A/N: I updated! Yay! Sorry for the longish wait, but this is finals month. (read: hellmonth) and I have other concerns. I love the people of ffnet, but I'm afraid I love not failing a bit more.

I dedicate this chapter to Sofiajedi. Well actually all my writing is sort of dedicated to her in my brain because she's my helpful responds-to-emails-at-1am-about-minor-details BFFL, but I decided to make it official now.

REJ624: Thanks! Finn is adorable, even if he tends to really, really, really, piss me off.

Essence of Magic: I'm glad you liked. Worry not, Blaine will be worked in. I plan on having some fun with that…

Lcubed: …how in the world did I not figure that out? Gotta not read reviews at 1am…ROTLFLMAO I could so see Jesse at pigfarts. Riding a lion and having tea with Dumbledore. If we weren't conversing by way of review, I would hug you for putting that image in my head. So virtual glomps to thou.

frenziedmuse: Excellent! This couple is so sadly underused…

Sam: Thanks for reviewing! They would be amazing together…

Tree Kangaroo: Happy to hear you like it! I feel that reading fan fiction late at night is often more rewarding that sleep. Who needs sleep? (To quote the barenaked ladies)

Coldandwarm: Yay, you thought Jesse was in character! He can be an absolute bitch to write.

Jesse always found there were two types of thanksgivings. There were the ones when his parents were home, and they awkwardly ate in silence. He had developed his perfect poker face through these dinners.

There were the "family gatherings", when Blaine and his parents were all in attendance and Blaine's father was shooting Jesse and Blaine nervous looks. Those were vaguely funny, if only because Blaine's father jumped whenever Jesse made a comment that had even the barest hint of gay innuendo, and Jesse enjoyed practicing his skills in psychological torture.

Then there were thanksgivings like this one. Jesse sat on his couch, watching South Park and eating duck out of pure defiance at tradition. Neither of his parents had bothered to fly in from Madrid, and Blaine's relations with his father were strained enough at the moment.

Plus, Uncle Anderson was still miffed that Jesse was bisexual and hadn't bothered to tell him until he was in the middle of asking Jesse to talk to Blaine about why he was really only going through a phase. Admittedly they were on better terms now, but Jesse wasn't good with family situations anyway.

He'd rather be at home alone.

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Kurt never understood thanksgiving. He appreciated the idea behind it. A special day to be grateful for your family and friends was a wonderful idea. But what was appealing about being unable to move, and then watching football the whole afternoon?

Burt was sprawled in his easy chair, in a food coma. Finn and Carol took the couch, glued to the game. Kurt shifted restlessly, bored out of his mind. Despite the appeal of muscular boys rolling around in mud, none of these players were his type. And really, who designed those uniforms?

Please. They desperately needed some pizzaz. Which was something Kurt wouldn't mind, because this whole "sit and watch family in food comas" business was truly boring. He scrolled through his phone absently.

Jesse's number. Which he had, despite common sense's arguments, put into his contacts. Kurt's thumb hovered over it. If Jesse had been serious, that would be a fantastic way to get out of the house, away from the beer and chips and yells at the television.

No. He was not going there. He was not going to be idiotic enough to text a proven traitor, just because he was bored. Besides, it was thanksgiving. Jesse was probably doing family things.

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It didn't take long for the "not going there" reasoning to die. Kurt was sick of Finn belching, and sick of the smell of chips and beer. Also, Burt had invited over all of his garage friends. Kurt liked the guys who worked at the garage. He'd known them since a very young age. But that didn't mean he liked listening to them holler at the television.

The only consolation was that his ten layer chip dip was an enormous success. Kurt retreated to the kitchen to make more and wash the dishes. He didn't even have Carole to talk to, because she was arguing with some guy about whether or not Big Ben Roethlisberger could kick Tom Brady's ass.

Kurt reminded himself that there were worse sob stories. None of the people in that room wanted to kill him, that was a plus. But for some reason, just sitting in that room, with all those people, and all that noise, and people in front of all the doors, made him uncomfortable. Kurt chose to ignore the implications of that in favor of simply retreating to the kitchen.

He didn't want to text one of the girls. They had all been demanding to know why he was feeling less than fabulous. It just depressed Kurt that it was that obvious he wasn't feeling great, and made hanging out with his friends far less appealing.

So, Jesse would work. Kurt picked up his phone.

Roethlisberger vs. Brady: Who wins?

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Jesse managed to not fist pump when Kurt texted him. He only resisted the urge because he had no idea who the hell these people were.

Line break

Who? Kurt snickered.

Football players. Superbowls on. Kurt began melting cheese. A roar of noise came from the living room. Kurt stepped out of the kitchen.

"What happened?"

"Brilliant pass by Brady!" Kurt frowned.

"Weren't we cheering for Pittsburg?" Burt waved him off, his eyes once again glued to the screen.

Football is not my forte. I'm not even sure who's playing. Kurt had to smirk. So he wasn't the only one. Seriously, even Mercedes was glued to a television.

Steelers vs. Patriots. I don't know why everyone cares, it's not like it's Ohio. Nor can I figure out who I'm supposed to be rooting for. Kurt responded.

The cutthroat ad war is entertaining at times. Other than the pointlessness of a homoerotic sport, what up?

Kurt began stirring mayonnaise into the dip. He had never understood what about it appealed to his dad and his garage buddies, but Kurt was sure that the local cardiologist should have been giving him royalties.

I'm making yet another batch of dip. My dad's buddies are all here :P

I was serious about that offer. Kurt hesitated. Would it be terrible to Rachel if he went out with her ex?

Rachel who made out with Blaine. Frankly, she no longer deserved the honor code which would stop him from just having a nice, distracting, evening. It would be more fun than sticking around while his Dad moaned about not being allowed any dip.

Could you be here tomorrow night?

Done. I'll pick you up at your house. Kurt's brow furrowed as he kicked the fridge closed.

…how do you know where I live?

I'm very thorough when I deceive people. I photocopied the entire glee directory. Kurt rolled his eyes.

And you kept it even after egging our lead soloist.

Shutup, being a packrat is useful. I still have my program for Wicked Lucky bastard.

Original cast? Kurt briefly wondered how Jesse found time to get to New York.

Signed by Idina Menzel and Kristen Chenoweth. Lucky, lucky, lucky, bastard.

I may have to kill you to obtain that. Rachel would help him. Kurt imagined that they could probably figure out where Jesse lived and ambush him outside the door, then threaten to shave his head if he didn't give up the autographs. The thought made Kurt grin.

Bribery, charm and an excellent voice work well to woo witches.

Are you doing this just to annoy me? Give me details! Or they could tie him down, and interrogate him about how in the world Jesse got their signatures.

Think of it as a trailer for tomorrow. And be sure to wear something you, I'm sick of seeing you in a Dalton uniform. It seems somehow horribly wrong. Kurt's mouth twitched. A special occasion to plan an outfit for, he hadn't had one of those in awhile.

"Kurt! When are you going to be done with the dip?" Finn yelled.

Will do. G2g, the people demand heart attacks.

Line break

Kurt flicked his scarf over his shoulder and smirked at his reflection. He looked awesome. Tight jeans, a dark blue scarf, his new Alexander McQueen jacket, the marc Jacobs new collection shirt…Kurt twirled.

"Um, Kurt?"

"Dad." Kurt winced. No matter how amazing his father was, it was uncomfortable when he walked in as Kurt was modeling. "Like my new outfit?"

"Yeah, it's great…" Burt scratched his head. "Why do you have a new outfit?"

"I'm going out tonight, I told you." Burt frowned. Something was wrong here. His Papa Bear senses were tingling.

"Out where?"

"I don't know yet. I'm going out with a guy and he's picking me up." Burt gulped. If he didn't have prior experience, he would have thought that this was what having a heart attack was like. And having a heart attack had been much easier. "Dad?"

"A date." Kurt sighed.

"Yes dad. With a boy." Burt flailed about for a reason to object.

"Who?"

"Jesse St. James. Dad, it's nothing serious. We're just out to have some fun." Burt's expression eased. Jesse was very firmly in position on his list of awesome people.

"You'll be back by ten. And you won't go anywhere by yourself." Kurt smiled and patted his father's shoulder.

"Eleven. And I'll be fine. I'm not running off to California with him." Burt sputtered. Kurt glanced out his window. "There he is now. Bye dad!"

Kurt hurried down the stairs, praying that the shock of seeing his "probably wasn't going to ever get a date until college" son going out and the relief of it being a good guy (at least as far as Burt was aware) would stop his dad from meeting Jesse at the door. And then bringing out the shotgun.

Kurt opened the door, grabbed Jesse's arm, and dragged the other boy back to the driveway. Jesse chuckled and quickened his stride so he was walking with Kurt.

"Are we avoiding Finn or Burt?"

"My dad. Finn's over at Mike's house, you think I'd have let you two come anywhere near each other?"

"I'm touched that care so much for your brother's safety." Kurt glared at Jesse. It was really hard to be mad when Jesse's eyes had that humorous sparkle. Jesse opened the passenger door of the range rover.

"Dear god…" Kurt muttered as he examined the interior. "Vocal Adrenaline has way too much funding."

Jesse smirked. "We got them after winning the third consecutive national championship. A reimbursement for our efforts."

"Your team is messed up." Kurt said. "Where are we going?"

"I got us reservations at the Le Café Des Jeunes." Kurt managed to not squeak. He'd wanted to go to that restaurant since he realized that there was in fact passable foreign food in Lima. But that restaurant was also so horribly expensive Kurt was amazed it hadn't closed yet. It was also, from the reports of Quinn (whose family could afford to eat out in a swanky place once a year) nigh impossible to get into. "Don't ask questions. Simply bow to the power of the charm."

"I'm beginning to think that this rule the world business might not be bullshit."

"On the contrary, I plan to rule the broadway world and possibly have shares in television and film. Your cheerleading coach is going to be the true dictator." Jesse had only met the coach once. She'd glared at him, laughed manically, and stalked away mumbling about hair products. It was enough to make Jesse very, very, glad that he wasn't actually on the glee club's side.

"Oh, you're good at schmoozing." Kurt said with a giggle. "Sorry, she's not going to approve of you until you fix your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Jesse frowned. His hair was an enormous part of his appeal. Had he somehow done it up wrong? If so, somewhere an alien world was being destroyed, and more importantly, Kurt wouldn't smile as brightly as he would've. Jesse stopped the car at the light and considered the merits of looking in the rearview mirror. The constant battle between looking conceited and possibly having hair problems…

"Nothing." Kurt grinned. "Sue has a problem with curly hair."

"Traumatizing experience?" Jesse asked offhandedly.

"Would you like to walk up to her and ask?" Kurt shot back. "I rather value my life."

"I'm glad." Jesse stopped himself from commenting on the fact that Kurt still walked home, alone, at night, in a homophobic town. "Here."

"Oh my god." Kurt breathed. Jesse tossed his keys to a valet (there was a restaurant in Lima with valets and Kurt was going to eat there) and smirked. "Pinch me, I must be dreaming."

"Not at all." Jesse nodded to the waiter. "Table for two under St. James."

"Oui, monsieur." Kurt noted to perfect French accent with approval. "Où voulez-vous être assis?"

"Par une fenêtre, ou près d'une porte, si possible." Jesse responded. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Tu parle français?" Jesse held out his arm to Kurt.

"Mais bien sûr. C'est le language de la romance. Et la nourriture est excellente." Kurt had to agree. And he couldn't quite suppress the surge of relief when they were seated at a table next to a window, with the door in plain site. And that there was no way in hell anyone who knew Kurt would be in this restaurant.

"Do you come here often?" Kurt asked, reverting to English. Hearing Jesse speak in French was a bit…seductive. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, just one he was supremely unwilling to acknowledge.

"Shelby and I eat out to celebrate winning things. So we came in fairly often." Kurt sighed.

"You and your coach go to expensive restaurants to celebrate, and Mr. Schue can't get Figgins to pay for a bus to regionals."

"The Warblers get reasonable funding. Of course, neither of your teams have generated thousands of dollars of donations by fans of the art, so it stands to reason that your schools don't care." Jesse realized what he'd said about a second too late. "Not that your clubs aren't important for means of self expression…"

Kurt began to giggle. The giggle turned into laughter, until there were tears at the corners of his eyes. "You should have seen the expression on your face once you heard yourself!" He broke down into howls again.

"I take offense to that. Nothing about my face should induce hilarity." Jesse grumbled. Kurt recovered enough to start reading the menu. "Thank you. Now I believe, according to the doctrines of Ohio show choir strategy, that this is when I use my debonair charm to wheedle your team's secrets away."

"…Have you been talking to Blaine?"

"Only a few phone calls and a ride to his parents house." Kurt blinked.

"Blaine is your cousin." He deadpanned.

"Yes. You would know if he didn't put so much gel in his hair." Jesse shrugged. He really didn't see it as that big a deal.

"Wow. Just…I'm not sure whether to be embarrassed or amused." Jesse leaned across the table.

"Do tell."

"I just feel like I'm on the set of a bad soap opera."

"I resent that. My acting skills are in another class, though I'm not using them at present. And I'm not sure how I should react to the insult being given to my family. We're at least bad reality show level." Kurt snorted. "Now explain why I must be subjected to soap opera status."

"I fall for one cousin, who then leaves me on a street corner to meet his date, and I'm later saved by a dashing older man who is revealed to be the cousin of the dapper man who doesn't return my feelings in the least?" Kurt rolled his eyes. "Soap opera gold right there."

Jesse paused. "Blaine left you in the middle of Dalton to go out with Thad?"

"It wasn't a big deal." Jesse carefully stored that information into a little vault of his mind. The one where he kept Finn Hudson's face-the one marked "things to wreak vengeance on."

Kurt was looking uncomfortable. Jesse reminded himself that the point of this was to put Kurt in a happier mood, not guide him towards a breakdown in a nice restaurant. "Are you still interested in the tale of my getting the autographs of two major broadway stars?"

The rest of the night passed in nonawkwardness. Jesse's tale of sneaking backstage through air vents and singing half of "Dancing Through Life" in front of Idina Menzel to convince a security guard he was an understudy who'd forgotten a pass and thus impressing the star enough to get an autograph, and then lurking by a back door and bribing Kristen's driver to let him sit on the hood of the car for hours until Kristen came out and felt guilty about Jesse spending three hours in the cold night air, and thus signed his program out of pity, was probably the most inspiring thing Kurt had ever heard. Jesse was continually entertained by Kurt's vivid descriptions of various Warblers tripping while attempting to bob up and down, and even more so by the thought of Finn Hudson as Kurt's stepbrother. He was also somewhat amazed that Kurt was completely fluent in both French and Spanish, and nearly so in Korean.

The food was great. Jesse, ever gentlemanly, paid for the meal and parking, and managed to do so without making Kurt feel awkward.

Jesse even had to courtesy to walk Kurt to the door. Kurt was giggly off the French chocolate cake he'd indulged in, and sat on his porch railing rather than go inside.

"How long are you still in town?"

"I leave for UCLA tomorrow. Like I said, nothing permanent." Kurt shrugged.

"I'll friend you." Jesse smiled, leaning close to Kurt.

"Be warned, when I spam I spam hard." Kurt laughed. "I'll check in on you during Christmas Vacation."

Jesse turned to leave. Kurt coughed. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Right." Jesse took a step forward, so he was close to Kurt. "Do I have permission to kiss you, Kurt Hummel?"

"Granted." Kurt whispered. Jesse gently pressed his mouth to Kurt's, reminding himself that this was a fragile boy who he wouldn't see again for months. Kurt draped an arm over Jesse's shoulder and deepened the kiss. Jesse broke away first.

"See you in December, Kurt." Kurt slid off the railing and waved to Jesse as he walked down the driveway and got into the hulking range rover. It seemed to swallow the other teen. Kurt sighed and went back into the house, hoping that the father who'd watched all he could see from the window wouldn't ask any questions.

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Jesse was on a mission. He drove to Blaine's house, furiously ignoring the speed limits and common sense. He wanted to talk to his cousin while he was still angry, not lock that away in his little vault for months. Admittedly, things could simmer in that vault without losing any of their potency, but Jesse wanted to deal with Blaine before he saw Kurt again.

Jesse stormed right into the Anderson house. He had a key after all, and Blaine was probably still awake. He was. Jesse stomped into Blaine's room and slammed the door behind him.

"Jesse? I know you enjoy theatricality, but this is extreme." Jesse took a deep breath, prepping himself to utterly whale on his younger cousin.

"What, exactly, were you thinking? Going out with your boyfriend, and just leaving Kurt, a prime target for harassment, on his own in a town you know perfectly well is stuffed full of testosterone minded homophobic assholes!" Blaine's mouth fell open. "You could have just left Thad until the weekend, or made him sneak into Dalton, but no, you decided to abandon your little mentee on the streets of Dalton? Your no tolerance, fishbowl of a school is not the world!"

"I know that! I didn't want to get teased about Thad, so Kurt agreed to be my cover!"

"Really? Did he realize he was going to be your cover when you took him out that night? Or did you just spring it on him and let him make his way home alone, probably without enough in his pocket for the extremely expensive cab fare in Dalton because he assumed you two would split the cost for whatever you were doing?" Jesse felt like slugging Blaine.

"It wasn't…" Blaine trailed off. "Why do you care?"

"You're talking to a master of evasion Blaine, that tactic isn't going to work. Let's focus on your terrible decisions, not my excellent intentions!"

"I didn't know he'd get beat up!" Jesse rolled his eyes.

"Oh, you didn't think that in a homophobic town someone as open and, if you'll pardon the stereotype, obvious, as Kurt, might encounter a problem!" Jesse scowled at Blaine. "If you weren't the only one of my relations I can stand, and Kurt wasn't fond of you, I would be hanging you outside your window by your toes."

"I…I didn't know." Jesse glared. "I'm sorry!"

"Why don't you tell Kurt that? And try to be sincere." Blaine looked horribly guilt ridden.

Good.

"I didn't mean for anything to happen to him." Jesse shot his cousin one more murderous look. But he didn't want to hang around and hear Blaine's explanation of why it wasn't his fault.

"You didn't mean to leave Kurt on his own and defenseless? Don't even try to talk yourself into believing that this is anyone's fault but your own." Something occurred to Jesse. "And don't you dare blame Kurt. He has nothing to be ashamed of here."

Blaine looked even guiltier at that. Jesse voiced went dangerously soft. "You did not tell Kurt that he should have toned it down. Don't tell me you blamed him."

"I didn't say anything." Jesse breathed in, calming himself down.

"But you thought it. Fine. Just don't say anything like that to Kurt. Ever. Or I swear, I will hunt you down and convince your mother that your allowance should be cut, and tell the new coach of Vocal Adrenaline that the Warblers are enough of a threat to warrant extreme destruction." Blaine gulped.

"You're serious."

"As The Phantom with Christine. Don't mess with Kurt's mind, he's trying to handle enough without you douching things up." Jesse decided that he'd said his piece. "See you past Christmas Blaine."

"Bye Jesse."

A/N: It's twelve fucking forty, and I have school tomorrow. Scratch that-I have school today. Of course, I'm going to edit and revise this before posting, but still. I hope you readers understand the sacrifice.

And a side note: I've forgotten who played in the superbowl this year (I only watch for the halftime show, which I do remember as being very strange), so I picked the two teams I like. Who may or may not be the only teams I know anything about…