Author's Note: I know I usually write Tartie fics, but the preview for the Christmas episode inspired me to write my own interpretation. Like most of my speculations, I expect this one to be completely wrong. But this is one way I imagine the Artie and Brittany storyline going down. One-shot. Enjoy!
Artie Abrams rounded the corner and tore down the hallway so fast that he sent some unsuspecting nerds tumbling down like bowling pins. He paid them no attention and kept going, but was finally stopped when he hit a wall of jocks. Unlike the geeks, they merely stumbled back a pace or two and looked down to find the sheepish culprit panting and out of breath.
"Watch where you're going, punk!" shouted Azimio Adams, who cracked his knuckles menacingly in front of Artie's petrified face. Puck stepped in, putting himself between Artie and the other jocks. He quickly reminded them that hitting a cripple in a wheelchair was off-limits. As the jocks dispersed, the self-proclaimed badass calmly turned away from them to address Artie.
"Start explaining or else," was all he said. Artie knew that Puck was only putting up a front for the few guys that still lingered within earshot of them. Ever since Artie started tutoring Puck in geometry, the pair got along famously. And Artie no longer had to worry about which staircase Puck would try to push him down.
"It's Brittany," he said, but he didn't want to say anything else in front of the other guys. He looked at them and then back to Puck. "Can… I talk to you in private?"
Puck took Artie's chair by the handles and ducked into the nearest classroom, which just so happened to be the astronomy room. "Don't say stuff like that to me in public," he warned. "You're still supposed to be afraid of me if anyone asks, remember?"
"Sorry," Artie said, quickly, his eyes scanning the orbiting planets. He'd found Brittany in this room during the week before Sectionals. It was where he'd given her that "lucky comb," which ultimately backfired on him. But he did get several nice kisses because of that silly old piece of junk.
"What's this about, Abrams?" Puck wanted to know.
He wrung his hands, uncertain if coming to Puck was the right move. It felt like the right idea at the time. If it weren't for Puck, he wouldn't even have Brittany. At Artie's hesitation, Puck grew impatient and looked at his watch. When Puck moved towards the door, Artie spoke up at last.
"It's Brittany," he said, again, drawing in a deep breath and firing the next part rapidly. "Brittany still believes in Santa Claus! She told me in second period today when we were talking about what we wanted for Christmas. I didn't know what to say so I just played along…"
"Santana doesn't believe at all," she'd said, doodling a picture of what appeared to be a taco in the blank where she was supposed to conjugate the Spanish verb. "I thought that was weird. She's, like, named after the Mexican Santa Claus."
"Oh," he'd said, at a loss for words. The corners of his mouth twitched, however, as he stared at his girlfriend. First the magic comb, now this. Her innocence charmed him.
"You believe, don't you Artie?"
"I said that I did," Artie explained to Puck, who was doubled over with laughter by now. He frowned in annoyance. "Look, I came to you for help, but if you're going to laugh at me, you can forget about your precious tutoring. You still owe me for the dinner at Breadstix, remember?"
"So, you want me to pay you back by not laughing?" Puck asked, incredulously, as he somehow managed to suppress his chuckling.
"Nope," said Artie. "I want you to drive us to the mall to visit Santa. Brittany said it's real important that she ask for her gift in person this year. She said she usually just mails a letter…"
Puck shook his head, but he wasn't refusing. He simply couldn't believe the lengths to which Wheels would go to please the world's dumbest cheerleader. "Whatever you say, dude."
Puck took the liberty of inviting the rest of the glee club along after school. Mercedes, Tina, Sam, Quinn, and Santana piled in, making for a very squished and uncomfortable ride to the mall. But Brittany had been thrilled, thinking that she was among fellow believers. (Well, except for Santana, that is.)
Half an hour later, they were waiting in a short line at the Lima Mall to visit Santa and his elves. Upon arriving, Artie had noticed one problematic detail that worried him a bit: Santa was black. Mercedes said she appreciated the mall's open-minded approach to Santa Claus, but Artie was concerned that this Santa wouldn't match the Santa in Brittany's mind. As it turned out, this didn't matter.
"I know he's just one of Santa's helpers," Brittany whispered, leaning over to put her mouth level with Artie's ears. His eyebrows arched but he said nothing. "Santa can't be at all the malls. But it's okay because the helper can still tell Santa what I want."
After several children, all of them under the age of ten, had taken their pictures with black Santa, it was finally Brittany's turn. Artie beamed as he watched her climb the steps and happily plop down on black Santa's lap. Black Santa recovered from the shock and greeted her with his customary: "Ho-ho-ho!"
"Well, he's got that part right," muttered Santana, with a smirk. Artie shot her a dirty look and Quinn gave the slightest shake of her head, narrowing her eyes menacingly at Santana. Like Artie, Quinn also found Brittany's persistent faith in Santa Claus rather enchanting.
"Hi, Santa," Brittany greeted, being sure to give black Santa an exaggerated wink. She leaned over and whispered in his ear: "I know you're not the real Santa. You're just a helper. But you can tell him what I want, right?"
"Er… that's right," black Santa replied, mystified.
"See, that guy over there?" she pointed out Artie. "That's my boyfriend, Artie…" She beamed at Artie, who smiled back and gave a friendly wave while the others stared on.
"I want him to be able to walk," she finished.
As black Santa furrowed his brow, at a loss for words upon hearing this request, Artie folded his arms across his chest, also quite dumbfounded. "Now we're screwed," he said, under his breath.
Later that night, Artie lay wide awake in his bed, thinking about Brittany's wish. Well, she wasn't the first. Another girl had made that wish for him. He remembered the efforts of Tina and all the time she'd spent printing out information about new research in spinal cord injuries. Artie had tried his best to please Tina, even going so far as to believe that this research would provide a cure within his lifetime.
With Brittany, it was different. Her child-like faith in Santa was going to be crushed if Artie didn't suddenly stand up out of his chair on Christmas Day and stride across the room, good as new.
He stared at the clock for hours, which passed with agonizing sluggishness. He didn't know what he was going to say to her, but he was going to have to make sure she understood – Artie wasn't going to be her Christmas miracle.
At 2:00 AM, he called her. Surprisingly, she answered the phone brightly, as if she'd been wide awake. "Oh, hello, Artie," she said, sweetly. "What are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep," he replied.
"Me neither," Brittany said. "I try counting sheep, but that never works because I lose count and have to start over. So, now I try to go to sleep by writing in my journal. Then it feels like I'm at school and that usually makes me want to go to sleep."
"Oh," said Artie, smiling in spite of his worries. "Well, listen, since neither of us can sleep, maybe we should meet for a latte before school to give us a little extra energy to get through the day."
"I love our early latte dates," she said. "See you tomorrow, Artie!"
After hanging up, he closed his eyes. He would say something – what exactly, he didn't know – to let her down gently tomorrow morning. Something along the lines of, "Santa's a really good wish-granter, Brittany, but he just can't make a cripple walk."
Artie fell asleep by writing in his journal for awhile, and sure enough, it was a pretty effective way to invoke sleep. It emptied his mind of all his worries to get them down on paper. In the morning, what he'd written probably wouldn't make any sense. But at least it was out of his head for now…
Two gingerbread lattes later, they were relaxing at Starbucks for the ten remaining minutes before they would have to take off for school. Artie had transferred onto a tiny leather couch. He sat up straight while Brittany sprawled out across it, her head in his lap. He stroked her hair and decided to tell her what he'd recited to himself while getting dressed for school that morning.
"Brittany," he began, nervously. "There's something I have to tell you. You're going to be ashamed of me, but… I have to tell you anyway."
Brittany sat up and twisted her body around so she could look at him. She gave his lips a gentle peck and he licked them, enjoying the taste of Lipsmackers immensely. "I promise not to be ashamed of you."
He sighed. "Brittany, I… I don't believe in Santa Claus." His eyes fell to his lap. "I know I said I did, but I don't."
Her blue eyes grew round. "Why not?"
As Artie opened his mouth to explain, he found himself distracted by the music in the background. You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch… "Well, um, I stopped believing when I was eight. That was the Christmas after the accident, the one I spent in the hospital…"
"Momma, there's something I have to tell you," Artie said, after he had set the last of his small presents aside. He'd received some pretty cool things, the best present being the shiny new guitar. Obviously, the roller blades he'd wanted were out of the question now, but the guitar was a pretty good substitute.
"What is it, sweetheart?" she'd asked.
"I know you and Daddy bought me all these presents," he said, seriously. "I know there ain't really no Santa Claus. But don't worry, I won't tell none of the other kids here. I think they need to believe he's real for a little bit longer."
Charlotte Abrams had drawn in a jagged breath as she watched the magic of Christmas leave little Artie's eyes. Just a year ago, he'd been writing letters to Santa and leaving cookies beside the mantle. Now he was sitting in his new wheelchair, looking like a small adult as he told his mother that his days as a believer were over.
"Why do you think he's not real?" she'd asked, compassionately.
"'Cause he can't make me walk again."
"… And so I didn't believe in him anymore after that," Artie finished, eyeing Brittany warily. He wasn't lying to her by sharing his past, but he didn't want to cause her faith to waiver.
Brittany looked like she might cry. "I'm sorry, Artie," she said, in a whisper. "Sorry you didn't get your wish when you were eight. But is it okay with you if I still wish it? See, I figure that really big wishes – like making a cripple walk again – maybe those wishes just take a lot longer. Like, I don't know, ten more years or so…"
Artie smiled, relieved to hear that Brittany wouldn't be crushed if he wasn't walking in the next three weeks. Ten years wasn't altogether impossible, he told himself. Afterall, Tina seemed to think that some of those studies would be ready for human trials in ten years. He laced his fingers through Brittany's and she, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, placed her head on Artie's shoulder.
Sometimes it was nice just to let yourself believe.
"Thanks for using up your Christmas wish on me," he said.
"It was the best wish I could think of," she replied. Then, in complete seriousness, she added: "World peace was a close second."