Author's Note: This little ficlet started out as a line. The introductory line, in fact. And it grew from there. It is Quartie, obviously, and very AU. I would love to see something like this be made in a movie, starring Kevin and Dianna. That their chemistry on Glee has been ignored is a tragedy and I would like to see it remedied somewhere, somehow. Until that day, we will all have to live on fanfiction and simply imagine...

(title credit to DryadSpeaks)

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White Daisies

Somewhere in the world, a little blonde-haired girl picks a white daisy and hands it to a little brown-haired boy.

He stares at it in awe and then whispers something she cannot hear.

"What?" she asks, placing pudgy hands on her hips, hazel eyes narrowed into slits, though she is only playing at being intimidating and comes off as being adorable.

He thinks this, in different terms, as his round blue eyes gaze at her. "I'm going to marry you one day," he says solemnly, nodding certainly.

Her act falls away as she stares at him in shock, arms dropping to her side. Her mouth forms a little o and she just looks and looks until he starts to squirm. A response is in her mind, simple six year old words bubbling to the surface, but she kisses his cheek instead. Giggles and runs away.

Placing a hand over his cheek, he watches her, jaw unhinged. "I'm going to marry her one day…" he mutters, a smile breaking out on his face.

But little girls and boys grow up, leaving childish dreams behind. They reach puberty and become awkward. Transform into rebellious, annoying know-it-all teenagers. Then are thrown into the whirlwind of adulthood, often before they feel ready.

Artie Abrams sure doesn't feel ready. This is in his mind as he surveys the newest part of his life , an apartment on the second floor of a crumbling building in downtown Los Angeles.

How did I get here? He asks himself, rubbing bleary eyes. Of course, he knows. To follow his dream. To be the next Spielberg, Lucas. Scorsese.

Soon they'll be whispering his name with reverence, he thinks, puffing his chest out.

The feeling soon fades as his eyes sweep the apartment. Groaning, he starts to unpack, lifting item by item out of boxes and suitcases. He pauses for a moment when he pulls out the scrapbook his mom has sent, with a note telling him he needs to finish it. Swallowing, he opens it, seeing a faded picture of two children pasted to the first page, a laminated white daisy next to it.

"I'm going to marry you one day."

He hears his words from that day long ago, closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. He hasn't thought about her in what feels like so long but is in reality only a day or two. He thinks about her all the time. Whatever became of her, he wondered, after she was unjustly wrenched from his world at the age of seven when her father got that promotion.

He remembers the last words she whispered to him, in his ear, "I love you, Artie Abrams." And then she was gone. Out of his life forever. He can lie to himself but the truth is, he never got over his childhood companion. As stupid as that is. As pointless as it is to feel the way that he does.

Again, he questions the universe. Where is she now? What is she doing?

Not twenty miles away, in a small coffee shop, clenching a cup of coffee, she sits. Blonde hair still blonde. Hazel eyes still narrowed. But not in jest this time. This glare is for real. It is directed at the tall man sitting across from her.

"Are you a buffoon?" she hisses through her teeth. The man scratches the back of his head, contemplates answering the question, but she holds up a hand. "Don't answer that, " she seethes, if possible narrowing her eyes even more. "Because you obviously are. Red roses? I hate red roses!"

Quinn Fabray has had her share of disappoints in life but marrying Finn Hudson isn't supposed to be one of them. He is supposed to be her Prince Charming, the one she's meant to ride off into the sunset with. Yet every time he opens her mouth, causing her to cringe, she can't help but think she's making a mistake. Regrets fill her bosom but she pushes them down. "White daisies."

After that, she can't manage to say anything else as a lump forms in her throat. White daisies make her think of him. But he's a ghost and she can't let him continue to haunt her.

"You want me to order-" the giant man starts to say.

"No, no!" she's screeching. "Red roses are fine! Never white daisies. Never, ever!"

Everyone in the coffee shop is staring at her and she stands, suddenly, hurrying out of the coffee shop, wiping her eyes so that no one can see the tears glittering on her eye lashes.

"Darling."

He is trying to catch up, his feet pounding against the sidewalk. "I hate it when you call me that, Finn," she tells him, her tone flat and not threatening as she had intended it to be.

Slipping an arm around her, he nods but she knows he'll forget.

How did I get here? She asks herself, allowing him to lead her to the car. Daughter of the CEO who met the owner of the company's son. He's a trust fund kid and she's a waif on the wind, taking college courses for fun. Not that she'll need them, being married to Finn Hudson.

It's like a dream come true. But it feels like someone else's dream.

"I'm going to marry you one day."

She hears the words, from the depths of her consciousness and they are like a punch to her gut. Finn doesn't notice as he helps her into the car.

Why? Her fists ball as Finn buckles her in like a child. Why did he have to die?

But the universe has no answers for her. It didn't all those years ago and it doesn't now.

When Artie sees her face splashed all over the cover of a magazine he blanches. Then looks again. It is her. Getting married to Finn Hudson, some rich kid whose dad is a big wig.

If he wasn't already in the chair, he'd have to sit down.

Married.

Gulping down his emotions, he stares blankly at the paper. What did he expect? Her to wait for him like he waited for her? All those years, ignoring other girls. And there were girls that were interested. Not many but a few. Tina, Brittany. He had turned them down because he couldn't do that to her.

Delusional, that's what Puck had called him. Waiting for a girl who he hadn't spoken to since he was seven.

He prefers the term dreamer. Romantic. Hopeless romantic.

Perhaps chump is a better word. Hopeless chump. Idiot.

She used that word a lot when they were kids. Calling people who made fun of him idiots, telling him that he was the "mostest" special.

His eyes cloud over at the memory.

"I need to get out," he says to an empty apartment. Silence is the response he gets so he leaves.

He's not sure where he's going until he stops in front of the Hudson baby formula company. What has he got to offer her anyway? He's a temp with big dreams to become a director. That could be as far as he gets. But Finn Hudson has money. He can give her all the things she deserves.

Still, even if he can't marry her he wants to see her. Hold her in his arms as an adult. In a strictly platonic way.

When he gets home, he looks her up, as his cat Buster rubs against his hand, purring. He's surprised to find her listed.

Fabray, Quinn. No street address, just a number. What if this thing hasn't been updated in years? There's no way to know unless he tries.

It goes straight to voicemail but he's too nervous to leave a message so he hangs up. A few minutes later, his phone is ringing and without thinking, he picks it up. "Who dis be?"

"Did you just call this number?"

She sounds annoyed, her voice pinched. But he's certain it's her. Suddenly, his throat is dry. "Um, uh, yes. Yeah. I…sorry. Wrong number."

"Fine."

Before she can hang up, he is yelling into the phone. "Wait! Wait, Quinn?" He can hear her breathing but she doesn't say anything. "We went to school together. I saw your name in the papers. I had to call."

For a moment, he thinks she has ended the call. But then. Quietly. "Who is this?"

Struggling to find his voice, Artie hesitates. "Artie. Abrams. Do you remember-" The me never leaves his lips. He hears a thud, the phone clattering on a surface. "Quinn? Quinn!" He is more than alarmed, remaining on the line for several minutes. Other voices sound out and one says into the phone, "She'll have to call you back."

But she doesn't call. She texts. Meet me here. At this time. On this day.

So he skips a day of work. It doesn't matter because he is meeting Quinn. Quinn Fabray.

His Quinn.

Though she's really not his, is she?

He arrives to the café earlier than the designated time. Wearing a white dress, her hair held back in a ponytail, she comes in.

She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She would have been worth the wait. Not that that matters, he reminds himself. Lifting an arm, he waves.

Slowly, her head rotates, her eyes flash upon him. White ballet flats carry her toward him. She looks pale, ashen. Her eyes are hollow as she slips her sunglasses off her face. Her mouth open. Stretching out her fingers, she strokes his face and he's not sure what's going on.

"Quinn?" he manages, trying not to enjoy her caresses. Too much.

"Artie," she says with a sob, throwing herself into his arms.

It's almost too much for him to take. His daisy back with him, where she belongs. He wraps his arms around her, smells her hair. She smells good, clean. He never wants to let go but something's wrong. He doesn't understand. "What is it?" he asks.

"You're alive," she sniffles, daring to glance up at him.

The two words uttered stun him momentarily. Alive. Of course he is. Did she think he was…? He can't even think the word yet he knows that is exactly what she thought.

"Daddy said there was an accident," she blubbers. "He said a truck barreled into you and your mom and he was so sorry. You were…" A fresh batch of tears floods from her eyes.

He doesn't trust himself to speak, as he rubs her back. Was her dad lying? Was he misinformed? He'd like to think the latter. "Nope, not…that. Just…" Grimacing, he touches one wheel of his chair, keeping the other wrapped around her.

Sniffing, she follows his hand with her eyes, understanding washing over her when she sees the wheels. She looks up at him and he expects pity but that is not what he sees. Compassion, a little. A desire of something. Probably of wishing she had known the truth. "I'm glad you're not," she whispers, creases forming around her mouth. Like she knows it was a stupid thing to say.

"Do you remember," he asks, his tone light, as if he is joking. "When I said I wanted to marry you?"

Sitting back, she looks at him, her expression blank, her eyes red from crying. "You never said that." When he starts to protest, she places a finger over his lips. "You said you would marry me one day. I took you at your word."

The admission is startling and leaves him reeling. "What?"

Is he hard of hearing? No but he did not expect her to say that. Just like she didn't expect him to be living. How long had she been waiting? For him. To appear out of her past and sweep her off her feet? There had been a lot of guys that had pursued her but she had turned them down, always thinking of Artie. Then her dad, her senior year of high school, had told her. The crushing news. She had grieved Artie for years. In the end, she had decided to marry Finn because what did it matter? Artie was gone and her heart was crushed. She would never love anyone though she did care for Finn. It was a marriage of convenience however. Nothing more. Her Prince Charming who couldn't awake her with a kiss.

"You were dead," she says, her tone accusatory. And then she is on her feet. "You were dead!" she exclaims, a little louder this time. "I waited but you were dead. I mourned and moved on. What do you expect from me?"

"Nothing," he quietly assures her, taking her hand, his eyes round, scared almost. "But to be your friend. That's all I want, Quinn. To be a part of your life."

How can she deny him that? How can she deny him anything though? If he asked for her heart, she'd give it to him. "I want that too." It's still so shocking that he's alive. Alive. She sits in the chair opposite him, still holding his hand. "I fainted the other day, when I heard your voice."

A low chuckle echoes in his throat. "I figured." Then his eyes darken with concern. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt?"

A smile flits across her face. "I was fine," she says, assuring him with the tone of her voice and by squeezing his hand. "Physically, at least," she adds under her breath.

He hears this and applies gentle pressure to her hand with his. When she grins at him, he knows that he's helped her feel better. "Why did you…never try to get a hold of me?" The question has been on his mind for years and it slips out now. "Did you think I was… the whole time?" The unspoken word wipes the smiles off both their faces.

"No. I had your address and I wrote, I did," she insists, scooting forward on her chair. "They all came back, return to sender."

"We moved," he whispers, as if it just dawned upon him. "To a new house. Not long after your dad got transferred."

Her face morphs from happy to confused, as an inner struggle seems to be taking place within her. "It seems fate has wanted to keep us apart all these years."

Leaning forward, he takes her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. She feels her stomach bottom out, her heart rate increases. "I don't believe in fate." His voice is gravelly and it gives her the chills. "And if I did, I'd say, look at us here. Now."

Pursing her lips, she studies his face as she contemplates his words. How can she respond? But she doesn't get a chance. Her phone is beeping. "I have to be somewhere. I'm sorry. I'll text you or call you later."

Disappointed, he nods his head. The words seem like an empty promise, to both of them. She's getting married and for some reason, that means they can't be friends.

Letting his hands slide out of hers, she stands on wobbly legs. Too many emotions in a short period of time have left her weak. "Goodbye, Artie."

He watches her leave and hopes no one notices that he's crying.

When Quinn arrives at the church, she is flustered. Blotchy red spots cover her neck and face. How quickly her life has turned upside down.

Finn, her parents, his parents, the minister, all stand at the ready. They're meeting with the minister to discuss a few things but she can only stand there, dumb founded, as the man drones on.

Artie Abrams. Back from the dead. Only he was never really dead, was he? And by all means, she should forget about him and the past. She has a life now. A life apart from waiting for him. The boy with the daisy. He's a man now and she's a woman. They're different now than they were back then. What if they don't work as a couple?

But it's too much of a question. The what if will be the new thing haunting her. What if she could love Artie and he could love her back? Moderate happiness awaits her with Finn but what if, with Artie, she could have so much more?

She can't not know.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this," she mumbles, interrupting the minister.

"What?" Finn scratches his head, confused, balking, his mouth hanging open.

"Daddy." She whirls to face him. "Artie…did you think he…died…" she finally mutters the word and it is like a knife to the heart.

Frowning, her father looks as befuddled as poor Finn. "I was told about the accident from a friend. He said it was gruesome. I assumed…" His frown deepens. "Did he survive?"

She doesn't need to answer him. She can tell he knows.

Bolting from the church, she leaves them behind. Is it too much to hope that Artie's still at the coffee shop?

It is. He's gone but Quinn doesn't give up. She texts him, telling him she needs to say one more thing and he responds with an address. She is there as soon as she can be, traffic permitting her from getting there quicker.

When she knocks, he opens.

In her hand is a flower. A white daisy. She thought of it at the last minute, stopping by a florist long enough to purchase it. She doesn't say anything, simply holds it out to him. Reaching up, he grabs it.

"Come in," he says, gesturing for her to step inside.

"I'd love to." With a small smile, she steps inside and he closes the door with a resounding thud.

Somewhere in the world, a man and a woman lay in a bed, looking at a scrapbook. In the beginning, there is a faded picture of two children and a laminated daisy. In the middle, there is a wedding picture and another laminated daisy. There are still pages to fill because they haven't lived to the end. They are still discovering what's next, what comes after, "I'm going to marry you one day," "Will you marry me?" and "I do."