Chapter Ten: Take good care of my baby, now don't you ever make her cry.

Take good care of my baby,
Please don't ever make her blue.
Just tell her that you love her,
Make sure you're thinking of her,
In everything that you say and do.
Take good care of my baby,
Now don't you ever make her cry.
Just let your love surround her,
Paint a rainbow all around her.
Don't let her see a cloudy sky.

He enters the motel room as quietly as possible, fearing that his companion may be already asleep. He had needn't of worried though, because she's sitting on her bed with her phone against her ear. For this reason, she hasn't noticed his presence yet and is entranced by whoever is on the other line – for some strange reason, this makes Sam feel weird. Part of him puts it down to the fact that he feels as if he's intruding upon the conversation; eavesdropping. To halt these thoughts, he comes to stand in front of her and waves.

Quinn gives him a small smile, telling the other person, "Sam just came in. Yes, we're fine and I told you we wouldn't need you in Lima… Yes, I know how much you hate it here. I'll see you for lunch in New York, okay? I'm glad you're home… Heartfelt as always, Santana. Bye, see you soon." She hangs up the phone without further ado, and turns to look at him. There's an air of expectancy between them because both know this is the time for 'the talk'. They've been avoiding it the whole trip, and truly left it to the last possible minute, but it can't be evaded for any longer. That said, Sam is interested in the phone call she just had, and nods to the mobile.

"Santana?" He knows well who it was, but asks anyway.

"You heard me saying goodbye," She jokes, nudging him as she walks past. Quinn continues to her suitcase and proceeds to pick out a pair of pyjamas, "She was checking up on us. Apparently, she was under the impression we'd kill each other out here."

"To be fair, there isn't much else to do in Lima," Sam jests, giving her a grin. That, and sex, but he isn't about to make a sex joke between them. It could get far more complicated than intends, as things always seem to with he and Quinn.

"You should pass that onto the Mayor; the reasons for high crime in Lima. He'd be highly interested, I'd wager."

"Probably," Sam shrugs, "But I'll let him figure it out. I didn't know you and Santana were still close."

Quinn smiles sadly, "We haven't spoken much lately, Sam. Not that that's your fault – or mine – it's just how things unfolded. But, yes, we stayed close… she's the only other one I remained friends with."

Sensing the mood about to take a dive, Sam scrambles to change the topic. After his conversation with Dina, he only wants to avoid all things Finchel and talk a little more freely. He knows it's wrong, and he tries to fight it, but Quinn is the only person he feels completely free with these days. They're going through the exact same thing, he trusts her judgement and he knows whatever calls she makes will be for the benefit of them both. She understands what he's trying to say when he can't articulate it right, and she can sense when he just wants to chat. Sam does the same for her; it's a pattern they've fallen into this weekend.

He's glad it turned out this way, though, because it could have gone disastrously wrong. Given their history, and all its turbulence, this alliance could very well have been catastrophic. He supposes that they know how important it is to get along, but that doesn't stop him from feeling relieved it turned out so well. That's not to say they don't grate on each other's nerves occasionally – it's already happened several times – but overall, they're good. He responds with, "Good. You guys were always close. Are her and Brittany still together? I just remember them hooking up at the wedding, and that's all I know.."

"Oh no, not at all! Brittany alternates between men and women, my guess is she doesn't really know which she prefers. Santana has dated a few women.. in her business, they come in abundance. She hooks up with Brittany whenever they're in the same city though, and they keep in contact. They're still very close."

He nods, "That must be weird.. they were in love." As soon as the words leave him, he wants desperately to take them back. Those words were thoughtless, impulsive and downright stupid. If he had thought them through, he would have realised that he's doing the exact same thing.

Quinn only looks briefly at him, now in the process of packing her case, "I don't know; we seem to be doing a pretty good job of it, and it only feels a little weird, a little of the time."

Sam is speechless, so he nods again. He doesn't know what to say, and is still silently berating himself for the heedless comment in the first place, when Quinn sits beside him on her bed. Her gaze is one of concern, while her body is turned towards him. Her brow is furrowed as she asks him, "Are you alright? You looked a little pasty when you came in. As hard as it is for both of us, we have to let each other know when we're—"

"I know." He cuts in, wondering when Quinn became the sensible one between them. He's always been the more emotionally attuned one. It's beginning to irritate him how their roles have switched as of late; he's becoming Quinn, and she's becoming him. It isn't a trade he wants to make, because she's complicated and confusing, with many contradictions and stupid convictions. He sighs, "It was just Dina… it's a hard time for both of us."

"Well, it's obviously harder for you," Quinn responds instantly, and then she bites her lip, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. It's not my place, I'm—I'm sure it's difficult for her, too."

"It is.." That's all he has to say on the matter because while he doesn't like Quinn condemning his fiancé, he agrees with her. The only reason for that is that he wants sympathy and pity, no matter how demeaning it may seem to Quinn, and he's not getting it from Dina. He does know that regardless of what Quinn may think, Dina deserves some sympathy, too. It can't be easy trying to get through to him, he knows.

Quinn gestures for him to turn around as she changes into her nightwear, but he only lies down and closes his eyes. She trusts him enough to proceed with that, and he can hear the rustling of clothes beside him. He feels the weight on the bed shift, so he opens his eyes, knowing she's finished. Dressed in yellow pyjama bottoms, and a white tank top, Quinn lies down next to him. Her case is zipped closed, with all her accoutrements from the trip enclosed in it. She'll need to open it again in the morning he reminds her, but she says it makes he feel more organised. They lie like this for a while.

He's not sure how long; he just knows that time passes easily. It's moments like these that give him a brief reprise, which is surprising. Normally, any time that is dedicated to nothing leaves him thinking and thinking leads to his situation.. but with Quinn, he's at ease with everything. Even thinking about his best friends doesn't elicit such anger and misery. Misery loves company, he supposes. That's where Quinn comes in for him.

She ruins this amnesty for him, however, with her next words. "Sam, we need to talk about this. Let's get down to business." Quinn sits up on the bed, looking back at him from her height.

He can't hold it in any longer, so Sam stares up at her in confusion and asks her, "How did you become so hands-on and.. and fine?"

"I'm not fine, Sam," She says firmly, as if he's being ridiculous. She picks at cotton balls rolled up on her bottoms from too many washes, "I just know what has to be done."

"You know what I think has to be done?" She glances at him, silently inciting him to continue, "I think we should let go tonight. Stop compartmentalising and trying so hard, Q. You can let go here. This is the night, if ever the night, for us to talk about what we really need to talk about."

"What we really need to talk about is Brooke." Quinn tells him firmly, staring at the wall in front of her. She folds her arms across her chest, angling her body away from him.

Sam gets off of the bed and makes his way around to her, kneeling down in front of Quinn. As he did the day before, he takes her hands and looks into her eyes, "We need to allow ourselves some grief. I'm not letting go without you."

Quinn raises her chin, "We need to talk about Brooke first." Sam keeps his eyes on her for several more moments, trying to appeal with his expression, but her eyes studiously avoid his. Eventually, her stubbornness wins out and Sam sighs.

"Alright. What should we decide on first?" He leans back against the wall where her suitcase is, resting his arm on the blue plastic.

Quinn frowns at him, somehow annoyed at his response. Sam can never win with her and he used to love that. He loved the independent, strong Quinn but now he wants the easier, flexible Quinn from earlier. They're two different people, and he knows if he wants to see more of the nice Quinn, he'll have to get this Quinn to let go. However, Sam decides to concede for the next hour and discuss New York. It is what they've been avoiding after all, and it does need to be settled. Afterwards, Sam will provide the comfort Quinn needs. (because he knows that once they get Brooke, she'll be doing that plenty often for him.) Rolling his eyes, Sam inquires, "What's wrong?"

"Why do I have to come up with all the answers?" She doesn't sound angry or annoyed though, or even look like she is anymore; Quinn sounds weary. The day is finally taking its toll on her, and while Brooke gives her the extra boost she needs to keep going, Brooke is gone now and her energy is rapidly depleting. He holds his arm out for her – the one on the other side of the suitcase – and gestures for her to sit, "Come on, you look like you need a hug."

After a second of debate, Quinn does as he asks and sits down. She tucks nicely into his side, as she always did, and rests her head on his shoulder. Sam's arm wraps around her as he strokes her arm softly, trying to provide the comfort he wants to. This position was once one of intimacy for them, and both can recall countless times they've sat like this, but the intimacy is not one of romance here, but security and reassurance; solace. Not only for her, but for him, too.

"Your mood has done a one-eighty since you first came here." She mumbles.

This surprises Sam, too, as he realises how true it is. "Yeah, I know. I think it's … I think it's just you. Having someone who understands." He adds the ending hastily, feeling her still in his arms. Sam's aware of how she's feeling, because he's feeling it, too; they have to be careful. It's too easy for both of them to fall back into what they once were, and that turned out unfavourably for both of them. He has a fiancé, she has her own life; they're not Quinn and Sam anymore. They can't be again, either.

"I get that." Quinn nods. She waits another few seconds before bringing up New York, "Will we have to live together?"

"I don't know how that's going to work… I mean, I live with Dina. I think Brooke needs us both now though."

"I agree.. and I'd like to have Brooke at my place. I have a spare room. You heard Leroy, she's been having nightmares, so for the first while she'll probably crawl in next to me. You can take the spare room.." He doesn't respond, because Sam doesn't know what to say. He can't agree to anything in reality without discussing it with his girlfriend. Anything less wouldn't be fair to her. "Of course, Dina will have a key and can stay whenever she pleases, too. We'll explain the entire situation to Brooke."

"Your place it is." He says, feeling that there's no other option. As much as he's sure Dina will hate this situation, he knows she'd hate Quinn living in their house more. It's their personal, private abode and she won't want an ex-girlfriend sleeping around in it. "What about who picks her up from school?"

"Well, I could do it on Mondays and Tuesdays. Your work is flexible, isn't it? Maybe you could do it the other days?"

Sam agrees easily, being that his job is utterly flexible. Also, he wants to pick her up from school. He's done it enough times to know how great it is to see her face light up when she spots you. All this talk is making him antsy though, and he determines that he no longer wants to discuss Brooke. Sam wants to wing it when they get there – because there is no special recipe for what is to come, there is no way of defining the next steps or predicting what everything will be like. They have to take things step by step.

That's why he says the next words. "How do you eat an elephant?"

Quinn lifts her head from his shoulder, looking up at him quizzically. He's surprised he hasn't used this anecdote on her before, in all their years of friendship and otherwise. She raises her eyebrow, so Sam gives her the answer, "Bit by bit. We don't have to know all of this today. We don't have to figure it all out now so – so let's just leave it. Please?"

He knows her. She likes to be prepared. She likes to be informed. She hates surprises, not knowing, and being taken aback… Quinn hates expressing any outward emotion she perceives as weak. Given all of this, he's surprised when she only nods and leans back against him. They say nothing for a few minutes, then Quinn breaks it. In a slightly terse, hoarse and shaky tone, "I-I think I'm ready to let it out now, Sam." She looks up at him, her eyes shining with glossy tears, "I think I want to talk about them."

Their last dinner with the Hummels and Berry's is quite uneventful, and mostly consists of Brooke telling vibrant stories of her day. When she isn't spewing tales of what she's been up to, she's telling them about the "awesome" dream she had last night, or the fantasy story she's going to write when she's able to write. They're all thankful for her incessant chatter - at least Sam knows he's never been more grateful.

It's easier to look at her than yesterday, but he can't quite act the same. He hasn't been able to talk to her directly yet, or ask her a question, or even listen to these accounts properly because she takes his breath away – and not in a good way. He loves her, more than anything in the world, so resolves to work tirelessly to right this. He doesn't have much choice anyway, truly.

As dinner finishes up, they bid goodbye to the Hummel's. Carole is teary and Burt is stoic, the latter giving them strong advice and clapping Sam on the back in encouragement. Carole is so fraught with emotion that neither of them can understand a word she says, but nod in agreement nonetheless. Brooke is safely tucked away in the living room with Spongebob at this point, having already said goodbye to her grandparents. Quinn and Sam know the hardest part is coming up; leaving.

The four remaining adults take the four-year old into the dining room once more, the table having been cleaned up, and seat her at the top of the table. This was as per her request, of course. Brooke looks around at them in anticipation, her smile as radiant as always. It breaks his heart to see her so happy, in both dismay and joy. Quinn glances to each of the adults, and then says gently to Brooke, "Your grandfathers have told you you're coming home with us now, right Brookie?"

She nods fervently, "Yup! I'm going back to New York." Her toothy grin flashes back at them, the excitement evident in her voice. "I can't wait to get back to all my dollies, and my bed! You know my bed has Dora on it and grandpa's doesn't so I can't wait to sleep in mine again! I misseded it Dora."

Identical expressions of dread flood the table. Hiram touches his granddaughters shoulder lightly, "Brooke, you're not going back to your house. You're going to live with Sam and Quinn, like I told you. Remember?"

"But we're living in my house.. aren't we?" The lost child looking up at them makes every adult wish they were a child, too. Then, they wouldn't have to deal with the atrocity that occurred to this child.

"I'm sorry, honey, but no. We're going to get your things, and live in my house. You love my house, remember? It has a TV that's bigger than you!" Quinn exclaims, remembering that being its selling point for her goddaughter. "And of course, we'll make sure Dora is on your bed again. You'll have a new bedroom to paint whatever colour you want!"

Brooke folds her arms crossly, "My Mommy painted my old room! She painted it the colour I wanted it and I loved it and she said I could keep that room for as long as I wanted! I still want it!" Tears are gathering in her eyes suddenly, springing from those chocolate brown eyes like water from a fountain. Sam, being the closer of him and Quinn to her, has no hesitance in pulling the little girl on to his lap. She cries quietly into his shirt, soaking it in swift time, as the four other people in the room swap stares.

None of them have felt so desperate to fix someone since that night at the hospital, when each of them wanted to fix the ones lying on the operating table.

It was one of those lazy, hazy Sunday afternoons in New York. Five friends lounged around in a newly decorated sitting room, the fumes from the paint only just vanishing. There was four large windows facing the city, overlooking the bustling citizens below as they completed their life in a rushed and demanding fashion. Usually, they were among those people, but today was their day off.

They often spent Sundays together, but this one was of particular interest. This particular Sunday was arranged weeks in advance by one Rachel Berry, who had demanded their presence to settle the very urgent matter at hand. Granted, she deemed a lot of issues urgent lately, but apparently this day actually was important – Finn had vouched for it.

See, today was the day that Finn and Rachel were finally going to decide on their unborn childs name. They just needed some help from their friends, because so far, they didn't agree at every point. There were two girls names they agreed on but couldn't decide between, while they each had a boys name that they couldn't agree on.

The couple had insisted on keeping the gender a surprise, despite pleads from Kurt to find out. He wanted to decorate the nursery accordingly, and was 'devastated' by their decision to keep it a secret. He even volunteered to ask the nurse and not tell them, but they knew that would never work. The curiosity would eat away at Rachel.

Rachel sat relaxing on the longest couch, her arm resting on the side. She was eight months pregnant now, with a perfectly round bump. She looked just as you would imagine pregnant; tiny. Her bump was such a small, perfect little bulge that one could be convinced it was fake. (They had, in fact, had fun with that before.) She was wearing a light red day dress, with a white band just above her bump, and knee-high white socks that ensured she never lost her sense of style.

Finn sat next to her, his hand occasionally straying to her stomach to feel his child kick. He had been a very involved and caring boyfriend through the whole pregnancy, and catered to Rachel's every need and whim. This was often to the amusement of his best friend, Sam Evans. Sam himself sat on the couch across from him, watching Rachel with interest as she waited to begin her story. He knew the gist of the problem, but apparently, not 'enough'.

He had already been named the godfather, which honoured him. Especially given that Kurt, who sat on the single armchair in the house, was desperate to be godfather. He had wanted to spoil the baby senseless, but the parents had both ensured him that they had no qualms with him still doing that. The godmother sat under his arm, her hand tracing his abs absently as her eyes followed Kurt as he entered the kitchen. It was the ultimate cliché, he knew, but Quinn fit so perfectly under his arm that he had no doubt she belonged there.

Kurt returned with tea and coffee for the four not-pregnant adults, and a lemonade for Rachel. She sighed upon receiving it, remarking lightly, "I can't wait for some coffee in my system again."

Quinn rolled her eyes, "You never even liked it that much before you were pregnant."

"Don't it always seem, that you don't know what you got till it's gone," Rachel sang back in retort, and then stuck her tongue out. Quinn only laughed and took a sip of her tea, not willing to say anymore on the subject.

Sam decided to speak up, "So, Rach, what are the names up for selection?"

"Well, you know that the name has to be perfect. Both Finn and Rachel are very traditional names, and while we wanted our child to have that, they have to have meaning. Of course, I now want something that would really make this baby stand out – forget about traditional, think about star –"

"But I pointed out that that's her dream, not our childs.." Finn reminded her, seeing as she was getting lost in the name again. He shook his head, looking to his friends, "She wanted to name our kid Stella."

"Oh, that is precious!" Kurt immediately exclaimed, earning a glare from Finn.

"No, it's mean. The kid would be bullied senseless!"

"Sam, don't be so silly, no one would bully our child. If it was a girl named Stella, she would be so lovely and gorgeous that no one would think twice to cross her. She'd be like Quinn."

Quinn blinked, realising they were talking about her, "I think you've got me confused with someone else.."

"Quinn is a weird name," Sam nodded, receiving a serious nod from Rachel in return. She was happy to be on the same wavelength as someone.

"Hey, none of that from you. Just because you got a boring and conventional name." Quinn joked, but instantly regretted it when he took his arm away. The loss of comfort and warmth was felt tenfold, and she sent him her best apologetic expression. Of course, it wasn't sincere, so he only grinned.

"Can we return to the important topic here? As I was saying, I wanted a name that meant something. However, what would I want the name to mean? I don't want to put too much pressure on my child –"

"So name them star. Logical." Kurt cut in, appearing sceptical.

She looked annoyed for a moment, but breezed on, "and that is where our problem really lies."

Finn finally said what they were waiting for, "We can't decide between Paris and Aislinn for a girl. For a boy, Rachel wants Atticus. How boring is that? I want Armani – it means freeman. How cool is that?"

There was a funny kind of silence that followed his words, during which Rachel surveyed their expressions. She threw her hands in the air then, "Oh, you hate them! You hate our childs name. Oh, it's not fair," Tears began to build in her eyes, and she swatted them away valiantly.

Sam shook his head ardently, "No, no! They're just .. not…great. I mean, Paris, really?"

"It's a lovely city," Rachel sniffed.

Quinn scoffed, "Call her Lima then. At least that's where she came from."

"Number one, Lima is not a lovely place." Rachel told her haughtily, "And secondly, the baby does not come from Lima. He or she comes from New York."

"Conceived in Brooklyn, right, Rachel?" Sam winked at her, referencing to how the baby was conceived in the hotel room of their weekend away. It had been a celebration for Burt and Carole's marriage, but Finn and Rachel made it more than just a celebration for that. (They had been sharing a room with Sam and Quinn, who caught them in the act, and the latter two frequently enjoyed mocking the other two over it. This only increased following Rachel falling pregnant.)

Rachel didn't reply though, she was sitting slack-jawed in her seat, frozen. Finn began to get worried as the second ticked by, panicked by the thought of contractions or her water breaking. A quick check of how dry the couch was determined that her water hadn't broken, but Finn continued to panic and wave his hand in front of her face. "Rachel? Rach? It was just a joke! Are you okay?"

"Oh, Sam!" She exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face. "You're just wonderful sometimes, you know?"

"Er, yes. Sure… Why, again?"

"Yes, why?" Quinn echoed, but it was only in jest. Sam pulled her back into his arms abruptly, savouring the warmth she provided, too. He'd never voice it aloud yet, but what the couple in front of him had, he knew he'd one day have with the woman under his arm. She was it for him, and they were meant to have a child exactly like Finn and Rachel were.

"Isn't Brooke the perfect name, Finn?" She asked him, her eagerness rebounding on everyone in the room. "There's not a lot of pressure with that meaning, and yet, it has plenty of personal meaning.. not to mention that it's not so strange that she'd be bullied in any way!"

After repeating it several times, Kurt nodded, "It's perfect! It's stylish, and yet, has a private meaning, too. It's not nonsensical style."

Quinn smiled, "I would love to have a goddaughter named Brooke. God knows she'll be the most loved and lucky child I know!" The thought of Beth echoed through the room, but no one brought it up – no one ever did, and for good reason. It was something only spoken of very privately with Quinn, meaning that Sam was usually the only one to ever discuss the child with her.

Finn got as excited as Rachel then, speaking to her stomach animatedly and asking the baby if they liked the name. Everyone started to feel the excitement then as the name was picked, discussing at great length how the room was to be decorated – Kurt would spell the name out along the wall above her crib – while Quinn would paint a beautiful array of girlie designs on the other, Sam and Finn would construct the crib and Rachel would oversee the whole event.

It was fifteen minutes into this lively discussion that Kurt abruptly ended it, "God, we are so screwed if you have a boy."

Five seconds of silence. Then, Finn: "Damn. Never thought of that."

A/N: So, this wasn't too long of a wait, was it? :D I enjoyed writing the flashback here, I'd love to know what you thought. As for the names, Aislinn means dreams. Didn't get it into the dialogue, but there you go. I hope you enjoyed that chapter, and thank you for reading :) I don't own Glee or "Take Good Care of my Baby" by Bobby Vee. I strongly recommend reading those lyrics, because they relate to the chapter! If you haven't already, please read them? haha.. Thanks again for reading!

I would love some more reviews :)
CN.