The Impossible Children

Kurt couldn't recall much of the previous night, but he remembered going to bed so he assumed he had just slept really deeply and without dreaming. Still, despite that distinct probability, he felt exhausted. He closed his eyes again for a moment and then reopened them. He moved to check the time, but soon regretted it for two reasons.

One, it was almost noon. How had he managed to stay in bed half the day? It wasn't as though he had an actual reason to get up earlier, but it was the very principle of the matter.

Two, a wave of nausea hit him hard as soon as he moved. He groaned and lay back down. Dr. Samuels had said the sickness might be ending soon, but that had been a couple of weeks ago. Evidently, Kurt would not be so lucky.

His motivation to get out of bed had waned. What was the point? All it seemed he had to look forward to was being more sick and more tired, not to mention the depressing reminder that he had nothing to do and nothing to look forward to except things getting worse.

If he got up and ate something mild and drank some water, it might help ease the nausea; he knew this. Still, the idea of actually ingesting anything was unappealing. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle.

“Do you think one of us should go check on him?” Rachel asked. “It's after noon, and he's still in bed.”

Santana seemed to be considering it. “He was up late last night,” she commented, “I don't know what he was doing, but I heard him moving around. I was just praying he wasn't moving furniture.” Rachel frowned and turned her big, brown eyes on Santana, pressuring her for a real answer. Santana sighed. “He probably just wants to be left alone.”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll— ”

Santana cut her off. “I know he doesn't want you fussing over him. I'll go make sure he's okay at my own risk.”

“'Fussing'? Really? I do not fuss...”

Santana just rolled her eyes and left Rachel to rant alone.

“Hey, La— ” Damn it! Why was that stupid nickname so hard to stop using? Now was definitely not the time to call Kurt a lady. Come to think of it, maybe calling him that had always been wrong. Santana shook her head. “Hey, Kurt, is it cool if I come in?” She said on the other side of the privacy curtain surrounding his bed area.

She was met with several seconds of silence. “You're actually asking?” was the incredulous eventual reply.

“Hey, I'm still traumatized from the last time I entered unannounced,” Santana said, but they both knew that she had other reasons. They were just willing to pretend it was some great fear of seeing Kurt in the nude again that motivated Santana's actions rather than any sort of kindness or sensitivity. Santana really appreciated how Kurt knew she could be nice and acknowledged it without putting it back in her face and making it all weird or making a big deal out of it.

“You may enter, by the way,” Kurt said, after another pause.

Santana moved the curtain slightly and stepped into the “room”. Kurt was still in bed and was curled up his side on the very edge. He had his arms wrapped around his growing midsection, and he looked very pale and sickly.

“Berry wanted me to make sure you weren't dead or something,” Santana said, “Should I poke you with a stick to be sure?”

“Probably,” Kurt said, “but please don't.”

He wasn't just physically ill though. Santana saw that look in his eyes that he typically got on his more difficult days. Today was gonna be a depressed, staring at the walls, laying around, and quietly crying kind of day. She'd rather die than admit it, but it made her heart (that she totally didn't admit to having) break a little for her friend.

He would want to be alone, especially if on top of the depression he was pukey, but he probably did not need to be. She wouldn't tell Rachel this, but Rachel had been totally right to want to check on Kurt. They would need to keep an eye on him today.

“Do you need anything? Like water or crackers? Or...? I don't know whatever else helps with the whole puking thing?” Santana asked.

Kurt made a noise and heaved a little. “Ugh. I don't know. Maybe don't say that word though.” He paused. “Thanks though.” His eyes were closed, and he was taking deep breaths.

“Have you eaten anything?” Santana asked with some concern.

“No,” Kurt replied, “Everything sound gross.”

“Uh, okay.” Santana didn't really know how to argue with that. “Well, I'll leave you alone now, I guess... if that's what you want.”

“Okay,” Kurt said.

Not long after Santana left, Rachel came barging in carrying a sleeve of crackers and a steaming cup of what Kurt had to assume was a tea of some kind of mint or some similar concoction. Rachel meant well, but the smell of it was turning Kurt's stomach.

Willing himself not to vomit, he asked, “What is that?”

“This? It's a mint tea. I read that it's supposed to help with morning sickness,” Rachel said.

“Well, tell that to the parasitic invader,” he retorted, heaving, “'cause apparently it hates mint.”

“That's odd. Mint is supposed to settle your stomach.”

“Yeah, go figure,” Kurt said with irritation. He quickly leaned further over the edge of the bed to grab his nearby trashcan, so he could make use of it. Once finished, he shuddered and added, “Men aren't supposed to get pregnant either, but here we are.”

“I was only trying to help,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, well, you failed,” Kurt said. After a pause, he said, “Sorry. Thank you for trying though, really.”

“I-I guess I'll go get you some water instead,” Rachel said, “You need to eat something though. I read that the sickness is worse on an empty stomach.”

“You've been reading too much,” Kurt responded, “but okay.”

He watched her go and then closed his eyes. As terribly out of character as it normally would be, he wondered if maybe he should just give up and sleep all day. He was certainly tired enough to do so, and when he was asleep he could escape his waking nightmare (even if that escape sometimes just led to more nightmares.)

It wasn't like it really mattered anyway. He had no reason to even be awake. His options were basically be awake and both feel awful and apparently freak out his roommates or stay in bed and make it all stop for just a little while.

He was tired of things happening to him; he felt like he had absolutely no control over his own life. He had become just a passive figure, just letting things— bad things, almost always bad things— happen to him, and having no choice or say in the matter. He just had to deal with it, and he was so tired, so very tired of dealing. He felt utterly lost and hopeless.

“He's really bad today,” Rachel said when she left Kurt once again, “He barely said two words to me when I brought him that water.”

“Yeah,” was all Santana said. She was still and quiet.

“I'm really worried about him, San,” Rachel said, “He's been like that a lot lately. I'm scared— I- I don't know what he's gonna do.”

“Yeah,” Santana repeated, “Yeah, I know.”

“We need to do something,” Rachel continued, “but... I don't know what to do.” Rachel had a penchant for melodrama, but when she was truly, seriously upset about something she could be shockingly subdued.

“I'm thinking of things,” Santana said, watching Kurt as he finally emerged.

Adam was just leaving the auditorium after a meeting with the Apples (yet another meeting where he continually found himself looking at the door as though that could make Kurt come through it), when he received a call from a strange number. He studied the number displayed on the screen with some confusion, contemplating whether he should answer.

“Hello,” he greeted with hesitance once he had made the decision to answer.

He got no further than that. "Listen, Downton Abbey, we need to talk.”

“Santana? Is that— ?”

“Yeah, listen. Kurt's being stupid, and I guess it's up to me to stop him from making regrettable and idiotic decisions at this point,” the voice that Adam knew had to belong to Santana continued.

“Now hold on a minute— ” Adam began.

“Look, I can't or probably shouldn't tell you exactly what's going on, but stuff is going on with Kurt, and he needs you, even if he's too stupid and hard-headed to admit it.”

For a moment, Adam was utterly speechless. He wanted to argue with Santana, protest at the way she was speaking about Kurt (even if Kurt had hurt him), but on the other hand Santana had just said that Kurt needed him. “What?” was all he could manage.

“Kurt's either gone off the deep end or he's about to. He thinks keeping you away is a good idea for some reason. Like I said he's being— ”

“Okay,” Adam interjected, “Enough. Stop calling him 'stupid' and all that.”

“Oh c'mon! You can't possibly be defending him right now! The guy's been ignoring you for weeks. Besides I was gonna say ridiculous that time.”

It did hurt, yes. Just being reminded of it made it sting anew. Still, he could play all that close to his chest. “I-I'm sure he has his reasons. If he wanted me involved in whatever's going on with him, he'd let me in, but obviously he doesn't.” He ended that more bitterly than he had intended.

“Okay,” Santana said, and something about her tone had subtly begun to shift into something utterly unfamiliar to Adam, “Listen, it's like this. This whatever, this thing that's going on with Kurt. It's serious.”

Something about the change in Santana's normally hard and aggressive demeanor into this stranger, gentler form coupled with the words “it's serious” caused a slight panic in Adam. He dropped his guard, not something one commonly does facing Santana. “What's going on? Is he alright?” Now he was practically showing her his soft underbelly.

She didn't eviscerate him surprisingly. She continued. “He's— I don't know. It's weird. You just need to come over and see him. There are things going on that I can't even begin to explain right now, and Kurt would probably kill me if I tried, so I'll leave it up to him to explain.”

“But wouldn't that be a bit weird, showing up unannounced? I mean Kurt doesn't even want me there.” He sounded more wounded than he would have liked. It was as if he had forgotten everything he'd ever known about acting all of a sudden. He silently cursed himself.

Still, Santana didn't ridicule him. “Kurt wants you there. He won't admit it, but it's so obvious.” That was a little more like normal Santana, but it was quickly followed by the weird, softer version, “He really needs you. I-I'm honestly worried about him. Just come by tomorrow, okay?”

Santana wouldn't lie about something like this, surely. “Absolutely, of course,” he replied, “I'll be there.” With what he was hearing, and with how much he already wanted to see Kurt, he wished dearly that he could just go to the loft right then.

They worked out a specific plan and decided he'd show up around five, if he could stand to wait that long. Then, in conclusion, Santana added, “Oh, and you tell anyone about this— ”

“Got it,” Adam agreed with an amused grin, “I won't tell a soul that you were ever kind to me or Kurt.”

“Better not,” and with that the strange phone call ended.