Sue's Office. Kurt and Mercedes meekly rap at the door and, upon gaining entry to the trophy-lined sanctum, announce that they'd like a word with her regarding her distressed response to Mr. Schuester's insults earlier that afternoon. Sue orders them to close the door and take a seat before launching herself into the following monologue regarding her difficult childhood, delivered brilliantly, of course, by Jane Lynch: "You know, kids, I grew up with a handicapable sister. My parents were famous Nazi hunters, so they weren't around a lot. I had to bring her up on my own, so I didn't have a lot of time or money to keep up with all the latest looks. But on my sixth birthday, True Blue was released -- an album that would later sell over 30 million copies -- and my sister and I took it upon ourselves to bleach my hair with whatever chemicals we could find around the house -- ammonia, napalm. My hair was so damaged, I've been forced to wear it short ever since. It's been a daily, ongoing pain." Nazi hunters and napalm. Gotta love it. Kurt's on the verge of tears thanks to Sue's heartwrenching tale of deprivation and woe, but Mercedes has spent the last several seconds doing some mental mathematics and puzzles, "Wait -- that would make you, like, thirty." "Twenty-nine," Sue corrects. Hee! "And here's the truth," Sue admits, of course doing no such thing in the world we call Sanity, "I mercilessly pick on Will Schuester's lustrous, wavy hair because I'm jealous! There, I said it." "I think we can help," Kurt begins. "Mercedes is black, I'm gay -- we make culture." "Go on," Sue replies, knowing Kurt speaks the truth. Kurt proposes they join forces to produce a shot-by-shot recreation of "Vogue" starring Sue Sylvester and several of her Cheerios because stupid FOX released the video a week early and blew the surprise for everyone. "And we can help you find a new look!" Mercedes cheerfully adds. Sue Sylvester is intrigued.
Back on that newly constructed library set, Rachel enters after hours to prowl through the darkened stacks alone. Suddenly, an invaluable hardback for any future musical theater professional drops to the floor in front of her! DUN! Rachel shoves aside the remaining books on the shelf to discover... Jesse St. James, basking in his key light on the other side of the bookcase! Dun-dun-DUN! "I'm so glad you came," Jesse St. James opens before confessing, "I picked the Stephen Sondheim biography section for our clandestine meeting place because only he would be able to express my melancholia." Yeah, I still totally want to make out with his hair. Jesse St. James feels bad about how their Wiggles and skee-ball date ended last Friday evening, and does she still have his Care Bear? Rachel nods. Jesse St. James heaves a weighty sigh of relief. They need to hire Jonathan Groff for the rest of this show's run. I don't care how and I don't care why and I don't care how much it costs, Murphy. Just do it. In any event, seeing as how they're already lurking in the shadows, Rachel has something she needs to confess. "Me first!" Jesse St. James whispers. "I was out of line the other night," he tells her. "You deserve more than that. You deserve Romance -- no! You deserve Epic Romance." Rachel visibly melts. Get in line, sweetie. With catlike grace, Jesse St. James slips around the far end of the stack and, while never breaking eye contact with Rachel, apologizes for pressuring her into Going All The Way, promising to wait. "You tell me when you're ready," he smiles, "and I'll make sure that I'm... fastidiously groomed." By this point, he's standing inches away from her, and he reaches out a few gentle fingers to caress her hair. "Now, what did you want to tell me?" he asks, finally allowing her to speak now that he knows she's like wet sauerkraut in his hands. Devious little fucker. I think I'm in love. "I'm ready!" Rachel bleats, all little lamb to the slaughter. Jesse St. James gathers her up in his arms, and as they clinch, a faintly wicked smile crosses his face. Hooray!