Author's Note: A deleted scene from Watching the World Take On A New Form.
It's the Simple Things That Make Me Smile
Love is simple
It's the simple things
That make me smile
It's clear as crystal
I'm right where I should be
You're one of a kind
~All I See, Kate Voegele
It's the persistent call of nature that inevitably pulls Quinn from her sleep, and she blinks against the sunlight filtering in through the windows. It's not even seven o'clock yet, but she knows that once she rolls out of this bed—and that's non-negotiable thanks to the baby's fondness for sitting on her bladder—that she probably won't be going back to sleep. With a sigh, she glances back over her shoulder, expecting to see Rachel cuddled up next to her, but instead she's met with the sight of wrinkled sheets on an empty mattress and the glint from her wife's latest Tony award standing proudly on the nightstand. It's only been five days since it came home with them, so Quinn has forgiven its presence next to their bed for the time being. She's mostly just happy it's only next to the bed and not sharing it with them like Rachel's first one had done.
She's a little miffed that Rachel is already up and out of their bed so early, but with the recent move and the baby due in August, they really do have a lot they still need to accomplish, and Rachel always has been an early riser by nature—though thankfully not nearly as early as she used to be. A further glance to the darkened bathroom proves that Rachel is already out of the bedroom as well as the bed, which can only be a benefit to Quinn right now—one she quickly takes advantage of. She'll track down her wayward wife once she's taken care of more pressing matters.
When she finally pads out of the bathroom, feeling so much better, she decides to see what Rachel is up to so early this morning. They'd bought the paint for the nursery on Tuesday, but Rachel isn't planning to actually paint the room until next Monday when she won't need to worry about getting to her show on time. She'd even roped Teresa into helping her—a fact that bothers Quinn just a little. She likes Teresa well enough, of course, but she wants to be the one helping Rachel paint their daughter's nursery. Instead, she's been forbidden to go anywhere near the paint because Rachel is worried about the potential toxicity of the fumes despite having bought one of the safest paints on the market.
Quinn might be brooding about it just a little bit.
But not today.
Today, the scent filling their apartment when she exits the bedroom is decidedly not paint. It's a potent mix of coffee and French toast and bacon.
Quinn is as worried as she is titillated, despite the general improvement of Rachel's cooking skills, and she immediately picks up her pace to get to the kitchen—her brand new, un-singed kitchen that she very much wants to keep that way. The moment she catches sight of her wife, she pauses, leaning against the hallway wall with arms crossed over her belly while a besotted smile tugs at her lips.
Rachel is currently dancing around their kitchen to the sound of her own soft singing—what sounds like a silly version of Peggy Lee's "I'm A Woman" with all the lyrics changed to extol her bacon frying skills—while she alternates between pulling down coffee mugs and diligently watching over her skillets.
Quinn suppresses a giggle at the sight, warmed to her toes that Rachel is cooking them breakfast, even if French toast does always seem to be her go-to meal. She supposes she really should get Rachel up to speed on waffles at some point—though Quinn isn't certain if she wants to risk sacrificing her waffle maker to the greater cause.
Pushing off the wall, Quinn drifts closer to the kitchen and lets her voice harmonize with Rachel on her next "W-O-M-A-N."
Rachel spins around, startled—though, ever the performer, she doesn't miss a note.
"You're supposed to be sleeping, oh sneaky wife of mine," Rachel admonishes with a grin, letting her song fall away without an ending.
"The bed was too empty," Quinn explains with a playful pout, erasing the small distance left between them as she reaches for her wife.
Rachel sways forward with hungry eyes fastened on Quinn's lips before hastily jumping back. "Oh, no, you don't, Quinn Fabray," she warns, wagging a finger at Quinn. "You are not making me burn our breakfast today." And with that, she spins back to the oven and purposely turns off the burners before turning back to a giggling Quinn with a soft smile. "Happy anniversary, baby," she murmurs, looping her arms around Quinn's neck.
"Happy anniversary, Rach," Quinn echoes with a tender smile, feeling warm and happy and so very loved as she claims a good-morning kiss from her wife.
The last two years have flown by in a whirlwind of activity—two successful books for Quinn, two Tonys for Rachel, a hit Broadway show and the grueling schedule that accompanies it, a belated honeymoon to Paris, the very recent move to a new apartment, and, of course, a baby on the way. In some ways, it feels like only yesterday that Quinn had stood in front of all their friends and family and vowed to love and cherish Rachel for the rest of her life, but at the same time, her life before Rachel feels like it happened a thousand years ago. She was someone else entirely then—someone who didn't believe in fairytales.
Well—to be honest, she still doesn't. Life with Rachel is hardly a fairytale. It can be loud and crazy and messy at times. They still argue and get irritated with one another, but they also laugh and sing and dance and make love. They share hopes and dreams and faith in each other, and they work through their fears and disappointments together. They're a family, and in just two months, they'll be adding a precious new member.
"I'm so happy I married you," Quinn breathes against Rachel's lips.
Rachel grins. "I'm happy you married me too." Letting her arms fall away from Quinn's shoulders, she briefly touches the curve of Quinn's belly. "Otherwise, this whole having my baby thing might be a little bit scandalous."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Imagine the headlines."
Rachel nods, a dutifully solemn expression stealing over her face. "Tony-winning actress mothers illicit lovechild to live-in lesbian lover."
Quinn barks out an inelegant laugh. "You just had to slip that Tony in there."
"Of course, Quinn," Rachel confirms seriously. "It's a very important detail."
"So why am I the live-in lesbian lover instead of a bestselling novelist?" Quinn asks archly, crossing her arms.
Rachel purses her lips, biting back a smile. "Bestselling novelist just doesn't have the same ring."
Quinn narrows her eyes on her wife. "You might just want to edit that headline of yours if you want this bestselling novelist to keep wearing this ring." She holds up her left hand, flashing her wedding band.
"Like you'd ever take it off," Rachel scoffs knowingly.
Quinn frowns, glancing sadly at her finger. "Well, it's kind of stuck there at the moment, thanks to your progeny." The engagement ring had come off weeks ago when Quinn's fingers had started to swell—safely tucked away in her jewelry box until she can stand to wear it again—but she hadn't been willing to remove her wedding band despite the discomfort, and now it's just not coming off without a fight she doesn't have the heart to put up. "So I guess you get off on a technicality."
"Aw, baby," Rachel coos, taking her hand and bringing it to her mouth so she can ghost a tender kiss to her knuckles—before a wicked grin curves her lips. "When I get off, it's never a technicality."
Quinn tightens her hand around Rachel's as all manner of thoughts fly through her mind and heat up her blood. "Is that how we're celebrating our anniversary?" she asks huskily, more than amenable to the idea. Her libido has calmed down considerably, but it hasn't entirely surrendered to the exhaustion of late pregnancy just yet.
Rachel scrapes her teeth over her lower lip, hissing out a breath before she takes a deliberate step back. "After breakfast this time," she insists with a determined expression, pointing warningly at Quinn. "You need to eat, and I'm not letting you ruin half of my anniversary present to you with your urges," she chastises with a barely suppressed grin. "I even made you bacon, and I didn't burn anything this time!"
Quinn sighs, only a little disappointed. Luckily, her appetite for food is just a little more prevalent than that other appetite this morning. She can wait. "So breakfast is only half my present, huh?" she probes cheekily.
Rachel nods. "And you have to finish it before you get the other half." She gestures to the breakfast bar. "So sit your gorgeous backside down and let me serve you."
"Well, I'm not about to turn down being served," Quinn agrees laughingly, brushing a brief kiss over Rachel's lips before circling around the counter to pull out a chair.
Rachel is there almost immediately to place a fresh cup of coffee under Quinn's nose. "Decaffeinated, of course," she promises, sliding the cream and sugar into place beside it along with a spoon. Quinn picks up the spoon, stirring in a single spoonful of sugar and adding the cream while she watches Rachel reignite the burners on the stove and finish up the French toast and bacon. The vision of her wife cooking for her (in cotton sleep shorts and a tee) wets that other appetite that Quinn has been forbidden from satisfying at the moment. It's such a pity Rachel has a show tonight, because Quinn would love nothing more than to have her wife completely to herself for the entire day on their anniversary. Oh well—she supposes that they'll just need to make the most of the hours they do have together.
When the breakfast plate joins the coffee in front of Quinn, the toast is golden brown with a side of fresh strawberries and the bacon is crisp but not too crisp—just the way Quinn likes it. "You really have gotten so much better at this. I might just need to let you do all the cooking from now on," she teases. Truthfully, Rachel hasn't had any major kitchen snafus in a really long time. Her repertoire is still a bit limited, but what she can cook, she usually cooks well—except when she lets herself get distracted.
"We both know you're far too proprietary of your kitchen to follow through with that threat, especially now that you have such a nice one."
Quinn does really love her new kitchen, but, "I don't know. I think I can learn to share if it means getting waited on by my sexy wife." She's certainly appreciated having Rachel handle a fair share of the meals while she's been pregnant.
A sly grin curves Rachel's lips, and her eyes sparkle. "If that's the case, then I can finally get you fully converted to a vegetarian lifestyle." She glances down at the bacon on Quinn's plate, tapping the edge of it. "In fact, maybe we should start now."
Quinn bats Rachel's hand away from her plate, pulling it closer to her with an exaggerated frown. "You leave my bacon alone. It's my anniversary gift. No take backs."
Rachel laughs, shaking her head. "That's the only reason you're getting it today. A piece of my soul died just knowing that I'm subjecting our unborn daughter to dead pig flesh."
Quinn's frown is genuine this time. "You really do try to make this as unappetizing as possible for me, don't you?"
"Is it working?" Rachel asks hopefully.
Picking up a piece of bacon, Quinn smiles at Rachel. "Nope," she answers simply before she takes a bite, humming in pleasure while she chews. Rachel huffs audibly, but there's a barely concealed smile on her face before she turns around to prepare her own plate.
Soon enough, Rachel is sliding into the chair next to her, and they eat their breakfast while they make plans for the rest of the day, discussing the things they still need for their new apartment. Having two extra rooms means decorating them, and, of course, there's still the nursery to consider.
After they finish eating, Quinn is content to let Rachel clean up the kitchen while she retreats to the living room to check her email. She'd finished her third book back in February and the last of the revisions right before their move, and now she's just waiting for Aileen to send her the final proof with the artwork to sign off on before it goes to print. Not finding anything of interest in her email, she finds herself browsing the online baby sites again—a recurring habit these days—until Rachel slips onto the sofa beside her with a prettily wrapped package in her hands.
"Happy anniversary, Mrs. Fabray," she murmurs with a soft smile.
Quinn immediately sets aside her laptop, grinning as she accepts the gift. "You didn't have to," she says but doesn't mean in the slightest.
Rachel rolls her eyes. "Of course I did."
Truthfully, Quinn doesn't care all that much what's in the box. She's mostly just happy that Rachel is so meticulous about observing anniversaries, always finding some sweet little gift for her and taking the time to neatly wrap it (when it does, in fact, require wrapping). This one is about the size of a hatbox and fairly light, wrapped in green paper with little white polka dots and a frilly white ribbon complete with some bedazzling on the bow and a heart-shaped tag. "It's too pretty to open."
"But you're going to," Rachel surmises with a grin.
"Oh, absolutely," Quinn confirms before beginning to work the ribbon loose. She takes her time with the task instead of simply tearing into it, wanting to preserve the ribbon and bow if not the paper, though she can feel Rachel's impatience next to her.
"It's nothing very fancy," she explains with a slightly pensive expression. "I wanted to keep with tradition, so it had to be something cotton."
"I'm sure I'll love it," Quinn assures her. She'd loved her gift last year, but then Rachel had checked off the traditional gift of paper by giving her tickets to a play that Quinn had been wanting to see. "It isn't lingerie, is it?" she asks, hands pausing after they pull the ribbon free. That might be the one cotton thing she'd balk at in her current pregnant state.
Rachel laughs, shaking her head. "I'll admit that it crossed my mind, but I thought it might be a little too self-serving."
"Unless you plan to wear it," Quinn reconsiders, biting into her lips as her eyes trail over her wife's body. "I think I might really love that present."
"Later, baby," Rachel promises huskily. "This one first," she prompts, tapping her finger to the box.
Smiling, Quinn sets the ribbon and bow aside. She has to shoo Oliver away from them, and she feels a little bad about it since he's only just beginning to calm down from the move, but she doesn't want him chewing off the plastic rhinestones that Rachel had artfully glued on and choking on them. She compensates him by tearing off a piece of the wrapping paper and crinkling it into a little ball that he can bat around the floor. That distracts him for a minute or two.
When Quinn finally opens the box and pushes the tissue paper aside, she's met with a square, cream-colored pillow with a green heart formed out of neatly scripted words above their names and wedding date. Tracing a hand over the soft cotton, Quinn lifts it free of the box, and it's only then that she realizes the words that make up the heart are song lyrics—one sentence of it across the middle written in a larger font and reading You are my life, my love, my only.
"It's our wedding song," Rachel explains unnecessarily.
"I know," Quinn whispers past the lump in her throat. The still vivid memory of dancing with Rachel for the very first time as her wife while Jessica Foster sang this song to them comes rushing back to her, and she lifts her glistening eyes to look at Rachel now.
"I thought we could put it on the bed…or the chair," Rachel rushes out, lifting a hand to finger the corner of the pillow, "or…wherever."
"I love it," Quinn murmurs reverently, hugging the pillow to her. "And I love you." She lifts a hand to thread her fingers through Rachel's hair and leans in to kiss her in gratitude—both for the sweet gift and the two years of wedded bliss they've shared. Rachel returns it with tenderness.
"I love you too," she echoes, pecking Quinn's lips once more before leaning back. "Now where's my present?" she asks eagerly, eyes alight with mischief.
Quinn laughs, shaking her head as she sets the pillow at the corner of the sofa. "What? Having your baby isn't enough?"
Rachel affects an adorable pout. "Quinn," she whines. "I can't unwrap that." She pauses, tilting her head. "Well, I suppose I could unwrap you, which is almost as good," she muses with a smirk that almost rivals one of Santana's, "but I'd still like an actual present please." Her smile slips into a suspicious frown. "You didn't forget, did you?"
Biting back a smile, Quinn shrugs. "It has been pretty hectic the last couple of months."
"You had better be joking," Rachel warns flatly, crossing her arms. "I made you bacon, Quinn. Bacon!"
Laughing again, Quinn swoops in to steal another kiss. "Of course I got you something. I just need to go get it, Ms. Impatient."
"You don't need to get up," Rachel is quick to say. "Just tell me where it is, and I'll get it for you."
Like Quinn is going to fall for that. "Nice try, Rach," she laughs, pushing herself up from the sofa, "but I'm not about to direct you to one of my hiding places." Although, to be honest, she hasn't had the chance to really establish any good hiding places in this apartment yet, so Rachel's gift is currently stashed away in the room they'd designated as Quinn's office. Rachel really doesn't have much reason to go snooping around in there—and so far Quinn has been around to head her off when she's been so inclined.
"It doesn't weigh more than five pounds, does it?" Rachel calls out after her, and Quinn has no doubt that Rachel would rush to her side to forbid her from lifting it if she says yes, despite having already handled it multiple times on her own without Rachel's knowledge.
Quinn only shakes her head and disappears into her office to retrieve Rachel's gift from the corner of the closet—behind the box of old files from her days at HarperCollins that she really needs to sort through one of these days.
The flutters in her belly as she walks back into the living room have nothing to do with the baby. It's silly to be nervous about her present. She and Rachel had agreed not to go overboard on their anniversary gifts, but she still wants Rachel to like what she'd gotten her. Last year, it had been a framed map of the stars that had been over Manhattan on their wedding day that Rachel had sworn to love—though Quinn still has her suspicions that Rachel would have secretly preferred something a little bit grander. Her wife loves bling almost as much as Quinn does.
Rachel's eyes light up the moment she sees the present in Quinn's hand, and she practically bounces with excitement. "Yay," she says, clapping with glee before she pats the cushion next to her. "Sit down, baby." And then she's holding out a hand—whether it's to help Quinn sit or snatch her present is something Quinn doesn't know until the very last second when Rachel takes her hand (and not the present).
Sinking back onto the sofa with Rachel's strong grip for leverage, Quinn smiles at her wife, murmuring, "Happy anniversary, sweetheart," as she hands over the package.
Rachel takes it with a wide grin, pausing for just a moment to admire the white paper with little pink hearts and matching ribbon. "It's very pretty," she compliments before ripping it open with none of the care that Quinn had demonstrated.
Quinn bites into her lip as she watches Rachel study the book in her hands with a perplexed expression. The cover is made from cotton fabric with a subtle design of gardenias on the front, and the rough-edged pages are bound together with thick string in a vintage style.
"It's cotton paper," Quinn explains. "I…um…called in a favor with Aileen to get it bound that way." When Rachel glances up at Quinn with a question in her eyes, she urges her wife to, "Open it."
So Rachel does, her eyes scanning the writing on the first page.
"It's…well…it's a memory book, of sorts," Quinn says softly while Rachel reads the poem on the first page—which amounts to a big blubbery mess of words that do a poor job of conveying Quinn's love for her wife.
"Oh," Rachel breathes out, pressing trembling fingers to her lips as her eyes glisten suspiciously.
Quinn twists her fingers together in her lap, waiting for Rachel to finish reading. It seems to take her forever, and there's a tear sneaking down over her cheek by the time she finally lifts her eyes back to Quinn.
"Oh, Quinn…you…you wrote me poetry?"
Quinn's cheeks grow warm under Rachel's gaze. "Only that one." Her poetic attempts aren't nearly as strong as her fiction, but she'd wanted to write something original for her wife. "The other poems in there are ones that I've recited to you in the past." And she'd been a little surprised by just how many there were when she'd sat down to write up a list of the ones she remembered. "And…um…my wedding vows are in there too. And just some…some moments in our relationship that I wrote about…so you can see in black and white what they mean to me…what you mean to me."
With a surprised gasp, Rachel turns her attention back to the book, reverently turning the pages to take in the words scripted on them in a stylized font that doesn't exactly match Quinn's handwriting but comes impressively close. Rachel is flipping through them too quickly to be actually reading them right now, but she obviously can't miss that there are a good fifty pages in front of her. "How long did this take you?" she asks in awe, looking back to Quinn.
Quinn smiles softly. "I had the idea for it last year." It had been too late to do it for their first anniversary, so she'd decided to put something together for their second. "The poems were easy to compile, and the other things…well, I am a writer," she reminds Rachel with a smirk.
"So you wrote a book for me," Rachel says dazedly.
"I didn't write all of that, Rachel," Quinn reiterates with a laugh. "And most of what I did write are just," she shrugs, "little love letters to you." She'd written a few passages here and there whenever she'd had the time and inspiration over the last year.
Rachel hugs the book to her, grinning madly. "You wrote me a book of love letters," she repeats.
"Half a book of love letters," Quinn corrects.
"I want to read them all right now," Rachel murmurs, still staring at Quinn in wonder.
A shy smile touches Quinn's lips. "You can...if you want."
Rachel slowly shakes her head before moistening her lips. "I think I want you even more. Right now," she warns before flinging her arms around Quinn—memory book clutched tightly in one hand—and kissing her with all she's worth.
A moan tears its way out of Quinn's throat when that other appetite instantly wakes up in demand of attention, and all she wants is to get even closer to Rachel. "So...you...like your...gift?" she manages between kisses.
"Baby, I love it," Rachel purrs, eyes darkening as she nips Quinn's lips again. "And I love you. I plan to make you read it to me...after I make you come," she vows wickedly, hand already slipping down Quinn's body. "And then we'll do it all over again."
Quinn moans again, more than eager to let Rachel make good on that promise.
It's a very happy anniversary indeed.