women's bathroom.
She pushes open the door and immediately sees Quinn, standing with her head bowed and her palms pressed to the counter surrounding the sinks.
"Quinn, are you okay?" Rachel asks softly, aware that they're not the only ones in here.
Quinn inhales deeply, squaring her shoulders as she lifts her head to meet Rachel's worried eyes. "I'm fine," she answers with a tight smile. "Just needed to use the bathroom."
She's lying, of course. Rachel knows her wife too well to believe that Robin's innocent comment hadn't affected her deeply, and she knows without a doubt that Quinn longs for them to have those little ones to worry about—little ones she'd be happily at home with right now while Rachel would be stuck here fulfilling the obligations that come with her chosen career.
A familiar ache blossoms inside of Rachel at the thought, and she sucks in a little breath. "You know, I'm incredibly tired. Why don't we go home?" They've been here nearly two hours already—that's long enough.
Quinn studies her for a long moment. "If that's what you want," she finally agrees.
"It is," Rachel confirms with a nod.
It takes them another twenty minutes to say their goodbyes and be on their way, and the ride back to their apartment is made in near silence. It isn't that Quinn is refusing to talk to her—she meets each of Rachel's tentative attempts to make conversation with a gracious (if brief) response—but the two feet between them in the backseat feels more like a thousand miles, and the distance makes Rachel want to cry.
It makes her wish she could give Quinn what she wants.
Not just Quinn, Rachel admits to herself. She wants it too. She wants to see Quinn with a child that she'll be able to keep and raise and love, and she wants to have that for herself—to be a mother who's there for her child for all of the important moments.
So why can't she take that leap of faith and just say yes?
The question plagues Rachel as they make their way up to their apartment, as she gives Oliver his (after) midnight snack, as she changes out of her dress and into sleep shorts and a tank top, and as she waits for Quinn to finish her own nightly routine in the bathroom. It keeps her sitting up in their bed against the headboard with the lights on until Quinn comes back into the room, looking suspiciously red-eyed, and switches off the light, only to frown when Rachel immediately snaps on the lamp beside their bed.
"Quinn? Can...can we talk?"
"About what?" Quinn asks warily.
Rachel takes a breath and draws her knees up to her chest. "The elephant-sized baby carriage that's been in the room for the last few weeks."
Quinn's shoulders sag, and she sighs raggedly. "It's really late, Rachel, and I don't particularly want to talk about this again," she dismisses coolly as she moves around the bed.
Rachel watches her turn down the sheets on her half of the mattress with a frown. "I hate feeling like you're mad at me."
Quinn's hand stills, and she looks up and into Rachel's eyes. "I'm not mad at you."
"Disappointed, then," Rachel amends.
Quinn sighs again—tired and defeated—as she glances away. "I'm trying not to be. I know you…you don't want the same things I want," she says sadly, moving her gaze back to Rachel. "I'm dealing with that, but it's not going to happen overnight, okay?"
Rachel purses her lips, digging her fingernails into her thighs as she watches Quinn begin crawl into bed next to her. "I do," she blurts out, forcing Quinn to pause with one knee on the mattress and look up at Rachel in confusion. "I do want those things, Quinn," Rachel says in a rush, shifting her legs so that she can turn toward her wife with wide, imploring eyes. "I know you think I don't because I haven't…I haven't jumped in with a thousand plans and backup plans. And you're right," she admits shakily, pushing nervous fingers through her hair. "I almost always do that when I want something. But I…I'm scared," she finally confesses with tears in her eyes. "I'm completely terrified of becoming a mother. And of everything that means."
There it is—out in the open. The simple truth with no other excuses to complicate the matter. Rachel is afraid to take this step.
Quinn exhales unevenly, sinking the rest of the way onto the mattress before collapsing back against the headboard in a position that nearly mirrors her wife. Her eyes travel curiously over Rachel's face. "Do you think I'm not scared?" she finally asks in a soft voice.
"No. No, but it's different for you, Quinn," Rachel insists, brushing away a tear. "You…you already are a mother. Even having given Beth up, you still love her the same way you would if you'd been able to raise her. You know the fear and the joy and the…the sacrifice that comes with having a child of your own." In fact, Quinn has known the sacrifice far more intimately than she ever should have. "I think that's probably why you're so certain now that you want another chance to experience everything you've missed."
Quinn scoffs. "You think I want a do-over?"
Rachel runs her tongue across her lips to moisten them. "Isn't that part of it?"
"It isn't that simple," Quinn argues with a shake of her head. "I mean, yes, getting a second chance at motherhood is obviously a factor," she admits, sitting up straighter against the headboard as she crosses her legs on the mattress and stares out at their dimly lit bedroom with a thoughtful frown.
"I…I hated being pregnant with Beth," she confesses quietly—remembered pain in her voice. "I was miserable and resentful and terrified. And alone," she adds with a mild scowl. "Puck said he would be there for me but he wasn't. Not when it really mattered. And maybe I was pushing him away because he was the last person I wanted to be going through all of that with," she concedes with a shrug, turning her head to glance back at Rachel, "but he really sucked at being supportive."
Rachel frowns as she recalls little snippets of conversations that she'd overheard so many years ago—comments that Noah had made about Quinn's weight or her moods and Finn's remark about him still fooling around with all the cheerleaders while Quinn was carrying his child. Rachel really wishes she would have punched Puckerman right in the nose.
"So, yeah, there is a part of me…a pretty big part…that really wants the chance to experience the other side of that," Quinn continues with a soft smile blossoming on her lips. "All the joy and the happiness and hope and excitement that's supposed to come with expecting a baby with someone who loves me." Quinn shifts on the bed then, turning to face Rachel. "But I want all of that specifically with you, Rach," she stresses, reaching out to clasp Rachel's hand where it rests on the mattress. "Because I love you, and I think you're the most amazing woman I've ever known, and I really want to have your babies because I know they'll be beautiful and brilliant and talented and just…so full of life and love and big plans to make the world a better place."
There's a brightness in Quinn's eyes as she speaks that hasn't been there in weeks, and it takes Rachel's breath away—or maybe that's the picture that Quinn is painting of their brilliant, talented babies. Rachel's stomach does an odd little swoop when she realizes that Quinn is actually voicing one of the fleeting, half-formed daydreams that Rachel had entertained at least once in the past—the one where Quinn is ridiculously in love with her and wants to have her multi-talented babies.
Rachel can't stop the tiny, awed smile that pulls at her lips. "When you say it like that…it all sounds so perfect," she acknowledges wistfully.
Quinn rolls her eyes, chuckling just a little as she lets go of Rachel's hand. "Oh, I know it won't be perfect. It will be messy and stressful and exhausting and, yeah, more responsibility than either of us has ever had before," she recognizes, chasing Rachel's smile into oblivion, "but it'd be so worth it," she breathes with such longing.
Rachel isn't convinced. "What if we really screw it up?" she challenges.
"We won't," Quinn promises without hesitation.
Rachel frowns at her. Quinn is supposed to be the pragmatic one between the two of them. "You can't know that."
"Neither can you," Quinn counters with a frown of her own. "Is that what you're waiting for?" she asks with growing realization in her eyes. "Some guarantee that we'll have perfect children and never make mistakes with them? Because I can pretty much guarantee that they'll be a handful," she says with an almost fond smile, "and we'll probably mess up with them more than once."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Rachel mutters, imagining all the ways they could mess up their kids—well, her more than Quinn.
"Everyone is afraid of screwing up their kids, Rachel," Quinn points out wearily. "Most people don't let it stop them from becoming parents, but then I guess those people are willing to make the time to try."
Rachel can't miss the muted resentment in Quinn's words, and she shakes her head in frustration. "I know you think I'm choosing my career over having a family with you, Quinn, but you're wrong. I'm not choosing it. I'm just acutely aware of what keeping it will mean," she argues doggedly, ignoring Quinn's irritated huff of protest. "And I know," she continues hurriedly before Quinn can cut in with an attempt to nullify Rachel's very valid concerns about this. "I know you think that you accept all of that, and you want me to keep working. It all sounds so simple when you say it, but even if I make the time right now or next year or… or whenever…for us to have a baby, eventually there'll be another role that I'll want to take or a project I'll need to do," she warns, finally pausing to take a shaky breath as she twists her fingers into the bedding beneath her. "And I'll have to be gone at ungodly hours and have no free weekends or…or I'll have to leave you and the baby to go on tour, and I'm going to miss things, Quinn. Important things," she stresses frantically, feeling the sting of fresh tears threatening to fall. "First steps or first words or first days of school, and you'll be here experiencing all of those things all alone, and our child is going to wonder why…why I'm never around," she finishes with a tremor in her voice.
Quinn's entire posture seems to soften as comprehension flashes in her eyes. "Rach, sweetheart," she begins gently, reaching for Rachel's hand again. "I know there'll be times when you won't be able to be here because of some other commitment. I'm not pretending it won't be hard. It'll suck, but it won't happen all the time. I know you'll be here as much as you can be."
"You'll know that," Rachel acknowledges, tugging her hand out of Quinn's grasp. "But will our child? Will they care? Or will they only care that their mother wasn't there for them?" Rachel runs the pads of her finger beneath her eyes to dry the salty trails of moisture that have slipped out with the pain of all of her imagined absences.
"Oh, Rachel," Quinn whispers sympathetically before her lips part to say something more—to undoubtedly reassure Rachel that won't happen—but Rachel hastily cuts her off.
"Look…I…I love my dads, Quinn. You know how much I love them. For the most part, they're wonderful parents, but they weren't always available the way I…I needed them to be," she reluctantly admits.
There were so many times when she'd looked for them at her recitals and performances and competitions, hoping against hope that they'd somehow managed to make it there, only to be disappointed time and time again.
"I know Hiram went back to work when you were still pretty young," Quinn murmurs in understanding.
"I was ten," Rachel confirms with a nod. She's shared a lot of things about her childhood with Quinn over the years—so many that she can't really remember what pieces she might have missed and which stories she's told more than once. Quinn never seems to stop her from talking, even when she's repeating herself. "He and Dad…they agreed that I was very mature for my age and could handle the responsibility of being home for those few hours by myself. And I had so many afterschool activities…dance classes and singing lessons," she recalls with a vague, semi-nostalgic smile. "There really weren't that many evenings when I'd be completely alone. So on the days I had lessons, I'd simply take the bus route from school that was closest to my destination and walk the rest of the way there, and Daddy would pick me up after. He was usually there on time, but some evenings he'd get tied up at the office or with a client, and I'd have to wait a little longer," she recalls, thinking of those occasions when her instructor would be the only one left—stuck impatiently waiting with Rachel until Hiram Berry pulled up with rapid apologies and a charming smile.
Quinn's expression darkens a little as she no doubt imagines the times when Rachel had been left to fend for herself. "You never told me that."
Rachel shrugs dismissively. "I suppose it never seemed overly important." And she never wants Quinn to think less of her fathers or to make them feel guilty for things that couldn't be helped and can't be changed now. "They were there whenever they could be, but they were both busy with careers that they loved, and they couldn't always get away. They made up for any missed recitals or performances with a family activity scheduled at some more convenient time or by spoiling me with whatever else I asked them for," and Rachel had learned to take advantage of that particular perk rather quickly, "so I convinced myself that it didn't really matter that they weren't always around. And when I got to high school and started coming home covered in grape slush, I was mostly relieved that they weren't there to see it."
Rachel can almost feel the guilt radiating off her wife at the bitter reminder of their past. "Oh, Rachel, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for my part in that," Quinn apologizes shamefully.
"You never actually threw one."
"I might as well have."
Rachel shakes her head dismissively, having forgiven Quinn for her past transgressions so very long ago. "My point is that I know what it's like to have parents who aren't always available when they should be," she says, getting the conversation back on track. "Even though I know my dads mostly had valid reasons," except for those few occasions when they'd flitted off on some couple's getaway in the middle of the week, "it doesn't change the way it made me feel every time I had a performance or…or just a really bad day and they weren't there to support me."
She'd felt deserted and kind of inconsequential—exposed to the judgment and ridicule of her peers without protection—and she'd wondered what was wrong with her that no one seemed to want to drop everything to proudly stand behind her. She'd hated that feeling. "And having them compensate for their lack of time with material things, like musical instruments and elaborate recording equipment, or by giving me even more freedom to do whatever I wanted didn't really help me in the long run. It just made me expect bigger rewards for being so willing to forgive them." And maybe that had also conditioned her to expect some kind of reward for so easily forgiving everyone else in her life—like unconditional love, admiration, and lifelong devotion from her friends and significant others.
"My dads were never the best with rules and discipline to begin with, and you know I've never been very good at observing boundaries. It got to the point where, even when I asked for ridiculous and potentially self-destructive things, like being permitted to marry my boyfriend at seventeen, they couldn't bring themselves to outright deny me. I don't want to make the same mistakes with my child," Rachel laments, willing Quinn to understand what she's trying to say.
"Oh, believe me, our daughter will never be permitted to marry anyone like Finn Hudson," Quinn vows firmly, her lips turning down into a mild scowl, "or even get within a thousand feet of anyone like Noah Puckerman."
"I'm being serious, Quinn," Rachel chastises with a frown.
A single, blonde eyebrow arches pointedly. "So am I."
If Rachel's mind were in a different place right now, she'd probably be able to envision Quinn scaring all of their daughter's suitors away, but she can't really focus on anything outside of her own potential inadequacy as a parent. "I'm so terrified that I won't be any better than my dads in terms of being there for our child and that I'll actually be so much worse," she confesses, worrying her lip as her eyes dart away from Quinn's steady gaze. "What if I end up being an absentee mother who tries to overcompensate for it by agreeing to whatever our child wants out of guilt?"
"I won't let that happen, Rachel," Quinn promises—or she tries to, but Rachel's fears are already dragging her down another of the endless, winding corridors of her potential maternal shortcomings.
"And then there's the fact that I never had a mother figure. I certainly don't think I needed a mom growing up," Rachel maintains, forever loyal to her fathers despite their flaws, "but I haven't really experienced that particular relationship in anything but a negative way. What if I'm too much like Shelby? Not that she hasn't been wonderful to Beth, of course," she quickly backtracks when she sees Quinn's frown, "but she wanted something very particular from the mother-daughter relationship that she didn't see in me."
Shelby should have loved Rachel unconditionally—she'd sought her out and spied on her in the form of Jesse St. James for Barbra's sake!—but for some reason, Rachel hadn't been enough for her.
"She wasn't able to find what she needed until after she'd sacrificed her career, and what if I'm the same? What if I'm incapable of forming that kind of bond with a child while I'm preoccupied with my own interests?" Rachel frets, twisting her hands together as her tears begin to spill over her eyelids once again. "What if I can't manage to have everything after all and my child ends up resenting me because I failed them? Because I…I ended up doing little more than admiring her from a distance?" she chokes out, collapsing into Quinn, who's somehow closed the distance between them and gathered Rachel into her arms.
"You're nothing like Shelby, Rachel," Quinn swears fiercely. "You're right. She has been good to Beth, but it doesn't excuse what she did to you when you were fifteen. She was selfish."
"So am I," Rachel cries, clutching desperately at Quinn's sleep shirt.
"You're not. God, you're really not, sweetheart," Quinn denies, gently stroking Rachel's hair "You have to stop thinking you are just because you know what you want and aren't afraid to make it happen." Rachel feels Quinn's lips ghost her temple in a soft kiss. "You have one of the biggest hearts of anyone I've ever met, and there isn't anything you won't do for the people you love."
Rachel sniffles, rubbing at her cheeks as she lifts her head from Quinn's shoulder to meet loving, hazel eyes. "You still feel that way? Even when I've been refusing to do the one thing you want most of all?"
Quinn sighs. "It's okay to be afraid, Rachel. If you'd told me all of this before, I would have understood. I mean, I would still be disappointed," she admits honestly, "but I'm scared too. Just look at my parents. My childhood was crap," she reminds Rachel needlessly.
"I grew up with an overbearing, hypocritical, bigoted father who disowned me at sixteen when I needed him most. My mother is an alcoholic who was too meek and just," Quinn waves a frustrated hand through the air, "out of it to protect me or take care of me like she should have, and my sister is a bitch. I honestly have no idea how TJ turned out to be such a great kid," she muses with a wry smile. "If anyone has a reason to be terrified that they'll repeat their parents' mistakes, it's me. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to create the family I've always longed for with you. It's our chance to get it right," she points out tenderly, "for ourselves and for our child."
Rachel swallows thickly at her wife's hopeful words, tasting the remnants of her tears. The logical part of her knows that Quinn is right, but, "I just…I keep thinking that waiting a few more years will make it…less terrifying somehow. That I'll feel more settled or…I'll somehow gain some kind of practical experience that will make me feel more capable of taking care of a child." She laughs humorlessly at her own improbable fantasy. "Like it's some role I've been preparing for, and if I can just get every nuance of it memorized, I'll be ready to perform it live. But it isn't," she concedes, shaking her head self-derisively. "I know it won't happen that way. I'll never feel prepared enough."
Quinn inhales shakily. "Are you…are you saying you'll never be ready?" she asks with a waver in her voice.
"I don't think I will be," Rachel admits slowly, "but then I think about not…not ever seeing you hold our baby in your arms, and it breaks my heart," she tells Quinn truthfully, unconsciously pressing a hand to her chest to rub at the ache that's formed there.
"Because you don't want to hurt me," Quinn reasons mournfully.
"No," Rachel denies quickly, lifting a hand to stroke Quinn's cheek. "Because I know you'll be such an amazing mother," she says with reverence. She's watched Quinn with Beth so many times, and she's seen how wonderful she is with her and with her nephew. Rachel knows in her soul that her wife would be even more loving and nurturing with a child she'd be able to raise. "Enough that my own shortcomings in that department might not matter so much."
"Oh, Rach," Quinn breathes, reaching up to cup Rachel's hand with her own. She gently pulls it away from her cheek and presses a soft, affectionate kiss to the heel of her palm. "Do you really not know how good you are with kids? You're a natural. Beth and TJ both adore you."
Rachel adores those kids too, and having Quinn tell her she's been doing okay with them means so much to her, but it's different with them. "I get to be the fun aunt with them and send them home to their mothers for all the important things," Rachel reminds her. "But I'll be responsible for taking care of all of those important things with our child. When they're sick or…or having trouble with math or getting picked on by other kids for what they're wearing," she considers with a frown, remembering her own childhood, "or for having two moms," she finishes quietly.
Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. "Are you worried about that? That our child will have to deal with the same prejudice you had to deal with growing up?"
Rachel hadn't been exactly—she would have had to have been planning out all the intricate details of their potential motherhood for that to have been one of her specific worries before this moment—but now that she's said it, she realizes that it is actually something they'll need to consider.
"I can admit that it was challenging at times, having to hear all of that…vitriol," Rachel admits sadly, "but I'm proud of my dads. And I'm proud to be married to you," she vows unabashedly. "Obviously, it will break my heart for our child to be exposed to the hatred and homophobia that sadly still exists in the world, but that's probably the one thing I actually do feel prepared to handle." And how sad is that?
"So why bring it up?" Quinn wonders.
Rachel shrugs, considering why that might have come spilling out of her mouth. She's mostly moved past her lonely and difficult childhood, but she knows that she'll always carry the emotional scars of being a social outcast because she was so very different from her peers in almost every way, and she doesn't want that for her child. That's undoubtedly one of the many factors adding to her multitude of fears, but ultimately it comes right back to the worry that she won't be there to protect her child when she should be—to build him back up when the world tries to tear him down—and that everything will fall squarely on Quinn's shoulders. And, well—Quinn hadn't exactly handled her childhood traumas in the most productive way either.
"Maybe I'm worried that you don't realize how difficult it might be, especially if I'm tied up with some project and you have to deal with something particularly hurtful by yourself."
"Rachel, do you think I didn't hear what people said about you and your dads? Or what they said about me when I was pregnant?" Quinn questions with a sad laugh. "That I was a hypocritical slut and got what I deserved."
Rachel grimaces slightly because, while she hadn't ever said anything like that, she had entertained some similarly uncharitable thoughts about Quinn born of jealousy over Finn.
"I can handle it," Quinn promises. "I know we can't protect our children from every hateful thing that might be said to or about them, but we can raise them with love and acceptance and give them the tools they'll need to not only be strong in the face of adversity but thrive because of it…like your dads did for you," she adds with a warm smile that turns into a self-effacing chuckle, "and my parents didn't do for me. Between us, I think we've got all the dos and don'ts covered," she reasons before flashing a mildly devilish grin. "And if all else fails, Santana can always teach our kids how to throw a punch and hide razorblades in their hair."
Rachel presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the unladylike snort that bursts out at the image. "Oh, God. Santana would be the worst influence."
Quinn laughs, shrugging. "In some ways," she agrees, "but you know she'd also be fiercely protective. So would Kurt. And your dads. And even my mom."
"You're trying to remind me we'd have an extensive support system to fall back on," Rachel realizes.
"We would, you know," Quinn assures her with a soft smile.
Rachel does know. They will have numerous friends and family members to rely on for help when things get a little overwhelming, but as comforting as it might be to know that their child will have an extended family to enrich his or her life, it doesn't erase the possibility that Rachel's potentially erratic schedule will take her away from her family more often than she'd like.
"When I try step outside of my fear…ignore the worry that I'll be too self-involved or that I'll be an absentee parent," Rachel begins, moistening her lips as she gazes at Quinn, "I think about you…the way you are with Beth, the way your eyes light up when you look at her," she shares, smiling at the perfect vision of it dancing in her mind, "and the way you smile. It's your motherly smile," Rachel informs her matter-of-factly, sending Quinn's eyebrow up into a curious arch.
"Sometimes, when we were kids, you'd get a certain version of it," Rachel continues, "when you were helping Sam Evans with his siblings or when you were trying to comfort Mercedes and even once or twice when you were being particularly encouraging to me," she recalls fondly as she reaches for Quinn's hand, entwining their fingers together. "But it was only a shadow of the real thing. I realized that the very first time I saw you smile at Beth. I love that smile. I mean, obviously, my favorite smile is the one that's only for me," she clarifies, recognizing the beginnings of that very smile on Quinn's lips right now, "the one that makes me feel like the center of your world, but the one that's just for Beth is my second favorite. It's like a promise that everything will be okay, and she can do or be anything because she has you there to protect her from all the bad things in the world."
Quinn's eyes sparkle tellingly as she listens to Rachel describe her smiles, and when a tear slips down over her cheek, Rachel lifts a gentle hand to brush it away. Quinn laughs at her own wayward emotions while Rachel gazes at her lovingly. "I've been thinking about you smiling at another child that way," she confesses softly, "while you're tucking him or her into bed or admiring a drawing he made for you or watching her play with Oliver." Quinn sucks in a quick breath as she stares at Rachel with her heart in her eyes. "And then…then I can hear you reading some fantastic story that Judy read to you when you were a little girl…or…or maybe one you just made up on the spot," Rachel considers with an affectionate grin. Quinn would tell their child the very best stories. "Your voice will have that sweet softness to it. And I know…I know…our child will be so incredibly lucky, because he or she will have you, and you'll be the best mom in the world."
Smiling tearfully, Quinn leans in and captures Rachel's lips in a sweet kiss, and when she pulls back, she rests her forehead against Rachel's, gazing into her eyes with a soft expression. "And where are you when I'm reading those stories to our kids?"
Rachel's dreamy smile falls away, and she laughs sadly, leaning away from Quinn. "Probably at the theatre."
Quinn squeezes her hand. "Do you know what I see, Rachel?" she prompts tenderly, and Rachel shakes her head, more eager than she can admit to hear her wife's vision.
"I see you," Quinn tells her adoringly. "The excitement you have for life spilling over into our child...the way you seize every moment and make it count. I see you rushing into every new experience with them like it's the most breathtaking, wonderful thing that's ever happened to anyone," she continues, her face awash with emotion. "And I can see the devoted smile on your lips while you hold them close and sing them lullabies in that perfect, quiet pitch you use whenever you're not reaching for any glory notes or belting out a solo to bring down the house. Just you, lost in a simple melody, singing our son or daughter into these fantastic dreams that you've inspired them to build."
With every word Quinn speaks, the picture in Rachel's mind becomes clearer—so bright and vivid that Rachel can almost hear herself singing that lullaby. "I…I like what you see," she murmurs softly, gazing into Quinn's beautiful eyes. "It's still a little fuzzy," Rachel concedes, "and I'm still kind of terrified, but I…I want that," she vows, and for the first time, she realizes that her fears—while still very much present—are outweighed by the longing she feels to experience everything that Quinn is describing. Instead of focusing on all of the things that she might mess up or miss out on, she's starting to imagine all the wonderful moments she'll be there to share with Quinn and their child. "I want it for you. And…and for me."
Quinn draws in a breath, seeming to hold it for a moment as her eyes roam over Rachel's face with unconcealed yearning. "What exactly does that mean?" she finally asks cautiously—almost as if she's afraid to hope.
Rachel licks her lips, swallowing down her fears. "That you're right. There's never going to be a perfect time, and I'm probably never going to feel like I'm completely ready, but…we…we should make a plan," she declares with a firm nod. "I'm good at plans. And, I mean, we'll have to talk to your doctor and find an accredited clinic and…and probably…you know…figure out the whole donor side of it. That might take some time," Rachel realizes with a small frown, "to…to pick someone we can agree on who looks at least a little bit like me."
She definitely won't be disappointed that their child will look more like Quinn than her, but maybe if they get a donor with dark hair, people won't be as likely to mistake Rachel for the nanny when they're out and about.
"Do you mean that?" Quinn asks breathlessly, tightly gripping Rachel's hand. "Do you really want to do this? Or are you just giving in because I want it so much?"
"Honestly?"
"That's the only way this works, Rachel."
"Maybe a little of both," Rachel admits, frowning when Quinn sags in disappointment and tries to withdraw her hand. Rachel stops her with a firm grip. "I can't help it, Quinn. I'm still scared for all the reasons I told you. That isn't going to just go away overnight, but I want that future," she insists, "the one with you smiling at our child and reading stories and…and me singing lullabies. Although you'll be singing a few too, and we'll obviously sing some together," she rambles, her lips quirking when she sees the rebirth of Quinn's brilliant smile—the one that's just for Rachel.
"But my point is," Rachel continues determinedly, "I don't give up on the things I want, and I've been giving up on this without even trying because I'm afraid to fail. The last time I did that," she pauses, shaking her head sadly as she recalls all the doubts about her future in New York that had led her to accept Finn Hudson's proposal and nearly get Quinn killed on the way to her foolhardy, teenaged wedding, "well, it didn't turn out well for anyone. That's not the example I want to set for our future child."
Quinn's eyes are filled to the brim with happy tears. "So…are we agreeing to start a family?" she asks cautiously.
Rachel inhales deeply, considering the weight of her answer as she offers her wife a shy grin. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we are."
Before Rachel knows what hit her, she's toppled back onto the mattress—nearly falling off the bed—with Quinn's body pressed against her as she's kissed with enthusiasm. Her hands instinctively clutch at Quinn's sleep shirt, and she opens her mouth and kisses her wife back with everything she has. Lord, how she's missed this!
All-too-soon, Quinn's lips stray from Rachel's mouth and begin to pepper little kisses to her cheeks and chin and temples, and Rachel can feel the smile in each and every one. "I really love you," Quinn murmurs between kisses.
Rachel's eyes fall closed as she holds Quinn tighter. "I love you too. So much."
Enough to put her trust in Quinn—in them—and take that leap of faith. She's still afraid of everything she might do wrong, but something warm and hopeful seems to settle inside of her with her decision, and she feels like they can really do this together. They can have their family and each other and their careers, and everything will be beautiful.
Eventually.
A/N: I decided to end this one at part two, but there will be a little more by way of family planning in the form another, less angsty installment. Stay tuned.