Most Quiet Need

It was approximately three o'clock in the afternoon, and it wasn't unusual at this time of day for several of the male inmates at McKinley Prison to be hanging out in the dayroom—but it was odd that there were so many. Over eighty men were currently crammed into the ordinarily spacious room. Even more extraordinary was the fact that every last one of them was completely silent. They sat, as Artie did, transfixed by the happenings on the large TV screen attached to the front wall.

A live broadcast of campaign speeches normally wouldn't hold much appeal for this crowd, but a few things made this particular occurrence stand out. First, one of the inmates had spotted and recognized Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel—a former prisoner and employee, respectively, who had successfully run away together a few months before—standing up with one of the candidates. This was enough to command attention in and of itself, but throw in the fact that said candidate happened to be the current Head of Security, and the election events, for once, had a willing and rapt audience.

A scream of fury was suddenly heard over the sound of the television, and Artie smiled to himself, instantly recognizing it as belonging to Sue Sylvester, the prison's warden.

Artie didn't regret for one minute his role in Blaine's escape. Blaine was a good man, a victim of prejudice and misfortune similar to Artie's own, and he had proven during his one-year stay at the prison to be one of the best friends Artie had ever had.

Not that friends were, historically, an easy thing for Artie to come by.

Even as a young child, Artie had been noticeably different. His parents had tried their best, pushing him into sports teams, day camps, even children's reading groups at the local library, but nothing had stuck. Not until a visit to his older cousin and a stint on his video-gaming system. Artie had taken to it quickly, racking up a new high score during his two-day stay much to his cousin's chagrin. At last, six-year-old Artie had discovered his niche.

At first his parents were thrilled, thinking that their only son had finally found a way to fit in. After several days of research, his mother managed to track down a group of like-minded children a few towns over. And she was right; among fellow members of the technology group, Artie felt like he truly belonged for the first time in his life.

Unfortunately, the children who participated in the group weren't exactly friends.

Unless they were exchanging tips of the trade, the other kids just sat in the same room, engrossed in their gaming devices, or in a few cases, computers. Not one of them was willing to tear their attention away long enough for normal social interactions. Upon discovering this, Artie's parents frantically tried to reel him back in, but it was too late. Artie was unwilling to abandon his newfound passion and had become even more of a social recluse.

It wasn't an entirely dire situation. Artie was happier than he'd ever been in his young life. His parents clung to the fact that when he was older, he'd at least be certain to have a satisfying, prosperous career.

Artie himself was never bothered by his solitude until he began his formal education. Forced to spend hours in public school, Artie started to interact with other children enough to want friends. It hurt that he never quite fit in with his peers. He didn't want much, just one person he could connect with, one person that would look at him and understand and see more than a scrawny freak they would never relate to.

As he grew older, his need for a friend began to take on a different shape. Slowly blossoming within his young heart was a hope, a promise that he'd neglected to pay mind to when he was younger: someday, somewhere, Artie would meet his soulmate.

That's all he would need, he was certain, to no longer feel alone.

Whenever his current game edged into routine, Artie would let his mind wander and spend hours thinking about her. She would be special; he was sure of it; she would have to be to love him. She would be lovely and quirky and accepting. She would adore the unusually patterned sweaters he liked to wear, and best of all, she would happily play his games with him.

Late at night, his hands and eyes exhausted from hours in front of a screen, his heart aching from the latest taunts of his schoolmates, Artie would fall asleep clinging to her image.

As his thirteenth birthday approached, Artie had trouble discerning who was more excited: himself or his parents. He was old enough at that point to recognize how difficult it had been for them, having him for a son. His parents loved him and he knew they only wished him the best, but he could read their stress in the wrinkles beginning to form around their eyes and felt the stirrings of guilt deep within his chest.

Every day for two weeks, he woke early to eagerly study his palms.

But nothing ever happened.

It was a terrible reality to come to grips with, and a horrible, gnawing emptiness settled within him over the next few weeks. His games, once a source of excitement and challenge, became merely an escape. His parents were beside themselves, unsure what to do. Neither of them had ever met a no-name before. Artie could hear his mother crying late at night, was certain that it was for him, but he was unable to dredge up any appropriate emotion in response.

The worst day came with his required visit to the government's local soulmate registry. He was lucky, he knew, that the lady there was sympathetic, trying to comfort him with the knowledge that at least he wasn't one of those unfortunate, unnatural souls who had a same-sex name written across their palm. Her words fell cold on deaf ears.

His life slid downhill from there. On the surface, nothing much had changed—he woke in the morning, showered and ate and went to school. Upon arriving home each evening he planted himself in front of his computer or game console, breaking briefly to share a quiet, solemn dinner with his parents, then went to bed when his mother forced it. Unlike before, he lay awake each night, plagued by thoughts of his infinite loneness, stretching out before him like miles of desert in front of a thirsty man.

It wasn't until he turned seventeen and began learning to drive that inspiration hit, and a plan began to formulate in his mind.

To his parents it must have looked like improvement, and Artie regretted nothing more than this deception. For the first time in a long time, he was able to force a smile, interact about trivial things in short, clipped sentences—even realistically feign interest. He took up driving with an enthusiasm that shocked both his mother and father, who he overheard talking at night—"maybe he'll finally get some friends, drive them around..."

He had been in possession of his license for a week when he did it. With only a bit of research, it was easy to figure out how to dismantle the breaks on his parents' car. He'd never given them a reason not to trust him, so when he slipped out at night, silently snatching the keys from their hook, leaving not so much as a note, they slept on comfortably and were none the wiser.

Yes, it had all worked out too perfectly. Except for the part where he didn't die.

If Artie had thought he was depressed before, waking up after was an entirely new level of hell. He was alive, brain and memory miraculously and completely intact. His legs, however, were a different story.

The days and weeks that followed were a blur of horror that he could only recall in facts. Fact: Artie would never walk again. Fact: Artie's parents had been distraught for too long over their son's misfortune and his choices, and the therapist said it was best if they maybe didn't see him for a while. Fact: That didn't matter anyway, because Artie was convicted of grand theft auto, destruction of personal property, and attempted suicide. Together they were enough to send him to prison almost indefinitely.

There were no games in prison, at least not the virtual kind. Inmates weren't permitted access to computers. For a long time, Artie was too far gone to care, but as he slowly adjusted to prison routine and a life condemned to a wheelchair, things got... better.

Thinking back, it really started with Puck.

Noah Puckerman had been there for five months when Artie arrived, and while he'd been to detention several times before, this was his first stay in an adult prison. His past offences varied greatly—theft, possession, arson, battery—but this time he was in for dealing.

At first their relationship was strained. Puck wanted out, so he had volunteered to help Artie as soon as he'd heard they were getting a "cripple" in an attempt to boost his good standing (which, Artie soon learned, really wasn't good at all.) The other man was often cruel, and Artie was often despondent, but as they passed the hours together day after day a strange sort of friendship began to form. Neither boy was willing to acknowledge it until one day, Puck got caught pranking Rick, his rival of sorts, and Artie covered for him so that in the end, it was Rick who took the fall. That evening Puck confessed to Artie his deepest secret—he'd fathered a daughter whose mother wasn't Puck's soulmate and, ironically, was a fellow inmate. The two men had been practically inseparable ever since.

Most would say that Puck hadn't been the best influence, but Artie knew that the other man's presence in his life had given him a reason to go on. Together they had purpose, something Artie had lacked for too long. Puck encouraged his interest in technology and Artie slowly began to dabble again when allowed. After some of the guards noticed his talent, he was quickly put to work helping with prison security. No one ever suspected the handicapped kid capable of doing any wrong, and Artie was good at not getting caught; he became Puck's accomplice of a sort.

Two years later a third friend joined their ranks. Blaine Anderson had kept to himself when he first arrived, but Warden Sylvester made sure everyone in the prison heard the rumors—that he was a traitor, and even worse, that he was homosexual. He'd gotten a lot of flack in the beginning, but he refused to just take it. Puck was impressed by that, while Artie was impressed by the fact that the man also refused to fight. It was obvious to everyone that he struggled with anger just as much as the next guy, but he kept it verbal and instead took his frustrations out on a punching bag. It was a mutual and unspoken decision—they both wanted Anderson in their corner.

It took some time, but as they slowly got to know him, Blaine proved to be a valuable friend. Beneath the surface was a man who was passionate about music and literature as well as the political cause—ending rehabilitation and changing the laws restricting homosexuals and no-names—for which he'd been imprisoned. He never shared with them how he got caught, but it was a simple thing for Artie to allow him his secret. Artie himself never spoke of his suicide attempt, and though his friends knew of the blankness of his palm it was a subject they never breached.

The three of them carved out a pleasant enough existence apart from the rest, joining groups together where they could to pass the time. The prison offered a therapeutic music group that all three loved, although Puck was hesitant at first because it "sounded lame." They tried a few exercise groups, Artie's friends kindly only suggesting those that he could easily take part in. They even attempted an art therapy group for a short time—Artie learning that years of honing his fine motor skills via remote control had paved the way for him to become a decent artist, though Blaine was dreadful at it and Puck quickly got himself kicked out for throwing paint.

As unbelievable as it sounded, inmate Artie Abrams had reached a point of contentment in his life.

And then, out of the blue, Kurt happened.

Artie wasn't sure if Blaine would have ever told them that the newly hired music therapist was his soulmate had he not been so transparent that Puck figured it out. For a former spy, Blaine was terrible at hiding the fact that he was madly in love. Kurt himself faired a little better after the initial shock of the moment Blaine revealed himself (which was an incredibly stupid thing to do during group, but then Blaine had given them no opportunity to warn him,) but even on Kurt's part their interactions were suspicious enough for gossip to fly throughout the prison.

Life began changing rapidly soon after Kurt arrived, the lovebirds eager to stage a breakout almost immediately. While Artie was saddened at the prospect of losing his friend, he was genuinely happy to help. Privately he thought running might actually be the safest option for Blaine given the man's inevitable heart eyes every time Kurt so much as entered the room.

Then Lauren showed up, and just like that, Artie was losing Puck, too.

So he planned and schemed with his two closest friends, freely offering up the very best of his efforts and talents, and it worked; they were free.

And Artie was, yet again, alone.

He was proud of the fact that it wasn't like last time. He was sad, yes, but he was equally determined not to fall into depression. Artie tried his hardest in the days and weeks and months that followed to find new friends, to lose himself once more in the boundless world of technology, but two months later his efforts had proven fruitless. He knew he needed to find someone soon, ground himself with a new companion to make each day seem a little more worth it. Keep holding on, he told himself every day, thinking of the song they had sung several months ago in music group. Each day he strived to find happiness and motivation in the little things.

Today he found hope in the words of the speaker on the television screen, and in the sight of his old friend standing beside her. He knew this woman: Santana Lopez. Everyone did. She was famous for her cutthroat policies, for her unwavering support of the law... especially rehabilitation, which she had always been proud to publicly declare she had undergone herself.

Until now, or so it seemed.

Miraculously, the famed Head of Security stood before the world telling a very different tale, and Artie could almost feel the anger, the hatred in her voice when she spoke of how rehabilitation had destroyed her, how she had somehow—by grace of the Source, maybe—discovered her true self again. As her powerful message continued, Artie felt something new, something different creeping through him. His heart sped in anticipation. It felt like change.

As she concluded, a few people in the room with him clapped. Artie was tempted to join them.

The camera had already begun panning away when the shot rang out. Artie jumped, as did several others. He heard one man in the back scream. The people on the screen were now frantic, and Artie watched as Kurt seemed to freeze while Blaine sprung into action, raising his rifle. Santana could no longer be seen; she must have fallen, and Artie suddenly found his attention strangely drawn to a pretty blonde woman who was kneeling, hysterical, next to where her body must lie.

With all the commotion on the screen, all the tension filling the room, he barely noticed a faint tingling begin in his left hand. It pricked there slowly, a mere tease, then more and more, little by little, until finally he was forced to pay notice.

He stared down at his hand in awe, as if the limb were something foreign and not, in fact, a part of himself. Artie Abrams didn't get to have this, and after years of struggle and despair and self-pity, he had finally accepted that.

Only apparently he did.

It didn't take long for the name to become legible. The rest of the room was distracted, but Artie couldn't be bothered at that moment if the entire world demanded his attention. His finger trembled as he traced the letters for the first time.

Brittany Evans

He was certain of it now, certain in a way he'd never been before. Everything was [finally] about to change.