A/N: A few months ago, a graduate from Cornell came to a class of mine. He was a genetic engineer. The idea for this story has been in the back of my mind ever since Dream On, but I never really had the inspiration or knowledge to even begin to start it. However, during the engineer's lectures, I couldn't get the idea out of my head and even wrote ideas in the margins of my notebook, so I thought I'd give it a try. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This story is categorized under science fiction for a reason. I am by no means a doctor/scientist/etc.

Subject: Clinical Trial.
From: Dr. Darren Harper.
To: Arthur Abrams.

Good afternoon Mr. Abrams,
I'm writing to you on the behalf of Dr. Ian Chang and Dr. Sally Miller of Ohio State University Hospital. As you probably know, the treatment for spinal cord injuries has been buzzing over the last decade, and there has finally been a potential break though that looks very promising. As of now, human candidates are needed that would willing to participate in a clinical trial. Although many successful tests with rats and other mammals have been conducted, our bodies sometimes react differently to the same conditioning, so in order to have this new treatment be on the market for public use, it has to be deemed safe for humans. Attached to this E-mail is the statement from Ohio State University. You've been a patient of mine for many years, and it's a lot to ask, but your type of injury is exactly what they're looking for – so if you're at all interested, give me a call and we'll set up an appointment to talk about your options.

Darren Harper, M.D
Lima General Hospital.
(419) 526-3912 ex. 4.

I couldn't believe the Times New Roman font before my eyes. It was like a page from the future in my packet of underdeveloped studies I had once researched for Artie so long ago…almost as if my sophomore self was being resurrected from the grave. Memories from the back of my mind started swimming though my nervous system, my favorites playing on a loop behind my eyes. However my older, and less naive, self stopped the sixteen-year-old within from getting too excited. Attempting to hide my mixed thoughts and feelings, I looked down at Artie. His pupils were dilated, and the surrounding space was glimmering with hope. However, I found it nearly impossible to hold my tongue.

"Artie…" I started.

"Isn't this great news?"

I sighed, "Artie."

"I mean…out of thousands of people…me. Tina, they want me."

"Artie, please let me talk," I said, placing the letter in his lap, and crouching down in front of him.

"Okay, sorry - go," he letting out his trapped air with a grin.

"Art, this is amazing news…but,"

"But what?" He asked, burrowing his eyebrows behind the frames of his glasses. "Tina, this is what I…we've been waiting for."

"Please hear me out," I said, placing my hands on his knees. "Artie, it's an experiment. That's what a clinical trial is."

"Yeah…so what?"

"So, it might not work. Something could go wrong."

"But they'll never know if it's never tested."

"But why does it have to be on you?"

"Because, Tina…I-I want to walk again."

I brought my shoulders up to my ears, and hung my head shamefully. He was making me feel like the bad guy…almost as if it were up to me; he'd never stand up out of that wheelchair again.

"I'm not asking your permission," Artie said softly. "But I'd like you to support my choice."

"You can't honestly tell me that you've made a decision already."

"Tina, I'm meant to have this surgery. I can feel it."

I closed my eyes and sighed, "Can I at least think about it?"

He nodded his head twice.

I was tired from being on my feet all morning and afternoon as the sarcastic, hanging on to my job by a string, part-time waitress at Breadstix. To be fair, I hadn't been home five minutes when he shoved the print out into my hands. My feet hurt and I just wanted to lie down with a cup of tea and a good read. This wasn't something I could just decide with the snap of a finger like a decision in the grocery store between apples or oranges. Either way there, you'd still get fruit…but here it was the difference between making things better or inevitably worse.

The next time he brought up the topic, I mentioned my fruit analogy. He nodded along and pretended to understand, but I knew he was blinded by the empty promise of him walking again by a group of strangers with medical degrees and sharp fancy instruments. Artie respected my opinion, I knew that, but nothing I could say; no matter how right, was going to make him think rationally.

"You're not busy Saturday afternoon, are you?" Artie asked, pushing a pea in circles around his plate.

"No," I answered with a flirty smile. "Why?"

"Well," He started, pulling at his shirt collar. "I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Harper, and-"

"What?" I interrupted, quickly swallowing my mouthful of water so I wouldn't spit it out over dinner.

"Just for an informational meeting," he quickly added.

"I don't like this, Artie. I want more time to think about it."

"Any more time, and they'll choose someone else," he mumbled.

"Good," I said, under my breath. "Let someone else be experimented on like a lab rat."

"I just want more information," he calmly said, reaching for the top of my hand. "You're right, I'm jumping to quickly into this."

He really didn't believe that. If it were up to him, he'd be on the operating table the second that E-mail arrived in his inbox. Artie was just smart and knew my weakness was he admitting I was right.

I took a deep breath, "Fine. I'll go with you."

"Thank you, Tina. It means a lot."

"This doesn't mean I agree," I sternly said.

"I know," he said, turning my hand over, and pressing his palm to mine.

I looked down at our hands, took a deep breath, and slightly pressed the corners of my mouth against my cheeks, "Lets not talk about this again until Saturday, okay? I don't want to fight about it anymore."

Artie hesitated before closing his eyes and nodding in agreement. I squeezed his hand in appreciation before pushing away from the table to clear my plate. Passing by, I kissed the top of his head before making my way to the sink. Even over the running water, I heard him sigh, and from that simple exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide, I knew the next few days were going to be exhausting.