Soo...here's another one-shot in this series that I felt compelled to publish because I've been such an awful author and I haven't updated anything else in forever. I guess I have like writer's block or something, I don't know what's wrong with me! I'm not even going to mention when I might possibly be updating my other stories because I really have no idea, but just know that I am working on them, so hopefully soon. I feel bad! :(

It was mentioned in Chapter 4 that R & S got into a fight after S inadvertently called R "fat," and this is more of an elaboration on that situation.

As always, thanks so much for the reviews, alerts and favorites for this series, and if you have any suggestions just let me know! :)

Pillow Fight

"Rach, why are you so upset? It was meant to be a compliment!"

"Calling your wife fat is not paying her a compliment!"

Rachel had a pillow in one hand while the other gripped Santana by the bicep, irately escorting her from their room and to the couch as she tried to reason her way back into their bed. "I didn't say you were fat! I meant that I love how you look with the extra baby weight, I love your curves, you look so sexy and juicy and – "

They stopped suddenly in the hallway and the noise of skin smacking against skin (and not the good kind) made Santana scrunch her eyes closed and wrinkle her nose as she let the warm sting from Rachel's palm settle into her cheek. She most definitely had that coming; not even a man would be stupid enough to combine the words sexy and juicy in a sentence that pertained to his pregnant wife.

"I deserved that," Santana said slowly, still wearing a wince but daring to peek one of her eyes open. She was hoping that if she looked pathetic enough that Rachel would forgive the indiscretion and let her right her wrongs. But no such luck.

"Of course you did!" Rachel shouted back, although her voice was tighter than it had been, a telltale sign that she was on the verge of a crying jag. "Why do you have to be such a bitch!"

Santana studied her wife carefully, trying to find something unfunny about the situation when everything seemed to be hilarious. But in short, Rachel was a hormonal, hot mess and Santana knew that sooner rather than later she was going to have a conniption over the fact that she had resorted to mild violence. "Okay, honey," she began neutrally, wondering if she would make a good member of a bomb squad considering all of her practice trying to diffuse Rachel. But when her amusement betrayed her and the corner of her lip quirked ever so slightly, she got her answer and it was definitely a no. "Maybe we should try talk – "

"Oh, so now you're going to laugh at me!" the smaller brunette practically sobbed as she pointed her finger in accusation. Taking Santana by the arm once more, she began dragging her toward the living room again and met no resistance. "First! You call me fat! Second! You make me turn to spousal abuse," the extra jerk she used to pull Santana along only emphasized that fact, "and then, you laugh at me! Well, have fun sleeping on the couch! Fuck you!"

"Whoa! Watch the language, you have a baby on board," Santana chuckled.

In rapid succession, Rachel released her and began pummeling her over the head with the pillow she carried. "You're…so…impossible!" she gritted out between swings.

"Rachel, stop!" Santana was lost in a full blown fit of laughter and her forearm was her only shield against her crazed wife. Throwing herself onto the couch, she used her legs to keep her attacker at bay while using her hands to push her hair from her eyes. "This isn't a fair fight…you know I won't hit back!"

"That's why I'm doing it!" Rachel raged on, landing a few more blows before throwing the pillow over Santana's face. Cautiously, Santana slowly moved the pillow away and took a chance in wearing a crooked grin, which resulted in more berating. "Stop smiling, Santana, this isn't funny! And don't even think about coming back to my bed, you're no longer welcome!"

Rachel stood with her hands on her hips and waited for her wife to start groveling, because surely she was in the wrong. But when Santana only continued to lounge back on the couch with her pillow and bite her lip through a smirk, she gave up all together. "I have to rest now…you know, I'm carrying your child and all," she said, trying not to make it obvious that she wanted Santana to put up at least a bit of a fight.

"Alright, then," Santana answered with nonchalance, and then stuffed her pillow under her head and turned away to fully lie down. "Love you, hope you and the baby sleep well."

"Ugh! And fuck you some more for still being nice!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel barely made it a half an hour before her levelheadedness came back and she was standing with the bedroom door open just a crack, waiting and listening for footsteps on the hardwood floor. One would think that a multimillion dollar penthouse in Manhattan wouldn't have creaky floors, but she was thankful that theirs had just one floorboard that always seemed to creak perfectly under Santana's weight. Whether it was when she came home late from work or when she spent long hours of the night in her office down the hall, it always made Rachel anticipate arms being wrapped around her from behind and kisses being placed on the back of her neck.

After waiting at the door for an amount of time that her back and swollen feet deemed long enough, Rachel went back to the bed and sat down. The idea of Santana, cold and alone in the living room, was nagging at her and the guilt was gnawing on her mind even worse. And if she was honest and excused her pride, she had to admit that Santana had been trying to help earlier and her intentions had been (sort of) innocent.

"Look at this!"

Santana, who had been reading one of their many newly acquired baby books with a crease between her brows, set the book beside her on the bed and blinked her eyes. Most of her day was spent reading and editing magazine article after magazine article, but at her better half's insistence she had vowed to finish reading all of the new literature before the baby was born. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Can't you tell what's wrong?" Rachel asked as she tugged at the hem of her white tank top, doing an unsuccessful job of trying to get it over her distended stomach. "I'm outgrowing my clothes faster than someone with Elephantiasis!"

"I thought it was Elephantitis," Santana commented. She met Rachel in the middle of their room and tried to pull the tank top down herself, finding it humorous when the soft, white material would just spring back up again.

"It's a commonly mispronounced word – wait! Don't try to distract me from this."

Running her hands over Rachel's stomach, Santana bowed her head and brushed their cheeks together. "We'll go shopping tomorrow. Just leave it for now…or, you know…take it off."

The shorter of the two brunettes sighed and let her body go slack against her wife's. "And why should I do that?"

"I think you know why," Santana whispered and then kissed the upper shell of Rachel's ear. She didn't dare be too rough with a bite or graze of teeth, that was only likely to make Rachel's temper flare. But she couldn't have known that she would inadvertently do the same thing by opening her big mouth anyway. "Without clothes," she began, sliding her palms from waist to hips. "I can get my hands all on these new curves…"

"What!"

A wince marred Rachel's features as she realized just how over the top she had gotten after Santana's harmless comment. It wasn't her wife who she was mad at, she was mad at that stupidly undersized tank top for no longer fitting and at her feet for throbbing and at her emotions for going haywire. And it was obvious – although she really hated to admit it – that she definitely owed Santana an apology. So, after taking another pillow and the blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed, she reluctantly made her way back to the living room.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"San?" Rachel called in a hushed voice as she approached the couch and tried to gauge whether or not its occupant was already asleep. Santana wasn't a light sleeper and she had the unnatural ability to fall asleep practically anywhere, but a small selfish part of Rachel's mind hoped that she was still awake and feeling guilty about what she had said earlier.

"Mmphh," was the simple, grunted response that she received. And she didn't even really know if it could be considered a response; it was normal for Santana to moan and groan in her sleep as well.

"Santana?"

"Yes, Rachel," Santana finally gritted out, turning from her side where she faced the back of the couch to lie on her stomach, where she could keep her eyes concealed in the cushions. Jerkily, she crossed her arms over her head and then sighed deeply as if she was trying to relax enough to drift off again.

Restraining herself from whamming an unsuspecting yet still aggravating Santana with another pillow, Rachel placed a hand over her ink black hair instead. She would have been lying if she said that she didn't want to give the tendrils a bit of a tug, but she tried to be nice anyway. "Honey, I brought you an extra pillow," she whispered as she ran her fingers through it. "I know if you sleep with just one that your neck gets a kink in it…"

"Great of you to notice but I'm not sure why you care," Santana mumbled back, her words muffled by the leather she had her face pressed into.

Slowly, with her face screwed up in a scowl, Rachel twisted Santana's long hair into her fist without actually pulling or making it obvious that she wanted to just yank it out. Then, she remembered that she had come bearing apologies and she released it again in favor of tenderly dragging her fingernails over her wife's scalp. "I brought you a blanket too. I didn't want you to be cold."

Santana huffed and kicked her foot off the side of the couch. "It's the middle of July, Rachel. We have the air on and my tits are still sticking to this leather, I don't want your damn blanket."

"Well, it's not my fault that you just waltz around half naked!" Rachel snapped, feeling her temper elevating again.

"Well!" Santana mocked as she threw herself onto her back, shamelessly revealing her bare chest and her unbuttoned plaid pajama shorts that left little to the imagination. "It's hot and I was planning on having sex until you freaked out and hauled me out here, so actually it is your fault!"

"Whatever, maybe it is!" Rachel gave in and then tossed her arms out, not knowing what else to say. She figured pity was the only out she had left and she gave a little whimper before admitting, "But I just feel so alone in that big bed all by myself…"

"You are alone and that's exactly what you wanted."

Stomping her foot and then kicking the couch, Rachel went on with her whining. "Okay, fine! I'll just say it! I miss my wife and I can't sleep without her next to me."

"Then you might consider getting a dog or something else to take your wife's place," Santana answered back just as easily. Then, under her breath she muttered, "And whoever your wife is, she must be one hell of a woman to put up with you."

"She is," Rachel said softly, making Santana peek one eye open at the sincerity in her voice. "But she's also difficult, stubborn and irritating beyond belief, and sometimes I question why I married her!" she finished in a yell and then gave the couch another kick.

Used to that type of behavior, Santana only rolled her eyes beneath their lids and laced her hands over her stomach. The insults were going to have to be a lot less generic than that if they were going to elicit a reaction from her. "That's nice, dear…"

"Santana, please…"

There was no answer after her final plea and Rachel knew that it wouldn't do her any good to stand around waiting. Giving up on her first plan she trudged back upstairs to begin on the second one, but not before draping the blanket over Santana and placing the extra pillow beside her.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Once Rachel was out of earshot, Santana sat up and stared into the darkened hallway that she had disappeared down. Exhaling heavily, she let her shoulders slump and rested her face in her hands. She didn't know what bouquet of flowers would fix this screw-up, especially when she had exhausted most of her resources. Throughout her marriage she had managed to make so many blunders that at any given time she had at least two florists on rotation on speed dial. No stone had been unturned in the lengths she had gone to impress Rachel after a few of their petty arguments, but now she was sure that there were no more continents from which to import exotic floral arrangements. This time she herself would probably have to venture into the Amazon, hunting some rare yet beautiful plant that would inevitably stake her with its poison thorns, leaving her to die at Rachel's feet. But that still wasn't a fool proof plan when it came to Rachel's standards. It was just a bad situation.

As she contemplated whether she should just buy Rachel a new piece of jewelry or if she should start planning her jungle huntress adventure, the sound of footsteps started echoing down the hallway again.

Quickly burying her face in the second pillow, Santana flopped back onto the couch and pretended to be asleep. There wouldn't be any adventures to plan if her wife killed her first, only a funeral.

"Move over!"

The loud demand startled Santana, but she had to fake nearly falling off the couch as she rolled over to find Rachel glaring at her, another pillow and blanket in hand. "You scared the hell out of me," she hissed, pressing a hand to her chest and running the other through her hair. It was half truth, half lie.

"It couldn't be helped," Rachel stated matter-of-factly as she shoved her pillow on top of the others and then lied down, wriggling around until she was pressed into Santana's side.

After almost catching an elbow with her nose, Santana began squirming as well, trying to get comfortable when she was already hot and Rachel was insisting on lying all over her. "This couch isn't big enough for this…just go back upstairs…this is no way for a pregnant woman to be sleeping."

"Well, that's the problem," Rachel said as she finally settled on her side with Santana spooning her back. "I think the baby knows I'm upset because it won't stop moving around. Santana…even if you're angry with me, don't neglect the baby, okay? Rub my belly for me?"

That was the last straw, the dull knife straight to the heart. No one could come back from a request like that. Without a word of acknowledgment, Santana reached her hand over Rachel's hip and under the hem of her too-small tank top to caress her fingers back and forth. Ever since the baby's movements had become strong enough to feel it had been her nightly tradition to rub Rachel's stomach as they fell asleep. It seemed that tradition wouldn't be broken; it was just that that night she would do it with a scowl on her face.

"Are you still mad?"

Santana exhaled hard enough to stir the ends of Rachel's hair where they lied on her shoulder and she hoped that was answer enough for the question.

"Do you want a divorce?"

This time she snorted and buried her nose further into the back of Rachel's neck, fully prepared to go back to sleep without responding.

"Are you going to tell everyone that I'm mentally insane so that the court system will rule in your favor during the custody battle and give you the baby after our divorce is finalized?"

Although she didn't want to, Santana had to smile anyway. But what harm would it cause to make Rachel sweat a little longer? Probably just bodily harm, probably her own.

As usual, Santana's idea of a sly game backfired in the most simple of ways and soon Rachel was trembling and sobbing, "Oh my God, you are, aren't you!"

"Rachel…" she said in both warning and sympathy. Wrapping her arm fully around her wife, she kissed at the back of her neck and held her close. "We're not getting divorced. Pillow fights cannot end in divorce, only snuggles."

Rachel hummed her amusement and tucked her chin closer to her chest as she pushed back into Santana. Then, there were a few seconds of silence before she hesitantly asked, "I got a little carried away earlier, didn't I?"

"No, no…" Santana feigned disinterest and a yawn. "I like being slapped."

"Fine, I completely overacted and I apologize for slapping you and hitting you with a pillow…"

"Well, I kind of liked the pillow fight…"

This prompted Rachel to turn over and rely on the arm around her waist to not let her fall over the edge of the couch. "You did?" she tried to clarify.

Santana nodded and laid a noisy kiss on the forehead that had already been pressed against her lips. "Yeah, we should do it again. Only next time let's do it in our room…you'll get naked and hit me with pillows, then you'll feel bad and let me sex you up."

Rachel contemplated for just a moment before voicing a legitimate concern. "I'm not sure if pillow fights are really the most ideal pastime for a pregnant woman..."

"You can lie on the bed and hit me, you don't even have to move."

"Alright…but will you be naked too?"

"Definitely!"

"Deal!"