A/N: This is just something I wrote way back during the hiatus, and never got around to posting. Please read and review, let me know if this is any good or if it's crap. I'd really like to know either way. And I suppose you should know this is the first fic I've ever published anywhere. Okay, here goes...

Five seconds post-kiss, she pulls away, her smile fading.

"Will, I... I have to go."

Tears form in her eyes as she picks up her box and leaves.

That certainly didn't go how you expected it to. In your mind, you chased her down, kissed her, and lived happily-ever-after. The details between the kiss and the happily-ever-after were a bit fuzzy in your imagination, but you were pretty sure they didn't involve her walking off.

Five minutes post-kiss, you're standing beside her car.

You figured you already chased her once that day, so what the hell? Once more couldn't hurt. She won't look at you. She cranks the car, and wants to drive off, you can tell. But she cracks. She glances out the window at you and, sighing, rolls down the window.

"Will, please. It's like I said at the wedding. You just left her. I can't just be your rebound girl. I can't," she says. Her face crumples as she begins to cry again.

"But, Emma," you say, leaning down to the window. She rests her forehead on the steering wheel. "Em, can we just talk? I'm not saying it has to be anything more than that. I just want to sit down with you and talk about this, okay. Neither of us know what's going on or where we're going, and neither of us will unless we talk." She looks up, wipes a bit of runny mascara from her eyes.

"Okay. We can talk. Just... give me a couple of days, alright?" she offers, and you agree. "Friday. My place."

Five hours post-kiss, you're alone.

You're sitting in the kitchen, grading Spanish quizzes to distract yourself from how alone you are. You smirk when you come to the last quiz, one that has "su madre le gusta la fiesta en mis pantalones" scrawled in for every answer. You grade it (a zero), and lean back in your seat.

All evening, you've been searching for time-consuming activities to distract you from your loneliness, but at only nine o'clock, you've officially run out of tedious things to do. You might as well go to bed.

Lying alone in the darkness, you can't think of anything but Emma. Thoughts of her, of you and her, and of the future bounce around your mind as you drift to sleep. The last conscious thought you have before you completely fall asleep is that you want to grow old with Emma.

Five days post-kiss, you're sitting in Emma's pristine living room.

You've spent the afternoon discussing what you should do, and you're coming to the conclusion that, for the moment, you shouldn't do anything.

You know that rushing into a relationship with Emma right now, before you've even filed for divorce, isn't a good idea. As badly as you both want to just forget about that, you can't. If you rush into this, you'll both get hurt.

"I'm going to file for divorce later this week," you say. She sniffles.

"If all goes well, it should be final in a month or so." Her eyes brighten briefly as you say this, but her face falls again quickly.

"Will, regardless of how hurt you are right now, you've been with... with, um, with Terri for years," she says, stumbling over Terri's name. "You're going to be hurting. You'll need time to heal."

You're quiet. You hate to admit it, but she's right. You're impossibly angry with Terri, but you need time to heal. You lost the woman you spent so many years with, not to mention the baby you'd already fallen in love with. Emma looks at you.

"Six months, Will. Call me in six months. Or, I'll call you. Whichever. I just think we need to wait six months, and then we can see where we are."

You shake on this deal, and you head for the door. Even though you both know you shouldn't, you kiss once more at the door.

You didn't think it was possible, but it was even better than the first. The first was good, but you were both scared, unsure. This time, you both know where you stand. The kiss isn't 'goodbye'. It's 'talk to you soon'.

Five weeks post-kiss, you run into one another for the first time since you agreed to wait.

You work together, but somehow you haven't seen each other. Instead, you run into each other at a garage.

Your car broke down this morning, so you brought in. You step into the lobby to wait for the mechanics to finish with your car, and are surprised to see a certain redhead staring intently at the mindless talk show on the television to keep herself from panicking over the various stains all over the room.

"Emma?" you ask with a laugh as you sit down beside her.

"Will!" she exclaims. She starts to reach her arms out to hug you, but at the last minute, thinks better of it and wraps her arms around herself. There's a beat of awkward silence, before she explains that it's chilly in the lobby.

You spend half an hour catching up with one another. She's been seeing a therapist, and she says it's done her a world of good. Even though her mysophobia hasn't disappeared, it's gotten more manageable.

You tell her that your divorce was finalized a week before.

Chatting at the mechanics' turns into getting coffee, and getting coffee turns into having dinner. Having dinner turns into dating. The six-month agreement seems to be forgotten, but neither of you is going to complain.

Five months post-kiss, you're moving boxes.

"Is that the last one?" Emma asks, peering into the back of the truck.

"Yep. Once we unpack, we will be officially moved into our new home," you tell her, before giving her a big kiss. You decided to move in together, but you weren't sure where to go. Both of your homes had too many negative memories. Emma remembered all the lonely nights spent in her condo, and you could still feel Terri in your house, so you both decided to find someplace entirely new.

It's a beautiful house, and the porch swing reminds Emma of the one at her parents' house in Virginia. Right now, you both step outside and sit down on the swing. Emma's leaning into your chest, idly tracing the veins on your left wrist with her finger. You've got your other arm around her shoulder. You sit for a moment, neither of you talking, just enjoying being near one another.

You've been waiting for the perfect time. You had been planning to wait until dinner tonight, but for some reason, right now seems perfect. You squirm away from Emma, and after a bit of digging, pull the small box out of your pocket. You slide to the floor of the porch, dropping onto one knee in front of your beautiful Emma. Her naturally wide eyes widen further.

You had a plan. You wanted to tell her how amazing and beautiful she was, both inside and out. You would tell her that she changed you're life the moment she stepped into it You would say you wanted to be with her forever. You would tell her exactly how much you love her.

Everything you had planned to say leaves your head the moment you get on one knee.

"Emma Pillsbury, I am so in love with you. I... I know this is moving sort of fast, but... I know that I want to be with you for the rest of our lives." You take a deep breath. "Emma, will you marry me?"

Both of you have tears in your eyes as she smiles radiantly. She wraps her arms around you, nearly tackling you to the ground. You kiss once, twice, three times before she whispers into your ear

"Yes, Will. Yes, I will!"

Five years post-kiss, you're walking through Lima Memorial Hospital with your precocious three (and a half) year old daughter in tow.

"Daddy, does my sister like to dance?" she asks. You look down at your daughter. She's the spitting image of your wife.

"Not yet, Gracie," you tell her, as you step into the elevator. "She's not quite a day old yet."

"Does she--" Gracie stops mid-sentence when you reach to hit the button for the maternity ward. "No, no, Daddy, no, let me push the button!" she shrieks.

She pushes the button. Crisis averted.

"You were saying?" you ask.

"Right, yes, I was saying," she begins. "Does she talk?"

"No, she doesn't talk yet. She doesn't do much of anything yet, honey. She's just a baby."

Gracie looks disappointed by this news. She stares at the elevator doors until they slide open. Together, the two of you walk down to room 427, where Emma and the baby are.

"Ready to meet your sister?" you ask her.

She nods slowly, nervously blinking through those eyes that are so like her mother's. You and Gracie step into the room. Emma is in the bed, holding the pink bundle that is your youngest daughter.

"Hi, sweeties," Emma whispers.

"Good morning, Mommy," Gracie replies as she climbs onto the bed. You settle into the uncomfortable chair beside the bed and watch Emma introduce your two daughters to one another.

"This is your sister, Katrina," Emma says, pulling a corner of the blanket away from the baby's face. Gracie looks at Katrina for a moment.

"Daddy says she doesn't dance yet," Gracie says. You and Emma glace at each other, smiling.

"No, she doesn't yet. One day, though, when she's bigger, she'll want you to teach her to," Emma says. Gracie looks honored.

Emma and Gracie chat and look at Katrina until your father shows up.

"Granddad, look!" Gracie shouts. "This is my sister Katrina! She doesn't dance yet, but we're going to keep her anyway because I'm supposed to teach her how to!"

Your dad marvels over the youngest Schuester, before taking Gracie to the cafeteria for ice cream. You slide onto the bed beside Emma, looking at the baby.

"She's healthy," Emma tells you. You breathe a sigh of relief. You'd been worrying about Katrina from the moment the doctors told you what a special daughter you had. "She has none of the related complications."

Katrina squirms a bit, waking up. She blinks up at you both, her parents. While Gracie's eyes resemble Emma's, Katrina's eyes more closely resemble those of Becky Jackson.

You plant kisses on the cheeks of both Emma and Katrina, before all three of you doze off. It's been a long couple of days.

Five decades post-kiss, you're sitting in front of her headstone.

"Emma Pillsbury Schuester, beloved wife and mother" it reads. You lay a hand on the smooth, cold granite, and wipe a tear from your eye. Everyone else left about half an hour ago, except for Gracie, Katrina, Gracie's husband, Jake, and her son, Caleb. They're all in Gracie's van, waiting for you to finish up. They said their goodbyes quicker than you.

"We did good, didn't we, Em?" you say quietly. "We raised two beautiful, smart, talented daughters, and we've got our grandson, and you know, Gracie's pregnant again? I don't think she got a chance to tell you." You take a deep, shuddering breath. "It's going to be hard without you, Emma. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I haven't been without you in about fifty years. I'm scared, Em, really, I am. But I'm so proud of you. You fought so hard, right up to the end." You glance behind you, at the van filled with what's left of your family. You pull yourself up to a standing position.

"I've got to go, Em. They're waiting on me. I'll see you soon, I promise. I miss you. I love you."