You guys. So many reviews. I love you! Keep 'em coming! I don't own Glee, any of it's characters, the public figure known as Adam Lambert, or the actual aforementioned dude. I also don't own the It Gets Better campaign, but I have no clue who, if anyone, has the rights to that. I am borrowing all of it. On to business. -Love, Maya
"What is happening?" Mr. Schue asked. "What is an 'Adam Lambert'?" The girls shushed him, so he Googled it on his phone. "Ah." He blinked, then whispered, "Oh," before retreating to his office to call Figgins and demand some answers.
When Kurt recovered a few seconds later (while Adam waited patiently, watching him with an amused smile), he said, in a voice that was just a touch breathless, "Okay, first off: someone text Rachel, or she'll never let any of us hear the end of it." He wiped away that single wayward tear with his left hand and extended his right to shake Adam's. "Secondly: oh, my gods, I love you."
Adam laughed and clasped Kurt's hand in both of his. "Aren't you sweet? You're even more adorable in person."
Kurt blinked at him in dazed confusion. "What do you mean, 'in person'?"
Adam's gaze flicked briefly over their stunned audience, then he leaned a bit closer to Kurt and said quietly, "I saw your It Gets Better video. Thought I should come congratulate you."
Before Kurt could respond, Rachel burst into the room, breathing a little heavily with frenzied eyes. When said eyes alighted on one Adam Lambert, she made a brief strangled noise before pasting on her showbiz-ready smile and advancing. "Mr. Lambert," she greeted, extending a hand and doing that almost-curtsy thing she reserved for networking and condescension, "I'm flattered that you've heard of me! Certainly, I wasn't expecting this so soon, but I always have a few little numbers prepared. What would you like to hear?"
Adam blinked down at her, then looked at Kurt, who was pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut. Adam turned back to Rachel with a polite, if confused, smile on his face. "I'm sorry, dear, but who are you?"
Kurt sighed. "That would be Rachel."
This time she actually did curtsy. Kurt almost, almost couldn't believe it, and Adam most certainly couldn't. "Rachel Berry, at your service." She enunciated even more clearly and loudly than usual to say, "My two gay, Jewish dads are huge fans of yours."
Adam and Kurt blinked at her in sync. "I don't know if I'm allowed to laugh or not," Kurt said, almost to himself.
"Is she always like that?" Adam asked him. Kurt nodded sadly. "Oh dear."
"So," Rachel chirped, reclaiming Adam's attention, "what would you like to hear? Barbra and Celine are my strong suits, just an FYI."
With another glance at Kurt, who shrugged helplessly, Adam told her, as gently as he could, "Actually, I came to see Kurt."
Rachel's face fell instantly into a serious, perplexed frown, her brow furrowed and lips pouting slightly. "Kurt?" She turned to said boy—who did not take a tiny step back, no matter what anyone said. "Did you win a sweepstakes or something? Why didn't you mention it to anyone?"
Before Kurt could answer (not too cuttingly, promise), Adam slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side. Kurt's eyes went comically wide as Adam said, as chipper as Rachel on her best day, "Actually, I saw a video online of him singing and had to come see for myself."
Rachel just stared up at him, and Kurt did the same.
A throat was cleared at Kurt's side, and he and Adam looked to see Puck standing there with tense shoulders, eyeing the taller man with a strange expression. "So who's your friend, Hummel?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Bitch, please; I caught you singing Music Again under your breath two days ago." At this, Adam looked Puck up and down, taking in his worn Levi's, old Metallica shirt, and leather jacket with raised brows.
Weirdly enough, Puck blushed. "Shut up, you had been singing it in the car earlier and—" He cut himself off. "Not the point. I mean, why is he here?"
Kurt had no answer, so Adam replied, "I saw a video of you kids singing at a, uh, competition and Kurt really stood out to me. Saw myself in him or some such."
"Wait," Finn spoke up, slowly putting a hand out as if to stop the madness. "No offense, but does that mean you're, like… gay?"
Adam looked at him for a second, than asked Kurt in a surreptitious whisper, "Is he serious?"
"Sometimes I wonder," Kurt sighed.
"Finn's derpiness aside," Puck said, looking hard at Adam, "what, exactly brought you here, besides a singing gay kid that you need to hang all over? That can't be it." Adam's brows rose again.
"Noah, why is it even important?" Kurt asked, none of his panic seeping into his voice.
Puck looked at him. "Well, isn't it kinda weird that an international pop star showed up in the center of Ohio to this broke-ass, so-not-rainbow-it's-monochrome high school?" Kurt had no answer that wouldn't involve the content of his video, which the entire club would then demand to see before promptly spreading it all over the school. He floundered, and knew he was being obvious.
Adam took pity on both of them and released Kurt, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black jeans and replying, "I'm here to give an anti-bullying presentation." Kurt and Puck stared at him, the former in abject confusion, the latter in lingering suspicion. "After Kurt had my attention, I got into contact with his principal and his father, and from what they told me I gathered that this poor kid, in whom I see so much of myself, was being bullied awfully. So, I thought I'd use my powers for good and give a talk."
Kurt knew Adam was lying, at least about contacting his father—Burt could never hide something this big from him—and Figgins regarding his situation. He'd probably learned all he needed to from Kurt's video, then gone through the proper(ish) channels to be a surprise guest. He knew Principal Figgins would never fight an appearance by The Adam Lambert at his backwater school, but Kurt wondered what Adam had told the man to justify his coming. Whatever it was, he couldn't have spilled about the video, and Kurt internally let out a relieved breath at Adam's discretion.
Puck, however, was not satisfied. "So, what, you just 'thought you'd give a talk,' and it happens like that?" He snapped his fingers, and Kurt realized that Puck had moved closer to him as soon as Adam had let go of him; Puck's t-shirt was just short of brushing Kurt's sleeve. The fierce, yet subtle protectiveness of the gesture was striking to Kurt, and only a little heart-warming, honestly.
Although, really, what music-and-fashion-savvy gay boy wanted to be protected from Adam Lambert?
Adam's eyes shifted between Puck and Hummel for a few seconds, something in them that Puck did not like one bit. "Well, yes," Adam finally answered him, one eyebrow in the air like he knew something Puck didn't. He probably did, too.
"Noah." Puck looked down to see Hummel staring up at him, his wide eyes greener today but still blue. "What's wrong?" he asked slowly, gently, yet demanding an answer.
Puck didn't have one, so he took a half step back from Hummel and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "Nothing." That was a lie; even though he didn't know what the problem was, he knew it existed, somewhere in his head or something.
The look Hummel gave him told him that he was fooling exactly no one, but he let it slide for now. Instead, he turned back to Adam, and Puck totally didn't clench his teeth. "So, just because of—what you found, you decided to come all the way here?" Was that hesitation? It so was. Why? They were talking about something, something they didn't want other people to know about.
Adam grinned at Hummel. "You inspired me; I wish I'd been as brave as you when I was your age." Hummel blushed, his gaze dropping to his fancy shoes, and maybe Puck grit his teeth a little.
He wrapped his fingers around Hummel's wrist and tugged him a little closer, away from Adam. "We should probably dust off. I gotta get home to watch Sarah today." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam's as-ridiculous-as-Hummel's eyes light up with speculation, or realization. Whichever it was, it made Puck nervous. Badasses don't get nervous.