Still off the Key of Reason
Chapter 36: Old Like Elephants, Part 1
Rachel quickly determined that Emmie was a maniac. It took Quinn a while longer—mostly because she was at work all day and Rachel presented the evidence in sporadic, deranged outbursts—but by four weeks of age, they'd come to a consensus.
Emmie's eyes were just a little sharper than James's had been when he was a month old. There was a clever, calculating glint behind that warm baby smile, and Rachel would feel it from across the room. She enjoyed those moments, engaged her daughter's crafty spirit, because most of Emmie's waking hours were spent shrieking, eating, and spitting everything back up because milk seemed to bother her.
"She's so loud." Quinn whispered, awed, when Emmie's cries degenerated into tearless wails one night.
Rachel stared at the ceiling. She offered a quiet, regretful, "She's me," because her two-week-old baby perfectly matched the descriptions her fathers had given her of her own newborn experience multiple times. She realized "good set of lungs" meant "incessant, attention-seeking, devilish bawling" and she'd been lied to for thirty years.
Quinn rolled over in bed and pressed her palms against Rachel's ears.
It only dulled the noise, but Rachel swallowed thickly, let her eyes flutter closed with fleeting relief. Quinn kissed the side of her head and Rachel lay quietly for a few minutes, just until she felt less inclined to throw herself off the balcony.
She rolled out of bed when Quinn's half-asleep hands fell away from her ears.
There wasn't much to do in her apartment in the dead of night, she'd learned. She checked on James, who was curled up in a ball sleeping soundly in his farm animal pajamas, and crept back into the hallway, envious of him and the four lightly snoring dogs on the floor of his bedroom.
Rachel looked in on Emmie next, unsurprised to hear the desperate, dry wailing that meant her daughter would be dropping off in the next few minutes. She strolled through the kitchen next, stubbed her toe on a chair and fell into the breakfast table, then hobbled back to the master bedroom because it was a nice night for a bath.
She was running the water and stripping herself of the tangled limbs of her pajamas when Quinn appeared in the doorway, blinking against the light.
"What are you—did you spill something?" she wondered thickly.
Rachel shook her head. She dropped her top onto the floor and glanced at the mirror, cringing at the state of her abdomen and the scar forming near her navel. She sighed and stepped towards the bathtub, but Quinn caught her around the waist and nuzzled into the crook of her neck.
She was plastered hotly against Rachel's back before Rachel could stop her.
"Baby, come on." Rachel squirmed.
"It's quiet now. You should sleep." Quinn mumbled. She squeezed tighter and kissed Rachel's ear. More softly she added, "You're gorgeous, you know."
Rachel fidgeted. Quinn met her eyes in the mirror and smiled.
"I can see it." Quinn tickled up Rachel's sides. She kissed Rachel's shoulders and the side of her head. "Here and here and here."
"Quinn."
"It's all lovely." Quinn plowed on, rocking her from side to side. "Even that odd little toe." She scrunched up her nose. "But I'm not going to kiss that because God knows where your feet have been."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Let me get in the bath."
She was honestly seconds from passing out.
"Come back to bed." Quinn puffed out her cheeks and Rachel snorted softly at the sight.
"Idiot." She chuckled.
Quinn lifted a brow and let her go. She abruptly pulled her own fuzzy pajama pants and underwear down and kicked them away, and then struggled with her t-shirt and tipped into the wall until it was free of her head. Her blonde hair flipped around as she determinedly plucked off her socks.
Rachel watched, amused, as Quinn stepped straight into the tub, realized it was too hot, gasped, and plowed ahead anyway. She dropped fully into the water, sloshing it over the sides, and grinned, pleased with herself.
"Bear…" Rachel drawled fondly.
Quinn held her hand out expectantly. "I'll stay awake so you won't drown."
"It's too hot."
"It's nice." Quinn insisted, skin turning alarmingly red
Rachel took her hand and stepped carefully over the edge, taking extra time to get used to the water while Quinn kept a secure, steadying hand on her ass. When Rachel finally sat down and relaxed, she tipped her head back on Quinn's shoulder and prodded her thigh.
"Don't let me sink."
Quinn played with the wet ends of Rachel's hair and quietly wondered, "Do you remember—in our first apartment—the pipes used to make loads of noise?"
Rachel smiled and nodded, eyes closed. "I think you slept in my room."
Quinn scoffed. "Your bed, actually."
"You were such a sweetheart." Rachel hummed. She tipped her head curiously. "I wonder what happened."
She heard Quinn's indignant inhale and smiled when she felt her hair being dragged into soapy spikes.
"Remember when that chili you made got me violently ill?" Quinn asked against her ear.
"Remember when you refused to stop eating it?" Rachel returned immediately. Every detail was locked into her superior memory. "Remember when you put a hole through the drywall bouncing around on the yoga ball? Remember when you used a Swiffer to beat a pigeon out of our apartment?"
Quinn laughed, bouncing Rachel's head around, and squeezed her affectionately. Rachel squirmed while Quinn said, "Remember when you kissed me at the beach?"
"No, I don't."
"Not at all?" Quinn smiled. "Are you positive?"
Rachel frowned. "Was that—were you the one I took to Spain? Or the one who took me to Los Angeles?" She gasped abruptly. "No, wait, you're the girl who-"
"Don't do that." Quinn protested, prodding Rachel's side.
Rachel twisted at her soft tone. Quinn's eyes were shining and glazed with exhaustion, cheeks red because they were roasting like lobsters, sweating ridiculously. She smiled at Rachel's concern.
"It was so cold, and you were so nervous," Rachel remembered fondly.
If Quinn hadn't been submerged in a bathtub of—essentially—lava, the warm blush to her neck and cheeks would've been visible.
"And your tongue was blue from that gummy fruit thing."
Quinn tugged on one of Rachel's ears. "I never thought you'd kiss me."
"I know."
Rachel tipped forward until she was inches from Quinn's face, smiling widely. "I remember every bit of it, bear, and I couldn't wait to kiss you."
Quinn palmed Rachel's hot cheeks, tapped her ears, kissed her with a laugh.
Across the apartment, Emmie shrieked.
~ooooooooooooo~
Emmie was eight weeks old by Quinn's birthday, so the celebration involved board games and rum-soaked gummy bears for the adults and Play-Doh party favors and naptime for James, Simba, Marcus, and Em.
Rachel watched her daughter smile as James aggressively pushed the baby swing to alarming heights. She was wedged between Brittany and Puck on the couch—blurry-eyed and nauseous because of all the cake she'd eaten—but determined to stay awake because Quinn was downing spiked limeade like there was no tomorrow and somebody had to look after their babies.
"Careful, Jimbo." Rachel called over the uproar of Santana spontaneously changing the rules of Scattergories. "Slow it down."
Puck scoffed. "She's loving it. She's a thrill seeker." He gave James a thumbs-up and a sloppy smile. "Look at her face."
"She'll come flying out."
James paused, hands at his sides, and glanced between Rachel and Puck. His hair curled over his ears and tickled his rumpled collar, and his hazel eyes were wide and conflicted.
"Keep pushing, Jon Bon." Puck encouraged. "You're doin' great."
Rachel sat forward—immediately regretted it because she could've projectiled over the coffee table—and pointed a finger at her son when she felt her stomach was under control.
"James Christopher Robin."
James looked back at the slowing swing, and then at Quinn, who was loudly arguing her case that "corpse" could be a "thing found at the beach" for the letter "C."
"Have you had a lot of dead bodies wash up on the sand when you've gone?" Kurt cried incredulously.
Quinn's voice was raspy and deliberate when she replied, "No, but it's possible."
Santana nodded sagely. "I'll accept it." She said, like she was grand master of the game, but she was drowned out by the din of Blaine's answer of "Caribbean people."
James hesitated a second more, and then turned and planted a kiss on Emmie's head, palming her in the eye in the process. He jammed his hands in his pockets and thundered away from the swing to climb into Rachel's lap.
"There's my sweet boy." Rachel grinned and cuddled him to her chest.
Puck gave an exaggerated sigh. "Dude."
Rachel knew that if Puck was trying to corrupt her children, to turn them into little trouble-making rebels, he'd have better luck with Emmie. She probably wouldn't even need any help, any guiding along that particular path. Rachel could see a fist sticking up out of the swing, waving for her brother, and James climbed out of Rachel's lap and hurried back to the swing to keep pushing because he knew his sister would fly off the handle if he didn't.
Those brown eyes and sweet smile and fluffy, dark hair wouldn't fool him.
There was a knock on the door, and Rachel got up to answer it because the Scattergories situation was only escalating and nobody else seemed capable. She squealed as soon as the door swung open and threw her arms around Sam's neck.
"Hey, stranger." He laughed as Penguin—all quirky black spots and clumsy, grown-up paws now—bulldozed her way through the door.
Rachel pulled back and patted his chest. "We didn't know you were coming!"
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but a loud exclamation of "Penguin!" came from the living room and he smiled and waited instead. Quinn came barreling into the entryway seconds later, red-faced and smiling widely.
"Sam!" she delighted, knocking clumsily into the doorjamb before tripping into a hug.
Rachel snorted and put a hand on her back to steady her.
"Everybody's drunk." She stage whispered at Sam's raised eyebrows.
Quinn shook her head and stepped back, and Rachel wrapped an arm around her waist. "Mm'not, baby." She said, intensely watching Rachel's eyes. She looked down at herself and frowned. "But I do—all of my legs are itching."
Sam laughed. "All of them?"
"I didn't know you were coming! I would've—I would've-"
"Baby." Rachel smiled, squeezed her side.
"So you're having a good birthday, huh." Sam observed, amused. He rocked forward on his toes. "I have news for you guys."
"Are you engaged?" Rachel asked before he'd even finished his statement. "Did you get promoted? Injured?" She scanned his limbs quickly, but nothing seemed to have been bitten off by a killer whale. "Are you having a baby?"
"How's…Shamu?" Quinn slurred, miles behind.
Sam declared, "I'm moving back to New York," and his eyes flickered between Rachel's and Quinn's, gauging their reactions. "I'll be a sea lion trainer at the aquarium in Brooklyn."
"Oh my God!" Rachel shrieked as Quinn echoed, "Sea lions!"
It was fantastic. Sam was Quinn's first friend, her NYU classmate, the one who taught her how to swim and then beat her over the head with an inflatable crocodile—confident that she wouldn't drown—after she dunked him. He could do the same with James and Emmie. And Penguin could infuse some life into their aging dogs, change up the scenery a bit, maybe get Barnaby up and about.
Quinn hugged him again, and then dragged him through the door as he supported half her weight.
Sam was greeted with "Nacho Fosco!" and "Uh-oh, somebody got fired!" when he walked into the living room. James left the swing behind and ran as soon as he recognized who it was, and dissolved into laughter when he was lifted into the air and spun—dangerously close to the wall—like always.
Quinn watched from behind the couch, swaying unsteadily, and Rachel leaned into her side and stilled her fidgety hands.
"I wonder what—what the whales…Did you know he was coming back?" Quinn wondered absently.
"Not at all."
If Rachel had known, Quinn would've known. Everybody Rachel knew or spoke to on a daily basis would've known.
Quinn glanced down at Rachel, blinking to focus her gaze. Her hair fell into her face and she smelled like gummy bears—rum soaked—tonight.
"I finished my book, Rachel." She whispered loudly.
Rachel's eyebrows lifted, legitimately surprised.
Quinn hummed, and then distracted herself and kept humming a little tune. "Tina's found—found a publisher." She continued when Rachel tapped her lips. She smiled and kissed Rachel's head. "And you can read it, I think, if you promise not to mock."
Rachel gasped. "But there's so much to mock."
"You think you're frun—funny."
"And you think you're not a little bit drunk, bear." Rachel returned fondly. She smoothed out the frown between Quinn's eyes and pushed her in the direction of the bedroom. "I'm proud of you, baby."
"M'proud of you too." Quinn wobbled down the hallway like she'd never seen it before.
Rachel laughed quietly. "Why? What did I do?"
It was only Rachel's superior reflexes that kept Quinn from tripping through the sliding door in the master bedroom when she spun around. Rachel seized her sweater and kept her upright, and Quinn stared at her with shining eyes, some disbelief.
"You're my book, baby." Quinn said bluntly. "It's me and you, and some pets and some other people, and no rhyme or reason. It doesn't make any—any sense, but you're—it's—everything-"
Rachel pressed her lips together, brushed the hair away from Quinn's warm face.
She couldn't really speak. Her throat had gone thick and she chewed on her cheek until it passed. Quinn watched her, searched her face.
"Happy birthday, baby." Rachel finally managed.
Quinn smiled, dropped back onto the bed and tugged Rachel after her. "I love you too."
~ooooooooooooo~
Rachel had known it was coming. Barnaby was twelve years old, white-faced and stiff-jointed, though his tail would still thump happily when Quinn would carry him outside or put bits of bacon and waffles in his bowl. His eyes were quiet, and Rachel thought she was prepared for it.
She was roused from her sleep by a warm hand on her arm, a kiss on her cheek. Quinn would usually let her sleep in the morning when she left for work—on the off chance that Emmie wasn't screaming—and Rachel rolled over and blinked groggily up at her wife.
"Hey, baby." Quinn said softly.
She was dressed already—slacks and a sweater—and her hair was pinned neatly back for work. Rachel fumbled and sat up immediately at the somber look on her face.
"What's—are you okay?" she coughed to clear her voice and rubbed at her eyes. "What's wrong?"
Quinn took a breath. She looked pained, and her gaze drifted away. Rachel watched her carefully. She wasn't stuck on her words, just reluctant to say them.
"Quinn."
"I went to get the dogs out of James's room to feed them."
Rachel's breath caught in her throat. A strangled, "Oh no," worked its way through.
"Baby, Barnaby's—he passed away." Quinn swallowed rapidly and squeezed Rachel's hand. "I moved him to the office and called in to work, but-"
Rachel slid abruptly out of bed, with Quinn's hand in a vice-grip, and stepped towards the door. She ignored the burning in her eyes, the sudden ache in her chest, the way it rose and fell unevenly with her breathing. Quinn was warm and steady and quiet at her side.
A small cry made its way past Rachel's lips when she saw Cloud, Char, and Cornelius bunched up together outside the office door, staring at the doorknob. She patted all of their eager heads, and then Quinn ushered them aside and let Rachel slide through the door first. Barnaby was on a fleecy blanket in the corner, all warm and soft and golden, like he could be sleeping.
"Barnes." Rachel said thickly, in tears halfway across the room.
She sat by her dog, her first dog, and held his head and tangled her fingers into the straw-colored feathering over his side. Quinn sat next to Rachel and watched her with the most heartbreakingly gentle expression.
Barnaby was Rachel's dog first. He was the puppy she got while auditioning for Funny Girl, the one who drove away her roommates and destroyed her DVD player and chased after the ducks in the cold Central Park ponds. He was hers for two years before Quinn. Rachel taught him to dance, gave him disastrous baths in her tub, introduced him to her fans, cuddled up with him when her bed was particularly cold.
Barnaby was the one who liked sleeping in James's bedroom. The other dogs would just do what Barnaby did—let James yank on their ears and then watch him when Rachel and Quinn were in another room, get up to investigate Emmie's cries every single time.
Rachel started to cry in earnest, shoulders shaking.
Quinn remained silent, blinked against her own watery gaze, rubbed a soothing hand over Rachel's back. They sat like that until the sun shone blindingly through the curtains. Rachel quieted herself, breathing heavily, flexed her fingers and came away with stray golden fur.
"Do you think it hurt?" she wondered shakily, staring at Barnaby's whiskers.
Quinn's hand stilled. "No, baby. Not at all."
Rachel nodded, relieved.
Barnaby obviously hadn't made any noise, or James would be awake and upset. None of the other dogs had seemed alarmed. Rachel was comforted by that.
Quinn squeezed Rachel's arm and stood up, kissed her on the top of her head. "I'll give you a minute, baby."
Rachel sniffled and nodded. She wiped at her eyes but they just wouldn't stop leaking. She heard Quinn fall into conversation with the other three dogs, and then the click of the door. Her hands kept roaming through Barnaby's fur, gently tugging on his ears. It was what she'd done last night while feeding him a spoonful of peanut butter because he refused to eat anything from anybody else.
"They'll probably have waffles there, Barnes. And maple syrup and Sugar Puffs." Rachel's voice wobbled. "And lots of places to swim, and…whole rooms of things for you to wreck."
Rachel dragged her fingers repeatedly over his head.
She'd grown up with this dog, accomplished her dreams, started a family. She thought of how Barnaby acted when he met Quinn that first day in their apartment, how he opened her up and followed them through for ten years with his lovable nature, and all she could say was, "Thank you, Barnes."
~ooooooooooooo~
"You were still his favorite, you know."
Quinn's voice was soft. She sat in the grass by Rachel, watching Sam and Puck dig a hole in Blaine's parents' yard. Rachel quietly twisted Barnaby's faded blue collar between her fingers, tapped the bone-shaped name tag.
"I know you think he liked me better, and he loved everybody," Quinn tipped sideways and kissed Rachel's shoulder, "But he was yours. He did it for you."
Rachel smiled sadly. "That's sweet."
"Our life together has been his story." Quinn mused.
Rachel turned, listened expectantly. Quinn's hair shone in the sun, just long enough to tickle her shoulders. Her eyes danced and she smiled thoughtfully.
"Like…when we first met, and you let me take him on a walk even though you'd only known me for a few minutes."
Rachel hummed. "You seemed honest."
"And then after—after I had that first panic attack, he ate my boomerang in the park, stole another dog's ball, and went swimming with the geese in the pond."
"I got so angry." Rachel recalled, laughing. Quinn seemed pleased.
"You told me to jump in after him." Quinn recalled. "You thought something would eat him."
"A legitimate concern."
Quinn nodded indulgently. She tapped Rachel's thigh as they watched Brittany and Kurt run around with Penguin, Cloud, Char, and Cornelius.
"And—the day that I asked you on our first date—he ate some of the flowers. He's actually done that every year."
Rachel grinned. "Remember when you took him up to the podium to give that speech at the animal rescue?"
Quinn watched her warmly.
"And we'd take him to all those 5-Ks." Rachel chuckled. She plucked bits of grass from the ground and wrapped it around her fingers. "And I remember you tripped over him into the television dancing to Footloose the week before you graduated from NYU."
"And then you fed me peanut butter cookies all day." Quinn reminded proudly. "Barnaby and I had it all planned out."
"You know what I remember?" Santana dropped into the grass opposite Rachel with a baby carrier in each hand and James chasing after her. "I remember watching your demon pets while you were gallivanting around on your honeymoon, and having to pry Flappy's leg from Barnaby's mouth while the other ones wrecked my bathroom."
Rachel laughed loudly. She remembered that phone call in the hotel in Hawaii. Quinn had been slathered in aloe gel and trying to rid Rachel of her underwear.
James hurled himself into Quinn's chest with a hearty chuckle. She groaned exaggeratedly and stood him up and brushed the dirt from his shorts.
"Mommy."
"Yes, Jem."
James tilted his head up and squinted curiously at the sky. Rachel picked grass out of his fluffy hair.
"Barney's up there?" He pointed at the clouds and looked questioningly between Rachel and Quinn. Santana's eyebrows lifted, amused.
Rachel glanced at her wife. They'd told James that Barnaby had passed away, and he accepted it with a frown and a clarification that Cornelius, Cloud, Char, and Jelly Bean were still with him. Rachel knew James was so mellow and sweet that he'd figure Barnaby was happy wherever he was, even it was away from him.
"He is, sweetheart." Quinn said. "You know how you used to feed him your Sugar Puffs in the morning?"
"Because mommy is a bad example…" Rachel said under her breath. Quinn narrowed her eyes, scrunched up her nose.
James nodded and sat down on Rachel's legs.
"Well, he's got all the Sugar Puffs he could want now."
James smiled widely, eyes bright.
"And he can swim and run and play with the other dogs." Quinn described.
Rachel listened fondly and tacked on, "And he'll watch over you, because he'll miss you, Jimbo."
"That's okay. But I'm—I'm gonna miss him more." James said resolutely, puffing out his cheeks.
Rachel looked down at the collar she'd been fidgeting with for the past half hour and bit her lip. She slowly pried the nametag off of the metal loop and held it up for James.
"Rachel," Quinn said gently.
Rachel flashed her a reassuring smile.
"You can have this, Jay. To remember him." She tapped the metal tag and dragged her finger over the stylized 'Barnaby' and her phone number. "But you have to promise to keep it safe. You can't lose it, sweetie."
James's eyes widened. He nodded seriously and held out a careful hand. When Rachel let go, he studied the tag and clenched it tightly in his fist, climbed up from Rachel's legs and hurried over to show it to Uncle Sam.
Tears pricked Rachel's eyes again and she tipped into Quinn's side. Quinn kissed her head, and then rummaged through her bag and pulled out the small plaque they'd had engraved to go on the tree where Barnaby would be buried.
It would always make Rachel smile.
"Wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."
― A.A. Milne