A/N: Written for Day 6 of Quartie Week on Tumblr (Different Decade Quartie) quartieweek . tumblr . com
"We have to find them," eight year old Quinn urges her mother. "We have to. He always gives them to me, and I can't go see him without them!" she insists, her eyes wide.
"Quinnie, it's January," her mother gently points out, looking down at her daughter. "Dandelions don't grow in January."
"But we can buy some," the little girl says. He always gave them to her. They made everything better when she was sad. And now he needed to be better.
"Quinnie, they don't sell them in stores. Now, are we going to see him?" Judy asks, gently clasping Quinn's hand.
"But Mom...he always gives them to me and it's my turn now," her daughter replies, tears beginning to roll slowly down her cheeks. "He always gives them to me."
"Maybe we could get some plastic ones at a craft store," Judy decides. They try three stores before they find what Quinn is looking for. They buy them, and head to the hospital.
He's been there for over a week, but she hasn't been allowed to see him before now. She's cried every day, wanting nothing more than to see her best friend. She knows he was in an accident. And hurt badly. But she doesn't really know what that means.
They get there, and she fidgets nervously as they ride up in the elevator. She wants to see him. The hospital is scary. He's probably scared, but she knows her flowers will make him feel better.
She walks down the hall, one hand clasping her mother's. The other clasping the bouquet of plastic dandelions, tied with a blue ribbon. Blue is his favourite. It's hers too. Blue like his eyes.
When they get to the door of his room, she sees his mom. She looks tired, but that is lost on Quinn. All she sees is the bottom of the bed that she knows he's lying in. She waits as Mrs. Abrams comes to the door, says hi, and tells her she can go in. That he's tired, but he's been waiting for her. Mrs. Abrams stays by the door talking to Judy as Quinn approaches his bed.
His face is all purple, and he's wearing his spare glasses, she notices. His must have gotten broken in the accident. There are tubes coming out of his arm. But he smiles softly when he sees her. It's the first time he's really smiled since it happened. He knew she would come. She would make him feel better.
"Hi," he says, his voice quiet. She wants to throw her arms around him, but knows she can't. Because he's hurt.
"Hi Artie," she says, reaching out for his hand. "Look what I brought," she adds, holding out the flowers. "To make you better."
His eyes fill with tears as he looks at her, and at the flowers. He hates it when she sees him cry.
"But I'm not going to get better," he whispers, as she gently takes a tissue and wipes his eyes. "I can't walk anymore. I'm never going to. Ever," he adds, crying harder. This isn't how he pictured this visit going. But he's scared.
She doesn't understand. Never going to walk again? Why? How? Does that even matter? He's still the same.
"What?" she asks softly, holding his hand tighter. "Why?"
"My back got hurt...really bad," he explains. "And now I can't feel anything on my legs and the doctor says it's going to be like that forever and I'm going to need a wheelchair," he chokes out. It's the first time he's told anyone. The first time he's really talked about it with someone that isn't his mom or someone that works at the hospital.
"Oh," Quinn says, frowning as she glances at his legs. "But you'll be ok!" she says, trying to comfort him. "I can help you," she adds. "I can be your legs."
He stares at her. He won't be ok. She can't be his legs. He knows she just wants to help. He tries to stop crying, looking at the flowers.
"I bring you these," he says softly, fingering them with his free hand. "That's my job."
"And now I brought them to you," she says, smiling at him. "And in the summer we'll go get real ones, and I'll help you if you need it," she adds. "We can do it!"
Their moms stand at the door to his hospital room, watching as they talk. His mother sees his eyes light up as Quinn talks about summer. He'll be home by then, she hopes. Of course he will be. It's January.
She goes to see him a couple of times every week, at the hospital, and then at rehab. And she always brings him dandelions. When he gets his first chair, she ties them to it, beaming as he shows her that he can move by himself again, even if it is with the help of the chair. Sometimes he cries, but she can always make him feel better. It's hard. But soon it will be less so.
That summer, he's home. They go to the park with his mom. She watches as Quinn helps him carefully navigate his chair over the grass. It's still hard, but will get easier. He's getting stronger again. Her stomach lurches as he leans to pick a dandelion, until she sees Quinn standing there, helping. She won't let him fall.
That first summer, he makes her a bracelet out of the flowers. And then another. His mom shows him how. He's decided he needs to learn to do more things with his hands. All summer he makes sure she always has a fresh one. She loves it.
By the time five years later rolls around, he's weaving her intricate crowns of dandelions. She wears them proudly. Because they're from him. She doesn't care what people think, or say. They're not weeds. They're beautiful.
They start dating. He thinks she could do better. She thinks he's the best. When he asks her out, he presents her with a bouquet of dandelions. It's their thing.
High school nears its end. They wear yellow to prom. She has dandelions in her hair.
Then, before they know it...he's proposing. He's had the ring engraved, "Dandelions forever." She cries when she sees it. It's beautiful.
At their wedding, she once more has dandelions in her hair. Her mother tells her she needs something more elegant. She says dandelions are the most elegant. Judy knows better than to argue with her daughter.
The specially-ordered bouquet, white roses and yellow dandelions, is the talk of the florist shop. They've never had an order like that before. But they don't ask questions.
He sits, waiting as she walks down the aisle. He can't take his eyes off her. She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. A vision in white, accented with yellow.
As they exchange their vows, her seated in his lap, not caring about wrinkling her dress, she looks into his eyes. A second before they are to kiss, she leans forwards, and whispers in his ear.
"Dandelions forever."