Part V: Losing Myself In All That You Are
At forty weeks and two days (more or less), Rachel screams.
It's who-even-knows-what o'clock in the middle of the night—middle of the morning now actually—and Rachel has been in labor forever. Fine, not forever, but it certainly feels like it at this point. Her back pain—back labor, Doctor Barnes believes, likely due to her smaller stature and Celeste being a somewhat large baby—had really started a day or so before her actual due date. Rachel can't be bothered at this precise moment to reexamine every little ache and pain from the days leading up to the anything-but-little pain that she's now experiencing. So back labor (probably) included, she'd quite possibly been in early labor for several days, but the first notable contractions had happened around ten o'clock on Saturday morning. It's now—nowhere near there. It's Sunday. Rachel is certain of that much at least. Quinn hadn't needed to bring her to the hospital until after midnight, so definitely not Saturday anymore.
The events of the preceding evening are something of a blur at the moment. Calliope had gone off on her adventure to see the trains sometime after two o'clock and Santana had returned her safely home close to seven. There'd been a warning text twenty minutes prior to their arrival that they were finishing up their (greasy, unhealthy, meat-laden) dinner so that Rachel could do whatever she needed to do to make it seem like she hadn't been in labor for close to nine hours. In the time their firstborn had been gone, their second almost-born had only managed to speed up her arrival to a rate in which her mother's contractions were seven minutes apart and growing increasingly stronger and longer.
Rachel's water hadn't broken; her blood pressure hadn't spiked; there was no reason to rush her to the hospital where she could beg for an epidural or some other magic drug to help speed things along.
She seems to recall that she'd actually been upright when their daughter had returned, once again sitting backwards on a hard chair to try and ease the pain in her back, and she'd managed to mop the majority of sweat from her brow and switch out her soaked long-sleeved maternity blouse for a short-sleeved one, despite the dropping temperature outside. Calliope had been relieved to see her still there (and still very pregnant) and had chattered on about the trains and trees and other things that faded in and out of Rachel's consciousness in time with her contractions. (She'll really need to ask Calliope to tell her all of that again when she's not trying to ride out a wave of pain.)
There'd been a decision made to let Calliope sleep in her own bed since they didn't know when Rachel would finally reach the point where she'd need to go to the hospital—it could have been an hour or a day—so Quinn had done all the work of wrangling their (still clingy) daughter away from Rachel, into her pajamas, and into bed at a decently early hour.
Of course, she'd ended up awake again before too long, disturbed by the eventual commotion of the inevitable trip to the hospital and only partially assuaged of her worries before watching her mothers stumble out the door from the circle of her Nanna Shelby's arms.
Oh, yeah. Shelby had shown up somewhere in there too, thankfully without Beth, who'd been kind enough to stay home and out of the way until there was another baby sister (niece) to meet. The plan was for Shelby to spend the night on the sofa (since the guest room is now a nursery) in case Quinn and Rachel had needed to make a quick exit, but as happens with many of Rachel's plans, there'd been unintended consequences, namely Rachel having to suffer through unfunny anecdotes about Shelby's labor with her and a still awkward attempt at mothering. It had done absolutely nothing to make anything better and had left Rachel questioning the wisdom of allowing Shelby to try being a mom instead of merely a birth mother.
She vaguely recalls words falling from Shelby's lips that resembled direction or perhaps a critique of her mid-labor form, but all of that also could have been a pain-induced fever dream. Rachel honestly doesn't know and also doesn't care to know because she very definitely has other things to focus on like—
"Holy Barbra, sweet mother of Broadway!"
The contraction that cramps up her abdominal muscles right now and pulls even harder at her back feels like it's trying to turn her inside out. She twists her fingers into the sheet covering the birthing bed that she's currently hunched over, nearly ripping it all the way off as she rides out the pain. She has no idea what she was thinking when she'd agreed to do this and can't even begin to understand how Quinn could do it twice! Only a crazy person would subject themselves to this torture. Miracle of birth, her multitalented ass!
"Quinn," she pants, nearly sobbing. "Quinn…I don't wanna do this anymore."
She feels one of the hands that have been pressing firmly into her lower back disappear only to gently brush a length of damp hair from her cheek and tuck it back behind an ear. It had fallen completely out of the ponytail hours ago and she hasn't bothered to put it back up. "I know you don't, sweetheart," Quinn acknowledges tenderly. "But you have to keep going so we can finally meet our baby bunny."
Finally, the contraction begins to ease, leaving behind only the near constant throb in her back. "I hate logic," Rachel mutters once she's able to catch her breath and regain a modicum of her composure. "And I hate labor. And I hate this god-awful gown." She tugs at the mildly itchy, sweat-soaked material despondently. It's navy with giant baby blue flowers and is so very unflattering on her. "Yours was so much prettier."
"I'm pretty sure you owned a dress just like this in high school," Quinn points out, again massaging her back. Really, her hands must be numb by now, but she isn't complaining. Rachel appreciates her wife's commitment, but—
"We don't mention my former fashion choices, Quinn."
There's a husky chuckle from behind her. "You know I was very fond of some of them."
"Now is not the appropriate time for that." Even though it does lift her spirits slightly.
Lord knows her current drab surroundings aren't doing much for that. They're back in one of the private delivery rooms, much easier to secure this time around thanks to their elevated celebrity status, but there still isn't much to look at. The once yellow walls have been painted a soft sky blue, but the loveseat beneath the window has seen better days, and it's still the only piece of furniture in here that doesn't scream hospital.
It's just her and Quinn at the moment, suffering alone between checkups from their nurse. It isn't Peggy this time. Apparently she has enough seniority that she doesn't do the night shift if she can help it. Calliope is still at home, hopefully getting some sleep, with Shelby watching over her until it's time to come to the hospital.
Now that Rachel isn't in the midst of a contraction, she can better recall some of the details that had been hammered out after her mother had arrived at the apartment. She vaguely remembers begging her fathers over the phone to not show up as well, too exhausted and irritable to want them fussing over her when she'd already been frighteningly close to throwing both Shelby and Quinn out on their asses so she could just be left to suffer alone. Apparently, Rachel's love of attention had died an ugly, sweaty death beneath the cruel hand of gut-wrenching labor.
Despite being asked to wait, Rachel half expects every one of their family members to come pouring through the hospital doors along with the rising sun.
She does experience a moment of regret that they hadn't arranged for someone else to be here with them so that Quinn could take a break. Not that Rachel had really done that when Quinn had been in labor with Calliope, but it had been nice to have the option and to have Judy there for moral support. Despite the mistakes she'd made with Quinn, she's proved to be a surprisingly calming presence under pressure. Shelby doesn't possess quite the same soothing quality for Rachel, despite the progress they've made, and Rachel can't even begin to imagine either one of her dads in this room with her while she screams and cries in the throes of agonizing labor. They're both far too excitable under the best of circumstances. And there's no way under Broadway's bright lights that she'd ever want Calliope to see her this way.
Maybe she should have invited Judy to come to New York sooner after all.
The massage suddenly ceases, and Quinn shuffles around to lean over Rachel's hunched form, brushing more hair away from her face. Rachel hadn't been brave enough to cut it entirely off, but there's far less of it at the moment, falling to just barely graze the tops of her shoulders. With how sweat-soaked and curly it currently is, she's glad to have trimmed it even that much, otherwise she might have been tempted to take a scalpel to it right now.
"I think this is very much the appropriate time to remind my beautiful, brave, amazing wife that I love her and have always loved her no matter what she's wearing."
Rachel feels the tears come again, and she bows her head. "Quinn, I'm enough of a mess as it is without you making me cry by being sweet."
"Would you rather I be bitchy and bossy?" she asks incredulously.
"You kind of have been with nurse Sherry." Her wife had barked at the woman no less than five times about forcing Rachel to lie down on the bed for her brief exams. Being on her back right now, even for a few minutes, feels like torture. She doesn't know how she's going to actually give birth.
"Pretty sure her name is Cherry," Quinn mutters with a frown.
Rachel lifts her head at that. "Who would actually name their child that?"
Quinn shrugs. "Someone who loves cherries?"
"That's…" Terrible turns into a groan of pain before it can pass her lips as another terrible contraction comes over her. Sherry or Cherry is forgotten in an instant along with her terrible hospital gown and the terrible décor in the room. Everything is agony and she hates it, hates it, hates it. If she survives this delivery, she is never ever doing this again!
"Breathe, sweetie."
What does Quinn think she's doing? She's huffing and puffing like a freaking fairy-tale wolf. Oh—actually, she maybe did stop there for a moment, holding her breath as the pain crests, so she exhales all of it out and resumes the huffing and puffing until the contraction finally ebbs.
"I can't," she whispers, slipping down to her knees beside the bed in exhaustion and pressing her sweaty forehead into the side of the frame. "I can't. I…I can't do this, Quinn." It's suddenly too much. She's too tired and weak and hopeless.
Quinn follows her down to the floor, hazel eyes full of concern. "You can." Rachel shakes her head against the bed. "You can," her wife repeats firmly, a little of that bitchy head cheerleader slipping out. "I know you're exhausted, sweetheart, but you have to keep pushing through this."
Rachel drops one arm to her side and turns her head, gazing at Quinn through her tears. "What if I can't?"
"You will," Quinn insists, refusing to even consider any other option.
Rachel closes her eyes. She thinks about all the ways that this could still go wrong. Her blood pressure keeps inching up but apparently still not high enough to warrant their doctor's immediate intervention. Celeste's heart rate has been within acceptable levels everytime nurse Cherry checks it with the fetal monitor, thus requiring Rachel to be on her back in that wretched bed. Her water had finally broken sometime after arriving at the hospital—time has no real meaning to her anymore—but she's still only seven centimeters dilated with a long painful stretch of labor ahead of her. Anything could happen.
She licks her lips, tasting the salt of sweat and tears on them, and meets her wife's worried eyes. "Quinn…baby. If…if something happens…"
Quinn's eyes widen even more, panic creeping into her beloved features. "No," she refuses, cutting Rachel off harshly. "No. Don't you dare! We are not having that conversation." She slumps back on her haunches and drags her fingers through her hair, leaving it in more disarray than it already was. Rachel can count on one hand with fingers to spare the number of times she's seen Quinn look this rumpled in public. "Nothing is happening other than you delivering our baby girl with absolutely no complications." Her wife's face crumples. "Oh, my God, Rachel," she gasps out on the verge of tears before flinging herself forward and holding onto Rachel for dear life. "Why would you even…?" The question ends on a sob, and Quinn is rendered completely undone, clinging to Rachel more desperately than Calliope had been at home.
Rachel manages to untangle her arm from the press of Quinn's body to give her a weak hug. She feels a twist of guilt at forcing her wife's mind to conjure every fatalistic outcome that she's generally refused to entertain since they'd gotten married and Quinn finally stopped waiting for bad things to happen, but, "I need to know that you and our girls will be okay." She can't even bring herself to speak aloud the possibility that it might only be Calliope left with Quinn. "That you won't let them forget about me." Her voice breaks at the end, but she's relieved to have said it anyway.
"No, please," Quinn begs, crying into her shoulder. "You're fine. You're going to be fine and so is Celeste."
Rachel is aware that she can very often be somewhat (some might even say overly) dramatic in nature, but she doesn't believe that's what's happening right now. Nothing is actually wrong at the moment, but nothing about this feels good, and it's definitely not progressing the way that Calliope's birth had. Rachel doesn't think it's overreacting to prepare for every possibility, no matter how unwelcome. She'd made certain that her will was up to date three months ago for just that reason, though she hasn't told Quinn.
"That's obviously the preferred outcome, but…"
"No," Quinn cuts her off again, squeezing her tighter. "No other outcomes."
"Baby, please," she begs tearfully. "I know you don't want to consider it, but I need you to promise me anyway, okay? Make sure they know your Rachel and not just Rachel Berry from the entertainment trades." She doesn't want her wife to shut down and brood and refuse to talk about all the wonderful memories they've made in a futile attempt to avoid the grief that will surely come with them, and she sure as hell doesn't want her daughters to only know the caricature of Rachel Berry, diva of stage, screen, and song.
Quinn sobs into her shoulder, but Rachel feels her nod weakly and catches the watery whisper of, "My Rach. My love."
Rachel closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, hoping upon hope that she just caused her wife undue stress and misery for nothing because everything will, in fact, be fine. She pats Quinn's arm reassuringly. "And if you are left to officially name Celeste, don't you dare even think about changing her middle name," she warns in what is probably a very poor attempt to lighten the mood that she's brought down so spectacularly.
Her wife hugs her impossibly closer, sniffling, and Rachel can practically feel the effort she's making to regain her composure. She knows Quinn is almost there when she hears the raspy, "You can write Lucy on the birth certificate yourself."
Rachel smiles through her own tears. "I have every intention of doing exactly that." She only prays that's what God intends too.
Quinn pulls back then, wiping at her eyes and cheeks to dry them. She takes a few deep breaths before she bravely meets Rachel's eyes. "Let's get you up off the floor." She pushes herself into a power squat and reaches out to Rachel with supportive hands; one on her lower back and the other secure around Rachel's left hand. "You can do this, Rachel," she tells her again, voice even more determined than before. The expression on her face leaves no room for argument.
"I can do this," Rachel agrees, hoping it isn't a lie.
She manages to get her own legs under her and, with Quinn's help, stands back up. The zing in her back has her hissing, and it proves to be a preamble to yet another contraction. This time, Quinn holds her through it, letting Rachel lean her weight into her and cling to her shoulders while Quinn supports her belly, whispering, "You've got this, Rach. You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you, sweetie. Just give us a little more of that stubborn determination of yours."
Rachel wonders what it says about her that the praise seems to make it hurt just a little bit less.
It still hurts like a bitch though, and she grunts out another curse when it eases enough for her to find her voice again. "Fuckity fuck fucking son of a fucker." She sags completely against Quinn, right back to doubting her ability to see this though.
She's very close to saying fuck it for real and asking for the epidural, to hell with her stupid decision to have a natural birth.
As if summoned by her train of thought, the nurse chooses that moment to reenter. "How's mama doing?"
Rachel's head whips to the door, because that isn't nurse Sherry or Cherry or whoever.
"Peggy," Quinn breathes out, an expression of relief lighting her face. "I'm so glad to see you.
The redhead offers her a smile. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Fabray." She turns her smile to Rachel with a nod. "And Mrs. Fabray. I saw your name on the chart when I clocked in."
"Please Peggy, call me Rachel," she prompts the nurse tiredly, so relieved to see the familiar face. "You're about to see parts of me that very few people have ever seen. I think that puts us past formality."
Peggy chuckles. "I think you're right." She reaches for the blood pressure cuff. "Let's start with your arm, and then we'll progress down."
With a sigh, Rachel dutifully presents her arm, all too used to the necessary annoyance by now. "The other nurse said you weren't working this shift," she says conversationally.
Peggy chuckles a little. "That was true for the last shift. This one started six and a half minutes ago."
Quinn glances at her watch and then frowns. "Oh, wow."
"What is it?" Rachel asks her.
"It's…um…six o'clock. Well, six oh seven."
"In the morning?" Rachel screeches. "That's…that's twenty hours, Quinn!" She thinks she was happier not knowing exactly how long she's been in labor.
"And your pressure is one fifty-three over eighty-four," Peggy relays with a mild frown. "I can see why that's been a concern."
"I'm naturally high around hospitals," Rachel argues automatically while Peggy slips off the cuff. She reaches for the handheld fetal monitor next, and Rachel feels herself tense.
"Cherry mentioned that lying down is an issue," Peggy says with some concern.
"Doctor Barnes thinks she might be having back labor," Quinn informs her. "She's mostly been standing or kneeling except when the nurse wanted to examine her." Their doctor had breezed in and out of here once just after the last visit with Cherry, but at least they know she's here at the hospital now.
Peggy nods. "Is the pain worse during a contraction?" she asks Rachel.
"So much worse," Rachel laments, rubbing at her lower back again. "In fact…" She closes her eyes, feeling the familiar throb in her back turn into viscous little arrows. "Crap," she bites out as she turns around and plants her palms against the bed, hunching forward and panting through another contraction. Very distantly, like she's listening through a wall (of pain), she hears Peggy ask Quinn something, very possibly how close the contractions are coming, and Quinn says something back, likely however many minutes it's been since the last time Celeste tried to rip her way out of Rachel's body, but she's too distracted to retain any of it.
When it's over, she feels her wife at her side, pressing a strong hand to her back. She glances up through the curtain of her hair and notices that Peggy is standing on the other side of the bed opposite from her, no longer holding the fetal monitor. "That one lasted about ninety seconds," she relays, then reaches across the bed to pat Rachel's hand, half in sympathy and half to get her full attention no doubt. "Rachel, when you feel ready, I'm going to ask you to stand up for a minute."
Rachel isn't that far gone to muscle atrophy just yet, so she pushes herself up with Quinn's attentive support and leans against her wife. She watches as Peggy reaches up behind the head of the bed and touches something. Then she pulls the sheet loose from the foot of the bed—it's already a half torn mess from Rachel's abuse—before she begins pressing a series of buttons on the side that cause the back of the bed to rise even higher into a near ninety degree angle and, more notably, the foot to drop away. It's almost like the bed is breaking in half, and when it finally comes to a stop, Peggy simply pushes the lowered half off to the side on some kind of hinge and locks it in place under the frame, making the bed look more like a chair.
Finally, Peggy pops two bars up from each side of the bed, which are clearly some kind of hand grip, and pulls the foot rests into position.
Rachel glances from the bed to Peggy and back to the bed before looking at her wife. Quinn's eyes are as wide as Rachel suspects her own are.
At least until they narrow dangerously. "Why in the hell didn't Cherry do that?" Quinn growls, pointing an accusatory finger at the bed—which just happens to also be in Peggy's general direction. "I can't believe she kept forcing Rachel down on that bed when she could have just," she gestures madly at the bed in its new chair-like form, "fixed it! Is she still here? Because I'm gonna go find her and slap her very hard."
Peggy looks mildly alarmed. "She doesn't mean that," Rachel assures her, weakly tugging at her wife's shirt in warning lest she go full-on Scary Quinn on the entire staff.
"I do," Quinn bites out and then pulls at her own hair in agitation. "I should have taken Santana up on her offer," she mutters under her breath—but not far enough under.
"Doctor Lopez isn't lurking around here again, is she?" Peggy asks, clearly unamused by the prospect.
"Weren't you Teresa's labor nurse too?" Rachel seems to recall.
"At the good doctor's request," Peggy mutters sarcastically before forcing a smile. "Her wife is lovely," she insists, sounding far more sincere before her smile slips away again, "but that woman…"
"We know," Rachel says in tandem with Quinn. "She shouldn't be here until later," Quinn promises before she turns to Rachel. "When we both have a healthy new baby to show off," she stresses, making it clear that she's not entertaining any other option despite Rachel's worries.
"And on that note," Peggy interjects, patting the seat of the bed—well, chair now, "give this a try. It might be a little more comfortable for you."
Rachel shuffles over and grips her wife's hand so she can gingerly maneuver onto the bed, using the hand grips to help her ease down. The whole contraption is fairly low to the ground right now, but Peggy reaches over to steady her as well. Once seated, Rachel shifts around a bit trying to get comfortable. The raised back doesn't quite allow her to lean forward into the position she's been preferring, and her back still throbs uncomfortably, but it isn't nearly as bad as when she was more reclined with her feet up.
"I'm sorry no one thought to adjust the bed sooner," Peggy apologizes kindly as she raises the bed higher off the floor for her exam. "These are a fairly new model, and some of the staff are still learning how to use all the features." Once the chair stops moving, she reaches for the fetal monitor again. "We also tend to lock out the patient controls unless there's a nurse in the room to explain them so the expectant mothers and fathers can't get too creative and break a four thousand dollar bed." She tips her head towards the cabinet across the room. "There's a full crossbar in there too that we can install if you want to try leaning on it later. Cherry probably didn't know the command sequence to convert the bed and didn't think to ask. I will definitely address that with her."
"Thank you," Rachel says, grateful that Peggy showed up when she did.
"Let's lift this up," Peggy encourages, carefully touching the hem of Rachel's gown, and Rachel scooches around on the chair so she can lift the horrid material up over her belly.
"I suppose Cherry also doesn't know where you keep the more attractive maternity gowns." She hears Quinn stifle a laugh next to her and ignores it.
Peggy doesn't do as good of a job at suppressing her little giggle. "You don't like it?" she questions with a dimpled smile. "They're pretty new too." She drapes a paper sheet over Rachel's exposed lap and reaches for the gel. "I guess the white ones with the pink flowers are probably a bit more cheerful."
"There were pink flowers?" Rachel whines, looking up at Quinn and tugging her hand. "You have my permission to slap Cherry."
"Please don't slap Cherry," Peggy admonishes, but she seems more amused than concerned now. She rocks the monitor over Rachel's belly, easily finding Celeste's heartbeat. (It had taken Cherry much longer to find it even with Rachel lying down.) "Baby is still doing well. No signs of distress," Peggy assures them. "She's just taking her time to come meet you."
"So we've noticed," Rachel says flatly.
Quinn leans down close to her ear. "See. You're both fine."
Peggy wipes the gel away with a warm towel. "I'm going to check your dilation now, Rachel. Just spread your legs apart a little more and make sure your butt is right on the edge."
Rachel does as instructed and then watches as Peggy pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and dips down to examine her. She feels the familiar probing and notes that Peggy has a much gentler touch than Cherry had as well. "Looks like we're at eight centimeters." Her head pops back up with a kind smile. "You're in the transition phase now, which is why those contractions are coming faster and lasting longer." Rachel's pulse jumps. She's as terrified of what that means as she is excited. "Have you been feeling any urge to push yet?" Peggy asks, leaning back.
Rachel shakes her head and pulls her maternity gown back down. "No. Unless by urge you mean me really wanting this all to be over already."
Peggy chuckles as she stands and begins to remove her gloves. "It won't be much longer now." She tosses the gloves into the trash. "I'm going to go grab Doctor Barnes and let her know where we're at. If you need to adjust the bed, it's this button to raise and lower the height," she points out the proper button to Quinn by pressing it to lower the bed closer to the floor again, "and this one to recline the back." Thankfully, she doesn't press that one while Rachel is still on it.
"Got it," Quinn affirms with a nod, rubbing Rachel's shoulder.
"Feel free to move around and find a position that works for you. Doctor Barnes is pretty progressive about that these days. She'll be wherever you need her to be during the delivery, as long as she can get under you somehow."
Rachel laughs tiredly. "Good to know." She leans forward against the handholds as she watches Peggy leave the room, unconsciously rocking a little in a fruitless attempt to ease the near constant discomfort.
Quinn wedges a hand between her lower back and the bed to help the only way she seems to know how to at the moment. "Do you need to stand up again? Or try kneeling? Tell me what I can do for you."
Rachel squeezes her eyes shut. "I don't suppose you can go back in time and switch places with me."
Her wife presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I would if I could."
"See, I know you're lying when you say that now," Rachel accuses tiredly, "because this sucks so much." As if on cue, she feels another contraction bear down on her, and she groans, tears springing to her eyes while the pain seems to go on forever. She's aware of Quinn's presence there beside her through it all, murmuring words of encouragement that have no meaning to her until the contraction finally ends and she's slumping sideways into her wife's arms. "Do you think it's too late for drugs?" she pants out.
Quinn's lips brush against Rachel's temple. "We can ask. I know we said we wanted to do this naturally, but that was before."
Rachel chuckles sadly. "Before I proved to be a complete wuss?"
"Before we knew you'd be in labor this long." Quinn's voice trembles over the words, and Rachle musters up the strength to lift her head and look at her wife. Sure enough, there are tears shining in distraught hazel eyes. "I hate this," she whispers, closing her eyes under Rachel's scrutiny. "I hate seeing you in pain and I hate that I can't do anything to make it better."
"Hey." She reaches across her body to touch Quinn's cheek, drying a tear with the pad of her thumb. Those beloved hazel eyes open again, and Rachel smiles as much as she can. "You being here does make it better." She huffs out a soundless little laugh. "I know it doesn't seem like it when I'm in the middle of a contraction, but you being right here with me when they end…that's what's giving me the strength to keep going."
Quinn takes her hand and presses the palm to her lips, kissing it gratefully. "I love you so much."
"You'd damned well better after all of this."
All of this proves to be an epic production that Rachel would just as soon not be starring in, because despite Quinn's implied approval, she chooses not to beg for an epidural or to just be completely knocked out. She is acutely and painfully conscious through all of it—though admittedly, certain parts of the experience are very fuzzy around the edges.
Peggy returns to them with Doctor Barnes in tow and yet another exam is conducted; this one surprisingly reveals that she's at nine centimeters. "Looks like your bunny's pace finally picked up," their doctor jokes.
Rachel is not amused, but she is so fucking relieved.
Events after that get hazy and jumbled, mixed up as they are with the contractions that seem to come on top of one another and never end. Rachel imagines that, at some point in there, she actually made the decision to turn around on the bed—chair; whatever the fuck this torture contraption is—and kneel with her belly pressed to the back cushion and her arms hugging the top. She can't be bothered to care that her ass and all of her other business are on display for the room. It's the only position that seems to make all of this survivable.
She remains aware of Quinn's hands on her back, providing counter pressure, and another set of hands that keep appearing between her legs that she can only assume is their doctor. Directions filter through the haze of pain in pieces. The insistent adjustment of her legs spreading farther apart, the instruction to keep breathing—seriously, one can't scream if they aren't breathing and Rachel is most definitely screaming—and the encouragement to push when she feels the urge.
And oh, sweet Barbra does she feel the urge, demanding in a way that nothing else has ever been. The pressure is nearly unbearable, but Quinn is telling her that she can do it, that she can see the top of their angel's head, that Rachel only needs to bear this for a few more moments and they'll finally get to meet their baby girl.
The direction to stop pushing comes through loud and clear and feels like torture, but Rachel forces her body to comply because she remembers what it means. Her daughter's head is emerging into the world.
"Breathe through it, sweetheart," Quinn encourages close to her ear, voice trembling with emotion. "You're almost done. She's almost here."
Tears stream down Rachel's face and she blindly reaches for Quinn's hand. "Is she okay?"
Quinn takes her hand, squeezing it tightly, but it's Doctor Barnes who answers. "She will be as soon as you give us one more gentle push."
Crying, still in pain from the impossible pressure, Rachel presses her forehead into the top of the bed, takes a deep breath, and bears down for the last time, squeezing the hell out of her wife's hand in the process. It hurts so much, like all of her insides are being torn out along with her daughter until finally—finally!—there's a moment of blessed release followed by the wails of a baby.
Rachel collapses face first into the bed, out of breath and exhausted and aching everywhere.
"Oh, my God, Rachel. She's here," Quinn breathes out tearfully, still gripping her hand. She lifts the other one to brush Rachel's sweat-soaked hair away from her face. The smile that Quinn is wearing is as bright as she's ever seen it. "She's here, and she's so beautiful."
"I…I wanna see her," Rachel rasps, throat raw from screaming.
Peggy appears at her other side then, gloved hands on her shoulders. "Come on, mom. You need to sit back so we can get your baby into your arms." Rachel isn't sure where she finds the energy. She can only imagine that she digs it up from some unknown reserve created solely for Celeste, but she pushes her upper body away from the bed and leans back. Peggy quickly taps her left thigh. "Lift up. She's still attached to you."
Rachel does as instructed, her body tilting to the side in exhaustion, and Quinn is right there to catch her and keep her from tipping over completely. At the same time, Doctor Barnes quickly maneuvers the baby under her and offers her up for Rachel to take. Her hands reach out instinctively and suddenly there's a wet, screaming, wriggling, mucus-covered baby in her arms, and she's the most beautiful thing that Rachel has ever seen. "Oh…oh…look at you. Oh, my God. Hello, Celeste."
All of her lingering discomfort and exhaustion fades into a dull buzz in the back of her brain as her focus shifts entirely to the perfect little person that she'd somehow given life to. She's crying so much that she can barely see her daughter through her tears, but she can feel the warm, wet weight of her while Peggy skillfully works around her to dry and clean Celeste's tiny body.
Quinn's arms tighten around her shoulders, and she knows that her wife is crying too. "She's perfect," Quinn chokes out around her tears before bestowing a slow, reverent kiss to Rachel's temple. "You did so good, Rach."
Rachel pulls her eyes away from the precious bundle in her arms for just a moment to gaze at her wife, who's so beautifully in love with their baby girl already. Sniffling, Quinn smiles down at the baby and reaches out a trembling hand to touch her tiny arm, and Rachel's wet gaze follows it down.
"Hi, bunny. I'm your mommy," Quinn whispers reverently, and of course, Celeste's unhappy cries begin to quiet at the sound of the endearment that Quinn has been calling her for months—or maybe it's merely the sound of her mommy's voice. "And this beautiful, brave lady is your mama." Her smile grows impossibly bigger. "And we've been waiting such a long time to meet you."
"It was worth every second," Rachel vows, beaming down at their daughter. The pain is by no means forgotten, just recategorized into the blood, sweat, and tears of a successful production.
She's only peripherally aware of Peggy urging her to turn on the bed and sit back into a less awkward position. She has no idea when the foot had been reattached to make it into an actual bed again, probably sometime after Rachel had insisted on kneeling on it. Being on her back still isn't fun, though it's more aching muscles than throbbing pain now, and everything below her waist feels sticky and gross, but she's too busy memorizing every facet of her daughter's gorgeous little face to care, not even when Quinn briefly drifts away from her side to cut the umbilical cord at their doctor's invitation.
(Her breathy agreement sounds as awed as Rachel remembers feeling when she'd done the same for Calliope. Terrified, but awed.)
Once Celeste is finally free of their shared tether, Peggy unfastens the top of her gown and encourages her to hold her daughter to the bare skin of her chest, right over her heart, and Rachel becomes acutely aware of the overwhelming warmth that blossoms all throughout her body from all the precious places where they touch.
Face screwed up in annoyance, eyes closed, little bowed lips open and still releasing stuttering grunts of irritation with this bright, new world, Celeste Lucy Fabray is the most wondrous thing that Rachel has ever seen. "I love you so very much, Celeste," she whispers through tears of joy. "My little turtle dove."
Next to her, Quinn snorts out a laugh, very rudely pulling Rachel out of the lovely moment. She frowns up at her wife in confusion. "You just called her turtle," Quinn points out, biting into her (somewhat smug) smile.
"Turtle dove, Quinn," Rachel corrects grouchily. "They're entirely different animals." Doves represent hope, after all. It seems fitting. Also, it's nine days—well, eight days now, she supposes—until Christmas. The turtle dove had just kind of popped into her head and slipped right out of her mouth when she'd looked at her beautiful baby girl.
"And her taking," Quinn makes a show of glancing at her watch, "twenty-two hours and six minutes to get here had nothing to do with the turtle part of that sticking in your head."
Rachel's eyes widen at hearing exactly how long her labor with Celeste had lasted. "Twenty-two hours?" she squeaks, feeling every ache and throb and sting in her body come rushing back with the knowledge.
Quinn's smile softens into something indescribably tender, and she balances onto the edge of the bed, carefully wrapping her arms around both Rachel and Celeste. "You're so amazing, Rach. I'm in awe of you." She moves one hand beneath Celeste's small body, cradling her right along with Rachel. "You fought so hard to bring this little miracle of ours into the world." She shakes her head, looking completely wonderstruck. "And I have never been more in love with you."
"I love you too," Rachel manages to whisper around the lump in her throat. "And I love our precious baby girl." She bows her head to kiss her daughter's tiny brow. "I love you, Celeste," she whispers again before settling back into Quinn's arms. "But I am never, ever doing this again."
Quinn laughs and kisses her temple. "I think our family can be complete now."
Rachel gasps, eyes going wide in realization. "Calliope!" She glances at Quinn, remembering their eldest daughter and the twenty-two hours she's been waiting to meet her sister and be reassured that her mama is okay. "You have to call Shelby, Quinn. Calliope needs to meet her little sister before anyone else does."
"She will," Quinn promises. "But remember you're not quite done yet."
"I most certainly am," Rachel denies with a scowl. She'd given birth. That's that. Just drop her in a shower and let her keep holding Celeste for a few more years. She'll be content
From the end of the bed, Doctor Barnes pats her ankle in sympathy. "Sorry to be a buzzkill, Rachel, but your wife is right. We still have to deliver the placenta and get you cleaned up, not to mention getting that beautiful little girl of yours weighed and measured."
"I don't wanna be bothered with that stuff," Rachel pouts, though she knows she'll have to comply. "I just want to stay right here and admire my little dove forever." She very purposely leaves out the turtle.
"Our baby bunny," Quinn counters with a grin, running a fingertip over their daughter's tiny nose. Celeste coos at the contact. (Rachel refuses to believe it's because of that nickname.)
Sighing, Rachel smiles down at their daughter. "Our little piece of heaven. Celeste Lucy Fabray," she declares out loud for the very first time for all the world to hear, knowing that their daughter will have no other name.
"I can't really argue with twenty-two hours of labor," Quinn agrees, not looking the least bit upset about the middle name anymore.
"You really can't." In fact, Rachel is going to hold this over Quinn's head for such a long time—in the most loving way imaginable, of course.
Around them, Doctor Barnes and Peggy clean up what they can while Rachel is otherwise occupied and prepare for the gross unpleasantness that's still ahead for her, leaving her and Quinn to enjoy a few more precious moments with their new daughter. It's so hard to believe that someone so small had caused her so much discomfort, but it's incredibly easy to place her heart right into that tiny little hand and fall completely and unconditionally in love with her baby girl, the same way she had with Calliope and with Quinn so many years ago. She never wants to let Celeste go, but she inevitably needs to, at least for a few moments, and it's only bearable because she's handing her to Quinn.
Rachel's eyes never leave her wife and daughter while Doctor Barnes takes care of the postpartum necessities and once again checks her blood pressure, which is still high but down from where it's been hovering since her labor began. It's quite possible that watching her teary-eyed wife coo over their newborn daughter as she holds her for the very first time has a particularly potent calming effect on Rachel.
All too soon, Quinn is forced to reluctantly surrender their baby girl to Peggy for her official weight and measurement, and Rachel may direct a glare at her wife when they hear eight pounds, two ounces, and twenty-one inches. No wonder Celeste had put Rachel through such hell.
Unsurprisingly—well, somewhat surprising to Rachel because she'd apparently been too distracted by endless labor pains to fully register what Quinn had told her in the wee hours of the morning—Rachel's fathers had made their way to the apartment sometime around four in the morning, too excited to sleep but respectful of their daughter's desire to have Calliope meet the baby before anyone else. They'd apparently thought it would be more expedient to hang out with Shelby and Calliope while they all waited for updates, which Quinn had somehow provided in between Rachel's bouts of pain. (Rachel may have a faint memory of her wife texting someone now and then before the contractions had gotten really bad.) So it had only taken one phone call to get three out of the four grandparents—no one ever counts Russell Fabray—on their way to hospital with Calliope.
Rachel is as clean as she can be, partially reclining on fresh sheets with Celeste at her breast (and that is another distinctive experience all on its own) and Quinn practically glued to her side when Quinn gets the text that their family is here. Her wife hurries out to greet them and collect their firstborn while Rachel experiences an odd mix of excitement and apprehension. She and Quinn have been confident that Calliope will love the baby, but now that the moment of truth is upon them, Rachel can't help but worry just a little. She doesn't want Calliope to feel jealous or upset or suddenly decide that she doesn't want a baby sister after all.
It seems, however, that Celeste might be excited to meet her big sister, because she suddenly decides that she's had enough to eat and detaches her mouth from Rachel's breast. Okay, so it's less detachment and more that she just kind of stops suckling and lies there with her lips pressed to Rachel's nipple looking drowsy and utterly content.
"You are your mommy's daughter," Rachel teases around a fond smile, gently stroking the very fine hairs on her daughter's head. They're hardly noticeable at all, so at first glance she appears bald, but there are definitely a number of fair strands on the top of her crown. They obviously do absolutely nothing to disguise the adorable elfin ears, and Rachel traces the tip of her finger over the curve of one with an enamored grin. She feels certain that Celeste is going to look just like Quinn as her features develop more, and she's not at all disappointed by it.
Rachel carefully trails her finger over a soft cheek and then to that cute little mouth so she can gently extricate her nipple. Celeste is completely unaffected by the minor change, perfectly happy just to keep resting her face against her mama's breast. The utter peacefulness of her convinces Rachel that she probably doesn't need to be burped just yet, so she's content to just keep holding her baby girl while they wait for the other two loves of her life to arrive.
They don't have to wait very long. The door to the room opens slowly and Quinn peeks her head in with a smile. "Ready for some company?" she asks quietly.
"We are," Rachel confirms with a nod.
The door opens further, and Rachel is greeted with the sight of her wife—beautiful in her exhaustion and wrinkled clothes—escorting a wide-eyed Calliope into the room by her hand. Their older daughter (and that will also take some getting used to) clutches a stuffed bunny in a Santa hat to her chest, and Rachel's smile blooms even bigger. Calliope had insisted on buying that bunny for her sister when they'd gone to the Winter Village at Bryant Park with their friends. (Apparently, the bunnies are a thing that Rachel will just have to live with from now on.)
"Come over here, little star. Meet your baby sister, Celeste."
Calliope's face breaks out in a wide smile, but she anxiously glances up at Quinn as if silently asking if it's okay. Quinn smiles down at her. "Up we go, baby bear," she says, bending down to lift Calliope into her arms. She carries her closer to the bed and carefully settles her down next to Rachel, keeping one cautious hand on her shoulder. "Remember to be very gentle. Celeste is brand new, and your mama's still a little bit ouchy from getting her born."
That is a heinous understatement, but Rachel finds that she barely cares about her lingering soreness and exhaustion right now. She's too high on the elation of finally having Celeste out here in the world and in her arms with the rest of their little family gathered around her.
"I'll be careful," Calliope vows with an eager nod, her eyes transfixed on the baby in Rachel's arms.
"You can touch her if you want," Rachel encourages, carefully shifting Celeste closer to her big sister.
Calliope catches her lower lip in her teeth and reaches out with the hand not clutching the bunny to cautiously touch the top of Celeste's head. She's wonderfully gentle about it, briefly moving her hand over the baby's tiny brow and then lifting it away so she can touch her cheek instead. Celeste opens her eyes to study this new small person with interest, and Rachel holds her breath, hoping the baby doesn't start to scream and startle Calliope or make her feel like she's done something wrong.
Celeste only smacks her little lips and sighs, and Calliope giggles in delight. "Hi, 'Les. I'm your big sister, Callie."
Rachel's heart is full to bursting at the exchange, watching her firstborn daughter welcome her baby sister with open arms. There's just one little thing niggling at her brain. "Celeste, little star," she very gently corrects. "Can you say that?"
Calliope's brow furrows in concentration. "S'Les."
Quinn presses a fist to her smiling mouth, eyes dancing with glee, and Rachel directs a look of warning at her before smiling encouragingly at Calliope. "Celeste," she tries again, enunciating it carefully. She knows Calliope still stumbles over some larger words from time to time and valiantly battles a persistent lisp, but she's also an exceptionally brilliant child. Rachel is confident that she can get this.
"S'Les," her daughter repeats, frowning in consternation because she obviously thinks she's saying it correctly.
Giving into her laughter, Quinn bends down and hugs Calliope from behind. "It's okay, Callie. You can call her Les if you want to," she permits before kissing her cheek.
"Quinn," Rachel protests weakly.
"I told you it could be shortened," her annoying wife reminds her with a smirk. Rachel looks down at her baby daughter forlornly and briefly considers renaming her Cleo after all. But no—she's already Celeste in Rachel's heart. She'll just have to curtail the nicknames where she can.
"I got you a bunny, Les," Calliope announces to her sister very seriously, holding it up. "His name is Winter, 'cause that's where we found him. He'll keep you warm and cozy at bedtime."
"Bedtime for her will be whenever we're lucky enough to get her to sleep," Quinn informs Calliope, combing gentle fingers through her hair. "It's not gonna be very quiet at night for a while. You should definitely take a nap when Nanna takes you home later."
"Are you coming home too?" Calliope asks them.
"Well, Mama has to stay here with Celeste until tomorrow so the doctors can make sure they're every bit as perfect as we already know they are," Quinn sends a wink to Rachel, who can't help grinning in pleasure, "but I'll try to be home before your bedtime tonight."
They'd briefly talked about Quinn staying at the hospital with her, but Calliope needs her too. Rachel is confident that she and Celeste can handle a few hours in here by themselves.
But Calliope is shaking her head firmly. "No, Mommy," she commands very sternly. "You stay with Mama and Les. I can stay with Nanna and Grandpa and Pappy again."
Quinn looks surprised by the unexpected instruction from their daughter. "Oh, you're gonna stay with all of them, huh?"
Calliope nods. "Uh huh. It was fun this morning. We played games 'til you called."
"I think your grandads will probably want to go home and sleep in their own bed tonight," Rachel cautions.
"Uh," Quinn interjects sheepishly, awkwardly rubbing at the back of her neck. "Actually, they got a room at the Blakely so they'd be closer. Less travel time means more time with their brand new grandbaby girl." Quinn drops her voice to a tenor while she says the last part, and Rachel has a very clear picture of her dad saying it exactly that way.
"Oh, well, that's a very nice hotel," Rachel comments distractedly, glancing back down at Celeste. Her eyelids have drooped shut again, and Calliope has curled into Rachel's side with one small hand resting on her sister's leg and Winter the bunny squished between them. Her heart feels so very full right now.
"It's where Mom is staying too," Quinn says, idly rubbing Calliope's shoulder as she braces her hip against the edge of the bed, as close as she can get to her family at the moment with the limited space. "I think that's why your dads booked it."
"Oh, Judy is coming today," Rachel exclaims at the reminder, gaze flying to her wife. She'd nearly forgotten with all of the excitement—and of course, she'd also lost track of time, what with the twenty-two hours of labor.
Quinn nods. "Her flight should be landing at ten-thirty, so she'll probably end up here with everyone else." She sighs and smiles wryly. "Your dads and Shelby are all out in the waiting room now, and I think Beth is already on her way. And you know it won't be long until Santana turns up here, family in tow." She rolls her eyes, but it's clearly in fond exasperation. "I don't think we're going to have a moment alone until well after the new year."
Rachel doesn't doubt it. Impatience very much runs in their family on both sides and in every found member. Honestly, she wouldn't have it any other way. If ever she deserves to be the center of everyone's attention, it's right now, but she's willing to share the spotlight with the precious little angel bunny turtle dove moonbeam in her arms.
And her other two gorgeous girls can borrow a little of their light as well, of course, but maybe just a step or two off to the side for a day or two.
Her eyes meet sparkling hazel, and she smiles. "Well, we're alone now," she points out, nodding down to their two beautiful, amazing daughters.
"Yeah," Quinn agrees softly, leaning a little closer over Calliope's head and slipping an arm behind Rachel's back. "We are. Just the four of us."
Rachel closes her eyes and leans into her wife's arm. The four of them. "That's a pretty perfect number."
And it is.
Right here, right now, in this moment with her wife and their two perfect little girls, there's nothing else in the world that Rachel needs—not Tonys or Emmys or Grammys or Oscars. (She wouldn't say no to an Oscar though, if someone wants to give her one.) The most important things in her life are right here in this room. Her family. And as long as they're together, Rachel really does have it all.
And it's beautiful.
