Well you are the one, the one that lies close to me.

Whispers, "Hello, I've missed you quite terribly."

I fell in love, in love with you suddenly.

Now there's no place else I could be but here in your arms.

Now

"Would it be ridiculous to take a nap in my car?" she sighs. "I don't have my next class until four thirty, and I'm utterly exhausted."

You don't speak for a moment, absentmindedly fingering his curls that match yours so perfectly. You never know what to say when Rachel calls, never know what to make of the pit in your stomach or the fluttering in your heart.

"You know what, I shouldn't have even called," she responds to your silence, and you can clearly detect the sudden hesitance in her voice as she swallows.

"No!" you exclaim, too quickly, and the baby drops the mallet of the xylophone he had been playing with, startled by the sudden inflection in your voice. You exhale a loud breath, biting your tongue as you quietly continue. "I mean, it's fine you called. Perfectly fine." You cough. Neither of you believe your words.

The baby has begun to play again, soothed by your hushed tone. "You know, Rachel, you can always come over here for a little-just to rest," you add quickly, reaching for the baby's curls again, the soft texture calming you.

"I don't know," she mutters, and you can imagine her eyes downcast, watching as she twists the toe of her worn ballet slipper against the floor. "I do actually have a lot to get done-and-and I've been procrastinating on choreographing the song for my older girls."

"If you're sure." The tension hangs thickly between you, more words exchanged in what is not said. "But I don't mind you using the guest room. I'm not doing anything this afternoon besides putting the baby down for a nap."

She's silent for a moment, and you can picture her foot continuing to draw circles on the ground. "I-if you're sure, Quinn," she caves, letting out a sigh, but behind the heaviness you're certain you can hear a small smile.

"Of course not. I live much closer to your studio than you do-and you sound exhausted," you ramble for a moment before pausing. "I might be putting the baby down when you get here, so you can just let yourself in."

"Okay. Thanks, Quinn."

You feel her smile grow.

XXXX

"...In a napping house, where everyone is sleeping," you read, prying the page gently from the baby's hands so you can turn it.

As you finish the book, you smile faintly; it was one of your old favorites before nap time when you were young. Classical music plays softly in the background; the CD was a gift from Rachel, insisting that playing Mozart for the baby will increase his intelligence.

As he slaps the cover of the book with his fat palm, letting out an incoherent stream of vowels, you wonder if the method is working.

"Alright, nap time," you say, picking up the bouncing two-year-old. Your voice sounds too loud in the silence of the house. Talking when only your infant son is here to listen, his young mind uncomprehending of your words, often makes you feel silly.

You place him into his crib, his angelic features peering up at you. He's a perfect child-adorable, healthy, a little bigger than most toddlers his age. A child worthy of the name James Theodore III.

You search his face for the flaws he must have inherited from you, but his charming smile bears not fault.

"Sleep tight, Teddy Bear." You smile at him in return, using his familiar nickname. He's Teddy, the other variants of his name already taken his two seniors.

He chews on his fist as you tug the blanket up around his neck, just as you hear the faint click of the front door a flight of stairs away. Your stomach jumps, then drops, settling uncomfortably low as you hastily blow the baby a kiss, shutting his door as you hurry down the steps.

You find her in the living room, standing on the carpet in front of the mantle in her clunky crocs that have replaced her worn ballet slippers. Her ponytail is loose, a few sweaty wisps framing her tired face. Her eyes dance across the mantle top, examining the pictures you've strategically placed there, snapshots capturing a perfect life, frame to frame with no space left in between for deviations or questions.

"Jimmy isn't here, is he?" she asked a little warily, her eyes fixed on the photo of your wedding day.

"Of course not," you assure her quickly, tugging your eyes away from the pictures. "He's at the firm until later this evening."

She relaxes, turning to face you. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess today," she apologizes.

"You're fine, Rachel," you mutter, stepping closer to her and tucking a flyaway hand behind her ear. She shivers beneath your impulsive touch, the air catching between the two of you.

A loud cry from the baby's room startles both of you, and you tug your hand away, looking apologetically at Rachel as you glance toward the stairs. "I'm sorry-you can go up to the guest room if you'd like. Just let me know if you need anything."

You hurry up the steps, throwing open the baby's door, feeling more annoyed that you should as he sobs your name mixed with incoherent cries.

"Baby, baby, you need to stop crying. Momma's right here," you mutter, so very quietly, reaching to brush his curls away from his face. He continues to scream, and on some days your mind dares to slip into the heinous notion of allowing him to cry endlessly, burying your ears under the soft insulation of your feather stuffed pillow, letting everything seep deeply into the cracks until you forget.

But you pick him up instead, his snotty nose wiping against the neckline of your dress. You can feel his hot, wet cheeks against your skin as he tucks his head beneath the crook of your neck, his tears ceasing as you rock him gently.

"There, Momma's here," you assure him again, kissing his curls. His breathing slows as you rock him against you, his tired eyes soon drooping.

You place him back in his crib, and he stirs slightly before turning over, his slumber uninterrupted. You quietly shut the door, leaving just sliver open.

Down the hall, you pause in front of the guest room door, hesitating before knocking gently.

"Rach?" you whisper, peering in, finding her sitting on the edge of the comforter, her crocs and tights discarded carelessly on the floor as she rubs her swollen feet.

You step over the threshold, the mattress bouncing softly beneath your weight as you join her. She turns to you, managing a weary smile. "Thanks for letting me come over."

"It's no problem," you assure her, watching as she props a pillow against the headboard, curling up against it.

"Is Teddy okay?" she yawns, and you fall back against the pillow on the other side, kicking your flats off.

"Mhmm," you mutter, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear once again. "Fast sleep." You yawn as well.

"You look tired, too, Quinn," she sighs, snuggling her body closer to yours. She looks up at you shyly.

"Just a little." You press your lips gently to her forehead.

"Quinn..." she pleads, her eyes suddenly wide as she catches your gaze. "We can't keep doing this..."

"Doing what?" you feign innocence as your nose brushes up against her jaw. You cuddle closer to her, twisting your own legs with hers. "We're just best friends."

"You know that's not true," her voice cracks, but her lips graze your chin, both of your hearts fluttering uncontrollably.

Her words hang between you. The accusatory words of cheater and you're using me are left unsaid.

Instead you capture her sweet lips beneath yours, the familiarity startling and searing. Hesitant pecks at first, before they become more urgent and forceful.

"We should stop," Rachel pants as you begin to grind against her hips. "We should stop..." her voice trails off as you both catch your breath, lips already rosy and swollen.

You already know you won't.

Then

"...and I know that this is the last thing that either of us want to deal with right now, but we have that biology project due in a week, and we haven't even started..."

She continues to ramble as Finn kisses your neck clumsily, his hand creeping up your thigh. You hear him gasp a little, and you hold the phone away from your mouth, hissing into his ear. "Think of the mailman, Finn!"

Dating Finn is exhausting. You've forgotten that, your jealousy of seeing him with Rachel clouding your memory of just how dysfunctional your relationship was. Finn may be popular, and he may be your key to securing your popularity and the position of prom queen, but he's unbearably dimwitted and quite a handful at times.

"Quinn, are you even listening to me?" Rachel huffs, impatient as you bring the phone to your ear.

"Of course, but would you mind repeating the last part?" Your breath hitches as Finn's hand slides under your bra, and you hastily reach to tug it away with your free hand.

Rachel sighs dramatically. "You clearly were not listening to me, so I'll do my best to keep this short before I inconvenience you further. We need to get started on our biology project so I suggest we meet this afternoon to work on it."

"Do you need me to go?" Finn asks, looking abashed as he pulls away from you, and you can tell he's trying his best not to look at your breasts.

"No," you say, answering both Finn and Rachel at the same time. You wave Finn off, instead sitting up as you focus your attention on Rachel. "Look, we have plenty of time to get this done. I'm sorry, but I already have plans this afternoon," you snap, undeservingly.

You hang up before she can respond, reaching for Finn again instead.

XXXX

"Are we done yet?" you groan, the florescent lights shining above you in Rachel's basement, giving you a headache.

You're curled up on a beanbag, rubbing your throbbing temples as Rachel lies on the floor on her belly, her knee-sock-clad legs swinging as she meticulously decorates your poster on cellular respiration.

"No," she says a little crossly, glaring up at you with her striking brown eyes. "Though it might go a little faster if someone would give me a hand."

"Fine, sorry," you groan, squinting your eyes as you lower down to your knees, grabbing a red colored pencil. "Sorry my head feels like it's going to fucking explode."

"Well it's not my fault you waited until nine o'clock the night before the project was due to get your ass over here so we could get this done," she spits, the tip of her blue colored pencil snapping in her anger. "Darn it," she mutters, looking disdainfully at the stray line, and for a minute you're afraid she might begin to cry.

"It looks fine, Rachel," you immediately tell her. "You can hardly even notice it." You begin to color in her bubble letters, careful to stay in the lines. "The whole poster looks really great." Your compliment earns a hesitant smile.

It's one in the morning before you finish. You collect the pile of scattered colored pencils while Rachel carefully rolls up your poster, securing it with a pink rubber band. You yawn as you quietly ascend the stairs, feeling a little dizzy in your exhaustion.

"You know, you could spend the night if you'd like to," Rachel offers as her voice gives way into a yawn as well. "I don't-" she yawns again, "even think it's legal for you to be driving with your junior license after midnight."

"It's fine," you assure her, digging through your purse for your keys. "But thanks for the offer, Berry."

You shoot her a half smile before disappearing into the night.

XXXX

"I miss you...and I'm lonely..." she sniffles into the phone, just a week after your project collaboration. Her words are thick and slurred. It's obvious she's been drinking.

"What the fuck, Berry?" you mutter, tossing your pencil down onto your English lit book in frustration. You glance at your alarm clock on your night stand, the red letters blaring. Who gets drunk at six o'clock on a Wednesday night?

"Quinn..." she wails, and you can hear the tears in her throat. "I'm-I'm all 'lone...and...and..." she trails off into incoherent stream of words.

"Calm down. God, just take a deep breath right now," you sigh, your pity soon outweighing your impatience. "Where are you?"

"At home," she sniffles. "My dads are both gone for the night, and...and I'm just so lonely." She hiccups, breathing heavily into the phone.

"And what do you want me to do that about that?" you sigh, already digging in your closet for a pair of shoes.

"Can you please just come over?" she blubbers. "I jus'-I jus' need a friend here."

"You know I'm not your friend, Berry," you tell her, grabbing your purse and your keys, passing your mom's room, noticing her passed out on the edge of the bed with an empty brandy glass beside her. Apparently Rachel isn't the only one getting wasted tonight.

"No one's my friend," she whispers softly.

Her words leave you feeling like you've been punched in the gut. You slide into the driver's seat of your car.

"I'm on my way."

XXXX

You let yourself in, unsurprised that she has forgotten to lock the door. You find her in her room with a bottle of vodka and a few empty coke cans, her eyes swollen and bloodshot from too much crying and too much alcohol.

"What are you doing, Rachel?" you sigh, screwing the lid back on the vodka, prying it away from her fingers.

She looks up at you with watery eyes. "Sometimes it hurts less when you can't feel anything at all." She slumps against her comforter, in tears once again.

You unscrew the lid again, against your better judgement, taking a swig of the beverage. You cough as it burns your throat, taking another large sip before replacing the lid. You glance at Rachel, knowing that you're going to need it.

You sigh, lying on your stomach next to Rachel, beginning to stroke her messy hair lightly. You can almost immediately feel the effects of the alcohol, your head feeling a little lighter as she turns her tear streaked face toward you.

"Why're you being so nice?" she mumbles quietly.

You shrug, reaching for the Vodka again, though you know the answer. You know what it's like to feel alone. You know what it's like not to have a friend in the world, to have no one who cares. You know what it's like to just want someone to be there.

You continue to stroke her hair, and she curls up against you, tucking her head into the crook of your neck. Her hair smells like strawberries as she nuzzles up against you, her soft hair brushing your nose.

"I knew you cared...I knew you cared all along," she mutters, her words hardly making sense, especially now since your mind is clouded as well. She lifts her head, locking her warm brown eyes with your hazel ones.

Her lips sloppily find yours, and you stiffen for a minute, meaning to pull away, but her lips are so soft and flush against yours that you can't will yourself to pull away, gasping a little her lips become more urgent. You close your eyes, letting your hands feel the curves of her body-the curves you've spent so many years admiring, though you never would've admitted it to even yourself. (The inspiration for those pornographic pictures etched viciously onto the bathroom walls didn't come out of nowhere).

"Mmmm," you mutter, panting a little when she slides her tongue in. You taste the coke mixed with vodka, the flavor mixing with your own alcohol stained breath.

You don't venture any further than kissing before Rachel tires, woozy and exhausted from the alcohol intake. You aren't far behind, letting your eyelids flutter shut with your cheek still pressed against hers.

XXXX

"Oops, sorry, Rach. I didn't realize you had invited a friend over for the night." The door clicks open and you squint into the bright room, noticing a large black man in the door, and you immediately beginning to panic.

You pull yourself up from on top of Rachel, feeling a little lightheaded and ill as the events from last night rush back. You lick your dry lips, trying to remember where you left your shoes.

Rachel yawns, her eyes widening in shock as they fall on the man in the doorway. "L-leroy," she stutters, tucking her messy hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry. I can explain...I-"

"It's fine, Rach," he laughs, giving her an easy smile. "Hiram and I said you could have a friend over if you needed some company. We just weren't expecting you to have a sleepover, but it's fine."

Rachel plasters a smile to her face, looking relieved. You're just glad you aren't having a heart attack.

"You girls better get a move on it, or you're gonna be late for school," he smiles before closing the door.

You rake your fingers through your hair, groaning at your appearance in the mirror as you slide your feet into your discarded flats. You look like shit, but you have other things to worry about as you grab your purse.

"Wait, Quinn," Rachel stumbles out of the bed. "I'm sorry...I'm really sorry."

You shoot her a hard glare.

"At least-at least stay for breakfast, or something," she mutters, but you're already hurrying out the door.

XXXX

You skip biology and glee, in no mood to have a confrontation with Rachel because you know she won't have enough tack to keep her mouth shut.

But as you're changing out of your gym clothes, taking your time because you'd rather not run into her at lunch either, you hear a loud shuffling of footsteps approaching your locker.

"Quinn," she starts, but you cut her off, closing your eyes impatiently.

"Go away, Berry."

"No."

"Berry," you warn.

"No, you listen to me, Quinn," she grabs your arm, forcing you to face her. "You can't just pretend that something didn't happen last night-that there isn't something between us. I know we were drunk, but there was something there-and I'm not too afraid to admit it."

"Just leave me alone, Berry," you huff, though you words aren't as confident as you intended.

She stomps off, and you fall back against the locker, your head pounding.

XXXX

"Um, hi," a tall man with glasses and brown hair answers the door, looking at you and you plate of cookies quizzically.

"Hi, I'm Quinn-one of Rachel's friends," you mutter, looking from his eyes to your feet.

"Of course," he smiles brightly. "She's been feeling down lately, so she should be happy to have a visitor. She's up in her room."

You gulp as you ascend the familiar staircase, your hands shaking a little as you push open her door.

She's lying in her bed, a pair of headphones jammed in her ears, swinging her legs aimlessly off the edge of her bed.

"Hey," you say softly, sitting down beside her.

She looks startled, then angry, then wary. "What are you doing here."

"I know it's usually your thing to make cookies, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry," you sigh, handing her the plate.

"Really? You made these for me?" You notice tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, I didn't claim they were good or anything," you laugh, shoving her playfully. "But really, Rachel...I've been awful to you lately, and I'm sorry for that. I could stand to have a friend too, you know."

She smiles, offering you a cookie.

XXXX

"We shouldn't be doing this," you mutter against her jaw the first time she kisses you.

"When will you ever just let yourself go, Quinn?" she says impatiently, crushing her lips against yours. "You know you like it just as much as I do."

After that, you no longer tell her to stop.

XXXX

"And no touching in front of them. Not even a hug or hand holding. My mom wouldn't go for something like that," you fidget as you drive home after a day at the mall, nervous of the dinner your mother and her latest boyfriend have planned.

Your mother has been more sober and more involved since she began dating Matt (or Mike-you can't remember), and she has insisted on meeting the friend you've spent so much time with.

"Don't worry, Quinn, it's gonna be fine," she laughs, giving your free hand a reassuring squeeze before bringing your fingers to her lips.

You groan, parking the car in the driveway, taking your handful of bags into the house with Rachel following behind.

"Mom, Rachel and I are gonna be upstairs," you call down the front hall, quickly leading Rachel up the stairs.

"Look how much bigger your bed is than mine is!" Rachel exclaims, her voice too excited as she tackles you as she pushes you down against it.

You let out a shriek. "Rachel! Remember what we talked about..."

"No one's up here," she whines, molding her lips against yours as she pins you to the bed. "Relax a little. Lighten up," she laughs, kissing your nose.

"Oh, you want me to lighten up?" you clarify. "Well then how's this?" You grin mischievously, shoving your hand up her skirt and rubbing her warm core through her panties, feeling her wetness quickly spread.

She lets out a loud moan, bucking against you, and you're about to slip a finger beneath her underwear when you hear a knock on your door.

The two of you fly apart, and you reach to straighten your hair, coughing as you manage to mutter. "Come in."

You mother looks at the two of you a little warily, both of your eyes darting around the room nervously. "I just wanted to let you girls know that dinner is ready."

You nod, a little too vigorously. "We'll be down in a minute, Mom."

You let out a sigh which turns into a fit of giggles as you look at Rachel.

"Ready?" you ask her.

She blushes a little as she rises from the bed. "Do you have an extra pair of underwear I can borrow?"

XXXX

It's a lazy summer, mostly spent in the safety of Rachel's house.

Her dads are encouraging, delighted in your relationship, and as you spend the afternoons in Rachel's bedroom, exploring new boundaries, you let your guard down and your uneasiness slowly slips away.

On the cusp of August and September, you whisper into the silence, gently stroking her bare side.

"What happens next?"

XXXX

What happens next is that Rachel goes to school for music while you stay close to home, attending a community college because it's all you can afford.

Rachel aspires to be a star while you try to piece together an unpredictable future.

Rachel begins to work at the dance studio she will later own. You begin dating a wealthy boy who goes to a private college.

Rachel calls you, writes to you, makes pipe dream plans for you. You drop out of college your sophomore year with a gaudy diamond on your finger that weighs as much as the pit in your stomach.

"I'm sorry," is all you can say to the silence on the other end of the phone line.

She doesn't understand.

(And really, neither do you).

XXXX

"This is so fantastic, sweetheart. All we've ever wanted for you."

Your mother stands beside your father, the first time you've seen them in the same room in years.

"I proud of you, Quinnie," you father tells you, his eyes damp. He steps beside you, ready to lead you down the aisle, whispering in your ear. "Don't make the mistakes I did."

You attribute your tears to the joyous occasion.

XXXX

"Why?" she hisses, shoving you up against the wall of the bathroom stall.

She's not supposed to be here, even though you invited her.

"I don't know, I don't know," you choke, tears brimming in your eyes again, and as you furiously wipe them away, you know your makeup will be ruined.

"I'll tell you why," she spits. "I'll tell you damn why. You're too scared. You're too scared to admit that we really had something-that we had something that was worth it. You're too scared to break out of your fucking mold, what you fucking find comfortable. Go ahead and live your life with that rich git-but tell me if it ever makes you happy."

She unlocks the stall, her heels clicking sharply as she exits, blending back in with the crowd.

You slide down the wall, landing on the floor despite your white dress, refusing to believe her words.

XXXX

"I miss you."

It's all the voicemail says.

I miss you too.

XXXX

"Wow, this is some house you've got here," she looks around, looking hesitant and polite as you lead her into the living room, furnished with antique items.

"It will be nice for when we start having kids." You immediately regret your words.

She does a fair job of hiding her grimace.

You rest a hand on the banister, glancing up the spiral staircase.

"Why are you here?"

"You've been ignoring my voicemails, so I wanted to make sure you were okay," her voice cracks on the last word.

I haven't been ignoring them, you want to tell her. I play them on repeat every night.

"And-and I miss my best friend," she says a little shyly.

You swallow, reaching hesitantly for her hand. It fits perfectly as it always has.

"Do you want to go upstairs?"

XXXX

You cry as you wash the soiled sheets, and you cry even harder as you replace them on your and your husband's immaculate bed.

You begin leaving her voicemails after that, wishing that things could feel different.

XXXX

You know you're pregnant for a month before you can bring yourself to buy a test and another month before you can make yourself go to the doctor's.

"..and I'm just really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. It's been too long and-Quinn, are you okay? You've been really quiet."

"I'm pregnant," you tell her flatly.

And then you hang up.

XXXX

The knock at the door startles you, and you feel embarrassed opening it in your pjs and un-made up face. You spent the better half of the morning up heaving the contents of your stomach, and you're not sure you can handle company.

"Rachel," you mutter, feeling startled as she steps over the threshold. "Why are you here?"

You certainly did not expect her to follow through with her visit after the news you broke yesterday.

"Our visit was scheduled for today if I'm not mistaken," she smiles, handing you a sealed envelope.

You look at her quizzically as you open it, revealing a congratulations card with a kitten and gift card for Gap Maternity.

"You'll be needing some classy new items for your wardrobe soon if I'm not mistaken."

It takes all your strength not to burst into tears.

XXXX

Your water breaks four weeks early.

You're in the laundry room, drying tiny socks and onesies you aren't supposed to need yet. Jimmy is away on business in Chicago, and for a moment you panic. But as you gasp, staring down at the pool between your thighs, you're hardly surprised.

(You feel a pang in your heart as you recall another little one who gave you a similar surprise).

You laugh for a moment before giving way into tears, unsure if they're from the memories or the sudden rush of pain.

XXXX

"Quinn!" she answers, her voice a little winded as she speaks. "I'm a little busy-"

"I need you," you cut her off, speaking through clenched teeth. "I need you now."

She doesn't ask what is wrong before she promptly replies, her voice steady and reassuring.

"I'm on my way."

XXXX

This isn't how it's supposed to be.

It's not Rachel's fingers you're supposed to be breaking.

Not Rachel who's supposed to be brushing your hair out of your face or whispering encouraging words through your pain.

Not Rachel who should be smiling with you as you hold a perfect baby boy in your arms.

XXXX

You wake up with Rachel's cheek pressed against your shoulder, your body so sore that you can hardly move it. You let out a moan as your eyelids peek open, the white walls too bright.

Your ears focus slowly along with your eyes, and you notice a figure standing beside you, rocking a small bundle as he murmurs softly.

"Jimmy?" you groan, your throat dry.

"Look, Mommy's up," he smiles down at you, the little baby yawning in his grasp. He fixes the baby's blue cap, pulling up a chair as he sits down beside your bed. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetheart," he mutters softly, brushing your hair away from your sweat matted face.

"It's okay," you assure him, smiling up at him before glancing over at the baby. "Someone decided to surprise us and come a little early."

"So I guess we're gonna have to put the blame on you, little man." He taps his finger affectionately against the baby's nose. "I'm glad Rachel was here." He smiles genuinely over at Rachel, still asleep beside you in the bed. "You're lucky to have such a great friend."

You stomach drops, but you say nothing as you shift, your movements waking Rachel. She yawns, looking a bit startled as she takes in her surroundings.

"Sorry, Jimmy. Just borrowing the wife for a night," she laughs, and to anyone else she would sound confident but you can detect the nervousness in her tone.

"Well after what you went through with her, I'd only say it'd be fair if I shared a little," he winks at the two of you and your stomach flops uncomfortably. "Thanks for filling in for me."

"Rachel?" you mutter, turning to glance at the brunette, your bottom lip quivering a little. "Would you mind coming to the bathroom with me? I'm still feeling a little weak."

"Of course," she says, managing a cheery tone. She helps you from the bed, and the two of you stumble into the adjoining bathroom.

"What is it, Quinn?" she whispers, looking concerned when silent tears begin to pour down your cheeks.

"I can't," you choke for a minute. "I can't keep doing this." You knees wobble a little, and she immediately grabs your elbow to steady you.

"Shhh, baby, just calm down," she soothes. You admire her so much for how brave she's become-for what she's become for you when you, especially when don't deserve her.

"I don't want to go back out there," you strain to keep your voice hushed. "I just want you. Only you."

You reach for her face, cupping her chin gently as you reach to bring your lips to hers. She kisses you for a minute before pulling away. You stumble backward, knocking the soap dispenser cover off the wall. It clatters to the ground, the sound echoing off the walls.

"Is everything okay in there?" You hear his voice penetrate through the barrier of the door.

"Yes," Rachel calls back. "Just knocked over the soap, that's all."

You sniff, wiping your cheeks on the shoulder of your hospital, your eyes desperate and pleading as they find Rachel's.

"Listen to me Quinn, you've got a husband and baby out there who need you," she whispers, taking your hand in her own. "Who need you a lot more than I need you," she struggles to admit. "You've got to pull yourself together and go out there." She kisses your cheek gently, a brave smile on her face when she pulls away. "I'll still be here."

Now

A dampness settles around the room as you brush Rachel's sweaty hair away from her forehead. You kiss her bare collar bone, letting out a heavy sigh as you snuggle up against her, skin to skin.

"Quinn," she mutters, her voice soft though it holds a heaviness. She says nothing else as she closes her eyes, breathing in the stillness.

A sharp cry break the peacefulness, the loud voice carrying from down the hall.

The baby.

For a minute, you shut your eyes as well, clinging to Rachel, holding your breath. But she pries herself away from you, looking sadly at your discarded sundress on the floor below. She cups your chin gently, leaning in to brush her lips softly against yours.

"Go on," she encourages, the baby's cries persisting. She smiles sadly as she watches you tug the sundress back over your naked body.

You manage a small smile in return. You know she'll still be here when you get back.