Saturday came at last. It had been a long week. Everyone he knew was going to the football game Friday night, and he'd been invited to sit with Mike and Tina, but he declined. He went home and went to bed early instead. He was still recovering from the late night on Thursday and now he was feeling a little allergy-ridden and generally unwell. Back-to-school germs always got the best of him. After catching up on sleep, he felt much better.

Being idle and alone brought about more thoughts of Quinn. He assumed she hadn't go back to living with her mother and sister after she'd spent the summer with her dad. But she had to be living somewhere. The question was where? He intended to try to get more information out of Mack during government class. Maybe she lived with one of the Skanks now...

That Saturday morning, Artie had been cleaning out the pool, in preparation to cover it up for the coming fall and winter, when his mother stuck her head out the back door to call to him.

"Artie?" she called. "Uh, Quinn's sister is here. She seemed to think Quinn was living with us again. Do you want to come talk to her?"

Artie knew he should have expected something like this. It was the perfect cover story, yet he just hadn't expected Quinn to sink so low. He made his way through the house, to the front door, where Frannie stood waiting on him with her infant daughter and Quinn's niece, Lucy, sitting on her hip.

"Hey, Frannie," he said, wheeling back a pace. "You're welcome to come in. But Quinn isn't here. She didn't come back to live with us after the summer."

"Yes, your mother told me," Frannie said, stiffly, and Artie wanted to ask why she'd even asked to see him then. After an awkward pause, Frannie blew her fringe off bangs out of her face. "... I just figured you knew where she was, since you were her friend and all."

"You would think."

Another awkward silence passed, but she still didn't budge off the front stoop. At this rate, baby Lucy was going to have more to say to Artie than Frannie Fabray-Kesterson. It suddenly dawned on him, though, that maybe Frannie could shed some light on why Quinn left. As she turned to go, he shouted, "Wait!"

"Yes?" Frannie asked, a definite iciness clear in her tone.

"Sorry to pry, but I really need to understand what happened," Artie said. "Maybe it'll help us figure out where she is. Did anything happen after she got back from California?"

"You mean after she showed up, smelling like an ash tray and looking like Morticia Addams?"

Artie was impressed that Frannie even knew the character well enough to name her. "I'm assuming you didn't like what you saw," he noted, matter-of-factly. "Did you tell her?"

"Yeah, I told her she looked as hideous as she smelled!" Frannie scoffed at the memory, as Artie frowned, the problem pretty evident to him.

"Well, chances are that has something to do with why she's now in hiding."

Frannie narrowed her eyes, adjusting the baby on her hip. "Are you suggesting that my sister being missing is my fault?"

Not just suggesting, Artie thought, but since he didn't actually know the sister who'd once tracked Quinn down just to shame her a few days before she'd given birth, he said nothing. He just let his silence speak volumes instead.

"Josh told her he didn't want her around little Lucy looking see like that," Frannie added, indignantly. "And I told her that Shelby woman probably feels the same way about Beth."

Artie swallowed hard. You didn't, he thought. But all he said was. "Uh, Josh, like... like your ex-husband?"

And Frannie furrowed her brow at Artie's latest observation. "Not ex," she huffed. "We were just separated, not divorced. We're back together again now, we decided to work things out for Lucy, and why am I telling you this?"

Again, Artie merely shrugged, letting his silence take care of all the things he didn't have to say to her. Sometimes he couldn't even believe Quinn was related to this woman.

"If you hear from Quinn, call me," she concluded, impatiently.

Artie nodded – though he planned to do no such thing, if Quinn didn't want him to. He and Frannie promptly exchanged numbers, and then Frannie left as quickly as she possibly could, as though she were afraid she'd tell Artie more things she didn't mean to share if she stayed any longer.

...

Hours later that same day, Artie was considering doing the unthinkable. He was thinking of calling Rachel Berry. Like, on purpose...

He hadn't shared his idea about directing a musical with anyone yet, because he wanted to first have all the ideas ready to go and all the answers to all the questions anyone could possibly think to ask. He wanted to present a front of absolute confidence, to inspire the rest of them to have faith in him, too.

He couldn't dare show them that he would be second guessing his every single casting decision, costume choice, musical arrangement, and stage direction along the way. He couldn't show any sign of weakness or uncertainty, in fact, and all of that was to compensate for being in a chair.

Because it was just unthinkable that someone like him could direct a musical. How could poor, pitiful Artie Abrams direct a musical as a kid in a wheelchair? And if he succeeded? Well, then someone – probably Jacob – would want to interview him for the school newspaper to share the heartwarming story of how the boy in the wheelchair overcame the odds. Blech.

For as long as he could recall, since the accident, he'd faced being coddled by others. He was even coddled by his own family sometimes. And really, the only good friend he had who didn't coddle him had been Quinn.

There'd actually been a time when he felt like Quinn's equal, particularly when she'd been deep in the late stages of unintentionally growing a tiny person. It was weird to say he'd related to a teen mother, being that he was a guy, but that was precisely what happened. And even after she'd gotten her own life and her body back, Artie felt like she'd let that experience shape her worldview for the better. She didn't forget. And she let her experience change how she saw people like Artie.

Artie went back to debating whether or not to call Rachel, tell her his idea, and get her feedback about which show to choose. She'd automatically be expecting him to select something that would feature her, and though she and Kurt's panic over not having the right resume for NYADA had been his initial inspiration, he had no intention of just choosing a show to suit them. He'd probably lean towards the seniors, but there were plenty to choose from.

Then there was the question of money. The school didn't even have a budget to provide them a handicap accessible bus for Sectionals. How were they going to convince the school to fork over enough money to cover the necessary expenses of a show? At this level, Artie knew he'd have to be his own finance manager, too. But without big fat checks from benefactors who –

And that was when Sugar appeared in his mind, singing off-key with a choir of angels, as Artie considered the purple pianos that had been gifted to the Glee Club, courtesy of Al Motta, before Sugar had even auditioned.

He grabbed his cell phone to call Sugar, having gotten her number so that they could arrange extra times to meet and practice their duet for next week's competition. They'd all be taking turns performing for the group, starting on Monday. It gave him the perfect excuse to call, for he'd just offer to meet up with her for a little extra practice.

"Oh, hi, Artie," she said, when he picked up. "I figured this might happen. You're calling to ask me out, aren't you?"

Uh, what?

He couldn't figure out how she'd jumped to such a drastic conclusion. He considered, though, that self-diagnosed or not, Asperger's Syndrome might be a definite possibility. He decided to proceed under the assumption that she had it, which would mean she really didn't know how to interpret social cues.

"As friends, is that okay?" he began, slowly, hoping nothing he said was leading her on. "I was just thinking, if you're not doing anything today, maybe we could get in a little extra practice before Monday."

"Okay, but just as friends for now," she said, stiffly. "And I'm not sure what to do about the wheelchair thing. Am I supposed to push you around?"

Artie was speechless for just a moment, recovering just in time to remind himself of her disability and respond with as much patience as he could muster.

"Since it's nice out today, maybe we could meet at the park by school or something?" he suggested. "I'll bring my acoustic guitar and we can have a jam session." He paused. "And you don't need to push me, but maybe you could meet me at my car and carry the guitar? That would be... efficient."

"Okay, sure," she agreed, seeming satisfied now that they'd worked out all those little details ahead of time. "See you there."

Against his better judgment, he drove to the park and waited for about twenty more minutes or so for her to finally arrive, after getting dropped off next to the handicapped spot where Artie was now waiting in his wheelchair next to his open trunk, so that she could help him with his guitar. Al Motta, her father, seemed friendly enough and apparently trusted this boy in the wheelchair with his daughter. He rolled down his window and gave a little wave.

"You must be Artie Abrams," he said, as Sugar got out on the opposite side of the car. "I knew your dad, back when we both went to McKinley. How is John these days?"

Artie beamed rather brightly, as this connection made it all the more likely that he could count on Mr. Motta's support for the musical. "He's good!" Artie said, jovially. "I'll tell him you said hello."

"Well, take good care of Sugar, please," Mr. Motta said, in a tone that said Artie somehow had his full confidence with his precious daughter, two minutes into meeting him. Wheelchair perks, he mused. If being seen as harmless to a man's teenage daughter could be considered a perk...

"Yes, sir," Artie replied, dutifully. "And I'm happy to drive her home."

Sugar's eyes bugged out as she surveyed her driver, not bothering to hide her surprise that he could drive a car. Or maybe she had no clue how to hide anything. Any and every emotion she felt was plastered cartoonishly across her face.

"Oh, right... you can't carry the guitar," Sugar said, as her father drove off. She picked up the guitar case and slung it over her shoulder.

"I can, it's just awkward." Like you. "So, I was thinking we could sit on that bench under those big shade trees over there, and I'll play a few common top forty hits..."

"Sure, I can sing anything," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and falling into step by Artie as he led them down the paved walkway to their spot.

"You know, speaking of singing," he started. "I was thinking, wouldn't it be cool if our school did a musical? This is my third year and we've never really had an actual school musical. And doesn't that seem like a waste, considering all the talent we've got in Glee Club?"

Her eyes widened as she took a seat on the bench. Artie parked alongside the bench and set his brake, then gestured for her to give him the guitar as he retrieved the pick in his pocket.

"Why hasn't there been a musical?" she wanted to know. "That's very sad."

"Well, I'm sure money is an issue," Artie couldn't resist pointing out.

She blinked her wide, innocent eyes. "Why?"

"Because..." Artie tried to think of how to explain school budget issues. "I guess the school only gets so much money. And probably most of that goes to paying the people at the top. Or buying new football uniforms... or more likely, buying the Cheerios all their fancy props and special effects..."

Sugar frowned. "Well, that's not fair," she said. "I'm sure Daddy would feel the same way."

Artie silently celebrated his success as he merely nodded seriously, acknowledging that he too shared her deep concern. "Well, shall we?"

...

Later, after he'd driven Sugar home before it got dark, Artie reflected on the evening while home alone in his bedroom that Saturday night.

He felt a little guilty for sort of using Sugar to get to her daddy's money. But he could make sure it benefitted her, too. Surely, he could find her a part and convince her it was an important one. One without an actual singing part that required actual talent...

Artie was back to brainstorming possible ideas for a production. Now that Sugar had pledged her daddy's help, all he needed to do was come up with the perfect show to utilize their best talent. Something to showcase Mike's dancing... Rachel's powerhouse voice... Kurt's theatricality...

If it was just up to him and choosing what he most wanted to direct, it would be 'Little Shop of Horrors.' Kurt could pull off Seymour. Rachel wasn't his ideal Audrey (that would be Quinn, pre-Skanks) but she'd be able to handle the part. There would be plenty of opportunity to feature Mercedes, Tina, and Santana as the trio of urchins. Mike Chang would be hilarious as Orin Scrivello. Besides dancing, he also had a flare for physical comedy. The ideas for this one were flowing faster than Artie could write them down. Plus, they could put it on right around Halloween and really boost tickets sales...

But without even asking her, he could already hear Rachel complaining that 'Little Shop of Horrors' wasn't a show anyone had ever taken seriously in Broadway history. No, she'd be expecting a Broadway standard, something that would really feature her voice. Besides, in 'Little Shop,' Audrey's voice wasn't meant to be perfect or polished...

As he was weighing the option of calling Rachel, a strange thing happened: she called him. He couldn't figure out any reason why Rachel Berry would be calling him on a Saturday night.

"Uh, hello?"

"Artie, are you home?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he said. It was then that he realized a car was pulling into the driveway.

"That's me and Finn pulling up," she said. "And also, um, we have Sam here with us. Can you let us in?"

Sam?

"Yeah, hang on a minute," he said, making a frantic grab for his chair and pulling it towards his bed. He scrambled to get to the door as quickly as he could, eager to find out why their friend had come all the way from Kentucky.

He flung the door open, coming face to face with the three of them. Sam stepped forward and promptly stooped down to give Artie a tight hug, ahead of any explanation. When they had done that, both guys drew back and played it cool, even though they were overcome with joy at seeing one another after so long.

"What are you doing here?" Artie wanted to know. Then he remembered his manners and backed up, making space for them to come through the doorway. "And come on in. I'm the only one here. My parents are on a date. They still do that..."

"And I guess Amy's away at school?" Sam asked, innocently.

Artie couldn't help but notice that it hadn't taken Sam long to ask about his sister. He promptly cast a knowing look over his shoulder, accompanied, by an eye roll as he led them all into the living room, treating Sam's question as a rhetorical one. As the other three settled down on the couch, it was then that Artie noticed Sam was dragging along a rolling suitcase.

"So, we have a favor to ask," Finn began, as Artie continued to look between Sam and the suitcase. "Well, first... Sam... can I..."

"You can say it." Sam's hunched over slightly and hung his head. "No, wait... I will. I was trying to earn extra cash. We didn't have enough with my Dad's new job to cover all the expenses that kept coming up. I was working at the Dairy Queen after school... but I wasn't making hardly anything... so then I found out about a new opportunity..."

"He was a teenaged male stripper," Rachel blurted out. "Finn and I tracked him down at a sleazy nightclub for older women."

"Exotic dancer," Sam muttered, giving Rachel some side-eye. "I was never actually naked. Just... just scantily clad."

"Well, this is..." Artie was speechless at first, which only made Sam look more ashamed. Artie cleared his throat, coughed, and changed the subject. "... uh, unexpected. Sam, what's the suitcase for? Do you need a place to stay?"

Sam nodded, lifting his eyes and casting a hopeful look at Artie. "Rachel and Finn talked to my parents and now they want me to go back to McKinley, if that's what I want. And I do. I want to spend my last two years of high school with you guys."

"We figured since Quinn lived with you before..." Rachel began, trailing off, waiting for Artie to offer.

He didn't have to ask his parents. Just like they'd helped Quinn, they would help Sam. And besides, there was an available room. Artie's old room. Which was next to... his sister's.

"Under one condition," Artie said, probably surprising the other three as he prefaced with this statement. "Sam, you're welcome to stay here however long you need. But when my sister visits, you need to, I don't know... stay with Mike or Blaine or someone for the weekend."

Rachel batted innocent eyes. "Why?"

"I just want everyone to be comfortable," said Artie, diplomatically. He hadn't even asked his parents before giving away his old bedroom, but just like last time, he was sure it would be a yes.

Sam got up to hug Artie one more time. This time, he choked up a little. "I really appreciate this, dude," he said. "You have no idea."

A/N: I may have some minor edits to make to my other stories, with this new development with Sam, huh? I trust WildeAbrams can find them for me ;)