Chapter 1: The Departure
"Oh, honey, I'm sure you'll think of something. You always do." Mercedes said, consoling her best friend and fashion extraordinaire, Kurt Hummel.
It had been three weeks. Three weeks since Rachel Berry had left on a train, headed for fortune, fame, and big shining lights, leaving Kurt Hummel behind with nothing to show for it but a painted on smile and crushed dreams.
That audition was the best one he'd given, point blank. And to think that after all this time his best wasn't good enough was enough to crush anyone. But he wasn't just anyone. He was Kurt "Patti Lupone" Hummel and he had beaten the odds time and time again. Sure, maybe this time the odds beat him. But no one ever said it would be easy.
He sat with his boyfriend and his best friend at Breadstix, distractedly picking away at his dinner plate, not really tasting much of anything. This was the last time he'd be talking to Mercedes before she headed off to L.A.
Things were working out for everyone except him. What else was new?
"Definitely. Who needs that stupid school anyway? They're crazy if they can't see how unique you were." Blaine piped up, sounding scandalized, "Girls like Rachel, bless her soul, are a dime a dozen."
He smiled despite himself, "Let's not make this my pity party." He turned to Mercedes, "We're going to miss you so much."
She smiled sadly, "I almost don't want to leave. It's kind of scary, going all the way to L.A. by myself."
He gave her an incredulous look, "Girl, please. If anything, L.A. should be afraid of you. You'll take no prisoners. Just make sure you remember us little people when you're singing next to Beyonce at the Grammys."
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him, "Lord, I don't know what I'm gonna do without my white boy. Who am I going to gossip with?"
"Thank the lord for skype." Blaine reminded the two of them.
"Praise." Kurt and Mercedes said in unison. They laughed out loud, and she nudged him playfully for making fun of her.
"Well, if it isn't the Power Puff Girls." said a voice approaching their table.
The three of them looked up, annoyed, recognizing the voice instantly. They were greeted by Santana, who looked fierce with her hair slicked back in a high pony-tail and sporting a tight red dress. Kurt wanted to be irritated by her presence, but was quite frankly caught up in admiring the stitching of her killer outfit.
"What are you doing here?" Mercedes asked. Although she and Santana made killer duet partners, they weren't fond of each other outside of Glee. They usually bonded over their hatred for Rachel, but with her out of the picture it was a free for all.
"I was enjoying my breadsticks with Brittany when I heard high-pitched giggling that sounded like it belonged in a playground. I figured it was you guys." she explained.
Mercedes rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her soda to prevent her from saying anything rude in front of Blaine. Sure, they were only one year apart but the guy reminded her of a baby, except with muscles.
"Your point?" Blaine asked.
"I needed to speak to Casper the friendly ghost." she said, nodding her head toward the boy currently salivating over the brilliant sequencing on her clothes.
Upon hearing this ridicule, he snapped out of it, glaring at her. Santana and he had been on relatively friendly terms, although he figured there would never come a day where she would stop making quips at him for his sexuality, appearance, style, and general existence.
"Yes, Satan-I mean, Santana?" he smiled sweetly.
She beckoned him to walk away from the table, so she could talk to him somewhere in private. Preferably out of earshot of the sour patch kid and Aretha.
"So, I heard you're stuck in Lima…" she started, and he cut her off instantly.
"If you're here to make me feel more worthless, join the line somewhere behind my shattered hopes and my pointless ambition." he said to her, before turning away to rejoin his friends at their table.
She tugged on his arm, stopping him, "You know, Hummel, half of your issue is that you always think you know best."
He stared at her pointedly, crossing his arms. He did not need this. Morality lessons from Satan? It was as if the Universe just had some weird kink for watching Kurt suffer. But then again, as Mercedes and the God Squad liked to say, God works in mysterious ways. He wasn't entirely sure about the whole religion thing, but he knew that there had to be a reason for everything that kept happening to him.
Frustrated, but out of options, he glared at Santana expectantly, waiting to hear what she had to say.
"Come with me." she stated simply.
His stony expression faltered; he blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Are you brain dead? You heard me. Come with me. To New York."
He stared at her for a few more moments, certain that he was dreaming or that he had finally lost it. When he didn't wake up suddenly or start seeing weird floating monsters, he ruled out both theories. This was really happening. Santana really wanted Kurt to accompany her to the Big Apple. There was really only one question prevalent in his mind.
"Why?" he questioned, still skeptical.
"Long story short? My home girl Sofia got caught up in bad stuff. She was supposed to be my roommate. Now she's in the slammer. I need someone to split rent with, and you need a way out of this town." she explained.
"I…I don't know." he said, truthfully. It was all so sudden.
"Kurt," she started, causing him to look up. That was possibly the first time she had addressed him actually using his name, "You're a fighter. We both are. So I'm not gonna watch you sit on your ass and feel sorry for yourself. Now, either come with me to New York so we can fuck shit up, or stay here and die a Lima loser. You're choice."
And with those parting words, she left him standing there, returning to her table to gab it up with Brittany. He leaned against the walls, her words echoing in his ears.
Stay here and die a Lima loser. Stay. Die. Loser. Loser. Loser.
He made his decision in the next instant, marching over to her table and snatching the bread stick out of her hand.
"So when do we leave?" he asked, breaking a piece of the bread stick off and popping it into his mouth.
Time went by so quickly after that. He finally had direction again; something to work at and look forward to. He talked stuff out with his Dad and although he wasn't thrilled at the idea of him leaving with someone like Santana, he seemed to notice that Kurt seemed a lot more like himself lately. He was singing and laughing and finding time to make sure Burt didn't eat himself into another coma.
"But, Kurt, it's zuchinni. Isn't that supposed to be good for me?" he pleaded, watching the food being put in a container to be taken to the Anderson residence.
"Not when it's dipped in a high sodium batter and deep fried." he explained, giving his father a reprimanding look, "I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Anderson will enjoy this."
Burt stared after the food longingly. As happy as he was to see his son back on his feet it was at the expense of his ever growing appetite. Disappointingly, he munched on the whole wheat pasta salad Kurt had prepared for him instead. But as soon as he heard the door close he took out some ketchup packets he smuggled in from the diner they went to a few days ago and he went to town.
Kurt rang the doorbell to the Anderson residence, smiling widely when Blaine answered the door.
"Hey!" he said, inviting himself in, "Sorry to come unannounced. I brought a peace offering." He set the container of food down on the table.
Blaine looked highly troubled about something, not quite looking at Kurt. Noticing instantly, the smile slid off of his face, only to be replaced by a look of concern.
"What's up?" Kurt asked.
"Nothing…" Blaine remarked, "It's stupid."
His frown deepening, Kurt plopped down on the catch and patted the seat next to it, "Come on. Talk to me."
Blaine sat down, still not really looking at Kurt when he mumbled, "I feel horrible."
"We can always sing about it." Kurt said jokingly.
He cracked a smile at that, "It's just that…I'm really really happy for you…but…"
"But?" Kurt prompted.
He already saw where this was headed and he did not want to go down that road, at all. He always knew long distance was going to be difficult, and that it would take a toll on his relationship, but he had no clue it would start happening before he even left. As Blaine explained himself, he nodded in understanding, going numb. This wasn't what he thought it was, was it?
Blaine, seeing the look of concern grow in Kurt's eyes along with an ounce of fear, quickly back-tracked, "I'm not breaking up with you, Kurt. I'm just saying it's going to suck here without you."
Kurt sighed in relief, collapsing in Blaine's arms.
"You should have started out with that. You nearly gave me a heart attack." he explained, laughing nervously. His eyes crinkled up at their corners, giving him the appearance of a truly kindred spirit. Blaine mentally added that to the list of things he would miss about him.
"Come here." he said, prompting Kurt to sit up and placing a chaste kiss on his lips.
"What was that for?" Kurt asked, pulling away and smiling.
"What, now I need a reason to kiss my boyfriend?" he asked jokingly.
"Point taken." Kurt remarked, leaning in for another.
The worst part of packing was deciding what clothes he wanted to take with him. Every single one of his outfits were his babies, born into this world due to his physical exertion; his blood, sweat, and tears. He couldn't imagine leaving behind any of them, but Santana made it known that there was limited closet space at the apartment.
"You should leave behind the beatle broach. It definitely will not get you laid." Santana remarked, watching him eye the accessory longingly.
"That's not my goal." he reminded her, referring to Blaine, "Maybe it'll hoard off the men."
"Don't worry; your face does a decent job." she reminded him nonchalantly, picking up a furry piece of cloth that looked like it could have been a raccoon at some point and eyeing it with suspicion.
He had a scathing remark ready, but all hopes of sharing it were lost the moment he saw Santana pick up his coat.
"Drop that." he commanded.
As if to test him, she began to play a game of catch with it, throwing it up and down and seemingly ignoring him.
"Santana, if you don't get your hands off of it.." he started.
"You'll what?" she asked, cutting him off, "I'm sure those toddler fists of yours can pack a punch."
At the perfect moment to break up what would have inevitably been the most interesting fight in the history of the world, Finn barged into the room to inform them that Carole and Burt wanted to speak to them, only to slip on Kurt's silk Armani shirt and land face first into a pile of scarves.
"Burt…Carole…" he mumbled, still face first in the pile. Understanding the message perfectly, Kurt led Santana down to the kitchen where Burt and Carole waited, having their serious face on.
Kurt turned on his heel, heading back up the steps, but his father's booming voice ordering him to stay stopped him in his tracks.
"I just wanted to have a little talk with you two before you guys take off on this big...quest." he said. Burt wouldn't be able to see them off considering he had an important meeting the same date as their departure. Silently, Kurt looked at him expectantly. "Talks" with his Dad were almost always awkard, but they were usually necessary.
"Now, you both are adults now, according to society. But I'm staring at two very immature teenagers, and you guys are definitely not ready to tackle the world on your own." he started.
"Which is why we're glad you two are going together." Carole interjected brightly.
Burt looked at her as if they were both on stage and she had just gone off script.
"Yeah, that's all dandy, but we were your age once. We both know what goes on in the heads of you teenagers. You think stupid stuff, and since you've never experienced the consequences yet, you do stupid stuff." he continued.
Santana gave Kurt a look that said, "Already bored with the conversation."
"Now, we're just asking that you two keep the stupid stuff to a minimum. That means no drinking irresponsibly, no inviting wacky strangers back to your apartment, no getting involved in gangs, no drugs, no unprotected sex."
That point seemed to be aimed at Santana, who just rolled her eyes in response, while Kurt just mumbled an embarrassed, "Dad."
"Finally, don't be afraid to call us or Santana's mom if you need any help. You're adults now; we get it. But sometimes adults need help, too." he said.
"Is that all?" Kurt asked.
Burt nodded, but finally looked to Santana to say, "You take care of my son, okay?"
Kurt glared cuttingly at his father, offended that he thought he needed to be taken care of, yet flattered all at once that he was so concerned.
"Of course, Mr. Hummel." Santana said brightly, in a voice that Kurt recognized as false.
They went upstairs and she finished butchering his wardrobe. In the end, he could only take a quarter of what he would have liked.
"Can we at least take one pair of my boots?" he pleaded. When she explained that there was no more room in his multiple suitcases, he frowned. But then he stopped, remembering that he may develop frown lines and those are not attractive.
"Do you promise to write me a postcard every day?" Brittany asked as Santana left for the airport terminal.
"We can just text, silly." Santana reminded her, smiling fondly.
"Lord Tubbington swallowed my phone while trying to make a call." Brittany explained.
Santana looked confused for an instant, but then decided to let it go, "It's a good thing I helped you set up Skype."
"What's Skype?" Brittany asked, and Santana shook her head in reply.
"Ask Blaine or Artie; I told them to help you out while I'm gone." Santana said, before pulling Brittany in for a passionate kiss.
Blaine Anderson watched the two of them go at it for five minutes straight, eyes widened and throat dry. Kurt hit his arm.
"Stop that! You're gay, remember?" Kurt reminded him jokingly.
"It's not even that. I'm just wondering if they're going to come up for air any time soon." he asked, genuinely in awe. Kurt laughed fondly, hugging him for one last time before heading off to the terminal. They had already said their sobbing goodbyes a few hours ago.
"You look taller." Santana remarked when Kurt walked over. Kurt quickly assured her she was imagining things, hoping that no one would notice he was wearing three pairs of boots because he would be damned if he left them all behind. He rather stretched leather than no leather at all.
She looked down at his feet, and smirked.
"Couldn't choose, huh?" she remarked.
"What do you mean? I did choose! I narrowed it down to three." he explained haughtily.
They bickered until they got on the plane, headed for New York City.
Although he knew it was going to be rough, Kurt couldn't help but think that it had worked out for the best. If he had to choose anyone to pound the rough pavements of New York with, there was no one more badass than Santana Lopez, and her alter-ego, Snix.
Then he remembered he would be living with her as well and he almost made them turn the plane around.
A/N: So this is an idea that a lot of people seem to approve of. And if this doesn't happen season four I really don't know what I'll do. I'll have to live vicariously through this fic. Anyway, I'm hoping to follow these two on their adventures in New York but I have to see if there's an audience for it first. So let me know what you think! I have wild things in store for them.
Thanks for reading,
Jessy