AN: A little drabble for day two of Faberry week. The prompt for the day was "Fababies". First fanfic in 5 years so I'm a little rusty. Enjoy.
Breathing's a funny thing.
Chests expanding to take in some weightless, invisible air, only to release it back into the atmosphere a few seconds later. Most of the time you aren't aware you're even doing it. Hell, you can do it in your sleep. Such a small act is such a vital part of living and yet most people just take it for granted. It's ignored until you realize that you can't do it properly anymore.
Quinn's mind wanders for the hundredth time that evening. It's quiet here on the ward and that means that she has too much time to think. Too much time to get lost in her own head.
She thinks about the way her son breathes, his little chest heaving as he runs circles around her and Rachel for the millionth time on any given day. His slow, steady breaths as he sleeps soundly, snuggled up tight between them in their warm bed. She wonders how Daniel's breathing now. It's long past his bed time but he's a few blocks from where he should be. Her best guess is that he's probably cuddled up in his Aunt Britt's arms, his nose buried into her long blonde hair while her hand rubs gently across his strong little back. Britt always did give the best hugs. Aunt Santana will be hovering nearby of course, keeping a protective eye on the both of them while she waits on her own baited breath for the phone to finally ring.
As Quinn's eyes drift to the ceiling, she thinks about the woman laying one floor up. She thinks about the way her wife breathes. How that little body can take in so much air and push it all back out to create some of the most wonderful sounds she's ever heard. Her breath, well it's just magical. She captures the hearts of anyone who gets the pleasure of experiencing her wonderful voice.
She thinks about the way Rachel was breathing the last time she saw her. Harsh breaths between choked sobs, begging Quinn to never leave their daughter alone, not for a minute, not even for a second.
So, as promised mere hours ago, here she sits one floor down, keeping a watchful eye on their newborn bundle of almost nothing. Sweet little Amelia. Her poor, sweet little Amelia. She doesn't even know what breathing is yet, or why she has to do it. She doesn't know why she can't. A few hours of life and all she's known so far are wires and ventilators, a sense of urgency and panic, and strange hands on her tiny body. She hasn't even been held by her mothers yet. What a way to be welcomed into this world.
Quinn slowly reaches into the incubator and instinctively holds her breathe as she lays her hand down gently on Amelia's bare little chest. She feels it expand and collapse to the rhythm of a nearby machine. The way her baby girl breathes isn't real. At least not yet. She can't play like her brother or sing like her Mama. But she will one day. She'll be breathing for herself someday soon. Quinn's sure of it. She runs her fingertips across her daughter's chest and under the artificial rise and fall she feels a little something else. Something a lot more real. A strong, steady tap of a heartbeat. And that heartbeat? That's her Amelia. That's all her.
Quinn releases her breath and leans her head against the clear plastic lid of the incubator.
A heartbeat's a funny thing.