Author's Note: I was working on notes for another fic and this microscopic-lengthed one-shot popped into my head. It's not long enough to even call a ficlet, I'm sure, but I wanted to post it up here just to remind you all that I'm not dead. Plus I figured you might like a little angst in your day. A great writer once said that it's not the word count, it's what you do with it that matters. Or something like that.
But I've got another big project in the works that might tie into this short story. There's a lot of research that I'm doing on Season 3 to prepare for it, so keep an eye out.
I do not own Glee or any of its characters.
He sat on the park bench, fingers curled into his palms. They had been like this for hours, yet it wasn't something he could help. It had always been a nervous habit, whenever he began to get too emotional. Now his nails were digging into the flesh of his palm, drawing slight beads of blood. He was shaking.
He didn't look up at the slightest crunch of late autumn leaves behind him, or as the firm hand of his father pressed down on his shoulder. There was nothing that he could say, even if he remembered how to form words. His father said nothing, and eventually the hand moved away, followed by the sound of footsteps walking away from the bench.
He remained, holding himself like a child. His face was stained with streaks, yet he made no move to wipe them away.
"Kurt," the faintest voice whispered from over his shoulder, reminding him of his own name. Quinn was at her side, their hands interlocked. He sniffed once, trying to compose himself, but it was clear they both had been crying as well. Rachel's hand touched his arm. He didn't react.
"Thank you both for coming," he whispered, trying to sound like himself. The words were hallow; he had said them so many times today that he couldn't remember what they meant. He looked up and saw Rachel Berry's face, tear-stained. For a moment he remembered everything they had gone through together. He placed a hand against hers. It was the most he could manage.
"Thank you both for coming," he repeated. His façade crumbled then. His face contorted and another fit of tears rocked through him. Rachel threw her arms around him. It took him a moment to realize that Quinn was silently crying, trying her best to stay strong. Rachel was shaking in his arms.
"Mama," a small voice asked. "Why are you and mommy crying?"
Quinn wiped her eyes and bent down, kissing the child's tiny hand that was clasped in her own. "A good friend of mamas went away, Harmony," she explained. Her voice was shaking. Kurt's eyes clenched closed, trying to drown out the explanation.
"When will he come back?" The innocent voice asked. Quinn pulled her close, smoothing her child's dark hair. The sound of crunching leaves moved away from the bench, leaving Rachel and Kurt alone. Rachel moved next to Kurt, who was still looking distant.
After a long moment, he spoke. "She's getting big."
"Almost three," Rachel nodded, dabbing an eye with a tissue. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."
"Don't be," he sniffed. "Thank you for coming all the way from New York, Rachel. He would have appreciated it."
His father approached holding a small child. Kurt rose from the bench, took the toddler in his arms and kissed his forehead.
"Let's say bye-bye to papa, Rory."