A/N: OH HELLO. This installment is once again shorter than I had hoped, and it's brought the total chapters from four to five, or maybe more, but nothing else felt like it was transitioning the way I wanted it to. Hopefully I'll get into a groove here pretty soon.

Thanks for the reviews thus far! Please, please keep them coming. I'm desperate for validation. Heh.

They were prepared.

When they agreed to start trying again, Rachel immersed herself in information about pregnancy after stillbirth. Their home office was quickly taken over by medical journals and magazine article clippings, and she spent hours on the internet, exhausting any resource she could find. It was often a painful process, and there were a number of nights when Quinn had to drag her to bed well after midnight and brush away the tears spilling down her face. She wished that Rachel could just accept that their own doctor had assured them that the risk of another loss would be extremely low, but she knew her wife, and she knew that this was something she needed to do for herself.

They were prepared for the physical and emotional aspects of another pregnancy. They were prepared, as much as they could be, for the possibility of another loss.

They never once prepared for the possibility that they wouldn't become pregnant again in the first place.

With Eli, Rachel got pregnant on the first attempt. They knew that it was mostly luck, but they had so hoped that it was somewhat indicative of Rachel's fertility. They expected that it would take more than one or two tries, but they hadn't planned beyond a fourth cycle of intrauterine insemination.

They're on their sixth try.

Rachel is starting to believe that it will never happen. She's on a copious amount of drugs that leave her moody and sore, and she has nothing to show for it. Quinn is feeling increasingly helpless as Rachel goes through cycle after cycle with no success, knowing that there is nothing she can do to make it better. And having to constantly jab her wife with needles isn't exactly romantic, either. They try to just focus on the end goal, but then their insecurities kick in, and they worry that even if they get pregnant, something will go wrong again.

They're on their sixth try, and they are exhausted.

"Maybe it's just not meant to be," Rachel says, after the sixth negative pregnancy test. "We're just not supposed to have a baby. And that's just…well, it's…it's fine. We'll be fine. We'll travel, and drink wine whenever we want to, and we can sell the brownstone and move into a little loft like we had in college. That was romantic, wasn't it? And then we can…"

"Rachel, don't." Quinn manages to catch Rachel's waist as she paces the length of the master bathroom and pulls her in close, pushing hair out of the brunette's face to reveal watery eyes. "Don't talk like that. We're not done yet."

Rachel rests her head in the crook of Quinn's neck and squeezes her eyes shut, causing the gathering tears to spill over. "We're finally ready, and now it just won't happen. What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing." She pulls back to make eye contact with Rachel. "Nothing at all. It doesn't always happen right away, but it's going to happen," Quinn says with confidence. It has to happen.

"It might not," Rachel replies morosely. "What if we never get another chance?"

The tears are falling freely now, and Quinn gathers Rachel back in her arms. "We'll get our chance," she whispers, rubbing gentle circles on her back. "Don't give up, okay? Promise me that you won't give up yet."

Rachel nods against Quinn's neck. "I promise."

–––––

One month later, Rachel breaks that promise.

It's been a week since the latest failure of her uterus has been confirmed, and Rachel has given up. She hasn't told Quinn yet, because she feels like such a horrible person for being unable to give her wife a child, but she won't be going to the doctor to "discuss other options", as the nurse had put it. She can't possibly go through another cycle of trying and failing; it may very well do her in. She's done.

She spends the week working constantly, to get her mind off of the disappointment. She's often the first of the cast to arrive at the theatre and the last to leave, and it quickly takes its toll. By Friday, she is an absolute disaster, and she leaves rehearsals as soon as she's able.

Once home, she collapses onto the couch and turns the television on. She normally wouldn't condone mindless entertainment of this sort, but she's completely drained and nothing else seems even remotely appealing.

She zones out to Oprah, not really paying attention, until something catches her interest. She gasps, and then fumbles for her phone, pressing the first number on speed dial without looking away from the television. From the rustling of papers she hears in the background when Quinn answers, Rachel gathers that she is in her office, getting ready to walk home. Perfect.

"Rachel? Is everything okay?"

Rachel smiles at Quinn's protectiveness. "Everything is fine. I just need you to do me a favor."

"Okay," Quinn replies. "What's up? Also, you're on speakerphone and my office door is open, so please…"

"That was one time," Rachel says indignantly. "And anyway, it's nothing like that. On your way home, stop at the Taco Bell on 8th and get two crunchy tacos and a chicken enchilada grilled stuffed burrito."

There is silence on the other end of the phone for several moments, to the point where Rachel wonders if Quinn is still conscious.

"Quinn? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here, I just…is this another test to determine my support for your vegan lifestyle?"

"No," Rachel says with a roll of her eyes. "I really, really want Taco Bell for dinner."

"Rach, have you ever been to Taco Bell?"

"No, but I just saw a commercial and…"

"Babe, if you actually want Mexican food, I can get you Mexican food. Taco Bell is…"

"Taco Bell is what I'm asking you to get," Rachel growls. She feels her face flush and she's not sure if this is a rational reaction, but she is getting frustrated. "I don't want anything else. Can't you just do this for me? Just pick up a damn taco on your way home from work. Is that too much to ask? Really?"

There's a small click on the other end of the line, and Quinn's voice is clearer when she begins speaking again. "Okay, Rach, did you have a bad day?"

"Yes, I did," Rachel hisses. "I've been at the theatre all day and the director was a pain in the ass the whole time and we went through the same number so many times I could do it in my sleep, and speaking of sleep, I am exhausted. All I want to do is eat dinner and then go to bed. And now you…you're just…I can't believe you won't just…ugh."

She tries to hide the fact that she is now sobbing over Mexican fast food, but that's hard to do when she can't even finish a sentence.

"Rachel, baby, I think you just need to…oh my God!"

Rachel sniffles. "What? Oh my God what?"

"You're pregnant!"

Rachel exhales sharply and counts to three before formulating her response; otherwise she is fairly certain she would throw the phone against the wall.

"Quinn Fabray, need I remind you of the ten pregnancy tests I took last week? Seeing as how they were all negative, your theory is highly improbable, and frankly, quite hurtful. I'm extremely disappointed in you."

"False negatives happen, though, don't they? Maybe you tested too early."

"Or! Maybe I'm not pregnant," Rachel deadpans. "Please just drop it, okay? It's been a long day and I really don't want to have this conversation."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Quinn says. "I'll be home in half an hour. I love you."

"You too," Rachel replies softly. When the call ends, she tosses her phone on the coffee table and drops back against the sofa with a sigh.

–––– –

When Quinn enters the apartment thirty-five minutes later, she's unsurprised to find Rachel curled up on the couch, with her face buried between the cushions. She could tell from their phone conversation that Rachel was not in a particularly pleasant mood, and if there's one thing she's learned from twelve years of living with her wife, it's that a tired Rachel Berry is a frightening Rachel Berry.

She hangs her house key on the hook and lets her bag slide off of her shoulder and onto the entryway table, and then kicks off her stilettos. She makes her way to the sofa, with a small, plastic bag clutched firmly in her hands. Rachel will probably kill her for this.

She drops the bag onto the coffee table and places a hand on the small of Rachel's back and rubs gently, waiting for the brunette to stir, which she quickly does. Rachel isn't a light sleeper, particularly when napping. She flips around and sits up immediately, looking adorably disheveled and disoriented.

"How did you get home so fast?"

"I talked to you thirty minutes ago, babe. You've been asleep."

"I have not," Rachel replies, frantically pushing hair out of her face.

Quinn laughs, running her hand against Rachel's cheek, which has taken on the texture of their couch. "If you're sure."

"I am," Rachel says. Her gaze falls next to Quinn, on the white sack she brought with her. "What is that?" she asks softly, already knowing the answer.

"Please just try, Rach," Quinn pleads. "Please. I swear, if it's negative, I'll buy you the Taco Bell on 8th."

Rachel scowls, grabbing the bag and easing off the couch. "This is completely unnecessary. And I hope you've been saving, because there's no way you can afford that on a professor's salary."

Quinn trails her as she walks down the hallway, until Rachel gets to the bathroom. She tries to follow her in, but Rachel slams the door dangerously close to Quinn's face. Message received.

She paces the hallway nervously, compulsively checking her watch. When five minutes pass without a word from Rachel, Quinn can't help but knock.

"Rachel? Is everything okay? What –"

The door flies open mid-knock, revealing a wide-eyed Rachel gripping the small, white stick with a shaky hand.

"What does it say?" Quinn asks, though she almost doesn't want to know. If it's negative, she'll be devastated. They will both be devastated, despite the cool exterior that Rachel has adopted in the past few weeks.

Rachel blinks a few times, as if she's coming out of a trance, and then hands the test to Quinn.

Quinn looks at the test, then at Rachel, then back at the test. She almost can't believe her eyes.

"Rachel," she breathes. "Oh, God, Rachel. I –"

Rachel throws herself at Quinn, effectively dissolving her train of thought. She is sobbing, and Quinn doesn't even attempt to stop herself from joining in on the tears.

It's the first time in years that they've been happy enough to cry.

–––––

Later that evening, their clothes are all over the bedroom, and the sheets on bed are sliding off the mattress. Rachel is lying halfway on top of Quinn, and they are both slowly coming down from their fifth round of celebrating.

When Rachel's breathing starts to even out, she looks up toward her wife. "Quinn?"

The blonde gives a murmur of acknowledgement.

"How did you know?"

"When you were just barely pregnant with Eli, you suggested that we have KFC for dinner and I thought you were kidding, and when I laughed…"

"I threw a shoe at you," Rachel finishes, her face flushing bright red. "Yes, I suppose this afternoon was a red flag. Also, while we're on the subject, we haven't eaten yet and I am still interested in that enchilada."

Quinn erupts with laughter and tightens her grip around Rachel's waist. "I really, really love you, you know?"

"I love you, too." Rachel smiles against Quinn's skin, then rolls off the blonde and scoots up on the mattress until her face is inches from Quinn's. "Really, really, really, really," she whispers, punctuating each word with a kiss.

Dinner can wait.

–––––