Professor Elaine Goetz was a caustic, sarcastic middle-aged woman in long, flowing harem pants and an oversized, rumpled purple blouse, bangle-bracelets dangling and clinking on her wrists.  She shook them out as she flipped on a projector, shining bullet points about the proud history of improv theater, and commenced riffing on them at length.

Kurt leaned his head on his hand as he jotted down notes, grateful that there would be at least some lecture portion to the class today.  But soon even note-taking was laborious, and he laid his pen down and shut his eyes, just for a moment.  His writing hand slipped under the desk and he rested it on his belly, feeling around for his daughter's kicks.  Now that he accepted her as a reality, he liked to check frequently to make sure she was still moving.  

He pressed around his belly, frowning.  She was probably sleeping.  Nothing to worry about.  After a moment of pressing his hand against his sweatshirt without finding any movement, he cautiously drew his leather messenger bag up from the floor and retrieved a juice box.  Uncapping it, he drank a few long swallows quietly, then ran his hand over his belly again.  He was relieved to feel the baby rouse herself in response to the sugary drink, and give him a resounding flurry of kicks.  Smiling, he let his eyes drop shut again, and just enjoyed the sensation, the knowledge that even as he sat here doing nothing, a tiny life was being formed.  

“Mr. Hummel!” Professor Goetz shouted from beside him.  

He squeezed the juice box involuntarily, sending a geyser of juice all over his hand and notebook.  “Yes - - yes, Professor?” he squeaked, grabbing a napkin from his bag and wiping up the juice.

“I'm afraid it isn't snacktime yet, Mr. Hummel.  If you're done cleaning up after yourself, please join your fellow performers for this exercise as I just asked you - - twice.”

Kurt scurried to the front of the room, where Adam Crawford and Rachel were already waiting, along with Paul and Jason, two catty young freshmen who had attached themselves to Rachel's coattails early on and who had nothing but disdain for him.  Adam and Rachel looked sympathetically at him, but as he turned to face the class, he knew that most of them shared Paul and Jason's opinion of him.  He was the class loser, a schlub, as Mr. Bernstein at his favorite kosher deli might say, and if they knew the real reason for his fat gut and lack of stamina and attention, hed be the class freak on top of that.

He limped through the exercise, with Adam and Rachel throwing him broad clues sufficient to have a vague idea of what the improv assignment was, and picking up the great majority of th ework, but he was shaky and tired, and discouraged by his classmates' snickers and eye-rolling.

“That'll do, Mr. Hummel.  Sit down, please, and see me after class.”

“Yes, Professor,” Kurt whispered, fighting back treacherous tears and feeling his face heat up.  He crept back to his seat and fought the afternoon drowsiness as best he could for the remainder of the class.

Finally, the professor ended the class.  Rachel and Adam sent him covertly supportive glances as they filed out.  

Professor Goetz leveled her gaze at him a long moment before speaking.  “I know you have special accommodations from Madame Tibideaux, but those allowances will only take you so far.  I expect you to pay attention in this class, be prepared, and perform adequately; and today, you have failed on all counts.”

Kurt bit his lip and looked away, anger rising up in him.  Professor Goetz was single, had no children, nobody but herself to worry about.  She had no idea what he was going through.  How many nights he lay awake worried about Blaine and their babies, and what was ahead for them, then got up early to walk on swollen feet to see his bedridden husband at the hospital.  Then to hours of the toughest classes he'd ever had in his life.  Nothing he'd done at McKinley had prepared him for this exclusive college, especially not Mr.  Schue's feel-good, loopy “lessons” about the Bee Gees or the Eagles or Journey and how they related to their life in the 21st century.  Which was not at all.  

“Mr. Hummel?  Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“No, ma'am,” Kurt muttered through gritted teeth. Taking a sharp breath in, he said more smoothly, “Just … I apologize for my inattention today.  Won't happen again.”

Kurt kept his head up high while walking out of the classroom, acutely aware of the other students milling about the hallways.  Adam and Rachel were waiting across the hallway.  He deliberately hooked a sharp left and headed for the stairs, trying to avoid their sympathetic questions, but they caught up with him, falling into step on either side.

“So what'd Goetz say, Kurt?  Are you in trouble?” Adam ventured.

“She just said to stay awake in class.  Which she had every right to.”

Rachel's piercing voice piped up, seeming to echo throughout the stairwell, “But you're doing your best! It's not your fault that –“

“Rachel!' Kurt exploded, giving her a warning look, and she subsided, dropping her chin to rest on the books clutched against her chest.

They rounded a corner in the stairwell in silence, before Adam clapped a hand on his shoulder.  “Well, screw Goetz anyway, Kurt.  How about grabbing a little dinner, maybe a drink?  Take your mind off it?  C'mon, it's Friday.  Let's celebrate.”

Kurt gritted his teeth.  He'd told Adam several times that he didn't drink, but Adam always forgot and kept asking him to Callbacks or one of the other NYADA bars.  “Not tonight.  I think that was a warning sign I need to get more rest, so I'm going to - -“  he paused.  He was actually going to the hospital cafeteria to buy a healthy, if boring, dinner and take it up to his pregnant husband's room, to eat while Blaine had his DASH diet meal from a tray.  Like he did every night.  Then he was going to go home and watch TV and go to sleep.  Alone.

“I'm going home,” he finished dully.  Rachel slipped her arm through his and squeezed it sympathetically.

“I can stop by and watch Homeland with you, if you're up to it,” she offered.  “Finn has a late class, so we're going to Callbacks later with Brody and some other people.”

“Hey, Homeland sounds like fun,” Adam said hopefully.  “Mind if I join you?  What dorm are you in, Kurt? You've never said.”

Kurt pressed Rachel's arm firmly by way of warning.

“Actually, I'm going to bed early tonight.  So thanks, Rachel, but I have to go.”  He dropped Rachel's arm and started walking toward the exit.   As he reached it, he saw that it was already dark outside, with the days getting shorter, and the office workers were on their way home for the day, rushing by shoulder-to-shoulder in that furiously rushed way New Yorkers had.  Kurt felt tired looking at them and shut his eyes, leaning against the wall a moment.   He hated battling his way through the crowds this time of the day.  Adam nudged his arm.

“Listen, Kurt,” he said earnestly.  “I … I get the feeling that I've offended you somehow.  If I've done something wrong, just tell me.”

Kurt was acutely aware of Rachel hovering in the background of the conversation.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he drew a deep breath.  “You haven't offended me.  I'm just tired, okay?  I'm not up to hanging at a bar tonight.  You saw what happened in class.”

“Yeah, I saw.  I know you don't like to talk about yourself, Kurt, but … what's wrong?  Why are you always tired?”

Adam's eyes were soft and kind, his face friendly and scrunchy under his tousled blond hair and beanie. He had such a nice face, it made Kurt want to confide in him, to tell him everything.  It would be a relief not to have to hide with everyone at school, and to have a friend to really talk to besides his husband, his brother, and his sister-in-law.  But something held him back.   He just couldn't take the chance that Adam would think he was crazy, or that he would be overwhelmed by Kurt's situation and not want to be friends at all anymore.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he finally answered.

“I worry about you, you know,” Adam said softly.  He reached for Kurt's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and Kurt looked down, embarrassed, while freeing his hand.  “You spend all your time alone.  You never do anything fun.  I'd just like to see you relax and hang out once in a while.”

“I'd like that too, but between school and … and the Apples … “

Adam sighed.  “I know it's been busy.  But … I've been meaning to mention … with you winning the duet spot, we really should get in some extra singing practice on top of the regular rehearsal.  That way we can focus on the choreography and group harmonies in practice.  I think we ought to meet at school tomorrow, say around 11:30 so you can sleep in, and practice for an hour or two. Then I'll treat you to some lunch at a great British-owned pub I know to make up for making you practice on a Saturday.  It'll be fun.”

Kurt hesitated, and Adam nudged him with his shoulder.  “C'mon.  We need the practice, and you need a little fun.  Is it a date?”

Rachel widened her eyes over Adam's shoulder and Kurt flushed.

“Well, I'll meet you for practice, anyway,” he murmured.  “We'll see about … about lunch.”

“Great. Seeya, Kurt.  Bye, Rachel,” Adam tossed over his shoulder, before nipping away toward the subway station.

Rachel materialized beside him as he watched Adam bound off.  “What are you doing?”

“I'm going to see Blaine and then I'm going home.”  He started trudging in the direction of the hospital, when Rachel's voice floated after him.

“Are you going to tell Blaine about Adam?”

He whirled around and marched back up to her.  “Yes, I'll tell him I have a special duet practice tomorrow.  That's all there is to tell.  Nothing's going on, Rachel, so quit insinuating otherwise!”

Rachel looked at him steadily, her big brown eyes grave.  “That guy likes you, Kurt.  He likes you and you're not telling him you're beyond taken, you're married and about to be a father. What's that about, if it's totally innocent?”

“You're being ridiculous.  He's just a friend,” Kurt spluttered. “The only friend I've made here.  And I'm not telling him because I know once he finds out, he won't be.  Okay?”

“If he won't be your friend when he finds out, then he isn't your real friend anyway.”  Rachel shrugged.  “I think you're selling him short.  Give him a chance and tell him tomorrow.  You can't put it off forever, anyway, right?”

“I know, but … once I tell him, it'll change everything.  It'll make it real - - and - -“

Rachel smiled sadly.  “Kurt, it already is real.  Whether you face it or not.”

~ * ~

“What's for dinner tonight?” Kurt asked idly, as Blaine removed the gray plastic lid from his plate and set it, dripping with condensation, on the side of his tray.  The steam reached him and he recoiled slightly.  “Oh.  Cod again.”

“And steamed broccoli,” Blaine said glumly.  “Yay.”  He picked up his fork and started eating without enthusiasm.  “It's good for baby, though.  That's what's important.”  He looked pointedly at the meatball parmigiana sub Kurt was wolfing down from the cafeteria.

“It's got protein!” Kurt protested through a mouthful of sub. “It's not that bad!”

“Ah, I'm just jealous,” Blaine admitted.  “When Ari's born, I intend to celebrate with a foot-long sub.  Actually, I'll have one in each hand.”

“Sexy,” Kurt said, popping open a chocolate milk.  “The two of us will be quite a sight in our mom jeans.”

Blaine laughed.  “That we will, Mom.”  He held out his skim milk and they clinked cups.  After taking a sip, he asked, “So, how's school going?”

Kurt shrugged.

“What about the social life?  It's Friday, are the other kids going to Callbacks tonight?”

“Rachel and Finn, and Brody are.  And some of Rachel's friends.”

Blaine eyed him.  “Well, are you going?” he asked pointedly.  “You might as well.  In a few short weeks, we're going to be pretty tied down.  I know you can't drink, but you could sing and hang out.  Get to know your classmates a little.”

“I'm actually kind of tired out,” Kurt said slowly, dropping the tin foil from his sandwich on Blaine's tray.  “It's all kind of catching up with me.  The pregnancy, school.”

“Spending so much time visiting me?” Blaine asked.  He looked guilt-stricken.  “Kurt, is that it?  Is that why you never socialize?”

Kurt shook his head, reaching for his husband's hand.  “There's nobody I'd rather spend time with.  And you need me.”

Blaine looked so relieved and pleased at the half-truth that Kurt was glad he hadn't admitted … that the twice-a-day long visits on top of school was getting difficult for him, that he was eight months pregnant too and needed a break sometimes.  He loved Blaine so much, but it was getting exhausting.  But how could he tell him that?  Blaine had nothing to look forward to all day except television, studying, and visits from Kurt, Finn or Rachel.  He had it ten times worse.  He smiled brightly at Blaine, swallowing down the guilt.

“Hey, listen.  I've been thinking about names for the baby I'm carrying.  Since you pulled an executive decision and named that one,” he said, gesturing toward Blaine's belly.

“Ooh.  Do tell.”

Kurt pulled out his phone, where he'd been keeping a running list.  “Well, I think it should coordinate with what you're doing.  You know, the Greek goddess name first, then your mom's name as the middle name?”

“Sure, but you have to run it by me to make sure you're not picking someone who's archenemies with Ariadne.”

“You're not serious.”

Blaine's eyes were big as saucers.  “Let me put it in terms you'll understand.  Let's say we were on Housewives, right?  What do you think Nene would do if we named one of our twins after her, and the other after, say, Cynthia? Or Claudia - - or - -”

Kurt set his phone down. “I think you're officially watching too much television now.  Are you ready to discuss this seriously?”

“I am serious, Kurt!  We're in a very - -“ he dropped his voice to a whisper, glancing upwards.  “Very delicate position.  We've attracted the attention of a goddess, and we have to make sure to keep her appeased.”

“Sure,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes.  “Anywho, I liked your alliteration and the reference to Greek mythology and to your mom.  So.”  He looked up.  “My mom's name was Penelope.  How about Phoebe Penelope?”

Blaine grimaced. “P.P. Hummel?”

“Oh … yeah,” Kurt said, crestfallen.  “I guess the initials are a little … not so great.”

“Hey, I like the names, just I'm not sure about them together like that,” Blaine said.   He tapped his chin with his finger, thinking.  “You know, Penelope is a Greek mythological figure too.  The wife of Odysseus.  She had a few run-ins with Athena, but I don't think Ariadne had any beefs with her.  How about using that for the first name?”

“Maybe …Carole for the middle name, then?” Kurt mused.  “It's not alliterative, but …”

“Penelope Carole.  I like it.  It honors both your moms, and it's a nod to Greece.  And Penny is a pretty cute nickname.”  Blaine raised his eyebrows.  “Do we have a winner?”

“I think so.  My dad and Carole will be happy about it.  And it leaves Carol as a first name for any daughters Finn and Rachel have.  Okay, let's make that the name … and we'll save it for a surprise for my Dad and everybody else, deal?”  He yawned widely.

“Deal … but … listen, you'd better head home and get some rest, honey.  You're looking really tired.”

“It's the meatball sub hitting my blood stream, but yeah.  I'm heading out.  I have … I have some stuff to do for school tomorrow, so I'll be in tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Okay.  Call me when you get in.  I worry about you.”

Kurt chuckled and leaned over to kiss Blaine good-night.  “Same here.  Love you.”

~ * ~

Walking down the sidewalk outside the NYADA building the next morning, Kurt caught sight of Adam leaning against the wall. He waved a greeting and hurried a little faster.

“Hey, Kurt!  You made it!” Adam said brightly.  He slipped his junior faculty card into the slot in the front door at NYADA and they were buzzed in.  “I hope you got a good night's sleep last night.”

“I'm feeling a lot better than I was yesterday,” Kurt admitted.  “A bit of a backache, but … not so tired.  Hope you weren't waiting long.”

“Not to worry.  I already went upstairs to set everything up.”

Kurt quirked his eyebrow at Adam.  “What's to set up?  We're just singing one song.”

“Well, you know.  Our music, costumes, the lot of it.”  Adam reached the door to the rehearsal space and pulled it open, gesturing for Kurt to go inside with a flourish.  Kurt looked at him quizzically and then went in.

“Where's the lights?” he asked.  “It's pretty dim in here  - -“ the words died on his lips.  There was a picnic lunch spread out on the floor, along with wine, flowers, and even candles which Adam was now busily lighting.  And there was soft music playing.

“Adam … I … I came here to practice,” Kurt mumbled.

“We'll get to it.  But why work on an empty stomach?  C'mon and sit down and have some tapenade and wine.”  Adam took the lid off a plastic container and reached for a box of crackers.  “Here, I'll fix you a plate.  Maybe you can open the wine?”

“Adam.  I may be way off on this, and if I am, I apologize.  But this looks like a date, not a practice session.  And …” he sighed.  “And there's something I should have told you a long time ago.”  He pulled the chain up from under his shirt and held out the wedding ring dangling from it.

“I'm married.  And … we're expecting twins.”

Adam froze with a cracker half-smeared with tapenade in one hand, and a small knife in the other.

“I know I might have unintentionally misled you, but - -“

“Misled?  Oh, yeah, you failed to mention you're straight, let alone married, when we joined the Gay-Straight Student Alliance together.  You led me on to get me to give you the duet, didn't you?  You even faked being gay?  How low is that?”  Dropping the cracker and paste back into the plastic tub, Adam angrily blew out the candles.

“Hey! I'm gay!” Kurt protested indignantly.   “I just didn't want anybody to know I'm married. Not because I was deliberately trying to lead you on.  It – It was - - it was because - -“

“Oh my god.   You're married, but … she doesn't know you're gay?  What - - how - -?”

“No, no, it's nothing like that.  I'm married to a wonderful man.  But he's in the hospital.  Because he's pregnant.”

There was a long pause.  “So … he's a trans man?” Adam guessed, confused.  “Why am I only hearing all this now?”

Kurt ran his hand into his hair, trying to figure out how to explain.

Adam was getting angry, finally, and the anger was overwhelming even the confusion in his handsome face. “You know what?  Save the gory details, Hummel.” He jumped up.  “You led me to believe you were available.  You knew I liked you, and you lied to me, led me on! You can't pretend you didn't do this on purpose!”

“No!  I had no idea you liked me like that!  I thought we were in the club together, and were friends.  I like you a lot as a friend, but Blaine, my husband … he has my heart.  Please understand and still be friends?”

“The bloody hell I will,” Adam snapped.  He was hurling the picnic fixings into a basket.  “Bloody friends?  Friends don't lie to each other!  Or keep secrets!  We're not friends.  And … and you're not an Apple, either!” he snapped.  “You're out of the group.”

Kurt watched, his heart racing, as Adam slammed the lid on the basket and picked it up, heading for the door.  He raced around and blocked him.  “Listen.  Adam. I'm sorry, I am.  I understand if you can't be friends now, or if you don't want me in the group.  But … please.  Please don't tell anybody about this.”

Adam hurled open the door to the rehearsal space and stormed out.  Kurt followed him to the top of the stairs, calling out desperately.  “Adam, wait!  Please! Nobody knows about this and we aren't ready for people to know,” he said, catching him.  “It's not public knowledge.  I only confided in you because I did think you were my friend.  It's not something I want getting out – the publicity - -“

“Screw you, Kurt,” Adam shouted, and Kurt dropped back a few paces.  He watched Adam stomp down the stairs, and sighed, sitting down in a defeated heap on the top step.  Well, that went well. I'm kicked out of the least popular club in school. My one New York friend hates me now. And I didn't even get lunch out of it.

Kurt got up wearily, and started down the stairs, when a searing pain rose from his very core through his belly, doubling him over.  He gripped the handrail, trying to stay upright on trembling legs, but the pain was unlike any he'd ever experienced.  He panicked, unable to catch his breath, and his knees buckled out from under him, sending him tumbling down the steps into a heap in the stairwell, halfway between floors.     He lay at the bottom of the stairs, helpless as the pain rose up like a wave, and he was like a piece of driftwood tossed in the vast ocean of that pain.  He couldn't see through the clenching, tearing agony of it, and it held him captive like an animal in a trap for long, terrifying moments that stretched into minutes, before finally subsiding.  He tried to sit up, becoming uncomfortably aware that something had soaked his underwear and slacks, and managed to somehow haul himself up and look.  Did I wet myself? There was a puddle of clear, sticky fluid underneath him, with no ammonia-like smell of urine.  He panicked, and scrabbled for his phone in his jacket pocket, yanking it out and turning it on.  As he'd promised Blaine, he kept it with him at all times, fully charged, and with trembling fingers he started to enter 911.  He could sense the pressure, the blinding pain rising again already … and as it overwhelmed him again, his last coherent thought was that there were no reception bars here in the concrete, windowless stairwell of his school, closed on a Saturday; that no one knew where he was; and how broken-hearted Blaine would be if no one could find him in time.