Chapter Six Fumble

The act of losing possession of the ball while running with it or being tackled.

Blaine grinned cheerfully at the few students he passed in the corridor of the high school as he made his way towards the choir room. In each hand, he held a steaming cup of coffee – a grand non fat mocha for Kurt and a medium drip for himself. He was 'paying it forward', so to speak, but also he wanted to thank Kurt for the lift into school the past two days.

Just the day before, during the school day, Henry, from Hummel's Tyre and Lube, had brought back Blaine's car, complete with two brand new tyres. Blaine was thrilled to have his car returned but found he was quite disappointed that he would no longer be able to enjoy the company of one Kurt Hummel in the mornings before school.

That first morning, Blaine had been waiting on the pavement outside his building extra early because he didn't want the man doing him a favour to wait for him at all. At exactly 7.20, Kurt had pulled into an open space and Blaine had climbed in. He found Kurt smiling gently in greeting and pointing to a medium drip coffee from the Lima Bean waiting for him in the specially designed cup-holder attached to the console.

"You're spoiling me," he remarked, smiling back gratefully.

"Well, I can't face the day without my coffee fix so I figured I may as well get two while I was there, in case you were the same," explained Kurt.

Blaine took a sip of the coffee and sighed in satisfaction. "You must have been up very early this morning – and we had a late night last night. Did you get any sleep?"

Kurt grimaced. "I didn't sleep well but that's nothing unusual any more. I haven't slept well since the phone-call about my dad's heart attack."

"How's he doing?" asked Blaine quietly, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Kurt shook his head. "It's hard to tell. The doctors say his heart has weakened considerably and he must rest. Exertion could kill him but I think lying in bed all day reading the papers and watching crap T.V. is killing him too. Makes one revisit the whole 'quality of life' debate all over again."

"I'm sorry, Kurt," sympathised Blaine.

"Don't be," replied Kurt, "It is what it is. I'm just glad that I'm here."

"Santana told me you gave up a lead role on Broadway to be here for him," Blaine commented carefully as Kurt nodded all the while biting his bottom lip. "That's pretty incredible, Kurt. You and your dad must have an amazing relationship - "

"Yeah," agreed Kurt, "my dad is pretty awesome." After a brief pause, he continued, "Wasn't always like that, though. I was terrified to tell him I was gay so I did a stint on the football team in my sophomore year just so he wouldn't find out."

Blaine made a choking sound and coffee spilled from his lips as he spluttered, "You did what?"

Haughtily, Kurt passed him a couple of Lima Bean paper napkins and an embarrassed Blaine dabbed uselessly at his shirt."

"That's going to stain," Kurt informed him, trying hard not to let the relish in his voice supersede his concern for the quality shirt Blaine was wearing.

"I've got a spare in the cupboard in my office," mumbled Blaine and then he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry; did you say you played football?"

Once more, Kurt gave him a haughty glare. "Is it so hard to believe?" he asked gruffly.

"No it's just – you seem so ... I mean you're - "

Kurt glared keenly at him and Blaine began to backpedal quickly.

"How 'bout I just shut up now and let you tell me what position you played?" suggested Blaine meekly.

"I was their kicker," announced Kurt with just a hint of pride and a quiet giggle. "Finn helped me and by some miracle I was quite good at it. We won the only game I ever played in."

"Why did you only play in the one game?" Blaine's interest was piqued.

"Because I eventually plucked up the courage to tell my dad the truth and when he said he was okay with it, I didn't need to prove anything to him anymore, so I quit the team and focused on Glee club instead."

"Wow! Okay, I am seriously impressed," stated Blaine.

Kurt giggled. "Apparently it doesn't take much to impress you then, does it?" he noted as he pulled into a vacant parking bay in the reserved area for faculty members.

"Have a great day, Blaine," he said as he switched off the engine. "Do you need a lift home?"

"No it's fine – we've got practice this afternoon. I'll get Sam to drop me off. Thanks very much!" replied Blaine.

"Same time tomorrow, then?" Kurt checked. "I doubt Henry will have received the tyres by the end of the day."

"Same time tomorrow, thank you. Kurt, I appreciate it very much!"

"Hey, coach!" greeted Haydn as Blaine turned towards the choir room door. Blaine stopped short and looked passed several lockers to where the school's quarterback stood with his locker door wide open as he emptied his bag of heavy books.

"Haydn, hi, good morning," replied Blaine cheerfully.

The young football player was curious. "We don't often see you down this end of the school, Coach – what's up? Where are you heading with those coffees?"

Blaine could feel the blush rise from beneath the collar of his shirt and inch its way up his neck and encroach on his cheeks.

"Oh ... um these?" he gestured uselessly. "I'm just going to… They're …um for - " he would have continued to stumble out a reply but Haydn seemed to get the message.

"Oh, you're taking them to Mr Hummel, are you? I think he's talking with Ms Lopez right now in his office," interjected the teen.

"Right? Well, I'll just…" Blaine gestured toward the door which was ajar and he slid through the gap into the empty choir room. His shoes quiet on the laminated tiled floor, Blaine silently made his way towards the office at the other end of the room. The door was partially closed but Blaine could hear Santana's voice which, for some strange reason, was rather loud considering that it was still quite early in the morning.

"Just give me a decent reason, Lady Lips and then maybe I'll begin to believe you!"

"Santana, there's no need to raise your voice at me. I told you my decision is final and nothing you say will persuade me otherwise," Kurt's tone was emphatic.

Blaine came to a halt, unsure of how to proceed. The two old school friends sounded quite irate with each other and Blaine was concerned. He should be - after all, he'd been on the receiving end of Kurt's anger and he'd seen Santana in full rant several times in the past years.

Should he announce his presence?

With a cough or a knock on the door?

Knocking would be hard to do considering his hands were both full. Perhaps he should put the one cup down?

Yes, that would be a good plan.

Blaine turned away from the office door to place his coffee on a nearby shelf when he caught the next few words out of Santana's mouth.

"Blaine is an incredibly amazing guy, Kurt. Why won't you give him a chance?"

Blaine stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly back to face the door again. Wait, what? Why was he being discussed?

"Santana, for heaven's sake!" Kurt's voice was incredulous. "What are you thinking? He's a … a..."

"A what?" Santana prompted heatedly.

Yeah, Kurt, coaxed Blaine from his position outside the door, I'm a what?

"A football player!" Kurt spat the word out in disgust and Blaine's eyebrows furrowed in confusion on his forehead.

"He doesn't play anymore, Kurt. He's a coach. There's a difference. Just give him a chance. Ask him out on a date. The two of you would be perfect for each other, trust me I - " There was a note of exasperation in Santana's reply but Kurt cut her off heatedly.

"Santana, stop! It's not going to happen. I have absolutely no intention of getting involved with … with that … with someone like that. Just no. Never, no. Now drop it, would you?"

"Kurt - "

Blaine didn't wait for Santana to finish her sentence. He turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the choir room. Haydn and a few other students looked up surprised as their football coach hurried passed them with his eyes cast down. They watched in fascination as Blaine, without breaking stride, tossed the coffee cups from the Lima Bean perfectly into the corridor bin where the contents spilled as soon as the cups hit the bottom of the plastic container.

"Coach?"

Haydn called after him but Blaine was deaf to his player's entreaty as he pushed open the wooden double doors which led to the outside courtyard and, beyond that, the sanctuary of the gymnasium.

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That evening, after football practice had ended and the players had left for the showers, Sam sat down on the bench beside Blaine and looked with concern over at the coach who was scribbling notes on the paper attached to his clipboard.

"Do you wanna tell me what's been biting your ass all day or am I going to have to guess?" Sam asked after a few minutes of silence.

Blaine looked up. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked distractedly.

"Don't have to pretend with me, Boss," Sam retorted. "Something's up."

"Nothing's up, Sam. Look, I'm sorry if I snapped at you. I guess I'm just tired and probably stressed about next week's game."

"Nah, you didn't snap – you're just not your usual upbeat, perky, enthusiastic self that's all and I was just wondering why or if there was anything I could do help?" Sam offered kindly.

"Nah, Sam, nothing to be done and I'm sure I'll be just fine in the morning. Nothing like a long, hot soak in the tub this evening with the perfect bottle of red wine, right?"

Blaine picked up his notes, stood up and patted his assistant on the shoulder as he made his way towards the gymnasium block and his office. Sam watched him go, noting with concern the slumped shoulders of his friend.

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A week later, Sam looked up from his seat at Blaine's desk where he was filling in match statistics when the outer door slammed open and heavy footfalls on the floor made their way angrily towards the coach's office.

"Where the hell is he?" asked Kurt by way of greeting when he got to the doorway and saw Sam in Blaine's seat.

"And, good afternoon to you too, Kurt," replied Sam pleasantly.

"Don't give me crap, Sam; I'm not in the mood. Where the hell is Coach Anderson? And he'd better have a bloody good explanation for stuffing up my rehearsal schedule!"

"How could he have stuffed up your rehearsal schedule, Kurt? It's got nothing to do with him," Sam didn't understand what Kurt was even talking about but he defended his boss as best he could.

"He's only gone and changed your football practice time so now there's a clash with my musical rehearsal and he's apparently terrorised his football players so much that if they don't attend, they'll be off the team so now they're all going to miss my technical rehearsals because of it. What the hell is his fucking problem?"

"My problem, as you so eloquently put it, Mr Hummel, is the not so small matter of the Division Finals next week."

Blaine's quiet but steady and firm voice came from behind Kurt who whirled around to face the man as soon as he heard him.

"You're such a hypocrite, Blaine!" fired Kurt, his finger gesticulating wildly in Blaine's. "You fed me that bullshit line about school policy regarding extra-curricular activities not clashing so students wouldn't be placed in positions where they'd have to choose between activities. Shit! You got my changes reversed and now you're doing exactly the same thing."

Blaine calmly walked passed Kurt to his desk where Sam stood up and moved out of his way, his eyes wide in surprise at the heated exchange between the two men. Blaine dropped several papers on his desk and then looked up at Kurt whose chest was heaving in anger.

Shit! He's beautiful, thought Blaine but he shook his head in frustration. Stop it Blaine. Remember what he said – you are not good enough for the high and mighty Kurt Hummel. You're just a lowly football player, totally undeserving of his lordship's attention. Blaine breathed out slowly.

"It's not the same thing at all, Kurt," he explained as if to one much younger than he. "It's an emergency. The school we're up against next week is exceptionally tough and we need the extra practice. Besides, it's been given the all-clear by Mr Williams."

"I don't care if the Pope himself gave you the all-clear, Blaine. What you've done is despicable. I've had to change Tech rehearsals to Sunday and Monday which really doesn't give us enough time before opening night on Tuesday."

Blaine shrugged his shoulders. "Can't be helped, Kurt. I've already forfeited my players for the three nights of your performance next week so, actually, it's the least you can do to give them the time off this week," he replied.

"The least I can do? Kurt spluttered enraged as he repeated Blaine's words. "The least I can do! No, I'll tell you what the least I can do is Blaine bloody Anderson - "

However, before he could describe exactly what that would be, Sam intervened by moving closer to where Kurt was standing seething in anger in front of the desk.

"Kurt, hey ... um ... let's me and you go for a walk and a bit of a chat, huh? What do you say?" Sam tried to calm his old friend down and placed his hands heavily on each of Kurt's shoulders.

Neither Blaine nor Sam was prepared for what happened next. Kurt shrieked and flung Sam's hands off his body.

"Don't touch me!" he yelled, cheeks flushed red with rage, his eyes wide with fright and his chest panting with the gasping breaths he was gulping. "Don't you dare touch me, damn it!"

Panicked, Blaine was out of his chair in a second but stopped himself just in time as Kurt pushed Sam forcefully away from him. "Keep your bloody hands off me! Do you hear?" he screamed.

Sam raised his hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender.

"Kurt," he whispered, "I'm sorry. Shit, man, I totally forgot. I'm so sorry. Kurt -"

"No," hissed Kurt, his voice having disappeared in his breathless fury. "You don't get to say you're sorry. Just leave me the fuck alone." His eyes darted to include Blaine now. "Both of you!"

In the silence that followed Kurt's abrupt departure, Blaine could hear Sam's heavy breathing as he fought to regain control.

"Sam?" whispered Blaine. "What the hell was that?"

Sam turned to look at Blaine with a defeated look. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "I messed up so badly."

"What the hell, Sam?" Blaine was overwhelmed by the events in his office. "What just happened?"

"Boss, look I've gotta make a call. I've gotta ring Mercedes. Only she can talk him down now."

"Talk him down?" repeated Blaine in confusion. "But, what's going on Sam?"

"Not now, Boss, I've gotta get hold of Mercedes."

Sam walked out of the office, and Blaine heard the outer door slam closed for the second time in several minutes.

What in the name of all that was unholy had just happened in his office? One minute Kurt was yelling at Blaine about rehearsals and practices and the next he's going all ballistic on Sam because Sam touched him. And Sam had apologised immediately and said he "forgot."

Forgot what? Blaine wondered. What the hell had happened to Kurt Hummel?