Author Note: I do not own Glee.
"STOP," Forcing her way through the crowd Rachel ran toward the exit, stopping in the entry way she turned towards her team mates. After having effectively blocked the only way out of the room she left the others no choice but to stop and wait for her to finish whatever it was she was going to do. Ignoring the annoyed looks and angry comments from her fellow team mates she merely turned her focus towards her coach,
"Mr Schuester, you cannot be serious. We need to rehearse. Nationals are tomorrow, we've had hours to rehearse this song - the other choirs have been practising theirs for months. " She was outraged; it's as if he wants us to lose.
Exhausted, Will wasn't in the mood to justify his decisions to the tiny, argyle wearing diva standing before him. "The performance is amazing Rachel. I'm the teacher; I've decided we are calling it a night here. We all need to be relaxed and ready to perform tomorrow."
"But Mr Schue..." Rachel began but was interrupted by the fierce looking Latina who suddenly appeared in front of her.
"Shut it Hobbit. We've got this; the other teams don't stand a chance. What we needs is to get to bed so I can get me some beauty sleep." Before she had a chance to reply, Rachel found herself being lifted up and moved out of the way as two pairs of hands enclosed around her forearm. Now, removed from her position and next to the door, she stood helpless as she watched her team mates leave, throwing their chances of winning right out the window. Snapping back into action, a new wave of determination overcame her, chasing her team mates down the corridor she continued with her futile attempts at convincing them to return to the rehearsal room. Preoccupied, she failed to notice the stairs they were approaching, misplacing her step she looked down just in time to see herself falling. Her panicked cry alerted her team mates. Shocked, they froze; unable to react they watched their friend tumble down the steps, landing with a sharp thud at the bottom.
/
Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep
Wearily opening her eyes Rachel turned towards the annoying nose, thrusting her arm out she began wildly searching for her alarm clock, Damn Thing. She immediately regretted her actions as a sharp pain shot through her arm and right up to her shoulder. Instinctually she attempted to cradle her arm, only to find her other strapped down to the bed she was lying in. Confused, and suddenly more awake than ever she began to take in her surroundings; white walls, sterile floors, bright lights, scratchy bedding and complex, loud, expensive looking machines; she was definitely in the hospital. Last night suddenly came back to her – practice ending, missing her step, falling down, hitting her head.
"Ouch," as if due to remembering her whole body turned instantly began to ache. Realising it was only getting worse she looked for help, looking around she realised she was in a private room, nobody else was in here but her and the door was shut, searching for a call button her eyes found the clock on the wall opposite. 10 O'clock, "Oh God," she whispered, "Nationals." Knowing she had to be there Rachel forgot about the call button and instead started ripping out the wires – Agh, how many are there, hundreds?
With only a few wires left she reached to disconnect them when suddenly a loud alarm sounded, worried she set it, scared they would make her stay she increased her speed. Throwing off her blanket, ignoring her bandaged legs she swung herself to the side of the bed. Standing up she automatically felt dizzy, light headed and unable to support herself she went crashing down, she was vaguely aware of a door banging and rushed footsteps before she blacked out.
/
"Rachel...Rachel, wake up." Feeling herself being coaxed from her sleep Rachel attempted to shrug off the hands prodding and shaking her. Despite her blatant uncooperative behaviour the hands continued, the prodding soon unsettled her stomach, nausea, sitting up she couldn't prevent the vomit coming out of her mouth. She couldn't help but continue retching, in between the retching and hiccupping she was soon sobbing. The actions appeared to have unsettled her already sore throat and the pain became almost unbearable. She was vaguely aware of comforting hands and reassuring messages attempting to calm her.
Settled, she took notice of the people surrounding her bed. Four, maybe five nurses and three doctors, some reading charts, some checking her vitals and a few in deep conversation, it appeared now she was okay they had forgotten about her. Clearing her throat, ignoring the pain, she began to speck up, "May I please have your help. I need to leave, I have somewhere to be - New Directions are on at two thirty." Finally, she though, she had everyone's attention. She was met with silence however, not the response she was expecting.
Eventually someone spoke up, according to his badge he was Dr J Knight, Head of Responsive Medicine. He was young she noted, well, younger than she would have expected a Head of something to be, however his loose tie, creased shirt and messy hair seemed to suggest his day has been far from calm. Guiltily she realised she may have made a significant contributed to his stress. He approached her cautiously, the reassuring smile her offered her was most doubt ably in response to her erratic behaviour.
"Rachel, pleasure to meet you, I'm Dr Knight," yes, she thought, I already know that, just tell me when I can leave.
"Now Rachel, would you mind informing us as to where it is you need to be?" He questioned.
Good, Progress. "Of course," replied flashing him her dazzling smile, "Nationals, the team cannot perform without me, after all I am the lead vocalist."
She expected him to be impressed, instead he looked confused. Turning away from her he began engaging in conversation with some his colleges, annoyingly for Rachel, too quietly for her to ease drop. Turning back, Rachel was puzzled by the question he asked her. "The date, Why?" realising they were still expecting an answer she decided to amuse them, "June, June the eighteenth."
"Yes," Dr Knight persisted, "What Year?"
"2011," she answered. Realisation crossed their faces, worrying Rachel.
"Rachel, it's 2021."
/
2021. 2021 not 2011, 2021.
It had been hours since they told her, she still couldn't comprehend it. Ten Years, ten years of her life forgotten, she had been put through tests, scans, consultation, and doctor after doctor, to be told she had amnesia. Apparently she was brought into the hospital after a traffic incident, Dr Knight, or Jack as she now calls him told her they aren't sure yet why she cannot remember that missed period. Unfortunately, the information they could tell her didn't make her feel that much more positive either. Similar patients, who have suffered similar traumas, retrieve little or none of their memories. Great!
What she was desperate to know however, what had happened during those ten years of missed life was. Did she make it to Juilliard? Did she marry Finn? Did she make it to Broadway? Has she won a Tony, Emmy, Grammy, Oscar? Has she met Barbra?
Unfortunately, these are things her doctors are refusing to tell her, in case they disrupt her recovery.
/
Exhausted Rachel snuggles down into her bed, not ready to sleep, but to relax, to think. Dr Parker has just told her she is now allowed visitors, he told her partner was on their way, they had stayed by her bedside for the first six days of her coma, only having left hours before she woke, after being forced by friends and hospital workers to go home and rest.
Knocking at her door brought her back to reality, Holly; a sweet nurse was at the door, "Mrs Fabray's here Rachel, your wife."
Wife!