Part 2 –

Disjointed Complexities:

Quinn:

That Monday was undeniably the worst possible day that Quinn Fabray could have ever endured – her drug induced brain buzzed with incoherencies as her consciousness wavered against the shock. And the pain, god the pain. Her chest heaved bitterly with every breath as her eyes watered grainily as she opened them - and she wasn't amiss to the wonderful oxygen tube accessory grazing her porcelain features.

She could hear the faint beeping of monitors sluggishly ascend to her ears before being almost immediately faced with eerily cool hands placing themselves along her arms and wrists. She tried to swallow and failed as her eyes traveled up behind drug induced half-lids.

"Quinn?" There was the sound of scribbling against a clipboard as she sensed her monitors being re-adjusted around her.

"Quinn Fabray, can you hear me?" A harsh light was placed before her eyes and she pained against it without much effort. "Blink once if you can hear me."

She blinked – all the while feeling completely ridiculous. She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't an invalid – or was she? Technically she didn't actually know. Her mind flashed to the last memory she had, and it was one of utter joy—of Rachel smiling at her from within her car, agreeing to a friendship that was anything but conventional, and then realization dawned. The accident. Her heart palpitated blindly as she remembered – where was Rachel?

"Rachel."

She whispered – her voice was faint and raspy from in-use she supposed. Inside she was in full panic mode, her adrenaline was pumping ferociously as her composure was unraveling. She had to find out if Rachel was alright, because if she wasn't – the blonde would surely cease to exist entirely. But outwardly, the blonde was strapped to the hospital bed with a temporary catheter – her body was weak and bandaged, and her neck was in a brace. She couldn't have moved if she tried – and god, was she trying.

The nurse acknowledged her consciousness and Quinn could hear a second pair of soft padded shoes approaching – and she was then met with the weary voice of a male, probably her doctor come to bear the labors of bad news she thought as she ached on the bed.

"Hello Quinn. If you can hear me, blink once."

The blonde scoffed, but it came out more like a faint wheeze as she blinked viciously. She felt as though she were being relegated to the life of Jean, from the Diving Bell and the Butterfly – however undirected a stroke was from a car accident. She was worried, scared for Rachel's well being if not her own, and she was tired – extremely tired.

"Great, you're making great progress Quinn. Alright, I'm going to let you know what happened early Saturday morning, if you want me to take a pause, blink twice alright?" We don't need you moving your neck just yet, so blinking will have to do for now, at least until your throat gets less sore."

Quinn blinked again – she was sure tears were imminent, and she couldn't tell if they would be drug induced, or simply emotionally induced as she listened for the Doctors voice.

"Alright, I'm Doctor Hayes, your attending physician for your stay here. Quinn, you are in the Intensive Care Unit at the St. Stephen's Hospital here in Lima. You were transported here by ambulance early Saturday morning after surviving a major car accident. You and Ms. Rachel Berry both arrived here with various injuries ranging from extremely to mildly severe. Am I going too fast?"

Quinn blinked twice, as her eyes watered and the tears fell down onto her cheeks, swimming unnoticed against her skin as the doctor continued.

"You particularly were the first to be rescued from the vehicle. You were hit by a drunk driver Quinn, he ran a red light and he was driving a large Ford F250 model vehicle, with trailer attached– you're lucky to be alive, you both are. Quinn – let me break it down simply. Your car flipped numerous times and landed in a small ravine alongside the road, hitting a small tree. You were both cut out of the vehicle. Your injuries are as follows:"

The blonde breathed a labored sigh of relief, knowing that however subtly, she had just received confirmation of Rachel's survival – and although she couldn't possibly know or aide her recovery – she was relieved to learn that hers had been far graver – because Rachel was her priority, she always had been.

"A fractured right femur, also known in colloquial terms as your right thigh bone. The blunt force of impact, and compression led to that injury as you were trapped by your seatbelt and the compressed dashboard – you also suffered three fractured ribs as result of this compression against the steering wheel– resulting in a severe Pneumothorax injury – which is a punctured lung. Your oxygen intake was dangerously constricted and obstructed by bleeding into the lungs.

"Your lungs collapsed Quinn – and while being attended to on the scene you went into Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. We nearly lost you Quinn – as your breathing shut down, you lost air supply for almost two minutes. Right now however, we have you on a breathing machine – and your throat will be sore for a few days because of the chest tube we had you on – but don't worry, we took extreme care of you.

Apart from having a small concussion as well as several contusions and stitches to your forehead and abdomen, I'm confident that you will make a valiant – if not speedy recovery. But know, that we'll be keeping you here in ICU for a while as we monitor your lungs and ARDS along with other viral organs. This could permanently damage your lungs Quinn – but you've already showed signs of success – and believe me when I say that everything will be just fine."

Quinn's eyes watered profusely – she hadn't realized her injuries would be so serious, and lasting at their worst. She needed comfort, and there was no one there to give it, she needed Rachel – and she needed to know that the brunette was alright, because although her heart told her that none of this had been her fault – her mind reeled and retched at the thought, blaming herself over and over again for allowing Rachel to get into her car. Resenting the very best thing that had ever happened between them – if only it wouldn't have resulted in this.

The blonde blinked back tears as she breathed laboriously with her oxygen tube and, her throat still burning from the recently removed ventilator and chest pump. She closed her eyes as she distantly heard a nurse saying that they were upping her dosage – she didn't nod, she couldn't as her eyes drifted shut and she fell once again into a sleepy haze.

(Two days earlier, Saturday May, 7th)

The morning of the accident – 3:00pm

They were all hung-over. Santana and Brittany had stayed the night/morning as did most of the glee members. The bedrooms were all occupied by the random wayward guests – but mostly the living room at 3:00 in the afternoon simply held a sleeping Kurt on the couch, cradled into an equally sleeping Mercedes. Mike and Tina were spread across the floor on a blanket – spooning ridiculously as they slumbered dazedly. Artie had fallen asleep in his chair awkwardly and Puck sat on the floor, sleeping lazily as he was propped up against one of the giant wheels. Finn was sleeping oddly on the loveseat and Sam was passed out atop the coffee table with a penis drawn hastily against his forehead.

Santana and Brittany had fallen asleep in Pucks bedroom – this particular section of the Puckasaurus' house – was off- limits. Puck didn't bring girls here, he fucked them, left them and didn't remember them. But the ones that he wanted to remember – the ones that he truly cared for, were lucky enough to grace the beast's lair. And as far as Santana knew, only four people were offered that opportunity: Santana, Brittany, Quinn, and Rachel - yes Rachel Berry.

The Latina would usually end up in there with Brittany after one of Puck's parties – simply because she needed a safe, quiet place to put Brittany to bed at night where she knew they wouldn't be harassed or interrupted. They didn't ever have sex there either, they always slept – over the covers, and always alone. And so Santana was now waking up, adjusting her eyes to the sunlight and waking her sleeping love up from beside her.

"It's sunlight time already."

The blonde mumbled sleepily as Santana nodded and ushered the two up them up, leading them downstairs to the living room. It was during this instance that the Latina heard her phone beeping. It was a ringtone that she rarely used and never heard – and so it's cadence across the room was already unnaturally distressing.

"Speak." The Latina was ruthless, but honest. She couldn't say that she was particularly thrilled to be speaking to the creature on the other end of the short line.

"Santana, I know you think you hate me but -"

"No, Francesca – correction. I DO hate you. Stand correct."

"Regardless, I don't give a shit about where we stand. I could care less. But this is fucking important – Quinn is in the hospital, she was driving home from Puck's party last night and was hit by a drunk driver. She's in critical condition in ICU at St. Stephen's. She was with Rachel Berry – she's in ICU too. Critical."

The Latina's heart grew stiff out of reflex – it was important for her to protect it in times of complete stress and disarray. Her eyes watered against her will – and she flinched from left to right as her body constricted. Brittany was encircling her before she could crumble. What happened to her strength.? It had to be the hangover – but regardless, she touched her face and saw tears, and as she watered Brittany did too – already knowing her pain.

"Are you at the hospital?" The Latina choked out amid tears.

"No, I'm on my way, driving from Ole Miss. Mom and Dad aren't there – and I know she thinks she hates me – I know for a fact that you do. But my sister needs someone to be there for her. San – and that's you and Brittany."

Francesca Fabray's voice cracked across the receiver as she spoke. Santana nodded into Brittany's stoic embrace before answering.

"Frannie – get here as fucking fast as you can – or so help me."

And with that she clicked off the phone and pulled Brittany downstairs, not bothering to hide her red-rimmed hung-over eyes as she grabbed an iron fireplace poker and began banging it diligently against the empty keg in the center of the living room, waking all of the Glee clubbers up quickly and matter-of –factly.

"What the FUCK."

Puck roared as he awoke – his headache was monstrous as he squinted against the violation of his eardrums. Almost everyone else had a similar reaction as Santana banged away against the aluminum - she didn't care what they thought – she would make them hear her. Once everyone was awake she stopped, and she quickly walked to the coffee table in the center of the room. It was in this moment that Puck saw her face and her eyes – they were scared, and Santana Lopez, was never scared. He looked and of course Brittany followed her – but not out of companionship and love – Brittany held Santana as if supporting her like a stable column – unwilling to let the girl fall to pieces.

"Oh shit."

Puck whispered, as all was not lost on any of the other glee members. The silence in the room was deadly as they all blinked away their headaches replacing them with unwarranted fear.

"Rachel and Quinn are in ICU at St. Stephen's…they were hit by a drunk driver on their way home from the party last night. I don't know anything else but that they are in fucking critical as shit condition."

At the last words the resoluteness in the Latina's voice faltered, and her voice cracked in anguish slightly – but it was enough for anyone who knew Santana to know that things were serious – and that they would not be easily fixed.