Pairing: Faberry with a side of Brittana.
Authors Note: Completely random idea that I am hoping turns into something fruitful. I really need a beta, so if you know of a good one please send them my way. I apologize for any grammatical or spelling mistakes that present themselves. I'm much more of a writer than an editor. My inspiration for this story is "The Five Ghosts" Album by Stars.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.
Summary: (Season One Canon) What occurs when the birth of Beth doesn't happen as smoothly as the show had lead us to believe? Does Quinn survive? Will anyone be able to bring her back from this ordeal?
"I just wanted someone to love me," you whispered.
Nurses rushed around your bed checking vitals, blood, and temperature. The doctor, a middle age woman with stressed out eyes sat between your withering legs as she pushed them farther apart. The stretch burned and you distinctly remembered that they didn't need to go that far anyway. You were stretched open to the world. Embarrassment would be the first thing on your mind if it didn't feel as if you were being splint into two.
"Two liters of AB Neg and call Dr. Rushmore stat. We need this baby out!" The doctor screamed to the nurses who were poking and prodding you. As they stalled, the doctor's face redden as her voice pieced your ears, "Now, dammit!"
The look of urgency and panic on all the faces surrounding you didn't go unnoticed. Your vision was becoming to get hazy, as if you were watching an old 70's flashback scene in a movie.
You didn't notice that your heart rate was slowly declining.
It took more than enough energy to turn your head to the right. As you looked into the worried eyes of Mercedes Jones, you began to see the whole glee club appear around her. You knew they weren't here. In fact, you knew they were probably waiting patiently (or impatiently for one Miss Rachel Berry) in the Waiting Room. Funny, you don't remember taking any drugs to induce this façade of floating heads around Mercedes. It nearly made this scene comical. Nearly.
You felt her dark hand squeezing your sweaty, limp one. Wanting to squeeze back, you found yourself loss with not enough energy. Instead your eyes flickered to your mother's who stood right next to Mercedes.
"…someone to love…" You thought you where whispering it to your mother. Your lips moved ever so softly but you didn't realize that no sound was escaping them. No, you were much too weak for developing some kind of sound.
Your greenish hazel eyes were trained on your mother. The mother who had abandoned you so many months ago only to arrive at the time you needed your most. You tried your hardest to smile at her, to ease her worries, but it just didn't happen.
Judy Fabray, your gorgeous mother, watched you. Her eyes swelled up with tears and the hand that wasn't calmingly stroking your hair was resting over her mouth. Her eyes were darting to your nearly closed ones to the dwindling monitors.
What was the matter? It seemed as if no one has seen a woman give birth.
You didn't understand. The urgency that was written across every face in the room concerned you. You have watched many movies about birth. You have prepared yourself to be a powerful woman letting her body go through this natural process. So, why in the hell was everyone in such a damn hurry?
All you knew was that there was going to be a baby girl in this world very soon. A precious, innocent, and even helpless baby girl who would be born any second. You can feel her head sliding through your body as the doctor sat at the foot of your bed, in between your legs, in panic. She was screaming to anyone around her, "Where the fuck is Dr. Rushmore!"
"…to love…" you whispered, suddenly hoping that when she got earthside that they would put her on your chest. You needed her there, her warm body to bring life back into your tired, sore, and dejected one. Your heart was slowing and you knew that if they only laid her on your chest that she would reteach you how to survive in this world. She would show you what it means to truly be a good mother.
You suddenly wanted her to feed from your body, bring all of the good parts of Quinn Fabray into her tiny one. She was made from you after all. You suddenly felt selfish, wanting only yourself to care for this tiny human being. Your eyes were the only eyes this little girl needed to stare into. "Screw the agency," you thought to yourself. "Screw their 'amazing' match." As your body was ripped apart, the only thing you wanted was for her to always be yours.
Your eyes began to search for Mercedes', your mother's, or even the soft hearted nurse who had massaged your back earlier. You needed to tell them your new founded revelation. You wanted them to know that this little girl, Beth Caroline, would be a Fabray.
Yet, your eyes only met blurred versions of the people who surrounded you. Your head was too heavy to turn to the other side and your eyes too tired to work. Your lips barely moved and you began to hear only the rush of blood trying to desperately reach your heart.
You don't hear the heart monitor slow down. Your vision is too blurry to see the nurses pushing away Mercedes and your mother from your bedside. You don't see the thick tears flowing from both of their eyes. You don't notice the kind hearted nurse who once rubbed your back forcing air into your body, or another woman who ran an IV to a jack in your arms to force someone else's donated blood into your stream.
Most of all, you don't see the doctor wiggling her hands deep inside you trying so hard to pull out the tiny human. You don't realize you are too weak to push.
Your mom watches you from the back of the room. You hear the vibrations from her voice pleading, "Quinnie, my Quinnie, my little Lucylove. Please, please."
Mercedes is praying. For once the young girl is quiet.
The nurses frantically pump air into your limp body. It's pointless.
And your doctor? She finally pulls out your darling girl. The little one free from the cage of your dying uterus.
At this moment you realize that you are falling apart. The body that had grown this perfect little human has shattered to pieces and you begin to slip away into the darkness.
Not too long ago someone, a girl who had also been broke, told you to keep holding on. You want to scream and cry and beg for help. You want her to be here, at your side, to remind you to hold onto your life, to yourself.
Yet, you slip farther away.
Your eyes close the moment she begins to scream.
"I just wanted somebody to love me," was the last thought that fell from your head.
I am interested in knowing your thoughts. I have two ways that we could go: Quinn dies or Quinn lives. Either way we go, Faberry will be endgame. Also, again, I am currently in the look out for a beta or two.
ANY thoughts are appreciated.