Warnings/Spoilers: Everything belongs to Ryan Murphy; I just bring the characters out to play. A drabble, post season two.
Summary: We each hold vigil our own way.
The gesture was sweet and a hospital staple. Flowers - a small bouquet of lilies - sat upon the window sill adjacent to the bed. Sunlight filled the cracks between the petals and the stem filling the room with a broken juxtaposition of shadows that danced with the breeze. Brooke would never see the flowers or shadows. Chances are by the time she woke that bunch would be long gone, but Sam vowed that just because they were gone didn't mean she wouldn't keep the room filled with others until the blonde awoke. Even if it took years to keep that promise.