Fic: I Can't Do It Alone [14/?]
Title: I Can't Do It Alone
Author: rainbombz
Rating: R, NC-17, something of that nature.
Warnings: Character death (before and after the start of the story), drugs use, language, sex, perversion of justice - a bit angsty, if you couldn't tell.
Length: ~1500, this part; ~19900, total.
Spoilers: It may have spoilers in future chapters, to whatever the current episode may be at the time of posting. You can work that out. (:
Summary: All she knows is that she can't let Quinn go - not when she's certain that she's the only thing the Cheerio has to cling to.
A/N: I hope you guys don’t hate Quinn in the middle of this chapter. I know from experience that flippancy makes things easier, and I tried to put that into her character - but I think she may have just come out as a colossal bitch
Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8|Part 9| Part 10| Part 11| Part 12| Part 13
Quinn is the first to awake the next morning, something that she takes full advantage of by burrowing her face into the tan shoulder in front of her. Only when pain rips through her and she lets out a small gasp of agony does she remember the exact details of the night before. She groans, shifting her head away from the source of the pain and both the sound and movement rouse the brunette from her slumber. “Do we have to get up yet?” the star asks, rolling over in the cheerleader’s arms to face her. The blonde shakes her head, and Rachel smiles gratefully. She wastes no time in burying her face into the other girl’s chest and quickly falling back into dreams.
Carefully, Quinn unfurls one arm from around her friend and uses it to gingerly feel around her face. Her nose, she can tell, is in shape and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Her fingers trail from her nose down to lips, carefully grazing along their outline. At her eyebrow, she brushes her thumb along and is unsurprised to find it sticky with congealed blood upon inspection. She slumps back against the pillow with a grumble - her head hurts and everything just fucking aches. Santana knows how to get the job done, that’s for sure.
The memories of the previous night are a little fuzzy from the few drinks she had, but they’re all there and it doesn’t take much effort to unscramble them. Her fight with Rachel she remembers vividly - just thinking back on it makes her heart twist painfully in her chest, and she looks to the girl on her right. Lazily, she trails a hand through the loose brown curls that are all she can see of the star and continues to replay the events of her busy Saturday night in her head.
After leaving Rachel’s, she’d gone home. Her parents, she remembers, didn’t even ask where she’d been. Before she left, they didn’t ask where she was going. Quinn wonders when she went from perfect daughter to tolerated lodger. She got changed into something appropriate, grabbed her clutch full of stock and was out of the door without a word. Just the same as every Saturday night. What wasn’t the same as every Saturday night was the conversation she had with her fellow Cheerio. Their friendship had been on shaky ground since their argument, but Quinn didn’t think it had come to this.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on with you and Manhands?” The Santana in her mind says.
She growls in response, spitting out, “Nothing. Fucking bitch.” She grips her glass tighter in an effort to control her anger, but as their conversation continues it appears to be in vain.
“Could’ve fooled me,” the latina retorts, taking a sip from her own vodka tonic. “I’ve watched you protect from all the big bads in here more than once. What’s up with that?”
“Nothing,” the blonde repeats, gritting her teeth. “Just drop it.”
“Okay, but really, if there was something going on I totally wouldn’t judge you. I mean, she doesn’t even wear shirts with animals on any more.”
“Goddamnit, Santana!” Quinn shrieks as she rises from her chair, nothing but alcohol fuelling her next statement, “Not everyone is gay like you and Brittany!”
She hears the slap before she feels it. When she finally does feel it, the entire right side of her face is throbbing. She’s so shocked by her friend’s actions that the fist flying towards her doesn’t even register as a threat until it’s connected forcefully with her temple. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she can hear Santana saying as the other girl pulls back her arm for another blow. For every time there is a sharp jolt of pain as the other cheerleader hits her again and again, there is a word that it’s punctuating. “She,” punch, “was,” punch, “your,” punch, “best,” punch, “friend,” punch, “too!” Blood is streaming down from her lip now, and the metallic taste clings to her mouth no matter how much she swallows. “How can you be so fucking cold? I was in love with her and you act…you act like I should’ve moved on! Like I’m the one with the fucked up emotions here. But I’m not Q. You are. And I don’t know, maybe it helps you shift the guilt a little - but you deserve to be guilty. It was your fault.” It’s with these words that Santana stalks off, leaving the blonde in a crumpled heap on the floor.
With the volatile latina gone, all the people around her are quick to help her to her feet and the barman even offers to help her clean up the mess that is her face. But she declines politely, saying that she’s going to head to a friend’s where she can get things sorted out. And that’s exactly what she did.
Looking back, Quinn has decided that she has no right to be angry with Rachel. The other girl’s words were very similar to the ones she had been spouting the past year - hearing them said to her made her wonder how it was possible that Santana didn’t snap sooner.
The brunette in her arms stirs, and Quinn looks at her to see the girl blinking away the haze of sleep. When she has done, her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ and she sits up quickly, “Shit! Quinn, I totally forgot about your face!”
“No worries,” Quinn consoles her with a crooked smile, wincing when doing so stretches the cuts on her lip. “I think I bled a little on your pillow though…”
“Don’t worry about the pillow!” Rachel assures her quickly, bringing her hand up to gently caress her crush’s features. “Worry about this.”
“Nothing I haven’t had before,” Quinn says with a shrug, and moves to get out of the bed.
Rachel does likewise, and heads to her en suite bathroom while calling over her shoulder, “I’ll get the medical stuff!” True to her word, she comes back with a big pink first aid box that she sets down on the bed where Quinn is now perched. The blonde raises an eyebrow at it, and the star flushes slightly. “Daddy bought it.”
Opening it up, she picks out a couple of antiseptic wipes and an Elastoplast big enough for the gash on Quinn’s forehead. “You gonna tell me what happened?” Rachel asks as she gently presses the alcoholic wipe to the cut. Quinn winces noticeably and the brunette rolls her eyes. “What kind of hardcore badass are you?” She still hesitates before she tries again though, loathe to hurt Quinn in anyway shape or form - she’d done that well enough last night. When it’s evident that Quinn’s too busy biting her lip softly to answer either of her questions, Rachel takes the time to say what she was given the chance to the night before. “I’m sorry about what I said. I know that it was really, really harsh but I didn’t think before I said it and I really care about you and I don’t want you to get hurt and I don’t want you to end up in a grave before you’re twenty and it really, really scares me to even think about losing you because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and-“
“Berry,” Quinn interrupts, tearing her attention away from her own lip, “stop.” Rachel does so, carefully aligning the plaster over the cheerleader’s cut while she waits for her to continue. “It’s okay.”
“Really?” Rachel asks with a smile, and it morphs into a grin when Quinn nods affirmative. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” She finishes her work on the other girl’s face, and stands up from where she’d been kneeling in front of her. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?” she asks as she sits down next to the cheerleader.
It surprises her when Quinn does indeed share the story in detail, and Rachel feels honoured that the blonde is opening up to her. Her frown just gets deeper and deeper as the story goes on however, and she can’t seem to decide whether it’s Quinn or her friend that’s more in the wrong. They’ve both acted pretty fucking stupidly.
“And…and I came back here so I could apologise, and make things right with you,” Quinn finishes, “because you make me better as a person. You’re getting me back on the right track, and I know that it’s the path I want to be on. The path I need to be on.”
Rachel beams and laces their fingers together. Finally, Quinn is letting her help.
Author: rainbombz
Rating: R, NC-17, something of that nature.
Warnings: Character death (before and after the start of the story), drugs use, language, sex, perversion of justice - a bit angsty, if you couldn't tell.
Length: ~1500, this part; ~19900, total.
Spoilers: It may have spoilers in future chapters, to whatever the current episode may be at the time of posting. You can work that out. (:
Summary: All she knows is that she can't let Quinn go - not when she's certain that she's the only thing the Cheerio has to cling to.
A/N: I hope you guys don’t hate Quinn in the middle of this chapter. I know from experience that flippancy makes things easier, and I tried to put that into her character - but I think she may have just come out as a colossal bitch
Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8|Part 9| Part 10| Part 11| Part 12| Part 13
Quinn is the first to awake the next morning, something that she takes full advantage of by burrowing her face into the tan shoulder in front of her. Only when pain rips through her and she lets out a small gasp of agony does she remember the exact details of the night before. She groans, shifting her head away from the source of the pain and both the sound and movement rouse the brunette from her slumber. “Do we have to get up yet?” the star asks, rolling over in the cheerleader’s arms to face her. The blonde shakes her head, and Rachel smiles gratefully. She wastes no time in burying her face into the other girl’s chest and quickly falling back into dreams.
Carefully, Quinn unfurls one arm from around her friend and uses it to gingerly feel around her face. Her nose, she can tell, is in shape and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Her fingers trail from her nose down to lips, carefully grazing along their outline. At her eyebrow, she brushes her thumb along and is unsurprised to find it sticky with congealed blood upon inspection. She slumps back against the pillow with a grumble - her head hurts and everything just fucking aches. Santana knows how to get the job done, that’s for sure.
The memories of the previous night are a little fuzzy from the few drinks she had, but they’re all there and it doesn’t take much effort to unscramble them. Her fight with Rachel she remembers vividly - just thinking back on it makes her heart twist painfully in her chest, and she looks to the girl on her right. Lazily, she trails a hand through the loose brown curls that are all she can see of the star and continues to replay the events of her busy Saturday night in her head.
After leaving Rachel’s, she’d gone home. Her parents, she remembers, didn’t even ask where she’d been. Before she left, they didn’t ask where she was going. Quinn wonders when she went from perfect daughter to tolerated lodger. She got changed into something appropriate, grabbed her clutch full of stock and was out of the door without a word. Just the same as every Saturday night. What wasn’t the same as every Saturday night was the conversation she had with her fellow Cheerio. Their friendship had been on shaky ground since their argument, but Quinn didn’t think it had come to this.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on with you and Manhands?” The Santana in her mind says.
She growls in response, spitting out, “Nothing. Fucking bitch.” She grips her glass tighter in an effort to control her anger, but as their conversation continues it appears to be in vain.
“Could’ve fooled me,” the latina retorts, taking a sip from her own vodka tonic. “I’ve watched you protect from all the big bads in here more than once. What’s up with that?”
“Nothing,” the blonde repeats, gritting her teeth. “Just drop it.”
“Okay, but really, if there was something going on I totally wouldn’t judge you. I mean, she doesn’t even wear shirts with animals on any more.”
“Goddamnit, Santana!” Quinn shrieks as she rises from her chair, nothing but alcohol fuelling her next statement, “Not everyone is gay like you and Brittany!”
She hears the slap before she feels it. When she finally does feel it, the entire right side of her face is throbbing. She’s so shocked by her friend’s actions that the fist flying towards her doesn’t even register as a threat until it’s connected forcefully with her temple. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she can hear Santana saying as the other girl pulls back her arm for another blow. For every time there is a sharp jolt of pain as the other cheerleader hits her again and again, there is a word that it’s punctuating. “She,” punch, “was,” punch, “your,” punch, “best,” punch, “friend,” punch, “too!” Blood is streaming down from her lip now, and the metallic taste clings to her mouth no matter how much she swallows. “How can you be so fucking cold? I was in love with her and you act…you act like I should’ve moved on! Like I’m the one with the fucked up emotions here. But I’m not Q. You are. And I don’t know, maybe it helps you shift the guilt a little - but you deserve to be guilty. It was your fault.” It’s with these words that Santana stalks off, leaving the blonde in a crumpled heap on the floor.
With the volatile latina gone, all the people around her are quick to help her to her feet and the barman even offers to help her clean up the mess that is her face. But she declines politely, saying that she’s going to head to a friend’s where she can get things sorted out. And that’s exactly what she did.
Looking back, Quinn has decided that she has no right to be angry with Rachel. The other girl’s words were very similar to the ones she had been spouting the past year - hearing them said to her made her wonder how it was possible that Santana didn’t snap sooner.
The brunette in her arms stirs, and Quinn looks at her to see the girl blinking away the haze of sleep. When she has done, her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ and she sits up quickly, “Shit! Quinn, I totally forgot about your face!”
“No worries,” Quinn consoles her with a crooked smile, wincing when doing so stretches the cuts on her lip. “I think I bled a little on your pillow though…”
“Don’t worry about the pillow!” Rachel assures her quickly, bringing her hand up to gently caress her crush’s features. “Worry about this.”
“Nothing I haven’t had before,” Quinn says with a shrug, and moves to get out of the bed.
Rachel does likewise, and heads to her en suite bathroom while calling over her shoulder, “I’ll get the medical stuff!” True to her word, she comes back with a big pink first aid box that she sets down on the bed where Quinn is now perched. The blonde raises an eyebrow at it, and the star flushes slightly. “Daddy bought it.”
Opening it up, she picks out a couple of antiseptic wipes and an Elastoplast big enough for the gash on Quinn’s forehead. “You gonna tell me what happened?” Rachel asks as she gently presses the alcoholic wipe to the cut. Quinn winces noticeably and the brunette rolls her eyes. “What kind of hardcore badass are you?” She still hesitates before she tries again though, loathe to hurt Quinn in anyway shape or form - she’d done that well enough last night. When it’s evident that Quinn’s too busy biting her lip softly to answer either of her questions, Rachel takes the time to say what she was given the chance to the night before. “I’m sorry about what I said. I know that it was really, really harsh but I didn’t think before I said it and I really care about you and I don’t want you to get hurt and I don’t want you to end up in a grave before you’re twenty and it really, really scares me to even think about losing you because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and-“
“Berry,” Quinn interrupts, tearing her attention away from her own lip, “stop.” Rachel does so, carefully aligning the plaster over the cheerleader’s cut while she waits for her to continue. “It’s okay.”
“Really?” Rachel asks with a smile, and it morphs into a grin when Quinn nods affirmative. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” She finishes her work on the other girl’s face, and stands up from where she’d been kneeling in front of her. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?” she asks as she sits down next to the cheerleader.
It surprises her when Quinn does indeed share the story in detail, and Rachel feels honoured that the blonde is opening up to her. Her frown just gets deeper and deeper as the story goes on however, and she can’t seem to decide whether it’s Quinn or her friend that’s more in the wrong. They’ve both acted pretty fucking stupidly.
“And…and I came back here so I could apologise, and make things right with you,” Quinn finishes, “because you make me better as a person. You’re getting me back on the right track, and I know that it’s the path I want to be on. The path I need to be on.”
Rachel beams and laces their fingers together. Finally, Quinn is letting her help.