Warning: Sad chapter. Still. Sorry. The sun is shining soon. Reeeaaally soon. I have the rest of the story laid out :)

Alright, that aside, I've been having a BLAST this week~ Thanks for all the support you darlings have given~ My writing schedule's tight, so I suppose updates will still be weekly... and to answer the most common question "Am I done torturing Quinntana yet": Almost. Really! I mean it! But we all know that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and thus a little more absence won't do us too much harm~

So enjoy enjoy~ and leave me a little love~

Chapter 25

Quinn's POV

I reach for the remote, trying to raise the top half of my bed so I can sit up and watch as mother walks around in the room, fixing every part of the room for the umpteenth time since I woke up. I don't take the medicine anymore, and seeing her like this when I'm fully conscious makes me wonder what she does when I'm asleep. She's honestly quiet as a mouse.

"Quinn, dear, do you want something to eat? Anything? Or do you need to use the bathroom? Need another book?"

"I'm okay, ma," sighing softly, I begin to move gently, trying to get a better position sitting up on the hospital bed, "Just a little bored from sleeping and waking and doing nothing and then repeating that routine."

"But you read from time to time."

"I sort of want to get back to work…"

I watch as mother straightens her back, turning from the sink to look at me, "And the case… will you testify?"

"I gave a statement… I don't really want to face the witness stand… It's still… scary…"

"Well, you'll be out tomorrow, Quinn. I still don't advise you to be up and about so soon. At least stay home. Home office?"

"Ma, that's not me, I need my files from work."

"Have Mia get them for you?"

"No, too many. It's been a couple of weeks already, I need to get my game back on! Justice isn't going to serve itself…"

"You'll only outwork yourself…"

"I'll be fine," I reach over to the nightstand for my glass of water, bringing it up to my lips for a quick sip, "When's lunch?"

"In about ten minutes. Will you take a nap after?"

"Do I have to?" It comes out a little whinier than I prefer

Mother lets out a low chuckle, "Now we're getting the six year old Quinn."

"Ma!" I smile a little, setting the glass down as mother nears the bed.

As if on cue, a small knock sounds on the door and one of the nurses open the door, carrying a tray of food. It smells delicious, and I suddenly seem to remember how hungry I am. As the nurse places the tray on the rolling table and then proceeds to roll the table towards me, I'm delighted to see mash potatoes and some beef, complete with gravy. Hospital meals have been getting less bland, and thank goodness they are! I'm still missing Heather's meals miserably, though…

"Ma, do you wanna eat?"

"I'll go get something when you nap, dear."

"Who said I'm napping?" I murmur as I put a spoonful of mash potatoes into my mouth as my mother looks a little bemused.

"You have nothing to do anyway, might as well."

I shrug as mother goes back to busying herself with… whatever she's busying her self with, and begin to chew through the meat.

Left to my own devices, my only form of entertainment that doesn't bore me within minutes in this monotonous hospital life is my train of thoughts. Yes, they run wild every now and then, but at least they offer me something to… well, do. I can think, and the doctor won't say it's too vigorous, plus I won't find it nulling my energy and putting me to sleep.

A part of me wonders if Santana has been leaving the flowers. I don't know of any other so called 'secret admirer' that would want to woo me like this. Besides, mother is always reluctant to speak when I mention the secret admirer, and it's so obvious that she knows some part of this mysterious person's identity. But then again, flowers aren't really Santana's thing. She'd rather send me a pair of lacy panties right? Furthermore, we're newly divorced. Well… the papers are processing… but…

"Quinn, you've been staring at that spoon for two minutes, are you alright?"

"Yea, ma. I'm fine. Why don't you go out and grab some food?"

"Alright, I'll go. You let me know if you need anything, alright?"

I nod as I continue eating, almost as though nothing had just happened. As mother exits the room and closes the door, I lean back into my pillow.

I wonder if ma knows. Does she know that Santana and I aren't a thing anymore? Is that why she's here on her never ending vigil, keeping me company? It's a wife's job, but I… have no wife. Besides, it's not like Santana has come to visit me. Right?

Chewing between thoughts, I finish my meal within another ten minutes, and pushing the rolling table further towards the foot of my bed, I reach for the remote to lower myself again.

I turn to my side, fluffing up my pillow as I close my eyes. I don't want to admit it, but I do miss Santana's company…

—

The bed always smells like Santana when I wake. It's really confusing for me. I'm beginning to think that I'm slightly delusional, shrouded in my own fantasies and the impossible dream of having her hold me and love me. I may just be going clinically insane.

I yawn, picking up the small alarm clock from the nightstand. Wow, I slept longer than I intended to… One look around the room tells me mother is not back yet. The room is eerily quiet and stagnant without mother's hustle-bustling around…

A knock on the door brings my focus to the familiar face standing at the doorway. I know that smile anywhere, as sleepy as I may be.

"Mia~"

"Hi, Quinn, are you doing better?" Her warm smile, wrinkled with age and a hard life, always makes me smile back.

"A lot better, Mia. Thanks."

"I see Santana's visit made your day a lot better," she says simply, setting down her bag on a nearby chair, and gestures towards the fresh yellow flowers in the nearby vase, "Those flowers from her too?"

Her whole statement takes a moment to sink in. What? Santana's visit? When? The bed… the smell? My head spins.

Mia catches the confusion on my face and cocks her head to the side, "I met her in the hallway? I assume she came from visiting you?"

"Santana? Santana Lopez?"

Looking genuinely baffled, Mia frowns"Yes… did she not—"

I leap out of bed, ignoring the numbing feeling of numbness as my feet touch the cold bare floor. I don't care about slippers or about how I look, or anything. I want to see Santana. Whether it is to thank her or slap her for not staying when I'm awake, I don't know. But suddenly everything seems to fall into place.

I make a beeline for the door, ignoring Mia's warning that I shouldn't be running, certainly not without slippers. I throw the door open, barely registering the bang as it hits the wall.

My feet patter along the desolate hallways, almost thankful that it's as long as it is, seeing a distant shadow at the end. I know that shadow well.

Perhaps people never really get over their first loves. Maybe that's why all along, while I've been acting and playing games, she hasn't been. Maybe that's why she seemed to hurt equally as bad when we both voiced out our concerns and the necessity of a divorce. Maybe that's why she hesitated and perhaps never opened the door when I knocked to return the ring.

I feel a certain familiar wetness on my cheeks as I make my way down the hallway. Somehow, Santana's shadow seems to be getting smaller and further from me the faster I run. I don't know what exactly propels me forward, feeling exhausted already.

Santana turns the corner.

She turns the corner to the small lobby near the elevators. I try to speed up, but I can't anymore. I'm tired. My heartbeat pulsates in my ears, drowning out almost all other noises.

When I reach that lobby, a place I barely recall, I see Santana standing expectantly at the elevator door. She has her sight fixated on the small screen, watching the numbers as they go down. She's beautiful. She looks worn down, but she's beautiful. I've missed her more than I realized.

I open my mouth to call out to her, only to find myself breathless and mute.

Willing her to just take one look in my direction, I feel faint.

The elevator door arrives with a soft ding, and I watch with widened eyes as Santana steps through the open doors.

I want to scream. No sound comes out.

As the door closes, I finally feel my legs, forcing them to move on forward. I jab desperately at the button, trying to keep the door open long enough so I can either get in, or at least find my voice.

But I can't.

The doors shut.

I missed her.