Rachel is what you'd call a controllist.

Labor was hard. Probably the longest, hardest process of Rachel's life. She'd opted to do it without medicine for various reasons and honestly considered going back on her word several times over the 20 hours it took Abbi to pass through her small body. But the hospital was nice, doing everything in it's power to keep her company, and Sam. Of course Sam hadn't ever left her side (even when she'd broken the skin on his arm with her nails during a contraction and called him all sorts of names). He'd walked laps with her, swam laps with her (yay Schronized Swim Team of WMHS), rubbed her back, sat in the shower with her, all these really intimate, close things that having an epidural would have prevented her from doing. Even through the pain, she'd been close to Sam, aware of what was happening and the minute they laid Abbi (bright red and pissed) on her belly, Rachel would have done it a million times over. Just for her.

Right on time and perfectly healthy, Abbi doesn't need to stay in the hospital very long. In fact, even though swabs were sent to the lab almost immediately after she was born, they still had yet to receive their DNA test results as they stepped into their new apartment (not that Rachel and Sam really care anymore. Abbi's an Evans, now. Officially). It's spacious, completely unpacked and baby proof, so Rachel's excited to be home. As soon as they enter the living room, she carries the half asleep newborn to the balcony door to show her the view of Central Park. "Look, Abbi! Isn't it pretty? As soon as you're old enough, I'm gonna take you over there for a little picnic..."

Rachel isn't one to make impulsive decisions. She usually takes as long as possible to think things through, weighing the pros and cons of each outcome.

She obviously didn't do that tonight, since she's standing in Sam Evan's doorway, a bottle of vodka in her hand.

( I had it all, but not what I wanted. )