Title: Calling In Gay
Chapter's Word Count: 2,196
Rating: PG13
Character(s): Kurt, Sam, Rachel, ensemble
Disclaimer: I own naught but my own imagination.
Author's Notes: Un beta'd. Written for this prompt (with some slight alterations) on the Glee_Fluff_Meme: http : / community. livejournal. com/glee_fluff_meme/2832 . html?thread=3056400#t3056400 .
For all intensive purposes, this story is officially (as of now) set after the events of the Rocky Horror Glee Show and is AU from there, completely disregarding any future episodes and spoilers about future episodes.
This chapter is really heavy in dialogue. Sorry. It'll get better, I promise.
Summary: "Tell Principal Figgins I'm sorry, but I can't come to school today. Oh, you know, I'm horribly ill— don't worry; I'll come back as soon as I cure the queer."

"If homosexuality is a disease, let's all call in queer to work: 'Hello. Can't work today, still queer!'" - Robin Tyler

Calling in Gay

Part IV: Hang Ups

Rachel pulled Kurt aside as everyone said their farewells and donned their coats in the foyer, her wide grin lighting up her whole face. "Kurt," she said almost breathlessly as she yanked him into the kitchen by his sleeve, giddy from her own epiphany. "We need to get other people in on this."

He raised an eyebrow delicately, his expression one Mercedes had long ago labelled his 'bitch-please' look. "Other people have no interest vested in our little protest," he told her quietly, the sounds of their leaving friends loud in the next room over. "You and I are the only ones who even know firsthand what we're even fighting for. Our friends supporting this are more than I could have asked for."

"But this could be huge, Kurt— don't you see? All we have to do is get the word out, and let the kids from our school know what we're doing and why. It's so simple. There have got to be others in our school— allies, or... or gay kids in the closet. It's statistically impossible for there not to be!" Rachel gushed, trying to keep her squealing to a minimum. She could see it now: their names in lights, fighting for gay rights in a conservative little town. Everyone would know their names, their faces, as those who stood up for what was right.

Kurt didn't look impressed. "I never intended for it to even get this big," he protested quietly but vehemently, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched it tight around his words. "It was only ever supposed to be me. You could all get in trouble for this. I don't want to be responsible for all of you getting expelled, let alone anyone else!"

Rachel shook her head. "But, Kurt, you don't get it, do you? They can't expel us. Unless he admits he made a mistake in what he said, we aren't doing anything wrong. All we need to do is spread the word, and—"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Kurt cut her off sharply, barely able to contain his almost naturally facetious tone. "Are you going to make posters and put them up around school?" He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as Rachel threw back her shoulders, unperturbed.

"No," she said, shaking her head and placing her hands on her slim hips, "I propose we voluntarily interview for Jacob Ben Israel's blog."

Kurt's mouth fell open for a moment, and then he snapped it closed. "Are you insane?" he hissed, already fed up with his friend's antics, "Israel doesn't print legitimate stories. His blog is a black hole of old gossip and wrongful accusations. He had a whole entry dedicated to his theory of why Puck must be secretly sleeping with me along every girl in Glee, remember?" Kurt glared down at her, once again enjoying his recent growth spurt. He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "He prints trash, Rachel. Not news."

"Trash or not, the students of McKinley followthat blog and read his hogwash. It is the absolute perfect way to get the word out to the masses, don't you see? Don't you want this to work?" Rachel said quickly, as though her whole spiel was a pre-planned speech.

"Work towards what exactly, Rachel? A public apology? This isn't anyone's fight but mine. If you guys want to help me, then fine. But you can drop out of this at any time, while I can't. I'm the one that's being called a leper because of who I am. Not you, not Mercedes, not Finn."

Kurt sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Rachel pouted and crossed her arms over her chest, but didn't say a word as Kurt collected himself.

"I get that you want to help. I'm sure you and your dads have to deal with this crap too, maybe even more so sometimes. But trying to... recruit? Is just going to leave you disappointed. No one else cares." He paused again, resignedly shaking his head. "You can't drag the rest of the student body into this. I hate to ruin what little faith in humanity you still possess, but that is just the way it is."

Rachel shook her head, biting roughly down on the inside of her cheek. "You're wrong, Kurt."

"I'm not."

"Well, then." Rachel smoothed her hands over her hideous plaid skirt and wrapped her arms around herself once more. "I'm just going to have to prove you wrong then, aren't I?" She turned around and began to practically skip towards the foyer where Finn was waiting for her, only to be stopped when Kurt gently grabbed her arm to hold her still.

"Don't bring Israel into this, Rachel. It won't work," he said, his jaw set in a stern line.

"Believe what you want about people, Kurt," Rachel told him quietly, carefully pulling her arm free of his grasp. "But I'm going to show you that people do care, whether you think they do or not."

She rounded the corner and took her jacket from Finn, who was awkwardly waiting for her in the foyer so they could go home for the night. "Bye, Kurt!" he called over his girlfriend's shoulder as he opened the door to leave.

"Bye, guys," Kurt acknowledged, flinching slightly as Finn slammed the door behind himself and then running a hand over his face. He felt exhausted.

Sam stuck his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, hunching his shoulders a little against the chilly October wind. His fingers hit the cold plastic of his cell phone and he pulled it out to check again; Quinn hadn't texted him back. Sighing, he dialled the number he had memorised and hoped she'd pick up.

When the ringing stopped and he heard the light click of the phone connecting, he let out a startled breath. "Quinn!" he said excitedly, as though he almost hadn't expected her to actually pick up. "Hi!"

"Hi," came her cold reply. She sure sounded angry.

Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Sam sighed and looked both ways, quickly crossing the street. It wasn't a long walk from Kurt's place to his, but it was cold out, and his fingers were going almost numb. He should have worn a jacket. "Look, Quinn, I know you're mad at me," he said quickly, hoping he could get his apology in before she hung up on him. "I don't really know what you're mad at me for, but I'm really sorry I mad you mad—"

"You don't know why I'm mad at you?" Quinn asked almost dangerously, her voice low and threatening. Sam started to shake his head, but remembered he was on the phone and caught himself since Quinn couldn't actually see him.

"No. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was faking sick—"

"It's not about you faking sick, Sam. People do that all the time. It's about why you're faking sick."

Sam frowned. "Huh?"

"Do you have any idea what it'll look like if everyone finds out you're protesting for gay rights? People will think you're gay, Sam. And then they'll think I'm your beard. Do you have any idea what this will do to my reputation? To yours? You're the Quarterback! You can't just run off to wave around a pride flag. What will people say?"

Sam was almost home, but his feet slowed as he listened to Quinn's angry rant about their reputations. His Nike's dragged along the pavement until he stopped walking all together, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

"It's not about other people. It's about standing up for something you believe in," he argued quietly, looking up as the streetlights switched on silently, illuminating the almost-dusk.

"This whole thing is ridiculous. Who cares what Figgins thinks? You think this little protest is going to suddenly change his views? It won't. And when you get back to school, everyone will know you participated in this thing and that it failed." Quinn's tone of voice had gone from dethatched to positively livid. "You're ruining everything we've worked for!"

"Everything we've worked for?" Sam asked, furrowing his brow and shivering as a strong gust of wind cut through his thin sweater. He started walking again, picking up his pace. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to get back on top after I fell off the social latter last year? I'm Head Cheerleader again, Sam! And you are my Quarterback boyfriend. We rule the school. If you do this, you'll end up in the sub-basement again! Is that what you want? To get a Slushie facial every morning?"

"Some things are more important to me than social status. Our friends are more important than getting high-fived in the hallway on my way to class or being voted for as Homecoming King!"

"Sticking up for the gay kid is not more important than Homecoming!"

Sam froze in mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. "Did you just call Kurt 'the gay kid'?" he asked, a knot of discomfort starting to form in his stomach even as alarm bells started going off in his head. "He's your friend."

"I didn't mean it like that," Quinn backtracked quickly. "Of course Kurt's my friend. He and Mercedes—"

"Do you go around behind our backs calling Mercedes 'the black girl'?" Sam cut her off, feeling oddly betrayed by her words. This wasn't the sweet, gentle girl he'd started falling for. Was it?

"No! I wouldn't say something like that. You know I wouldn't." Quinn's anger had faded into something that sounded like hurt, but it was hard for Sam to tell over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

"Yeah? Well, I didn't think you'd call Kurt 'the gay kid' either, but I guess I don't know you as well as I thought I did, huh?"

"You don't know me?" Quinn demanded, the fire back in an instant. "I have never been anything but honest with you. What about you, Sam? When did you become a gay rights activist? I'd have thought that if you loved someone, you would tell them the things that you're passionate about." Sam could hear Quinn panting through the phone, trying to catch her breath after all of her yelling.

"That's not fair, Quinn," he said quietly, swallowing hard as he turned the corner onto his block.

"What isn't fair is that I thought I was dating one guy, but apparently I'm dating someone completely different. Are you hiding anything else from me?"

"Hiding? I'm not— I'm not hiding anything from you," Sam told her, the knot in his stomach twisting just a bit harder. Liar. He was honestly surprised that his voice hadn't cracked mid-sentence.

"Oh, yeah? Then they are you so ready to jump to Kurt's defence and blow off our dates to fake sick for him? Are you gay?"

"I already told you I'm—"

Quinn cut him off. "—because the only reason I could think of you doing this is because you like him. You like him, don't you? Oh, God. I'm dating a gay guy. That's just rich!" Sam was starting to get really frustrated with his girlfriend. Why couldn't they go back to when it was easy and no one was accusing the other of lying about their sexuality?

"Quinn!" Sam said insistently into his phone, stopping just before his driveway. He could see his mother through the front window, lounging in front of the television watching one of her soaps. The lights in the house were all on except the one in his bedroom window, waiting for him to return.

"I can't even believe you right now!"

"What exactly do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me you'll stop being stupid and just come to school tomorrow!"

"Oh my God. You are being so selfish!" Sam almost spat, his anger and frustration finally reaching a boiling point. "You abandon your friends— the ones who took you in last year— when they need you the most, and you're trying to tell me that I'm a bad person for sticking up for Kurt? Would you abandon me if I told you I was bisexual? Hey, guess what Quinn? NEWSFLASH!"

The dial tone that sounded in his ear not a second later was enough to answer that question.

Sam let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, pulling his cell phone away from his ear and blinking away the prickly sensation of almost-tears. He trudged up the driveway mechanically, opening the front door and automatically climbing the stairs to his bedroom without even saying hello to his mother. He flicked on the light and sat down on his bed, still staring at the screen of his phone that read QUINN in big, flashing letters that indicated a disconnected call.

A little whimper escaped his throat and he coughed to try to hold back another, flipping the phone shut and closing his eyes. Oh, God. What had he done?