Warning: Reference to past character deaths (inc. one suicide). Though it's a future fic, so it's past deaths of present characters.
Spoilers: None for Glee, only pure conjecture on my part. Some spoilers for the musical Gypsy.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, not making money off 'em.
Author Notes: Loosely based on the song Grizabella The Glamour Cat from Cats; I think it could very easily reflect Kurt if things don't work out well for him.
Kurt Hummel was forty nine years old, and he was tired. His clothes line had been popular, but not overly so, and when the recession of 2041 had come along he had lost everything. He had put everything he had into moving to London, setting up his business, winning favours, building up trust – for nothing. He was a nobody. The only remnants of his former self were the few pieces of clothing so tattered and grubby that they were no longer identifiable as the stuff of iconic fashion that they once were.
He sat alone on a bench in Leicester Square. It was a sunny June day. Little had changed over the years he had lived in London (though now squatting in a tiny flat on Tottenham Court Road rather than owning a luxurious Georgian house in Belgravia). The pigeons still pecked, the grass still grew. The Christmas lights were still left in the trees all year around as the Londoners scurried about their days beneath them.
And scurry they did. No-one stopped to notice the slim man, old and grey before his time, sitting on a bench, watching the world go past.
Kurt watched as a gaggle of teens wandered from vendor to vendor, trying to find the cheapest tickets to whatever show they could. He remembered, from so long ago, how he had felt when he first came to London, and had gone to his first West End show. It had been Billy Elliot, he recalled. He remembered being staggered by dancing, being blown away by the singing, breaking down into sobs at the acting. He had felt more emotion in those three hours than he had in the last two years, ever since Hummel & Jones had received its death knell.
Kurt had only just been strong enough to step away from the window ledge when he heard the news. It was only hours later, when he received a visit from the Metropolitan police, that he learned that Mercedes had not.
Since then all he had felt was an empty ache, which lessened only slightly when he ate. He had nothing to do, nowhere to go. So he lived here, in limbo, watching the world drift past without him.
The teens over by the ticket stand had finally made their choice. There was an offer on seats in the gallery for the recent revival of Gypsy. Kurt remembered once, a very long time ago, singing a song from that musical. His much younger self, dressed head to toe in shiny new designer clothes, standing alone in the centre of an empty stage. His whole life ahead of him, all of the ups and downs, the highs and lows. A lifetime ago.
As the group wandered away, chatting happily, he overheard something he did not expect. An excited girl's voice saying, "Rachel Berry's playing Mama Rose? How did I not know this? You mean she came over from Broadway?" The voice trailed off as her friends appeared to reassure her that this was true.
Kurt sat bolt upright at the words. Rachel Berry. Other memories forced their way to the front of his mind.
Kurt wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to the old memories coming back. He was used to sitting on a bench, watching people. Observing. But not thinking, not remembering what he had had, what he had lost.
Kurt had known that Rachel Berry had gone on to be a star on Broadway. She had even worn one of his outfits on the red carpet once. That was twenty years ago now; the two had run into each other at fundraisers and charity events several times, but they hadn't kept in touch. Kurt had his company in London to worry about; Rachel had her showbiz life in New York. He hadn't seen her for at least ten years before everything had gone wrong.
He hadn't known that she was in London. He hadn't known that she was even in the country.
Kurt knew, of course, that theatres did well in recessions. People wanted the opportunity to forget their own humdrum life and feel, just for a few hours, part of something magical.
Fashion houses did not do well in recessions. Not the medium sized ones, the ones with high prices but less fame. When money was tight, people were only willing to fork over such stupendous wads of cash for names that they were sure everyone would recognise.
Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, and tried, really tried, to remember. When he wandered around the city, he watched the people. He didn't watch the scenery. So now he had to strain his mind to remember where the theatre was that had the huge Gypsy poster. But he couldn't. He couldn't remember anything that had happened since that one awful day two years ago.
Kurt made up his mind. He walked over to the vendor. He hadn't spoken in so long, it was hard for him to get the words out. Finally he managed to ask the irritated-looking man, "Gypsy. What theatre is it playing at?"
"Nöel Coward. There's maps in the tray."
Kurt picked one up and looked back the man. "What time?"
"Seven thirty tonight. You want a ticket?"
Kurt looked wistfully at the large printed board, proudly displaying that tickets for Gypsy were only £25. More money than he had in the world. "I wish I could. Thank you for your help."
Kurt turned and walked slowly back to his bench, leaving the man in the stand scratching his head, then shrugging and going back to his dirty magazine.
Seven thirty. Three hours' time. With nothing better to do, Kurt studied the map in his hands. It showed only the roads and theatres, clearly designed for tourists looking to see a play.
He made his way down the busy streets. He was ignored, or even avoided, by the bustling people, as usual. Not even the portrait sketchers bothered asking him for his custom; his coat was no longer distinguishable as Balenciaga; it was dirty and fraying at the seams. He was just another tramp to them, though a few of the regulars could identify him as 'the depressed guy who watches people'.
He shuffled past the chain restaurants, the cheap no-brand pizzerias and the theatre entrances until he found the one he was looking for. The Nöel Coward. He looked up at its austere façade. Sure enough, there was Rachel Berry's name suspended from the overhang, which was designed to keep theatre-goers dry as they climbed in and out of taxis, though most audience members arrived on foot nowadays.
Kurt didn't have a real plan in mind. He just wanted to see her, to be reminded of happier days. Days when the world, and everything in it, was just there for the taking. Well, Kurt had taken, and he had fallen. Rachel had taken, and she had spread her wings and flown.
He wandered around the side of the building, pondering whether she would already be in the theatre. There hadn't been a matinee, from the looks of things, so probably not.
Kurt found himself in a small square, tucked between the back of two theatres, with a stage door on either side of him. There was a long-closed-down café in one corner, with an alleyway leading away next to it. Kurt settled himself down on the ground next to the stage door of the Nöel Coward and leaned back against the brick wall, his knees brought up in front of him.
Kurt sat back and let himself remember, delving into chambers of his mind so closed off that he struggled to remember everyone's names.
First and foremost, there was Rachel Berry. Bubbly, loud, good-hearted – and annoying. So very annoying.
After Rachel came Mercedes. A quick tear escaped Kurt's eyes before he pushed the memory of her laughing face away. It hurt too much.
Then he remembered Finn. Tall, strong. Promised to always look out for his brother. But it was hard to look out your brother when you lying in pieces in a battlefield in the Middle East. Finn had followed in his father's footsteps in more ways than he could have hoped.
Kurt hadn't seen his family in so long. His father's death from a second heart attack twelve years after the first hadn't been entirely unexpected, he supposed, but it had still thrown Carole completely. She had wasted away for the next six years; the loss of her son had finally sealed her fate, and she had passed away with Kurt holding her hand in a nursing home in Lima.
And how could Kurt have forgotten? Noah Puckerman, the class badass. His bully-turned-protector. Where Finn went, Puck was sure to be. Or was it the other way around? He remembered their brief fight back when he was in sophomore year, though he couldn't remember the cause, but he remembered that they always made up and were the best of buddies as ever they were.
Oh yes, now he remembered. Quinn. Quinn Fabray, the stunningly beautiful head cheerleader, had had Puck's baby. That was why Finn and Puck had fallen apart that summer; Quinn had been Finn's girlfriend at the time.
As far as Kurt knew, Quinn had remained in Lima. He had a vague recollection of her marrying some rich boy from her church, he remembered her elegant dress. Not designer, but very well made.
The memories flowed easier now, appearing at the front of his mind, bringing up vivid images of singing and laughter, dancing and joy, stupidity and happiness.
There was Tina. She and Mike had managed to stay together through high school, through college, and they'd realised that if they could make it through that, they could make it through anything, and they'd married that last year of college. Kurt hadn't seen either of them since their fifth anniversary party, when he'd moved to Britain.
Then there were Santana and Brittany. After a brief stint with Artie, Brittany had realised that Santana was the only who truly made her happy, and Santana had finally accepted that chasing boys didn't get her half as much satisfaction as spending time with Brittany did. They were still living together somewhere in Indiana, so far as Kurt could recall.
A face appeared to which Kurt couldn't supply a name. Dark skin, shaved head, large earring, cheery smile. Oh, that was it. Matt. Mike's buddy for five years, then upped and left without a word. No-one knew where he had transferred to.
And Artie. The wheelchair-bound boy had redoubled his efforts at music when Brittany had left him, and he had become a semi-successful radio DJ, Kurt recalled. He wondered whether the nerdy, wannabe-gangsta boy had every grown up into a serious man. Somehow he doubted it.
All of this information had been gleaned over the years from surprise meetings and running-into-one-anothers. Kurt carefully pieced together all of the fragments, piece by piece, person by person.
There had been the Zizes girl. Lauren. Lauren Zizes. The girl who could source anything you wanted if you were willing to pay her enough. Kurt didn't know what had happened to her, he hadn't known her much, though he remembered the girly sleepovers where Rachel and Mercedes had giggled over Puck's chasing her. No, don't think of Mercedes. Still too raw, too painful.
And there had been Sam. Sam with big lips. Sam the blonde. Sam the jock. The first one ever to not make him feel any different because he gay. The first one ever to treat him just as he would any other guy. He had hardly known him, and yet Sam had taken a beating from Karofsky for Kurt's sake. He had liked Sam, and had often wondered what had happened to him (Sam had transferred away at the end of that single year, something to do with his parents' jobs).
And then there was Mr Schue. So well meaning, so utterly inept. The man who had no clue how to keep his own life together, but still tried to inspire everyone else he met. It was endearing, really. Kurt expected that Mr Schue had continued to work at McKinley until he retired, desperately trying to fire up the kids with some of his own enthusiasm.
Emma, the guidance counsellor. So lovely, and still so fragile. Infatuated with Mr Schue for a time until she really saw his ineptitude shine through. Kurt thought that she had seemed quite happily married to her dentist when he'd last seen her, though as it was graduation day, he hadn't been paying much attention. He remembered her beautiful green and white summer dress, her happy smile as she'd looked on with pride at all her misfits moving on with their lives.
Sue Sylvester. For all Kurt knew, she was still there, terrorising the cheerleaders of William McKinley High School. The woman was unstoppable. She had been a holy terror, but a damn good coach, when she wasn't going through one of her absolutely clinically insane stages (Kurt shuddered with the memory of the cannon).
And the Beiste. Shannon Beiste. The strongest woman Kurt had ever met. He had so admired her ferocity, tempered with kindness, and her self reliance. A good woman. He hoped that he hadn't been the only man to see and appreciate that, and he wished he'd had her as a teacher for more than just that one compulsory sports session a week.
And then of course – Blaine. That boy had been the be-all and end-all of Kurt's life for a time, until he had tired of waiting around for what he had realised was never going to happen. The present day Kurt thought back to how that young Kurt had idolised the other boy, until he'd finally realised that Blaine was just another lost soul, just as much a misfit, in his own way, as the New Directions kids. If only the Kurt then had known just how hard Kurt now would have to try to remember the stocky short guy with the curly hair.
Remembering Blaine triggered Kurt's memories of all his old boyfriends. His first kiss, with Brittany, then his first real kiss, with Karofsky. Kurt didn't know what had happened to the burly bully after being expelled for finally going too far with his campaign against anyone smaller than himself; at the time Kurt had just been glad that McKinley was safe again. But now Kurt wondered. Had the boy ever come out of the closet? Had he remained the violent, impulsive wreck that had stolen Kurt's first real kiss?
Then Kurt recalled his real first kiss. It was at college, a guy from his corridor. They'd been good couple, for a time, but had fallen apart when their different interests caused more trouble than the relationship was worth.
And on and on Kurt thought, dredging up happy memories, pushing the sad ones back for another time. As he went through all his past 'conquests', random flashes of Glee Club came back to him. He was lost in his day dream, sitting on the cold stone flags that paved the square.
Kurt was drawn out of his reverie by a voice. A voice he hadn't heard in an age.
"Hello? Sir, are you alright?" the voice was asking kindly.
Kurt looked up into the sparkling eyes of Rachel Berry. She was bending over him, a concerned look on her face. She wore a long thick cardigan, royal blue, over her clothes.
Rachel Berry had mellowed over the years, but that effervescent spark was still there. Her face was lined, but in a good way. Laughter lines that gave her a cheerfully wise look hovered around her face.
"Rachel…" Kurt whispered. "It's you…"
She looked at him uncertainly. "Yes, I'm Rachel Berry. What's your name?"
Kurt smiled at her blandly. "You don't recognise me. I didn't think you would. My name's Kurt."
"Kurt? Kurt… Hummel?" Rachel asked, almost as though she was afraid of the answer.
Kurt nodded once.
Pity overwhelmed Rachel as she knelt down with a pained and worried expression. "Whatever happened to you?" she asked, bringing her hand to his face to brush his now grey hair back. His face was lined, far beyond his years, due to years of sorrow and hunger.
"2041. The company failed," he replied, gazing deep into her eyes as though he might steal some of their warmth if he possibly could.
"Oh my. My fathers always sai-" she cut herself off mid-word. "Never mind. Come on, let's go inside."
"Me? With you?" Kurt couldn't understand why she would want him to come with her. Surely it was best if he stayed out here? Out where he could watch people pass but never interact with them. Never have to touch anyone or talk to anyone. Never have to do anything, ever again.
"Of course with me." Rachel climbed to her feet, steadying herself against the wall to do so, then offered her hand to Kurt. "You know me, Kurt. There's no arguing with me once I've made up my mind."
For a moment, Rachel thought she saw a flash of the old Kurt through the despondency on his face as he answered, "Well, that much is true at least," and accepted her hand to carefully clamber upwards.
Rachel kept his hand clutched in hers as she led him into the theatre and to her dressing room.
The lonely road she had chosen meant that she didn't often have time for friends, but she had always remembered Kurt's friendship way back in the McKinley High days, and been grateful for it. When he had been as successful as she, she had seen no way to ever thank him. Now the tables had turned, and she finally had a chance to repay him for his kindness.
Rachel Berry was many things. She was loud, she was abrasive. She was sure of herself. But the two things that she was above all, were that she generous, and she was loyal. Never again would Kurt Hummel look up at her with that look of utter despair and hopelessness. Not if she had any say in it. And given that she was Rachel Berry, one could be sure that she most definitely would have a say.
Rachel remembered, clear as glass, that day when she and Kurt had had a mock battle royale over whether Sweet Charity was better than Gypsy. He had been firmly on the side of Gypsy. The battle had ended when she had ruffled his hair and he had attacked her with a powder puff.
Kurt sat and watched the way she flustered about her dressing room in awe. Once Rachel had recovered from the shock of seeing him, she had chattered away as she had got into her costume and makeup, her rate of speech not altering even slightly when the stage manager had called her for her mic check; she had simply spoken over him, insisting that a seat be found for Kurt to watch the show, and that then he brought back through to her dressing room after the performance.
And so Kurt had watched Gypsy live for the first time. His heart broke for Mama Rose when June had left, he was infuriated on Louise's behalf when Rose's demands grew more and more ridiculous, he was struck dumb by Rachel's rendition of Rose's Turn. Somewhere, sometime, between high school and now, Rachel Berry had learned how to act. Perhaps she had just needed to live a little more first. Now, the emotion she wrung out of the hearts of every single member of the audience as she sang was astounding.
Kurt joined in the standing ovation when she came to take her final bow. She curtsied gracefully, accepting the applause. Kurt watched her with tears in his eyes.
After the crowds had left, and all but one of the techies departed, Rachel brought him back to the stage. The auditorium was empty, all the lights off.
Rachel let him to the centre of the stage and said, "Kurt, you were always at your happiest when singing. Please, try it again?"
He bowed his head. "I haven't… for so long…"
"How long?"
"So many years."
"But you remember it?"
"Like it was yesterday," Kurt sighed, lifting his head to gaze up at the dark and empty seats.
"So sing again."
Kurt turned back to look at her and sighed once more, this time with a ghost of smile around his lips.
"You never give up, do you, Rachel?"
She shook her head, smiling.
"Very well then."
Rachel gestured to the sole remaining techie and the follow spot sparked into light, fixing upon the hunched figure onstage.
Kurt hummed the introduction to himself, and began. He sang the only song he could think of for such an occasion. Memory.
His voice was raw and unused. It cracked several times in the first stanza alone. But then he found his pitch, barely any lower than it had been at sixteen, and he lifted his voice to the roof.
Kurt embarked upon the final verse with all the vigour of his younger self, his voice beginning to soar.
Touch me;
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun.
If you touch me
You'll understand what happiness is.
Look… a new day has begun.
Rachel watched as he held his hand out in front of him, his stance and expression the very image of that moment in the choir room when Kurt had sung a solo for the very first time, but had deliberately muffed it.
Only this time he hadn't muffed it.
This time, he was perfect.
It was never too late for a star to shine, and now Kurt Hummel's was beginning to glow again.
A new day had begun.