fic: the cure 2/3
back to part one
Part 2
Brittany and Santana didn’t turn up to Glee on Friday.
“You don’t have Cheerios practice, do you?” Sam asked, curious about their absence.
“No,” Quinn answered simply, flipping through the sheet music of the Journey song Mr. Schuester’d handed out.
“Brittany had a bad night,” Finn told him from the back row. “Santana always stays with her afterwards.”
“Oh,” Sam said. That didn’t really explain a thing.
“Kurt’s coming tonight, right?” Mercedes asked Finn for the seventh time
“Yeah, definitely,” Finn said, nodding. “Tonight’s Friday night dinner. And Kurt still has to pick up the rest of his stuff for his room.”
“You know what I meant,” Mercedes said, rolling her eyes. “He’s coming after that, right?”
“Even if I have to drag him there,” Finn said, grinning.
“What’s tonight?” Sam asked Quinn. She patted his knee.
“Remember when I said I’d explain everything? Tonight’s the night. Tina’s house. Pick me up at 8, okay?”
“…okay,” Sam said.
-
Finn didn’t need to drag Kurt to Tina’s - although that didn’t stop him offering.
“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” Kurt told him. “In fact, you’re not even driving. I’m not letting you anywhere near the wheel of my baby, don’t even try.”
“C’mon,” Finn said, grinning brilliantly. “It’ll be awesome. Last week Mom taught me how to parallel park in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I’m totally ready to handle the Navigator.”
“No way,” Kurt said, and squawked when Finn pulled him into a headlock, ruffling up the hair he’d spent a quarter of an hour perfecting. After a good thirty second noogie, Finn released him, pulling him tight against his side. Kurt went freely, not even bothering to pretend to care that his head was essentially pressed into Finn’s armpit.
“I missed you so much,” Finn said. “I thought it was hard when Matt left. This was nuts.”
“Missed you more,” Kurt said simply. “I’m sorry I left like I did. I’ll understand if everyone’s angry with me.”
“This week was kind of intense,” Finn told him. “But you’re crazier than Miss Pillsbury if you think people are actually angry with you. I guess maybe they’re sad you never told anyone what was happening. The whole circle of trust thingy. But Karofsky’s the one they’re mad at. Puck slushied him eight times this week. Eight.”
Kurt laughed, still wrapped around Finn’s side. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all.” The clock on the microwave beside the dishes they’d been washing read 8:04. “Guess we better get going.”
Finn tried again. “Sure you won’t let me drive?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
-
Sam’d never been to Tina’s house before. It was bigger than he expected; a two story brick house with a double-garage and a big cast-iron fence in Lima’s almost unmentionably small Asian district. Quinn directed him there, pointing out which house to turn into. He pulled up behind the little blue car he recognized as Rachel’s, alongside Brittany’s mom’s SUV and Kurt’s enormous Navigator. Puck’s pick-up was out on the street, along with Mike’s white hatchback.
“Oh, he’s here already!” Quinn said, spotting Kurt’s car and bouncing uncharacteristically in her seat. She sprung out of the car as soon as Sam switched off the ignition, pulling him towards the door in a matter of seconds.
“Whoa, calm down,” Sam said, chasing after her before she managed to tug him into a tree or something. The red brick house was really not what he’d imagined for Tina. Then again, he never really spent a whole lot of time picturing Tina Cohen-Chang’s house. If he did, it’d probably be something like the house the people in the Addams Family lived in. Or maybe the big mansion from the Rocky Horror movie. He’d finally watched it - right around the time when Miss Pillsbury handed him a pair of shiny gold underwear to wear onstage. He’d had to make sure she wasn’t pranking him or something.
Quinn seemed to know exactly where she was going, letting herself in without even knocking.
“You still haven’t explained what’s happening,” Sam said, Quinn determinedly leading him down the pristine white hallway. “Is this a party or something?”
“Or something,” Quinn told him, as they turned a corner into another passageway - this one immaculately done up in royal blue. “This is what we do every Friday night. I convinced everyone else it was time we brought you along too.”
“Okay,” Sam said, stretching out the first syllable. “Kind of sounds like a party. I saw Puck’s truck out the front. You can’t convince me he spends his Friday nights at a glee club sleepover.”
“I’m not convincing you of anything,” Quinn said sharply, stopping in front of Sam and facing up at him. “I’m bringing you here because I trust you, and because you were curious. So I’m going to tell you once, and once only. This is what we do. This is who we are. Nobody has to explain anything, and you have the right to question, but not to probe. This is where we get to be us, and what happens here stays here. Got it?”
“Sure,” Sam replied, after a pause. It kind of sounded like an orgy to him, but he knew better than to mention that to Quinn’s face. She was really, really pretty, but she was also really, really scary. “Definitely, this is fine,” he told her when she seemed less than convinced. “C’mon, don’t you want to see Kurt? It’s been a whole five days, right?”
That cheered her up. She spun on her heel, taking his hand again and pulling him a few paces down the hall into what opened up into a large rec room. Two couches and two armchairs surrounded a flat-screen, the coffee table laden with bowls of chips and plates of snacks. As they got closer, he saw the whole club was already there, very much at home on the couches.
Right in the middle sat Kurt; Mercedes and Rachel on one side, Tina on the other and Brittany on his lap, wrapped around him like an octopus. Britt was paler than Sam’d ever seen her, and quiet; her face pressed into the junction of Kurt’s neck. Kurt held her close, one hand threaded through her hair even as he laughed and joked with Mercedes beside him.
“Kurt!” Quinn called. She let go of Sam’s hand, jogging the distance to the back of the couch to reach over and hug Kurt from behind. Sam sat down on the other side of the room next to Puck, bumping fists with Finn, Artie and Mike as he passed them.
“Quinn!” Kurt replied gleefully, reaching back with one hand and tilting his head up to kiss her on the cheek.
“I missed you, silly boy,” she told him, when they finally released each other, bopping him on the shoulder with her hand. “Five days is too long without you beside me in AP History.”
“The feeling is more than mutual, my dear,” Kurt said. “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”
Quinn shook her head. “You have to do what you have to, as long as it keeps you safe and smiling. Doesn’t mean you get to shut us out completely, though. We gave you five days to hide, but the moment you go back to your fancy private school, you better be in touch 24-7.”
“Damn straight,” Mercedes told him. “Things get weird when you’re not around. We need you to keep ‘em in line even if you’re two hours away.” She prodded Rachel’s arm. “This one brought the pantsuit out of hiding yesterday.”
“No,” Kurt said, jaw dropping.
“You better believe it,” Quinn said. “We had to pull her into the bathroom before anybody else could see.”
“Not that your emergency in-case-of-slushy outfit would be any better,” Kurt teased, reaching around Mercedes to brush Rachel’s hair back from her face.
“Hold on, it gets better,” Tina called out, grinning broadly.
“I used my spare set of clothes after Azimio hit me with a cherry slushy on Tuesday,” Rachel explained. “And, may I just add, not that there’s anything wrong with my pantsuit. But I forgot to bring in another replacement outfit.”
“We simply couldn’t let Rachel back out into the hallways dressed the way she way,” Quinn continued. “And there’s only one other person in Glee close enough in size to lend Rachel clothes.”
“I can guess where this is going,” Kurt laughed. He cradled Britt’s body closer against him, leaning forwards to tilt his head at Rachel. “The pantsuit, really? If there was ever a garment I hoped the slushy syrup permanently stained.”
“It’s elegant!” Rachel protested, valiantly ignoring Mercedes’ snicker. “Anyway, Tina was kind enough to lend me some clothes to wear for the rest of the day, after she and Quinn shoved me into a cubicle and refused to let me out until I’d tossed my pantsuit over the top of the door.”
“We only did it out of love,” Quinn assured her, winking at Rachel.
“I took pictures!” Tina announced, shoving her phone at Kurt. He grabbed for it eagerly, laughing long and hard at the slideshow of pictures in front of him.
“So, okay,” Sam said, taking his eyes away from the exchange for a moment to talk to Puck. “I’m kind of confused. This is your idea of fun on a Friday night?”
Puck shrugged. “It’s good to see Kurt again. But don’t worry. The hard stuff’s still out in my truck. The real party starts later.”
“Hell yeah,” Finn said, nodding at Puck.
“I got my guy to sneak me out some rum along with the usual,” Puck bragged, adding in a little nothin’-to-it shrug at the end.
“As long as you brought tequila, Puckerman,” Santana said, sliding off from her perch on the edge of the couch and onto Puck’s lap, stretching out her legs so that her feet were in Sam’s lap.
“Of course, babe.”
“So, what,” Sam said, “Tina’s parents don’t mind you guys crashing their house every Friday? Do they have a standing date night or something?”
“Uh, not quite,” Mike told him, his voice hushed. “And don’t talk so loudly. Tina’s folks aren’t around a whole lot.”
“That’s awesome,” Sam said, but Mike shook his head.
“No, like, they’re almost never here. It’s kind of a sore spot. Don’t ever mention it to her, okay?”
“Sure,” Sam said, and glanced at Santana. “Is Brittany okay? She’s had her face smooshed against Kurt’s chest the entire time I’ve been here.”
“She’s gotta be the only person in the world who can get away with wiping their nose on Hummel’s shirt, huh,” Puck said, nonplussed.
“She had a rough night yesterday,” Santana told Sam. “Leave her be.”
Mike shrugged at him. “Her parents are fighting a lot lately. Been there. Not fun.”
The Zelda theme song broke the relative quiet on their side of the couch - Kurt and Tina were still laughing at the photos of a reluctantly gothic Rachel Berry - and Artie scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Oh hey - Matt’s home from work, guys,” he announced, reading the text. “Skype time.”
“Sweet,” Finn said.
“About time,” Santana said, and slithered off Puck’s lap, taking the handles of Artie’s chair and pushing him over to the front of the television. Artie grabbed the laptop sitting on the TV stand, leaning forward to plug in the cords and cables Santana passed him. In a matter of minutes, he made a noise akin to triumph and hit a key on the laptop. A face filled the television screen - a grinning black kid Sam recognized from the Glee Club photo in the 2010 Thunderclap. Santana reached up, clipping a wireless webcam to the top of the television, then pushed Artie back to his spot beside Finn’s armchair.
“Matt!” the room crowed, and he beamed at them.
“What’s up! Is that K-Hummel I spot? Why the radio silence, man?”
“Sorry,” Kurt called out from behind Brittany. Sam got the feeling Kurt had been apologizing for the large part of the evening. He kept quiet as everyone in the room chatted with the boy on the screen for the better part of an hour. When Matt’s father called him away, he made a sad face at the room.
“Guess I better run,” Matt said. “Always good to see your pretty faces.” He held his hand above his face in an L shape, laughing when the rest of his friends mimicked the move. “Love you guys. Bye!”
The connection cut out, and Santana reached for the remote, turning the television off.
“Well,” Puck said, after a moment of silence. “Drink time. Abrams, you’re with me. I don’t wanna have to make two trips.”
“What am I, a shopping cart?” Artie replied.
Puck shrugged. “One that talks back, sure.”
“Screw you,” Artie laughed, but he wheeled himself out of the room ahead of Puck. With the spot beside Sam vacant, Quinn rose from her place on the edge of Tina’s couch cushion and sat down next to him.
“Having a nice time?” she asked him quietly.
“Yeah,” he told her.
“Isn’t Matt lovely?” she cast a glance back at the black screen of the television. “He left at the very end of the summer, right before the new school year started up. His whole family moved to Texas.”
“You were close?”
“Very,” Quinn said simply, reaching forward to take one of the carrot sticks from the plate on the coffee table.
It was a strange sort of night, and a strange sort of gathering, all things considered. Soon enough, Puck and Artie returned, alcohol in hand (and lap). Mercedes cranked up the speakers and Santana and Tina got busy mixing drinks. Mike managed to pry Brittany from Kurt’s neck, dragging her onto the makeshift dance floor in front of the stereo system. Puck and Finn joined them out there, Rachel in tow holding both their hands, and all three of them started what seemed like the most elaborate bad-dance-move competition ever until a tiny smile began to form on Brittany’s face. It grew bigger when Finn tried to spin on his head, and bigger still when Rachel started teaching Puck how to properly square dance. Mike got in on the action, and Santana dragged Mercedes into the group too; the two of them pulling out some of the most exaggerated gangsta poses imaginable in a clear mockery of Artie, Puck and Finn’s attempts at rapping throughout the year. Finally Kurt and Tina strode into the fray, passing off their colourful drinks to the closest free hands and pulling Brittany along with them out into the open space.
“Crank it,” Tina called to Artie, who’d landed temporary DJ duties, and Beyoncé’s most overplayed song yet filled the speakers.
Sam gaped. Quinn giggled beside him, pulling him up and a little closer to the dance floor. “I forgot you missed this,” she told him, shouting over the music. “Kurt got the whole football team to dance to this. It was almost as funny as it was mortifying.”
“I’d pay incredible amounts of money to see that,” Sam replied, and Quinn slid her hands around him, shoulders moving with the fast beat of the song.
With a little more alcohol in him, Sam found himself relaxing a little more. He stopped focusing on how weird it all was - this gathering at Tina’s house of all places; the way everybody was so touchy feely; all the inside jokes that flew right over his head despite months of hanging out with them in the choir room. When he stopped analyzing, and just observed instead - and joined in on the party - the night was a lot more fun.
When Sam left the next morning - Quinn catching a ride with Rachel since their houses were close together - he had the makings of a killer hangover, but none of the answers Quinn had promised him. He didn’t understand any of it - or any of them, when it came down to it. But he’d had a good night. A surprisingly good night, even if it raised far more questions than it’d answered.
The thing was, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the eleven - or twelve, if you counted the kid on the webcam - of them. The more he thought about it, the more he started noticing the little things.
Like at football practice, when Mike rushed to pick Artie as his partner for the drill, and Finn turned to bump fists with Puck without even considering anyone else, even though he was the quarterback, and in theory, could have his pick of any of the best players on the team. Sam’d heard all about the Finn-Puck-Quinn drama of sophomore year - not from Quinn, of course; she never told him details, but he spent enough time in the locker room, and guys tended to talk - so really, Puck should’ve been the last guy Finn’d choose for the drill.
And at lunch, the way Santana and Brittany would start out sitting with the rest of the Cheerios, sipping Master Cleanse and flipping their ponytails over their shoulders and doing whatever it was that girls did. But eventually, inevitably, they’d always wind up at the table the glee club’d claimed at the start of the year.
That confused him more than anything. Santana - and Brittany, by default - ruled the school. She strutted the hallway and people dived to get out of her way, then stared after her and her swishy hips as she walked away. She was tall and stunning and absolutely ruthless. Quinn was the squad captain - and she was damn good at it, as far as Sam was concerned - but Santana was the only person in the whole school (except maybe Kurt, if he still counted) who could hold their own against Coach Sylvester. So to see Santana and Brittany and Quinn, the three prettiest girls in school, choosing to leave the more-than-exclusive Cheerios table to sit with the outcasts… Sam totally didn’t get it.
If their interactions on the football field and in the cafeteria were strange, it was nothing compared to what went down in the choir room that week.
“Let’s talk about your guilty pleasure songs,” Schuester announced.
Every hand went up. Rachel was the fastest.
“But Mr. Schuester, Sectionals are in five days.”
“Right,” he said, and scratched his head. “Well, maybe this’ll inspire our setlist this time.”
Rachel gave him a completely unimpressed stare.
“Rachel’s right, Mr. Schue,” Tina called out. “We’re facing Kurt in less than a week, and I’m really not sure the Backstreet Boys are going to cut it this time.”
“Agreed,” Quinn said. “I just can’t see Spice Up Your Life bringing down the house.”
Schuester made a sad face at the room. “You all feel this way?
The response was unanimous.
He raised both hands in the air, and dropped down onto his wheelie chair. “The nays have it. Well then, we’ll shelve the guilty pleasures, but you’ve gotta tell me what you want to sing then. I’m down with keeping boy bands out of our setlist, but I want your input on this. What are you going to sing at Sectionals?”
“Mr. Schue,” Mercedes said, looking one hundred times happier and more confident than the week before, “why would we tell you what we want to sing when we could show you?”
Mr. Schuester beamed, pushing himself out of the way on the chair. “The floor is yours.”
That was when things got strange. Mercedes got up, bringing Mike, Finn and Artie with her, and wailed out the opening line of Lets Get It Started by the Black Eyed Peas, Artie and Finn trading off on the rap verses and Mike literally dancing circles around all of them, then pulling Tina out of her chair and grinding against her.
“Hell yeah,” Brittany hollered. Tina collapsed onto Rachel into a pile of giggles as the song finished, and Santana wolf-whistled.
“Very nice, guys,” Schue said, and crooked his eyebrow at Mike. “Some …interesting moves at the end there. Who’s next?”
“Us!” Tina hopped up, grabbing Puck by the wrist.
“Okay!” Schue said, as Puck slung his guitar strap over his shoulders. Tina dragged two stools to the middle of the room.
“Not my usual Jewish fare, but I make exceptions when the right song floats my way,” Puck said, winking at Tina and sitting down.
“This is a personal favourite,” Tina said, smiling back at him.
“With the Puckerman twist,” Puck finished, then nodded at the band guys, swinging into an acoustic, slowed-down version of The Cure’s Lovesong.
Santana, Quinn and Rachel went next, pulling off Destiny’s Child’s Survivor. Even Mercedes applauded, which was the highest of compliments.
Sam was the last to go, bringing Puck back up for backup as he performed a Matchbox 20 number, dedicating it as always to Quinn.
“That was great, guys,” Schuester said, rolling back into the centre of the room. “We can definitely use some of those songs. Did I mention how great it is that you’re mixing up your groupings a little? Rachel, Quinn, Santana, that was perfect harmonization. And Tina, Puck - what a great twist on that old-school classic. Who knew the two of you would be such a great fit? Sam, always a pleasure. And that first number. Black Eyed Peas - such an inspired choice! A total crowd pleaser. I don’t know for sure, but that just might be our opening number for Sectionals!”
“Hell yeah, Mr. Schue,” Mercedes replied, high-fiving Finn.
“C’mon, the hour’s up, get out of here,” Mr. Schue said, grinning widely. “Keep working on those pieces, and keep thinking of ideas. Friday’s a long way away, and Kurt’s team’ll be hard to beat. We still need a kick-butt group number.”
“We’re on it,” Santana said, linking arms with Brittany and shouldering her backpack. They all left in a group.
Sam hung back. “I just gotta put my guitar away,” he told Quinn. “I’ll catch up.”
She nodded, leaving with Artie.
The guitar thing was true, but he had another reason to linger. He needed to catch Mr. Schuester. He had questions, and if Quinn wouldn’t give him a direct answer, maybe Mr. Schue could.
“That was great today, Sam,” Schue said, shuffling his sheet music into a pile and stacking it on the back shelf. “Really great guitar work, and I like that you brought Puck into it too. I know you two have different tastes in music, but just like Puck’s song with Tina, when you mix styles, you can produce amazing music.”
“Uh, thanks,” Sam said. “Speaking of Puck and Tina - that’s kind of unusual, isn’t it? I mean, they barely even speak, normally.”
“In the outside world, sure,” Schuester shrugged. “The more time I spend with this group, the less surprises me. It is an unusual pairing, just like Rachel, Quinn and Santana were. That makes it even better, I think.”
“I just. I don’t know. I’m a little confused lately,” Sam said, snapping the latches on his guitar case closed. “The more I learn about the group dynamics, the more confused I get.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Schue asked, leaning back against the piano. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, nothing bad. I just -“ he shrugged. “At my old school, I was on the football team. Jocks hang out with jocks. Cheerleaders and pretty girls hang out together. The losers get picked on. That’s how it works. I just don’t really get this place.”
“It is a little unique, I know,” Mr. Schue nodded. “Every guy in Glee is on the football team, and more than half the girls’ve been cheerleaders at some stage. But you know what makes this group special? You guys see past all that. This group’s spent so much time together over the last year and a half. Everybody’s stopped seeing the uniforms, and started seeing the person underneath. And this room right here is where they can be that person without anybody else judging them. These guys went through a lot last year, and this year too. You have to have a place where you feel safe. That’s why Kurt left, I guess. And that’s why two top cheerleaders can sing a song and shake their booties with the girl who was unanimously voted Most Annoying by the entire school in last year’s yearbook. That’s why a jock with a Mohawk can sing a duet with the shy girl in the goth dress. That’s why two football players can sit down and play their guitars and not have to finish the performance by adding a no homo disclaimer. That’s why the quarterback of a football team that’s actually winning some games this season can try and breakdance and rap to a Peas song, and laugh at himself at the end of it.”
Mr. Schue smiled at him, straightening up and picking up his satchel. “Our experiences make us stronger. They bring us closer. These guys have been a team for a long time now, and most of the time, they’re the only ones cheering. You’re the new guy, so it’s natural to feel a little out of place sometimes. You can’t repeat the experiences of the past. You have to make new ones. We’re a team here. And yeah, they’re close for a show choir. Coming into this new year, they’re closer than I’ve ever seen them. Sometimes you just don’t question it. They’ve got each other, and they’ve got this room to be themselves in, and so far, we’ve been making some pretty awesome music.”
That was… surprisingly insightful, coming from Mr. Schue.
“I think I get it,” he said. “They’re a family.”
“No,” Schue corrected him, a worrying gleam in his eye. “We’re a family.”
Sam wasn’t at all surprised when Mr. Schuester announced he’d decided on a group number for their setlist the next time they got together to practice. New Directions were performing We Are Family at Sectionals.
-
“You look happy,” Blaine commented, meeting Kurt out in the hallway. “Good weekend?”
“Great weekend,” Kurt confirmed, beaming at him.
“I take it your friends weren’t mad at you, then.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Kurt said. “You don’t get to gloat.”
“Who said anything about gloating? I’m just glad you finally turned your phone back on. I could’ve been texting you Shakespearian sonnets, and you wouldn’t have even read them.”
“Please,” Kurt told him, swinging his bag out to knock Blaine’s hip as they rounded the corner towards the dining hall. “As if you’d have the patience to type a whole sonnet. I’m lucky if you even use vowels.”
“Hey,” Blaine said. “I’m offended. That’s the last time I share my deep dark secret dreams of being a poet with you. Next time I message you, it’s not even going to rhyme.”
“No haikus?”
“Not even a limerick,” Blaine told him, and pushed the wooden door to the dining hall open, waiting for Kurt to go in first. “Anyway,” he said later, as they were sitting down, Blaine with his oatmeal and Kurt with fruit salad. “You didn’t tell me about your weekend. You’ve been at Dalton for a week, but this is the first proper smile I’ve seen.”
“It was fine,” Kurt shrugged. “Friday night dinner, then I met up with my friends.”
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Blaine said with a smile. “But whatever happened, it sure cheered you up. Look at you, you’re actually eating instead of just picking at your food.”
Kurt’s phone buzzed on the tabletop, and he reached for it. “Brittany likes to tell me what she’s having for breakfast,” he explained, keying in his passcode. “Oh. I guess Finn does too. Waffles.”
“Your friends are …special,” Blaine commented. Kurt looked up from his texting and grinned.
“They kind of are.”
-
Thursdays were always Mercedes’ least favourite days. There was plenty of reason to loathe them. She always woke up feeling like it was the end of the week, when really, there were two whole days standing in the way of the weekend. With that disappointment already spoiling the day, her class schedule did little to help. Double math in the morning, and a killer Biology/American History/Spanish trio in the afternoon to struggle through. The only redeeming part of her whole day was Glee, but that was after school. Then it was home to an empty house - her father worked late on Thursdays, and her mom had Jazzercise class, and Caleb was off at college, and Jimmy.
Well. It didn’t help that Jimmy died on a Thursday. And sitting in her empty living room with a microwaved plate of meatloaf, she had nothing better to do than stare up at the huge portrait hanging over the mantle. It was a shot from his 9th birthday party, and he’d never looked happier. He never would, either.
He’d be 12 now. 13 in two months, if things had turned out differently. Mercedes left her plate on the table, appetite gone. With the whole house quiet like it rarely was, her thoughts were too loud inside her head. She could practically hear the cartoons he’d race home from school to watch even though the television was off.
Mercedes hated the quiet. She hated being alone, and she hated that her therapist was more interested in talking about how Mercedes turned to food instead of dealing with her emotions rather than actually talking about the whole reason Mercedes saw a shrink. She hated that her father was taking appointments later and later into the night, and she hated that her mom was finding more and more reason to be out of the house. She hated the way her mother would watch her every time she sat down for a meal, staring first at Mercedes’ plate, and then at the empty spot at the end of that table.
Most of all, she hated that she knew exactly what her mother was thinking when she stared at the dusty placemat. That if Mercedes hadn’t insisted on going out to the movies with her friends from class three years ago, this never would’ve happened. Mercedes would’ve been home to watch over Jimmy, and her mom wouldn’t have had to ask Mrs. Greene across the street to keep an eye on him. Mrs. Greene, who was mostly blind and a little deaf, who didn’t notice right away when Jimmy slipped away, chasing his soccer ball down off the front porch and out onto the street…
When it came down to it, Mercedes hated a lot of things. Mostly about herself. She could sass-talk Santana into silence, but her therapist said that was a defense mechanism.
She missed the meds the shrink had given her back when she first went in for a consultation. That was the only useful thing he’d ever done for her.
The silence was way too loud. She hated the silence. She wished Kurt was there, or Tina, or Rachel, or Quinn, or anyone who could hold her hand and hug her and distract her before the quiet became too much and she started crying. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, the tears would surprise her, and she’d end up hiding in her room, cushion pressed against her face until her eyes finally ran out of water.
Too late. Her cheeks were already wet.
“Damn it,” she hissed, standing up and grabbing a handful of tissues, then dumping her plate in the kitchen sink and hurrying to her room. It was never just tears. They brought with them an all-encompassing sense of misery; a deep dark sinking feeling in her stomach, and the sensation of being too tired to sleep. She hated how she looked when she cried. And how she sounded when she cried. High-pitched desperate sobs, impossible to dampen.
Swallowing hard and swiping at the moisture fast-falling from her eyes, she hit the play button on her little stereo, reaching for her phone. She needed somebody, and she was past being too proud to admit it. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened. The first in a while, sure, but these …sudden attacks of misery weren’t exactly infrequent. Certainly not the sort of thing she could keep from everyone. They could always sense it. Sectionals were twelve hours away, and she needed to get it together.
She couldn’t talk to anyone; not on the phone. They’d know right away that something was wrong, but she couldn’t describe what or why she was suddenly so sad. It was the accumulation of everything; slushies in the face at school and her parents being out again and Kurt being gone, and frustration at herself for getting so upset. She messaged Tina, then sat back on the bed, wiggling her toes under the blankets, and wished she could control her emotions for once in her life.
Mercedes really, really hated Thursdays.
-
Kurt was at rehearsal when he got a text from Tina. His phone was permanently on silent mode - ever since the brick wall of silence he’d built over the previous week had been broken, the texts and phone calls were coming fast, with no sign of slowing. Not that he hoped they would - he responded to every message and returned every call the moment he could, but if he turned the ringer back on, Wes would probably suspend him from the Warblers indefinitely as punishment for causing an almost constant string of disruptions in the group.
The one from Tina wasn’t quite what he was expecting, though. It was the night before Sectionals, and most of his conversations with his old Glee club had denigrated into trash-talk - something Rachel was terrifyingly good at. It was the only thing keeping him awake as the Warbler council continued debating standing in rows versus an inverted pyramid shape.
He sighed, tilting his head to the side and keeping his eyes on his phone, resting on his thigh. It buzzed, right on cue, and he reached for it. Tina.
Got a strange txt from M. Heading over. Can you call her?
If that was trash-talk, it was kind of appallingly lame. He frowned, and scrolled down through his messages. The last one from Mercedes had been sent over two hours ago, and there was nothing particularly strange about it. Wes and David were still arguing up the front, so Kurt pocketed his phone and slid forward to the edge of the leather couch.
“Bathroom break,” he whispered to Blaine, who was watching him, and then made his way out through the side door as quickly and quietly as possible. When he called, Mercedes didn’t answer her phone right away - which was already cause for concern. Then she didn’t answer it at all, even when he called her three times in succession. That wasn’t good. There wasn’t much else he could do, but Tina had to be almost there by now, so he messaged her back and headed back into rehearsal. There was a ball of worry fast growing in his stomach, but until Tina could give him some idea of the situation, there was no point in enraging the Warbler council.
Wes and David had almost reached an agreement when he sat back down beside Blaine, and thankfully, they’d been too occupied with the negotiations for the number of rows in their inverted pyramid to notice his absence.
“Everything okay?” Blaine asked in a whisper, tilting his head just so. Kurt nodded, keeping his eyes up on the council and his fingers wrapped around his phone to keep from attracting any unwanted attention.
It was at least another twenty minutes before he heard back from Tina. By then, the Warblers were up and in position, running through the step-step-sway moves as Blaine sang, front and centre. In the pocket of his trousers, his cell started to vibrate. It had to be Tina. Everyone else knew he was still in rehearsal; they’d text, not call. The phone kept buzzing, and Kurt tried to think up an excuse to leave again. It wouldn’t be so subtle this time - Wes had placed him up front, directly behind Blaine, like maybe his pale skin and light hair would contrast just so beside David, and show the judges what a diverse, well rounded club they were.
Kurt had no idea. Maybe it was just because he was the new kid, and they were trying to make him feel better about his disastrous solo audition. That was the last time he trusted Rachel’s judgment. My heart will go on would’ve brought the house down. Who didn’t love Titanic?
He was getting distracted. His cell had finally stopped buzzing, but Kurt knew Tina, and she didn’t give up easily.
Desperate times, desperate measures. Kurt was nothing if not an actor for all occasions. He was definitely capable of faking a convincing coughing fit.
It worked. Enough that Blaine turned back to raise his eyebrows in concern - all the while still singing - and Wes stepped closer, his hands on Kurt’s shoulders to steer him out of formation.
“Water fountain’s just down the hall, Kurt,” Wes told him.
He nodded, hunched forward and face red, grabbing his bag and exiting the rehearsal room. He coughed for another few feet, then made a break for it, power-walking to the closest bathroom. It was late by Dalton standards - close to seven o’clock at night, and the hallways were largely empty. Several sports teams were still running practice sessions, but they were outside, and all of the boarders were either in the library or in the common rooms by then, since the dining hall closed at 6:30pm. He didn’t run into anybody on his way, pushing the door to the men’s room open and scrolling down through the missed calls from Tina. She’d called him three times before sending a message - Bad night. M’s upset. Not sure why, but worst I’ve seen her. Any way you can get here?
Of course. On my way, he texted back, then hurried back out of the bathroom. He had to pass by the rehearsal room going out to the parking lot, but maybe, if he walked quickly enough, he wouldn’t bump into anybody…
“Kurt! You okay?” No such luck. Blaine stood right in front of him, hand stretched out to grab him as he passed.
“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine,” Kurt said. “Just a …tickle in my throat, I guess.”
“You’re not fine, you’re bright red,” Blaine replied. “And you practically coughed out a lung in there.”
“Just needed a drink,” Kurt tried, putting his most convincing face on. “I’m good now, I promise.”
“Glad to hear it,” Blaine said. “C’mon, we’re starting again from the top. Wes wants to see what happens if we start by stepping to the left rather than the right.”
Well that sounded like a party. And it wasn’t exactly part of the plan. Rehearsal was set to run for another two hours, and there was no way Kurt could wait that long before driving to see Mercedes.
“No can do,” Kurt said. “I’m - uh. I’ve got to go home.”
“You’re kidding, right? We don’t finish til 9, you can’t skip out now.”
“I don’t - I’m not sneaking out for an early night, Blaine.” Kurt told him. “I’m going home home. Lima. One of my friends is in trouble. I’m leaving right now.”
“Kurt. This is crazy,” Blaine said. “You can’t leave rehearsal early the night before Sectionals - and you can’t drive all the way to Lima at night. You’re going to be exhausted for the competition!”
“The auditorium’s closer to Lima than it is to here,” Kurt replied. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“Wait, so you’re not even going to come back here first? Kurt, we have traditions here. And one of them is travelling to the competition together - we use it as an opportunity to warm up our voices and go over the harmonies before we get there. I know you’ve only been a Warbler for a few days, but you have to take this seriously.”
“Look, Blaine, I’m sorry about this. I really am. But right now Mercedes needs me more than the Warblers do, and even if she didn’t, she’ll always be my number one priority. If it matters so much, I’ll drive back in the morning. The competition’s not til 3 anyway; I’ll be back at Dalton well before the bus leaves. Okay? See you then.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, walking down the corridor and out to the parking lot. Their conversation had taken up enough time already, and the longer he spent at Dalton, the later he’d be getting to Mercedes’ house.
-
Tina met him at the door, looking uncharacteristically rumpled in contrast to her outfit - a lacy, layered black dress, with thick grey woolen socks over tights. Her boots, covered in buckles and with a decent heel, sat on the other side of the door.
“Date night,” she explained. “I left Mike at Breadstix, but San and Britt and Artie were there too, so he just latched on to them.”
“Ahh,” he said, and reached out to fix her hair where her part was messed up, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Well, you look beautiful. How’s Mercedes?”
“She’s asleep now,” Tina told him. “But she was super upset when I got here. It was like at Easter, but worse. Seeing Mercedes cry is like the saddest thing in the world.”
“Tell me about it,” Kurt said, taking Tina’s hand. “I took the first shift with her that night. Bedroom?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Let me just grab some water and snacks. I think it might be a long night.”
Kurt went on without her, taking the stairs up to the landing. Mercedes’ bedroom door was open, light from the bedside lamp filtering out into the hallway. She was asleep, just like Tina had said, curled up at the top of the double bed. The sheets were rucked up in a little spot beside her - presumably where Tina had been sitting until he’d texted her that he was at the door. A box of tissues sat to the left, to match the damp trails on her cheeks.
“Oh, babygirl,” he whispered, toeing off his shoes and crawling up onto the mattress beside her. He hated seeing her like this. So uncharacteristically blue. Even in her sleep, she looked depressed; brow furrowed and arm slipping unconsciously around Kurt’s waist. She just got like that sometimes. A combination of living in a household where it was okay to be happy, or angry, or sassy, as long as you didn’t talk about the things that really hurt, and an adolescence spent bottling everything up. Him taking off like he had probably hadn’t helped, he knew, and the week-long radio silence had probably been as painful for everyone else as it was for him. i.e. very painful.
He was no stranger to nights like these, spent cuddled up against her, with somebody else - usually Tina or Rachel, occasionally Quinn - flanking her other side. It was the only thing to do when these sudden attacks of sadness struck. Hold her close, let her be sad, and keep her company until the sun rose and she felt a little better again.
A few minutes later, Tina tiptoed through the doorway, depositing three bottles of water and a block of dark chocolate on the nightstand. “Chocolate?” Kurt asked, knowing very well that Mama Jones didn’t keep anything sweet in the house if she could help it.
Tina winked, deftly climbing over Mercedes and settling back into her spot against the wall. “Never travel anywhere without it.”
“Did I ever tell you that you’re a goddess?”
She grinned, sweeping her hair back from her face and pulling the blankets a little higher over Mercedes’ shoulders. “Probably, but it never hurts to hear it again.”
Skype never did justice to Tina’s smile, and it was like a rare, exotic bird in the corridors of McKinley. It made Kurt feel a little better every time he saw a hint of it.
“So tell me,” he said, passing her one of the waters and picking up the block of chocolate, “about this date night. I need details, and the two you and your flirty laughs on skype just won’t cut it.”
Tina sighed. It was the sigh of someone truly besotted, and Kurt was almost too happy for her to be envious. Almost. “Want to hear about his abs?” she started.
Kurt nodded. Of course he did.
-
Staying up and gossiping with his girls was fun. For all her claims to shyness, Tina was an ace gossip, especially on her specialty subject, Mr. Mike Chang. Mercedes joined in too, when she woke up, and it felt like the good old days all over again.
The next morning was far less amusing. Falling asleep in his Dalton uniform was never comfortable -although admittedly, it was made a little better by the fact that he was waking up in a bed with two people he adored rather than waking up with the contents of his pencil case imprinted on his cheek.
It was 6am, and he felt like he’d only just closed his eyes, but he needed to leave, and leave soon in order to make it to Dalton in time for first period.
“Ugh,” he said, looking down at his wrinkled uniform and then at his disasterous hair. He was going to have to wear the same outfit. In the rush to get back to Lima, he hadn’t thought to bring a spare set with him. He had clothes in Mercedes’ house he could wear, of course, but anything he stashed there was usually for emergency shopping trips only or so risqué that he wasn’t willing to risk his Dad stumbling upon it if he ever decided to venture into his wardrobe.
Either way, they weren’t clothes ideal for sneaking back onto campus in broad daylight.
He settled for a quick steam-press of his uniform to iron out the creases, then a speedy shower. He had his own toiletries at Mercedes’ place too - logical, really, considering how often he’d stayed over during the summer, and how annoying it was trying to condense his lotions into travel bottles when he could just buy miniatures and leave them at M’s - so by the time he left the bathroom, he was looking almost convincingly normal.
“Gotta run, my loves,” he whispered, squatting down beside the bed where Mercedes and Tina lay, a tangle of limbs and hair. They had a good hour or so before they’d have to get up for school - more to avoid suspicion on the parental front than anything (although Quinn was surprisingly adept at mimicking the voices of every person in the group’s mother - even Mama Jones and Mike’s mom Mrs. Chang). “See you in a few hours.”
“Drive safe,” Tina replied, squinting up at him and scrunching her nose. “You still coming home this weekend?”
“What a silly question,” he told her. “No matter what happens, somebody’s going to be celebrating tonight. Either I’ll be there to drown my sorrows and laugh at Puck’s drunk dirty dancing, or I’ll be there to toast the future and laugh at Puck’s drunk dirty dancing.”
“C’mere, baby,” Mercedes said, and pulled him down for a long, tight hug despite his squawks about his uniform. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
“You’ll be okay today?” Kurt asked, straightening up and fixing his tie. She nodded. “Consummate performer. You’re gonna kill that Black Eyed Peas song. Your brilliance will bring Fergie to tears - although, considering all that work she’s had done, who knows if that’s actually possible. Hmm.”
“Get out of here already,” Mercedes said, flicking her hand at him and already looking more and more like her regular self.
“See you at Sectionals!” He blew a kiss, closing the door behind him.
-
Part Three
-
Part 2
Brittany and Santana didn’t turn up to Glee on Friday.
“You don’t have Cheerios practice, do you?” Sam asked, curious about their absence.
“No,” Quinn answered simply, flipping through the sheet music of the Journey song Mr. Schuester’d handed out.
“Brittany had a bad night,” Finn told him from the back row. “Santana always stays with her afterwards.”
“Oh,” Sam said. That didn’t really explain a thing.
“Kurt’s coming tonight, right?” Mercedes asked Finn for the seventh time
“Yeah, definitely,” Finn said, nodding. “Tonight’s Friday night dinner. And Kurt still has to pick up the rest of his stuff for his room.”
“You know what I meant,” Mercedes said, rolling her eyes. “He’s coming after that, right?”
“Even if I have to drag him there,” Finn said, grinning.
“What’s tonight?” Sam asked Quinn. She patted his knee.
“Remember when I said I’d explain everything? Tonight’s the night. Tina’s house. Pick me up at 8, okay?”
“…okay,” Sam said.
-
Finn didn’t need to drag Kurt to Tina’s - although that didn’t stop him offering.
“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” Kurt told him. “In fact, you’re not even driving. I’m not letting you anywhere near the wheel of my baby, don’t even try.”
“C’mon,” Finn said, grinning brilliantly. “It’ll be awesome. Last week Mom taught me how to parallel park in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I’m totally ready to handle the Navigator.”
“No way,” Kurt said, and squawked when Finn pulled him into a headlock, ruffling up the hair he’d spent a quarter of an hour perfecting. After a good thirty second noogie, Finn released him, pulling him tight against his side. Kurt went freely, not even bothering to pretend to care that his head was essentially pressed into Finn’s armpit.
“I missed you so much,” Finn said. “I thought it was hard when Matt left. This was nuts.”
“Missed you more,” Kurt said simply. “I’m sorry I left like I did. I’ll understand if everyone’s angry with me.”
“This week was kind of intense,” Finn told him. “But you’re crazier than Miss Pillsbury if you think people are actually angry with you. I guess maybe they’re sad you never told anyone what was happening. The whole circle of trust thingy. But Karofsky’s the one they’re mad at. Puck slushied him eight times this week. Eight.”
Kurt laughed, still wrapped around Finn’s side. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all.” The clock on the microwave beside the dishes they’d been washing read 8:04. “Guess we better get going.”
Finn tried again. “Sure you won’t let me drive?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
-
Sam’d never been to Tina’s house before. It was bigger than he expected; a two story brick house with a double-garage and a big cast-iron fence in Lima’s almost unmentionably small Asian district. Quinn directed him there, pointing out which house to turn into. He pulled up behind the little blue car he recognized as Rachel’s, alongside Brittany’s mom’s SUV and Kurt’s enormous Navigator. Puck’s pick-up was out on the street, along with Mike’s white hatchback.
“Oh, he’s here already!” Quinn said, spotting Kurt’s car and bouncing uncharacteristically in her seat. She sprung out of the car as soon as Sam switched off the ignition, pulling him towards the door in a matter of seconds.
“Whoa, calm down,” Sam said, chasing after her before she managed to tug him into a tree or something. The red brick house was really not what he’d imagined for Tina. Then again, he never really spent a whole lot of time picturing Tina Cohen-Chang’s house. If he did, it’d probably be something like the house the people in the Addams Family lived in. Or maybe the big mansion from the Rocky Horror movie. He’d finally watched it - right around the time when Miss Pillsbury handed him a pair of shiny gold underwear to wear onstage. He’d had to make sure she wasn’t pranking him or something.
Quinn seemed to know exactly where she was going, letting herself in without even knocking.
“You still haven’t explained what’s happening,” Sam said, Quinn determinedly leading him down the pristine white hallway. “Is this a party or something?”
“Or something,” Quinn told him, as they turned a corner into another passageway - this one immaculately done up in royal blue. “This is what we do every Friday night. I convinced everyone else it was time we brought you along too.”
“Okay,” Sam said, stretching out the first syllable. “Kind of sounds like a party. I saw Puck’s truck out the front. You can’t convince me he spends his Friday nights at a glee club sleepover.”
“I’m not convincing you of anything,” Quinn said sharply, stopping in front of Sam and facing up at him. “I’m bringing you here because I trust you, and because you were curious. So I’m going to tell you once, and once only. This is what we do. This is who we are. Nobody has to explain anything, and you have the right to question, but not to probe. This is where we get to be us, and what happens here stays here. Got it?”
“Sure,” Sam replied, after a pause. It kind of sounded like an orgy to him, but he knew better than to mention that to Quinn’s face. She was really, really pretty, but she was also really, really scary. “Definitely, this is fine,” he told her when she seemed less than convinced. “C’mon, don’t you want to see Kurt? It’s been a whole five days, right?”
That cheered her up. She spun on her heel, taking his hand again and pulling him a few paces down the hall into what opened up into a large rec room. Two couches and two armchairs surrounded a flat-screen, the coffee table laden with bowls of chips and plates of snacks. As they got closer, he saw the whole club was already there, very much at home on the couches.
Right in the middle sat Kurt; Mercedes and Rachel on one side, Tina on the other and Brittany on his lap, wrapped around him like an octopus. Britt was paler than Sam’d ever seen her, and quiet; her face pressed into the junction of Kurt’s neck. Kurt held her close, one hand threaded through her hair even as he laughed and joked with Mercedes beside him.
“Kurt!” Quinn called. She let go of Sam’s hand, jogging the distance to the back of the couch to reach over and hug Kurt from behind. Sam sat down on the other side of the room next to Puck, bumping fists with Finn, Artie and Mike as he passed them.
“Quinn!” Kurt replied gleefully, reaching back with one hand and tilting his head up to kiss her on the cheek.
“I missed you, silly boy,” she told him, when they finally released each other, bopping him on the shoulder with her hand. “Five days is too long without you beside me in AP History.”
“The feeling is more than mutual, my dear,” Kurt said. “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”
Quinn shook her head. “You have to do what you have to, as long as it keeps you safe and smiling. Doesn’t mean you get to shut us out completely, though. We gave you five days to hide, but the moment you go back to your fancy private school, you better be in touch 24-7.”
“Damn straight,” Mercedes told him. “Things get weird when you’re not around. We need you to keep ‘em in line even if you’re two hours away.” She prodded Rachel’s arm. “This one brought the pantsuit out of hiding yesterday.”
“No,” Kurt said, jaw dropping.
“You better believe it,” Quinn said. “We had to pull her into the bathroom before anybody else could see.”
“Not that your emergency in-case-of-slushy outfit would be any better,” Kurt teased, reaching around Mercedes to brush Rachel’s hair back from her face.
“Hold on, it gets better,” Tina called out, grinning broadly.
“I used my spare set of clothes after Azimio hit me with a cherry slushy on Tuesday,” Rachel explained. “And, may I just add, not that there’s anything wrong with my pantsuit. But I forgot to bring in another replacement outfit.”
“We simply couldn’t let Rachel back out into the hallways dressed the way she way,” Quinn continued. “And there’s only one other person in Glee close enough in size to lend Rachel clothes.”
“I can guess where this is going,” Kurt laughed. He cradled Britt’s body closer against him, leaning forwards to tilt his head at Rachel. “The pantsuit, really? If there was ever a garment I hoped the slushy syrup permanently stained.”
“It’s elegant!” Rachel protested, valiantly ignoring Mercedes’ snicker. “Anyway, Tina was kind enough to lend me some clothes to wear for the rest of the day, after she and Quinn shoved me into a cubicle and refused to let me out until I’d tossed my pantsuit over the top of the door.”
“We only did it out of love,” Quinn assured her, winking at Rachel.
“I took pictures!” Tina announced, shoving her phone at Kurt. He grabbed for it eagerly, laughing long and hard at the slideshow of pictures in front of him.
“So, okay,” Sam said, taking his eyes away from the exchange for a moment to talk to Puck. “I’m kind of confused. This is your idea of fun on a Friday night?”
Puck shrugged. “It’s good to see Kurt again. But don’t worry. The hard stuff’s still out in my truck. The real party starts later.”
“Hell yeah,” Finn said, nodding at Puck.
“I got my guy to sneak me out some rum along with the usual,” Puck bragged, adding in a little nothin’-to-it shrug at the end.
“As long as you brought tequila, Puckerman,” Santana said, sliding off from her perch on the edge of the couch and onto Puck’s lap, stretching out her legs so that her feet were in Sam’s lap.
“Of course, babe.”
“So, what,” Sam said, “Tina’s parents don’t mind you guys crashing their house every Friday? Do they have a standing date night or something?”
“Uh, not quite,” Mike told him, his voice hushed. “And don’t talk so loudly. Tina’s folks aren’t around a whole lot.”
“That’s awesome,” Sam said, but Mike shook his head.
“No, like, they’re almost never here. It’s kind of a sore spot. Don’t ever mention it to her, okay?”
“Sure,” Sam said, and glanced at Santana. “Is Brittany okay? She’s had her face smooshed against Kurt’s chest the entire time I’ve been here.”
“She’s gotta be the only person in the world who can get away with wiping their nose on Hummel’s shirt, huh,” Puck said, nonplussed.
“She had a rough night yesterday,” Santana told Sam. “Leave her be.”
Mike shrugged at him. “Her parents are fighting a lot lately. Been there. Not fun.”
The Zelda theme song broke the relative quiet on their side of the couch - Kurt and Tina were still laughing at the photos of a reluctantly gothic Rachel Berry - and Artie scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Oh hey - Matt’s home from work, guys,” he announced, reading the text. “Skype time.”
“Sweet,” Finn said.
“About time,” Santana said, and slithered off Puck’s lap, taking the handles of Artie’s chair and pushing him over to the front of the television. Artie grabbed the laptop sitting on the TV stand, leaning forward to plug in the cords and cables Santana passed him. In a matter of minutes, he made a noise akin to triumph and hit a key on the laptop. A face filled the television screen - a grinning black kid Sam recognized from the Glee Club photo in the 2010 Thunderclap. Santana reached up, clipping a wireless webcam to the top of the television, then pushed Artie back to his spot beside Finn’s armchair.
“Matt!” the room crowed, and he beamed at them.
“What’s up! Is that K-Hummel I spot? Why the radio silence, man?”
“Sorry,” Kurt called out from behind Brittany. Sam got the feeling Kurt had been apologizing for the large part of the evening. He kept quiet as everyone in the room chatted with the boy on the screen for the better part of an hour. When Matt’s father called him away, he made a sad face at the room.
“Guess I better run,” Matt said. “Always good to see your pretty faces.” He held his hand above his face in an L shape, laughing when the rest of his friends mimicked the move. “Love you guys. Bye!”
The connection cut out, and Santana reached for the remote, turning the television off.
“Well,” Puck said, after a moment of silence. “Drink time. Abrams, you’re with me. I don’t wanna have to make two trips.”
“What am I, a shopping cart?” Artie replied.
Puck shrugged. “One that talks back, sure.”
“Screw you,” Artie laughed, but he wheeled himself out of the room ahead of Puck. With the spot beside Sam vacant, Quinn rose from her place on the edge of Tina’s couch cushion and sat down next to him.
“Having a nice time?” she asked him quietly.
“Yeah,” he told her.
“Isn’t Matt lovely?” she cast a glance back at the black screen of the television. “He left at the very end of the summer, right before the new school year started up. His whole family moved to Texas.”
“You were close?”
“Very,” Quinn said simply, reaching forward to take one of the carrot sticks from the plate on the coffee table.
It was a strange sort of night, and a strange sort of gathering, all things considered. Soon enough, Puck and Artie returned, alcohol in hand (and lap). Mercedes cranked up the speakers and Santana and Tina got busy mixing drinks. Mike managed to pry Brittany from Kurt’s neck, dragging her onto the makeshift dance floor in front of the stereo system. Puck and Finn joined them out there, Rachel in tow holding both their hands, and all three of them started what seemed like the most elaborate bad-dance-move competition ever until a tiny smile began to form on Brittany’s face. It grew bigger when Finn tried to spin on his head, and bigger still when Rachel started teaching Puck how to properly square dance. Mike got in on the action, and Santana dragged Mercedes into the group too; the two of them pulling out some of the most exaggerated gangsta poses imaginable in a clear mockery of Artie, Puck and Finn’s attempts at rapping throughout the year. Finally Kurt and Tina strode into the fray, passing off their colourful drinks to the closest free hands and pulling Brittany along with them out into the open space.
“Crank it,” Tina called to Artie, who’d landed temporary DJ duties, and Beyoncé’s most overplayed song yet filled the speakers.
Sam gaped. Quinn giggled beside him, pulling him up and a little closer to the dance floor. “I forgot you missed this,” she told him, shouting over the music. “Kurt got the whole football team to dance to this. It was almost as funny as it was mortifying.”
“I’d pay incredible amounts of money to see that,” Sam replied, and Quinn slid her hands around him, shoulders moving with the fast beat of the song.
With a little more alcohol in him, Sam found himself relaxing a little more. He stopped focusing on how weird it all was - this gathering at Tina’s house of all places; the way everybody was so touchy feely; all the inside jokes that flew right over his head despite months of hanging out with them in the choir room. When he stopped analyzing, and just observed instead - and joined in on the party - the night was a lot more fun.
When Sam left the next morning - Quinn catching a ride with Rachel since their houses were close together - he had the makings of a killer hangover, but none of the answers Quinn had promised him. He didn’t understand any of it - or any of them, when it came down to it. But he’d had a good night. A surprisingly good night, even if it raised far more questions than it’d answered.
The thing was, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the eleven - or twelve, if you counted the kid on the webcam - of them. The more he thought about it, the more he started noticing the little things.
Like at football practice, when Mike rushed to pick Artie as his partner for the drill, and Finn turned to bump fists with Puck without even considering anyone else, even though he was the quarterback, and in theory, could have his pick of any of the best players on the team. Sam’d heard all about the Finn-Puck-Quinn drama of sophomore year - not from Quinn, of course; she never told him details, but he spent enough time in the locker room, and guys tended to talk - so really, Puck should’ve been the last guy Finn’d choose for the drill.
And at lunch, the way Santana and Brittany would start out sitting with the rest of the Cheerios, sipping Master Cleanse and flipping their ponytails over their shoulders and doing whatever it was that girls did. But eventually, inevitably, they’d always wind up at the table the glee club’d claimed at the start of the year.
That confused him more than anything. Santana - and Brittany, by default - ruled the school. She strutted the hallway and people dived to get out of her way, then stared after her and her swishy hips as she walked away. She was tall and stunning and absolutely ruthless. Quinn was the squad captain - and she was damn good at it, as far as Sam was concerned - but Santana was the only person in the whole school (except maybe Kurt, if he still counted) who could hold their own against Coach Sylvester. So to see Santana and Brittany and Quinn, the three prettiest girls in school, choosing to leave the more-than-exclusive Cheerios table to sit with the outcasts… Sam totally didn’t get it.
If their interactions on the football field and in the cafeteria were strange, it was nothing compared to what went down in the choir room that week.
“Let’s talk about your guilty pleasure songs,” Schuester announced.
Every hand went up. Rachel was the fastest.
“But Mr. Schuester, Sectionals are in five days.”
“Right,” he said, and scratched his head. “Well, maybe this’ll inspire our setlist this time.”
Rachel gave him a completely unimpressed stare.
“Rachel’s right, Mr. Schue,” Tina called out. “We’re facing Kurt in less than a week, and I’m really not sure the Backstreet Boys are going to cut it this time.”
“Agreed,” Quinn said. “I just can’t see Spice Up Your Life bringing down the house.”
Schuester made a sad face at the room. “You all feel this way?
The response was unanimous.
He raised both hands in the air, and dropped down onto his wheelie chair. “The nays have it. Well then, we’ll shelve the guilty pleasures, but you’ve gotta tell me what you want to sing then. I’m down with keeping boy bands out of our setlist, but I want your input on this. What are you going to sing at Sectionals?”
“Mr. Schue,” Mercedes said, looking one hundred times happier and more confident than the week before, “why would we tell you what we want to sing when we could show you?”
Mr. Schuester beamed, pushing himself out of the way on the chair. “The floor is yours.”
That was when things got strange. Mercedes got up, bringing Mike, Finn and Artie with her, and wailed out the opening line of Lets Get It Started by the Black Eyed Peas, Artie and Finn trading off on the rap verses and Mike literally dancing circles around all of them, then pulling Tina out of her chair and grinding against her.
“Hell yeah,” Brittany hollered. Tina collapsed onto Rachel into a pile of giggles as the song finished, and Santana wolf-whistled.
“Very nice, guys,” Schue said, and crooked his eyebrow at Mike. “Some …interesting moves at the end there. Who’s next?”
“Us!” Tina hopped up, grabbing Puck by the wrist.
“Okay!” Schue said, as Puck slung his guitar strap over his shoulders. Tina dragged two stools to the middle of the room.
“Not my usual Jewish fare, but I make exceptions when the right song floats my way,” Puck said, winking at Tina and sitting down.
“This is a personal favourite,” Tina said, smiling back at him.
“With the Puckerman twist,” Puck finished, then nodded at the band guys, swinging into an acoustic, slowed-down version of The Cure’s Lovesong.
Santana, Quinn and Rachel went next, pulling off Destiny’s Child’s Survivor. Even Mercedes applauded, which was the highest of compliments.
Sam was the last to go, bringing Puck back up for backup as he performed a Matchbox 20 number, dedicating it as always to Quinn.
“That was great, guys,” Schuester said, rolling back into the centre of the room. “We can definitely use some of those songs. Did I mention how great it is that you’re mixing up your groupings a little? Rachel, Quinn, Santana, that was perfect harmonization. And Tina, Puck - what a great twist on that old-school classic. Who knew the two of you would be such a great fit? Sam, always a pleasure. And that first number. Black Eyed Peas - such an inspired choice! A total crowd pleaser. I don’t know for sure, but that just might be our opening number for Sectionals!”
“Hell yeah, Mr. Schue,” Mercedes replied, high-fiving Finn.
“C’mon, the hour’s up, get out of here,” Mr. Schue said, grinning widely. “Keep working on those pieces, and keep thinking of ideas. Friday’s a long way away, and Kurt’s team’ll be hard to beat. We still need a kick-butt group number.”
“We’re on it,” Santana said, linking arms with Brittany and shouldering her backpack. They all left in a group.
Sam hung back. “I just gotta put my guitar away,” he told Quinn. “I’ll catch up.”
She nodded, leaving with Artie.
The guitar thing was true, but he had another reason to linger. He needed to catch Mr. Schuester. He had questions, and if Quinn wouldn’t give him a direct answer, maybe Mr. Schue could.
“That was great today, Sam,” Schue said, shuffling his sheet music into a pile and stacking it on the back shelf. “Really great guitar work, and I like that you brought Puck into it too. I know you two have different tastes in music, but just like Puck’s song with Tina, when you mix styles, you can produce amazing music.”
“Uh, thanks,” Sam said. “Speaking of Puck and Tina - that’s kind of unusual, isn’t it? I mean, they barely even speak, normally.”
“In the outside world, sure,” Schuester shrugged. “The more time I spend with this group, the less surprises me. It is an unusual pairing, just like Rachel, Quinn and Santana were. That makes it even better, I think.”
“I just. I don’t know. I’m a little confused lately,” Sam said, snapping the latches on his guitar case closed. “The more I learn about the group dynamics, the more confused I get.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Schue asked, leaning back against the piano. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, nothing bad. I just -“ he shrugged. “At my old school, I was on the football team. Jocks hang out with jocks. Cheerleaders and pretty girls hang out together. The losers get picked on. That’s how it works. I just don’t really get this place.”
“It is a little unique, I know,” Mr. Schue nodded. “Every guy in Glee is on the football team, and more than half the girls’ve been cheerleaders at some stage. But you know what makes this group special? You guys see past all that. This group’s spent so much time together over the last year and a half. Everybody’s stopped seeing the uniforms, and started seeing the person underneath. And this room right here is where they can be that person without anybody else judging them. These guys went through a lot last year, and this year too. You have to have a place where you feel safe. That’s why Kurt left, I guess. And that’s why two top cheerleaders can sing a song and shake their booties with the girl who was unanimously voted Most Annoying by the entire school in last year’s yearbook. That’s why a jock with a Mohawk can sing a duet with the shy girl in the goth dress. That’s why two football players can sit down and play their guitars and not have to finish the performance by adding a no homo disclaimer. That’s why the quarterback of a football team that’s actually winning some games this season can try and breakdance and rap to a Peas song, and laugh at himself at the end of it.”
Mr. Schue smiled at him, straightening up and picking up his satchel. “Our experiences make us stronger. They bring us closer. These guys have been a team for a long time now, and most of the time, they’re the only ones cheering. You’re the new guy, so it’s natural to feel a little out of place sometimes. You can’t repeat the experiences of the past. You have to make new ones. We’re a team here. And yeah, they’re close for a show choir. Coming into this new year, they’re closer than I’ve ever seen them. Sometimes you just don’t question it. They’ve got each other, and they’ve got this room to be themselves in, and so far, we’ve been making some pretty awesome music.”
That was… surprisingly insightful, coming from Mr. Schue.
“I think I get it,” he said. “They’re a family.”
“No,” Schue corrected him, a worrying gleam in his eye. “We’re a family.”
Sam wasn’t at all surprised when Mr. Schuester announced he’d decided on a group number for their setlist the next time they got together to practice. New Directions were performing We Are Family at Sectionals.
-
“You look happy,” Blaine commented, meeting Kurt out in the hallway. “Good weekend?”
“Great weekend,” Kurt confirmed, beaming at him.
“I take it your friends weren’t mad at you, then.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Kurt said. “You don’t get to gloat.”
“Who said anything about gloating? I’m just glad you finally turned your phone back on. I could’ve been texting you Shakespearian sonnets, and you wouldn’t have even read them.”
“Please,” Kurt told him, swinging his bag out to knock Blaine’s hip as they rounded the corner towards the dining hall. “As if you’d have the patience to type a whole sonnet. I’m lucky if you even use vowels.”
“Hey,” Blaine said. “I’m offended. That’s the last time I share my deep dark secret dreams of being a poet with you. Next time I message you, it’s not even going to rhyme.”
“No haikus?”
“Not even a limerick,” Blaine told him, and pushed the wooden door to the dining hall open, waiting for Kurt to go in first. “Anyway,” he said later, as they were sitting down, Blaine with his oatmeal and Kurt with fruit salad. “You didn’t tell me about your weekend. You’ve been at Dalton for a week, but this is the first proper smile I’ve seen.”
“It was fine,” Kurt shrugged. “Friday night dinner, then I met up with my friends.”
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Blaine said with a smile. “But whatever happened, it sure cheered you up. Look at you, you’re actually eating instead of just picking at your food.”
Kurt’s phone buzzed on the tabletop, and he reached for it. “Brittany likes to tell me what she’s having for breakfast,” he explained, keying in his passcode. “Oh. I guess Finn does too. Waffles.”
“Your friends are …special,” Blaine commented. Kurt looked up from his texting and grinned.
“They kind of are.”
-
Thursdays were always Mercedes’ least favourite days. There was plenty of reason to loathe them. She always woke up feeling like it was the end of the week, when really, there were two whole days standing in the way of the weekend. With that disappointment already spoiling the day, her class schedule did little to help. Double math in the morning, and a killer Biology/American History/Spanish trio in the afternoon to struggle through. The only redeeming part of her whole day was Glee, but that was after school. Then it was home to an empty house - her father worked late on Thursdays, and her mom had Jazzercise class, and Caleb was off at college, and Jimmy.
Well. It didn’t help that Jimmy died on a Thursday. And sitting in her empty living room with a microwaved plate of meatloaf, she had nothing better to do than stare up at the huge portrait hanging over the mantle. It was a shot from his 9th birthday party, and he’d never looked happier. He never would, either.
He’d be 12 now. 13 in two months, if things had turned out differently. Mercedes left her plate on the table, appetite gone. With the whole house quiet like it rarely was, her thoughts were too loud inside her head. She could practically hear the cartoons he’d race home from school to watch even though the television was off.
Mercedes hated the quiet. She hated being alone, and she hated that her therapist was more interested in talking about how Mercedes turned to food instead of dealing with her emotions rather than actually talking about the whole reason Mercedes saw a shrink. She hated that her father was taking appointments later and later into the night, and she hated that her mom was finding more and more reason to be out of the house. She hated the way her mother would watch her every time she sat down for a meal, staring first at Mercedes’ plate, and then at the empty spot at the end of that table.
Most of all, she hated that she knew exactly what her mother was thinking when she stared at the dusty placemat. That if Mercedes hadn’t insisted on going out to the movies with her friends from class three years ago, this never would’ve happened. Mercedes would’ve been home to watch over Jimmy, and her mom wouldn’t have had to ask Mrs. Greene across the street to keep an eye on him. Mrs. Greene, who was mostly blind and a little deaf, who didn’t notice right away when Jimmy slipped away, chasing his soccer ball down off the front porch and out onto the street…
When it came down to it, Mercedes hated a lot of things. Mostly about herself. She could sass-talk Santana into silence, but her therapist said that was a defense mechanism.
She missed the meds the shrink had given her back when she first went in for a consultation. That was the only useful thing he’d ever done for her.
The silence was way too loud. She hated the silence. She wished Kurt was there, or Tina, or Rachel, or Quinn, or anyone who could hold her hand and hug her and distract her before the quiet became too much and she started crying. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, the tears would surprise her, and she’d end up hiding in her room, cushion pressed against her face until her eyes finally ran out of water.
Too late. Her cheeks were already wet.
“Damn it,” she hissed, standing up and grabbing a handful of tissues, then dumping her plate in the kitchen sink and hurrying to her room. It was never just tears. They brought with them an all-encompassing sense of misery; a deep dark sinking feeling in her stomach, and the sensation of being too tired to sleep. She hated how she looked when she cried. And how she sounded when she cried. High-pitched desperate sobs, impossible to dampen.
Swallowing hard and swiping at the moisture fast-falling from her eyes, she hit the play button on her little stereo, reaching for her phone. She needed somebody, and she was past being too proud to admit it. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened. The first in a while, sure, but these …sudden attacks of misery weren’t exactly infrequent. Certainly not the sort of thing she could keep from everyone. They could always sense it. Sectionals were twelve hours away, and she needed to get it together.
She couldn’t talk to anyone; not on the phone. They’d know right away that something was wrong, but she couldn’t describe what or why she was suddenly so sad. It was the accumulation of everything; slushies in the face at school and her parents being out again and Kurt being gone, and frustration at herself for getting so upset. She messaged Tina, then sat back on the bed, wiggling her toes under the blankets, and wished she could control her emotions for once in her life.
Mercedes really, really hated Thursdays.
-
Kurt was at rehearsal when he got a text from Tina. His phone was permanently on silent mode - ever since the brick wall of silence he’d built over the previous week had been broken, the texts and phone calls were coming fast, with no sign of slowing. Not that he hoped they would - he responded to every message and returned every call the moment he could, but if he turned the ringer back on, Wes would probably suspend him from the Warblers indefinitely as punishment for causing an almost constant string of disruptions in the group.
The one from Tina wasn’t quite what he was expecting, though. It was the night before Sectionals, and most of his conversations with his old Glee club had denigrated into trash-talk - something Rachel was terrifyingly good at. It was the only thing keeping him awake as the Warbler council continued debating standing in rows versus an inverted pyramid shape.
He sighed, tilting his head to the side and keeping his eyes on his phone, resting on his thigh. It buzzed, right on cue, and he reached for it. Tina.
Got a strange txt from M. Heading over. Can you call her?
If that was trash-talk, it was kind of appallingly lame. He frowned, and scrolled down through his messages. The last one from Mercedes had been sent over two hours ago, and there was nothing particularly strange about it. Wes and David were still arguing up the front, so Kurt pocketed his phone and slid forward to the edge of the leather couch.
“Bathroom break,” he whispered to Blaine, who was watching him, and then made his way out through the side door as quickly and quietly as possible. When he called, Mercedes didn’t answer her phone right away - which was already cause for concern. Then she didn’t answer it at all, even when he called her three times in succession. That wasn’t good. There wasn’t much else he could do, but Tina had to be almost there by now, so he messaged her back and headed back into rehearsal. There was a ball of worry fast growing in his stomach, but until Tina could give him some idea of the situation, there was no point in enraging the Warbler council.
Wes and David had almost reached an agreement when he sat back down beside Blaine, and thankfully, they’d been too occupied with the negotiations for the number of rows in their inverted pyramid to notice his absence.
“Everything okay?” Blaine asked in a whisper, tilting his head just so. Kurt nodded, keeping his eyes up on the council and his fingers wrapped around his phone to keep from attracting any unwanted attention.
It was at least another twenty minutes before he heard back from Tina. By then, the Warblers were up and in position, running through the step-step-sway moves as Blaine sang, front and centre. In the pocket of his trousers, his cell started to vibrate. It had to be Tina. Everyone else knew he was still in rehearsal; they’d text, not call. The phone kept buzzing, and Kurt tried to think up an excuse to leave again. It wouldn’t be so subtle this time - Wes had placed him up front, directly behind Blaine, like maybe his pale skin and light hair would contrast just so beside David, and show the judges what a diverse, well rounded club they were.
Kurt had no idea. Maybe it was just because he was the new kid, and they were trying to make him feel better about his disastrous solo audition. That was the last time he trusted Rachel’s judgment. My heart will go on would’ve brought the house down. Who didn’t love Titanic?
He was getting distracted. His cell had finally stopped buzzing, but Kurt knew Tina, and she didn’t give up easily.
Desperate times, desperate measures. Kurt was nothing if not an actor for all occasions. He was definitely capable of faking a convincing coughing fit.
It worked. Enough that Blaine turned back to raise his eyebrows in concern - all the while still singing - and Wes stepped closer, his hands on Kurt’s shoulders to steer him out of formation.
“Water fountain’s just down the hall, Kurt,” Wes told him.
He nodded, hunched forward and face red, grabbing his bag and exiting the rehearsal room. He coughed for another few feet, then made a break for it, power-walking to the closest bathroom. It was late by Dalton standards - close to seven o’clock at night, and the hallways were largely empty. Several sports teams were still running practice sessions, but they were outside, and all of the boarders were either in the library or in the common rooms by then, since the dining hall closed at 6:30pm. He didn’t run into anybody on his way, pushing the door to the men’s room open and scrolling down through the missed calls from Tina. She’d called him three times before sending a message - Bad night. M’s upset. Not sure why, but worst I’ve seen her. Any way you can get here?
Of course. On my way, he texted back, then hurried back out of the bathroom. He had to pass by the rehearsal room going out to the parking lot, but maybe, if he walked quickly enough, he wouldn’t bump into anybody…
“Kurt! You okay?” No such luck. Blaine stood right in front of him, hand stretched out to grab him as he passed.
“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine,” Kurt said. “Just a …tickle in my throat, I guess.”
“You’re not fine, you’re bright red,” Blaine replied. “And you practically coughed out a lung in there.”
“Just needed a drink,” Kurt tried, putting his most convincing face on. “I’m good now, I promise.”
“Glad to hear it,” Blaine said. “C’mon, we’re starting again from the top. Wes wants to see what happens if we start by stepping to the left rather than the right.”
Well that sounded like a party. And it wasn’t exactly part of the plan. Rehearsal was set to run for another two hours, and there was no way Kurt could wait that long before driving to see Mercedes.
“No can do,” Kurt said. “I’m - uh. I’ve got to go home.”
“You’re kidding, right? We don’t finish til 9, you can’t skip out now.”
“I don’t - I’m not sneaking out for an early night, Blaine.” Kurt told him. “I’m going home home. Lima. One of my friends is in trouble. I’m leaving right now.”
“Kurt. This is crazy,” Blaine said. “You can’t leave rehearsal early the night before Sectionals - and you can’t drive all the way to Lima at night. You’re going to be exhausted for the competition!”
“The auditorium’s closer to Lima than it is to here,” Kurt replied. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“Wait, so you’re not even going to come back here first? Kurt, we have traditions here. And one of them is travelling to the competition together - we use it as an opportunity to warm up our voices and go over the harmonies before we get there. I know you’ve only been a Warbler for a few days, but you have to take this seriously.”
“Look, Blaine, I’m sorry about this. I really am. But right now Mercedes needs me more than the Warblers do, and even if she didn’t, she’ll always be my number one priority. If it matters so much, I’ll drive back in the morning. The competition’s not til 3 anyway; I’ll be back at Dalton well before the bus leaves. Okay? See you then.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, walking down the corridor and out to the parking lot. Their conversation had taken up enough time already, and the longer he spent at Dalton, the later he’d be getting to Mercedes’ house.
-
Tina met him at the door, looking uncharacteristically rumpled in contrast to her outfit - a lacy, layered black dress, with thick grey woolen socks over tights. Her boots, covered in buckles and with a decent heel, sat on the other side of the door.
“Date night,” she explained. “I left Mike at Breadstix, but San and Britt and Artie were there too, so he just latched on to them.”
“Ahh,” he said, and reached out to fix her hair where her part was messed up, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Well, you look beautiful. How’s Mercedes?”
“She’s asleep now,” Tina told him. “But she was super upset when I got here. It was like at Easter, but worse. Seeing Mercedes cry is like the saddest thing in the world.”
“Tell me about it,” Kurt said, taking Tina’s hand. “I took the first shift with her that night. Bedroom?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Let me just grab some water and snacks. I think it might be a long night.”
Kurt went on without her, taking the stairs up to the landing. Mercedes’ bedroom door was open, light from the bedside lamp filtering out into the hallway. She was asleep, just like Tina had said, curled up at the top of the double bed. The sheets were rucked up in a little spot beside her - presumably where Tina had been sitting until he’d texted her that he was at the door. A box of tissues sat to the left, to match the damp trails on her cheeks.
“Oh, babygirl,” he whispered, toeing off his shoes and crawling up onto the mattress beside her. He hated seeing her like this. So uncharacteristically blue. Even in her sleep, she looked depressed; brow furrowed and arm slipping unconsciously around Kurt’s waist. She just got like that sometimes. A combination of living in a household where it was okay to be happy, or angry, or sassy, as long as you didn’t talk about the things that really hurt, and an adolescence spent bottling everything up. Him taking off like he had probably hadn’t helped, he knew, and the week-long radio silence had probably been as painful for everyone else as it was for him. i.e. very painful.
He was no stranger to nights like these, spent cuddled up against her, with somebody else - usually Tina or Rachel, occasionally Quinn - flanking her other side. It was the only thing to do when these sudden attacks of sadness struck. Hold her close, let her be sad, and keep her company until the sun rose and she felt a little better again.
A few minutes later, Tina tiptoed through the doorway, depositing three bottles of water and a block of dark chocolate on the nightstand. “Chocolate?” Kurt asked, knowing very well that Mama Jones didn’t keep anything sweet in the house if she could help it.
Tina winked, deftly climbing over Mercedes and settling back into her spot against the wall. “Never travel anywhere without it.”
“Did I ever tell you that you’re a goddess?”
She grinned, sweeping her hair back from her face and pulling the blankets a little higher over Mercedes’ shoulders. “Probably, but it never hurts to hear it again.”
Skype never did justice to Tina’s smile, and it was like a rare, exotic bird in the corridors of McKinley. It made Kurt feel a little better every time he saw a hint of it.
“So tell me,” he said, passing her one of the waters and picking up the block of chocolate, “about this date night. I need details, and the two you and your flirty laughs on skype just won’t cut it.”
Tina sighed. It was the sigh of someone truly besotted, and Kurt was almost too happy for her to be envious. Almost. “Want to hear about his abs?” she started.
Kurt nodded. Of course he did.
-
Staying up and gossiping with his girls was fun. For all her claims to shyness, Tina was an ace gossip, especially on her specialty subject, Mr. Mike Chang. Mercedes joined in too, when she woke up, and it felt like the good old days all over again.
The next morning was far less amusing. Falling asleep in his Dalton uniform was never comfortable -although admittedly, it was made a little better by the fact that he was waking up in a bed with two people he adored rather than waking up with the contents of his pencil case imprinted on his cheek.
It was 6am, and he felt like he’d only just closed his eyes, but he needed to leave, and leave soon in order to make it to Dalton in time for first period.
“Ugh,” he said, looking down at his wrinkled uniform and then at his disasterous hair. He was going to have to wear the same outfit. In the rush to get back to Lima, he hadn’t thought to bring a spare set with him. He had clothes in Mercedes’ house he could wear, of course, but anything he stashed there was usually for emergency shopping trips only or so risqué that he wasn’t willing to risk his Dad stumbling upon it if he ever decided to venture into his wardrobe.
Either way, they weren’t clothes ideal for sneaking back onto campus in broad daylight.
He settled for a quick steam-press of his uniform to iron out the creases, then a speedy shower. He had his own toiletries at Mercedes’ place too - logical, really, considering how often he’d stayed over during the summer, and how annoying it was trying to condense his lotions into travel bottles when he could just buy miniatures and leave them at M’s - so by the time he left the bathroom, he was looking almost convincingly normal.
“Gotta run, my loves,” he whispered, squatting down beside the bed where Mercedes and Tina lay, a tangle of limbs and hair. They had a good hour or so before they’d have to get up for school - more to avoid suspicion on the parental front than anything (although Quinn was surprisingly adept at mimicking the voices of every person in the group’s mother - even Mama Jones and Mike’s mom Mrs. Chang). “See you in a few hours.”
“Drive safe,” Tina replied, squinting up at him and scrunching her nose. “You still coming home this weekend?”
“What a silly question,” he told her. “No matter what happens, somebody’s going to be celebrating tonight. Either I’ll be there to drown my sorrows and laugh at Puck’s drunk dirty dancing, or I’ll be there to toast the future and laugh at Puck’s drunk dirty dancing.”
“C’mere, baby,” Mercedes said, and pulled him down for a long, tight hug despite his squawks about his uniform. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
“You’ll be okay today?” Kurt asked, straightening up and fixing his tie. She nodded. “Consummate performer. You’re gonna kill that Black Eyed Peas song. Your brilliance will bring Fergie to tears - although, considering all that work she’s had done, who knows if that’s actually possible. Hmm.”
“Get out of here already,” Mercedes said, flicking her hand at him and already looking more and more like her regular self.
“See you at Sectionals!” He blew a kiss, closing the door behind him.
-
Part Three
-