AN: Comments and criticism would be very, very welcome!

Chapter one

Kurt came to school as the bearer of good news.

His dad was awake. After a week of misery, his dad in a coma, no one knowing if he would live or die, until late last night, when he had finally woken up. Kurt walked down the school corridor dizzy with relief.

Mercedes was waiting for him by his locker, looking worried.

"He woke up!" Kurt grinned.

"Praise the Lord." Her answering grin faltered. "Oh. I guess you don't want me to mention-"

Not this again.

"Mercedes, shut up."

He put his arms around her, and she squeezed him tight. His dad was awake, that was the only thing that mattered. And he needed the hug, maybe they both did. Last week still lay between them, back when she had offered him her prayers and he had rejected her.

Kurt knew about rejection. For the sake of rejection he'd been hiding from his father, keeping the words "Dad, I'm gay" chafing away inside his chest for so long he sometimes felt like they had taken him over, had hollowed him all out.

Turned out his dad was fine with it, and there'd been no reason to worry.

Then there was the whole mess with Finn, which in retrospect was a long stupid story of Kurt refusing to even see rejection until Finn had felt forced to scream and shout to be heard. And really, every dumpster toss, every whispered fag, every slushy to the face was rejection.

Kurt Hummel could like, write an essay on rejection.

Which is why when Mercedes had approached him last Friday looking so hopeful and asking him to come to her church, he had agreed after only a minimal amount of persuasion. How could he refuse? Predictably though, the whole church service thing had turned out to be just as uncomfortable as he'd feared. Mercedes' singing hadn't helped at all, her amazingness notwithstanding. It just reinforced the fact that it hadn't been enough, and would never be enough.

He should just have kept his mouth shut in the first place. He should never have told them he was an atheist.

"Is your dad still in the hospital?" She had released him, but they were still standing really close, still holding on to each other.

"Yeah. They're keeping him for another week at least. He can't really g-get out of the bed yet, but he'll be fine, he'll be good."

He had to be.

"Oh, baby, don't cry."

He wasn't crying, or he hadn't been until just now. Mercedes gathered him up again, and he found himself with his face pressed into her shoulder, pretty much unable to do anything else. Damn, he should have known this would happen. Sympathy from Mercedes had a tendency to make him cry, even at the most inopportune moments. People walking past were all but falling over themselves staring.

Move it along folks, nothing to see here. Just a fabulous black woman comforting her fabulous crying friend.

"I'm sorry," he said, easing away from her and wiping his cheeks with quick swipes of his hands. "It's just been so miserable and lonely and I couldn't sleep and we're out of coffee. And I don't even know if coffee is good for the h-heart."

"Hush, baby." Mercedes caught his hand, staring up at him. "First of all, you must take care of yourself. At least tell me you've been eating."

"Yes, yes. Carole brought a casserole. It was big enough to feed the entire football team."

"That's great." She smiled at him. "See? Your dad's girlfriend is a nurse. She'll help you take care of him. Besides, remember I've met your dad. He'll be back on his feet in no time. I guarantee it."

Kurt smiled. "Thank you. You're the best."

"Of course I am." She said it with pretend annoyance, an inside joke.

They laughed, a nice laughter of shared history. Yes, they could absolutely put this last week behind them.

"Listen," Mercedes said. There was a long pause, but she seemed determined to get it out. "I'm sorry things got so weird between us."

"I'm sorry too." Quick and small.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

If she didn't stop he would start bawling again.

"I brought you something."

"Presents? Oh goodie!"

He grinned and clapped his hands in a way that he knew full well would remind everyone who saw him that he was gay, gay, gay and not ashamed of it, thank you very much.

"Here."

Mercedes put something in his hands that was much heavier than he had expected it to be. It was... a book? He turned it over and read the small golden lettering on the otherwise unadorned black cover.

The Holy Bible.

He nearly dropped it.

"I know this might make things weird again," Mercedes said hurriedly. "But we won't let it, right?" Her hands fluttered in quick please calm down gestures.

"It's a bible." It came out in a scandalized whisper. "You gave me a bible."

Kurt turned the book over again, hiding the incriminating letters.

"I know you don't believe in God," Mercedes said. "But what about your dad? What does he believe?"

"I..." Kurt stopped, thrown by the question. "I have no idea."

"My dad had eye surgery a few years ago," Mercedes said. "Detached retinas, he had bandages over his eyes, it was really scary, we didn't even know if he would recover. He could have gone blind."

"Whoa." She rarely talked about her dad. But he knew that he worked a lot, and that she loved him.

"Everything that's been happening has reminded me of that. I used to read to him, back when he couldn't see. He wanted me to read the book of Job." Mercedes smiled. "I was too young to understand much of it, but the book of Job is all about being strong and overcoming suffering. It has some of the oldest poetry in the world. You don't have to believe in God to read it."

"Oh." Kurt made himself relax. It was fine. She was just being nice. She wasn't trying to send him some kind of message. This was a totally normal interaction between friends.

"Hey," Mercedes smiled with a shrug. "It's a free book. I just wanted you to have it."

See? Fine.

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. Classes were about to start. "See you later?" she said, already backing away with a smile.

"Mhm," Kurt nodded, and she left him standing by his open locker. Holding the Bible.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

Kurt showed the Bible - the Bible! - inside the locker, buried it in the middle of a pile of textbooks. His heart was beating kind of hard. He wasn't even sure what he was freaking out about. Mercedes was right, it was just a book. Just a freaking book.

He slammed the locker shut.

Nothing to see here, just a boy hiding a bible.

The first class had gone wretchedly. But whatever, he had other things on his mind right now, and oh yeah, he was a little bit behind on his school work, due to his dad being in a coma, for God's sake.

And that was "for God's sake" as a figure of speech, not as him giving any credence to the great, invisible spirit in the sky.

So there, Mercedes.

Except don't tell her that out loud.

He had a break after first block. He'd intended to use that time in the library to catch up with his homework, but with his brain otherwise occupied, old habit had taken him to a bench by the south wall of the school building. A flat grass lawn with a red brick wall at his back, dozens of people passing all the time, the bench was the perfect combination of public and private. It felt safe.

Kurt sat with one leg over the other, his hands folded on top of his knee, his back straight. Two years ago, during his freshman year, this bench had been his usual place when he didn't have classes. Always alone of course, freshman year had been his year of solitude. Which just goes to show what a difference joining one of those social clubs could make.

Glee club had been a godsend, his saving grace. Thank God he joined glee. Language was filled with those little figures of speech.

He should just sit Mercedes down and ask for a redo. He should just say, "Things were a lot easier back when you assumed I believed in God and I never contradicted you. Let's go back to that."

Right.

He hadn't lied to her, but he'd held back out of politeness, is what he'd done. And things had gotten so out of whack last week that he knew he shouldn't bring it up again. He shouldn't ever talk to Mercedes about God, that was all there was to it. Not again and not anymore. Lesson learned. Thank you and goodnight.

"Kurt!"

It was Quinn and Brittany, walking across the grass towards him. Both of them regal and beautiful, wearing their cheerleading uniforms with their blond hair tied in high ponytails. They sat down on either side of him, leaning in, enveloping him in their soft, girly presence.

Take that, two years ago.

"How is he?" Quinn asked. "How's your dad?"

Aha! Kurt grinned, the bearer of good news all over again.

"He woke up!"

"Thank God."

"Thank the doctors."

Crap.

All warmth fell away from Quinn's face. She glanced to the side, pressing her lips together. And hey, she wore a small gold cross around her neck, the black patch on the cheerleading uniform really made it stand out. And yes, he'd noticed the cross many times before, he'd just never appreciated what kind of far-reaching significance it might hold.

"Listen-"

"I'm happy about your dad. I've already heard everything you have to say about God. You don't have to say it again."

"I wasn't going to say anything!"

"Sure you weren't."

"Fine, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

He might have rolled his eyes at this point. Who could blame him?

She looked at him, subtle lines of hurt on her face. "You know how much God means to me. Why can't you just let it go?"

And without another word she got to her feet and walked away. Kurt stared at her retreating back with dwindling hope.

Last week really had set some significant bridges on fire.

"With proper cardiac rehabilitation and everyday reduction of risk factors, a majority of heart attack patients can expect a full recovery."

As usual, Brittany spoke with almost no inflection, her voice a low monotone. She said it like a quote, which, Kurt realized, it was.

"So it said in the book report you gave me."

It had been very sweet and surprisingly well organized, for a book report written in crayon. Or for anything written by Brittany. Lately, Kurt had taken to asking her small, to the point questions, just to marvel at the answers he got. She was like a random word generator, press the button and blink in astonishment.

"Britt, you still like me, right?"

He didn't care if he sounded needy, since she was the only one who heard. Britt was... well, she was Britt. It was strange to realize that the last (and only) time she and Kurt had been alone together they had been on his couch, kissing. A memory that made him feel small and guilty and like he couldn't trust himself. She'd been great about that whole episode though, acting like it had never happened. He owed her for that.

"I like you," she said. "You're my number two favorite angry person, but when I see you I always remember to feel bad because you were on the football team and I didn't sleep with you."

Kurt gaped, all his thoughts about God and religion derailed by what she had just said. So. Much. Wrong. First and foremost:

"Britt, you don't have to sleep with a guy just because he's on the football team."

"Yes, I do."

Yes. I. Do. She really did say that. He had not misheard.

"No. You don't. You really, really, really don't."

He met her eyes, stared right into them to press his point home. Like that would be enough to change her mind. Instant telepathy by force of will.

"I know that," she said. "Sex should be something I want to do, not something I have to do. It's always my choice." Again like a quote.

Well, good then. He should just leave it at that. Except, except she had just contradicted herself, hadn't she? She had said she had to... Oh my God, he was not qualified for this conversation. He would never be qualified for this conversation. This conversation had gone beyond the pale into the horrifying.

"Listen, um." Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slow. One, two, three, he could do this. "Have you had sex with a lot of guys?"

"I have."

"Do you like it?"

"Sometimes."

"And sometimes you... don't?"

Sometimes. You. Don't. Yes, the implications were heartbreaking. It made the sudden addition of a bible to his locker seem like such a non-issue in comparison.

"Once I fell and bruised my tailbone even though I'm the best dancer. When life gives you lemons, you squeeze the marrow out of them."

"Wh- what?"

"I'm the best dancer."

"You are. You're the best dancer I've ever met. Mike is good, but he doesn't have your fluidity. When you dance I can't take my eyes off you. Honestly. You're amazing." He was gushing, but he was also speaking the truth.

She smiled, slow and tight-lipped. He wondered if she had changed the subject on purpose. Maybe she wasn't as random as she sometimes appeared.

"And, and." Kurt closed his eyes, spoke all in a rush. "And if you're having sex or are about to have sex and it turns out that you don't like it, you should stop. Just stop. With the sex. And don't have sex with someone you don't like. Please."

"You give good advice."

"I try."

He was sweaty all over.

Brittany leaned back against the bench. They sat in silence, side by side, watching the other students walk by.

He had just said the word sex more times than he'd previously said in his entire life.

Good thing heart problems didn't run in the family.

So not funny.

He laughed anyway, snorted behind his hand. And even though she couldn't have any idea what he was thinking about, Brittany smiled.

At least he'd stopped worrying about what had happened last week in glee. It probably wasn't a big deal anyway, even though it had seemed like it at the time. It was just religion. It wasn't important like school and life and dating was important. Quinn wore a cross, and Kurt didn't. Mercedes liked to sing in church, and Kurt didn't. It hadn't been a problem before and it shouldn't be a problem now.

And Kurt certainly didn't care. They could all believe whatever they wanted. It didn't matter what kind of God-inspired opinions they deferred to in the privacy of their own minds. It wasn't important what their precious God thought about gay people. Or women. Or science. Whatever it was, Kurt was fine with it. It was absolutely none of his business and he should just let it drop.

Right?