Chapter Six: It's Like Forgetting The Words To Your Favourite Song.

The walk had long ago become aimless, pointless and utterly directionless. She doesn't mind though. For once in a long time, Quinn allows herself to diverge from the path of organisation and rigid routine. It's somewhat freeing, but the feeling doesn't remain with her for long. She longs to have a sense of normalcy again – she dreams for a time where she felt content. These days, Quinn doesn't feel like she's herself.

She's someone else, trapped in this body. Quinn can't escape and she can't run, mostly because she's too much responsibility to be so reckless. Maybe that's why she can't help but think that taking on her goddaughter is a terrible mistake, a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Quinn's not well. She's not well enough to take in a child, and certainly not well enough to attempt to be a nurturing female figure in the young girls life. Quinn can't take her friends place – she.. she refuses to take her friends place. It wouldn't be right. (It would be too real.) She and Sam have to make the three hour trip to Lima tomorrow to pick up Brooke, and essentially tear her away from the only family she has now. Quinn's stomach churns at the thought, bile rises in her throat and her vision blurs for a second.

But in a second, it's gone.

Time takes everything. Quinn's come to believe in this philosophy, almost whole-heartedly. Time takes away your beauty, time takes your dignity, it takes your sanity.. And ultimately, time takes your life. They say it heals. She can't imagine not having this heavy feeling in her chest though; can't remember what it feels like to breathe without the burn; can't recall the smile without the tears and guilt that follows.

Quinn glances up in time to realise she's in front of the theatre. It's suddenly very difficult to move, with her feet rooted in the spot and her body refusing to co-operate with her screaming mind. (It tells her to get away, far away, and that she's not ready for this.) Quinn just stares up at the place, taking in it's glory and lights and everything that her best friend was. Eyes drop to the ground, and Quinn knows that her friend was so much more than just her phenomenal talent. Tears push at the corners of her eyes. She inhales deeply, trying her best to push those emotions back into a box.

She jumps at the sound of a voice. "I've been coming here everyday for the past week. C—can't seem to go in."

She's slightly startled to see who's standing beside her, but her expression doesn't betray that. Without saying a word, Quinn simply redirects her eyes to the somewhat now foreboding building. She can't be here.

Quinn walks past the other person, her hand squeezing his arm briefly as she does. She knows that this is just as hard for him – he's lost a brother, too, after all. A brother and a best friend is a burden to take on, and although Quinn's unsure of whether she'll ever make it out of this ditch, she's even more uncertain about everyone else.

Looking back at Kurt – still standing in front of the place, eyes now closed and fists clenched – Quinn reminds herself that he's a fighter.

Thing is, Quinn's not sure about how much fight she's got left in her.

It's been six weeks, fourteen hours, seven minutes and twenty seconds.

The seconds often become hazy, but the watch on his hand ticks relentlessly in order to keep reminding him. It doesn't give up or back down, doesn't listen to his pleads and doesn't halt for grief. Nothing stops, it seems. It reminds Sam of a poem he once did in school, Funeral Blues. He remembers it now like it was yesterday, but as a student, struggled with imprinting the words into his mind – it's odd because now they won't leave him.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone… That's all he wants. Sam wants some recognition, he wants to see them mourn. No one cares though. He tries to go to work, tries to concentrate but sometimes it's just so damn difficult. He's getting better. His methods hadn't been the cleanest, but the result had been what he wanted: numbness. Countless phone calls and drunken fumbles leaves him feeling numb to all emotion, and that's what he practices to maintain daily. (He wants to be like Quinn.)

People tell him it gets easier. He met Mercedes the other day – she came into his job – and she told him gets easier. He wanted to scream at her, almost desired to throw her out. Sam couldn't do that to her though, not to Mercedes and especially not when she was only attempting to help. But it angers him.

Mercedes is healed, continuing on like it never happened. Her life has kept on growing and her world spinning, whereas Sam's is crumbling with each tremor of grief that passes through him. It's not his fault that he's lost. Each day, he returns home to Dina only to have the longing to leave again.

Dina doesn't understand, and furthermore, she's not understanding. She doesn't understand why he has to take Brooke in, why he has to take custody and why he must make sure that she knows every detail about her parents and what wonderful people they were. She's getting frustrated with him, he can tell, but Sam wants her to hold on or be gone. He doesn't have the strength to play games and argue.

Sighing, he turns in his bed. The curtains are pulled across, but he can still feel the heat from the sun outside. The sunshine is so wrong, so against the rain he wants to be thundering against the window. The sunshine is so silent, so silently supportive and joyful. He hears the front door distantly close, and turns his attention away from the sky that he can't even see.

"Honey?" Her voice is like velvet, and it washes over him with ease. Sam's always been turned on simply by the sound of her sweet and elegant sound. For some reason, it doesn't work anymore. He still feels empty, but puts on a smile because that's what she wants him to do.

"In here."

She enters the room then, and leans against the door. She appears concerned, and the frown on her face tells him she's not pleased. "You're still in bed?"

Sam shrugs, struggling to maintain his happy demeanour. "Yeah, figured I should get some sleep before the big drive tomorrow." He slides out of the bed, standing and stretching to awake himself. Dina is still leaning against the door with the same frown which makes him uneasy all of a sudden.

It's gone then, and she's walking towards him, her expression neutral. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

He shakes his head, "No, it's fine. You'd only be missing unnecessary time at work." (You and Quinn in a car would make me very uncomfortable.) Sam looks around the room distractedly for his clothes, knowing that he does need to start packing for tomorrow. They're staying in Lima for three days before making the trip back home. Dina abruptly raises her hand to stroke his cheek, and the caress is so loving that he almost breaks down.

"I wish I could go.." She trails off, her had remaining on his face. "I worry about you." She whispers, and then takes her hand away. "You need a shave badly."

Sam nods, and puts it on his to-do list for tomorrow. If possible, he feels even heavier than he did before Dina spoke.

The morning arrives all too soon. Instead of feeling the dread, grief and utmost longing to run he thought he'd feel, Sam experiences something strange as he dresses himself. He thinks it's anticipation, and wonders how long it's been since he felt something like that. Excitement seems like a bit of a stretch, but there's something positive in his bones.

He wants to see Brooke. His goddaughter; a constant fixture in his life these past five years, and a bundle of sunshine. He reasons that he surely can't feel any worse than he does now – Brooke can only help to heal him. He hopes she has a healing effect, and realises that he has to heal her, too. Sam and Brooke have to try and make the world okay for this child, they have to provide an atmosphere in which she can flourish and not be crushed by the badness.

Dina is still in the bed when he comes back in to retrieve his bag. He takes a moment to observe her; sleeping calmly, no lines of worry etched into her forehead, a serene smile instead of a set line… Sam wonders when he last saw her look so peaceful, and all of a sudden it hits him that he's making her like that. He's making her stressed, worried and most of all, unhappy. In his life, Sam always disliked those that brought everyone else down with them, and now he's one of them.

Kneeling down, he gently brushes a stray blonde hair from her face. She's so beautiful. Small, curled eyelashes brush against the bottom of her eye as her eyes flutter a little in her sleep. The corners of her highly defined lips are upturned, nearly in a smile. (It hurts him that it's the first smile – or semblance of one – he's seen in a while.) Sam strokes her cheek, then kisses it softly, whispering, "I'm sorry."

He leaves for Lima then, for once not feeling as if he's about to breakdown any minute – more than anything, he's a little bit lost. (He doesn't entirely mind it.)

Quinn clambers into the car without a word after placing her case in the boot. He starts the car without a word and begins driving. Without a word, they stay like that for an hour. They have a lot to talk about, and he's not sure whether it's just avoidance they're playing or whether she doesn't want to talk to him. (He and Quinn haven't really talked in a long time.)

Since the silence is threatening to overwhelm him, Sam turns on the radio at low volume. There's a happy, upbeat tune on that he doesn't recognise, but it does him the favour of not reminding him of death or his friends. (He had forgotten how much they had sang. How much they had all sung together.)

Quinn glances at the radio before clearing her throat, obviously ready to say something. He's mistaken though, because no words fall from her lips following the noise. His eyes flicker over to her for a split second and then return to the road. She looks good. He reckons she put in an effort seeing as it's Brooke, because he hasn't seen her look so fresh in weeks. Her hair is slightly curled, reaching just above her elbows. Make-up is light and hardly noticeable on her face; she's never needed a lot to look beautiful. She's wearing a dark blue day dress, the sleeves reaching her wrist and the waist cinched to accentuate her dainty figure. He hadn't forgotten just how beautiful she is, but her appearance surprises him somewhat for some reason.

"New car?"

The question startles him, so much so that he almost wonders if he imagined her speaking. When she turns to look at him, he knows that she did in fact say something. It's takes him a further few seconds to recall her question, and then he chuckles. (It's the most he can manage.) "Since what – four years ago? Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Well not everyone can afford a car every four years, big-shot."

It makes him smile a little to hear some sass in her voice again. Without taking his eyes off the road, Sam responds, "Really? God, I could have sworn that was customary these days. Besides, I feel like I have the right to treat myself every now and again given my teen years."

Quinn nods, "You do. Definitely." Quiet settles around them again until she clears her throat. This time, she speaks immediately after, "Should we talk about this at all?"

"Probably." His answer isn't helpful, he knows that, but Sam's at a loss for words. What does she expect him to say? Wanting to contribute something, he continues, "Living arrangements should be discussed, I guess."

"Yeah." Neither of them speak for a while then. He wonders how long it'll take to get past all of this, to operate as normal again and not always feel as if you're treading some invisible line. Thirty minutes pass quickly as both of them are sucked into their own worlds and thoughts. He's vaguely aware of his stomach giving out, and asks Quinn where she wants to stop for food.

She's not hungry. Sam really looks at her this time; the dark rings around her eyes, tarnishing her creamy complexion; the gaunt, hallow appearance of her frame and the frailty she reeks. Silently, he promises that he'll restore Quinn Fabray.

(So silently, he hopes she'll restore him, too.)

He had the unfortunate luck of being his best man. Sam was joking of course, he was honored to be chosen as the man standing next to the groom. It was a big occasion in anyone's life, but god knew how much this day meant to Rachel Berry. And more than people realised, Finn Hudson.

In Sams mind, they were always meant to end up here. Even in high school, Rachel was off-limits in his mind because her and Finn – they were destined. Granted, Sam didn't believe in destiny and all that, but he did believe in Rachel and Finn. He believed they gave him, and anyone else they touched, hope in love and soulmates. Because there was no doubt in his mind that they were what soulmates would be if they existed.

Finn was fidgeting constantly with the cufflink on his right arm, eyes flying rapidly around the front of the church as he awaited for that moment when that fateful music would begin playing. Sam could see the nerves; fidgeting, shuffling and a few beads of perspiration lacing his forehead. Not to mention that Finn had now asked him four times if he had the rings, which he did. (He had actually stupidly given them to Puck to mind, who had forgotten them this morning. But as he stood at the altar with Finn, Sam had the rings.)

"Dude, the rings?" His voice was panicked and Sam rolled his eyes. He resisted the past few times, but this was ridiculous.

"Yes, I have the rings."

Puck, who was next to Sam, leaned over and patted Finn on the back, "Chill, dude. You know how long chicks take to get ready."

Finn nodded, more to himself than to his groomsmen. Sam was about to offer another word of comfort when the music started playing, which made Finn exhale in relief. They turned around and watched the three bridesmaids make their way up the aisle. Leading was Mercedes. She was wearing a dark green dress that was stark against her skin tone, causing her to really stand out. Her hair was pinned up elegantly and she smiled at him as she reached the top. Sam returned the gesture and moved his eyes to a college friend of Rachel, who also looked great. She was a red-head, and her hair looked amazing with the green. He thought her name was something beginning with L, but couldn't be sure. From the look she was giving the groomsmen, he reckoned she was picking out her mate for the night.

The maid of honour came next, and he instantly forgot about all the others. Quinn was the only maid with her hair down, curled like she did it as a teenager. Like when they dated first. The green dress, strapless, slid down her body like a glove and seemed to caress the curves she possessed. She gave all of them a smile, and winked at Finn. Sam allowed his eyes to follow her to the top of the altar, before realising the star was now in full view.

Rachel looked amazing. Then again, she never did anything half-way. Her hair was pulled over to one side and a loose bun held it together on the left side of her head. Make-up was subtle, but she didn't need much; her dress spoke for itself. It was ivory, also strapless and he could faintly see sparse diamonds glitter along the top of it. The dress was tight, and he wondered briefly how she was walking at all down the aisle.

Sam glanced at Finn and nearly laughed. The man appeared gob-smacked, his eyes glued to the woman's form. No one could miss the grins spread across their face, or how their expression illuminated upon seeing the other. Sam watched Rachel's fathers link their hands together, and turned to the front for the rest of the ceremony.

It was beautiful, he couldn't deny that. Rachel had insisted on writing their own vows, and while he and Finn grumbled about it as they struggled to write anything worth its salt, he had to admit it was worth it. It made the ritual more unique to them and added a personal touch, rather than simply reading out the vows that everyone else did. Besides, their clash of beliefs meant that it was the perfect compromise. Sam cheered loudly along with everyone else when they kissed at the end, and gladly held his arm out for Quinn to take.

The familiar scent of her instantly invaded his senses and gave him that giddy feeling. Sam hated the power she still held over him. Quinn turned to him and flashed him a bright smile, taken away by the moment. He was too, though. Lost in all that was romantic and Finchel, he beamed back at her. Their hands tightly entwined all of a sudden, they watched Rachel and Finn kiss at the top of the steps.

Sam shrugged and kissed her on both cheeks. Glancing back, Puck and Mercedes did the same with Kurt and college friend exchanging air kisses.

He found it funny how the spirits of a wedding can affect anything and everyone. All he knew, while standing there, taking far too many pictures, was that he wanted it at some stage.

(You should know, at this time, Sam had already committed to the idea of it being the bridesmaid at his side.)

So, what do you think? I personally enjoyed writing this chapter, particularly the flashback where we see what once was, and the happiness. Also, some Finchel! I've a question now - I have decided already, but if Sam or Quinn were to struggle more with Brooke, which would you prefer to see do that? As in, who would you like to see struggle more?... Do not own Glee, or "Eet" by Regina Spektor which the chapter title is from.
Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews already, and I am greedy enough to ask for more! So please review, and thanks for reading.
CN