Title: Alone
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Kurt, Mercedes
Summary: Kurt was shaking his head before she'd even finished. "That's not an answer," he accused with a raised voice.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; I don't own the characters, just the story.
Warnings: post Grilled Cheesus, talk of religion

"You know," Mercedes started, a fingertip tracing invisible, intricate patterns on the smooth surface of the table. "There was a time we were cool - you would tell me anything and everything."

Kurt watched her finger as it moved, waiting for her to continue, but raising his eyes when her finger stopped and no other words came forth. Their eyes met, and for a second, he could see his best friend again - the girl who would do anything for him, the girl who he really could say anything and everything to. As quick as it was there, it was gone, leaving behind plain, brown eyes that held no warmth, no feeling, no love - only mild curiosity.

He started nodding before he'd finished stringing the words together in his head, and he was saying, "fine, fine… you want to know?" before he was properly prepared to talk about everything that had been swirling around his mind these last couple of weeks.

Mercedes took her hand back and placed it on front of her, clasping it with her other in mimicry of hands folded in prayer.

"I needed a friend… I needed a best friend, and all you could do was shove religion down my throat," Kurt hissed.

Mercedes physically startled at the venom in his voice, and she unfolded her hands and laid them flat on the tabletop. "Now, hold on," she started, her own anger flaring.

"No!" Kurt barked, hand smacking the hard wood. "No," he repeated, "you don't get to talk now. You asked me, you wanted to know, and now you're going to know."

The girl quickly shut her mouth and blinked exaggeratedly to signal her acquiescence.

"My father was dying; there was no way for us to know what was going to happen. A nurse even stopped me one day on my way out of the hospital and said she wanted to talk to my mother. When I asked her what about, do you know what she said?"

Mercedes, knowing that talking about Kurt's mother was like walking over a minefield, slowly shook her head

"She had lost her own husband a year prior - she wanted to talk to my mom about making funeral plans." Kurt stopped talking for a moment, either to compose himself or let the words sink in, Mercedes wasn't sure. "I thanked her and left. The woman was basically telling me to get ready for my father's death. Do you know what that's like?"

Mercedes bit her lip to keep from blurting anything out - oh, and how she wanted to blurt out I'm sorry and I didn't know and a bunch of stuff that she knew would make herself feel better but not do a damn thing for Kurt.

"And whenever I came to you," Kurt continued, his voice dropping down to a whisper. "Whenever I went to my best friend… for help, for advice, for just a freakin' hug… all I got was this bull about how God was going to watch out for me." Kurt's voice took on a sharp, mocking tone. "Do you think God helped me make dinner every night? Do you think God showed me how to pay the electric bill, or figure out what to do when the guys at my dad's garage wanted to know when they would get paid? I took a cash advance on my credit card so that they would keep coming in and keep the shop up and running… I don't even know what a cash advance is!"

There were tears in Kurt's eyes now, and Mercedes moved her hand across the expanse of the table to cling to Kurt's own. He yanked his hand away before she could make contact, don't sneered under his breath. She pulled her hand back, but didn't say anything.

"I just… why… I mean…" Kurt stopped talking and took a deep breath. He looked away, gaze moving to a nearby window. He took another breath before whispering, "why couldn't you be there for me?"

Mercedes shook her head, not caring that in unsettled the wetness that had been clinging to the rims of her eyes. She opened her mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. She dropped her head in her hands and started to cry, but Kurt didn't spare her glance. She composed herself a few minutes later, and almost started crying again when she saw that Kurt hadn't moved from his position.

"Kurt," she began, voice wavering and made rough by tears. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Why do you believe in God?" he asked suddenly, finally turning to look her dead in the eyes.

She froze then, mouth half open and a salty droplet slowly making its way down her rosy, damp cheek.

"Because I do," she replied in a whisper.

Kurt was shaking his head before she'd even finished. "That's not an answer," he accused with a raised voice. "Why? Why do you believe in God? 'Because' isn't an answer, you know that."

"Maybe I don't know the answer!" she yelled back, shocking them both into silence. She sat back in her chair and rubbed her palms over non-existent wrinkles in her jeans. "There's a lot of reasons," she amended, voice calmer.

"Yeah? Like what?" Kurt asked, not bothering to hide his disdain.

"For one, maybe it's just easier that way," Mercedes replied, not backing down.

Kurt laughed without mirth. "Easier for who, I wonder."

"For me," Mercedes sniped. "For me, and not for anyone else. I don't believe in God because that's what I've been told to do; I don't believe in God because it's what's expected of me. I believe in God because it makes my life easier."

Kurt watched her carefully but didn't say a word.

Mercedes took it as a sign to continue and did. "Life is hard, Kurt; you don't need me to tell you that. Whether it's dealing with those jackasses who want to ruin our lives to having to watch your father struggle for his life in a hospital bed, life ain't easy. And I can't stand the thought of going through the motions, of going through life, for no other reason than because it's there.

Kurt, I know you don't believe, but I have to. I have to believe that there is something that I'm working towards, even if I don't completely understand it. I have to believe that, even when I'm beaten down and ready to give up, when you aren't there and I'm all by myself, I'm never really by myself… because He's there with me."

"You're fooling yourself then," Kurt muttered.

"Maybe," Mercedes agreed. "But I would rather live my life as a fool and find that there's nothing at the end of rainbow than to go through life feeling like I'm alone. With God, I'm never alone, and I'm always understood, and I'm always accepted, and I'm always loved."

"I've always understood you, and accepted you, and loved you," Kurt pointed out, accusation and betrayal lacing his words.

Mercedes shook her head. "You're not being very understanding right now," she countered.

"There's a difference between understanding where someone is coming from and feeling as if you have to change your way of thinking in order to match someone else's," Kurt said. "You are the one who wasn't being very understanding when I needed help."

"I'm human, Kurt, and I can't help but make mistakes, and I'm sorry you feel like I failed you. But God is the only one who's perfect; the rest of us? We can only try."

Kurt snorted. "Sounds like something people tell themselves so they don't have to take responsibility for their actions."

"That's not fair," Mercedes argued.

"No," Kurt disagreed. "What's not fair is that I needed you, and rather than just admit that you didn't want to help me, you put on this dog-and-pony-show about God and how He's the greatest and how I should trust in Him and 'oh everything will be fine if you trust in God, Kurt' and you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick and tired of it, and I don't want to hear it anymore." Kurt stood and began to gather his stuff. "I want… I need a friend, Mercedes - not a cheerleader for the Almighty."

Mercedes grabbed his wrist before he could move away. He yanked at it, but stopped when she held on tighter and blurted, "I didn't know how."

"Didn't know how to what?" Kurt asked. "Couldn't you have just asked God? He should have been able to help, right?"

"I didn't know how to help you," she continued as if he hadn't said anything. "I didn't know what to do or what to say. Every time I tried, I always came back to God. God helps me Kurt; it's the only thing I know, and I thought He could help you, too." She looked up at him, her eyes begging him to understand. "I swear, I wanted to help you so bad, but it seemed like every time I opened my mouth, you hated me and more. And I tried to find another way, but I couldn't."

She pulled him down to sit in the empty chair beside her. Her heart fluttered a bit when he fell without a struggle.

"When I was really little," she started. "I watched my aunt Neda fight cancer." Kurt tensed and started to stand, but she pulled him back down. "She prayed to God every day, Kurt, and I thought she was crazy because He wasn't doing a damn thing to help her. She prayed to Him until the day she died.

I remember being so angry, and when I asked my mom why Auntie did that, why she prayed when it didn't do her any good, she said that she didn't do it to spare her life. She did it so that she would have the courage to go on, no matter where she ended up. My aunt died content and happy and at peace because she allowed herself to believe in her Savior.

I don't know if God's really out there or not - no one does - but I'm willing to have faith. Maybe I am fooling myself, just like you said, but if being a fool is what it takes to get through the crazy shit that we have to deal with…" The girl shrugged and stared imploringly at her friend.

"I'm sorry, Mercedes," Kurt said, his voice high but soft. "I wish I could be a fool like that, but I can't. I can't leave my life up to chances or the whim of some thing that may or may not exist. I have to be responsible for myself, and I have to make my own choices based on my own abilities."

"And that's okay," Mercedes agreed. "It really is. I don't hate you or judge you because you don't believe in God; you have to know that, Kurt." Kurt looked up then, searching her eyes. "But you also have to know that when you ask for me help, I'm going to try and help the best way I know how. And I'm sorry if that's not what you needed, but you can't hate me for only trying to do what I know."

Kurt was crying now, silent tears streaming down his face. His hand, the one Mercedes had grabbed when he had tried to leave, was desperately clutching hers. "I don't hate you," he sobbed. "I could never hate you."

Mercedes drew him in close and held onto him as, for the first time since the heartache that had started to unfold two weeks prior, he finally let his guard down and just cried. She had never seen him cry so hard, had never seen his chest heaving with such emotion, and she couldn't keep her own tears at bay.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried, and when she felt his fingers curl into her jacket, she knew she'd been forgiven.