A/N: Pregnant!Finchel may just be better than Finchel itself. Maybe. Oh, and this is in the crazy lil' New York!Finchel 'verse I've wished to make my own headcanon, so there you go.

They've got the plan down right from the start: high school, college, apartment, engagement, marriage. But then comes the fourteen (yup, fourteen, he counts) torn boxes spread across the bathroom floor. Then comes a sobbing Rachel, the heels of her hands practically ripping her eyelids off, a vicious cry coming from in between her pouting lips.

"It can't happen," she protests, sitting on the ledge of the shower, her hands mingling within the fabric of the curtain. He knows it's like, one of those crazy nervous habits (she's got many, but he learns to live with them all). He watches with pressed lips, hands in his pockets, and no desire to clean up the fourteen opened boxes that lay on the floor.

"But it is," he says, crouching down a touch and widening his eyes when he views lines and lines of pink. "S'all pink and stuff. That means 'pregnant'."

"Gee, thanks, Finn. I wouldn't have guessed that myself." She stands up from the floor, gathering the bunches of boxes in her arms and tossing them over by the trash, not placing them in.

"You know," he breathes, clinging onto one of her wrists the moment she tries to exit the bathroom, "something tells me you're not excited about being pregnant. If... if it's the weight thing, you're kind of tiny, so s'not like you'll show and stuff. Not right—"

"I. Can't. Have. A. Baby." She speaks through clenched teeth, hiding behind a smile as she watches the way he tugs at her wrists. "Finn, let go."

He shakes his head. "Nuh uh. Not until you tell me why you're so pissed."

"Because," she hisses, but that's not a real reason, is it? "Finn, just let go of me. Please."

"Because...?" He tilts his head, his eyes narrow, because what. in. the. world. is. she. thinking? Yeah, so, she's pregnant, but it's not always like, too definite, not until a doctor checks for themselves. And it's definitely not as if she's never mentioned kids before. He thinks about that time about three months ago when Quinn and Sam sent a picture of their newborn — the way she flashed the photo in Finn's face, oohing and ahhing at just how tiny its feet were, just how green its eyes were. At that moment, he could tell. He could tell just how much she like, adored babies, even if she'll go to the end of the earth to claim her ever-blossoming career comes before just about anything.

She props herself up onto the counter of the sink, ducking her head down and into her lap. "Because I'm scared," she confesses.

He wants to say 'knew it', because even she gets stage fright sometimes (even if it isn't like, literally on the stage or anything), but instead he just says, "O—oh, but why?"

She sniffles, then says, "Not ready."

He thinks of ways to like, prove her wrong. How can she not be ready? She's twenty-six, has a solid career (a job that'll more likely than not let her take a break), and she's married. He shakes his head, walks over to where she's sitting at the sink, and rests a hand on her unsteady knee. "Rachel," he breathes, eyes shut, "you're... Rachel. You're more than ready for like, whatever comes at you. Why is this any different?"

This is the (rare) part where Finn totally knows she's right. It's the part where she holds onto his shoulders as she boosts off of the countertop, inhales deeply, then exhales, then rolls her eyes. "Mm, maybe you're right."

He smirks.

She surges to her tiptoes, pecks his cheek lightly and says, "Besides, you might make a good daddy."

"Might...?"

"Baby steps, baby steps." And she smirks, too. "I'm kidding, Finn. You'll be an excellent daddy, I just know it. I mean, I can't be the only one in this relationship who has imagined life with a baby before, right?"

He puts his 'told-you-so' face on, pinches her cheek with his index finger and his thumb, then puts a hand to her bottom. "You should get to work now, mommy. You're late, and not just for your period."

She walks out the door, but not before blowing him a kiss.

He remembers reading something awhile back about pregnancy making you like, glow and stuff. Rachel? She's always glowing. But a pregnant Rachel? He can't wait to see how good that'll be.

It's the opposite of good.

Rachel's shaking him. Not just like, a casual 'get-your-ass-up-because-your-breakfast-is-getting-cold' kind of shake. It's one of those shakes in the middle of the night, still dimmed as hell outside, his alarm clock practically glaring at him in the eye like a laser pointer or something. He sits up casually, prodding at his still-shut eyelids with two of his fingers. "Mm, what is it?"

"Check the sheets," she says.

"Check the sheets?" he repeats, eyes still drowsy, one hand on her thigh.

She pushes him off of her, jumps out of bed, and then pulls the blankets off of the both of them. "Finn, oh my goodness, Finn!"

"W'do'u mean 'oh my goodness'? R—Rach, just calm down, alright? Y—you're freaking out."

And she continues on 'freaking out'. Her hands rummaging through her hair one minute, and the next she's slapping her forehead, mumbling, "Oh. My. God." about twenty times. She brings both arms down to the sheet, then waves for Finn to crouch over to the end of the bed, a little sniffle coming from her nose. "I bled last night. Tonight. I—I bled and I didn't even know."

He widens his eyes at the little pool of blood on the sheets. It's not a lot, but it's enough. Two seconds later, he's out of bed, one hand on the small of Rachel's back as she reaches over to the night table to grab the phone.

"Do you think I should leave a message?" she asks, eyes wearily meeting his. "I—I mean, the doctor isn't in until seven at the earliest, and now it's around—"

He peers his head over hers and looks toward the alarm clock, whispering the word, "Three."

She exhales deeply. "Three. It's three o'clock and here I am bleeding like a water gun all over the new sheets your mother gave us when we were at your place for Thanksgiving just days ago!"

He notices her cheeks, raging like fire, then says weakly, "S—sit down, love, mm'k? You're stressing me out. W—what even happened? I don't get it."

She clenches her teeth together, then starts to cry, and he thinks she just can't hold it in anymore or anything. Her eyes swell up, and then she sets down the phone, shaking her head with so much energy for such an ungodly hour. "F—Finn?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg folded underneath the other. "How much do you know about miscarriages?"

He feels his heart swell then, and then his stomach like, plummets, but only because it really hurts. The feeling sucks; those words suck. But here she is asking him anyway, and even through the little shake he feels, he whisks his head up, crouches down on the floor, grabs her knees and asks, "You lost it, didn't you?"

Her lips tremble. "I wonder how long I actually had it for."

He wonders the same thing, then fixates his eyes on the little (but just enough) puddle of blood in the middle of their mattress.

He hopes it doesn't leave a stain.

(Baby steps, baby steps).

Santana invites Rachel out for a few drinks. She even lies and asks Finn to tell her she'll buy her tickets to a Broadway show if she comes. Finn says the word, but Rachel just moans.

"I. Don't. Feel. Well." She speaks through clenched teeth, a tight jaw, and a cover that's hoisted up over her mouth. Her hair isn't brushed, her pajamas aren't changed from the day before, and her eyes are so swollen they're hardly eyes anymore. "Finn, c—can you sit?"

He sits on the couch, but not too close to her, his hand casually lingering over to where her knee is. "S'up?"

"Is it okay to, y'know, to miss something that's not actually here?"

He doesn't even have to think about it. "N—no," he says. "Look, I know you're all upset about the baby and stuff, and like, yeah, so am I, but life goes on, Rachel."

"But it doesn't!" she shouts, tears falling fast down her cheeks, stopping just above her lip. She wipes at them viciously, then speaks with her head ducked down. "Finn, I really wanted this. At first, I didn't, and yeah, that should've been understandable for you, because I have a career I need to focus on and an apartment to pay for, but... but as soon as I found out I was, my heart kind of broke once I lost it. Finn, I hate this feeling. You know I hate this feeling."

He doesn't, though. How can you miss something that isn't even there? Just so she won't hold any grudges or anything crazy later, he says, "Yup", pats her knee and asks her if he should fetch her anything from the kitchen, but only because it's easier than telling her the truth.

He brings home Chinese food, forgets she's started up her 'Vegan kick' now that she's certain she isn't pregnant, and drops the keys on the counter when she lets out a snicker. "I forgot," he confesses. "You okay?"

She sighs, pulling up the blanket she's covered herself with up to her nose, a little shrug following. "Do you think it'd be crazy for me to want to try again?"

He presses his lips together, because no, it wouldn't be crazy, but who in the world could be like, so determined right after losing a baby? He sits down beside Rachel, rests a hand on her knee and says, "I'm with whatever you want."

"And you're not just saying that to make me happy?"

He takes in a breath, shuts his eyes, and says, "If you want a baby—"

"You know, I didn't mean it when I said I didn't want a baby," she interrupts, eyes widened, her hand running over the hand he rests on her knee. "I mean, of course, at the time, I considered it an interruption, but a baby could be a good thing for the two of us. I mean, Lord knows a baby has done wonders for Quinn and Sam's marriage, not that they needed any more perfection spurred upon them, but—"

"—I'll more than gladly help you make that baby," he finishes as if she didn't even intrude his sentence.

She smirks, scooting herself over so she's on his lap. With a whisper to his ear, she asks, "So you don't think it's too stupid?"

He shakes his head. "Nope, not stupid at all. But before we get to like, the baby making and stuff, could I finish my Chinese?"

She buys a pregnancy test just a few days before Christmas. She's kneeling down by the tree, one paper brown bag clutched in her right hand, a fallen ornament in her left. "Here," she says, quickly standing up and handing the ornament over to Finn, "I'm gonna go pray for a little Christmas miracle over in the bathroom, mm'k?"

He winks at her, flicking the brown paper bag before she lifts herself up. "You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"To the bathroom?" she chuckles.

He nods.

"To watch me pee? On a stick?"

He narrows his eyes. "Mm, maybe not. Good luck anyway though, love. Knock 'em dead."

"This isn't a boxing match," she says, laughing, her tongue in between her teeth. "I'm praying for a baby here."

"Y—yeah, so am I."

Only, she comes out of the bathroom around fifteen minutes later, tied-up trash bag in hand, her head down and says, "Next time."

When he suggests she try another test for accuracy and stuff, she only shakes her head 'no', kneels beside him, just underneath the Christmas tree, and leans into his side once she scoots close enough to him.

He bends down and kisses her head. "We've got plenty of more times to try. W—we've got our whole entire life together, Rach. C'mon, you know that."

But she doesn't. She just starts to sob. Like, really sob. Her eyes are drenched in a matter of seconds, and then she turns around and takes one of his hands into hers. "W—we're..." she starts, but then hiccups, interrupted by another flood of tears. "Finn, we're n—not getting any younger, you know that."

"Yeah, but—"

"What if I'm incapable of it? What if my body is physically incapable of producing children? Like, what if I get tested and the doctors realize I've possessed defective ovaries. I swear, it's all Shelby's fault! I—I've got her genes. They must be bad."

He has to like, try and hold back a chuckle. "I think you worry too much," she says. "For starters, just because Shelby gave you up for adoption doesn't mean she has like, bad genes. And Rach, really? If you're not positive about this whole thing, then it won't happen. It just... won't."

She tugs down on her lip pretty hard, then tilts her head a bit, the tears that aren't dried under her eyes rolling down the side of her cheek. He doesn't know whether she like, agrees with him, but she just says, "Maybe you're right", kind of like it's forced or whatever.

He hands her an ornament to hang up, and she does.

"Can you imagine doing this with a baby?" And she glows when he says that. He knows the whole 'glowing' thing is for like, pregnancy, but like he's said before: Rachel always glows. Maybe it's because she was born to be a star or something. Yeah, that's it. Rachel's a star, and stars always find their way in the end, right? Rachel's perfect conclusion would be having a baby, he knows that.

So he answers, "Totally", because really, he couldn't imagine saying anything else.

And besides, no matter how many tries it takes, he's in it for good. He thinks that's called 'baby steps' or something, right?

Yeah, they're pretty big on 'social events' and stuff, but ever since moving out to New York, they hardly get enough time to see everyone individually or anything. So Rachel insists Finn takes off from work to go to this New Year's Eve party Quinn and Sam are hosting back home in Lima, and after a few rounds of 'but we live in New York City, y'know, the place where the ball drops and stuff', he's got a boarding pass in one hand, his and Rachel's suitcase in the other, and then he almost trips walking up the terminal. (Who trips walking up?)

"Our flight lands at five," she says, trailing behind him with a huff, her bare hands in the pockets of her sweater. "That gives us plenty of time to stop by your mom's, drive twenty minutes over to Quinn and Sam's, and oh! We're probably going to have to pick Noah and Santana up along the way. His car broke down."

He slaps his palm to his forehead and mumbles, "I hate planning."

"But you love me," she teases, running to catch up to him, quickly turning around and tapping the bridge of his nose with her index finger. "You know you'd be lost without me."

He thinks about that for a second. Like, really thinks about it. Then he answers, "Yeah, totally. You're like, the foundation of this relationship. I just... stand here."

She spends the first half of the plane ride trying to convince him that isn't true, and then she spends the second half gushing over some new picture Quinn and Sam sent to her phone of their kid.

"She's almost five months old and she's perfect," she coos, taking her index finger and running it where the kid's got a little patch of blonde hair like she's actually touching it or something. Finn chuckles, lazily leaning his head back into the seat. "I mean, of course Quinn and Sam made the world's most beautiful baby because they're... well... Quinn and Sam, but still. I'd want one just like this; a mix of both you and I. I mean, she's got Quinn's eyes, Sam's nose, Quinn's mouth — thank goodness — and her hair is like this weird mixture of both of theirs. She's kind of perfect, don't you think?"

"Rach?"

She sits up a bit, rubbing circles on his kneecap. "Hm?"

"I think you've got a crush on a baby," he says, chuckling.

Then she scoots over a bit, leaning her head down on his shoulder. "Wake me up when we get there, mm'k? I can't think about babies anymore. My head might explode."

So after the whole flight ordeal (which, for the most part is pretty smooth, because Rachel's dead asleep for the rest of it), they end up at Quinn and Sam's place at around eight o'clock. Rachel's tugging on Finn's arm because she claims to know like, four people out of the hundred something that are there (Quinn and Sam were definitely socialites in college), and she even hides behind him at one point when they trail into the living room, Puck and Santana following suit.

"Dude," Puck starts, "the hell is all the vodka? This can't be a serious party."

Rachel turns around then, eyes scanning him up and down, one of those 'you-can't-actually-be-serious-right-now' looks gracing her face. "You know what isn't serious? Your begging for liquor, that's what. Quinn and Sam have a baby now, Noah. I'm pretty sure they've got other concerns aside from making sure your liquor is provided for. If you've got such a desire to get wasted off of your high horse tonight, there are plenty of bars downtown to do so in."

Santana's lips form an 'o' because her... well... whatever Puck is to her just got dissed. "Damn, Berry—"

"Hudson," Rachel interrupts, lips tight.

"Right, Hudson," Santana corrects herself. "Who knew you had it in you?"

Rachel just shrugs. "Apparently not even myself, but—"

Finn interrupts, his head leaned into only Rachel's ear, one hand on a lock of her hair as he moves it out of the way. "That was awesome," he says. "S'cool to see you all like, not uptight and stuff."

She flickers her mouth open, her eyes narrow. "'Not uptight'? So you're implying that I am?"

"Rach, c'mon." And he has to stop her. She's all like, super badass and stuff, the hands on the hips and all. If he knew any better, he'd probably call them like, hormones or whatever, but that's only for pregnant women, so he doesn't even have the guts to bring that up. "People are staring," he uses as his excuse to save himself from his wife embarrassing him in the middle of someone else's living room at a New Year's Eve party.

Just before Rachel looks as if she's about to snap at him, Santana jumps in, grabs her by the forearm and says, "C'mere. Quinn says her lil' munchkin's up. Let's go."

Rachel goes (it's a baby, of course she goes), and then Finn finds her in the kitchen fifteen minutes later, her fingers poking lightly at the baby's uncovered toes, a little coo as the baby responds with a barely-there gurgle.

"She's cute," he says, hands in his pockets, making his way over to the counter.

Quinn's lips fold into a half smile, and then she turns around to face him, her arms open. "Come here!" she says. "It's been too long." So he hugs her, and yeah, as weird as it is hugging his high school girlfriend in the kitchen of the house she shares with her husband with her five-month-old baby up on the countertop with his current girlfriend (yeah, it's a mouthful for him), he congratulates her. "Thank you," she says earnestly, pulling away from him and smoothing out her skirt.

"You did good," he says. "She looks just like the both of you. What's her name?"

"Daisy," Quinn answers, her cheeks beaming as she looks to Rachel, who's taking little Daisy's hands in hers, running her fingers gently up and down the baby's soft little skin. Rachel's practically like, glowing. Quinn leans forward then, her lips right by Finn's ear, whispering, "You know, Rachel's really in awe of her. And same goes for Daisy. She's really good with kids, believe it or not."

"I—I know," he says stiffly, "we're trying."

He leaves it at that, because no one else deserves an explanation, not without Rachel knowing about it. For a good part of the night — throughout the cocktails, the toasts, the drunken dances Puck starts to do in the living room around eleven thirty, the wine coolers Santana's passing around like hot potatoes — Rachel's oohing and ahhing over the little baby on the kitchen counter, humming songs to her, running fingers through locks of her hair.

"She's perfect," she says like she means it more than like, anything. And yeah, the kid's really adorable and she's got attractive parents, but he'd never call another kid perfect, not one that wasn't theirs. And they don't have one. He doesn't know if they ever will. (He thinks maybe that's why Rachel's resorting to calling someone else's kid 'perfect').

"Y—yeah," he replies, "I can tell."

Then Rachel lifts the baby off of the counter, cradles her with both arms, then rocks her gently a bit. "I think she's tired."

Finn nods, lips pursed. "I think you'd know that better than me," he says. "I mean, you've been by the kid's side all night."

Rachel tugs down at her lip, obviously proud. "Mm, yeah, I have."

"So maybe she isn't perfect." They're on a nine-thirty am plane ride back to New York on New Year's Day, and yeah, as much as he adores and loves listening to Rachel talk, now isn't really the time. He's kind of had too much to drink, his head is pounding, and he's so tired he could sleep through next Christmas.

"Hm? W—who? Who's perfect?" he asks, jolting his head up from the seat he's leaning into, looking down at the way Rachel forcibly takes his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers.

"I said isn't, Finn. I said 'maybe she isn't perfect."

"O—oh. Who?"

"Daisy," she says, pressing her lips together. "I mean, she's probably the cutest baby — and only baby — I've really been around in person, but I think my obsession with her and other babies'll fade."

"Mm, probably."

She tugs at his hand, whispering through clenched teeth. "But Finn, I'm serious! Maybe I've just got this sudden infatuation with babies because I can't have one of my own, you know?"

"You don't know that," he corrects her. "You had a miscarriage. Plenty of people have miscarriages. My mom had a miscarriage before me, you know."

"Actually I didn't," she says, stiffly adjusting herself so she's sitting upward in her seat, her back barely arching forward.

"Well she did," he says. "She was planning on naming the kid Chris. Christopher Junior, actually. Y'know, after my dad. But she had a miscarriage too early on to even tell the gender, so—"

"So why didn't she name you Chris?" she asks, her eyes widening curiously.

"Because, um, I don't know," he admits. "I guess she just sort of thought she'd have a chance at having more children. A—and she didn't know my dad was going to pass away at war."

"So she couldn't," she says, gaze averted to her lap, thumbs twiddling. "She couldn't have any more children I mean."

"Right," he nods. "S—she was capable of it, but it's not like she had another man to have any with. It was just me. All the time."

Rachel leans over the armrest a bit, pressing her lips to his shoulder, covered by his overcoat. "I'm glad she had you, Finn," she says.

He closes his eyes. "I'm glad your mom gave you up for adoption."

She slaps his arms, then whisper-yells, "Finn!"

"What?" he chuckles, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in as far as he can in a crappy airplane seat. "If Shelby would've never given you to your dads, you probably wouldn't have ended up in Lima. A—and if you didn't end up in Lima, we would've never met."

"And I'm supposed to take that as a compliment, right?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

He nods, leans over to kiss her temple and says, "Anytime."

She's out of breath when she comes from the gym one morning, her eyes droopy and her hair stuck to her sweat-ridden forehead despite it being the middle of January in New York City. "Mm, Finn?" she mumbles, barely lifting her gaze from the floor as she throws her keys onto the counter. "Leave the door open. I'll be back in twenty. Just gonna run down to the— never mind. I'll see you in twenty, okay?"

Confused, he brings the remote he's holding to his lap, nods a bit and says, "Y—yeah, see you whenever."

She practically jogs out of the door, and he doesn't even look to see her do it.

She sneaks up on him when he's napping after work, his FDNY jacket still zipped up to the collar, his body still covered in a smoky stench. She tousles with his hair, nipping at her lip. "Honey, hon, w—wake up!"

"Hm?" He sits up quickly, index finger rummaging over his tired eyelids, one hand finding its way in hers. She's tugging at him like she expects him to plunge himself off of the couch after working a sixteen hour shift, but instead she sits in his lap, takes a breath and then leans forward and kisses him on the nose.

"How was your day?"

"How was my day?" He's confused, because Rachel never wakes him up from naps to pull the whole 'I'm-gonna-ask-you-how-your-day-was-but-I'm-really-gonna-use-it-as-an-excuse-to-strike-up-a-conversation-with-you' crap. Why should today be any different? He scratches at his chin, thinks of an answer that isn't, 'Oh, I just put out a couple of fires and shit, so s'all good', and then says, "Mm, it was... y'know... like any other day."

She grins, then lets out this like, breathless laugh. He's pretty confused at that, but he watches the way her lips curl into a smile, her head tilts back. "Just ordinary? Mine was pretty good."

He has the urge to grip the back of her hair with his hands, so he does. She giggles at that. "And why's that?" he asks.

She bends down so her hand is grazing the carpet, then brings back up a small ziplock bag, a small white thing sticking out. He goes to reach for it, and she screams, "D—don't touch it! Ew!"

"Why?" he laughs. "S'like... a tampon or something, right? Oh, Rach, love, gross."

"Finn, it's not a tampon!" she chuckles, her head back and her hand clutching at her throat. "It's a pregnancy test," she says, only she whispers it.

"A what...?" he asks, raising a brow in suspicion as he, despite her warning, pulls the small stick from out of the ziplock and holds it up. "Oh my god."

"Right?"

"So the two pink lines means—"

She manages to squeal out a small, "Pregnant!" He squeezes her a bit, his hand around her shoulder, and then finds himself peppering like, a million small kisses to her temple, the word 'Rach' the only thing able to come from his mouth. "I know," she says. "I managed to sneak out to the pharmacy for those twenty minutes two days ago, and when you were at work, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor, and she confirmed it. Finn, I'm—we're pregnant!"

He wants to ask her if she's like, one-hundred percent sure. It's just... the last time they were both so excited, but then it all got taken away. It's a stupid thing to even think about, let alone ask, so he lets the words fade away on his tongue, cups her chin, and lets his lips roam hers. "We're having a baby," he says. "S'a good thing, love, right?"

She nods fervently. "Completely. I can't wait until I'm far enough along to determine the gender. My 'Best of Broadway' baby names list has been sitting in my desk drawer for months. It's about time I get to put it to good use."

He watches her walk away after claiming she's got like, twenty people to call, and he lets her go — basking in all of her 'baby mama glory', as he decides he'll call it from now on.

He loves Rachel always, but seeing her get something he knows she wants? It's like falling in love with her all over again.

He gets home from work one day and there Rachel is, blanket from head-to-toe on their sofa, Kurt of all people aside from her.

"Kurt," Finn says, racing in the door, aiming to throw his keys onto the counter but missing. They hit the floor. He cringes, Kurt cringes, but Rachel doesn't move. "Kurt, w—what—"

"Rachel was upset, you weren't around, etcetera, etcetera," Kurt starts, Finn noticing he's got one hand steadying (or attempting to steady) Rachel's quivering kneecap. "Now that you're back, I can get to the benefit dinner I was supposed to be at—" he trails off, lifting up his wristwatch to his own view, "—twenty-two minutes ago. Blaine's waiting for me." He turns over, lets go of Rachel's knee, letting it fall, and says, "Your husband's here now. Cry to him about your irrational fear of whatever you were trying to tell me but couldn't due to an inability to speak without breaking into hysterics and hiccups. I love you, you're going to be a great mother despite what you both may think — you know, the whole 'not being ready' thing — and you should get some sleep. It's eight thirty and you're a mess." He kisses her quickly, tugs onto Finn's wrist even quicker, and then bolts out of the door.

"Rachel..." Finn stoops to where she's sitting, not quite touching the floor with his knees. He brushes a piece of hair away from her teary eyes, watching her sniffle as she tries to open her mouth. "What are you so upset for? I left for work this morning and you were like, fine. More than fine, even. Y—you were cooking eggs. Are you sad about going off on the whole 'vegan' thing? 'Cos if you are, it's like, no big—"

"No," she interrupts, head buried in her knees. "Sit." She pats down a spot on the couch next to him, lifting the blanket up and covering his legs with it. "H—have you ever..." And she trails off. She can't even like, form a few words without trailing off. He hates it. He hates watching her all upset and stuff. It's not that it breaks his heart, because, yeah, even though it'd be sweet for him to say, 'Watching you heartbroken breaks my heart too', it doesn't. He feels kind of shitty, though not heartbroken. He feels shitty that he can't help her; that he has to sit down next to her and just watch her cry without like, doing anything about it.

"Hey, Rach?"

She looks up at him teary-eyed, sniffles for a second, and then scrapes at her drenched cheeks with her heel of her hand. "What is it?"

"Y—you're upset because you're scared, aren't you?" he asks, lips pressed together. "I saw the way you looked at the doctor yesterday when she asked you if you'd ever miscarried before."

She sighs, but doesn't answer.

"Rachel, love..." he sighs, too, running his hand across hers. "Y—you can't keep living in the past. Everything that happened in the past isn't like, a guarantee for the now, you know? Look, I'm like, super bad at forming words that make sense, you know that. I'm the worst advice giver in the world, but promise me one thing: don't make comparisons. Don't compare what did happened to what's happening now. If you're feeling a little sick, it's probably like, morning sickness." He eyes her middle, then gently lifts his hand up and places it on her still-flat abdomen. "That's normal in pregnancies, it's supposed to happen. It doesn't mean you're losing the baby, I promise. Don't think negatively. Like, just because you're having a certain pain, it doesn't mean the same thing is gonna happen. I promise you, this time'll be different. This is our baby you're having. It's a guarantee."

He knows her, though. He knows the whole 'what if?' thing is running through her brain. Just the look in her face, the way her eyes narrow and her lips tighten, says it all. She only asks, "Are you sure?" though, and then sighs, letting her entire weight fall back onto the couch. "Finn, I love you. Thank you."

"No need to thank me," he says, shrugging a bit. "S'true. All of it. Oh, and I love you too. Lots."

"Promise me something?" she asks, eyes wide.

"Sure."

"No laughing when I blow up like a balloon, okay? I mean it. Because we all know the models in the maternity catalogues aren't what the real thing looks like. So no laughing."

"No promises," he chuckles, prodding at her ribcage with his fingers. "But hey, Rachel is Rachel any day, any time. You gain forty pounds and can't see your feet anymore and I'll still think of you as the insane-yet-lovable Rachel. Y'know, the one I love and stuff."

"You really think I'm insane?" she asks like she's offended (even though he knows she's totally kidding), bringing a pillow that was once resting in her lap up to his shoulder, swatting him with it.

"You know you're just a lil' bit insane," he says. "But I still love you. Always will."

"Even though I'm insane?"

"Even when you become like... the Goodyear Blimp."

"That's assuring."

"S'my job." And it is. If there's one job Finn Hudson's got (aside from like, working down at the fire station, managing payments on an apartment, buying food, taking care of things that need to be taken care of), it's showing his wife that after whatever amount of time, they're still the same people they were when they first fell in love. It's corny and stuff, sure, and Puck makes fun of him every time he visits for being such a priss, but he can't help it. He can't help that he found a girl he can truly be himself around. It's only fair to assure her the same. And Rachel? Yeah, she's a little insane, determined star, and his job? It's to let her be that and only that around him. So why should a pregnant Rachel be any different?

He thinks, bring it, mood swings, and smirks at just the thought.

And the mood swings sure as hell 'bring it'.

Finn hears series of gags coming through the tiny opening in the bathroom door at around four-thirty am. When he walks in (after spending what felt like twenty minutes forcing himself to get out of bed at such an ungodly hour), he holds onto the doorknob with one hand, watching as Rachel sits crouched over the toilet, her mouth opening and closing as she releases nothing into the toilet.

"Rach..."

"It's... it's okay," she says, lifting one arm up over her head and waving it a bit. But it's not okay, so he crouches down next to her, puts a hand to her shoulder and asks how long this has been going on. "Since, um, like... three-thirty. I—I didn't wanna wake you though. You just looked so... undisturbed."

"But you're like, puking."

"B—but you were sleeping," she says, jolting her head away from the toilet and sitting up, wiping fiercely at her mouth. "Hey, Finn?"

"Hm?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how gross is this?" she asks.

He tries not to chuckle, even though she makes it like, super hard. "Negative," he says. "Throwing up is part of having the baby, you know? L—like I said—" he starts, interrupting himself with a lazy yawn, "—it's all natural. It means the baby's in there, growin' and stuff."

Suddenly she gets really tense, her mouth forming a slight 'o' and her hands treading through her messed hair. "I hope so," she says, jaw tight.

"You hope so?" He lifts his brow, because what. the. hell. is. she. saying?

"It's just..." she says, trailing off and crying now, wiping viciously at her now-soaked cheeks. Her tears flow consistently, and then she starts to gag. He's afraid she's making herself sick or something. "F—Finn, w—what if this baby is like, sick? What if I'm having a miscarriage?"

"Morning sickness is part of pregnancy, love."

"So is feeling sick to your stomach," she says. "And it's not morning!"

"Rachel."

"Finn!" she yelps, hand clutching her chest as she starts to cry. "Is... is it okay to miss something you've never really had?"

He thinks about that for a moment. Suddenly, his mind lands on his dad, because he never really had his dad, did he? Like, yeah, he knew him for a good few months or so before he went off to war, but those few months were nothing. Finn was a newborn baby with no sense of mind. He doesn't remember the way he smelled. He doesn't remember what he sounded like, how tall he was, how his face looked. But yet, he misses him. Some days he thinks about him and some days he doesn't (which yeah, is totally okay according to his mom), but when he does, all he thinks about is like, missing him. He misses the feeling of actually knowing what it was like to have two parents (because, well, he did know that feeling once, right?), and he can't help but wonder what it would've been like growing up without a dad. It stings, usually, when he thinks about it. So sure, he never really had a dad, not if you don't count those useless few months where he had no opportunity to get to know the man everyone claimed his dad was.

He wonders if that's the same loss and longing Rachel's feeling. Yeah, she cried a lot when she found out about the baby. He found it a little odd after awhile, because, well, how long could someone go on missing something that they never actually had? But now that he thinks about it, he gets it. He gets those sleepless nights she'd go through. He gets the few days she'd sit up in bed, ask Finn to bring her a glass of water, and then question him for hours about what he thinks the baby would've been like. She used the word 'would've' a lot, and then he realizes when he thinks about his dad, more often that not, the word 'would've' comes up. He gulps when he realizes just how similar the situations are.

"Well...?" she asks as if she's been waiting. Has he really been thinking for that long?

He shakes his head, then says, "Yeah. Y—you can miss something you've never really had. A lot."

He ignores the way she reeks of vomit, lets her rest her head on his shoulder, and plays with a strand of her hair when she says, "Yeah, I know. You know, too." She knows about his dad too, but she doesn't even have to mention it. She just... gets it.

He wonders if all loss is the same.

(And frankly, he hopes Rachel's loss makes for a better outcome).

They're at lunch with Puck and Santana one day when the two of them are in town. They eat at a small café slash grill sort of restaurant Rachel suggests (they like, cater for pregnant people's needs and stuff with their endless meat supply), and even though Santana spends half of the time cringing at the menu and Puck spends half of the time cringing at Santana cringing at the menu, they enjoy themselves for the first time in awhile.

"So," Puck says, throwing his lighter on top of the table until Santana swats at his hand, "you ready to waddle 'round town munchkin?"

Finn watches the way Rachel blushes, leaning forward in her seat and folding her arms underneath her chest. She nudges Finn. "Finn," she whispers, "say something."

He does. "S—she won't waddle," he says. "She's gonna look all cute and stuff, s'pecially since she basically blew my entire paycheck on a new maternity wardrobe just last weekend." Finn knows Puck's about to use the 'whipped' action on him (he's still all 'high school' about the whole 'relationships' thing even though Finn and Rachel have been married for months already), but he goes on. "She's even got the lil' bump and everything. You know, since she's almost four months along."

Santana, who's sitting across from them, ducks so her head is under the table, laughing. "You're hiding it with one of Finn's 'too-big-to-be-human' t-shirts, aren't you?"

Rachel shakes her head in objection, standing up, much to everyone's surprise, and tugging at the ends of her t-shirt until she's pulling it tightly so it's squeezing her belly. Finn's ready to applaud her (because Rachel is totally that 'loud-and-proud' sort of pregnant, the body embracer), but he just smiles at Santana's squealing and even Puck's forehead banging.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," she declares, lips in an obvious smirk. She even does a turn once, smoothing her hands over her belly. "I mean, I haven't necessarily 'got it' yet — I'm only four months along — but when I do, you'll all know."

Santana's like, in awe. "Five gold stars for you, Ber—"

"Hudson," Rachel corrects her.

"—Berry," Santana finishes. "You owned that shit. Look at your figure. Damn."

"Don't get any ideas, bitch," Puck warns Santana, even though Finn can practically read the whole 'in denial' shit on his forehead.

"Wasn't gonna," Santana retorts. "'Sides, Berry looks like... a-plus as a preggo chick anyway."

Finn looks over to them, then back to Rachel, who's sitting down now, smoothing out her bottom and the ends of her (his) t-shirt. "You look awesome."

She giggles, nuzzling her head into the shoulder of his coat. "That felt awesome."

He smirks to her, notices Puck mumble the words 'no. fucking. way' to Santana under his breath, and then watches Rachel order an entire meal of pork chops for herself.

Yeah. It's all 'awesome'.

Rachel loves to be the first to know things. The woman's got a separate calendar just for all of their family and friend's birthdays. She's got recipe books lined up by the dozens in the bookshelf in their bedroom. On their computer, all of their emails are checked and organized by her, and it's her fault they've got daily mail from CNN, horoscope websites, and so on. She just always in the know, so when she sits up on the table in the examination room and insists she'd rather not find out the gender of their baby, he finds himself more than just confused.

"But why?" he pleas, because secretly, he's dying to know. He toys with the ends of the gown they make her wear, and when she shrugs without giving him an answer, he starts to try and reason with her. "H—how about you let the doctor and I stay in the room and she'll show me the gender? J—just me, not you. I won't even tell you. C'mon, Rach! I just wanna know."

She wiggles her index finger in his face. "Not. A. Chance. Finn Hudson, there is no way in hell you'll obtain information before me. Especially not the gender of our kid."

"B—but—"

"I don't care if the baby turns out being some sort of magnificent species of like... alien. You're not knowing."

"How cool would that be?"

She laughs, dragging him down by the collar, her body still propped up on the bed, her head still buried in the cushion. She kisses him deeply, and yeah, they're in an examination room, but it's not like there's anyone in there, right? Wrong.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hu— Oh! Uh, ahem. Hi you two. A—are you ready to see your baby?" The nurse, startled by the way their tongues were just colliding with each other like, two seconds back, playfully holds the clipboard up until it hits the bridge of her nose, walking over to the table. "How far along do you believe you are, sweetie?" she asks Rachel.

Rachel sits up, knowingly saying, "Four months and two weeks, I think. Oh, and could we get a copy of the sonogram on DVD? I hear nowadays we're able to see our kid in 4-D, and as creepy as that sounds, I'm all fo— Wait! Also, is there a way we can drag out the whole 'finding out the gender' thing? As wonderful as it'd be to know whether Finn and I are having a boy or a girl, I think we can wait. I mean, green and yellow are two neutral colors, right? Right. I'll just tell everyone to get me things with those accents on 'em for my shower. Especially Santana. She never listens to me. And Kurt. He's already telling me the kid is bound to be a girl like he's just... certain or something. Do you think she'll be a girl? Oh, oh, listen to me call it a 'she' already. Goodness, I'm—"

"Rambling," Finn interrupts, his lips pursed and his hands in his pockets. "Love, just... just let her take the sonogram, okay?"

Rachel obliges, but then by the end of the sonogram, she's tugging on Finn's arm saying, "Ask her, ask her, ask her!"

Finn rolls his eyes, hiding a smile.

Rachel sits up, rests a hand on her swollen abdomen and takes a stab at it while eyeing the sonogram still plastered on the screen, now hardly moving. "It's a boy, isn't it?" When the nurse says nothing, only laughs, Rachel asks again. "It must be a boy," she insists. "I mean, that's a penis, isn't it?" She starts to point, and Finn forcibly brings down her hand, mouthing, 'Rach' until she stops. "Finn, no, I swear. It's a boy."

"I thought you said you didn't wanna know," he says, smirking. He already knows because when Rachel was cleaning up, the nurse shoved the clipboard over to him, brought her manicured tip over to the word 'male' and smiled up at him. He snickers when Rachel shrugs.

"I hate surprises," she finishes. Then she holds her hand out, grabbing the sealed DVD case the nurse is handing to her. "Anyway, thank you for showing us our baby boy. I'm so excited."

Finn slaps his forehead. Only Rachel.

Rachel throws a fit (hooray for hormones!) when Finn and Puck are setting up the crib in the nursery. She's only five months and a few days along, but she claims she must be 'early' in everything, and the nursery is no exception.

They've got one empty room in the apartment, and even though Rachel goes on and on about how it's not 'enough', Finn calls Puck over for a little renovation, and by two thirty, they've got the basic structure of a crib up.

Rachel, tilting her head to the side, grabs onto Santana's arm (who Finn sees clearly doesn't have any interest as she's sitting on a rocking chair in the corner flipping through a copy of Vogue), and asks her to stand up. "It's crooked, isn't it?" Rachel asks, Santana only shrugging. "Finn!" she squeals. "I will not have our son sleeping in a crooked crib. Santana, it's crooked, right? Tell your husb—"

"Puck," Santana, ever floating in a river of like, complete and total denial, corrects Rachel, her eyes squinting at the crib. "And no, Rach, it's not crooked. Finn's doing a good job. Puck, I mean, he's sitting there like a lazy ass, but—"

"But he's doing a good job," Finn finishes. "We're both doing a good job, because we wouldn't let the kid sleep on a cheap ass crib, okay?"

"Finn!" Rachel squeals, squinting as she speaks. He watches the way she tightens her hands around her abdomen, then shouts, "Swear jar!"

"Rachel!" He slaps his own forehead, then notices both Puck and Santana snort.

"No swearing," Rachel warns, exhaling deeply, her eyes closing dramatically. "T—the baby can hear you — can hear us — and if we start feeding him curses before he's even born, he's going to come out swearing like a sailor."

He's not even sure how to calm her down at this point (even though he's usually like, the only one who can). He just goes on working on the crib, and eventually Rachel leaves the room to go get a sandwich a few blocks down at the deli with Santana, so it's just him and Puck and a toolbox in pretty much silence.

Until Puck asks, "Is she always this jumpy?"

Finn, rubbing at his forehead, sets down the box of nails he's got in his hands, takes a breath and says, "She's always jumpy. Since like, high school."

"Yeah, yeah, we know she's fuckin' insane, but this is worse. She's like, super paranoid about everything. I mean, your cursing turns into a five minute fiasco about how the kid'll come out swearing worse than I do. C'mon, that can't be normal."

"She's just... overprotective," Finn says. He catches Puck wince, and the way he snickers. He knows she should like, never talk about it (not without Rachel, of course), but she isn't around, so he just... goes for it. "Rach had a miscarriage. S—she thought I shouldn't say anything, especially since the baby's alright this time around, but she did. It kind of like, destroyed her for a little bit."

Puck says nothing.

"I didn't think it was possible to miss someone you never met, you know? B—but then, I thought about—"

"Your dad," Puck intrudes, and for the first time in all of the years he's known him, Finn sees him acting all like, soft and stuff, his eyes sympathetic. "So Rachel misses the opportunity, you're sayin'?"

Finn nods stiffly. "She's just... upset. That's all. I mean, we're okay now; we're having this baby now, but still. It broke her heart."

"I could imagine," Puck says. "Like, if Santana were to ever get pregnant and lose the baby, I think I'd even miss the kid."

Finn cocks a brow. "So you're saying you two are like, trying?"

"As if," Puck shakes his head. "We're leaving that up to the Hudsons for now."

Puck laughs, Finn laughs, and then they put together one of the best cribs ever, earning them both smooches from their wives, two hero sandwiches, and a mellow Rachel who claims they should start picking out paint colors for the nursery.

"Nothing green and yellow," she says. "That's neutral, and we know we're having a boy, don't we?"

They sprawl two paint cans — baby blue and navy blue, Rachel's decision — across the nursery one day, just the two of them. "Hm," Rachel says, tilting her head, "do you think this is all okay?"

Finn nods, squats down to the floor and begins uncapping the paint, his eyes casually grazing over to her middle. She's almost seven months pregnant now, and for such a little thing, Rachel's huge. The one good thing? She never complains. She rests her hand just above her belly, and he actually admires the hideous elephant jumper she's wearing. (Only, it's not too hideous on her at all).

She's good with that, with not complaining. She embraces her figure fully, coming back from day-long shopping trips with Kurt and Santana and modeling all of the clothes for Finn. She buys jumpers, turtlenecks, yoga pants (his favorite) and even new bras (even more of a favorite). She stands on the ledge of their bed, casually asks him to help her unclasp and clasp her bras, then turns around and asks him how good they look on her (on a scale of one to ten, of course). His answer is always, 'eleven', and it never fails to get him laid.

Anyway, they're in the nursery now, and he can't stop like, staring. Her hand runs over her jumper, stopping at the buttons, and she giggles when she catches him looking. "I'm a balloon, Finn," she giggles. "None of this is attractive."

"N—no," he shakes his head, standing up, "you're perfect." She hitches a brow at that. "I mean, you're hot, Rach. You make this look like, good. And easy. It can't be easy carrying a kid in there, I'm sure, but you do a—and you don't complain. This might sound weird, but I'm totally proud of you."

She blushes, then stands on her toes and grabs his cheek with one hand, pecking him quickly. "Mm, thank you. I love you, and I love that you appreciate me."

His hands go numb when she takes them in her own and squeezes them. He's not sure what she's doing, but a few seconds later, she runs his hand over her abdomen and he feels this like, surge. "W—what was that?" he asks, eyes widening.

"Baby says 'hi'," she giggles, tongue between teeth. "He's kicking because you're touching him. H—here, stay like that."

"Is this the first time?"

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. He kicks in the shower, mostly. Especially when I'm singing. And he loves to kick when we're asleep, which'd explain the reason I've got a million and one bags under my eyes, but..."

He loves it. It's new and strange and he kind of feels like he's... invading, but he loves it. With his lips forming an 'o', he presses his palm down even harder and asks, "T—that's a kick, isn't it?"

She nods. "It is. And I think he likes you. No, loves you. He's going wild."

Finn steps back apologetically, but Rachel grabs his hand and brings it back to her belly, laughing. "I think pregnant is like, a really good color on you," he says.

"Just like the color in this room," she says with a giggle, running her fingers over his, still propped up on her upper abdomen. "It's a really good color."

"Sure but... I like pregnant a lot better."

She stands on her tiptoes, lunges forward and to his cheek, planting a soft kiss right there. "I do, too."

Pregnancy settles down and makes Rachel completely like, mellow by the seventh month.

He decides he's gonna have to soak it in and enjoy it while it lasts.

"You told him?" Rachel shouts, dropping the spoon she's using to dig into a container of Ben and Jerry's ice cream down, her lips quivering. The hell did he do now? "Finn, why would you even— Oh, Finn!"

"Told who what?" he asks, eyes narrow as he tries to keep them averted on his food rather than his raging, hormonal wife.

"Noah," she spits. "You told Noah I had a miscarriage, didn't you?"

"W—what?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" she shouts. "Santana sent me an email filled with a load of apologetic 'this time will be better's and even told me I could 'vent' to her if I wanted to. Why would you say anything right as I'm beginning to get over it?"

"I dunno," he admits. And he doesn't. It was just a 'spur of the moment' sort of things, one of those 'don't-think-just-say' moments. "Rach, I didn't say anything bad. I—I actually agreed with you." She raises her eyebrows, placing her spoon right back in her ice cream. "Y'know how you were so devastated and stuff when you found out, right?"

"Uh huh," she says, mouthful of ice cream. "What's your point, though?"

"No point, just sayin'," he says. "I'm sorry I told Puckerman, though. I shouldn't have." He runs his hand over hers, still gripping her container of ice cream. "Good flavor," he laughs, winking.

"I have good taste, remember?" she smirks.

"W'do'u mean?"

"I picked you, didn't I?" She laughs, running her fingertips over his knuckles with an earnest smile.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah you did."

"Finn," she shakes him at around two in the morning and all he does is mumble and nestle his head further into the pillow he's leaning into. "Finn, wake up!"

"What is it? Is it the baby?" He lets out an exaggerated yawn, pushing his head further and further into his pillow as he turns over to face Rachel, who's sitting up now.

"Banana bread," she mumbles, rubbing the heel of her hand on her lips.

Is she insane? It's two am and he's exhausted. "I—I'll make you banana bread in the morning, promise."

"Please," she begs, tugging on his forearm. "I won't bother you about food for like, another week. I'm starving."

So it's two am and he's out of bed, Rachel's hand in his as she's dragging him to the kitchen. He trips over a rattle she insists on keeping around even though the baby won't be able to use the rattle until like, a really long time from now (and well, he's not even born).

"Honey, watch where you're going," she giggles, tongue between teeth. "You'll break the baby's rattle."

Yeah, he's totally okay. He just stepped on a rattle. "Are you really serious about baking banana bread or is this baby making you think you'd like to bake banana bread? Our bed's never looked comfier than it does right now, love."

"I wasn't joking," Rachel tells him, opening up the pantry and standing on her tiptoes, grabbing an unopened box from the top shelf. "I was hungry. And I wanted to talk. Remember those times when we used to wake up in the middle of the night, cook food and just sit around and talk until it was done? I—I miss that."

"Me too," he tells her honestly, rubbing his eyelids sleepily while letting out a yawn.

"Why'd we stop?"

He doesn't even know. All he knows is how exhausted he is and how comfy his bed looks and how much he wants to sleep in it and how his very pregnant wife is craving banana bread he's really not capable at making at this hour. "Let's not worry about that," he tells her. "Let's just… let's not stop it this time, okay?"

"Yeah, okay" she says, scattering around the kitchen to find every ingredient for her banana bread as he sits down at the table, watching her with tired eyes. "Can we not be upset anymore?"

"About?" he asks, eyebrow raised. He gets the hint a second later when she looks down with guilty eyes at her middle. "Oh, right, the baby."

"It's just... I can't walk around being upset about losing the first baby when we're so happy to have this one. At least, I—I'm happy."

"I'm happy, too, love," he says, walking around to where she's standing by the counter, resting one hand on her protruding abdomen. "And like, yeah, it sucks that we lost the baby the first time around, but this time? This time you're way too far along to even think about it. Y—you're like, glowing with pregnancy."

And it's true. If there were a bubble surrounding her, it'd glow. She's happier than he's seen her in so long, and he loves it. How could he not?

She looks down a bit at her middle, nipping at her lip. "Mm, you think so?"

He nods.

"I'd probably want another one," she says. "Or like... three. Four." He chuckles, because he knows it's all of the insanity talking. She taps the bridge of his nose with her finger, giggling. "I'm starving."

"You said that," he says, leaning forward until his lips are on her jawline, peppering kisses to it with a small moan. "I say ditch the food."

"'Ditch the food'?" she chuckles, leaning forward as much as she can, letting her hands roam his hair. "Mm, I don't think so."

But they do. He grabs onto her bottom, squeezes it a bit, and soon she's hoisted as far up her waist as she can go, her legs wrapping around him. They ignore the warning on the timer, and he's carrying her into the living room at almost two-thirty am.

By the time she's down on the couch, her bottoms are off and she's ditched her top somewhere near the entryway to the living room, so she's letting her hands graze his cheeks and pulling him down lovingly, her lips lingering his entire jaw. "F—Finn, stop," she hisses when he starts to kiss her back, his tongue trying to find entry to her mouth. "You... you know sex induces labor, right?"

"Bullshit," he says. "H—hey, did you shut off the oven?"

"Seriously?" she says, eyes narrow. "Finn, I'm eight-and-a-half months along. Anything can happen, h—honey." He watches her groan a bit, moaning into his kisses.

And of course, just on cue, Rachel's gripping at the bottom of her abdomen claiming she's in pain the second he pulls out of her.

"I. Need. To. Go." She keeps on shaking her fist at him like he's done something to her, her teeth clenched and her forehead ridden in sweat.

"W'do'u mean?"

"I mean, I'm having this baby."

"Christopher," Rachel says certainly, not even looking up at Finn for a confirmation. "Christopher Noah. Christopher for your dad, and Noah f—for Noah. He's been here lots, you know."

Finn's in awe of her, of course, so he doesn't even argue (not that he has to).

Her eyes stay glued on the little bundle in her arms, her fingertips running over his bare head with a pressed-together smile. Finn watches the way her eyes just like, glow, when she takes her whole hand and runs it up and down the baby's stomach. She looks intrigued or something, and Finn's just unable to decide what to feel because he's generally just so... intrigued, too.

"Hey, love." Finn finally catches Rachel's attention, crouching down next to the hospital bed, his energetic eyes meeting her weary ones. She looks exhausted, but it's only because she just pushed their son out of her, so he'll forgive her. He chuckles, takes his hand and places it on her arm, and then kisses her quickly. "You did it."

"Mm," she manages to say, lips pressed. "W—we did it. Together." Then she admiringly stares back down at the baby, her glance quickly torn from Finn's. "Isn't he the cutest?"

He grins. "Y—yeah, definitely."

The nurse intrudes the moment Finn takes his hand and starts to gently stroke the baby's bald head. He's kind of afraid, in all honesty, because he's never really touched a baby, let alone one he helped create. Rachel assures him he won't hurt him or anything, so he lets his large fingers awkwardly roam the baby's head, whispering, 'Hi, buddy', about two times until the kid's eyes jolt toward Finn.

"He loves you already," Rachel ensures, her head tilting upward the moment she notices the nurse. "If—if you're here to take the baby, we're not ready yet." Then she turns to Finn, his hands still rummaging across the baby's head almost so gently. He feels like he's grabbing onto like, air. "Finn, follow that nurse. Our baby is going to be under our care the entire time he's here, okay? I'm not having an entire 'switched at birth' scenario going on in my life, alright? Our baby has to be watched by you, okay? I'd do it, but I'm apparently not allowed to leave this bed for awhile, so..."

"Rachel," he laughs, "really? You worry too much."

"I have to worry," she says, gulping. "It's just... I've never been this happy before. I'm not gonna go ruining it now."

"Rachel," he ducks down even more, tearing his hand away from the baby, "you're fine. Y—you're perfect. We have him now. Christopher, I mean. And like, yeah, sure, we might've messed up a lot in the past, but here we are now, together, in this hospital room. And I'm not lettin' anything go wrong, promise." He lifts up her hand and kisses it, and she throws an earnest smile in his direction, because he thinks she means it to. She wants this, and she'd do anything to make sure she's able to keep it. "You did amazing, love," he compliments her, her lips curving into a smile. "You just had a baby and yet you're so awake; so alert. Go to sleep or somethin'. I'll take care of everything, and by the time you come home tomorrow, it'll like, all be set up for you. Everything."

She blushes, her eyes still not torn away from the baby. "I'm so glad it all happened like this," she says.

He raises his eyebrow, because all of it? "W—wait, all of it?"

She nods. "Mhm, all of it. Even the bad things."

And he brushes a finger over her sticky, sweat-ridden bangs, pushes them out of the way, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He promises to go follow their kid when the nurse drags him down to the nursery. "Wouldn't want any 'switches' changing up what we've got," he says with a wink.

And he looks back when he leaves the room, trailing right behind the nurse. Rachel, who was worried like, two minutes ago, is flat asleep on her pillow, her mouth curved into a smile.

He scrunches his nose at that, then tells himself he's glad he's taken all of it too. Even the bad things.

They've got the plan down right from the start: high school, college, apartment, engagement, marriage. But then comes Christopher Noah Hudson. Then comes the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the entire bunch of family and friends who pinch his cheeks until Rachel insists they must sanitize them.

But it's his third birthday now, and all Rachel is doing is running around the apartment and insisting Finn throw out the drum set he bought for their son. "The sticks are brutal," she whines, hands over her ears. He sees a tiny giggle escape her lips when she watches him bent down in Chris' face with his FlipCam, laughing every time the presses his hands together and says, 'More, daddy, more!'. "Okay," Rachel says, burying her head in her hands, "it's kind of adorable."

"Isn't it?" Finn turns to her, then walks over to the couch where Rachel's sitting with Kurt and Santana, their eyes, too, on the toddler who's banging incessantly on the drum set.

Rachel nods, lips pursed. She claps her hands together, and then Chris comes over toward her, a drumstick still in his hands, squeezing in between Rachel and Santana's legs.

"He's too cute," Santana says, letting her hands rummage through his hair. Finn notices the way everyone can look at the kid and in an instant, their first reaction is to say just how cute he is. He snickers at that. His kid is like, the cutest, and it's not just because he's biased.

"He is," Rachel beams proudly, wrapping her hands around Chris' stomach, boosting him up on her lap. "You tired of banging the drums yet, baby?"

Chris shakes his head. "No!" he screams, his fists pounding into one another.

Rachel, who knows only how to speak like, super sweetly to Chris (Finn loves that about her), rests her chin on his tiny little shoulder and turns to Finn, asking him, "You're gonna raise him to be just like you, aren't you?"

Finn smirks. That's a 'yes'. He walks over to where Rachel is, grabs his son, and then kisses her on the nose. "Maybe," he laughs.

Rachel holds her index finger up then, says, "Give Chris to Santana. Come with me." She takes Finn's hand and guides him out of the room and into the kitchen, hoisting herself up onto the empty counter and crossing her legs.

"What's up?" he asks, walking closer. He starts to grin when he watches Rachel unbutton her top, then shakes his index finger and whispers, "N—no, not here."

She trails her finger up and down his collar, giggling, her head back. "I want another one," she confesses.

He figures that (she's in love with Chris in every way), so he smiles a bit, presses his lips together and says, "I know."

"So..." she breathes, trailing off, her hand finding his and latching onto his, twirling her fingers around his palm. "Finn?"

"Hm?"

She scoffs. "Come on. I know you want like, twenty more."

"Two," he says.

"Three?" she laughs, her head rolling back, holding three fingers up sweetly. "I like babies, Finn. I—I never thought it'd happen to us; not now, but I love them. I love Christopher so much. I love waking up everyday and knowing I'm a mommy to someone, you know?"

He leans in and kisses her lovingly on the lips at that, his grin softly expanding. "Then we'll get started. Y'know, right after our son's third birthday party and everything."

She blushes. "Here's to like, ten more."

"Three."

"The number goes up every time."

"That's because I don't know how to say 'no' to you."

She buries her head in his shoulder then. "I'm glad you said 'no' to me before. You know, about not being sad and stuff. I'm glad you told me you can't miss someone you've never known. It... it made me move on."

His chest tightens.

"Even though," she continues, "I know you were lying."

He raises his brow at that. "W—what?"

"It's why I named our son Christopher," she admits. "Because your dad was named Christopher, a—and you miss him. Even though you hardly knew him, you miss him every single day."

His chest still wells, and he holds onto her hand even tighter, still interlocked with his.

"B—but he's watching you now," she says. "He's watching us, our family, Chris. I love that, Finn. I love knowing that. It makes me feel safe."

And he shushes her then, taking her by the chin and kissing her right on the lips, letting his roam hers for a minute. One thing he's glad he doesn't have to miss? This. All of this. All of her.

It's the best thing he's ever had, but he didn't get there in just a day, a week, a month.

It took awhile. It was something like baby steps, but he made it. He has it now, and he's not about to even think about giving up on it. Ever.

A/N: I hope that wasn't too cringe-worthy. I may write more with a similar topic (just because I'm a sucker for those). Your thoughts would be more than appreciated, thank you! :)