Chapter eight, readers. The brief Spanish word in this is from an online translator, so apologies if it's wrong. The drug references/slang are from Internet sources, so they might be questionable. Hope you all enjoy, and if anyone has Live Journal advice, PM me if possible! Thank you!
Quinn's rest is, predictably, ruined.
"Q!"
Who's voice is so damn grating? She's trying to fucking sleep, thank you very much.
"Speak to me, Fabray!" Sue Sylvester demands, and Quinn groans. Of course. The devil herself.
Quinn feels prickly grass against her skin, and the harsh, bitter wind scratching her face.
"How many fingers I am holding up?" Sue persists, and the Head Cheerio opens her eyes.
The sky is a blinding, picturesque blue, and faces swim in her vision, blurring into varying blobs of color. Reality clouds back and forth, and the blonde manages to see flashes of Santana's stricken expression, troubled with worry, Brittany's, gentle with concern, the rest of the cheerleaders, standing silently over her in a tight huddle, and lastly, Coach Sylvester closest, frowning anxiously before the world mixes into a psychedelic, vibrant display of hues and tones.
Quinn squints, seeing several angry copies of Sue, and her eyes lower to the pale digits nearby.
"Eight. Have you always had eight fingers?" Quinn wonders woozily, going slightly cross-eyed.
Brittany giggles before Santana claps a firm hand to her mouth, and Sue exhales, frustrated.
"What exactly have you done, Fabray?" Sue thunders, and Quinn blanches at the noise.
"I don't know," Quinn answers hoarsely, choking up. "I don't know. Everything...I caused it all. I did it. Jacob, he was right—I want to care, I do care about things...he yelled at me, before, before," she croaks. "I can't do anything right anymore, Coach," she adds desperately, the squad and coach staring above her as she lies defeated on the grass, "I don't do my homework and I can't remember what to sing or what to do and my head just hurts. I don't even sleep anymore..."
Sue and the Cheerios watch in mingled horror and pity as Quinn closes her eyes again, quieting.
The coach stands up, sighing, before switching her megaphone on and bellowing: "Puckerman!"
Quinn flinches again at the volume as a pair of delicate hands cradle her head, and hears Brittany's soft reassurances near her ears, a soothing mantra to her distress. Santana is further away, holding her hand and struggling to find something to do to help Quinn, as the blonde listens to the sound of heavy feet against the grass.
"What the fuck happened?" A boy yells—Puck, Quinn thinks, relieved—and Sue snorts.
"Language, Puckerman. If I hear that again I'll smack you down faster than you can say 'Shalom'. Pick up Fabray here, and Santana, you call 911. Quinn's overdosed on something. I know the signs. I've studied them extensively. I worked as a NARC in over ten school systems. Fabray's probably on the rocks, casper, tragic magic, fry daddies, crank, ice, uppers, black Cadillacs, herbal fuel, fizzies, frogs...I could go on forever. I predicted something like this to happen. It's all in the eyes. And Fabray's got 'em."
"Ay dios mio," Santana mutters, and sprinting sneakers fade from earshot while Quinn groans.
Sue Sylvester moonlighted as a NARC. Why wasn't she surprised?
Quinn feels muscular biceps curl under her knees and against her shoulder blades, holding her to a toned chest. She can't open her eyes—it's like they're welded shut—but manages to recognize Puck by the necklace under his football uniform; the small Star of David pendant, supported by a thick chain. She distantly how he explained that he received it from his grandmother when he was a kid and never took it off (and also what attracted him to Rachel, she had a similar one). She feels a deep, dark chuckle.
"Puck?" She rasps.
"Trying to cop a feel, Quinn? I'm not falling for it. You're sick or something, but it would be like old times, right?"
"Never again, Puckerman," she mumbles, and he laughs lightly.
"Hey! Noah! Stop!" A faraway voice hollers, and Quinn murmurs an exhausted swear.
Two sets of feet and the creak of wheels makes Puck cease in his tracks, and Rachel squeaks.
"What happened?"
"She fainted," Puck answers, shifting Quinn's weight a little.
"Proves my theory," Kurt interjects, and the sound of Rachel's scoff fills the vicinity.
"It was my idea, Kurt," Rachel snaps, and Puck huffs, continuing on his way.
Quinn hears the constant motion of the wheelchair, and figures Sam must be pushing it along to keep up with them.
"Quinn's been using pseudoephedrine medication," Rachel informs him disapprovingly.
"What the hell is that?"
"Vitamin D," Kurt barks out. "The pills we used during the mashup competition."
"I thought something was off about her a month ago when she was acting strange, but I didn't have any evidence. She must've stolen them from the nurse's office where Mr. Schue's ex-wife kept them. They kept her awake, but the effects were obvious. Nervousness, excitability, dizziness, mydriasis—blurred vision—and it's a wonder she hasn't had a stroke or a seizure yet with the increased heart rate. Quinn was a ticking bomb with those pills in her bloodstream," Rachel explains promptly, and Quinn can practically see the infuriated glare fixed on her now. Puck sighs.
"Check it out, the ambulance is already here," Sam says.
Puck continues walking and Quinn hears two new voices, one male and one female. They ask what happened, Puck tells them stiffly that she fainted, falling off the pyramid but was caught before she reached the ground by the boys on the squad. They ask if she hit her head, Puck says he isn't sure.
Puck places her on the gurney, where gloved hands search her scalp, checking for bumps.
"Did your coach say anything else?"
"We know now she's been taking pseudoephedrine pills," Rachel replies coolly.
The EMTs tighten the straps on the gurney, and wrap a brace around her neck, just in case. The cot is lifted higher, sliding into the trunk. Quinn is close to sleeping, but listens anyway to the others as a breathing mask is pressed over her face by the other EMT and adjusted to stay on.
"I'm going with you to the hospital," Puck pipes up immediately.
"No, I am," Rachel protests.
"You can't, miss," the male voice argues, sounding exasperated. "You're in a wheelchair."
"That didn't stop Franklin Delano Roosevelt from becoming President of the United States! Four times!"
"Shut up, Berry," Puck mutters wearily, and the loud stomping of Puck's cleats against metal, clambering to sit down with the attending female hurts Quinn's ears. Rachel huffs, aggravated before the double doors are slammed shut and the ambulance starts, the sirens whirring loudly.
The fast jerking of the vehicle almost make her sick, but she manages to relax, feeling drowsy.
"Is this your girlfriend?" The female asks, for something to say.
The last thing Quinn hears before she's completely out is Puck's annoyingly stupid reply: "...nah. She's my baby mama. It all started with a fat day and a few wine coolers..."
Mandy's reading the newspaper for job listings when the phone rings, and she wanders over to answer it.
"Hello, Fabray residence."
"Mandy?"
"Santana?"
"Hey, thank God I caught you at home," Santana says heavily, sounding like she's jogging. "—Britt, get in the car, hurry—There was an accident at practice today, Mandy. Quinn fainted."
"Is she okay?"
"No. Coach told us she must've overdosed on something. She's been weird and slow all day—I saw her almost keel over at lunch today...I don't even think she ate anything—and actually, she's been weird for awhile, now that I think about it. She can't sing very well anymore, she's dead on her feet, her grades are falling, she's losing weight, the whole nine yards. I haven't been a good enough friend to confront her about it. Anyway, they took her to the hospital."
"I'll be on my way. I need to call my mother," Mandy says, her face white.
"See you there," Santana replies, and hangs up.
Mandy's already dialing, and her mother's cheery greeting only makes her worry heighten.
"Mom? Hey, it's me. Listen, there was an accident—Quinn's in the hospital."
"Will! Will!"
Will Schuester looks up in surprise from his Spanish tests, red marker still poised in the air. Emma Pillsbury sprints into his office, frantically pointing over her shoulder.
"It's Quinn...they took her to the hospital. She fell off the pyramid."
Will doesn't pause to think, just grabs his jacket and they both run for his car, buckling seatbelts and speeding out of the parking lot, while Will glances at Emma worriedly.
"What happened, exactly?"
"I heard from Kurt that she's been taking those...those medications your, um, Terri gave."
Will pales. "For how long?"
"The entire month, maybe longer," Emma answers uncertainly, looking close to tears. "Everyone saw the change, but no one wanted to question it. I regret that now, I should have done my job better, talked to her before it got out of hand," the redhead mumbles. "I could've stopped it."
"Hey, hey, this isn't your fault alone," Will consoles. "It's everyone's. Mostly mine. Quinn made a bad decision but there's a lot of people, including me, who should've asked her. It's not just you, trust me. I should be blamed, I see her in two classes—if anyone, I should have seen it and confronted her."
"How about we share the blame?" Emma suggests anxiously, wringing her hands.
"That sounds good," Will admits. "Maybe write a nice long apology for sucking as teachers?"
"Perfect," Emma sighs.
The rest of the ride is spent in guilty, unhappy silence.
They're the last ones to reach the waiting room at Lima General, already crammed to capacity with the entire glee club, Judy Fabray, Mandy Fabray, Leroy Berry, and Sue Sylvester. Will and Emma hurry over to Leroy, who solemnly explains that they've just been waiting for Hiram all this time, who is Quinn's attending doctor (luckily for them) and for him to return with news. Will stands against the wall, a fidgeting Emma at his side.
Rachel's tapping a quick beat on her wheelchair, her face dark with distress and lips pursed in thought. Puck's shifting his weight from foot to foot, Kurt and Sam are sharing a magazine, but both aren't really engaged in reading it. Santana has her head in Brittany's lap, both wearing expressions of fear and anxiety. Mike is playing distractedly with Tina's hair, Artie's muttering with Finn and Mercedes, while Mandy and Judy Fabray stand close to Sue, who is oddly quiet.
The clock ticks poignantly into the tense, silent atmosphere, and Santana remembers when the situation was different, when they were all waiting on Rachel's health. Instead, the petite diva currently sits across the room, desperation glazed over in her eyes for any clue that Quinn's okay.
After an hour and a half, Hiram appears, and a swarm of approaching bodies threatens him until Sue flashes a glare and all retreat backwards, except for the two Fabrays.
"She's going to be fine," Hiram says without preamble, and relieved sighs fill the air. "Judy, Mandy? I'd like to speak with you privately for a moment."
"Quinn's stabilized now," Hiram tells them. "But I wanted you both to know how it happened."
"We've heard a few stories about her lack of sleep and interest," Judy offers, hesitant.
"And weight loss," Mandy adds. Hiram nods.
"Yes. From what my daughter said, Quinn was understandably upset with the shooting. Her personality dimmed, and Rachel informed me that she just looked tired and unhappy for quite some time now. Leroy mentioned insomnia, but I think it was self-induced. She could be struggling with depression," Hiram explains. "Quinn somehow got her hands on pseudoephedrine, a sympathomimetic drug often used as a decongestant or wakefulness promoting agent in brands like Sudafed or Claritin-D to stay alert. From what I can tell, she's been using the pills to stay awake, and recently, drinking something to prevent weight gain."
"What drink?" Judy breathes.
"That cheerleading thing," Mandy says. "Santana told me. Coach has them drink it to be thinner."
"That," Hiram nods again gravely, "combined with her constant exercise, sleep deprivation, almost nonexistent eating, and the side effects of the pills—hypertension, anxiety, hallucinations, paranoia, mydriasis—would eventually result in either stroke, seizures, or a heart attack."
Judy covers her mouth, as her eyes fill with tears. "I didn't even think to say anything to her..."
"Neither did I, Mom," Mandy reassures sadly. "But she'll recover, right?"
"Of course," Hiram nods. "Physically. Emotionally, though, is my husband's area of expertise."
"Leroy, the psychiatrist?" Judy questions. "I'll make an appointment."
"Free of charge, we'll have to insist," Hiram says. "Quinn deserves that."
"Can we see her?"
"Follow me."
Quinn's still sleeping when they reach her, both blondes sitting on the end of her bed, unable to sit any further away than that. Mandy examines the striking gauntness of her sister's face, making her look almost skeletal in the low lighting. Quinn's breathing is slow and deep, as an IV feeds into her right wrist.
Judy brushes strand of hair from Quinn's pale face, sighing dejectedly.
"I thought I could be a better mother to both of you," Judy murmurs. "I haven't been."
"Don't beat yourself up, Mom," Mandy orders. "We both made this mistake. Not just you."
"I'll make it up to her," Judy says firmly, like she's speaking to herself. "I have to."
A nurse enters the room, carrying a vase of orchids. "These just came for her, poor thing."
"Who are they from?" Mandy asks. The nurse offers the attached card and leaves, and Mandy turns it over to read it.
Her face darkens, and Judy sees her tear the paper in half, scowling.
"What did it say?"
"Nothing," Mandy lies, "just someone who saw Quinn carried in. Random stranger."
"Oh. That was nice of them, I suppose," Judy says, and turns back to Quinn.
Mandy puts the vase near the door so Quinn won't see it, and throws the torn pieces of paper into the trash, where a message in Russell Fabray's penmanship is discarded.
The group is still waiting when Mandy comes back about an hour later, looking exhausted. "She's asleep, but—"
"I want to see her," Santana interrupts, standing up, Brittany at her heels. "She's my best friend."
"I brought her here, I should," Puck snaps. "I'm her baby daddy!"
"She's my best friend and I'm hers, and her confidante, I should go," Rachel interjects angrily.
"I need to apologize," Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury add, smiling hopefully.
"You can do that shit later," Puck growls. "Friends first, then stupid teachers. Duh."
"I'm her coach and she's my heir, I'll go," Sue remarks. "Miscreants."
"She's my girl!" Mercedes calls irritably. "Me first!"
"She hasn't been 'your girl' for months now, Aretha," Santana snarls. "Get lost."
"Everyone just shut up!" Mandy yells, and the protests quiet. "I'll decide who goes."
Without pausing to consider anyone else, the blonde unceremoniously yanks the handles of Rachel's wheelchair and vanishes through the double doors, the diva's triumphant smirk over her shoulder the last image of the two before the doors close completely, shutting the group out.
"What the f—" Puck manages before Leroy's glare makes him close his mouth, sheepish.
"That's ridiculous," Santana exclaims. "Berry gets to go before me?"
"Considering last time we were here, you and Quinn beat each other up," Finn offers helpfully. "Or so we heard."
"Finnocence, shut up for once, will you?"
"She and Rachel are pretty close now," Tina interrupts, oblivious to Santana's glower.
"And we aren't?" Santana mutters.
"No. Quinn drives Rachel to school all the time," Sam adds, slightly defensively. "They're very good friends."
Kurt peers curiously at Sam's profile, but the blonde boy doesn't look away from Santana.
"Whatever," the Latina concedes, sitting down again with Brittany. Sam smirks.
"What's that look for?" Kurt whispers.
"I won an argument with her," Sam explains under his breath. "That never happens."
Kurt eyes him closely. "They're something you're not telling me."
"I'll give you a hint," Sam smiles mischievously. "You have one that works."
"What the heck does that mean?"
Sam just laughs. "You'll figure it out."
"She's probably still...oh, good," Mandy sighs in relief, seeing Quinn's eyes open, blinking slowly as Judy holds her hand. Mandy pushes the wheelchair forward, and Rachel simply can't look away from Quinn if she tried. Mandy murmurs about the cafeteria, and when Judy looks close to protesting, Quinn mumbles an 'I'll-be-fine', and Judy reluctantly departs with Mandy in tow. Rachel wheels herself closer to the bed, and the blonde gives her a slow, sad smile of greeting.
"I'm wish you had told me," Rachel says quietly.
"I should've," Quinn croaks.
"How did you last so long?"
"Willpower," Quinn offers hesitantly. "...that's about it. The pills just keep me going."
"Did you ever think about the consequences, Quinn?"
"N—"
"Did you even pause and wonder how this would affect your body?" Rachel demands. "Or possibly that you could have had a heart attack if you were all alone and died?"
"Rachel—"
"Did you stop and think about how this would hurt your mother? Mandy? Me? The club?"
"Hold on a second—"
"No. No, Quinn. I won't hold on. I won't stop yelling at you until you understand! For a month, you took those pills to get by, and all you did was delay the issue, delay the inevitable! You said you would talk to me," Rachel whispers furiously, as Quinn looks away in shame, "and all you did was explain how you don't watch television anymore. I've tried to be a better friend to you than anyone else has but you just diverted me with stories of Beth, something that could easily be fixed. My daddy could've talked to you whenever you wanted, and you just ignored it. We've all tried to help you, Quinn, and you've thrown it in our faces in favor of nearly killing yourself!"
Rachel inhales for breath, while Quinn stares blankly at the wall, unable to speak.
"I want to know why, Quinn. Why resort to pills when talking and sleeping could've helped?"
"Nightmares," Quinn breathes.
"What?"
"Nightmares. Of him. I stole the Vitamin D to stay awake so I wouldn't have to deal with them."
Rachel blinks, her expression morphing into chagrin.
"Don't apologize. You're right," Quinn says softly, twisting the sheet in her hands. "It was just hard to...open up. I got into the habit of blocking it out and continuing on with my day—I thought that if I kept going, kept singing, cheering, moving, it would go away eventually."
"It didn't," Rachel guesses correctly.
"No. The medication started to mess with my head," Quinn admits.
"How?"
"Hallucinations," Quinn says darkly. "I sat in History and about ten Jacobs looked right at me."
"No," Rachel whispers.
"Yeah. I just wanted to avoid it all. If I didn't talk about it, maybe I'd forget it. But then I went to the library and saw the bloodstains and I don't know, it was a combined effort. I drank that stupid Master Cleanse that Ms. Sylvester has for the Cheerios to stay fit," Quinn sighs, rubbing her eyes. "I must've gotten a sense of vertigo on top of the horrible sleep deprivation thing."
"And anorexia," Rachel reminds her.
"I'm not anorexic," Quinn glares, but lacks the power behind it. She just looks weak and frail.
"You barely ate anything at all recently," Rachel retorts.
"I ate some things," Quinn argues. "I didn't stop completely. Here and there to get by. Just enough for me."
They are silent for a few minutes.
"About Beth," Quinn recalls, slightly coolly. "It's not 'easily fixed', as you put it."
"I just thought—"
"You didn't think about if I was ready. You assumed I was because Puck was. The decision to see my—Beth—is my own. Shelby adopted her. She isn't mine anymore, Rachel. She's taken care of, just like I wanted. I'll think about seeing her, and if I'm ready, I'll let Shelby know, not you."
Rachel lowers her gaze to the floor, and Quinn drags a hand over her face, frustrated.
"Sorry."
"No, you're right. I don't understand. I won't understand, until I have a child of my own."
"Stay away from Puck, then," Quinn jokes feebly, and Rachel smiles.
"I just want you to get better, Quinn," Rachel says softly, reaching higher until she's intertwined Quinn's hand with her own, feeling Quinn's fingers twitch slightly in response. "You're my best friend, you know that? Why wouldn't I try every way to help speed the process?"
"Santana mustn't be pleased," Quinn quips. Rachel's smile widens.
"Oh, she isn't. All of us almost had a slapfight back in the waiting room. Everyone was adding their two cents about why they should see you—including Puck's terrible 'baby mama' nickname and Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury wanting to 'apologize'—but Mandy picked me over them."
"Why would they want to apologize to me?"
"Bystander's guilt, I think," Rachel says. "Maybe being oblivious."
"If anything, they should heap that on you," Quinn remarks firmly.
"What? Why?"
"For everything, Rachel," Quinn nearly-shouts, but manages to keep her cool. "Santana...well, she used to sling insults at you every other period. Mercedes and Kurt still want your solos and Mr. Schuester stood by and let them. I even used to belittle you in front of his face and you either took it, threw it back, or did nothing while Mr. Schue sat there and preached about togetherness."
She's close to hyperventilating from the vocal exertion while Rachel just stares at her.
"And don't even get me started on Ms. Pillsbury. She's a guidance counselor. It's her job to observe kids and reach out to the ones she thinks are hurt. You've gone to her, right, but has she really helped you accomplish anything? She and Mr. Schue are a match made in heaven, I think."
"Ms. Pillsbury's dating the dentist," Rachel blurts out, confused.
"Is that all you heard, Rachel?" Quinn questions, amused.
"No," the diva protests, blushing adorably. "I mean, I think it's lovely how you noticed all of that. Finn never did. He just—"
"Sat there," Quinn interjects, nodding. "Exactly."
Rachel's grin simply sparkles like sunlight on snow and before Quinn can even comprehend what just happened, Rachel turns the wheelchair, uses her arms as leverage, pushes backwards, lands on the foot of the hospital bed, and already is giving her a sweet, short kiss on the lips, and smirks—that's a Cheerios thing, copycat!—at Quinn's dumbfounded, stunned expression before settling comfortably, her legs dangling off the side, one slightly hindered in motion by her cast.
"Did Artie teach you that, Catwoman? Or are you a ninja?"
"Yes, he did," Rachel beams delightedly, restraining herself from clapping. "He told me, and I quote, 'it's all about the upper-body strength' and on a more distasteful note from his sketchier side, 'ain't no carpool lane to sexy', but I think that's more from Sam's way of thinking."
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "'Ain't no carpool lane to sexy'? What the heck?"
"I know, right?" Rachel laughs. "Sam's weird."
"When d'you get out of your wheelchair?" Quinn asks.
"In a few days, finally," the diva says, grinning. "Then I can keep up with you."
Rachel lapses into silence, her eyes flickering to the heart monitor with an almost mischievous smile, while Quinn struggles to calm down. Honestly, what was Finn thinking when he and Rachel broke up? Probably something along the lines of losing the best makeout buddy ever. (Not that she cares about that. Really.)
"You keep kissing me," Quinn wonders.
"Yes."
"Is there a reason for it?"
"Hmm. Not really. I did it before to make sure you weren't nervous."
"And now?"
"Just because," Rachel shrugs nonchalantly. "Doesn't have to mean anything."
"No," Quinn says automatically. "It doesn't."
To deflect the sudden uncomfortable twinge in her chest, she pats the spot next to her.
"Lay down?"
Rachel shifts, and both move until they're lying down, staring at the ceiling. Rachel huffs.
"I don't like this color. Why are hospitals so blandly painted?"
Quinn chuckles. "Maybe to keep their patients relaxed."
"It's mildly depressing. Oh! Maybe that's why people are here so long. In my opinion, hospitals should be bright and energetic! Like upbeat reds, or brilliant oranges! Wouldn't that be nice?"
"No, honestly. It would probably cause heart attacks."
Rachel pouts. "Red is passionate."
"Red means blood and gore," Quinn insists.
"Well, blue is depressing, yellow is blinding, purple is annoying...what else is there?"
"I think you've spent a little too much time thinking about this," Quinn observes.
"I was in my hospital room for quite awhile," Rachel sulks. "Besides watching pathetic daytime television and learning Na'vi, there wasn't much else to do. I couldn't even practice my scales."
"The horror!" Quinn mock-gasps.
"Exactly!"
Quinn's smile becomes sleepy, and Rachel giggles fondly at the sight.
"I'm really tired," the blonde says, almost surprised at the fact. "I've been tired."
"So sleep, silly."
"It's not that easy," Quinn mumbles, nearly half-under. "What if I have nightmares?"
"I'll always be here to help you," Rachel smiles encouragingly, and notices Quinn is already asleep, her face calm and serene, a look that Rachel had not seen since Quinn's pregnancy. The brunette allows herself a moment to survey the exhausted cheerleader before letting her own eyes close and drift into unconsciousness.
Mandy and Judy return with coffees and find both girls asleep in Quinn's bed.
"How did she get up there?" Mandy inquires, snickering. "Rachel must be Spiderwoman."
"Amanda," Judy chides. "Quinn's finally sleeping. That's good, remember?"
"Right. Even though she and Rachel look very comfortable to me."
Judy rolls her eyes good naturedly.
"Should I send the other kids packing?"
"Yes. Quinn's clearly not up for more visitors," Judy nods.
"Yes, ma'am," Mandy mock-salutes, and hears Judy's quiet laugh as she leaves, grinning.
Half the grin is at her sister's cluelessness, though. Really, Quinn is so freaking blind. Whatever. That's her darling little sister's problem. No way was Mandy going to get involved, aside from teasing advice, maybe. Quinn's romantic life was a tangled web anyway. Rachel was yet another one caught in it, even if Quinn would never admit that. She didn't have to, Mandy thinks, hiding a smirk. It's obvious. As soon as Mandy reaches the waiting room, the other glee members stir, looking at her eagerly.
"Show's over! Quinn will see you guys another time," she says, and Santana stomps her foot.
"No way! What room is she in, A?"
"Adios, Santana."
"Puta!"
"Yeah, yeah," Mandy waves her hand as the teenagers, teachers, and coach shuffle out of the room, grumbling about favoritism and in Sue's case, Quinn's 'drug' addictions. Santana allows Brittany to drag her away, mouthing obscene curses at Mandy, who smirks, and mimics her.
Leroy Berry is the only one left, and Mandy smiles at him.
"Rachel's asleep," she informs him. Leroy nods.
"How's Quinn doing?"
"Tired, but I think Rachel might've made some headway into my sister's thick skull."
Leroy laughs. "That's good news. If you can, will you remind her that I'm around to listen? She didn't appear to really remember that point. I would offer a professional opinion and ear, if she'd let me."
"That's right—you're the psychiatrist," Mandy says, excited. "I dropped out of law school to be one. I haven't started studying yet. Or actually done anything. I just sit around the house."
"I have an internship open," Leroy offers. "But you should enroll before I hire you."
"That would be awesome, thank you," Mandy cheers. Leroy grins.
"If you don't mind me asking, why did you chose this profession?"
"My sister," Mandy answers promptly. "I want to help her get better."
"She will," Leroy replies, his eyes twinkling. "We're all here to help."
Quinn is released from Lima General after several days, with strict orders from Hiram to rest up. The day Rachel stayed over was probably her best sleep in a long time, and the subsequent days following are not as pleasant, but she manages to look less like a zombie. The nurse and Quinn, with Rachel and Mandy watching amusedly on, argue over Quinn leaving in a wheelchair. The younger blonde crosses her arms stubbornly and the nurse glares at her.
"It's hospital policy," the nurse squawks.
"I don't care!"
"You're on your own," Mandy states when the nurse looks to her for help. "Sorry."
"You're too weak to walk," the nurse protests desperately. "Dr. Berry said so."
"Dr. Berry is a friend of mine," Quinn snaps—Rachel stifles a chuckle at this, "So, ergo, I can ignore said friend's 'advice'."
"Personal matters don't affect a doctor's diagnosis," the nurse yells. "Get in the wheelchair, Ms. Fabray!"
"Make me!" Quinn shouts.
"Alright, that's enough," Mandy says, red in the face in the effort of not laughing. "Quinn, I'll help you walk. Let's go."
Ignoring Quinn's triumphant grin, the nurse passes Rachel without another comment and holds the door open for Mandy and Quinn to hobble through, Rachel bringing up the rear with a single crutch under one arm. Quinn's ears still ring from Rachel's squealing. Rachel's cast is still awkward and annoying, but her other foot and the crutch allow her to hobble around, which is definitely better than the wheelchair. Rachel even admits to yelling happily that she could walk again to the safety of her room.
"Have a nice day," the nurse bites out. "We hope you enjoyed the service and care of Lima General."
"I didn't, bitch," Quinn mumbles when the nurse is out of earshot. "Lima General sucks."
Mandy's laughter almost makes Quinn fall on her face, and Rachel almost trips over her crutch from giggling.
"I think you should have your own show," Mandy says brightly. "All the shit you say."
"Yeah. Totally, great idea, sis," Quinn broods sarcastically. "Episode One: How to Be a Cheater."
The twitch of Quinn's lips are the only betrayal of her amusement, and Rachel grins.
"Episode Two: How to Trick Idiot Boyfriend," the brunette adds.
"Episode Three: How to Help in a Pot Cupcakes Bake Sale with Fellow Cheater."
"Episode Four: How to...darn it," Rachel grumbles. "This is hard."
"How about the episode where I punch you both in the face for being so annoying?" Mandy voices, smiling into the silence. "That's right. That would be a great episode."
"Loser," Quinn mumbles. "At least I don't watch SoapNet."
"I'm not the loser who harassed a nurse," Mandy concludes. "Just saying."
"Kanye shrug," Rachel pipes up, as all three burst into laughter for the rest of the ride home.
Quinn returns to McKinley after adamant urging from Judy, and another couple days of solid relaxation. Rachel's a constant presence at her house, keeping Judy entertained with her endless knowledge of musicals. Mandy's immersed in textbooks and research about state schools that offer psychology for her to take, and the search for a job. Rachel stays over sometimes, which helps Quinn improve, but the days she isn't causes two steps backwards. Quinn wonders how long exactly she can keep up the act of feeling better—it's not like Rachel can always come over, and she'll have to find a suitable and safe alternative to staying awake to avoid nightmares.
Her nightmares vary; Jacob leading an army of savage, screaming clones to kill her, various ways the boy can hurt the members of glee club, getting decapitated by a guillotine for being a terrible queen, and lastly, seeing an oblivious blonde girl in the line of fire as Jacob bears down on her child.
Quinn dresses in jeans and a T-shirt, stowing her uniform in her duffel bag. Mandy waves distractedly from her room, glasses perched on her nose as she reads, and Judy's already gone to work. Quinn grabs the meticulously packed lunch her mother insisted on making the night before, and dutifully heads to school.
Rachel meets her in the parking lot, and her eyes widen at Quinn's attire.
"You still look tired," the brunette says instead, frowning.
"Work in progress," Quinn answers. "Anyway," she continues, gesturing to her clothes, "this is my mom's idea."
"Ms. Sylvester won't be happy," Rachel warns.
"She'll understand," Quinn counters. "I can't be a reliable Head Cheerio right now."
"That's true," Rachel says doubtfully.
"I have to get better," Quinn reminds her as they walk to Rachel's locker. "When I'm better, she might let me back on the squad. She did this year, after a little bribery."
Rachel snickers, and a group of AV geeks walk by, whispering at Quinn's lack of red polyester.
Lauren Zizes only raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and Quinn doesn't meet her eyes.
"Rachel, Quinn," Tina exclaims brightly, appearing with Mike, "you're back...and no uniform? You're quitting?"
"Temporarily," Quinn replies.
"It'll be good for you to have a break," Mike affirms sympathetically, and Quinn smiles at him.
"I have to break the news to Sylvester, I'll see you all later," Quinn remarks with a small sigh, squeezing Rachel's hand once in farewell and departing down the corridor, gaining curious looks from all sides, which she pointedly ignores and continues to Sue Sylvester's office.
"She doesn't need that uniform to turn heads," Rachel notes, as Mike kindly carries her books for her.
Tina smiles. "She always turns heads."
"And she always will," Mike surmises, and the three share an amused laugh.
A knock interrupts Sue Sylvester's paperwork, and Becky leaps up to answer it.
"Hey, Becky, may I come in?"
"Coach," Becky turns, "it's Quinn Fabray."
"Let her in," Sue says without looking up. Becky opens the door for Quinn to enter, and promptly closes it behind her, standing guard outside with her arms crossed. Quinn successfully manages not to laugh at Becky's achievement as Sue's best assistant. Sue lifts her gaze from her papers, gesturing for Quinn to sit.
"Q."
"Coach."
"Still wandering around like a vampire?"
Quinn allows herself a small laugh. "No, Coach."
"I see you aren't wearing your uniform. I sincerely hope you aren't pregnant again."
Sue reflexively eyes Quinn's stomach, while Quinn shakes her head.
"No. But my mother thinks I should take a break from the squad for awhile."
"I see."
Quinn shifts in her seat, and her eyes turn pleading. "Can I come back to the squad eventually?"
Sue toys with her reading glasses, and after a few moments, simply says: "Fine."
"Seriously?" Quinn stammers. "No blackmail, no bribery, nothing?"
"No. You're my best Cheerio, Fabray. Besides Brittany, you're the best dancer, and besides Santana, the best enforcer of my hierarchy system. Those two are good in their own talents, but you combine the two as Head Cheerio. I'll let Santana take the reins until you're ready."
"Thank you, Ms. Sylvester."
"Although," Sue stresses, "this won't stop the pregnancy remarks, or the attempts to destroy glee club. I will also mock Schuester's hairstyle, and nervous Edna."
"Emma," Quinn corrects automatically. "Ms. Pillsbury, I mean."
"You've already lost my attention a few seconds back. Get better. Rejoin the squad. But now, you can do me a favor and get out of my office."
Quinn leaves smiling, still surprised a long time after at a rare display of Sue Sylvester's mercy, and believes this will be a good day.
(It won't. Not even close.)
Lauren Zizes is sitting at her lunch table, listening to two of her friends squabble over which comics are better—DC or Marvel, it's an important issue, you know—when her phone vibrates. Extracting it from her pocket, Lauren scrolls to the new email from a familiar contact, and freezes.
Jacob Ben Israel.
Knowing that this moment is exactly like the movie Pulse, she opens the email cautiously.
It's an audio attachment, and Lauren brings it to her ear, her breath nervously catching in her throat. Before she can press play, similar exclamations of shock and terror echo across the cafeteria, and the audio message plays at different intervals, but all repeat the same fifteen minutes, replicating the last minutes of Jacob's life in the library. Lauren can barely think straight, she's so shocked. The entire room is silent, listening to their own phones play the message sent directly from Jacob's blog.
No one can utter anything aloud. It's too fresh, too frightening. How on earth did it send with the writer currently six feet under?
Rachel Berry is practically paralyzed with pure panic, her eyes unseeing and glazed over, her mouth forming silent, incomprehensible words. Puck, Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Mercedes, Tina, Artie, Sam, Mike, and Finn all try desperately to prompt another reaction, some sort of verbal indication that's she okay, that she's not catatonic.
(They fail.)
The doors opening cause the cafeteria to flinch, and Quinn Fabray enters, late to lunch. Her bright expression fades as dozens of eyes swivel to stare at her, unable to speak.
Mercedes walks over slowly, carefully, and Quinn looks to her curiously.
Mercedes looks very close to tears of sympathy and fear of Quinn's reaction, and silently hands her phone over.
Quinn examines it, and at Mercedes's nod, presses play to the audio message.
"You're the reason I chose to do this."
"Excuse me?"
"You run McKinley with an iron fist, Quinn! Not even Sylvester or Figgins has as much of an influence as you do. You let the football players and Cheerios slushie anyone they please and don't say a single thing about it. I'm one of the many who are bullied every day in this fucking school and no one bothers to care! You don't care about anyone!"
Quinn doesn't bother to listen to the whole thing as her skin drains of color and her eyes dull to dim hazel tunnels, shallow and empty. Almost tentatively, she places the phone in Mercedes's hand, pressing it hard into the diva's palm. Mercedes doesn't wince once, and holds Quinn's gaze, which has become eerily blank.
The room stares, everyone holding their breath. What will she do? Scream? Faint? Beg for forgiveness? Smash every phone to bits?
"Quinn," Mercedes breathes into the silence, her voice no higher than a whisper.
This seems to rouse Quinn from her stupor, who blinks like a dazed child.
"Quinn," Mercedes tries again, and Quinn opens her mouth—say something, Mercedes silently begs. Say something, please. Don't shut us out. Don't do something drastic. Please, don't go back into the awful pit of nothingness, just open your mouth and say something—but the blonde can't seem to find coherent words to articulate. Rachel's eyes don't waver from the ex-cheerleader, and Puck is half standing from his chair, ready to grab Rachel to sling over his shoulder and get Quinn.
Quinn steps away, slowly, from Mercedes, and inhales a shuddering breath. Before anyone can move, Quinn bolts from the cafeteria, and disappears.