Disclaimer: I do not own Glee (not that awesome). I also do not own any of the songs used in this story.
Warning: extreme lovey-doveyness and cheesiness. Only for the bravest romantics. Caution: this is not funny. I tried. I honestly did. But I'm pretty damn sure I failed.
Another warning: This brainchild of mine is unbeta'd. This thing took forever and a day to write. I was in a rush to post it. I was stupid and did not have it beta'd. My apologies. But, to my knowledge, I have not found any mistakes.
I hope you enjoy!
I don't mean to be a bother, but have you seen this girl?
She's been running through my dreams and it's driving me crazy, it seems
I'm gonna ask her to marry me
And even though she doesn't believe in love, he's determined to call her bluff
Who could deny these butterflies? They're filling his gut.
—All Time Low, "Remembering Sunday"
I can't deny my heart anymore
You give me a feeling that I can't ignore
You try to play it safe but you're not really shy
You try to look away but I caught your eye
You can't hide, it's all over your face
The barrier between us is losing its place
Why don't we break it down?
—Rick Springfield, "Just One Kiss"
The wedding, of course, is indefinitely off. And he has discovered that the ICU waiting room is cold, even in his suit. But he doesn't really care about that small stuff. Does anybody?
They're all sitting in the hospital, all feeling especially helpless in their own way. They try to make up for it separately. Mercedes, Kurt, and Santana (the latter in Spanish) are all yelling at nurses, trying to figure out what's going on. Artie, Blaine, and Brittany are seriously discussing what might happen later—well, as seriously as Brittany can get. She's still crying, only just figuring out what's happened to one of her best friends. Mike and Tina are holding each other, Tina in Mike's lap due to lack of chairs, silent because everyone knows they have this little telepathic-conversation thingy that they share. Sugar and Rory are sitting together, not knowing what to say because they don't really know what to say. Neither of them is very close to her. Finn and Rachel are sitting together, the wedding abandoned with her still in her dress and him in his suit. All of them are still in their respective suits and dresses, marriage and attire forgotten in place of an emergency room and a car accident and a friend. Puck is calling all of Quinn's relatives because they know him well from the whole pregnancy thing, and, besides, he offered and no one else did. Amazingly, he seems to be the only clear-headed one in all of this except for Mr. Schue.
Mr. Schue is trying to arrange for the wedding between Finn and Rachel to occur later. He is trying to reschedule the date for an indefinite time later, unsure of when Quinn will wake up. If she wakes up.
No. He will not think like that. He, Sam, will not think like that, he decides furiously—furious at himself for not being able to do anything but sit in a chair and stare blankly into space, furious at Mr. Schue for appearing to only care about the wedding, furious at everybody else being so caught up in themselves, furious at Quinn for being in that damn car at the wrong time.
A few minutes later, there is the sound of an ambulance whining in the distance, and for some reason it wakes him up when the frantic crying of Tina, Rachel, and Brittany wouldn't. (Santana and Mercedes are too badass to cry, he thinks bitterly.) He sits up a little straighter, realizing that he's been sitting in this uncomfortable chair, dead silent, eyes feverishly blinking back tears. He really cares. Of course he does, but the threatening, impending tears surprise him. He's never been too showy with his emotions. But then, it's Quinn.
He never really has let her go, he supposes. The heartbreak he showed when Mercedes left him was kind of an expression of all the feelings he kept back when he dumped Quinn. Mercedes really was a summer fling, everything he had seen in Quinn: brazen, determined, smart, pretty, and a truly great singer. Maybe he was halfway in love with Mercedes, but it was the half that reminded him of Quinn, the first person at McKinley who really, truly accepted him and still wanted him. Who really loved him.
The doctor walks up to them, and before he even understands what's going on, he feels Mr. Schue's hand on his shoulder. He realizes he has secluded himself from everyone else. He is alone, while they are all surrounded in their close little cliques. Mr. Schue really is only trying to help, but he's failing. Miserably. Sam just wants to be alone. That's probably not gonna happen anytime soon, though. He knows that. New Directions has a tendency to either fall apart or band together when tragedy strikes, rearing its dark, ugly head. And this situation will definitely lead to them all banding together. Strangely, he does not find that comforting. He just wants to see Quinn.
Blinking as Mr. Schue squeezes his shoulder tightly, he realizes the doctor is talking in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. He tries not to snicker, knowing that he should be more solemn than this. (And he is. This guy is just a distraction, and he needs to smile. He has this urge to stop being so depressed, to get up and smile and shake this all off. But he can't.)
The doctor continues to tell them all about Quinn, to "update them on her condition," as he says in his ridiculous voice. He explains that she's alive. That she made it off the operating table. She flatlined once during surgery, but they brought her back. That she's in a coma. That if she wakes up (he really stresses the "if" part, repeatedly), then there is a high probability that, due to the injury to her head, she might have amnesia or some mental difficulties, like the aftereffects of a stroke or something. That she might not wake up at all. Ever.
That's a lot to take in when just a few hours ago you were only concerned about two friends of yours getting married. Only. He does snicker this time at the irony, and Mr. Schue looks more concerned about him than Quinn. Which is wrong. Quinn is what Mr. Schue should be focusing on. Sam bites his lip. The doctor walks away, going off to tell more people that their loved ones are in critical condition or dead or something.
"You should all go home," Mr. Schue says, bringing Sam faintly out of his daze. His stupor is so thick and unbreakable that he still doesn't really understand what Mr. Schuester is saying. "I'll finish calling Quinn's family and wait for her parents to show up. You kids need to go home and tell your parents that you're all right."
Rachel stands up, still clinging to Finn, who rises with her unsteadily, surprised by her sudden movement. Her tear tracks are very visible, and for a minute Sam wants to hit something because, as usual, Rachel is becoming the star of the drama that is all their lives. "My dads are outside," she says, clearing her throat. "And Quinn's my friend. I'm staying here to be with her."
"No," Mr. Schue argues. "You all go home. Everything will be fine, I promise. But what you all need is to go home and get some sleep. You all have homework and projects and what you need is to relax. Everything will be fine. I will stay, and you can come visit tomorrow if you want."
Ushered out of the hospital, Sam is the last to go. He walks home instead of riding with Finn and Kurt, if only to spend some time to himself.
But eventually he has to arrive at Finn and Kurt's house. Finn is with Rachel at her house, and Kurt…well, Kurt is freaking out. Really freaking out. (As in, very badly. In way, this guy is even more messed up than Sam. In the guilty way.)
"The last thing I ever told her," the guy all but sobs, "was that she had never been in a dark enough place to consider suicide. I practically told the universe to hit her with a truck!"
Sam sits down next to him, and finds that he doesn't have enough energy to console Kurt. "I don't know how badly Quinn has felt in her life," he says, concentrating on saying everything in present tense when concerning Quinn, "but I do know that she will be in a very bad place when she wakes up. I think you should stop worrying about whatever it was you last said to her. I think you should start worrying on what's going to happen when she gets better. She definitely needs someone to gather up all her schoolwork. You should do that," he encourages him. "Anyway, meanwhile…why don't you go over to Blaine's place? I'm sure he can make you feel better than I can."
"That is true," Kurt nods, standing up and straightening his tie. None of them have changed from their wedding attire, Sam thinks, and the thing about that is that it's probably true. Rachel is probably crying in her bedroom with Finn, her still in her wedding dress. Kurt bites his lip, says an awkward goodbye, and goes out the door. Leaving him alone in this empty house. Finn's mom is still at work, and Burt, if he remembers right, had some important meeting today.
He's all alone. Funny. If Quinn's condition hasn't let up, she's probably still all alone in her hospital room as well. No visitors allowed.
Sunday morning, he finds himself at the hospital, where, unsurprisingly, the entirety of the Glee club is there as well. He isn't even in disbelief that he skipped church for this. Of course he skipped church over her. Quinn is much more important than learning about some guy who was stupid enough to get eaten by a whale. (Is that antireligious? He doesn't really care.)
Mercedes approaches him as he goes to get some more stale coffee from the cafeteria. They've been taking turns with the coffee orders, and he's racing to the cafeteria to remember it all, though nothing bad would really happen if he did forget anything. Nobody would get mad or anything. "Mind if I join you? My coffee orders are a little complicated," she asks, and he shrugs. They're standing in the cafeteria line when she brings up what she really meant to say. "I love Shane," she says. "I've thought about it, and I love him, and I'm sorry if that hurts you but that's how I feel and I would only just be hurting you. I'm sorry."
He just smiles, albeit bitterly. Everything is bittersweet now. He loves Quinn but now she's in a coma, and the girl he used to love is still trying to make him feel better about everything. "It's fine," he says, surprising even himself by really meaning it. It is fine. "I hope Shane takes you back."
She shrugs. "I hope so too. But even if he does, I still don't deserve him."
"You're beautiful, you can stand up for yourself, you're smart, and you can sing. You made a mistake—we made a mistake. Things happen. Nobody's perfect. He'd have to be stupid not to take you back," he says, unsure of when he became so eloquent about stuff like this.
"Thank you, Sam. You've been really understanding about this all." She cups his cheek. "I really did use to love you."
"Same here," he replies, and then they pay for their coffees and head back to the group.
An entire day of sitting in a hospital, waiting for news that doesn't come. It's hard to think that he might have to get used to this.
Mr. Schue looks as depressed as all of the rest of them when he enters the classroom on Monday. He goes up to the board, picks up his marker, but then stops. "I guess I don't have to say what this week's subject is," he says sadly, but then he uncaps the marker and writes it up in big letters anyway. Q-U-I-N-N. Sam thinks that it looks like a bunch of meaningless letters. Five letters can't even begin to describe Quinn. She is sunshine and laughter and singing and Avatar and breadsticks and astronomy and summertime. She is beauty and stupidly-lovable insecurities and sarcasm and vulnerable and a quick smile and a quicker laugh. She is like home.
Yes, she was a bit stupid to cheat on him with Finn. But still. Didn't he just tell Mercedes that everyone makes mistakes? Didn't he just help Mercedes cheat on Shane? He should probably forgive Quinn fully now, not that he hasn't already. He just liked to pretend before that he hadn't. It made him feel stronger, more in control. And now?
Now…well, it's no secret that she gave him all those longing looks while he tried to fall for Mercedes. And now, she can't give him any looks at all. (Oh, yes, right, because she's in a fucking coma.) Now, he's the one wishing he could give her those secret, sidelong glances, full of want and eager need and desperation and sorrys and loveyous and wantyoubacks. He misses her, even if only her friendship. If you would only wake up, I'd be okay if you never said yes, he thinks.
Monday, there are no songs to perform. They were going to do a group number, something funny and light and stupid and celebrating the wedding, but that obviously is not going to happen now. Why would it? There's no married couple in this room right now, and one of their best friends isn't here for obvious reasons. Monday is quiet. Eventually, Mercedes stands up and starts singing a hymn. Even Kurt, the nonbeliever, stands up and sings with her as they all join in. Sam shoots Mercedes a grateful look and she just nods, not happily, but satisfied that things might be a little bit better.
That afternoon, as soon as he gets out of school, he visits her. They're finally allowing visitors now that the critical first twenty-four hours are done. Her mom is out with friends who are trying to cheer her up, and her dad is at work. The nurse lets him in and says she'll give them some "time to be alone with each other" before she disappears, gently closing the door behind her. It strikes him that she probably thinks that they're dating. Oh, whatever. No use trying to make her think anything else that's different. She's already gone, anyway. He hesitantly sits next to Quinn's comatose body, softly setting his backpack on the floor. It's only four o'clock.
She looks pale and ashen, and even in her sleep she looks so tired. He sits down in the chair next to her bed unsurely, hesitant on what to do. He's never been all that good at doing this kind of thing. Not that he's had to sit next to many comatose people. But the whole being-there-for-someone thing. He can quote Avatar and make somebody laugh, but being serious emotional support has always been hard for him. Eventually, he pulls out his homework and writes half of an English paper. The paper isn't even due for another two days, so it doesn't matter if he doesn't finish it. He puts it away after checking his spelling—trying to, anyway. (Damn dyslexia. Quinn used to help him with it, even after they broke up. He called her his lifesaver, she called herself his tutor. Though she did smile whenever he called her his supergirl.)
Eventually, he gets tired of just staring at her, and he just wants to know how it feels to touch her, just really touch her. He cautiously reaches for her and, uncertain if he's doing the right thing, tentatively grasps her hand. Her hand is cold and tiny, small in his own, and he wonders when she got to be so small. She looks so fragile, frail, and delicate. Breakable. Yes, that's it, that's the word. She looks like she could break like a mirror, cut into a million little shards and pieces, if he just squeezes her hand just a little bit. Out of childish fear, he doesn't move his hand, only lets it hang limp in hers, hoping that he's warming her up. Wondering if maybe she can feel him, if she knows that he's here for her.
(He stays there for half the night, but goes home at eight. If he stays any longer, Finn will worry and start asking him a bunch of stupid questions that he won't want to answer. Explaining this to Finn would just be weird and...wrong. This is a secret.)
Tuesday is a little less of a hell. Blaine stands up as soon as everyone has sat down. Mr. Schue has practically said that they will all sing a song for Quinn, solo or in a group, it doesn't matter. Blaine goes first. Even though he and Quinn aren't all that close, he apparently thinks of her as "one of his best friends" and gives a little mini speech about how life will be hard for her when she wakes up. "She needs to know that she's not alone," Blaine says, and then sings. Some sort of reassurance-friendship song: "Crash and Burn" by Savage Garden. It's a good song, very upbeat.
Doesn't really work. They're all still majorly depressed. Blaine looks like he's trying not to be disappointed that they're not all magically happy.
Well, she's in a fucking coma. Of course they aren't happy.
Finn stands up to go next, assuring and then reassuring Rachel that he loves her and not Quinn, before singing "Scarborough Fair" by Simon and Garfunkel. Rachel still looks faintly jealous of the catatonic cheerleader, but lets it go as he sings that Quinn "once was a true love of mine." As if to prove his point, he stares meaningfully at Rachel when he sings for the travelers to "make her a true love of mine," plainly pointing out that Rachel is his true love.
Well, it's clap-worthy, but not great. Finn, imitating an Irish-y accent? Mostly suckish. But he picked a good song. So, not too bad.
Only one more performance for the day. For once, Rory raises his hand. "I've been working on a song for Quinn," he says in his thick accent. Mr. Schue, ecstatic that Rory is now talking in class, lets him immediately walk to the center of the room, where he sings "Friend of Ours" by Elbow. It's a sweet, slow song with a lot of piano accompaniment, and it's sad too, not to mention the accents are both slightly there. Rory does have a nice voice.
Glee ends only a few seconds after the piano stops playing, and everyone lingers there for a second, wanting to just be with friends, allowing themselves to hope against hope that maybe she'll be okay soon. Rory's song sounded faintly like she was dying or something, Blaine's song made it seem as though she was having a freaking mental breakdown, and Finn's song…well, Finn never made much sense. It's understandable that his song choice makes no sense as well, except to point out that Quinn was once his girlfriend. But these songs are just…well, they're not hopeful. They're just not. They sound as though Quinn is going to die any day now.
(He tries not to think that she might.)
He spends only half an hour at her bedside that day, and tries to convince himself that saying goodbye (even though she probably can't hear him) fifteen times is enough. (It doesn't work.) He can't get himself to stay longer. It's like looking at a ghost. She's so damn pale.
Wednesday, Glee starts off abysmally. Rachel stands up and asks to sing her song. It's a pretty piece, "In The Mourning" by Paramore, but it immediately gets Santana and Mercedes spitting mad. According to them, Rachel is singing as though Quinn is going to die tomorrow. (Funny, that's how the other songs were. But this message is easier to spot, he guesses.) Rachel shuts up without arguing and sits back down, almost crying, and Sam wishes for just one second that someone would do something so bad that he could punch them. Because he wants to hit something hard. So badly that his knuckles will bleed.
Mercedes is so mad that she immediately claims to go next. "Quinn and I are both very religious," she says, "you know, both on the God Squad and all that. I figured that Joe and I could sing this." Their duet is "Circle of Friends" by Point of Grace. In a way, it's so sickeningly sweet and friendy and huggy that Sam ends up tuning it out and remembering Quinn singing "Lucky" with him. She was so beautiful then, looking unstoppable and invincible, performing happily and singing like a dream.
Tina and Mike are supposed to go next, but they say that they don't have anything to say that they can put into words. Mr. Schue, surprised that anyone can feel that they can't express themselves in song, reluctantly lets it go, and lets an excited Kurt perform. His song is "Friends" by Hedley. The song sounds like it's meant for a deeper voice, but Kurt does it well and it's so rare that he does anything so pop-related on a solo, that everyone lets it go. Besides, even Sam, the emotionally stunted Sam-I-am, knows that Kurt feels massively guilty still, and is trying to make up for it the best way that he can: through song.
Glee ends that day on a bad note, as it has for the entire week, and Sam heads off after school to go see Quinn. He's got a football game to go to later, so he can't stay for long. Only half an hour, tops. Without directions, he heads toward her room, knowing from memory where it is, even with the door closed. Strangely, he's never seen any other Glee kids there after school, or anybody else at all, really. He understands that there's homework and stuff, but where are her parents? Her family? Where are the people that mean something to her, the people that she means something to?
Well, he's in for a strange surprise. He approaches her (closed) door and hears muted voices through it. Two, in a duet. They sound pretty together, and though he hasn't heard the male voice at lot, he can identify both voices. Tina and Mike. Of course. He recognizes the song: "Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. (A/N: I know I've used two of their songs, but it's not favoritism; I was looking up the lyrics to Finn's song so I could get in his mindset, and then I found this, and I just had to use it.)
It's a beautiful song, and they perform it so well, their voices harmonizing and sounding beautiful. He opens the door carefully and quietly, but they're standing at the foot of her bed, facing her with their back to him, and they don't notice him. It fits perfectly, it really does. Them, singing about silence in this normally-quiet room. When he visits, the only noise is her heartbeat on the monitor, and occasionally some music he'll play for her on her precious records. (He still remembers her telling him about them. They're her dirty little secret, something she never even told Finn, which is now like his basis of comparison when it comes to her and how close they were. No, she never told Finn, yet she trusted him with it.)
They finish the song and turn to find him in the doorway, Tina quickly stifling a small shriek of surprise. "Beautiful. That was pretty great," he says, "that may be the best song I've heard all week that actually meant something."
Tina blushes and Mike smiles a little. "Thanks," they say at the same time, but Sam's been around their whole finishing-each-other's-sentences and reading-each-other's-minds thing that they've got going on for a long time, so he isn't as freaked as a normal person would be. (Normal. Ha. Just a setting on the washing machine in Glee.) It's kind of odd: they're both smiling at him, in the doorway, and Quinn is just there, still motionless.
"Yeah, well…" he shifts from foot to foot. "I better get going."
"Nah," Mike says, "we were just leaving." He wraps an arm around Tina and they exit. Mike advises him over his shoulder, "When she wakes up, tell her how you feel, okay, man? We know a couple in love when we see one. We totally predicted you and Mercedes and the whole summer-fling thing."
He scoffs a little, still trying to pretend. "So what, now you think that I'm in love with Quinn?"
"Yes," Tina answers plainly as they stand there together, him as motionless as Quinn, shocked. Their smiles are unfading and somehow all-knowing.
For some strange reason, he doesn't want to know why they know. It's probably just that obvious. He always has been easy to read. So he just calls back, "Thanks," and sits down at his usual place beside her, just for a little while, in what he's secretly dubbed "his" chair, sliding his hand into her own and gripping it like a lifeline. Hoping that soon, she'll be able to squeeze back.
Thursday, Puck and Artie ask to go first. "I really don't know if this really has anything to do with this situation," Puck says, as awkwardly as Sam has ever seen him. "I really don't know if this honestly is even comparable to Quinn's situation. But we all love her, and this is just the best thing I could find."
He and Artie perform "Exit Wounds" by the Script, which, admittedly, is not very similar to Quinn's state, but rather to theirs. Hearing she had been in a car crash was enough of a shock to all of their systems to make them want to go to the emergency room for themselves as well. The song is nice, with Artie performing the more rap-like parts of the song and Puck singing the verses by himself. They share the chorus, their voices twisting and blending into an odd sort of synchronization. It sounds nice.
Santana, Brittany, and Sugar are next, with Sugar providing as little as possible that Santana could arrange, singing "Best Friend" by S Club 7. Sam blocks out most of it once he hears Sugar start to open her mouth, and Brittany of course does most of the dancing while Santana does most of the singing. He's sure it's probably the best possible with that trio, but he's too tired and too angry and too sad to really listen. But there's clapping at the end, so it can't have been all bad.
Time for one last song. His. Pressure: on.
It took him forever to choose his song. It's probably a bit like Finn's, because it does make references to their past relationship, but more than that—it speaks about what she meant to him, being his first love and all, and it talks about impending disaster and about being broken by tragedies. It's "Kissing in Cars" by Pierce the Veil. The first notes, he takes a breath and looks at Quinn's empty seat, if only to reassure himself, to pretend that she's there. (It's doesn't reassure him, and he's never had a very good imagination at stuff like that.)
"As we wake up in your room, your face is the first thing I see," he sings, remembering how often they would fall asleep in her room after doing homework together. She would be exhausted from helping him through his dyslexia (something she continued to do frequently after the breakup when they couldn't afford a tutor, as a favor) and he would be worn out from working past the jumbled letters. They would wake up together and smile, both of them still remembering how it used to be with them together, or if it was while they were still dating, then they would both just keep smiling. Then he would hurry to leave (and eventually, months later, he would have to hurry to leave to go back to a motel) and she would kiss him goodbye (after their breakup, it was always on the cheek. He wanted it to be more).
"The first time I've seen love
And the last I'll ever need."
She gave him love when he'd never had any before. The day she'd told him those fateful words, the words that made him start to like her, which eventually led to loving her. I looked like a thing from Avatar down there. Nine little words. That was all it took. Nine words and a movie reference.
"You remind her that the future would be nothing without her
Never lose her, I'm afraid, better think of something good to say."
It's hard to think that just that easily, they could lose her. So soon. He never wants to lose her. He honestly thinks that he couldn't. If he loses her, he might as well be dead himself. Not just because he's in love with her, but because somewhere over the course of the past few months, she became like his best friend again, and because they still belong together. He wants to say something, to get her to understand, but he can't because she's still asleep. So what can he really do, except sing?
"Well, it's all been done more than once so I'll keep on trying
Oh, God, don't let me be the only one who says…
No! At the top of our lungs, there's
No, no such thing as too young
When second chances won't leave you alone,
Then there's faith in love."
He's a little afraid that when she wakes up—when, not if—that she won't love him, or even want to try again. But these second chances keep staring him in the face, and he loves it and hates it and he wants her, damn it. It's like what Rachel and Finn said, talking about getting married: there's no such thing as too young. You only get so many chances in life. Look at Quinn, stuck in a coma without ever getting to accomplish anything she wanted, or said she wanted anyway. Who knows, her dreams might have changed. (Maybe when she wakes up, they'll include him again.)
"She was always the one, I'll repeat it again, the one
No such thing as too young
Red lights flash in the car we're kissing in, call me crazy," he sings.
He remembers the first time that he thought that she was the one. And he remembers giving her his promise ring, thinking even now that it still belongs to her, that it always has belonged to only her. (He tries to remember how to breathe.) And he remembers kissing in a car with her—whose car, he can't remember, though he doubts it matters now—and getting caught by a curious cop who chuckled at them and then got back in his police car and drove away. He remembers their lips battling for dominance, never wanting to end, the car still blasting to Journey and Melissa Etheridge and Elvis, though they weren't really still paying attention. They were too caught up in each other's lips, still very in lust, and very in love. They were crazy and lovestruck and fools for love and it was oh god so beautiful. Just so perfect, damn her. Damn her for being so perfect.
"I've always tried to remind her that's the future's
Just a few heartbeats away from disaster
I'm afraid, that I've thrown it all away."
He always knew that tragedy was coming. Disaster is a breath away if you tempt it, and apparently Quinn enticed it far too often, attracting it to her like she attracted him to her repeatedly. Now, look at her, in a hospital. And he misses her. They all miss her. And he threw it all away by breaking up with her. He ruined his chance, because if she dies, she'll always be what might have been, the one that got away. He looks intently at his guitar, refusing to look up, to see his fellow Glee members' expressions and reactions. He won't look. He might break down, and he doesn't want anybody here to see him in tears.
"No! At the top of our lungs, there's no, no such thing as too young
When second chances won't leave you alone
No! At the top of our lungs, there's no, no such thing as too young
When second chances won't leave you alone, then there's faith in love.
No, at the top of our lungs, there's no, no such thing as too young
When second chances won't leave you alone!"
The second chances that they had are hitting him full in the face. The ones that they could have when she wakes up are still there, though, still lingering and wishing they could exist. He's messed it up, and so has she, though. Who knows if they could actually make it work?
He regrets it all now.
"No, we'll repeat it again, there's no, no such thing as too young
When second chances won't leave us alone, 'cause there's faith in…
(Love), if you kiss me goodnight, I'll know everything is all right
When second chances won't leave us alone, won't leave us alone
'Cause there's faith in love."
If she wakes up, if she kisses him again, then everything will be so much better. No, screw that. Scratch that. If she wakes up, with or without wanting him back, with or without him going to college or living in his own house again, then it will still be perfect.
These second chances keep hitting him in the face. He bites his lip. The song, oddly, is perfect.
He looks up from his guitar, blinking back tears that he refuses to give in to, he notices that most of the girls are crying and a few boys are even a little teary-eyed. Well, damn. He wasn't hoping for this kind of reaction. Hell, he wasn't even hoping for a reaction. He just wanted to sing his song and be done with it.
(Bare your feelings out for the world to see, Sam. Pick an emotional song. Yeah, that was a great idea. Real smart. He mentally rolls his eyes at that thought.)
"That was wonderful," Mr. Schue says after a pause. "I think we can all agree that that was perhaps the most heartfelt performance of this entire week."
Rachel looks faintly indignant, as she always does, but the rest of them clap wholeheartedly, and he can't fight back a small smile that shows no teeth. There's no real joy in his smile, but it's nice to know that they all care, and that they all understand, to an extent, what he feels. Of course, none of them are in love with her (unless they're keeping some secrets, and God knows he is, so who really knows?) so they don't know exactly what's running through his mind, but he knows they get the general idea, and just the thought of someone understanding his feelings is enough to make him want to smile a little.
"Thanks, guys," Sam says, and puts up his guitar. At that same instant, the bell rings. Yay. Time for English.
Half an hour later, he is sincerely regretting not skipping this class. This is so much harder without Quinn there to help him through the lesson the night before. He looks up at the clock and sees it's still early in the class's allotted time, and barely bites back a groan. He keeps staring at the still almost-blank page before him, knowing that he has to finish writing this short essay before the class ends. It's supposed to be about something close to him. He picks up the pencil and sighs before starting to write about Quinn, knowing that he's probably getting some of the spelling wrong. He's mixing up a lot of the letters, but he can still tell that he's spelled her name right, and besides, his English teacher, as weird as it sounds, is also dyslexic. She takes a little pity on him. Not enough to stop her from taking points off of some of the more obvious mistakes, but she might give him most of the credit as long as the content is good.
And it is. He knows it is pretty good. It's about losing the one you love, and the thing about English teachers is that they love romantic crap like that. Like Romeo & Juliet and stuff like that. Why else would somebody, much less a dyslexic somebody, consent to be an English teacher? Besides, he knows for a fact that his teacher is a romantic like that. If her choice of romantic dramas for the class weren't enough, it would be the fact that she sighs longingly during the more romantic parts of those books and plays and films when they take part in them in class.
Yeah, she should give him most of the credit where it's due. Besides the fact that he's appealing to her soft spot as well as her thing for romances, he's always been a pretty good writer as far as the whole poetic thing goes. Who else would learn Na'vi, but a romantic?
Yeah. Well. Probably not the best thing to tell girls when you meet them, but Quinn once told him that it was very sweet that he could call her sexy and beautiful and amazing in a language that literally nobody else in town knew. She made an effort to learn some of it in exchange for helping him with English, but that fell apart when they broke up because most of the stuff he knew in Na'vi was passionate and tender and loving. And neither of them wanted to hear that. He was bittersweet about her, and she was heartbroken. Then they suddenly switched, only he was mourning Mercedes and she was bitter about everything that she'd ever known. Suddenly, they were both two very different people, both still halfway in love with each other. And now he's all the way, and she can't feel anything, or if she can, she can't even tell him, so it's pretty much the same thing, almost. He sighs, lingering in his bittersweet solitude, thinking about her. She wasn't-isn't-perfect, but he'd always loved her in the back of his mind.
The bell rings almost just as he finishes the essay, and he spends a few moments more packing up his stuff. His destination, of course, is the hospital, and he's pleasantly surprised, albeit disgruntled, at the fact that he had to ask the nurses where she was, and that she's been moved from Critical Care (which she left almost immediately after surgery) to the ICU (where she's been lately) to just a regular room. Apparently, she moved this morning when there was a minor bus crash. They needed a few beds in the ICU, and she's been stable pretty much since they got her off of the operating table, except for that one time where she crashed when he wasn't there, sometime late at night on Tuesday. Her mother had tearfully called him, explaining it to him (apparently she'd noticed he was there after all) but had told him not to worry. She was stable then by the time her mother had called him, and she's remained so ever since.
Quinn's new room is slightly more colorful, given that her mother, who is quite a bit odd, probably requested it so she'd have a distraction when she visited her daughter. Sam looks around the room. Quinn wouldn't like it, is the first thought that comes to his mind. It's too pink. And yellow. Two colors that Quinn isn't fond of when they're put together, and he has to say that he agrees. Because it's bright, light pink. And blinding yellow. Together, they make you actually want to go blind.
She looks somewhat more alive, with cheeks that have a little more color to them. To act fairly towards the pessimist in him (which he will firmly deny when asked of its existence), though, it might be because this room is hot. He's almost sweating, and he vaguely realizes it's probably because the air conditioner in this room is broken, and because, for reasons he doesn't want to go into for the fiftieth or so time today, he's nervous around her. As always.
A doctor crosses the threshold of the room just as he pulls out the book they're reading in English to read aloud to her. " 'Who could refrain that had a heart to love, and in that heart, courage to make 's love known?' " he quotes, not noticing the woman as she enters. "Okay. Recap. Because I need it as much as you do. In the past few days, you've missed the entirety of Macbeth while we've been reading it. Anyway. Summary: Crazy Scottish dude kills his relative the king because some batty three women told him he'd be king. His wife's some crazy lady who references her breasts every time she makes a monologue. Oh, yes, and apparently kings are tyrants in this play. I wonder how Queen Elizabeth took that. I mean, I know she was a queen, but still. Royalty." (A/N: Shakespeare actually wrote this for King James, after Queen Elizabeth's death. But I figured that Sam wouldn't know or care about that. Besides, I love Macbeth! I've been reading it lately and just decided to use it.)
He hears a soft clearing of someone's throat and turns to see a woman in the doorway with her dark hair in a bun, wearing a doctor's coat like they're on some kind of hospital show. (Once Quinn got him to watch Grey's Anatomy. Some of that stuff is disturbing. People encased in concrete. Please. Just…he can still find no words for the stupidity of that.) He chokes out some kind of surprised hello, still shocked to see her there, and she chuckles, saying that she's come to check "Miss Fabray's" vitals. (He still can't think of her as "Miss Fabray." He jumps every time the doctors say it. He'll only ever think of her as Quinn.) Apparently, they have to check them every half hour just to see. In her condition, it's just not safe to not monitor her every so often. He doesn't blame the doctor for doing her job, of course, but he does not enjoy the interruption.
Soon after, he leaves, silently pleading with her to wake up. It just feels uncomfortable, knowing someone could—and probably will, eventually—walk in as he is holding her hand or kissing her knuckles (as he is prone to do) and so he leaves. He begs her one last time, still only just in his head. He's always had this fear of being watched. He hates it, feeling like people are judging him. Funny that he's in a choral group, where you have to sing on stage. (Ha ha. Yes, hilarious.) So he is silent about wanting her to wake up, silent because even if he speaks it out loud to no one but her, God will still hear. And she might not say yes. She might let go. Better to keep it in his head, better to not let everyone know.
Friday morning.
Friday is silent in Glee, in the beginning. They've sung all that they planned to sing and it's driving him crazy, sitting there, all still and unmoving like that (like Quinn). Finally, he stands up, gets on a school laptop, and prints out the chords and lyrics to a song that's been driving him crazy whenever he thinks about Quinn for too long (like, fifteen seconds, maybe). Rachel brightens up considerably when she gets her part, and the rest of the group just nods and smiles knowingly, as if they knew that he'd be the one to find their group number. (They're all thinking secretly, Of course he would.)
They're on the stage, and Mr. Schue is strangely absent from class. While they'd usually just wander the halls and scatter if Mr. Schue skipped, today is not a normal day. It's more personal than that. The girls are dressed in matching outfits they found in the drama club's wardrobe: sleeveless, strapped white tops covered in black sparkly rhinestones and black knee-length skirts that hug the waist and flare at the knees. Their shoes are matching black heels (it's amazing that the wardrobe had all of their sizes, but the drama teacher plans for everything, so maybe not quite so much). The boys are dressed more formally, their black suits and shoes matching as well as their white ties. Their choreography is off and unpracticed and they have no one to perform for, and there's a distinct possibility that Finn might kill somebody with his dancing, but it's a perfect as they're gonna get, or want to get, and besides, they need to do this for themselves, not an audience. The lights are dimmed down, and the spotlight is turned on. Then the music starts, soft and quiet but there (like Quinn in her hospital bed). He smiles. (And pretty. Did he mention pretty? Absolutely…oh, just beautiful.)
Besides, they're giving Finn a really wide berth. He'd have to reach new levels actually kill somebody from that distance. (Maybe just a few bruised feet.)
Rachel steps up first to sing her solo. "Ooh, oh, I'm staring at tears on the pages of letters that I never could write," she sings.
Tina continues, voice unusually unwavering, her eyes on Mike, who is smiling brightly, encouraging her as she quietly but confidently sings, "Now I know that love isn't painless, but it's worth the risk, it's worth the fight."
The next solo is Kurt's and he belts out, "I'm playing it over and over, I wish that I could turn back time, baby."
Puck, all smirks and confidence, goes unexpectedly emotional on his line, his voice wavering slightly as he sings, "We were wrong, but we could be right," the last solo before the first chorus.
They all step forward as the music becomes louder, the girls spinning in the boys' arms, with Tina in Sam's (Mike is, of course, with Brittany for the dance, front and center on stage). The music kicks up a notch as they all sing.
"Why do we say things we can't take back?
And why do we miss what we never had?
Both of us fell to the ground
The love was so lost, it couldn't be found.
What would it take to forget who's blamed?
I'm tired of crying at the sound of your name
Why don't we turn this around?
Love ain't the enemy, don't you wanna be lost then found?"
They all repeat, "Lost then found, lost then found." Rachel softly repeats, "Love ain't the enemy," and Finn bellows out, "We could be lost then found."
Blaine steps up, eyes locked on Kurt's, smiling widely as he mournfully (oxymoronic much?) sings, "Empty glasses on tables, echoes fill these rooms—"
"—the memories go where we go, they're like the suitcase that you never lose," Santana interrupts, the beat still flowing smoothly along with their voices.
Mercedes steps up, looking faintly guilty, and Sam just knows she picked this solo for herself on purpose, though she has nothing to be guilty for. (It was all him and Quinn.) "If the good Lord's eye is upon me, I swear to make things right," she belts.
"Whatever we lost, I know we can find," Sam sings, not feeling as confident as the words sound. He knows Quinn might never want what he wants now. The feelings might not be reciprocated, and he definitely isn't as sure as the lyrics are.
They launch in to the chorus again.
Brittany opens the next verse by fiercely singing, "The words come pouring out, can't stop the rain, I wish you could take it back—"
"—but it's too late, it's too late, oh," Artie sings with that richness of his.
They sing the chorus again, then all sing, "Lost then found, lost then found," with Rachel singing her background line. Immediately afterward, Finn sings his line, "We could be lost then found."
Rory begins the closing verse with a soft line, "The words come pouring out, can't stop the rain," and Finn faintly sings, "Lost then found."
Sam sings, "Wish you could take it back."
"Lost then found," Finn softly repeats.
Mike sings the last solo with one line, "But it's too late, it's too late," his voice flawless. Sam sees Tina and Mike share a proud/joyful beam.
All of them step up and sing solemnly, "We could be lost then found, lost then found."
Just as the ending notes fade, Mr. Schue steps through the auditorium door, clapping, obviously having heard most if not all of the performance. Tears are unexpectedly shining in his eyes, and they all respectfully ignore it. He grins, hands brought together one last time for a final resounding clap that echoes in the auditorium. He stares at all of them. "Bravo, guys. I'm sorry I missed the class. But something important happened." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "Guys, Quinn just woke up. She's awake."
Of course, they can't leave school and see her right away. Stupid rules, he thinks ruefully, tapping his foot impatiently. His English class can't go any faster. His English teacher is handing back papers—for a dyslexic woman with three kids, she sure grades really fast—and she drops his on his desk with a faint smile. He waits for a moment—every moment feels like an eternity since he got the news just before dismissal from Glee—then looks at it. Her comments are mostly for incorrect spelling or grammar, but she also wrote a lot about his "beautiful, dark prose" and other stuff. It sounds a lot like something Tina or depressed/angry Quinn might have gotten on one of their papers, not him. He tucks the paper away, remembering his last-minute, cheesy-but-true title: "I Know Why Romeo Said Yes."
He exits his last class of the day with a feeling of relief, catching a town bus and going to the hospital as fast as he can. The waiting room is already crowded with Glee kids like Puck and Santana, both of whom possibly (probably) skipping their last class to be here. He doesn't blame them. He sits next to Brittany and is rewarded with a simple happy smile.
"She's awake," Santana informs him, "and you can see her. But you may not like it."
He's confused until the doctor, at Santana's insistence, explains. ("Listen to me, estás loco bastardo*, I don't know any damn brain surgery shit so you better explain it all to the boyfriend here!") He nearly blushes as being called Quinn's boyfriend, standing up to be polite when the doctor tries to speak past the insulting, simmering Latina's scathing words, and feels a sick lurching in his stomach as the doctor tries to say something that is complicated so that will make sense to a seventeen-year-old boy, stumbling and tripping over his words.
Sam's brain shuts down remarkably like it did when he first heard about the accident, slamming to a halt (like a truck, he thinks, ha ha, only not funny), and he vaguely feels it as he tries to comprehend words like "brain damage," "trauma," and "temporary aftereffects."
"How temporary?" he rasps out as soon as he partially understands, realizing that just a minute ago he was happily interacting with Brittany, believing naively that as soon as Quinn woke up, everything would be okay. Now Brittany's crying (again, he sees, because she obviously was crying earlier, due to the puffy redness of her eyes that he didn't notice before) and he's trying hard not to.
The doctor shrugs halfheartedly, trying his best to look sympathetic. (Read: major fail, Sam thinks, trying to lighten the mood in his mind, which doesn't work.) "Anywhere from a few minutes to a few months," he tries. Sam blanches, and it must be visible because the doctor looks worried about him now.
"What—aftereffects?" he chokes out.
"Nothing serious," the doctor quickly tries—fails—to reassure him. "She—she understands what happened, she's nodding and reacting and everything. She just…she won't…well, speak."
Santana ushers him into the room, and he doesn't argue. He doesn't feel much of anything, really. He feels blank. Numb. Santana also gets Quinn's parents out of the room, stating that Sam "needs to be alone with her" and to "give them some private time together".
She's really being incredibly kind and nice and sweet and understanding. Not at all like what he expected from the local resident Lima Heights bitch.
Just before she leaves, she leans over and whispers in his ear, "You break her heart, I'll break your face, pretty boy."
He suppresses a smile. That's more like what he expected. She closes the door behind her.
All this time, his eyes have been trained on Quinn.
She looks pretty normal. Her skin is still a little too pale, and there is a fading light purple bruise under one of her eyes, resting on her delicate left cheekbone, and her eyes are slightly glazed over, in a daze, just like him. Her creamy skin is mottled with green and yellow bruises on one arm, and there is a small, angry red cut above her left eyebrow that didn't even need stitches, but that's it. If it weren't for the sling on her right arm, or the hospital gown, or the fact that she is still just sitting up in bed silently (when she normally would be hugging him and chatting his ear off), he wouldn't notice if much was different.
But it is different, and she looks…well, wrong, somehow. Still beautiful, to be sure. But sad, sadder than usual lately. And hurt. Devastatingly hurt. He can just tell.
"Hey," he greets her softly. She just stares at him with those big, luminous brown eyes. He has seen those eyes cry, he has seen them full of love, he has seen them as she cried and sang and kissed (him). (Even if her eyes were usually closed when they kissed, occasionally he would surprise her in the middle of a sentence when one of them was talking, and her eyes would fly open and she would dissolve into giggles. He misses that.)
He loves those beautiful eyes.
"So, um, heard you were awake," he tries, hand rubbing the back of his neck like it does whenever he feels awkward. She suppresses a smile unsuccessfully, and he realizes that she knows all of his traits. She knows that he's uncomfortable, and she's laughing about it.
Normally, he would be angry with anyone else for laughing at him after all this emotional trauma that they've all been put through this week. But it's Quinn, and she's always made him act differently, more open and free and out of control. He wants to be angry, but he somehow ends up laughing with her instead.
Eventually, they both stop laughing and end up staring. He nervously stands there for a few more seconds, shuffling his feet and shifting his weight from foot to foot, and then decides to sit down. Out of habit, he takes her hand in his, pretending not to notice the way her fingers naturally curl over his until they're holding hands tightly.
He smiles, feeling that it might eventually turn out okay.
(A/N: Okay, I know that in Glee, there is one week left before graduation or something, and I just used the week up waiting for her to wake up. However, I have more for this story, so I'm extending school for a week! Yes, students all over America would hate me in this hypothetical world, but I shall deal with that later. Okay, so, moving on! Back to the story!)
However, after a weekend of silence, he can't help but feel worried about her. He heads into school on Monday, not knowing what to expect. But it definitely isn't what he sees.
He doesn't share any morning classes with Quinn, but he does hear the whispered gossip about her silence. When he heads into Glee, she isn't there, and Mr. Schue is midway through his pre-graduation pep-talk before Quinn bursts in.
She's wearing a plain blue short-sleeved top that wrinkles cutely on purpose, dark blue jeans, and small blue high heels. Her hair is up in a perfectly executed bun with a few wispy strands of hair escaping it on purpose. She looks almost normal except for the bandage above her left eyebrow and the small cast on her arm. Silently, she looks pleadingly at Mr. Schue and hands him a late pass. Mr. Schue just nods and gestures for her to sit in the only empty seat, between Sam and Tina. She sits wordlessly, and passes Glee without saying anything.
Finn and Rachel sing some love ballad, already planning on redoing their wedding sometime this summer, and then Brittany sings "Graduation Song" by Vitamin C with Santana, predictably, as her backup. The latter is utterly cheesy and Sam can't help thinking so, but then Brittany simply states, "Somebody needed to do it," and that somehow makes it funny and more acceptable. (Besides, the former was utterly cheesy too, as Rachel and Finn are prone to do.)
Monday and Tuesday pass by without a word from her, and on Tuesday night he gets frustrated. He misses her laughter, her sarcasm, her singing, and just her beautiful voice in general. Quinn's voice is a big part of her, and he misses it.
So he finds himself knocking on her door.
After being directed to it (though he still remembers it from the time that they were dating—so long ago, in a far away place that wasn't Star Wars-related), he knocks on her bedroom door, opening it hesitantly after there's no answer. She's just sitting on her bed, reading a book. He can't see the title, and she offers him a small smile, and he returns it.
God, she's like a drug. When he's near her, all of his troubles just—well, they don't melt away, but they fade into the background until he can' even tell that they were ever there. So, basically, it's like the same thing.
"We miss you," he finds himself saying, and she just nods sadly and gestures for him to sit on the bed next to her. He does so without a thought, then continues. "I mean…I miss you, too, you know? Just…we spent all this time waiting for you to wake up, and then you don't say a word and we—I—miss your voice."
She shrugs remorsefully, and he can tell that she wants to speak. She just…can't.
His anger fades away.
"I get," he says with determination, "that you don't want to speak. And maybe, to some extent, you can't. Maybe this is your only way to take control of what's happening to you now, and I don't blame you. Just…I want you to talk eventually. I'm gonna miss that pretty voice, okay?"
She nods slowly, as though she's trying to figure out what he just said.
"And in the meantime," he goes on, "well…we'll just wait. Okay?"
She nods again, a small regretful smile on her face, and they clasp hands just as they did in the hospital. Things feel a little bit better.
Wednesday is less okay. It's not like he expected her to be all chatty when she came in, and he doesn't even have the right to be angry, but he just…is. It's not even really anger, it's sadness. He misses her being herself. And he's mad at himself for not telling her yet. (If you're asking what he hasn't told her, then you haven't been paying proper attention, he thinks. His little lovefest has been on display for a while, and anyone who hasn't noticed yet is an idiot, or blind. He apologizes in his mind to the blind kids.)
He brings his guitar to school to sing. And when he asks Mr. Schue, he is given permission to do his solo: "Say When," by The Fray. He sits directly in front of her. She's wearing one of his favorites: a white/cream camisole that reaches her waist, dark blue jeans, and a short-sleeved knitted black jacket. He stares at the plain white sandals she's wearing, and remembers them. She wore this outfit on dates with him a lot, back when they were still dating.
Taking a deep breath, he starts playing the guitar with the background musicians also adding in their music.
"I see you there, don't know where you come from
Unaware, the stare from someone
Don't appear to care that I saw you and I want you.
What's your name? 'Cause I have to know it."
When they first met, he was instantly attracted to her. It led him to trying to kiss her in the astronomy exhibit thing, and to singing with her, and to falling in love with her. He didn't know anything about her—her past, her faults, her mistakes, her previous relationships—and they didn't mean a damn thing when he did find out.
All he knew was that he wanted her.
And at the time, she wanted him too.
"You let me in and begin to show it
We're terrified 'cause we're headed straight for it, might get it."
They were so close. She had accepted—stolen—his promise ring, and said yes, and they were practically engaged, which, though it sounded scary, felt right at the time.
They had been so close, and that was the final nail in the coffin. They both got scared. She made a mistake, and he finally stopped forgiving and understanding. They both ruined it.
"You're in the song playing on the background
All alone, but you're turning up now
And everyone is rising to meet you, to greet you.
Turn around and you're walking toward me
I'm breaking down and you're breathing slowly
Say the word and I will be your man, your man."
They are both kind of fragile, kind of strong. She can pretend that she's strong, and her sharp tongue makes that easy to believe, but it just isn't true. And he's physically strong, and can look menacing, but the truth is that, despite their experiences, both of them can be so innocent. She thinks she knows all of the world's evils, and she does know a great many of them, he knows, but she honestly is one of the most blameless, hopeful people he's ever met.
You can meet any kind of person that acts hopeful. Anyone can act hopeful. But most people do that to fool others.
Quinn never did that to him. They were honest with each other, until—well, until she cheated on him. Then they both became liars. She lied about cheating, and afterwards, he lied and said that he was over her. That he didn't love her. (Lies, lies, lies.)
He feels himself wanting to break down, to lose control, and looks up from his guitar at her and her emotional gaze. He can see tears lingering in her eyes, almost but not quite visible to everyone else, though they're all looking at her. He knows that he was the person she let in more than anyone else before the breakup.
He wants to try again.
"Say when and my own two hands will comfort you tonight, tonight
Say when and my own two arms will carry you tonight, tonight.
Coming close and even then closer
We bring it in but we go no further
We're separate, two ghosts in one mirror, no nearer.
Later on, if it turns to chaos, hurricane coming all around us
See the crack, pull it back from the window, you stay low."
They were so close. Close to each other. Close to forever. (They still are, in a way.)
But they both put a stop to it. She did it the best way that she knew how: breaking his trust. And in return, he let her. Instead of fighting it, instead of telling her that he loved her, instead of helping her and staying with her, he let her break him. He let her say goodbye.
"Say when and my own two hands will comfort you tonight, tonight
Say when and my own two arms will carry you tonight, tonight.
Come across you lost and broken
You're coming to but you're slow in waking
You start to shake, you still haven't spoken, what happened?"
He sings the words with more emotion, knowing that this applies to what's going on now.
Now the tears are visible in her eyes to everyone in the room, and she is clearly, openly trembling, just like in the song's lyrics.
Her mouth opens, lips forming silent words that won't come out. She turns her head helplessly, brushing away her tears, then swings her gaze back to him, begging him both to continue and stop all at once. She wants him to finish it, but at the same time, she wishes he had never started it at all.
"They're coming back but you just don't know when
You wanna cry but there's nothing coming.
They're gonna push until you give in, say when.
Now we're here and it turns to chaos, hurricane coming all around us
Double crack throws you back from the window, you stay low."
She cries, silently, tears streaming, her shoulders shaking, and everyone is watching them like an audience, yet he feels like they're the only two people in the room.
She cries, but there's still nothing coming from her lips. Her mouth is still moving, but nothing's coming.
"It all began with the man and country
Every plan sends another century around again
Another nation, fallen.
Maybe God can be on both sides of the gun, never understood why
Some of us, never get it so good, so good.
Some of this was here before us, all of this will go after us
Never stops until we give in, give in, or say when."
Life isn't fair. They both know this. She lost her child and he lost his home. She lost her self respect, and he lost his innocence at that stupid bar with that stupid job. She lost him. He lost her. They lost each other.
Life is never fair, because—and he remembers this from some philosophy lecture he attended for extra credit one year when his English grade was failing—life is about balance. To quote the lyrics, "God is on both sides of the gun."
If life were fair, they would never have lost each other, and he would have a home, and she would be closer to her daughter. They would be a hell of a lot happier.
And, if life were fair, he wouldn't be torn apart by guilt as she cries, even though they're broken up.
If life were fair, he wouldn't still be in love with her. (He thanks God that life isn't fair.)
"And my own two hands will comfort you tonight, tonight
Say when and my own two arms will carry you tonight, tonight
Say when and my own two hands will comfort you
Tonight, tonight."
He sets the guitar down as the music fades, and the room is left silent.
Wordlessly, she stands up and crosses the short distance between them. (Turn around and you're walking toward me, I'm breaking down and you're breathing slowly, he remembers. And God, does it fit. She's still crying and she looks like she's barely breathing and he knows everyone can see his expression: so delicate, so easy to break. He's depending on her now, openly and pathetically. He needs her, damn it.)
She reaches him and gently cups his face in her hand. He stands.
Glee ends with them still standing in the middle of the room, silent, wordless, and he is sure that his eyes are telling her all that he never meant to say.
They're leaving things unsaid because there's nothing left for him to say. He's told it all. Nothing remains unspoken except her words.
That night, he finds himself at one of their old haunts, this little ice cream joint they used to hang out at. It was her secret hiding place, one that she showed him for one of their dates. ("Breadstix may have better food, but this place is homier. This place is mine," she said. And he kissed her, just because she was so perfect in that moment. Then they both got really into it and then she smacked him for getting her off topic.) They promised to go every month. They only had the chance to go a few times.
He walks toward their booth, the one way in the back, where no one can see you and you can't see anyone. In fact, you have to alert the waitresses of your existence or no one will even know you're there. He expects just to sit there, maybe do some homework if he gets bored. Then this feeling that something's missing will alleviate or vanish or dissipate or something, and he can go home.
Except someone's already in the booth.
He jumps back, startled, and Quinn puts a hand up to her mouth, looking both sheepish and amused. He never knew such a combination existed.
"Hey," he says awkwardly.
She smiles at him, waving her hello, and returns to her ice cream. Peach. She always did like peach ice cream. Some things never change.
Sam can see from her eyes that she was crying earlier. Probably from his song.
Well, in his defense, he didn't know it would make her so emotional. He just got so damn tired of the silence.
He goes up to the front after setting his stuff down, gets his regular—half chocolate and half cherry, which she always labeled as "Sam's Weird Combo" while they were dating—and sits down in their booth, across from her. They've reached a silent agreement that neither of them is going to move.
This is comfortable, almost. (Except not quite. Possibly because of all the things she left unsaid.)
"I'm sorry," he finds himself saying abruptly. "I'm sorry I've pushed you ever since you woke up—"
And she's already shaking her head, as if she's disagreeing, but he persists.
"—and I'm sorry that I've pressured you, and I'm sorry if I've hurt you, but honestly, Quinn, you know why." He catches her eye and takes hold of her chin with two fingers, making her stop shaking her head and also making her keep eye contact with him. "You know I never stopped lov-wanting you."
It's too soon for the l word, anyway.
"You know I always wanted to be with you."
Then, to his surprise, her lips part. In this little, homey, mom-and-pop ice cream shop, in their invisible booth in the back, the one that always belonged to them, she speaks her first words since the accident.
"S-Sam, I—" she tries, her voice cracking and finally breaking from the pressure of speaking. She hasn't spoken in over a week, after all, and it's taken its toll.
He smiles, not even trying to hide his joy. "It's okay, Quinn," he reassures her. "You don't have to—"
"No, I…I want to. I, I need to. Sam, you know that I always—"
He decides to shut her up, if only to save her voice. (That's what he tells himself.) It's really an excuse to touch her. His hand moves from her chin to her mouth, and he places a finger on her lips in the classic "shh" gesture. Then, he leans forward over the table, half-standing in the booth, and she halfway stands up to make it easier, and he replaces his finger with his lips. (They're both kind of uncomfortable with the posture, but they don't really care once they get into the kissing.)
Her mouth is still so soft.
They're lying in her bed after a silent agreement that he would drive her home and a silent conversation that ended up in making out in her bed. (He has no idea how she even got to the ice cream place without a ride.) She's stretched out, halfway on top of him, still trying to speak. Finally, her voice lets her say more than a sentence without cracking.
He's tired, and he wants to fall asleep, but he can't.
"Keep talking," he begs her, and she does, and he falls asleep beside/underneath her, falls asleep to her voice as she talks about what she's going to sing in Glee tomorrow.
He drives back to Finn and Kurt's later that night, and they ask him no questions. They can probably already guess it from the way his hair is messed up, and the way his eyes are still heavy with sleep. (They also probably guess it from the way he's got her standout peach lip gloss on him. He doesn't even discover that until morning.)
She gets up in Glee the next day. Mr. Schue nods mutely, beaming with pride, and she opens her mouth. The entire class, except Sam, draws a surprise breath as she speaks. "This song is about the person that I love," she says quietly, but her voice is as strong as ever. After just one night. It's amazing. "It's mashup of 'Where I Stood' by Missy Higgins and 'A Thousand Years' by Christina Perri."
The music starts and she closes her eyes, swaying slightly to the beat. When the time comes, her eyes open and her lips part to sing.
"I don't know what I've done
Or if I like what I've begun
But something told me to run
And, honey, you know me, it's all or none."
It's a sad song, he can tell, probably reflecting a breakup. He understands already that she's singing about him and the mistake she made by cheating on him with Finn.
She once told him that she was never very good at relationships. At the time, he told her that he didn't care, that he would make it work. Then they both gave up, and they both blamed themselves. (Okay, he hated her for, like, five minutes. Which was expected.)
Then the music changes, becoming a little more upbeat, and she smiles.
"How to be brave?
How can I love when I'm afraid?
I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more."
She beams, and he feels his own mouth turning up in a grin that's probably leaning closer to a smirk. This song is a little too happy/cheesy for her, but it…fits, somehow. She was his first love and has always remained that way, and he was the first person she ever expected to go all the way with.
It feels like a thousand years, anyway, since they were a "them." But now they can be again.
The music goes back to that regretful, I-hurt-you-and-have-no-one-to-blame-but-myself beat.
"See, I thought love was black and white
That it was wrong or it was right
But you ain't leaving without a fight
And I think I am just as torn inside."
He knows that her opinion of love was never very…well, optimistic. She thought it was never meant to last.
But maybe he changed her. With his cheerful smile and his positive view of things and his I-love-you-forever feelings and speeches and his joy-to-the-world demeanor, perhaps he made her think differently. The way he didn't give up without a fight on anything.
Maybe it was true, what she told him. I want to be with you. Despite her affair with Finn, maybe she discovered that she really wanted him instead. Maybe, instead of being torn between him and Finn, she was torn between letting him go and making him stay.
The music switches back to the I-love-you-forever song. (He can't help but label them.)
"Every breath,
Every hour has come to this.
I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more."
Maybe everything led up to this.
Their relationship, their belief that their love could last forever the first time, their dramatic breakup, his relationship with Mercedes, her short fling with Finn, his move, her act with the Skanks, his return, her car crash, his discovery that he still loves her.
Maybe it all led up to this…to them all over again.
"And I won't be far from where you are
If ever you should call
You meant more to me than anyone I ever loved at all
But you taught me how to trust myself
And so I say to you..."
He smiles. You meant more to me than anyone I ever loved at all. He wonders if it's true, and then he knows. She wouldn't lie about something like this.
He gave her her self-esteem back. Her self-respect. He taught her how to trust herself, and he gave her faith in relationships again.
"One step closer…one step closer…
I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more.
And all along, I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me,
I have loved you for a thousand years.
I'll love you for a thousand more."
The music fades, and she's glowing and grinning and he realizes that he is too.
He stands up as the rest of them stop clapping and as Mr. Schue finishes his compliments. Silently, she gives him a letter. He smiles back at her and takes it. The envelope reads, To Sam, With Love. From her sense of humor, he can tell that it's a play on To Sir, With Love.
He opens it without waiting, knowing that that was what she wanted by the way she laughs, and reads it, stumbling a little with his dyslexia but still reading it quickly.
Dear Sam,
I've made a lot of mistakes. I hurt you. A lot. And in doing that, I also hurt myself. But I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But especially not you. Because I love you, Sam. I know I broke your trust by being with Finn again, and I know that babysitting your siblings could never make up for that, but I did that anyway because I loved—love—being close to you.
And I know I can't just expect a relationship. That takes time and trust, and we don't really have much of either. I'm leaving as soon as summer ends for Yale, and I don't know where you're going.
But we have this summer. Make of that what you will.
I love you.
—Q.
He just smiles. Then looks up. Glee is holding its bated breath, filled with anticipation, with wonder, with curiosity.
He places his hand (the one not holding the letter) on the back of her head, noting that she looks beautiful with her hair down, then pulls her to him and crushes his lips against hers, aware that a few girls are cheering and a few guys are whistling.
He never expected this reaction, but pretty soon, it all fades away, replaced only by her as they passionately kiss.
They graduate. She's a Cheerio again, and of course Glee wins. Nationals and everything. They're both excited, both ecstatic, both disbelieving, and of course when they finish performing their selected pieces at Nationals, he pulls her backstage for a kiss. They reassure each other, but they're both still in disbelief when they win.
Summer is perfect.
Mr. Evans:
We are sincerely pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Gateway Community College, located in New Haven, Connecticut. College orientations begin on August 16th and continue until August 20th. Further events can be found on the school website. We look forward to seeing you in August!
Sincerely,
Eugene Giovannini, Ed.D.
President.
She hugs him when she gets the news, which is hard to do in her pink dress, which the store sent in a size too small. Similary, his suit and tie are uncomfortably tight, and she adjusts it laughingly when he asks. Eventually, they get back to the topic at hand. "But, Sam, how did you—I mean—registration was back in March!" she exclaims. At the moment, it's the end of summer, and she knows he didn't apply for anything near Connecticut.
He just winks playfully at her, which is kind of hard to do because she's squeezing him tightly. "Air, Q," he reminds her, and she loosens her hold just the tiniest bit. "I just…knew a guy. Who knew a guy. Who knew a guy. Who could hook me up. So he did. Which was real nice of him, by the way. I always wanted to get into the city. Maybe I could play guitar at some of this little cafes they've got out there, for a job, you know. But anyway, looks like I'm joining you in New Haven. I mean, you'll be at Yale and I'll be at Gateway, but still—"
He can tell she's almost crying. "—oh my God, Sam! We're going to college together!" Quinn takes a deep breath. "Okay, I need to calm down right now. I mean, Rachel and Finn are about to get married. And you and I need to walk down the aisle together in—oh my God! Five minutes!" She takes his right hand in her left hand, both of them noticing—though it's become an everyday thing now—the sparkle of the promise ring that she always kept in her purse, the one she put on after they started dating again. Even now-months after they took hold of their second chance-the tension, as well as the chemistry, that they share is still visible in a crowded room to perfect strangers. Just the way they like it.
Sam just grins and kisses her. Then, lips pressed to her ear, he breathes, "Nga yawne lu oer." And it's still so true.
(Who knows, maybe they'll beat Tina and Mike to the aisle. Maybe they're next. And maybe there's no maybe about it.)
*Santana says, "you crazy bstard" in Spanish. According to my online translator, anyway. (Who knew Santana had such colorful language? ...okay, we all knew it.)
A/N: Thank you, guys, for making it through all of this with me! I know it was a long, perilous journey, and believe me I know, because this baby took over a month to write! I was pressured into finishing it because Glee starts again soon, and I knew I wanted to finish it before it became AU. (Because it will be AU. Unless, of course, this is what happens. If this is what goes down...well, yay, obviously, but also creepy, duh. I mean, word for word, song for song? Doubtful. I shall sue for plagiarism if that occurs! Kidding. Maybe. I don't know. I'm poor. I can't afford the lawyer needed to sue.)
Anyway, just thanks so much. Um, I don't really have any friends on ff, to say, at least not ones who directly participated in this, so I don't really have anyone to dedicate this to that you guys might know (because I hope you people don't know my boyfriend-he's mine!). But thanks to you dear readers!
Oh, by the way, before I forget: this fic does not in any way reflect my opinions of the songs used. I used the songs that I thought best fit the characters in their *ahem* delicate situation, so if any of you feel that I reflected a song badly, then I apologize. I was trying to get in Sam's head.
Similarly, I have had complaints that I do not describe characters well, e.g. that I described a very strong character as "weak." My explanation: this is not my opinion of the character. This is me getting in the character's head. So, if, for example, you thought I made Sam too fragile, well that's because that's how Sam sees himself. Please understand that.
Wow, this is an extraordinarily long author's note. But thanks, you guys, for making it all the way through. I promise to update Saving Robin Scherbatsky soon, since I've had requests/threats to hurry up and continue it!
Review, if you wish!