Preview: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
Title: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Quinn, Kurt, side Santana/Brittany, a few OC's
Author: Brio
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even close.
Warnings: First few chapters are PG, then it gets NC-17ish around Chapter 5 or 6
Word Count: Incomplete at present, but completed chapters total: 52,869
Summary: For this prompt. Just hope I've done it justice.
Judy Fabray opens the door to the uniformed men with a smile on her face. They offer no smiles in return and instead ask if they can come in. She steps to the side, her heart starting to thud loudly in her chest. She asks them if something has happened to Quinn, if she’s still in Iraq. The taller of the men tells her to take a seat which she does immediately, now fearing the worst, her hands clenched in her lap.
“Where is my daughter?” she asks, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. Quinn couldn’t be dead. They talked a couple of weeks ago, just for a few minutes, just long enough to let Judy know that she’d be home at the end of August.
“We don’t know, ma’am,” the stockier of the men says. His voice is kinder than that of the taller man. He introduces himself as Captain Adams, the taller of the men is Colonel Thompson. He relays Quinn’s last movements and that they haven’t been able to trace her whereabouts for just over a week. There had been an attack and Quinn‘s body hadn‘t been recovered in the rubble.
“She isn’t dead?” Judy asks, heart still hammering in her chest. The two men exchange a quick glance.
“At this time, we can neither confirm nor deny…” the Colonel says, extending his hand to the rapidly deteriorating Mrs Fabray.
“What do you mean you can neither ‘confirm nor deny’?” Judy asks, getting to her feet, “How can you not know where my daughter is?”
**
Quinn is aware of little things at first. The rising and falling of her chest. The steady beep of the heart monitor. She tenses her fingers, surprised to find woollen blankets covering her battered body. When she stretches her legs, the muscles pull uncomfortably, probably through lack of use, she figures, although she isn’t sure how long she’s been in this place, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness for what feels like days, maybe weeks. Her eyes squeeze tighter shut as the ringing in her ears returns and she opens her mouth to scream, only to find she has no voice. A tube is lodged in her throat.
Suddenly, she panics, thrashing her arms out, ignoring the pain that shoots through her body. Footsteps approach and she feels hands holding her down, urgent voices talking to her, but she can’t make out their words. The tube is pulled out of her throat and she gasps, filling her lungs up as much as she can before screaming this time. The hands pinning her arms and legs loosen for a second and it’s all she needs to throw herself off the bed onto the hard floor. She forces her eyes open but can’t focus, the harsh fluorescent lighting burns her retinas and after trying to push herself up, she becomes still, breaths escaping from her mouth in quick pants. She has no energy to get herself off the cold floor.
“Easy there,” a voice says in her ear over the ringing. Hands lift her back onto the bed and she curls up on her side, grimacing as her muscles pull and tighten. The voices fade out as the high-pitched humming assaults her ears and she remembers the blast. She remembers flying through the air, being buried beneath rubble, screaming for help until her lungs gave out. She doesn’t remember how she ended up in the hospital but she’s pretty sure it’s not military.
The drugs in her IV work their magic and she drifts off into dreams of home, of a life she can scarcely remember when she’s awake.
**
The phone buzzes loudly on the bedside table, ignored by it’s owner whose head is buried beneath four pillows. She’s in no mood to be woken up this early after finishing shooting at four in the morning and she’s already vowed that her next movie will take place in Hawaii or somewhere hot where night shoots don’t involve wrapping oneself in three layers to keep warm between takes.
The phone won’t stop so she reaches a hand over to the bedside table and fumbles with the touch screen that she’s never fully managed to get the hang of
“Rachel Berry,” she mutters, lifting her head slightly before letting it drop back onto the pillows.
“Rachel, it’s Finn,” she closes her eyes, exhaling heavily, ready to end the call when she notices that he sounds upset. She rolls onto her back and picks up the phone, pressing it to her ear after switching it off speaker mode.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, although she already knows. She’s had a feeling that this day would come eventually. The room shifts sideways as her heart gives an uneven thump and she closes her eyes to stop her world from spinning.
“Quinn’s dead,” he says it so quietly that Rachel almost doesn’t hear him the first time. His voice fades away as the phone slips from her hand and lands on the bedspread with a dull thud. She can hear him shouting her name but she ignores it and slides out of bed, walking quickly to the kitchen to pour herself a very large glass of water.
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Quinn, Kurt, side Santana/Brittany, a few OC's
Author: Brio
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even close.
Warnings: First few chapters are PG, then it gets NC-17ish around Chapter 5 or 6
Word Count: Incomplete at present, but completed chapters total: 52,869
Summary: For this prompt. Just hope I've done it justice.
Judy Fabray opens the door to the uniformed men with a smile on her face. They offer no smiles in return and instead ask if they can come in. She steps to the side, her heart starting to thud loudly in her chest. She asks them if something has happened to Quinn, if she’s still in Iraq. The taller of the men tells her to take a seat which she does immediately, now fearing the worst, her hands clenched in her lap.
“Where is my daughter?” she asks, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. Quinn couldn’t be dead. They talked a couple of weeks ago, just for a few minutes, just long enough to let Judy know that she’d be home at the end of August.
“We don’t know, ma’am,” the stockier of the men says. His voice is kinder than that of the taller man. He introduces himself as Captain Adams, the taller of the men is Colonel Thompson. He relays Quinn’s last movements and that they haven’t been able to trace her whereabouts for just over a week. There had been an attack and Quinn‘s body hadn‘t been recovered in the rubble.
“She isn’t dead?” Judy asks, heart still hammering in her chest. The two men exchange a quick glance.
“At this time, we can neither confirm nor deny…” the Colonel says, extending his hand to the rapidly deteriorating Mrs Fabray.
“What do you mean you can neither ‘confirm nor deny’?” Judy asks, getting to her feet, “How can you not know where my daughter is?”
**
Quinn is aware of little things at first. The rising and falling of her chest. The steady beep of the heart monitor. She tenses her fingers, surprised to find woollen blankets covering her battered body. When she stretches her legs, the muscles pull uncomfortably, probably through lack of use, she figures, although she isn’t sure how long she’s been in this place, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness for what feels like days, maybe weeks. Her eyes squeeze tighter shut as the ringing in her ears returns and she opens her mouth to scream, only to find she has no voice. A tube is lodged in her throat.
Suddenly, she panics, thrashing her arms out, ignoring the pain that shoots through her body. Footsteps approach and she feels hands holding her down, urgent voices talking to her, but she can’t make out their words. The tube is pulled out of her throat and she gasps, filling her lungs up as much as she can before screaming this time. The hands pinning her arms and legs loosen for a second and it’s all she needs to throw herself off the bed onto the hard floor. She forces her eyes open but can’t focus, the harsh fluorescent lighting burns her retinas and after trying to push herself up, she becomes still, breaths escaping from her mouth in quick pants. She has no energy to get herself off the cold floor.
“Easy there,” a voice says in her ear over the ringing. Hands lift her back onto the bed and she curls up on her side, grimacing as her muscles pull and tighten. The voices fade out as the high-pitched humming assaults her ears and she remembers the blast. She remembers flying through the air, being buried beneath rubble, screaming for help until her lungs gave out. She doesn’t remember how she ended up in the hospital but she’s pretty sure it’s not military.
The drugs in her IV work their magic and she drifts off into dreams of home, of a life she can scarcely remember when she’s awake.
**
The phone buzzes loudly on the bedside table, ignored by it’s owner whose head is buried beneath four pillows. She’s in no mood to be woken up this early after finishing shooting at four in the morning and she’s already vowed that her next movie will take place in Hawaii or somewhere hot where night shoots don’t involve wrapping oneself in three layers to keep warm between takes.
The phone won’t stop so she reaches a hand over to the bedside table and fumbles with the touch screen that she’s never fully managed to get the hang of
“Rachel Berry,” she mutters, lifting her head slightly before letting it drop back onto the pillows.
“Rachel, it’s Finn,” she closes her eyes, exhaling heavily, ready to end the call when she notices that he sounds upset. She rolls onto her back and picks up the phone, pressing it to her ear after switching it off speaker mode.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, although she already knows. She’s had a feeling that this day would come eventually. The room shifts sideways as her heart gives an uneven thump and she closes her eyes to stop her world from spinning.
“Quinn’s dead,” he says it so quietly that Rachel almost doesn’t hear him the first time. His voice fades away as the phone slips from her hand and lands on the bedspread with a dull thud. She can hear him shouting her name but she ignores it and slides out of bed, walking quickly to the kitchen to pour herself a very large glass of water.