"You're going out in this?" his sister asked, looking from the window to Artie, quizzically, as he bundled up in his heavy jacket and tied a scarf around his neck. There was a particularly heavy snowfall today, on the day before Christmas Eve, and this was not the sort of day he went outside for, if he could help it.

"Remember how Quinn and I came up with our arrangement, for my visits?" he reminded her, as Amy nodded. She was aware of the conversation he'd had with Quinn at the beginning of break. Artie asked Quinn to let him know when she wanted him to visit. And he'd assured her that it wouldn't offend him if she didn't. A week had gone by, and she hadn't asked him over, so he'd kept himself busy with family time. He checked in via text regularly. That was all she needed right now.

One thing Artie knew and knew well, was that there were good days and bad days, when it came to recovery. There were times you needed company and, at other times, you really needed solitude and quiet. And, of course, others would be visiting Quinn, too. He wasn't upset that he hadn't seen her in a week. He took it as a good sign.

"I just can't believe she called you on a day like today," Amy muttered, flabbergasted, as she checked the window again. "They can't even plow the roads fast enough to keep up with all this."

"She actually has a really good reason," Artie explained, as he added his gloves, the regular ones with fingers. "See, her dad just came in from California to visit for Christmas... with his new wife... and the only way to work this out is for him to come to Quinn's house. Her mom doesn't intend to go anywhere, especially with all this snow, so it'll be her mom... her new stepmom... and her dad."

Amy cringed. "Yikes," she said. "So, you're going over there to–"

"–be a buffer, yeah," Artie concluded.

Amy wished him good luck and did all she could to help him get out of the house, including pulling the family cars out of the garage, pulling Artie's in, and scraping ice off his window. She left him enough room to get in and out of his chair in the garage, and when he'd backed out of the driveway, she put both of the family vehicles back in the garage.

Amy, since she was twelve years old, had never complained about any extra work she did, on account of Artie. As a matter of fact, she didn't even comment on it or expect any thanks from Artie. He did thank her, naturally, but it was nice to know she did all the things without expectation of thanks. Because it did suck to always feel like you owed someone thanks for doing the things you'd do yourself, if only it were easier somehow.

Quinn texted when he was on the way, but since he was driving in heavy snow, he knew better than to check his phone with the car in motion. He waited until he was at a complete stop, and even then, he checked his surroundings, just to be certain a car wasn't going to come sliding through the intersection.

Maybe this is a bad idea for you to come, her text read. The snow is really coming down hard. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten. I'm sorry. Maybe don't come?

He chuckled a little and, rather than text back, called her and put it on speaker, both hands engaged in driving.

Uh, too late now, I'm almost at your house," he told her, when she picked up. "But really... I don't mind... if your mom doesn't mind all the snow I'm gonna track through the front door, that is."

Quinn groaned. "I'm so sorry about this," she said. "I'm being selfish. I could probably have handled my parents... and my sister... myself."

"Oh, Frannie's coming?" Artie squinted, just glad he knew the way so well. Snow was coming down so hard that visibility was seriously limited, even with his windshield wipers cranked up and even with the chains his dad had added to his tires. "Well then, no wonder you need me."

Until recently, Frannie had been living in the Fabray home with her mother, her husband Josh, and their little girl, Lucy. Before that, Josh hadn't lived with his wife. He'd left her while she was pregnant with their daughter, only to return when the little girl was around seven months old. During the time she'd lived with their mother, Frannie used the room that had actually been intended for Beth. Frannie living with her mother and then inviting her estranged husband to move back in was one of the many reasons Quinn didn't move back home after her summer in California. And even now that Josh and Frannie had finally moved out, just in time for Quinn to come home from the hospital, Artie gathered there was still tension.

"Artie – I'm sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"Well, uh, I'm way closer to your house than mine now, so there's no sense in me turning back," Artie explained, as he turned onto her street. "Listen, it's fine. I needed to get out of the house. Amy's driving me crazy. You're doing me a favor."

Quinn could always tell when he was lying. He wasn't very good at it. "Uh-huh," she said, and he could hear her smiling on the other end. "Okay, Artie, just be careful. I'd feel awful if something happened."

"I'm pulling up now," he said, as he approached her house and fought off the urge to groan. There were two cars in the driveway, which meant he'd have to park behind them and maneuver his way around them somehow, in the pouring snow.

He threw it into park, leaving enough space between his car and one of the family's vehicles to squeeze his chair in between. He collected chair pieces and then braced himself before turning off his car and opening the door. The snow blew straight into his face and lap as he tried to lean over and attach his wheels to the frame. As luck would have it, however, someone had seen him arrive. They hadn't thought to move the vehicles, but at least the guy (who Artie assumed was Josh) had run out to give him a hand. It was harder to tell someone what to do than just to do it himself, though, so Josh really didn't do much besides wait on him to set up his chair. He did slam the car door shut for Artie and took control of his chair, steering him through the piles of snow. Artie would have managed, sure, but he would have been even more snow-covered and chilled than he already was. He was surprised to see an anxious-looking Quinn waiting in the entryway for him as Josh slammed the front door shut behind them both.

"Snow and wheelchairs don't really agree at all," Artie explained, as Judy, her ex-husband, the tattooed stepmother, Frannie, and Lucy all gathered in the entryway to see the commotion that was Artie's arrival.

"Okay, there's absolutely no way I want to go out in that," Quinn said, her eyes round as she watched Artie take off his scarf and shake out the snow. She was seated in her own wheelchair. As she'd reported to Artie the last time they'd texted, she was spending more time moving about the house in her chair, when she wasn't in bed or stretched out on the sofa.

As Artie took of his jacket, more giant piles of white powder, soon to be puddles, fell to the floor. Judy said something about a mop and hurried off, as Josh took his wet coat, scarf, and hat and hung them up for him. Artie removed his gloves and set those on the entryway table.

"It's quite a production," he said. "And I'd say you get used to it, but that's not true, you don't. Not unless you live in Alaska, and I highly doubt any wheelchair users live in Alaska. I did try to convince my family to move to Florida."

"Southern California's nice, too," Quinn's dad added. He offered a hand to Artie to shake. "I don't believe we've met. Russel Fabray. And this is Lenore Fabray, my wife."

Out of the corner of his eye, Artie noticed how Quinn cringed over the way her father had just introduced her new stepmother, complete with their last name.

"Pleasure to meet you," Artie said, shaking the man's hand and giving a nod to Lenore, whose tattoos were obscured by the long-sleeved top she wore, but her nasal septum piercing was in full view. Not a typical stepmother look, but she had a kind face. "And hi, Lucy, you are getting big!"

Lucy buried her face in her mother's shoulder when he said her name. Just moments ago, she'd been staring him down, probably wondering why he was sporting the same ride as her auntie Quinn.

"She'll be a year old soon," Frannie said, adjusting Lucy on her hip as Lucy raised her head off her mother's shoulder and peeked shyly at Artie, who played peekaboo with her, earning himself a grin. "Two days after Christmas, to be exact. We'll have a little party while Pawpaw's here."

"Is she walking yet?" Artie wanted to know.

"Not yet, but soon, we hope," was Frannie's reply. "Maybe she'll walk around the same time Aunt Quinnie gets back on her feet."

"Okay, okay, let's let Artie inside," said Quinn, who wheeled herself into the living room and couldn't have made it plainer that she wanted to have no such conversation right now. Artie bit his lip and sent an apologetic look towards Frannie before following her inside.

Honestly, the visit could have been so much worse. Lenore was funny. Weirdly, she and Judy seemed to be hitting it off, as she helped her husband's ex-wife out in the kitchen. The spread of finger foods and dessert was delicious and the family played games, long ones like Risk, which was Artie's favorite family pastime, too.

In a rare moment alone with Quinn, he decided to tell her he was having a good time. She'd gotten tired of sitting and had gone back to her new bedroom to use the restroom and stretch out on her bed.

"Seriously, the way you talked, I thought it was gonna be way worse, Quinn," he said, as he moved himself to the little loveseat that had recently been added to her room, just to give her a little more seating. Worked for him too, as he always needed a chair break in the evening.

"My mom puts up a good front," Quinn said, with a sad smile. Artie sometimes forgot that Quinn was still adjusting to her parent's divorce and remarriage. "She's crazy uncomfortable but since Lenore's going to be here until after Lucy's birthday party on Tuesday, she's doing her best to hide it."

"Fooled me," said Artie, with a shrug, as he arranged his legs so that he was stretched out lengthwise on the loveseat. He noticed Quinn stared. "Penny for your thoughts, Quinn."

"Just wondering how you've done this for nine years now, Artie," she confessed. "Sorry, but I-I couldn't do it. I'm not as tough as you."

"You had a baby, I'd argue that you're much tougher," he quipped. "Anyway, it's not like I had a choice." He paused. "Are you afraid you're gonna be like me? I mean, you're not. You know that. You're getting feeling back. You're recovering..."

"So slowly," she finished for him, making a face. "I know I told you the outpatient rehab was going okay when I texted you about it, but the truth is, I'm already getting discouraged."

"It's a marathon, not a sprint," he said, with a pause. "A really well-meaning but dumb therapist said that to me. A kid in a wheelchair. I thought it might make you laugh, but uh, you're... not."

"They're just... so focused on me learning wheelchair skills right now," she went on, not acknowledging his attempted humor. "It seems like there's something they're not telling me."

Artie shook his head firmly. "This is not gonna be your life, Quinn," he insisted, feeling like he'd ripped that line right out of the nightmare he had where she'd said that to him. "You're only going to have to deal with one winter in a wheelchair."

Quinn smiled a tight smile. "Well, I'm terrified to go out on my own in that snow," she confessed. "I mean, I was hoping to go back to school sometime in mid-January, but until I saw you battle that snow, I hadn't really thought about how hard that'll be."

"So don't," Artie suggested, shrugging. "Didn't they say you could have a homebound teacher this semester if you wanted one? I say, take them up on that. I mean, you may end up like me, and get some incompetent old lady who gives you worksheets all day and falls asleep..."

Quinn giggled. "Your teacher fell asleep?"

Artie nodded. "She did. And I snuck out. First and probably only time I pulled that off in my chair. I went down the street and shot baskets at Mercedes' house with her brother. Nearly gave her and my mother a heart attack. Poor old Mrs. Birdsong... it was the first and last time I ever gave a teacher any trouble in my whole life."

Quinn was still laughing, so his story had accomplished what he wanted it to. But as her laughter died down, she went back to the serious topic of going back to school. "I really don't want to spend the end of my senior year doing all my work alone, at home," she said. "No... I have to go back, as soon as I possibly can."

Artie wasn't going to try to convince her to repeat senior year next year again. Instead, he was just going to keep changing the subject, until they landed on something lighter and easier to talk about. He went with the first thing that came to mind.

"So, have you seen Shelby and Beth lately?" he wanted to know.

At this, Quinn brightened a little. "They're coming right after Christmas," she said. "Beth and Shelby are coming next week for a couple days, and they're staying with me and Mom. Did I tell you she and that guy broke up?"

"Oh really, the guy she was living with?"

"Yeah, he's moved out," Quinn confirmed. "Which, I mean, I'm all for Shelby dating, but I told her I didn't approve of some guy living with her and Beth. So, that's one good thing."

That's one good thing, he played back in his head. As though nothing else in her life was good, just because she was going to be in a chair for awhile.

For the first time, what she said rubbed him the wrong way and very nearly offended him. It was kind of hard to offend Artie, who prided himself on having developed very thick skin. Comments like that made him feel like others didn't believe a life like his was worth living. He fell silent and she noticed, seemingly picking up on all he was thinking and not saying.

"I don't mean to say... nothing's... good," she stammered.

"Yeah, you'd have more fun with it if you could play wheelchair basketball," Artie said, deflecting again and hiding his own discomfort by making a joke.

She cracked a smile. "Probably so," she said. "I think I'm, uh, too newly injured for that. But speaking of which, why aren't you playing? You... aren't playing, right? Or am I so self-absorbed and out of touch with you and your life that I didn't notice?"

Artie grinned at that, also glad she'd followed his lead in letting the conversation naturally shift to a lighter topic. "Nope, I didn't play this season," he explained. "Jon Hubner was annoyed with me, but I told him maybe next season. Just so much going on, you know, with directing the musical..."

Could he ever think about the musical without immediately recalling how he'd felt, going from the elation of celebrating their final curtain call straight into the despair of finding out his friends, two girls he'd loved in different moments of life, had been in a serious accident?

"That's too bad," she casually commented, with a yawn. "I really liked seeing Artie the Athlete in action." She yawned again. "Gosh, I'm so tired. Why am I so tired? I didn't do anything today, except go to my rehab appointment this morning. I feel like I did during my first and last trimesters, with Beth..."

"Recovery takes a lot of energy," Artie said, with a solemn nod and a glance out the window. "Hey, I think the snow is letting up a little. I should probably head home before it gets dark." He paused. "You gonna be okay with them or should I stay the night?"

Quinn giggled. "No, don't do that," she said. "I'll... I'll be fine. But Artie? Thanks for coming tonight. For braving the snow and-and making this weird stepfamily thing more relaxed and... and just... being here for me."

He smiled as she settled back against her pillows, trying to adjust her position as best she could. He transferred smoothly, and she commented again that he'd made that look easy. He had moved to his chair for the purpose of tucking her into her bed, which she allowed him to do.

He felt a weird urge to kiss her, kind of like the urge she'd acted upon when he had recovered from surgery after freshman year on her watch. Ignoring that strange sense – he hadn't thought about Quinn that way in awhile, he honestly hadn't, even though she was as pretty as ever – he just reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. The same gesture that had assured him she was going to be alright.

"Goodnight," he said. "Sweet dreams. And hey, if you're cheerleading tonight, make sure it's a basketball game, the regular kind, and I'm on the court dunking a ball."

"Artie, I'm sorry, but even in my dreams, there's no way a guy as short as you would ever dunk a ball."

Artie pretended to be hurt by her comment. "Ouch, sick burn, Q," he said. "Even when you're hurt, you're still nasty as hell." He grinned. "And I love it."

Quinn laughed, as she settled back against her many pillows, which allowed her to get as comfortable as possible. "Yeah, you do," she agreed. "Goodnight, Artie. See you in my dreams."