Reunion:
Author's Note: I am not sure I like this. I was working on Faberry Prompt Week, the Sequel, and the prompt for Dec. 15th was "Reunion" and the only thing I could think of that I wanted to write about was this. But I'm not sure I did it justice.
Before anyone jumps down my throat, I want to say this: While we can make comparisons to many different things, we cannot say that one person's experience is any less than another's. We can't. Because we are saying that because you do not fit the majority-accepted ideas, then you are invalid. Someone ripped a piece of mine apart because my character did not fit the general idea of bi-sexuality(which the character wasn't bi, but cool, let's ignore that I actually state that, and please ignore my rant). I am a firm believer in that while there are some similarities, each life and experience and how we perceive the world is different so to say that someone isn't something is wrong because it is their life. It is their struggles and their demons and we can not take away that because we don't think they fit our idea of what depression is, what grief is, what outcomes there are. For me, I try to make it as real as I can, and let the characters tell the story, and I try my best to make it make sense. Sometimes I succeed, other times I don't. I rely on the general descritpions and concepts of things like depression or sexuality, but my characters don't limit themselves to text-book definition. They are alive as far as I am concerned, so they tell me how close they are to those definitions and what is different.
Okay rant over. This piece was a struggle, and again, I'm unsure if I like it. But the whole Prompt week is being worked into a sequel to "They didn't have the words." You need to read that prior to this, because I do build off of it. This is Faberry, but I'm unsure if I'm going ot have them actually date in this because it isn't about romance, but connection and having someone there. So whatever, lets see what happens.
I do not own Glee. If I did, my goal would have been to break as many people's hearts as possible with realistic things occurring in a musical-based show. Shut up, it makes sense.
As always, please read and review, and tell me if something doesn't work. I'll take constructive criticism, but any comment about how it sucks, I will ignore. Or write about how you are wrong in your belief in an author's note.
Enough of my rambling. Enjoy
SurrealSteamPuckk(WeOffendedShadows)
!-!-!-!-!
Trigger Warnings: vague mention of suicide attempt
Two months. Rachel had agreed to just over two months, until school started; it was only was only fair, she figured. It was one third of the time that she had spent carrying him, and while she was willing to give more than that time, Rachel was being selfish. She wanted to be there, wanted to be her anchor and to carry her when she couldn't do it anymore. But Quinn requested two months, well, more like her mom did. The length of summer vacation, and a bit more. So Rachel waited.
At least, that was the length of time she was willing to wait. Anymore and she would have to barge through the Fabray's door and stomp up to her room and crawl into her bed with her. Because, damnit, she missed her friend. Her best friend. And for a while, her only friend.
Since the death of Gabriel and the one sleepover that night, Rachel hated to think that something good came from, Brittany, Santana, and Puck were more features in her home. It was weird, having friends. She had spent all of middle school and the first year of high school without any really. No sleep overs or outtings or anything like that, and Rachel was unsure of what to do. She had wished Quinn was there to help her, but her best friend needed her space. Rachel was more than willing to give it. But only up to a point.
So two months, fifteen days, four hours, and six minutes had past, Rachel Berry stood outside the Fabray house a day before school started, holding a tray of cookies and trying to find her best smile that would get her entrance into the house. She rang it a few minutes ago, and while she knew that the house was rather large, she doubted it would take that long. Or maybe it wasn't a few minutes, maybe it was only a few seconds and her need for drama was up playing it and – Mr. Fabray opened the door.
There a great deal of stories spread over the summer about the return of Russell Fabray, but Rachel did the best not to give them any thought. What she did know for certain was how Mr. Fabray treated his daughter: the man kicked his pregnant daughter out of her home. That was enough for Rachel to give the man wide berth. He was a hateful man, and always tried to throw her dads out of town for indecency and all those lies.
"Hello," he said, there was no smile but no frown either. "Can I help you?"
"Hello, my name is Rachel Berry," she said, debating about holding out a hand for a proper handshake, but given that she still held her cookies. "Umm, I'm here to see Quinn, if that is all possible? I was hoping to speak with her before school and-"
"Dad?" Quinn's voice carried down the stairs. Rachel had never seen the Fabray residence before, and just from the doorway she could tell it was rather, well, rich and decadent. But empty. The vases and paintings that filled the hallway behind seemed to take up space, but they didn't have any real value, maybe only monetary. "Think you can drive me over to Rachel's now? There's a few things that I-"
Mr. Fabray stepped aside and Rachel saw her best friend for the first time in three months. Her long blond hair had been chopped off into a messy bob of sorts, with dark highlights in it. Quinn looked a bit thinner, not gaunt, but she had lost weight. Rachel had expected that, she had expected a wide range of changes, certainly mental ones in addition to the physical ones, but the smile was a wonderful addition.
There was something heart-warming about Quinn's smile, how her real one, the rare one she gave to only a select few. The normal smile, the one she used almost every day as the HBIC to control and demean the masses, Rachel was used to that one. But this smile, Barbara, she had dreamed about receiving this one. "Rachel," Quinn said, breathing out.
"Mr. Fabray, these cookies are for you and-" The moment that Mr. Fabray took the tray from her hands, Rachel found her arms filled with a thin blonde who just squeezed her as tight as possible. "Hey."
"Hey," Quinn muttered into her neck. She returned the hug, carefully though, since she was too thin for her liking. But Quinn still had curves and fit perfectly over Rachel's body.
When she had dated Puck and Jesse, Rachel felt swallowed up by their personalities and bodies, the pleasure that they were with her came from almost owning her, owning their relationship. Finn was a bit taller than Puck, though not as lanky, and looking back, he seemed to want the same things too, to just be with her because she wanted him, to have her as his girlfriend to show off. Whenever one of them hugged her, she felt smaller, lesser, and that she needed to support them in their endevours, though rarely did they want to help there, well, Puck did, and she was very happy that he chose Glee over football because she encouraged him to go where he was the happiest, even if it wasn't with her. At least, he tried, but he still towered over her, powered over her.
When her fathers hugged her, it was similar, though Rachel felt their love and comfort, because for the longest time, that was all she had. She was a very tactile person, and the fact that her parents gave her a little of that, though what she would have really liked was more from someone significant in her life, someone she felt safe with, was a treasure she would never toss away.
But with Quinn, Barbara, with Quinn it was so much more than any of that. Quinn was only a few inches taller than her, but she bent down a bit to nuzzle her neck with her nose. She held her close without smothering her, welcoming her into her arms as though it was natural and the only place she should be. That her arms should be wrapped around her. That she should be leaning against her, holding her up. That she should always belong there.
Mr. Fabray coughed and Rachel pulled away, though Quinn's hand slide from her back down to her's, entangling their fingers. She was worried he would say something, especially given her fathers, but the man just looked uncomfortable, unsure. At least there was no screaming.
Quinn smiled at her father. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I figured, but you were coming to see me?" Rachel asked. She looked down at their hands and saw an off-white and on her wrist, but couldn't read the writing on it.
"Yeah, I, well, I mean yes, I thought we should talk before school," Quinn said, looking back and forth between her father and Rachel.
"Right, I think that's my que then," Mr. Fabray said. He refused to look at Rachel, but nodded at his daughter. "The basement is clean and-"
"Thanks, Dad," Quinn let go of Rachel, rushed to kiss her father on the cheek, then returned to her to drag her into the Fabray residence for somewhere within its depths.
The house was covered in panels of dark, rich oak, lacquered in this shiny reddish color. Golds and browns with hints of reds spread out on carpets and tapestries, on in the various ornament and vases. She knew that Quinn had money, of sorts at least, but this was a bit over the top. Quinn paused in their walk, causing Rachel to collide with her. She bounced off and looked up at the blonde. "What?"
"See something interesting?" she asked.
Rachel shrugged. "I'd never expected to see the inside of your house." She also didn't expect Quinn to stay standing as close as she was. Or that she didn't move out of her personal space. But this didn't seem like the time to voice those thoughts.
Quinn looked around briefly. "The building does have its unique appearance, I think. Something, gothic, I would say about it." She picked up her hand and continued to a door, which opened up to the basement. The previous year, if this had happened, Rachel would have thought that Quinn was taking her to some place where she would disembowel and murder her simply because she could and no one, other than her Dad and Daddy, would miss her. But now, after watching her friend deteriorate in a matter of days after she gave birth to a son who never stood a chance, after spending three months without her best friend, worrying sick about her, Rachel was standing in the stairwell to the basement of the infamous Fabray house and wasn't scared.
Well, frightened would have been the better term. Rachel was scared because of what they were going to talk about, whatever it may be. At the top of the stairs, looking down into the darkness, she knew that it was entirely possible that she would lose Quinn after finding her again, after finding her for the first time this year. She gripped the railing with one hand, the door with the other, dropping Quinn's hand. Down these stairs was the future. Quinn paused as she took a step down, turning to look at her. Rachel shifted her feet, spreading them just a bit until her feet touched the doorway.
"Rachel?" Quinn asked.
"I'm, what I mean Quinn, is that," Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head. She had spent three months worrying about what happened to her friend, what she was going through, and how could she believe she could handle it on her own. Rachel could have been there, she had been there for the last few months. Why would Quinn not want her around?
"Rachel." Quinn stepped back up and took her hand from the railing, easing her grip and letting her fingers wrap around hers. "I will explain, I promise. Everything will, well I am not sure if alright is the correct term." The smile slipped away, and Quinn eyes watered. "And maybe it will never be that way. But I have to believe that maybe one day. Maybe one day, I can at least find a good normal."
Rachel stepped down the stairs and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, resting her forehead on hers. "Quinn, I don't, what happened."
"I have had a long three months," Quinn said. "It has been very long. And I have not handled it well." She closed her eyes and leaned against Rachel. "I have been really lonely, Rae. I-"
"What happened Quinn," Rachel asked.
"Can you at least close the door?"
"You're father."
"He will not say anything, well, he might, but not now, and not much. He has been working at it." Rachel nodded. She let her go, and she walked down the stairs, flipping a switch and disappearing around the corner.
Before Rachel closed the door, she looked out and saw Mr. Fabray leaning on one of the walls, watching her. He made eye contact, staring at her, no expression on his face, but his arms were crossed and he tapped his foot. Was he even okay with the daughter of two gay men in his house? Mr. Fabray hadn't said a word when she arrived, but she remembered some of his screaming when her dads took her on a rare meal out when she was younger. The man screamed and screamed and screamed obscenities that she should have been too young to hear, let alone understand, but the words stayed with her. Fag Spawn, Dyke in Training, Queens, Anal Assassin. It was rather extensive list and those were just a few of them. Some directed to her, some directed towards her father. Rachel remembered every last one of them, as well as every last word thrown at her in school. She would forgive, but never forget. She promised herself that.
Now, the man stared at her, stone-faced and empty-eyed, just looking at her. She didn't know how long she stood there, keeping Quinn waiting, but her feet refused to move. Until Russell Fabray nodded at her and walked away.
"Rae?" Quinn said. She turned to see the blonde standing at the bottom of the stairway, a weak smile on her face.
"Right, sorry." Rachel shut the door and walked down quickly, taking Quinn's hand at the bottom and dragging her over to the couch. She tried to sit a bit away, but Quinn wouldn't let go. Instead, she pulled Rachel into her embrace, locking her arms around her waist and sitting down the diva was laying on her, her head just under Quinn's chin. She sighed into the embrace, smiling.
Quinn didn't say anything, just rubbed her thumb over Rachel's stomach, catching the bottom of her shirt, rising it slightly and pushing it back down. It was comfortable. They had shared a bed before, when Rachel had a nightmare mostly. She warned Quinn about being a tactile person, and after a night terror, the girl simply gathered her in her arms and sang a lullaby to her. Rachel had never heard a female sing one before, at least not to her. Hell, her fathers didn't possess her musical talents in singing, so after one failed attempt, they never sang to her again. Rachel never had a lullaby sung to her.
Quinn laughed it off as practice and was more than then happy never to bring it up. Rachel never did. Until she started to hum the same song again into her ear. "This better not be some horrible displacement thingie, Quinn," Rachel said, smiling. She felt the laugh, but heard nothing. "Because, despite my flexibility in a lot of things, I am not into the whole mommy kink scene."
"I know," Quinn said. "I know that."
"Then?"
"Can I have a moment?"
"Are you gonna stop humming?" Quinn shook her head before burrowing her nose into her hair.
Quinn held her tightly, squeezing her every once in a while before switching songs, staying within the realm of Disney which was nice, another one from her childhood. They remained together, and Rachel felt her eyes get heavy, but she tried to stay awake just to let Quinn speak to her, to hear what happened those three months.
"You cannot compare experiences," Quinn whispered. Rachel remained still, trying not to turn around to look into her eyes. "That is what they told me. That every person experiences everything different, and it would be wrong to expect it to be the same results. The same outcomes. The same." She trailed off and sighed. "I was not handling it well. My mom was hovering, Puck, no Noah, Noah was hovering around. You were, everyone was, even if they did not realize it. Everyone was walking on eggshells, trying not to remind me of what I had just been through, and in some ways, expecting it to get back to normal.
"That is what happened, I guess. That things were slowly getting back to normal. We had the day out, you, Brittany, and Santana and I, at the mall, remember?" Rachel gripped Quinn's forearms and squeezed them. She pushed her head into her shoulder. Quinn just continued to speak into her hair. "It was a lot of fun and I really looked forward to it. I had been, well, okay for lack of a better term. I had been stable and not crying and it hurt, it hurt still a lot. But you guys, you were great, and especially when Brittany called Santana out on being nice. You did not care that I started to cry when we walked past the baby store and-" She breathed in heavily, drawing in as much as possible. "Even ending the day and going out for ice cream. It was a good day, and I thought I did not deserve it. Still do not, but that is besides the point."
"When I got home that night, it was raining. I walked home, maybe more like ran home, ran away from you. It was not a good day after ice cream. I did not handle it well, and one thing lead to another and I did what I have always done when it comes to these things: I ran. I arrived home and my father was waiting for me. He was, for lack of a better term now, drunk. And he started screaming at me. It was normal. It was very normal. Nothing had really changed and I did not take it well."
Quinn sniffed; Rachel ignored the wet spot on the top of head.
"I do not remember too much about what happened next. Just sirens and lights and, well, I was there for about two months. I was not allow contact with many people, limited contact with my family even. It was a very controlled environment. Probably for the best, really. I was kept under observation, I think. It seemed likely given what I had just tried."
"Oh," Rachel said. "We don't have to ta-"
"I got out a couple of days ago, and well, I have been readjusting to everything. My mom still watches me like a hawk."
"And your dad?"
"There is no more alcohol in this house, nothing like that in any way shape or form. They have locked the medicine cabinets, and I have to be given my pills like a child. While I was getting better, at the hospital for the second time, they were dealing with their own issues. Dad joined up with Alcohol Anonymous, they both changed churches, something a bit more accepting and relaxed. Something that will not judge me for what I have done, for what has happened to me."
"Do they judge you?"
"My mom gives me sad looks, like I am going to slip back into that mood. My father, no Dad, Dad is confused and does what he can. He is trying, so I try with him."
"Are you?" Quinn shrugged.
"Depression never goes away, not really. The meds, they help. Talking helps. I have to twice a week, as part of being released a bit early, well, not early as so much as I refused to stay there and I wanted to attend school. That was the agreement, pills and talking. Mostly talking. I did not want to be chained that much. The talking, I can handle. I think." She giggled. It was beautiful. Like music, better than the lullabies. "me talking about how I feel, what I think. I barely have a grasp on it most days, and my parents want me explaining it to some stranger who is going to judge me."
Rachel wanted to turn around and hug Quinn, but she didn't know if it would be appropriate. Didn't know if Quinn wanted that. But her friend hugged her tighter, pulling her as close as she could.
"I really, really, really wanted to talk to you. To Bri and San. Even Noah. But mostly you. I was not allowed, though. They said anything I could slip again. I could go back to that way. Of thinking, they mean, but really, it comes and goes. I just have to remind myself daily sometimes."
"Are you okay?"
"No," Quinn said. "I have accepted that. I had to. I do not think I ever will be. But, I can function. I can be as close to me as possible. I will not be the same. I can never be again. I never will be again."
"Quinn." Rachel spun, lying flat against her. "I just want you here, that's what is important. I just want you to take it one day at a time, and know that we will be there." She climbed up a bit, until she was leaning over her, face to face with Quinn. Her eyes were red, and streaks of water trailed down her perfectly done face, her cheek bones sticking out just a little bit.
It wasn't fair, not really. Quinn had suffered enough, and then she had to go through, Rachel didn't know exactly what it was, and she would never press her for it, what she did. She just kept on suffering more and more. And it hurt to see her that way.
"Thanks," she said, breathing on to her face. "For everything."
Rachel nodded. "Whatever you need, well, almost not whatever. I refuse to let you go again. You are not disappearing on me."
Quinn laughed and pulled her down. Rachel rested on her shoulder between the couch and Quinn. "So, what, you are going to attach yourself to me, follow me around like a little puppy?"
"Maybe," Rachel said. It was midafternoon and she could hear her breathing slow down, steady and relax. "Quinn?"
"Hmmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying."
"Suicide is a very selfish act, Rae," Quinn said. "And as much as I want to be with Gabe, still do, I can't, I just can't, Rae. Not again. Not to you. I realize that now. I can't stay for myself, but I can stay for you. I can stay for my parents, my friends. I can stay for you."
"That's fine," Rachel replied. She kissed Quinn's shoulder and shifted around a bit. "As long as you know I'll be here every step of the way. Me, Santana, Brittany and Noah. Most of the gleeks want to help where they can. You have people who need you here. And if that is what it takes, then fine."
"Sometimes, I just want to be selfish, think about," Quinn sobbed, though barely. Rachel almost didn't hear her speak. "I want to think about me first. But I can't. I want to so badly, but I can't. I can't do it any more. Nothing, nothing seems like it matters and I have to remain here, act like I'm interested and, and, and-"
Rachel sat up and covered her mouth with a hand, her other wrapping around the back of her head and pulling her to her shoulder. She wondered some nights when Quinn was living with her about whether or not she was ever really held. Not like as a trophy or a conquest, as a status symbol. But actually held. With Rachel, Quinn was the holder, and she the holdee. And it worked for them. Quinn held all of her friends. That was their relationship. She was the strong one, she was the one who handled everything; even when she broke, she bounced back as quick as she could. OR at least appeared to.
Maybe that was the real issue. Quinn wore so many faces and was so many different people, it was hard to recognize that she was hurting. Everything was hidden away, buried as deep as possible until only the superficial and the presentation remained. Quinn was who she had to be according to everyone else, never herself. Rachel felt bad that she couldn't tell how much her friend was in pain, but it wasn't about her. It wasn't about how she felt or anything like that. At least, in this moment. This moment was for Quinn.
She readjusted them on the couch until Quinn was lying on Rachel's left side, arm slung over her waist, and crying into her neck. Rachel never liked to hear Quinn cry, mainly because she never did; the blonde never made a sound and barely moved at all. The only sign was tear marks and sometimes a wet spot, things that could be washed away and erased.
Rachel had struggled to find the words that she couldn't say when Gabe was born, when her friend fell deeper and deeper. She had searched over her entire musical catalog and nothing really appropriate. Nothing was acceptable because it would just trivialize the whole situation into a series of words and notes that didn't take anything away. She couldn't erase and make things better, not with music, and she struggled with that thought for a while.
But for two months and fifteen days, she thought about it. She thought about what she could do, how she can even carry just a little bit of Quinn's load, just to be there for her. As she held her, listening to the silence, Rachel felt her heart beat in a sad and somber rhythm, the words floating out of her. What once was meant to be a joyous and life-affirming song, she could only sing with tears in her eyes, but she would never shed them:
Love is a song that never ends. Love is a song that never ends.
Life may be swift and fleeting.
Hope may die, yet love's beautiful music
Comes each day like the dawn.
One simple theme repeating.
Like the voice of a heavenly choir
Love's sweet music flows on.