Accidents
It starts out as an apology.
"Rachel, wait up." It probably shouldn't make him this nervous, but his palms are sweaty and his voice cracks worse than it used to in puberty and if there's one thing he hates about this, it's admitting he was wrong. It's not that it was Rachel—it's that it was him.
Humility has never been Kurt Hummel's strong suit.
Obliged, if a little taken aback, she hangs around the classroom after the bell rings and lets him walk her to lunch. "I'm surprised you want to talk to me," Rachel admits with an uncomfortable little wobble in her voice. "Usually, Finn's the only one of you who associates with me outside of glee practice."
It's not an accusation, just a fact, and Kurt doesn't bother denying it. All he ever has to do with her during the school day is occasionally saying hello in the hallways and ambushing her after finding out about Jesse St. James, and that was one of his lower moments, anyway. He winces involuntarily—all the more reason why he needs to get this over with. "I know," he starts, as hesitant as she, "and—I wanted to apologize for that."
He takes a breath; she furrows her eyebrows. "Do you remember that time when I gave you a makeover to… try and hurt your chances with Finn, and you told me that—"
"Yes, I remember clearly," says Rachel promptly, sparing the both of them the recap. Kurt's grateful. "What about it?"
"Look, Rachel… you were right," he says, and it's more of a relief than the burden he'd been expecting. "And even if you'd been wrong, I still shouldn't have tried to sabotage you—though, for what it's worth, I think you rocked your new look while it lasted, even if Finn couldn't see it."
From the looks of it, Rachel is torn between modesty and confusion. "Thanks, but why bring it up now? I mean, I thought we were on the road to being friends after that, and then…" She trails off, then continues, "And anyway, I'm with Jesse now, and Finn's with Santana, sort of, and—"
"No reason," says Kurt; "it was just on my mind." Really, he'd gotten to thinking about what he'd said to the guys during Madonna week and figured that he'd better be ready to walk the walk if he was going to talk about respecting each other as individuals, and it was pretty obvious, at least to him, that that starts with Rachel. "I know you probably made plans with Jesse, but you can eat lunch with me and Mercedes today, if you want."
It's a long shot, so she's surprised when she accepts. "Why not? Finn wanted Jesse to meet some of his friends from the basketball team today, anyway, I think," she says by way of explanation, offering a brilliant Rachel Berry smile as they reach the cafeteria and situate themselves at an open table.
Artie and Tina end up joining them, too, and it's all a lot less awkward than Kurt expected, even though Finn and Jesse keep shooting their table furtive looks and Kurt knows that Finn's aren't directed at him. He and Rachel enter Spanish the next period together giggling like madwomen, and he's so absorbed by this sudden liking he's taken to the girl that he almost doesn't notice the smile on Mr. Schue's face at seeing them together, or the wistful look on Quinn's.
xx
Maybe it should have been awkward at first, but Rachel's a youth leader whose intricate grasp on the art of charisma is just one of the many reasons she'll shine in Hollywood one day, so she doesn't allow that to happen. She's not entirely sure why Kurt's being nice to her, all of a sudden, but it's nice to have a friend other than Finn for once, and besides, a friend could prove to be a useful connection in the future, and it's always good to get ahead of the game, isn't it?
Getting rid of Jesse isn't hard. She tells him to go on ahead without her, that she's staying after glee club to practice in the auditorium—only a lie by omission, really—then hangs around rummaging through her backpack for her camera and tripod until he's out the door. "Kurt?"
He whirls around to see who's calling, holding his over-the-shoulder pose for a split second before briefly conferring with Mercedes. Rachel had expected her to be part of the package, but to her surprise, Kurt pecks Mercedes on the cheek and approaches Rachel alone. "Yes?" he says, quieter than usual, shifting from foot to foot but meeting her eyes straight on.
There's no way to say it but outright, so she dives right in. "I wanted to ask a favor."
"A favor?"
"Well, it'd be more of a privilege, if you ask me, bearing in mind that it's a widely known fact that I am this club's most talented vocalist. But your multimedia project with Mercedes last week really got me thinking, and truth be told, you do have potential as a performer," Rachel admits. Taking a deep breath, she divulges, "I was wondering whether you'd be interested in posting a duet on my MySpace page."
Kurt doesn't accept with open arms (like he ought to), but then, given their history of animosity, Rachel couldn't have expected that. She can sense all too well from the little cliques that still persist in her (no, their) club that all is not forgiven. But he quirks an eyebrow and drawls, "Go on," and she takes that as a promising sign.
"Defying Gravity," she proposes, to Kurt's visible shock. "I know it's not the same as if Mr. Schue had given it to us himself, but it's clear enough how much the song means to you, and my MySpace profile attracts enough attention that it would be a great venue for you to really show you skills—and even if you can't hit the high F, you can always just sing harmony on the last chorus."
"I can hit the high F," says Kurt rigidly, looking a little shell-shocked.
Rachel stammers and says, "But in the diva-off—"
"I threw the note in the diva-off," he explains, raising his voice. There's a brief, uncomfortable pause, then Kurt repeats, "I threw the note. Some poor, insecure soul or other called my dad's shop and… made remarks about my sexual preferences. He wasn't ready to deal with it, so I-I threw the note. But I can hit it."
"Oh."
Distracted as she is with glancing down and shuffling around a bit to fill in the ensuing silence, she almost doesn't catch Kurt's next words, spoken at a near-whisper: "Why, Rachel? Why that song, why now?"
Sighing, Rachel meets his eyes again with a small smile. "After some reflection and heartfelt soul-searching, I've decided that one chance at stardom, admittedly one that's something of a long shot, means less to me than your friendship."
Though he looks nervous, the corners of his lips wobble a bit and turn up. "I can't do it, you know that, but maybe… we could not post it? Sing it for ourselves instead?" he suggests.
She knows that this will throw off her video schedule for the rest of the week, but she knows before she realizes what she's saying that she'll accept. "I'd like that, Kurt."
"Great," says Kurt, his mouth hanging open just a little, "great… so, uh, what do you say we head down to the auditorium to practice it, start planning out the harmonies?"
To both their shock, though, the auditorium's taken by the time they reach it. They linger in the doorway as Quinn sings the closing notes of Papa Don't Preach and exchanged a questioning look before meeting her halfway. "Hello, Quinn," says Rachel hesitantly. "We were just going to work on a duet for—"
"Shove it, man-hands, I don't need your pity," snarls Quinn, pushing past her.
And maybe Quinn looks just fine, but honestly, Rachel thinks it might be better if she were to have a breakdown than to act like… like this. Not that she would wish on Quinn a full-out child star meltdown—not until she's due for a career revival and emotionally prepared for the potential fallout, anyway—she just can't imagine how it could be healthy to hold everything in. And that's why, in spite of her better judgment, he calls after her, "It's not pity, you know." Quinn stops walking—doesn't turn around, but stops in her tracks, at least, and that's a start. "It's just… Noah is the only real presence in your life right now, and you deserve better than just a boyfriend of questionable commitment. Noah can't be everything."
"Puck isn't my boyfriend," says Quinn, and Rachel's relieved to see that she's turning around, inching closer. "Not really."
"Sing with us," offers Kurt suddenly, breathlessly. Rachel starts to protest, but he squeezes her hand (she quiets immediately at the contact) and insists, "Defying Gravity can wait."
After a moment's consideration, Quinn relents, "All right… all right." Rachel can't help but feel a little burst of pride—after all, it's important for a good role model to treat others with kindness and respect, whatever their stereotypes or reputations—but somehow, she thinks it's more than that.
She thinks it really could be so much more than that.
xx
Rachel, Kurt, Quinn.
She's got to admit—she can't quite wrap her head around it. Then again, Quinn can't quite wrap her head around the fact that she's off the Cheerios and pregnant with Noah Puckerman's baby; by comparison, it seems only natural that she'd get new friends after her drop in social standing. She always used to feel like a third wheel around Britt and Santana, anyway (and from what Kurt says, her insecurities weren't unfounded).
Yeah, Quinn's still bored of both their diva moments, still thinks it's high time that Rachel get a new wardrobe and an attitude makeover. But honestly, it doesn't seem all that crazy, does it? Kurt's not that bad, at least. Maybe the jocks still toss him in the dumpster every now and the, but it's not like her reputation has anywhere to go but up now that she's McKinley's pregnant glee girl—it's not going to hurt her to hang around him, and besides, she's come to appreciate his particular brand of superiority and snark.
As for Rachel—well, Quinn still thinks she ought to stop throwing herself at every guy she doesn't repulse, but hey, Rachel's loyal. Rachel wouldn't ever belittle her or break her trust, and this is a girl she used to tease mercilessly (and still does sometimes, to be honest). Finn dumped her as soon as he even suspected she'd lied to him; Santana dropped her the minute Sue named her top cheerleader; Brittany and the other Cheerios do whatever Santana tells them, including abandon Quinn—it's like the only people she has left are Puck and her two new tagalongs, and honestly, she can't say she minds them hanging around all the time. Dealing with Puck all day was getting tiring, anyway.
It's late. They're curled up on the couch with a bag of microwave popcorn and the season three DVD from Lost because it's just about the only thing in the Puckerman house that they can agree to watch. She's sitting between his legs, his arms are around her belly, and every so often, their baby will kick against the flat of his hand and she'll hear him take in a little sharp breath behind her like he's lucky that he's going to be a teenage father.
"You've been spending a lot of time with those losers from homo explosion lately," he remarks as the episode flashes to credits. Frowning, Quinn twists around to look Puck in the eye; with a sigh, he plucks up the remote off the cushion beside them and hits pause.
It's just dark enough and she's just tired enough that it's easy to call him out. "Don't you find it a little hypocritical that you mercilessly torment everyone in New Directions when you're a longtime member yourself?" says Quinn, raising an eyebrow.
"I told you, I just joined because chicks dig it," Puck retorts, getting defensive.
"Right," says Quinn, looking down with a skeptical half-smile. "Right. So if you're just looking to pick up cougars, then what am I doing moving in with you?"
She crashes at Rachel's house that night. Maybe it's rude to call for a place to stay at half past twelve in the morning, but hey, it's only fair—this was all because she'd stuck up for her and Kurt to begin with, and she'd had Rachel's voice in her head when her fight with Puck started, after all.
Rachel, Kurt, Quinn. She can't quite wrap her head around it all, but maybe it's okay not to think this one through.