Because my other hospital oneshots weren't nearly angsty enough. I'm not sure if I love my brain for coming up with this or hate my brain for coming up with this.
It takes Quinn about five seconds of being conscious for her to decide that this pain, this all-enveloping agony that no part of her body seems to be safe from, is definitely worse than child birth.
She feels everything. The sharp ache coming from her ribs, the spot where her bottom lip is swollen, the stitches holding God knows how much of her scalp together. She can't move her left arm. Or her left leg. Or her neck.
She can't move. Like, anything.
Her heart begins to race (at least that's working) as she does a mental inventory of what feels right and what feels very, very wrong. She wishes she could just look around and see what's—
Of course.
Quinn focuses all of her energy (which isn't very much) on her eyelids and wrenches them open, but the lights are too strong and she whimpers a little at the brightness before squeezing them closed again.
"Quinn?"
The voice is small but she would recognize it anywhere. She carefully opens one eye, then the other, and once her vision has adjusted, she finds Rachel sitting a few feet away, perched on the edge of a chair.
Quinn tries to turn her head to see her better but a neck brace keeps her still. She blinks a few times. "Rachel," she means to say, but her throat is dry and her lungs hurt and the two syllables barely make it out.
Rachel's bottom lip is trembling and her eyes are glassy as she reaches out and gently places her hand over Quinn's. The sudden warmth is indescribably comforting and she tries to adjust her arm so she can turn her hand and squeeze Rachel's, but then she remembers she can't move anything and her eyes burn with moisture.
She manages to twitch her fingers a little and Rachel seems to understand; she moves her chair closer and shifts her hand and then slowly laces their fingers together, and her grip is gentle but so, so secure, and a tear falls from the corner of Quinn's eye and rolls down her temple.
Rachel notices and uses her free hand to wipe away the trail with a soft brush of her thumb. "Please don't cry," she whispers, though she's clearly holding a lot back herself.
Quinn swallows and wets her lips. "It's bad," she breathes, practically wheezing out the words. "Isn't it." It's not a question. She just wants confirmation.
Rachel's hold tightens just a fraction as her eyes roam Quinn's body, seeing all of the injuries that Quinn can't, and the look on the brunette's face tells her everything she needs to know.
She thinks of the Cheerios, of Yale, of how everything was finally okay, and something inside of her bursts. A shudder rips through her lungs and her throat tightens and her face crumples and she can't hold back her tears, and soon Rachel is a just a blur.
Suddenly there's a hand on her face, fingers wiping away each drop as they come. "Shhh," Rachel murmurs, and she's a lot closer than she was a second ago. Her thumb is going back and forth along Quinn's cheek bone and then her fingers are in Quinn's hair and she doesn't expect the soft kiss she feels on her forehead.
"Quinn," she murmurs against her skin, and a chill shoots up her spine. "Everything is going to be okay."
Quinn manages to heave in a ragged breath but she's trembling now and she just really wishes she was strong enough to squeeze Rachel's hand back.
"Rachel," she chokes out, because she really needs to know. "How bad?"
The brunette swallows and her eyes are wet again. "Bad," she whispers, working to keep her voice steady, but then her lips curve into a soft smile that makes Quinn's heart ache. "But you're still the prettiest girl I've ever met."
I'm finally past my Mount Everest of homework so Pink 12 will probably be up this weekend.