Author's note: Okay, guys. This one is a bit of a doozy. Thanks again to Rae, who has practically become a Beta at this point - seriously, this story would not be what it is without her help and encouragement... particularly this crazy chapter. Be warned, it's super heavy in dialogue. And, yeah, it's kind of supposed to read like an episode.

Do let me know what you think! ;D


These accidents of faith and nature
They tend to stick in the spokes of you
But every now and then the trend bucks
And you're repaired by more than glue

Chapter seven

Kurt doesn't expect Sam to be looking at him with wide, shocked eyes when their hands drop back into their laps. He doesn't expect Sam's breath to hitch in a half-gasp, half-sob. Oh, he definitely doesn't expect to recognize that gaze. No, Kurt never expected to be on the other end of this crazy, mixed up thing – but the way that Sam is suddenly looking at Kurt makes it all so, very evident.

Sam's timer just switched to zero.

"Aw, shit."

It's the only thing Sam says as he looks away, shyly bowing his head to concentrate only on the floor – and aw, shit – does Kurt's heart ache as he watches it. He's been there. The moment Kurt met Blaine, that was exactly what he'd wanted to do… but he hadn't. Kurt pretended it never happened; he acted like they were both in the same situation, like they were both suspending reality… and, in a way, they were, just in very different ways. If Kurt had spoken up that day, would they be where they are now? Would it hurt so damn bad to see him with Jesse? Would Blaine have ever loved him? These are the questions Kurt has been asking himself repeatedly since he watched that restaurant door slam. That day on the staircase, Kurt knew – just like Sam does now – that he was made for someone that was created for someone else. There is nothing like that sting, nothing that can compare. And as he looks at Sam, who avoids eye contact even still, he's faced with the same thing that he realized that morning with Blaine.

Fate is such a coldhearted, stone-cold bitch.

But, that doesn't mean that she ever offers dead-ends.

"His name is Blaine," Kurt says, not taking his eyes off of Sam, who only tilts his head a fraction. "I know that's exactly what you're thinking about, because it was my first thought too, when his Timer didn't go off for me."

At this, Sam's head turns fully, his posture straightening just a little. He looks at Kurt with a curious expression, almost as if he doesn't believe what he just heard. "So, you're…"

"In the same boat as you."

There's a brief pause, as neither boy really knows where to go from here. It's pretty fucked up, if Kurt thinks about it – and as he thinks, he cracks a smile. What is wrong with the world? The last two days, he's been through the worst circle of hell and just when he starts coming to terms with it, he's basically to blame for another, innocent person going through the very same thing. If he thinks about it, he's pretty fucking furious. What is wrong with the world? He wants to find out why this is happening, go up to the… the being responsible, and just slap them as hard as he can. Because really? Really? This is happening right now? This is what has become of his life? No, this isn't real life. This is a joke. This is a really bad joke – except, he isn't fucking laughing.

But then he is. Of course, it starts out as ironic laughter; Kurt is just so damn mad at the joke that's become of his life that he's chuckling a little. Oh, but then he looks over at Sam, at his near-pathetic, confused expression that is somehow a little goofy and he just… he can't help it. He starts cracking up. Kurt is bursting at the seams, clutching his stomach and Sam is just staring at him, missing out on the punch-line.

"Oh, come on," Kurt says, still bubbling with laughter. "It's funny. Two days ago, my boyfriend's Timer went off for another man – a straight man – and now you're… and…"

Kurt is laughing again. Seriously, Fate is fucking hysterical.

Okay. So. Maybe he's losing his mind. It's okay. He's lost everything else.

"Funny like I'm a clown? I amuse you?" All right, well, maybe Sam is a little crazy too, because he's talking in a grandiose Italian accent, a stone expression on his face. "I make you laugh? I'm here to fuckin' amuse you? What do you mean funny? Funny how?"

Kurt is still laughing. "What?"

"Goodfellas," Sam explains, back to his normal voice. "Nineteen-ninety; Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci?"

And then Sam is giggling. Kurt is giggling. Then they're both laughing together. Opting to smile instead of cry. Opting to find the irony in the situation and just laugh at it – because if there is a God up there – He sure as hell is. So they laugh with Him. Laugh with each other.

After all, Kurt has had enough crying.

The whole subway car is staring at them, but it doesn't matter. The thing comes to a stop and Kurt looks over at Sam, his stomach aching but shit, he is smiling and that's enough, right now.

"How about breakfast?"

Sam is beaming at him. "Sure."


Hey, want a newsflash? Hot coffee? Yeah. It's fucking hot.

Rachel Berry is jumping backwards, holding the fabric of her completely ruined shirt away from her skin, yelping in surprise and a bit of pain. Her eyes look up, expecting to see someone with a panicked, sorry expression – and instead come in contact with a man with an only slightly remorseful one, lower lip tugging down as if to simply say whoops.

"Excuse me," Rachel says, and her tone is sharp and icy – she's taken enough bullshit lately, thank you very much. "Is there a particular reason that you've carelessly assaulted me with your morning latte?"

The man in front of her smirks a little and Rachel takes him in. He's much taller than her – most men are – and quite a bit tanner. His eyes are a striking hazel, his features strong and defined; Rachel also notes that he's also pretty muscular, as if he dedicates a pretty decent amount of time to the gym. The thing that catches her eye the most, though, is his hair… or, well, the lack thereof. His hair is practically buzzed, except for a longer strip in the middle. Yes, her shirt has been soiled by a jock with a Mohawk – and he is smirking at her. Something about this guy screams delinquent.

"I'm sorry," he says, but he looks too amused to really mean it. He turns to the counter beside them and grabs a stack of napkins, and when he faces her again, he somehow looks more earnest. "Really, here. Let me buy you a cup of coffee, or something – you know, to make up for your shirt or… whatever." He gestures at her with the napkins, as if that's supposed to help.

That's the moment that the barista calls out her name, holding a hot cup of tea in his hand.

"Rachel? Grande Chai latte?"

Rachel merely narrows her eyes at Mohawk boy, turns on her heel and retreats back to the end of the counter to take the cup from the employee with a certain amount of spite. The supposed delinquent follows her, flat out leering now, leaving Rachel feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Wet, warm, and uncomfortable. …There is seriously something wrong with this situation.

"Rachel, huh?"

"Can I help you with something in particular?" She folds her arms over her chest now, realizing that her shirt happens to be wet and she's a little too exposed for her liking. He must notice too (how can he not?), because it's then that the mysterious guy drops his (now mostly empty) cup on the counter, pulls his Letterman jacket off, and hands it out to her. "Here," he says.

Rachel hesitates, but she caves after a second, draping it over her shoulders and wrapping it securely around her chest, one hand still wrapped around her Chai tea.

He laughs. "Come on. My hand slipped. I didn't expect you to me standing behind me." He looks down at her, raising his eyebrows earnestly. "Let me buy you a, uh… tea or whatever."

"I've got that covered." She raises her cup to demonstrate.

He smiles. "Then come sit down or something," he suggests, smirking. "You have my jacket now, anyway. Looks like you're stuck with me until your shirt dries."

Rachel scowls. She can tell that there are people around, quietly watching and – well – Rachel Berry

never could turn down a wanting audience.

"What's your name?" she asked, sounding bitter.

"Puck."


"What is this?"

"It's breakfast."

"Thank you for that much needed explanation, Blaine," Jesse sighs, but his lips are tugging into a smile. "I meant, what are you doing here with it?"

Blaine beams. "Well, I figure that breakfast went over so well last night, that I might as well see if it's just as charming at its designated time."

"So, you bring me bagels?" Jesse laughs.

"Yes." Blaine's smile doesn't fade.

"Oh, get in here."

Jesse opens the door fully and Blaine strolls in, placing the box of bagels on the kitchen counter. He glances up at Jesse, who is wearing an expression that looks like a mixture of amusement and bafflement - this is going well, he thinks – and opens the carton with an earnest expression.

"I wasn't sure which kind you prefer, so I pretty much got one of each," he says, gesturing to the box that must have had at least a dozen bagels in it. "I hope it's all right; I mean, for all I know, you don't even like bagels, but I figured that it's pretty hard to go wrong with –"

"Blaine."

Blaine looks up, stopping short. He bites down on his lip, instantly nervous – oh for Christssake, when did he start getting so nervous – but Jesse is smiling at him and he thinks that's a good sign. So he says, "Yeah…?"

Jesse's raising his eyebrows. "I'm certain that in a box of that size, there's bound to be something edible," he says, leaning against the archway to the kitchen. "So long as you remembered cream cheese, of course…"

Shit. Blaine knew he was forgetting something. Instantly, a pout crosses his face and he scowls a little despite himself. He mutters, "dammit…"

Jesse's laughter surprises him, but not nearly as much as how quickly he glides over to kiss that pout away from his lips. Blaine's wide eyes flutter shut in response, and for a second, he's so shocked that he forgets what was going on in the first place.

"Relax," he says, and Blaine does in an instant. "I have some in the fridge."

"Perfect."


Sam and Kurt are sitting in a coffee shop in the city, trying not to let the weight of the situation crush them. Instead, Kurt is swirling the hot liquid in his cup, watching Sam fiddle with the plastic cap on his. The guy's pretty adorable, Kurt has to admit, even if his blonde hair clearly comes from a bottle and his casual fashion sense leaves something to be desired. Despite it, there's something in him that wants to make sure that Sam keeps smiling, because he knows how easy it is to feel hopeless when in a place like this. He takes a sip of his coffee, a deep breath and then:

"What do you want to do about this?" Sam speaks first.

Kurt lets the air push through his lips in a half-huff, deflating. "I don't know," he answers. It's hard to admit because he's usually so sure; he usually has a plan. It's rare that he's blindsided like this. "I'm not ready for any of this, Sam. I'm not."

"Me neither," says Sam. "I knew that I would meet you today but I didn't expect anything like…" He sighs, looking down at his cup again, flicking the lid, appearing lost in thought.

"You seem like a great guy," Kurt admits. "So, I can't lead you on. I can't pretend to be okay with jumping into," he gestures a little to the space between them, "this, right away."

Sam nods, seeming a little distant. "I'm no good at this," he mutters.

"No good at what?"

"Explaining myself… how I feel." He meets Kurt's gaze. "I just know that I don't want you to go."

Kurt understands. "I won't do that to you."

"So…" Sam says, smiling. "Friends?"

Kurt nods. "Friends."


"What's her name?" Rachel asks right away. They're sitting on couches opposite each other and she's just now noticing the little zeros on Puck's wrist. Absentmindedly, she fiddles with the sleeve of her jacket, which she wore to cover her own.

He seems startled at first, almost as if he has no idea what she's talking about. Of course, then he's looking at the numbers too, an unreadable expression on his face. Eventually, Puck answers: "Quinn."

"Interesting name," Rachel muses. "Don't you think that she'd disapprove of your behavior with strange women in coffee shops?"

He snorts, looking away. "Nah," he retorts, casually leaning against the couch and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm pretty sure she's too busy with her husband."

It's then that Rachel realizes. "You don't have a match?" she asks, and she says it far too excitedly. She can't help it, though; there's something so amazing about not being alone. So, maybe this is more common than she thought. Maybe the universe is kinder than she and Kurt thought…

Puck looks back at her, "Jeeze," he says, mock-cluching his heart. "Don't sound so brokenhearted." but he's scowling too much to sound in pain.

Rachel simply lifts her sleeve, holding her still Clock for him to see. "It seems we have more in common than we thought."

"Oh, yeah?" Puck asks, and suddenly, he seems a bit more upbeat. Rachel wonders if he's ever met someone like them before. "What's his name?"

"Jesse."

Puck nods. "And the girl?"

"Blaine." She scowls.

Puck's eyes narrow. "That's a stupid…" but then he realizes, "oh." He starts laughing, and Rachel's scowl deepens – and before she knows it, she's tossing a crumpled up receipt at him.

"Don't sound so brokenhearted," she mocks.

But then Puck is laughing harder and Rachel folds her arms over her chest.

"Aw, come on, Bangs," he says, tossing the paper back on the table. "Look, if we can't laugh at this shit, what the hell else are we gonna do about it?"

Rachel sighs. "Who's Quinn with?"

"Finn," he answers.

"Finn and Quinn," Rachel deadpans. "You're kidding."

Puck snorts. "I wish," he retorts. "The douche was my best friend, too."

"Puck…" Rachel frowns.

He shakes his head immediately, waving his hands at her. "Don't do that," he says. "I don't want any of that pity shit." Puck smirks. "Especially not from a girl who was left for a dude."

"Jerk."

Puck just laughs. "I'm sorry."

Rachel rolls her eyes and sips her tea. "Sure."

"No, really," he says. "That sucks. When did it happen?"

Rachel sighs and says, "Two nights ago," but she hardly believes it. That sounds like it's been too long, already. This all happens far to fast.

Puck's eyes go wide. "Shit."

"How long has it been for you?"

Puck thinks for a moment, and then, "'Bout a year or so."

"Oh," she says, lifting the cup to her lips again.

Silence falls for a few moments. Rachel can't help but look at Puck and see some weird bit of hope. After all, he looks okay… a little bitter, but he's not falling to pieces – and he's certainly not looking for any pity. It makes Rachel wonder where she'll be a year from now… well, other than waiting to hear about Tony nominations (because, certainly, by then she'll be being considered). It shouldn't be so hard for her, no longer having anything but her career; for so long, it was all she had. But, she can't help but fear a world without Jesse, without love – sleeping alone, living alone… it's a world she used to know so well, but one she hasn't even dreamt of in years. Who will Rachel bring the night that she finally gives that acceptance speech? Where will Jesse be? How does she even attempt to move on from all of this?

Rachel looks down at her hand, at the slightly whiter line of flesh where her engagement ring once sat. How long would it take for Jesse to fade from her very skin?

"Come out with me tonight," Puck says, breaking Rachel's train of thought. "You look like you could use a drink."

Rachel raises her eyebrows. "I don't know what kind of girl you think I am, but I am not going to go out and get drunk with some guy I've just met."

Puck laughs. "So don't," he says. "Just… let me show you a good time."

Her eyebrows remain high.

"All right, all right," Puck says. "How about dinner?"

Rachel relaxes a little, eyeing Puck suspiciously. Could she trust this guy, just because he had a bit of a sob story and could actually relate to her? Without thinking, she bites down on her lower lip, weighing the idea. "It would be nice to get out, I guess…"

Puck just grins and offers a wink in response. "Now we're getting somewhere."


As so planned, Kurt and Rachel meet in the lobby of their hotel around lunchtime – both eager to relay the unexpected events that played out for them. The moment they spot each other, Rachel bounds toward him, a fire in her step that she didn't expect to have back so soon. Kurt's marching just as fervently, fueled by his own disbelief and newfound wonder about the world.

Simultaneously they say, "You will not believe what just happened."