A/N: So, I just watched The Vow, and I love this concept, so here's my take on this with lots of Quinntana. Basically, it's kinda A/U. I'm not really sure what to categorize it as because it's going to be when Quinn gets in her accident in On My Way, but the series of events is different (so don't get all defensive when things don't end up the same, or even in the same order.). Read, review, enjoy!
They say the mind is a beautiful thing. It can create ideas, solve puzzles, and, most importantly, store memories.
You can look back and remember your fifth birthday party, or what you were wearing for your eighth grade yearbook photo, or what you had for lunch yesterday. But, it seems that we don't have conscious control over what we do, and don't remember. Still, we should be grateful for those memories because one day..
They could disappear.
Santana Lopez was sitting in front of her computer on a rainy Tuesday night, watching some ridiculous show that glorified fake tans, and slutty behavior. She was perched on the edge of her couch, as close as she could be to her crappy laptop speakers, when her phone started ringing. Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" bleated from the side table beside her couch. She picked her phone up and squinted at the caller ID on her small LCD screen. It was a number she didn't recognize, so she hit the end button and tossed it into the cushions in her couch, turning back to her computer screen. A minute later, her phone started ringing again.
"Jesus," She grumbled, rummaging around the pillows for her phone. She rolled her eyes when she saw it was the same number, but, reluctantly, paused the show on her computer and hit the accept button.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Miss Santana Lopez?" A squeaky voice sounded from the receiver.
"Yes. Who is this?" Santana shifted her weight on the couch, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear.
"This is Emma Johnson, from the Lima Hospital. We were just calling to inform you that Lucy Fabray has been in a serious accident."
Lucy? Who the fuck is—Quinn. Santana 's eyes widened a little, and she gripped her phone tightly.
"Is she okay? What happened? Wait, why are you calling me?"
"If you would come down to the hospital, we'll explain everything. And yes, she's undergoing surgery right now, but we think she'll be fine." Santana could hear alarms going off in the background, and the woman's voice suddenly became distressed, "Just come down Miss Lopez, and we can talk. I have to go."
And with that, the woman hung up.
Santana arrived at the hospital a few minutes later, pulling her jacket tight around her. It wasn't that chilly outside, but it was still the beginning of spring, and cold chill always seemed to spread through the town at night. A receptionist at the desk pointed her in the direction of ICU, and she walked up to Quinn's room, knocking lightly before going inside.
Inside the small room, Quinn was lying, sleeping, on the hospital bed. Her short blonde hair was tousled, and she had bandages and bruises on her face, but other than that she looked peaceful. Quinn's doctor turned around as Santana entered the room, smiling at her.
"Are you Santana?" Santana nodded, and took another step into the room.
"What happened?" The Latina gestured to Quinn's sleeping body. The doctor nodded once and offered a chair to Santana. Santana sat carefully, and crossed one leg over the other.
"It seems that Miss Fabray was on her way to her hotel room, and another car t-boned her. We know that she was texting and driving, and that's probably why she didn't see the other car. Luckily, the airbags deployed, and her seatbelt was on, so the main trauma she suffered was to her head. It bumped quite hard against the dashboard." Santana shook her head. There was one piece of this story that didn't make sense to her.
"Why was she even in Lima? Yale isn't on break. And, why did you call me? Where are her parents?" She looked over at Quinn, then back to the doctor.
"Her mother is on vacation in Europe, and her father fell off the grid years ago, it appears. We called you because you were the person she was texting when she was hit."
Santana's face paled, and she looked down at the ground. Why? Why would she be texting me? Why would she even be here! We haven't spoken since, well, the Sam thing. I thought I made it clear that I wanted nothing to do with her.
The doctor extended a small plastic bag toward her. Santana took it and unzipped it, pulling out Quinn's phone. The screen was cracked a little, but other than that it seemed to work perfectly fine. She unlocked the phone, and opened up the message that was meant for Santana.
'Santana, I know you're mad. I'm mad too, not at you, of course. At myself. I was stupid and drunk, and I know I promised you that it would work. I'm in Lima for a few days. Can I see you? I still lov-'
Santana's heart dropped a thousand feet into her stomach, and she could feel the edge of her eye start to well up with tears. She wiped at them absently, and kept staring at the draft on Quinn's phone until the doctor's voice snapped her out of it.
"The good news is, there isn't any long term physical damage." Santana looked up, dropping the phone back into her purse.
"The bad news?"
"The bad news is, she had serious neural damage. She woke up for a few minutes after her surgery, and we asked her the questions we ask every patient when they come in. What's your name, where do you live, where are you attending school, what's your mother's name? She couldn't remember any of it. Not a single thing."
Santana's breath caught in her throat. How could a person just forget everything about themselves?
"She can't remember anything?" Santana gripped the arm of the chair so tight, her knuckles turned white. At that moment, Quinn started to stir in her bed. Santana shot up out of the chair, and walked to the side of the bed, watching Quinn carefully.
Quinn's eyes opened slowly, revealing the hazel eyes that lured Santana in every time. There was a flurry of emotion in those eyes, a few seconds after she opened them, but that wasn't uncommon for Quinn. The blonde tried weakly to sit up, and the doctor quickly came to her aid.
"Hey, Q," Santana said softly, smiling slightly at Quinn. Quinn looked at her for a moment with a blank expression. Santana frowned and reached out to take Quinn's hand. Quinn jerked her hand away, frowning at Santana. "Quinn, do you remember who I am at all?" Quinn shook her head slowly, biting her bottom lip gently.
"I'm sorry. I don't remember anything. What happened? Who are you?" Quinn tilted her head, and Santana wondered why she wasn't freaked out. If Santana woke up with no memory of who she was, she'd be flipping shit.
"She's still a little sedated," The doctor said, as if reading Santana's mind. "It'll take a while before she's completely alert. I'll give you two a minute." The doctor fiddled around with a few of Quinn's exam papers before nodding at Santana and walking out the door. She waited until the door shut to turn back to Quinn.
Quinn was watching Santana intently, the expression unreadable behind her eyes. "So, who am I?" Quinn asked, twisting the paper bracelet on her wrist.
Santana exhaled loudly, before answering. "You're Lucy Quinn Fabray, you're a freshman at Yale, you graduated from William McKinley High School," Santana hesitated, watching Quinn take it all in. She didn't want to overwhelm her.
"Oh," Quinn replied softly. The blonde shut her eyes, leaning her head back into her pillow. There were a few minutes of silence before Quinn spoke again. "So, what about my parents?"
"Your mom is in Europe, traveling, and you're dad left when you got preg-, you're dad left when you were a sophomore."
"Then, what are you?" Santana watched as Quinn opened her eyes, looking straight into Santana's eyes.
What was Santana supposed to tell her? She couldn't just tell Quinn that she was her girlfriend, let alone the love of her life. Well, that last part might be a lie, considering Quinn had hooked up with Sam a few weeks before. Was she supposed to tell Quinn that when Santana had ended things with Brittany she thought she'd never love again, and there came Quinn? At least Quinn couldn't remember the hell the couple had faced dealing with Quinn's religious views. How was Santana supposed to lead up into the fact that the couple had made plans to elope after Quinn finished her first year, and Santana landed the spot on a New York based television show? There weren't enough words in Webster's dictionary for how she felt about Quinn. So….?
"I'm your friend, Quinn."
