AN: Yeah, the events of the past couple of chapters are pretty serious. As a n00b, perhaps I underestimated just how serious. So yes, this is going a little off what I was planning before; I'm grown-up enough to admit it. Ah, well, if this 'fic started strong, then plunges off a cliff, that's my fault. :) Still, I hope (the royal) you stick with it.

Still, comments I've gotten indicate I still seem to be very much keeping in character, so this may be a good thing; it's made me realize that certain things I'd had planned for later weren't very well placed, pacing- and character-wise. I think the plan I have now is more natural and organic. And it's planted some seeds for future chapters/season 3. It is, however, a lot harder; stupid risk/reward ratio. :P If I'm succeeding (or even if I'm failing), let me know; constructive commentary can only help!

Burt Hummel sighed as he knocked on his son's door. He'd had moments like this before: when Kurt's mother died, when Kurt came out, when they'd first begun discussing transferring out of McKinley… As far as Burt was concerned, that was three moments too many.

And now number four. When Kurt had come home that Friday night, it was as if the entire house was plunged into some kind of… grayness the instant he'd set foot in the door. Carole had stopped humming that cute little tune in the kitchen. Finn had, as far as Burt could tell, started dying in that game of his with unusual frequency. And all Kurt had done was come in and shut himself in his room, without a single word spoken to anyone.

He'd stayed in his room until it was time for dinner. He'd come downstairs and picked at his food. He ate about half of it in a series of a thousand nibbles, answering attempts at conversation with one syllable words. Then he asked to be excused and returned to his room. Glancing at the drawn, worried faces of his wife and stepson (imagining them as mirrors of his own), Burt tossed his napkin onto the table immediately and went up to Kurt's room.

"Kurt?"

"Not now, Dad."

"Kurt, we need to talk."

Paul Karofsky sighed as he knocked on his son's door. He'd had moments like this before: when Dave's mother left, when Dave came out, when they had to deal with… that hard time… As far as Paul was concerned, that was three moments too many.

And now number four. Dave had come home that Friday night with bruises and bandages across his face and hands. When asked what the origin of these wounds were, he'd muttered "hockey" and left it at that, even though Paul knew full well that while Dave was an aggressive player, these went way beyond the damage he'd normally get in a game. As if by divine response, Paul had gotten a call from the very concerned coach of Dave's intramural hockey league.

It seemed that Dave had not only been at the middle of an unusual number of physically harmful penalties and fights at his last game, but he'd actually caused an altercation with a couple of members of the other team. It was only by hurried mutual agreement between the two coaches that no one was officially disciplined by the league, although it was made clear to Dave that he was skating on the proverbial thin ice, at least for the immediate future.

Paul had put down the phone with rocks in his gut. Dave, picking fights… He couldn't help but remember the cheerful, round-cheeked little boy he carried on his shoulders, who patted his mother's head when she had a migraine, and hugged the family dog almost 24/7 after she broke her leg. Was this the same kid who used to constantly ask him, "how do I make it all better, Daddy?" Seconds after the phone call ended, he was at his son's door.

"Dave?"

"Go away."

"No, David. We need to talk."

Kurt was depressed…

Dave was sullen…

But Burt had finally gotten the story out of him. He had little doubt that there was more to it, perhaps more than even Kurt knew…

But he had the general idea. Paul sat next to Dave on his bed, his hand gripping his son's left shoulder. He could feel Dave turn his body away, as if trying to will some kind of gulf to open between them.

Burt would go to hell before he let that happen. "Kurt…"

Kurt was on the edge of tears now. "I was just so angry…"

"And stupid," Dave said hoarsely. "I just… I couldn't… I threw away my best friend, and for what?"

"Have you tried talking to him?"

Kurt stared at his father as if he'd just suggested that he marry a Kardashian. "Of course not! Why would Dave ever want to see my face ever again? I was so cruel to him…"

"Maybe. But it sounds like you had at least some reason," Burt replied quietly. "That should put you two on equal footing."

"No, Dad. It was all my fault. Kurt was right about that. He… he's better off now. He won't have me poisoning his life anymore…"

"Stop that," Paul interrupted, his voice hoarse with something between anger and compassion. "We've talked about this, Dave, and I know Dr. Macey has talked about this too. Unless you want me to call Grandpa Murray and have him…"

Even with everything, Dave couldn't help but laugh a little. "Oh, God, please don't… I'm listening, I swear."

"Okay, then." Burt took a breath. "You want my opinion?"

"Of course."

"It sounds like Dave made a mistake. A huge one, but a mistake. I don't know him as well as you do, and I wasn't there, but he doesn't strike me as the type to do something like that just because he wanted to control you. But…" He paused to consider his next words. "This was a breach of trust. That's not something to be taken lightly. Your reaction was completely understandable. But it's up to you: do you want to leave things as it is? If you do, you know I'll support you. But only you know how you feel."

Kurt was silent for a long moment. "I… I don't want it to end like this, Dad. Even if we never talk to each other again after… I just can't leave it this way. I need to know why…"

"I don't even know why I did it, Dad," Dave mumbled miserably. "I just read the letter to make sure Anderson wasn't using me to pass on some kind of new creepy threat. But… I wasn't even thinking when I hid it. I just… did it."

"I think you know at least part of it," Paul replied, squeezing his son's shoulder. Dave nodded silently. "I thought you were talking this over with Dr. Macey."

"I am. But there's a difference between knowing what's going on and doing something about it, y'know?"

Paul nodded. "You are an impulsive kid sometimes," he said with a kind smile, which slowly faded as he regarded his son. "You messed up. I think we both know that. Now the only question is: what are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do about it? I… I don't deserve someone like him…"

"It's not a matter of deserving," Burt said. "In the end, you do what you feel you have to do. The two of you need to hash this out. I think that much is clear, with what you've told me. Though honestly, kid, I think you two needed to do this long ago."

"Yeah…" Dave slumped against the headboard. "But it won't do any good if Kurt won't talk to me."

"If nothing else… you owe him a letter."

"But what if… what if I don't know what to say?" Kurt asked. "What if we can't face each other, and…"

Burt chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "In all the time I've known you, Kurt, you've never been at a loss for words. You know what you want to say and what you want to know. All you have to do is… do it."

Dave nodded, his eyelids drooping. "I… I think I need to think. Mebbe a nap… Thanks, Dad…"

"You're welcome, David." Paul left the room, gently shutting the door behind him. He stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at a photo on the wall: Dave at twelve years old, knock-kneed on the ice with his hockey stick and uniform, grinning at the camera. Finally, he took his cell phone out of his pocket.

Burt needed only the shortest glance at his caller ID before answering; he was a little surprised he hadn't gotten this call earlier. "Paul?" he said in a half-sigh.

"Hello, Burt. I suppose you heard what happened from Kurt."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"I'm sorry, Burt… I did what I could, but I'll understand if…"

"No, it's all right. I think this is something the boys need to work out themselves. But you know I'll stand by Kurt whatever he decides."

"Of course." Burt could almost hear Paul pacing on the other end of the line. "I can't offer any explanation right now; I think that's something Dave has to do himself. But… is there anything, anything else I can do right now?" His voice took on a pleading edge.

"I don't think so… I think all we can do for now is wait…"

Wes and David stormed into the room without even knocking the instant classes ended on Monday. Dave had joked with them many times about their apparent lack of concern for his privacy, but not today. He simply sat on his bed, turning an envelope over in his hands.

"What do you need us to do, Dave?" Wes asked without preamble.

"We can spy, sneak, harangue…" David chimed in. "We can even bury bodies if we need to."

Dave looked up at them with a wry grin, the most positive facial expression he'd had in days. "What I need is for you guys to understand that you shouldn't be making excuses for me."

"We're not. We figure you know what you did was wrong. We're just offering to help you fix it."

"I don't know if I can fix it," Dave said softly.

"You should've been more honest with him," David said, not a note of chastisement in his voice. "And yourself."

"Yeah… I know."

"We can talk to him." Wes leaned forward until his face was even with his friend's. "Maybe he'll be more comfortable if we're the ones who…"

Dave rose. "No. I have to take care of this myself. Besides, there's some shit that I need to tell him… Stuff even you two don't know."

David's hand flew to his mouth in mock shock. "What? More secrets? Dave, I'm offended!" He put an arm around Dave's shoulders in a manly half-hug. "Good luck. Just remember we're here for you, okay? All the Warblers are."

"What about Kurt?" Dave asked with a small smirk.

"Oh, him too. But you're obviously more important."

"Good luck," said Wes.

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it…"

The knocks on Kurt's door were rapid and heavy. He knew them quite intimately. Without hesitation, he got up and opened it. Dave stood on the other side, hand outstretched, bearing a white envelope labeled "Kurt."

"I think… this is yours." Dave's face was wrenched in almost palpable pain.

Kurt gently took the envelope and stepped aside. "Come in." Dave shuffled zombie-like into the room, taking his usual place at Kurt's desk. Kurt himself sat on the bed and drew Blaine Anderson's letter out of the envelope. After giving it a quick read, he put it aside and stared at his friend, who was currently examining his knees. "I think you should go first," Kurt said.

"Yeah, I guess I should." Dave rubbed the back of his head, his eyes not rising. "I owe you more than an apology, Kurt, way more. But I'd better start with that. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn't have kept the letter from you. I thought every day I had it about giving it to you; I was stupid and selfish and…"

"I'm sorry too," Kurt interrupted. "I said some cruel things to you I didn't mean, and…"

"But that I deserved," Dave snapped. "Every bit of it. You were right, about everything…"

"Dave, no! I…" Kurt shook his head. "What I don't understand is why!" he burst out, more confused than angry now. "You knew how badly I wanted to go back. You must've read the letter; you knew that I'd be safe…"

"No." The interruption was quiet, hoarse… Yet it stopped Kurt's words cold. Some emotion was swimming in Dave's eyes, along with the beginnings of tears. "I didn't know that. That you were safe." He choked on his own breath; a thousand thoughts had raced through his mind when he first read the letter, many of which he didn't even realize he was thinking. Now, his motives and fears were becoming all too clear, and he was still half-horrified to see he was putting them into words, in front of Kurt. "What if he slipped, just a little? Or stopped caring about anything other than getting to you? Or just snapped? Guys like that – they make you think they're sincere, and maybe they are at first. But they can change just like that, and let other people deal with the consequences…"

The words tickled his memory, their familiarity poking at his chest. "Dave… you've known a 'guy like that,' haven't you?"

"He was just like Anderson," Dave almost whispered. "Handsome, charming, athletic. His parents weren't as rich, but they were connected, since both of 'em were high profile lawyers. They knew my dad, and that's how I met him…"

The wheels were starting to turn in Kurt's mind. "This… this isn't that boyfriend you mentioned, is it…?"

Dave nodded dumbly. "Jeremy," he finally said. "I was living in this suburb outside Cleveland; he went to my school. One thing you gotta know: this wasn't that long after I came out to my family. I was starting to work out, but I was still kinda chubby, my skin was all oily, and I still had my braces in. It was my first real relationship, too, so I was way too willing to give in to all his demands."

"Demands?"

"Yeah. He wasn't out, not by a long shot. We kinda… found each other out in private at one of the parties his folks used to hold for their law buddies, and he liked it that way. Private, I mean. I wasn't exactly out to everyone at this point, but I still got stares and rumors… that kind, y'know. So even though we went to the same school, we couldn't even be seen near each other or talk to each other. If we did accidentally run into each other in the halls, it was usually with his friends, so he teased me as much as they did and laughed even harder than they did." Dave smiled a very wry, ungenuine smile. "But then we'd make out in his room and of course that made everything better."

Kurt nodded encouragingly. He had a feeling he knew where this was going; it was a story that seemed to him as old as the hills. "Go on."

"I kept this from my family, of course; I mean, it didn't go so well with the whole 'stand strong' thing Grandpa Murray always taught me. But there's only so many times you can hear someone tell you that he loves you and then have to endure his taunts at school, y'know? After a few months of this, there was this Sadie Hawkins dance coming up, and finally, I somehow found some guts and gave him an ultimatum. I told him I cared about him – and I really did, Kurt, no matter how stupid it was – but that if he really actually meant what he said in private and not in public, he'd be my date to the dance. I told him what I told you: stand strong, stop lying to others just to please them, the whole nine fucking yards. Besides… I'd skipped a lot of those kinds of events, even before I knew I was gay, just because I knew I couldn't go with girls. I just wanted to be part of it as myself, y'know?"

"Yeah," Kurt rasped. "I know."

"Anyway, he said yes. It took him a few days, but he said yes. I don't know how I did it, but he actually meant it; I could tell. He even steered his friends away from me at school. God, that kind of hope… It can kill a man."

"Thank you, Morgan Freeman," Kurt grinned, unable to stop himself.

It worked, somehow; Dave snickered. "Yeah, yeah, whatever; it's a good movie. Anyway. Sadie Hawkins dance. I should've known I was in trouble when it became obvious that he didn't tell his parents who he was going with. But I figured he would have to anyway later. I mean, he was going to the fucking dance with me! We got to the school… And this group of older guys were there, waiting for me. I guess they decided they wanted to mess with me for fun before I made it in. And… I'd insisted that Jeremy walk me in. I think I saw he was starting to get cold feet, and I wanted to make sure it'd be harder for him to get away.

"And it was. They grabbed him before he could unhook arms from me. Said they wanted to have some fun with my boyfriend before starting in on me, especially when they saw who it was. Two of 'em held my arms while the other two… God, they hurt him so bad, Kurt… It was them kicking him while he was down… That was the worst part. They kicked him in the head so many times…"

The horror of that night was reflected full on in Dave's eyes, trauma Kurt had seen in his own not too long ago. He reached over and held his friend's hand gently. Dave didn't even seem to notice; he was too lost in the past.

"S-somehow," he finally managed, "I managed to get away from them. I remember elbowing one of them in the gut while he was laughing at what they were doing to Jeremy. I think I kicked at the other guy's knee after that; then I ran. I ran like hell. Like a fucking coward…"

"It was four against two," Kurt said firmly. "Even if they were just kids, so were you. You can't blame…"

"I know, I know… I've heard that from my family and Dr. Macey a hundred times…"

"Doctor…?"

"Therapist." For some reason, Dave seemed the most embarrassed at this one little word. "After everything else that happened after that…"

"God, there's more?"

Dave nodded. "After I was sure I was safe, I called the cops. When they got there, the other guys had already run, but Jeremy was bleeding out of… God, it was like every part of his head was gushing blood: his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his ears… He was in a coma, Kurt. For almost two fucking weeks.

"I was in it for the long haul. I was gonna stay by his bedside until he woke up. His folks appreciated that… at first.

"Then they caught the guys who did it. Through the cops, they found out why they did it…"

"And their support for you vanished," Kurt guessed.

"More than fucking vanished. They blamed me. For all of it. I'll never forget them storming into that hospital room, screaming at me over Jeremy's bed. They said that I'd 'seduced him into perversions' or some shit, that I'd put him into danger. They didn't even mention the other kids once. It was all my fault, that I as much as beat him into a coma myself…"

"Oh, God…" Kurt's mind flashed back to their own confrontation. "And I blamed you for… Dave, I am so…"

"Don't," Dave interrupted. "Don't you dare fucking apologize. Let me finish." He took a shuddery breath. "Eventually, Jeremy woke up. He was out of it for a few days, but he figured out what was happening pretty quick."

Kurt paled a little. "Don't tell me…"

"Yeah. He sold me out. No hesitation. Said that there wasn't anything between us. That I'd been hitting on him for weeks, but he always said no. That we'd run into each other on the way to the dance, with him meeting his own date, a girl, and he got caught in the middle." Dave paused again, as if exhausted – Kurt saw that in a way, he was. "That did it. Everything blew the fuck up. Jeremy's parents actually called fucking press conferences and gave interviews telling everyone they could get to listen about the fag kid who put their son in a coma. Then they sued us."

"On what grounds?" Kurt gaped.

"I forget; it was all above my head back then, and my dad did his best to keep me from it. Reckless endangerment? I don't know. Dad represented us himself; he shouldn't have, but money was tight. He lost a lot of billable hours having to be in court anyway. The suit got dismissed eventually, of course, but by then the damage was done. The story never really made it out of our town, and Jeremy's folks never actually said my name in public, but I couldn't stay there."

Kurt looked at Dave's hands; they were white-knuckled, his fingers tightly woven. "So we moved," Dave continued. "Dad tried to tell me we were making a fresh start, but I knew the score, even back then. Mom and Grandpa Murray helped us get settled here with money they couldn't spare. We found Dalton; I got a scholarship, but Dad can still only barely afford to keep me here. Last I heard from my friend, Gav's cousin, Jeremy's dating a cheerleader now." He laughed bitterly. "Isn't that fucking something?" A twin pair of tears ran their way down his cheeks. "So there you have it. My big old traumatic sob story. It's no excuse, not for what I did to you or anything else, but I owed you an explanation. The second I saw Anderson, it was like Jeremy all over again, and when he started harassing you…" Dave buried his face in his hands. "Fuck, I haven't even told this to anyone here; the only other guy who knows is your friend Puck, and he had to get me drunk to get me to spill. I'm so fucking ashamed…"

"Of what?"

"Everything. Myself. In a way, Jeremy's parents were right. If I hadn't pushed, if I hadn't threatened him, he wouldn't have gotten beaten up. He wasn't ready, but I was too stubborn and selfish to notice. I thought I was safe with you, because you were already out, but I went and screwed that up too. No matter what I do, no matter how much I work out, I'm still that fat stupid kid who ruined two families and can't even tell the most beautiful guy he ever met how he feels…"

Dave hadn't meant to say that much, not at that point. It just seeped out of him, caught in the moment. He hoped, dared to hope, just for a second that Kurt didn't think too hard about them. But… "You… you mean me?" he whispered.

"Shit."

"You do, don't you?"

Dave gulped, scarlet shame running across his face. "Y-yeah."

"I knew it," he replied quietly. "I don't mean that I knew it," he added quickly, "but… what you told me… that was a big part of why you kept the letter from me… but not all of it, was it?" No answer. "You were scared of Anderson hurting me… but it wasn't the only reason."

"No. That's the worst part. Guys like Jeremy, Anderson… They got the charm and the money to get everything they want. Then they treat it like shit and toss it away when they get tired of it. And they get to go on with their own lives, have everything, not caring what happens when…"

"But not even that's all of it." It was a flat, blunt statement that Dave didn't, couldn't, bother to deny.

"I think I kind of love you, Kurt," he finally burst out, his lips forming words that he never imagined forming, yet couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "You're just so… so smart and funny and great and…"

"Naïve?" Kurt said with a quirked eyebrow, in a tone that wasn't at all hostile or offended.

"No… Fuck, no… Trusting. You want to believe that people can change and you want them to be happy and that's one of the most beautiful things about you. I know I never had a chance at you; I knew that from the start, that you'd never look twice at some disgusting loser like me." He was beginning to babble, but he still couldn't stop. "But then you were my friend and that was so wonderful and I knew I'd rather have you as my friend than not have you in my life at all. I thought Gav would make you happy but I was wrong… Then Anderson gave me that letter and I didn't know what scared me more, him being the same or him changing. And it was all for nothing because I know you never could love someone like me and now I've lost you as a friend and everything's so fucked up, I…"

Dave turned towards Kurt to beg. For what, he wasn't quite sure; he was barely thinking. The second he faced the other boy, Kurt's lips met his in a soft, gentle kiss. It only lasted for moments, but in those moments, worlds turned and stars exploded, at least in Dave's head. By the time the two separated, Dave was gaping like a fish.

"Wh… wha…" Neither mouth nor brain was forming coherent words.

"I did that," Kurt said softly, "to prove that I mean what I'm about to say. I… kind of love you too. I've been attracted to you for a very long time. I was just scared too. You're not the only one in the world who is, Mr. Karofsky, and you have to stop thinking you are. You also have to stop thinking that you're somehow damaged or stupid or whatever else you're calling yourself at this very moment. I won't list everything you actually are, but you… are a terrific guy. Or you can be." There was a moment of silence.

"But." Dave sighed.

"But." Kurt nodded. "You did hurt me. No matter what the reasons were, you did, and I know you realize that. You also have a lot of… well, a lot in your life to work through. I'll do whatever I can to help, but you have to help yourself, if only so you can be happy. If anything… happens between us, I think… it has to happen on its own time. I just… It's all just too much for me right now. I can't take on your problems and handle my own at the same time."

"Yeah. I know. It isn't fair to you." A lump worked in Dave's throat. "Even if I get… I dunno, better… there's no guarantee, is there?"

"There never is."

"Yeah." The two regarded each other, the tears drying on Dave's face. "But… we're still friends…?"

Kurt smiled. "Of course."

"But I'm still on really thin ice, aren't I?"

"It's all still fresh, Dave. If we're going to heal, we need…"

"Time. Yeah." Dave extended a hand. "Friends?"

Kurt shook firmly, reminding him of that first shake on the staircase a lifetime ago. "Friends."

"Okay." Dave exhaled sharply. "Hey… I just realized… that duet. You okay with…?"

"Oh, no, you're not making me give that up for a million dollars. Nor am I letting you weasel out of it; as I keep telling you, you're an excellent singer, and we'll need all the power we get. And thanks for reminding me; if we're going to kick New Directions' ass at Regionals, we have to rehearse!"

The normalcy, even if it was just a sliver, sent a smile shooting across Dave's face. "Fuck, yeah. And no time like the present, I say."

"No, indeed. No time like the present…"

Once more, Dave found himself in the middle of the backstage whirlwind alone, getting his emotional and mental bearings. Kurt had been freaking out over the upcoming performance, the highest he'd ever reached as a singer ("Oh, God, what was I thinking? Is my throat scratchy? Do you hear a scratch? Lozenges! I need lozenges!"), but had requested Dave leave him alone to, as he put it, "die in private." So he sang his scales and went over his melodies and harmonies as the bustle and chaos swarmed around him.

"Hey." The voice was only vaguely familiar; he turned to see Puck behind him. He was dressed to the nines, like all the New Directions, and damn if he wasn't completely hot.

"Hey," Dave replied.

"You fucked up, didn't you?"

"H-how did you…?"

"I figured you would as soon as you told me not to tell Kurt. Shit, dude, things like that, you keep 'em inside… they make you do stupid things. Believe me, I know."

"I wish I'd let you tell me that," Dave sighed, remembering now their exchange at Rachel's party.

"You should've." Puck's eyes flickered. "Kurt's not hanging all over you, so I assume he was involved in whatever dumb thing you did."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I knew it." He smiled. "Dude's stubborn, y'know. He knows what he wants. You may not get a second chance if you fuck up again."

"I know."

"And if that happens, I may have to kick your ass for being a fucktard."

Dave laughed. "If I do… you have my permission."

"Good." Puck nodded. "Good luck."

Dave didn't know whether Puck meant with Kurt or with Regionals. He decided it didn't matter either way. "Thanks. You too." Dave watched Puck vanish into the backstage maelstrom. He straightened his tie. It was showtime.

As the music went up and Dave opened his mouth to sing, he tried very hard to think of pitch and tone and projection, and not the lyrics he was singing, nor whom he was singing to.

Tell me when will you be mine…
Tell me quando, quando, quando…

The Warblers had been relieved when he and Kurt insisted the duet go on as scheduled, Wes and David especially. The two had been wise and sensitive enough not to press for details or to evince any disappointment that the two weren't holding hands and kissing in the halls. Dave would probably end up telling them everything. Maybe after this, Regionals, was all over.

When will you say yes to me…
Tell me quando, quando, quando…

Kurt's voice rang high and clear and so goddamn beautiful. Dave couldn't see the judges' faces amidst the light and shadow, but he couldn't help wondering what the nun was thinking at this moment.

Every moment's a day…
Every day seems a lifetime…
Let me show you the way…
To a joy beyond compare…

Their voices blended and danced together as the singers crossed the stage towards each other, only to separate again, teasingly. Kurt smiled a little at him; was that a message, or part of the show? Dave didn't let himself wonder as they both returned to the main group of Warblers, the segue into "Raise Your Glass" in full swing. Being on stage… Dave had forgotten how good it felt, how free… It didn't erase everything that had happened, not even close. But it was as close as he could get, and it felt pretty damn good…

Kurt stood in the quad alone as twilight descended upon Westerville. This was the exact spot where he'd freed Pavarotti. His ears strained for the slightest trace of birdsong, his eyes searching for a flash of yellow. He sighed.

"Hey." Kurt didn't turn at the sound of Dave's voice; his mind was only beginning to settle from the turmoil. "You okay?"

"Yeah…"

"We did the best we could. I think we had a great shot at winning. It just… didn't work out."

"Not everything does," Kurt said. "Even the things we most want."

"Yeah. Not that it stops us from trying."

"Hey, some things are worth fighting for. Especially if you find happiness along the way for yourself." Kurt wasn't sure he expected a reply; the only one he got was the whistling of the wind.

"Hey, I gotta ask: why here? You could be thinking about Regionals almost anywhere. Why here?"

Kurt grimaced. "That's a funny story… that I think I'll tell you one of these days. One of these days far, far away from now."

"Fair enough." Dave's footsteps crunched against the grass, yet stopped far short of where Kurt stood. Kurt still didn't turn, but knew that Dave was keeping his distance. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. "So… You going back to McKinley?"

Kurt nodded, forgetting for a moment that Dave wasn't in front of him. "Dad's already talking to people. He won't confirm it, but I think the money was running out anyway. Classes will be a hassle, but I think I'm actually ahead now, thanks to Dalton."

"And the Glee Club? Are they gonna let you in for Nationals?"

"Last I heard, they couldn't. But Rachel told me that Coach Sylvester is having a 'talk' with certain people about my circumstances."

"I'm sure I'll hear about that on the ten o'clock news sometime." Dave chuckled, the sound dying in his throat. "I'm glad, though. That you're going back. I know you weren't happy here. That's really important to me."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Kurt's eyes and ears searched for Pavarotti as the sun disappeared below the tree line. He wondered whether the canary was enjoying the great big world it found itself in, or if it was crushed by it.

"I'll miss you," Dave said quietly.

"You mean you'll miss the gas you're saving. Because we were friends when we had to drive and text. We'll still be friends."

"Even if I don't deser… I mean… you're right. We'll still be friends."

Kurt couldn't help but smile. "Very good, Dave." It was a little thing, a very little thing, but even the little things were progress.