Wheels - Quinn-fic
Title: Wheels
Author: ladyaj_13
Rating: PG, Gen
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to 3x17
Word Count: 1750
Summary: After the accident, Quinn finds herself in a better situation than she'd expected... (it's hard to write a summary without spoilers!)
Wheels
It’s been three weeks since the accident she can’t remember. Rachel has visited almost every day, so she has most of the story through her and the doctors; she was texting and driving and got side-swiped by a semi. Stupid.
“Quinn?” She glances up into the kind face of Ben. He’s one of the hospital orderlies and seems to have taken a special interest in her. He’s sneaked a cup of coffee in for her most mornings when he checks in for work. She thinks he must have a bit of a crush on her, though why anyone would desire a girl who can’t get out of bed on her own, she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s a special medical profession thing - a bleeding heart for charity cases.
“Time for your first appointment with the doctor,” he carries on when he sees she’s back into the real world and out of her head. She’s spending more time in there these days. “He’ll be round in a few minutes.”
“Do I need to do anything?” she asks.
“No,” he answers with a smile. “Just giving you a warning, and telling you to stash the sweets,” he flicks a finger at the Jelly Babies she has on her bedside table. A gift from Finn, naturally. She leans over and tucks them into a drawer.
“And here I thought I was here because of a car accident, not a nutritional deficiency,” she tries to joke back, but she knows it falls flat. Acting normal is becoming harder and harder work. Ben is nice enough to grin anyway.
“Even so,” he adds, helping her to sit up and smoothing down the covers. “Have a great day, Quinn.”
As soon as Ben is gone, the blankness descends again. She sometimes feels like she could spend the rest of her life just sitting in this bed, staring at the wall and thinking of nothing. Having visitors and having to interact with people (having to act like everything isn’t over) just wears her out, whereas staring is so peaceful.
“Miss Fabray!” A man of about fifty walks into the room. He looks like a doctor - slightly lined face with greying hair, white coat over a smart shirt and trousers. The only thing missing is the stethoscope. He picks up the chart from the end of her bed.
“So, you’ve been with us 21 days, now. How are you finding your stay?”
What sort of question is that? “Uh, great,” she replies awkwardly.
“I know, you’d rather be anywhere else,” he smiles at her kindly, in a fatherly sort of way. She wonders whether there are any horrible doctors, and then remembers House. “Well that’s why I’m here now,” he adds. “You’re healed enough now to start moving around, which means starting physiotherapy, but also fitting you out with a wheelchair. Dr Bates will be by later this afternoon, when your mother is here, to discuss your physiotherapy timetable. I’m more to make sure you’re at ease with the whole process, and to introduce you to your chair.”
Quinn nods, and attempts a smile. A nurse wheels a chair into the room and leaves with a deferential smile at the doctor, who has managed to not introduce himself. She peers at his badge. Dr Andrews.
“Now, there’s no need to be scared of the chair,” Dr Andrews continues. “It’s not a symbol, or a manifestation of your problem, or any of that nonsense - it’s just a tool to aid in your recovery. We have every expectation that it will only be temporary, so try to look on it kindly. It can help you resume your normal life, so you don’t have to miss out on fun with your friends, or get behind in your school work. It’s a good thing.”
He wheels it over to the bed, and helps her into it. “How does it feel? It will be a little strange at first, but I want you to be honest so we can get the most comfortable fit. Chairs vary in size and shape just as much as people do, so I’m sure we can find something to suit.”
Quinn runs her hands over the wheels, thinking. She leans into the back, which is supportive and comfy. It’s also low enough that should she wear her hair tied up, it won’t get in the way.
“It’s better than my last one,” she murmurs, rocking easily back and forth, testing the smoothness of the wheel action.
Dr Andrews flips through her notes, giving her an odd look. “I wasn’t aware you’d ever had need of a chair before, Miss Fabray.”
She looks up. “Oh, no I haven’t.” She smiles despite herself, despite the situation. “It was this weird thing my glee club did. Artie - he’s one of my friends, he’s in a wheelchair - was being left out of things because of his disability, so our teacher got us all one and for a week we had to spend three hours a day in it. We even did a wheelchair number; ‘Proud Mary’.” Dr Andrews looks grave. She’s surprised - she expected that he would like that story.
“Then you will already have experienced some of the difficulties I was going to talk you through,” he perches on the edge of her bed. “Albeit in a very temporary fashion that had an element of choice to it. What sort of things did you find hard?”
Quinn shakes her head - she doesn’t want to think about the problems. She’s forgotten about them in the last couple of years. She hadn’t really remembered that everything they all left behind was still happening to Artie. Worse - would be happening to her from now on.
“Quinn? I know it’s not something you want to face, but it is best to be prepared. You’re actually in a better situation than most of my patients. You’ve had a chance to experience being in a wheelchair before your accident; you understand the problems, but you also have it easier in that you won’t have to learn all the basics, like how to turn and stop. But we do need to go through the issues you’ll face.”
Quinn nods again, looking at her hands. They’re already a little red from handling the wheels. Maybe Artie can find her some nice driving gloves. In different colours, so she can coordinate with her outfit.
“You’re on a different level,” she begins. “Some of its just practical - you can’t reach the books in your locker, people hit you in the face with their bags as they walk by, you can’t reach to get your lunch from the counter.” She smiles again. “One of my friends got a faceful of pasta. I actually hated her then, so it was pretty funny.”
Dr Andrews is silent and she’s grateful that he’s just letting her talk, even if he does keep making little scribbles on his notepad.
“Some of it’s social as well, I suppose. When you talk to people, they’re all above you. They have to talk down to you, and if they’re not directly speaking to you, they can forget you’re there…” She knows she’s guilty of that occasionally with Artie. It’s not like they’re best of friends so she never has much to say to him one on one, and in a group he’s always a bit out of it. “I don’t think people notice they’re doing it. I never did.”
“Anything else?”
“Ramps. There are never enough ramps. I used to cheat and get out of my chair if I needed to get to another level, but I remember Finn and Puck always had to carry Artie into the auditorium. You end up dependent on other people.”
“And that’s a problem for you?”
“I don’t need anyone. Ever,” she levels her best ‘head bitch in charge’’ glare at him. He’s probably never spent any time in a wheelchair. He might be able to list problems, intellectually, but he’s never felt the frustration.
He smiles in return to her glare, and Quinn feels her face flush hotly. He’s acting like she’s a naughty child, having a hissy fit.
“Keep that attitude, Miss Fabray. It will take you much further that I can.” He folds his sheets of paper back together and stands up.
“You’re going? That’s it?”
“You know what’s coming. You’ve sort of taken the wind out of my sails, if I’m honest - I can’t be much use to you!” He sighs and walks over to the door. “Any problems with the chair, if it becomes uncomfortable, let me know and you can try out some others. You’ll be discharged tomorrow, so I suggest you make the most of the time between now and your appointment with Dr Bates this afternoon to re-familiarise yourself - wander the halls, essentially. If you go outside, you will need to sign out and take a chaperone, however.”
There’s a pause as they both look at each other. “I see a lot of people in your situation, Miss Fabray. Some will be in the chair for life, others, like you, have the chance to work hard and make their way out of it. Of those people, you can tell that some don’t have what it takes. You do. I expect to see you cheering again soon.”
“How did you know-“
He points to the corner of the room, where Brittany had left behind her pom poms as a gift.
“I’ve not been a cheerleader in a while. They belong to a friend.”
“Even so, you’ve still got the look and feel of one who knows she’s on top of the high school ladder,” he smiles. “It may be many moons since I was a senior, but the cliques haven’t changed. Those at the top are those who can fight their way up - you’re a fighter.”
With that little pep talk (cheesy, but also sort of reassuring), he slips out of the door, shutting it softly behind him. Quinn rocks herself back and forth again. It’s a smooth movement, much better than those second hand chairs Mr Schuester found, and sort of calming. She pushes with the left, and pulls hard with the right as Artie told them all so long ago. The chair swings round in a circle just as the door opens again. It’s Ben.
“Wow! Pretty fancy. I guess Dr Andrews is a good teacher, huh?”
Quinn laughs, and wheels herself smoothly out the door, turning to the left. May as well start ‘familiarising’ herself. “Actually, I can thank Artie Abrahams.”
Author: ladyaj_13
Rating: PG, Gen
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to 3x17
Word Count: 1750
Summary: After the accident, Quinn finds herself in a better situation than she'd expected... (it's hard to write a summary without spoilers!)
Wheels
It’s been three weeks since the accident she can’t remember. Rachel has visited almost every day, so she has most of the story through her and the doctors; she was texting and driving and got side-swiped by a semi. Stupid.
“Quinn?” She glances up into the kind face of Ben. He’s one of the hospital orderlies and seems to have taken a special interest in her. He’s sneaked a cup of coffee in for her most mornings when he checks in for work. She thinks he must have a bit of a crush on her, though why anyone would desire a girl who can’t get out of bed on her own, she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s a special medical profession thing - a bleeding heart for charity cases.
“Time for your first appointment with the doctor,” he carries on when he sees she’s back into the real world and out of her head. She’s spending more time in there these days. “He’ll be round in a few minutes.”
“Do I need to do anything?” she asks.
“No,” he answers with a smile. “Just giving you a warning, and telling you to stash the sweets,” he flicks a finger at the Jelly Babies she has on her bedside table. A gift from Finn, naturally. She leans over and tucks them into a drawer.
“And here I thought I was here because of a car accident, not a nutritional deficiency,” she tries to joke back, but she knows it falls flat. Acting normal is becoming harder and harder work. Ben is nice enough to grin anyway.
“Even so,” he adds, helping her to sit up and smoothing down the covers. “Have a great day, Quinn.”
As soon as Ben is gone, the blankness descends again. She sometimes feels like she could spend the rest of her life just sitting in this bed, staring at the wall and thinking of nothing. Having visitors and having to interact with people (having to act like everything isn’t over) just wears her out, whereas staring is so peaceful.
“Miss Fabray!” A man of about fifty walks into the room. He looks like a doctor - slightly lined face with greying hair, white coat over a smart shirt and trousers. The only thing missing is the stethoscope. He picks up the chart from the end of her bed.
“So, you’ve been with us 21 days, now. How are you finding your stay?”
What sort of question is that? “Uh, great,” she replies awkwardly.
“I know, you’d rather be anywhere else,” he smiles at her kindly, in a fatherly sort of way. She wonders whether there are any horrible doctors, and then remembers House. “Well that’s why I’m here now,” he adds. “You’re healed enough now to start moving around, which means starting physiotherapy, but also fitting you out with a wheelchair. Dr Bates will be by later this afternoon, when your mother is here, to discuss your physiotherapy timetable. I’m more to make sure you’re at ease with the whole process, and to introduce you to your chair.”
Quinn nods, and attempts a smile. A nurse wheels a chair into the room and leaves with a deferential smile at the doctor, who has managed to not introduce himself. She peers at his badge. Dr Andrews.
“Now, there’s no need to be scared of the chair,” Dr Andrews continues. “It’s not a symbol, or a manifestation of your problem, or any of that nonsense - it’s just a tool to aid in your recovery. We have every expectation that it will only be temporary, so try to look on it kindly. It can help you resume your normal life, so you don’t have to miss out on fun with your friends, or get behind in your school work. It’s a good thing.”
He wheels it over to the bed, and helps her into it. “How does it feel? It will be a little strange at first, but I want you to be honest so we can get the most comfortable fit. Chairs vary in size and shape just as much as people do, so I’m sure we can find something to suit.”
Quinn runs her hands over the wheels, thinking. She leans into the back, which is supportive and comfy. It’s also low enough that should she wear her hair tied up, it won’t get in the way.
“It’s better than my last one,” she murmurs, rocking easily back and forth, testing the smoothness of the wheel action.
Dr Andrews flips through her notes, giving her an odd look. “I wasn’t aware you’d ever had need of a chair before, Miss Fabray.”
She looks up. “Oh, no I haven’t.” She smiles despite herself, despite the situation. “It was this weird thing my glee club did. Artie - he’s one of my friends, he’s in a wheelchair - was being left out of things because of his disability, so our teacher got us all one and for a week we had to spend three hours a day in it. We even did a wheelchair number; ‘Proud Mary’.” Dr Andrews looks grave. She’s surprised - she expected that he would like that story.
“Then you will already have experienced some of the difficulties I was going to talk you through,” he perches on the edge of her bed. “Albeit in a very temporary fashion that had an element of choice to it. What sort of things did you find hard?”
Quinn shakes her head - she doesn’t want to think about the problems. She’s forgotten about them in the last couple of years. She hadn’t really remembered that everything they all left behind was still happening to Artie. Worse - would be happening to her from now on.
“Quinn? I know it’s not something you want to face, but it is best to be prepared. You’re actually in a better situation than most of my patients. You’ve had a chance to experience being in a wheelchair before your accident; you understand the problems, but you also have it easier in that you won’t have to learn all the basics, like how to turn and stop. But we do need to go through the issues you’ll face.”
Quinn nods again, looking at her hands. They’re already a little red from handling the wheels. Maybe Artie can find her some nice driving gloves. In different colours, so she can coordinate with her outfit.
“You’re on a different level,” she begins. “Some of its just practical - you can’t reach the books in your locker, people hit you in the face with their bags as they walk by, you can’t reach to get your lunch from the counter.” She smiles again. “One of my friends got a faceful of pasta. I actually hated her then, so it was pretty funny.”
Dr Andrews is silent and she’s grateful that he’s just letting her talk, even if he does keep making little scribbles on his notepad.
“Some of it’s social as well, I suppose. When you talk to people, they’re all above you. They have to talk down to you, and if they’re not directly speaking to you, they can forget you’re there…” She knows she’s guilty of that occasionally with Artie. It’s not like they’re best of friends so she never has much to say to him one on one, and in a group he’s always a bit out of it. “I don’t think people notice they’re doing it. I never did.”
“Anything else?”
“Ramps. There are never enough ramps. I used to cheat and get out of my chair if I needed to get to another level, but I remember Finn and Puck always had to carry Artie into the auditorium. You end up dependent on other people.”
“And that’s a problem for you?”
“I don’t need anyone. Ever,” she levels her best ‘head bitch in charge’’ glare at him. He’s probably never spent any time in a wheelchair. He might be able to list problems, intellectually, but he’s never felt the frustration.
He smiles in return to her glare, and Quinn feels her face flush hotly. He’s acting like she’s a naughty child, having a hissy fit.
“Keep that attitude, Miss Fabray. It will take you much further that I can.” He folds his sheets of paper back together and stands up.
“You’re going? That’s it?”
“You know what’s coming. You’ve sort of taken the wind out of my sails, if I’m honest - I can’t be much use to you!” He sighs and walks over to the door. “Any problems with the chair, if it becomes uncomfortable, let me know and you can try out some others. You’ll be discharged tomorrow, so I suggest you make the most of the time between now and your appointment with Dr Bates this afternoon to re-familiarise yourself - wander the halls, essentially. If you go outside, you will need to sign out and take a chaperone, however.”
There’s a pause as they both look at each other. “I see a lot of people in your situation, Miss Fabray. Some will be in the chair for life, others, like you, have the chance to work hard and make their way out of it. Of those people, you can tell that some don’t have what it takes. You do. I expect to see you cheering again soon.”
“How did you know-“
He points to the corner of the room, where Brittany had left behind her pom poms as a gift.
“I’ve not been a cheerleader in a while. They belong to a friend.”
“Even so, you’ve still got the look and feel of one who knows she’s on top of the high school ladder,” he smiles. “It may be many moons since I was a senior, but the cliques haven’t changed. Those at the top are those who can fight their way up - you’re a fighter.”
With that little pep talk (cheesy, but also sort of reassuring), he slips out of the door, shutting it softly behind him. Quinn rocks herself back and forth again. It’s a smooth movement, much better than those second hand chairs Mr Schuester found, and sort of calming. She pushes with the left, and pulls hard with the right as Artie told them all so long ago. The chair swings round in a circle just as the door opens again. It’s Ben.
“Wow! Pretty fancy. I guess Dr Andrews is a good teacher, huh?”
Quinn laughs, and wheels herself smoothly out the door, turning to the left. May as well start ‘familiarising’ herself. “Actually, I can thank Artie Abrahams.”