The sermon was dismal, as usual, with the Reverend Father droning on like dusty clockwork and the blasted rain drumming the devil's tattoo against the stained glass windows. The percussive sound of the rain – or was it hail rather – did, at the very least, manage to somewhat drown out the dreary message of the Lord, and for that Blaine Anderson could not have been more thankful, though he was so familiar now with the format of the typical town sermon that he could not only have recited the words as the man spoke them but even have ascended the pulpit and given the blasted blessed lecture himself.
Not that this action would have been in any way acceptable to his peers, even if he would make a better preacher than any one of them (though this said little for his numerous talents as they were all the most banal sort of people). The "scandal", no matter how fervently he denied it, had all but made an outcast of him and only his new habit of regularly attending church had saved the last dredges of his reputation, since it gave the idle gossipers the idea that they had done some twisted form of good with their poisonous chatter by forcing him to repent his heathen ways. The Reverend – a Mr Hummel – was, for all his faults, a little more astute than this and made no efforts to conceal that he knew precisely what change in Blaine's person his presence in the pews signified or rather failed to signify. Indeed when Blaine had revealed his sudden desire to join the so-called flock or whatever agricultural metaphor they chose to debase church-goers with these days, Mr Hummel had raised his eyebrows, murmured what Blaine imagined was the customary reference to the prodigal son used to greet reformed sinners and, with those green, almost perpetually wary eyes, given his newest worshipper what seemed to be a silent warning. Behave.
Blaine sighed deeply and, at a sharp look from an older woman (a Miss Sylvester, who had never married and for good reason), tried to pass it off as a yawn of exhaustion. Father Hummel had the good grace to avoid turning his benevolent gaze in Blaine's direction, which was duly appreciated, as doing so would only have brought the entire congregation's attention to the rampant homosexual in the room. Blaine supposed his initial judgement of the man might have been somewhat too harsh, since, despite his bear-like stature, he had the gentle patience and strength of an ox or some other powerful yet docile creature. In Father Hummel's eyes alone, he saw the true Christian forgiveness, a man who considered the judgement of others to be God's right alone and, for all that his beloved Bible criticised Blaine's kind – though Blaine did not know the extent of this criticism or even if it truly existed as he had never read the book himself, preferring to seek pleasure from less tedious forms of literature – the good man before him had the tact it seemed to avoid the topic, at least for a little while, now that a reformed sinner had entered into his – what did they call it? – gathering? Pasture?
At length the sermon ended with the Lord's Prayer and the typical drone of "Amen". The religious tension that held the gaggle of Christians together in reverent unity – for no other reason would justify a respectable gentleman seating himself right beside the infamously deviant Mr Anderson – dissipated at once and the buzz of muttered town gossip, hopefully no longer focused on himself, began to prickle at Blaine's ears. He rose at once to his feet, eager to avoid a disapproving conversation or suspicious inquiries after his health – or worse – Jeremiah's, and had almost made it to those grand, oppressive doors and the promise of spiritual freedom until next Sabbath when a great hand clapped down on his shoulder.
"You're leaving hastily, Mr Anderson, will you not stay to hear the choir sing?" Father Hummel's open, honest face peered down at him with a touch of suspicion. The plain clothes he wore seemed, despite their repugnant simplicity, to fit him better than Blaine's crisp, fashionable attire could ever sit on his own body and Blaine felt immediately like a squirming child waiting for an inevitable chastisement.
"I leave with haste, sir-"
"Father," the man corrected.
"Quite, Father but, I assure you, I move with speed," Blaine blurted out, working his brain hurriedly for a reason, "Not because I do not wish to be here but rather because I am needed somewhere else to meet with a dear friend." It was a damnable lie, made in God's house too, and had he been an honest Christian, it might have sparked a twinge of guilt in Blaine's breast.
As it was, his only punishment was the look in Father Hummel's eyes, which clearly showed with its fatherly concern that an unpalatable conclusion had been made about the meaning of this rushed excuse.
"Heavens no!" Blaine exclaimed as understanding dawned, eager to correct the man's thoughts from an indecent assumption to a more acceptable fabrication, "I have cast those sins aside, Father. I am purged of it, I assure you. The Love of God chased the devil from my breast and his wickedness plagues me no more." It was an impressive speech, made at considerable volume and designed to inspire approval, though from the honourable man of God Blaine received only:
"You will stay and hear the choir."
And then he walked away with slow, sure steps and for all Blaine's desperate protestations that the imagined meeting was platonic only, made no response.
"I cannot leave now," Blaine complained to himself, "Else I shall be seen to paint the devil's mark on my skin. My excuses are ignored and my honour as a gentleman," he paused to reflect on all that had occurred in the last month or so, "Is not considered trustworthy enough to merit the damned benefit of doubt."
"Then you have no other option but to stay," a dark voice, so tainted with the sins of the speaker as to sound indecent in a church, said in his ear, making Blaine startle to his friend's delight. (If Mr St. James could be called a friend to anyone, that is, for the man seemed so infatuated with himself that there was left no room in his heart for significant affection for another, whether that be another person or, for that matter, the Lord.)
"I never knew you a Christian," Blaine said, with only gentle rebuke for, despite all his fey callousness, the man was a charming devil with a sharp wit and a tendency to be generous with friends.
"Oh, I'm not," the man said, glancing at the humble church around him as if it had personally offended him, before turning that wicked eye on Blaine once more, "Though, I must admit, the same could be said for you."
"I am born again," Blaine said, not bothering to disguise the petulance in his voice.
Jesse laughed in his bright, glittering way, tossing his head back and startling the church-goers around him with his exuberance. "How dreary it must be to be you, so tied down by the silly, uninformed opinions of others."
"Hush, hush," Blaine said urgently, though a small part of him couldn't quite disagree, "We are in their house now, hush yourself."
"And I have no qualms about offending their delicate sensibilities. These bumbling fools," this was said with a sneer, for Jesse – if kind to his friends – was a demon incarnate to his enemies or even those that failed to entertain his interest, "They criticise my way of life and they have never even lived!"
"Quiet, please be quiet," Blaine begged, glancing round lest Father Hummel hear Jesse's frightful talk, "Why are you here then, if not to worship?" At this, sensing an opportunity to talk about himself, Jesse ceased expressing his contempt and Blaine almost sagged with relief.
"Ah," the young man breathed and his eyes lit up in that peculiar way that told Blaine there was a young lady involved. (It had been a cause of great despair in Blaine some years earlier to see his friend insist on being so thoroughly heterosexual, though thankfully his romantic ideas had faded, as would any man's after seeing the object of his mistaken affections vomiting down the corset of a young French girl after a night of excessive wining and insufficient dining.) "Well, you see, it is all, in an indirect way, the fault of this harmonious choir you are so eager to avoid. They sing with criminal sweetness, Blaine, it could enchant the heart of even the most dedicated atheist." With this Jesse brought a hand to his chest and assumed a Byronic, wistful expression, one that he knew – goddamn him! – Blaine had thought particularly attractive in the height of his foolish period of infatuation.
"Stop posing, you blasted man, you make a spectacle of yourself!" Jesse tittered, blue eyes sparkling with a demonic humour that unnerved most men. Blaine, as it was, couldn't help but grudgingly smile under the influence of the curious, uneasy friendship left when lust departs and gestured with a twitch of his curly head towards the crowd gathering to watch the choir. "What is her name then?"
Jesse's shock was dynamic, loud and, from the smile tugging at his lips, faked. "Mr Anderson, you insult me! To assume, to even suggest that my appreciation stems from anything baser than a love of the Lord's song, why-"
"Oh, stop it, you tedious creature."
Jesse harrumphed. "I am charming, audacious and a committed sinner, never tedious," he paused as if to launch into a sulk before adding, "Her name is Rachael, though you hardly deserve the information."
As the choir began to sing, Blaine scanned the congregation looking for the Rachel that had so piqued his friend's interest. "She is a singer herself and loves the choir, it is the only reason she attends at all," Jesse whispered offhand, as if to assist his search and at once called to Blaine's mind the image of a flirtatious showgirl or some other tawdry sort of woman. He glanced up and, following his friend's reverent gaze, found his eyes alighting instead on perhaps the loveliest young woman he had ever seen. Blonde hair, sweet features and fair skin all combined to create an angel, who sat sweetly with hands folded in her lap and gazed up at the choir.
"Good Lord," Blaine said despite himself and much to his friend's delight, "She is a work of art."
"Isn't she just? I must admit I have barely known her two days and we have spoken little yet I am already quite determined to have her."
Blaine personally thought this a great shame since the woman looked purer than water but held his tongue. No man, be he mortal or divine, could keep Jesse St. James from a lady who captured his fancy.
His curiosity assuaged and with another glance at the young woman, who – despite not arousing in him any romantic response – was an exceeding pleasure on the eyes, Blaine turned his attentions to the choir that so delighted the girl. The town had only a handful of boys whose voices had yet to deepen with age and so all but a few of the singers stood behind and covered the lower registers, though Blaine noted with interest that one of the older boys – around his age even! – persisted amongst the ranks of the sopranos. He had a cherubic, beautiful face – almost as astonishing as the young Rachel and indecently calling to Blaine's mind the word "eromenos" – though his hair was a warm brown to her golden yellow and he stood with a masculine confidence that would be unsuited to the tender frame of the future St. James mistress.
"I can see why she likes them," Blaine said, as the sweet soprano began to sing the descant part over the final chorus of some dull hymn that was utterly beneath his talent, "They have skill for such a small group."
"Oh but you should hear her sing," Jesse said, still gazing at the princess on the pews, "She puts them all to shame, I swear it."
The leading choir boy – for surely he must lead the others with a voice like that – hit a particularly high note, no doubt one Jesse with his great passion for music would have identified with ease and Blaine found himself sceptical of the truth in this assessment. He had never heard the girl sing, sure, and if the quality of her voice matched that of her countenance, it would be a sound to wonder at but-
The song ended with one long, sustained chord that seemed to reverberate against something deep within Blaine and he looked to the singer as if his face were-
"I think perhaps," he said to his love-struck – or rather lust-ridden – friend, "That your opinion is coloured by favouritism or, alternatively, the fact that you appear not to have heard a single note they sang."
As if that porcelain face were-
Jesse sighed as if his friend were being unbearably obtuse. "How could I bear to listen to these tuneless warblers when my heart sings with the memory of her voice? Honestly."
"Very poetic," Blaine snapped, a little sour that Jesse should look down on the choir when-
For the first time in his life, he felt as if he had looked into-
The face of God.
The feeling passed and he argued on the matter with his impossible friend for a short while, though he could put no real vitriol in it. Soon the choir had dispersed to natter away with the congregation and Blaine realised, with great discomfort, that he had dallied too long and that now Father Hummel was dawdling in his direction.
"I thought you had urgent business to attend to, Mr Anderson," the man said and Blaine opened his mouth to defend himself from that stern gaze when Jesse piped up.
"Oh, his business was with me, my good friend," Jesse said and, though his eyebrow raised briefly at the unusual address, the preacher made no comment against this blatant lie and soon departed, eager as many men were to avoid lingering to long in the presence of the Mr St. James. "Famous in all the European capitals" he liked to say, though perhaps infamous was the more accurate term. Or "known for wiggling his way out of large debts".
Jesse had already forgotten his conversation with the venerable Father Hummel and had returned to gazing intently into the face of his future lover. "Ah, ah. Look!" he said, with great agitation, though giving no indication as to what he wished Blaine to look at it, "He has her by the arm again, goddamn him. Quick as a sprite, the blasted boy."
Blaine furrowed his impressive brows and rested a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I've never known you to be so vexed by the presence of a romantic rival. Can't you just scare him off?"
Jesse sighed as if this were the most tragic situation to ever befall a man and not a mere obstacle between him and the thorough sullying of a young girl. "Oh, if only he were some idiot with flowers I could turn her from, I would do so in a minute," he said, turning crestfallen eyes on his friend and gesturing with a forlorn hand towards the girl, "But they are bosom friends, I can do nothing to dissuade her from his company and I fear he suspects my intentions and makes efforts to steer her from mine."
Inwardly Blaine thought this quite sensible of the mystery man and cast his eyes in the direction indicated. There, indeed, was the girl and yet-
"By God, you've gone mad with drink at last," he said, "She is alone as ever, you daft fool."
Jesse at once bounced up on his toes to peer through the crowd, filled with intense excitement. "Why? Has he left? Has he left her?" and then, "Damn, he has not! Have you not eyes, man?" He grabbed Blaine by the shoulders with rough hands and bent at the knees so their faces were beside each other. Blaine's nose wrinkled at the smell of his friend's French cologne and he found himself twisted bodily to face the front of the church.
"There, right there," Jesse said, "Next to the young blonde thing in the white dress. The one with her hand in the possession of that veritable slip of a boy who sang like a squeaking hinge."
After a second's search, Blaine – moving his eyes over the butterfly he had originally thought the desired girl – found her and, to his horror, saw that the young man this insult had been levelled at was none other than the soprano who had so struck him, who - as promised - held fast to the girl's arm and was talking animatedly into her ear.
"Like a hinge? But he has the voice of an angel!" he said, angrier than was perhaps decent and before considering what effect the admonishment might have. As it was, Jesse laughed with his usual brilliance and let go of Blaine to clap his hands together.
"Such an angry pup!" he said before adding, with his voice sotto voce, "If I didn't know you to be a reformed man, I might think you had intentions."
"I have nothing of the sort and you know I hate that nickname," Blaine snapped back and, eager to find some ammunition for jibes against his friend, tore his eyes from the nymph-like soprano and raked his gaze over the girl, "She is not a gentile, that is for sure," he said lamely when his search failed to reveal any obvious faults on her part. Just as well, he thought, as it would be unfair to attack this Rachel because she was favoured by an utter prig. His favour alone was punishment enough.
"Oh, what should it matter to you that she reads the Torah when you will read no holy text at all? Who should care if she thinks Jesus a prophet when you know we both think him nothing but a fiction? It is no better or worse than a Christian and I have had many of those before. Now," he added, tussling Blaine's curls with one hand, his eyes still fixed on the chattering pair, "Do not sulk so, little chien, I have a task for you that will soon make you glad again."
Blaine made no efforts to hide his great suspicion. "And what would that be?"
"Why," Jesse began, rubbing his hands together with the excitement and natural malice of a small child, "All I require of you is that you engage the little squeaker that entices you with his pitiful squawking and," he made shooing motions with his hands, "Lure him away so that I might have the fair Jew alone."
"He does not squawk!" Blaine said at once, anger rising within him once more. Jesse rolled his bright eyes and clasped his hands together with a monumental sigh.
"Oh hush, yes, he does not squawk. Calm yourself. I merely say so because she is such a great talent," his gaze moved from Blaine to trace the lines of the girl's face once more, "That I can no longer consider any lesser attempts palatable. I have known the heavens and am now dissatisfied with the paltry offerings of the earth and so on, etcetera."
"Perhaps when you have had her, you shall feel differently," was all Blaine said. He had said as much many times before and, unless one of Jesse's girls managed to keep him or kill him, would say the same many times again. (It was always this way, he reminded himself in an effort to cool his own temper, there was always this Angelica who danced like a floating goddess or this Veronica who cooked food fit for the divine and they were all inevitably average. Or good, at best.)
"Well, do your part, I shall have her and we shall both see, will we not?" Jesse grinned and began urging Blaine towards the pair by nudging his heels with the toe of one polished Italian boot.
"And how do you expect me to distract him?" Blaine hissed over his shoulder, silently pondering that if Mr St. James himself could not exert his will on the boy he must be someone to avoid trifling with.
"He is a young man!" Jesse said irritably, now pressing a hand to Blaine's back to speed his pace and lowering his voice so they would not be overhead, though he was unlikely to achieve success in this considering the volume at which he normally spoke, "Make conversation, compliment his dreary singing, take him out the back and ravish him if it suits you! He is a mere block to my intentions and the lovely Israelite my only object."
"You are an abomination by every measure and I am quite certain the poor girl does not deserve whatever ill-treatment you are sure to inflict on her," Blaine spat, fists clenching at his sides, though he had to admit that his anger was spurred more by the slight on the soprano than concern for the Jewish girl to which the boy held fast. Jesse shushed him with one finger.
"You must be quiet or they shall hear you," he said when Blaine shot him a sour look, "Now be a good Christian man, Mr Anderson, and seduce that nice, young choir boy for me."
With this he relinquished his hold on the now-spluttering Blaine and stepped out towards the pair, arms outstretched and face lit up with the brilliant smile he so often employed to look harmlessly charming. "Miss Berry!" he cried and grabbed the delicate hand not held in the grip of her young friend, pressing two quick kisses to it, though his eyes never left her face.
The girl, made ecstatic by this vulgar, continental behaviour, giggled a greeting in return. Her companion, who – Blaine noted – had clutched her arm a touch tighter the moment he saw Jesse, was less impressed. "Mr St. James, what a great surprise it is to see you here," he said and such was the quality of his voice that to Blaine even his speech sounded like a song, "And here I thought your pact with the devil forbid you from entering a church."
A laugh bubbled from Blaine's throat to hear such a delicate-looking creature say something so shocking and, as it did, Miss Berry slapped her friend lightly on the arm with one hand. "Kurt! Don't be so rude to Mr St. James," she said before simpering an apology at the victim in question.
Kurt, however, had turned in the direction of the laughter and was now looking at Blaine. "One of your friends, Mr St. James?" he asked and the amount of scorn in his face and tone almost convinced Blaine to deny any involvement with his oldest companion.
"This is Mr Blaine Anderson, indeed a good friend of mine," Jesse said with a grin and a flourish in his direction, though Blaine could tell from the look he received out of the corner of Jesse's eye that his hesitation had been noticed. Rachel curtsied to him, which he returned with a formal bow before turning back to the contemptuous choir boy.
"It is an utter pleasure to meet you, Kurt," he said, stretching out a hand so that Kurt might shake it, an action at least partly motivated by a desire to have the boy's skin touch his.
"It is generally considered disrespectful to address another by their forename on the first meeting, Mr Anderson," Kurt replied and this merited a shocked giggle from Miss Berry, which of course meant that Jesse laughed too so that the flirting couple might share an adoring look when she turned to the sound of his mirth.
"My apologies," Blaine said, withdrawing his hand almost involuntarily at the cold look in those green eyes, "What would you have me call you?"
Egged on by the obnoxious tittering of the couple beside him, Kurt flicked a wisp of dark hair from his face and said, "Why, I would have you leave and call me nothing at all." At this, Rachel laughed all the harder so that she was forced to cover her mouth with one hand to retain her dignity.
"Kurt, you are too cruel. Mr Anderson is only trying to be friendly," she said at last, pulling her hand from Jesse's grip to his immense and visible displeasure so that she could push a curl of hair behind her friend's ear.
"Really?" the boy replied, delicate eyebrow arched, "I think it quite obvious he is here to distract me so that Mr St James might harass you without my intervention."
Jesse's face twisted between ire and shock and he opened his mouth as if about to say something discourteous to the boy that would probably ruin his chances with Rachel, who appeared at the moment to find the idea of being privately harassed by him entirely acceptable to her. This meant Blaine was – in his infinite charity – forced to speak up, despite or perhaps because of the fact that this would cause Kurt to turn those judging eyes upon him once more.
"I assure you I come entirely of my own accord," Blaine lied, though he felt he should have wanted to, if only he had the courage, "In order that I might compliment your singing."
"That won't be necessary, Mr Anderson. I am quite aware of my own talent," the boy said, though a part of Blaine couldn't help but notice how his words had called a flush of pleasure to those cheeks.
"That means he wants you to continue," Rachel explained, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth in an exaggerated stage whisper, "But does not want to thank you."
Jesse, quite disgruntled indeed to see the object of his affections pay attention to any man other than himself, snorted and cast his disapproving gaze upon the boy. "Why, I think he should be tremendously grateful to receive any compliment at all considering he sings so like a woman."
Kurt did not deign to defend himself against such a petty attack, which meant Blaine felt the need to correct his friend, if only to win some approval from the boy before him. "You are quite wrong, Mr St. James, he sings like an angel."
This, at least, merited some response from the porcelain stoic and a delicate eyebrow lifted. Kurt's lips parted as if he were about to make some response but then Jesse – damn his chattering – spoke up once more, obviously eager to make his own impression on the young Rachel.
"The only difference between an angel and a woman is that I have not yet had my way with the angels, Mr Anderson."
Kurt's lips closed again and Blaine furrowed his brows, fighting again that rising, curious anger that bade him defend this boy to the end and made him desperate for any soft word, any mark of approval from those sneering, perfect lips.
"There are male angels, Mr St. James. Gabriel, to name but one," he said tersely, not breaking eye contact with Kurt.
He could sense, out of the corner of his eye, Jesse eying him up, noting the tension between them and saw Rachel cast her friend an unreadable glance. Finally Jesse snorted, almost as if he wished to attract attention with the noise and added "Do not speak of angels as if you believe they exist for the benefit of this boy child. It pains me to see you prostrate yourself before these Christians."
Kurt ignored this insulting epithet and his eyes searched Blaine for one moment more as if attempting to reach some silent conclusion. Then, with an almost unnoticeable alteration to his expression that Blaine couldn't help but find significant, he turned from Blaine and addressed Jesse at last. "I think you are quite mistaken about your friend's lack of faith, St. James," he said, adding with the barest twitch of his lips, "Though this is hardly surprising as you are mistaken about most things. I have seen Mr Anderson in the pews every week for some time now. "
Again Jesse seemed ready to hurl back some unsavoury comment but a rush of adrenaline, coupled with a simultaneous rush of blood to his face, took Blaine's wits away so that he blurted out his immediate thought without at all considering his dignity or need to hide his true desires. "You have looked for me?"
It was clear to him immediately from the breathless quality of his own voice in his ears and the grimace on Jesse's face that he had endangered his reputation with this. As it was, Kurt turned to him with a curious eye and upturned chin that could have meant anything from suspicion to his utter ruin in the town and stared him down. "I have not, Mr Anderson," he said, the remark aloof as if he were responding to the most banal comment in the world and not a sign of obvious yearning from a known homosexual, before adding in the same tone, "Besides, Mr St. James, if he prostrates before me, he prostrates before a man only as Christian as yourself."
Jesse's eyebrows raised as if he had gained new respect for the boy but for once he made no remark.
"And yet you sing in the choir!" Blaine exclaimed after a pause, trying to force laughter into his voice so that the conversation might move on from this awkwardness. He was somewhat jittery from sensing no obvious signs of disgust in the boy, eager to turn the conversation away from his own faults and – he had to admit – quite genuinely surprised at this contradiction in the boy's behaviour.
Rachel, who had silently observed for some time, curled one affectionate hand around her friend's bicep and smiled up at him. "He does not believe in God, Mr Anderson, but he believes he can sing."
Blaine began to feel he was on safer ground with this topic. "I believe that too, Ms Berry, very much in fact."
"Oh," Kurt said, voice curious and musical as always, "And - tell me if you will - how strong is this belief?"
"Incredibly strong," Blaine said, feeling he was being mocked, baited or tested in some way but deciding it scarcely mattered to him, "Strong enough to form the basis for some new religion."
The coldness deserted Kurt's face at last to be replaced with a smile, though it was wry and far removed from the infectious grin he had worn when speaking alone with his young lady friend. It crawled the length of Blaine's spine and seemed to drag him off balance. "That's a rather blasphemous declaration to make in a church," he said.
"Ah but it is equally inappropriate for a choir boy to claim he does not believe in God, no?" Blaine replied at once and, for some reason, this retort prompted a delighted grin to surface on Rachel's face. Jesse glanced from her to Blaine to Kurt with an expression that suggested he was devising something devious Blaine almost certainly wouldn't approve of.
"Quite," Kurt said, diverting Blaine's attention away before he could send his friend a pointed glance and with a quick nod as if they were sparring and he had won a point, "Though, if I were to deny the comment, no one would believe you if you attempted to spread it."
Blaine was by this stopped in his tracks as if some unseen spirit had frozen him. The stabbing feeling in his breast appeared to make itself obvious on his face as, for the first time since Blaine had met him, Kurt seemed horrified to realise he had said something cruel. "Because of the current state of my reputation?" he asked weakly and cursed, along with his own misfortune, the existence of gossiping servants and attractive young artists with coy suggestions and no bed of their own to sleep in.
"Oh no," Kurt said, shaking his head fiercely so that his chestnut hair fell into disarray, "I meant nothing of that sort, Mr Anderson, you must not think me so unkind as that. I only meant because I'm-"
"Kurt Hummel," said a rough voice, causing all four members of the party to startle and whirl round at the disapproval obvious in the speaker's tone.
Shock and a natural inclination to think things slowly - but thoroughly! - meant that it took until his own mouth had formed the greeting "Father Hummel" for Blaine to make the clear connection of name and features. "God," was all he managed to gasp out before his throat was filled with spluttering and the collision of a thousand mangled excuses and protestations.
Jesse moved to his side, perhaps to protect him should the Father in all apparent meanings of the word choose to strike him and muttered in a low voice, "If this is his work, chien, he is a far crueller being than these Christians ever suspected."
Since Father and son and Jew were by now engaged in a hushed but intense conversation of their own, they did not hear this remark and Blaine felt it was safe to turn his head and spit back, "This may be your last few precious seconds with me, diable, before a kind and peaceful man of God begins pulling my organs out through my forehead. Do you have nothing more appropriately sentimental to say?"
"You managed," Jesse said, staring him earnestly in the eye, "Despite numerous and obvious faults," he added, "To be perhaps the best friend I have ever had."
Father Hummel had apparently said his piece to his son and was now turning in their direction. "I was the only friend you ever had, you intolerable man," Blaine hissed.
"At your funeral, I will tell them your last words were something more inspiring," Jesse replied.
"My son tells me you enjoyed the choir, Mr Anderson," Father Hummel said, with perhaps slight emphasis on the first two words. He made no further comment on this topic, since the tone of his voice made clear every warning and judgement he could have related and then added, "I'm afraid we must take our leave of you now. I do hope to see you here again next week," in a tone that suggested he was afraid of something else entirely and quite unsure as to whether he wished to see Blaine in his church ever again.
Blaine felt that if he attempted a bow he might fall on his head and so merely nodded his acceptance of this fact before the party of three, for Rachel still clutched at Kurt's arm and seemed determined to support him in whatever lay ahead, turned to depart. As they walked away, Rachel sent Jesse a parting glance with almost indecently bright eyes that made the gist of whatever she then mouthed to him quite obvious and Kurt, to Blaine's immense surprise, turned his head but minutely and gazed in his direction before his father noticed and he was forced out of the instinctive obedience of a son to his parent to turn away once more.
"A very poignant scene that," Jesse said, obnoxiously cheerful from Rachel's parting promise, "Turning to look upon the sinners he is leaving behind one last time before they are consumed by their own wickedness. I almost expected him to turn into a pillar of salt."
"Your friendship was the worst thing to ever happen to me," Blaine said, watching the group of three turn a corner and still caught between despair, annoyance at his friend and a tiny ridiculous glow worm of joy at the fact that Kurt Hummel had turned back to look at him.
"Jeremiah," was all Jesse deigned to say in response, before latching on to Blaine's wrist and all but dragging him bodily from the church, "Now come, Rachel wants me to watch her sing tonight and I need an outfit suitable for post-performance ravishing."
"Why does that require my assistance?" Blaine asked, though he had all but resigned himself to his fate of spending the afternoon tailing Jesse through numerous shops selling clothes far more expensive than either of them could afford.
"Because, chien," Jesse replied, his eyes glinting with ideas Blaine couldn't even begin to imagine, "What is the devil to do without his dog?"