12/30/2010

A/N: Short chapter is short.

The absolute last thing that Santana wants to be doing on her first Saturday back in New York City is heading to the outer burroughs. She's got her own moving to do, because the shit her roommate in the sorority house thinks is cute is absolutely not staying on her walls. Besides, there's a huge party going on at one of the frats, and she's got shopping to do, and plenty of other things that are preferable to helping Gimpy McStumbles move into his own very special, handicapable dorm.

The only upside is that Artie has promised pizza and beer for anyone who helps, and she does love her some 'za. Still, she thinks, as she climbs up from the subway to blink in the harsh light of a Flatbush morning. She glares at everyone wandering around – all a bunch of freakin' trolls. B & T people are the worst.

"Santana! Hey!" She turns to see Blaine, Rachel, and Kurt happily waving at her from just across the street. She takes a deep breath and heads over to them.

"Hey," she says, trying to ignore the way that Blaine and Rachel have launched themselves at her to create a weird, human octopus hug. "Where's Frankenteen?"

"He's busy getting his room set up," Rachel says, at the same time that Kurt says "he's afraid of the subway."

"Riiiiiight," Santana drawls. "Well, I'm only here for the brews and 'za, so let's get this thing on the road. Where's Wheels?"

"You never change, do you, Satan?" Kurt asks.

"Come on," Blaine says. "Brooklyn College is just a few blocks down that way."

The two hobbits, clearly excited, walk in front, their short, dark heads close together as they point at everything they walk by, practically bouncing as they go. Santana holds back a little.

"So, how's he doing?" she asks. Kurt sighs.

"I don't know," he says. "He's going to vision therapy, and he says it's helping, but it's obvious that he still can't see right. His depth perception is clearly off, and he's near-sighted now."

"So get him a pair of glasses and call it a day."

"It wouldn't help," Kurt says. "It's a traumatic brain injury, not a formation of his actual eyes. They said that another surgery might help, but Blaine doesn't think it's worth the risks." And then, in a clear attempt to shift focus off his pint-sized boyfriend, he asks, "and how are you doing with Brittany?"

Santana shrugs. "You know, I'm okay," she says. She's surprised that it's actually true. When Brittany had first told her, at the end of the summer, that she'd be staying in Ohio, Santana had gone slightly. . .well, berserk wouldn't be completely off. She'd been terrified of heading back to New York without her girlfriend and her best friend, but she'd known, somehow, that Brittany was right. She didn't belong in New York, and it would be a lot easier for Santana to live in the sorority house, with its lower rent and closer proximity to campus.

"You're my best friend," Santana had sobbed, grabbing the blond girl and holding her tight, as if she could keep them together by the simple force of her arms. "I can't lose you."

"You won't," Brittany said simply. "I'll always be here, Santana. I just can't be there."

Santana pulled back a little, fighting the tears in her eyes. "Do you not love me anymore?"

"You know I do," Brittany says. "But I don't belong there. You're all chasing your dreams and I'm just. . .there."

"You were chasing your dreams, too," Santana said fiercely. "They were about to promote you to cashier, remember?"

Brittany just shook her head. Santana sighed, and laid her head down on her girlfriend's shoulder. "So. . .what?" she'd asked. "We're just going to do this long distance?"

There's a long silence, and then Brittany is petting her head, the same way she pets Lord Tubbington. Santana takes a moment to look around for the cat. He's known to be crazy-jealous, and the last thing she needs is for twenty pounds of cat to jump on her face and asphyxiate her.

"Do you want to?" Brittany asked.

Santana's first reaction was to insist that, yes, of course she wanted to try at least. But then she tries to think about it. Think about the Skype conversations, the phone, not being able to touch and taste her girlfriend, not being able to just sit here, like this. She thinks about how Finn and Rachel had failed so disastrously at the long distance thing, how even Kurt and Blaine had struggled with separation, when they at least lived in the same city.

"No," she says finally. "No, I don't think we should."

"Then we won't," Brittany says simply. "But we'll still be friends."

Santana had smiled, reached down and linked her pinky with the other girl. "Best friends," she said.

"Brittany was my first love," Santana says tenderly. "But first loves don't ever last forever."

"You want to tell that to Rachel?" Kurt asks dryly. She glances over at him, wonders if he doesn't realize the hypocrisy in him making that statement. A moment later a flush rises to his cheek, and she realizes that he does.

"Anyway," he says, clearing his throat. "New topic?"

"New topic," she agrees, glad to be able to talk about something light. Last year had been pure drama, and that's one of her promises to herself this year. No more drama. She knows how to study better, how to maintain her scholarship, and more than ever she knows that she wants to one day work in an ER. She knows how to travel the subway safely, knows how to flirt with girls at clubs, and knows – possibly for the first time, really knows – that she has a great group of friends who will help her get through any hard times.

Artie and his mom are waiting for them when they finally arrive at his dorm, just off the corner of Brooklyn College. It has a wheelchair ramp, as promised, though it's quite a bit steeper than any of the one's at Lima. Artie happily waves them over.

"Hey, guys, it's so good to see you all again!" he says, fist-bumping Blaine and accepting an awkward hug from Rachel.

"Oh," his mom says. "Moving some of the bigger furniture might be tough."

"Hey," Blaine says amiably. "We're stronger than we look."

"Well, he is," Kurt says mildly. "Blaine boxes. I mostly just do jazzercise."

Mrs. Abrams doesn't look like she quite knows how to respond to that. Artie rolls his eyes.

"Really, there's not that much to move," he says. "I'm in a single, and it already has a bed and dressers. It's mostly just moving clothes and stuff."

"And décor for the room, of course," Kurt says. Artie blinks twice.

"Huh?"

Mrs. Abrams gets them settled back down with two sharp claps of her hands. A moment later, Santana finds herself pulling a wheelie suitcase up the stairs while Blaine is juggling the microwave and coffeepot and Rachel is nearly buried beneath all of the comforters and bedsheets. Kurt is just talking with Mrs Abrams, while it's all that Artie can do to push himself up the ramp.

They open his door – fully equipped with a push-button to open – and head in. Kurt and Rachel whistle.

"Wow, this place is lovely," Rachel says approvingly. "It's not as quaint as Julliard, but it's quite a bit bigger."

"Same old cinderblocks as NYU," Kurt says. "But yeah. . .quite a bit bigger. I wish Tim and I had a place this nice."

Santana shrugs. It's nicer than her dump studio last year, but not quite as nice as her sorority house. Blaine wisely doesn't say anything, as nothing really matches up to his doorman-equipped two bedroom on the Upper East Side.

It only takes two more trips to get everything in. Kurt finally abandons his aversion to sweating when Blaine threatens to try and carry in the huge tv by himself, and Santana gleefully gets to carry the music instruments while Rachel, once again, ends up buried beneath a massive Christmas tree.

"Why do you need this thing anyway?" she asks.

"Abrams family tradition," his mother says. "The tree goes up after Thanksgiving and stays up until Pentecost. We didn't want Artie to have to go without."

"Mom, please," he says frantically. "You're embarrassing me."

"Oh, I am not," she says. She turns to Santana and the rest of them. "I'm not embarrassing him, am I?"

"I think I'm the only one who can make that decision," Artie says. He looks around the room, filled with boxes and unopened suitcases, and then back to his mother. "Um, Mom. . .thanks for helping but. . .can I just. . .set up. . ."

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Abrams said. She leans forward with practiced ease and places a kiss on her son's forehead. "I'll just let your friends help you settle in. Pick you up around seven for dinner?"

"Sounds good," Artie says. "Thanks, mom."

She leaves, and Santana thinks, not for the first time, that Artie has a really fucking cool mom.

"Okay," Artie says, clapping his hands. "Let's order a pizza and get this thing set up!"

"Veggie!" Kurt pipes up. He's already buried deep in the closet, hanging up Artie's nerdy-ass button-downs.

"Vegan!" Rachel pipes up.

"Meat-lovers!" Santana and Blaine say at the same time. Artie grins.

"Just like old times," he cackles, grabbing a credit card out of his wallet and calling. Rachel starts setting up the blankets and comforters on the bed, leaving Santana and Blaine to set up the tv, microwave, and other appliances.

"Guys, I really, really appreciate you doing this," Artie says after he finishes placing the pizza order.

"Hey, no problem, what are friends for?" Blaine says mildly. HE seems somewhat befuddled by the various plugs for the tv. Santana rolls her eyes. Prep boy has probably never had to put something together by himself before.

"No, I mean. . ." Artie shakes his head. "I was kind of worried about coming out here. New York City isn't exactly the most handicap-accessible place. And I know school will be fine, but. . .it's just good to know that I have friends here. Who can help me."

Rachel, Kurt, and Blaine all smile at him, but Santana feels something sharp stab her in the gut. She looks at Artie, trapped in the metal contraption, and thinks about how many of the subway stations aren't handicap accessible – about how only half of the city busses are, so sometimes Artie will have to wait for one to come, about how none of the taxi drivers will help him into the car, or collapse his chair for him, even in the hope of getting an extra tip. She thinks about all of the restaurants that have stairs in the front, and the way that the streets are always hopelessly crowded.

They don't get it, Rachel, Kurt, and Blaine. Sure, they had problems their freshman year, but none of them were problems with the city itself – New York was always a magical place for them, and Rachel and Kurt's disappointments at school didn't have anything to do with the city itself. And Blaine – despite the. . .incident. . .he was fucking flourishing in New York, the big man on campus, nice place in Morningside Heights, and plenty of money to do whatever he wanted.

Not like her. She'd spent her freshman year feeling like the city was out to get her, always trying to push her out, to live somewhere safer, somewhere easier. She understood what Artie meant. Everything was against him, and he would only survive her by pure force of will. She leaned over and squeezed his hand.

"Hey," she says. "You're one of us. You ever need something, just let us know."

Artie looks a little surprised, but he still smiles at her. "Thanks, Santana."

A/N: Reviews are love!

Coming Soon: Kurt wants Blaine to have surgery. Rachel wants Finn to get serious. Santana wants to get laid. And Blaine doesn't know what he wants.