"You came."

Artie looked up, the soft whisper coming from the bed in front of him music in his ears.

"Of course," he answered, softly as he reached out for her hand, hesitating only slightly before his fingers gently enclosed hers. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know," Quinn whispered, looking down at their clasped hands. "I didn't want Mom to call anyone, and then I thought of you, and…I wanted you to be here."

Artie just nodded, smiling a little, trying to look cheerful. That was what Quinn needed, not some sad looking face. "And here I am," he said, as her eyes drifted around the room. He glanced up to his right, seeing the bags hanging from her IV pole, the drug names familiar to him. She was probably stoned out of her mind, he thought.

"I can't feel them," she murmured, after a moment. "I thought I was…dreaming at first. That it was a dream. But it's not…" she trailed off, her eyes filling with tears. "The doctor said it might…I mean…" the words died in her throat, as her tears spilled over.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching up with his free hand, immediately wishing he hadn't used his rough, callused fingers to wipe the tears from her delicate cheek. "It'll be ok."

"No," she said, looking away. "How will it be ok, ever? I can't be like this."

"But…" Artie trailed off, not really sure what to say. What was the right thing. That she would be ok? That even if she couldn't walk, that didn't mean things would never be ok? That being "like that" wasn't as bad as it seemed like it would be?

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Quinn's eyes drifting closed. He thought she'd fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry," she murmured finally, her eyes sort of half opening. "I didn't mean…I mean…I don't know what I mean."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one that happens to," Artie said, smiling at her.

"No, it's…they're making me take all these things, and they're making me feel all floaty and like I'm…on a cloud, floating away."

"I know how that is," Artie said, gently squeezing her hand. "But I'm holding on. I promise…I won't let you float away."

"So tired," Quinn murmured, her eyes falling closed. "Can you stay?"

"Of course," he whispered, softly, as he watched her breathing even out, her head tilting a bit to the side.

And he did. That evening became the first of many. He was there, every day after school, sometimes for a little bit, and sometimes for hours. They had become close. At the beginning he has tried to figure out whether the closeness came from a shared experience, or from something else. Eventually, he stopped trying to figure it out.

He was there the first time they had her out of bed, after she'd insisted that it couldn't happen without him. He offered tips as she awkwardly rolled herself around the room, becoming exhausted after a few minutes. He told her it would get easier. Which it did. He cheered her on, as her physical therapist helped her with exercises to keep her legs strong. Because they would need to be strong.

But he wasn't there the first time she stood. He didn't see the first steps she took. Because he'd been realistic, and she had pushed him away, choosing instead to share these moments with someone she barely knew. Someone he knew just wanted to get into her pants. How could he ever compete with someone that could walk? He didn't think he could.

He'd watched her stand at prom, his view partially obscured by the people standing around him. He didn't like the conflicting feelings rising inside him. Jealousy, because she had been given something he'd never had. A second chance. But also happiness, because he knew how badly she'd wanted it. It didn't matter that he couldn't walk, he thought. Even if he had been able to, he'd never have had a chance. Because she was Quinn Fabray. And he was just Artie Abrams.

A/N: This was written for day 1 of Quartie Week on Tumblr (quartieweek . tumblr . com)

The topic: Missing scene Quartie.

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