So this chapter is a long one (about 17,000 words) which is part of the reason why it took so long to throw up here, the other part was fun holiday stuff, I've been in two different countries and six states since last we spoke and loved every second of my mini vacation! I contemplated splitting this guy up into two chapters but it didn't feel right so I decided to leave it into one big chunk so I hope you all don't mind. And the way that it is looking right now, the next chapter will be the last one. It's going to be an epilogue told a little in the future with a series of flashbacks but it might end up actually being two chapters so I'm making no promises about that. That sounds so weird to say and then I just realized that today marks the one year anniversary of me posting this story. Strange how that worked out :)
That deserves a big, huge THANK YOU to everybody that's stuck with me this past year (and those that have joined along the way). The last year has been so chaotic and full of changes in my life, this definitely had to be the only constant and I appreciate you letting me do what I love so thank you so, so much for all of your support and love!
Rachel Corcoran – January 2012
(Part II)
For the most part, Noah Corcoran believes in chaos.
He knows that he isn't the smartest person in the world, hell he isn't even the smartest person in his own household but earlier in the school year, Noah had been roped into taking a physics class by his guidance counselor, convinced that it would provide a little extra something on his transcripts to show the college scouts coming his way in droves.
He failed. No, really his grade had been deemed unsalvageable within the first month.
Noah struggled to pass remedial math. He remains uncertain to this day why anybody had thought physics to be a good idea. Luckily, the same guidance counselor that had placed him in the class had been gracious enough to have him removed before he could be given an opportunity to further embarrass himself but if there was one lesson that Noah did learn in the handful of weeks that he had been present, it was that for the most part, he believes in chaos.
It was the natural order of the universe – chaos – or entropy as his teacher always called it... It was simply fascinating to Noah the idea that the world has a tendency to narrow inwards upon the most chaotic order of events possible although in the long run, Noah knows that deep down, he had known this fact his whole life.
The thing that fascinated Noah so much was the confirmation that he had wasted his entire life believing that he could ever make a difference.
"Santana was hurt, Noah..."
His heart stops so quickly that it skids with a painful ricochet against his ribs. He can feel every single motion – the prominent loss of rhythm, the hollow calm that its absence leaves deep down inside of the pit of his chest. His eyes are forced to a close but he should know that nothing is enough to protect him from the truth anymore.
It's starting to get more difficult for him to breathe...
Chaos.
Noah cannot seem to stop thinking about the universe. His head is swirling. There are certainly enough thoughts inside of his brain to at least fill it...
Solar systems exist in a scale larger than a human being can possibly comprehend. It's amazing how truly small a single, individual person is when compared to things like mountains or the sky or the stars...
"I... what... how..." All of the questions that he wants to ask combine into one illogical jumble of a sentence. He thinks that he is so used to confidence, it is starting to strike Noah that every time he tells himself that he is in control, it is nothing more than a lie.
Even his own mother stops in her furiously determined motions in order to see why her son has made such an abrupt stop.
"Noah, is everything okay?" At first, Noah believes it to be his mother speaking to him but he quickly realizes that he has been quiet for so long that Quinn has been forced to prompt him over the phone. Her voice shakes him sharply back into a reality that Noah isn't so certain that he wants to be a part of anymore.
"I..." He opens his mouth but it closes on its own accord just as quickly... He doesn't want to say everything that he has stored in between his ears over the phone. "I'm fine... It's just... something just came up with Rachel, Quinn and I... I need to stay with her right now." His voice shakes but it is barely noticeable. Stay calm, Noah, he tells himself. Stay calm. "I'll be down in a couple of minutes, okay? I promise I'll be there."
"Of course, I understand..." Quinn breathes. She follows Noah's lead in keeping her head cool despite the fact that on the inside, the only thing that she wants to do is scream, to beg Noah to be down here for them. "I'll hold down the fort until then. I'll text you if we get any news, okay?"
"Yeah..." Noah's response is despondent. He cannot tell Quinn not to bother, that he already knows the news – especially when he knows that he does not know the news per se. He refuses to be the one to stir the pot, so instead Noah simply holds tightly onto the back of his neck and points his eyes downwards towards the floor in an attempts to concentrate on the pattern of his keds. "Yeah, okay..."
Noah hangs up the phone before Quinn has the opportunity to respond.
Breathing heavily, he slips the device into his back pocket before pressing his back tight against the wall of the crowded stairwell. The rail digs painfully into his lower back. All around him, people swerve to avoid the obstacle that his broad body has since become, turning their heads angrily in order to flash back to him, dirty looks that Noah hardly notices.
Noah tries desperately not to psyche himself out. He tries not to jump to conclusions but this is difficult to do when they all seem to clear and laid out in front of him.
"Noah, what happened?" He jumps at the hand on his shoulder. His mind blanks just as he is beginning to convince himself that it is a Saturday night. That there must have been a million different car accidents in Lima alone. That this is not necessarily Santana. That it can't be Santana...
Looking up, Noah watches his mother eye him with the utmost concern in her expression... He has that look inside of his face, he knows that he must – those deep, brooding eyes, piercing with the hint of green that only ever emerges when he's struggling with a plethora of varying emotions such as that by which he has experienced in these past several minutes...
Whatever reason that may be.
He finds comfort in the idea that it is impossible to read exactly what it is that he is thinking. The reason that Noah is so certain of this is because not even he is truly sure what he is thinking himself. He suddenly wonders whether gazing into his eyes in this moment is as vast and uncertain as gazing into the open universe...
Why the hell can't he stop thinking about the damn universe?
"Nothing..." He forces himself to stand up straight as he shrugs away from his mother's touch... Not even he is entirely sure how much time he has allowed to pass between her question and his response. It could have been seconds, hell it could have been hours. He can only hope that whatever it was, it was good enough. "That was Quinn. Everything's fine, she just... she ran into a little glitch in her plans but... Listen, I'll tell you later ma, okay? Let's just focus on Rachel for right now."
He speaks simultaneously to convince both her as well as himself that everything is fine, that everything is going to be fine – with Santana, with Rachel, with him...
But this is an action that is much easier said than it is done.
Noah embraces a sudden surge of energy – however temporary it may be – and powers forward. Pushing past Shelby, he is practically sprinting up the length of the stairs.
His mother follows but even she can barely keep up, her motions losing that once powerful gait, fueled by a hope that was suddenly starting to flicker. Her senses are already heightened. She's worried. She's just about as nervous a wreck as a parent can get at the moment, but Noah is right...
For now, they have to keep going.
"Okay..." Shelby hums steadily, more to herself. She doubts very much that Noah can hear her from his position, already at the landing of the stairs...
Shelby marches forwards in the wake of her son's footsteps. She is an expert at walking through life one foot after the other and through their bid to focus all energy upon Rachel, they achieve prevention of a total breakdown in the process...
For now...
It's difficult to pinpoint a definitive point that life goes back to normal.
But then again after your world has been jolted to a standstill for so long, even the most miniscule of movements could be considered towards progress.
It had started with a swift punishment after Shelby had caught her son red-handed, scribbling in crayon all over the living room walls. Later, it was a bill that she had actually managed to pay on time and then, a refrigerator that contained something other than outdated, molding dairy products...
Eight weeks following Rachel's stem cell transplant, Shelby brings her daughter home with an air of permanence behind her motions and suddenly, the muddled haze that has been clouding her vision for the better half of the last year finally begins to clear again.
For the first time in a long time, Shelby finally feels comfortable in saying that things are actually going well for a change.
Rachel's body has been producing its own, healthy cells for weeks now. Her daughter in herself is lively, she's energetic, she is starting to emerge once more beyond the shell that cancer has reduced her to; the ghost of what every four year old should have the opportunity to be finally slipping through the cracks.
Her little girl is slowly starting to come back to her.
But nobody places blame when Shelby proves to be as much of a nervous wreck inside of the hospital as she had been at home... Of course, Shelby sees the glances that her sister shoots at her every time she panics over a playtime activity that the mother deems too dangerous. She notices the annoyance inside of her parents' eyes every time they are cooking for the family only to be constantly reminded that a strict, vegan died is what is best to assist Rachel's road to recovery but Shelby reckons that this will be a habit that lingers inside of her for a long time to come... She likes to assume that it will fade eventually – time healing all wounds as it tends to do – but on most days it feels as though she will be hovering over Rachel for the rest of her life.
In the week that Rachel has been home with them, sleep has not been something that Shelby has been seeing a lot of. Every time she actually gets an opportunity to lay down inside of her own bed, Shelby is overcome by an almost obsessive urge to check on Rachel...
Just one more time – she always tells herself - but it is never enough.
Instead, Shelby watches the comfortable bliss of slumber from the outside looking in. She feels as though she has a set of newborns again, constantly being reminded of those first harrowing weeks that she had brought Noah home from the hospital terrified of each and every little piece of harm imaginable that might make its way inside of his bassinet and cause him harm...
She had felt the same, unadulterated fear when Rachel had been born, only exasperated fifty times over.
Shelby had done the same for both of her children, lie awake and watch them breathe, convinced that they would somehow forget how to do so on their own the second that she stopped looking...
That particular feeling – even Shelby must admit – had gotten easier with time, but still to a mother, it never truly goes away in its entirety.
But that was a long time ago...
It was a time when Rachel and Noah had still believed that mom and dad possessed the capacity to save them from all of the horrors of the world; a time before they had come to the understanding that mom was only human and dad was, well... nothing.
Shelby worries about both of her children equally all the time and she understands full well that it is her job never to stop doing so but finally, things are actually starting to settle...
After one week of insisting upon spending her nights propped against the open door frame of Rachel's bedroom, watching her child sleep while simultaneously refusing to commit to the motion herself, Shelby is finally feeling comfortable enough to settle inside of her own bed once more, closing her eyes and breathing controlled, the peaceful air of quiet solitude.
She is startled awake by a crash.
The leaping of her heart propels her upwards from her bed. The mother moves so quickly that it creates the illusion that she is flying as she races automatically towards Rachel's room without so much as a second thought.
Shelby finds her daughter huddled in the center of her bedroom. The oversized pink princess pajamas that had in fact been too small for her six months ago are drenched in sweat although she is trembling with cold as her feet carry her in an unsteady zigzag towards Shelby's direction... She had been trying desperately to reach her mother but she is shaking so hard that she had knocked her nightstand as well as all of its contents to the ground instead.
If only she had been there, Shelby thinks but quickly forces the thought out of her head.
"Momma, what was that?" Shelby can hear her son's curious voice inquiring towards the intrusion of his sleep but she does not have the time to produce the answers that she is not so certain of herself. Instead, Shelby pushes herself forwards towards Rachel, trying desperately to use her own body to block any views of his sister that Noah might have for fear of him experiencing the overwhelming terror inside of his own chest that she is currently feeling herself.
"Noah honey, stay out here with me..." Shelby is grateful for her sister's intrusion as she marches her way up the stairs and does what she does best – interferes... But Shelby does not pause to take the time to thank her. Instead, she bends forwards at the waist and scoops Rachel up inside of her arms, holding her head closely to her chest, directly over her racing heart.
"Rachel sweetheart, what's the matter?" Shelby asks the question out of necessity. The head that is currently radiating within the small space left between their bodies is enough to give Shelby at least a hint as to what the answer to her own question may be... "Oh my God, you're burning up..." Shelby doesn't give the opportunity for Rachel to speak for herself. Instead, Rachel bursts into tears inside of her arms, the action catching inside of her throat until she is overcome by a steady set of hiccups that emit rapidly from her mouth every couple of seconds.
Between this and her unsteady gait, Shelby can't help but to wonder whether or not this is what it will be like the first time that she catches Rachel stumbling home drunk from a high school party.
She pushes the thought out of her head, reminding herself that they must get there first.
Clutching Rachel even tighter against her own body, Shelby can't help but notice the girl flinching inside of her arms, her muscles tensing as Rachel begins to release a howling wail of pain that startles Shelby so much, she nearly drops Rachel to the ground.
Shelby's fingers tighten reflexively with support, but Rachel pushes herself away. The mother does not bother trying to pretend that it does not eat away at her heart when Rachel's tiny hands push hard against Shelby's breastbone in an effort to escape.
"Rachel honey, what's the matter..." Rachel climbs out of her arms easily, her overwhelmed mother staring onwards as the child crawls into a ball at her feet, her body positioned into a strategic fetal position as Rachel's thumb automatically goes to her mouth and her back arches in an effort to avoid contact with the ground at all costs...
Suspicious, Shelby forces herself into a squat, her movements gentle as she bends at the knees and reaches outward, lifting the shirt of Rachel's pajamas as gently as she can possibly manage, exposing the ragged skin of her stick thin back, each vertebrae popping out violently as to further expose the angry red, blistering welts that are slowly spreading their way up and down the length of Rachel's spine.
"Shelby, Noah I understand that things are moving rather quickly right now..."
Sitting inside of Dr. McCarthy's private office, Noah decides that the term moving quickly is a vast understatement...
In a testament towards the lightning pace that is currently being taken amongst the bewildered family, the doctor does not even wait until they are seated before he begins to speak.
They don't so much as have time to breathe.
"That's okay..." Shelby can barely contain her beaming smile. She is radiant, practically singing her words, she is so overjoyed...
Noah's eyes linger across her shining features, soaking up the image of seeing his mother genuinely happy for the first time since he can remember... But he cannot seem to match her enthusiasm. His thoughts are slowly closing in on themselves, pinching his brain shut and swelling his skull with the pressure so that Noah swears, he is ready to blow at any second.
"Listen, I know that you two are excited about this change in events and you have every reason to be. It is nothing short of a miracle that this donor has come along..."
Noah reacts physically to the doctor's words. His breath hitches inside of his throat releasing a throaty grasp that luckily, nobody notices in their excitement... Dr. McCarthy just speaks with such ease, so casually...
This donor...
It bites unsettling at Noah's tongue, the sudden remind that this donor may in fact be much more personal than that phrase can ever suggest.
"Can we find out who it is?" Noah interrupts the doctor, asking the question despite himself. He is bursting with an impatience that is sprouted by fear. He himself has done an okay job at convincing himself of the impossibilities, the unlikelihood that Santana is in fact Rachel's donor, but there is still something missing; that final confirmation, that outside source telling him that he had been stupid for over-worrying himself about the impossible for so long. "The donor, I mean. Can we find out who she is?"
"No," The doctor shakes his head with a hint of regret but it's nothing to support Noah's heart as it sinks to the floor for what seems like the millionth time this day alone. He tries not to place the blame upon the man that sits before them, the man that has done so much for their family over the years. Even Noah knows that it would be impossible for Dr. McCarthy to possibly predict the reason that Noah so desperately needs the answers that he does... But he needs to blame somebody for his current predicament and not even his usual route of blaming himself is working... "Unfortunately that won't be a possibility right now. These days, the law is relatively strict regarding the terms of patient confidentiality. If you had interest in reaching out to the donor's family, you would have to do so through a legal team that would then in turn approach the family about the option... Only if they approved would you be able to physically meet them..."
"Oh." He sinks, disheartened by complication.
"But listen, the reason that I asked you guys to come to my office is because I need you to understand that while this transplant is an amazing opportunity for Rachel, in her diminished health, the risks far out weigh the possibility of success. There are still a lot of potential complications that we will have to consider. We still have a lot of hurdles to face."
His face darkens seriously leaving Noah hard pressed to reserve his desire to scream. He is overwhelmed with the sense that tonight stands an opportunity for him to lose everything that he can possibly stand to lose... Santana may already be gone. Rachel can be next... He forces himself into submission with the reminder that he is not quite there...
Yet.
His and Shelby's bodies sink simultaneously besides each other, creating the illusion that all of the air has suddenly been deflated from the room.
They lean instinctively inwards and closer towards the doctor, neither certain that they want the details that this man has strategically omitted until the final possible moment in order to minimize panic but understanding that the choice is not currently theirs to make.
"I'm sure that you are both well aware what a high risk operation that this will be for Rachel..." Shelby and Noah bob their heads uniformly in recognition of the idea that the thought has indeed crossed their minds... Just a couple of hours ago, Rachel's doctors had been voicing their concern of the risks posed simply by moving her via ambulance a handful of blocks down the road back to her own home. Major surgery, well this was something entirely different. "We're taking a huge chance here, and I understand that the options are not promising nor or they easy but I need to be very honest with you; the chance that Rachel's body is much too fragile to sustain the pressures caused by a surgery of this magnitude are... concerning."
His words are careful and deliberate. Noah reacts to them audibly; a physical, scoffing tone of disapproval emitting from the base of his throat. The room silences. All eyes turn towards him, lingering intently so that Noah grows distinctly embarrassed.
"Noah," Dr. McCarthy's voice drips with sympathy. "Are you okay?"
Noah blinks rapidly in response to the question. Silently, he believes this to be a stupid thing to be asking somebody in his position, but Noah chooses not to say so...
The world slows to a near halt; a sluggish pace that leaves him feeling exhausted and run down. He has absolutely no concept of how much time passes in between the doctor's question and his response, but if he had to estimate his guess would be hours. It is a force of habit that Noah has been noticing a lot lately – his ability to allow time to slip past him quicker than he can keep up with...
This has never been more apparent to him than it is right now.
"I just don't think that not doing the surgery is really an option..." He makes his brutally honest opinion known, blatantly ignoring the part where he had been asked about himself. "If we don't do that then what do we do? We take Rachel home and spend the next couple of days watching her die?"
His voice projects a confidence that not even he is certain he has. Besides him, his mother reacts to his bluntness. He can feel her muscles tensing violently in response from directly besides him.
"At least with the surgery she gets a chance." A surge of energy projects him forwards confidently, fueled by the understanding that to take this risk is their last possible option if they wanted to keep this family together. "This isn't about quality over quantity anymore, it's about desperate times calling for desperate measures."
"Shelby... What do you think?" The doctor nods before turning his attention upon the mother because ultimately, it was what she believed that would make all the difference in the end.
She takes a shuddering breath. Her face is stale, sour as though even that simplest of motions has caused her unbearable pain. Shelby's eyes slide closed, all of her energy and focus channeling to her brain, willing it to make the right decision as though it were that easy.
She knows what is inside of her heart but she fears reacting brashly, terrified of making the wrong decision in a fleeting moment of temporary relief that has clouded rationality.
Shelby tries desperately to place her decision not in terms of herself, but in terms of her daughter. She puts into consideration, everything that Rachel has been saying in these painful last couple of days, how hard she had fought against this surgery, but only in terms of her brother's future...
"I don't know how much longer I can do it, mom..."
Had Rachel been speaking in a fleeting moment of weakness or was she really as ready to stop this fight as she had sounded on the day that she had confided this secret upon Shelby...
"Noah is right..." She whispers her final conclusion after several elongated seconds spent fighting an internal battle that her gut feeling had ultimately won. "Rachel didn't want to take the risk with her brother's kidney, but this is a new opportunity. We have nothing left to lose. I think that we would be foolish not to take it."
"Okay." The doctor nods through a smile, trying desperately not to show a favorable bias towards Shelby's decision but unable to control the emotions displayed in his expression entirely.
His movements are instantaneous as though Shelby's words had lit the fire that he needed to get going beneath the seat of his chair. He acts sharply and excited as though he had been waiting for this distinct go ahead from Shelby this entire time as he drums together a stack of paperwork as thick as Shelby is tall.
"Then I'm going to need you sign a couple of things for me."
Shelby flips quickly through the papers. They settle heavy like a boulder inside of her hands as her eyes skim briefly through the outline, under the impression that should she actually take her time to sit and read through every single word of every single sheet, they will all be dead and buried by the time she is done.
Her hand dances across the X marked dotted line splayed across the bottom right hand corner of every page that awaits her signature until her fingers begin to cramp painfully from the constant motion.
The risks seem insurmountable. A small, nervous sweat formulates across Shelby's forehead as she forces herself forwards, trying to convince herself that all of this is nothing more than precaution, that all of these side effects, these complications rarely, if ever actually happen...
Of course, Shelby has learned not to place much risk on the fates of chance.
It is the potential complications of general anesthesia. The risks that come hand in hand with the before, during and care of kidney transplantation – infection, organ rejection, blood loss... It's the acknowledgment of just how lengthy the recovery time that Rachel will face will be, the understanding that this procedure is in fact in Rachel's best interest and that Shelby knows why everything that is happening is actually happening...
It feels like hours before she reaches the end – the physical consent to surgery that has Shelby freezing for the first time throughout this entire process.
Her hand trembles as it hovers above the paper, the tip of the pen pressing violently against the line but never actually moving...
Shelby pauses briefly, she breathes with careful, controlled motions and mutters a silent prayer to God that this is the right thing to do before finally, she marks Rachel's second chance in the form of her own signature.
Emergency Room's are rarely silent but today must be a record breaking quiet night.
The small family sits silent inside of the familiar, curtained-off cubicles lining the back of the ER. Noah is adorned in an array of mismatched clothing that Shelby had carelessly plucked from his closet in her rush to shuffle them out of the door. He is sound asleep, wrapped tightly inside of the comforter that Shelby had cocooned Rachel into for the car ride.
Perched at the side of Rachel's bed, his hand has been nuzzled protectively inside of his sister's since their arrival... Shelby embraces the moment but only because she understands that Noah is starting to come to that age where he will not often volunteer to hold his little sister's hand.
She almost wishes that she had her camera... Shelby has a million photographs lining the walls and mantlepiece of her home, each representing an image of her and her children growing together.
When you compare Rachel and Noah at the same age, they look so much alike you can hardly tell a single difference between them.
But six months ago, all photography, all memories had come to an abrupt halt in the silent agreement that this was a time that none would like to encase inside of a glass frame in order to provide memories...
Shelby chews nervously on her thumbnail.
The day that Rachel had come home from the hospital following her stem cell transplant, the mother had panicked in her wonderment towards whether or not she would be able to appropriately react to a situation on the list the doctor's had provided her with of emergency scenarios requiring immediate medical attention...
Now that Shelby had seen what Rachel had looked like tonight, she cannot believe that she had ever questioned her ability to judge what sick looks like. Especially after all that she has already been through.
"Mrs. Corcoran..."
When the doctor comes in, he speaks quietly. It is very late at night – or very early in the morning, Shelby cannot be entirely certain – and with two small children fast asleep in her mist, it is a motion that Shelby forces herself to appreciate.
Rachel's admitting physician is a young man that still wears a lab coat with the words 'Wayne State University School of Medicine' stitched across his heart.
He is a resident. He is barely out of school – a school that Shelby has never even heard of – and a part of her has been stuck questioning his authenticity all night, questioning his ability to be trusted with something as precious to Shelby as her daughter's life.
"Dr. Heller." Her voice is strained with both uncertainty as well as an urgent softness as she rises to her feet. "How is she?"
"Rachel is going to be just fine." He issues the promise with a supportive bob of the head that has Shelby exhaling with relief so loudly she forgets the idea that no less than five seconds ago, she had been questioning this man's capacity as a medical professional. "She contracted shingles. It's a skin condition that arises from the chicken pox virus."
"But I thought that you couldn't get that twice?" Shelby's eyebrows raise with confusion alongside the reminder that despite an impressive understanding of the inner workings of leukemia that can put even the best molecular biologists to shame, her capacity as an honorary physician ends there.
When Rachel had been two years old besides her brother's four, Shelby had intentionally exposed the both of them to the chicken pox upon finding out that the boy from the apartment complex next door to them in New York had come down with a case from his day care... Her heart suddenly constricts with guilt, she is overwhelmed with the shame of the idea that she herself had brought upon this unnecessary extra pain onto her already fragile daughter herself.
"It's not entirely uncommon for patients immediately following a stem cell transplant." The doctor explains quickly, "Remember, Rachel's body is still trying to learn how to fend for itself. Her immune system is vulnerable right now and it makes her prone to these sorts of infections – flare ups, if you will – of past viruses that naturally hoard themselves latent in the system following initial exposure... Frankly, I'm surprised it took so long to get Rachel here to the ER..."
"Excuse me?" Shelby senses the hint of an accusation behind his voice and her eyebrows raise so high that they get lost inside of her hair.
"I didn't mean to offend..." His hands raise defensively in front of him, "It's just that for the rash to have spread as it has, it is easy for us to assume that Rachel must have been in a relatively decent amount of pain for the last twenty four hours or so..."
"That's impossible..." Shelby shakes her head disbelievingly. She is finding it increasingly difficult to trust this man who, every time he opens his mouth, only seems to tell her things that she doesn't want to believe. "Rachel would have told me... She knows how important it is to tell me when she isn't feeling well..."
"Of course..." The doctor nods in an effort to avoid confrontation but Shelby can practically read his mind. She is embarrassed to think that she must sound like all of the other blubbering mother's that he comes across on a daily basis; those inexperienced, foolish, naïve women who think that they know everything about their child's well being without fail...
Shelby hasn't felt like this since the day that Rachel had been diagnosed. She can feel the heat flushing against her cheeks as they burn red with embarrassment.
The more that she thinks about it, the more she can't help but to remember how strangely Rachel has been acting all day...
It had started with her insistencies to dress herself on her own this morning, then her downright refusal to take a bath... Shelby wants to smack herself for failing to see all of the red flags immediately, even after they had progressed throughout the day – the temper tantrums, hiding inside of her bed all day...
Shelby's face drops inside of her hands. Rachel had always been such a determinedly independent little girl that the mother had barely thought twice about her behavior but now it was all starting to make sense...
She wants nothing more than to cry but knows that this is not an option in front of this stranger that she's already made enough of a fool out of herself in front of as it is.
"I'm sorry..." Shelby compromises with an apology but this doesn't even come close to easing the unease currently boiling inside of the pit of her stomach. "That was rude of me, I'm just... I guess I'm just a little bit on edge."
"Mrs. Corcoran, please," He waves off her need to apologize with a soft, genuine smile. His eyes glow a miraculous shade of blue beneath the fluorescent lighting dangling above them, offering a strange display of comfort that has her own red-rimmed, exhausted eyes finally feeling comfortable enough to meet with his own. "If there is any parent that has an excuse to be a little bit over protective, it is you... And if it makes you feel better, you are much easier than the mother who was convinced that her son was bit by a Black Widow spider that I saw earlier this morning... Turns out the boy stabbed himself with his fork by accident while he was eating lunch."
"Thank you..." Shelby's face softens. This time, when she laughs, she genuinely means it as she reaches up with a single finger to swipe away at the small traces of tears that she has involuntarily allowed to slip from beyond the corners of her eyes.
"Rachel is a remarkably strong little girl. She's one of the most resilient children I have ever come across. You should be very proud."
"I am..." Shelby insists quickly and she is proud, hell, there probably isn't a parent alive that is more proud of their children than Shelby is of hers, but that doesn't mean that she isn't silently terrified of Rachel's recent stubborn streak that she has inherited so exactly from her mother it's scary.
"And she will be fine... We'll put her on some anti-histamines to try and keep her scratching, and we've already given her acetaminophen to help with the pain and to bring down her fever but you should be able to take her home by tomorrow... Don't worry, Rachel is still on the path to recovery."
"Are you sure?" Turning back onto old habits, Shelby questions the doctor's expertise once more. She is uncertain and overwhelmed with guilt. She has to be sure.
"Positive," He smiles in confirmation, sounding experienced so that Shelby knows that he must have been down this road once or twice before – terrified parents failing to believe even the best of his assurances...
"Okay..." Shelby nods hesitantly, but still, she doesn't sound entirely sure of herself.
"I'm going to go see what I can do about rushing Rachel to get upstairs and into a room... We'll get you out of here in no time."
"Thank you..." Shelby expresses her gratitude out of necessity. It is not as though she isn't gracious for his efforts, it is just that she can't bring herself to believe that this feeling inside of her chest will be settled by moving Rachel into any room that is not her own...
"Momma..."
Shelby's eyes tear like lightning away from the doctor's retreating frame. Rachel is squirming uncomfortably inside of her bed, fidgeting against yet another pain that she cannot possibly understand.
Shelby can see the tears inside of her daughter's eyes from across the room.
"Rachel honey, what are you doing awake?" Shelby bolts forwards, moving as quickly as her feet will possibly allow, the handful of paces that separate her from her terrified daughter.
"I wanna go home." Rachel pouts miserably from inside of her bed, voice thick and laden with a clear resistance towards the sleep that her body so desperately craves. Her bottom lip is trembling with tears. She is shaking so hard that Shelby has to reach out and grab a hold of her shoulders simply to ensure that she doesn't fall out of bed. "Please, mommy... I wanna go home!"
"I'm sorry sweetheart, we can't go home quite yet..." Shelby coos, her voice gentle and melodic as her hand reaches outwards automatically and nestles Rachel's own.
"But I want to!" Her four year old is sick and she's tired and moody. Her voice raises with a projection of her desires, pushing Shelby's hand away from her in an expression of distaste towards not getting her way...
The mother reels only slightly, trying to pretend as though it doesn't hurt like hell to be proven once more just how little she can actually do to make her daughter feel better.
"I know you do Rachel but right now you have to be patient and wait until you feel a little bit better..." Shelby struggles to explain the situation in terms that a four year old might understand – even one as experienced as Rachel. She is sensing a pattern lately, finding it increasingly difficult to convince a girl that only ever does what she is asked only to get absolutely nothing in return that one day, things will get better. "Mommy is right here and so is Noah and the two of us are going to stay right here with you until you get better and then maybe tomorrow we can go back home."
Shelby's face falls. She watches carefully as Rachel's expression shifts in an effort to conceal all that she is feeling right now... Arms crossed her chest, mouth contorted into a permanent pout, Rachel is so young but suddenly, she looks so old in her moment of weakness and all of the despair that it has resulted in.
"Baby, why didn't you tell me that you weren't feeling well?" The question slips from Shelby's mouth without her particularly expecting it to. She doesn't mean to interrogate her four year old while she is sick inside of a hospital bed, but if there is one thing that Shelby hates more than anything, it is being left in the dark when it comes to her own children, especially when they are hurting this bad.
"I don't wanna talk about it..." Rachel mutters into her lap, her eyes looking down and away from Shelby.
"Rachel..." Shelby insists, her long fingers dancing beneath Rachel's chin, tilting her head up gently so that their identical eyes are forced to meet once more.
She is wearing an expression that practically forces Rachel to talk and Shelby takes advantage of a time when this task will still be considered relatively easy... Shelby is not stupid enough to believe that the passing years will slow down before they speed up and as it is, she is worried about Rachel and Noah's teenage years already.
She thinks that they are impossible now but she knows that she hasn't seen anything yet.
"I was scared that it would make you mad." Her tiny voice is barely above a whisper.
"Oh honey..." Shelby's expression softens as her hand reaches downwards to grab a tight hold onto Rachel's. "I will never be mad at you for being sick, you know that... Do you remember what I told you the first day that you were in the hospital?"
"That it makes you sad when me and Noah don't feel good and that you want me to be better again but sometimes you need help from the doctors too..." Rachel recites the words that Shelby had spoken to her more than six months ago nearly verbatim...
"You're right..." Shelby nods, struggling to collect herself amidst her astonishment towards her daughter's remarkable memory... She had not expected Rachel to remember. She had not expected her to have held those words so closely to her heart. "Now listen to me, Rachel. I don't want you to ever hide that you aren't feeling well from me ever again, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good... We'll be home soon, baby girl," Shelby delivers the promise, lowering the head of Rachel's bed until the girl is flat on her back, tucking the blankets just a little bit tighter around her small body. "Now get some sleep. I promise you that I will make you all better again very soon..."
"No matter what it takes."
"Noah! Noah, wait!"
Noah's frantic motions from Dr. McCarthy's private office back into the hallway are urgent and full of a distinct purpose.
He can hear his mother shouting after him – he would have to be deaf not to – but tries his absolute hardest to ignore it because he is not ready to have the conversation with her that he knows he will have to eventually...
He silently wonders if he ever will be.
"Noah!" This time it is not a request but a demand. She catches up with him with a surprising ease, her hand snaking across his muscular shoulder, pulling him to a halt with an impressive force.
When he does turn around to face her, Shelby's stare is urgent yet careful, hinted with the sense of a deep-set panic that has guilt blooming like flower pedals across Noah's chest.
This was supposed to be a celebration.
It is only after she has his undivided attention that she grabs him by the elbow, pulling him into the solitude of a small alcove at the edge of the hall. The hospital is packed, but Shelby does what she can to make it at least appear as though it is only him and her, and for her efforts Noah is appreciative.
"Noah, you need to talk to me. Something is going on, I know that look in your eyes. What happened on the phone with Quinn before?" She is begging him to open up to her but he can't help but to be reluctant.
Noah hates emotions. Lord knows he is used to them but still, they're awkward and uncomfortable, and despite their frequency inside of his life, they are something that you never really get used to.
"If you don't talk to me, Noah than how do you expect me to be able to help you?" She responds to his silence with a hint of desperation. Noah doesn't have the heart to tell her that he doesn't expect her to be able to help him. He doesn't expect anybody to ever be able to help him ever again, and that is his biggest problem.
"Quinn..." Noah finally eases forward, "She was... she was supposed to come to the house... to see Rachel..."
"Right..." Shelby nods respectively towards the information, egging him on as her head cocks in an indication that she is prepared to listen to the information that she so desperately craved with a trite attentiveness.
"After they took Rachel to pre-op, she called me... in the stairwell. She was... she was downstairs with Brittney in the ER because..." Noah pauses, breathing steadily. He swallows mid-sentence, experiments with his wording before he actually says anything. "Santana was in a car accident, mom..."
"Oh my God, is she okay... Oh Noah, honey I'm sure she's..." Shelby stops herself mid-sentence. She is halfway to trying to ease her son's fears with an assurance that she could never be certain of when the words break and fray at their edges, burning to dust at the tip of her tongue.
Her dark eyes glisten with understanding, her face sinking so far inside of her own body that Noah can hardly even recognize it himself. Her lips shape into a soft O, a silent motion of understanding towards the fact that she now sees everything that he does.
"I think... I think that Rachel's donor might be Santana, mom..." They are both thinking it, but Noah has to say something anyway. Somehow, it relaxes him – that sheer display of panic scribbled inside of his mother's face – and as sadistic as it may sound, it is a comfort to know that he is not the only once immersed inside of this overwhelming feeling of despair clouding what he knows should be one of the happiest moments they've had to boast in these last few months.
"Okay... okay, Noah you can't panic, okay?" Shelby's voice contradicts everything that she is trying to tell him, making it incredibly difficult for him to follow her instruction. "We can't go jumping to any sorts of conclusions right now."
"I don't know what to do mom..." He blatantly ignores her as his breathing increases. He is panicking. How could he not? "I'm happy about Rachel but... I don't think that I should be... What if it is Santana? Then what do we do?"
"Oh Noah, come here..." Words suddenly escape her. Without a physical means to produce an answer for her son's impossible question, she instead pulls him forwards and into her body, wrapping her arms tightly across the back of his broad shoulders. He leans into the touch like he hasn't done since he was a child, embracing the comfort that he knows can only be provided from inside of his mother's arms. "It's going to be alright, Noah. I promise that everything is going to be okay."
Noah's breath hitches painfully for several tense seconds as he attempts to control the tears building behind his eyes.
"You can't promise that?" He finally manages before he lets go, overwhelmed by the sensation of red-hot tears as they begin to stream with a sudden force, uninhibited down his cheeks.
"No," Shelby only holds him tighter. Watching him cry, it feels as though she has been pushed off of the edge of a steep cliff.
"But I can do the best that I can."
When Noah finally calms long enough to be trusted within the sensitive walls of the emergency department, his head is still ballooned inside of a fuzzy haze.
He feels as though he is floating and is willing to swear that his feet do not touch the ground once during the entirety of his descent down.
Noah blacks out the journey in its entirety. He is inside of his mother's arms and the next thing that he remembers, he finds Quinn from afar, fighting with a triage nurse looking for answers.
Noah stops himself from shaking his head against the understanding that Quinn's efforts are not only characteristic of a newbie to the hospital life but are also – more importantly – completely futile.
Nurses are sworn to secrecy. No matter how much you beg them, they will never tell you what they know. Instead, they are hired for their cheeriness, to present as an alive and healthy presence within an otherwise desolate hospital as if to give the dying a standard by which to aim for...
They are on opposite sides of the room but still, the look inside of Quinn's eyes frightens him.
He has seen that expression before inside of his own face, so deep, so real... It is that lasting understanding, the one that tells the rest of the world beyond you that you have seen things that they cannot even possibly begin to imagine, that they wouldn't want to imagine.
Their eyes finally meet. Quinn nods softly in greeting and Noah returns it, a silent understanding that they will both need each other right now in order to survive this seemingly impossible journey.
Santana's parents are at the end of the hallway. Her mother is inconsolable inside of her empty father's arms. Noah bites his tongue against the belief that they have absolutely no right to be grieving a daughter that they treated so terrible but his efforts are made easier by the idea that he is currently seeing all of the people that need to say goodbye...
It's true.
Noah's feet carry him naturally towards a familiar face.
Quinn has given up in her efforts with the nurse, disappointed by her failures. If Noah had been here sooner, he would have told her not to hold her breath waiting for answers.
But he hadn't been there.
She sits down in a seat besides Brittney. One look at the blonde and it is clear that she has been besides herself. All of her energy has long since leaked out of her eyes. Her head falls limp inside of Quinn's lap, but Quinn's motions are equally uncharged as her fingers move absently through Brittney's hair. Her eyes stare straight ahead, absent. She makes no indication that she has seen Noah although he knows that she had.
Seeing Quinn allows Noah to understand that death does not always have to come in that holy wall of fire that the last couple of weeks have implied... Instead, it can also be invisible, silent in the night. It can sneak up on you, it can stab you in the back even when you least expect it...
No, especially when you least expect it.
When Quinn finally does acknowledge him, it is through nothing more than a small shake of her head. He doesn't know what to say.
To buy himself some time, Noah walks closer towards Quinn and Brittney until there is literally no more space for him to possibly more any further. He shoves his hands inside of his pockets. The sound of Brittney's empty wails only grows louder.
"I'm sorry that I called." Quinn breaks the silence. Her words are sincere, but dry. "With everything that's going on with Rachel, I didn't mean to take you away from her but... I didn't know what else to do."
"It's fine..."
"No it isn't." Quinn cuts him off sharply. Her eyes rut forwards in order to meet his own and for the first time, Noah notices the tears that are dancing around inside of them. "Nothing is ever going to be fine again... Don't you get it, Noah? Santana... she's... she's dead."
"Yeah..." Noah breathes, shuffling gently between his own two feet. "I know."
Quinn's mouth hangs open in surprise. Her lips shift in the silent formation of words that have yet to come to her before she manages to shake her head back into reality and finally ask the one question who's answer she is truly looking for.
"How?"
"We were... when you called me before, we were with Rachel getting her ready because the doctors, they wanted to send her home, you know..." Noah starts from the very beginning of his story because this is the easiest... He knows that he will need all of the time that he can possibly buy in order to cushion the blow. "Rachel's doctor came running in, all excited, you know? He said that Rachel wasn't gonna go home tonight, that there was girl that had been bought into the ER. That she was brain dead. That she was an organ donor..."
They linger inside of their silence for a long time.
Quinn's face is so shell-shocked that Noah can't even read her expression. She cannot possibly believe the fate of this world and what it it has decided to bear down upon them... On most days, Noah can't quite believe it either, but he understands that it takes a little bit of experience to learn how to tread with your feet still on the ground after being delivered such a tremendous blow...
"Oh my God..." When Quinn finally does speak, it is in a melting pot of confusion and undecipherable mutterings, expressions of disbelief that is already apparent based on the look in her face alone. "I don't... I can't... This is a dream. I have to be dreaming, that is the only way... They're... they just said that they're getting ready to bring Santana into surgery. I didn't even think... it never crossed my mind that... that Rachel..."
He responds with his silence, allowing Quinn to piece together the complex puzzle for herself...
"She was with her boyfriend... You know, Michael Glover, that worthless piece of trash from school..." Quinn spits venomously. Noah senses the danger behind her tone and cringes with fear towards her voice alone. "He was drunk. His car hit a patch of ice. Hit a tree."
"Is he...?" Noah's eyes widen, unable to finish his own sentence... His heart lurches inside of his chest. Not even his is entirely sure why his first reaction would be to ask about the status of the boy that had killed Santana with his stupidity, but he is overcome with a craving desire to know.
A part of him hopes that Michael Glover will be fine so that Noah will have the opportunity to murder him himself.
"He's fine." The anger towards this lack of justice is apparent on Quinn's voice. "It's not him that's going to be paying for his mistakes."
"But he'll... I mean, he'll go to jail... he'll..."
"Santana is dead, Noah!" Quinn's voice is sharp and angry and it takes the unfinished words right out of Noah's mouth. Inside of Quinn's arms, Brittney only cries louder. The sound cuts Noah like a knife. He is practically forced to back away.
"We need to stay positive..." Noah transitions with an unheard of optimism. His voice lowers as if to silently indicate for Quinn to follow his lead. Not even he is entirely certain where this is coming from.
"How?"
"By thinking about all of the people that are going to live tonight because of her." Noah reveals his secret, his only means for keeping himself upright in these surreal past couple of hours alongside the understanding that Quinn could use the help just as much as he could right about now. "Rachel included."
"That doesn't mean that I'm not gonna miss her..." Tears streak a voice previously stained with a rock solid edge. Noah recognizes her shifting through the stages of grief, that adrenaline rush of initial loss fading into utter disbelief. That sadness that weighs so heavily inside of your chest that it feels unlikely if not downright impossible that you will ever feel the light of happiness ever again...
"I know." He tells her and he prays that she believes him when he tells her that he knows – that really, he knows.
"Does it go away?" When she asks the question, Noah immediately spots that glint of recognition inside of her eyes... She believes him when he tells her that he knows because she knows that he knows more than anybody else just how badly life can hurt.
"Never."
"Hey, Noah..." His attempt towards guiding Quinn through the complicated roadway of her heartbreak is intercepted by an outsider, but he cannot say that he is disappointed to see his mother tentatively approaching them.
If there is one person on the face of this Earth that Noah knows understands pain, it is her.
Shelby pauses uncertainly halfway between Noah and Quinn and Santana's parents. She waves Noah over to her from afar, her head nodding behind her towards the Lopez' in an indication that she would like Noah's assistance in her attempts towards guiding the newcomers over the bridge and into their familiar land of desolate despair.
"Your mom wants you..." Quinn points out the obvious, recognizing Noah's open sigh of disinterest. "Go..." She shoves him towards the right direction but still, Noah cannot help but to resist.
The last thing that he wants to do right now is face Santana's parents. But his mother cannot afford to face his rebellious side right now, and as crappy as the Lopez' might have been to Santana, they were still grieving. They were still two parents that had lost their daughter tonight.
"Mr. and Mrs. Lopez, I'm sorry for your loss..." His voice is robotic and not even he is entirely sure that it is sincere, but he is angry – understandably so – and Noah knows just how much he hates it when people apologize to him for his family's situation...
So maybe it is unfair that he is choosing to exact revenge upon Santana's parents for failing to keep their daughter safe by any means necessary, but he needs to do something in order to prevent himself from turning around and putting his fist through this ER wall... again.
This is simply the most humane way that Noah can think to alleviate his anger at the moment.
He makes the motion for a formal handshake, but Santana's mother – two times smaller than himself – pulls him into a bone crushing hug instead that surprises all of the air straight out of his lungs.
Noah grows immediately uncomfortable inside of the small woman's arms.
The Lopez' had never liked Noah and they had become accustomed to letting Santana know just how much they disapproved of him very early on in their relationship. Even in Noah's presence.
Noah is more than certain that he is the only one of Santana's significant others that they hated more than Brittney.
But Santana would always counter their claim by informing them that she loved him more than life itself. It was his energy, the way that things always seemed to happen whenever he was around her, the way that he made her feel so alive...
No, they had not liked Noah before him and Santana had been dating. Nor had they liked him after. And they had definitely not liked Noah after the Corcoran's had been housing their daughter when they had kicked Santana out of her own home only for being who she was.
Was... He is already referring to her in the past tense.
When she finally does let Noah go, he reels back slightly in the unexpected nature of the embrace. She shies away slightly as if embarrassed, her eyes leaving the small group as they begin to shuffle uncomfortably amidst an awkward silence until a very deliberate cough placed strategically by Shelby interrupts.
"Mr. and Mrs. Lopez, the reason that Noah and I actually wanted to speak with you... we, uh... we..." Shelby stutters nervously around her words as she struggles with an appropriate means by which to formulate them. Noah's eyebrows arch with intrigue. Even he is wondering what it is that his mother is prepared to say to these people. "My daughter, Rachel... She's been fighting cancer... leukemia, on and off for her entire life and a couple of weeks ago, she went into kidney failure and we hadn't been... we hadn't been able to find a donor." It is the Spark-Notes version of a complicated story but the reaction is still apparent; an understanding of exactly where this is headed. "We... Rachel is going to be getting another chance tonight. Because of Santana."
"Rachel..." The tiny Latina tests Rachel's name against her tongue. The R rolls thick with the heavy accent that Noah had never actually mastered an understanding of, but he catches every word tonight. "She will be getting my Santana's kidney?"
"Yes... She will be." Shelby's voice glistens. It is as though she is trying to emphasize her gratitude through her mere tone, as though words along are not enough to grab its magnitude. "And I... we... the three of us care very deeply about Santana. I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am for your loss, but at the same our family cannot begin to thank you enough for the selfless gift that you have given us."
Shelby's eyes tear. Meanwhile, Noah is still trying his hardest not to scoff.
"Noah... Do you want to say anything?" Noah turns towards his mother, glaring at her as though she is crazy... In fact, he would like to say a lot of things right now, none of which would be particularly appropriate, leaving him to reason that he has absolutely nothing to say...
Nothing that he wouldn't regret anyway.
He is directly in the midst of shaking his head with a decisive no when something comes to mind, a thought that strikes him with a sudden force, insisting that he swallow his own stubborn pride and look Santana's parents directly in the eyes, making the one request that he knows they cannot deny.
"Can I see her?"
She looks like hell but Noah settles that under similar circumstances, he probably would to.
He doesn't even recognize her beneath the layer of sheer bandages providing little effect in aiding Santana back to health. A tube feeds down her throat. It breathes for her with every mechanical pump. They keep her alive solely for the purpose of the organs which will in turn, keep others alive next.
Still, she looks so beautiful that he cannot seem to tear his eyes away.
Noah has been building up to this exact moment – saying goodbye – for so long now that he had previously believed himself invincible against its ill effects. But now that he is finally here, Noah finds himself at a loss. There are no words that could properly describe this feeling. He knows that everything that had once made Santana Santana is already gone.
But it wasn't supposed to be her. It was never supposed to be her.
Death pulls him like a magnet towards her bed. These sort of things, they are just attracted to him and his family. It pulls against his heart painfully. It settles against his ribcage like a brick.
A long time ago, Noah had believed himself prepared for a pain of this magnitude, but he hadn't expected it to be like this. It feels as though everything that had ever been good in his life has suddenly been hollowed out of his body, forgotten... It is happening, and although it may not be happening in the manner that Noah had initially anticipated, it is indeed happening.
It's true... it's really true and he can promise that he will remember her for the rest of his life – and he will – but really, it won't matter. She won't know because she is gone and she's never coming back.
A moan of physical agony escapes from in between Noah's lips. Not even he recognizes his well trained voice. The only thing left for him to do is to concentrate on his breathing and try and keep himself from crying at the site of a husk that had once been his vibrant, over-opinionated, sassy girlfriend... It looks so strange to see her so still that he doesn't know what to do or say in response. For the first time in his entire life, Noah is at a complete and utter loss for words.
A part of him wants to leave but he knows that this is not an option. Instead, this is about facing death, but not alone... Noah would like to think that it's a concept that is much less frightening with somebody warm and waiting right besides her.
Briefly, he wonders if she will come back as somebody else. He wonders if he will spend the rest of her life looking for her everywhere that he goes.
Swallowing heavily, Noah reaches his hand cautiously outwards before retreating in fear once more. He performs this same motion several times before he finally manages to latch onto her hand. The second that he does, Noah knows that it is not hers any longer, and that is what had scared him the most.
Everything feels out of place. It feels insurmountably wrong. Wherever Santana is right now, it's not here. It's not with him.
Before, every time that Noah had been with Santana he had lost his definition. Never in a bad way, but instead in a remarkable visual display in which their edges would blur together in a sea of color that was almost overwhelming... To sit here tonight in her presence and to be able to recognize a distinct vision of who he is compared to who she is, it hurts terribly and Noah cannot seem to figure out a means by which to fix it.
Dry swallowing a handful of times, Noah realizes that he is at an absolute loss for words. He has absolutely no idea how to say goodbye for the girl that he cares so much about.
Tonight, it feels like a lifetime ago that they hadn't just been Noah and Santana but Noah and Santana. It feels like even longer, that love that he'd felt in those months that he'd believed her to be carrying his child, that feeling that the two of them were dancing on top of the world with nobody but each other...
Noah stares at Santana out of certainty that as long as he watches her long enough, eventually, she will have to wake up. Every time he hears a noise – an unidentifiable creak in the walls or the hum of a machine – Noah manages to briefly convince himself that it is her and with time, realizes that this half a second that he is gifted before he is reminded of the truth once more is the only reason that he still remains standing upright.
The only thing that he can seem to think about is his wonderment towards whether or not he had been wrong to ever let her go, and how much the decision would haunt him now that there was no longer any time left for him to fix it.
Santana Lopez had always existed with such a solid exterior, but on the inside, she was hurting. He'd always known this... She hated to be alone. Hated it. Santana could never stand to be alone for more than a handful of minutes at a time. Noah is more than certain that Shelby had never picked up on all of those times that she had managed to sneak into his bedroom at night while she was supposed to be instead making herself comfortable on the couch, and it had worried him at first – the thought of them getting caught – but Shelby had been much too distracted at the time, and Santana much too lonely...
"I want the night time, Noah..." She would always tell him. "I want somebody to be with me in the dark. To hold me. To keep loving me no matter what and to help me when I'm too scared to help myself."
He would never no how to respond to her deepest of fears. Most times, he would only wind up staring blankly ahead... Santana had only revealed her true nature to him after they had stopped dating, but that didn't mean that they couldn't only fall even more in love.
"What if I get it wrong?" He managed one night, flashing her that famous smile that she could never, ever help but to return.
"It's impossible to get wrong." Noah had never realized that Santana's eyes could flash green under the right lighting until then... He loved the way that he could see her entire future stretching outwards into the night inside of them, but he always wondered if the effect really was caused by the light emitted from his new lamp, or if this was just the first time that he had ever really seen her smile.
He would kill to see that smile, even if it was just one more time.
"Santana..." Eventually, he manages to formulate her name against his lips as he swallows uncomfortably against a single word. It tastes bitter against his tongue. Noah is already finding it difficult to recognize the syllables as they roll unfamiliar across his lips.
January was her absolute favorite month. She would also speak so fondly of the snow, how she loved the way that it made the world outside seem somehow brighter, even in the night time. Noah hated it but Santana was always at her happiest when her hands and feet and nose and ears were as cold as icicles. She'd say that it made it that much better to know that they would have to use each others bodies to keep themselves warm. The sunrise would filter inside through the windows and he would rub his hands up and down her freezing cold arms – prickly with goosebumps – before wrapping her into a bear hug, scooping her inside of his arms... He already missed falling asleep watching the glimmer of snow against each other's skin.
He has a lot of love. She had a lot of love, but it wasn't nearly enough... He doesn't want her to be dead. He hasn't felt loved in this manner for nearly long enough...
"Remember that night right after the playoffs? The one at Chris Heisenberg's party... We sat outside all night even though it was freezing cold and I told you that I was going to take care of you... that I wasn't going to let anybody heart you."
With time, the words fall naturally from his tongue. Noah hangs his head. He is almost certain that wherever she is, Santana cannot hear him but still, he is embarrassed by this fault. When he swallows, it is with a handful of tears that chokes backwards and into his sinuses, creating the tears that he had never intended shedding in front of her.
"I'm sorry that I didn't keep my promise."
The grip that Noah has against Santana's hand tightens in the understanding that the least that he can give to her in return for all that she has given to him is the promise that as long as her heart is still beating, it will at least never have to beat alone again. But he can feel his body growing weaker as the tears grow stronger until eventually, he is consumed by them. The sound of himself crying hurts his head. The sound of the machinery stabs at his ear drums. They all sound as though they are hurting her. He wants nothing more than to stop it all, but even he knows that this will only make things worse.
"Can you... Do you think that you can please watch out for Rachel for me tonight?" He swallows and forces the request from his mouth, forcing himself to stop crying because he knows how much she would hate how sorry he can feel for her. "And I'm not trying to sound selfish or anything, but if you can watch out for me too... I think that I might need it in these next couple of days, San..."
He sniffles into his sleeve, waiting for a sign to indicate that she had heard him. The noise is disgusting. Noah knows that Santana would have cringed in her response had she been capable, slapped him playfully across the arm before scolding him about manners... The fact that she doesn't say a word makes all of this seem even more real.
"Please, Santana..." He begs her to hear him but as his heart begins to speed up inside of his chest, her pulse remains rhythmic beneath his fingers. He forces the volume of his voice to raise. Wherever Santana is right now, he needs to be certain that she can hear him.
"Noah..."
He can feel the weight of his mother's glance before he actually hears her. His heart sinks in a flash. He blinks and the vital organ is suddenly thumping somewhere down near his knees.
Not yet... He pleads silently with himself. Please, not yet.
But despite his best efforts to stave off the inevitable, it comes anyway. Just like he always knew it one day would.
"It's time."
They used to always joke with one another, promise each other that they were so in love that they would follow each other all the way to the edge and back, if that is what it came down to. It was a true promise but of course, at the time, Noah had no idea that it would ever end here.
"I love you, San..." He murmurs quickly, trying to compress all of the things that he never had the time to say in her shortened time here on this Earth into a few brief sentences. "I love you so much. Thank you... Thank you for everything that you've ever done for me. For everything that you're doing... I'll never forget you, I promise."
He brings her limp hand up towards his lips, kissing the closed fist gently before releasing her forever. When they part, it is with a rush of wind that lingers between their bodies and leaves him chilled. When he finally does walk away, Noah is determined not to look back, not even once.
It is not the first time that Noah has been taught the lesson that if you love somebody, if you truly love them, you will be willing to give them away when the time is here.
And she might be the first to go, but Noah knows that with time, the rest will only follow. One by one.
She has the hands of a piano player.
This is what her mother always used to tell her anyway...
"Shelby dear, you should forget about something silly like singing and take up the piano instead." This is what Crystal Berry would always tell her every time Shelby would approach her about the singing lessons that she has always wanted. She could be just like Kathryn Waters, the girl in her second grade class that took singing classes and had already been in three television commercials. She wasn't afraid to let everybody know it either. "You have these beautiful, long fingers, just like a pianist and it could take you so much further."
In all fairness, Shelby is excellent with a piano, that wooden encasing of hammers and strings had taken her far throughout her childhood, but in the end it had always come back to her passion for singing, for performing, for becoming a star...
But today, for the first time in Shelby's life, she is more grateful for her long, dexterous fingers than she will ever be for her magnificent voice.
Today, her daughter had woken up with hair on top of her head. They were tiny, soft wisps, nothing beyond a thin layer of peach fuzz and barely noticeable unless you were truly looking, but every time she ran her fingers across the top of a a scalp that had been bare for ages now, Shelby felt as though she were instead running them through grains of hot sand on a beach in the middle of the Caribbean during a perfect summer day...
Today, her daughter had woken up with hair on top of her head and seeing as how it has been nearly a year since Shelby could boast this, she does not take it for granted.
The three Corcoran's sit inside of the hospital for the first time since Rachel had been formally released, a day following the night that Shelby had last brought her into the emergency room.
The shingles virus has long since cleared from her system, leaving behind nothing more than handful of barely noticeable scarring that all of her doctors have informed her will fade with time.
Finally, today is not a bad visit to the doctor's, but instead a good.
Just another thing that Shelby has to be grateful for.
Her, Rachel and Noah sit at the center table inside of the play room that has been designed for five year old's. Shelby's ass barely fits inside of the plastic chair and her knees are hugged close into her chest as she pulls herself in as close to the table as she can, but both Rachel and Noah seem comfortable and for now, this is all Shelby can truly care about.
Shelby can tell just by looking at her daughter that Rachel is exhausted, but her four year old is fueled by a new found excitement. She scribbles furiously with crayons against a piece of bright pink construction paper and makes her mother sit by her side and play with her brand new haircut.
It's been five hours.
They wait for results like they have not been forced to do in so long. Physical examinations, blood draws, lumbar punctures, a painful bone marrow aspiration, this time all routine, all marks of a newly reached milestone; the one hundred day anniversary of Rachel's stem cell transplant.
It is the marker that doctor's love to use. As the saying goes, if a patient has survived the first hundred days post-transplant, the chances that they will survive the next hundred days, and the next hundred days after that and even after that are even higher.
Now all they have to do is wait and see if Rachel truly has survived, because Shelby is not foolish enough to believe that Rachel's physical presence is enough of a marker to really be positive.
"Look, momma!"
Rachel turns from being primped by her mother in order to flash her the completed drawing. The paper is covered in scribbles, typical of a four year old. Shelby has absolutely no idea what it is that she is looking at, but it melts her heart to see anyway.
"That is beautiful, honey." Shelby praises her daughter's creative side because this is her job as Rachel's mother. "We'll hang it up on the fridge when we get home, okay?"
"It's me..." Rachel continues into an explanation, her tiny finger jutting out to an image that only after Shelby really squints, she can distinguish as a stick figure. "And that's my microphone because I'm singing."
"And what are you singing, baby girl?" Shelby's smile broadens. It's been a long time since Rachel had spoken so fondly about her passion for singing and to be honest, Shelby had missed it. She had grown terrified that her ambitious young daughter had taken to abandoning her dreams of stardom and fame for fear that they were dreams that she would never get an opportunity to sing.
"I'm singing like you, momma," Rachel tells her with a tone as though to say that this much should have been obvious, exasperated by the idea that she even has to explain this to Shelby... Her daughter, the diva. "I'm on Broadway."
Broadway... That might as well have been Rachel's first word. While most kids her age were still busy shoving Cheetos up their noses and eating Lego blocks, Rachel instead, has been dreaming of Broadway since the day that she was born.
"And there's you and there's Noah. You guys are watching me so that you can tell me that I'm the best singer in the world when I'm done."
"Well you are the best singer in the world..." Shelby reasons with her daughter with a shrug of her shoulders.
"I know." Rachel responds with a blatant lack of modesty that has Shelby laughing before the young girl turns back towards her pictures, adding all of the little details that she had missed the first time around... A squigly line besides her that Shelby wonders may be her co-star in her big production. A smeared bay of crayon that represents the Broadway stage, her orchestra shown in curly scribbles in front of her...
"Look at my picture, momma..."
Noah vies for Shelby's attention next, the mother's head snapping attentively to face him as her fingers begin to dance across the top of Rachel's head once more... She is addicted and now she is certain that she will never stop.
"Noah, that is lovely." Her seven year old has some more definition behind his art that has come with age. At the very least, Shelby can somewhat identify a human form at the center of the paper. "Are you playing football?"
"Yup,"
Shelby sighs with relief, grateful that her very best of guesses had been correct. Noah depicts himself with a football inside of his hands. He is running, surrounded by hundreds of faces and different colored jerseys making the attempt to tackle him. In his head, Noah beats them all.
"Where are your teammates?"
"I don't need any." All confidence. Her children have a head on their shoulders that could carry them into the oval office of the White House one day. But it seems as though fame is all either of them have on their mind.
"Hey momma, will you be mad at me and Noah when we are more famous than you?" Rachel's question is serious. She is an infinitely curious little girl. They say that on average, a four year old asks four hundred and thirty seven questions a day. Shelby is willing that her four year old – much beyond average – asks at least a thousand.
"No, I will not be mad at you guys." Shelby tries not to laugh because this is a serious fear of Rachel's. She may be a little diva, but she also has a caring spirit that could melt anybody's heart. Shelby has never been prouder. "I will be very, very happy for you two as long as you make sure never to forget about your mommy when you're rich and famous."
"We won't." They echo in a simultaneous chorus, but Shelby silently tells herself that when that day comes, and their promise is not kept, she won't hold it against them.
"Well, you're gonna need a bodyguard, Rae... For when you're famous, I mean." Noah pipes in his expert opinion. Her son changes interests more than he changes clothes, his latest fad – superheroes.
Shelby has yet to find a way to get him to change out of the Spiderman costume he'd worn last Halloween, and Noah was growing like a weed, the outfit was much too small for him. These days, he has been spending the majority of his time "saving the world" - as he liked to refer to it as – but really, he would set himself out to find Rachel's lost toys that he'd usually hide himself for the sake of adventure or else be slaying evil doers like Shelby's vacuum cleaner or her blender or her washing machine...
Volunteering himself to be Rachel's personal protector however, is probably his biggest task to date.
"I can come with you everywhere you go." Noah offers the promise.
"Well, it might be very, very scary... Because everybody in the entire world will want to follow me so that they can put my picture in the magazines and make me sign my name on little pieces of paper. " Rachel informs her brother matter-of-factly. Neither notice Shelby cock her eyebrows in her wonderment towards how it was her imaginative four year old had come up with these sentiments...
"That's okay because I'm very, very brave." Noah's thin chest puffs outwards confidently, the outline of his stick-thin ribs jabbing against his still developing body, prominent even through the Spiderman logo emblazoned across his chest so that the more Shelby stares underneath the light, the more she becomes convinced that these are the beginning signs of muscles of an indescribable strength... If there was one person in this world other than herself that she trusted to look unwaveringly over her daughter, it was her son.
Rachel smiles sincerely in her response, but this is all that she can offer him before turning her head away once more, pre-occupied on finishing her drawing. Silently, she tells him everything that he needs to know, that she already knows just how brave he can be...
How many other children would have stayed here with her for this long?
She is watching her children so intently, and with such intrigue that the corners of Shelby's eyes barely catch Dr. McCarthy as he begins to wave her out into the hallway from the doorway, the quiet jerk of his head indication for the mother to meet with him outside and more importantly, alone.
"Hey you two, I will be right back, okay?" Shelby pushes herself to her feet, off of the too-small chair. Her knees creak from being bent into her chest for so long, but Shelby ignores it easily. "Noah, watch your sister while I'm gone. I'll be right outside in the hallway if you need anything."
"I will!" He is excited by his task, eager to take his first official role as superhero designated to him by somebody other than himself under his wing.
Shelby walks on the balls of her feet. Her footsteps are silent and slow, a direct product of her growing nerves.
Every couple of steps, Shelby finds her head swiveling on its own accord back over her shoulder and towards her children. Noah stands directly behind Rachel, hovering over her in the parade rest position. His spine is stiff. He keeps a perfect watch over his little sister, never once breaking the roll that had been assigned to him.
Shelby knows that her son is only seven, yet still somehow, this comforts her.
"Has everything come back?"
Shelby whispers her question directed towards the doctor as she closes the door to the playroom carefully behind her. Her arms snap nervously by her side, fingers drumming a steady cadence against her thighs. She can already feel the tiny, pin-prick bruises formulating beneath her skin from continued assault, but she keeps right on doing it anyway.
"Everything came back." The man nods his head but his face makes no indication of the results. Shelby's eyebrows raise slowly, curious, her mouth opening slightly as her head juts forward against the axis of her neck as if to egg him on in informing her of the information that she is actually interested in.
"And..."
"And Rachel is all clear. All of the results came back with no indication of any cancer cells present in her system, or that her body is reacting negatively to the transplant." He delivers the blow through a single swift nod. Shelby cringes, expecting the worse so that when the results are the exact opposite of her expectations, she is not entirely certain how to respond.
"I... I..." Shelby stutters blindly, temporarily taken aback in her uncertainty. She is not used to good news. She is not used to this feeling of relief accompanying a visit to Rachel's doctors nor the means by which it overwhelms her, wraps itself around her body, forcing her to react entirely devoid of any sense of herself.
Her muscles control themselves. Shelby throws her body forward, her arms wrapping around the back of the doctor's neck in a tight embrace. She squeezes until he is practically turning blue.
"Shelby..." His voice is high-pitched and forced through the restraint that Shelby is currently placing unintentionally against his windpipe. "Are you alright?"
"Of course!" She beams, trying to react naturally as she pulls herself away from the man that – despite everything that he had ever done for their family – she had never shown this kind of physical affection towards. She straightens her clothing, flicks her tangled hair back behind her head and stands up completely straight, forcing her breathing to return to normal. "Of course I'm alright, but Rachel... she's alright... I mean, really alright? Really, really?"
"It looks like we've got a fighter on our hands, Shelby." He smiles. It shines so brightly that it stings Shelby's eyes and forces her to look away.
"And here I was thinking that she was nothing more than skin and bones this whole time."
It's a dark night in Lima, Ohio.
Tonight, the clouds are so thick that the moon does not have the slightest gleam of silver to show for its magnificence.
Noah sits within a chair in a distant corner of the waiting room that seem miles from civilization. He has separated himself from the group and he knows that it is not right, nor is it particularly fair, but he's suddenly having a difficult time making well-informed decisions.
The waiting room is decorated by time.
Walking inside, the first thing that they had been greeted with was a series of old, black and white framed photographs of the hospital when it was still nothing more than a single building with cows grazing along the front line and babies being born into hay baskets and the logic that blood letting and exorcisms would provide enough medical intervention to save a life...
Things grow more civilized the further the room progresses inward, but Noah finds himself stuck at the very beginning.
Lima Memorial Hospital is one hundred and thirteen years old. One hundred and thirteen years later, ever single person inside one of those pictures besides the door is gone. The thought alone is enough to make him feel impossibly small. There are so many more people that are dead than there will ever be inside of this world right now.
Shelby sits determinedly by herself in the corner opposite from Noah. The two Corcoran's are relentlessly fidgety. They have a genetic tendency not to have much patience for anything that they have to wait for, especially something like this.
She falls into habit quickly, killing herself slowly by pouring her mind through the search engine on her phone, looking up countless articles on kidney transplantation – the things that can go right, but even more profoundly, the things that can go terribly, terribly wrong.
She announces to her despondent audience that under normal circumstances, kidney transplantation is considered to be a relatively safe surgery, but of course these particular stipulations are far from normal.
Despite her very best of efforts, Shelby has yet to find specific information mentioning what to expect when your daughter's battle against leukemia is strangled by kidney dysfunction attempting to be corrected only in the very final moment in the window of opportunity. Instead, she wraps all of the details that she can find tightly around her own throat.
There are the risks associated with general anesthesia. Stroke, heart attack, that one in five hundred chance that she will simply not wake up for no discernible reason...
Then there is the actual, physical surgery to consider.
Even if Rachel was in otherwise good health, her chances of dying on the operating table is one in a thousand. The problem is that Rachel isn't in otherwise good health and although Shelby has yet to come up with an accurate statistic estimating her chances, Noah is willing to bet that they could only wish them to be one in a thousand.
They will not be automatically in the clear should Rachel come out of surgery either. The most immediate concern will be rejection. Even if things do appear okay at first glance, Rachel will have to take medication every day for the rest of her life simply to ensure a permanence in that Santana's kidney will become Rachel's kidney. The leading cause of death for transplant recipients is cardiovascular disease – high blood pressure, coronary artery disease, hypertrophy. The second is infection – a particularly high risk in Rachel's case. After that it is the chances of her having higher risk pregnancies later in life, the need for Rachel to avoid high-risk activities in which there is a chance that her lone, remaining kidney might be damaged...
He doesn't even want to consider the fact that after this is all said and done, Rachel will still be facing an unfinished battle against cancer.
It is a conclusion that – try as Shelby might otherwise – will only be told with time. The list goes on and on, but Noah had stopped listening to his mother a long time ago now.
It's been five hours.
Noah's eyes begin to wander. He finds that he is prone to becoming very antsy very quickly when it comes to waiting.
There are the people that Noah expects to see. His mother, of course, his aunt, his grandparents... Then there is Finn, who he is surprisingly glad to see, even if he does know his friend may be only trying to fulfill his quota of visiting hours after months of prominent absence. Eventually, Quinn had made her presence known, only after the chaos in the emergency room had subsided and dragging poor Brittney along with her alongside the understanding that maybe that unbearable pain that the grieving blonde is currently feeling deep inside of the center of her chest may be soothed by physically seeing everything that Santana was giving.
Quinn sits blearily across from Noah. The only indication that the blonde has given that she has not fallen completely catatonic since her arrival is her eyes, which dance periodically across the room before finally latching upon Noah's.
Her expression is empty. It's different than anything that he has ever seen, and Noah knows that it is because now, Quinn knows as well... Suddenly, Quinn can finally understand why it is that they are all different from the rest – him and Rachel and Shelby – because now, they share a common wound and it connects them all.
If a year ago, somebody would have told Noah that he would be bonding with Quinn Fabray alongside the mutual understanding that sometimes even the best machines can't win the fight, he would have called them insane. Collectively, they sit together and try to gather the support that they will need from one another in order to get themselves through this long and dwindling night, left only praying that it will be enough to give themselves the energy that they will need to be able to reach out and touch the sky once more.
Noah chews quietly on his fingernails. He wants to run away. He wants to lock himself inside of his small corner to grieve and to never come out again but he has already made the promise to Rachel that she will wake up to find him at her bedside and he is not about to go back on that promise. Not now.
His fingers drum nervously against each other before even that motion becomes much too exhausting for his tired body to complete. His hands come together in prayer formation, the tips of his fingers coming to rest against the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes and begs whoever it is that may hear him for Rachel to be okay because if she isn't, he knows that none of them will be able to survive the aftermath.
When he opens his eyes, the first person that Noah sees is Santana.
She sits directly adjacent to him, her elbows against her knees. She is leaning so close into his body that he would be able to reach out and touch her if he so desired. He has half the mind to listen to his subconscious and do so but pulls back against the reflex before he can commit to the motion.
She is not there. It is impossible.
Noah is already seeing her in places that he knows it is impossible for her to be. She is so real that Noah is beginning to wonder whether or not it is possible for something as simple as lack of sleep to cause hallucinations this vivid.
He has half the mind to march over to Santana and tell her to go haunt somebody else before she disappears all over again in a rush of color that Noah sees in the place of a knock against the open door.
Their legs are all so weak from such a prolonged period without use that when ever single person in the room stands simultaneously in response to the small team of doctors standing at the door, they come to an immediate wobble that makes the room appear transparent. Noah almost laughs.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he buries his face deep down inside of the fleshy part of his palms until there is no light left to enter inside of his eyes. His ears block out all sources of sound as he attempts to prepare for the worst by imagining what it might be like to be dead, but only in terms of himself.
I'm dead. He tells himself. Really, really I am dead.
The problem is, the longer Noah tries, the harder this seems to be.
His mother doesn't look at any of them. Noah is certain that she is trying her hardest not to cry. Instead, Shelby occupies the action by wrapping her arm around inside of Noah's elbow. She forms an impenetrable chain between mother and son that leaves him stable on his own two feet once more. Each pulls the other forward in the understanding that one simply cannot do this without the other.
Shelby holds her breath. The mother already understands full well that as long as she does this for a long enough period of time, the white lights will dance in front of her eyes to the point that they are almost relaxing.
Noah squeezes her arm pulling her even tighter into him until they are quite literally joined at the hip.
"Breathe, mom."
The doctors are told apart easily from the rest of the group by their stereotypical blue scrubs, draped beneath a white lab coat that somehow makes them all look scarier than anything that they actually are... Aren't doctors supposed to make you feel better?
Their faces are neutral, arms crossed high against their chests so that no matter how hard Noah is trying, he cannot seem to read a single expression.
He can literally feel each individual heartbeat of every single person in this room.
It forms a rhythm that is tribal, almost primitive sounding. It's a steady drum cadence that in a way comforts Noah despite the sheer panic that the tone conveys.
All eyes are wide. They stare straight ahead, focused upon the group of doctors and briefly, Noah wonders whether they get a kick out of this – being the center of attention – he wonders whether or not this makes them feel like rock stars, like A list celebrities...
The longer that Noah stares, the more he realizes that he doesn't even known half of the people that stand before them... There is Dr. McCarthy of course, then Rachel's nephrologist who Noah never did actually get the name of. Everybody else present is just a mystery.
Noah is just getting a kick out of his wonderment as to whether or not all of these extras floating around are simply here to leech off of the high of fame when his mother's arms wrap so tightly around his center that it nearly knocks him off of his feet in his surprise.
He had been so absorbed inside of his own thoughts and judgments that he had missed everything that they'd had to stay.
Wet tears lace across his skin where his mother's face is buried deep inside of the nape of his neck. They are surprisingly cold and leave him shivering as they drip down his prominent jugular vein before seeping deep inside of his sweatshirt.
His heart freezes in a panic. For a moment, he automatically assumes the worst. Shelby is crying. She is crying and the only thing that is propping her up right now is him. His knees are just about ready to collapse out from underneath him when he hears a strange sound coming from beyond his mother's mouth.
Shelby is laughing.
She is laughing as though she had just heard the funniest thing that she has ever heard in her entire life, and it resonates like a song that swims with relief and sounds like a symphony being conducted inside of his very own two ears.
"Oh, thank God..." He can vaguely hear her muttering into his neck over and over again. "Thank God, thank God..."
His brain is so delightfully disoriented that he goes limp inside of his mother's arms. They prop each other up miraculously, despite the fact that Noah must be at least twice the size of her.
There is commotion in his background, Noah knows this but other than that, he is left blank. He can feel the muscles of his face contorting into a smile that is so wide that it is almost painful and suddenly, he is joining with his mother inside of a fit of laughter that is so intense that it hunches him forwards until his abs begin to burn underneath the strain.
"Thank you..."
His senses are heightened yet still, somehow, all surrounding noise manages to escape from the room as he bends forwards at his waist until his nose is pressed into his knees, closes his eyes and takes a silent moment to himself in order to thank the one person that he believes has made this moment possible – his guardian angle, his patron saint – the grief of her loss aided by the gain of her sacrifice.
But he doesn't linger. Instead, he stands swiftly back to his feet. Suddenly, his body seems a thousand times sharper than it had been mere moments ago. Suddenly, he possesses the hearing of a bat, the eyes of a hawk, the sense of smell like a well-trained hunting dog.
In this universe it is only him and it is only Shelby and it is only Rachel, tied together amidst a common bond of fate allowing them to link their lives together for just a little bit longer. Tonight, Rachel has surpassed all of the odds. She has allowed them all to finally believe that even when the bombs do come raining down all around them, there remains a chance that they can actually find a way to make it out alive.
Even if they do lose a few along the way.
Princess-N-xoxo – Yup, good news and bad news all at the same time. Things can never be easy for these guys. There is going to be a lot of conflicting emotions, especially as time comes to pass and when Rachel eventually does figure out the truth behind her transplant. Shelby and Noah are gonna try to hide it as long as they can, but they can't hide something like that forever.
Just Me – There will be a lot of conflicting emotions that's for sure. Once the initial shock begins to wear down and the effect of Rachel surviving her transplant is replaced more with grief for losing Santana, Noah is going to be doing a lot of beating himself up and Rachel is going to come down with a case of survivor's guilt. Despite all of the relief, losing Santana definitely isn't just gonna go away. Thank you so, so much for your lovely words!
TheCdKnight – I decided a little while ago that it was gonna be Santana all along. In the initial drafts I was writing, I had Rachel dying in the end but in the long run it all seemed too straight forward and almost too easy for me so I couldn't get it out in the way that I wanted it to. But Rachel may have made it past this hurdle, but she still has a long way to go. It will be very easy for them to get caught up in this temporary relief to forget that there's still a huge mountain in front of them left to face. That combined with the guilt that they will feel over Santana is going to leave them in a bit of a mush. Thank you so much for your review! (Both of them haha).
Gleefanficfan – I had a brilliant holiday! It was such a nice change of pace from New York. Hope yours was good as well! Slainte mhath!
Seher143 – I actually started this story with the intention of Rachel dying at the end, that was exactly how I started writing it too. Then because I tend to get excited and started writing the end while I was still working on the middle, it got harder and harder for me to write Rachel's death, literally every time I wrote something it just came out crappy and corny and I hated it so I decided to put this little spin on it, tweaked it a million times and then finally settled on this after a little bit of a run around. Thanks for sticking with me, it's much appreciated! I hope your holidays were lovely as well!
Othlvr16 – I know, it was difficult to write but the day I started writing this story I knew that I didn't want to end it in a perfectly round circle of happy endings, as twisted as that may sound. I just didn't think that it would be realistic, plus I'm a sucker for angst.
Clara Meliza – Haha thank you, I'm honored! As sick and twisted and this may sound, for me it just felt very right. I didn't want to have a miraculously happy ending, but every time I thought about writing Rachel dying, I couldn't get it out right so this is how I settled. Rachel won't find out that the kidney came from Santana until a little while after the surgery because Shelby and Noah are afraid that it will effect the progress of her recovery. The epilogue is going to be told through a series of progressing flashbacks so you'll see Noah coping as compared to Rachel dealing with survivor's guilt and a bit of anger that it took so long for the truth to be revealed to her. Thanks for reviewing!
Seacat03 – I've been leaving Santana out purposefully these last couple of chapters. A few people were asking about where she'd disappeared to, but now you know why! Thanks for the review!
Baygirl123 – She was a close second while I was trying to piece together my ending, but then I started to think about the potential for a sequel and I wanted Quinn to have a larger role in that so I decided for it to be Santana in the end. Thank you for the review!
Lila – I see what you're saying. I tend to rant, I know that and it's not the first time I've been told that. Trial and error I guess, right?
