Chapter Text
The summer hadn't been particularly kind to Sam. He'd spent the bulk of the season down in Kentucky, helping his dad onsite and working part time at the old DQ. After Mercedes left for LA, he basically had nothing to do in Ohio, and though the medical bills from Stacy's sprained ankle had tempted him to pick up the phone and give the manager at Sugarmama's a call, his conscience won out in the end, resigning the boy to a pretty monotonous couple of months.
The only thing that got him through the days had been Rory. Their visit to his hometown in Ireland had been so special to Sam, what with how close the two boys had gotten and how much they'd shared while they were there. He missed that kid, and while Facebook was great for brief little interactions and the occasional long-distance DM, it was nothing compared to seeing him face to face.
Truth be told, Sam was bored.
He'd spent a lot of time in July helping Rory out with his appeal, gathering testimonials and documentation from the school -- he'd even taught himself how to use a fax machine -- but he'd barely heard from the other boy since mid-August, and given that the turning of the seasons had come and gone and school was now officially in full-swing, Sam pretty much laid any hope of seeing Rory again to rest. The application had probably been rejected, and Rory may very well have decided to cut his losses and focus on his life back home.
The thought of it made Sam's stomach turn, like he'd been tossed aside and left behind in the dust. It was the same feeling he'd had when Mercedes had broken up with him the last time.
"I really love you, Sam," he remembered her telling him, "But I'm getting out of here, and I need you to understand that."
He'd offered to come with her, of course, but she was adamant that he needed to finish school.
If you asked him, it sounded like she just didn't want him dragging her down while she was out there following her dreams.
So there he was, sat front and center in the middle of the choir room, listening quietly as Brittany cast aspersions on Blaine about the validity of his citizenship. Apparently, the two were the only ones running for student class president, which Sam found a bit funny considering how much of a bloodbath the race had been last year.
"I'm wrapping up the election by selecting Artie as my running mate," she announced.
Wait, what?
He wasn't going to lie, he was a little stung by that. Sam had really been enjoying hanging out with Brittany. He didn't expect it considering how much of a trainwreck his relationships with Santana and Quinn had been, but the two actually got along great, like two golden-haired peas. He was the only one that saw through her meltdown during their second Britney week, and they'd spent pretty much every night since hanging out at the park or going to the movies.
The last couple days though, she'd been kind of... distant? Sam couldn't quite explain it, but he felt like she was icing him out a bit. He'd offered to help her with her homework for Mr. Schue's history class, an offer she'd accepted, and when he suggested they study at her house, she'd shut him down instantly. And it's not like he'd never been to her house before -- back in August, her mom had contracted his dad's company to help put in a jacuzzi for her Thursday night wine and fireworks shows, and they'd gotten to hang out at the end of the day working on the followup to 'My Cup,' which they'd tentatively titled 'My Cat.'
"I think that by bridging the human/robot divide," she began, "We'll ensure that both students and vending machines will be voting for us."
Well, it was hard to argue with that. Still, what the hell?
"Still not a robot," Artie said.
From behind him, Sam heard Blaine say, "Brittany, that's not fair. This isn't a popularity contest, it's about who's got the best ideas. It's about believing you can make a change."
"What is that taste in my-" Artie wondered aloud. "Is that sour grape?"
Sam took note of the way Sugar hung on his every word, and he chuckled as he remembered the great war for her affection Artie had spent the last Valentine's Day raging with Rory. It was a sweet memory, but a pang of regret rang through his chest as he remembered how he'd been so wrapped up in his drama with Mercedes that he'd forgotten his promise to be his friend's V-Day sponsor.
Yet another missed opportunity to spend time together.
God, how he missed Rory. The first day of school had been the worst, with the blond boy searching for his face in every new student, every hallway and classroom his schedule brought him to. Glee club felt so empty without those sad eyes, and sure, there were perhaps some even bigger voids to fill, and maybe those were contributing to his dour mood as well, but Sam had been so excited to see Rory again this year, especially after the way they'd left their visit, and it all had amounted to what? Nothing?
Sam just couldn't accept that.
"Oh, and one more thing," Brittany said. "As one last little treat, I'd like to give you all a taste of what I, as president, could bring to this school in my second term."
Sam watched in passive interest as Brittany, without another word, approached the choir room door, which was conspicuously shut. The rest of the club was waiting on baited breath to see what sort of gimmick Brittany had waiting behind the door, but honestly, with the way that Sam had been sleepwalking through the school year so far, he just couldn't bring himself to care.
That was, until he saw what was on the other side.
*******************************************
Rory could practically feel his heart beating in his throat. It was his first day back at McKinley, and his stomach was filled with more butterflies than the enclosure at Tropical World. Unknowns were racing through his mind: What was everyone going to think of him being back? What would Sam say? Hell, what would Mr. Schue say? Would they even let him back in the club after he'd so dramatically announced his deportation last year?
He knew in his head that all of these thoughts were frivolous and he shouldn't pay them any mind. That everyone would, at the very least, be mildly glad to have him back. Still, standing here outside this door, waiting for Brit to come out and usher him in, he couldn't stop himself from wondering whether he should've played it safe and spent the rest of his secondary school years back home in Donegal. At least there he was safe. At least there he never got bullied, or had to fight anyone for solos, or spend afternoon upon afternoon in the back of the choir room. In Donegal, he was the life of the party. He may as well have been the main character, for crying out loud.
Here though, listening through the door as Brit announced the details of her candidacy, Rory couldn't help but wipe away the layer of sweat that was forming above his brow.
For their part, her parents had been absolutely delightful in welcoming him back into their home. Brit's little brother Cameron was spending the year in a boarding school in New Hampshire, so they were happy to have someone to help fill that void in the house, even if he was once again relegated to the guest room. Her father was still his same unusual self; they'd once again picked him up at the airport, but unlike last time where they greeted him with nothing more than a milkshake and a sign, this time they'd enlisted the McKinley High marching band, which Brittany had led in a rendition of 'Shipping Up to Boston.' It was such a sweet gesture that Rory didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't even an Irish song, instead getting to work making a playlist of authentic Irish music he could subtly put on around the house.
Still, he had to admire her tenacity, given how hard she'd gone for it on the vocals. He didn't think the airport staff had the same appreciation for her craft however, as the four of them -- as well as the band -- had been promptly escorted from the building.
Back outside the choir room, Rory heard what sounded like the pitter-patter of footsteps, the sound of which sent the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. On instinct, he turned to walk away, his feet attempting to put some distance between him and the feeling. Just as he went to leave however, the door opened, and out stepped Brit.
"Are you ready?" she whispered.
Oh god, was he ready? Was little Rory Flanagan, in his favorite red shirt and his little black and white creepers that Mammy had gotten him for his birthday, ready to go in there and face the people he'd worked so hard get back to?
"Hey," Brittany said, walking up to the visibly nervous boy. "What's wrong?"
Truth be told, Rory couldn't tell her what was wrong. Not because he didn't want to, but because whenever he tried to put it into words, it all fell apart. It was nonsense, basically, that he'd be so anxious about stepping into a room he'd sat in hundreds of times before and reintroduce himself to some of his closest friends.
"I-I..." he began, before trailing off, the words dying in his throat.
It wasn't until he felt a soft hand on his arm that he was able to find himself back in reality. The touch grounded him, and though the voices didn't fade entirely, with a deep breath, he was able to at least put them on the back burner.
He looked up from his arm and into Brittany's excited eyes.
"You can do this, Rory Leprechaun," she said.
The earnestness in her voice filled him with determination, and with a smile, he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go."
Slick as ever, Brittany slid one arm behind Rory's back and led him to the door. That moment seemed to last for an eternity, but with a breath, Rory swallowed whatever was causing his anxiety and walked right through that doorway and into the choir room.
It was exactly the same as he remembered. Everything from the placement of the piano to the generic music posters on the walls to the arrangement of the chairs, it was all identical to how it looked in his memory. It was, however, much more lightly packed, and the absence of Finn in particular struck him right away.
He barely had a moment to register that however, as he was immediately greeted with a frenetic chorus of "WHAT"s and "HEY"s from his friends in the club. There were the usual suspects: Tina and Blaine immediately got up to greet him, and though they hadn't been as close, Artie and Joe also seemed plenty happy to see him.
None of them had time to get to him however, because within a second's time a certain blond boy had closed the distance between them and pulled him into a bear hug that threatened to crush every bone in his torso.
How good it felt to be back in Sam's arms. He was just as strong and warm as Rory remembered, and as the older boy lifted him into the air, Rory caught a whiff of his conditioner, and the scent of Sam Evans once again filled his nose.
"I missed you so much," Sam whispered, just loud enough for Rory and Rory only to hear.
Rory laughed, or at least as much as he could under the weight of Sam's grip. "I missed you too, you big lug."
Suddenly, Sam seemed to remember where they were, because without another word, the blond boy set him down on the ground and took a step back, allowing Rory the space to greet the rest of his friends.
It was Blaine who next wrapped his arms around the Irish boy. "You're back!" he exclaimed. The two had been somewhat close last year, sharing many a lunch together as Kurt rambled to Rory about everything from pop music conspiracy theories to drama in the theatre world.
"We thought you got deported," Tina added, before pulling him into a hug of her own.
While the two of them had never hung out much, he and Tina were perfectly friendly, and they'd gotten to know each other a bit back during mash-up week when she'd offered to back him up on his verse. And Rory had always liked Tina. She'd always been very friendly and warm with the boy, and given the amount of friends they'd had in common, Rory figured she was good people.
"I did!" Rory admitted. "But Sam here really came through for my appeal."
"Well, we're grateful he did," said a voice from behind him. Rory turned and was met face to face with Mr. Schue, the man to whom he owed so much. "Glad to have you back, kiddo," he said, before pulling him into a quick hug.
A few more greetings were in order, particularly a pair of fist bumps with Joe and Artie. It wasn't until he looked around the room that he locked eyes with Sugar, who was looking very, very ticked off.
Great. He was going to have to deal with that later.
Near Sugar sat a few faces Rory didn't recognize. In one seat he found one of the prettiest girls Rory had ever seen. Her brunette hair glistened in the same chocolate shade as his, and between the Aran sweater and the newsboy cap, he figured she was a girl after his own heart.
Next to her sat... was that Unique?
As in, Unique Adams, star of Vocal Adrenaline, AKA their competition at last year's Nationals and the person who beat out Rachel for MVP.
He'd never seen her like this, clad in a polo shirt and neutral blue jeans, with not a lick of makeup adorning her round face. Even her hair was different.
She looked, for lack of a better word, normal, very unlike the onstage persona he was familiar with, and though Rory had a few questions about gender and the like, he knew she identified as a girl, and if it meant they got to have her on their team for Sectionals, he was happy to put his ignorance aside. Besides, it's not like it mattered much. He met Unique as a girl, and if everything he'd heard about her was right, that was how she wanted to be perceived, so he had no problem filing her away in his brain as female.
Finally, there was this... guy.
Uh...
Fuck, he was really hot. He wore this worn-out leather jacket that perfectly settled around his built arms, and his face looked like it had been chiseled in marble. He was stunning to behold, and the sight of him genuinely caught Rory off guard.
All three of them shared a look of utter confusion.
Oh well. Rory would just have to introduce himself.
"Who's this?" asked the Adonis.
"Yeah, cause last thing we need is another country bumpkin stealing my solos," added Unique.
So it begins.
"This," Brittany began, leading Rory by the shoulders to the center of the choir room, "Is Rory Leprechaun."
"Flanagan," Rory corrected. "Rory Flanagan. I'm not a leprechaun."
"Are you sure?" the unreasonably attractive boy asked, "Because you sound like you swallowed a shamrock, laddy."
"Jake," Mr. Schue began, a warning present in his tone. "Rory is an exchange student from Ireland. He spent all of last year in this club. He was with us through every performance, every competition, and we are blessed to have him rejoin us this year."
As Mr. Schue spoke, the rest of the club, sans Brittany, retook their seats, with Sam stopping to pat him on the back. As they locked eyes, the older boy shot him a look that seemed to say, 'We need to talk.'
"Rory has returned," Brittany said, "And it's all thanks to my ingenuity and leadership as senior class President. If you, my peers, choose to elect me, not only will I make sure Rory never leaves us again, I will make it illegal for anyone to be deported by the US government while inside this school."
That actually didn't sound too bad.
Of course Rory was voting for Brit. How could he not? She'd literally opened her home to him, and part of the deal this year was that, in exchange for the continued use of their guest room, Rory was to be her social media manager. He'd made both a Facebook page and Instagram account for the campaign, and within less than 24 hours, they'd already managed to amass a base of nearly 12 followers; the same amount that Christ had started with, mind you.
"Okay, no," Blaine said. "Brittany did not bring Rory back to America. Sam spent, like, a month helping him with his appeal."
"We did all give testimonials," Tina agreed.
It was true. They had all been instrumental in helping him get back here, so as much as he'd wanted to speak up in support of Brit, in the interest of not biting the hands that fed him, he decided to sit this debate out.
"Okay yeah," Brittany conceded, "But it was my vision as a leader, a philosopher and, dare I say, a prophet that laid the groundwork for his return. Here-"
Brittany walked over to Mr. Schue's office, and from it she withdrew a massive pin board collage, decorated with various pictures from last year, some of which featured Rory.
"This is my vision board," Brittany said. "On this, I am able to manifest the future. Look-" She gestured to an image of her and Santana on V-Day. "Here I manifested a happy continuing relationship with Santana while she's away at college." She then gestured to an image of her cat in what appeared to be a circle of chairs, each filled by other equally overweight cats. "Here I manifested Lord Tubbington kicking his addiction to bath salts." Finally, she gestured to a photo of the two of them taken by her mom at Breadstix. "And here I manifested the return of my friend, Rory Leprechaun, as well as his safe passage through the River Styx, which as we all know causes you to lose your accent and become American if you fall in."
"So is he, like, in the club now or what?" the boy known as Jake asked, voice laced with discontent. "Because after all the stuff you made me go through to get my spot, I think it's kind of wack that he gets to waltz in here like he's owed one."
Rory watched as Sam turned around in his seat. "Rory's already paid his dues. I think you should worry more about paying yours." Rory couldn't see his face, but he knew what Sam looked like when he was angry, and Jake's reaction told him everything he needed to know.
"Mmm, I don't know," Unique began. "Womanizer might be right about this one."
The unreasonably pretty girl nodded. "Yeah, I mean, you guys may have worked with him before, but we haven't. Shouldn't we at least get to see what he can do?"
From beside him, Rory heard Brittany exhale, and he could feel the anger bubbling up inside of her.
"Marley," she said, "Your questioning of my rule is un-American and, frankly, bordering on treason. If you do it again, I'll be forced to report you for your communist sympathies and have you detained."
"Guys!" Mr. Schuester interrupted in an attempt to put a lid on the bubbling conflict. "Rory is one of us, end of story. Now, why don't you guys take a seat?"
Rory didn't want to get off on this foot with his new teammates. Quite frankly, he had anticipated much worse, so if it took auditioning again to win their trust, that was fine by him.
"Mr. Schue, I honestly don't mind," he said.
Mr. Schue gave him a look of confusion. "What?" he asked.
Rory shrugged. "It sounds like they wanna hear me sing before they welcome me into the club, and I don't know who I'd be to say no."
"We know what you can do, Rory," Tina said. "You don't have to prove anything to us."
"I know, but I do to them," he said, gesturing to the new kids. "Besides, last year I only got to sing ballads. Over the summer, I met some people who taught me how to move, so if I may, I'd like to sing something a bit more uptempo this time."
With a nod, Mr. Schue stepped aside, leaving Rory alone in the middle of the choir room. The younger boy then approached the band and whispered something to them, quiet enough so that the others wouldn't be able to hear. The players nodded, and with a flourish of brass, they played the opening salvo.
"Do I look lonely?" he began, turning back slowly to face the club.
"I see the shadows on my face.
People have told me
I don't look the same."
It had been a while since Rory had dipped into his lower register. Part of the reason he chose 'Death of a Bachelor' was because of the opportunity it provided to show off his vocal range. As he sang his way through the verse and into the hook, he remembered Áine's teachings from his night at the George, incorporating the moves she'd taught him into the performance, and one look at his fellow glee clubbers told him that he was nailing it.
The chorus was a bit of a stretch for his chest voice, so he made sure to dip into his falsetto when appropriate, earning a few excited cheers from Sam and the rest. Tina, who he knew had had a major goth phase, was particularly taken by the performance, mouthing along to every word, so Rory took care to cater a few of his moves to her.
By the time of the final chorus, the whole club was into it, and even Mr. Schue was looking at him with pride, clearly impressed by how far he'd come vocally in only a year's time. Everyone was absolutely living for him.
Everyone, that was, except for Sugar, who made a point of rolling her eyes and turning her nose up at him when he got near to his seat. Rory wasn't about to lie and say it didn't bother him; he hadn't meant to bug her, and clearly his presence here was itself enough to sour her mood, so he spent the rest of the number playing to the people who were actually happy to see him.
Namely, Sam, who wore a look that showed a mix of pride and another emotion that Rory couldn't quite place. Sam was the one that Rory had been the most nervous to see after all, despite knowing in his head that they were probably just going to pick up where they'd left off in Belfast, so to see him so proud, so happy to have him back, sent Rory's heart aflutter.
He finished strong, mixing his falsetto into his belt on the last "How could I ask for more," before ending the number with a pose, back turned to the club with his head peering over his shoulder.
Just like Gaga.
The last note played on the sax, and the club jumped to their feet, erupting in a sea of cheers and applause. It was all Rory could do not to completely double over in nervous laughter, and he watched as Sam turned back to Jake with a terse, "Good enough for you?"
By the looks on their faces, Unique and Marley had been completely won over, and even Jake couldn't help the smile on his face as he reluctantly clapped his hands, taking the time to throw in one last eye roll for good measure.
Sugar, on the other hand, was less impressed. As Mr. Schue approached to formally welcome him back to the club, she interrupted him by standing up, grabbing her bag and storming out.
"Sugar-" Mr. Schue called after her, but it was too late. She was gone, and what should've been a triumphant moment for Rory was spoiled by the pang of guilt ricocheting through his chest.
It was hard for the club to hide their discomfort. Drama was brewing, and none of them wanted any sort of hand in it.
As if right on cue, the bell rang, and the rest of the club began gathering their things.
"I'll go talk to her," Artie announced.
"No," Rory said. "Please, let me."
With the wave of a hand, Artie relented, and Rory turned to go. Behind him, Sam approached. "Need any backup, dude?" He asked quietly.
"No," Rory said decisively. "This is my mess."
*******************************************
One year later and Rory still knew exactly where to find Sugar: head in her locker, sifting through the mess for a stray textbook or homework assignment.
He didn't know how to have this conversation, in part because he didn't quite know what he was apologizing for. After all, she had been the one who dumped him, and judging by how close she and Artie seemed to be getting, he didn't know how much of a right she had to be upset.
All that was noise however to his Mammy's voice in his head, demanding that he apologize for making her upset.
So, he approached, making his presence clear with the clearing of his throat.
When that gesture prompted no reaction from the redheaded girl, Rory decided to be direct.
"Sugar," he began, "I just wanted to talk-"
"I don't," she said, cutting him off.
Okay.
"Um..." Rory trailed off, not quite sure where to go from there. There's only so much you can do when someone completely shuts you down, and Rory was left at a loss for words. "Well, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
At that, Sugar retrieved her book and slammed her locker shut. "Uncomfortable?" she repeated, an accusation slashing at him right beneath the word. "You're sorry if you made me uncomfortable?"
Rory squirmed under her words. "Well," he began sheepishly, "Aye?"
"I'll tell you what makes me uncomfortable," Sugar began. "A cute guy spends an entire week trying to win my heart, including buying me a dog that I then have to rehome because I'm allergic to his fur, and just when I'm set on wheeling off into the sunset with the man of my dreams, he sings me a song about how he's getting deported, and I have no choice but to settle for him and his cheap cologne that smells like dead leaves. Then, after we make out on V-Day, which is my favorite day of the year, he spends the rest of the month never calling me but making sure to sit next to me in glee club and pretend like we're BF and GF. And when I get bored and go on a date with the captain of the hockey team, he's all 'I thought we were together,' and 'How could you do this to me,' despite never calling me, never answering my texts, and barely leaving me with a kiss on the cheek between classes! And come to find out that the very premise of that sham of a relationship was itself a lie!"
A crowd had formed, and everyone was chomping at the bits to hear the end of Sugar's rant.
"You know what makes me uncomfortable, Rory Flanagan?" By now, Sugar had well and good backed him into a corner, index finger pointed square in the middle of his chest. The tip of her nail scratched the bit of exposed skin beneath his collar, making him flinch in pain. "You! You make me uncomfortable! So, fine. You're back. Congrats. Hope you find another girl to lead on. But guess what, baby, it is not gonna be me this time, because you have officially missed your window, just like your ancestors missed their window to invest in a more versatile crop! Not Asperger's!"
With that, Sugar once again stormed off, leaving Rory to collect what remained of his dignity surrounded by a sea of entertained onlookers. Among them was a Jewish boy with a blue and white microphone who Rory had known to harass people in the halls.
The boy approached, and shoved the microphone in Rory's face.
"Rory Flanagan," he said in perhaps the nasaliest, weaseliest voice Rory had ever heard, "Perverted leprechaun turned V-Day con artist. How does it feel to make every woman you meet hate you?"
As Rory was about to respond, he noticed the camera behind the boy, pointed right at him in his moment of humiliation.
"Is that thing on?" Rory asked.
"Yes," the boy answered, "And if you try to shut it off, that is infringing on my rights as a member of the free press."
Some press. Rory figured the boy really fancied himself a journalist, going around hounding people during their lowest moments. Yeah, he'd seen the clips on YouTube of this guy hurling ethnic stereotypes at Tina and Mike, or eating slushy off of Kurt's shoulder after he got one thrown on him during an interview. It was brutal, but Rory wasn't about to become yet another meme on this muckraker's channel.
"Oh, I'm not going to try and shut it off," he said, and took a moment to plaster on his signature Rory grin.
"You're... You're not?" asked the boy, who Rory believed was named Jacob Ben Israel, or JBI for short.
"No," Rory said right into the camera, eyes turning devilish. "I just wanted to encourage everyone watching to vote for Brittany S. Pierce in the upcoming election for senior class president. As McKinley's first two-term president, Brittany would make an excellent continued contribution-"
Jacob's cameraman lowered the camera, and the two of them, plus the crowd, dispersed without another word.
Well, if not his dignity, at least he still had his wits.
*******************************************
His classes went by without incident. He still hated maths, and he was still just as useless at chemistry as ever, but at least he got to take history with Mr. Schue this year, and Señor Martinez had an infectious energy that made Spanish much more accessible.
Between classes, Rory met up with Brit in the halls to discuss campaign strategy. Thankfully, Rory's quick thinking had prevented the JBI clip from going viral, and Brit's latest post about her three-point plan to make school a safer place for people of European descent had proven so popular with the conservative student body that one of the new Cheerios had shared it on her page, skyrocketing the campaign in popularity. Of course, Rory had more than a few misgivings about the type of attention they were attracting, with the comments being flooded by calls for Blaine to be detained by the border patrol, but ultimately they were just votes.
"I'm thinking we could do a photoshoot next," Rory said as he and Brit strode down the hall towards Mrs. Delgado's anatomy class, "Where you're posing all political like, with the constitution in your hands."
"Can it be a copy of Madonna's sex book? I really want the kids in this school to feel liberated," and before Rory could ask what Brit meant by that, a familiar voice rang out from behind them.
"Hey," the voice called, and up beside them strode the one and only Sam Evans. "Why didn't you ask me to be your running mate? I'm like the perfect candidate." With a brief nod, Sam said to Rory, "Hey, dude, how was Sugar?"
"Ah, she'll be fine," Rory lied, not wanting to draw focus.
With a nod, Sam turned back to Brit. "But for real, what the hell?"
"Well," Brit began, "I didn't want it to ruin our friendship. I mean, look at Sarah Palin."
Wherever Rory thought this conversation was going got lost somewhere behind them, and it was all Rory could do to try and keep up with what was sure to be a wild analogy.
"She and her grandfather, they were super close," she continued, "And then he asked her to be his running mate, and they lost, and now they're not even speaking."
Rory was no expert on American politics -- he had a hard enough time telling the Taoiseach from the PM and didn't need another system of government floating around in his head -- and even he could tell that that didn't sound right.
"But I do think you'd be a great Vice President," she finished, "So, I'm going to help you out."
Rory watched as Brit took Sam by the arm, and tried his best to ignore the jealousy that burned a hole in his gut by following their path to one Blaine Anderson, who was busy looking through a textbook at his locker.
"Blaine Warbler," Brit announced, and Rory chuckled at the nickname. "I'd like to introduce you to Sam Evans."
"Um, we've actually met several times," Blaine said matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, well I would've introduced you to Rory but he looks a lot like Kurt and I wouldn't want to make you sad."
Wait, was that true? Now he was comparing the two of them in his mind: did he look like Kurt? Maybe in the hair, but Kurt was always much more styled than him, and Rory could never pull off his wardrobe.
"Okay," Blaine said, nodding patiently, "Well, I gotta get to class."
"But I haven't even gotten to the best part," Brit said with a chuckle. "This-" Brit gestured to Sam, "is your candidate for Vice President."
"Uh, no. I'm- I'm picking my own running mate," Blaine protested, and Rory smiled at the photo he had of him and Kurt stuck on the inside of his locker.
Again, no resemblance.
"My family's on food stamps," Sam said, "So that'll get you the sympathy vote, I'm not gay, so that'll help with the not-gay vote, and, y'know, I don't wanna brag but-" Suddenly, Sam's face transformed, and out of his mouth came a voice sounding like it belonged to a ranch hand from an old John Wayne movie, "My impressions are hilarious a hundred percent of the time."
As much as the 'not gay' comment hurt Rory's heart to hear, the adorable impression did help to soften the blow, even if Rory couldn't tell if he was supposed to be Clint Eastwood or Comeback Tour Elvis.
"George Bush, come on," Sam said, answering Rory's silent inquiry.
"Okay, sure," Blaine relented.
Brit was all smiles. "Awesome! First order of business, Artie and I challenge you and Sam to a debate."
"Stop the lights, Brit," Rory said. "What?"
"You're on," Blaine responded, immediately pouncing on the opportunity.
This was not a good idea. Rory knew that anyone would be able to steamroll Brit in a formal debate; he'd seen her lose arguments to her cat. Factor in someone as smart and steady under pressure as Blaine, and Rory was about to find himself out of a job.
"What's a debate?" he heard Sam whisper into Blaine's ear.
Well, at least Brit wouldn't be the only dumb blonde on the stage.
*******************************************
It was right as he was finishing up getting changed at the tail end of gym class that Rory got a text from Artie.
'Bad news,' the text read.
Immediately, Rory replied, 'Oh god, what now?'
He knew that Brit's campaign hadn't been the landslide she'd expected so far. JBI's most recent polls had her neck and neck with Blaine, and though he was doing everything he could to drum up support online, including creating a video of her singing John Lennon's 'Crippled Inside' to raise awareness for disability, the support had begun to plateau. Neither the Facebook page nor the Instagram account had seen any growth in nearly an hour, and Rory was beginning to panic.
His phone dinged again. 'JBI just posted. 90% of his correspondents said they were only planning on attending the debate to hear Brittany say something stupid.'
'Oh no,' he thought. 'This was going to crush her.'
Rory knew just how much Brit hated being perceived as stupid, and though he couldn't help but laugh at some of the naive things she let out on a daily basis, he also knew her heart, and the emotional intelligence she held beneath that ditzy surface.
'What are we going to do?' Rory typed.
'Damage control,' Artie responded immediately. 'We need to spend as much time as we can prepping her.'
And with that, Rory got to brainstorming. After a brief back and forth, the two boys came up with a plan to spend their free period doing debate prep with Brit CNN-style, and Rory had the brilliant idea to shoot a video around the session.
Not ten minutes later, the three were sequestered off in Mr. Hullum's geometry classroom, which he left unattended during his lunch hour. As Artie spoke, Rory filmed on a digital camcorder he'd fished out of the lost and found, figuring it must've been of better quality than the dinky little camera on his iPhone 4.
"Brittany S. Pierce," Artie began, "How do you react to the characterization of your first term in office as one in which you didn't do anything at all until prom?"
"I would describe that as entirely accurate," Brittany answered frankly.
'Fucking hell,' Rory thought. Getting some usable footage was going to be a bigger uphill battle than he thought.
For her part, Brit certainly carried herself like a politician. If she had one decent advantage in this debate, it was undoubtedly her unshakable confidence. Even standing there at the podium, she commanded attention, radiating calmness and certainty in her useless answers.
Rory shot Artie a look from his place by the tripod, and signaled to him that it was time to start softballing.
Clearly having gotten the message, Artie switched gears. "What is your favorite color?" he asked.
After a moment of thought, Brittany responded, "Filipino. They're very hard workers and family is very important to them."
Only someone as sweet and innocent as Brit could manage to misunderstand a question as simple as her favorite color. It was entirely opinion. It didn't even have a right answer, and still she'd managed to pick the wrong one.
"Artie," Rory began, "Should I stop recording?"
Though Rory was beginning to have doubts, Artie seemed to have a contingency plan.
"You know what?" he said, "Let's talk wardrobe."
And suddenly, the promotional video turned into a montage of Brittany and Artie digging through the costume closet, trying on suit after suit until they found the right one. It was as if a switch had flipped in Artie's brain, as Rory watched the boy go from responsible running mate and coach to visionary director right before his eyes.
Artie recommended a more personality based approach to the video, a la those Vogue 73 Questions interviews that had begun making the rounds on YouTube, and Rory floated the idea of turning it into a music video, riffing on a few ideas he'd had during the making of their Lennon tribute. Brit suggested the song 'Celebrity Skin,' which made sense considering Santana had spent the past year educating her in the ways of Hole and Garbage, and Rory wondered if Brit was in some way doing this all for her.
Every time he'd posted to one of their pages, Santana had always been the first person to like and comment, a telltale sign that the other girl had turned on notifications specifically for the accounts, and though Rory was grateful for the foundation she'd been providing, he also appreciated how hard it must've been for them to be spending so much time apart. He'd gotten a taste of it with Sam this summer, and he couldn't imagine how difficult it was for the girls to maintain a real, genuine long-distance relationship under those circumstances.
The video turned out to be a success, ending with Brit in a blue, Sarah Palin-esque blouse/pencil skirt combo with her hair pulled back into a bun. Brit was clearly having fun with the makeover, as she finished off the look herself with some nonprescription glasses and a sensible pair of heels. One of the girls from the AV Club helped recording Brit's vocals -- apparently they went way back -- and after about an hour in the library with some rudimentary editing software, the video was done.
Within minutes of it being posted online, Brit's accounts saw a massive surge in likes and follows. People who didn't even go to McKinley were typing in the comments '#TeamBrittany,' '#Brittany2012,' and Rory's favorite, '#ReadyForBrittany.' Fan accounts sprang up, reposting images of Brit from her campaign, comparing her side by side with the likes of Hillary Clinton, Michelle Obama and Eleanor Roosevelt, just to name a few. Some even attempted to draw favorable parallels with conservatives like Ann Coulter and Maggie Thatcher, and good old Artie knew enough about those women to have Rory put out a statement distancing them from the comparisons.
Through it all, there was Santana in the comments, posting about how proud she was of her girlfriend and getting into fights with any naysayers that dared come onto her radar. Watching Santana verbally eviscerate all who were vocally #TeamBlaine, Rory admired the tenacity that drove her partnership with Brittany. The digital corpses of such accounts were proof of the power of their love, and as happy as he was for the two of them, he silently longed for such a partnership for himself.
He didn't have to look too far to find the object of his desire either, as Sam was right there underneath all of their posts, cheering on his competition.
He was so supportive. Damn him for being such a good person.
And for being so handsome, too.
And funny.
And attentive.
And so good at impressions.
Fuck.
Rory was absolutely smitten with him.
*******************************************
This was it. The day of the debate was here. The day that would decide everything.
After the debate, it was right on to the polls, and Rory knew that Brittany's performance today was going to decide her fate as McKinley's first two-term president.
Truth be told, Rory didn't care much about the election itself. It didn't matter to him one way or another who was president, and some part of him even knew that Blaine would've probably made a better leader anyway, but he knew how much it meant to Brit, so if anything, he wanted to help win this for her. She'd been so kind to him, so forgiving, and she'd given him so much during his time in the States, so if there was anything he could do to help pay her back, he was more than happy to do it.
Besides, he and Artie had worked so hard on this campaign. It was really gonna piss him off if it all crashed and burned in the eleventh hour.
Rory had arrived at the auditorium (or the April Rhodes Civic Pavilion, as he'd read on the placard above the entrance) a couple minutes early to set up. As he made his way through the heavy, soundproof doors, he came face to face with the one person in this school he'd been hoping to avoid.
There Sugar was, bright as day, sitting in the handicapped section and chatting up a storm with Artie. The two seemed absolutely enraptured by each other, and Sugar hung on every word as Artie walked her through his plans for his vice presidency.
Before he could think to stop it, the heavy black door closed shut behind Rory with a loud slam, and suddenly both of their heads snapped in his direction.
This was awkward.
Neither party spoke, and given the way Artie was looking at him, Rory figured Sugar had probably just finished venting her grievances to him about the lad's return.
Rory squirmed under Sugar's gaze, and knowing that there was nothing he could do or say to weasel his way out of the encounter, the newly-minted Junior instead opted to walk straight past the two without so much as a 'Hello.'
He found a decent vantage point at the center of one of the middle rows. Here, he was close enough to the stage to get a decent shot of both podiums, but not so close that he was looking up at them in any way. Given that both podiums were miked, he wasn't too worried about sound, so upon setting up his tripod, he found himself with nothing much to do until the debate began.
He listened as Artie said a hushed goodbye to Sugar, and for the next few minutes, he sat vigil in his seat, feeling the full weight of the death stare he knew she was giving him.
Over the course of the next ten or so minutes, the auditorium filled up with students and faculty, who seemed genuinely eager to hear what the candidates had to say. The turnout was a bit sparser than Rory had hoped, but he knew what kinds of numbers to expect from JBI's polls, and given that Brit's following had grown to be primarily digital, he wasn't too surprised at the thin crowd.
As the lights dimmed, a spotlight shone on the side of the stage, and out sauntered Sue Sylvester, who had somehow been convinced to moderate this thing. Given his experience with the coach, Rory figured someone in the administration probably had a bit of dirt on her, as he couldn't think of anything else that would've gotten her to take the reigns on an event like this.
"Attention, minuscule segment of the student body," she said upon reaching the moderator's podium. "Principal Figgins is out this week," she explained, "With what he describes as religious fever."
There it was. And so the introduction went on.
"There are two new utterly disheartening wrinkles to this year's absolutely pointless contest," the coach continued. "First, the horrifying fact that this year's slate of candidates consists entirely of glee club members."
At this, Rory let out a hearty "Whoo!" in an attempt to get the crowd engaged.
He seemed to have made a miscalculation however, as Coach Sylvester responded with a swift, "One more sound out of you, Flanagan, and I'll have ICE in here and you in chains."
That shut him up. Rory's lips curled in on themselves, and a knot of embarrassment twisted his gut as he heard a few of the students snicker behind him, Sugar no doubt among them.
"Secondly," the coach went on, "The inexplicable introduction of a vice presidential field for no discernible reason whatsoever."
"Separation of powers!" the stoner kid from Rory's gym class announced, standing and attempting to rally the audience to what Rory assumed was a leftist cause. Unfortunately for the kid, whose name Rory recalled to be Brett, the crowd iced him out harder than the coach had threatened to do to Rory.
"So, let's meet these second-tiered losers," the coach announced. "You know them as the pimp and the gimp: Artie Abrams and Sam Evans."
With muted applause, the curtain rose, and out came the two VP candidates. Artie was dressed in the political attire they'd settled on earlier that day, meanwhile Sam had opted for a neo-conservative red power tie and suit to match.
God, how handsome he looked.
Throughout the entire line of questioning, which Artie predictably sank his teeth into, Rory fantasized about his and Sam's star-crossed romance, and the scandal of a love affair across party lines. He imagined himself in a government building, dressed up in a suit with a tape recorder in his hand and a press pass around his neck, being cornered by Sam about some story he'd ran about the older boy's shady big business connections, and the dirty money that was funding his campaign.
He imagined himself being pressed up against a wall, Sam's firm hands holding his chest in place as he whispered threats of blackmail that sounded like poetry. And just as he imagined himself leaning in, closing the gap between their profane mouths, Coach Sylvester moved on from Artie's incredibly longwinded answer, to which Rory had forgotten the initial question.
"Merciful sweet Jesus, thank you," the coach said, followed by a very muted applause, courtesy of one audience member in particular. "Sam Evans," she said, "Your response?"
"I wasn't really listening," Sam admitted, and Rory couldn't help but admire the sculpted swoop of his bangs and the way his tie perfectly formed around his muscular neck. "Whatever Artie said, I agree with that." Upon finishing, he turned to look offstage, where Rory guessed Blaine was probably throwing up his hands in frustration at Sam's non-answer.
Cute AND nonthreatening to Brit's campaign? Sam was the total package.
"Our next question is from the Twitter," the coach announced. "@HungrySouthMouth asks Sam Evans: 'Rumor has it you were a stripper. Aren't you ashamed?'"
Sam let out a deep sigh, and instantly Rory's blood boiled at the ignorant, judgment-laced question. The only reason Sam had worked as a stripper in the first place was to help support his family, and even then, it wasn't anyone's business but Sam's alone. Righteous indignation flooded Rory's veins, and as Sam looked around the room for support, the two boys locked eyes.
Rory did his best to shoot his friend a look of support, and with a nod, Sam shot him a smile.
"No," Sam said, and Rory admired the conviction in his voice. "I'm not." And as Sam took a step back from the podium and towards center stage, Rory heard a small drumbeat fill the auditorium.
As the beat faded in and Sam walked further and further downstage, Rory started to recognize the song, and had to physically restrain himself from gasping when Sam skillfully removed his tie with practiced grace and precision, undoing the top buttons of his shirt in the same movement.
"Shake that," the song went, and as the beat to 'Party Rock Anthem' dropped, Sam removed his shirt entirely, exposing his glorious body for the whole auditorium to see.
Though this was not what Rory had meant to suggest with his supportive look, he certainly wasn't complaining. He hadn't seen Sam shirtless since they were alone in his room, and there was something strangely thrilling about seeing him up there, gyrating on stage, so confident with all eyes on him, that he had to discretely cross his legs, just in case anyone was looking. He felt a tickle on his chin, and found a trail of drool that had conspicuously formed on his lower lip.
The entire auditorium erupted in horny applause, not unlike the kind he'd witnessed back at the George in Dublin, and suddenly he found himself grateful that he'd begun rolling the minute the debate began. Sure, he'd have to sift through all of that footage of Artie delivering his 24,000-point plan for the betterment of McKinley High's student body, but it was worth it to relive the glory of this student's body in particular.
With that, Coach Sylvester decided to pump the brakes on the VP debate, and ordered the two boys to vacate the stage. Within minutes, both Blaine and Brit were at their podiums, and the moment of truth was upon them.
"Students at this school have every right to be angry," Blaine announced. "Last year's student council, led by my opponent, was the most ineffectual in a generation." Blaine was a great speaker, and in response to his strong opening statement, Rory posted that him holding his cards as he spoke was a sign of big market interference, as Artie had taught him was a surefire way to sow dissent in his voter base. "Brittany S. Pierce, in her last term, accomplished absolutely nothing, except plan a dinosaur-themed prom and ban the use of hair gel."
'So what,' Rory thought. 'The prom was a hit and Blaine's hair gel looked like a cat wrapped in cling'n seal.'
With a breath, Blaine tucked his cards away in his jacket pocket, and Sam emerged from the wing to join him onstage. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "Telling anyone what they can or cannot put into their hair is disgusting. It's the first step towards tyranny, my friends. Next thing you know, they'll start burning books, and then they'll probably start burning people too."
If Rory had to give Blaine points for anything, he certainly knew how to speak with emotion. It was clear that Blaine's charisma was itself a threat to their campaign, as was his ability to make baseless claims about human sacrifice, and the thought alone was enough to make Rory craft another post about Blaine's mafia connections.
"That's a lie," Brit interjected.
Blaine pounded his fist against the podium. "This tyranny all ends today, McKinley! I want to offer you a change, and I am that change. Let's make history, Titans, and vote Anderson-Evans. Thank you."
Crap. People were applauding. Clearly, Brit's team wasn't the only one that had spent time prepping for this debate, and Blaine spoke so clearly and with such conviction that it made Rory himself think about jumping ship.
'Come on, Brit,' he thought. 'Bring us home.'
"Sweet, simple Brittany," Coach Sylvester began, "What say you?"
Rory waited on baited breath as Brittany took a moment to gather her thoughts. Artie had spent a lot of time preparing her cards, and all she had to do was say the words with clarity and strength, something that, for everyone else, wouldn't have been a tall order.
But if Rory had learned anything about Brit over the past year, it's that she was the furthest thing from everyone else.
"Um..." she began tepidly, and shared a look with Artie. With a breath, she returned her attention to the crowd. "I love you," she said, and a hush fell over the crowd.
It was at that moment Rory realized she wasn't reading off of her cards.
"I love you so much, McKinley High School," she continued, and Rory felt like he was gonna be sick. "Simple as that. In fact-" Feedback rang out from her microphone, shooting a sharp pain through Rory's eardrum. "I think that everyone should love this school as much as I do," she declared, taking the mic from its stand and stepping around Artie, coming to rest downstage. "If you elect me as president, I promise to outlaw summer vacation so we'll have school all year round."
'Huh??' Rory thought, eyes widening as he shot up in his seat.
"That means we'll spend every day of every summer," she continued, and suddenly all hope of winning this election drained from Rory's body. "-indoors, with all our friends in McKinley High School's award-winning air conditioning."
All that work, for nothing.
"Also," Brit went on, and Rory's breath hitched as he wondered what she could possibly say to dig their grave even deeper. "I promise to end McKinley High School's policy of having weekends."
At that, Rory softly closed the viewfinder on his camcorder. He searched the stage to gauge everyone's reactions, and found Artie struggling to contain the same mix of despair and frustration that Rory felt bubbling up inside himself.
Sam and Blaine, on the other hand, were loving it.
"If you make me your president," Brit relentlessly continued, "Saturday and Sunday will be illegal, so that Monday will come right after Friday, which is the funnest day anyways. Vote Brittany and Artie. Thank you so much." Finally, mercifully, she finished and returned to her spot at the podium.
Looking around the auditorium, Rory took in the bewildered looks of his classmates. The new girl, Marley, looked particularly perplexed, and Rory envied the fresh eyes with which she was experiencing Brit's madness; it hadn't gotten excruciating for her yet. Likewise, the golden god Jake, who had his arms around what looked to be two sophomore girls, wore a look of befuddled humor, and in that moment, Rory understood for the first time what an epic fail truly felt like.
*******************************************
So yeah, obviously they lost. Coach Sylvester announced the results the next day, and that evening, the student body threw a massive party for Blaine and Sam at Breadstix.
Whatever.
"Yeah! Make some noise!" Sugar exclaimed as confetti rained down from the ceiling. "We know him!"
Rory watched bitterly as Blaine accepted congratulations from Marley, Tina and even Brit's own team. Of course, they'd made an appearance, and it was just as humiliating as Rory'd expected it to be. At least Artie was taking this whole thing on the chin, shaking Blaine's hand with a smile on his face, although Rory suspected his budding romance with Sugar was part of the reason for his good mood, and suddenly Rory was once again reminded of just how alone he was.
At least he had a cookies and cream milkshake to drown his sorrows in. The administration had splurged and authorized an open menu, to be covered by the school, apparently to celebrate the student body's initiative in turning out for the polls; Brit's promise to end summer vacation had galvanized people across grade lines to vote her out, turning out in record numbers, and they ended up losing by the widest margin in the school's history.
'You're welcome,' Rory thought as he bitterly sipped his milkshake, knowing that the money from their Nationals win was funding this party in the first place.
"Hey sad eyes," he heard from across the table, and as he looked up, he locked eyes with the one person in the world who could make him feel better. "This seat taken?"
Immediately, a smile warmed up Rory's gloomy face, and the younger boy gestured for Sam to sit.
"Congratulations," Rory said as Sam slid into the booth. "I'm really happy for you, Sam."
"No, you're not," Sam said knowingly.
Reluctantly, Rory nodded, and with a sigh responded, "No, I'm not."
"You know how I know?" Sam asked.
Rory chuckled. "The eyes?"
"No," Sam said, shaking him head. "It's this-" He gestured to the milkshake in front of the boy. "You always get cookies and cream when you're feeling down."
Wow. Rory knew Sam was attentive, but he didn't expect him to have such a deep well of knowledge that he could just clock him like that.
"You pick that up when we were in Ireland?" Rory asked.
"No," Sam said with a chuckle. "I noticed that time after Sugar dumped you and we made that DQ run. I've never seen someone eat a Blizzard that fast and not get brain freeze."
Rory smiled at the memory. His eyes drifted over to where Sugar was sitting, and the boy whose lap she was sitting on.
"What's going on?" Sam asked.
"She hates me," Rory sighed. "And there's nothing I can do to fix it."
Sam smiled softly to himself. "I didn't know you were still into her."
"That's the thing," Rory said. "I'm not." And, turning back to Sam, he finished, "I just want peace."
Sam nodded. "Is that it?"
Rory shrugged. "I dunno." He tried to trail off, but he couldn't ignore the expectant look Sam was shooting him. "I guess I just hate feeling like I failed."
Sam cocked his head. "What?"
"I've been back for all of five minutes," Rory said, "And I've already lost an entire election. I just... didn't expect to feel like a loser so soon."
At that, Sam threw a napkin at the younger boy, smacking him right in the face.
"You didn't lose the election, dumbass," Sam said jovially. "Now, stop moping and be proud of yourself."
Rory threw the napkin back at Sam, and asked, "What for?"
"For that crazy-ass social media campaign you ran," Sam answered. "You built her a following out of froshes, upperclassmen and people who don't even go to this school. You got her on the local news, for Christ's sake!"
At that, Rory perked up his head. "Wait, what?"
Sam fished out his phone and presented it to Rory. On the screen was the website of a local newspaper, and the front page featured a picture of Brittany in her Sarah Palin drag, right below the headline, "Glee Club Champ-Turned Social Media Star Humiliated in Landslide Student Election."
"It's about her loss," Rory observed.
Sam took his phone back and, with a shake of his head, responded, "It doesn't matter. The point is, she's on the front page of the Lima Listener, and it's all because of you. To me, that's an achievement. And for the record, you didn't lose her the election. That last minute monologue about making summer illegal lost her the election. Okay?"
Rory took this in, and when he didn't offer much in the way of a visible reaction, Sam hit him lightly on the arm.
"Okay?" the blond boy repeated.
Rory laughed, effectively broken out of his little slump. "Okay, okay." Rory looked up at Sam, whose glowed in the party lights.
"There he is," Sam said, and tossed that napkin back to Rory.
Catching it, Rory asked, "Well, what about you? You must feel pretty proud of yourself so."
Sam smirked. "I dunno," he admitted.
"Oh, catch yourself on," Rory said. "You and Blaine ran one hell of a campaign."
"Really?" Sam asked.
"Oh aye," Rory said with a nod. "That striptease during the debate was particularly brilliant."
Sam's eyes lit up. "Oh, you liked that, huh?"
"I admired your craft," Rory said, hands raised.
"Well," Sam began, "You should. It's an art."
"It is," Rory agreed.
"People don't know how technical it is," Sam said.
"Oh, I believe it," Rory nodded. "The way you unbuttoned your shirt while ripping off your tie was especially impressive."
Sam smiled. "That move always makes the ladies go nuts."
Right. Ladies.
"You always know how to cheer me up," Rory confessed. "Whenever I'm feeling blue, there you are to shake me up and put a smile on my face."
"Well, I like your smile," Sam admitted. "And the feeling is mutual."
Rory smiled sadly to himself. "Sorry if I'm troubling you. I know you're trying to have a good time."
At that, Sam kicked Rory under the table, earning him a startled "Ow!"
"You're not," Sam said. "Don't even say that."
As Rory nursed his poor shin, he joked, "Kick me like that again and I won't even consider working in your cabinet."
Sam laughed, and for a moment, they just looked at each other.
"Are you real?" Sam finally asked.
The question made one of Rory's eyebrows raise. "How do you mean, like?"
"Are you real?" Sam repeated. "Are you really here? Is this happening?"
The implications of the question struck Rory. "I hope so," he answered.
Not knowing how long this moment of sincerity was going to last, Rory decided to take advantage of the opportunity to do something bold. Taking one last sip of his milkshake, he reached across the table and took Sam's hand in his.
To his surprise, the older boy didn't immediately pull away. He'd half expected Sam to pull back and get all quiet, or worse call him weird and storm off, but he didn't. Didn't say anything or move at all. Hell, he didn't even dart his eyes down to their hands nervously. He just sat there and let him do it.
There they were. Two boys, in the middle of a busy restaurant, confetti flying all around them, just sitting there and holding each other's hands in silence.
Rory noticed that Sam's eyes had begun to drift, and a shadow had overtaken the emerald beauties he loved so much.
"Now who's the sad eyes," he quipped.
Sam flashed him a sad smile, and went to scratch a sudden itch on his nose, unfortunately using the same hand Rory was holding to do it. Silently, Rory withdrew his hand, and the two resumed their platonic arrangement.
"Yeah," Sam admitted. "There's a lot of that going around, huh?"
At this, it was Rory's turn to flash Sam a half-grin, the best he could muster in that moment. He didn't know what Sam was thinking, and he could feel it eating away at his gut. He wanted so very much to reach down deep inside of Sam and find the source of this turmoil the boy was clearly feeling, if not just to know its face. He didn't have to take it from him if it wasn't something he could take. He just wanted to see it for himself.
After a moment more of sitting in this strange silence, Sam went to stand.
"Well," he said, "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"You're not leaving, are you?" Rory asked.
"Yeah, Burt and Carole always do family dinners on Friday night and I think not having Kurt and Finn in the house is really bumming them out."
"Oh, alright." Rory watched as Sam turned to leave, and just as the other boy was reaching the door, a strange determination bubbled up inside of him. "Sam, wait!" he called. The older boy stopped, and Rory went to meet him where he stood. "I hate to ask, but could I tag along?"
"Brit's not driving you?" Sam asked.
Rory looked over to where Brittany was drowning her sorrows in a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. He hadn't even spoken to her since they'd lost, and quite frankly, he was afraid of her being mad at him again. He was not looking forward to another month of tense silence at the Pierce family dinner table, so anything he could do to give her space was worth it in his mind.
"I don't think so," he said, turning back to Sam. "One time I caught a ride with her to school while she and Santana were in a fight, and she ended up driving us to the First National Bank to take out a loan for some lesbian commune thing."
The boys shared a laugh, and Sam remarked, "I guess that's just what happens when you love someone that much."
Rory nodded. "So, can I get a ride?"
For a moment, Sam was silent, and Rory felt every inch of his body as the other boy scanned him up and down.
Eventually though, he relented. "Sure," he said, and without another word, the two gave the party an Irish goodbye.
Sitting there in the passenger seat of Sam's pickup, listening as the radio cycled through the DJ's playlist of modern bro-country classics, Rory thought to himself, 'How lucky am I?'
Sam cracked the window, letting in a small stream of the breezy Ohio night. It tasted different than home, somehow muggier and fuller than the sweet, crisp air of Rory's beloved Donegal, but it wasn't bad at all.
In fact, the way it mixed with the pine-scented air freshener that dangled from Sam's rear-view mirror felt familiar, warm.
Like home.
Finally, he was home.