Chapter Two ~ Set In Motion

It was early the next morning when his phone rang. Like, way too early. 10am on a Saturday. What manipulative bastard could be shrewd enough to phone at such an indecent hour on the weekend?

Artie clenched his eyes against the phosphorescent blaring of the monitor that must've been on all night, of which he'd been blissfully unaware submerged in the deep, sweet depths of sleep. Fumbling amoungst what he imagined to be reminisces of popcorn bags and Skittles wrappers (thank Eywa his cousins hated those candies and always passed them along after Halloween; they'd turned-out to be as good as any medicine for Sam's heart) he struggled to locate first his glasses and then his phone. The latter required much more effort, as it had somehow ended-up across the room. When he finally got to answering it, the phone had switched to his voice message option, assuming he was unavailable. A suspiciously Sean-Connery-niche accent filtered across the dimly-lit clutter.

"Artie's probably doing something nerdy, like asking his mom to cut his hair for him again because his bangs are uncooperative. He has an interview with the intergalactic senate tomorrow, so if it's urgent, you can reach him via hologram. Otherwise, simply wait for the beep. Live long and prosper!"

Artie's head snatched away from burning holes in Sam's skull when he heard her begin to speak. Of course he knew who it was… he could decipher her instantly from the way her façade of composure coated her wavering voice, like melted chocolate on a salty pretzel stick. "Umm, Artie? I was wondering if you had any plans for this afternoon… I'm scheduled for a check-up to review my progress and it'd really mean a lot to me to have a friend there. I completely understand if you're too busy, of course. Anyways, looking forward to whatever it is you're dragging me into for skip day. And you might want to consider hiding your phone from Sam."

Artie had been wondering what Sam's outlet was when he was going through a rough patch… he should've known. But now wasn't the time to grill him. Artie had more important matters at hand… He had to call Quinn back.

Sam listened through the conversation, his smirk hidden beneath the safe shelter of the fleece throw-over that had acted as his bed the previous night. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to hear that fine piece of handiwork! But as his smudgy mind began to shake off what remained of his sleep and the pieces of Artie's conversation that were floating along the ceiling began to bounce off each other, it hit him. Wordlessly, he rose and began to gather the scattered litter of last night's festivities. Then he ducked out of the room, bolting for the kitchen with the steps flying beneath the pads of his feet, two at a time.

When Artie finally rolled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, the heavy silence hung in thick smog, palpable. Sam tossed a plate of French toast drenched in Aunt J's syrup, and Artie's nose wrinkled a little. "Where's the real stuff."

Sam shrugged, "Couldn't find it in the pantry."

"Oh," His knife scratching the plate pierced the hush of their voices with new-found assurance, and Artie sighed, "still looks good, though."

"Why her?" His back was turned, but Artie could see his hands trembling in an attempt to flip the toast. Egg splattered everywhere. "I know it's none of my business, and that I should be trying to support you too, but I just… I just don't want you getting hurt like we did."

"I know what this is," Artie's breath was coming harsher now, but his chest felt stangely calm, "I know that this is temporary, Sam. It's the chair and not me that she's friends with. I know how that works."

Sam turned to face him, and the egg oozing down his faded blue t-shirt couldn't distract from the soft, puffy pink around his eyes. Had he slept at all last night? "You just deserve better than that…"

"I know," Artie replied simply, "but I'm not getting any better than that. Not for now, at least. So please… can't I just enjoy what little female companionship I have?"

With a shrug, Sam returned to his breakfast, which was beginning to resemble dog food. "What you two do is your business. Just be careful."

With that they returned to their silence. After a while they began to recap on the previous night's Halo escapades, and began to relax again. The phantom of Quinn hanging over them slowly melted into the pastel green of the wallpaper, where they had soaked her into sub consciousness.

Sam was on his way back from dropping Artie off at the hospital when the caffeine cravings hit him. After Rachel's discovery that there had been studies supporting the theory that caffeine scars one's vocal chords, she'd managed to convince Mr. Schue to ban the consumption of coffee and soft drinks. Apparently it was of no consequence to them that at least half the club was suffering withdrawal.

Of course the rule was rarely observed – how many cans of pop had he and Artie alone drank in the last 48 hours? – but Rachel's incessant surveillance of The Bean had made perk coffee a difficult novelty to come by in Lima. Peering over the dashboard, he noted that neither hers nor Finn's vehicle had been parked in front of the quaint little shop. Surely it wouldn't hurt…

The familiar mirth of the bell as he entered ushered him into the buzzing café with a renewed sense of comfort. It felt natural to be back here… safe. Perhaps here he could finally settle back into his skin... Peering down into the glass case, he spotted a macadamia cookie that looked especially appetizing. While he usually kept himself under a strict dietary regulation due to the needs of his vanity, the occasional weekend indulgence couldn't hurt…

He was about to reach for it when he heard his name being murmured under someone's breath. He turned with a start to the girl behind the counter. How could he not have noticed? He must have been wrapped in too many layers of nostalgia. "Isn't it kind of risky to be working at a coffee shop when there's a New Directions ban on caffeine?"

Her eyes seemed mute; their half-lidded gaze startled in a mess of tangles baby bird's wings, tumbling from the nest, "Isn't it kind of risky to be eyeing macadamia crispers when you're obsessed with your six pack?"

She must have realized that the words had stung him deeper than she'd meant for them to, because she quickly retreated to, "It's for college… I'm staying behind an extra year to work so that I can head to the NYADA." Reaching for the cookie with a skillful swipe, she tucked it away in a crinkly brown paper bag, then turned to the matter of fixing him with his usually coffee order. "Besides, you know how I like to get my rebel on. Is it still one shot toffee and two sugar, no cream?"

"Yeah," he sighed, not bothering to ask why she remembered. He knew why she hung on to certain things and not others. "SO you're planning on joining up with Kurt and Rachel after a fifth year here in Lima?"

"Could be worse," she sighed, "That's 2.75"

He didn't hang about after that. For one thing, she was at work, and it was busy. And for another, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear about her plans right now. Especially when they were plans he could never see himself fitting into.

It wasn't until he'd settled on the couch with a worn-out copy of Fahrenheit 451 clutched to his chest, when his eyes travelled to the coffee table, to the crinkled paper bag and he realized that she hadn't charged him for the cookie.