"Come on, Stefani," Kurt groaned, taking a deep breath and pausing before giving the ignition another turn.

His Escalade hiccupped and sputtered, gasping desperately, but failing to come to life. Kurt growled in frustration, slamming his hands against the steering wheel and then hissing in pain. He absently massaged the heel of one palm with his fingers and attempted to assess his situation.

It was six pm. The parking lot of the now closed public library was nearly deserted but for a small, dark blue truck, which Kurt pointedly ignored, parked at the other end. Despite the recent summer swelter it was abnormally cool out.

And it was pouring rain.

I wonder if it's the spark plug, Kurt thought, figuring it if was, that was an easy enough fix, or at least, it would be in fair weather.

Kurt rummaged around in the back seat for his gym clothes, quickly pulling off his Vivienne Westwood cowl top and donning the dark red McKinley T-shirt. His tool box and a few spare parts were in the trunk. Before getting out he popped the hood and raced out into the torrent, almost immediately getting drenched. He yanked the things he needed from the back of his hulking SUV and lugged it to the front.

The slender boy wiped his hands on damp denim clad thighs and tugged up the hood of his car, making sure the latch was in place so that he could start determining what was wrong. A groan almost immediately escaped his lips.

"Sparkplug alright," he confirmed, his fingers reaching in to wipe away the oil build up and grime.

He hated to get his hands dirty most of the time, but he'd grown fond of working with cars, especially since his dad had taught him how, but never used it as an excuse to man him up. From what Kurt could remember, his mother had worked with his dad on occasion. His father lived by the motto that everyone should know a thing or two about fixing cars, because it was likely at one point you'd own your own. A person who could figure out what was wrong with their car would never be scammed by a mechanic.

As Kurt wiped away the scum, his frown deepened.

"Shit," he whispered, using his other hand to wipe away the rain that was dripping into his vision.

It looked as though parts of the spark plug had completely corroded away. There was no way Kurt could fix it now. He didn't have a replacement plug and even with the car off it wasn't safe to work on something that had to deal with the car's electric systems in the rain.

"Something wrong?"

A voice behind him caused Kurt to jump in surprise, nearly bashing his head on the roof of the car.

"Son of a-," he spat, turning around and glaring at the owner of all too familiar dark blue truck, "What the hell are you trying to do? I could have been hurt!"

Dave looked up out of his window at the rain and then leaned out a little.

"Do you need a ride home," he asked, ignoring the frustrated tone of the smaller boy's voice.

Kurt let out a huffy snort and tossed back the hair that was falling in his face.

"No, thank you," he replied crisply, "I'm just going to call my dad. His mechanic shop has towing service. Why are you even still here? Were you waiting for me to leave?"

Dave shrugged, "I always wait for you to leave."

Kurt gave Dave a wry, bemused smile, "I've noticed."

The two of them had started meeting at the library to plan out PFLAG meetings and events for the upcoming school year only a couple of weeks ago, after Kurt had come back from a month long family vacation. As if by some unspoken cue, Dave always waited for Kurt to leave first. Kurt wasn't sure what that cue had been or why Dave insisted on doing it, but he once waited in the parking lot for an hour to see if Dave would leave before he did, then gave up in exasperation when he realized that the footballer was clearly waiting for him to make the first move.

"You can wait in my car until he gets here, I can turn the heat on and you can dry a little," the large boy suggested, looking a little bit uncomfortable offering.

Kurt could hear the obvious hesitance in Dave's voice, but underlying the boy's tone was the slight hint of simply wanting to be hospitable. Kurt imagined that he looked a little bit like a drowned rat at this point. The least he could do was thank Dave for the offer, whether he chose to accept it or not.

Looking at his car and imagining sitting there shivering and cold was wholly unappealing, however, and he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at Dave before shoving everything on his car back into place, letting the hood down and placing the tools back in the trunk. He ran quickly for the passenger's side of Dave's car, hopping in and turning to see the jock offering him a small towel.

"Thanks . . ." he said slowly, eyeing the piece of fabric suspiciously.

"It's clean," Dave huffed, sounding impatient, "And it's terrycloth, so it's not going to like . . . tear up your fancy skin or anything."

Kurt grimaced, realizing that he'd just been called out for simply judging a towel offered out of kindness. He nodded, mollified, and accepted the towel, secretly pleased that it was definitely plush, soft terrycloth that smelled of Downy fabric softener.

"You gonna call your dad or . . ." Dave mumbled, almost too softly for Kurt to hear as he ran the towel over his hair.

"Oh," Kurt paused, looking a bit sheepish as he fished his phone out of his back pocket.

The cover was a bit damp from the rain, but overall, it didn't seem any worse for wear. Kurt punched the redial quickly and held the phone up to his ear with his shoulder as he continued toweling off the moisture from his skin.

"Hummel Tires and Lube."

The familiar voice of his dad's right hand man, Chuck, was a welcome sound in Kurt's ear.

"Hey, Chuck, can you give me Dad," Kurt asked.

"Sure, hold up a sec, Little Boss."

It was a thing. Kurt had been "Little Boss" ever since he stepped into his father's shop and put his first set of rims on, when he was ten. Even though he was sixteen now and hardly little anymore, Chuck was nearing fifty and to him, Kurt would probably always be "Little Boss". The singer didn't mind, really. Chuck was the closest thing he had to a grandfather these days.

He heard clatter and the distant hum of rotors in the background and then a soft shuffle as someone picked up the receiver.

"'Sup, Kurt," Burt asked.

"So . . ." Kurt started, his voice lifting a little bit in anticipation. He threw a sideways glance at Dave, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"So, you know how you've been telling me to bring my car in for a check up for the last two months," he asked, picking at the tight, rain-soaked fabric of his jeans.

"Yes . . .?"

By the tone of his father's voice, Kurt could tell the man was already guessing this conversation was not about to lead to good news.

"And you know how I've kind of been putting it off," Kurt continued, only for his father to give an exasperated sigh at the other end of the line.

"What is it, Kurt? I don't really have time to play guessing games."

Kurt winced, one eye squeezing shut, "Well, the sparkplug is kinda shot . . . and I don't have a spare, which means the car won't start which means I'm sitting here in Dave's truck wai-."

"You're sitting where," Burt cut him off and the other eye shut.

"He saw that I was having trouble and offered to wait until the tow truck came," Kurt explained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He heard a non-committal grunt in the receiver, but nothing other than that. His eyes opened slowly, one at a time, as if he was expecting to see his dad standing right in front of him with a look of disapproval on his face.

"So . . . do you think you can come get me with the tow truck," Kurt asked, rubbing his hand nervously over his thigh a few times.

"I'll send Chuck," Burt said in a gruff tone that Kurt took to mean that he didn't really want to see or deal with Dave if the boy was going to be around when he got there. Kurt thanked his dad and hung up.

Burt had never been wild about the idea of them spending so much time together to begin with. When he first heard about the Bully Whips situation he'd nearly blown a gasket and it had taken a solid week for Kurt to convince his father that heading up a PFLAG chapter with Dave was a good idea and, if anything, it would help the homophobic jock to educate himself and become more informed about the gay community.

His father relented, dubiously, stating clearly that they were always to meet in public places, never at Dave's house and always in broad daylight, adding that the less he had to deal with Dave, the better, which was a not so subtle way of saying that he would rather Dave wasn't in their home either.

Obviously, Kurt couldn't and wouldn't tell anyone the real reason he and Dave were doing this, but that was also sort of the whole reason he wanted to do this. The more Dave knew, the safer he'd feel, hopefully, with coming out. Admittedly, the more time Kurt spent with the closeted lineman, the more he wanted Dave to come out.

"Thanks for the towel," Kurt said softly, finally turning his attention back to the boy who had sat silently next to him for the last five minutes.

"Well, when you do sports, you keep a lot of them around," Dave shrugged, taking the towel from Kurt and throwing it haphazardly through the window into the covered bed of the truck, "Is it warm enough in here for you?"

Kurt nodded wordlessly, plucking at his T-shirt. He wondered for a second if this was the most dressed down Dave had ever seen him. His hair was a mess, his skin was damp, his jeans were likely leaving a huge wet spot on the fabric of the seat and his shirt was clinging uselessly to his body.

"Ugh, I look like a mess," he thought aloud.

In his peripherals, Kurt saw Dave roll his eyes and rest his chin on his fist, which was propped up by the elbow on the narrow sill of the vehicle's window.

"What," Kurt asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothin'," Dave replied, looking at Kurt and shaking his head, "But only you would complain about looking like a mess, when really, you only look like you just got a little bit wet."

"And that means what, exactly," Kurt snorted, arching an eyebrow at Dave, who shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"Never mind," the bigger boy grumbled.

Kurt sighed and sat back against the window, his front facing into the car. He looked around the truck, what there was of it anyway. It was spacious inside for its size, definitely a gas guzzler, but comfortable. Everything was up to specs; there was a nice five-CD deck with MP3 playing capacity, AC/Heat, surround sound speakers, LED display, GPS, the entire works. Kurt nodded in unconscious approval. With the exception of being a threat to ecology, this was a nice truck, if Kurt did say so himself.

"What's her name," the vocalist said after a long silence passed between them.

"What," Dave asked, lifting an eyebrow in confusion, broken out of his obvious trance, "Oh," he stuttered, "Roxy," he replied, "First song that played on my radio after I got her was The Police's 'Roxanne' so . . ."

Kurt nodded in approval once again, "Not a bad name for a truck this nice," he conceded.

"Bet I can figure out your Escalade's name in three tries," Dave snorted and Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, his chin raised.

"Oh, really? Challenge accepted," Kurt replied with a crisp edge to his voice, "Three guesses, no more."

Dave canted his body a little to face Kurt better, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed a little in thought. Kurt did his best to avoid watching the way Dave's jaw muscles popped and bulged as he worked them together, or the way his lips pursed slightly, or the slight snap of golden brown in the taller boy's eyes as he mulled it over.

"Alexander," the jock finally tried, but Kurt could tell from the way Dave spoke that it was a throw away guess that he knew was wrong.

Kurt shook his head with a smug smile on his face, his eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Of course not," Dave concluded with a snort, shaking his head a little bit.

Kurt watched as Dave cocked his head to one side, this time obviously deep in thought, as if he were digging for something in his memory, and then narrowed his eyes when a slow smile formed over the football player's features.

"Stefani," Dave replied, confidence lacing his voice.

Kurt's face went blank and there was a sharp sound as Dave clapped his large hands together.

"I'm right, aren't I," he crowed, not loudly, but in definite triumph as Kurt nodded, shocked and mildly impressed.

"How the hell did you guess that," the singer asked.

Dave rolled his eyes.

"I knew your SUV's name would have something to do with Gaga, but I didn't figure you'd be obvious enough to actually name her Gaga, so I figured you'd probably use that cuckoo head's real name," Dave laughed wickedly, "It was just a matter of remembering what the hell her real name was."

"'Cuckoo head'," Kurt scoffed, put off by Dave's completely lame insult, "You want to call the most influential performer of our time a name and you choose 'cuckoo head'?"

Dave's smile fell into a defensive mask, "Not all of us were born with razor blades for tongues, Hummel."

It was a warning. The moment last names came into play Kurt usually took it as a sign that he'd gone too far. Dave was a lot more sensitive than he let on and even though he wasn't bullying anymore and definitely had a lot more control of his anger, he could still go on the defensive sometimes. Kurt didn't feel threatened by it, but he had been watching the boy's body language ever since he'd returned to McKinley and spent a lot of time over his month long vacation thinking about the best way to deal with Dave once he got back.

The first thing he'd done was attempt to clear the air between them as much as possible. Despite his right to be furious with Dave for bullying and shoving him, he'd apologized to the larger boy for the insults about his intelligence and size. In many ways, Dave was a lot like Burt. He didn't have the best way with the spoken word, but Kurt had to admit that the lineman was obviously smart. After all, Dave was going to be taking college level prep courses his senior year. Whether he got scouted or not it was very highly likely that the lineman would be picked up for an academic scholarship or two.

He hoped that would even the playing field between them and make Dave a little less resistant to all the information and 'education' Kurt would be throwing at him, and though Dave showed mild traces of ambivalence, for the most part, he'd listened intently and done all that Kurt had asked of him. To say that their 'relationship' was moving apace was a fair statement.

They'd still had their fair share of set-backs.

Kurt opened his mouth to offer an apology when he heard a honk alongside Dave's truck and he turned to see Chuck maneuvering the tower into position to hook up Kurt's Escalade. He turned to Dave, who was staring out his front windshield wordlessly, his jaw muscles still working together. Kurt let his eyes flick over the other boy's profile for a moment before speaking. He wondered, briefly, what was going on in the Bully Whip's mind.

"Thanks for letting me come in and dry off and keep warm," he said in a polite voice, holding back a soft smile when Dave nodded curtly.

Kurt let his gaze linger for a moment longer, only to be pulled out of his reverie by a second honk. Chuck obviously wanted him out of the truck sooner rather than later, probably by order of Burt.

"Anyway, see you next week," the countertenor quipped hopefully, popping the handle and stepping out of the car, "Take care on the roads on your way home."

Kurt was about to turn away and close the door before he paused to add one more thing.

"It's okay for you to go ahead of me this time, thanks for always waiting."

Then he closed Roxy's door and bounded over to help Chuck get the tow line in place. He distantly heard the rev of Dave's engine and when he turned around to look, the dark blue truck was already pulling out of the library parking lot. He saw the car stop just before it rounded the corner out of sight, as if the driver was hesitating.

"Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light," Kurt sang softly to himself as Dave's truck finally turned and was gone.

"What's that," Chuck called to him through the torrent of rain.

"Nothing," Kurt shouted back as the two of them secured the line and drove out of the lot as well.

o.O.o.G.o.L.o.E.o.E.o.O.o

Coffee with Blaine, it was an every day occurrence with the exception of the days Kurt had PFLAG meetings with Dave. Kurt sat in the Lima Bean across from his boyfriend, who was still tanned nicely from his summer job at Six Flags. The Warbler was enthusiastically retelling the story of how he danced with a six year old girl who promptly threw up on him after he spun her around only once. Kurt was doing the smile and nod routine, something that had become an alarmingly normal practice for him when he was with Blaine. He didn't want to say the other boy was boring, but he never had new material.

"That sounds like it was so much fun," Kurt offered his usual sarcastic remark and tittering laugh, to which Blaine simply grinned obliviously, taking another large sip of his medium drip.

"Well, at least I didn't have to pay for the dry cleaning and-," the shorter one made to continue before Kurt cut him off.

"And you got the rest of the day off, which you spent at the lake playing volleyball with a bunch of random guys you'd just met," Kurt finished the story with a slight edge of boredom in his tone, rolling his eyes.

He looked to see that Blaine's expression was sheepish and a little hurt.

"I'm sorry, honey," Kurt blushed, reaching over and grabbing Blaine's hand, only for the darker haired boy to pull it away, his face melting into an offended grimace, "I'm sorry," Kurt insisted, "It's just . . . you've told me that story about six times already and I-."

"And you're just sick of hearing it, I get it," Blaine fumed, quietly pouting to himself.

Kurt swore under his breath. He wondered how he'd possibly come to date someone who was a bigger drama queen than himself. As their relationship progressed, Blaine's self-confidence issues had slowly worked their way to the surface in a more prominent way. He bordered on needy and it both bothered and worried Kurt that Blaine was slowly becoming someone completely different than the upbeat, well-spoken boy he'd first met. It was starting to become a chore to coax Blaine back into his usual bubbly state.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he said softly, offering his hand and waiting for the shorter boy to begrudgingly take it, "I know you're just excited about your time at Six Flags. I'm really sorry that I couldn't come watch you perform," he offered, hoping that bringing up a fault of his own would distract Blaine momentarily.

"It wasn't like you could help it," Blaine moped, taking Kurt's hand, which allowed Kurt to rub the back of it gently, "I know you wanted to come."

"I did," Kurt confirmed with a gentle smile, "I really did want to come and support you. I know you were amazing."

Blaine nodded and gave a shy shrug. Kurt smiled triumphantly. Praising and complimenting Blaine was always the ticket to making the diminutive boy feel better.

"I was pretty amazing," Blaine conceded, and Kurt could hear the half-joke in his voice.

He gently patted Blaine's hand and released it, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked around the shop for a moment and choked as he swallowed, his eyes coming to rest on an unexpected face watching him in the crowd.

"You okay, Kurt," Blaine asked, his thick eyebrows knitting together in concern.

Kurt gave a couple of desperate coughs, nodding even as his eyes watered and saliva filled his mouth. Blaine reached over and pounded his back a few times. Kurt's eyes were still locked with the ones staring at him from across the shop, but his boyfriend didn't seem to notice that his attention was elsewhere.

He wondered, as his fit died down, just how long the other person had been watching, if they could hear what he and Blaine had been talking about and what they were thinking as they watched the two of them interact.

"You okay, Kurt," Blaine's voice cut through his thoughts and Kurt leaned back in his chair as Blaine moved back to his place.

Kurt nodded, attempting to refocus on his boyfriend but finding himself hyper-aware of the boy staring at him from across the room.

"I'm fine," he insisted with a wan smile as he picked up the movement of the red jacket in the corner of his vision.

He's leaving, Kurt thought, both relieved and slightly disappointed.

"Kurt . . .? Kurt," Blaine's voice interrupted his thoughts and Kurt snapped to attention.

"It's like you're in another world," the curly-haired boy chuckled.

To Kurt, Blaine seemed both amused and annoyed by Kurt's struggle to remain focused. Kurt frowned apologetically, the corners of his lips pursed together.

"I'm sorry, hon," Kurt pressed his coffee cup to his lips, "What where you saying?"

"I was asking you what your plans were for tomorrow," Blaine reiterated, his eyes sparkling with mirth despite the awkward fact that his boyfriend was obviously distracted.

"Tomorrow is Thursday," Kurt reminded Blaine, "My plans are the same as they are every Thursday now."

Blaine sighed and Kurt lifted an eyebrow as the boy shook his head.

"Look, I told you at the beginning of the summer that this was how it was going to be. I'm serious about this PFLAG chapter and about making it a success at McKinley," Kurt stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I understand that," Blaine said in an insistent tone, "But I still don't understand why you starting up the chapter has to include him."

The Warbler's mouth was twisted down in a sharp frown and Kurt's eyes narrowed.

"I am not sure how many times I'm going to have to tell you and everyone else that we have nothing to worry about as far as Dave is concerned before you'll all believe me," Kurt mumbled with disdain, "He may still be the biggest closet case ever, but he isn't, by nature, a violent guy. He's . . . polite and smart and scared. You helped me, Blaine. It's time for me to pay it forward.

"You're too nice for your own good," Blaine scoffed lightly, gulping down the rest of his coffee, "Just one of the many reasons I love you, I guess."

The corner of Kurt's mouth quirked up in a crooked, half-hearted smile.

"Well," Kurt sniffed, "If my being nice is a reason you guess you love me, then I guess I'm thankful."

The two of them smirked at each other over the table before Blaine suggested heading out for their movie. Kurt's fingers laced comfortably with Blaine's and for a moment, Kurt was aware of how everything with the Warbler simply felt . . . comfortable.