She sat on the cold hard porcelain and let it sink in. Positive. It was positive. She began to shake like she did when she was young and had a bad fever, with chills lifting the hairs all over her body. Positive. Her stomach dropped when she heard him stir in bed. Shit. She shifted her gaze and quickly wrapped the test up in a wad of toilet paper to try and conceal the evidence, and it was a good thing she did considering he barreled into the bathroom not thirty seconds later. "Babe, get off the toilet I gotta pee." He said groggily rubbing his eyes. She offered him a small smile, "Sorry," she shrugged and slipped out of the bathroom. It just hit her now, the wave of nausea overtaking her senses. She ran to the kitchen sink and began dry heaving and in that moment she wasn't sure if it was due to the pregnancy or due to the shock that now coursed through her veins. She tried to compose herself quickly; he could not suspect anything at all. And he didn't. He didn't even notice that she never came back to bed that night. Instead, Rachel spent the night on the couch, knees to chest, rocking back and forth while Wicked played mindlessly in the background. It wasn't until Santana came home in a drunken stupor at 4am that Rachel realized she had finally fallen asleep. Santana made a mental note of Rachel on the couch, another check in the "con" column for the Ken doll. Something was wrong with this whole situation, not even vodka could shake that psychic Mexican third eye.

The next morning Rachel spent choking down vomit while pretending like nothing was wrong. The snow would not cease and terror filled her body at being stuck in the loft with one bathroom and five people, how could she possibly do this all day? Her thoughts were interrupted when Kurt walked in with his mint facial mask and the sent wafted through the room and into Rachel's sensitive nostrils and she could no longer hold back the retching. She calmly power walked to the bathroom slammed the door shut behind her and released. She had brief moments of calm when she felt like the worst was finally over, until without warning the bile raised in her throat and soon she was sure she was puking out some kind of a lesser organ. She began drifting in and out of restless sleep leaning her head back against the cold tile on the floor next to the toilet, and then she felt it a small stirring in her pocket. She had a text. From Finn. Her stomach dropped and she opened it. All it read was: Hey. She wasn't sure if it was the hormones or the overwhelming sense of irony but she began to sob over the first sign of contact she had gotten from Finn in over a month. She never answered him.

Kurt looked towards Adam seemingly unperturbed by Rachel's absence and shrugged, "It's been quiet for like an entire 90 minutes, where the hell is Rachel?" Adam motioned for the door to the bathroom, "Been in there since you came into the living room." Kurt looked wide eyed, "Oh God, she better not have the flu." "Speaking of the flu, I just caught up on Downton and I cannot believe that Lavinia died, bless her sweet little unimportant heart." Kurt clutched his chest in jest and he and Adam continued in their Downton banter until Santana walked in a rudely interrupted. "Where's Berry?" Kurt pointed to the bathroom, "Been in there all morning." Santana made no kind of emotion, just made sure she projected her voice when talking about Brody.

Rachel collected herself, her rage gave her a boost of adrenaline to let the sadness and the sickness subside long enough for her to make a dramatic entrance. "ENOUGH, SANTANA," she belted as she swung open the door. Santana looked at her knowingly and suddenly Rachel couldn't make eye contact with her. God damn that psychic Mexican third eye.

The day passed entirely too slow. Kurt was crying over Moulin Rouge, Adam was staring at him nervously; Santana was in and out of the apartment all afternoon. 'What the hell does she do all day? "She thought. When night finally came and Kurt and Adam had gone Rachel was able to breathe a sigh of relief and just be. Be scared, be angry, be worried, be sick. She didn't have to hide it in this moment and that brought her comfort, well until Santana made her way into her serene environment and created chaos once again. It happened so quickly, Santana confronting her about the test, breaking down into her arms. Maybe Santana was a better friend than she thought. "We're gunna figure this out ok?" Santana reassured her. That's why Rachel felt so guilty lying to her as she left the doctor's office the next morning, "False alarm!" She beamed. Santana wasn't stupid, she looked shocked but who was she to question a doctor. "Well, I gotta go to class now." Rachel smiled as she began walking out the door. "Wait a minute, that's it?" Rachel stopped in her tracks basically pleading with Santana subconsciously to stop the interrogation. She was too fragile for this and in full blown denial.

Santana let Rachel go, but just because she wasn't pregnant didn't mean she still wasn't going to get to the bottom of what that shady plastic creep Brody was all about. She was so close to figuring it out she could taste his talcum powdery skin. When she returned home she grabbed the robot's beeper and did her best detective work to find out that the man that they had all been living with had been living a completely double life. Rachel Berry was sleeping with a male escort. She didn't know why but an overwhelming sense of motherly instinct took over when she thought of the morally good yet socially inept Berry, just a little fawn about to be mauled by a bear. She had to help her because she knew she wasn't going to help herself. She took a deep breath praying it was the right decision and dialed, "Finn? Hi…"