A/N: My response to 'Lights Out' Reviews are welcome.

Kitty had always been honest. That was her one redeeming quality, even if she whored it out every time she was angry or wanted to shut someone down.

Honestly, Mr. Shuester's guilt trips weren't doing the job. Sam and Artie didn't get it and wouldn't learn from the teacher's furrowed brow, Tina's exclamation, and New Directions stoic silence, apparently a sign of support, but likely made Ryder want the affection of 'Katie' even more.

Now, Kitty wasn't good at that sort of thing, comfort. She was perfectly sympathetic, sure, empathetic as all fuck. But comfort for her was as base as dumb and dumber's comments; her body for the sake of physical release that again made her no better than that babysitter: in control, without permission. If she could understand that, than Artie and Sam could too.

First though, she needed supplies.

Standing outside the Evans household, Kitty almost turned back. This could backfire horribly, and make her a pariah. But Ryder would understand that she did this for herself, and if anything were to splash back on to him, she would let them know what happened to her at that sleepover and take the shame, making it clear this was her doing, no one else's.

It took about a minute for someone to get to the door; Kitty had checked with Quinn, that Sam's parents weren't home, and that his younger siblings were. The blond boy answered, freezing for a moment, recognition mixed with suspicion and confusion.

"Hey, Kitty. Something happen? Did we have a glee meeting?" Kitty swallowed a lump in her throat and let herself in; Sam not expecting her to be so forward, let her, and she took her perch on a worn, but well kept, sofa. She shook her head as Sam shut the door.

"No. I'm here to lend… moral support." Raising one eyebrow, Kitty wondered how Quinn could have ever dated the boy- they looked like twins.

"Moral support?"

"Yes. I think you were right, what you said in glee club? Everybody didn't get it; it's different for guys than girls." Sam still looked suspicious, but nodded emphatically. Kitty resisted the urge to kick him in the crotch.

"Totally. I mean, 'hot babysitter' is like, number two on a guy's fantasy list, right?" Kitty nodded emphatically as well.

"Right after sibling's older, more experienced friend." Sam grinned. He didn't get it, and Kitty's insides tightened. She thought of someway of getting the point across, without having to resort to what she had anticipated, and hoped this would be over quicker.

Kitty wasn't lucky.

"You want to hang out? Brit…. Wasn't as understanding, I guess. So I'm free, if you don't mind two nine year olds running around." Kitty looked down and shook her head. You're really going to make me go through with this, Evans?

"It's fine. Actually…. That works out perfectly, in fact." Sam's tuning his guitar, and Kitty can hear his brother and sister playing in the other room; discussing some made up game they were playing. Kitty wanted to run now, flee to be accurate. But she keeps replaying Sam's and Artie's words in her mind, and her words to Ryder; how Ryder should've enjoyed himself; how she switched schools, and ran away when Ryder stood and fought, and that keeps her glued to the arm rest, the weight of the, for lack of a better word, prop in her school bag. She's never felt as alone now since that sleepover, and if she can get through this….

Don't run away this time, Kitty.

"Kitty? I said, why's that?" looking up, Kitty tilts her head, hoping to crack her neck and takes a deep breath to release her nerves. They maintain their stranglehold.

"You know, what you said was so right. Guys are so immature these days, all they care about is stuff like video games and kid stuff." Because they are kids still, she thinks as loud as she can, hoping to stem the wave of dizziness she feels. "And even though a little help would probably make all the difference, there aren't a lot of girls willing to fill the role, huh?" Sam looks up, not really paying attention.

"No, I guess not."

"Right. Well, there should be, shouldn't there?" Sam gets a faraway look in his eyes, and nods.

"I know I wish I had had someone like that" Kitty steps closer, and Sam just keeps strumming his guitar.

"Well, it's a little late for you. Don't get me wrong, you turned out great"- This is said through gritted teeth, with a pained expression, and some part of her is grateful he doesn't look up-"but it would be great for others, right? Who could benefit… from someone like me?" Kitty wonders what she means by that; it sounds fairly self deprecating. Sam looks up.

"Kitty…" It's a warning: he gets it now, but it's not good enough for her, she needs more.

"You said your brother's nine, right? Only two years difference." Kitty is moving forward then, propelled by Sam's shove, a compromise between his desire to punch her, and to honor his refrain from ever using violence against women- it's not how he was raised. She gives a shriek before she can stop herself, landing on the couch, unceremoniously looking up from her supine position, and she feels her eyes begin to water.

Sam for his part looks horrified, she follows his gaze: his brother and sister are staring, and their scared; even upside down, the ludicrousness of her vantage point doesn't soften the situation in the slightest. She takes her window of opportunity, fighting back the reflexive shame, that she should do more, battling with all too blunt sword of logic, jumping forward, in Sam's face, she relays her message quickly, needing to end this.

"The golden rule, Evans: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Remember what you said to Ryder every time you look in your brothers face." And like that she's out into the air that's so good, so freeing, so different, it's almost addictive.

She's blocks away, when she remembers her supplies. Pulling out the three pack of condoms, fighting another wave of nauseating guilt that she should have brought them out, gone for broke, and shoved them in Sam's face.

She doesn't trust herself to let this go, so, with the last of her resiliency she hurls the condoms as hard as she can; they disappear into some trees, and she can't see where. She runs in case she might.

Runs until she's in her room, burying into the covers, eyes held tight against imagining what hell she had let loose, and the feeling that she had no choice.