A/N: Oh look, actual Vegas. See, I'm not just full of broken promises.

I'm sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. I had computer problems because technology hates me. :(

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee and I've never been to Vegas, because I'm 13 and there's no point in going to Vegas if you can't drink, gamble, or accidentally get married.


It's huge. And bright. And kinda tacky. That's pretty much all Sam can process right now.

He's staring up at this resort that's probably far more expensive than any of them can really afford. The sign on the front of the building looks a lot like that man-eating plant from Little Shop of Horrors with the name of the hotel over it. Sam's not entirely sure what that name is though, since his dyslexia makes it look like "Fmlaonig."

"Flamingo," Mercedes clarifies. "It's apparently one of the best around. It's supposed to be really nice."

"Nice? It's like the size of Ohio," Finn says.

"Isn't this a little much?" Quinn asks Puck.

"Yeah, but it's huge," he replies.

That's what she said, thinks everyone.


His bed is white. Really white. It is so incredibly white, that he's almost afraid to actually sleep on it for fear of ruining it's perfection. Puck, however, does not seem to share the same concerns and is already out cold in his bed.

Sam reluctantly crawls into his own bed without even unpacking his things, because why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?

He sighs a little, because this is Vegas, and Vegas is fun, and he should be way more excited than this, but he isn't. Instead, he just feels a little guilty that his friends are spending all their money on his birthday trip. He also feels a little apprehensive about spending the week with his friends, because they have terrible judgement and make bad choices, and what if they get him arrested or he accidentally gets married? And maybe he's paranoid, but this entire vacation just screams "DANGER" to him.

Puck begins to snore, and Sam muffles the sound by burying his head underneath his pillow. He hopes that Mercedes is right and that things will get better when the adventure begins tomorrow.

He wakes up with a stiff neck and Puck's face uncomfortably close to his own. The sun is shining too bright through the thin, white curtains and Sam has to close one eye and squint through the other to even focus on the man kneeling next to his bed.

"Dude, wake up," Puck half-whispers, shaking his shoulder lightly. "Come on, we gotta go!"

"Where?" Sam asks groggily.

"Where do you think?" Puck pantomimes drinking.

"What the hell do you mean? I just woke up!" Sam protests, crawling out of bed.

"It's already almost two, man." Puck points to the digital clock on the bedside table.

Huh. Whadda ya know?

Sam tries another excuse. "I'm not legal until tomorrow," he says.

"And that, my friend, is why the good Lord gave us fake IDs." He tosses Sam a pocket-sized card that claims he's 28 and is named Tom Thompson.

"You got me a fake ID when we could've just waited one more day?" Sam asks incredulously.

"Yes, but where's the fun in that? This is more dangerous. Now come on!" Puck is getting impatient.

"Fine, just let me change and-"

"Nope, there's no time! Let's go!" Puck interrupts, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him out the door.

They ride down the elevator in silence, though Puck is brimming with excitement the entire time. Sam grins a little at his child-like enthusiasm, which isn't so child-like when you think about the fact that he's enthusiastic about getting wasted.

Santana and Lauren are already waiting for them when the elevator doors open and they step out into the hotel lobby. Santana is tapping her foot, and Lauren is checking her watch.

"What took you so long?" Lauren complains as soon as she sees them.

"It wasn't my fault!" Puck holds his hands up as if to say, "I surrender, please don't hurt me, scary, strong ex-girlfriend."

"Whatever, the point is you're late and we've lost seven and a half minutes of drinking time." Santana crosses her arms over her chest. "So are you coming?"

Sam goes over the possibilties in his head. He could stay here, sleep some more, wake up when he's ready, eat some food, and then, if he feels up to it, go out drinking later with Mercedes. Or he could go drinking right now at 1:45 in the afternoon, spend the entire day hammered, and then probably end up in a car crash when Puck decides taxis are for people who can't hold their liquor.

It's an easy decision, really.

"You know what?" he begins. "I can't seem to find my fake ID."

"Are you kidding me? I just gave that to you," Puck says.

"Yeah, I must have misplaced it when we left in such a hurry." It's a lame excuse, really. But what else can he say?

"Fine, but it's your loss," Santana says. "I could have set you up with any chick you wanted. I'm pretty good at picking which ones would be stupid enough to believe you were a movie producer."

Puck nods in agreement. "She is."


Puck knows Sam didn't really lose his fake ID, but he's not gonna pressure the kid into doing anything he doesn't want to do. He'll come around eventually, right? And even if he doesn't, Puck still gets to party in Vegas for a week, so it's a win-win situation.

He doesn't know the name of the bar or where it is in relation to the hotel, and he doesn't care either, because that's not his problem. He's not driving today. He's safe like that.

Santana passes him a shot.

And another.

And one more.

He drinks it down, and it burns his throat in the best way possible. He grins and reaches for another, but a long, slender hand reaches past his and grabs the shot he had already claimed as his own. He turns to see who the hell would dare take his liquor from him and is shocked to see that it's a chick. A hot chick.

Well, well, well. This should be interesting.

"Excuse me," he begins smoothly, "but I believe that belonged to me."

"Oh, really?" the mysterious, exotic-looking hottie replies. "Well, that's just too bad, isn't it? Maybe I could buy you another to repay you?" And that's exactly what she does. They drink a little and flirt a lot, and he doesn't realize he's invited her over until they're already walking out of the bar and back to his hotel room.

He waves goodbye to Lauren and Santana on his way out. The looks on their faces say that they're not happy with him abandoning them, but they're not too surprised either.

He couldn't care less either way.


A knock on the door disturbs Sam's slumber, and oh my God can't they just leave him alone it's almost his birthday and he wants to sleep! Still, it would be rude to ignore whoever won't stop knocking, so he reluctantly pulls himself out of bed, stumbles across the room, and opens the door.

"Hey, man, you gotta leave," Puck says instantly. He has a woman hanging off his arm. An attractive woman.

Oh, of course, Sam thinks. Why am I not surprised?

"Are you serious?" he asks. "You have to do this now?" He checks the digital clock again. It's just after four and Puck has already found some woman to sleep with.

"Dude, can we talk about this later? Can you hang out somewhere else? Please?" Puck pleads pathetically. The woman looks just as desperate.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Fine, do whatever you want. I don't even care." He storms out the door perhaps a little childishly, except not really, because Puck just kicked him out of their hotel room to sleep with a stranger. At 4:30 in the afternoon. He has every right to be pissed.

He marches down the hallway, only to realize he has nowhere to go. He doesn't know where anyone is. For all he knows, they could have left the building hours ago, leaving him lonely and barefoot in the hallway with nothing to do but cry. (He's been watching too many chick flicks.) He texts Mercedes. Where r u?

She replies almost immediately. Mine and Rachel's room.

He breaths a sigh of relief. I'll be right there.

Before she even has the chance to ask why, he's knocking on her door, begging to be let in. She lets him in, looking confused. He begins to explain the situation with Puck and his douche-y ways, but is interrupted by a high-pitched wail. He turns to the bed that he assumes is Rachel's and notices that the human-shaped lump under the covers is, in fact, Rachel.

"Uh, what is she doing?" he whispers, so as not to accidentally hurt Rachel's feelings.

"That's a good question. I think she's crying about Finn, but she could just be practicing her bird calls," Mercedes deadpans. Rachel lets out another wail that signifies she heard them talking about her. Sam winces at the shrill sound.

Rachel pulls the covers down from her blotchy, red face. "I'm not being unreasonable am I? Am I being unreasonable, Sam?" He doesn't know what to say, so he stares open-mouthed, shrugging his shoulders. This does nothing to appease her, and she immerses herself in the bed sheets again.

"Yeah, I can't do this anymore," Mercedes says. "She's Kurt's problem now. Wanna go do something fun?" She holds out her hand to him expectantly.

He nods and takes her hand.


Kurt emerges from the bathroom at last. "All right, let's go," he says, dressed to the nines with perfectly styled hair.

"Wait, I'm confused. Where are we going again?" Blaine asks, furrowing his brow.

"I don't know. I assume we'll find somewhere fun to go," Kurt explains.

"What if I don't wanna go anywhere?" Blaine strides over to him, slipping his arms around Kurt's waist. "What if I wanna stay right here?" He rests his forehead against Kurt's, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering on the other boy's smooth skin. Kurt begins to respond, but Blaine captures Kurt's lips with his own, silencing him indefinitely.

Kurt lets one hand slide up Blaine's chest, resting just over his rapidly beating heart. His other hand searches blindly for Blaine's, trailing down his arm until they find each other, tangling their fingers together. Blaine pulls him closer, simultaneously deepening the kiss. Kurt's hand inches up higher and rests on the side of Blaine's face, his thumb smoothing over Blaine's stubble. His tongue darts out to taste Blaine's lips, a mixture of peppermints and cherry chapstick. His hand is now twisted in Blaine's curls, tugging slightly as the kiss becomes more forceful. Their teeth clash almost painfully as they grip each other fiercely, toying with the buttons on each other's clothing-

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Kurt's phone vibrates against Blaine's thigh, startling them both and effectively ruining the moment. Blaine groans outwardly, and Kurt frowns apologetically, pulling the aforementioned phone out of his pocket. He reads the god forsaken message and nearly throws his phone at the wall in frustration.

Going out w/ Sam. Rachel is all yours.

He shows the message to Blaine, who utters a soft, "Dammit, Mercedes," slips on his shoes, and accompanies Kurt out the door.


Knock, knock, knock. "Rachel?" Knock, knock, knock. "Rachel, we know you're in there." Knock, knock, knock. "Come on, Rach-"

"Rachel, open this goddamn door before I do it myself!" Kurt threatens.

Rachel opens the door.

Blaine almost feels bad for her when he sees her red-rimmed eyes and shaking shoulders. He's pretty sure there's a tissue stuck in her hair too, but he doesn't want to point that out just yet. Kurt isn't as understanding though. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crosses over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. She looks at him like she's expecting sympathy. That is not what she recieves.

"Rachel, what is your problem?" he questions a bit harshly. Her bottom lip quivers.

"Men. Men are my problem. Finn, specifically," she answers with a sigh.

"Yeah, well, enough is enough. Put your big girl panties on and come with us." Blaine snorts a little at the expression. Rachel shakes her head and sits on the edge of her bed.

"Alright, well, you asked for it. Blaine?" Blaine nods and promptly picks Rachel up and flings her over his shoulder. She squeals and begins kicking her legs wildly in the air. "Let's go."

"Umm, Kurt? Kurt, she's flailing, she's making this difficult-"

"Rachel!" he barks at her.

She stops kicking.


"Where are you taking me?" she whines from the backseat of Kurt's car.

"That depends on how well you behave," Kurt says, as if Rachel is a small child. Blaine brings a hand up to his face to cover his smirk.

"No, it doesn't!" Rachel protests. "I know you, and you definitely have a plan. I just don't know what it is yet."

"Patience, darling, patience," Blaine says. "You'll know what it is when we get there."

"Do you know what it is?" she asks. He pretends he doesn't hear her, because if we're being perfectly honest, he doesn't know what it is. He's learned not to question Kurt when he looks scarily determined.

They drive in silence for a bit, and Blaine notices Kurt's knuckles are tense and white on the steering wheel, which he's gripping like a lifeline. Blaine reaches over and untangles his fingers from the wheel, massaging them gently and kissing each knuckle tenderly. Kurt smiles softly and twists their fingers together. Rachel sniffles from the backseat.

"Honey, I don't know what happened, but you've got to calm down," Kurt says, his voice softer and kinder than before.

"I don't wanna," she mumbles. Blaine doesn't even try to stifle his laugh.

He doesn't notice they've arrived at their unknown destination until Kurt is parking the car and pulling the key out of the ignition. He cranes his neck to speak to Rachel, who is lying down in the backseat. "Rach, are you coming?"

She sighs dramatically. "I suppose." Blaine gets out of the car before she does, crossing to her side to open the door and offer her his hand. She lets him help her out like the gentleman he is. She shoots him a grateful smile before catching a glimpse of their whereabouts. She does a double take, gazing up at the concert hall Kurt has brought them to.

"What exactly are we doing here?" she asks Kurt suspiciously. She takes another look at the building. "This place looks abandoned."

"That's because it is. At least this time of year," he explains, still not answering her first question. He takes Blaine by the hand and grasps her sleeve, dragging them both around to the back door, which is thankfully unlocked. (Rachel can't help but think that that's probably a little dangerous.)

There is a black baby grand piano on far stage left. The stage is a pretty good size, big enough for the showstopping musical numbers she and Kurt are so inclined towards. And that's when she gets it.

"Kurt? Is this what I think it is?" He just winks in return, whispering something in Blaine's ear, who crosses over to the piano and sits on the bench.

"Whenever you're ready, baby," Blaine tells him. Kurt nods and Blaine begins to play (with the enthusiasm of a true performer, she notes to herself.)

She recognizes the song as soon as Blaine begins to play the intro. She and Kurt saw Chicago together at the Lima Community Theatre when they were in high school, and in a way it had become their musical. They had watched it countless times at sleepovers over bowls of ice cream and piles of Rachel's tissues. She had felt a connection to Roxie Hart and her completely understandable need for fame and the spotlight. Now it just makes her nostalgic. Kurt begins to sing, and she echos him.

One thing I know (one thing I know)

And I've always known (I've always known)

I am my own (I am my own)

Best friend

He offers her his hand, and she takes it, only a little miffed that he gets to be Roxie and she has to echo him as Velma. She squeezes his hand lightly as the song goes on.

Baby's alive (baby's alive)

But baby's alone (but baby's alone)

And baby's her own (baby's her own)

Best friend

They don't run around the stage in some elaborate, self-choreographed attempt to climb on as many set pieces as possible, because the only set pieces in sight are a flight of stairs and the piano Blaine is playing. They just stand in the semi-darkness, hands clasped, singing one of many duets they've sung together. She's not going to say it's the best they've ever sung together, because performance-wise, it isn't. But it makes her feel better.

She doesn't realize the song is over until Blaine is clapping enthusiastically from behind the piano, and Kurt is pulling her into a hug. She squeezes her eyes shut, draping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. She hopes this is enough of a "thank you."

He pulls back and grabs hold of her shoulders. Looking her in the eye, he asks, "Are you alright?" Genuine concern, she notes. He didn't just bring her here so she'd stop crying and ruining his vacation. He wants her to be happy. Because they're best friends. Best friends who break into concert halls and sing showtunes. She smiles and nods.

"I'm fantastic," she assures him. He looks satisfied enough.

He releases her shoulders from his surprisingly strong fingers and links their arms together. Blaine takes her other arm on the way out, and she smiles up at the two boys she loves the most, the ones who will never break her heart.

"You know," she starts, "you two are really good at cheering people up. I can't even remember why I was mad at Finn in the first place." Her face drops once she realizes what she's said. Tears pool in her eyes almost immediately, though she tries to hold them back.

"Oh, God, she said his name," Blaine says, bringing a hand up to his forehead.

"Really, Rachel?" Kurt asks incredulously. "You just had to think about him, didn't you?"

She responds with a sob that shakes the ground beneath them.


A/N: Recap- Puck is having a one night stand, Mercedes rescued Sam, and Kurt and Blaine were cockblocked by a depressed Rachel.

Also, sorry for that probably suckish Klaine makeout scene. Remember, I'm used to writing angst.