Chapter Nine
Rachel took a deep, deep breath.
"As you know, I was born coming up to exactly seventeen years ago. My mother was a teenager at the time, a senior at this very high school. This is one of the reasons I didn't want to tell you; she was a teenaged mother who gave up her child for adoption. I know that must hit a little close to home for you."
Quinn gulped. It did indeed. She shook her head, trying to get her mind off Beth, although the picture of the child as she had last seen her, a small, adorable bundle wrapped in Shelby Corcoran's arms, persisted intruding on her imagination. She cleared her throat. "What about your dad?"
"I didn't know for a long time. I did some research into it last year, though. My mom got pregnant in the spring of her junior year, by her boyfriend, a guy called Hiram Berry, which explains my surname. I was never told my mother's name, but I got my dad's. I got in touch with my paternal grandparents, who told me about him. We've emailed a few times. See, while my mom was a junior, my dad was a senior and the summer after graduation, he joined the army. Unfortunately, he was killed in an accident at the training camp. He never knew my mom was pregnant, at least I don't think so. His mom and dad were so upset afterwards that they moved out of state to get away from Lima. They live in Florida now."
Quinn placed her hand on Rachel's, gulping. "Rach, I'm so sorry. That's horrible."
Rachel flashed her a small, sad smile. "Thank you, but we've gone nowhere near horrible yet. Anyway."
"Like I said, my mom gave me up for adoption, and then pretty much disappeared. I guess she finished high school, probably graduated when I was about six or seven months old, but I had been at what amounts to an orphanage for all that time. So, I grew up, here in Lima, in the social childcare system."
She dropped her eyes and took a swig from the water bottle held loosely in one hand. Still, she didn't look at Quinn.
"There are horror stories about places like that. Almost all of them are untrue. Anyway, there are surprisingly few people in this area wanting to adopt, or at least there were then. You'd think a baby girl would be picked up quick, but I was there for six years, experiencing nothing worse than some mild bullying from more disturbed kids and unintentional neglect that's just par for the course when the adults looking after you are just doing a job.
"And then, I was adopted. Pretty suddenly, really. The Grants, a fairly wealthy couple, had everything, except the ability to have a child. So they adopted me, and I felt special. I felt loved. For the first time, I guess, I felt like people cared for me, specifically. For a few years I was probably a lot like a normal kid. I had parents who loved me and who cared about me. I went to school, I had a few friends, although none very close. I got singing and dance lessons, which I loved.
"Things began to change when I was twelve. I started puberty, early I guess, and I think I might have been a bit difficult, demanding more and more of my adopted parents' time, and they're busy people. But I also think, once I started to move away from being a 'little girl', they just didn't like me as much. They wanted a child, not a sullen teenager. It seems weird, but they're really obsessed with image, and I started growing away from the image they had of themselves. The final problem was, though, that against all odds my mother got pregnant.
"It was kind of a miracle, considering a load of doctors had told them it would never happen. And suddenly, it was kind of all they cared about. The new child, their own child. And all things considered, I'm not sure I can blame them for that."
Quinn fumed internally, battling against interrupting. Interrupting might mean the end of this precious moment, however painful it was. That didn't make her any less mad right now, though. Rachel might not have been able to, but she could and did blame the Grants for placing the needs of a biological child above those of an adopted one. She might be biased, though, and guiltily found herself hoping that Shelby never had a miraculous child of her own to supplant Beth.
"So, I kind of got less and less attention. They started just… stopping little things. At first it was not turning up to some of my choir recitals, and then dropping them all together. Eventually, they stopped paying for the singing and dance lessons; they told me they were a waste of time, and I should spend my time studying."
Another surge of fury lanced through Quinn. She had heard Rachel sing. She was one of only two people in the school to witness that miraculous sound. She found that she resented these people for not caring about such an amazing thing, and for not nurturing that talent as much as possible.
"Then it got worse. Not major, just… they didn't make me breakfast anymore, or eat it with me; I started to just get myself a bowl of cereal on my way out of the house. They didn't speak to me at other meal times, only to each other. They started… started making nasty comments about my looks. They're both really tall, and so blonde… I think they got annoyed I didn't look more like them, that image thing again.
"During that time, Matty was born, and that really ended any pretence Doug and Charlotte had of pretending with me. By now, I'm more like a lodger they can't get rid of than a daughter. They completely ignore me, except when they're mad because I've done something to hurt their image."
She was silent for a while, and finally Quinn felt she had to ask the question, no matter how much she didn't want to.
"Rachel… the injuries? The limp, that sling, all the bruises… is that your mom and dad?"
Now Rachel looked down, and Quinn was horrified to see that the other girl actually looked ashamed.
"My dad… I mean Doug, mostly." Her voice was deep in her throat, as if she was having trouble getting the words out, and they were too quiet and broken. "That really only started over the summer, though. I made something that might be considered an error of judgement."
Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"
The tiny girl let out a very deep breath in a rush. "I thought I'd shock them into paying some attention to me. I told them I was gay. That didn't go down well."
Quinn was silent, trying hard not to make a knee-jerk reaction to the revelation. She wanted to know if that was true, wanted desperately to know if her slim, almost non-existent hope might grow a little, but suppressed it. This wasn't the time.
"I guess my question is, why do you put up with it? You know that a single complaint to child services and you'd be out of there. Especially since you probably have loads of medical evidence. Do you not want to go back into care?"
Rachel took another gulp of her water, and now actually met Quinn's eyes. "I was worried about that at first, I really didn't want to go back, but it wouldn't be as bad as where I am now, and I'm so much closer to being adult now, I'm sure that would make a difference."
"So what is it?" Quinn frowned, unable to see the angle Rachel was coming from. "Is it shame, or something?"
"No. It's Matty." Rachel smiled at the other girl, and Quinn was amazed to see real affection in the brunette's eyes.
"You don't… I don't know, resent him? I'm guessing they treat him really well."
Rachel nodded. "They do, they really love him. And so do I. I know him being born wasn't exactly great for me, but he's the best kid in the world. He's my biggest fan, and the most important person in the world to me. And frankly, I don't trust Doug and Charlotte, but they're good to him, and what he's got now is so much better than going into the care system. If I were to complain, that's exactly what would happen to him. No authorities would leave a little boy with parents known to be abusive, just because they haven't abused him, so he'd go into some home, or into a strange foster family or something. They know I don't want that for him."
Quinn was shocked. She had heard stories of selfless people before, of course, had even witnessed it to a degree here and there, but never had she met someone willing to put their own livelihood, their own safety even, in jeopardy for an extended period, purely for the sake of someone else. Rachel Berry really was a remarkable human being.
"Quinn?"
"Yes, Rachel?"
"You… you don't mind, do you?"
Quinn frowned. "Mind what?"
Rachel swallowed. "That I'm gay. It doesn't make anything weird between us, right? I mean if it does I totally understand, but-"
"Absolutely not, Rachel. I'd be kind of hypocritical if I did, wouldn't I? What's that saying about glass houses?"
Rachel now looked even more shocked than Quinn had a moment before. "You… you're a lesbian too?"
Quinn faltered. She'd always acted under the impression that Rachel knew, and was comfortable with her sexuality. Now she realised what she'd missed. Rachel had been absent the day she'd come out. Not only that, but it was kind of before she'd begun her campaign to befriend Rachel Berry, and of all the things to talk to the other girl about at first, this hadn't seemed like the biggest deal. After that… she guessed she forgot that Rachel didn't know.
"I… I thought I told you, the first time we went to Lima Bean?"
Rachel looked confused for a moment, as though searching back through her memory. Then she looked up, almost horrified. "Oh my God, you did! It was just, it was the first time we talked, and it was kind of overwhelming… and I think you mentioned it as part of a kind of list and I didn't really take it in… wow, I'm sorry, Quinn."
Quinn laughed. Actually laughed, which she hadn't thought she'd be able to do for a long time after hearing Rachel's story. "Don't apologise! Just a misunderstanding! But anyway, in answer to your question I really don't have a problem with you being gay."
She tried to put no inflection on that at all, no subtle emphasis to clue Rachel in to her interest, since she didn't want to take advantage of the vulnerability of the moment. It was difficult, though, as she was happier than she thought she had been in a very long time, and Rachel seemed to pick up something.
"Is it… is it going to be weird? Now that both of us know we're both gay? And kind of friends too?"
"Best friends," Quinn amended firmly, and took Rachel's hand. "And I don't see why it has to be. Neither of us wants it to be weird, so we won't make it weird." Rachel looked dubious, and Quinn couldn't resist it. "Look, Rach, I won't deny that I'm… really attracted to you, and that I have definite feelings, but I don't mind not acting on them if that's not the right thing to do. Just because we are both friends and both lesbians does not mean that something has to happen, and probably even if it does it really shouldn't happen right now. It's all too much, we might find it hard to deal."
She leaned in, amazed at her own daring, and placed a single, feather-light kiss on Rachel's cheek, relishing in the texture of the smooth skin of her friend, while unbeknownst to her Rachel fought to capture in her mind the sensation of those soft lips touching her.
"Right now," Quinn continued, as if nothing had happened in that last, amazing moment, "we have other things to worry about. Like, what are we going to do about you?"
Rachel stiffened. "Nothing. I'm not telling anyone else, I'm not complaining. Everything needs to stay just like it is. I… I need to make sure Matty's okay. He deserves at least that from his big sister."
Quinn stood and pulled Rachel up into a hug. She tried to ignore the thrumming in her body, and spoke calmly over the other girl's shoulder.
"You, Rachel Berry are a remarkable person. Probably the best I've ever met. I'm not going to tell anyone… yet. I'll keep this secret for now. But, don't think I'm not going to work on a way out of this. There must be a way to keep you safe, and your brother safe too, and I'm not going to stop until I work it out." She stepped away, placing her hands on Rachel's shoulders and making sure she maintained eye contact, while trying not to get lost in those deep brown pools.
"I'm putting you first, Rachel, got me? You're the priority, and you are going to get away from them and live your life properly. I promise."
"Do you want some wine, Emma? I opened a bottle to drink with this." Will stood at his stove, stirring patiently at the sauce that was heating gently, listening happily to Emma bustling around, setting his table in the next room. At times like this he felt that everything was right in the world, and he could, if only for a moment, forget about glee club. He loved it, of course, loved the kids and the music and the amazing camaraderie that existed, most of the time, between the members, but it was nice to have time away from it too, especially as the problems, when there were problems, mounted up like an avalanche. So the chance to enjoy some time with his girlfriend – he savoured the word – was all the more precious.
"I'll wait and have some with the meal, Will. I need to drive home later."
Will smiled. He had known what the answer would be, but needed to ask anyway. He turned the heat off under the saucepan and poured the contents around the sliced leeks and potatoes layered in another dish. It was a secret recipe of his mom's, and he felt the need to impress tonight. Still, with that done, he could relax for a while. He put the finished dish in the oven to bake, then left the kitchen. "You don't mind if I do, do you?"
Emma smiled. "Of course not. It's your home, after all." She tweaked a corner of the napkin she was folding into place, and smiled as she surveyed her work. "Done," she muttered happily, and joined Will in the living room where he held a glass of deep red wine in one hand, sitting comfortably at one end of his settee. Blushing slightly, a sight that Will had always found adorable and now revelled in being allowed to appreciate, she sat next to him, relaxing slightly.
"This is so nice, Will. I can't remember the last time someone cooked for me. Or at least, the last time I let someone cook for me."
Will smiled, determined as ever to stick with her through difficulties over her disorder. "Well, that's progress then, isn't it? I think you're loosening up a little, Em. It's really great to see."
Emma smiled. "I hope so. Now, what shall we talk about?"
"Well, anything you like. I'm determined not to steer the topic onto work, glee or anything related to them, so pick a conversation."
"Well, that's very good of you," Emma teased lightly, resting her head on Will's shoulder, which made him catch his breath slightly. "I choose… I think I choose the upcoming show choir sectionals competition."
Will frowned, though he placed his free hand lightly on her shoulder, holding her to him and feeling warmth spread through his body. "We don't need to talk about that, Em. I know I talk about that stuff too much, and it's got to be annoying to you. Why not something else?"
"Well, because…"
"Because?"
The redhead smiled gently. "Because, I'm interested. The reason you talk so much about them is because you care so much. And the thing is, I care too. I'm not only involved with the club because of you, I'm also involved because I want to be. So come on, there's no huge glee drama at the moment, so sectionals is the next big thing. What do you have?"
"Well, if you're sure…" Will smiled, running a hand through his hair. "I'd like to give some of our newer performers a chance. I mean, Sunshine just has to sing, but maybe a duet with Sam, or Puck, or even Artie."
"Not Finn? I know he's your go-to guy."
Will grimaced. "I know, and that's why I think maybe not him this time. I worry sometimes that I favour Finn just because he reminds me so much of me, and it's not fair on the others. Still, there're three songs, we ought to be able to showcase more than just one or two singers. We have so much talent."
"What about that girl you asked me about… Rachel?" Will walked back into the kitchen and Emma followed, watching him as he went about the final preparations for the meal. Will sighed.
"She's making a lot of progress, but I think she's still very shy. Quinn's doing really well, though, and I think she's becoming friends with a few of the others too, so that's progress."
"But what about singing? I mean, it sounds like she's been in the club longer than almost anyone, isn't she spoiling for a solo?"
"An interesting question." Will turned from the stove and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms as he gazed into the distance, obviously recalling something. "I heard her sing recently. On her own. And, obviously, doing her best, since I think she played herself down for her audition."
"She's good?"
Will sighed. "She's phenomenal. Her voice is so pure, and effortless, it's just beautiful. But, she was really nervous about it, she was only singing for Quinn. I wasn't supposed to hear it, so you have to keep quiet about this."
Emma quirked an eyebrow, "You're telling me about keeping kids' secrets?" Will took the point with a self-deprecating chuckle.
"Sorry, I guess that was a little obvious. But she is so good, she could have blasted us through our competitions last year if she'd been able to. I think it'll be a while before she's ready to go public, though."
"Well, in that case I hope I get to hear her one day. Is the food nearly ready?"
"Front and centre, ladies. ETA two minutes." Santana's voice rang clearly over the pitch, and the entire squad stopped in the middle of the lap they were running, wherever they were, and sprinted back to the captain and her deputy. Santana allowed herself a moment's basking in the satisfaction of being top of the heap, before making sure everyone was in position for the coach's arrival.
It was mid October now and felt like it, a damp pall seemingly always on the verge of raining on them, and chilly with it. All the girls were secretly looking forward to the time when the coach would finally admit defeat and start having practices indoors. Still, it was a nice evening, the sun visible and pulsing gently under the purple-grey clouds. Santana smiled at Brittany who was looking over the squad with a calculating expression, before turning to see Sue Sylvester marching towards them… followed by Quinn.
Santana blinked.
She thought Quinn might have told her if she was rejoining the Cheerios, but that didn't look like what this was. Quinn's outfit was like a weird cross between Sue's and their own uniform, a short red skirt (though not quite as short as theirs), with a zip-up McKinley hoodie. Plus, it just didn't look like the old Cheerleader Quinn without that high pony, and Quinn's hair was as it usually was these days: loose and straight to her shoulders, with a head band, white today, to keep it out of her face. The Latina girl raised one sculpted eyebrow in query to her friend and received a mirroring gesture from the blonde, a slight smile, like a smirk without the usual malice, playing at the corners of her mouth, as if she were in on a joke about to be played on Sue's hapless playthings.
"Listen up, minions. Most of you know Quinn Fabray, those that don't do now. As of today she is our first… I haven't thought of a name for what she is yet, although I'm playing with a few ideas. Q, what do you think of 'Cheer-Marshal'?" Quinn smiled and shook her head gently. "You're right, that's stupid. Anyway, Q is not here to perform: she is here to advise and listen only. You've got a problem, tell her, because honestly I don't want any of you whining to me any time you get a boo-boo. Understood?"
There were a few shocked nods. Santana was staring hard at Quinn, her gaze only moving when Sue spoke again.
"Good. Santana, I have some people to sue this evening, you can lead training. General fitness, I want laps, suicides, as much physical pain as you can get away with without the Geneva Convention being contravened, got it?"
"Absolutely, coach. This'll be fun."
Santana cracked her knuckles, and the corner of Sue's mouth quirked upwards in the nearest she ever got to a smile.
"Outstanding."
Sue strode away, and Quinn actually saw the sadistic gleam settle in her friend's eyes. "Alright ladies, you heard the coach. Everyone, three laps. Last three back are on laundry duty."
All the girls, minus Santana, Brittany and Quinn, vanished like cartoon characters, tiny clouds of dust hovering where they'd been for a second. Quinn had been preparing herself for this conversation, and was ready for Santana's patented 'gaze of doom' as it was turned on her.
"What the hell, tubbers? You feel the need to outrank me so bad you had the coach create a new position?"
Quinn raised both hands in a gesture of placation. "You're the captain, S, and I don't outrank you. I don't want to at this stage, and honestly, you enjoy this more than I ever did."
Santana unbent slightly, and Brittany took the cue to run her hands up and down the Latina's arms, soothing her further. "Then what's the deal?"
"Coach asked." She shrugged. "You know how pointless it is to try and understand why Sue Sylvester does anything, but she got Mr. Schue on board with it, so I don't think it can be anything that bad. I'm not performing, I'm not a real cheerleader. I'm just someone to give advice, and who the girls can talk to. If I had to guess, Sue's not happy with some of the bullying that's been going on recently."
Santana quirked an eyebrow. "She gives us a list of targets every week, Q. You think she's suddenly gone vigilante?"
"No, but what she approved was always fairly general. She never put a name on the list two weeks' running, and she knew what it meant was a slushy facial. Machine-gun slushy assaults and actual beatings, though? I think that's a bit too hardcore, even for her."
Brittany grunted, a weirdly cute sound as she crossed her arms and pouted. "S and me already stopped that. Once I mentioned the tarantula nest they calmed right down." Quinn shook her head, trying to put what the other blonde just said out of her mind.
"But it hasn't changed the culture that allowed it to happen in the first place, Brit. Look, this is all just guesswork, but I talked it over with Rachel-"
"Obviously…" Santana muttered.
"… and she pointed out that I can use this to keep an eye on Sue, too. Sure she's not actively trying to destroy glee at the moment…" she frowned slightly. "As far as I know, but that doesn't mean she won't change her mind in an instant any time now. What I am is someone not afraid of getting fired from my position on the squad, since it's not a real one anyway. I'm in a position to help everyone here, San. Do you get it?"
"Gundersson! There better be a real good reason you're half a lap behind!" Santana's voice carried clear across the pitch without the use of a bullhorn. She turned back and smirked and Quinn.
"Just so long as I'm still allowed to torture them, I'm cool."
"Santana, can I have a word?"
Santana knew that voice. The kid even sounded pretty geeky. She turned so that her eyes could confirm the impossibility her ears had reported. No, there was no mistake. "Why are you talking to me, chuffalong?"
Artie shifted nervously, shifting his glasses slightly on his face. "Don't worry, I made sure there's no one around. I'm not suicidal."
A humourless smirk drifted over the girl's face. "Good. I guess it's the upside of being a geek: you learn survival tactics. But I say again, why are you talking to me?"
"Because I really think you need to hear this." Artie was silent for a moment, and Santana realised that, although she'd seen him apprehensive plenty of times, this might be the first time she'd ever seen him actually scared. Having not seen him while he was locked in that porta-potty last year, of course. That had sounded awesome.
Artie took a deep breath. "Earlier on, Brittany asked me out."
Santana froze in the action of sorting out her locker. It was only for an instant, but when she started again her movements were almost imperceptibly slower, just slightly more deliberate. "Do you want a fucking parade?"
Artie flinched, but ploughed on. "I said no." Santana whirled to him disbelieving. This… this had turned down Brittany? Artie hurried to elaborate. "She said it was something about getting the full set; apparently I'm the only guy in the senior, junior or sophomore classes she hasn't made out with. I don't think she actually likes me."
"And you said no?" It came out as a growl, forced between gritted teeth as Santana glared at him.
"I may be almost clinically lonely and still pining after my ex, but I have enough self-esteem to want not to be just another notch on Brittany's… I don't know, tassel in her pom-pom?" Santana gave a snort of laughter at that, involuntarily. So the crippled kid was funny. Who knew? "But that wasn't the only reason I turned her down."
"Oh?" The word was a warning, but Artie resolved to plunge ahead anyway. And hoped that when she kicked the crap out of him, she concentrated on those areas that were already paralysed. He took a deep breath.
"Santana, Brittany's obviously in love with you. And you're just as obviously in love with her."
There was silence for a moment.
And another.
"Did you just call me a lesbian, cripple?"
Artie winced at the level of venom suffusing the words, but kept going anyway. "No, I didn't. I don't know how you feel about boys in general, or girls in general. If you're anything like Brittany, who is probably not discriminating enough, you're into everyone to a greater or lesser extent. This isn't about sexuality, Santana, it's about love. You love Brittany, she loves you, and no amount of physical violence perpetrated on my person is gonna change that."
There was a long moment of silence. Santana wasn't looking at him now, and he had no idea what she was thinking. Then,
"Well, it doesn't matter. Neither of us can act on it even if it is true, not in this town."
Artie chose not to mention the fact that that was very close to an admission, and moved on to the next part of the argument. "What, you're worried about being out? Santana, you're an incredibly brave person, you're not afraid of anyone. I've always admired that about you, even if you do terrify me. And one of your best friends is openly gay, and doesn't really suffer for it very much."
"That's Q," she spat, turning a glare on him that couldn't hide the desperation it tried to conceal. "Everyone likes Quinn. She has the super-understanding mom who threw her out and then apologised, and the personality that makes everyone love her. Everyone hates me. And telling my parents?"
"Everyone doesn't hate you. It's true that you've pushed a lot of people away, but I don't believe that a single person actually hates you. And I've met your parents, at glee events and stuff. They're good people, Santana. They're not going to stop loving you."
She slammed her locker door, then turned and crouched down, getting right into his personal space. "Stop assuming you know anything about me, Artie," she snarled. He swallowed, thinking that the use of his real name actually made this about fifteen times as scary. "You know nothing about me-"
"But I do." Artie was shocked at his own daring, interrupting her. "Maybe not well, or even very much at all, but I know that you and Brittany are meant to be together, and however much you hurt me for saying it, you're hurting yourself more, and you're hurting Brittany more, by denying it."
For a while she said nothing, just stared into his eyes, and Artie felt as though his life literally hung in the balance. And then slowly, quietly, she seemed to implode, collapsing in on herself, becoming smaller and smaller. Her legs seemed to give out and she landed on her knees, her arms and face falling in his lap, and as she looked up at him ('wow, that's weird,' he thought) he saw her face contorted with sadness, tears running unchecked down her face.
"But Brit… she wouldn't believe me! I'm so awful to her! I'm always telling her off, or ordering her around, and how can I be in love with her if I'm sleeping with other people? Huh, smart guy?" She dropped her head onto her arms again, and Artie reflected in a tiny, detached part of his brain that he would never in a million years expect to be here, in his wheelchair with Santana Lopez on her knees in front of him and bawling into his lap.
She was still trying to speak, but the rest of her words were lost as they were wailed through sobs, and Artie almost recognised the emotion behind it. It was rage at one's own impotence, unbearable frustration that you couldn't do anything about the crap life's landed you with. Yeah, he knew that one quite well. Gambling once again, he placed one hand on the back of Santana's head, stroking her head very slightly, trying to soothe the tremors of weeping passing through her body.
"You say you tell Brittany off. I've seen you explaining to her why something she's said or done might not have been the right thing, and then kissing her forehead, reassuring her it's okay." Artie was speaking very softly, and looking at nothing at all, a patch of empty air directly in front of him, over the cheerleader's head.
"You say you order her around. I've seen you gently advise her, make suggestions, guiding her through thinking about the consequences, and then letting her make her own decisions. And even being there for her when something doesn't turn out well, even when you advised against it.
"And you say you sleep around, that you're unfaithful to her. I've seen a girl, confused and frightened and under so much pressure, struggling to be what everyone thinks she should be and fighting against herself and her own feelings to do it, and yet unable to stop returning to the one person who's always accepted her, exactly as she is, and who would never think badly of her for acting like she does.
"Santana, you've found your soulmate. You found her at the age of seven. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Take it from someone who's really hoping he didn't find his and then lose her through his own stupidity. The only person in the way of you being happy is yourself. Talk to your parents. Talk to Quinn. And, if nothing else, talk to Brittany. I said no to her, but other people probably won't, and whatever else, that's going to hurt you if you don't stop it."
He gently lifted the girl's arms and head, and she slowly, shakily stood up. He nodded once to her, and then wheeled himself away without another word.
AN
Hi, people.
As always, thanks to my beta, Cassicio, and thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing (hint hint). Thanks for your patience too: I know I'm hardly a regular updater, but I'm trying my best, so thanks for sticking with me.
As usual I own nothing, although I'll admit to projecting some of my own mood onto Artie at the end there: my bad. Coming soon: Sectionals! I never said how soon, though…
Oh, and while I have some definite ideas about where I want this story to go and how I want it to progress, if anyone feels like making suggestions, I'll at least consider them, and try to give appropriate credit to any I actually use.
Tom
