Author's Note: This was intended to be a Faberry Anniversary ficlet but it transformed into a short pre-Tony thing instead. Set after Forget the Wrong That I've Done and before I'll Pick A Star From the Sky.
Unbetaed so all mistakes are my own.
You Look Wonderful Tonight
It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear.
She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair.
And then she asks me, "Do I look alright?"
And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."
~Wonderful Tonight, Eric Clapton
Her show is dark today. In fact, every show is dark today. It's the second Sunday in June, and Rachel is nominated for her third Tony award. She'd lost the first and won the second, and tonight could swing either way. She wants to win, obviously—she's Rachel Berry, and she'll never lose her competitive spirit—but this year, she feels a sense of accomplishment with her work and with her life in general that's almost better than winning any award.
The role she's playing now belongs to her alone—born from rough words on a page and nurtured with Rachel's breath and sweat and tears. There's nothing Rachel would love more than to punctuate her first original role in her first original show with a shiny new statuette on her shelf.
In two months, she'll bid adieu to Iris and say hello to a brand new role—one that will be hers for the rest of her life.
Rachel is still kind of terrified about it, but thankfully, that's not the dominating emotion—well, not anymore. Now there's mostly the blissful anticipation coursing through her veins at the thought of finally meeting her daughter, and, of course, the love and adoration that she feels for her wife that keeps growing bigger everyday—right along with Quinn's cute, pregnant belly. She's learned to keep that last part to herself though. As happy as Quinn has been in her pregnancy this time around, there are still moments when her mood swings all the way back to her bitchiest temperament—the one that had Noah Puckerman hiding in the boys' locker room to avoid her during the last few months of her pregnancy with Beth.
Rachel is made of stronger stuff.
Still, the frown currently on Quinn's face as she fusses with her green maternity dress in front of the full length mirror sets off a warning bell in Rachel's head. It's the same frown Quinn had worn the day her favorite pair of pre-pregnancy jeans would no longer zip—right before she'd burst into tears.
"I'm not going," Quinn announces with a tremor in her voice, tugging again at the front of her dress where the fabric is a bit tight over her belly. "You can take Beth as your date. Or Santana," she suggests despondently. "She probably has some sexy little dress that she doesn't have to squeeze herself into with a shoehorn."
"Santana has to squeeze into all of her dresses with a shoehorn. It's kind of her thing," Rachel points out with a laugh while she fastens her earring.
"And of course you notice that," Quinn growls, crossing her arms over her pronounced baby bump as she turns to glare at Rachel.
"Well, it's been fairly hard to miss," Rachel admits carefully, having realized just a tiny bit too late that she should have addressed Quinn's insecurities immediately before making a joke about Santana's fashion choices. "But Quinn, baby," she soothes, stepping closer to her wife and raising a hand to gently cup her cheek, "I don't want to take Santana to the Tonys. Or Beth. Or anyone else. I want to take you, my gorgeous wife whom I love with all of my heart." And maybe she's purposely adding a little extra sweetness to her tone but that doesn't make her words any less sincere.
Quinn sniffles, uncrossing her arms and letting them fall listlessly over her belly. "You have to say that because I'm pregnant," she grumbles forlornly. "But my ankles are swollen and my face is puffy and I'm huge and clumsy and gross."
"I think you're beautiful," Rachel murmurs lovingly, brushing back a strand of Quinn's hair from her temple. "You were beautiful when you were pregnant with Beth, and you're even more beautiful now."
She isn't exaggerating even a little bit. There's never been a moment when Rachel hasn't seen Quinn as the most beautiful woman in the world, but now, knowing that Quinn is pregnant with their baby makes her even more unspeakably lovely to Rachel's eyes.
"I'll be so proud to have you standing at my side today; for the whole world to see the stunning woman who agreed to marry me and carry our child, but if you really don't feel up to it, I…I guess I can go by myself," Rachel offers with a pout, already hating the idea of not having Quinn next to her. "Even though I really want you to be there to hold my hand and keep me from making a scene if I lose."
Quinn bites into her lip, reaching out to grasp Rachel's hand. "You're not going to lose," she vows quietly.
Rachel shrugs. "If I do, the cameras will catch me looking sad and pathetic with an empty seat next to me. Everyone will probably think I've been abandoned by my wife before we've even reached our two year anniversary." And it's only five days away. Rachel can almost see the comments on that chatboard that Quinn doesn't know she still checks from time to time—that handful of posters who keep wondering how Rachel managed to land such a gorgeous wife and insisting that divorce is just around the corner despite Quinn's very obvious pregnancy.
"Are you actually trying to guilt me into coming with you?" Quinn asks with a frown that's twitching suspiciously around the edges.
"Is it working?" Rachel counters with a hopeful grin.
A tiny smile curves Quinn's lips before it's snuffed out, and still-shiny hazel eyes drop back down to her midriff as she tugs at the dress again. "I look awful," she mutters. "This dress isn't fitting right."
Rachel sighs, running her hands over Quinn's belly and feeling a tiny prickle of disappointment to find their daughter is currently sleeping quietly beneath Quinn's taut skin. "Don't let Kurt hear you say that," she warns, sliding her fingers up to trace the silky ribbon that runs beneath the bodice of Quinn's dress.
"Kurt's never been seven months pregnant," Quinn hisses sourly. "I don't really give a crap if I offend him."
Rachel gently tugs at the fabric, adjusting it slightly beneath her wife's breasts before fanning out the pleats of the skirt. "You loved this dress two weeks ago," she reminds Quinn, "and this color is perfect on you," she muses, admiring the way the dress now falls artfully from the empire waist over Quinn's pregnant stomach. "You look amazing."
"I look fat," Quinn whines stubbornly.
Rachel shakes her head, stepping aside and gently turning Quinn back to face the mirror before standing next to her and gazing at their reflections. "You look radiant," she whispers reverently. "And you still take my breath away every single time I look at you, Quinn. Now more than ever," she says, placing her left hand over the swell of Quinn's stomach—her own eyes growing a little moist, "because I'm looking at everything that matters most to me in this world."
Tears spill over Quinn's cheeks, and she lifts a hand to brush them away, shaking her head. "And now my makeup is a mess too," she laments.
"I can fix it," Rachel vows, moving with the intent to grab some tissues from the dresser, but Quinn stops her by catching her hand.
"I love you," she says simply, smiling softly through her tears.
"I love you too," Rachel echoes sweetly as she steps back to her wife, cupping her cheeks so she can urge her down into a tender kiss. When they part, Rachel grins up at her. "And I'd love you to be my date for the Tonys."
Quinn sighs. "Well, I suppose I am already dressed for it," she concedes.
"Yes, you are," Rachel agrees triumphantly. "And it would be a shame to waste such a lovely dress."
Quinn takes a deep breath, smoothing her palms down over the fabric of her dress again as she gives her reflection another critical once over in the mirror. "Do I really look okay?" she asks again, worrying her lip—obviously still insecure. "Other than my makeup," she amends.
"You look wonderful," Rachel promises earnestly. "What about me? How do I look?"
Hazel eyes travel up and down over Rachel's body before Quinn shrugs. "You'll do," she decides before turning to pick up her makeup bag to touch up her eyes.
Rachel frowns. "Wait. That's it? I'll do?" she questions incredulously, eyeing herself in the mirror. "Is this dress not flattering?" she worries, turning from side to side to study the black and white, patterned material. "I knew I should have gone with the gold. Do I need to change?"
Quinn's airy chuckle instantly draws Rachel's attention back to her, and Rachel is relieved to see Quinn smiling again. "You're perfect," Quinn promises, lifting a hand to tenderly stroke Rachel's cheek. "Absolutely perfect," she repeats before leaning in to kiss her wife.
And yeah—right now, Rachel is absolutely perfect.
She's even more perfect several hours later when she's bringing home her second Tony award, but while adding that statue to her shelf certainly makes her night, the very best thing she'll ever bring home is Quinn and their soon-to-be-born daughter.