Chapter 2: Blackbird
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You are only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You are only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You are only waiting for this moment to arise
You are only waiting for this moment to arise
You are only waiting for this moment to arise
Sometimes, I don't feel like we're the Warblers. I feel like we're Blaine and the Pips.
Still, hours after the conversation in question, Blaine felt as if his jaw was hanging open. He'd always known he got a lot of solos, but never had he thought people were annoyed because of it. The council always gave the idea that everyone was unanimous in their decisions to give Blaine the solos. He didn't ask for them. They were given to him, and it was an esteemed honor.
But now that he came to think of it, every song they'd performed for as long as he could remember, featured him. He had some talent, he knew, but he wasn't that good. He wasn't the next Prince or Katy Perry. He was just another teenager who loved music and wanted nothing more than to sing his emotions to the world.
And somehow, Kurt had hit the nail right in the head with his comment. Blaine felt suddenly empty, and everything that he thought was right, and normal and expected, was suddenly turned upside down.
There were other Warblers who had great talent, and he was stealing their spotlight. The Warblers really were Blaine and the Pips and it was a humbling thought that he didn't want that anymore. He wanted someone else to shine.
Pavarotti reminded Kurt a lot of Blaine: the way he was always ready for a tune, his constant upbeat attitude, and his fierce loyalty. He only wished Blaine would love him like the little canary did.
Kurt whistled a scale as he buffered his nails, a warm smile on his face. His room was comfortable, and he was in his element, perfectly content now that he had got that issue with Blaine off his chest. And it helped that Pavarotti was beside him. The bird gave him someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge you or think badly of you because of what you said. He didn't care if you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, or if you desperately wished that said best friend would give someone else a chance to shine at Regionals. But he was willing to listen to it all anyway, and Kurt was incredibly glad of that fact.
The canary hopped around its cage, whistle bright. The yellow sheen of his feathers gave a healthy glow, and the water and food in his cage were well filled and clean. It was a happy bird.
And then it wasn't.
'Warblers! Warblers! I am merely suggesting that instead of wearing blue ties with red piping, we wear jackets with red ties and blue piping for the competition.'
The voices rose in anger and annoyance, but Blaine was helpless to stop them, and he only shook his head in annoyance. Why was it that the Warblers fought continuously over ever suggestion given to them, but they could manage to work together so effortlessly as a team when it came to music? The boys Blaine had dedicated the past year and a half to singing with could produce a harmony line like nobodies business, but they were strictly stubborn and uncommunicative when it came to ideas about anything else.
He wished Kurt could have been here for this. He was used to handling this kind of thing, he'd said, when he first arrived. New Directions hardly ever agreed on anything either. But somehow, every time the Warblers got riled up about something, it was Kurt that usually managed to calm them down.
Glancing around the room, Blaine wondered why his friend was missing. Normally he was here on time; they usually walked to practice together. But today, Kurt had been absent for classes as well, and Blaine was concerned there was something wrong.
But he couldn't call him. They'd had a fight, and that would just seem way too needy if he called asking where he was. He could pretend nothing had happened, but then Kurt was sure to bring it up again, and Blaine wasn't sure if he could deal with that. Maybe he could-
The door to the practice room opened with a slam, and in the frame stood Kurt. Blaine had never seen him so upset. Neither had the rest of the Warblers apparently, as everyone fell silent immediately. If that's what it took to shut them all up, maybe Kurt should arrive late more often.
But no, he was truly upset. His outfit was dark: black pants and jacket instead of the regulatory blue. His face was dark and forlorn, and the tracks of tear stains littered his cheeks.
'Kurt, what's wrong?' Blaine asked him. All the boys were now most definitely silent, and his voice echoed painfully in the large room.
'It's Pavarotti,' the younger boy said, breathing a deep, strained breath. 'Pavarotti is dead. I suspect a stroke.'
Pavarotti? Dead? Blaine couldn't believe it. He'd seen the bird only the day before, and it was perfectly happy, healthy... alive. Creatures didn't just die like that. Kurt had to have been mistaken. Maybe he was only playing dead, but... no. That bird was one of Kurt's closest companions, and for him to have declared him dead would have been hard enough. He wouldn't have made a mistake.
'Oh my God, I'm so sorry.'
Kurt only bit his lip, and turned his head away. Blaine could feel the boy drawing away from him, all animosity from the last afternoon back. He was talking to everyone now, and Blaine was just another part of the crowd.
'I know it's really stupid to be upset about a bird,' he told them. 'But he- he inspired me with his optimism, and his love of song. He was my friend.'
He paused and Blaine watched as a few of the guys nodded in agreement.
'Now, I know today, we need to practice doo-wopping behind Blaine as he sings every solo in the medley of Pink songs, but... I'd like to sing a song for Pavarotti today.' And with one smooth gesture, the mourning boy pulled a cassette from his inside jacket pocket and passed it to his neighbour. Kurt had come to this prepared.
Blaine sat down slowly, watching him as he clasped his hands in front of him, and a tear escaped his eye. The simple melody of the guitar played out, and Kurt was an image of serenity, and strength, and confidence in what he believed in. This song was clearly his song for everything Pavarotti had meant to him.
But the song drew out something in Blaine even he hadn't expected. His mind had been braced for the rush of loss and emotion a sad song brought, but he wasn't prepared for the affection that flooded his heart. Pavarotti was just a bird, but he had meant so much to Kurt, and that he had had the courage to stand up before them and sing this song, pulled at Blaine's heartstrings.
The boys around him didn't fail in their musical duties, and as one, they backed Kurt's solemn solo, and Blaine was perfectly content to be in the background. From the background he could watch, he could marvel, he could smile without being seen, or feeling like he was out of place in that room.
Kurt moved between the boys, the natural flow of the music embracing him. This wasn't a performance, this was an apology, and a eulogy, and an explanation.
And Blaine was learning that there were some things that he had needed to know, and had needed to tell him.
His mind was reeling, less involved in the music now, and more interested in watching Kurt's face, the perfect lines of sadness etched there, the confident set of shoulders, the steady tone of his voice despite the waver of emotion in his eyes and the tears that continued to fall.
In that moment, Blaine knew, he was the most beautiful man on earth.
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
And Blaine knew it was true. Kurt had always been who he was; he'd never tried to hide behind others or save his face by being someone who he wasn't. But it had taken Blaine forever to see that the porcelain figure in front of him had already taken a part of him, and twisted it to his own will.
He had constantly strived to protect Kurt, and keep him out of harms way, but somehow, someway, he'd been protecting himself from Kurt. He'd stopped himself from opening up fully, and accepting that maybe, just maybe, Kurt was more than just a friend to him. He didn't get along with Wes, or David or any of the Warblers really, like he got along with Kurt. And with Kurt it wasn't a gradual thing. It was a bang of understanding, of camaraderie, and the knowledge that there was someone he could relate to, and he was someone Kurt could connect with too. They were so different, but they were also so alike, and now, listening to the dulcet tones of the Beatles pouring from Kurt's lips, he knew that it wasn't just friendship. No way was it just friendship.
But had he blown it already?
'Thank you,' Kurt murmured as the song ended, and Blaine could only watch as he took his tape and left the room.
He'd been waiting for this moment all his life.
Thanks so much for the great response to the last chapter! I didn't expect so many alert emails! You guys are my favourite people in the world :). This is the next chapter, and I'm a sucker for romance so I decided I had to get these out of the way so I could start on some more adorable stuff :P Thank you to the Beatles and their beautiful song again, and thanks to Chris Colfer for doing such a good job of it! Whenever he sings Beatles songs, I am blown away! I Want To Hold Your Hand was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and Blackbird topped it!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) It's almost a part one of two chapter because it was getting a bit long, and I wanted to concentrate a lot on the kiss and all that jazz. And I know a lot of this is just scenes from the show, but once this episode is out of the way, I'm going to delve into some more non-episode based issues. :) I hope you all stick with me!
Thank you so much!
xx Wynnie
