Author's note: I know it's been awhile since I've written anything; unfortunately I got sort of distracted and bogged down with various life things (don't you hate when that happens?). I guess the second half of Season 1 of "Glee" finaly starting up got me inspired, so here's some new work! Please, try to contain your excitement. ;)
This idea has actually been floating around in my head for awhile. As much as I love "Glee", unfortunately the writers have favored some characters at the expense of others, which results in the audience not knowing a whole lot about the true nature of those neglected characters. Two such characters, in my mind, are Tina and Artie. We don't know much about them outside of some basic, superficial details: Artie's in a wheelchair and appears to have an affinity for hip-hop music, Tina dresses like a pseudo-goth and faked a stutter for a reasonable amount of time. That's pretty much it. Not many details exist outside of that. So I decided to put together a series of little vignettes that elaborate on the relationship between these two based on those simple items, via the parts of their bodies associated with those items (for example, Tina's streaked hair) - you know, take the one-dimensional stuff and make it something substantial. I hope that I explained that sufficiently, ha! And I also hope this entire little ordeal goes over well!
As you're told over and over again, reviews are always greatly appreciated (soooo much thanks goes to those who have been kind enough to review already! 3 ), so let the constructive criticism fly! Also, I have some ideas for topics for future chapters (i.e., legs, hair, etc.), but since the length of this series has yet to be determined, I'm open for suggestions--share your ideas if you so desire!
So, in short (too late for that?): read, enjoy, and if you're so inclined, review! Thanks for your time, hope you like it!
Chapter 1: Hands
Artie is overprotective of his hands—not out of pride or shame, but necessity.
He understands the drastic importance of his hands as an individual who doesn't have the luxury of mobility via his legs. His friends and peers can sprint to their classes to avoid being late, stand on tip-toe to reach items just out of their reach, crouch down until seated if they wanted to place themselves on the floor, dig in their heels and stop short to avoid colliding with each other in the hallways of McKinley High School. Artie didn't have the luxury of using his legs to their fullest potential. Because they sit prostrate below his waist, his upper extremities have to do the jobs of four limbs—and at the forefront of that constant endeavor are his hands. Within those ten digits he has to find the strength of two sturdy thighs, two resilient knees, two durable calves, and two solid feet.
His hands are the only thing bridging the gap between functionality (or at least the maximum amount of functionality he could achieve) and complete futility. It was a bit ironic, though: Artie needs his hands to survive, but using them so intensely drove them ever deeper into a state of corrosion. Pushing those cold metal rims all day resulted in calluses and blisters that his gloves couldn't always protect against. The friction of the rubber wheels against his hands burned red-hot streaks across his palms. Rain would pelt his hands, soaking them to an uncomfortable point. The winter was the worst, because the cold of an Ohio chill was unrelenting, numbing his fingers and stabbing deep into the joints of his digits. Every day his hands suffer abuses others don't understand just so he can live a "normal" life.
But being Artie Abrams, he never complains or wishes for a body that wasn't quite so broken. Instead, he recognizes and appreciates the tasks his hands perform, and guards those hands as best he can. When he wasn't using them to propel himself (quite literally) through his life, he kept those precious tools folded in his lap, curled up into himself and away from the damaging world hovering outside his wheelchair. Whatever rest they got was welcome and necessary. He grew to become very cautious of any activity that might further strain the muscles and ligaments stretched from his wrist to his fingertips. Did he need to grasp or pull or push? Was it absolutely essential? If not, then Artie would refrain and avoid it. The risk of exhaustion or injury was enough reason to abstain.
Artie has the tendency of absentmindedly pressing his thumb into the pad of the palm of his opposite hand, rubbing in small, deep circles to knead some relief into the fleshy patch. Without being conscious of it, his body would try to heal itself, doing its best to safeguard the skills and strengths it still possessed. When one hand received its respite, they would switch, the refreshed thumb working on the opposite hand.
Artie himself may not have been aware of this habit, but Tina noticed. She spotted it once during New Directions practice while Rachel was belting out one of her many solos. She saw his thumb gently but firmly knead the mass of the palm, then move on to the rough calluses at the base of each finger. She knew that she couldn't identify with his exact pain, but she was familiar with the ache of overused muscles, and she felt the corners of her mouth turn downward as she realized that nearly every minute of his day caused him some sort of discomfort that couldn't be avoided. As a girl who cared deeply for Artie, in more ways than one, she felt the want to relieve his pain suddenly wash over her that afternoon.
So as soon as she got the chance, she did what no one else dared or thought to do: She touched his hands.
It was an atypical quiet lunch for the two of them, with their usual partners, Kurt and Mercedes, skipping the second half of school to cause their own sort of chaos at a remarkable sale at the local mall. With their sandwiches eaten, Artie and Tina proceeded to catch each other up on their individual lives, sharing anecdotes of amusing family incidents. While Tina was recounting the previous night's dinnertime debacle resulting from an adventurous-but-unappetizing recipe choice of her father's, her eyes slid towards to the section of the table directly in front of Artie, where his hands were resting. Sure enough, his right thumb was rubbing the palm of his left hand, trying to ease out the day's aches.
Without pausing her story, Tina reached across the distance between them, gently took Artie's left hand out of the grasp of his right, and with both of her thumbs, began to massage it.
Artie's attention immediately shifted from Tina's quiet but enthused voice to her actions. He was taken aback at her thoughtfulness. She would frequently push his wheelchair through the hallways of the high school to give his arms a rest, but this was a whole new level of kindness. After a few minutes of smoothly working the stress out of his left hand, she made sure his right hand got the same treatment. Before Artie could stifle his shock and address the sweet and touching act his best friend had performed, the bell rang and Tina was a streak of black hair whisking her way behind his wheelchair to take them both to their shared fifth period class.
This was the first time Tina caressed Artie's hands with the intent of relieving whatever pain she could, but it was far from the last. Not only did she make it part of her lunchtime ritual (she disregarded the glances Mercedes and Kurt would pass to each other when her hands cradled Artie's), but she would find herself grasping his hands in her own during any acceptable moment when they were both still. Tina saw the strain that Artie had to suffer simply to make it through one day and into the next. She wanted to do what she could to eradicate that suffering.
She wanted her own hands to help bear the weight of his.