Author's Note: Ficlet set a few years after This Lovely Easter Morning.

Something In Your Eyes Is Makin' Such A Fool of Me

Something in your eyes is makin' such a fool of me
When you hold me in your arms, you love me 'til I just can't see.
~Borderline, Madonna

Rachel is in an extremely good mood as she strolls along the sidewalk toward her apartment on West End Avenue, humming the melody to her very favorite song off her newest, soon to be released album. Well—all of her songs are favorites in one way or another, but she's exceptionally attached to this one because she'd written it about her beautiful little girl. It's a promise to always be there for her, and God-willing, she'll be able to keep that promise so much better this year than she had in the last.

Rachel loves her life. She adores her family. And she's thrilled with the sudden explosion of her career on every front that's been happening in the last two years, but she's the first to admit that she'd overextended herself more than a little in the past eighteen months or so.

That first year after Calliope had been born, Rachel made it a point to be home with her wife and daughter more often than not, passing the time by working on her first album with Atlantic Records—a moderate success that had earned her a Grammy for Record of the Year, thanks to one particularly catchy (and, in Rachel's humble opinion, masterfully recorded) song that had broken out and been all over the radio right before the nominations.

But when Callie was fast approaching her second birthday, Rachel decided to sign on for a television pilot that had been filming right here in New York, and to her surprise and delight, it was picked up by the network.

That had been the beginning of Rachel's newly crazy schedule, even though her role on the show, Union City Blues, is technically a supporting one. (One that won her a frickin' Emmy last September, thank you very much!)

Hard on the heels of her television success had been the offer to reprise her role of Iris in the big screen adaptation of Confessions, and there was no way that Rachel was going to pass up that opportunity, so she'd burned through her summer hiatus from Union City with an insanely exhausting film schedule before going right back to work on the second season of the show.

And in the middle of that, the record company had pushed her to start recording the second album of her two album deal, and—

Needless to say, she hates how little quality time she's actually been able to spend with Quinn and Callie recently. Quinn has been so wonderfully understanding about all of it—supporting Rachel and encouraging her to take these opportunities—but Rachel can feel the strain it's been putting on their family, especially with Quinn's time more in demand thanks to the success of her books and the resulting movies.

So now, finally, Rachel is looking at a blessedly light schedule for the rest of the year. Her album is coming out this summer (so she'd just been at the record company this morning to listen through the tracks again and offer some final input on the cover design) and the Confessions premiere is set for the end of August (appropriately in time for Callie's fourth birthday), and the fate of poor Abby (her character on Union City) is about to be tossed into cliffhanger-y suspense just in time for May sweeps, so Rachel already knows that she won't be required on set quite as often when they start filming season three.

(And maybe—just maybe—watching Santana and Teresa decide to take on motherhood for themselves had given Rachel a touch of baby-fever and caused her to mention to her producers that she and Quinn might be thinking about trying for a second baby in the near future and ask if the show would be able to work around a possible pregnancy. Nothing like that is happening just yet but it maybe could be in the next year or so.)

With a bounce in her step, Rachel turns into her building, waving at Stanley, the part-time doorman, on her way to the elevator. She loves that they have a doorman here. The apartment had been on the very upper limit of their budget when they'd signed the lease four years ago, but with the recent successes that they've both been enjoying in their careers, it's more than comfortable now—comfortable financially anyway. Space, on the other hand, might be becoming an issue with an energetic three-going-on-four–year-old who bounces around from room to room like a bunny on speed. (An adorable, cuddly bunny that Rachel loves with all of her heart and soul.) It might just be time for Rachel and Quinn to discuss upgrading to an actual house with a yard for Callie to enjoy somewhere outside of Manhattan, especially if they decide to go ahead with the potential expansion of their family.

When the elevator comes to a stop on her floor, Rachel practically skips out of it, eager to spend the rest of the afternoon with her girls. It's such a lovely day—in the mid-seventies and sunny with a nice breeze—and she's thinking that maybe they can all go play in the park. She's still humming when she slides her key into the lock and opens the door, stepping into their bright apartment with a cheerful, "I'm home."

She frowns a little when she isn't immediately greeted by her wife's voice or her daughter attempting to tackle her around her knees. "Quinn, baby? Calliope?" she calls out on her way through the foyer.

"We're in the living room," Quinn finally answers, voice sounding a little odd.

Rachel heads directly for the living room to discover Callie curled into Quinn's side on the sofa with wide, wet eyes while Quinn looks up at Rachel regretfully, one arm curled securely around their daughter.

Rachel's heart practically stops beating before jumping into her throat. "Oh, God. What happened? What's wrong?" she asks in a panic, rushing over and sinking onto the coffee table across from them, immediately reaching out to gently cup her daughter's wet face, but Callie only turns her head into Quinn's breast to hide from her.

Rachel sucks in a harsh breath at the rejection and jerks her hand away, her heart breaking as she turns to Quinn in hurt confusion.

Quinn reaches out a hand—the one that isn't currently holding their sniffling daughter—to take Rachel's limp one as she offers a reassuring smile. "Don't panic, sweetie," she instructs in a calm, even tone. "We're both fine. No one is hurt." Then she cringes mildly, glancing down at Callie. "Well…no one except Emmy."

Rachel's brows furrow even more as she glances between the two most important people in her life before her worried eyes settle on Callie, who's peeking around Quinn's damp shirt with doleful eyes.

"Who's Emmy?" Rachel asks in bewilderment, wracking her brain to remember if Callie has any little friends in her preschool class named Emmy.

Quinn sighs, shaking her head as she lets go of Rachel's hand and reaches down to pick up something from the sofa beside her. Rachel's eyes follow the motion, registering the flash of gold and—

Rachel's hand flies to her mouth to suppress a squeaking gasp of horror, and her eyes go wide as they take in her once beautiful statuette—now broken off its black base with a missing globe and bent wings.

"She took a little spill this morning," Quinn explains apologetically. "I'm afraid her condition is critical."

Rachel's attempt to respond to her wife's inappropriate humor is barely more than a pained grunt.

"I'm sorry Mama," Callie mumbles tearfully—though it comes out sounding more like Mm thawee Mmm since her face is still mostly buried in Quinn.

Rachel pries her hand from her mouth and forces a deep breath into her lungs, tearing her eyes away from her poor, mutilated Emmy Award to study her daughter's guilty posture. It finally registers that her precious baby girl is Emmy's assailant.

"H-how did it happen?" she finally manages to ask, glancing back to Quinn with a forced calm.

It's just a statue. An inanimate thing, she silently reminds herself.

The third piece to completing my coveted EGOT that is now in pieces!

Quinn sighs, rubbing a comforting circle over Callie's small, quivering shoulder. "Someone got a little too rambunctious during her reenactment of Merida's daring rescue of her mother and ended up tackling your award case."

Rachel's frown deepens, and she reaches up to rub two fingers over the bridge of her nose. "I knew we should have gone with the wall mounted one," she grumbles—but no, Quinn had thought that one would be too dangerous with both Oliver and Callie running around, so they'd gone with the floor cabinet instead, and—

"Oh, my God," she gasps in realization, immediately sliding off the edge of the table to kneel awkwardly on the floor in front of Callie, her decimated award all but forgotten. "Callie, baby, are you okay?" she rushes out, gently running her hands over her daughter's tiny form. That case is heavy oak with a thick, glass door. Callie could have been seriously injured. "Did you get hurt?" she asks fearfully, stroking Callie's dark hair as she tries to urge her daughter's face away from its hiding place so she can thoroughly inspect her for injuries.

Callie's little head shakes furiously against Quinn, but she still won't look at Rachel, and she's beginning to fidget noticeably even as she stays burrowed into Quinn's side.

Quinn bites into her lip, suppressing a smile. "She's perfect, Rach. No injuries whatsoever. I promise."

Callie makes a noise then that doesn't sound much like a sob at all. In fact, it sounds more like a muffled giggle, and Rachel frowns in apprehension as her gaze flies back to Quinn, whose eyes are alight with a suspicious twinkle.

"I don't see what you could possibly find funny about any of this," Rachel accuses, and her daughter—her sweet, guilt-ridden daughter—collapses into giggles.

Rachel's eyes narrow. "Quinn?"

Her wife ducks her head close to their daughter's hair with a mischievous smirk. "Callie, hon, what do you have to say to Mama?"

Callie pokes her head up then, all her tears dry as she grins toothily at Rachel. "April Fool!" she squeals before enthusiastically flinging herself at Rachel, tiny arms looping around Rachel's neck and tugging her forward.

Rachel teeters off balance from her daughter's unexpected weight, and she has to catch herself against the edge of the sofa to keep from toppling forward. Next to them, Quinn is laughing her ass off.

"This…this was a prank?" Rachel realizes incredulously, even as she instinctively wraps Callie in her arms. Belatedly, she remembers that today is, in fact, the first day of April. God damn it!

"We got you good, Mama," Callie boasts, obviously tickled pink at her part in this subterfuge.

"You certainly did," Rachel admits with a faint smile, unable to resist her daughter's infectious exuberance. She'd really believed—wait! Her eyes suddenly fly back to the mangled award still in Quinn's hand. "But…but my Emmy?"

"Safe in the closet," Quinn assures her. "This one is plastic," she supplies, holding it out to Rachel for closer inspection. "I have to say, those prop guys on your show do some high quality work."

Rachel's eyes widen in disbelief. "Quinn! You turned my own crew against me?"

Than damnable eyebrow inches up smugly—because yes, Quinn's eyebrow absolutely is capable of being a smug, little bitch all on its own. "What can I say? Tommy likes me."

Rachel scowls at her. "A little too much, if you ask me," she mutters, making a mental note to have a few words with the cocky, young prop master when next she sees him. His crush on her wife has just crossed the line from cute to bothersome.

"Your face was so funny," Callie tells her, still grinning irrepressibly.

"Oh, it was, was it?" Rachel challenges, feeling her lips twitch at her daughter's giggly nod. "And did Mommy tell you exactly what to do to get me to make that face?"

"Uh huh," Callie confirms happily.

Rachel darts her reproachful gaze back to Quinn. "I can't believe you dragged our innocent daughter into your wicked plot to dupe me again," she huffs, heaving herself off the floor with Callie still in her arms—it's not nearly as easy as it used to be when she was smaller—and settling them both onto the sofa next to Quinn with Callie snugly between them.

Laughing again, Quinn shakes her head. "You should be proud of how well she takes direction. She's a natural," she compliments with a proud smile, tapping their daughter's nose and receiving another delighted giggle before bowing her head to press a kiss to Callie's messy curls. "You're as good an actress as Mama."

"I know," Callie agrees, beaming up at them both and making Quinn laugh in delight.

Rachel presses a hand over her heart, realizing that Quinn is absolutely right. Callie had her convinced that she was distraught—tears and all—right to the moment she broke down laughing. Her daughter has talent.

She's so incredibly proud.

Except—

"You were very convincing, little star," Rachel promises her daughter, wrapping an arm around her, "but we really have to work on the roles you agree to take. Being Mommy's evil minion," and she side-eyes Quinn, "is a waste of your immense talent."

Callie giggles again, and Quinn rolls her eyes, reaching out to gently comb her fingers through Callie's hair and fuss with that one stubborn curl that always curls in the opposite direction. "But we had fun, didn't we, Sunshine? Mama's such an easy mark."

"It was fun," Callie agrees with a nod, kicking her little legs against the cushion. "I wanna do it again."

Quinn laughs in delight, and Rachel sighs in resignation at her daughter's easy betrayal. "I can't believe I have two of you now," she complains affably.

"You love that you have two of us," Quinn counters knowingly.

Rachel feels her mouth curve into a content smile as she gazes lovingly at her two pranksters. "I do," she agrees, cuddling Callie closer as she leans into Quinn and brushes a brief kiss across her smirking lips. She'll happily play the fool for them every single time.