Quartie

This story will be a series of drabbles, oneshots, possibly multi-chaptered fics, maybe turn into a basic subplot and basically be anything related to Quartie, Lucy Quinn Fabray and Arthur "Artie" Abrams. I've fallen in love with them and the idea of them together. I never publish anything that I believe is absolute crap, so I will try to keep some form of quality in this, despite the fact that these chapters will be disjointed, sometimes-like-therapy for me, rushed, or short.

Glee, in all its fabulousness, which admittedly would be more fabulous with some Quartie loving, is not mine, nor do I believe it ever shall be.

I think this one may be setting it up for a multi-chapter. We'll see if anyone actually reads and wants it to be. Regardless, Quartie is my therapy and fills my dreams, so I'll be writing more of them in some way, shape or form.

Ding-dong! the doorbell rang. Quinn extricated herself from the couch and made her way to the door. "Mom," Quinn called towards the kitchen, "Someone's at the door."

"So?" Quinn asked, turning a withering glare on the young man in the wheelchair, holding a picnic basket on her doorstep.

"Umm... so, I brought you bacon," Artie said lamely.

Quinn's instant reaction was to think Bacon? Mmm. After that half a second of thought, she quickly got an offended look on her face, "Why bacon? Do you feel the need to stretch my stretch marks more? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Actually, Puck just told me you liked bacon, and I'm really bad at this, and I just thought we could hang out because everyone else is busy with everyone else, and you're the only person I know from New Directions that isn't busy, and I..."

"Artie, stop," Quinn started.

Artie nervously adjusted his glasses, and brought his eyes to hers.

"Why are you here?" Quinn asked him.

Artie gave her a strange look, "Girl, did you hear me? I just explained it."

"No, I mean really, why are you here? Are you lonely? Do you think I'm desperate enough to jump at any guy just because I had my heart broken, and the whole club knows how Finn pounded it into the dirt? Are you using me to get over Brittany? Why are you here?"

"No!" Artie immediately answered, "It's not like that at all. Quinn, we barely know each other! Besides, going into go into any relationship any time soon- both of my girlfriends have cheated on me with someone who's hotter than me. I just thought that we could hang out. I can just go now if you want." He started wheeling away. Quinn watched him go. Artie made it to the car, and a man swung around to Artie's side of the vehicle.

"No luck, kiddo?" the man asked Artie. Artie shrugged. Quinn saw the man take Artie's basket out of his hands and place it on the ground before bracing himself to lift Artie. Quinn frowned, and ran up to the car right as the man was starting to lift him.

"Actually, Artie, stay. I think we should get to know each other better. I've been sulking in my room long enough wondering why nobody seems to care about me. I shouldn't be pushing people away. I've had to learn that when people are willing to be there for you, you should let them."

The man who had accompanied Artie removed his hands from him. He turned to Quinn and held out his hand, saying "Hi, I'm Artie's dad. Pleasure to meet you."

Quinn smiled at Artie, then at his father. "I'm Quinn," she introduced, taking his hand firmly.

Artie's father winked none too subtly at his son, while still grasping Quinn's hand "I've heard. You are very pretty, Quinn." Quinn smiled in response

"Thanks, dad," Artie cut in, "I think you can go home for now." Quinn bit back a laugh as she withdrew her hand, and Artie's father lifted an eyebrow.

"Of course, son," Artie's father said once again, as he winked exaggeratedly at his son, "It was lovely meeting you, Quinn."

Artie grimaced. "Sorry for that," he apologized, "My father lives to embarrass me. I try to tell him I do enough of that myself, but..."

"It's okay, Artie," Quinn laughed, "It's a nice break from what my dad was like."

"Was your dad always a jerk to people- before he kicked you out, I mean? Was he ever nice?" Artie wondered, having only heard of Quinn's father.

"Oh," Quinn responded, "he was nice, alright. Nice to the people that helped him serve his agenda. Fakely nice to my mother. Genuinely nice to my sister's 'good christian man' of a husband, but to most people he's passive aggressive. Not that I've seen him awhile since he got with his tattooed paramour."

Artie just looked down, "Oh."

"A paramour means male lover, by the way," Quinn told the boy in the wheelchair.

Artie gave her a look. "I know what a paramour is," he assured her, "I'm not stupid."

Quinn nodded, but she didn't say anything more on the subject. Strange, she thought, I'm not used to being around guys who understand that level of vocabulary.

"Well, come inside," she told him, gesturing to her house, "Don't make me wait for my bacon."

Instead of wheeling himself towards the door, Artie blurted out, "Wait, so you actually want to eat the bacon? I - as soon as I brought it up, I thought Puck had pulled a prank on me."

"No, I love bacon as much as any girl," Quinn confirmed, "Now, come inside."

Artie nodded, and started wheeling himself slowly to the door obviously trying not to let the basket fall from his lap. Quinn took pity on him, and lifted the basket out of his lap.

"I could have carried that," he mumbled, not meaning for Quinn to hear.

Quinn didn't even look down before softly saying, "I wanted to."

Quinn opened the door, and Artie slid in before her. She was glad that their door was level with the outside ground.

"Mom, Artie's coming over. I hope that's okay," Quinn called into the living room.

"It's fine, Quinny," her mother's voice came echoing back.

Quinn handed Artie back the basket. He tilted his head in questioning, and she took the back handles of his chair, pushing him towards her room. "Now, to go to my room, and eat that bacon," she announced nonchalantly.

"Your room?" Artie asked, "Is that - is that appropriate? Would your mother be okay with it?"

"What? It's not like we're going to do anything. I just want to eat my bacon in peace, without my mother coming over to hover around us and tell me I'll regain my pregnancy weight."

"Okay, then," Artie shrugged. They got to Quinn's room, which was simply decorated, but with posters of The Beatles and Fleetwood Mac which seemed to contrast with her pink bedding.

Quinn noticed Artie looking around and said, "Yep. This is my room. Welcome to la casa de la Quinn."