I'll Be Running Right Behind You (2/?)
Title: I'll Be Running Right Behind You (2/?)
Author: ah_lisa
Rating: PG/PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Kurt
Author Notes: Really just writing for the sake of writing now, eheh.
Warning: Still can't think of any.
Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me. I ain't the dude with the yellow hat, yo.
Summary: Kurt Hummel, the newly elected president’s son, was much more intimidating in real life than on television or on paper, that was for sure.
Rachel has the potential to be the head of the CIA or something. She always knows what needs to be done by whom at what time and what place; she knows everyone’s business almost as perfectly well as she knows her own business and she doesn’t so much as break a sweat over it. It’s a little annoying and a little reassuring, knowing someone else knows your agenda better than you do. She can manage five bodyguards’ duties at the same time without once slipping up with her own schedule-and often does, calling in to check on Sam and Puck and Mike and Tina and even Mr. Schue whenever she has the chance. Sam’s sure if she could be in multiple places at once, she would take all their jobs right out from under them with ease.
Thankfully, however, she doesn’t seem to want anyone else’s job but her own. Which Sam finds a bit weird, considering she’s just one bodyguard for one person. Rachel seems more like the kind of person who wants to take on several things at a time. Still, she tends to be the main voice amongst the six of them, deferring only to her client, Carole, and to President Hummel.
The first time he actually met Rachel was his first day at the White House. He had worked with Puck and Mike before, way back during his days as a privately hired bodyguard, but hadn’t met Rachel or Mr. Schue or Tina before then. The former two were more experienced, specifically with celebrities and political figures, while the latter was a bit greener. That’s about all he knew before actually meeting them.
She approached him and Puck before they went in to meet the president, dragged them over to a group of bodyguards, forced them to share their names, and told the lot of them to listen up.
“I’m Rachel Berry and this is Will Schue, but you will address him as Mr. Schue. Now, I know most of you are less experienced than Mr. Schue and I, so you probably want to look to us for guidance,” Rachel began, voice loud and echoing throughout the mainly empty corridor. Puck muttered something sarcastic under his breath. “We will gladly help you whenever you need us, but we are not your babysitters. We won’t be around to take care of you all the time.”
Puck coughed purposely loudly, cutting her off. She stopped, gave him a meaningful look. Started again, “If there are any-”
Another cough, followed by a long series of coughs. Sam ducked his head in an attempt to hide his grin, hearing the others snicker and giggle along with him. He felt ridiculously juvenile, but hey, that tended to happen a lot when Puck was around.
After the laughter died down and a tense pause followed, Rachel went on. “If there are any questions, please ask them now before we go in,” she said with strained patience.
Reluctantly, Sam raised his hand. “You there, with the blond hair,” Rachel called on him. This caught him off guard for a moment; what was the point of sharing their names earlier if she was just going to ignore them?
“Yeah, uh,” he stopped. Everyone was staring at him now. He waited for them to look away. When they didn’t, he slowly continued, “who’s supposed to be in charge around here?”
Her mouth dropped open as if to reply, but closed after a moment of thought. Then, “Technically speaking, Mr. Schue is supposed to be-”
“As the new president’s personal escort, I’ve been put in charge,” Mr. Schue interjected calmly. Puck snorted, earning a brief glare from Rachel.
“But we all report to my father, Daniel Berry, in the end,” she added, trying to regain some dignity. Sam didn’t need to turn around to know Puck was mimicking her mutely.
Mr. Schue clapped his hands together, catching everyone’s attention. “Okay, time to go in,” he announced. Wearing an ever-so-pleasant smile, he opened the door and they all filed in.
The Oval Office was smaller than Sam had imagined it to be, the walls close together but the ceiling far above their heads. On the opposite side of the room, where the desk and the windows were, the Hummels were gathered around. He imagined he wouldn’t spend too much time there-this was more an area for Mr. Schue and Rachel to monitor-and soaked it all in while he still could. There wasn’t much, however; just the desk area that was being blocked by the president’s family and a few other bits of furniture. So Sam tried staring at the walls, then at the designs on the carpet floor. Then…
One person in particular caught his eye. A young brunet dressed in a black suit and tie peered at them blankly, judging them all with an unreadable look. His arms were crossed, his chin held in a superior manner that managed to look both classy and authoritative. Sam knew who it was the moment he saw him, recognizing him from magazine articles and news segments and confidential files he had had to look over before accepting the job. Kurt Hummel, the newly elected president’s son, was much more intimidating in real life than on television or on paper, that was for sure. Sam tried to smile reassuringly, hoping for a smile back or something to ease the tension. As soon as Kurt saw him, however, his stare became scathingly cold. Sam panicked, looked away, looked back again, panicked again, and decided to just stare at the lovely floor patterns. Maybe he was just having a bad day, or PMSing or…something…wait, guys didn-
“Good morning, Mr. President, I’m Rachel Berry. I will be your wife’s personal escort from now on,” Rachel’s voice jolted him out of his reverie.
When he looked up, Mr. Hummel was shaking her hand with a warm smile that was neither too excited nor too indifferent. It was always amazing, how genuine the man was. “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. So, uh, who’s my bodyguard?” he chuckled, scanning the unfamiliar faces that accompanied her.
Her laugh in response to that was forced and kind of weird. “That would be my associate, Mr. Schue,” Rachel replied, releasing his hand to gesture towards the aforementioned man.
Mr. Schue reached past Rachel to shake the president’s hand. “It’s an honor to be working under you, sir,” he said, his usual pleasant smile plastered onto his face.
“I-I’m flattered, thank you,” Mr. Hummel responded, laughing a little nervously.
Rachel gently pushed Mr. Schue back to his original spot behind her, where the rest of the bodyguards were standing. Oh, when did that happen? “These are your children’s personal escorts, as well as your new chauffeurs,” she continued.
“Uh,” Mr. Hummel cleared his throat, “they aren’t exactly ‘children’, but… Okay, sure.”
Sam snorted quietly. Mr. Hummel’s ‘children’ were taller and probably older than she was. “Well, all the same. We only want what’s best for you and your family,” Rachel assured him, undeterred.
Mr. Schue motioned for them to step forward. Sam’s eyes were everywhere, struggling to stay away from Kurt’s death eyes of doom but trying to stay away from the floor as well, because he didn’t want to look into Kurt’s eyes and die but he certainly didn’t want to look shy. Rachel said something at that point that didn’t quite reach his ears; he was too busy trying to meet Kurt’s eyes directly. It was either that or the ground, and he was getting tired of looking at the carpet design, as intricate and detailed as it was. With a small, quiet breath, Sam finally looked up. His eyes were less cold and more curious by now, and it took Sam a moment to fully realize that this gaze was actually directed at him rather than through a television screen. It was sort of…startling, for some reason.
“I’m Noah Puckerman. Puck for short,” he heard Puck introduce himself.
Sam stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam Evans,” he said simply, feeling a little lame. Kurt took his hand, not once tearing his eyes away. There was something expectant about the way he shook his hand, slow and cautious, as if he was waiting for something more. So Sam kept going, “Sam I am… And I don’t like green eggs and ham.”
A single arched eyebrow. He quickly withdrew his hand and cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed, no longer keeping Kurt’s gaze.
He spent the rest of the meeting memorizing the floor patterns.
To this day, he remembers it perfectly.
Author: ah_lisa
Rating: PG/PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Kurt
Author Notes: Really just writing for the sake of writing now, eheh.
Warning: Still can't think of any.
Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me. I ain't the dude with the yellow hat, yo.
Summary: Kurt Hummel, the newly elected president’s son, was much more intimidating in real life than on television or on paper, that was for sure.
Rachel has the potential to be the head of the CIA or something. She always knows what needs to be done by whom at what time and what place; she knows everyone’s business almost as perfectly well as she knows her own business and she doesn’t so much as break a sweat over it. It’s a little annoying and a little reassuring, knowing someone else knows your agenda better than you do. She can manage five bodyguards’ duties at the same time without once slipping up with her own schedule-and often does, calling in to check on Sam and Puck and Mike and Tina and even Mr. Schue whenever she has the chance. Sam’s sure if she could be in multiple places at once, she would take all their jobs right out from under them with ease.
Thankfully, however, she doesn’t seem to want anyone else’s job but her own. Which Sam finds a bit weird, considering she’s just one bodyguard for one person. Rachel seems more like the kind of person who wants to take on several things at a time. Still, she tends to be the main voice amongst the six of them, deferring only to her client, Carole, and to President Hummel.
The first time he actually met Rachel was his first day at the White House. He had worked with Puck and Mike before, way back during his days as a privately hired bodyguard, but hadn’t met Rachel or Mr. Schue or Tina before then. The former two were more experienced, specifically with celebrities and political figures, while the latter was a bit greener. That’s about all he knew before actually meeting them.
She approached him and Puck before they went in to meet the president, dragged them over to a group of bodyguards, forced them to share their names, and told the lot of them to listen up.
“I’m Rachel Berry and this is Will Schue, but you will address him as Mr. Schue. Now, I know most of you are less experienced than Mr. Schue and I, so you probably want to look to us for guidance,” Rachel began, voice loud and echoing throughout the mainly empty corridor. Puck muttered something sarcastic under his breath. “We will gladly help you whenever you need us, but we are not your babysitters. We won’t be around to take care of you all the time.”
Puck coughed purposely loudly, cutting her off. She stopped, gave him a meaningful look. Started again, “If there are any-”
Another cough, followed by a long series of coughs. Sam ducked his head in an attempt to hide his grin, hearing the others snicker and giggle along with him. He felt ridiculously juvenile, but hey, that tended to happen a lot when Puck was around.
After the laughter died down and a tense pause followed, Rachel went on. “If there are any questions, please ask them now before we go in,” she said with strained patience.
Reluctantly, Sam raised his hand. “You there, with the blond hair,” Rachel called on him. This caught him off guard for a moment; what was the point of sharing their names earlier if she was just going to ignore them?
“Yeah, uh,” he stopped. Everyone was staring at him now. He waited for them to look away. When they didn’t, he slowly continued, “who’s supposed to be in charge around here?”
Her mouth dropped open as if to reply, but closed after a moment of thought. Then, “Technically speaking, Mr. Schue is supposed to be-”
“As the new president’s personal escort, I’ve been put in charge,” Mr. Schue interjected calmly. Puck snorted, earning a brief glare from Rachel.
“But we all report to my father, Daniel Berry, in the end,” she added, trying to regain some dignity. Sam didn’t need to turn around to know Puck was mimicking her mutely.
Mr. Schue clapped his hands together, catching everyone’s attention. “Okay, time to go in,” he announced. Wearing an ever-so-pleasant smile, he opened the door and they all filed in.
The Oval Office was smaller than Sam had imagined it to be, the walls close together but the ceiling far above their heads. On the opposite side of the room, where the desk and the windows were, the Hummels were gathered around. He imagined he wouldn’t spend too much time there-this was more an area for Mr. Schue and Rachel to monitor-and soaked it all in while he still could. There wasn’t much, however; just the desk area that was being blocked by the president’s family and a few other bits of furniture. So Sam tried staring at the walls, then at the designs on the carpet floor. Then…
One person in particular caught his eye. A young brunet dressed in a black suit and tie peered at them blankly, judging them all with an unreadable look. His arms were crossed, his chin held in a superior manner that managed to look both classy and authoritative. Sam knew who it was the moment he saw him, recognizing him from magazine articles and news segments and confidential files he had had to look over before accepting the job. Kurt Hummel, the newly elected president’s son, was much more intimidating in real life than on television or on paper, that was for sure. Sam tried to smile reassuringly, hoping for a smile back or something to ease the tension. As soon as Kurt saw him, however, his stare became scathingly cold. Sam panicked, looked away, looked back again, panicked again, and decided to just stare at the lovely floor patterns. Maybe he was just having a bad day, or PMSing or…something…wait, guys didn-
“Good morning, Mr. President, I’m Rachel Berry. I will be your wife’s personal escort from now on,” Rachel’s voice jolted him out of his reverie.
When he looked up, Mr. Hummel was shaking her hand with a warm smile that was neither too excited nor too indifferent. It was always amazing, how genuine the man was. “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. So, uh, who’s my bodyguard?” he chuckled, scanning the unfamiliar faces that accompanied her.
Her laugh in response to that was forced and kind of weird. “That would be my associate, Mr. Schue,” Rachel replied, releasing his hand to gesture towards the aforementioned man.
Mr. Schue reached past Rachel to shake the president’s hand. “It’s an honor to be working under you, sir,” he said, his usual pleasant smile plastered onto his face.
“I-I’m flattered, thank you,” Mr. Hummel responded, laughing a little nervously.
Rachel gently pushed Mr. Schue back to his original spot behind her, where the rest of the bodyguards were standing. Oh, when did that happen? “These are your children’s personal escorts, as well as your new chauffeurs,” she continued.
“Uh,” Mr. Hummel cleared his throat, “they aren’t exactly ‘children’, but… Okay, sure.”
Sam snorted quietly. Mr. Hummel’s ‘children’ were taller and probably older than she was. “Well, all the same. We only want what’s best for you and your family,” Rachel assured him, undeterred.
Mr. Schue motioned for them to step forward. Sam’s eyes were everywhere, struggling to stay away from Kurt’s death eyes of doom but trying to stay away from the floor as well, because he didn’t want to look into Kurt’s eyes and die but he certainly didn’t want to look shy. Rachel said something at that point that didn’t quite reach his ears; he was too busy trying to meet Kurt’s eyes directly. It was either that or the ground, and he was getting tired of looking at the carpet design, as intricate and detailed as it was. With a small, quiet breath, Sam finally looked up. His eyes were less cold and more curious by now, and it took Sam a moment to fully realize that this gaze was actually directed at him rather than through a television screen. It was sort of…startling, for some reason.
“I’m Noah Puckerman. Puck for short,” he heard Puck introduce himself.
Sam stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam Evans,” he said simply, feeling a little lame. Kurt took his hand, not once tearing his eyes away. There was something expectant about the way he shook his hand, slow and cautious, as if he was waiting for something more. So Sam kept going, “Sam I am… And I don’t like green eggs and ham.”
A single arched eyebrow. He quickly withdrew his hand and cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed, no longer keeping Kurt’s gaze.
He spent the rest of the meeting memorizing the floor patterns.
To this day, he remembers it perfectly.