Chapter Twenty-Eight
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Rachel
.
she asked 'you are in love, what does love look like'
to which i replied 'like everything i've ever lost come back to me.'
.
After my much needed nap following that conversation, I wake up with a bad feeling. Generally, I'm in a good mood when I wake up from a nap, but something isn't right and I don't know why. I mean, it's obviously to do with Quinn. We fought. We've never fought like that... since we started dating, at least, and it's unsettling. My nap should have helped. I don't want to feel like this right now, or at all. I realise the fight was, essentially, my fault. I knew she would raise her walls and retreat as soon as I brought it up, and I definitely shouldn't have brought it up while we were halfway to undressing each other.
With a sigh, I roll out of bed and go to the bathroom. I'm uncomfortable with the way my fight with Quinn ended - well, the way it began, transpired and ended. If it even ended. She just looked so hurt and betrayed that I hadn't brought it up before; as if I blindsided her the way that Finn did. Trying to suppress my unease, I go downstairs to get something to drink. I decide on some tea, which helps by distracting me until I get back to my bedroom and locate my phone. It bounced off my bed and landed on the floor when I threw it in a fit of rage earlier. Gosh, I'm such a drama queen.
I have seven messages and five missed calls, all of which are from Santana Lopez. I feel a spike of irritation at the idea that Quinn is using her best friend to contact me or try to play mediator. Really, Santana, keeping the peace? Quinn should have gone with Brittany.
I read the messages anyway.
Santana: Why aren't you answering your phone?
Santana: Berry, you need to answer your phone.
Santana: Pick up the phone.
Santana: Berry, answer your fucking phone.
Santana: Berry. Fuck. Answer your phone.
Santana: So help me, I will fucking skin you alive if you don't answer the phone.
Santana: Rachel, please, it's important.
That bad feeling roars to life and I suck in a sharp breath. Santana has never called me Rachel. Even though we've grown closer these past months through our Quinn-management, I've remained Hobbit, Midget and Berry. Never Rachel. Never.
I set my tea down and immediately call her number, unprepared for what she's about to tell me.
"Berry," she answers after the fourth ring. She sounds solemn, and my heart lurches.
"Santana, what's wrong?" I ask. "And I'm sorry I missed your calls. I was catching a nap, and I just needed some time alone after - "
"Berry," she interrupts, and there's none of her usual irritation or amusement. She just sounds... empty. "There's been an accident," she says, and my heart stops. The world stops. "It's Quinn. She's - she's hurt. It's... bad, Berry. It's really bad."
I blink, unsure if I've heard correctly. Wait. What?
"Berry?"
I snap to attention. "I don't understand."
"Come to the hospital," she says. "I'll explain when you get here." And then she hangs up. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for the longest time. My hand is shaking, snapshots of Santana's words pinging about my brain. Quinn. Accident. Bad. Hospital.
I suck in a panicked breath and lurch into action. I don't even know what I'm doing, throwing clothes on and searching for my keys. I stumble over myself in my rush and my eyes are stinging with pooling tears. I fumble blindly for things, sheer panic ripping through my entire body. What is happening? What am I doing? Where am I going? Hospital. I have to get to the hospital. Quinn. Quinn was in an accident. Oh, God.
I don't even know how I make it downstairs, or into my car, or even to the hospital without getting into an accident of my own. My entire body is shaking, not just my hands, and I'm halfway to falling apart by the time I find a parking spot and rush into the building, blindly. I make a beeline for the front desk and get a nurse's attention. Maybe she sees my facial expression, because she immediately gives me her undivided attention.
"I need someone to tell me what's happening," I find myself saying, my heart thundering in my chest. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. "Quinn Fabray," I choke out. "She was in an accident."
Before the woman can respond, another voice speaks. "Berry?"
I turn sharply to look at Santana and crumple. Her expression must mirror mine: devastation and fear. "San," I whisper.
She walks towards me, her steps slow and jerky. "They asked me to wait in there," she says, gesturing to some obscure space behind her. "They're going to let me know when she's out of surgery and in recovery."
I blink. "Surgery?"
"She's in surgery right now," she says seriously and matter-of-factly, as if she's reading off some kind of fact sheet. "They - they brought her in a little while ago. They won't tell me how serious her injuries are, but it's bad, Berry. She's in a bad way."
I don't even know what to say. I can't seem to process anything other than bad. Surgery. Quinn is in surgery. Because she was in an accident. Quinn was in an accident.
Santana is now in front of me, her hands on my upper arms. "Come sit down," she says. "You look like you're about to pass out."
I feel as if I'm going to pass out. I let her guide me, her hands turning me this way and that until we go into what must be the waiting area. She forces me to sit in a chair, and she occupies the one beside me. "I don't understand," I force out. "What - why are - " I suck in a breath. "Santana."
She puts a hand on my back, trying to soothe my trembling form. "She called me earlier," she says, falling into the story as if it happened to someone else. "I don't know what was wrong but she didn't sound right. She said she needed to talk to me about something, and I told her I was home, so she could just come by. Britt was going to be coming by anyway. Between the two of us, we're usually able to help her sort out her shit. I mean, she's got so much going on in that pretty blonde head of hers all the time, it takes at least two other people to make sense of it."
I force away a wave of guilt.
"And the fact that she wanted to talk about it means something, right?" Santana goes on, once again talking in that faraway tone. "I was surprised, of course. I thought she was supposed to be with you and, when I asked, she just said she was on her way. So, I waited. And waited. And waited." She sits back, her hand forming soothing circles over my shoulder blade. "My dad is the one who called me, said that Quinn's car was hit by a truck at an intersection in Burrow, on her way to see me," she continues in a monotone. "He was here when they brought her in." Her hand stops moving. "I've seen my dad be many things, Berry, but today is the first time I've ever seen him fearful. He was scared, and I don't think I will ever get that image out of my head."
I close my eyes, feeling my tears slide down my cheeks. I'm not even bothered to wipe them away.
"She was coming to see me," she says, her mind somewhere else. I can hear it in her voice and, if I were to look at her, I would see unfocused eyes. "She sounded off, and she wanted to talk and she was coming to see me and now she's in surgery and she might not make it and I didn't even - "
I let out a whimper and she immediately snaps out of it.
"I'm sorry," she says, and she's holding back tears. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I wish Britt were here. She would know what to say. I don't know how to deal with this shit. Why does Quinn always fucking do this to us? I'm too fucking young for this, and I keep telling her she's taking years off my life with all the stress of - "
"Santana," I suddenly say, and her mouth snaps shut.
"Sorry," she mumbles. "It seems I turn into you when I'm nervous."
I manage to open my eyes and look at her. Her cheeks are as wet as mine are. "Did they call her mother?"
"According to my dad, yes."
I roll my lips together. "Do you think she'll show up?"
"I know she's a heartless bitch and all that, but this has to be crossing some line, surely," she says. "Also, it's part of keeping up appearances. She has to come. Imagine the scandal it would be if Quinn died and her mother didn't even fucking show up."
My chest constricts and I make a strangled sound deep in my throat.
Santana grimaces. "Sorry," she says again. "Apparently, I'm also inappropriate when I'm nervous."
I rub the tops of my thighs with my hands, fighting off the panic. Quinn is in surgery. Quinn was in an accident. We have to wait here for news. No news is good news, right? My nails dig into my thigh until it hurts. It helps me focus, and I take out my phone. I don't have it in me to call either of my dads, so I rather send them both texts with my trembling fingers, just telling them that Quinn was in an accident and she's in surgery and please come to the hospital. I'm falling apart.
Santana resumes her circles.
"How long?" I ask.
She glances at the clock on the wall. "Seventy-four minutes."
I try to take a deep breath, but I just break out in a coughing fit that hurts. My chest, my head, my heart. I dig my nails into my flesh again, trying to find something on which to focus. The pain isn't enough and I bite the inside of my cheek instead, hard enough to draw blood. Santana and I just sit in silence, her hand moving on my back and my body so tense that it actually hurts.
"Ninety-six minutes," she says after a while, and her voice brings me out of my frozen state, my body jerking and startling us both.
"She has to be all right, Santana," I suddenly say, tears pooling in my eyes. "I won't lose her."
"I know."
"I can't," I cry. "I won't survive it. I mean, we're just starting out. We're so young and she has so much life to live, and this world needs her. I need her, and this can't - " I choke back a sob.
She wraps her arms around me, and I think she needs it almost as much as I do. We just stay there, holding each other and trying not to let the situation overwhelm us, even though it's definitely threatening to. At some point, Santana shifts, and then she's releasing me and getting to her feet. "Dad?" she says. "Dad, what's happening? How's Quinn?"
Dr Lopez wraps his arms around her and where are my dads? "She's still in surgery, Santi," he says, his tone stiff but still gentle. "I told you Dr Murphy is an excellent surgeon. She's in good hands."
Santana's lip quivers. "Daddy," she whispers, clinging to him.
"She's lucky they got her here as fast as they did," he says, and the truth of that statement sits heavily on my heart. "She's lucky she was driving that SUV instead of her little buggie, or you and I would be having an entirely different conversation." I shrink into myself, clutching at my stomach. I want to throw up. The more I think about, the more I think I'm going to. If she wasn't driving that monstrosity of a vehicle, Quinn - Quinn would be - she'd be -
I cry out, and then I dash for the nearest trashcan, expelling the limited food I've consumed today. I was too preoccupied with nerves about everyone else this morning to have more than coffee and an apple, I barely ate at the restaurant and chocolate mousse isn't much, and then Quinn and I fought. We fought, when we should have been celebrating. We should be in my bedroom right now, wrapped up in each other's arms and being.
Santana comes to kneel beside me, warm palm once again on my back, and hands me a paper towel and a bottle of water. I don't even know what to do. What do I do? Santana seems to sense that, and she guides me once again. I end up back in my chair with a clean mouth and an empty heart. I feel dirty. Did I do this? I feel as if I did this. She's in surgery because of me. She was in an accident because of me.
Other people start to arrive then. Brittany is first and looking frantic as she stumbles into the waiting room. Santana is up and wrapped in her arms before I can even register the blonde's blue eyes.
"Is Q okay?" Brittany asks.
"Oh, honey," Santana says, tightening her grip on her girlfriend. "We don't know yet."
Brittany looks devastated. "We were supposed to see her," she mumbles. "She was coming over to talk about - " she stops suddenly, her eyes nervously glancing my way. I immediately drop my gaze. Well, there it is, isn't it? Quinn was only on the road because I decided today was the day to bring up her lack of words. Tears pool in my eyes again but, before I can blink them away, Brittany is kneeling in front of me. "Hi, Rach," she whispers.
"Hi, Britt," I manage to say.
"Are you okay?"
"No."
"You will be."
More people arrive; mostly Glee and a few Cheerios. I barely notice them. Santana sits on my one side and Blaine flanks the other, his hand in mine. I notice Kurt give him a curious look, but Blaine doesn't react to it. He just squeezes my hand from time to time, and the pressure helps keep me present.
"Oh, fuck," Santana suddenly says and I lift my head to a full waiting room.
"What?"
Santana sits up straight. "Bitch Fabray, eleven o'clock."
I look forward immediately and, indeed, there is Mrs Fabray. She looks so prim and proper in her pastel skirt suit that makes her look like a real desperate housewife. I immediately bare my teeth. What took her so long? Look at all these other people who're here, and they aren't even related to Quinn.
"Easy, Berry," Santana says to me. "If I can sit here and not skin her alive, then so can you."
I hide my teeth but I don't relax.
The woman pauses when she sees all of us, nods once, and then finds a seat. I don't know if she can ignore the various glares sent her way, but she makes a good show of trying. She sits perfectly straight, legs crossed at the ankles under her chair, and I suddenly just want to punch her in the face. I've never been much of a violent person, but I'm raging inside.
Blaine squeezes my hand and I calm a fraction. For the first time, I take in the waiting room; seeing all their faces. They're all here. My gaze settles on Finn, and it's obvious he's been crying. He still is, actually. Puck looks particularly stricken, and he's sitting in the corner, folded into a chair and not saying or doing anything. Sam is the same, his happy smile gone completely. Mercedes looks glum, her eyes haunted. Tina's head is bent and her shoulders are shaking. Artie is facing away from us, and I think it's on purpose. Mike is fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. Brittany is whispering words into Santana's ear, who is still rubbing my back. Kurt sits still - he looks conflicted about something. Joe looks like he's praying. Mr Schuester looks forlorn and... guilty. Ms Pillsbury's eyes are wide and... frightened. Rory is looking at the ceiling, murmuring something to himself. Lauren looks positively bored and Sugar just looks out of place. I try to place the other Cheerios - Adrienne, Lauren and others - but stop after I give myself a headache. What is important is that these are the people who showed up.
They're all here. And Quinn is still in surgery. Quinn was in an accident. Because of me.
"One hundred and eighty-three minutes," Santana whispers at some point, and it sounds as if she's yelling. I jump in my seat, let out an unexpected laugh and then start crying again. "Sorry," she says again, and I just pat her leg. I check my phone for any word from my dads, but there's nothing and I'm irrationally angry with them both. Quinn was in an accident. Quinn is in surgery. Why aren't they here?
It's at two hundred and fifty-three minutes that we get any news about Quinn. A doctor comes to the waiting area, looking exhausted, and I can't help but notice the spot of blood on his shoe, which means there had to be a lot more on it earlier. Don't they have to wear protection for their shoes?
"Fabray?" he says, and every single one of us - save for Artie - gets to his or her feet. His eyes widen slightly. "Just her family please," he says, and I bristle at that.
Finn speaks up. "We are her family," he says, conviction in his voice, and I suddenly want to hug him.
Mrs Fabray clears her throat and the doctor turns to look at her. "Are you her mother?" he asks. I'm quite certain I'm not the only one who doesn't miss her hesitation before she nods. "Will you step out with me please?" he says, and she nods again, letting him lead the way.
"Oh, hell no," Santana says, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward. I let go of Blaine, and the two of us follow behind Mrs Fabray. The doctor looks as if he wants to tell us it's a private conversation, but I notice that Dr Lopez has come with us - and Finn, apparently, but I barely register him - and the doctor just accepts our presence.
The doctor clears his throat and stands a little straighter. I can't quite read his facial expression - it's giving nothing away - and I'm once again struck by my desire to punch someone's face. "My name is Dr Adrian Murphy," he says to Mrs Fabray. "I worked on your daughter when she was first brought in. She was awake and responsive, though I do believe she lost consciousness once, moments before they removed her from the vehicle."
I squeeze Santana's hand tight. Quinn was awake, which means she experienced it all. Does that mean she'll remember it all?
Dr Murphy continues. "We had to perform emergency surgery. The impact to her left side from the accident was extensive, but she did well. It was touch-and-go for a while, but she's stable now and being moved to recovery."
Mrs Fabray, to her credit, looks relieved.
"She needed a lot of work," he elaborates, and my heart hurts. All of me hurts. "The impact caused her left lung to collapse, which we were able to repair. I had to remove part of her spleen, but there shouldn't be any long term repercussions. She suffered damage to her left kidney, but I saw no need to take any action at this time. We will be monitoring her closely but, otherwise, the repairs went well."
It takes everything I have not to launch into my own tirade of questions. Santana beats me to it, and I send her a mental thank you. "So, she's okay?" she asks, also needing the doctor to be clear. "What you're saying is that she's fine?"
Dr Murphy looks at Santana, and then at Dr Lopez. After a slight nod from the senior doctor, he speaks again. "Her left shoulder separated in the accident, and we reset it during the surgery. She may need revision surgery in the future, but she is going to need physical therapy to recover full motion." Santana just nods, growing into the persona of learning and understanding what the doctor is saying. I can't help thinking she'll definitely make a good doctor one day. "She suffered a severe concussion but our scans have given us no need to be worried at this moment. We're keeping her under close observation. She has significant bruising, but the worst is definitely over." He takes a breath and looks at Mrs Fabray. "There was a complication during surgery," he says morosely, and my heart catches. What? What? "Your daughter lost a lot of blood, which caused her heart rate to drop." His gaze drops. "We lost her for a few minutes."
Finn gasps, Santana clenches her jaw and I try not to pass out. I'm failing.
Dr Murphy's eyes dart around, suddenly realising that was the wrong thing to say in front of a group of teenagers. "But, as I said, she's stable now, and all her vitals look good. We just have to wait for her to wake up."
"When will that be?" Santana asks.
"We can't know," he replies. "It could be hours or even days. It's up to her. At this point, it's better that she rests, to allow her body to recover from the initial trauma and process the shock. Just know that she is receiving the best possible care."
"Are we allowed to see her?" Santana asks.
Dr Murphy swallows. "At this time, only immediate family is allowed in the ICU," he says, and he sounds genuinely sad about it. "Provided her expected recovery continues through the night, she'll be moved into her own room, and you all can see her tomorrow," he says, and I think he's being extra clear for Dr Lopez's benefit. I don't like it. "Ma'am," he says, looking at Mrs Fabray. "If you would follow me."
Again, the woman hesitates, and I resist the urge to lunge at her. How dare she hesitate? Her daughter almost died. Why isn't she running? She does eventually move though, and the two of them leave us to work through everything Dr Murphy just told us.
Quinn is in recovery.
Quinn is going to need physical therapy for her shoulder.
Quinn is missing part of her spleen.
Quinn possibly has a damaged kidney.
Quinn is bruised and is suffering from a concussion.
Quinn suffered only these injuries because she was in an SUV and not her little Buggie. Oh, Daisy.
I go through a mental list until I get to the one that terrifies me the most: Quinn died on the operating table. It's the moment I accept that Quinn would and should be dead, if it weren't for her mother deciding that Daisy didn't fit the Fabray image. Quinn would be dead if her mother didn't get in a panic about her friendship with me. I almost want to hug the stiff woman, and I'm relieved she's no longer standing here. Seriously. I hug Santana instead, and we cry. Finn and Dr Lopez go to relay the news to the rest of Glee, and I'm vaguely aware of relieved gasps and whispered questions. A minute later, I feel arms wrap all around us. Brittany. And then more and more arms, until we're all in a large group hug.
"Uh, excuse me?"
The hug breaks up, and all our eyes turn to look at the nurse who spoke.
"I can't have you crowding this area," she says, and Santana bristles. Brittany calms her with a touch, and then we retreat back into the waiting area. Santana immediately starts asking Dr Lopez questions. We should be able to see Quinn. We're more her family than that woman.
I'm just about to sit in my vacated seat when a man comes into view. He's young and handsome, with hardened eyes and soft features. "Excuse me," he says, addressing the group. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but are you friends with Quinn Fabray?"
"We are," Santana says, somewhat guardedly.
The man doesn't seem put out. "I'm, uh, I'm looking for Rachel Berry," he says, and I frown. Who is this man?
"Who are you?" I suddenly ask.
He looks at me, studies my face and smiles. "You are Rachel," he says. "Do you mind if I have a word? It'll be quick."
I glance around nervously, but I know I'm going to go with him. Without a word, I nod, and follow him back out into the corridor. Santana moves to stand behind me, and I say nothing. Neither does the man.
"My name is Ian Martin," he says. "I'm a firefighter, and I was on the scene for Quinn's recovery from the vehicle."
I blink. Oh. Oh. I take a breath, feeling my heart rate rise dangerously. Santana steps away, giving us some privacy. "Oh?"
"She was awake when we found her," he continues. "I was responsible for keeping her that way while we worked to get her out, so we talked. She talked a lot about you."
Despite myself, I blush.
"When she started losing consciousness, she started to panic. She was - she was afraid she would fall asleep and never wake up." He closes his eyes for a moment as if he's trying not to picture the scene. "Panic and trauma don't go well, and I had to keep her calm. She - she made me promise I would find you and I would tell you."
I frown. "Tell me what?"
"That she's sorry," he says, and now he's getting oddly emotional. "That she's sorry, and she's sure, and she doesn't know why she waited so long to tell you."
My frown deepens. "Tell me what?" I ask again.
"That she loves you."
I gasp.
He smiles softly. "She said it numerous times, and she asked me to promise I would tell you, and now I have. She loves you, Rachel, and she was determined that the last thing she ever did on this earth was to make sure you knew how she felt. I think there is something beautifully poetic about that."
There is, I'm sure, but I'm too shellshocked to process any of it. I think I say thank you to him. I must say something because he offers me another smile, and then he's gone, leaving me to try to wrap my head around this entire day. So much has happened. And, when I spot Mrs Fabray emerging again, I jerk to attention. I don't care what she thinks of me; I just need to ask her how Quinn is. I follow as she heads for the exit. She's on the phone now, and I make the mistake of hearing what she's saying.
I stop in my tracks. What? I stay rooted to the spot. This day can't be happening. It's not. It can't. I'm still standing there when my dads finally arrive, and they have questions a plenty. I have no answers. All I do is ask them to take me home.
They do.
The knock on my bedroom door is expected, though I don't particularly want it. I grumble something unintelligible, and the door opens to reveal a truly miffed looking Santana Lopez. I don't blame her. Quinn has been in the hospital for two full days now - as far as I know, she's still unconscious - and I haven't been able to go back to see her. I just - I can't.
"Berry, what are you doing?" Santana asks - hands on her hips - and I look up at her from where I'm scribbling in my dream journal. It's nonsensical, but I've managed to convince myself it's helping me make sense of things. "What are you doing here?"
I clench my jaw. "I live here."
She bristles, clearly unimpressed with my response. "Quinn is currently lying in a hospital bed. Why haven't you been to see her?"
"Because she wouldn't want to see me."
Santana looks bewildered and, if I wasn't already ripped to shreds inside, I would find it amusing. "What the fuck are you talking about? She's your girlfriend. Of course, she wants to see you."
I shake my head. "Not after that night," I say, scrubbing my face with my hands. "We had a fight. Our first real fight." As a couple, at least. We said words, and then said more words.
"About what?"
"I accused her of not loving me because she's never actually said the words," I confess, as tears spring to my eyes. Gosh, I thought I'd already cried all I could. "I told her I didn't want to talk to her until she figured things out, and then I caught a nap and my girlfriend almost died." I sob into my hands. "What if I can't take it back, Santana?" I ask. "What if she never forgives me?"
Santana regards me for a moment. "Quinn loves you, Berry, and we both know the truth of that. She may not always tell you how she feels about you, but she will always show you. You just have to pay attention."
I look at her.
"And of course she'll forgive you," she adds a moment later. "But first you have to see her."
I shake my head. "She's lying there and there's nothing I can do about it."
"Well, you could be there for her," she presses. "Just talk to her. It'll make you feel better."
"I don't deserve to feel better."
Santana huffs. "Fine, then don't do it for you, do it for her," she says. "I mean, I don't know if she can hear us but what if she can? What if she can hear us, and what if she's wondering why she isn't hearing your voice? Do you ever think about that? You can think she won't forgive you or whatever, but I won't forgive you if you don't get it together and visit your girlfriend in the fucking hospital."
I drop my gaze, deflating instantly. "How is she?" I ask.
She sighs. "She's still unconscious, but the doctors say her vital signs are improving. It's only a matter of time before she comes back to us, and I know I'm going to be there. The question now is: are you?" When I say nothing, she shakes her head in disappointment, and then leaves.
I crawl into bed, curl into a ball, and cry and cry.
Brittany visits the next day, and I mentally curse Santana. How does a person say no to Brittany Pierce? And, if ever they figure it out, I'm all ears. Because, as it is, Brittany's arrival equates to exactly one thing: I'm finally going to see Quinn. Brittany is coming with me. Maybe she understands what I'm going through, because I certainly don't. I feel guilty, I do, and I feel conflicted. I didn't think there would be a situation where I would blame myself and want to thank Mrs Fabray. It's just not right.
My dads have been to see Quinn a few times. My Daddy even has lunch with her while he's at the hospital, which is equal parts cute and creepy. So, it's time for me to see her and I'm terrified. Brittany tries to distract me as we make our way through the hospital towards Quinn's room, arms linked, with a story about her duck, but she eventually brings us to a stop just before we reach the room and turns me to face her.
"She's hurt pretty bad, Rach," she says quietly. "She has bruises and lots of hurts but San says she'll get better." I swallow. "She had lots more tubes before but some of them are gone now. Do you know that they put drains in people?"
Oh, God.
She gets us walking again, slower, and I use the time to calm my racing heart. Which was stupid to try at all because, the moment Quinn moves into view, my heart lurches and beats at my ribcage, bruising my bones. I freeze in the doorway and stare at the person in the bed who resembles Quinn but isn't really. It can't be Quinn, because Quinn smiles and frowns and glares and is. This person is broken. Physically.
God, her outsides match her insides.
Taking in a shaky breath, I move into the room and sit down in the chair beside her bed. I need to sit down because I can feel myself losing my resolve. I won't cry. Not now. Not the first time I see her. The first thing she hears from me shouldn't be my tears. I reach for her hand - it's surprisingly warm - and hold it gently in my own. I've missed the feel of her. I've missed her.
I miss her.
I breathe out. "Hi, baby," I whisper, leaning forward and looking at her face. Her skin is discoloured from the bruising, and she has stitches on her forehead and chin. It reminds me of the disagreement with her locker. "Why do you always insist on injuring yourself?" I ask her, risking a smile. With my other hand, I trail my fingers along her forearm, enjoying the feel of her skin under my fingertips.
I look for Brittany for the first time, but she's not even in the room. She's giving me privacy.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come and see you," I whisper. I can only look at her face and her arm. I can't take in anything else. I can't handle it. "I didn't think you'd want to see me, given the way we left things. I'm sorry I was so... whatever I was. I do think we needed to talk about it, but not the way we did, and definitely not at the time we did. I should have brought it up a while ago because I've been dealing with it for a while now. I've spent the past few days trying to come to terms with the fact that we do have different languages of love. I need attention and assurance, and you need - " I falter. "I suppose you need love. In all its forms. Because you get it from nowhere else.
"Ian, your handsome firefighter, fulfilled his promise and told me what you asked him to tell me," I inform her. "It's heartbreaking and wonderful, and I need you to wake up and tell me yourself. I need to hear you say the words. I just want to hear your voice again. I mean, we still have to sing our duet, Quinn. After all of this, I think you owe me that much. I already have all these choices for us, you know?"
I spend all day with Quinn, just saying words to her. I also sing quietly a few times. Other people visit her in the afternoon, most notably Finn. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him, and the two of us sit awkwardly for the longest time before he leaves again. My Daddy brings me lunch, and he and I share a rather silent meal with my sleeping blonde, absently discussing everything Quinn. He loves her, that much is obvious, and he and my Dad were beyond devastated to learn of the extent of Quinn's injuries. My Daddy pored over her chart until his eyes were red, and then he disappeared into his bedroom with my Dad, and it was enough to tell me that Quinn definitely could have died. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop fixating on the idea that the last thing I said to her was that I didn't want to see her until she figured things out.
And she was trying to do just that when she got into the accident.
Quinn's doctors and nurses come in from time to time, assessing her vitals and checking her chart and asking questions. They always glance at our clasped hands but I'm beyond caring what they think. We're friends, best friends, girlfriends. It doesn't matter. I love her and I don't care who knows it. Okay... I do, but I also don't.
In the evening, my Daddy comes to check on me, bringing me some dinner and asking if I'm headed home any time soon.
I'm not.
In fact, I don't go home at all. I just sit at Quinn's side: waiting, hoping and praying to all the many gods of all the religions of the world that she'll open her eyes and I'll get to bask in the beautiful hazel green once again. I fall asleep at some point, dropping my head onto her bed and dreaming about Quinn trapped in crushed metal and surrounded my shattered glass, eyes wide and fearful and alone.
I wake with a start, my back straightening in a sudden jerk. One look at the clock on the wall tells me it's just after six o'clock in the morning. If I'm going to go to school - which I'm not - I should probably get going. I sigh heavily, squeeze Quinn's hand once, and then visit the bathroom. I know the doctors will do their rounds at seven o'clock, but there doesn't seem to be a change in Quinn since last night. I study her form when I get back to her side, my fingers interlaced with hers. She's so still, and Quinn isn't still to me. She's lively and vibrant and full of life. She's happy. She makes me happy. She makes -
"Hey," Santana says, interrupting my musing as she enters Quinn's room. "Have you been here all night?"
I blink away my sudden tiredness. "I couldn't sleep, so I just sat up and watched her," I say, fighting a yawn. "I look at her and I keep thinking I'm the one who can't wake up. Like, it's all some kind of dream."
"It's not a dream, Berry," she says, moving to sit in the chair on the other side of Quinn's bed.
"Then it's some kind of punishment," I say.
"For what?"
I sigh. "I heard Mrs Fabray talking on the phone to Frannie," I tell her. "She may or may not have called Quinn's accident God's way of showing her that her current path is not okay with Him."
Santana frowns. "What the fuck?"
"That, this accident is punishment for her indiscretions," I continue. "Punishment for Beth and punishment for me."
"What a sick, twisted family," she hisses. "Quinn was in a fucking car accident. God didn't smite her because she deigned to love another woman." She looks at me. "Don't listen to any of that bullshit, Berry. If this is in any way your fault, then it's mine too, because I've been friends with her for years, and I've loved women for longer than that. So, if loving you did this, then I did this too."
I shake my head, absently wiping at my tears. "Gosh, you'd think I'd stop crying by now."
"It's okay to cry, you know? We all miss her."
"This is the longest we've gone without talking since we started this whole thing," I tell her.
"It's been four days, Berry," Santana says, laughing lightly. "Gosh, new relationships are just the cutest, aren't they?"
I blush. "It's weird, you know? When we, uh, tried to celebrate our one-month, it was like a shock to the system that it was only one month," I tell her. "It feels like we've been together forever."
Santana smiles at me. "If you tell anyone what I'm about to say; I'll deny it to my last breath," she says; "but I truly do believe that you and Quinn will be together forever."
I return her smile. "Like you and Britt."
She shrugs. "Maybe," she says, somewhat noncommittally. "We're all going to be tog - "
The sound of my gasp stops her, and my eyes widen as Quinn shifts in bed. Santana stands immediately, and we both watch as Quinn's eyes flutter once, twice, and then snap open in panic. Her body tenses, and anguish clouds her features, forcing her eyes closed again. Her heart rate rises, and it amazes me that she's suddenly so aware. Because, the second I open my mouth to speak, everything goes still again.
"Quinn," I breathe, and her eyes open again, turning towards me, even if they're unfocused. I lean forward so I'm close enough for her to see without her glasses. "Hi," I whisper.
She looks confused for another beat, before she dazzles me with one of those faint smiles that I know is reserved for me. Lucky number seven, I guess.
"You're okay," I whisper, reaching out to run a gentle hand over her hair. "You're okay."
Her smile falls away, and her face morphs into something serious. She looks... determined, and I shrink back slightly. I was right. She doesn't want to see me. I feel tears pool in my eyes, and I'm tempted to run. But then she's the one to open her mouth, and -
"I love you," she rasps - the first thing she says - and I run anyway.
