A/N: I had the worst writers block with the beginning of this. It just hard to be - right. Yeah. I'm actually on vacation, which oddly helped. Until next time. Enjoy and thank you for reading.

I watched Artie's face light up as he came to terms with his newfound abilities. It was like the planets were aligned in his favor and he didn't have a single care in the world. At the same time, he was speechless and I stayed quiet myself as his lips twisted and twitched for the right words to say. Instead, I adjusted his hand in mine and gave it a supporting squeeze.

"This can't be real…it must be the drugs," he finally said to break the silence.

"It's real, Artie," I smiled, "I promise, it's real."

"T-touch me again"

After a brief glance over my shoulder, I reached my arm back and curved the attached hand around the bare surface of his upper thigh – shallowly pressing my black varnished fingernails into his skin. Without thinking about it, I started grazing my thumb back and forth. The hairs underneath shifted with every stroke. I looked back to Artie, but his eyes were closed. For a second, I thought he had fallen back asleep, but then he opened his mouth to talk.

"I feel you. I-I feel your hand," he grinned, continuing to keep his eyes closed.

Never in my life since I met Artie Abrams did I ever think I'd hear those words come out of his mouth. I smiled and adjusted myself slightly to run my hand up and down his leg between his kneecap and where the hospital gown ended.

"You're moving your hand!"

"Mhmm," I said, reaching my hand behind his knee. Using my fingernails, I lightly scratched at the warm flesh.

"Tina! That tickles," Artie giggled, jerking his knee away.

I chuckled to myself and returned my hand to his thigh. He playfully scowled at me and crossed his arms over his chest as if I was taking advantage of him while hospitalized. I assured myself that I wasn't – I just wanted to see if he was ticklish or not. It probably wasn't the most responsible or mature thing to do on account that he's in post-op for a pretty risky procedure, Dr. Millar certainly wouldn't approve, but I think Artie secretly enjoyed it on account of being able to feel the sensation. I cheekily grinned at Artie long enough for his shield to fall, his face to lighten up, and his arms to plop back down onto the surface of the bed.

Suddenly the door opened, which interrupted the peaceful silence between Artie and me, and in walked Dr. Miller. She gave me a brief and displeased look on account of my earlier promise to fetch her upon Artie's arousal, but quickly focused her attention to her living and breathing science experiment with a whole new attitude. Not long after, I was asked to leave for a check-up and thorough analysis of the extent of the surgeries success. I kissed his forehead before leaving and made a promise to return if I was allowed to. Ohio State's times for visiting were a lot stricter than the ones at Lima General.

I went back downstairs to the waiting room with an unclear notion of how long I'd be there. Potentially having more time with Artie was just about my only incentive to sit longer in the depressing room filled with anxious people in questionable situation. I returned to my previous chair and took out my phone for the second time that day. My first instinct was to call Artie's family, and maybe even my own, to tell them that the operation was a success and that he's alive and well. But also I felt the need to share the recent events with our friends – no not the work based I-have-to-get-along-with-you friends, but the ones we knew and loved in high school. Granted, it's been years since either Artie or I had been in contact with many of our Glee club members, but it seemed almost wrong to keep them out of the loop. Plus, what would they think when a reunion came around and Artie Abrams, the boy they befriended paralyzed from the waist down, was walking. Maybe I'd send a mass E-mail or something the next time I had access to a computer and the time to explain the whole shenanigan. I'd be nice to hear from them anyways.

After planning out what to say, I did go on to call Artie's family. His mother picked up, as I had hoped, and I explained that day's events – leaving out, of course, how I nearly caused at least three car accidents. She was thrilled that he made it out okay, and completely enchanted by the fact that the procedure that we both doubted was successful. I told her how magical it was when I cupped my hand around his leg and he could tell me what I was doing with my fingers without even looking. Because we were on the phone, I couldn't say for sure, but I was almost certain that she was crying, or at least close to, on the other end.

Catherine and I talked for at least an hour before our conversation was cut short by Dr. Miller telling me that I could go up to see Artie again and that he's doing better than expected. Before hanging up, I promised that I'd take her up with me to see her son sometime that week. I felt more confident in the promise keeping department.

Artie was moved into a sitting position with many soft pillows supporting his back. A half-eaten cup of the hospitals infamous lime Jell-O sat and a water bottle sat on a flat blue tray in his lap. He looked content which made me feel better about the wires and tubes sticking out of him in every which way.

"Hey look!" he said upon my arrival after a spoonful of the giggly substance. "It's the love of my life."

"You're still drugged, aren't you?" I asked placing my bag down.

"Morphine's one hell of a drug."

"Uh-huh," I said with a slow roll of my eyes.

"Come here, muffin top," he requested, putting the tray aside and patting the space next to his hip.

"Muffin top? Really?" I asked, scrunching my face.

"Yeah. Muffin top…you know – the best part of a muffin?"

"Ohh, I get it."

"What'd you think I meant?"

"Never mind. How are you feeling?" I quickly asked, sitting down on the side of his bed.

"I'm having a hard time getting used to this," Artie said, looking down at his feet and wiggling his toes.

"Your…toes?"

"Everything," he said.

"Well I'm still the same," I said swinging my legs up onto the bed and sitting back against the pillows with Artie.

"You're sure you don't love me more now that my legs work?

"I love you just as always," I said, nudging under his arm and cuddling into his side.

I closed my eyes and brought an arm around his front, but instead of his strong stomach, I felt something hard and smooth against my forearm. I opened my eyes and explored the surface with my hand until I found his skin again.

"It's a brace," Artie said, answering my question before I even asked it. "It's to keep my back straight while my spinal cord heals"

"It looks awfully uncomfortable," I said.

"It is," he confessed.

I pouted out of remorse and snuggled deeper into his side. Out of habit, I brought my top leg up and over his lap, and settled my calf and foot between his legs. He seemed shocked at first, and didn't know what to think of what I was doing, but then his body relaxed, or at least as much as it could with the brace, and he brought his arms around me.

"You know, your feet are kind of cold," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry…I forgot you could…I can move if you're uncomfortable," I said.

"No, no," he said, holding me tighter with a smile. "It's a nice feeling."