Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or their affiliates. If I did, things would be very different. Words below are belong to my bacon-addled brain. There also may have been foot long Pixie Stix involved. Enjoy.
Where He Ended Up
Artie Abrams knew his marriage was a sham. He wore saddle shoes on legs that didn't work, and the accident that had taken away his ability to walk had also taken away his ability to have children. Brittany Pierce was the best dancer LA had ever known, and volunteered at a children's hospital whenever she found time.
Brittany had served the divorce papers 6 months ago, but they'd stopped having sex for almost as long as they'd been married. Artie Abrams was sometimes a sexist asshole, but that didn't mean he was stupid; yet he was sitting here, like an idiot, watching (well, eavesdropping and peeping, rather, through the keyhole) as his soon-to-be-ex-wife got the ever living shit fucked out of her by Santana Lopez. And Santana Lopez was the CEO of that (fuck, he'd admit it) delicious coffee company, their neighbor for the past 3 years (again, as long as they'd been married) and the bitch with the biggest dick in the county, if any of the girls at work were any indication). But Santana Lopez was a bitch, and she had been plowing his legal (but not for long) wife for the past 2 hours (but then again they had probably been screwing like bunnies for longer since that harlot Andrea Cohen complained that she hadn't seen or touched that humongous trouser snake of Santana's in 2 years).
Artie Abrams was about to ram through the door (or at least, knock into it really hard, there were some perks to having been used as a battering ram on the worst high school football team in the country) and break up this little fuck marathon if he hadn't noticed that the hotel waste basket outside their hotel room had a pregnancy test tossed inside it. It was positive. And still, as he readied himself to knock that door down (or again, at least hit it very hard with his unfeeling legs) the noises in the room seemed to settle down, and he heard a small, heartfelt 'I love you' from the mouth of Satan herself, followed by a rustling of sheets and a return 'I love so much' from his Brittany. Artie Abrams contemplated his choices: he could be the angry, wronged husband who busted his (technically) wife cheating and they'd hate each other (well, she was Brittany, she'd never hate him, and he'd hate himself) or he could finally man the fuck up, sign the divorce papers, and roll away knowing that he'd given her up to something so much better. Artie sat there for a good 5 minutes before rolling quietly down the hallway and calling that Asian chick from work to see if she would help him move out.
