Chapter 4: Collision
Kurt didn't rehearse with Rachel or even talk to her about his song selections. He ignored the ostensibly helpful texts and increasingly vehement voice mails, because yanking Rachel's chain was one habit that he had no intention of ever outgrowing. Expecting one, or more likely both, twins to answer his knock, Kurt looked down as the door swung open and found not two pair of excited eyes but one pair of muscular thighs encased in dark denim. Looking up, past belt buckle, taut stomach and wide shoulders, he found the face that was the blueprint for the twins' features. "Noah! What are you doing here?"
Grinning, Puck moved aside as Kurt stepped into the black and white tiled foyer. "Just got back last night."
Kurt pulled Puck into a tight hug. "Rachel didn't tell me!"
Puck wrapped his arms around Kurt and pummeled his back, releasing him with the old, bad-boy glint in his eyes. "Late last night, she was busy!"
Kurt pretended ignorance, even as his crystal eyes lit with laughter. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean and," Kurt put his hand out to stop Noah from providing an explanation, "I don't want to know!"
"Right!" Puck tuned his head and called down the hallway. "Guys, Kurt's here, let's go."
Short legs pumping, bumping into each other as they careened down the hallway, voices raised in excitement, the boys tried to beat each other to their uncle. "What are you going to sing?" Reid skidded into Kurt's right leg, while his brother, Ryan, grabbed his left hand. "Can you do the one from Sesame Street?"
Squatting down, an arm around each small waist, Kurt smiled at the boys. "Your Dad's home now, he can sing. I'll sit with you guys in the audience."
"No," Reid shook his head, dark hair falling over his eyes, "Dad's going to play his guitar and you're going to sing."
Ryan nodded, and continued where his brother left off. "There are two of us, so we get to have two people on stage."
Kurt looked up at Puck and got a smile and a shrug. Because he had missed huge junks of Beth's childhood, and despite spending a fair amount of time in airports, Puck was a very involved parent. Rachel complained that he never said "No" to the boys making her the bad guy by default, but together they were obviously doing something right because the boys were, in Kurt's opinion, perfectly brilliant. Looking into two sets of expectant eyes, Kurt nodded slowly, pretending to consider their suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds fair." Standing, a hand on each of the boys' shoulders, Kurt teased Puck. "I don't know, do you think your Dad can keep up with me."
Traffic being what it was in Manhattan, they elected to walk to the kids' school, cutting through Central Park, skirting the dog-walkers and runners. After Finn's death, in some strange sort of personal tribute, Puck had enlisted in the Air Force. In an environment that demanded his personal best, Puck had excelled. It took him a few extra years, but with the G.I. Tuition Assistance program and a lot of hard work he had gotten his degree. Now, as an IT consultant for the military, Puck did a fair bit of travelling. It turned out that his talent with numbers could be used for more than just playing poker.
No one had expected Puck and Rachel to get together, least of all, Puck and Rachel. Finn's death had left a large hole in all of their lives, and Puck had taken to dropping in on Kurt and Rachel whenever he was in New York. The two had started out bonding over Finn and slowly, over time, found more to appreciate in each other than Finn's memory. Watching Puck now, picking one little boy up after the other, holding them high so they could pet the carriage horses waiting in line along Central Park South, Kurt saw no resemblance to the defensive teen who used to hide behind a major case of attitude. Thinking about his own life, Kurt smiled to himself. Noah wasn't the only one who had changed a lot since high school!
What had once been a private home back before the First World War now housed the toddler set among the bright and brilliant of the Upper West Side. The entire third floor, originally the ballroom, was outfitted with mirrors, ballet bars and gym equipment. Winding his way through rows of wooden stacking chairs that looked to be as ancient as the building itself, Jason followed his sister and niece to three empty seats on the right side of the room. Jason and his sister, Melissa were prime examples of artistic incompetence, so his brother-in-law was representing the family on stage. Michael had protested bitterly but even he knew that daughter trumped golf. Jason was here to support his niece and the school and to watch Michael make a fool of himself. As two teachers man-handled an old upright on clacking wheels to the front of the room, Jason sat back and prepared to enjoy himself.
Holy Fuck! Jason choked on the mint he had just popped into his mouth, eyes watering as he struggled to breathe. "You okay?" He gave his sister, Melissa, an impatient nod and she turned back to the chalked off area purporting to be a stage. His niece, however, wasn't so easily convinced. She continued pounding on his back until he managed to drag enough air into his lungs to talk. "Okay, I'm good. Thanks." Leaning forward in his seat, he craned his neck to one side, trying to get a better view. He was vaguely aware that there were two men within the chalk perimeter, but he only really saw one. It's him! Holy fucking shit, it's him! A freight train hammered out of his chest and firecrackers exploded in his brain as disbelief tumbled over shock and erupted into Oh, My, God! Jason turned towards his sister, words already dancing along his vocal cords, sliding towards his lips. That's him! That's the guy who…. Biting his lip, Jason kept the words buried inside. That's the guy I want to bring to Christmas dinner, the guy I want to fall asleep with, the guy I want to fuck until the world ends. Fuck! He didn't even know his name! Jason dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from throwing himself at the man standing in front of the finger-painted backdrop. The man's amplified voice, as perfect as Jason knew it would be, seeped under his skin, calling him, calming him. Focusing on that one man, inhaling every sweep of eyelash, tilt of head and slide of hip, Jason smiled so wide, his face actually hurt. It's him!
Jason wasn't the only one paying more attention to the man than the song. Sitting in the back row of the small gym, a second pair of eyes followed Kurt's every gesture. In the more than ten years since he had last heard Kurt sing, the voice, like the man himself, had changed. Kurt was still a clear, lilting tenor but there was a rich, dark quality to his voice now that stroked the senses. At least, it stroked his senses, but then Kurt's voice had always made things inside him clench and throb, whether he was singing or not. Unlike Kurt, Rachel, Santana, and then Blaine and Artie, and eventually Puck, he had not headed to New York after graduation. He had taken the first plane west, needing distance, needing gone, needing to forget waking up in a hospital with rope burns around his neck and bruises on his throat. Puck had tracked him down a few times when he was in California on business, and Santana had kept tabs on him through LinkedIn. He, himself, had made no effort to keep in touch with anyone from McKinley and yet, somehow, here he was listening to Kurt Hummel sing. The years rolled away and for the length of a song, he was that boy again, watching and wanting.
"Mr. Puckerman, your wife said to ask you." With a totally unsympathetic grin, Kurt abandoned Puck to a diatribe from the school's principal on the benefits of instituting a school uniform. Pouring himself a cup of coffee from an ancient metal contraption on a shaky wooden trestle table, he watched Ryan and Reid chase each other around one of the red circles painted on the gym floor. One sip and an involuntary shudder of distaste had him re-thinking the coffee idea. Tipping the paper cup into the nearest waste basket, he turned to find a man standing quietly, head cocked slightly to one side, smiling at him. Kurt hadn't seen that smile in years but he knew it instantly. Without even thinking about it, he was holding onto broad shoulders, grinning like a crazy man. "Dave! Dave Karofsky!"
In the old days, a greeting like that would have had Karofsky looking around in fear, wondering who had seen and who they would tell. Now, Dave gathered Kurt close the way he had always wanted to. Kurt was still talking, his breath brushing Dave's ear. Arousal spiked instantly, tendrils of fire melting his spine, and he welcomed it. In the years since McKinley, Dave had found friends and lovers, and one long-term partner, but nothing and no one had ever made him feel like this.
"…are you doing here?" Kurt stepped back, crystal eyes scanning Dave, subconsciously mapping the differences between this David Karofsky and the one he remembered. He noted and approved the new confidence behind the old shy smile, the absolute lack of tension. This man was comfortable with himself and it showed.
"I texted Puck this morning, telling him I was in town and…" Dave shrugged. "He said to meet him here."
"Does Santana know you're here? How long are you staying?"
Jason stood with his sister and niece, oblivious to anything but the man across the room. What are you waiting for? Go over there. No, he won't want to see me, not here. You wanted to know him, right? Well, here's your chance. True, this was his chance. This might be his only chance. That thought had him moving, threading between chatting groups of people, closing in on the man he never took his eyes off.
"…six months, maybe a year." Dave shrugged. "Depends on how fast we can get the project up and running. What about you? When can I hang an original Kurt Hummel on my walls?"
Kurt laughed. "Anytime you want. I've got a studio full of paintings no one wants."
"Hey, Gorgeous." Jason leaned in for a hug and on reflex, Kurt's arms wrapped around him. Stepping back, Jason smiled at both men. "I'm here with my niece, what's your excuse?" He didn't think it was possible for this man to get any paler but, apparently, he was wrong. Trying to shake him out of his 'Casper the Statue' trance, Jason smacked at his arm. "You never told me you could sing!"
"Jason!"
