Count To Ten

Prologue

Kurt Hummel had spent a lot of his time watching Rachel Berry. He had watched her before he really knew her, simultaneously awed and disgusted at her ability to dress like a five year old prostitute. He had watched her during Glee, when her drive and passion got the better of her and made her an obnoxious force. He had watched her interactions with Finn and was torn between feeling sorry for her pitiful attempts at seducing him, being angry at how she threw herself at the boy he'd had such a huge crush on, and feeling the urge to slap some sense into her. He'd watched her getting slushied, humiliating herself, singing her heart out, storming out of rooms and standing her ground. Over the years, he'd felt all kinds of emotions towards her. But it had never been like this. Because in this moment, with her standing before him, her fists balled up at her sides, her eyes dangerously sparkling and her voice set firm as she told him to fuck off (and he was sure something very wrong had to be going on when Rachel Berry actually used the word fuck), she really was almost a scary as Santana. And, actually, kind of hot, Kurt thought, though he didn't dare voice his assessment out loud. He was, after all, undeniably and rather obviously gay, and Rachel, having been subjected to countless insults stating she was anything but feminine probably wouldn't appreciate the thought. And it wasn't really that he suddenly found girls attractive or that he would start drooling over her or anything like that. But he had always been able to respect and find joy in the beauty of a person, no matter the gender or his personal feelings towards them. And Rachel Berry passionate? Definitely a sight to behold. Of course, her being who she was, he had seen her passionate before. She was passionate about her dreams and goals, about glee club, about anything she set her mind to, but he had never seen her passionately angry, and even if it sounded dumb, it suited her.

Rachel heaved a heavy sigh, bringing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. He didn't even know what was going on, but he was sure he was going to find out. "So…what's got you in such a mood?"

"Nothing", she said. "Just…"

"What?"

"I wanted…but then Santana…we had…and Quinn…I didn't…"

"Full sentences, please, Rachel."

"It's not important."

"Yes, I'm sure about that, but I still want to know."

"Leave it alone, Kurt." She was starting to work herself up again, he could see it, and honestly, he was getting a little kick out of it.

"Rachel." He let her name hang in the air, confident she'd feel the need to fill the silence.

"What do you want to hear from me?", she asked, tiredness seeping into her voice.

"Tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours. You mentioned Santana and Quinn?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, tough. Wait, it's not about Finn again, is it?"

"Kurt, just…shut up. Shut up, okay? Not everything is about Finn. In fact, if you'd just pay some attention to what…" He had some trouble understanding the rest of her angry rant. She was running around, her arms up in the air, her voice alternating between a mumbling and a high-pitched scream, but he did hear Santana's name again and something about a bad advice and then something about Quinn and a song, and it was enough to make him more than curious. If she'd just calm down then maybe he could get the whole story out of her, but she didn't even seem to realize he was there anymore. Rachel Berry passionately angry? Getting old soon.

"Okay, drama queen", he started, fighting the urge to just shut up and let her be (exactly what she had asked of him, but no fun at all) and taking a step back when she looked like she would come at him and strangle him to death with her bare hands, right then and there.

"What?", she asked. From her tone – again eerily similar to Santana's, threatening and cowing – he understood she didn't look for an answer or even a continuation of the conversation. He decided he didn't care.

"Just stop making a scene." For almost a full minute, she simply stared at him. Then she opened her mouth and closed it again. He saw her taking a deep breath, seemingly composing herself, and then she opened her mouth again. He braved for one of her ridiculously long rants and was surprised when the only word that came out of her mouth was "Seriously?"

This time, the first association his mind came up with was not Santana, but Grey's Anatomy, a TV show that had utilized the word to its very extent and he had to laugh at the thought of Rachel Berry and him starring in the show. If the recurring plots were any indication, he should probably be making out with her right now, then turn gay again and leave her alone and hurt, until she found her true soul mate in a soon-to-be dying stranger. But they weren't in a TV show, and Rachel looked like she would lung at him any minute now if he didn't stop laughing, so he did.

Another shriek from Rachel and a high-pitched "seriously?" (she really had perfected that high F) and he realized he should probably add something to his statement. Also, if Santana was involved in whatever was going on, he needed to tread carefully, because while Rachel was known for being straight-forward, tactless and driven to the point of aggravating everyone around her by her sheer presence, she was also too nice for her own good and unexpectedly self-conscious. Vulnerable as she was at the moment, Santana would have a field day.

"Look", he said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. Just forget I said anything. Let's pretend I never said anything."

"I'm not making a scene. I'm not", she emphasized.

"I know. I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted you to, I don't know, count to ten or something like that. So you can calm down, ok?"

"Counting to ten is what got me into this mess in the first place."

"What does that mean?"

And then she told him. And when she was done, it was completely silent in the room, which shouldn't have come as a surprise. She was all talked out and he was speechless. Silence was absolutely logical. But Kurt felt like there should be noise. Like the sound of a car crash or a plane starting or people shouting or – probably the most fitting – some kind of soundtrack. Because this story? Total movie material. Especially when the door flung open and an angry Santana Lopez walked up to them, completely ignored him, took Rachel's arm and dragged her out. The last thing he heard was "One week! You knew it was bad advice and you still followed it for a whole week! What's wrong with you? We're going to fix this! Right now!"