Chapter Two

I had a strange dream that night, after I left the hospital.

It starts out with Santana and I back at Atherton, her lying on the quilt we put out in the rose garden. I have a textbook in my lap, and I can tell by the way Santana's breathing is slowing down that she is close to falling asleep. I reach over and pull her sunglasses off, and I see her blinking against the morning sunshine.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask her.

"Brittany," Santana admits with a bit of a half-smile.

I smile at her, and then the textbook in my lap is replaced by a big black cat with glinting yellow eyes.

"You're a lot like a cat," I tell Santana, and rub my fingertips behind the kitty's ear.

"It's cute you like housecats," Santana smiles at me, her old, full-lipped, deep-dimpled smile. She sits up and begins pulling up the wildflowers in clumps. I can't see what she's doing with them, but the cat in my lap is purring and so I keep petting it and looking around.

Eventually, Santana shows me what she's made, and it's a garland. She laughs and leans towards me, and I oblige by ducking my head. It settles directly above my forehead and I brush at the silky petals, chuckling.

"I made it for you," Santana says, smiling.

"I like it," I tell her, and even though I really do, her smile slowly fades.

"It's not golden, though," Santana says quietly.

I look at her, confused. "It's very pretty," I hope that saying that will bring her smile back.

"It isn't good enough." Santana says in a dull voice.

The look in her eyes is so heartbreaking.

I remember that look from a real memory, and in my dream it's almost worse than it was in reality.

"I'm so sorry, Santana," I whisper. We aren't talking about garlands or crowns or flowers, and I think we both know that.

"I wish you didn't leave." Santana says quietly.

I woke up abruptly after that, with my heart aching so badly I could barely breathe. I held Santana's unicorn to my face and tried to stop myself from shaking, but it was a futile attempt. I didn't get any more sleep that night, too haunted by the image of Santana's quivery, broken face.

I've been avoiding Puckerman all day at school.

He has been trying to corner me, and I've gone out of my way to stay away from him.

I don't know what he wants, exactly, but I'm positive it can't be anything I'm interested in.

So far, I have successfully dodged him between my first, second, and third periods, so I have high hopes I might succeed in keeping away from him until the end of the day, since the last half of his classes take place on the opposite side of McKinley.

The last obstacle: lunch time.

The thing is, I would just skip it if I could. They're serving spaghetti today anyway, which looks more like something out of a slop bucket than actual food. It surprises me to see anyone eating it, because it smells like it came out of the boy's locker room.

I know that too many people would hound me if I didn't make some kind of appearance, though. Especially Brittany and Rachel, who (for whatever reason) watch me like a hawk everywhere I go. It was almost worth it, but then I remembered how bat shit crazy Rachel can be, and I am really not in the mood.

I'm being as inconspicuous as possible when I wedge myself between Tina and Mercedes. They look at me with surprise when I slide the chair out from between them, but they don't say anything.

I realize that this might not be the best idea for blending in, because between these two I stick out like a sore thumb, but by the time that crosses my mind I'm already sitting down and it would be even more obvious if I got up and shuffled next to Brittany and Sam, who at least have a chance of camouflaging me.

Puck is nowhere to be seen, so I start to relax enough to snag a roll off of Rachel's tray. She looks at me curiously, but I just shrug and rip the bread apart. "It isn't vegan, is it?" I ask.

Rachel shakes her head and closes her mouth, and goes back to looking at a pile of papers in front of her. I can't make out what they are upside down, but it wouldn't surprise me if they were some kind of sheet music for glee.

"You seem to be in a good mood, Quinn," Mercedes says tentatively from beside me. I glance at her, mildly surprised, and she gives me a cautious smile.

"I'm not in a bad mood," I reply evenly.

I'm getting sick of them treating me like some kind of invalid or mental patient. In some ways, I appreciate the way they have reacted, because if they had just carried on like Santana's accident was nothing then I think I might have gone berserk. Still, there's only so much of this I can take.

Part of the reason why I'm not as close to any of them anymore is because they haven't made an effort to be close, at least not in any way I can connect to. The only ones with any hope of it are Mercedes and Brittany, and Mercedes always wants to talk about God and the healing power of prayer. Brittany wants to talk about snowflakes and sunbeams and Snickers.

Both of those subjects seem awfully confusing to me, so I try to avoid them at all costs.

I used to know where I stood with God. I used to be very sure of it, Him, and my place in my faith. So many things have muddied the waters about that lately that I frankly can't even begin to untangle my own opinions and emotions about Him.

I haven't spent a lot of time analyzing my relationship with Santana according to scripture and what it means for my eternal soul, but I know that at this point, I have a running tab with God for things I need forgiveness for. I honestly don't think the way I feel about her is one of them, though.

I haven't been to church since I came back to Lima. It worries my mother, and even though Mercedes and I go to different ones, I feel like she must know somehow. That could be my own guilt getting to me, however.

"That's very good news, Quinn." Rachel pipes up from across the table.

I guess I haven't been totally accurate in saying that no one has attempted to connect with me. Rachel has done a lot in the recent months to 'get through to me,' which is nice – Rachel is nice, if she's anything – but annoying. I used to think Rachel had some eerie obsession with me and my life last year, before I got pregnant. It certainly seemed that way from where I was standing (which was on the highest, most self-righteous pedestal, I'll be the first to admit), but she was actually pretty cool to me after I got pregnant.

I just wish I knew how to be around her without wanting to strangle her.

I guess before Santana's accident, Rachel and I were kind of friends. Friends enough to go on double dates to the mall and Breadstix, anyway. But since Santana has been in a coma, part of her has rubbed off on me and how I feel about Rachel. Everything that seemed slightly quirky and a little endearing just irritates me, now. Even though I'm not harsh enough (anymore) to say them out loud, I hear Santana's snarky comments about Rachel's nose and her singing and her attitude in my mind whenever I look at her.

Maybe I'm just going crazy. It really wouldn't surprise me if that were the case.

I shrugged at my friends and ate the last piece of the roll I took from Rachel's tray.

I think she took it as some kind of an invitation to start talking to me, though, because she took the opportunity to start haranguing me about glee:

"You know we could really use your particular dancing skill for nationals," Rachel says hopefully. I look anywhere but into her eyes, because I'm absolutely certain they'll be large and glassy and brimming with emotional enthusiasm. "I think you should reconsider your decision to take a furlough from any of our competitions."

When I don't say anything, she seems to hesitate, but only slightly. "Y-you wouldn't have to sing," Rachel's voice is nearly a whisper. "If you don't want to. Even though your voice is lovely."

I suppress a sigh, but I think she can tell I wanted to, anyway. When I finally glance in her direction, she's folding and unfolding her hands nervously, and making earnest eye contact. I want to roll my eyes, but I know that it would be cruel. I try not to be cruel as much as possible, so I just give her a thin smile.

"I really can't, Rachel." It's all I've been saying for the last three months.

Rachel looks crestfallen. I try to shrug off the immediate guilt that settles over me, but it's hard. I don't know why, but I feel downright despicable treating Rachel badly. It probably has to do with the fact that I used to harass her mercilessly (and that was back when I thought I was a good Christian, sheesh) with slushies, cyber bullying and name calling. Even though I realize now I was just misguided and full of empty superiority, and I have already apologized to her as much as I can bring myself to, I still feel a little remorseful sometimes.

"But I am coming to glee club today," I say on a sigh.

It brightens Rachel's face immediately, and I feel sort of awkward that she's looking at me like that right now.

"Where is Finn?" I ask suddenly. I want to remind Rachel that she has a boyfriend.

It never crossed my mind before, but the way Rachel straightened her shoulders and seemed to lean towards Brittany makes me think that maybe there's something going on with them.

It's hilarious, because Rachel is devoted to Finn in the most disgusting way, and Brittany – well, Brittany's Brittany, but I can't shake the feeling.

"He's, um, with Puck." Rachel says, and she glances down at her sheet music again.

I raise an eyebrow and study her face, and then Brittany's.

Brittany is looking at Rachel from the corner of her eye, and her face is completely stoic. It's times like these that I really wish I could interpret Brittany better, because that expression could mean anything.

I don't really care.. it's certainly not my business if Rachel is cheating on Finn with Brittany.

But it would put some things in perspective for me.

It would give me a little bit of relief to know that Brittany isn't.. well, isn't just waiting around for Santana to wake up.

Brittany broke up with Artie after Santana came back to Lima. I don't know the details of it, but I know that it had to do with her.

I wonder how many people at this table know about Brittany and Santana?

I glance around at them, and they're all so absorbed in their own meals and conversations they barely notice. I study the side of Tina's face while she chats with Mike, and then let my eyes scan over Sam, who is sitting across from Tina, flanking Brittany. Then there's Mercedes to my right.

If Mercedes knew anything, she definitely would have said something by now. I think the same goes for Tina. And if Mike knew, Tina would know.

It makes me strangely uncomfortable to think about Brittany and Santana keeping their relationship a secret so well that absolutely no one knew about it except them.

It was common knowledge that they liked to make out and hook up at parties, but the fact that they were practically dating is still undisclosed to the majority of the other glee club members.

It makes me afraid that if – when – Santana wakes up, she'll want a similar arrangement with me. Which isn't that bothersome, because I understand why she feels that way. People at McKinley certainly aren't forgiving to those who are different; I'm a prime example of that. I used to be the first person to zero in on a bit of weirdness and tear someone down over it. But it seems to have escalated to a point of insanity recently. Kurt transferred to another school because Dave Karofsky gave him death threats. The glee club lost another pivotal member in Kurt, and the hallways are slightly more tense whenever Karofsky stomps down them.

Not that Santana knows any of that, yet, but I can imagine she'll be even more thrilled about the idea of being out when she discovers it.

No, what bothers me about that idea is that they could just start up again right where they left off and no one would be the wiser. Not even me.

I don't want to be jealous of Brittany, I really don't. Brittany is my friend. She's been nothing but good to me since I met her. And frankly, if it weren't for her, I don't know if Santana and I would even be on speaking terms right now. I might have never gotten to know Santana without her.

It's so hard, though. I see the way Santana is about Brittany. I feel like I'm nothing in comparison to her.

While I'm composing my covert examination of my friends, I catch the way Brittany's hand rubs along the small of Rachel's back. Rachel doesn't react except to lean into it, and it makes my eyebrows rise.

When did they get so comfortable with each other?

The lunch bell rings and I try to stand up and leave with them, but I'm so preoccupied with the thoughts circling my mind concerning Rachel and Brittany that I'm caught off-guard when Puck lands a palm on my shoulder.

"Hey, Fabray," He says.

I grimace, my whole body tensing. My initial reaction makes it clear I'm not too happy to see him, and Mercedes notices.

"Why don't you back off, Puck?" She says, coming up beside me.

It makes me look at her with slightly widened eyes.

"You got a problem?" Puck asks, his eyebrows scrunching up his forehead.

"Yeah, get your hands off my homegirl," Mercedes says, her tone challenging.

"Look, stand down, Aretha, I just want to talk to her." Puck says defensively, but his hand drops away.

"She doesn't want to talk to you." Mercedes links her arm through mine, and starts leading me away. "So get to stepping."

"Ugh," Puck makes a derisive noise in his throat and then he turns on his heel and walks away.

I give Mercedes what might be my first real smile in months. "Thanks,"

"Hey, no problem." Mercedes reacts to my smile with an even bigger one of her own. "I know he can be annoying. Boy has a one track mind."

I chuckle wryly. "Doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

Mercedes nods, and we walk with our arms entwined. "Lauren Zizes. But it wouldn't surprise me if he isn't entirely, uh, honest, with her." She slants me a look from the side of her eyes. "If you know what I mean."

I nod. "I certainly do." I give a shrug. "I really doubt that's what he wants with me, though."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure, girl," Mercedes is teasing me and it feels kind of good, even if it makes me blush a little bit. "Aren't you interested in anyone, though?" Her voice sounds kind of serious now, and it makes everything inside of me tighten. "Not Puck. But somebody? Maybe Sam?" Mercedes gives me a sly smile. "I saw you looking at him at lunch earlier."

See? This is what I meant about Mercedes. Within five seconds of talking to me, she already told me she doesn't think Puck is faithful to Zizes, and she's trying to insinuate that I've got my eyes on Sam.

"I barely know Sam," I manage, and then I slowly drop my arm from hers. It makes me uncomfortable that we're even talking about this, when just a few minutes ago I was thinking about Santana.

"So get to know him." Mercedes bumps my hip with her own and gives me a sassy grin. "He's cute."

I laugh a little bit, and I can't help the way my face reddens. "Why don't you get to know him?"

Mercedes' grin just widens. "Just ask him out. You deserve to have some fun."

I give a helpless shrug when we reach my locker. "Maybe I will."

Mercedes nods and then gives me an absent wave with her hand. She continues down the hallway towards her own locker.

I exhale once she's gone, since that conversation made me tense and anxious.

How did Santana and Brittany deal with this before? I feel like my face is hot and everything inside of me is bouncing around. I can't even answer questions intelligently, because every other word in my head is Santana and all I want to do is say, "I can't. I'm with Santana."

Of course, Santana and Brittany were seeing other people when they were together.. so maybe it was easier for them.

I'm halfway through picking out the textbooks I need for the rest of the day when Puck slides up and leans onto the locker next to mine. He's got a slightly wounded and frustrated expression on his face, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly at him. I prepare to walk away when he catches me around the arm.

"Hey," I say, slightly annoyed.

"Look, just chill, okay?" Puck rubs his hand through his mohawk with an aggrieved expression. "God, the way you avoid me makes me feel like you're Pac Man and I'm one of the ghosts or something."

"What do you want, Puck?" I know I sound irritated.

"Who crapped in your Wheaties?" Puck asks, throwing his own annoyance at me.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay. I'm having a party this weekend." He pauses. "I want you to come."

"No thanks." I reply immediately.

"Quinn, c'mon," Puck edges closer to me and drops his voice, like he's confiding in me. "I know things have been really hard for you since Santana got into her wreck. I get it, okay? She was like, your bestie or whatever." Puck looks around, almost as if he's afraid for anyone to see him being so sincere. "But I knew Santana, okay? In the Biblical sense."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"That's beside the point.. uhh." Puck glances at me nervously, and then seems to regain his train of thought. "I meant, I knew Santana, and I know for a fact she wouldn't want you spending all of your life inside her hospital room, rotting away." He gives an exaggerated motion with his hands. "You're missing out, baby mama. You need to live a little."

I don't know why, but Puck's little speech put my teeth on edge. "First of all, Puck, Santana isn't dead, so stop talking about her in the past tense."

"All right. I know."

"And secondly, please don't refer to your history with her." I press my fingertips into the bridge of my nose, hoping to relieve some of the pressure building behind my eyes. "It makes me slightly nauseous."

"Okay, whatever you want – as long as you come this weekend." Puck says, his face wrinkled.

"I'll think about it." I say, with resignation.

"Not good enough." Puck presses closer to me, like the sheer force of his presence will compel me to accept.

"Why do you care?" I take a half-step backwards. I don't like Puck in my space.

"Because even though we haven't talked in forever, I still care about you. I notice how you don't do anything but sit around in Santana's hospital room and mope. Your friends miss you. I miss you."

I sigh again, exasperated. "Maybe, Puck. That's the best you're going to get from me right now."

"All right." Puck's voice drops slightly. "I'll just keep bugging you 'til you say yes."

I roll my eyes and shut my locker, and Puck finally lumbers away.

I went to a party when I first started going to glee club meetings again, because Brittany had almost the same talk with me that Puck just did, and I feel much more obligated to Brittany than I do Puck.

I haven't let myself think about it really in depth since then, because even I don't know how to feel about what happened there.

It was still cold back then. Mercedes had it at her house, which meant that it was slightly more contained than a party at Puck's house would be. The kids were respectful of Mercedes' family's belongings, and the music didn't go up beyond a certain decibel.

I didn't feel right being there. My mind was back at Lima General, with Santana. I could see her everywhere – dancing in the shadows, laughing around a corner. I missed her so much that if I stopped to think about it for a moment, my eyes would water. It hurt just to think about having fun while she was hooked up to machines that pumped life in and out of her.

I didn't drink, though I was sorely tempted to get completely wasted. I knew it probably wouldn't end well for anyone if that happened, because I would probably start crying sloppily on someone's shoulder. Or worse, I'd go into some kind of rage. None of my friends needed to have to deal with that from me when they were trying to have a good time.

Eventually, I got tired of walking around and pretending to have conversations with them. It was hot and stuffy in the house, because the heat was on and everyone was dancing. My throat was dry and my nose felt sore. So I stepped outside onto Mercedes' back stoop. The concrete was so cold that I could feel it even through my jeans, and the wind was icy, but at least I could take a breath.

A few moments later, the screen door swung open and then closed again. I started, and turned to see who had followed me. Brittany settled beside me with a muffled whumph, and I reached out to catch her around the elbow to make sure she didn't topple the rest of the way down onto the ground below.

"Hey there." I said, smiling slightly.

"Hi," Brittany said. Her voice was too bright and her eyes were too glassy. I realized Brittany was drunk. Plus she smelled like a liquor store.

"Are you having fun?" I asked. I was still very awkward around Brittany back then. I didn't know how to behave with her.

Brittany just nodded, and crossed her arms over her knees. She looked into Mercedes's backyard. It stretched out for about half an acre, and the back half was completely obscured in darkness. The lights from the house cast dim shadows on the yellowed grass, and the music from the party inside was quiet and muffled.

"I miss Santana." Brittany said suddenly.

I froze, but then I nodded. I let out a slow breath. "Yeah, I do, too."

Brittany turned to look at me with a peculiar face. I couldn't read her expression, and it just set me more on edge.

It stayed quiet between us for a few more minutes. I knew Brittany wanted to talk to me. I was afraid of whatever conversation she wanted to have, though.

It surprised me when she turned towards me and gripped me by the shoulder, though. I turned, slightly startled, and then without any kind of warning, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine.

I was stunned. Brittany rubbed her mouth on mine and then pushed her tongue between my lips, and I could taste the alcohol on her more than anything.

It was an awful kiss, truthfully. I didn't respond, and after a minute, Brittany pulled away.

My blood was roaring in my ears and my heart thudded erratically in my chest, mostly from shock, I think. I stared at her with my mouth slightly open and had no idea what to say.

Then, unexpectedly, Brittany burst into tears.

I stared in complete confusion as she launched herself upwards and stumbled back into the house.

I didn't know what to do with that, so I did nothing.

I went home and didn't even say goodbye to anyone. I walked through the back gate and out to my car, my shoes crushing the ice crystals that formed on the blades of grass. I left my coat inside, but I didn't care. I just got in my car and left.

Since then, Brittany and I have talked a little bit about Santana. She never came out and said it, but I think she was kissing me that night because she thought it would be like kissing Santana. I understand why she did it, even though I don't think it was the right thing.

I have that fun little fact to explain to Santana when she wakes up.

So I'm wary of going to a party. If Brittany gets drunk again, who knows what could happen?

I'm still thinking about it in glee club. I kept my word to Rachel and showed up, even though I didn't want to give Puck the opportunity to hound me again. Mr. Schue didn't give anyone a chance to talk to me much, though. He had them immediately start dance rehearsals. I sat it out, even though he had told me I could join in just in case. No, I know there would be no way I would be with them at nationals. It's only about six weeks away.

I notice more how they look from the outside, now that I'm not dancing with them anymore. I see the way Mr. Schue highlights Rachel in almost any performance. I can tell that Tina gets annoyed by it, even though she never says anything and sings with a huge smile on her face. I've noticed the way that Mike dances with the fluid grace of a ballerina, and Brittany's style is more hip-hop. They're both flawless. I feel true admiration for them and their ability, but also a pang of envy, because I have always considered myself a pretty top-rate dancer. I think beside them I must look like an uncoordinated toddler.

When the meeting is over, the kids are buzzing with excitement and the adrenaline from exercise. I do miss that part of it. I haven't been keeping in shape lately, without glee or Cheerios. I notice the way my body is softer than it was before. I used to run track at Atherton, but here, I spend a lot more time stationary, or sleeping.

I try to slip out the door, but Puck catches up with me before I can fully get away.

"So? What's the verdict?"

I roll my eyes. "Puck, I don't know."

"You really should come." Brittany appears beside him, slightly out of breath.

I glance at her uneasily.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

"Yes, Quinn. I'm going. It will be good bonding for us." Rachel says with a wide smile.

"I don't know, guys." I shift my weight back and forth on my feet. My phone buzzes again.

"We want you to come," Tina offers on her way out. Mike glances back at me. "It'll be fun."

I shrug. I feel like pressured into saying yes since all of them are ganging up on me now.

"Please say yes." Rachel says again.

I look at her uncertainly, and then dig my phone out of my pocket after it buzzes for a third time. I can't imagine who would be texting me, since practically everyone I ever text is in this room or just left it.

I glance down at the screen and then my heart drops.

I can't believe the name flashing across it.

All the air in the room disappears. I can't breathe.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice is concerned now.

I'm lightheaded and my hands are shaking.

"What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Santana."

Rachel gasps, and I glance up to see her staring down at my phone in horror. "Oh, no. Oh, Quinn," She says with severe emotion.

Brittany's face is rigid and staring at me with alarm.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel breathes.

Puck looks frozen and dumbfounded. He's staring between me and Quinn and sharing confused looks with Brittany.

"What?" I can't think. My hands are trembling so much I'm afraid I'm going to drop my phone. My legs are shaky and weak.

"At least she isn't suffering anymore." Rachel says mournfully.

Now I'm staring at Rachel.

"She isn't dead," I say finally. "She's awake."

All three of them are stunned and speechless.

Santana's awake.

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for hanging in there. I know this one is short, but my next one will be long to make up for it. I hope you all review and let me know what you think!

Also, to join the discussion on this and my other fics, you can follow me on tumblr: missmandamargo . tumblr . com