Fic: No Wise Words Gonna Stop the Bleeding [Part Six]
Title: No Wise Words Gonna Stop the Bleeding [Part Six]
Rating: NC-17
Words: little over 10k
Notes in Part One
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
--
"What about the baby?" Rachel repeats when Quinn doesn't say anything.
Quinn swallows hard and her face scrunches up against Rachel's neck but she can't get any words to come out. Rachel must sense it but her wife stays silent, her lips coming to press against Quinn's head. Quinn can almost feel the answering expression of pain on Rachel's face.
Finally, Quinn takes a deep, shaky breath and feels like she has control over her words. "They don't know yet," she whispers into the skin in front of her. "But now that you're awake they can run some tests.
"Okay," Rachel croaks. "Okay. I'm sure it's okay."
Quinn shakes her head. "You don't know that."
"I'd know," Rachel insists. "I'd know, okay?"
"Rach," Quinn murmurs, picking her head up to look into the red-rimmed eyes of her wife. "Rach, baby - "
"You have to believe in it, Quinn," she says, her hand gripping around Quinn's bicep. "Please, I need you to believe in it."
It's really the hardest thing Rachel could have possibly asked her because the Quinn hardly isn’t sure about this being okay, isn’t sure about it being okay, isn’t sure about much of anything being okay right now. But Rachel is looking at her longingly and the tears are starting to fall and Quinn doesn't think she can deny Rachel this right now. "Okay."
It doesn't totally convince her wife and Rachel's brow starts to furrow, so Quinn does the only thing she can think of to turn Rachel's thoughts off of the dark path they're taking. "Toolio," she blurts out.
It gets Quinn the desired effect as Rachel tries to figure out what Quinn is saying and the tears abruptly stop, replaced by confusion. "What?"
"Toolio," Quinn repeats. "The name."
Then it finally dawns on Rachel what she's talking about and all the dark energy bursts out of the room with Rachel's deep laughter. "Ow, ow," she chuckles. "Don't make me laugh."
"Sorry," Quinn offers insincerely.
"We're not naming our baby Toolio," Rachel says, smiling.
"Straw," Quinn counters.
Rachel tilts her head on the pillow and narrows her eyes at Quinn. "You want to name it Straw?"
"Straw Berry-Fabray," Quinn says.
Rachel brings a hand up to cover her face as she holds back laughter and Quinn grins at the expression, feeling a warmth settle in her chest that wasn't there moments before.
"We should name it after Santana," Rachel replies as she moves her hand and looks back at Quinn. "Just to freak her out."
"See," Quinn jokes, stroking hair off of Rachel's forehead and smiling. "This is why I love you."
Smiling, Rachel shifts closer but nearly immediately after moving an expression of pain shoots across her face and Quinn feels it cut right through her.
--
In the lowest level of their house there was a small, soundproofed room that Rachel used as a recording studio slash office. In fact, the entire lower level was pretty much Rachel's space. Quinn didn't spend a ton of time down there unless she was actually with Rachel but her wife wasn't home right now and she couldn't find her favorite sweatshirt. It was kind of childish, but that sweatshirt was like a good luck charm and Rachel had taken to stealing it (like she did most of Quinn's clothes) at the most inopportune times. There was no way she was going to go play pool with Santana without her lucky sweatshirt.
So, after basically searching the entire household including the spare bedrooms and extra kitchen and the many storage closets, she went downstairs in hopes that Rachel had left it in one of her rooms down there.
Lo and behold, when Quinn walked into the small studio-cum-office the grey sweatshirt was hanging off a chair near one of Rachel's desks. "Thank God," Quinn breathed as she picked it up and slid it over her head. The fabric was warm and smelled like Rachel and just like that, Quinn stopped being annoyed that she had just spent an hour looking for the damn thing.
She was halfway out of the room when she noticed it. For whatever reason, the stack of papers in the corner caught her eye and curiosity got the better of her when she realized it wasn't sheet music like the rest of the documents in the room. When she actually picked the papers up and flipped through the contents, her stomach flipped over with realization.
There was really only one reason for Rachel Berry-Fabray to be reading about fertility treatments and adoption agencies and surrogacy.
--
Rachel strode into the kitchen in a flurry of movement, slamming a massive pile of sheet music on the table, walking over to Quinn and kissing her hello before waltzing to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of tomato juice and set it on the counter.
"Hi," Quinn greeted, eyeing the sheet music on the table and shuffling the papers in her hand around. She leaned her butt up against the counter opposite Rachel and watched her wife's hair swish around as she poured a glass of juice and put the bottle back in their fridge.
"Hey," Rachel replied brightly. "You will not believe what happened to me today. Kurt showed up - "
Quinn stopped her before Rachel went off on a thirty minute tirade about her day and Quinn forgot all about the papers in her hand. Throwing the stack of papers on the table next to the sheet music, Quinn pointed to them and waited for Rachel to face her. "What are these?"
Confusion spread across her face, Rachel tilted her head to inspect the brochures and forms before a gasp of realization escaped her. "Quinn," she started, eyes wide as she looked back at Quinn.
"Just tell me," Quinn said.
"I wasn't," Rachel said. "I mean, I just - "
The words were choppy and hesitant and Quinn felt a year-old shroud of despair fall over them again and she just needed to not relive that period in their marriage ever again. She had spent the last few weeks watching Santana fall apart and thinking about how Brittany walked away and feeling entirely helpless. She was done feeling like that and when she looked into Rachel's brown eyes and felt the ring twist on her finger she knew what she wanted.
"I want a baby," Quinn interrupted. "I think we should have a baby."
Rendering Rachel speechless became one of her crowning achievements in life.
“I’m hoping you not having anything to say to that is a good thing,” Quinn joked, pushing off from the counter she was leaning against and smiling softly at her wife.
“Have I gone into shock?” Rachel mumbled, blinking around the kitchen. “Or I’m dreaming. Where’s the chocolate fountain?”
“You’re not dreaming,” Quinn laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and choosing to ignore that interesting tidbit about her wife’s dreams.
Rachel nodded slowly and locked eyes with Quinn. “You’re right. If this were a dream you’d be naked.”
Rolling her eyes, Quinn chuckled a little and shook her head. “What do you say?”
Rachel blinked. “About what?”
“The baby thing,” Quinn repeated, raising her eyebrows.
“You want a baby,” Rachel said. “Two years of No, Rachel, absolutely not and now all of a sudden you want a baby? What on earth could’ve happened since our terrible, dark, deep period of angst about this very subject that could convince you that you wanted a baby after you fought tooth and nail to never have one? Because I remember, very distinctly, being told that it would not happen.”
“I changed my mind,” Quinn answered simply.
“You just changed your mind,” Rachel repeated, throwing her hands up as she looked at Quinn incredulously. “This is a very serious life choice, Quinn Fabray, and while I can’t say that your sudden desire to procreate with me isn’t pleasing, it’s certainly alarming and I really think you should put some thought into this because if you change your mind again so flippantly so help me God - ”
Quinn cut her off with a finger to her lips and wrapped an arm around Rachel’s waist.
“I have thought about it,” Quinn whispered.
“Well all the evidence points to the idea that you have - ” Rachel mumbled around Quinn’s finger.
“Rachel,” Quinn interrupted. “Think maybe I could have the floor for five seconds?”
Pulling Quinn’s finger away from her lips Rachel smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“As I was saying,” Quinn continued. “I have thought about it. Brittany leaving made me think about a lot of things.”
“Yes, I know,” Rachel said before Quinn clapped her hand over her mouth again.
“Seriously, I will gag you,” Quinn warned.
A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted over Rachel’s left eye but she kept her mouth shut.
“Brittany left and Santana’s completely wrecked and here I am in this life, with you and I…I,” she stammered. “I just don’t want to waste it. I don’t want to look back twenty years from now and regret all my stupid fears and paranoia and I want them to stop running my life. I feel like my whole world is falling apart and I just...”
She swallowed and brought her hand away from Rachel’s mouth to replace it with her own lips for a hot moment. “I want to do this,” she whispered when they broke apart. “I think we can do this. I think we’d be really good.”
Rachel nodded and a large grin spread slowly across her face. “Yeah,” she agreed, bringing up both her hands to grip Quinn’s cheeks. “We can. We will be.”
--
"Rach," Quinn says, sliding off the bed, standing up, and leaning over her wife. She strokes the hair off of Rachel's face and keeps her hands on warm cheeks as Rachel breathes through pain. "I'll go get the doctor.
"No," Rachel exclaims, grabbing Quinn's hands and pulling them away. "I'm okay."
"Baby, they can give you something for the pain."
Relaxing her face and arching an eyebrow, Rachel stares at Quinn skeptically. "I'm preg - ” she gets halfway though the word before her face scrunches up in pain again - this time for an entirely different reason.
"Rachel," she whispers, leaning close and putting a hand back on her wife's cheek to calm her back down. "Let me get the doctor, okay?"
Rachel doesn't say anything and Quinn is really starting to hate silence, especially Rachel’s silence, but her wife nods and manages a soft smile. "Okay."
"I love you," Quinn mutters, her lips pressing against Rachel's forehead in a long kiss.
"You too," Rachel replies as Quinn breaks away.
--
"What's the occasion?" Quinn asked, head cocked to the side as she observed their nicest china spread out over the table.
"Wasn't aware I needed one," Rachel replied, sitting down at the table and beaming at Quinn.
Quinn arched an eyebrow as she plopped down next to the other place setting. "Yes you are."
"Quinn." The name dropped out of Rachel's mouth like an exasperated sigh.
"The last time you had this china out I dropped a few grand on that trophy case in the lower level."
"It's an award case," Rachel clarified. "Trophy sounds so distasteful, I explained that to you when you helped me move said awards into it."
"Right," Quinn replied, dropping her napkin on her lap and picking up a fork. "That makes total sense."
"Eat your dinner," Rachel ordered, her eyes narrowed.
"You made my favorite," Quinn said suspiciously, her fork hovering over her plate as she observed the meal. "What's going on?"
The annoyed look that crossed her wife's face only confirmed her suspicions. Rachel only got really annoyed with Quinn when she wasn't playing into some harebrained scheme Rachel had cooked up. Something was going on. "Why are you being so difficult?"
"Because you're trying to butter me up for something, what happened?" The grandfather clock chimed loudly from the living room and Quinn looked around the kitchen suspiciously. "Are your fathers here again, did you get arrested today?"
"I'm pregnant!" Rachel blurted out all of a sudden and Quinn dropped her fork to the plate with a crash, her eyes widening. "Dang it, dang it, dang it," Rachel sputtered as she smacked the table with her hand. "Dang it."
"Holy shit," Quinn breathed her eyes darting around but not seeing anything. "Holy shit."
"No, no, no," Rachel said, waving her hand at Quinn. "Pretend you didn't hear that, I take it back, you didn't hear that, kidding!"
Quinn's brows came together and she finally focused on her wife who was very clearly freaking out. "Rach," she started.
"No, no," Rachel replied, still waving her hand around as she shook her head. "It wasn't supposed to come out like that, I had a whole plan, dang it, pretend you didn't hear that, okay?"
"Rachel," Quinn intoned, trying to break through the freakout.
"Just rewind, start over," she continued.
"Rachel, shut up!" Quinn shouted, finally quieting the other girl. "You're ruining it."
Jaw snapping shut, Rachel looked somewhere between angry and tears. "I know I ruined it," she started again.
Quinn leaned abruptly over the table and put a finger against Rachel's mouth. "Shut up," she repeated, before moving back to sit down.
Still gaping and feeling entirely gobsmacked, Quinn just sort of stared at Rachel. "Wow," she whispered.
"Quinn," Rachel whined.
In a flash, Quinn was up from her chair and leaning over her wife, gripping her head with both hands and pulling Rachel to her feet with a searing kiss. The surprised gasp Rachel let out got swallowed by Quinn's lips on hers. Small fists tangled in Quinn's shirt and pulled them closer as she felt Rachel smile against her mouth.
"You're pregnant?" Quinn asked in a whisper as they broke apart.
Rachel nodded. "So says the doctor and the thirteen pregnancy tests I took earlier."
"No way," she uttered, her hands leaving Rachel's face to wrap around her waist and haul her up against Quinn's body.
Tan arms tangled around Quinn's neck and Rachel beamed at her. "Yes way."
Twirling them in circles in their kitchen, Quinn let out a loud laugh and felt the answering sound in her ear as Rachel held onto her.
--
Out in the hallway, the first person she sees is Puck, sprawled out on a chair, head tipped against the wall and snoring. Loudly. She walks over to him, pinches her thumb and index finger on his nose to stop the noise until he sputters awake, swatting at her hand and shooting upward.
"The fuck, Fabray?" He's glaring at her and wiping sleep off his face but she can't take the smile off her face.
"Rachel's awake," she informs him. "She's awake."
He blinks at her, his jaw dropping open a little before his eyes dart to the doorway to Rachel's room and he shoots to his feet. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Quinn answers, nodding.
A grin breaks over his face and Quinn can see how he struggles to wipe it away before he pumps a fist in the air by his side. "Sick."
"Totally," she chuckles.
Eyes shifting between the door and Quinn's face, Puck laughs and claps a hand over her shoulder, nodding at her softly. "I should call Lopez."
"No," Quinn shakes her head quickly. "It's late. Let her sleep while the doctor comes and takes a look at Rach. We can call her in the morning."
"Quinn," he starts, smile dropping from his face.
"Call her in the morning," Quinn repeats. She thinks of the way she felt when she saw Brittany and Santana together and she thinks about what they're probably doing right now in their apartment. "Trust me."
--
After Rachel told Quinn she was pregnant, Quinn took the next four hours showing her wife just how happy that news made her. In about sixteen different ways. When her muscles started to lose all their strength and she became fairly certain that another orgasm would probably kill one or the both of them, Quinn decided her point had probably gotten across.
Rain beat steadily against their bedroom window and Quinn watched the drops roll down the glass as she tried to catch her breath and ran her fingers down the warm, damp skin of Rachel’s back. Her mind felt somewhere between the hazy post-sex swirl right before she nodded off and a whirlwind of thought and emotion because she was still trying to process this new development in her life.
“A franc for your thoughts,” Rachel said softly, the lips near Quinn’s collarbone stretching in what Quinn knew was a smile.
“It’s raining,” Quinn answered, tracing Rachel’s spine.
The hot breath of Rachel’s laughter beat against her neck and Quinn grinned in response, pulling her wife closer into her. “This is kind of amazing,” she whispered against Rachel’s hair.
Rachel’s head pulled up until they were eye level. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, her brow furrowing a little bit.
“So you’re happy?” Rachel asked, her hand settling on Quinn’s hip.
“You couldn’t tell?” Quinn chuckled and stroked the hair away from Rachel’s face, tucking it around her ear. “I thought I made that pretty obvious.”
“Mmmm,” Rachel hummed, running her hand up from Quinn’s hip. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
Her head tilted a little to the side as she observed her wife’s expression. After years of being with Rachel she’d gotten pretty good at reading her and right now there was something in Rachel’s face that was...off. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
Rachel shrugged and ran her fingertips along Quinn’s ribs. “Why? It’s true.”
“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” The skin at Rachel’s back was still warm as she ran her hand up it and felt the body on top of hers shift as her wife took a deep breath and shrugged again.
“You just haven’t been really happy in a long time,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, and breathy against Quinn’s skin.
“Rachel,” Quinn replied, her chest tightening at her wife’s tight expression. “Baby...”
“No,” she interrupted, small fingers tracing up Quinn’s sides. “I just mean the last few years have been pretty hard, the last few months especially and it’s just nice to see you happy.”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, swallowing. She tried not to focus on the things Rachel was referring to - the problems at work, with her family and most recently, Brittany’s sudden departure and Santana’s spiral into despondent alcoholism. Instead she focused on how soft Rachel’s skin was, the way her hair was a tangled mess, the light flush in her cheeks and the fingers drawing shapes over her ribs. “The last few years have been hard but never doubt how happy I am, how happy you make me. I’m sorry I don’t tell you often enough.”
Her hips pushed upward as she powered them both over so she was hovering over her wife, her body propped up on her elbow near Rachel’s face and locking her eyes onto her wife’s with intent and sincerity. “You make me so, so happy,” she repeated, her free hand palming the skin between Rachel’s breasts before sliding down to settle low on her stomach. “You and this new little person.”
“Was that a crack about my height?”
The seriousness of the moment rushed out of the room and Quinn collapsed in laughter on top of her wife, her forehead hitting Rachel’s shoulder as a hand gripped into her hair and started to pull the tangles out.
“I’m really, really happy,” Quinn said, her lips brushing against bare skin.
“Me too,” Rachel said, turning to press a kiss to Quinn’s temple.
Silence fell around them after that and Quinn could feel her eyes start to droop closed, the sound of rain and the feeling of Rachel’s fingers in her hair lulling her into sleep. Seconds from nodding off, Rachel’s voice cuts back in. “I hope the kid is like me and not an emotional cripple,” she muttered.
Quinn shot her head up to stare at her wife incredulously. “What?”
A wide, joking grin was plastered on Rachel’s face and the body under Quinn began to shake with laughter as Rachel brought a hand up to cover her smile. “I’m kidding,” she said between laughs.
“You’re hilarious,” Quinn deadpanned. “I hope it inherits my height.”
An indignant gasp cut Rachel’s laughter off as she pushed Quinn off of her in mock rage and started to beat her with one of the pillows from their bed. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
Putting her arms up to shield her face, Quinn just kept laughing.
--
Pacing back and forth in the hospital hallway, Quinn worries her thumb between her teeth as she watches the tiles go by under her feet. The doctor's in with Rachel now and Quinn had excused herself outside, her nervous pacing had agitated Rachel pretty quickly. Puck is still in the same chair he had been sleeping in, his leg bouncing up and down rapidly as he watches a clock hung on the wall not too far from the room.
"You think it's okay?" The question is low and almost inaudible but Quinn hears it and knows exactly what he's referring to by it.
"Yes," she says firmly, stopping for a second in front of him. "Yes."
"Good," he swallows
Taking a deep breath, she looks resolutely at the doorway before making her decision. "I'm going back in there."
Puck chuckles. "Good luck."
Rachel is sitting up in bed when she gets inside, talking to the doctor at her bedside as he flips some sheets over in her chart. "Hey," she greets softly.
"Hi," Rachel replies, the happy look on her face making Quinn feel better.
"Oh, Ms. Fabray," the doctor says, turning to look at her. "I was just about to tell your wife - "
She blurts the question out before she can stop herself. "Is it okay?"
Thankfully, the doctor smiles softly and looks at her indulgently. "Your son is fine," he says and shock pours straight on Quinn's head like a bucket of ice, flowing through all her limbs. Rachel jerks upward in bed too.
"I'm sorry, what?" Quinn manages to get out.
The doctor looks at her confused before giving a look to Rachel and then back down to his chart. "You did know you were pregnant, right?"
"We're having a boy," Rachel mumbles, eyes wide and staring blankly on the blanket covering her legs.
"Son?" Quinn asks at the same time.
"You didn't know," the doctor says with sudden realization. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew."
"No, no, no," Quinn interrupts, shaking her hand at him and trying to get the bewildered expression off her face. She can't help the way she stares at Rachel with awe and wonder. "It's fine, it's fine."
The doctor throws the chart into a slot on the wall and puts his hand on her shoulder. "Congratulations," he mutters apologetically before walking out.
Then it's just her and Rachel in the hospital room, the whir of the machines around Rachel's bed the only sound. It takes a few seconds of just standing there before Rachel lifts her head, a massive smile crawling across her face as she looks at Quinn. "We're having a boy," she repeats.
Quinn's lips turn up into her own smile and the cold shock of earlier warms to anticipation and excitement and a happiness that she can't stamp down. "Yeah," she breathes before striding to the bed and dropping a hot kiss on Rachel's laughing mouth.
--
Santana shows up the next morning, after Quinn tells Puck it's okay to call her.
Quinn's standing in the hallway with Rachel's doctor and nurse, running over some weird organic painkillers they're putting Rachel on to deal with the pain in her ribs. Rachel had actually been the one that suggested the medication - claiming that she had done the research on pain remedies when she found out she was pregnant (sometimes Quinn feels like she'll never understand this crazy girl she married). When Rachel had started complaining about the gash on her forehead and how they better find the best plastic surgeon in the entire country to make sure it doesn't scar, Quinn knew her wife was just fine and pulled the doctor into the hallway.
The doctor is halfway through his explanation on safe medication during pregnancies and how it will probably make Rachel loopy for a little bit when Santana skids to a halt in front of her, dark hair out of place and a harried expression all over her tan face. Her friend gets through a stumbling, hurried demand for information when Quinn realizes why Santana looks so worried. It's because she is.
"Oh my God," she says, realization flushing through her. She can't help it. Laughter bursts out of her in long, unending tumbles. "You're worried about Rachel."
It's one of the brighter moments of the last few hours and Quinn can't stop the huge wave of affection for Santana Lopez rushes through her. Despite Santana's denial that she's only worried about Rachel in a professional capacity, Quinn sees right through it and envelopes her friend into a hug.
"I love you," she whispers into Santana's ear.
Her friend rolls her eyes when they break apart but Quinn knows it means I love you too.
Santana strides into the hospital room to see Rachel, and Quinn turns back to the doctor to hear the rest of the explanation before following her friend into her wife's room, Puck right beside her.
--
The first time Rachel met Quinn's parents was almost entirely a disaster. Quinn shouldn't have really expected much else considering who her parents were and who Rachel was, but she couldn't stop the little thread of childish hope that her parents and the love of her life could get along. But despite all that wishing, the frosty atmosphere at dinner devolved quickly into a heated argument between her father and her girlfriend.
"Don't talk to her like that," Rachel commanded, half out of her chair and glaring daggers at a completely unruffled Russell Fabray.
"I'm her father," he replied icily. "I can talk to her any which way I please."
"Rachel," Quinn said softly, putting a restraining arm on Rachel's wrist. "Calm down."
"I'm not going to calm down, Quinn," Rachel said furiously. "Did you not hear what he just said to you?"
She had heard it just fine, of course. It was the same things her father had been saying to her for a long time now. Getting called a failure and a disappointment was almost losing the effect it had had when she was younger - she'd heard it so often it was nearly white noise.
"Just let it go," she ordered, watching her mother sip her wine glass out of the corner of her eye.
“Quinn, that’s ridiculous,” Rachel started, but Quinn’s father interrupted her.
“Listen here, young lady,” he boomed from his side of the table, setting his glass of bourbon on the table. “Who are you to lecture me on my own daughter? You, just some phase she’s going through. I’m the one that will be here at the end of it all. You’re just a mistake in a long line of mistakes that I’ll end up having to clean up after.”
Her father wasn’t finished, Quinn could tell, but as much as she didn’t mind the insults being flung in her direction, Rachel didn’t need to be subjected to the same. “Stop now,” she warned, narrowing her eyes in his direction. “Say what you want about me, but leave Rachel out of it.”
“Quinn,” he said, his voice darkening. “You’re running out of second chances with me. Stop ruining your life.”
For some reason, as her father continued to expound upon how terrible Quinn was, messing up the life plan he had laid out for her when she was only five, she couldn’t help but stare at her mother. Judy Fabray. Who sat next to her father with her glass of wine, looking about as a statute would.
She got so wrapped up in watching her mother that she didn’t even notice Rachel bristle again as her girlfriend opened her mouth to counter her father’s insults.
“I will have you know that Quinn - ”
“Rachel,” she interrupted, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and squeezing. “Please.” She couldn’t deny that seeing Rachel come so quickly to the defense of her character was probably one of the best feelings in the world, but the dinner was already uncomfortable and she’d just like to finish the meal in front of her, get out of here and take advantage of the dress Rachel was wearing and Rachel in general.
Her girlfriend deflated, probably from the pitiful pleading look Quinn sent her way, but it didn’t really matter. The rest of the night continued to be awkward and her father merely glared at her over the rim of his tumbler as she shoved food in her mouth as rapidly as possible while her mother continued to sip at her wine glass occasionally.
Rachel, true to form, made conversation the entire time. Mostly she just talked to herself or Quinn, though she directed questions towards both of Quinn’s parents. Despite feeling the harsh sting of parental rejection, Quinn had to stop herself from laughing a few times when Rachel would answer her own questions or argue with herself aloud.
Later, as they were walking home, Rachel swung their arms back and forth as she eyed the dresses in the storefronts they passed. "We're never going to treat our kids like that," she said absently.
"Like what?" Quinn said automatically, not really paying attention. Now that they were away from her parents, Quinn didn't really want to think about that anymore. All she wanted to pay attention to was the way the straps of Rachel's dress looked about ready to fall off her shoulder and how she was going to show her gratitude to her girlfriend for enduring the dinner when they got back to her apartment.
"Your parents," she said, tugging down on Quinn's arm. "I know they're your parents and respect is very important within that relationship but you really shouldn't let them talk to you like that. I would never tell our children they were a disappointment because they didn't chose to follow in my admittedly large footsteps and pursue a career in show business. I mean, I would encourage them, of course, because any child of ours would obviously inherit a wealth of talent, but - "
She hummed affirmatively but all of a sudden her mind kind of caught up to what exactly Rachel was talking about. "Back up," she blurted out.
"Which part?" Rachel asked, looking up at Quinn innocently.
"We're having kids?" Quinn's brows came together and her mind opened up to an array of possibilities she had never thought of before.
"Well not right now,” Rachel joked, swinging their arms back and forth.
Quinn didn’t laugh, just stared straight ahead, wide-eyed. “Wow,” she breathed.
“What?”
“I just never really thought about it,” Quinn replied, blinking against this new future that just opened up. “Wow.”
“You never thought about it?” Rachel stopped and pulled Quinn to a halt beside her. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“What?” She tried to focus on what her girlfriend was saying but all she could think about was miniature versions of Rachel running around; visions of taking them to school, of bringing them to Rachel’s shows and teaching them to read and write and sing all torpedoed into her brain, nearly pushing her over.
“Do you not want children? Is that why you haven’t thought about it? Do you not want them with me? Are you breaking up with me?” The questions poured out of Rachel, becoming more frenzied as she kept talking and finally broke through Quinn’s reverie.
“Whoa,” Quinn interjected, putting up a hand to stop her girlfriend. “Why are you freaking out right now?”
“Because you’re freaking out!” Rachel exclaimed, eyes wide.
“I am not freaking out. You’re freaking out,” Quinn clarified patiently. “I just said I hadn’t thought about it. It’s not something I worry about, I guess.” She gestured between them trying to get across her message.
“So it’s something to worry about it,” Rachel intoned, nodding slowly. “So you don’t want children.”
“Rachel,” Quinn said exasperated. She rolled her eyes and tugged her girlfriend closer. “I said had just never thought about it. I didn’t say I didn’t want a couple mini-yous running around.”
Rachel eyed her suspiciously, but before she could open her mouth to spew more nonsense, Quinn leaned over and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss.
“I love you,” Quinn whispered. “Stop freaking out.”
--
Remarkably, Rachel actually gives Santana and Puck a good description of the car that hit her and the two of them leave to follow the lead.
Quinn doesn’t really know how to feel as the hours pass in Rachel’s hospital room before they can get out of it. She’s anxious to leave for a variety of reasons - most of them having to do with a now even more deeply-seated paranoia about Rachel. She’s caught somewhere between intense happiness that her wife is alive and that her son (and god, she gets a stupid feeling right in the center of her chest when she thinks about that) okay and the desperate unwillingness to feel that way with Pike still on the loose and the creeping feeling that it’s only the beginning.
Thankfully, Rachel’s asleep, breathing deeply in her hospital bed as her body heals itself. The medication the doctors started her on is making her a combination of spacey and sleepy and while Quinn’s sure that Rachel will be annoyed that she’s wasting all her valuable time sleeping instead of doing something productive, she’s grateful that her wife seems to be doing better with every tick of the clock.
The rain beats against the window and Quinn watches it fall in sheets over an expansive city. For a dark moment she thinks back to the days when the sight of the skyline held so much promise and opportunity; she’d see building after building and imagine her corner office and her face in the paper and despite the fact that she has all that now, she feels nothing but contempt for this city.
She takes a deep breath and turns to look at Rachel in the hospital bed, letting it out as her eyes take in the steady rise and fall of her wife’s chest. All that promise and hope that the city used to hold, that her life used to hold, had transferred and entwined itself with this woman. It’s a terrifying thought, to know that she couldn’t truly survive without another person and all the promise they bring - but Quinn smiles anyway.
--
“I don’t think we should tell people,” Rachel said, fitting an earring into her right ear.
“Tell people what?” Quinn was still in bed, her back against the headboard as she watched Rachel waltz around the room getting ready.
Stopping all of a sudden, Rachel propped her hands on her hips and observed Quinn’s position. “Are you going to get dressed?”
“Yes,” Quinn answered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Tell people what?”
“About the baby,” Rachel replied, moving again towards the closet.
She hadn’t really thought about telling people - she had been too focused on dealing with the news herself and enjoying her wife to think about actually telling people. But now that Rachel mentioned it, her palms itched to grab her cell phone. “Why not?”
“A lot of reasons,” Rachel said, coming back into the room and throwing a dress on the bed.
Quinn arched an eyebrow at a black dress she recognized as her own on the end of the bed. “That won’t fit you,” she commented, pointing at the outfit.
“It’s for you, get dressed,” Rachel ordered.
Rolling her eyes, Quinn swung her legs off the bed and stood. “Name one reason.”
“It’s a big deal,” Rachel answered promptly, opening a drawer in her dresser and rummaging around in it.
“Well yeah,” Quinn said, picking the dress up and observing it. “That’s why we should tell people.”
“No, that’s why we should throw an announcement party,” Rachel argued, finding what she was looking for and stepping away to turn towards Quinn.
Quinn laughed. “Of course.”
They were silent for a while after that as they each went about their task of getting dressed and Quinn thought about the reactions of their friends when they found out. “Santana’s going to freak,” she commented absently.
“Mmmm,” Rachel hummed affirmatively. “Probably.”
“Brittany will be so - ” Quinn laughed as she searched for a pair of heels to match the dress, before choking on the words and realizing what she was saying. “I mean,” she stuttered and her eyes went wide. “Never mind.”
She felt Rachel freeze behind her in the room, perched on the edge of the bed, a shoe in one hand as she turned to look at Quinn with a concerned expression.
Shaking her head and trying to laugh nonchalantly, Quinn went back to her task of picking shoes out, but Rachel walked into their closet and wrapped her arms around Quinn’s waist, warm and tight.
She swallowed and looked down, pressing a hand to Rachel’s arm and squeezing her eyes shut for a long, pained moment, sinking backwards into her wife’s warm body to soothe it.
--
It seems like it takes days before Santana shows back up at the hospital, but when she does Quinn’s heart tightens in her chest and fear shoots through her at the dirt and blood smeared on Santana’s face.
“Holy shit, what happened?”
Santana is gasping for breath and her eyes are wide and Quinn doesn’t think she’s seen her friend this out of sorts in a long time.
“Explosion,” Santana pants, her arms flying out in a circular gesture that is apparently meant to represent an explosion. “Puck.”
Quinn jerks back and gasps. “No,” she breathes, her head lightening at an alarming rate at the thought of Puck -
“No, no,” Santana gets out, grabbing Quinn’s bicep. “He’s okay, he’s in the operating room right now.”
“There was an explosion?”
Santana nods, gesticulating with sweeping arm movements. “The warehouse,” she explains. “His car. Boom.”
“Fuck,” Quinn lets out.
“Yeah,” Santana says shaking her head and swiping a palm over her face. “Listen, is Berry getting out of here any time soon?”
“I’m trying to get her discharged as soon as I can.”
Santana nods and squeezes her arm briefly. “Come to the apartment,” she orders.
Quinn sees the way Santana is barely standing, the way her eyes are having trouble focusing and she barrels forward, pulling Santana into her arms and squeezing. “It’ll be okay,” she mumbles, feeling Santana’s arms wrap around her back.
“I know,” Santana whispers back and Quinn can hear tears there. “Fuck.”
“It’s Puck,” Quinn jokes. “Nothing stops Puckzilla.”
Hot breath hits Quinn’s hair as Santana laughs and Quinn rubs a hand down Santana’s back. They let go of each other and Santana smiles softly at Quinn. “Come to the apartment when you get out of here, okay?”
It’s mostly just desperation for everything to be normal again but it’s partly because she needs to alleviate some of the pain she sees forming around Santana’s eyes. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were worried about me.”
Santana laughs and starts walking backwards. “More like I’m going to need a good lawyer when this is all over.”
--
It’s not hard to get Rachel discharged after that and after she signs all the important papers and rounds up some scrubs for Rachel to wear home, they make their way out of the hospital with a bag full of medication and gauze in Quinn’s hands.
When they step outside the doors, Quinn has never been more grateful to feel rain on her face in her entire life.
“How you feeling?” Quinn asks for the umpteenth time as they walk up the steps to their home.
“I’m fine,” Rachel grates out, pain evident in her clenched jaw and the way she leans heavily into Quinn’s side.
Quinn sighs. “We should have gone straight to Santana’s.”
“I’m not showing up to Santana’s apartment in borrowed hospital scrubs,” Rachel says as they top the stairs and make their way to the doors. “I can’t believe I even walked out in public in the first place dressed like this.”
Rachel continues her tirade on the ills of living in constant fear of the paparazzi and how they shouldn’t even be staying at Santana’s in the first place as Quinn unlocks their front door and helps Rachel across the threshold.
They make it to their bedroom though it feels like an eternity to Quinn who feels every wince and grimace that Rachel makes like a knife to the chest that twists just a little deeper when Rachel gives a little whimper at the turn off the second and third floors. She lets go of her wife as they round the corner to their massive bedroom closet and Rachel sits on a small bench in the middle of all the shelves.
“What do you want?” Quinn gestures to Rachel’s side of the large space. Rachel just shrugs and fiddles with the hem of the blue scrub top draped over her shoulders.
Sighing, Quinn grabs for the first pair of sweatpants on Rachel’s shelf, noticing absently that they’re actually Quinn’s sweatpants, and then for a t-shirt two shelves over. She sets them down next to Rachel and then motions for her wife to stand.
It takes some slow and careful maneuvering but they manage to get Rachel’s shirt off of her and Quinn’s left staring at the stark white bandage wrapped around Rachel’s ribs and the bruising trailing down her side.
Running her fingers softly down Rachel’s side, Quinn struggles to keep a lock on all her emotions, but they beat against the walls of her chest insistently and she has to clench her jaw to stop the tears she knows are right there. The urge to strike out surfaces again and Rachel must sense it, because her hand darts out to grab the one Quinn is tracing over the bandage around her ribs.
“I’m okay,” Rachel whispers like Quinn can’t figure that out for herself.
“I know,” Quinn croaks out, trying to pull her hand away and swallow the pain down.
“No you don’t,” her wife argues, keeping their hands clasped together firmly. “You’re either ogling my chest, which is highly inappropriate in this situation, or you’re freaking out again. Call it an educated guess since we’ve been together for so long and I can read that wrinkle in your eye that means pain, but I’m going to go with the freaking out option. I’m okay.”
Quinn shakes her head and blinks away the sight of the dark, purple skin down Rachel’s side as she lifts her gaze up to focus on Rachel’s face. It doesn’t really help though, because there’s a small, but noticeable gash on the side of Rachel’s forehead, held together by butterfly tape, and she sucks in another breath as she sees it. She feels totally and completely ridiculous because she had enough time to breakdown at the hospital when Rachel was still unconscious and even later after she was awake but here she is now, still dealing with it. Inadequacy and pain pours over her.
“Quinn,” Rachel says, tugging her hand a little. “Do you think you could help me? I know you prefer it when I’m topless but it’s kind of chilly.”
She nods and bends over to grab the shirt she laid aside, trying her best to push aside the swirl of emotion fuzzing up her brain. Maybe she couldn’t have stopped the car that hit her wife, or a million other things that threaten to destroy her life, but she can do this right here and now.
Getting the shirt on is a little easier than it was getting off, but Quinn still feels every pained breath Rachel takes slash across her like a lash. Pulling the drawstring of the blue scrub pants, she helps Rachel step out of them and bunches the sweatpants up to help pull them back up Rachel’s legs, smiling softly when the job is finished.
She moves to change herself but Rachel stops her with a soft tug on her shirt. “Hey.”
Arching an eyebrow in response, Quinn turns back to her wife and looks everywhere but her forehead. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel mumbles, eyes flickering towards the carpet before coming back up again.
It shocks the pain right out of Quinn and she straightens up as she steps closer to her wife and puts both hands on her cheeks, stroking the hair there out of the way. “What on earth are you sorry for?”
“You told me not to go out,” Rachel starts, tears making her voice a little shaky. “And then I did and this happened and now you’re a complete mess and it’s all my fault and I just - ”
“Rach,” Quinn interrupts. “Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
Rachel looks away and her face scrunches up like she’s going to cry so Quinn pulls her back and kisses her softly on the lips. Rachel presses back against her and deepens the kiss, working their mouths together for a long moment before breaking away.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Quinn mumbles, dancing light fingers over Rachel’s temple. She presses her lips against her wife’s forehead and feels the head shake back and forth as Rachel utters the single syllable, “No.”
“I am,” Quinn continues, pulling away to look into Rachel’s eyes. “I am.”
“No,” Rachel repeats, a small tilt to her lips. “How about we both agree not to be sorry and call it a day?”
Quinn laughs. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Smiling wider this time, Rachel pats Quinn on the hip. “Let’s go. You’ll feel better when we get to Santana and Brittany’s.”
--
When Santana opens the door Quinn feels her own paranoia reflected in her friend’s face and in the way she holds her hand at her back, gripping a gun Quinn knows is tucked there, and she wonders what happened between the time she saw Santana at the hospital and now.
Her friend lets them in and Quinn helps Rachel move towards the couch. Her wife lets out a sigh of relief as she maneuvers onto the soft cushions and Quinn presses a lingering kiss to her brow, inhaling the smell of Rachel softly as she tries to calm her nerves before letting go and walking into Santana’s kitchen.
She has one thing in mind and she knows Santana won’t disappoint her. Sure enough, the cabinet Quinn opens is stocked full of liquor and she pulls out the first bottle of scotch she sees, pouring it into the glass Santana hands her and downing it quickly.
Santana is worried about her, she can tell in the way she keeps eying the alcohol and asking questions, but Quinn focuses on getting her hands to stop shaking from the trip over. Being exposed in public like that made her wish she had chosen to bring a gun.
She gets a few glasses into her system, the scotch settling warmly in her stomach, before the doorbell rings and Matt and Finn step into the apartment carrying large boxes full of files.
When Santana asks her if she wants to help go through the cases about Pike she plasters on her best you’re a moron expression and sits down, grabbing a file and opening it in front of her.
She lets Santana and Matt and Finn talk around her, their voices buzzing incoherently in her ears as she strains to hear the sound of deep breathing from the other room.
--
Out of nowhere, Brittany burst into the bedroom and bounded over to the huge bed in the middle of it, jumping up and nearly falling on top of Quinn as she laughingly pounced on the bed. Suddenly, Quinn started to rethink the wisdom of giving Brittany the emergency key to their place, but then her friend smothered her in affection and Quinn couldn’t help but smile at Brittany’s enthusiasm.
“Hey Britt,” Quinn laughed, kissing her friend on the cheek.
“Hey, Q,” Brittany greeted, squirming around until her head was on the pillow next to Quinn. “Whatcha doing?”
“TV,” Quinn replied, gesturing to the flatscreen across the room. “Felt like being lazy today.”
“Ooooh,” Brittany cooed, grabbing the remote out of Quinn’s hand and changing the channels rapidly.
“Yeah, sure, go ahead, I wasn’t watching that or anything,” Quinn said, chuckling.
“Where’s Rach?” Brittany asked, eyes on the screen as she flipped through shows.
“Rehearsal,” she answered, trying to focus on the quickly moving images. “She’ll be back in a few hours.”
Brittany settled on a station and Quinn watched the credits of some reality show about a family with 23 children roll across the screen. “You watch this?”
“It’s so weird,” Brittany whispered like this was a big revelation. “Their life is so different from mine, it’s like the opposite.”
Quinn nodded sagely. “Well yeah.”
“I wonder what it’s like to have that many kids,” Brittany added, throwing the remote to the side and shifting up a bit on the bed to see the screen better.
“You want kids?” Quinn asked, surprised. She had never really thought about Brittany with kids, or Santana for that matter. They always seemed like this complete family unit that adding anything to the mix would have seemed weird.
“No,” Brittany said, shaking her head noncommittally. “I’m just saying I wonder about it sometimes.”
Quinn mused about the idea of it all, laughing under her breath. “Santana would be funny with a baby.”
“She’d be really good,” Brittany said, smiling softly and looking at Quinn.
“Yeah,” Quinn agreed, grinning at the image of her best friend and a little version of Brittany. “She would be.”
“You too,” Brittany commented, still looking at Quinn.
“Uh, sure, Britt,” Quinn said skeptically.
“You would,” Brittany argued. “You and Rachel. That’d be cute.”
“I’d make a terrible mother,” Quinn whispered, suddenly serious. It wasn’t something she had ever really thought about until Rachel, and even then, not seriously, not until now with Rachel bringing it up more and more. Quinn couldn’t help but thinking about her own childhood, about how she was raised and how she’d never want a child to go through that again.
“You’d be so awesome,” Brittany breathed, propping her head up on her elbow and turning on her side to face Quinn. “Rachel would teach it how to sing, and Santana would teach it how to be strong and I’d teach it how to dance and you’d teach it how to be smart. That kid would be the bestest.”
Quinn laughed. “I’m glad you think so.”
Brittany stared at her, her eyes slightly narrowed and this expression on her face that Quinn recognized after decades of knowing the blonde. Brittany had this weird ability when it came to Santana and Quinn. Most likely it came from being friends for so long and spending the majority of her time having to cut through the bullshit that usually got thrown Brittany’s way, but whatever the reason, Brittany was able to see right through Quinn to the heart of the issue the way only one other person in her entire life could do.
“You’re not your father, Quinn,” Brittany said, an uncharacteristic seriousness to her face. “Your mother either.”
Shocked, Quinn dropped her jaw open and didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t have to because Brittany flopped back down and kicked her legs up and down. “You’d be so awesome,” she repeated.
A laugh bubbled up out of Quinn and she glanced to her bedside table, a small, framed picture of her and Rachel sitting next to the alarm clock there. “Yeah,” Quinn breathed. “Maybe.”
“I’m going to go make popcorn,” Brittany announced, jumping out of bed and practically running out of the room for the kitchen.
Quinn pressed her head back into the headboard of her bed and watched the images on the screen, an older man attempting to round up a gaggle of kids.
A million thoughts raced through her head that she couldn’t stop - most of them wondering what kind of parent she’d make, what kind of aunt Santana would be and how her parents would react to finding out she was having a child with Rachel.
The thoughts didn’t stop until a loud crash and a shriek shot into the bedroom, muffled by the walls between her and the kitchen and she groaned as she shot up out of bed and raced out of the bedroom to go save her best friend from whatever disaster she was starting in the kitchen.
--
It’s hours later before Brittany walks into the kitchen and Quinn nearly jumps in surprise at seeing her friend. She never thought she’d get used to Brittany not being around and now here she is - totally unused to Brittany actually being around.
Her friend comes and greets her with a kiss to the cheek and Quinn smiles warmly and the familiar sensation. “Hey, Britt.”
It’s not on purpose, but her eyes settle on Santana’s face as Brittany comes around the table and asks them if they’d like food, her hands settling on the back of Santana’s neck. There is a milieu of emotions crossing her best friend’s face - shock, fear, jealousy, smugness. She looks at the way Santana’s eyeing Finn across the table and she doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what her friend is thinking. She shoots her foot out and kicks Santana in the shin, chuckling a little.
She feels strangely at ease, much less nervous than she had before and she feels like maybe they’re getting somewhere; like she can sit here at this table and read these cases and somehow they’ll find a lead and they’ll find Pike and this whole thing will be over. She can take Rachel home and take care of her for the next few weeks and everything will go back to normal. Santana and Brittany will mend their relationship and her world will stop tipping off its axis.
But then Brittany gets this look as she observes a photo over Finn’s shoulder and that paranoia that Quinn worked so hard to get rid off comes creeping back up her spine, her shoulders hunching in response.
Finn looks quizzically up at Brittany and holds the picture closer to her. “You recognize something?”
Brittany studies it and Quinn looks to Santana before her friend is saying words she didn’t want to hear at all. “It just looked like Mr. Fabray for a second.”
Her head snaps to the picture and she strains to see the photo before her hand darts out and she snatches it out of Finn’s grasp.
Sure enough, amidst the chaos of a crime scene her father is standing there off to the side, a leather jacket she recognizes on his shoulders. Shock, fear, suspicion, they all creep into her and any happiness or hope she had let herself feel earlier bleed right out of her.
“What the hell?”
Santana looks at it over her shoulder, grabs the case file but her eyes are just as wide in shock and fear as Quinn suspects hers are. “I don’t know, Q. I don’t know.”
Quinn doesn’t know what to think, she just keeps staring at the photo in her hands, her eyes focused on her father’s stoic expression as she tries her hardest to separate what she knows about him from what she knows about this case. They can’t be connected, they can’t be. She looks around the scene and tries desperately to find something that will jog her memory but the image is unfamiliar and confusing.
There’s fumbling and movement around her as Santana gets up and whispers something to Brittany but she can’t focus on any of it. All she sees is her father and Pike and Rachel and Santana and for a second she can’t breathe.
Then, Santana’s pulling her out of her chair and ripping the picture out of her hands.
“Hey!” She grabs for it, anger pumping through her.
“Come on,” Santana orders, pulling her wrist towards the living room. Quinn pulls back and gets Santana to stop as they nearly knock each other over halfway between the kitchen and the living room couch.
“What the fuck, Santana?” She tries to wrangle her wrist out of Santana’s grasp but her friend’s grip is strong and Santana stares at her with a stony expression, their faces close together.
“You’re not going to do anyone any good just staring at a picture and doing an awesome impression of a fish. So come in here, have a drink and take care of your wife while I go and figure out what this is all about,” Santana utters, her voice low and firm. “Matt and Finn are going to stay here for a little bit while I go talk to Puck.”
“Santana,” Quinn starts, needing to be a part of this right now.
“Do you want Berry to wake up and you not be here? Do you think she needs that right now?”
It’s playing dirty on Santana’s part and both of them know it, but Quinn knows that it’s more for Quinn’s sake than Rachel’s. Maybe she’ll actually be productive if she can calm her shit down, and she can only do that right now if she’s with Rachel.
“Okay,” she lets out on an exhale. “Fine.”
“Good,” Santana nods, tugging her over to the couch and sitting her down on the edge before handing her a stout glass of scotch. “I’ll be back later.”
Santana leaves, but not before talking to Matt and Finn and then Brittany again. Their voices are just a low incoherent muttering in the back of her head as she stares at Rachel’s sleeping form on the couch.
She could make out what they’re saying if she wanted to, but she eyes the scotch in front of her instead, tipping the glass against her lips and letting the liquid warm her throat. Her hand rests on Rachel’s hip and squeezes as she shuts her eyes tight at the darkness swirling around in her brain.
The door slams closed and she hears Brittany’s footsteps pad back into the kitchen and Finn’s cheerful voice saying something. Something presses into the side of her thigh and she opens her eyes to see Rachel’s feet squirming against her leg under the thick blanket. Her eyes travel upward to see Rachel blinking sleepily over at her.
“Hey,” Quinn whispers hoarsely.
“Hi,” Rachel yawns. Licking her lips, Rachel furrows her brow as her gaze flickers to the glass of scotch in Quinn’s hand. “Scotch?”
Quinn nods and runs her fingers over Rachel’s hipbone absently, enjoying the way her wife’s feet press into the side of her leg warmly.
“Can I have some?” Rachel asks.
“No,” Quinn answers, looking at Rachel like she’s crazy and laughing a little.
“Why not?” Rachel whines, her head lolling to the side.
“A variety of reasons I don’t need to tell you,” Quinn answers dryly. She reaches forward to grab the bag of medication off the table as Rachel rolls her eyes at Quinn, and sets her glass down in its place. “The medication helping?”
“S’making me feel weird,” Rachel complains, pressing her heels harder into Quinn’s thighs and reaching a hand forward to tangle with Quinn’s. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Quinn sighs, pulling out a bottle of pills and reading the directions taped to the side. “I’m okay.”
Rachel hums a little and tugs on Quinn’s hand. “I can’t have one for another hour if that’s what you’re checking.”
Putting the bottle back on the coffee table, Quinn smiles softly and leans back into the cushions.
“You sure you’re okay?” Rachel asks with heavy accusation in her voice. “The pills are making my head fuzzy and I can’t tell.”
Quinn forces herself to laugh and smile wider. “Yeah I’m okay. Get some sleep, baby. Your body could use the rest.”
It takes a moment of Rachel’s confused staring for her to acquiesce, but she eventually lets out a long exhale and shifts around a little bit on the couch, pulling her hand out of Quinn’s and patting the cushion hear her chest. “Will you come sit over here?”
“There’s not a lot of room on this couch, Rach.”
“On the floor,” Rachel clarifies. “You’re just…really far away right now.”
Sighing, Quinn stands and moves until she’s plopped on the floor with her back to the couch, legs stretched out under the coffee table and her head falling back onto the cushion behind her. Rachel runs her fingers through her hair and rests her other hand on Quinn’s collarbone.
“Thanks,” Rachel whispers, her voice taking on that low tone she gets right before she nods off.
Quinn brings her hand up to grab Rachel’s and thinks about the picture with her father, thinks about the bruising all along Rachel’s side, thinks about Pike stalking her friends and she’s glad she’s already sitting down because she’s sure she’d fall over otherwise. Her thoughts swirl around in the darkness for a scary moment until the sound of Rachel’s deep breathing breaks through and Quinn squeezes her eyes shut; she forces herself to focus on the things that matter, the things she can control and the things she needs to protect and steels herself for the battle yet to come.
“I love you,” she says softly, bringing up Rachel’s hand to her lips.
Her wife mumbles something, half asleep and Quinn smiles before she sets her head back and closes her eyes once more.
Part Seven