That Still Harbors the Question 2/14
Title: That Still Harbors the Question
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn (past)
Rating: PG
Chapter: 2/14
Word Count: 2117
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Summary: ' Follows 'There's a Hole in Her Heart.' (For those who wanted to see Rachel survive the accident.)
Author's Note: This is late, but I've been working overtime and having real life issues. I'll try to have the next one sooner. Also thank you to all those who commented on that last part, I'm glad some of you liked the direction I took it. Enjoy.
Chapter 2
Her fathers won’t be there for three days.
She gets that, especially after the daytime nurse who usually looks in on her, Betty, told her they’d flown in and stayed at her bedside a week when they found out about the accident.
What she doesn’t get, is why no one else comes to visit.
A sinking feeling gathers in the pit of her stomach as she registers that there’s no one waiting for her.
Sure, there are flowers, some fresh and nearly blinding in color, at least in comparison to the rest of her room, while others are dry, cracked with age, no doubt from when she was initially admitted into the hospital. There are even a few teddy bears and deflated balloons. Most of the older ones are from fans. She stops reading the ‘Get Well’ cards after the first few. It feels too strange; like it’s not her they’re wishing well and there’s some kind of schism dividing Rachel Berry, the star she became, and Rachel Berry, the impending, often slushied, star she feels like.
One of the largest, but coincidently dead, arrangements she’s told are from her co-stars. As grand as the arrangement once was, the lack of intimacy in the card, makes her wonder if there’s anything for her in New York besides Broadway. It’s just a ‘Get Well’ card, not unlike the ones from her fans, but unlike some of her fans, they didn’t bother with a personal message, just hasty signatures.
It stings, but less than she’d expect.
But, that can probably be attributed to the curiosity brought on by the last bunch of well-wishers, the ones who sent more after the first began dying.
Betty says they’re all from people she knew in Lima, according to her fathers. She assumes it’s through her fathers that they knew to send more.
It doesn’t seem quite real.
But, then again nothing seems real these days.
There’s no telling if anything that flashes through her mind is a dream or another puzzle piece to her memories.
This seems the most unrealistic thing yet, that there are people from Lima who know her well enough to feel comfortable contacting her fathers or maybe just people in Lima who care enough to send flowers.
It’s another day, before she works up the courage to reach for the closest card, dangling precariously amongst a cluster of yellow roses. The card trembles in her grip as she flicks it open. She completely bypasses the familiar hallmark greeting in favor of the neatly printed block letters taking up the normally empty side of the card. Swallowing hard, she traces the indentations of eraser marks, before beginning to read.
Hey Rach,
Hopefully your dads come through for us and read our letters and cards. I’d have come myself and I know a lot of the others would’ve, too, but I doubt we’d be allowed into your room. Well, that and if you did happen to wake up, it’d suck to be sent home, because you didn’t want to see us, like all the other times we’ve visited.
Rach, it’s not your time.
I always thought it hadn’t been my dad’s time either, but I never really knew him and somehow I think it’d hurt worse losing you, because I do know you. I wouldn’t be me without you. It was you that brought us all together and gave us enough hope to keep us all together.
There’s still a lot you have to do in your life and I will never forgive myself if you die without fixing things, because we didn’t try hard enough to get you back.
Remember Don’t Stop Believin’
Finn
Rachel doesn’t realize she’s crying until the tears begin dropping, like rain across the card. It’s the desperation and familiarity missing from the card her costars sent, but the slight feeling of elation from being missed is almost completely drowned out by what else the card reveals. That somewhere in her life she went wrong and turned her back on someone that cared about her. She rereads it, honing in on the name Finn, and thinking back.
She remembers a football player, tall and sweet, even if it was in a slightly bumbling way, but that’s all. No common interests that she can recall that would’ve brought them together or torn them apart, nothing.
Swiping furiously at her tears, Rachel seizes the next card, plucking it off an elegantly arranged bouquet filled with vivid purples and yellows and the whitest of whites. Her eyes dart to the left side of the card where it starts off with ornate cursive at the very top.
Rachel,
While Mercedes and I understand your penchant for theatrics being in a coma is not an acceptable form of gaining attention. In fact, the whole near-fatal car accident is seriously overrated.
The flowing script cuts off, interrupted by the handwriting of another. This time the writing’s large, almost to the point of exaggeration, but still neat. Mercedes, she assumes.
What Kurt means is to say is that you should wake up and stop making everyone worry, preferably before our favorite Baby Mama catches wind of your accident. She is going to kill us all for not telling her and you for getting hurt in the first place, no matter what happened between the two of you. This would also be an excellent time to patch things up, you know, if you are going for theatricality.
Love,
Kurt and Mercedes
Further down, at the edge of the card, Kurt’s handwriting continues, like an afterthought.
Oh, and you looked lovely at the Tony Awards. You wouldn’t have looked better if I had dressed you myself, well, maybe a little, but still fabulous and congratulations.
The names click into place faster this time, probably the biggest divas in school besides her. She recognizes Kurt’s infamous bite in the beginning, but the ending… The softness to his words is something she’d never imagine him directing towards her. Then there’s Mercedes, cutting through Kurt’s bite, and alluding to another person, someone who’s probably not among those that sent flowers, but cares deeply for her. Someone else she probably abandoned. Not even the mention of her attendance at the Tony Awards can stop the sinking in her chest.
Rachel figures at this point, reading more will probably just lead to more questions and heartache than she can handle.
It doesn’t stop her from straining against the bed for the card tucked behind the heart in the soft, brown teddy bear’s hands. She takes a moment, before opening the card to raise an eyebrow at the message inscribed on the heart in the bear’s hands, ‘We Miss You Beary Much.’ For a moment Rachel’s lips curl into a grin at the message until she flicks the card open. The handwriting screams boy with barely legible writing, she’s lucky the message is short.
Hey Rachel,
We don’t even know why we’re even sending these, because, knowing you, you’ll have woken up and escaped that hospital bed before these even reach you. If there’s anyone that would be able to fight her way out of a coma for a performance, it’s Rachel Berry.
It’ll be just like junior year, when you sprained your ankle on the way to sectionals and still managed to out dance Finn.
Best Wishes,
Mike and Matt
P.S. Not all of us can afford to make a trip to New York, so come visit us already.
It’s there again, that slight mention of distance and that she’s the one that put it there. Ignoring the heaviness in her chest and focusing on that brief feeling of lightness at these boys, boys she doesn’t remember no matter how hard she tries, faith in her, Rachel thinks about sectionals.
She assumes it refers to Glee Club if there’s dancing involved and, of course, there’s the singing, so that makes sense. That’s about the only thing that does, because she also recalls it being run by that creepy Sandy Ryerson. He’s part of the reason joining the club is social suicide.
Pain begins to develop right at her temples and Rachel almost settles on reading the rest tomorrow, but then she glances back at the table at her bedside, filled with questions and answers, and feels the muscles in her arm protest the sudden movement towards the next one, hidden among a brilliant bouquet of sunflowers. With only seconds of hesitation, her thumb flips open the card.
The first thing she notes is the doodle down in the corner on the left side of the card. She’s pretty sure it’s a duck…wearing a sombrero of all things. Rachel's eyebrows rise in disbelief.
Berry,
Here’s the deal. You are going to wake up and I am going to kick your ass for worrying everyone. Don’t even think about croaking, because death is not about to save you from Santana Lopez. I will bring you back to life to kick your ass, so don’t even try it.
-S
Don’t worry Rach, that just means ‘I’ll cry if you don’t wake up and die’ in Santana and she won’t be the only one crying either. Hopefully the sunflowers will wake you up, because they’re sunflowers and the sun usually wakes me up, so sunflowers should make you wake up, right?
-B
Immediately after reading the threat, Rachel’s mind flashes to a fiery Latina, stalking down the halls of McKinley alongside two blondes, Brittany, she assumes that’s who B is, and Quinn, the name seems familiar even in thought.
It’s enough to make her pause and take a shuddering breath, fumbling through empty plastic cups until she finds a full one, draining the cup in what seems like seconds.
Her heart’s hammering in her chest and it’s all too much and not enough, her side sends forth dizzying waves of pain as she grasps the paper lost among bright, pink lilies.
Dear Rachel,
Since, you are Rachel Berry and I know you, I’m not going to worry about you waking up, because I know you will. I figure waking up will be the easy part. The harder part is recovery. You may have your issues, but if there’s anyone who could relate to you when it comes to recovering from near fatal car accidents, it’s me. You’re going to need someone, trust me, and I’m there for you. We could come visit or you could come see us, but Tina says either way you’re going to see us. She’s about ready to pop and you promised you would meet the newest addition to our family, so, really, it’s like killing two birds with one stone. (DON’T take it literally. I don’t mean you have to kill any birds.)
Artie and Tina
+ 1.85
Their belief that she’ll persevere is both astonishing and painful, because she’s never felt so small than she has lying in a hospital bed. She thinks of Artie in his wheelchair and wonders if soon she’ll be in the same boat, wonders if the mental recovery for her will be as hard as it probably was for him.
Rachel lies back, looking solemnly down at her battered body until it’s almost time for the lights to go out. This time, when she strains for the card tucked into a vase of red roses, she’s so numb not a groan of pain escapes her lips.
Rach, this whole coma thing, not cool, alright. You may be a hot jew, but you’re not a badass jew. That’s me. Plus, me freaking out over how you’re doing is not good for my image. I’m supposed to be a sensitive badass when it concerns my kid, not because one of my friends is possibly dying in a hospital, so this whole recovering thing, could you just speed that up?
Besides, if you don’t wake up you can’t get on my ass about the inappropriateness of red roses off stage when I’ve got no romantic intentions towards you and I know how much you like getting on my ass about that sort of thing.
Puck
Noah
Noah ‘Puck’ Puckerman, just the thought of the name makes her want to cross her legs instinctively. He’s the sort of guy that’s all about having fun, fun that usually involves a bed and not a lot of clothes. Still there’s a distant sense of false bravado purveyed in his writing, like he was trying not to seem like he cared and failed.
It brings a lump to her throat and she wishes, right then, that she’d read these with her fathers around. If only so they’d be able to hold her together.
She’s never felt lonelier.
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn (past)
Rating: PG
Chapter: 2/14
Word Count: 2117
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Summary: ' Follows 'There's a Hole in Her Heart.' (For those who wanted to see Rachel survive the accident.)
Author's Note: This is late, but I've been working overtime and having real life issues. I'll try to have the next one sooner. Also thank you to all those who commented on that last part, I'm glad some of you liked the direction I took it. Enjoy.
Chapter 2
Her fathers won’t be there for three days.
She gets that, especially after the daytime nurse who usually looks in on her, Betty, told her they’d flown in and stayed at her bedside a week when they found out about the accident.
What she doesn’t get, is why no one else comes to visit.
A sinking feeling gathers in the pit of her stomach as she registers that there’s no one waiting for her.
Sure, there are flowers, some fresh and nearly blinding in color, at least in comparison to the rest of her room, while others are dry, cracked with age, no doubt from when she was initially admitted into the hospital. There are even a few teddy bears and deflated balloons. Most of the older ones are from fans. She stops reading the ‘Get Well’ cards after the first few. It feels too strange; like it’s not her they’re wishing well and there’s some kind of schism dividing Rachel Berry, the star she became, and Rachel Berry, the impending, often slushied, star she feels like.
One of the largest, but coincidently dead, arrangements she’s told are from her co-stars. As grand as the arrangement once was, the lack of intimacy in the card, makes her wonder if there’s anything for her in New York besides Broadway. It’s just a ‘Get Well’ card, not unlike the ones from her fans, but unlike some of her fans, they didn’t bother with a personal message, just hasty signatures.
It stings, but less than she’d expect.
But, that can probably be attributed to the curiosity brought on by the last bunch of well-wishers, the ones who sent more after the first began dying.
Betty says they’re all from people she knew in Lima, according to her fathers. She assumes it’s through her fathers that they knew to send more.
It doesn’t seem quite real.
But, then again nothing seems real these days.
There’s no telling if anything that flashes through her mind is a dream or another puzzle piece to her memories.
This seems the most unrealistic thing yet, that there are people from Lima who know her well enough to feel comfortable contacting her fathers or maybe just people in Lima who care enough to send flowers.
It’s another day, before she works up the courage to reach for the closest card, dangling precariously amongst a cluster of yellow roses. The card trembles in her grip as she flicks it open. She completely bypasses the familiar hallmark greeting in favor of the neatly printed block letters taking up the normally empty side of the card. Swallowing hard, she traces the indentations of eraser marks, before beginning to read.
Hey Rach,
Hopefully your dads come through for us and read our letters and cards. I’d have come myself and I know a lot of the others would’ve, too, but I doubt we’d be allowed into your room. Well, that and if you did happen to wake up, it’d suck to be sent home, because you didn’t want to see us, like all the other times we’ve visited.
Rach, it’s not your time.
I always thought it hadn’t been my dad’s time either, but I never really knew him and somehow I think it’d hurt worse losing you, because I do know you. I wouldn’t be me without you. It was you that brought us all together and gave us enough hope to keep us all together.
There’s still a lot you have to do in your life and I will never forgive myself if you die without fixing things, because we didn’t try hard enough to get you back.
Remember Don’t Stop Believin’
Finn
Rachel doesn’t realize she’s crying until the tears begin dropping, like rain across the card. It’s the desperation and familiarity missing from the card her costars sent, but the slight feeling of elation from being missed is almost completely drowned out by what else the card reveals. That somewhere in her life she went wrong and turned her back on someone that cared about her. She rereads it, honing in on the name Finn, and thinking back.
She remembers a football player, tall and sweet, even if it was in a slightly bumbling way, but that’s all. No common interests that she can recall that would’ve brought them together or torn them apart, nothing.
Swiping furiously at her tears, Rachel seizes the next card, plucking it off an elegantly arranged bouquet filled with vivid purples and yellows and the whitest of whites. Her eyes dart to the left side of the card where it starts off with ornate cursive at the very top.
Rachel,
While Mercedes and I understand your penchant for theatrics being in a coma is not an acceptable form of gaining attention. In fact, the whole near-fatal car accident is seriously overrated.
The flowing script cuts off, interrupted by the handwriting of another. This time the writing’s large, almost to the point of exaggeration, but still neat. Mercedes, she assumes.
What Kurt means is to say is that you should wake up and stop making everyone worry, preferably before our favorite Baby Mama catches wind of your accident. She is going to kill us all for not telling her and you for getting hurt in the first place, no matter what happened between the two of you. This would also be an excellent time to patch things up, you know, if you are going for theatricality.
Love,
Kurt and Mercedes
Further down, at the edge of the card, Kurt’s handwriting continues, like an afterthought.
Oh, and you looked lovely at the Tony Awards. You wouldn’t have looked better if I had dressed you myself, well, maybe a little, but still fabulous and congratulations.
The names click into place faster this time, probably the biggest divas in school besides her. She recognizes Kurt’s infamous bite in the beginning, but the ending… The softness to his words is something she’d never imagine him directing towards her. Then there’s Mercedes, cutting through Kurt’s bite, and alluding to another person, someone who’s probably not among those that sent flowers, but cares deeply for her. Someone else she probably abandoned. Not even the mention of her attendance at the Tony Awards can stop the sinking in her chest.
Rachel figures at this point, reading more will probably just lead to more questions and heartache than she can handle.
It doesn’t stop her from straining against the bed for the card tucked behind the heart in the soft, brown teddy bear’s hands. She takes a moment, before opening the card to raise an eyebrow at the message inscribed on the heart in the bear’s hands, ‘We Miss You Beary Much.’ For a moment Rachel’s lips curl into a grin at the message until she flicks the card open. The handwriting screams boy with barely legible writing, she’s lucky the message is short.
Hey Rachel,
We don’t even know why we’re even sending these, because, knowing you, you’ll have woken up and escaped that hospital bed before these even reach you. If there’s anyone that would be able to fight her way out of a coma for a performance, it’s Rachel Berry.
It’ll be just like junior year, when you sprained your ankle on the way to sectionals and still managed to out dance Finn.
Best Wishes,
Mike and Matt
P.S. Not all of us can afford to make a trip to New York, so come visit us already.
It’s there again, that slight mention of distance and that she’s the one that put it there. Ignoring the heaviness in her chest and focusing on that brief feeling of lightness at these boys, boys she doesn’t remember no matter how hard she tries, faith in her, Rachel thinks about sectionals.
She assumes it refers to Glee Club if there’s dancing involved and, of course, there’s the singing, so that makes sense. That’s about the only thing that does, because she also recalls it being run by that creepy Sandy Ryerson. He’s part of the reason joining the club is social suicide.
Pain begins to develop right at her temples and Rachel almost settles on reading the rest tomorrow, but then she glances back at the table at her bedside, filled with questions and answers, and feels the muscles in her arm protest the sudden movement towards the next one, hidden among a brilliant bouquet of sunflowers. With only seconds of hesitation, her thumb flips open the card.
The first thing she notes is the doodle down in the corner on the left side of the card. She’s pretty sure it’s a duck…wearing a sombrero of all things. Rachel's eyebrows rise in disbelief.
Berry,
Here’s the deal. You are going to wake up and I am going to kick your ass for worrying everyone. Don’t even think about croaking, because death is not about to save you from Santana Lopez. I will bring you back to life to kick your ass, so don’t even try it.
-S
Don’t worry Rach, that just means ‘I’ll cry if you don’t wake up and die’ in Santana and she won’t be the only one crying either. Hopefully the sunflowers will wake you up, because they’re sunflowers and the sun usually wakes me up, so sunflowers should make you wake up, right?
-B
Immediately after reading the threat, Rachel’s mind flashes to a fiery Latina, stalking down the halls of McKinley alongside two blondes, Brittany, she assumes that’s who B is, and Quinn, the name seems familiar even in thought.
It’s enough to make her pause and take a shuddering breath, fumbling through empty plastic cups until she finds a full one, draining the cup in what seems like seconds.
Her heart’s hammering in her chest and it’s all too much and not enough, her side sends forth dizzying waves of pain as she grasps the paper lost among bright, pink lilies.
Dear Rachel,
Since, you are Rachel Berry and I know you, I’m not going to worry about you waking up, because I know you will. I figure waking up will be the easy part. The harder part is recovery. You may have your issues, but if there’s anyone who could relate to you when it comes to recovering from near fatal car accidents, it’s me. You’re going to need someone, trust me, and I’m there for you. We could come visit or you could come see us, but Tina says either way you’re going to see us. She’s about ready to pop and you promised you would meet the newest addition to our family, so, really, it’s like killing two birds with one stone. (DON’T take it literally. I don’t mean you have to kill any birds.)
Artie and Tina
+ 1.85
Their belief that she’ll persevere is both astonishing and painful, because she’s never felt so small than she has lying in a hospital bed. She thinks of Artie in his wheelchair and wonders if soon she’ll be in the same boat, wonders if the mental recovery for her will be as hard as it probably was for him.
Rachel lies back, looking solemnly down at her battered body until it’s almost time for the lights to go out. This time, when she strains for the card tucked into a vase of red roses, she’s so numb not a groan of pain escapes her lips.
Rach, this whole coma thing, not cool, alright. You may be a hot jew, but you’re not a badass jew. That’s me. Plus, me freaking out over how you’re doing is not good for my image. I’m supposed to be a sensitive badass when it concerns my kid, not because one of my friends is possibly dying in a hospital, so this whole recovering thing, could you just speed that up?
Besides, if you don’t wake up you can’t get on my ass about the inappropriateness of red roses off stage when I’ve got no romantic intentions towards you and I know how much you like getting on my ass about that sort of thing.
Puck
Noah
Noah ‘Puck’ Puckerman, just the thought of the name makes her want to cross her legs instinctively. He’s the sort of guy that’s all about having fun, fun that usually involves a bed and not a lot of clothes. Still there’s a distant sense of false bravado purveyed in his writing, like he was trying not to seem like he cared and failed.
It brings a lump to her throat and she wishes, right then, that she’d read these with her fathers around. If only so they’d be able to hold her together.
She’s never felt lonelier.