Chapter 12: All I know is, I don't know how to be something you miss.

(Two Weeks Later)

He likes to think that he knows the two ladies next to him very well. After all, they've been a part of his life for so long now. Albeit, at different periods of his life, but both Brooke and Quinn have helped and contributed in forming what he is today. He's spent hours with them talking, days with them lounging and they've even exchanged secrets.

Taking all of this into account, he's startled the next morning at what he sees. Quinn, though always a morning person, is humming a tune quietly while Brooke sits forlornly at the table. Quinn hasn't partaken in the singing of any song in a long time and Brooke is usually full of energy in the mornings. Confusion reigning, he joins Quinn in making the breakfast.

She's lost in her thoughts and music, causing him to nudge her in order to gain her attention. For the slightest of seconds, he remembers how beautiful she is even in the mornings. She has a style and aura of loveliness in the mornings that most women don't possess. However, this thought passes as quickly as it comes, and Sam moves on. His eyes flicker to Brooke, and Quinn understands his question. "I won't let her have ice-cream for breakfast." She says, ignoring Brooke's huff as she hears this news again.

He chuckles, turning to Brooke and scooping her up into his arms, "Brookie cookie, you can't have ice-cream for breakfast! That's madness!"

His heart aches when she sticks out her tongue at him; flashes of Rachel invade his vision. "Grandpa let me have what I want."

"It's time to go back to normal food now though, Brooke." Quinn tells her firmly, setting down pancakes and strawberry syrup on the table. Sam raises an eyebrow at her; that's hardly the healthiest breakfast food.

"I don't like strawberry syrup." Brooke insists, sticking her nose up at it.

Quinn inhales patiently, "I've given you this for breakfast before. You do like it."

"Well I don't like it anymore. I want ice-cream. I want chocolate-chip pancakes!"

Sam sends Quinn a helpless glance, totally at a loss of what to say. His goddaughter has never behaved so badly before, and it shocks him to see her act out. He reasons that he should have expected this; he should have known her behaviour would take a turn for the worst after such a tragedy. He wishes the Berry's had told him though, because this is so unexpected that he's not sure of how to react.

Brooke's always been the cheerful, chirpy and happy child who came with minimal fuss. She ate nearly anything that was put in front of her – whether it was edible or not, he found out several times – and she never answered back so defiantly. Rachel was strict with her, but never found the need to be harsh because Brooke usually obeyed. Of course, she was always a mischievous child, but not to the point of deliberately disobeying and refusing to co-operate with her guardians. He's lucky that Quinn is there, because she remains resolved. "Brooklyn Hudson, stop that right now. It's breakfast time and you have to eat what we make for you. Is that understood? No more of this diva business."

Large, fat tears rush to the younger girls eyes. She tugs on her bottom lip as it shakes, "I—I'm sorry, Quinnie. My – my tummy feels funny," She complains, her hand going to rub the aforementioned area.

Quinn leans forward to take the girl into her arms, "Ssh, it's okay. I know you feel sad, but don't know why or what you want. Tell me and Sam when you feel like this, okay? We don't want to give out to you."

Brooke buries her head in Quinn's chest, nodding into it as she sniffs heavily. The blonde strokes her hair softly, telling her that everything is going to be okay. Sam himself feels the weight in his chest lessen at those words; everything is going to be okay.

Yet, he can't move from the spot he's glued to. All he's done throughout the entire exchange is release Brooke from his arms, and watch the carnage unfold. It frustrates him that he can't be the one Brooke receives comfort from, it makes him want to scream how he isn't the loving and comforting person in her life that he once was. It hates how he can't be the Sam she knows, how he's only making things worse for his little goddaughter by being so estranged.

But he's still standing in the same spot, watching her cry into his companion's shirt.

It had been decided fairly quickly that they had to make Brooke has comfortable as possible, especially with her outburst this morning. They can't imagine the pain she's feeling, the confusion and loss that comes with it only furthering the problems. Sam needs to provide some sort of aid to her, and so proposes that they take the plunge and visit the house.

He knows he has gotten himself into deep waters. He hasn't been to the house since the day before the accident, and for good reason because it scares him. The memories and recollections tucked into the corners of that house are almost too much to handle – but he must do it. Brooke is half asleep in the back of the car, and Quinn is staring out the window of the passenger's seat. Once she had calmed the girl down, it had been relatively easy to get her ready for the day. She returned to their Brooke, chatting constantly about things that they sometimes didn't even understand.

For some reason, Sam was surprised when Brooke said she was excited to go 'home'. He's worried that she thinks her parents are there, and wants to vocalise this but can't for fear of revealing his own shortcomings. Part of him still wants to believe they're having a few weeks to themselves in that house, that they're trying for child no. 2 or that they're working on something for Rachel's shows, or Finn's glee club.

Quinn turns back to see a sleeping Brooke, then says to him quietly, "Do you think we should wake her?" He nods, but doesn't say anything. All that one can hear is the low hum of the car as it breezes along the road. Quinn changes this by speaking again. "I don't want to go here."

He'd be lying if he said he expected her to say that. Of course, he knows she feels it, but it's an entirely different matter to actually vocalise these sentiments. Quinn doesn't speak of feelings so freely – or last time he was with her she didn't, at least. She's either changed, or she has the same approach to their new relationship that he does; they're in this together, and they have to be honest. He returns the honesty, "Me neither. It has to be done sooner or later though, not to mention that Brooke wants this." She makes a noise of agreement. There's a small pause during which they both reflect, with him then saying to Quinn, "I think we need this, too. Closure, maybe."

"It won't be that easy," She replies tiredly, returning to admiring the view out the window. It's New York though, and there's not much to admire that she hasn't seen before. She's done this trip as many times as him, which is saying something. He visited this house weekly, if not more, and he had no doubts that Quinn did the same.

As they pull into the driveway of the house they know so well, Quinn places her hand over his, without looking at him. He tries to catch her eye and give her an encouraging, albeit shaky, smile.

After taking a deep breath, they wake Brooke from her slumber and give her a few seconds to realise where they are. He can see the exact moment where she recognises the area, as her eyes light up and her smile grows to an alarming size. She rips off her seatbelt and throws open the door, eagerness rebounding through the car from her. Brooke's steps are fast and rushed as she runs to the door, knocking on it relentlessly.

Before exchanging one last uneasy glance, Quinn and Sam come up behind her. Quinn pulls her back gently, telling her they have to unlock it. He rattles around in his pocket to find the wretched keys the Berry's had handed him, cursing how shaky his hands seem to be. Once he locates the key, he opens the door with ease.

Brooke rushes in, exploring all rooms with renewed zest. "It's so clean! I lefted all my toys on the floor and now they're all cleaned up! Who does-ed that?"

"Who did it?" Quinn repeats, subtly correcting her grammar. "A cleaner I think, B. Do you want to get some things from your room?"

"Yep! My bad dollies are probly' missing me."

"Your bad dollies?" Quinn asks in amusement as Brooke grabs her and Sam's hands and proceeds to drag them up the stairs – much to their absolute chagrin.

"My bad dollies. They always take Quinnie's shoes!"

Understanding that these are dolls she's talking about, Sam comes to the conclusion that his expertise does not reach this particular topic. Upon reaching this deduction, he remains silent as they are pulled down the hallway and into Brooke's room.

It's exactly as he remembers, but so different, too. The soft, pink walls are as soothing as always while the array of cuddly toys and dolls assure that half of the room's walls and floor are unseen. Pink seems to cloud his vision, with almost everything in the room possessing the colour somewhere. He moves to sit on her bed, but notices the Dora covers and can't bring himself to. Why evades him, but nonetheless he remains standing.

Hands in his pockets, he watches Quinn hold open the black bag for Brooke to put her toys into. The girl doesn't seem as bothered as he thought she would, which puzzles him. He supposes children work differently to adults – breakfast time might be a difficult affair and raise memories for her, but returning to the home where most her memories with her parents were made doesn't make her blink twice.

He longs to feel the same in the home, because currently, his heart is beating so erratically that he worries they can hear it; his hands are buried in his pockets only to stop the shaking; his eyes are in pain from restraining tears, while his chest constricts with a fresh feeling of loss.

Quinn senses this, and gestures for him to help, "You can't leave me with all the work, Evans."

Taking the bag from her, he doesn't question when she leaves the room. Brooke doesn't say anything, only keeps chucking items towards him. She appears to be deeply in thought over what she wants, and what she wants to leave behind. He doesn't understand why she's leaving some of her dolls here, and so questions her on it. Very simply, Brooke tells him, "They're my Mommy's favrite' dollies."

He fails to respond because he doesn't know how. The rest of the time in Brooke's room is spent in silence on his part, but she more than makes up for it with nonsensical chatter regarding certain toys names, why they were put in the bold corner once and how she knows they're better than 'Kendra Lally's' toys because her dolls don't speak like grown-ups. Very intricate details, one must know.

Quinn returns, and had he not known her like he does, he would fail to notice the slight pink hue surrounding her eyes, or the indents upon her lip from biting down harshly. His eyes soften, but they don't say anything. There's no real need to.

She sniffs, as if gathering herself, and clears her throat. "I think it's time to go, B. Have you got everything? Do you want to bring your covers?"

Brooke looks over to her bed and pauses, thinking seriously about it. "Yes." She says decidedly, "Dora needs me."

"She sure does," Quinn says softly, smiling.

It isn't much long after that they're leaving. His head still hurts as they pass the photographs along the stairway, reflecting the laughter and friendship experienced by them. He sees the scratch at the end of the stairs on the wall and recalls the time he and Finn drunkenly tried to carve their names into the wall. He spots the dark blue engravings from a younger Brooke beside the front door, and instantly snippets of the day she decided to be a painter strike him. The lock on the door reminds him of the time – just last year – that he and Quinn accidentally visited at the same time, causing him to fumble with the door several times to try escape.

The glass pane beside the door is still the exact same as they left it; polished, pristine and portraying the 'image' Rachel always talked about. When he came over after work, Brooke used to press her nose up against the glass waiting for him. Of course, it fogged up constantly and she often became frustrated with having to wipe down her breath from the glass all the time. As soon as she saw him though, she would give him that toothy smile and wave vigorously until he returned it.

Every time until she was four, she would show him her room when he arrived – as if he hadn't seen it several times over the last two weeks.

Quinn gently brings him back to the present when she takes his elbow and guides him out the door after Brooke. They all climb into the car, the adults silent and the child talking, buckle themselves in and sit for a moment.

Quinn raises her hand almost regretfully, and says so Brooke can hear, "Bye for now, house." After copious amounts of waving to an inanimate object (but it's so much more than that), he turns on the ignition and pulls away.

The laughter from the house echoes around him the whole way back. He doesn't hate it.

"Hello?"

"Hey you, how are you?"

He still can't find the pleasure he used to upon hearing her voice. "Oh, hey, Dina. I'm okay. We went to the house today, I think it helped Brooke."

"That's good," She says soothingly, "How did you find it?"

He gulps, not wanting to tell her the truth of how it completely threw him. "It was hard. Are you okay?"

Sam knows she's nodding on the other end. Despite that, he waits for her to speak, "I'm okay. Did Brooke not have any questions after the visit?"

"She did." He sighs, "Quinn handled most of it. She's been great, while I've been awful."

There's a small pause on the other end, then she relays softly, "Stop being so hard on yourself. You're a wonderful person, Sam, and you have to remember that. Not everyone would do what you are doing."

"I find it hard to think of anyone who wouldn't do this."

She makes a strangled sort of noise, followed by a guilty whisper; "I don't know if I would." That catches him off guard, because he always thought her to be the type of person to reach out and help whoever she can. Maybe she isn't anymore, or maybe she never was. Either way, he can't find it in him to care, because she's not in that situation and he doesn't begrudge her for it. When he doesn't reply, she continues, "That's why I think you're better than you realise. Please, for me, stop being so hard on yourself? You don't deserve it."

The kindness of her words and the gentleness of her voice makes him smile, which he seems to do less of these days, "Okay. For you."

"Thank you. Will I still come over tonight?" The question is posed hesitantly, as if she is afraid of the reply. He knows she's nervous about meeting not only Brooke, but also Quinn. He's failed to recognise so far how understanding Dina's being, because Quinn was his first love. Quinn was his everything for such a long time, and now she's right back to being important. Dina hasn't put up much of a fight to it, and that's important to Sam; trust.

"Of course. They can't wait to meet you," He adds, sensing that she needs some reassurance. In reality, Brooke is only mildly interested – she tells him that he belongs to her, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her otherwise. Not to mention that it's mostly true – and Quinn portrays the same nonchalance and minor intrigue she always does. He has no doubts that she'll be polite and friendly though, letting Brooke be her normal warm self, too.

"I hope so. I miss you so much, Sam," Passionate words touch him, but only so far as guilt. He should be meeting her alone for their first physical contact since he left, but part of him his avoiding it. Everything in Sam is shifting and changing during this transition in his life – it scares him. He wants to love Dina unconditionally, and thinks he still does love her, but the fear of this ebbing love is overriding his desire to see her alone.

"I know, so do I." The lie slips easily from his mouth, surprising even him. Sam was never the greatest liar.

She sighs, "Okay. Well, I'll see you in an hour or so, then." The ending lingers, awaiting the correct response before properly ending the call. He's eager to finish the conversation because he promised Quinn he'd help her with dinner, and Brooke has been quiet for far too long. He's sitting on Quinn's black leather couches in the sitting room, staring blankly at a silent TV as the call with Dina goes on.

"See you soon." Neither of them say anything else, but neither hang up. He can very faintly hear her breathing on the other line, and then it's gone.

It's the first phone call since their engagement that hasn't ended in 'I love you'.

By the end of their work, the kitchen smells deliciously of a traditional healthy dinner. He cooked the meat, and Quinn took care of the vegetables. The smell of the ham makes his mouth water as he anticipates the taste. Quinn, being a vegetarian now, has cooked her own burger. The table is set nicely; nothing too fancy, but they're using wine glasses. Brooke is already in her chair, singing along to the playlist they had put on while cooking. She knows few songs, but the ones she does know are usually belted out with great gusto – even if they are quite frequently the wrong words. He's glad for that, because hearing his four-year old goddaughter rap the words to "Superbass" is mildly disturbing.

There's a knock on the door and he assumes the role of answering it, being who it is on the other side. The absence of the door reveals a lovely Dina, looking appropriately stunning in a simple blue, knee-length dress and a thin brown belt clinching her tiny waist. Her luscious blonde hair is in curls, enveloping her elbows. The ensemble briefly reminds him of something Quinn once wore.

He pulls her in for a hug, kissing her forehead swiftly. When he begins to let go, she holds him tighter, revealing her reservations and nerves about the night. Hearing Quinn approach, he quickly whispers in her ear, "Don't worry, this will be great."

They part just in time as Quinn arrives beside them. Giving the other woman a bright, but insincere, smile, she extends her hand, "I'm Quinn. It's great to finally meet you, Dina!"

Taking the other blonde's hand, she smiles, pleasantly surprised. "You, too. I confess Sammy hasn't told me much about you, so I can't wait to get to know you."

"Likewise," Quinn replies, her mouth poised to add something when she's interrupted by a highly enthusiastic rendition:

"You got that boom, badoom boom, boom badoom boom, he got that super bass."

Dina promptly laughs, "Is that Brooke? I love that song. She's not half bad!"

Sam nods, "Well, her mother was something else. But I do think you're being a little generous." He winces at a particularly heartfelt attempt from Brooke. Quinn leads the way to the girl, who is standing beside the table now and dancing. Sam doesn't like how she's dancing, or how she's rapping the words to the song, and so tells her to stop and come say hello.

"Hi, Dean! I like your blue dress. Blue isn't my favourite colour but I do like it even if Janet Bigly said that it's a boy colour when I weared it to school once. Do you know my school? I haven't gone in ages but I'm going to go again and tell Janet about my new bike that my Grandpa's bought me because she don't even have a bike. Isn't that just the silliest thing ever!"

Dina's smile remains frozen, and she glances at Sam, who only laughs. "Brookie, what did we say about speaking slower when we meet new people?"

"I did!" She protests, a frown overcoming her face.

Quinn takes over, ordering everyone to sit down. She presents the dinner and Sam will do dessert – that was the outcome of their coin toss. Interestingly, neither of them wanted to bring out dessert because it's so hard to move after dinner. However, Quinn won.

Brooke immediately digs into her dinner, not rehashing this morning's episode. Sam thanks his lucky stars for that, even if they've proved rather unlucky lately. The clink of the knives and forks, with the occasional scratch against the plate, reverberates around the table. Sam looks between the three girls, hoping to find a common link.

"Brooke, don't you love Fruit Loops? Dina comes up with the advertisement for it." He begins lamely, earning a look of confusion from the child.

"Captain Crunch is better than Fruit Loops! You should do your adbermisement somewhere else, Dean." Brooke advises her seriously, nodding to drive the sentiment home.

Dina isn't sure of how to respond, and so simply says, "Thanks, Brooke. I'll keep that in mind."

"So, Dina, are you from New York?" Quinn asks, answering Sam's silent plea to make an effort. He needs this to go well for more reasons than one.

"No, I'm actually from California. I wanted to get away from all of that though – not to mention my parents! So I moved here. I love it here; it's exactly what I've always wanted. Then I met Sam, and it was like something out of a fairytale," She sends him an adoring look across the table. He receives it uncomfortably, and manages a strained smile.

"My teacher says fairytales aren't real but my Mommy always said her and Daddy were a fairytale and I think that's right because they always found each other in the end." Sam can tell that his fiancé doesn't know what to say to that either, which is understandable, and takes it upon himself to respond.

"That's true." He wants to say more.

"They were like something straight out of a book, B. If I find something like your Mom and Dad, I'll be a very happy woman." Quinn tells her gently, smiling all the while. Brooke is satisfied with this reply and returns to eating her carrots – which they were told several times while cooking, that carrots were her favourite 'vengatable'.

"Have you thought at all about a date for the wedding?" Quinn asks, but her eyes are planted firmly on her plate. He wants to glare at her for bringing up the wedding, but she won't meet his gaze. His expression softens when he notices the resignation and sadness in her eyes. She hasn't got anyone yet, but he knows she will. Quinn Fabray deserves the world and more.

"We haven't discussed it yet.. But Sammy, I really want a summer wedding. It would be perfect, don't you think?"

Put on the spot, he splutters a little. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Sam tries to reply. Fortunately for him, Brooke beats him to it, "You're going to be married?"

Dina nods, beaming. "Yes, and you'll have a big part in it, Brooke."

She pauses, obviously thinking about this 'big part', but then disregards it, "But Sammy is mine!"

Sam chuckles nervously as he's scared to death that an outburst is coming. "I sure am. But you can share me, right?"

She pouts petulantly, glaring up at him through her messy hair, "I share with Quinn."

"Um, I think you're confused, Brooke. Quinn is just Sammy's friend – I'm going to be his wife."

The little girl looks ready to kick off, and sensing this, Quinn swoops into to salvage the dinner with an announcement of ice-cream. Brooke's thoughts move to that as Quinn asks her to help out, leaving the couple alone for a second.

He's uncomfortable in a way that he never has been before around her. Finishing her food, Dina puts her knife and fork together before asking him tightly, "Does she think you and Quinn are together? Why would she think that?"

"She doesn't think that, Di. Honestly, she's confused right now and I don't think we should be discussing any of this with her just yet. She's just gone through a huge transition in her life, and I don't want to add to it right now with all of this talk that is really between adults." His tone leaves no room for argument, but it wouldn't be unlike Dina to argue anyway. He has always been attracted to women with a fire in them.

To his surprise, she backs down, and only appears weary. "I know, I'm sorry. I forget myself sometimes and forget to rationalise things… This is hard for me, too, though."

"I know. Thank you for being so understanding." He places his hand over hers, meeting her blue eyes directly and trying to convey his appreciation. He thinks she understands because Dina nods, smiles and seems to put the argument behind her.

Quinn and Brooke return with the dessert. The rest of the dinner is spent discussing their favourite desserts, Brooke's return to school and how to bring Janet Bigly down.

He can't say that the dinner went badly, but a loud voice in the back of his head says something isn't right.

(It aggravates him that he can't pinpoint which girl is out of place.)

Work was tiring for him that day, with many inquests over legal entitlement and plenty of battles over ownership. He represented a select few of the up-and-coming new, young and fresh players entering the football scene. It was difficult starting off in this business, but he had the drive, knowledge and talent to do it. He also had the support behind him, and thinking about it, he smiled involuntarily and quickened his pace up the stairs to his girlfriend's apartment. It had become a second home to him of late, he spent that much time there.

They had been together now for two years officially, but he had loved her for much longer than that. They had 'relations' for much longer than that, too, actually. Most of college was spent thinking of her, and most of the summer was spent with her. He loved truly being with her now, even if they were simply watching TV on a Tuesday night with some awful microwaved dinner.

His life was going well at the moment. His best friends had a beautiful daughter who was also Sam's goddaughter, and spoiled rotten by him. He loved her like his own. As well as this, Finn was thinking seriously about proposing to Rachel and how best to do it – Sam loved a good wedding. He and Quinn were in steady enough jobs and he was working up the nerve to ask her to move in.

Using his own key, Sam let himself into the apartment. The entire place was silent, and suspicion immediately crept up on him. He looked around, calling out, "Quinn? I'm home! Where are you?"

A hoarse and throaty, "In here," answered his cry. Hearing the distress in her tone, worry immediately clawed at his insides, increasing his speed in locating her voice. He found her sitting on her double bed, the taupe sheets wrapped lightly around her. They snugly encased her legs though, which were bent at the knee. She was staring at something on the locker by the bed, but he only looked at her.

"Q? What's wrong? You're scaring me," He rushed to her bedside, taking her hands in his and kissing them lightly. She met his eyes, and the dazed look in them caused pause for thought. She wasn't crying, but Quinn didn't look happy, either. He squeezed her hands. "Quinn."

The prompt worked, because soon after, she glanced down at their hands and said desperately, "Oh, Sam," He pulled her to him, holding her close. Quinn still wasn't shedding tears, but he didn't know what was wrong with her and that still scared him. She appeared lost.

Into his shirt, she mumbled a dejected, "Look on the locker."

There, sitting almost innocently on the surface table was something that left him speechless. A pregnancy test – and it was positive.

Looking back at Quinn and raising his eyebrows, he knew he wasn't seeing things. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face after the initial shock, and it wasn't long until his infectious joy caught on with his girlfriend, too.

They were having a baby.

A/N: Ok, so major apologies for the delay in updating and thank you so much for the reviews! I'm flattered by the response the last chapter received :) I have a full-time job now, however, as an intern so I won't be available for writing as much because.. well, I'm still a student and go out a lot during the weeknights, so Sunday is the only real day I get for this. However, I'm making this story a priority above all my others so hopefully updates will be weekly.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee or "Last Kiss" by Taylor Swift.

Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)
CN.