A/N: The entire first scene (representing 2/3rds of this chapter) is compliments of the incomparable QuinnAbrams! Thank you to my guest author!

After the initial auditions on Wednesday, Artie held callbacks the following day. These second-round auditions weren't as selective as Artie would have hoped, since hardly anyone outside of Glee Club auditioned in the first place, but Artie didn't mind (not really, anyway). He was looking to cast a well-rounded company of actors for his first production; that meant great singers and talented actors. In order to achieve this goal, round two of auditions consisted of a bunch of cold reads.

Artie called back his five top contenders for the lead roles: Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana- his Marias, and Kurt and Blaine- his Tonys. He knew that each of them, in their own right, could blow the roof off of any auditorium with their phenomenal voices, but could they act? That would be the real deciding factor, since McKinley had never even had a school musical before. Artie had used up all of his free time (and ink in his family's printer) the night before researching and printing sample scripts to bring with him today. He wanted to see how well his top five could handle dramatic readings when put on the spot. That's how he'd be able to pick his Maria and his Tony.

"Alright, I have three scripts here. Little Shop of Horrors, Romeo & Juliet, and Grease. All very different shows, yet iconic in their own ways," Artie announced that afternoon as he, Coach Beiste, and Ms. Pillsbury met on the stage of the auditorium with the auditionees who had been called back. Artie picked up the six scripts that had been sitting on his lap and dispersed them amongst his actors. "I've asked Finn to be here today to act as a third reader for Tony."

Finn, who had chosen not to audition for the show in order to pick up some extra shifts at Burt's tire shop in the afternoons, stood beside Artie's chair and gave an awkward wave.

"Mercedes and Finn, you'll be reading for Audrey and Seymour; Santana and Blaine, you'll take on the roles of Sandy and Danny; and Rachel and Kurt, you'll act as Romeo and Juliet," Artie directed them.

Rachel opened her mouth – probably to protest that she should be the one paired with Finn – but Artie was quick to shut her down.

"And, no, Rachel, I won't be hearing any other opinions at this time, thank you," Artie said, looking pointedly in her direction. He loved the power he had as the director of this show. Getting to tell Rachel Berry off and her not being able to do anything about it? A dream. "Split up and read through your scripts once over with your scene partner, then we'll start."

Artie had to buy himself and his co-directors some time to exit the stage and get settled in their seats, so he figured he'd give his actors the benefit of glancing over the scene before they actually had to perform it. He wasn't a total monster, after all.

First up were Mercedes and Finn.

Artie had selected his personal favorite show for one of the audition scripts, and his friends were sure to deliver. He expected nothing less from Mercedes, of course, but Finn's performance was great too. It made Artie really wish that his tall friend had ended up auditioning for the show. Though, he supposed he didn't need to make the competition for Tony even more intense.

As expected, Blaine knocked his cold read out of the park.

"At Dalton, we'd partner up with Crawford Country Day School for Girls and put on a musical each year," Blaine shared, after Artie had complimented the way he embodied Danny Zuko. Ms. Pillsbury and Coach Beiste swooned over his convincing portrayal of the heartthrob, in a way that was completely inappropriate for high school educators.

The one who really surprised him with her acting skills however, was Santana. He'd purposely assigned her the role of Sandy Olsson because it was such a far cry from her own personality. If the musical of the year was Grease instead of West Side Story, Santana would have made a killer Rizzo, he'd decided. However, she'd caught him completely off-guard when she played such a convincing innocent, girl-next-door character.

It may have seemed like he'd already found his Tony and Maria in Blaine and Santana, but Artie was trying to keep an open mind. He still had one more callback to hold.

In true Rachel and Kurt fashion, those two had used their rehearsal time to dig through the musty, decades-old costume closet backstage, and had donned outfits most appropriate for the script they'd been given (however, they looked totally ridiculous). Rachel dramatically layed down on the stage and pretended to be asleep as Kurt addressed the directors.

"Hello, my name is Kurt Hummel and I am playing the role of Romeo, hoping to show you the pure masculine power and intensity I would bring to Tony, if and when you grace me with the part."

Artie was unable to suppress the giggle that he let out at his friend's little speech, but mostly at his ridiculous outfit. Realizing immediately how unprofessional that was of him, Artie quickly apologized.

"Sorry, sorry."

"And might I just add that I only read through this scene once – ten minutes ago – and I'm already off book," Rachel said, sitting up on the stage and addressing the directors. "Another reason why I should be your obvious Maria-elect," she added, irritatingly.

"Picture it, if you will: Juliet's boudoir, post-coitus," Kurt said, setting the scene before taking his spot next to Rachel.

"Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale," Rachel-as-Juliet began. Artie had assigned the most difficult script to the actors he knew would be able to handle it, and Rachel's effortless diction immediately impressed him.

"'Tis the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale," Kurt began in a voice that was an octave or two deeper than his natural tone, causing Coach Beiste to laugh a little bit at the unexpectedness of that. Kurt didn't notice as he continued on. "Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

"Thou light is not daylight, I know it, I. It is some meteor that the sun exhal'd, to be to thee a torch bearer, to light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not be gone," Rachel easily delivered her next lines. Artie knew that the race for Maria would be close, but he may have underestimated just how difficult this decision would be.

"Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; for I am content, thou wilt have it so," Kurt began again. Now it was Artie who was holding back his own laugh at the absurdity of what he was watching play out before him. He balled his hand into a fist, placing it in front of his mouth as he willed the smirk on his face to disappear.

"I'll say that yon grey is not the morning eye," Kurt continued, oblivious to the amused looks the co-directors were all wearing. "'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow…"

Coach Beiste couldn't stop herself this time- the snicker that escaped her lips was loud enough that both Artie and Ms. Pillsbury looked over at her, and even Kurt paused mid-scene to glance at the football coach.

He seemed nervous as he started up again, trying to remember where he'd left off.

"Nor-Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads. I have more care to stay than will to go: home, death, welcome! For Juliet wills it so!"

As Kurt went in for the most awkward kiss, Rachel dodged it, dissolving into a fit of laughter of her own as the three co-directors stopped trying to hide their chuckles altogether.

Kurt's face blushed furiously as he froze while the others laughed at him.

"No, it's – kiss me. It's fine, you can kiss me. I don't... We can keep going," Rachel was telling her best friend as he stood up to exit the stage.

Kurt ran off just then, and suddenly nothing was funny anymore. Rachel glanced at the guilt-stricken directors, and Artie realized that he needed to go after his friend. He needed to apologize and make this right.

"Um. I- I need to go. I have to say sorry," Artie tried to articulate a complete sentence as his mind raced. Luckily, Coach Beiste was quick to realize that her assistance was needed to get Artie from the middle row of the auditorium back to his chair without him having to form the sentence on his own.

"Yep. Come're, Buddy," she said, standing up and slipping a strong arm under his legs and behind his back before lifting him into the air. Artie's heartbeat was ringing in his ears and it felt like hours – not mere seconds – before he was safely deposited in his wheelchair, which was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

Artie mumbled a 'thank you' to Coach Beiste before unlocking his wheels in one forceful motion and sharply pivoting his chair, pushing double-time to exit the auditorium and find his friend. Luckily, he didn't have to wheel very far.

"Kurt! Kurt, I'm so sorry. Kurt…" Artie coasted to a stop beside his friend, who was crying on one of the benches in the hallway. He swallowed the lump in his throat when he realized his friend was crying. "That was completely inappropriate and unprofessional of me. I am so, so sorry."

Kurt wiped his tears with the back of his hand before glancing up to look Artie in the eye. Artie hated himself for making one of his oldest and truest friends feel this way.

"It's okay, Artie. You're right. The only musicals that I'm a shoo-in to play the lead are Cage aux Folles, Falsettos, and Miss Saigon... as Miss Saigon. But that's off the list when and if I ever start shaving."

Only Kurt would be able to crack a joke when he was feeling this down.

Artie laughed at his friend's self-deprecating sense of humor that matched his own. Being able to poke fun at yourself was a necessary defense mechanism you needed, when you were already the butt of everyone's joke.

"And I'm not saying that I'm ashamed of who I am, because I'm not," Kurt went on. He seemed more frustrated than sad. "The problem is that if I want to be an actor, I have to pass as straight to get the great romantic roles. And I want those roles."

"Every actor does," Artie commented softly.

"But, to not get a shot at it? I mean, it kills me. I don't know if you've noticed, but no one's looking for a Kurt Hummel type to play opposite Kate Hudson in a rom-com."

"No one's really looking for a Muppet version of Stephen Hawking either," Artie quipped without missing a beat, reclaiming one of the many cruel nicknames Sue Sylvester had bestowed upon him. Kurt managed a small smile at that. "You're preaching to the choir here. I'm sure I could have been an excellent Brad last year in Rocky Horror, but Mr. Schue assigned me the role of Dr. Scott immediately without even letting me audition or anything. Because of course that's the only part I could possibly play, right? I mean, nobody else came prepared with their own set of wheels." Artie rolled his eyes, with a sarcastic tone to his voice. "What I'm trying to say is that I know what you're feeling right now. And I'm so sorry that I'm the one that caused you this pain."

Kurt shrugged and heaved an exasperated sigh. "It's okay, Artie. I mean, in a sense you were right. I'm not a Tony. I'm more of an… Officer Krupke."

Artie, of all people, was supposed to be most empathetic of Kurt's concerns, because he shared a lot of the same ones. Neither of them were Finns or Blaines. They didn't fit the typical mold of what a leading man looked like. And Artie's own feelings about this subject made the way that he reacted back in the auditorium during Kurt's cold read that much more inexcusable. And Artie felt horrible about it.

"You know what? I say, if they're not writing movies and plays for performers like you and I, then we've gotta start writing our own. I mean, look at me. I never dreamed I'd ever be actually directing something. Definitely not when I was recovering after my accident. But now here I sit, doing everything I'd dreamed of back then, despite my chair," Artie told him, and Kurt nodded. "Tony might not be the right role for you, but who knows what could be coming right around the corner? Come on, Kurt. You're awesome. Change the rules. Write your own history. You're… You're a unicorn."

Artie's use of the title Brittany had bestowed upon him made Kurt laugh, in spite of the circumstances.

"Nothing excuses what I did to you back there. It was unprofessional, sure, but above all else, it was mean. I can't apologize enough." Artie shook his head, still guilt-ridden. He only hoped that Kurt could see how truly sorry he was.

Kurt stood then, leaned over, and gave Artie a hug. And Kurt Hummel wasn't really a hugger, so Artie knew this came from a very sincere acceptance of his apology. Despite Kurt's apparent forgiveness, Artie knew he'd never be able to completely forgive himself. He'd just learned a pretty valuable lesson as a director, albeit, sadly at Kurt's expense.

"You should pick Blaine," Kurt said, out of nowhere, and Artie – who had pretty much already narrowed it down to Blaine, since Finn wasn't actually in the running – was shocked to be receiving Kurt's blessing to do this. "It's clear he earned it, and if you want your directorial debut to be a success, then he's your man." And Kurt paused, reflecting. "But if you get the school's blessing to have a spring musical, you have to choose 'Billy Elliot' as a personal favor to me."

A smile spread across his face as Artie gave a nod in agreement. "Okay," he said. "If they let me. You've got yourself a deal."

With that settled, Kurt tossed his messenger bag across his body and headed off in the opposite direction. As for Artie, he remained there in the middle of the hall, reflecting on the mess he'd just gotten himself into. Setting aside the task of casting the guys for a moment, what about the girls? There was no clear winner here. Rachel, he knew, would be the most dependable. Santana might be the most compelling, in terms of acting, and Mercedes was undeniably the vocal powerhouse. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands for a moment.

"Not an easy job, huh?"

The voice startled him so much that he jumped, or at least, half of him did. On rare occasions, being startled sometimes triggered a random lower body spasm, but not this time. He looked up to see Quinn standing in the shadows, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about being in the dimly lit, empty hallway like this.

"What, choosing between my friends and hurting most of their feelings?" Artie said, passing over the obvious question of what was she doing here. "No, not so much. I'm wondering if this was a mistake."

Quinn took a seat near him in the alcove, and Artie was reminded of the time when Quinn had awkwardly sat in that same spot, a heavily pregnant high school sophomore, and Artie had discovered her fleeing the cafeteria in favor of eating lunch alone.

"You didn't make a mistake, Artie," she said, softly, and it was the first time they'd really talked about anything substantial since before summer but he'd try not to point that out.

"No?" Artie didn't want to jinx it but, in this moment, he felt like he was talking to the old Quinn. The Quinn that cared about him. And so, he let down his guard a little more. "It sure feels like I did now. I'm trying to be objective but it's hard."

"Objectivity aside, you can't choose Santana," Quinn reasoned. "She's good, sure, but she's not the person you can depend on to carry your show. It comes down to Mercedes or Rachel, doesn't it?"

Artie started to agree but then he realized something. He narrowed his eyes and Quinn seemed to notice her mistake.

"How do you even know they auditioned?" he demanded. "And what are you even doing here? You don't care about Glee club or my musical."

"That's not true!" Quinn looked slightly ashamed now, for the first time since she'd started this bizarre behavior, as she rushed to her own defense. "I care about a lot of things. In fact, that's my problem. I care too much."

Artie wheeled a little closer, as she muttered that last part, silently urging her to continue. He wanted to know what made the beautiful girl with the bright future give up on everything.

"So, what happened this summer?"

Quinn pressed her lips in a thin line, like she was trying not to cry, as she focused on a spot at the top of the alcove, not daring to look at him.

"First, Shelby invited some guy to move in with her," she confessed. "She barely knows him. She just felt, I dunno, pressure to get serious about someone, I guess, because she has Beth now. But I get sick when I think about it. Now some man lives with her and Beth and I've never even met him..."

"So, meet him?" Artie suggested, but this was met with an offended expression from Quinn, as though he'd over-simplified the problem, which was something Amy accused him of doing any time she tried to unload stuff on him. "Okay, sorry. You said first. What else?"

"Then, Josh moved back in with my mom and my sister while I was living with Dad and Lenore this summer," she went on. "Just like that. Nevermind that he missed the first seven months of Lucy's life. He just gets to pick back up where he left off, like that didn't even happen."

"But now Lucy and Beth have father figures in their lives," said Artie, ever the one to try to argue rational thought over emotions.

Quinn just shook her head, completely disgusted with that argument, as she jumped to her feet. "Those guys don't deserve them!" she practically screamed. "They don't deserve Beth and Lucy. What did they even do? What about me? I did everything, and now there's no room for me in their lives. Not Beth or Lucy!"

"So, you think you solved all that by looking like this and pushing everyone else away."

Quinn pursed her lips, her hands flying to her hips. "I thought you liked the way I look now."

"I'm not talking about the tattoos or the dye job," he said, not able to feel a shred of pity for her, not after what she did. "I'm talking about all the bitterness. It's not a good look for you, Q."

"Just because I lived with you doesn't give you the right to presume you know everything there is to know about me," Quinn shot back. "I don't owe you anything. Not you or anyone else."

He let her have the last word. He didn't even want to have this fight in the first place. As she stormed off, leaving him there, he replayed the conversation in his head. He'd probably be doing that for awhile, because it really felt like the last one they were ever going to have.

She'd graduate without rejoining Glee or signing up for his musical. She probably didn't even care about going to Yale now, but she'd definitely leave Lima. And she'd never look back. Even though she wasn't gone yet, it already felt like he'd lost her.