The two were up until almost 3 in the morning talking, and only adjourned for bed when Dave started to nod off in the middle of a sentence. Kurt caught Dave up on the phoenix-like re-rising of New Directions (resurrected by Rachel herself as part of her final NYADA project), and told him about the disparate lives of his old club mates, and their varying degrees of success. There were also updates on various aspects of pop culture that he'd missed while in the Agency base.

"We'd get first-run movies and DVD box sets and stuff like that, but it wasn't like I could stream Netflix or anything."

"Then you have no idea what happened on The Amazing Race last season?! Oh my God, Dave, lucky for you everything lives forever on the Internet these days..."

Luckily, Kurt had already set up his former roommate's bedroom as a temporary guest room. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, Kurt (with only half-joking reluctance) finally decided to share Dave with the rest of their friends.

Rachel's response to Dave's voice on the phone was a squeal and a demand (and Rachel Berry could certainly be demanding) that they had to meet as soon as humanly possible.

Santana merely snorted and said, "It took you long enough to slink back here," but she also said, very casually, that she wouldn't mind seeing him again while he was in town.

So they arranged to all meet at Rockefeller Plaza that evening. Dave rocked on his heels nervously as the two waited.

"What's the matter?" Kurt asked. "You've known them for years now..."

"Yeah, and during five of them, they were talking with a fake me," Dave replied. "I just... what if I..." He shook his head. "Sorry, it's stupid..."

Kurt sighed dramatically. "We've been over this before, Dave: nothing you feel is ever 'stupid'. Now spill."

"Okay, fine. What if... I disappoint them? What if I can't measure up to what they think I am?"

"Then they're the ones who're stupid," Kurt said crisply, "and no longer worthy of your time. Come on, now, you've spent the last five years accepting who and what you are. Don't start backsliding on me now; we have better things to do than retread old territory." He turned to his friend. "Look, Dave, I know this is weird. You're returning to a situation and a life that's both familiar and foreign to you all at once. But you can handle it. You've already handled so much, I'm surprised you haven't fully internalized how strong you really are — and I'm not talking about that either. Remember why we're here: they wanted to see you — and we're talking about a self-absorbed diva and a complete and total bitch. As you can guess from that, they're still much the same people you left, and you've only improved as a person. Now calm down, relax, and have a good time. You've more than earned it."

If Dave had a response to that, he never said it, because that was the moment Rachel and Santana appeared. With a delighted cry, the former practically tackled Dave off his feet, hugging him tightly and bouncing up and down. The latter was much cooler about it, but no less affectionate, giving him a quick hug and an only halfway sarcastic air kiss on each cheek.

The quartet ended up having supper at Just Salad to accommodate Rachel; the mood was light enough that Santana only complained for a couple of minutes. As the evening wore on, Kurt started to wonder if he should've delayed the gathering until Dave got a better handle on his supposed European activities; he wasn't sure if Dave could withstand the sort of sustained interrogation these two women were capable of.

Fortunately, they also shared a certain amount of self-absorption, so both were very happy to spend most of time talking about themselves. Santana's main topic of conversation was Brittany and the upcoming baby ("She's sorry she couldn't make it; she's at her expectant mothers' yoga class."), while Rachel went on and on and on about her Broadway ambitions.

"Oh, I got another audition today! This one is for an interesting niche show that's starting up by a promising young playwright..."

"That's code for 'It's a really weird script functioning as public on-stage therapy,'" Kurt muttered to Dave under his breath. The telekinetic suppressed a snicker.

"... And things are moving so fast! I really have to thank you, David."

Dave blinked; was it because he was trying to figure out what she was talking about, or was he startled that he was actually being addressed for the first time in the past ten minutes? "For what?"

"For your advice! You were right all along; pursuing that TV show would've been a huge mistake. The stage is where I belong, and grabbing for a chance at easy stardom would've been a betrayal of everything I've worked for my entire life! I'm a New Yorker and a Broadway star, heart and soul, and that's just the way it is."

Kurt shuddered at the memories. By far the most difficult part of Dave's absence — even more so than the lies and the worries — was seeing Dave's social media accounts interact with his friends knowing that the person on the other side of the keyboard was some Agency operative, a stranger. Sure, everything that was written sounded like something Dave would say, but him (or her, maybe?) being that informed just made it worse. Just imagining (or worse, knowing) what "Fake Dave," as the real Dave called him/her, was saying to others that Kurt wasn't privy to kept him up more than a few nights. Luckily, it generally seemed to work out; if it hadn't, Kurt wasn't sure who he would've hunted down first. It wasn't that he didn't understand the necessity of it, and the logic. It was still creepy as all hell.

Dave grimaced; Kurt could guess he was thinking much the same. "Well, uh... It was no problem. I'm glad it's working out for you."

"And the same with you! I think social work is a very noble profession, and one that suits you well. I could tell from your enthusiasm for the Bully Whips." This time, Kurt was the one who was hiding a grimace behind his napkin. It seemed that the Agency was updating Dave's cover story right up to the end, based on what he was doing on the inside. He dearly hoped that they'd asked him directly what was going on, instead of checking up on him without his knowledge. "So, you must tell me more about your life in Europe! It must've been so fascinating, being around all that culture and history...!"

Dave began to sweat. "Yeah, well... You kind of get used to it after a while, you know?"

"I suppose, but it would take me quite a while to become jaded, I can tell you that!"

"So what'd you think of Spain?" Santana asked. "You never did look up my friend Rosa."

"I know, sorry about that. I was really busy." Kurt couldn't help but admire Dave's vague evasions. But then, he knew better than anyone else how much practice he must've had.

"Yeah, sure," Santana drawled sarcastically as she sipped the last of her soda. "Five fucking years in Europe, and you were always 'too busy,' and now just you show up out of the blue without even telling us! If I didn't know better, I'd think this little reunion was because you'd finally run out of money."

Rachel gave a little gasp. "Oh! Speaking of reunions...!" Kurt gasped himself; how could he have forgotten about that? Then again, with all the emotions accompanying the surprise of Dave's return, perhaps he shouldn't kick himself too much. "David, you are coming, aren't you?"

"To—?"

Fortunately, Rachel rambled on before Dave could dig his hole any deeper. "I know you declined before, but now that you're back in the States, you really have no reason not to attend!"

"She's right, Dave," Kurt said, his mind racing to keep ahead of his mouth to figure out how to phrase his next words carefully. "We all know how much you wanted to attend the New Directions reunion. Now that your schedule's settled down and you were able to come back home after all, we'd all love to have you there. Rachel's only invited every single person who was a member of the glee club while she was there, after all."

Rachel nodded rapidly, but Santana gave him an odd look — that meant that his subtle imparting of information wasn't quite as subtle as he'd hoped. But then, Santana was more canny than most. Still, he'd have to watch what he (and Dave) said in front of her. Not that she'd ever be able to even conceive of the truth, but a suspicious Santana was a dangerous Santana. Then again, even a totally UN-suspicious Santana was pretty damn dangerous.

"Oh, I, uh..." Kurt groaned inwardly; he'd hoped the Agency would have taught Dave a little more about thinking quickly on his feet. Maybe that was a future course. "If it's not too much trouble... I mean, you did a lot of planning already, and if one more person's gonna screw it up..."

"Nonsense!" Rachel snapped, to Kurt's silent agreement. "I'm sure that given the choice, everyone would want to see you there!"

"Speaking of which," Kurt interrupted, mostly to give himself and Dave a moment to think and calm down, "gotten your last RSVPs yet?"

"I have! Fortunately, there are only a few regrets: Quinn has a conference in Vancouver, Puck couldn't get leave from the Air Force, Rory isn't able to leave Ireland at this time, and Mercedes, as you know, is still on her tour." Indeed, Kurt did know; he regretted missing the chance to see her in person for the first time in almost a year, but at least there was still the Internet, which was already buzzing about her talent, as he knew it would. "But everybody else is going to attend for at least some of the festivities. Oh, David, wait until you see the new and improved McKinley High School for the Performing Arts!" Dave's face didn't so much as twitch — mostly because Kurt had, of course, mentioned that in his rundown of what had gone on in his absence. "The athlete/artist divide is now totally gone — I thought you in particular would appreciate that — and if it doesn't produce multiple stars in the next ten years, I'll eat every hat at Macy's!"

"Well, then..." Dave rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd love to come." Kurt was glad, mostly because he wouldn't have to go to the effort of employing every trick in his substantial book to make Dave go. Reconnecting with his old friends from before his life at the Agency could only be good for him. "When was it again? I forget."

"Two weekends from now," Rachel said chirpily, "so your timing is especially fortuitous! If you want, I have a friend at a travel agency who can still get you cheap plane tickets..."

"Nah, that's okay; I think I want to drive anyway."

The mention of driving brought up a sudden burst of unnameable feeling in Kurt — perhaps the closest he could come to a name was "excitement". "Ohmygod, that was your Plymouth out front, wasn't it?" came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Rachel and Santana frowned in puzzlement, but Dave chuckled. "Yeah, it is. I told you, first thing I wanted to buy when I got money."

"Oh, holy shit," Kurt breathed, "you have to let me take a closer look. You must. Please, if our friendship has ever meant anything to you..."

"If Kurt is this excited, this has gotta be some car," Santana said dryly. "I wanna see it too."

And that was how all four young people ended up outside Kurt's apartment building in Queens, joining the small clot of passersby already there, watching as Kurt ran his hands almost worshipfully across the hood of Dave's 1959 Plymouth Fury.

Santana whistled in admiration. "Man, Dave, when you said your Grandpa Murray had money, I didn't think you meant this kind of money..."

Once again, Kurt bitterly admired the thoroughness of the Agency's cover story. It helped that there was actually quite a bit of wealth on Dave's mother's side of the family, and that Grandpa Murray had left a trust fund for his grandson for college, but it was still a balancing act, what with the risk of someone with actual knowledge reading Fake Dave's social media. But it was a balancing act that the Agency operative, whoever he or she was, performed quite well.

Disturbingly well, in fact.

Dave shrugged humbly. "This is, like, my one big splurge."

"And spending five years backpacking across fucking Europe wasn't?"

Dave ignored her. "It was something I'd always wanted, and had the chance, so..." He shrugged again. "And I got a good deal, so it was cool."

"Well, you're certainly moving up in the world," Rachel said. "We all are, and it's always heartwarming to see friends achieve even their little dreams."

"So, Kurt..." Dave had a mischievous grin on his face. "Wanna ride with me to Lima? Road trip, just like old times?"

Kurt stood ramrod straight. "Do I?! Can I take a leg of the drive? Pleaaase?"

"What, no invitation for me? Fine, I see how it is," Santana pouted. "Nothing fucking changes," she added under her breath.

"Oh, drop it, Santana," Rachel said with a roll of her eyes. "We all know you'd rather accompany Brittany on the plane 'just in case'."

"Okay, fine, yeah, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to be at least invited."

"Quiet, both of you," Kurt said in a breathy tone, admiring his reflection in the polished chrome. "I'm busy hyperventilating here. I'm glad to see you have a manual transmission. Is the engine a Golden Commando or—?"

"Oh, God, don't ask me questions about the car. I just fucking drive it."

"And that, my friend, is why you'll never be able to appreciate it the way you should."

"While you'd wax it every day and sing it to sleep at night, right?"

"A '59 Fury? You're damn right I would!"

Rachel laughed. "I missed this," she said. Then she touched Dave's shoulder. "I missed you, David."

Dave looked like he could barely nod; Kurt could see his Adam's apple bob. "... Yeah. I missed you too, Rachel. I thought of you — all of you — a lot while I was away."

"We thought of you too," Kurt said, finally breaking off his admiration of the car. "But you're back now. That's all that matters." There it was again, though — that wisp of fear. But this time, he knew exactly where it was coming from. It was something he'd have to ask Dave later.

For now, though, it was time for partings. Rachel and Santana both hugged Dave tightly, promising more meet-ups later. Finally alone, the two young men wearily made their way up to Kurt's apartment. "So..." Dave said from the couch as Kurt shut the door behind him, "what should we do until the weekend of the reunion?"

Kurt tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to kick back and relax some. We'll get together with Rachel and Santana, go out on the town... But I can think of one thing you definitely need to do."

"What's that?"

In response, Kurt strode into the hall; he could feel Dave's eyes watching him in confusion. He was in and out of the guest bedroom in seconds, and unceremoniously dropped Dave's backpack into his lap. "Study."

"Huh? Study what?"

"Your file, of course. You think you're going to survive the reunion if you don't have every detail of your cover story down? That's what the file is for, David. You're lucky you have the time to read over what Fake You has done before you actually have to start answering questions. I'll quiz you in a couple of days. I suggest making flash cards..."

"Oh, God," Dave groaned.

"I'm surprised, David. I would've thought that five years being trained by a secret organization in a covert base would've improved your work ethic. Looks like I'll have to get you up early tomorrow—" A dish towel dropped right on top of Kurt's head, over his eyes, out of nowhere. "Very funny, Dave."

"Yeah, I thought so."

The next week passed quickly — surprisingly quickly. It was almost a blur of activity: talking, sightseeing, eating out at decidedly non-cafeteria restaurants, and yes, even studying, not that Dave showed an ounce of gratitude for Kurt's motivational practices. He even had the nerve to compare him to Coach Sylvester, the bastard!

The pair set out on Wednesday morning, the sky bright and clear and blue, even through the pollution of the big city. Kurt eagerly climbed into the Fury the moment Dave unlocked the door, and purred along with the engine as it roared to life.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, that horsepower..."

"Shit, Kurt, you sound like you're having an orgasm over there."

"More of one than I've had in a long while, I can tell you that." He closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of the pavement underneath them, as Dave pulled out onto the street. "You feel that, Dave? Smooth as silk. Whoever was maintaining this thing before you had it knew what they were doing."

"You need some time alone?" Dave snickered.

"Philistine. Don't like fashion, don't like cars..."

"Yeah, well, what do you know about the NHL or Halo?"

"If I cared, I'd know a lot," Kurt replied snootily.

"That does it, no driving for you, mister! You'll just sit back, be a passenger, and enjoy it!"

"Why, I never! How cruel of you, you... you bully!"

With the windows rolled down, at least a few pedestrians turned to stare at their laughter as they drove by.

Kurt did enjoy the ride, at least for the first couple of hours. Once they got out of the city proper, along the route they took when they first came to New York City, nostalgia overtook him. "We stopped for gas there, remember?"

"Uh, yeah, but that's kind of a weird thing to point out, isn't it?"

"It was a significant time in our lives, Dave. I remember every inch of that trip, and I treasure it all."

"Even what I did at the forest?" His voice was grim and soft.

"Even that. Because it's a reminder of how far you'd come from where you began — and how much further you've come now. It seems to me you're finally Dave Karofsky — the real Dave Karofsky — accepting all the parts that make up the whole you. You've grown into your power, you got yourself a boyfriend, you found a calling that you're passionate about... I think you've done pretty damn good these past five years, and the future's still wide open to you. I couldn't be prouder, Dave, I mean that."

He was silent for about half a mile before he said anything more. "That means a lot, coming from you. Thanks." He chuckled. "I suppose for that, I can let you drive just a little, seeing as how you sacrificed so much for me and all..."

Kurt perked. "Really? Oh, God, thank you..."

"Just don't get jizz all over the seat, okay?"

"How crude! I can tell the Agency didn't give you any sensitivity training! And you're trying to be a counselor!"

"Hey, what can I say, telekinesis isn't my only gift."

"Okay, that was mildly witty. But only mildly. I'll forgive you if you pull over at the next exit so I can get behind the wheel."

He did, and oh Lord, was this car everything he'd ever imagined. Kurt could almost picture himself living in the Fifties, in this car, one of an army of bright gleaming American classics. (Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about the stifling social order in his fantasies.) Dave teased him off and on through his turn as driver, with such Wilde-like witticisms as "You know there's nowhere on this car for you to stick your dick in, right?" and "If you pay for gas, does that make the car a prostitute?" But hell, Kurt could take a little ribbing if it meant he could wheedle another few miles out of Dave.

They were about half an hour away from the Pennsylvania-Ohio border when Kurt felt relaxed enough to ask the question that had been buzzing in the back of his mind ever since Dave came back. "Dave...?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you back for good now?"

There was silence from the other side of the car; Kurt could feel his gut thud somewhere amongst his large intestine, but he waited for an answer nonetheless. It took a few seconds, but he got one. "Kind of. I'll need to train and study some more with the Agency, but I'll have a lot more freedom now; they like their field agents to be comfortable in the outside world and all that. I mean, in a way, I'll never be fully free as long as I'm a member of the Agency, but the way I see it, it's kinda the same as if I were in the Army or the FBI or something. It's... I think this is kinda my calling, y'know?"

Kurt nodded, keeping his eyes on the seemingly endless blacktop ahead. It was a better answer than he was expecting, but conflicting emotions were still roiling within him. "I know the feeling. It's the same with me and the stage."

"Yeah. I won't even have to go back to the base a lot, though; I'll be able to do a lot of my academic studies independently. It's mostly the telekinetic shit I need to go back in for."

"You think there's more for you to learn?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely. One of the big things I learned training with my powers is just how much I have left to learn. I feel like what I can do is almost limitless, and I'll feel like a disappointment if I don't at least try to grab it all while I can..."

"The only thing I'm disappointed by is your even considering that you could be one. I could lecture you some more about it, but you've heard it all already. Just don't forget where you've been, and that you're allowed to think about yourself every once in a while. Dave Karofsky is just as important as the kids you want to help. You have to take care of him if you want to take care of them. Remember that."

"Yeah. Sure. Okay." Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow, but accepted the words at face value. "I just... I feel like my life has a purpose now, you know? A direction. Yeah, sure, maybe I have to watch myself even more than I used to when I was in the closet, but it's for a good reason now. I feel like my entire life has opened up. There's so much I want to do, and now I know I can, you know? My power, my studies, my job... It's all finally coming together, and it's almost a little crazy, just how much of a difference it makes. I tell you, Kurt, I've never felt so free — and that's not just 'cause I'm not cooped up in that base anymore either."

Kurt had noticed, to be frank. It was odd, how familiar yet different Dave was. All the essential parts of him, everything that made him Dave, was still there, but more... vibrant. More open. More mature. More stable. Gone — or at least severely reduced — were the fear and the self-hate that were constant undercurrents of his existence. By embracing his gift, his sexuality, and yes, even his guilt to some extent, he'd freed himself from all that, opened himself up to life's possibilities. Kurt hoped he'd done the same for his own life, but either way, it warmed his heart to see his friend, once so hemmed in by his own psyche, now allowing himself to be who and what he truly was — finally seeing what Kurt had known almost from the start.

The road ahead of them stretched on.

So did the road behind them, and on that road a particular car that had been following them ever since New York City.

Not that either noticed.

"You don't have to be here for this, you know."

"First of all, I sort of do, seeing as how your car is my main mode of transportation while we're here. Second, I want to be a supportive friend, because I know this will be an emotional moment for you. Third, I have to admit, this is something I want to see myself."

The mood had become sharply heavier once the "Welcome to Lima" sign became visible. It was as though the memories were exerting pressure on them both, as inexorable as telekinesis — the good and the bad, the hope and the fear, it all wove a tapestry that would fall apart if a single thread, even the most unpleasant, were yanked out. Kurt thought that the way he felt returning to Lima must have been much the same that Dave felt returning to the outside world from the Agency base. Everything was familiar and foreign all at once, as if he'd only seen these streets in a movie, not walked them himself.

What Kurt couldn't imagine, though, was what Dave was thinking and feeling as they pulled up in front of the Karofsky house. He had no idea what the Agency had done to Paul Karofsky's mind, what groundwork — if any — they'd laid with him for Dave's return, but they were about to find out. That fact explained Dave's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, not to mention Kurt's presence.

"Whatever happens, whatever you're feeling... You'll deal with it better if you're not alone," Kurt continued. "This is yet another old lesson, but it still holds as true now as it did then: you need to accept help, Dave. How can you offer it if you can't take it? I want to be here for you. Now do you believe that or not?"

Dave barely hesitated in his replying nod. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks." He sucked in a breath. "Well, can't just sit out here forever, as much as I want to. If Mrs. Mendelbaum still lives next door, she'll see us and call the cops. So we might as well go in." His light tone clashed with the clenching of his jaw, the narrowness of his eyes.

Kurt laid a gentle hand on Dave's shoulder. "Come on. Your dad's waiting for you."

Dave took the steps up to the porch so rapidly that Kurt had to jog to keep up. But he needn't have bothered, because Dave froze the instant he was standing in front of the front door. Standing by his side, Kurt gently raised Dave's right arm until it was at the level of the doorbell. Swallowing audibly, Dave pushed.

Soft chimes emanated from inside. Muffled footsteps followed, and Dave's arm tensed under Kurt's touch. "He's your father, Dave," he muttered. "It'll be okay."

"Yeah. Right. You're right. It'll be fine." Kurt wasn't sure who Dave was trying to convince.

A lock snapped; the door hinges creaked a little as it opened. Paul Karofsky was five years older, five years greyer, but otherwise looked much the same as Kurt remembered. He hadn't interacted much with the man during Dave's absence, for obvious reasons; their last chat was right before the Agency did... whatever they did to him, which was not long after Dave left. He heard Dave's sharp intake of breath.

"David..." Paul Karofsky sounded almost in awe at what he was seeing. "David, you're...!"

"Hey, Dad," Dave said in a choked voice. "Surprise?"

"David!" Kurt was lightly shoved aside in Paul's lunge towards his son, but he didn't mind. He smiled, hands in his pockets, as the two large men clung to each other tightly, babbled words interspersed with soft sobs.

The two hugged each other for long enough that Kurt's attention started to wander, his hand brushing against the bulge in his pants formed by his smartphone, his eyes taking in the street (who told that jogger she could wear florescent colors?). But before he gave in to his impatience, the two parted, and a rheumy-eyed Paul Karofsky clapped the shoulders of both young men. "Why don't you two come in?"

The trio gathered in the kitchen over cold drinks. "You should've told me you were coming home," Paul scolded lightly. "Why didn't you call first?" His brow furrowed. "But you did tell me you were returning from Europe... Didn't you?" His eyes went cloudy and unfocused, and Kurt shivered. He knew pretty much what was going on in Paul Karofsky's mind, even if the man himself couldn't even comprehend it. He could almost imagine implanted mental commands shifting memories around, creating false images and feelings out of thin air. It was horrible and fascinating simultaneously. He glanced at Dave; his friend's face was pale. "Ah, well, that's not important." Only because someone told you not to consider it important, Kurt thought, his stomach churning. "What's important is that you're finally home. If you're not sleeping in your old room while you're here for the reunion, you're out of my will."

Dave chuckled, sounding somewhat forced. "Okay, you've twisted my arm. Kurt, why don't I drop you off at your house so Dad and I can catch up?"

"Well," Kurt said with exaggerated innocence, "you could always give me the keys and I'll take your car home. I promise to take good care of it."

Before Dave could riposte, Paul frowned. "Car? You got a car already?"

Kurt and Dave exchanged looks. "Uh, yeah. You want to see it?"

There they were again: those cloudy and unfocused eyes. "No, not if you don't want to," Paul said casually. "Go ahead and take Kurt home. I'll order us some supper while you're out."

"Sure..." Only when the front door shut behind them did Dave speak again. "That was... God, Kurt, I knew, but seeing it for myself..."

"I know."

"Was it... was it really necessary to do that to him?"

Kurt knew what he could say, what he should say, but what he did say was, "I don't know."

Those words hung heavily over them the entire trip to the Hummel-Hudson home.

Few places in Lima were more emblematic of Dave's and Kurt's journey than McKinley High School. Like its two alumni, it had evolved while keeping its basic elements much the same. Its name had changed (albeit with only the appendage of four words), but the campus, the facade, was largely untouched, and just being in its presence made Kurt feel like he was a teenager again — discomfiting, to be sure. Standing by Dave, who was staring up at its buildings as though it was some kind of Lovecraftian city just risen from the depths, he got the sense that the feeling was shared.

"Wow. It's only been six years, but... It feels like a lifetime ago," Dave said.

"It was. Six years is a quarter of our lives thus far. Neither of us is the same as when we graduated."

"Yeah. It's just... It's weird to think about everything that happened to us in there. How much both our lives changed."

"And for the better, I believe," Kurt said firmly; he'd had enough experience with Dave to instinctively know where that line of thought was in peril of being headed. "Now come on, everyone's waiting for us."

It was early evening, and the first of many events Rachel had concocted for the glee club reunion was a "welcome back" mixer. Strange, Kurt thought as he and Dave stepped into the building, to think that New Directions was indirectly responsible for making this school what it was today. To think that he, Kurt Hummel, was part of the foundation for an entire performing arts curriculum... Apart from Dave, this could very well be one of his more lasting legacies... and he couldn't think of a better one.

"Man..." Dave's voice echoed in the half-lit halls. "This brings back memories."

"Good or bad?"

"Both, I guess. Like, this is where I blew out those lights after that asshole started insulting you."

"Right, right. And that's where I first saw you in that Bully Whips uniform."

"I put that under the 'bad memory' column," Dave chuckled. "And that's..." He didn't finish.

"That's...?" Kurt paused and looked. "Ah."

It was the boys' locker room.

"That's where it all began," Dave said softly. "Where I... I kissed you..."

"And I found out about your power."

Dave nodded. "That day changed everything for you... for both of us."

"No regrets, I hope?" There was an edge to Kurt's voice that was entirely intentional.

There was no answer, not at first. The two continued down the hall. "No. I wish I could have gotten through all this without getting you involved, but... Well, you know what you... your friendship and your help has always meant to me. What I think it's done for me."

"Indeed I do, and I was glad to be able to help you. Seeing you now only proves to me that I made the right choice."

Dave ducked his head for a moment; Kurt couldn't see his face well enough in the shadows to tell what sort of expression he wore. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." The two walked on in companionable silence. "The auditorium's right up ahead."

"Yeah."

"You know, I've always thought that I... that we know someone who'd be much more deserving of having their name on the auditorium than April Rhodes."

"You read my mind."

Kurt was about to make a snappy joke about telepathy when Dave stopped stone cold dead. He turned to see why, and stopped stone cold dead himself.

Sue Sylvester was leaning almost casually against the wall next to the closed auditorium doors, through which only a thin line of light and the barest murmur of conversation leaked out. She was wearing a black pantsuit, looking much as she had on their graduation day. She regarded them with an upraised eyebrow, her face as unreadable as ever.

"Porcelain. Kong."

Kurt swallowed. "Coach," he said, even though he knew she wasn't their coach (and maybe not even A coach; the rumors he'd heard from his peers were sketchy, to say the least). He could hear Dave breathing next to him. Memories stirred within him, of this woman's... involvement in getting Dave returned from his kidnapping by Brody Weston, and he wondered, not for the first time, just what the hell she knew. Not that he expected any answers, tonight or ever — at least not full and satisfactory ones. "I didn't know you were invited to this reunion."

"I wasn't." Of course not. "I invited myself."

"Why?"

"Schuester and Berry asked me the same question. I told them that I technically ran your carnival freak show of a group for a while, and a lot better than either of them ever did, so I have every right to be here."

"Yes, but why?"

Sylvester shrugged. "I was bored. I was thinking of continuing my political career, but I decided this country wasn't ready yet for my particular brand of wisdom. Then I heard about this reunion and decided that it would be... interesting." Her eyes bored directly into Dave; it was only then that Kurt remembered that he'd never told him about Sue Sylvester's part in what happened to him. Maybe out of fear that she'd appear if he spoke her name, like Beetlejuice?

Dave's brow furrowed. "Why?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

Sylvester snorted. "'Why why why'. You two sound like a couple of five year olds." Her lip curled. "Then again, five year olds have better survival instincts."

"That doesn't answer our question," Kurt noted in a remarkably even voice.

"I know." Nobody moved.

"So..." Dave began, "we're just gonna go in and see everyone now..." He took a step forward, and Sylvester's eyes found him again. He immediately froze once more.

"You look well, Fozzie," she said to Dave. "You were living in Europe, right?"

"Y-yeah..."

"Learned a lot, did you?"

"Y-yes, I think I did..."

"Hm. I'm a little surprised you're actually here. Where you go, sometimes people just... stay." Kurt heard Dave give a soft, strangled gasp. "Maybe you've decided to get a job? Find other kids who are talented and ask them if they want to go to... Europe?"

"W-what...? What are you—?"

"Excuse me," Kurt interrupted. "We'd love to catch up with you, Coach, but we're expected. So if you don't mind...?"

To his surprise, Coach Sylvester actually pushed herself off the wall and stepped aside. "Oh, no, not at all. But I have a feeling we'll be talking again. Soon. Enjoy the party." She watched, arms crossed, as Kurt and Dave nervously shuffled by her.

Dave's whisper was a hiss in Kurt's ear. "She... Does she...?" He cast a questioning glare at Kurt. "You don't seem surprised by any of this. What the hell...?"

"We'll talk about this later," Kurt muttered back as he threw open the auditorium doors. The warmth, light, and laughter within was welcome respite.

Within moments, Kurt was in the middle of a maelstrom of gasps and smiles and hugging arms. Some of them he'd talked to relatively recently, while quite a few hadn't crossed his path in years. Once again, memories flooded through him, but this time, mostly good.

Dave too was greeted warmly; he was slapping backs and shaking hands left and right. He especially lit up on seeing Brittany's five month belly. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed.

"Thank you," she said, snaking an arm around Santana's waist. "It's been exhausting, but a good exhausting, you know? Especially preparing Lord Tubbington II for having a new sibling. So how're you, Dave?"

"Yeah," Lauren Zizes cut in, swaggering her way into the conversation, "I hear you've been bumming around Europe for the past few years. So what were you doing all that time?"

"Oh, y'know... What teenagers usually do," Dave said with a shrug. Fortunately for him, he'd been a prodigious enough student, actually passing Kurt's pop quizzes after the first few attempts.

"What was this school you were going to again?"

"Fontaine Academy. It's a small private school not far outside London. I just... liked it so much that I decided to finish college there." He gave his gathered former classmates a grin. "And being able to backpack through the continent during the summers was pretty cool too."

"Yeah, that does sound pretty cool," Tina chimed in. "So what was your favorite part of the Louvre? I was so jealous when I saw that you were visiting there. Was the medieval gallery as beautiful as I've heard? Do you have any more pictures?"

Dave nearly spit up his beer mid-drink. "Oh! I, uh..."

Goddammit. Kurt sighed inwardly, even as he admitted to himself that he'd sort of missed having to save the day every once in a while. "Shame on you, Dave, for forgetting to bring that flash drive full of photos!"

"Y-yeah, sorry about that. I just didn't think about it," he said sheepishly, taking the lead more quickly than Kurt expected. Maybe he was getting better at this whole thinking on his feet thing. "What was the name of that one sculpture I liked again...?"

"Winged Victory of Samothrace," Kurt answered, having poked into the Louvre collections already when Fake Dave's Facebook account first mentioned the fictional trip. "When you finally learned that Nike isn't just a shoe company."

The assemblage chuckled along with Dave. Kurt didn't miss the grateful look he shot at him. Just like old times.

He just wished he could shake this odd feeling... like something wasn't quite right. He looked about the room; there were several groups of people chatting and drinking, nobody out of place (except perhaps the woman they'd met outside in the hall)... There was no apparent reason for concern. Perhaps his instincts were just toying with him this time?

But he only thought that because he didn't know about the stranger lurking outside in the parking lot, staring up at the lights streaming from the auditorium, stroking its chin in thought.

It was inevitable that Rachel would take the mike sometime in the evening, and she didn't disappoint. "Everyone!" she said, speaking over the murmurs of conversation. "Everyone!" she repeated, waiting until enough faces were turned towards her. "I wanted to thank you all for coming to this soiree. I guarantee you all that this weekend will be one none of us will ever forget!" She paused for applause, but there was none. To her credit, her pout only lasted a brief second before she continued. "I'm looking forward to catching up with each and every one of you, and sharing our memories of our brief time together, especially of those who couldn't be with us." Her mouth twitched; Kurt had no doubt who she was thinking of at that moment, because he was thinking of the same man. "Since we are a musically inclined group of people, we will of course have plenty of music in the next few days, but I thought I would start off our reunion right with a song."

There were low groans amongst them, but if she heard them, she ignored them. Kurt, for his part, had expected something like this, given her recent obsession with getting cast in the new revival of the Mary Poppins musical, and thus had already prepared himself. So when Rachel launched into a beautiful but overly emoted and overly accented rendition of "Feed the Birds," he turned straight towards Dave, his mouth open to ask how much longer he wanted to stay. But the space that Dave had occupied just seconds before was now empty.

Kurt huffed, looking about the auditorium. Passing over face after face, he finally found the man he was looking for, in one of the back corners — not without difficulty, for he was half cloaked in shadow. He was deep in conversation with one of the other attendees.

By all rights, Kurt should have taken this as normal. He should've sat down and listened to the rest of Rachel's song and thought nothing of this minor scene. Maybe things would've turned out differently afterward. Maybe not.

But there was something about what he saw that roused his curiosity, and he could never express, not even to himself, what it was that he noticed. Was it an expression? An atmosphere? Or just his instincts again, actually kicking in? Whatever the cause, Kurt found himself inching closer and closer to the two, and when they slipped out of the auditorium together, he followed. Again, he couldn't say exactly why he was doing something so uncharacteristic as invading the privacy of two people he considered friends. But when it was all over, he couldn't say that he regretted it all that much. There were too many ways it could've all gone to hell had he not known.

The two finally stopped around the corner from the inner auditorium entrance, parking themselves in front of a set of lockers that Kurt thought might've housed his own during his junior year. "Okay, so what's up?"

The other figure shuffled nervously. "I need to ask you a question, Dave. It's going to sound really weird, but..."

By now, the tension was so obvious that it couldn't escape Dave's notice. "What kind of question?"

Kurt wasn't sure what the question would be. Maybe he halfway expected something like what was actually asked — just out of a cynical expectation of the "worst." Whatever he was or wasn't expecting, he was certain that Dave was caught completely flatfooted.

"Do you... Do you have, um... powers?"