Author's Note: This is the end of this story, readers, to make way for future projects. (I tried not to rush. I've been critiqued for rushing in the past.) While this may not be what you were expecting or hoping for from me, keep in mind – "happy endings, not happy middles." I prefer to follow show canon when possible. But don't worry – the saga of Artie and Tina is far from over!


The sound of their giggles echoed down the abandoned hall as Tina desperately chased after Artie who, with his eight or nine years of experience in a wheelchair, was obviously gunning to beat her again. He turned to watch her cross the imaginary finish line, a self-assured smirk plastered across his face.

"Ugh, you're so much faster!" Tina protested, pulling back on the wheels to stop.

"Excelling at wheelchair races is about my only advantage," said Artie, blushing slightly and looking at his lap instead of her face. "It's mostly just a big hassle."

"This has been a really fun date," Tina announced, much to Artie's pleasing. As he continued to blush and avoid direct eye contact, she added, "But… I want to get out of this chair."

That got his attention. He raised his head to look at her. "Why?"

"So… I can do… this." She planted her feet on the ground and stood as he eyed her curiously. Slowly and deliberately, she leaned on the armrests of his chair and hovered over the boy. Suddenly and without warning, her soft expression changed into a deep, angry scowl. Before he literally knew what hit him, Tina drew back a fist and punched Artie hard in the stomach. He recoiled, clutching his body protectively as she struck him again.

"Why?" Artie wanted to know, tears forming in his eyes. Tina ignored his cries of protest as she continued to hit him, swinging blindly now as her own tears blurred her vision. "Why? Why? Why?"

She hated herself for hurting him and hated that she didn't really know why she did it. But she swung away, feeling as though something unseen were strangling her. "Tina? Tina?" Artie was saying. She barely heard him. Shutting her eyes, she blocked out everything but his voice. "Tina?"

When her eyes opened again, she realized that her pillow was soaked and she was being strangled under heavy blankets. She wasn't in the middle of the hallway at school. Instead, she was on a couch in an unfamiliar, dim room. Her hand, which dangled off the furniture, now clung to Artie's. He gazed up at her from his air mattress on the floor beside the couch, brow furrowed, eyes squinting to see her. Artie let go of her hand briefly to find his glasses on the floor beside him.

As Tina returned to consciousness, she remembered that she was still snowed in with Artie and his siblings. After building a fire to stay warm, they'd all decided to sleep in the living room. Amy was stretched out in the recliner, and Austin snored quietly on the love seat, his frightening seizure apparently forgotten. Only Artie had been disturbed by Tina's nightmare. She wondered if perhaps she'd been punching a couch cushion or screaming aloud.

"I… bad dream," she muttered, reddening at the thought of having to explain what the dream was about if he asked. He merely nodded, however, and reached for her hand again to give it a comforting squeeze. She forcibly smiled at him, but all the while, her mind was racing. She wasn't sure what the dream meant, but she took it as a bad sign. She hated to hurt Artie, but the unavoidable truth was that she would have to hurt someone.

It was inevitable that being with Artie meant she'd have to hurt Mike, and Mike had done nothing to deserve it. Mike was perfect, actually. (Maybe even a little too perfect….) And if Artie chose Tina, it would mean that he'd have to wound Brittany. Brittany, in spite of her wanton reputation, was actually quite innocent and fragile. She didn't deserve to have her heart broken.

"The heat is back on," said Artie, with a yawn. "And so are the lights. You didn't wake up, but the light came on in the kitchen. Amy got up and turned it off."

"Great," said Tina, her voice hollow. That dream just wouldn't leave her alone.

"So the plows should come through tomorrow – I mean, today… "Artie figured that it was probably 5:00 or 6:00 AM because the sun was starting to shine through the curtains. "… Our parents can get on the roads again and you can go home. I guess that school project we were worried about won't be due until after the holidays now."

Tina blinked a few times. "Honestly, I wasn't really thinking about the project…" She remembered to whisper, as she caught sight of Amy stirring in her recliner. "… I was, well, I was thinking about us."

"I've been thinking about us, too," Artie admitted, lowering his voice to a whisper, too. "All night long, actually."

"I don't think you should hurt Brittany."

Tina knew she must have surprised Artie because he opened his mouth to reply to that, but then closed it, an unreadable expression on his face. She burrowed under the comforter that covered her body so that most of her face was hidden, except for her dark eyes. She fixed them upon his blue ones, partially obscured by his glasses, and silently willed him to understand.

After a long silence, he finally said, "I don't think you should hurt Mike either. I was watching you dance with him in the choir room one time, and I don't think I've ever seen you look so happy. I'm glad he makes you feel that way…"

"Artie…" Tina felt a familiar ache in the pit of her stomach. Both Artie and Mike made her happy, but in different ways. She didn't like to compare them, and yet, Artie did it all the time.

"We each need to focus on our new relationships," he went on, after indicating for her to let him finish. "You need to figure out how you really feel about Mike and… I need to give me and Brittany a real shot. Otherwise… it'll mean that you and I only ever had each other. And, in the long run, I don't think that's healthy. I think the only way we'll ever know if we're truly meant for each other is by spending time apart, time with other people. And if it turns out that we weren't meant to be, well, you'll still always hold a special place in my heart, Tina Cohen-Chang. You were the first girl I ever loved."

Her face felt warm, and not just because the heat was working in the house again. She tucked the comforter under her chin so that he could see her smile. He smiled back at her.

"You were the first guy I ever loved," she told him. "You were the first one to break down the wall that I'd been building around myself for so long."

"I'm glad," he said. "The world needed to see the real you. Now you really shine. You don't have to hide anymore. You ought to put little gold stars after your name the way Rachel does because you're a star, Tina."

"Thank you," she whispered back, tears forming in the corners of her eyes and falling onto the pillow. Nodding, he pressed his lips together and stroked her palm with his thumb. "You really changed my life."

"You changed mine, too," he said, dropping his volume when Austin tossed and turned on the loveseat. He delicately let go of her hand. "And now let's get some more sleep before we have to wake up again…"

She nodded, thinking idly that when they awoke again, it would be as though nothing had happened. Their kiss, the other kiss, and the hand-holding in the wee hours of the morning – they were just going to pretend it never happened. Really, what choice did they have if they wanted to protect the ones they loved? It was best that they simply bury this secret, the way the small town of Lima, Ohio had been buried under several inches of heavy snow.

"Want me to sing something?" Artie asked, after she'd been tossing and turning for a few minutes. "Help get rid of your nightmares?"

It wasn't hard to guess what he'd sing…

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you.

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.

But in your dreams, whatever they be.

Dream a little dream of me.

Tina's next dream didn't involve wheelchair races or karate chops to the stomach. Instead, it was just the two of them – she and Artie – dressed in baby blue, dancing the soft shoe tap routine they'd always dreamed of doing.

She owed him one last dance.