Part III: Not Even the Morning


Rachel wakes up with a smile on her lips, blinking the sleep from her eyes to be greeted by the shiny golden glint of the sun reflecting off the Tony on her nightstand. It's a magnificent sight to behold, and her smile widens. Biting back a squeal of delight, she stretches her arms above her head before she rolls onto her back and turns her head to gaze at the other magnificent sight that she gets to behold each and every morning. Quinn is still sleeping peacefully—on her side with her left arm flung behind her in a way that tilts her shoulders slightly in the other direction—gloriously naked and surrounded by pillows.

The pillows had been lovingly placed there after they'd finished thoroughly celebrating Rachel's win last night—or this morning to be more precise.

Rachel is grateful that it's Monday and her show is still dark, despite having been shuttered for both of its performances yesterday in honor of the Tony Awards. They'd added an extra matinee performance last Friday and another this coming Wednesday to make up the difference, but Rachel isn't about to complain about the nice little break she's getting until Tuesday evening.

Although break might not be quite the right word.

She has some paint shopping to do today. In fact, Rachel had started researching baby safe paints right after their doctor's appointment last week, and she's mostly settled on Benjamin Moore for its claim of containing zero volatile organic compounds, its boast of 'one coat' coverage, and its allegedly short drying time. There are a few local home and hardware stores in Manhattan that carry it, though the largest seems to be the Janovic Paint & Decorating Center. Luckily for them, there's one on West 72nd Street near Verdi Square. If she and Quinn can come to an agreement on the perfect color today, then maybe they can have the nursery painted by next week.

But in order for any painting to be done, they need the paint, and to get that, they need to get out of bed and actually go out and buy it. Rachel really doesn't want to disturb her wife. She knows that Quinn needs the rest, because even if she's annoyingly reluctant to admit just how tired and uncomfortable she's becoming at this stage of her pregnancy, Rachel can still see it. Of course, Quinn is also unfairly radiant and (mostly) calm about (almost) everything, and if Rachel wasn't so well acquainted with all of her little tells, she'd probably be convinced that Quinn is breezing through this pregnancy as effortlessly as she had her first one. It still looks practically effortless from where Rachel is standing, but there's at least a little bit of effort happening that Quinn absolutely needs Rachel around to attend to, and that's exactly what Rachel intends to keep doing, attending to her wife's needs—whether Quinn likes it or not.

She mostly likes it.

Rachel can see that too.

With a quiet sigh, she carefully shifts onto her side to face Quinn, reaching out a gentle hand to silently greet her daughter. There's a moment of disappointment when she doesn't feel any soft kicks meeting her palm, but she supposes that's why Quinn is still sleeping—well, that and the very thorough job that Rachel had done of wearing her out.

She decides that she can probably get away with letting Quinn sleep for at least another thirty minutes, so she slowly removes her hand from Quinn's taut skin before she begins a cautious, methodical shuffle back across the mattress in a stealthy attempt to slip from their bed without disturbing Quinn's sleep. In fact, she has one leg dangling over the edge of the bedframe with a hand braced on the mattress, when—

"So you're just gonna say g'morning to the baby and not to me?"

Rachel's whole body jerks in surprise at the unexpected sound of Quinn's gravelly, sleep-laden question, causing her to lose her precarious balance and slide right down onto the floor with a thud.

"Oh, my God! Rachel? Are you okay?" sounds from above her in a more alert tone while the mattress vibrates with Quinn's movements.

"Nothing is bruised but my pride," Rachel mutters from the floor, equal parts embarrassed and annoyed that she'd woken up Quinn despite her best efforts otherwise.

Quinn peeks over the side of the bed—sleep-mussed hair framing her amused face and lower lip caught between her teeth. "That's what you get for trying to sneak out on me."

Rachel pushes up on one elbow with narrowed eyes. "I was trying to let you sleep."

That eyebrow inches up. "Well, you suck at it."

"Kick me while I'm down, why don't you?" Rachel grumbles, flopping back onto the floor. The coolness of the hardwood seeps into her naked back, and she wonders if they should maybe look into getting an area rug—not that she plans to spend a lot of time on the floor, but once the baby starts to crawl around, throwing down a few rugs might not be such a bad idea.

"Seriously, though…are you okay?" Quinn asks again, expression turning slightly pensive. "Because I really can't lift you if you're stuck down there."

Rachel is suddenly struck by the image of Quinn needing to call someone to come pick her naked wife up off the floor, trying to explain what happened while she frantically tosses clothes at Rachel in an attempt to make her decent. Rachel starts laughing at the ridiculousness of the picture in her head, and Quinn looks down at her like she's off her rocker—a familiar expression of confusion scrunching up her nose and furrowing her brow—which only makes Rachel laugh harder.

"Okay, now you're worrying me."

Rachel shakes her head, gulping in a few deep breaths to compose herself. "I'm fine," she eventually manages. "The situation just struck me as funny." She pushes herself up into a sitting position to prove she's not injured, still grinning as she reaches up to brush an unruly lock of dark blonde hair away from Quinn's eyes.

Quinn's mouth quirks into a tiny smile. "It wasn't exactly your most graceful moment."

"Luckily, no one was here to witness it but you," Rachel agrees, shifting onto her knees so she can place a soft kiss to Quinn's smiling lips. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Since your daughter likes to sleep on my bladder, I wouldn't have slept much longer anyway," Quinn admits with a roll of her eyes. "And speaking of that…"

The sentence remains unfinished as Quinn swings her legs over the edge of the mattress—much more gracefully than Rachel had managed, even in her advanced state of pregnancy—and pushes up off the bed, unapologetically using Rachel's shoulder for extra leverage before she races into the bathroom.

It's fairly impressive how fast she can move when the situation demands it.

Rachel bites back her laughter as she drags herself up off the floor, and when her knees protest slightly, she decides that they really do need to look into getting some rugs.

She pads over to closet—the beautifully spacious closet (where she ignores the few boxes that are currently shoved into the back corner that aren't yet unpacked because they contain Quinn's pre-maternity wardrobe)—to pull out a robe, slipping it on before stopping in front of the bathroom door, which Quinn had left slightly ajar in her haste. Really, they've both moved past the point of needing complete privacy anyway.

"Are you still up for paint shopping today?"

"Well, I'm up," Quinn replies drolly, "and we do need to get started on the nursery, so yeah. What time is it anyway? I didn't bother to look at the clock."

Rachel moves back towards their bed, glancing at the clock that Quinn keeps on her nightstand. "Eleven-thirty," she informs her wife as she picks up a pillow with the intention of making the bed.

The sound of the toilet flushing fills the room just a scant few seconds before the bathroom door flies all the way open to reveal Quinn—still naked—with one hand on the door knob and the other on her shapely hip. "We've slept half the day away! Why the hell didn't you wake me up sooner?"

Rachel pauses in her task, having only managed to place the pillow in its proper position against the headboard. "Because we didn't fall asleep until after five this morning. That's hardly an adequate amount of rest for you as it is."

Quinn doesn't look the least bit appeased by her explanation. "We have things to do today, Rachel. By the time we both get dressed and have breakf…" She cuts herself off with an angry shake of her head. "Lunch, the day will be practically over!" She punctuates her point by tossing her hands up in exasperation.

A slight frown pulls at Rachel's lips. "That's a grievous exaggeration."

Hazel eyes narrow dangerously. "Not by much."

"Janovic is open until seven o'clock tonight," Rachel soothes, abandoning her minimal effort to straighten up the bed so she can drift closer to her wife. "We have plenty of time. I'll even take you out for lunch. Café Luxembourg?" she tempts with a musical lilt, knowing that Quinn loves the croque monsieur sandwich on their menu. Now that they're actually living in the Upper West Side, they're much closer to the longstanding bistro, and Rachel is perfectly willing to overlook Quinn's consumption of dead animal flesh if it puts her back into the happy, stress-free mood she'd first woken up in.

There's a definite look of interest on Quinn's face. "Despite your very obvious attempt to bribe me with food, I accept," she informs Rachel haughtily. "I'm taking a shower now. If you want to save time, you can use the bathroom in the hall."

"Or we could share," Rachel is quick to suggest before Quinn has the chance to fully close the bathroom door in her face. "I could help you wash all those hard to reach places."

The door slowly drifts open again, revealing an arched eyebrow. "It's cute that you think I'd let you share my shower when we're already short on time thanks to you."

"But we'll save time and water if we share."

Quinn actually laughs at that. "When has that ever happened? Our shared showers always end up taking longer than the ones we take alone."

Rachel's mind drifts pleasantly through all of those occasions, reminding her along the way that Quinn has a very valid point, and she finds herself grinning unrepentantly. "Well, I still vote for one long shower over two short, lonely ones," she declares, slipping her arms around Quinn with a seductive smile and letting her fingertips slide down over the curve of her hip. "And we have such a big shower now…it's a shame to let it go to waste." Though, in point of fact, they'd managed to thoroughly test it out more than once in the last week—they haven't spent all of their time unpacking and arranging the new apartment.

"Fine," Quinn relents on a resigned sigh before pointing at Rachel warningly. "But no fooling around, Rachel. We don't have time today."

Rachel nods dutifully. "Just showering," she promises, raising a hand to cross her heart. She thinks they actually could make the time for a little fooling around, but she'll abide by Quinn's wishes, and it won't lessen her enjoyment in the least. She loves the simple act of sharing a shower with her wife, chatting and laughing together as they pass the body wash and shampoo back and forth and scrub one another's backs.

And that's exactly what they do.

Rachel might linger just a longer on certain areas of Quinn's body, and she possibly steals a few kisses in between rinses, but Quinn doesn't seem to hold it against her. They turn the water off with plenty of time for Rachel to lovingly dry every inch of Quinn's body before seeing to her own, and Quinn has more than enough time (because it really shouldn't take more than thirty minutes for a woman who is not Quinn Fabray) to put on her make-up, style her hair, and choose a presentable outfit.

"I told you we wouldn't save any time," Quinn grumbles from the closet thirty minutes later, sifting through a dozen tops and dresses as she tries to decide what to wear.

Rachel rolls her eyes as she finally finishes making the bed, confident that Quinn can't see her do it. She's already dressed and ready to go, having opted for a loose skirt and comfortable blouse—more for the restaurant than the paint shopping—while Quinn had been curling her hair and putting on her make-up. She half-wonders if Quinn will even insist on completing her full make-up ritual before agreeing to be taken to the hospital to give birth. It hadn't been an issue the last time since she'd gone into labor right after Regionals, so she'd already been glamorously made-up. But Rachel knows better than to question this particular quirk of Quinn's right now.

"I think I might call Teresa and ask if she'd be willing to help us paint," she casually mentions instead.

That draws Quinn out of the closet immediately—a blue and white striped sundress in her hands and a slight frown on her lips. "Don't you think that might be a mild case of overkill?"

"How so?" she asks before pointing to the dress. "I like that one."

"Asking an actual artist to paint our nursery?" Quinn responds with an arched brow.

"I obviously wouldn't expect her to paint a mural for us," Rachel assures her, watching her wife slip the dress over her head. Although, she wouldn't be opposed to letting Teresa paint a cute little design somewhere on the nursery wall—maybe those teddy bears she'd imagined or a gold star or two. "I just thought it might be good idea to have someone here to help me since you can't, and if that someone actually knows something about paint and color palates, even better."

Rachel considers herself extremely artistic, of course, but she's never actually painted an entire room by herself before. (There might have been a minor incident when she was eleven that prompted her fathers to make sure all future remodeling endeavors she embarked upon were well supervised.)

A frown mars Quinn's face at the reminder as she finishes buttoning her dress. "I could always wear a mask…"

"No," Rachel denies quickly. "I don't care how safe the paint claims to be. You will be staying as far away from the fumes as possible, Quinn. In fact, if it happens to be a nice day, you could go out and explore our new neighborhood a little more," she suggests, pleased with the idea.

"All by myself?" Quinn asks playfully.

And just like that, the familiar trickle of dread crawls up Rachel's spine. She's perfectly aware that it's mildly irrational—the same as Quinn's lingering insecurities over her pregnancy weight gain—but it doesn't stop her from feeling it, so she nervously clears her throat. "On second thought, we'll just open all the windows. You can do some baking or…or start working on your next book…at the breakfast bar." The kitchen is sufficiently removed from the nursery, unlike Quinn's office, and there's a ventilation fan over the stove.

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "You're so predictable." She seems more amused than annoyed by it today, and she steps closer to Rachel so she can brush a soft kiss over her lips. "I suppose there's no harm in asking Teresa if she wants to help, but if she says no…"

"I'll convince her that she really wants to say yes."

"Rachel," Quinn warns good-naturedly.

"It's worked before," Rachel argues with a grin. "Look what Teresa would be missing out on if I hadn't convinced her to give Santana another chance."

Quinn chuckles at that. "Sweetie, you really can't compare your questionable matchmaking skills with badgering our friend into manual labor."

Rachel frowns at that. "My matchmaking skills are never in question, Quinn."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Quinn says soothingly, though that particular smirk on her face makes Rachel doubt the sincerity of her capitulation. "Now let's get a move on. We're burning daylight, and I'm starving." With that, she turns on her heel and glides out of the bedroom as if she hadn't been the one taking forty minutes to get dressed, leaving Rachel to follow after her in consternation.

After feeding Oliver—who is very displeased with having such a late breakfast—and calling a taxi, they're off to enjoy lunch at Café Luxembourg. It's a beautiful day, and they probably could have walked, but Rachel prefers not to take any chances with Quinn's blood sugar in the afternoon sun when she doesn't yet have any food in her stomach. They do, however, forgo the taxi after lunch at Quinn's insistence and enjoy the short five minute walk the store where they spend a few moments simply staring at the hundreds of sample squares displayed on the wall right there at the entrance.

"There are so many colors," Rachel murmurs, feeling slightly overwhelmed by them all.

"It's like a rainbow threw up," Quinn adds, resting a hand on her belly as her eyes bounce back and forth between the various shades.

Rachel side-eyes her wife but doesn't make a comment, instead scanning over the paint names until she finds the section labeled Benjamin Moore. "Those are the ones we want to focus on," she points out, stepping closer the paint brand she's most interested in. It cuts down their potential choices, but not by much, since this is an official Benjamin Moore retailer.

"We should have gotten an earlier start," Quinn mumbles, reaching out to snag a sample from a section of violets. "Grape Ice," she reads, showing the card to Rachel.

"You like that?" Rachel asks, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Granted, it's a fairly muted lavender, but it's definitely not what Rachel has been envisioning for their daughter's room.

"You don't?" Quinn counters with a small frown.

"I was thinking more," Rachel trails off, glancing back that the multitude of colors before snagging a soft yellow that appeals to her and showing it Quinn, "this."

"Good Morning Sunshine?" Quinn recites warily. "Is it a color or a greeting to your lover?"

Rachel flips the card over to read the name printed at the bottom, grimacing slightly. "Who comes up with these names?" she wonders out loud.

Quinn doesn't bother to answer. "Don't you think it's a little too…bright?"

"You said you'd consider yellow," she reminds her wife, fully intending to hold her to that promise.

"A pale yellow," Quinn reiterates.

"This is pale," Rachel argues. She's not a fan of the name, but she does like the shade.

"No, this is pale," Quinn corrects, picking up another card and showing it to Rachel.

The name is Light Daffodil, but, "That's barely even yellow," Rachel complains, squinting at the color card. "It almost looks green."

Quinn turns the card back around, looking at it again. "Huh. I guess it does a little. Maybe that's why I like it." She shrugs, her eyes drifting back to the color samples once again. "Actually, I really like these ones," she decides, pulling out a handful of cards that are side-by-side on the rack with names like Iced Mint, Neon Celery, Apple Froth, and Lime Accent.

"Those ones aren't edible, are they?" Rachel jokes after seeing the names.

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "They're not any worse than Good Morning Sunshine." Her expression grows serious then. "I think they might match the quilt that Shelby gave us," she points out softly.

Rachel sucks in a little breath at the reminder of the gift, still in the bag that Shelby—well, Beth—had presented it in. With the move, they hadn't really had the time or inclination to do anything with it except move it from a box to the closet, but it's yet another project for their daughter that needs to be tackled. "I still like yellow," she grumbles. "It's a complementary color to green."

"Maybe in your former wardrobe," Quinn teases.

"Cute."

"You are," Quinn flirts, picking up another pale yellow that looks to be at least a little more yellow. "Let's find a salesperson and ask some questions. I somehow doubt these little cards are enough to base our decision on."

It turns out that Quinn is correct. The saleswoman (who recognizes Rachel from her Tony win last night and gushes over her for a full ten minutes before they can even start to get down to business) highly recommends taking home sample-sized cans of paint to test on the walls before making a final decision. That way, they'll be able to see how the color is affected by both the natural and artificial lighting in the room. So after another ten minute debate over which colors they actually want to test and the fifteen minutes it takes for Wanda to mix up their samples, they're back in a taxi on the way back home with six tiny cans of paint—one of which is Good Morning Sunshine because Quinn has agreed to humor her—and six small paint brushes (that Wanda had thrown in at a discount) along with a valved respirator mask for Quinn (to be extra safe).

"You stay out there," Rachel demands once they're home and changed into comfortable clothes. She's laid down newspapers on the floor of the nursery—not today's paper with her name listed as Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical, of course—and lined up the sample cans all in a row with a bucket of soapy water and plenty of towels. The window is open as wide as it will go, and she'd dragged in the small fan they'd brought with them from their old apartment for those days when the air-conditioning is on the fritz.

"Oh, come on," Quinn protests. "You're painting six little spots on the wall. There'll hardly be any fumes at all."

"We're not taking any chances, Quinn," Rachel insists very seriously, pointing at the door. "Now out. You can look at them when they dry…tomorrow. Possibly Wednesday," she amends, thinking that two full days should be adequate to sufficiently air out the room.

Quinn crosses her arms with a scowl. "I'm not waiting until Wednesday, Rachel. You've got the room ventilated, and I'll put on that ridiculous mask you bought me if it will make you feel better, but we're making a decision on this today."

"So stubborn," Rachel mutters, not for the first time.

"Exceedingly goal oriented," Quinn corrects with a pointed look, blatantly stealing Rachel's favorite defense. "Now get painting," she orders, gesturing to the wall. "I want to see those colors on the wall before the sun sets." With that, she spins on her heel and finally leaves the room, closing the door on her way out.

Rachel shakes her head in exasperation. Despite her preference, she highly doubts that Quinn will be dissuaded from coming back into this room today, so she turns on the fan and points it towards the open window in the hope that it will suck the fumes outside that much faster. Then she kneels down in front of the paint cans, using the screwdriver she'd brought in to carefully pry open the lid on the Good Morning Sunshine before moving on to the other five colors—Falling Star (another pale yellow) and the four shades of green with the food names that Quinn had been immediately drawn to.

Rachel is pleasantly surprised to find that the fumes from the paint cans aren't overwhelming at all, but there's definitely still a distinct scent, and Rachel is glad she'd made Quinn step outside. It doesn't take long for her to paint six little squares on the wall, and she even manages to do it without making (much of) a mess. She's grateful that Wanda had given her the six brushes so she doesn't have to worry about cleaning them between patches.

Even though they're not dry yet, Rachel mentally eliminates the Neon Celery from the running. It's a little too neon, and she has a feeling it's going to dry even brighter. She had slowly warmed up to Quinn's color preference while they'd looked at more samples, deciding that green is a nice gender neutral color, and it does match the quilt that she really should dig out of the closet. But it has to be the right shade, and the neon isn't cutting it.

Rachel does still really like the Good Morning Sunshine though, and the little square is bright and cheerful on the wall.

She takes the time to replace all of the lids tightly on the cans since there's still a good amount of paint in each of them, and she rinses off the brushes with the water and towel before carrying them into the hallway bathroom to clean them more thoroughly. Of course, Quinn is right there, asking how it looks, and Rachel laughingly tells her to be patient. It's still wet, and Rachel doesn't have a good idea of how any of them might look when they dry, though she does inform her wife that she really isn't impressed with the neon.

They pass the time by preparing a light dinner since they'd had a rather large lunch, and then Quinn attempts to drag Rachel into the nursery, grumbling when Rachel stops her and demands that she put on the mask. Quinn eyes it dubiously, clearly not impressed with it in any way. "Is this really necessary? I'm not going to be in there that long."

"Humor me," Rachel pleads.

With a sigh, Quinn slips the mask over her head, covering her mouth and nose. It's suspiciously lightweight, but Wanda had assured them that it's well rated for nuisance level chemical smells, and—well, Quinn had absolutely refused to let Rachel buy the double-valved, professional-grade mask, complaining that she didn't want to look like Darth Vader. This one makes her look more like a surgeon, and Rachel smiles at the thought.

"I swear to God, if you start laughing," Quinn threatens through the mask. It muffles her words just a little but absolutely does not dampen the familiar Fabray glare in the least.

"No laughing," Rachel promises, pressing a hand over her heart. "I'm just happy you're putting our daughter's safety above your pride." And vanity, though Rachel knows better than to say that part out loud.

Hazel eyes roll in response, but the glare disappears, and they make their way into the room. Rachel is actually mildly surprised with how well the fan and window have aired out the room in such a short time, though she knows that probably has more to do with how little paint was actually used. It's late enough that their west facing windows are getting the full effect of the setting sun, so the natural lighting might be slightly exaggerated, but it's enough to get a sense of how the colors will look on the walls.

Quinn immediately agrees with Rachel about the neon, and she ends up liking the Good Morning Sunshine on the wall more than she did on the sample card, though she prefers the Falling Star if they were to decide on yellow. It's fairly clear to Rachel that Quinn has no intention of actually deciding on yellow. Most of her attention is focused on the Iced Mint and the Lime Accent because the Apple Froth ends up being darker than they'd expected. The lime is a lovely, soft green while the mint lives up to its name. It ultimately comes down to those two, and they both agree to take a second look in the morning sunlight to see which they prefer.

The next morning the decision is made, and Rachel treks back to the store in the hours before her show to buy two gallons of the Lime Accent, a small can of Simply White (because apparently even white needs a special name) for some trim work, and all the necessary brushes and rollers and tape to complete the job. Wanda, who is working once again, proves to be very helpful, arranging for someone to deliver the supplies directly to her apartment by tomorrow so she won't need to carry them all home with her.

Now all she needs to do is actually paint the room.

She won't need to do it alone though, because when she calls Teresa to (not-so) casually mention her project, Teresa seems happy enough to offer her help, so they make a date for the following Monday.

With the nursery color decided, the rest of the week is spent browsing the online sites for baby furniture and nursery decorations, though they agree not to buy anything (major) until they can check out a few of the local stores in person. And, of course, there's a brief break in all matters related to baby preparedness and decorating to celebrate their anniversary on Friday. Rachel has a show that night and four of them over the weekend, so their celebration is limited to a sweet gift exchange and several hours of uninterrupted intimacy.

When Monday rolls around, Rachel is up bright and early, letting her wife sleep a little longer (though she won't make the mistake of letting her sleep too long with company coming) while she takes a very quick shower to wash away the scent of sleep.

Since Rachel only plans to be painting today, she throws on a worn pair of jeans and an old Cats t-shirt that she doesn't mind ruining and pulls her still-damp hair back into a messy ponytail. Teresa will just have to deal with a slightly deglamorized Rachel Fabray for one day.

Quinn, on the other hand—once she's awake—takes care to look her best despite Rachel's assurance that Teresa won't care if she wears an old pair of sweats with no make-up.

"I care," Quinn insists, still wrapped in her robe. "I don't want to look like a…a frumpy blimp in front of our friends. I'm already huge." She gestures to her belly a little despondently.

Rachel has the sense that Quinn very well be dancing along the edge of a self-esteem spiral today, and she reacts instantly, determined to keep her wife from tripping any farther down that particular road of thought. "You're beautiful," she vows, slipping her arms around Quinn with an adoring smile, "and exactly the size you should be. Doctor Barnes said so at your last appointment." And Rachel needs to believe that Doctor Barnes knows exactly what she's talking about, otherwise she might just have a nervous breakdown worrying about Quinn and their unborn daughter. She's been far too close to it on a few occasions already.

Quinn sighs in resignation. "I know that…up here," she taps a finger to her temple, "but it doesn't stop me from feeling self-conscious," she admits with a frown. "So no, I won't be letting Teresa see me in sweats with no make-up."

"Do whatever you need to do, baby," Rachel complies easily, knowing it's best to let Quinn primp to her heart's content if that's what it takes to boost her confidence, and she bestows a chaste kiss to her wife's lips in punctuation before releasing her. "I'll make breakfast," she offers. "Any requests?"

"Something not burnt," Quinn answers with a sly grin.

Rachel plants her hands on her hips with a huff. "I haven't burned anything in almost two months, and that piece of French toast was completely your fault," she defends, wagging a finger at Quinn. "You distracted me with your sexiness."

Quinn giggles, her expression already brighter from just a few moments ago. "You're very easily distracted."

"By you, always," Rachel concedes unapologetically. "But you'll be far too busy making yourself look even more unfairly gorgeous to distract me today," she points out with a grin, "so what will it be?"

"Toast is fine," Quinn assures her. "I'll probably make something more substantial a little later to feed Teresa. I'm sure she'll work up an appetite doing all your work for you."

"Hey!" Rachel protests, mildly offended. "I plan to do my share."

Laughing, Quinn shakes her head. "If you say so. Now go make the toast. I'm almost ready."

Quinn's almost will probably be at least another twenty minutes, so Rachel follows her wife's instructions and, after another brief kiss, wanders out to the kitchen to make their breakfast.

She absolutely does not burn the toast. She even chops up some fresh fruit for good measure.

Quinn appears after the predicted twenty minutes in a pair of her nicer maternity jeans and a simple chambray button down with flawless make-up and her hair neatly clipped up at the sides. She looks unassumingly gorgeous for their expected company.

They have some time to relax after breakfast and skim through the morning news before there's a knock on their door at five minutes past ten. Rachel had let their doorman (and she does so love having a doorman now) know to expect Teresa today, so he'd undoubtedly allowed her to come right up. It's an assumption that's proven correct when Rachel opens the door to see their friend standing on the other side with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a hand shoved casually into the back pocket of her torn and faded jeans.

"Hey there, miss two-time Tony winner," Teresa greets with a playful grin, and that's all it takes for Rachel's welcoming smile to transform into one that is nothing less than beaming. She does so love the way that sounds. "Congratulations again," she says, moving in for a brief hug that Rachel is happy to accept. Teresa had already congratulated her on the phone last week—as had the rest of their friends—but this is the first time they've seen each other in person since her win.

"Thank you, Teresa."

"Yeah, congrats, Streisand," comes from just over Teresa's shoulder as Santana unexpectedly glides into view, breezing into the apartment just behind her girlfriend. The genuine smile on her face tells Rachel that the familiar nickname is actually meant as a compliment today—though Rachel had never truly considered that particular one as anything less. "Bet Lucy Q couldn't wait to use those matching statues as bookends."

"It was one time," Quinn protests, having just stepped out of the kitchen where she'd been rinsing out her coffee cup—decaffeinated, of course—to join them in the foyer.

"She's learned her lesson," Rachel confirms dutifully before muttering, "I hope." The quick poke to her side tells her that Quinn had heard that loud and clear, but really, it's probably time for them to invest in a nice, durable (cat and baby safe) award case with plenty of room for Rachel's growing collection. They can look into that right after they get the nursery squared away.

"I'd have probably done the same," Teresa confides to Quinn with a conspiratorial smirk as she strolls past them in the direction of the living room. "Just to rile her up."

"Hey!" Rachel protests, though coming from Teresa, the admission feels more like playful flirtation, especially when she laughingly spins around just to give her a wink. Rachel knows that it doesn't mean anything—it's just the way Teresa is—but she still casts a mildly apprehensive glance in Quinn's direction, worried that it might not be well-received today after her wife's little bout of insecurity this morning. Needless to say, she's relieved to see the reciprocal laughter shining through hazel eyes.

"It is one of my favorite pastimes," Quinn admits, aiming a flirtatious look of her own at Rachel that makes her face heat.

Santana doesn't help matters when she punctuates Quinn's statement with the familiar, "Wanky," as she follows Teresa to the sofa. She manages to shoo away Oliver (who's only just beginning to settle down in his new home) with nothing more than a scowl before making herself comfortable—which apparently includes reaching up to snag Teresa's hand and pull her down onto the sofa next to her. Teresa melts effortlessly into her side, letting the backpack drop to the floor beside her feet.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Rachel asks, eager to keep the conversation from devolving into a discussion of the many ways in which Quinn loves to rile her up but also genuinely curious. "Shouldn't you be at the hospital?" As far as she'd known, Santana had been scheduled to work today.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Santana challenges, looking mildly insulted by the possibility.

"Of course not," Rachel assures her.

"We just thought you had to work," Quinn clarifies as she gingerly lowers herself into the nearby chair, batting away Rachel's hand when she scrambles to help.

Santana shrugs. "The dude I was supposed to cut open this morning chickened out. Decided to take his chances with God or something," she explains, shaking her head derisively. "So I dumped my afternoon rounds on one of the interns and took the rest of the day off. They'll page me if they need me. Otherwise, I'm all yours."

Despite her mild dismay that a potentially gravely ill man has chosen to forgo the necessary medical treatment and Santana's seemingly cavalier attitude regarding such, Rachel isn't about to turn away an extra set of hands. "Wonderful," she exclaims, perching on the armrest of the chair next to her wife. "You can help us paint."

Santana gestures to herself, scoffing, "Do I look like I'm dressed for manual labor?"

In point of fact, she does not, and Rachel frowns at the realization. The form-fitting, red scoop neck shirt and skintight designer jeans tucked into high heel black boots are even less appropriate for painting than they are for making rounds at the hospital, and she wonders why Santana would have purposely chosen that outfit when she'd known what was on the agenda for today. "Then why are you here?"

"Well, Teresa wouldn't cancel your little play-date to stay home and have sex, so what else am I gonna to do?"

Teresa—who is actually dressed appropriately for manual labor—rolls her eyes at Santana's answer. "She wants to take Quinn out for a girl's day to make sure she doesn't have any exposure to the paint fumes."

The information makes Rachel smile, instantly enamored with the idea of getting Quinn out of the apartment entirely (but not alone) while they're painting. She couldn't have planned it any better if she'd—well, if she'd actually planned it.

"Aw, you really do care," Quinn coos with a mocking smirk.

"I just want lunch," Santana insists, though Rachel would swear that there's the hint of an embarrassed blush on her cheeks—one that darkens ever-so-slightly when Teresa carelessly contradicts her cool indifference.

"She actually cleared her afternoon schedule last week after you called," she informs Rachel. "She only had the one surgery this morning, which conveniently got cancelled." Blue eyes glance suspiciously over to Santana. "It kinda makes me wonder what she told the guy during his pre-op to scare him out of surgery."

"Hey, I just gave him the facts," Santana defends, holding up her hands in a show of innocence, "and that was a week before you even planned this little misadventure," she gestures between Rachel and Teresa, "so it's a total fluke."

"A serendipitous fluke," Rachel agrees, nodding her approval. Of course, she hopes that poor man gets the proper medical treatment that he clearly requires, but she's not averse to taking advantage of opportunities when they're presented to her.

"I don't need a babysitter to get me out of the apartment," Quinn reminds her with a mildly exasperated expression.

"So you don't want to hit up Shake Shack for a smokeshack burger and a milkshake?" Santana challenges knowingly.

"Wait…that's where you want to take her?" Rachel questions with a frown, suddenly not-quite-so-enamored with the idea of sending her wife off to consume more dead cow and pig flesh.

"Are you buying?" Quinn asks with interest, ignoring Rachel's question.

"Does it matter?" Santana wants to know.

"We're getting the cheese fries too."

"Quinn!" Rachel gasps, horrified by the thought of their poor baby daughter being subjected to all that grease and animal byproduct. Her protest is completely ignored.

"Whatever the gremlin wants," Santana promises, smirking.

Quinn eyes narrow. "Watch it, Lopez," she warns, pressing a protective hand to her belly. "That's my daughter you're calling a gremlin."

Santana raises her hands in surrender. "Sorry...the munchkin," she amends laughingly.

Quinn nods her acceptance, and really?—she's just accepting munchkin now? Rachel might just need to have words about that with her wife later on, because otherwise Santana will settle on that nickname for their daughter and there'll be no steering her away from it.

"I just need to make myself presentable," Quinn announces before pushing up off the chair.

Rachel frowns in confusion, even as she reflexively reaches out to help Quinn stand. It's not like her wife hadn't just spent an hour getting dressed. The only thing she needs to do is put on a pair of shoes. "You look fine," she murmurs.

"Yeah, don't change on my account," Santana chimes in. "You'll never look as hot as me anyway, even without the baby-on-board." Teresa obligingly slaps her shoulder so Rachel doesn't have to, and Santana at least has the wisdom to look apologetic under the intensity of three glares. "Sheesh. It's a joke. You're totally rockin' the pregnancy thing, Q."

Quinn briefly glances down at her body, biting into her pouting lower lip, and for a moment, Rachel worries that she might let her insecurities overwhelm her again—or change her mind about indulging in the burger and fries that Santana has planned—but then she takes a deep breath and attempts to shake it off. "Even so…I'm not going out dressed like this. I'll just be five minutes," she promises before hurrying to the bedroom.

Santana shakes her head when Quinn is out of the room. "Still a vain bitch."

"Don't start with her, Santana," Rachel warns, pointing a stern finger. "She's been a little…sensitive lately."

"Just lately?" Santana jokes, receiving another gentle slap from Teresa for her snarkiness.

"If you can't control that mouth of yours, I'll make you stay here and paint while I take Quinn out on the town."

Santana aims a wolfish grin at her girlfriend. "Oh, you know exactly how well I can control my mouth."

When Teresa's lips curve into a lascivious smile and she sways closer to Santana, Rachel feels compelled to remind them that she's still in the room. "Hey, flirt on your own time," she interrupts, snapping her fingers at them. "You," she points at Santana, "are taking Quinn to lunch and playing nice like the wonderful friend you can occasionally be," she instructs before pointing to Teresa, "and you are helping me turn my boring white room into a perfectly painted nursery that looks like a frickin' fresh lime wedge." Good Morning Sunshine would have been so much more cheerful, but Quinn wants green so green it will be.

"Oh-kay," Santana drawls warily. "Don't blow a fuse there, midget. We've got you covered."

Rachel is hardly blowing a fuse! She just wants to ensure that Quinn has a very good day—a thing that isn't so easy to do when she's turning her wife over to Santana's questionable brand of care. "I'm trusting you to be on your best behavior, Santana. And I would be very grateful if you'd try to steer Quinn towards some healthier options on the menu…like the mushroom burger?" Not that Shake Shack's version of a veggie burger with all of that cheese they stuff into it is really any healthier than the dead cow.

Santana scoffs at that. "Yeah…not happening. You can push that meatless crap on your own watch, but I'm getting my girl her damn bacon double cheeseburger."

Rachel sighs in resignation. "At least make sure you take a taxi there…or call an Uber." She points her finger at Santana again. "Don't take the subway." She really doesn't want Quinn jostled and bumped on an overcrowded train.

"Actually, Resa's bike is parked downstairs," Santana mentions casually. "I thought we'd just take that…give Quinn a thrill."

"You are not putting my wife on the back of a motorcycle!" Rachel screeches, instinctively clutching at her chest—horrified by the very thought. She only vaguely notices the way Teresa drops her face into her hands, shaking her head in amused exasperation.

"I'm a safe driver," Santana assures her with a wicked smile. "I've only dumped it once."

Rachel inhales deeply, reminding herself that Santana is a trained surgeon, and therefore not a complete idiot. "She's merely attempting to mess with me, isn't she?" she asks Teresa—and it's possible the last part comes out sounding just a touch more desperate that she intends despite knowing better.

Teresa bites back a choked laugh, lifting earnest eyes to Rachel. "If she'd ever dumped my bike, she'd never get near it again," she vows unapologetically. "It's safely parked at our building. We walked here, and this is about as far as Santana is willing to walk in those heels," she reveals cheekily, pointing down at the boots in question.

"Hardee freaking har," Santana interjects, crossing her arms.

"She'll be ordering an Uber," Teresa assures her.

"You're no fun," Santana grumbles.

Teresa offers a soothing pat to her thigh, leaning close. "I'm plenty of fun in other ways."

"Oh, I know," Santana agrees, unabashedly kissing her despite the fact that Rachel is still standing right there watching them.

She snaps her fingers again. "Hey…what did I say about the flirting?"

Santana just flips her off, content to keep making out with her girlfriend right in the middle of Rachel and Quinn's sofa until Teresa laughing pushes her away. "Later, tiger," she promises Santana softly.

Quinn chooses that moment to reappear from the bedroom, having opted to keep the jeans but change into a lacy peach pullover maternity top that falls loosely over her belly. Rachel also notices that she'd removed the clips from her hair and brushed it out into sexy waves. A grin pulls at her lips because Santana wasn't wrong—Quinn will be forever blessed with a very healthy dose of vanity.

"Did I hear someone screaming about a motorcycle?"

Teresa and Santana both laugh at the question, and Rachel huffs in annoyance, reflexively stomping her foot.

"You'd be down for a joyride, right?" Santana asks with a smirk.

"As long as Teresa's driving," Quinn responds without missing a beat.

"You're nearly as bad as they are," Rachel accuses her wife.

A grin curves Quinn's lips as she steps closer. "And you're just too easy, sweetie." She punctuates the observation with a soft kiss, stealing Rachel's chance to form a protest.

"Okay, flirt on your own time," Santana interrupts, using Rachel's words against her as she rises from the sofa. "You already knocked her up, stud. It's time for me to liberate her pregnant ass from your boring influence for a few hours."

Without looking away from Rachel, Quinn rolls her eyes at Santana, grin still firmly in place. "I'm only going with her for the burger."

Rachel grimaces, placing her hands on either side of Quinn's belly as she addresses her unborn daughter. "I'm sorry your mother is an unrepentant carnivore." She ignores Quinn's quiet laughter. "I promise to make her eat lots of vegetables to make up for what you're about to endure."

"Gag me," Santana mutters, though Rachel doesn't miss the fond expression that belies her words.

Quinn presses her hands over Rachel's, giving them a pat as she steals another quick kiss. "We won't be gone too long," she promises.

"Yes, we will," Santana chimes in.

"Take your time," Rachel urges, in no rush for Quinn to return to an apartment that will be potentially filled with paint fumes. "Teresa and I will be too busy painting to even notice you're gone."

"You just enjoy your day," Teresa adds with an encouraging smile. "We've got the nursery covered."

Quinn still looks just a little bit reluctant to leave, but she lets Santana guide her out of the apartment and off to whatever activities she has planned for them—in addition to consuming the dead animals stewed in grease.

Once they're gone, Teresa and Rachel get right to work, spreading out the tarp that Rachel had bought to protect the hardwood floor and applying more of the painter's tape to the baseboards and around the window and door. Rachel had tried to get a start on that, but she suspects that she didn't do the best job after she watches Teresa peel some of it away only to reapply it much more neatly.

"Don't worry. I have experience painting more than just canvases," Teresa assures her while they work. "I helped my dad repaint our house, and Kate and I repainted our old apartment when we first moved in, but this is my first nursery," she admits with a grin.

"But maybe not your last," Rachel hints, wondering if there might eventually be any little Rinaldi-Lopezes running around to play with her daughter.

Teresa laughs at that, shaking her head. "We'll see," she evades, prying open the lid on the first paint can before beginning to stir it. "This is a nice color," she notes, glancing at the test patches on the wall. "That one, right?" she asks, pointing to the correct square.

Rachel nods. "You have a good eye."

"It's kind of my thing," Teresa reminds her with a shrug. "Where do you think you'll be putting the crib?"

"We're not completely sure yet," Rachel admits. "But we're thinking this wall." And she gestures to the one this room shares with their bedroom next door.

Teresa nods. "We'll do that one first then," she murmurs, almost to herself, before pouring out the paint into a tray. Rachel vaguely wonders why they would need to do it first, but then Teresa is showing her how to properly use the roller on the larger section of wall and setting her to work on that while she uses the brush to start painting the more intricate areas around the corners, window, door, and baseboards.

The work goes fairly quickly with the both of them working together, and the conversation comes easily enough, giving Rachel the chance to learn even more about Santana's girlfriend—little anecdotes about her childhood in New Jersey and stories about her older brothers that make Rachel laugh.

Once the room is painted, they take a break for a late lunch while they wait for the walls to dry, but before they actually eat, Teresa informs Rachel that she'd sketched out a simple design to adorn the wall over the crib—which is why she'd wanted to paint that one first and give it time to thoroughly dry. She shows it to Rachel on paper to get her approval, and it's absolutely perfect. Rachel is incredibly touched by the gesture, and she can't wait to see how it will look on the wall, and she really can't wait to surprise Quinn with it.

"We've talked it about, you know?" Teresa admits some time later over the caprese sandwiches that Rachel had made for them. "Kids" she clarifies when Rachel only stares at her in confusion. "After you and Quinn announced her pregnancy, Santana asked me if it was something I'd want someday." Rachel nods in understanding, though their announcement had been less of an announcement and more Santana making an educated guess based on Quinn's lack of alcohol consumption that that they couldn't deny. "I guess she wanted to make sure it wouldn't turn into a problem for us," Teresa goes on to admit, looking a little uncomfortable as she says it.

"Oh," Rachel breathes out, realization washing over her.

Santana had been surprisingly noninvasive in those months when Quinn and Rachel had first debated children, but she'd checked in with both of them in little ways with a vague question or comment now and then to make sure they were both okay with whatever decisions they were making in private. It wasn't until Quinn's pregnancy had been confirmed that Santana had actually asked Rachel (far away from Quinn's vicinity) if she was really okay with becoming a mother right now, having known that Rachel hadn't felt anywhere near ready when they'd last officially spoken on the subject. Santana had been worried about them, so Rachel really shouldn't be surprised that she'd confided in her girlfriend.

"It's a good thing to be on the same page about," Rachel murmurs, feeling a touch of embarrassment burn at the tips of her ears.

"Yeah," Teresa agrees with a sympathetic smile.

It hasn't escaped Rachel's notice that Teresa hasn't actually said what her answer to Santana's question had been. "So…I guess you are?" When Teresa only looks at her blankly, she prompts, "On the same page?"

"We are," Teresa confirms, her smile turning a touch mischievous, "really not in any hurry to take that step," she continues after a beat, laughing lightly. "I'm mostly just happy the whole living together thing has been working out so well."

"I knew it would," Rachel boasts with a proud smile, pleased that her decision to play matchmaker on that fateful day at the art gallery has worked out so well. She supposes she can wait a while longer before gently encouraging them to take the next step. "You're really good for Santana," she says more seriously.

"She's good for me too," Teresa shares with a tender smile. "And good to me."

Rachel isn't surprised at all to hear that. Santana might have her little personality quirks, as do they all, but she's also fiercely loyal to the people she loves, and she obviously loves Teresa. She's seemed happier in the last year than she's been since—well, since Brittany. Rachel is happy for her—for both of them—and she's also happy that she and Quinn have gained another good friend in Teresa. And when that friend happens to volunteer to lend her artistic skills to their daughter's nursery, it's even better.

The backpack that Teresa had brought with her contains a selection of her own smaller paintbrushes and a small, sample-sized can of Black Satin paint—because like the white, even the black can't just be called black—that she'd taken the liberty of buying. "It's best not to mix paint types," she explains, and she won't really need any other colors beyond the yellows and the white that Rachel already has on hand from the samples.

So once they're finished with lunch, Teresa gets back to work on the wall, shooing Rachel away so she can work without distraction and because, "I want you and Quinn to see it for the first time together. It's my gift to you and baby Fabray, and you already had a peek at it with the sketch."

Rachel huffs in disappointment, but she agrees to stay out of the room, distracting herself by tidying up the kitchen and then browsing the internet for potential display cases for her awards. As it turns out, she would have needed to leave Teresa to her own devices anyway because it's not long before Quinn and Santana return, each carrying bags emblazoned with the logos of various designer boutiques.

"You went shopping too," Rachel notes with some trepidation.

"Well, duh," Santana replies with a smirk. "A little retail therapy is good for the soul."

Quinn sets down her bags on the coffee table with a smile before diving inside to show Rachel her bounty. "I got the cutest onesie," she gushes, pulling out a jumper covered in colorful little stars. "It's got stars on it, which I knew you'd appreciate, and the sweetest little matching hat," she adds, holding up a tiny beanie.

Rachel is instantly tickled, reaching out to inspect the soft cotton outfit with a delighted grin. "It's adorable."

"I know," Quinn agrees excitedly, passing it into Rachel's hands before diving back into her bag. "And I found this." She holds up a tiny yellow and white checkered sun hat that's so incredibly Quinn that Rachel has to laugh. "It's not technically for a newborn, but she'll grow into it."

"Unless she inherits your smurf-like genes," Santana snarks.

Rachel only sticks her tongue out at Santana, making her laugh. "Is all of this baby clothes?" she asks, gesturing to the bags. She's happy that Santana had taken Quinn out for the day, but—well, she'd like to go baby shopping too!

"Not all of it. There's also a diaper bag." And then Quinn is pulling out a patterned beige and black bag that looks more like an oversized purse to show Rachel.

"Gucci?" Rachel notes with wide eyes. She didn't even know Gucci made diaper bags.

Quinn nods happily. "And it comes with a changing pad."

"Do I even want to see the credit card bill?" Rachel wonders absently as she inspects the diaper bag—which is very nice and, thankfully, not leather.

"Santana bought us the bag," Quinn points out with a grateful smile at their friend.

Rachel's eyebrows shoot up as her gaze flies to Santana, who's rolling her eyes in an attempt to downplay the thoughtful gesture. "Hey, if I left it to you two, you'd be carrying around some fugly plaid and argyle thing."

"There's nothing wrong with plaid," Rachel defends, but she can't repress the smile at their friend's generosity. "Thank you, Santana," she says sweetly, as touched by this gift as the one Teresa is currently painting for them.

"Yeah, yeah," Santana dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I bought myself one too. A purse, not a diaper bag obviously," she clarifies, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "I also bought some fun new things to wear for my girl," she shares with a wolfish grin as she glances around the apartment. "Where is my girl, anyway? Did she take off without me?" she asks with a frown.

"She's in the nursery finishing up with the painting."

"You said you wouldn't make her do all the work," Quinn accuses with a trace of disappointment in her voice.

"I'll have you know that I more than pulled my weight, Quinn," Rachel insists, pointing to the paint splatters on her shirt as evidence. "Teresa is just adding a bit of…trim," she settles on after a slight hesitation.

"Oh, yeah. She mentioned maybe doing that," Santana mutters, nodding to Rachel. "Guess we should have hit up Z'Baby Company too. Killed a little more time."

Quinn's eyebrow inches up. "Okay, what's going on? What trim is she adding?"

"You'll see," Rachel promises with a grin, but it fades quickly when Quinn takes a determined step towards the hallway. "Later," she quickly amends, grabbing onto Quinn's hand to stop her from rushing into the nursery. "You'll see later. When she's done." She gently tugs her wife back toward the sofa. "You should sit now," she suggests, urging Quinn down. "Get off your feet and rest after all that shopping."

"I don't like it when you keep things from me, Rachel," Quinn reminds her warily.

"This is a good thing," Rachel promises soothingly. "Trust me."

"Yeah, Q," Santana offers in support. "Just chill for awhile and let Resa do her thing."

Quinn sighs impatiently, but she does ease back into the sofa, and Rachel settles onto the adjacent chair, asking them what else they'd done today in a blatant attempt to distract Quinn from her suspicious curiosity. They chat for another forty-five minutes before Teresa comes out with yellow and black paint smudges on her fingers and one small white smear on her cheek.

Santana is up in a heartbeat, greeting her girlfriend with a soft kiss and a teasing, "I love when you're all paint smudged," before gently brushing a thumb over her cheek.

A faint blush stains Teresa's face as she swats Santana's hand away. "Well, some of us were working while you were off," she glances at the bags on the coffee table, her brows arching in surprise, "buying out Fifth Avenue?"

"Hey, that was hard work," Santana insists with a grin, running her hands over Teresa's hips, "and I think you're gonna appreciate some of the results later on tonight." Her voice drops into a low purr over the words, and Teresa looks unmistakably intrigued.

"Speaking of hard work," Quinn unabashedly interrupts them, "care to enlighten me on what you were working on that these two apparently know about and I don't?"

Undeterred by Quinn's mildly petulant tone, Teresa chuckles as she gently extracts herself from Santana's grasp. "Just a little enhancement to your décor." She nods to Rachel. "With your wife's approval, of course."

"But she wouldn't let me see it until she was done," Rachel complains good-naturedly, as eager as Quinn to see the finished promise.

"Which I now am," Teresa informs them with a smile.

"So what are we waiting for?" Quinn demands, already struggling to push herself up off the sofa. "I want to see our nursery." Rachel jumps up to help her wife stand but is pleasantly surprised when Santana gets there first, holding out a hand that Quinn gratefully accepts.

"Quinn, baby, it still needs to air out," Rachel reminds her worriedly.

Quinn shoots her a look of warning. "Rachel, I'm looking in that room right now."

Rachel knows better than to argue—she won't be stopping her wife from seeing their daughter's nursery today. "Only for a minute," she relents, "and you need your mask." She's already moving to retrieve it from the closet while Quinn rolls her eyes.

Santana snickers, but the snarky remark that Rachel expects doesn't come. Instead, she's asking, "lt's a respirator, right? Not one of those wussy little dust masks?"

"Careful, Santana," Quinn teases, taking the mask from Rachel. "Your soft side is showing."

Santana scoffs at that, crossing her arms. "Hey...that's my doctor side."

"Your squishy, emo doctor side," Teresa coos, playfully scratching at Santana's stomach.

Santana bats her hand away with a blush and a muttered, "Whatever."

Rachel grins at the both of them. "Rest assured, Santana. I would never allow Quinn anywhere near that room without adequate protection from the potentially harmful chemicals."

"A simple yes would have done the trick," Santana grumbles, but Rachel can recognize the trace of affection in it.

Once Quinn has her mask, they all move to the nursery, though Teresa stops them at the door with a tentative expression. "If you don't like it, I can paint over it."

"I'm sure we'll love it," Rachel assures her, already having a very good idea of what she'll see inside.

"You'd better love it," Santana warns them with a glare.

Teresa bites back a grin at her girlfriend's protective streak, shaking her head. "It's fine if you don't. I've survived New York art critics. I think can handle it if you tell me you'd rather have something else on your nursery wall." And then she opens the door and gestures for them to step inside.

Rachel checks to make sure that Quinn's mask is firmly in place before taking her hand and leading her into the room. There's still a noticeable paint smell, though it's not at all overwhelming thanks to the fan and the window, so she breathes a little easier and turns her attention to the finished room. Her eyes go immediately to the wall that Teresa had used as her canvas, and she blinks at the sight.

A swirl of yellow stars dances across the green background, leading up to a crescent moon that hangs in the upper corner of the room closest to the window, and on that moon sleeps a black and white cat that looks very much like Oliver.

She can't believe that Teresa was able to create that in only a couple of hours, and a delighted, "Oh, wow," falls from her lips. She feels Quinn's hand tighten around her own, and her gaze immediately shifts to her wife, who's staring at the wall through shimmering eyes. Rachel silently damns the mask that she needs to wear because it hides half of Quinn's expression from her. She does, however, hear the gasp and notice the way Quinn's free hand flies up to the mask, as if she wants to rip it away. "Quinn, baby?"

Quinn's gaze moves to hers, tears spilling freely over her lashes. "It's…" she trails off, shaking her head as she lets go of Rachel's hand and flees the room.

Rachel only spares a brief glance at Teresa and Santana, who'd followed them in, before rushing out after her wife. She vaguely hears Santana mumble, "Hormones," to Teresa, but her focus is solely on Quinn, who's removed her mask and let it fall to floor while she leans against the hallway wall with trembling fingers pressed to her lips and tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Happy tears?" Rachel asks hesitantly, lifting a hand to Quinn's cheek as she stares into glistening eyes.

A wet laugh bubbles out from curved lips, and Quinn nods, brushing absently at her tears. "Very happy. It's perfect," she breathes in awe, grateful eyes moving from Rachel to Teresa, who'd stepped out of the nursery behind them. Then she's swiftly moving forward to envelop Teresa in a tearful hug. "Thank you so much. I love it."

Teresa exhales in relief, returning the hug. "I was a little worried there for a second."

Quinn releases her with an embarrassed smile, wiping away the moisture beneath her eyes again. "My emotions have been a little out of control lately, and that mask is a bitch to cry around," she explains with a soft laugh. "I can't believe you did all of that."

"It was nothing," Teresa dismisses humbly. "Rachel did a good bit of the painting," she acknowledges with a nod. "It was a team effort."

Rachel shakes her head. "As much as I love taking credit for fabulous ideas, I can't claim this one. You're the reason our nursery turned out so well." She doesn't know how she's ever going to repay Teresa for all of her help today. "I'm going to hug you now," she announces before doing just that. "Thank you, Teresa. You're amazing."

"Hey, don't be macking on my woman," Santana interrupts, gently nudging them apart. "You've got your own."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel turns to Quinn and takes her hands with a soft smile. "Do you really love it?"

"So much," Quinn confirms, tugging her closer. "And I love you." She leans forward to grace Rachel's lips with a tender kiss. When she pulls back, there's a determined grin on her face. "Now grab me that mask. I wanna see our beautiful nursery again."

And so Rachel does, bending to retrieve the mask before she escorts her wife back into the room where she watches Quinn slowly spin around to take in every inch of their daughter's future home with happiness shining in her eyes. Rachel eventually tears her gaze away from her wife so she can admire the nursery again, silently noting how perfectly the yellow stars complement the green walls (and later she'll point out how right she was about that to Quinn).

They invite Santana and Teresa to stay for dinner in appreciation of everything they've done for them today—each in their own unique way, of course—and then they promptly order takeout because they've all worked hard and no one is in the mood to cook.

Much later, after Santana and Teresa have gone home and Quinn has shown Rachel her appreciation for the nursery in very intimate detail, they lie tangled together in their bed while Rachel happily chases their daughter's movements across Quinn's belly. It's the perfect way to end what she considers to be a very productive day.

"What do you think of Stella as a potential name?" Quinn asks out of the blue.

Rachel's gaze drifts up to meet sparkling hazel eyes. "Where did that come from?" she wonders, forever intrigued by the mysterious workings of her wife's mind.

Quinn smiles sweetly. "The stars in the nursery. Since you're all about name meanings, Stella means star. I think it's pretty appropriate."

A besotted smile pulls at Rachel's mouth as she rubs a gentle circle over the spot where their daughter is currently kicking. "Our little star." She's utterly enamored with the nickname, deciding right then that she's going to keep using it until they can settle on an actual name—and probably long after that as well.

"There's a sonnet too," Quinn murmurs. "Astrophil and Stella."

"Which you're going to recite to me, I'm sure," Rachel guesses with a giggle. She does so love it when Quinn starts quoting poetry.

Quinn chuckles, shaking her head against her pillow. "Actually, I don't have that one memorized," she admits, surprising Rachel, "but it's about a star lover and his star, so also appropriate."

Rachel catches her lower lip between her teeth, considering the name more seriously. "It's cute."

Quinn easily picks up the uncertainty in her tone. "But?"

"I just keep hearing Marlon Brando shouting Stella in my head, and I'm not sure I could get past that," Rachel admits with an apologetic smile. It had been the first thing to pop into her mind when Quinn had said the name, and despite how much she adores the meaning, she can't seem to separate it from its pop culture association.

"Fair point," Quinn concedes with a tiny frown.

"But I do love the meaning," Rachel is quick to assure her. If it weren't for that one little negative, she'd happily put in on their list.

"What about Esther?" Quinn asks after a moment of consideration. "It's the Hebrew version."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise "Quinn Fabray! When did you memorize a list of names that mean star?"

Laughing, Quinn shakes her head again. "I didn't. I just remember Stella from the sonnet, and I only know Esther because she has her very own book in the bible." Her eyebrow inches up as she curls a palm around Rachel's hip. "If you recall, that was required reading in my house."

Rachel does remember. It's also a book in the Tanakh, though she can only vaguely recall the story at the moment. "Don't you think Esther might be a little…mature for a baby?"

"She'd eventually grow into it."

"When she's sixty," Rachel agrees jokingly.

Quinn sighs again, rolling her eyes. "Just say you hate it, Rachel."

"I don't hate it," Rachel insists, briefly tracing her thumb beneath her wife's lower lip in an attempt to erase her frown. "I just don't love it." It simply feels wrong for a baby—for their baby. "But if you do, then we can certainly put it on the list."

"I'd rather put Stella on there," Quinn grumbles stubbornly.

"Can it go on as a maybe?" Rachel asks hopefully, deciding that she might be willing to give the name some further consideration if Quinn really likes it. "I mean, if it wasn't for good old Stanley Kowalski, I'd be all for it, but some things just can't be unheard, Quinn."

Quinn laughs again, lifting a hand to brush back a messy lock of Rachel's hair. "It can be a maybe."

Maybe they'll even find a name they both love before their little star actually arrives, but at least now they have a nursery to put her in—once they buy some furniture for it anyway.