A/N: I own nothing! No infringement intended!

Future Puckleberry, with Pucklebaby on the way!

He's fuckin' pissed. Thing is, though, you're kind of not allowed to be pissed at your angry wife. Especially over baby names. But dammit, Rachel is beyond impossible, and it was multiplied by a zillion when she saw that little pink plus sign six months ago.

So yeah, they've only got two months left ("the home stretch" as he calls it, to keep her calm), and they're finally talking about baby names. Rachel is completely convinced it's going to be a girl, but for some unknown reason she decided she didn't want them to know. So they're picking names for some sexless, androgynous baby and Rachel is pissing Puck off so badly he thinks he might walk into that bright yellow nursery that's been finished for two months, pick up one of those ugly stuffed animals, and rip its fucking head off.

But of course, he'll never do that. That's his kid's toys in there.

"Rachel," he says through gritted teeth, "We're not naming our kid after anyone who has ever been on Broadway. No. Fucking. Way."

She slams the baby name book down on the coffee table with one hand, the other resting on her round belly. "Noah, you're ridiculous! Barbra, Idina, and Chita are all beautiful names that drip with an air of talent! I don't understand why you won't just accept that our daughter is going to be a star!"

Puck throws his hands up as he paces across the floor. "Jesus Rach, we don't even know for sure it's going to be a girl! And what happened to sticking to our Jewish roots and naming our kids after our grandparents or something? I think my Nana Connie would be fuckin' sobbing in her grave if we named our kid Constance."

Rachel shakes her head furiously. "Absolutely not, Noah. While I love and dearly miss your Nana Connie, and she was a lovely woman, I have no interest in that name for our child." She sighs, rubbing her belly gently. "Fine, we can discuss boy names, if that's what you really want. How about Mark? It's from RENT, and it's a lovely name!"

He lets out a heavy breath, nodding, as he grows tired and plops onto the couch next to her. "Fine. God, now at least we have something picked." He glances into the kitchen where his eyes move straight to the ultrasound picture stuck to the fridge. "You're sure it's gonna be a girl? I know you've got that weird psychic thing." He turns back to her, one eyebrow raised.

She nods, dropping her head onto his shoulder. "Yes, I'm nearly positive. I can just tell, Noah." Puck throws an arm over her shoulders as she snuggles against his side. She pauses for a moment, thinking before murmuring, "Natalie.."

Puck looks down at her with a questioning look. "Hmm?" Rachel lifts her head to lock eyes with him. "Natalie Wood. She was never on Broadway, but she was Maria in the film version of West Side Story." She quirks an eyebrow slightly. "It's a beautiful name, Noah. And she's not from Broadway." Rachel slides out her lower lip, giving him the puppy dog pout he can never say "no" to.

He sighs as his free hand comes to rest on her belly, moving in slow, sweeping circles that make her eyes slip shut. "Yeah, Natalie's cool," he murmurs as she lets out a soft cat-like purr. He smiles, shaking his head as she whispers, "I knew the pout would seal the deal."

Their daughter is going to be so spoiled.