Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Glee - it all belongs to Ryan Murphy and the Fox Network. I'm just playing with the characters a bit. I am making no money from this fic.
Chapter Three
Kurt smirked as he read the TMZ blurb that David had called to "warn him about." He chuckled over the article's over exaggeration of why David was holding Finn so closely. "It's not funny," David hissed over the phone.
Kurt laughed again. "It's a good picture of us," he said, referring to the high-resolution picture of them kissing at the airport. He quickly saved the image and turned it into the background of his desktop. "And as for the rest of it, it'll blow over. Was Finn pissed?"
David sighed in his ear. "No, and Rachel thought it was funny as hell, apparently."
Kurt giggled. "Don't take it so seriously, David, please." He heard his fiancé sigh and knew he had won. "Did you, at least, have fun with Finn last night?"
David laughed. "It was pretty good, got me out of my head for a bit, ya know?" Kurt made a noise of agreement. "But Finn's going a little crazy."
"What? Why?"
"Rachel won't marry him until she wins a Tony, and it's really starting to get to him."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "She's crazy, but I don't think Finn's going anywhere."
"I don't know," David said. "I think he'll get sick of it eventually; he deserves someone who's not going to make him wait forever." Kurt suddenly felt like they weren't talking about Finn and Rachel anymore, and his stomach dropped into his knees.
"David –"
"I wasn't talking about us, love," his fiancé said quietly, soothingly. "I would wait for you forever and smile while I did it, all right?"
"All right, David," he said, though he didn't feel much better. He looked at the digital clock on his dressing table. "I have to go, sweetheart. I'm meeting Mr. Schue for lunch."
"Okay. Have fun with Will," he said with a laugh. "I love you, Hummel."
"Love you too, David." Kurt hung up with a little sigh; his heart felt heavy now, like it usually did after he talked to David. They survived three years apart, so why did the last week seem like an eternity? Looking at the time once more, Kurt got up and forced himself to get ready.
By noon, Kurt had pulled up to William McKinley; he cringed at the sight of the hulking building crawling with students. He parked in the visitors' parking lot and took a few deep breaths before climbing from his car. He felt like a fumbling, unsure teenager all over again as he approached the building and slipped into the main office to get a visitor's pass. Mr. Schue wasn't in his office or his classroom; Kurt smiled and headed for the choir room. It felt normal and familiar heading towards the one place in the entire school that he didn't mind visiting.
His eyes went wide when he spied through the tiny window just how many students were in the glee club - at least 25. Mr. Schue hadn't mentioned the number in any of his emails. Knocking briefly, Kurt slid into the room and effectively cut short whatever speech the choir director was in the middle of. Except for a few more laugh lines and a spattering of grey at his temples, Will Schuester looked exactly the same. He smiled when he turned and saw Kurt. "Guys," he said, "this is Kurt Hummel, a former student and very good friend of mine."
Kurt grinned. "They could probably care less who I am...Will," he said, forcing himself to use the man's first name. "Working on anything in particular?"
"We're trying to nail down a set list for Sectionals," the man explained. "I'm sorry if I'm running a little late -"
Kurt shook his head. "No, no, I remember how important this was." He looked to the students. "What's the theme this year?"
"It's open-ended," a boy on the front row said. He had a manic gleam in his big, brown eyes that reminded Kurt of Rachel. "We would like to focus on the music of Sondheim -"
A girl who could have been Quinn's twin snorted. "You'd like to do Sondheim, freak, the rest of us want to do something from this century."
"There's no need to be insulting, Lydia," Mr. Schue said in a tired way that made it clear it wasn't the first time he'd ever said those words to her. "But she has a point, Maks. We need to pick something more modern."
Kurt chuckled, gaining some looks from the students; Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow at him. "This coming from the man who could be a one-man Journey cover band?" he asked and laughed again when the whole of the glee club groaned.
Mr. Schue sniffed imperiously. "Journey is timeless," he insisted.
"And Sondheim wrote timeless songs," Kurt pointed out.
"Like what?" the Quinn lookalike - Lydia - asked snootily.
Kurt gave the choir director a look that asked "May I?" Mr. Schue simply nodded his head, his eyes twinkled with mirth. He turned and murmured the song title to Brad - who, creepily enough, looked exactly the same. It had been so long since he last sang. At most auditions, Kurt didn't make it far enough to sing for a director. He usually didn't have the look or the stage presence they needed, or whatever. He took a breath as the soft music began. Maks, on the front row, sighed dreamily. The rest of his audience looked hopelessly confused.
Isn't it rich?
Aren't we a pair?
Me here, at last, on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.
Kurt grabbed onto the desperation he'd been feeling as of late and fueled it into his voice; he wanted the kids to really get it. To understand.
Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns
Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Tears gathered in his eyes; his chest hurt, but beneath that, the adrenaline that came with singing, with showmanship, sang through Kurt's veins.
Don't you love farce?
My fault, my dear.
I thought that you'd want what I want -
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
He sucked in a breath and let the students really see him - Kurt Hummel, a man with dreams who was real and tangible and who truly glowed when he got to do this.
Don't bother, they're here.
Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well...maybe next year.
The music tapered off, and the room grew quiet. Kurt hoped Send in the Clowns hadn't become so obscure to teenagers that they just laughed off his little performance. Then Maks began to clap, and it quickly lit a fire into his fellow glee-clubbers. Even Lydia had to applaud. "That was amazing," Maks gushed. He practically danced in his seat. He glanced back at Lydia. "Doesn't that sound better than Ke$ha or whatever you wanted to do?"
She shrugged. "It was all right." Kurt knew - because he remembered that kind of girl from his high school days - that he'd just been given a big compliment.
He looked to Mr. Schue. "Can I make a suggestion?" The man nodded. "Why don't you try doing Broadway backwards?"
"What do you mean?" This from Lydia - she cared more than she let on, Kurt realized.
"I mean, the girls sing songs originally written for male roles and vice versa." He held up his hands as quiet murmurs spread through the class. "I'm not saying go overboard and make a boy sing I Feel Pretty - unless he really wants to - but you can switch it up a little bit. Tailor the songs to those who feel it the most, regardless of the gender. The judges will be impressed by the innovation and by the emotion."
"That's not a bad idea," Mr. Schue admits rather gleefully. "That's something our competition probably won't think of." A murmur of genuine excitement went through the students, and Kurt grinned as they began shouting out things they wanted to sing. "All right, guys, your assignment is to find something that speaks to you from Broadway." He dismissed the group, and they skipped out, all more than ready for lunch.
The boy, Maks, stayed behind. "Mr. Hummel?"
Kurt chuckled. "Call me Kurt."
The boy flushed. "Kurt," he said agreeably. "I just wanted to thank you for listening and for singing for us." His blush grew. "You're amazing."
Mr. Schue smirked. "Maybe Kurt will agree to come visit us again before he goes back to New York."
Maks beamed. "Will you? To hear me sing?"
Kurt nodded. "Sure. I'll come hear you sing." He watched the boy practically danced from the room. "He's totally in love with me now, isn't he?"
Mr. Schue laughed. "Oh yeah." He snorted. "Ready for lunch? I had Emma pack something for you this morning."
He nodded. "Sure." They walked down the halls – Kurt jumped just a little whenever he saw those oh-so-familiar red letterman jackets. They met the former Ms. Pillsbury in the teachers' lounge, and the trio ate from the pristine Tupperware containers Emma had sterilized this morning. Kurt didn't know why it was easier to call the woman by her first name than it was calling Mr. Schue 'Will'. Maybe he never saw her as a superior, as rude as that sounded. He had fun chatting with the happily married couple – Emma's stomach was gently rounded with their growing son. They discussed glee club, and Kurt offered more suggestions, some feasible, most not.
"I'm floundering," he finally admitted towards the end of Mr. Schue's lunch break. "Theatre isn't working – no one will give me a chance to really show them what I can do – and I'm floundering."
Mr. Schue gave him a sympathetic look. "I saw you sing today, Kurt. You're even better than I remembered."
Kurt shrugged. "I don't get to sing in auditions really; I'm not 'leading man' material." He sighed. "David's doing so well, you know? And I'm so proud of him, but I'm jealous. I'm terrified that if I don't find something to be proud of myself for, it's going to make me resent him."
Emma reached over and patted his arm – a testament to how far she'd come since Kurt's high school days. "What about acting lessons?"
He shrugged again. "I honestly don't know if I want it badly enough anymore. I want to keep singing, but I can't keep failing. I've been trying for years to find some way into the theatre business, and I'm just tired." Kurt grunted. "God, I sound like a child."
"You sound like a man who's tired of having to fight for every little thing in his life," Mr. Schue countered. "It's not easy to let go of a dream and just start over, but sometimes, it's the most mature decision." He reached over and squeezed Kurt's shoulder.
"You don't think I'm being selfish or that I'm giving up too easily?"
"I don't think it's my opinion that matters to you," the older man said. "Do you think your giving in too easily?"
Kurt thought about it for a moment before he shook his head. "No," he said. "I think my mental state and my relationship is a little more important than my pride."
Emma beamed at him. "That's very mature of you, Kurt," she said, and Kurt watched the couple exchange a look so full of love, it made his stomach ache. Emma glanced at the clock. "You need to go, sweetie," she said. "I'll walk Kurt out."
Mr. Schue nodded and stood; he pressed a kiss to Emma's fiery red hair. "For what it's worth," the choir director said, looking at Kurt, "you have one of the best vocal ranges I have ever heard. It would be a terrible if you ever stopped singing."
"Thanks, Will," Kurt said earnestly.
"You are coming back on Friday to listen to the kids sing?"
Kurt nodded. "I did promise." He waved as Mr. Schue rushed off to his next class. Kurt turned to the pretty, pregnant woman sitting beside him. "Why did it take me a trip to Lima and talking to your husband to work through that? I should have been able to work that out on my own."
Emma shrugged. "We all need a break sometimes, Kurt. There's no shame in it." They chattered some more while they cleaned up from lunch. Well, Kurt watched as Emma thoroughly scrubbed the table down. When he'd offered to help, Emma had just laughed and went about her little ritual. She'd gotten a lot better over the years, but OCD didn't just go away. After she finished scouring the table, she walked him back to the main office so that he could return his visitor's pass.
As he was heading back to his car, he heard someone calling him. He turned to see that kid, Maks, running towards him. "Kurt! Kurt, wait!" He came to a stop before him, panting slightly.
"Can I help you?" Kurt asked.
The kid blushed again, and Kurt couldn't help but chuckle a little. He was cute in a baby-kind of way; he reminded Kurt of himself in high school, willowy and pretty, but Maks's fashion sense was miles behind Kurt's. He had on jeans that almost fell off his hips and a baggy, argyle sweater. "I just wanted to thank you again," he murmured, not quite meeting Kurt's eyes. "I don't ever get any support in glee."
"I felt the same way when I was your age," Kurt assured him. "I remembered how nice it was when someone was on my side. Besides, you had a good basic idea."
Maks's red cheeks deepened; Kurt was concerned that his head was going to explode. "You're so amazing," the boy gushed.
Kurt laughed nervously. "Thank you. I should be going –"
"Sure, yeah, of course," Maks said, nodding his head almost violently. "See you Friday then."
Kurt nodded. "Friday."
Well, he thought as he climbed into the car and pulled out of the parking lot, that's going to be interesting.
Dave's POV
Dave did his best not to think about the TMZ article; it was a stupid tabloid, after all. By the time he had to go in for practice, Dave had almost forgotten about it. Of course his teammates, who enjoyed riding his ass because he was the "new guy," had printed off the article and read it out loud in the locker room. Dave tried not to react when they joked about calling to "comfort" Kurt, but his smile was stretched too tightly, his laughter too forced. The coach noticed.
"Karofsky," the man said once practice was over, "hang back." The rest of the team laughed as they filed out of the locker room. "Why don't you ask Hummel to come home already?" he asked once the last player had gone.
Dave sighed. "He's been gone a week, Coach. I can survive without him, if that's what he needs – no offense, but why is this your business?"
"Your game sucks when you're upset," the man said in a hard, no-nonsense voice. "So fix it. Ask you twink to come home, don't get photographed hanging all over other guys –"
"He's my brother-in-law," Dave argued feebly.
"Whatever. Just fix it before our first game." Dave nodded and shouldered his gear. "And Dave?" He turned to look at the coach. "Stand up for yourself, okay? Don't let the others skate all over you."
Dave smiled grimly. "Sure thing, Coach."
Over the next few days, the little click of a camera shutter followed him everywhere. He couldn't figure out why anyone would want to take pictures of him. He wasn't extraordinarily attractive, nor did he do anything remotely interesting – except being the youngest – and only gay – New York Ranger. On Friday morning, as he was leaving the gym, he ran into the same man who photographed he and Kurt at the airport. "Where's your boyfriend?" the man asked and clicked a few pictures as Dave tried to duck by him.
"Visiting relatives," he finally grunted when the question was asked six more times. "And he's my fiancé," he couldn't help but add, smiling a little. The camera caught the expression.
"When are you tying the knot?"
"If I answer your questions and let you get a few good pictures, will you leave me alone?"
The man nodded, smiling in triumph. "Sure." Dave stood and let him get a few shots of him smiling, being charming. "So when is the wedding?"
"Soon," Dave said vaguely. "We haven't set an exact date."
"And the other man?"
"My soon to be brother-in-law. He's straight and engaged to Rachel Berry."
"The actress?"
Dave nodded. "The very same. I am, in no way, sleeping with him or anyone else besides my fiancé," he said. "I'm a one-man kind of guy."
The reporter chuckled. "So what's it like being a starter for the Rangers?"
Dave smiled and happily answered any of the man's sports questions, always spinning a positive answer about the team and their upcoming season – just like the scary PR lady taught him to do. By the end of the impromptu interview, he had the reporter laughing. "Try to not make me sound like a douchebag," he said at the interview's end, and the man smiled.
"You're one of the nicer celebs I've met," he said. "If I sell my interview, I'll make sure you look good."
"Thanks, man." They shook hands, and Dave started his long walk to the subway station. He hoped that he had done the right thing.
Kurt's POV
Heading up to the school on Friday afternoon, Kurt actually felt a little excited. Mr. Schue had called and gushed about the kids' rehearsals. He couldn't wait to see them in action. Once in the choir room, he settled beside Mr. Schue and watched the club give it their all.
A few kids were truly fantastic – one big, jock-type actually did sing I Feel Pretty and had Kurt rolling with laughter. Lydia and another boy did a lovely rendition of I Don't Do Sadness/Blue Wind from Spring Awakening. "Lydia looks like Quinn and sings like Rachel," Kurt murmured to Mr. Schue as the blonde and her partner sat down.
"With twice the diva attitude of Mercedes," Mr. Schue whispered back, sending Kurt into a giggle fit.
Finally, Maks stood to sing. Kurt watched as the smiles nearly dropped from the faces of the students. The boy nearly tripped as he handed Brad the sheet music, and the club sniggered cruelly. "Why do they hate him?"
"Just watch."
Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, black bird,
How is it you sing?
How can you jubilate,
Sitting in cages,
Never taking wing?
Beckoning, beckoning,
Just beyond the bars.
How can you remain,
Staring at the rain,
Maddened by the stars?
How is it you sing?
Anything?
Kurt's mouth dropped open. The awkward boy was fantastic.
Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, black bird,
How is it you sing?
Whence comes this melody constantly flowing?
Is it rejoicing or merely halloing?
Are you discussing or fussing?
Or simply dreaming?
Are you crowing?
Are you screaming?
Ringdove and robinet,
Is it for wages,
Singing to be sold?
Have you decided it's
Safer in cages?
Singing when you're told?
This was one of Kurt's least favorite songs – Sweeney Todd was great, but the Joanna character always annoyed him for whatever reason – but with Maks singing in his smooth, sweet tenor, the words took on a new meaning for Kurt. He found himself tearing up.
My cage has many rooms,
Damask and dark.
Nothing there sings,
Not even my lark.
Larks never will, you know,
When they're captive.
Teach me to be more adaptive.
Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, blackbird,
Teach me how to sing.
If I cannot fly,
Let me sing.
By the end of the performance, Kurt was crying. He was so good, and the whole club hated him for it. "That was marvelous, Maks, as always," Mr. Schue said and made a little, encouraging speech before sending them home for the weekend. "Does he get all the solos?" Kurt couldn't help but ask once the kids were gone.
The choir director shook his head. "He won't take a solo."
"What?"
"He knows how good he is, and he doesn't want to be the one we rely on to win; so the other kids hate him."
Kurt stared at Mr. Schue, gaping. "I can't decide whether that's idiotic or incredibly mature."
"It's both. He's stubborn and shy and reminds me a lot of you, actually."
Kurt snorted. "I'd never give up a solo if I could sing like that."
"But you can," his former teacher said. "So why are you letting some blind, ignorant directors tell you otherwise?" Mr. Schue sighed. "There are so many theatrical avenues besides Broadway, I wish you could see that."
"I live in New York," Kurt argued. "Theatre is Broadway in New York, and I'm not Broadway."
"So fight harder," Mr. Schue said. "Stop hiding – behind David, behind Lima. Show them that you're a leading man."
Kurt stared at his friend, his mentor, and suddenly felt angry. "A few days ago you refused to tell me what you thought about me quitting, Will, even when I asked. And like you've never hid in Lima? Behind the glee club at this stupid high school? You had your shot at Broadway, and you didn't take it, Will." He sneered. "How dare you lecture me about hiding? You're a coward too."
Mr. Schue stared at him for a moment before nodding. "You're right, I did hide. I did miss my chance, but, Kurt, I like my life. I love my wife and my job; I love that I'm going to be a father. When one dream fell through – because, yes, I am a coward – I found a new one. From what I've seen and heard, you're doing nothing."
"I don't know what I want," Kurt said. He was close to tears without realizing it. "I don't know if I want theatre or music, or if I like living in New York. I used to be so sure of my dreams, Will. I used to know who I was and what my goals were. Now I feel like an indecisive idiot."
"So go home – go to David – and start making lists, start figuring it out. You're worth more than Lima, Ohio, Kurt, and Dave deserves more than an absentee lover."
Kurt knew he was right. After two weeks, all he had accomplished was to drive David crazy with worry and to yell at his best friend. He deserved to feel like a child because that was how he was acting. He smiled begrudgingly at his mentor. "Thanks for shaking some sense into me."
"Any time," the choir director assured. "Now call David and tell him you pulled your head out of your ass."
He chuckled half-heartedly. "Ay, ay, captain." Kurt pulled out his phone and pressed the number one speed dial button.
"Kurt," David breathed in his ear not twenty seconds later.
"Hi," Kurt murmured happily. "Guess what?"
"What?"
"I'm coming home."
There was a pause, then a shuddering sigh. "Oh, thank God."
A/N: So I know it's been awhile, and I apologize for that. I made this chapter longer than usual to make it up to you! I warn you now: there be angst ahead! Read and review, please!
