Title: Journey of a Thousand Miles
Pairing: Puck/Artie
A/N: Written from a life experience I almost experienced it and also because of this great Cicero quote "dum spiro spero" which means 'as I breathe, I hope'.
Summary: Flashes through Puck and Artie's move to LA - wherein they befriend a wannabe 'Go-Gos' style rock band, become BAMFs and fall in love with each other. Oh, and Artie learns how to walk.
prologue
When Artie Abrams was eighteen months old, he took his first steps. His dad took a photo with an old Polaroid camera he had and his mother's smile was euphoric, clutching her son's hand in hers.
Eight years later, everything's changed.
one
The move to LA is less hectic than Artie anticipated - a few boxes here and there, a few goodbyes from family and friends (those that are still in Lima after all - Rachel and Kurt are tearing up Manhattan, Santana and Brittany are engaged to a rich playboy in Miami) - and they're done.
The sunshine is impossibly bright and Puck tugs his shades down, grinning wolfishly at the passing girls as they exit the airport terminal, waiting for the special bus Artie ordered.
"Dude, LA is like, fucking awesome."
Artie rolls his eyes. "Can you maybe keep the fucking with girls until I've got unpacked. I'm sure there's plenty of chicks waiting."
Puck nods, conceding. "True. There's only one you."
Artie chuckles under his breath and the pair watch the golden light cascade over everything around them.
six
The fight starts with nothing - Puck forgets Artie's order of ribs from that pretty amazing Chinese place below the apartment and Artie bitches at him for it.
And before they know what's happening, they're fighting. Like, seriously fighting, yelling and Artie thinks Puck knocks over some photographs that he'd put on the TV. They're arguing about Puck's Big Idea; Artie just wants to move on from this.
"You know what, I can't deal with this shit anymore!" Puck storms out, slamming the door behind him. Artie's head lowers of it's own accord.
"I'm sorry." The chicken drips from it's container. It gets cold. Uneaten.
two
Artie gets a job at a telemarketer's - it's not particularly exciting work but it pays well enough and they've got disabled access everywhere. He makes friends with a couple of his coworkers.
One lunchtime, they're discussing the musical attributes of Journey vs. The Black Eyed Peas (no matter how much they did in glee club, Artie'll always have a soft spot for "Don't Stop Believing" and "Any Way You Want It". He knows Puck does too - heard the melodies enough from the shower.) when Puck appears, a shaven-head mirage and holding a greasy, brown paper bag.
"Dude, you forgot to get anything to eat. Even cripples need to eat, right?" Puck tosses the bag to him and takes a seat as if he actually even works here.
A friend of Artie's - a sweet, blonde chick named Chelsea - looks a bit shocked at Puck's outburst. "Don't worry, Chels. He's a friend. And yeah, that's normal for him... ever since the accident."
Puck's expression shifts into confusion, even when Chelsea starts hitting on him. Artie looks into the bag and sees his favourite Big Mac and fries. He smiles at Puck and Puck grins back.
nine
Artie gets jumped by a couple of cheap and nasty thugs outside of the bar where the Starlights are playing - he goes out to get some fresh air and knows Puck'll follow him.
They tip him out of his wheelchair, taunting and grabbing, the cold metal of a knife pressed against his throat. Artie likes to think that despite the shock, he's been through enough in his life to become serene. Zen.
So when Puck appears and starts unleashing what he'd no doubt describe as "fuckin' mad ass ninja shit" on them, Artie manages to tip his chair right-side-up and push himself into it.
And then roll over one of the guy's hands. Hard.
"Don't you fucking dare lay a finger on my boyfriend!" Puck roars as the thugs scarper, crawling away into the Los Angeles shadows. Then he turns, rushing to where Artie is brushing faint traces of dirt off his shirt.
"You alright? Artie, talk to me." Puck's - Noah's - eyes are wide and blown with fear and anger and Artie lays a comforting hand against Puck's cheek.
"I'm fine. C'mon, the girls are playing and I know Sierra'll know if we're missing." They start to head back, Puck's hand never leaving Artie's shoulder.
"Besides I've got my own bodyguard. What could ever happen to me?" Puck's grin is brilliant and white, the kiss that follows just as bright.
It's only later that Artie registers that Noah called him his boyfriend. That's enough to disrupt his Zen alright.
three
"You seen this, man?"
Artie squints against the sun and sees a purple flyer in Puck's hand. The Starbucks on Venice Beach serves damn good iced tea (for Artie) and some whipped-cream-coffee-shit (for Puck) and lets Puck check out every passing girl in a bikini.
Puck's persuaded Artie into many things - including this move to Los Angeles and Artie's current wardrobe change into something Puck deemed "not like you're a fucking ancient college fucking professor" - and this is just one of the many other times.
The flyer's for a band known as the Starlights who they see that night. Artie thinks they're good, more Go-Gos than the Runaways but still pretty awesome. Puck thinks the brunette chick on the drums has an awesome rack and tells Artie so.
The Starlights end up spending the night with Puck and Artie at the bar - and Artie ends up with the band at their place, playing Guitar Hero 'til four in the morning while Puck takes the brunette - Marina - home. Something nasty and hot boils in Artie's stomach.
The girls are sweet and funny but don't understand the jealous looks Artie sends Marina. And neither does he to be honest.
seven
Artie finds Puck at the bar, dealing with their fight the only way Puck knows how - by getting shitfaced.
"You realise that isn't gonna help." Artie tells him and Puck barely looks over before downing his shot. It's refilled before he can even ask.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. And I know you were just trying to do what's best for me." Artie pauses. Maybe he should have a shot for courage, but Puck's eyes are dark and focused. "It's just... it's scary. And I know I should at least give it a shot... but it's hard."
"You're not doing it on your own, dude." Puck finally speaks. "We all... this might be your one chance. And I just..." He sighs, looking all manners of vulnerable that Artie'd want to kiss him for. "I just want you to live your dream."
Artie tugs Puck into his lap - the chair's strong enough, they've done it enough times to make sure of that - and kisses him soundly.
"Fine. I'll do it."
five
The morning after is interesting to say the least - Artie wakes up with a heavy arm keeping him pinned to the bed. Warmth from the sun pools around him and it's not until Puck tugs him flush against him that it all comes flooding back.
"Morning." Puck's grin is lazy and slow, especially for Artie. They kiss, tangling together. "So... you don't have work today, right? 'Cos I'm ready for round two... or seven? Five, maybe."
"And here I was thinking you had stamina, Puckerman." Artie teases, challenging - and he isn't surprised at all when Puck carries him to the shower and shows him exactly what stamina he's got.
Flushed, hours later, Puck's tracing whorls of sweat in the dip of Artie's back as the sounds of the surf accompany their own slow breathing. Artie's leg twitches and he smiles apologetically.
"Sorry. Still does that sometimes. Must be left over nerve damage or something." Puck nods, but there's something in his eyes now. He's thinking.
eight
Their hands tangle as Puck shucks their shirts off, pants and shoes following seconds later. Their lips never stop moving together, hot and flitting. Desperate, starved.
"Need you... so damn bad..." Puck's voice is raw as his tongue slides down Artie's neck. Artie's free hand fumbles for the bedside drawer, bringing out lube and a condom and handing them over.
Puck prepares himself, prepares Artie, even though they've done this an obscene amount of times now. The neon light spills over them, the sounds of thumping beats resonating with pulsating heartbeats.
There's a moment before Puck surges in when he looks at Artie, broken and sad - but when he's inside, there's a fleeting glimmer of hope in his gaze.
Artie decides to analyse that later.
four
The girls are at the beach, Artie parked up on the sand as they hang out - Marina and Puck are cool towards each other, indifferent. The sea's inviting, crystal azure and Artie wishes he could go inside. It's not the first time.
"Dude?" Puck asks. "We were gonna go for a swim, you mind...?" He indicates their bags, the lurid beach towels and assorted junk. Artie nods. He's used to that too.
"Nah, fuck it." Puck tells the girls a beat later. "I'm gonna hang 'round here a bit. I'm fine." He nods at Artie and then flops down beside him, stealing a headphone.
Hours later, when the sun's fading and the lights of the buildings are starting to fade on, Puck kisses him. "It's just 'cos it's you, alright? I don't... I'm not gay or anything. You're pretty much my best friend, dude, alright? And I sorta like you."
Puck shifts uncomfortably, angrily from one foot to another - and it isn't until Artie kisses him right back that he grins back, promise in his hungry features.
ten
The clinic is smaller than he thought it'd be - but it's just as clinical, as professional and clean. He feels dirty, out of place here.
Puck flips through a magazine, snorting at whatever Lindsay's done now and checking the expensive clock on the wall. "Seriously, what the fuck?" He murmurs.
The clinic is owned by Sierra's dad and she called in a big favour - he's a surgeon of some kind, spinal by the sound of it, used to work at St. Sebastian's - to get this meeting set up. Sierra says it's nothing, all Puck's idea.
He's scared and worried and excited all at the same time: the hope that something good might happen to him.
Well... something else good might happen to him. Puck's hand is a calloused, broad weight on his own and Artie smiles momentarily until a tall, tanned man with salt-and-pepper hair walks up to him and introduces himself as Sierra's father with a warm smile.
Artie takes a deep breath and wheels himself into the office.
epilogue (part i)
When Artie Abrams was eight years old, he was in a car accident. He couldn't walk.
The physiotherapy is intensive, hard. More than once, Artie gets angry or teary. Frustrated. Thankfully the team understand - they've been through this sort of thing all before, different people and different cases - and he gets through it.
Noah tells him more than once to stop being such a pissy little bitch, but then rubs his back comfortingly.
"In time, dude. You're gonna do it." His voice is certain, his confidence solid and unshakeable. His love solid and immovable.
epilogue (part ii)
When Artie Abrams was twenty one years old, he took his first steps.
He cries when he does it, so does the nurse he's with and Noah does a little bit (though he insists they're "fucking bad-ass tears"). It's shaky and wobbly but Artie can do it. It's a different hand in Artie's this time around, his mother's soft, sweetness replaced with Noah's warm, calloused touch.
Sierra's dad's a pro with this stuff, working pro bono for Artie. Artie thinks he'd be a little bit in love if he didn't have Noah to keep him more than happy.
Artie has no illusions - there's no miracle cure, no snap-your-fingers remedy that'll give him back his legs and his hope. He'll probably never become a dancer. It's gonna take months, years.
But maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to dance with Noah. And if he can walk down an aisle in the future, Noah at his side... that's something to hold onto. Something certain to hope for.
After all: all the good journeys, the best journeys, begin with a single step.
Fin.