summary: 'The fifth time they touch is in Rachel's bedroom. It's all gentle—so tender, so careful—because bodies are fleeting, ghosts, phantoms.' 10 times Rachel and Quinn touch post 3x15. Faberry.
an (1): lovelies, at this point, if you've read any of my other fics, you probably won't be surprised to discover that i adore contemporary prose poetry. and this is certainly contemporary prose poetry. (yes, i didn't use quotation marks on purpose.) anyway, this little drabble is the result of spring and bon iver on vinyl. i hope you all enjoy! please leave a review because i think they're wonderful. merci boucoup! :)
an (2): so the concept of this fic is basically: i took a line from every track on bon iver (in order) and then wrote a little scene while i listened to duration of that track (on vinyl!). so it'd probs be cool if you listened to this album, lol, not only because it fits conceptually but because it's beautiful. but, if you only want one track, check out "holocene" or "calgary".
teach our bodies, haunt the cause
.
settle past a patience where wishes and your will are spilling pictures
water's running through in the valley where we grew to write these scriptures
never gonna break, never gonna break
...
one. it's something faint (still alive who you love)
.
The first time they touch after the accident is when Rachel takes Quinn's hand in the hospital. Her skin is pale and her veins serve as interstate maps—Rachel can trace them into infinity; they lead to Quinn's heart—and they're jammed with an IV needle. The sensation jolts Rachel because Quinn's hand is warm. Quinn's asleep but Quinn is alive—alive—and there is still a chance.
Of course, it isn't simple because Quinn is broken; Rachel can see that, and she can feel it, too.
But when she presses a kiss to Quinn's soft hair, it still smells like Quinn's shampoo—coconuts, raspberries.
And then it's as simple as anything in the world.
...
two. had the marvel, moved the proof be kneeled fine's glowing
.
The second time they touch is a few weeks later, when Rachel comes to see Quinn after she's gotten to go home. Rachel's never actually been to Quinn's house before—which is strange and makes perfect sense at the same time—and when she notices how cold and somber and serious all of the furnishings are, she's instantly grateful for some reason that Quinn's blond.
Quinn smiles when they get there but she's tired—the trip had taken a lot out of her, she says—and Rachel suggests they watch a movie.
But Quinn scrunches up her nose and then says, We should read. I've gotten so tired of TV.
(And it's Quinn, so Rachel says, Okay.)
Quinn wheels into where they've moved her bedroom furniture and motions for Rachel to sit on the bed, which she does.
Rachel stutters, Should I—um—
I'll read to you, Quinn says, then takes a book off her desk. It's worn and (loved) and dog-eared, one Rachel's never seen before—called Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk—and Quinn starts to read aloud.
It's sensuous and perfect, the curve of Quinn's mouth and her fingers holding the pages and before Rachel can stop herself, she places her hand on Quinn's leg.
Quinn looks down. I can't feel that, she says.
Rachel feels like she's been shot.
Quinn shakes her head. Hey, she says. Rachel.
And then their lips meet, and it's, Quinn, can you feel this?
Yes.
...
three. at once i knew i was not magnificent (i can see for miles, miles, miles)
.
The third time they touch is in the library.
Because Rachel knows it's her fault and guilt is a cocoon—Quinn's voice, during AP Bio fall semester: It's torture for a caterpillar to become a butterfly, did you know that? The worst pain imaginable—constricting her skin, her joints, the connection of muscle to muscle, so that she can't move, or breathe. Or see.
Come here, Quinn says.
And in their hug Rachel still knows that everything is wrong. Because Quinn's a dancer, a gymnast, a runner; (she can't move her legs).
I'll be okay, Quinn whispers as people start to leave.
And her fingers don't lie, because her hands are strong. They work to rip away the stitched fabric of the earthy walls of that cocoon, so gently, so patiently.
You'll be okay, too, she promises to Rachel. And then there are wings in Rachel's chest, fluttering all the way up into her throat.
Butterflies, Quinn said, they understand.
Rachel sees—hazel eyes, pale skin, red lips—and Rachel trusts. Rachel believes.
...
four. for the love, comes the burning young
.
The fourth time they touch is in the bathroom. Their bathroom.
Rachel's on Quinn's lap and Rachel's hands are in Quinn's hair and Rachel's lips are on Quinn's, and her tongue is in Quinn's mouth.
We can't do this here, Rachel says.
Quinn presses her upper body closer—she's gotten stronger since using the wheelchair—and mumbles, Santana's guarding the door.
Rachel moans, but she puts her palms against Quinn's shoulders and gently shoves.
Hurt flashes across Quinn's face—thunderclouds peek over the horizon of her eyes—but then Rachel shakes her head.
It should be special, she says.
Then it's lightening, flashes, and Quinn smiles.
It should, she agrees.
...
five. i was unafraid, i was a boy, i was a tender age (in your heart)
.
The fifth time they touch is in Rachel's bedroom. It's all gentle—so tender, so careful—because bodies are fleeting, ghosts, phantoms.
Rachel's hair falls into Quinn's face as she props herself above Quinn's naked body. Rachel traces Quinn's scars—the stop signs all over her body—and then it's Quinn biting her lip and her eyes fluttering closed.
Are you sure? Rachel whispers.
Quinn's eyes open. Quinn's lips close, then she says, Yes.
Quinn falls apart. Everything about her unravels. (Rachel is a prayer and plea.)
And after it's heaving chests and tears—Rachel's chest can fill oceans and she imagines Quinn is the world—and, Rachel?
What?
I've never felt so real.
...
six. stranded every pain (baby, pacts are slain)
.
The sixth time they touch is after Rachel breaks up with Finn.
At Quinn's house on Tuesday night, Rachel comes over.
She laughs and cries, and Quinn holds her tightly on her bed, curls Rachel into her chest.
And then Quinn's foot—the left one—kicks Rachel's, just a little bit.
They both stare, and then Rachel starts yelling and Quinn just beams.
Judy rushes in from the kitchen, an oven mitt on her left hand, alarmed, and Quinn calmly says, I moved my foot.
Judy's excitement nearly rivals Rachel's, and they spend that night together, wrapped in blankets on the porch, drinking hot chocolate, waiting for the sunrise.
(Rach?
What?
I love you.
I love you, too.)
...
seven. climb is all we know
.
The seventh time they touch is at Quinn's physical therapy session with Jacob, her therapist. She's in the pool today, and Rachel sits with Judy in white plastic chairs by the edge and cheers Quinn on.
And then something amazing happens—(Quinn's voice, AP Chem: The partial pressure of a broken interaction is never complete, as high as it could be in an ideal solution, until the other substance is completely gone)—because Quinn's legs move, both of them, kicking a little in the water.
Quinn gets out a few minutes later. Rachel wraps her in a towel and rubs it playfully on Quinn's hair; Quinn squeals in protest but when Rachel takes the towel away, Quinn's hair is messy and (sexy as hell) and adorable, and Rachel says, I'm so proud of you.
Quinn beams and she holds Rachel's hand, presses a kiss to her knuckles. She says, I told you so.
Doubt disappears. It evaporates, sublimates, wanders into the sky, forever exiled.
...
eight. hold me for the pops and clips (i am Ever)
.
The eighth time they touch is on a Thursday afternoon, in Rachel's car.
Quinn cries and cries, messily, ungracefully, cursing and then Rachel's pretty sure Quinn starts reciting part of "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg at some point during the forty-three minutes Rachel stays silent and just holds her—today had been particularly tough for some reason that Rachel doesn't know.
(The Tacoma Narrows, Quinn said—AP Physics—was a disaster. No matter how well designed things may be, how strong, sometimes they just break.)
Because this is Quinn's life. And this is not fair.
But then, Quinn said, they built something better. They learned. So I guess that's good, right?
I promise, Rachel whispers, tomorrow will be better. I promise.
...
nine.
.
The ninth time they touch:
(Quinn is the earth, barren savannah and lush tropics. Her hands and eyes and legs envelop Rachel's sphere in an entirely new galaxy.
It's the first time in her entire life when Rachel can remember not hearing any noise—her axes aligned, the beat of her heart the stop of one rotation and the joining of another orbit entirely, with new seasons and days and years—and she comes silently. The peace of a new world.
After, Quinn smiles.
Rachel cannot remember a sound so loud in her entire life.)
...
ten. our love is a star (for the light before and after most indefinitely)
.
The tenth time they touch is at Prom.
It's Rachel's hand wrapped around Quinn's fingers and then Quinn stands from the chair, and they walk slowly to the middle of the dance floor.
Quinn leans into Rachel, presses their bodies together, gently sways in time "re: stacks," Quinn's favourite song. Rachel holds her up but not much—AP English 11, Quinn said, Hemingway, you know. 'The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong at the broken places.'—and when Rachel ducks a little and presses her ear to Quinn's breastbone, the high tide of her heartbeat illuminates the strongest parts of the entire world.
Rachel's hands climb the pristine Alps—rugged, fissured, breathtaking—of Quinn's spine. Each vertebrae is perfect, whole. Healed.
Tonight Rachel moves mountains.
Tonight they will not fall.
(Rachel sings the last line softly: Your love will be safe with me.)
.
fin.
...
references. (all from bon iver's bon iver.)
.
title. "calgary"
quote. "minnesota, wi"
one. "perth"
two. "minnesota, wi"
three. "holocene"
four. "towers"
five. "michigant"
six. "hinnom, tx"
seven. "wash."
eight. "calgary"
nine. "lisbon, oh"
ten. "beth/rest"
(mentioned: the song Quinn and Rachel dance to at prom is "re: stacks", off of Bon Iver's For Emma Forever Ago.)