[Fully italic scenes are memories.]
ii. a loaded god complex [cock it and pull it]
Exhale.
Her head was turned. Refusing to watch as the needle slid into her skin. Instead, her eyes were up. Focused on the clear liquid that was dripping from the IV bag and traveling along the cord and into her veins.
Poison. Poison being put into her body to kill the poison that was killing her. It was almost poetic.
Almost. More so if she wasn't the one living through it. There were looks of shock. With her girlfriend, her family and the other patients sitting near her. She was too young. Quinn thought she was too young. Cancer was a thing for older people, or children. A thought that had her frowning, because she thought she was being greedy. Selfish in hating that this was happening to her.
Chemotherapy. Except it wasn't that therapeutical. It'd kill the bad cells, the ones causing the tumor-hopefully, but some good ones would go down as well. The website that she had stayed up late reading called it 'collateral damage.' All it knew was to kill reproducing cells, not their nature.
Collateral damage.
They were almost as meaningful as malignant tumor.
Inhale.
"Larry, have you met my new girlfriend?" There was some cackling. A hand, wrinkled and covered in liver spots covered her own.
"Oh, be quiet, you old bastard, I've already proposed to the girl, you're not her type, Dempsey." The other warm voice retorted, Quinn's eyes moved from her IV to the two older men sitting next to her. One was only fifty-nine, Dempsey-the one with his hand over hers, and it was reassuring. More reassuring than her father who had been afraid to hug her, afraid to speak when she broke the news over a dinner that Rachel ordered. He had introduced himself, cancer type first. Quinn wasn't sure, but she thought he was referring to lung cancer.
The other, Larry, late sixties. A third time recoverer of brain cancer, only this time the tumor couldn't be removed, well it couldn't be removed or it was too risky to try or he was just tired of dealing with it only for it to return. At least, that's what he said as the nurse had applied the needle. They both had been surprised by her age, and seemed to be sympathetic only for the fact she was dealing with it so early.
Quinn wasn't normally the type, but she let a smile break through her reserve. There was something...about the two older men and it earned them the response, "Neither of you are my type, if you know what I mean." One brow quirked up and both men were laughing with appreciative nods.
"So, you got a girlfriend?" Larry asked, and Quinn was just happy that someone of his age wasn't judging her for her lifestyle choices. Her father had tried, but once she had explained that he'd still have grandchildren-somehow-to spoil he was much easier to accept, because despite his stricter persona, Russell Fabray loved his daughter too much not to accept who she chose to love. But these men-it made her feel a little warm inside, to not be immediately judged, though thinking that they would judge her made her feel a little stereotypical, but she ignored it and nodded.
"Yeah, I do."
And she was waiting outside the hospital.
Quinn didn't mention that. She didn't mention the fact that Rachel had stayed outside. Refusing to go inside with her, even when Quinn tried to tell her that it was too long for her to wait. Instead of folding and agreeing to go in with her, Rachel just got that look about her, the same look that she had when Quinn had told her. It hadn't been three hours past the doctor telling her. Rachel wasn't crying when Quinn broke the news.
Quinn wasn't crying, either. She hadn't cried. She refused to cry, she just breathed.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Keeping a steady rhythm until the urge to break down left her. But it got harder. When that look crossed Rachel's face. That look like the brunette was drowning. Like her world was collapsing. It didn't seem connected to Quinn though, nor to their relationship.
"You can leave, I mean, I don't want you to stay if you can't. I understand that this isn't what you signed up for, I'm giving you-" Quinn had to take a deep breath, she didn't want to end it...but she couldn't assume that Rachel could handle it all.
Hell, she could barely handle it.
"I'm giving you an out."
That look was still on her face. It took a moment to clear, but not completely as Rachel finally made a movement, shaking her head. "I'm not going to abandon you...never." Her arms were around Quinn's throat again and Quinn's head was nuzzling into the crook of Rachel's neck...trying to anchor herself.
Center for Supportive Care.
It sounded made up. It sounded stupid, and Quinn read the sign outside the set of glass doors at least twenty times before she sighed, squaring her shoulders and opening them.
People needed support. Hell, if she was ever honest with herself and her own weaknesses, it was clear that Quinn needed the support. Fifty percent chance of living, fifty of dying. And she just had this odd feeling that it wouldn't ever be as simple as that. Her life wasn't simple anymore.
This place had a simple name. A stupid name. One that she wished was different so that if ever brought up in conversation, Quinn wouldn't have to actually say that her psychiatrist worked for the Center for Supportive Care-at a teaching hospital. Her mother would have made a comment. A comment similar to the one where she questioned Quinn's doctor's validity.
Quinn was questioning the validity of this shrink. First the stupid name of this part of the hospital and more as she peeked into the door marked Dr. Evans. Her knuckles rapping against the wood of the door as Quinn moved into the crack between the threshold.
The office was a mess. Papers everywhere. The desk scattered with action figures and there was a framed Captain America comic book cover on the wall near the computer. A bookshelf rose behind the couch, that did look rather comfy, filled with books, half of their titles including the words "psychology of." And sitting in a large leather chair was a man with blonde hair. A man with shaggy blonde hair eating a large sandwich.
"Doctor Evans?" Quinn's brows were rising and she felt like her mother as she started to wonder what kind of teaching hospital this was.
Having apparently not heard the knock on the door, or mistaken it for something else, his head shot up. His body turning to look at her and his chest meeting with his sandwich as his arms didn't move with him. "Yes! That's...me." He started out eager, and that turned to a groan when he saw where a drop of mustard had met the pale green sweater he was wearing.
He pushed the sandwich away, setting it on his desk before standing, and dabbing just as eagerly at the stain on his shirt with a napkin. Eat Fresh. The messaged seemed almost subliminal and taunting, though Quinn had begun to take everything with some larger meaning...how could she not and all she was taking this as was a sign that if her chances leaned more to the dying side, she'd be eating whatever the hell she wanted because who cared about staying perfectly in shape when you knew your expiration date was approaching.
"I'm-" She started, moving further into the office.
Inhale.
"Quinn Fabray!" He was a little to happy for her tastes, but maybe that's what the job required. If one was to council the dying or the ill, maybe they should be as eager and optimistic as Dr. Evans, "I knew you were coming, lunch just seemed to take longer..." He smiled apologetically, but it was a smile. It was large-as was his mouth. Feeling a little overcritical especially because she was now the girl with cancer, she shook those thoughts and her lips curved up in retaliation. "Please take a seat." His free hand waved towards the couch.
Exhale.
She was actually about to do this. Talk to someone. What did she have to hide, though? Nothing, especially when she was only here because she could die. Could die, soon, to be more clear. Everyone died.
Everyone died, eventually. Quinn was just a lot closer than she should be.
"I'm gonna miss you."
"You know my brother had the same thing, he's just fine."
"I'm praying for you, my whole church is."
"You're going to fight this."
It was supposed to be a party. There was a drink in her hand. It had started out as fruit punch, but in the blur of coworkers and a smirk across Santana's face and then it started to taste more like rum as she watched the people she had been working with for four years hug her and pat her shoulder and act like it was the last time they'd see her.
Unlike a party however, her mood wasn't improving, instead, she found herself drinking the punch-spiked rum with a little more vigor and interrupting Santana's seduction of this receptionist-one that Quinn had seen everyday but had just learned was named Brittany and who thought "cancer was a bummer" before she too threw her arms around Quinn and hugged her like it was her last day on earth. Finally, just slipping the flask into Quinn's pocket, Santana gave her a wink before grabbing for the pretty receptionist's hand and dragging her off.
They'd be going to the supply closet on the second floor. It was a normal place of Santana's when she decided to fraternize with a coworker. Quinn had spent the better part of the last couple years hearing the greatest hits of the supply closet hook-ups. Apparently, it was amazingly soundproofed and Quinn always averted her eyes when Santana started to rave about how her tongue produced results that required soundproofing.
The cake was what had her leaving. Her arms tight around her body as she hugged the coat to her as she walked home. Santana wouldn't be reliable for a ride and she liked the brisk air...liked the quiet of the evening.
The cake had three candles. Icing spelling out "You can do it, buddy!" It was enough to make the room shrink and Quinn needed out. She needed to be away from what was far less optimistic than she was trying to be. She didn't want to think about dying when she was...and the words of encouragement only made her feel like a child and she was suffocating as she got out. Receiving more hugs before she was finally able to break out of the building and could breath again.
"You're shitting me right?"
"I wish."
"So you're actually..."
"Umm...maybe?"
"Maybe? What the fuck do you mean maybe?"
"Well, WebMD said there was like...a fifty fifty chance of...survival...death, whatever."
"Fifty? Shit, Q. That's good. Hell, that's better than...that's pretty damn even. You scared the shit out of me...fuck. Fifty percent, I think you got this."
"You didn't like the party?" Sam asked.
Quinn was calling him Sam. He had asked her too, there had been a few times when she had said "Dr. Evans", especially during their first session where he just blinked for a few seconds before he realized that she was talking to him. Then it was Sam. Sam was simple. It felt less clinical and she was able to relax more onto the couch the next visit.
"You can do it, Buddy!"
"Not really." Quinn's nose was scrunching up and her head was shaking as her eyes trained on the small stain that looked a bit like steak sauce on his sleeve. "I mean, they were all really great and I know they were trying to help, but-"
"It doesn't?" He prompted once she let her sentence trail off for a few seconds.
"Not really. I just-some of the encouragement...is a little misplaced? I mean, it feels great that they think that I can survive this, but on the other hand, it's like how do they even know?" Shaking her head again, Quinn sat up a little more and her hands smoothed over her slacks.
"No one is really gonna know...I mean, except an actual doctor, but you know what I mean." Sam's pen was tapping against a clipboard and Quinn wandered what he could be writing about her. Or maybe he wasn't...she imagined him the type to take occasional notes and doodle.
She'd doodle.
But, she couldn't help but wonder-what he thought was wrong with her.
"And you know they mean well."
Quinn nodded. Everyone meant well. Rachel, even though she couldn't go into the hospital with her. Santana, even though San seemed to enjoy using Quinn's cancer to get laid. Her parents, who had spoken to her more in the last week than they had in the last couple years when it wasn't a holiday. Her coworkers...and their cake.
"I guess I'll have to get used to it."
Then he was pulling the paper from under the clip. Passing it to her with a gentle smile. Everything about Sam was gentle. Gentle and simple and Quinn's eyes were meeting a list...
"Here are some books that my other patients have read and that are kinda recommended for people in your situation." He explained. "They might help a little more than your friends and family if you want to explore other options for coping."
Wasn't he supposed to be the majority of her coping option? Wasn't that why Doctor Barnhouse sent her here? To the Center for Supportive Care. But, she just nodded again and folded it up, slipping it into her purse.
"Q, I don't think you fully understand how much ass you could be getting." Santana's hands were waving as Quinn's attention to her best friend was put on the back burner as Quinn's eyes scanned through the shelves of books...
Sam's list in her hands as she went.
"I don't want to get ass. I'm dating Rachel." Quinn's eyes rolled, her fingers tracing along the shelf. Unlike Santana, Quinn wasn't concerned about sex-not that she and Rachel were having it. It had been going slow even before Quinn got the news, but then it seemed to slow to almost a stop. But, she didn't mind-Rachel was still around, even though she had given her an out, but she had decided to stick around-even though she always seemed to be giving Quinn that look.
Like she was drowning. Like she was like Quinn and couldn't breath. Suffocating with the weight of reality.
Inhale.
"Fine, fine. But, don't come crying to me because you're missing the chance of a lifetime to get pretty much anyone in bed with you." Santana smirked, her eyes moving to a girl with a name tag and who was stacking books. Her fingers grabbed the list from Quinn and she was on her way...Quinn watched...
Exhale.
The worker read the titles. There was a look of doe-eyed sadness until Santana motioned towards Quinn and the girl nodded sympathetically.
Another girl. One Quinn would hear about in the morning. Just like she had heard-for the past couple days all about that receptionist. All about the colorful sex life of Santana Lopez, while Quinn got stuck staring into the trapped eyes of her girlfriend-needing reassurance and also trying to do everything to reassure Rachel.
AN: Another chapter down and the next is when the fic is going to take it's own footing from the film.
Reviews are love.
