A/N: I think I can officially declare that I am not the primary author. QuinnAbrams is contributing the same amount as me or more these days, and I just love what her input brings to this story that we both wanted to write! Enjoy!
The hospital wasn't all that far from the school, but the ride felt like ages. Amy drove at a quick (but still within the speed limit, of course) pace in order to get them there as soon as possible, which Artie was grateful for. The closer that they got to the hospital, though, the faster his heart began to beat.
Artie wiped his clammy hands on the denim material that covered his thighs. His heart was heavy as soon as he woke up this morning, causing him to stay in bed an extra ten minutes, which set the pace for the rest of his morning and resulted in him running slightly on the later side. When he was getting dressed before the matinee, he found it far too difficult to glance in the direction of where his new Skank-inspired clothing pieces hung. After a sigh and a brief internal struggle, Artie had grabbed a pair of blue jeans, a blue sweater, and a white button-down shirt and put that on, opting to leave his new clothes untouched. It all hurt too much to think about what might have been, with Mack gone forever.
It wasn't long before Amy pulled into an accessible parking space and hung Artie's placard on the rearview mirror. Upon exiting the car, she began handing Artie the pieces of his chair to speed up the process once again. As he clicked the wheels into place on the frame of his chair, Artie's hands shook involuntarily. He'd only ever been "the patient" before. This feeling of uneasiness was new and foreign to him, and he didn't like it. Forcing himself to put his nerves on the backburner for the time being, he transferred into his chair and unlocked his wheels, and he and Amy set off for the building's entrance.
Frannie had texted Amy Quinn's room number, so she led the way. Artie kept his head down as they passed the waiting room they had sat in the night before. He was afraid that just the sight of it would make him overcome with emotion again, and he was determined not to cry today. He was going to be strong for Quinn because that was what she needed.
As the siblings rode up the elevator in silence, Artie mentally prepared himself for what he was going to see. He knew that there was a chance she'd be heavily bruised and not look very much like herself. He sure didn't, all those years ago, when it was him lying in the bed.
"Are you sure you're good?" Amy asked Artie for the second time since she'd picked him up. They had reached Quinn's room and were idling outside, neither sibling particularly wanting to be the one to knock.
Artie took a deep breath and nodded. In a moment of bravery, he was the one to reach a hand out and knock on the door.
A moment later, Frannie opened it up. She was wearing the same outfit as she'd been in the night before. Her hair was a bit messed up and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted, and Artie was sure she hadn't slept a wink.
"Hey," The woman greeted the Abrams siblings quietly. "Thanks for coming. She's napping right now, but she'll probably wake up soon if you'd like to come in." She stepped back, offering Artie and Amy entry into the hospital room. Mrs. Fabray raised her puffy, swollen eyes to watch them come in.
Artie placed his hands on his wheels and pushed forward slowly. His eyes landed on his friend just then, and just as he expected, it was hard to recognize her. Her natural beauty lay somewhere beneath the mosaic of blood, bruises, cuts, and gashes. Artie's breath hitched in his throat and he forced himself to swallow hard and move closer.
She was surrounded by a bunch of beeping machines, each connected to her with tubes or wires. She wore the same neck and chest stabilizing brace that he'd seen pictures of himself wearing immediately after the accident. It was then that Artie realized that the only person he'd ever seen in this sort of state was his eight-year-old self in photographs.
He glanced over his shoulder at Amy, finding that she hadn't moved an inch after Frannie opened the door. She hung in the doorway, her eyes glued to Quinn with an unmasked look of horror on her face. Artie figured that, as hard as it was for him to see his good friend like this, it was certainly harder for Amy. After all, she'd been through this before. Artie hardly remembered anything from the first few weeks of his recovery, but Amy remembered all of it.
"You okay?" Artie asked his sister, softly. Amy slowly nodded, but she didn't move from her spot at the door. He could see the tears welling in her eyes before he turned his attention back to Quinn.
Artie wheeled as close to the hospital bed as his chair would allow. After a moment of hesitation, Artie pulled off his gloves and tucked them into the space between the side of his chair and his leg, before reaching up and gently taking Quinn's hand in his own. Despite the daze he'd been in the night before, he vaguely remembered Quinn's mom mentioning that they thought she had broken some ribs, so he was really careful not to jostle her position too much.
He glanced over his shoulder, to see if Amy would be joining him at her bedside. She would not. She'd disappeared from the doorway now, and he knew why. He couldn't help but feel sorry that his accident had caused his sister so much trauma that it was still present, nearly nine years later. Frannie and Judy looked mystified by her odd behavior, as they settled into two stiff chairs by the room's window.
Artie turned his attention back to Quinn. He studied her black-painted nails as he gently rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. He looked Quinn's body up and down once more, noticing the properly placed pillows beneath her arms and legs, which he knew, of course, were meant to prevent the formation of pressure sores.
Artie squeezed Quinn's hand. He didn't know if she'd be able to feel it, but he did it anyway. He wanted her to know he was there by her side. To his great surprise, she squeezed back. It wasn't a tight squeeze, but it was a squeeze all the same.
Artie gasped as he turned his attention to Quinn's face, where he saw her eyes begin to flutter open. She blinked a few times and a small half-smile appeared on her face when she realized who it was. She squeezed his hand again.
Artie let out the biggest sigh of relief that he didn't even know he was holding in. Her hands work. He tried to dial back his excitement at that, but it was hard to, based on the fact that he'd come to the hospital today expecting the worst.
"Hey," she said drowsily. Her voice was always a little deep and raspy, but since the breathing tube had been removed just a few hours earlier, it was raspier than usual.
"Hi," Artie replied, his face lighting up.
"How are you feeling?" Artie asked her before blushing and starting off on one of his word vomit tangents. "Sorry. I know how much I hated getting asked that question when I was in the hospital. Obviously, you're not feeling all that good. And you're probably... definitely... on a lot of pain meds. Sorry."
Despite her current condition, Quinn chuckled a little at that before wincing. Artie loved her laugh. It was like music to his ears, especially because just the night before he was worried that he may never hear it again.
Ouch," was her simple reply as she continued to wince.
"Yeah, I bet," Artie grinned, acknowledging her pain and deciding to fill the air with his voice, not wanting Quinn to overexert herself in conversation too much. He knew she was still awfully groggy from the drugs. "I remember last summer, when I had that revision surgery, laughing and coughing hurt more than talking. So maybe don't do either of those things for a while, if you can help it. Also, your mom said you may have broken some ribs, so that probably hurts too. Hey, at least you didn't puncture a lung. They also said you're getting an MRI later today to see what else is going on. So hang in there, okay?"
A smirk appeared on Quinn's lips as Artie talked, giving all of his "expert" advice. He may have been the worst patient on the face of the planet during his own recoveries, but he had a lot of acquired knowledge that he didn't mind sharing.
Then there was that other thing he'd come here to tell her.
"And, um…" He felt his demeanor suddenly switch as he prepared to give her the devastating news. "I wanted to be the one to tell you, but… Mack…"
"I know."
Artie swallowed hard. He wondered just how much she remembered, about the actual accident. Hopefully not all of it. Artie was fortunately spared any actual memories of his own, and he always counted that a blessing.
"Nobody told me. I just knew. Intuition, I guess." Quinn averted her eyes for a minute before returning them to Artie's hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. "I'm sorry for your loss, Artie. I hope that you're okay."
"She was... a really special person," Artie said, trying to control his emotions. He didn't need to overburden Quinn right now, not after what she'd just endured.
"She thought the same about you," Quinn said, struggling with every word, but there seemed to be something important she wanted him to hear. He listened intently. "That was what we were talking about before..." she trailed off. "It's weird, I do remember talking about you to her. I don't remember much else. I don't even remember her hitting anything."
"I'm really thankful that you don't," Artie said, giving her hand another squeeze. He always counted it a blessing that he couldn't remember anything past playing soccer in the yard with Amy before climbing into his mom's car. It looked like Quinn had been spared some painful memories of her own.
Quinn's eyelids started to get heavy just then, signaling that another morphine-induced sleep was quickly approaching.
"You get some rest, okay?" Amy told her, and Artie was startled by her voice, as he didn't realize she'd finally mustered up the courage to go all the way into the room. Amy placed a hand on Quinn's forearm. "We'll come back and visit tomorrow."
That statement seemed to satisfy Quinn, who finally stopped fighting sleep and let herself drift off. Artie squeezed her hand once more before slipping his hand away.
"Thank you both for coming by," Frannie said to him as they prepared to leave. "It really means a lot to her that you stopped in. You're good friends."
"She's like a sister to me," was Amy's response, which caused Frannie to falter a bit. Now was not the time to discuss who had been a better sister to Quinn, though, as Frannie gave a tight-lipped smile and a nod.
Artie tugged his gloves back on and tightened the velcro straps as the awkward silence hung there for a moment. "See you tomorrow," he finally said, breaking the silence. "Please text Amy when you get word from the doctor."
Both parties knew what kind of news he was referring to. Frannie nodded again and opened the door once more to let the Abrams siblings out.
They hadn't yet made it halfway down the hallway before they ran into Sam, Rachel, Santana, Finn, and Mercedes, presumably on their way to see Quinn, after staying to clean up after the show.
"How is she?" Rachel immediately asked, her version of a greeting. "Is she okay?"
"She just fell asleep," Artie regrettably informed them, watching as their faces fell. He could tell that they'd been hoping to catch her while she was awake. "They haven't done an MRI yet, so still no word on what her spinal cord looks like, but she squeezed my hand! Like, two or three times!"
His giddiness was met with raised eyebrows and unimpressed expressions.
"So…?" Finn asked, clearly confused as to what that had to do with anything.
"So that means she can use her hands," Artie replied. "And that if her spinal cord is injured, it's probably at a pretty low vertebra."
His announcement was met with blank stares. Sam cracked the slightest smile, but even he looked confused, and Artie hadn't expected that literally no one else saw what a victory it was, to have hand movement, especially so soon after the injury. There had been a time – Artie didn't remember it at all – where they were still waiting for swelling to go down and Artie had been almost completely immobile himself. His mother once shared that even she wasn't quite sure how to be excited about his first hand movements, but when she met a family of a quadriplegic during his recovery, she'd understood why it was so important.
"It means we already know she's not a quad, at least not a complete quad for sure, she's…"
"What about her legs? Will she be able to walk?" Rachel cut him off to ask, much to Artie's annoyance.
"Yeah, I mean, we always talked about being co-captains of the Cheerios senior year," Santana shared. "I was hoping that after she got over all of this Skank stuff, that she'd try out for the team. But she'd have to be able to walk to do that…"
"They haven't done the MRI yet," Artie coolly repeated, annoyed that they couldn't get excited with him about her preserved hand function. "We'll know more after that, but until then…"
"Until then, we're going to celebrate all of the good news we get," Amy finished his sentence, coming to his aid when it was obvious that his friends weren't getting it. "Little victories are victories all the same."
After going in to see Quinn for himself, Sam caught a ride home with them. They rode home in almost total silence. They only talked about where to stop for a quick take-out meal on the way home. When they got home, Artie forced himself to eat dinner and then hurried to his room so they wouldn't have to talk any more that night.
He was ready for his shower in record time, but he took an extra long time in the warm water, processing all that had happened and letting himself cry behind closed doors, so as not to have to explain his thoughts to anyone. He'd rather be alone with all of this.
In the midst of worrying about Quinn, he also couldn't stop thinking about Mack. He'd never, ever experienced a loss of someone who wasn't an older relative. Though any loss was painful, the abruptness of losing Mackenzie wasn't just sad. It was unnatural. Before getting in the shower, he'd checked his phone to reread the last text she'd sent him.
I hate musicals but I'll make an exception for you, RT. See you later.
Mack liked nicknames – the whole "RT" thing for him was her doing, after she'd given up calling him 'Wheels.' He'd never minded being called that exactly, not when the source was someone he knew and liked, but her new nickname acknowledged him apart from the wheels, and that was appreciated.
It devastated him to think about the fact that he couldn't text her back now. See you later. That casual statement might always haunt him.
He didn't even know what was going to happen to her stuff – her phone... her clothes... the few things she owned, as a foster kid. She'd once told him about the garbage bags she'd used to drag her stuff from place to place, until one family actually gifted her a duffel bag. What would happen to her beloved duffel bag? Hopefully it would go to another foster kid. That's how she would have liked it.
He didn't know if anyone would have an actual funeral for her. He didn't know if anyone at school would really remember the girl for much except for much beyond "they call me Mack because I like to make out with truckers at rest stops." The whole story was completely fabricated, with absolutely no truth whatsoever behind it. But that was how she'd liked to remain – mysterious – keeping the best part of herself only for those she truly trusted.
Artie had taken an extra long time in the bathroom that evening. That was why the presence of Sam sitting on his bed, evidently waiting for him to be done, was all the more startling. Ever since Sam had moved in, Artie made it a point to maintain his own privacy, just as he had done with Quinn when she'd lived there. It had been a sort of unspoken rule that his bedroom was off limits. But rules were made to be broken. Artie was just glad he always dressed in his bathroom. He wouldn't have wanted to be clad in anything less than sweatpants and a t-shirt in front of anyone.
Coming further into his room, he found that Amy was there, too, hovering in the doorway and holding her phone. (He'd been too upset earlier to make a big deal about his previous rule that Sam needed to stay somewhere else whenever Amy came home.) Artie put two and two together quickly and realized they were there to share some news about Quinn.
"What is it? What'd they say?"
Amy cleared her throat. "So, her break was a bit higher, I don't think we were told that," she began. "Around C3 or C4, they said, but you saw that her hands were okay so..."
"So, her spinal cord's okay?" Artie knew what it would have meant, for her to have an injury that high. It would have possibly meant impaired breathing, impaired hand function... all the things Artie knew would seriously impact one's quality of life. He specifically thought about that friend of Finn's, the football player named Sean.
"They think so..." she said, ominously as she also seemed to be weighing what a spinal cord injury like that would have meant for their friend. "The doctor said it looks like several vertebrae are badly compressed. There's still a lot of swelling, so there'll need to check again once that starts to go down, but it looks like her actual spinal cord may be intact. So, that's..."
"... huge," Artie finished, nodding and letting out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked suddenly.
"Well, yeah, I mean..." Artie stopped himself. He narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Why are you asking me that?"
And Sam shrugged. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said. "It's just... when we were all talking earlier, about the possibility of Quinn not walking again, it seemed like you didn't... um..."
Sam didn't have to finish his sentence, for Artie knew what he was afraid to say. A quick glance at his sister told him that even she seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Of course I want Quinn to walk again," he said, through clenched teeth. "You know what? Out. I want you both to leave."
"Artie," Amy pleaded, stepping further into the room. "It's understandable, that a small part of you might... might take comfort in having someone who could understand..."
"Out." Artie's heart thudded in his chest, but he held himself together just long enough to watch them scramble out. But as Sam slipped out behind her, he stopped him. "And Sam?"
Sam shot a hopeful glance over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Call Finn," he said, still speaking through clenched teeth. "Tell him you're staying at his house tonight."
And Sam could only nod in return before disappearing behind Amy. Artie transferred hastily onto his bed, Sam's words still sinking in as he arranged his legs on the mattress, as he had done countless times before. It seemed like you didn't want her to walk again. And then Amy's: It's understandable that a small part of you might take comfort in having someone who could understand.
What kind of horrible person would wish for such a thing? He was exhausted, but he was sure he'd be wrestling with this thought, juxtaposed with all his thoughts of Mackenzie and her last words to him, and he was positive he wasn't going to be getting a wink of sleep that night.