Chapter 4: Eggs Benedict

"So," Kurt starts to speak, cutting through the short, strange silence that had settled between them, "school sounds like it'll be a lot of fun."

"Sounds like it'll be a lot of work," Dave replies with a little huff of laughter, glancing down towards the table. He's grateful that the oddly intense moment between them seems to have passed, "but it feels good just to have a plan again, y'know? To know where I'm heading. I was kinda worried about getting back into the swing of things after being out of it for so long."

Kurt nods, mesmeric blue-green eyes looking searchingly at Dave's own again as he smiles back at him, small and genuine; the one that dimples his cheek just so. "I'm kind of feeling the opposite of that right now. I'm plan-free for the first time in as long as I can remember, but it's kind of...liberating."

"Aren't you gonna reapply to school next year?" Dave asks, taking another sip of his drink. Kurt still hasn't told him much at all about why he's interning instead of studying, "You wanted to go to NYADA, right?"

"I did. But I'm not sure anymore. I was so caught up in that dream, so single minded about the whole thing that I didn't even have a back-up and not getting in was...a wake-up call. Now that I look back, I think I was just doing what everyone expected of me, y'know?" Kurt frowns and gives Dave a deliberate look; yeah, he understands only too well what that's like, though it's not something he ever expected to hear from Kurt 'you-can-hate-me-but-it-won't-change-who-I-am' Hummel. "It was Rachel's dream more than mine and I just got swept up in the excitement. Now that I'm on my own, doing something different, I think..." he pauses for a moment, eyes tilting upwards in consideration before he goes on, "I feel like there are lots of options open to me that I was too blind to see before."

Dave nods and his lips form a tremulous smile. He knows what that feels like, too. "What other options are you considering?"

His mouth quirks. "You mean, for school?"

"Yeah."

"NYU, maybe, for journalism. Or even Parsons. That's the school for design that—"

Dave clicks his tongue. "I know what Parsons is."

"You do?"

He shrugs and tongues the inside of his cheek. "I've been known to watch Project Runway. Like, almost every episode."

"Is that so?" Kurt says, leaning an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his cupped hand, eyes newly alight with mischief, "Another revelation from Mr. Karofsky."

"What can I say?" Dave chuckles self-consciously, feeling a flash of heat tingle all the way to the tips of his ears. "I just like to watch people do things that I could never do, I guess." And it doesn't hurt that some of the contestants have been hot, though he's not ready to tell Kurt that.

"Does this mean I'll be able to come to you for an informed critique on all my latest designs if that's the path I choose?"

"I don't know about that..."

Kurt beams at him and from the other side of the small table and he's struck by just how much that smile transforms his face; by the supple stretch of those lips, the deep indentations that form in his cheeks and how his eyes sparkle even as they scrunch up in delight. If only he'd know earlier in his life what it felt like to be on the receiving end of this kind of look from Kurt Hummel, if he'd spent his time seeking out smiles rather than scowls, maybe things would have been different altogether. He'll bask in it while he can, though; better late than never.

Dave's thankful to be saved from any further probing about his interest in the world of fashion (or fashionistas) when the waitress approaches their table with steaming plates of food. "Same again?" she asks, setting the dishes down and motioning towards their emptying drinks.

"Please," Kurt bobs his head in acceptance and Dave, a little more hesitantly, follows suit.

He feels an agreeable buzz from the vodka start to kick in as he drains the remainder of his first Bloody Mary. "I'm glad I don't have any homework to do tonight."

"Sush," Kurt reprimands, still grinning, "I think we both deserve to have a little fun."

Dave can't argue with that.

"And I don't know about you, but as well as being thirsty, I am ravenous," Kurt says, licking his lips (fuck, but he does that a lot) as he arranges his napkin across his lap, "and this looks amazing."

Dave's eyes stay on Kurt and his stomach does a little flip; he's tempted to agree before he's even looked at his food.

"Ooh, ham hock," Kurt chirps, lifting his knife and fork while examining his plate.

Dave feels his body tense; hearing Kurt say those words jars him from his stupor and brings back a very specific memory that he's not sure he wants floating around in his head right now, for various reasons. "What?"

"They've used chunks of ham hock instead of bacon. Look," Kurt says and forks a piece of the shredded ham out from underneath his sauce-smothered poached egg, holding it aloft for Dave to inspect. His eyes betray no sign of awareness that those two little words still hold a sour significance for Dave.

"Oh," he says, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as he watches the piece of meat disappear into Kurt's mouth, "right. Cool." He knows he has no right to feel defensive, in any case; he called Kurt a lot worse than that in his heyday.

The server returns with their second round of drinks, giving Dave the excuse he needs to finally peel his eyes away from Kurt as he nods his thanks and transfers his focus to his eggs Benedict. He sees that Kurt was right; it does look good. Their matching plates each hold a golden toasted English muffin topped liberally with thick chunks of ham hock off the bone and a plump, round poached egg that's almost cocooned in a thick, creamy-yellow hollandaise. He's not crazy about the unchopped tarragon garnish on top, but the accompanying neatly-piled stack of vivid green, char-marked baby asparagus spears make up for that.

A sated hush befalls their table as they eat, and Dave feels foolishly content to hear Kurt make the occasional little "Mm," sound as he chews. He's sure he must be doing the same; it seems Jay from school was right in his assertion that the chef here knows his stuff. The food tastes even better than it looks; the velvety butter-based sauce is cut through with just the right amount of lemon sharpness so as not to be cloying and the egg is soft-poached to perfection, oozing a runny, sunshine-colored yoke when pierced that coats the smoky-salty-succulent chunks of ham and crisped muffin to create a satisfying trinity of texture in his mouth.

Dave finds himself chewing slowly, wanting this to last, as he looks across the table at Kurt, eyes falling unbidden to the slight bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. He's never watched Kurt eat before; he's never been turned on by watching someone eat before, but, he realizes, there's something both primal and elegant about it. And, as he studies him gathering another enthusiastic forkful of each component part of the dish, raising it towards his parted lips, he knows it's something he wants to see again. Kurt catches his eye and smiles around his retreating fork before speaking, "I've never had it with ham hock before. It's good, right? And this hollandaise is outstanding."

"Mmm," he agrees and drops his gaze, feeling caught out. He grabs his drink and has a small gulp before taking another bite, enjoying how the pleasant tingle left on his tongue by the Bloody Mary is soothed by the rich creaminess of the sauce. "It's almost as good as my own version."

"Oh, really?" Kurt asks, eyes bugging a little as they reconnect with Dave's."Is this a Chef Karofsky speciality?"

"Well, more of a Julia Child speciality but my take on it's pretty good," Dave shrugs off his own affirmation. "I practiced my classic sauces all summer. Hollandaise is right up there."

"I love Julia Child," Kurt proclaims, light dancing in his azure eyes again, "I tried to do her hollandaise years ago, and Julia's recipes rarely fail me, but I never managed to get it just right. It came out as more of a scrambled eggs Benedict." He seems to ponder this failure for a second, "I don't think I had the right wrist action."

Never mind the newfound knowledge that Kurt cooks, Dave almost chokes on a mouthful of gooey egg at the idea of Kurt's wrist action being anything but perfect under any circumstances. He bites back a sly smile and doesn't dare voice a response.

"I...for whisking," Kurt amends, blushing pink as the realization of what he just said hits him. "Anyway, the pre-made stuff is just—"

Dave interjects, "—horrible."

"—an abomination." Kurt finishes and they share a suddenly shy giggle at their unified concurrence.

They eat in silence for another minute after that, a spell of almost-awkwardness setting in.

"So, uh," Dave stammers a little as he dabs his napkin at the crease of his lips, "you like to cook, too?"

"Do I like to cook? Really David, you have so much to learn about me." Kurt says with a good-natured roll of his eyes, and the idea of being invited to learn more about Kurt sends a little thrill through Dave's body. An entirely non-sexual, platonic thrill, he tries to tell himself. "I'll have you know that I can shirr an egg with the best of them."

This is all new data for Dave. You don't really know me, Kurt had said to him once before and it hurt at the time, but it was true. Now that he is getting the chance to know more he just has to try to come to terms with the fact that the reality is actually better than he'd ever dared hope.

"Don't forget," Kurt continues, impaling his last remaining asparagus spear on his fork and swirling it slowly through a puddle of yellow egg-yolk, "it was just me and my dad from when I was eight up until I was 16. As soon as I was tall enough to reach the stove, I had to at least try. All that processed food was starting to wreck havoc on my complexion."

"Sounds familiar." He smiles, too wide, and feels it crease the corners of his eyes. "Maybe if I have to critique your designs you can critique my food while I'm in training."

"Absolutely," Kurt grins and rests his silverware across the now empty dish in front of him, "you should use me as your gastronomic guinea pig. I can offer an educated yet objective view on your technique. Besides, I could really use a good cooked meal every now and again. My roommate is a raw vegan."

"Fun." Dave laughs, mind boggling at the very idea.

"It is," he agrees with a sardonic smile. "Seriously though, just tell me when you want me." He pauses to bite his lip, then continues in a rush of breath before Dave can speak, "I'm free after eight most nights, and most weekends. I'll have to come to your apartment, though, if that's okay, because my stove only has one working burner and the oven only goes to either fridge or furnace temperature, so..."

"Yeah, no, I'd...love to cook for you," he says, and god, how he would. Kurt could come over to his place and Dave could show off his skills a little, cook something fancy for them both, maybe even share a bottle of wine, watch a movie...his head is racing with Bloody Mary-fuelled possibilities and Kurt's still smiling at him when their knees knock together under the table. He pulls swiftly back and it's like a switch flicks: reality kicks in and he knows he's been letting himself get carried away. Again. "But, um," he feels his smile tighten as he gathers his strength, considering what best to say, "we're already having brunch together, I don't think...I mean, after everything, I wouldn't want your boyfriend to think that I'm interested or anything."

Kurt's brows knit together and his own smile slips. "My...oh, oh, that's not...I thought..." he closes his eyes and shakes his head, pulling a face Dave can't quite identify, "I broke up...I mean, we broke up. I thought you knew."

"Oh, I'm sorry?" Dave says, and he knows it comes out as more of a question than a statement of regret, but he wasn't expecting that at all and, although it's not exactly bad news for him, it's not like it's good news, either. He's not quite sure what to do with the information.

"No, don't be, I'm not..." he looks down at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table, and they both stay silent for a moment as the waitress comes back to collect their empty plates. When she's gone he lifts his gaze back up to met Dave's and heaves a little sigh. Something in his eyes has changed. "It's fine, I broke up with Blaine. A while ago, when he came out to visit just after I got here."

"Was there...I mean, do you wanna talk about or...?"

"No." Kurt says, shaking his head and smiling sadly, and Dave can't think of anything else fitting to say, he guesses break ups are always hard, but he has zero experience and therefore no advice to offer. "It's just...they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I found that his absence was just making my heart aware of all the things I thought I'd miss in theory that I didn't in practice." He shrugs. "We're still friends, or at least...we will be. Maybe...maybe that's all we ever should've been, y'know?"

"Yeah," Dave says, unable to keep the sadness from his voice; he also knows what it's like to have that talk with Kurt, "I know."

Kurt seems to realise that it brings back memories for both of them, of a time he's sure they'd each rather forget. "A year ago, I thought I had it all figured out. And now...everything's different."

Dave lets out a petulant-sounding sigh. "Trust me, I know what you mean."

"Not bad different, though." Kurt looks at him and smiles that same lopsided smile Dave's seen before and although it's still tinged with sadness, this time there's something else there, too. "Not for either of us, right?"

"Right." Dave says, and he wonders, not for the first time, how Kurt can steal his breath and break his heart and force him to feel better all in one go.

"Still, I could really use a...a good friend right now, David."

"Yeah?" Dave asks, keeping his voice even as he feels another bloom of warmth spread outwards from the ache in his chest. Two Bloody Marys and a dose of unrequited love will have that effect, he guesses.

Kurt nods. "Especially one that's a fellow epicurean."

"Me too," he replies, and it's so true it hurts. His estrangement from his mother, his former friends, his teammates, from the world in general, had given him the chance he needed to get to know himself. But now that he does, he knows, too, that he really doesn't want to be alone anymore.

Their eyes stay connected for a long moment, even as Kurt drains the remainder of his cocktail from its flute. "So," he says, at last, "when can I come over for some culinary critiquing?"


A/N: I remain both thrilled and amazed that people seem to be enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I hope you liked this part and that it answered a couple of questions about Kurt's motivations – please let me know what you think! Thank so much for the reviews and messages so far.

There will be a longer delay before the next chapter is posted, as I'm making it my mission to post the next chapter of 'Counters' before writing any more of this, but I'll still try to keep to roughly one update per week.