Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters.
It's dark.
For the longest time, it's silent, as well. Wait, no; not silent, because there's a sort of rhythm she can hear. A beeping. Like… like a pulse monitor. It slowly fades in, like it's taking a while for her to register the sound.
She tries to open her eyes, but she can't.
She tries to feel around her, but she can't.
Quinn's stuck. Paralyzed.
Fear grips her, and it's so strange; because her heartbeat should speed up with her fear. The beeping of the monitor, however, stays at that slow, steady pace.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
She tries to part her lips to take a deeper breath, but she can't do either one. Her mouth is dry, her tongue like cotton, so she tries to move it-and she can't. There's a tube in her mouth, she realizes, going down her throat. She can feel everything; she just can't move any of it.
The door opens, and it startles her, even though she doesn't—can't—flinch. She wants to open her eyes to see who it is, but all she can do it hope that whoever it is will speak.
It's silent for a few more moments. No footsteps are being made—and then she hears it, the smallest, shakiest breath she's ever heard.
Rachel.
Footsteps, now, and the sound of a chair being scraped across the floor. She tries to picture her wife doing all of this, since she can't open her eyes to see for herself. There's a soft thud that she imagines is Rachel putting her purse on the floor, and then her tiny hand is on Quinn's own.
She wills herself to return the hold, but she can't. She just can't.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Rachel takes another deep breath before speaking.
"The last time we were in this position," she starts softly, "I told you I love you, and you didn't hear me." No. "So, I really don't know why I'm choosing to believe the doctors when they say that talking to you might help. It's rather silly of me, actually." No, it's not. Listen to them. "I guess I just need to do something for myself, you know? Maybe talking to you will help me get through this, too. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway." Please, don't stop talking. Please.
Beep.
Beep.
Rachel pauses, and Quinn feels like she's waiting on her next words with baited breath—even though, clearly, she knows she's still breathing regularly.
"God, what were you thinking, Quinn?" I know. I'm sorry. "What on earth would make you think it was okay to text and drive? After what you went through, last time?" No, she don't understand. "What could have been so important that you would risk that, again?"
My boss had called me. I'd been waiting to hear back about that promotion. I just couldn't reach my phone. I'm sorry. We need the money.
Rachel sighs, gripping sher hand tighter. "It—it doesn't matter, now. I can berate you when you're home, safe, and—and awake." Quinn hears her sniffle, and she just knows that she's trying to hold back tears. She wishes so badly to be able to reach up and wipe her cheeks clear of them.
"April misses you." April. "She's having nightmares more often. I think she misses your lullabies." Sweet, sweet girl. Please bring her to me. "I'm debating on whether or not I should bring her to see you." Please do. God, Rachel, please do. "She's only four, youknow, so I don't know what I would say to her. Santana says I should bring her in and just tell her you're sleeping. But I'm not sure, yet." Please, please bring me my daughter.
"Cameron is… having a harder time." Oh, God. "He's been really quiet, really withdrawn, since you've been…" How long have I been here? "I try to get him to talk to me, but he won't, not really. He talks to Brittany, but swears her to secrecy. I think he pretty much understands what's going on, though, even with me trying to keep him from the harsher information. Eight-year-olds can be very perceptive, youknow." I know my own children, Rachel. Don't let him stop soccer. "He doesn't want to go to soccer practice." Damn it, Rachel. "He goes to kickboxing, still, though. I think it helps him let out his frustrations easier." Okay. Okay, good.
Rachel strokes Quinn's thumb with her own as silence permeates the room again, alongside the constant beeping of the monitor. All of their faces run through Quinn's mind: Cameron and his shaggy, golden brown locks and bright, green eyes; and sweet, little April, with her Mommy's brown curls and brown eyes, her golden skin, and her show-stopping smile. Rachel. Brittany, Santana, and their little Damian. Even Alfie, the sweetest Golden Retriever she could have ever hoped to have. And suddenly she missed them, even though it really felt as if no time had passed since she'd last seen them all.
"Sometimes," Rachel starts again, "I wish that you had heard my confession, back then." Rachel. "I wish that, when you'd woken up, you would have found me as soon as you could and just—just kissed me. Told me that you loved me, too." You don't get it. Quinn's starting to feel drowsy, though; she fights it to the best of her ability. "That would have—we would have had our entire lives together, then, instead of having to wait until after college to find each other again. So many wasted years…"
I did hear you. I did love you back, even then. I was a coward, that's why I never told you. I'm so sorry, Rachel. I'm so sorry.
She falls to the blackness again.
Beep.
The banging of the door opening rouses Quinn into consciousness, though she still cannot move. "You need to wake the fuck up, Q." It's Santana, now, and Quinn's known her long enough know from her voice that she's crying. "Just wake the fuck up. It's been weeks with this coma shit, and your family is falling to fucking pieces." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she collapses on top of Quinn. Her face is on her stomach as she holds on to the blonde for dear life. It literally pains Quinn to not be able to hold her back, right now. "I'm falling to fucking—" Her sobs cut her off. Quinn swears that if she could cry, right now, she would be bawling right along with her, because when Santana Lopez cries, something is seriously wrong.
I'm trying. I'm sorry, San.
"It's been eight months." The whispered words catch Quinn's attention, somehow. How has it been eight months? "They can't—they need the space, baby." Space? "We have—we have to—I'm so sorry, baby." Wait. No. "I love you." Rachel, don't. "I love you, so much." Please don't. I'm still here.
She fights with her body to move. Anything, any little movement that will alert to Rachel that she's alive, that she's still here.
"Rach, we have to step back." It's Brittany. Sweet Brittany. Tell her, Britt. Tell her I'm still here. she can't do this. "Rachel, we have to move out of the doctors' way." No. Britt.
Rachel's sobs echo in the room. "Quinn, baby, please wake up. Come on, please." I'm trying. "Give me anything, please—" And she is trying, so, so hard. "Please, I love you." Rachel's sobs become uncontrollable, and Quinn screams. She screams for Rachel to hear her, but she knows that she doesn't, and it makes her want to break down and cry. But she can't even do that, can she?
Please don't do this.
Beep.
More sobs fill the room. "I'm so—so sorry, Q." Santana. Please. You know I'm here. You know I wouldn't leave them like this. Please.
Beep.
All three of them are crying now. Quinn can hear each of their individual sobs amongst Rachel's constant repetition of "I love you".
I love you, too.
"I love you, so much." Beep…
Please don't do this.
I'm still here.
…beep…
"I love you."
I'm still here.
….