Rating: M for Mature.
Warnings: Drug use and abuse, sex, prostitution.
Disclaimer: I'm not Ryan Murphy. I don't even own a yellow beret.
Nine
The next few days are tense and awkward. Kurt hands over all the drugs Mark gave him, as well as his phone, and plunges right back into withdrawal. Dave thinks it's unrealistic to expect him to make it through without professional help, but Kurt still won't have it any other way. Dave desperately needs to get him help, considering that he was actually seconds away from suicide, but Kurt makes him swear not to.
Dave knows he's going to have to make a decision soon. At some point, he's going to have to force Kurt into rehab or at least to a doctor. Kurt will cry and scream at him and probably tell him never to speak to him again and it will fucking kill Dave but he has to do it, for Kurt's sake. He knows that.
So why is it so fucking hard?
The buzz of the doorbell comes at about half eight at night, as Kurt and Dave are curled up on the sofa watching a movie – some cheesy chick flick that Dave's forgotten the name of. He leaps up, hearing Kurt groan at the loss of heat. He's looking a little better; still that odd grey color but the shaking is lessening, which can't be bad.
The good mood is immediately dashed as he sees a stranger through the peephole.
"Who is it?" Kurt asks, lethargically. Dave doesn't know how to respond. Somehow, he knows that it's Mark without calling Kurt over to confirm it.
"It's…" he takes a deep breath. "I think it's Mark." He says, pulling open the door just too late to catch Kurt's voice ringing out sharply: "Don't open it!" As soon as he hears him, he tries to slam the door shut again, but Mark's foot jams the way.
"I just want to talk." He says, softly, smoothly, and Dave was right; it is him. He knows that voice. The voice that just shouldn't sound like that, shouldn't be so silky, it makes Dave queasy. He half expected Mark to look like a movie villain, with a cane or a bowler hat, or something else that's ridiculously cliché. Not this, not an ordinary guy.
"Fine." Dave says, through gritted teeth, as if he has a choice. Mark isn't budging, and it's not like he can just punch the guy through the small crack in the door. Besides, maybe this is a peaceful encounter; maybe Mark just wants to set things straight between them. Or maybe Dave's been insanely optimistic. "Talk." He grinds out, in that threatening tone he perfected in high school.
"You have something that belongs to me." Mark says, with a polite, fake smile, as Dave pulls the door open. The anger that Dave is trying to suppress flares up, but he takes a deep breath and tells himself to keep calm.
"Kurt is not your property. He owes you nothing." It's much more police than telling him to fuck off, but Dave hopes the message will get through anyway.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like he owes me everything. I took him off the streets, I saved him from all the pain and suffering; hell, I gave him a roof over his head! I gave him everything he ever wanted. What did you give him?"
Dave ignores the patronizing question. "He paid for everything you gave him with his body, you sick son of a bitch! You destroyed his life!" Dave can't keep his voice down and barely restrains himself from choking the man.
"Oh, please. He was a kid, he didn't have a life. A couple of days on the streets and he would have been dead anyway." The dismissive tone he uses makes Kurt finch behind him, Dave can see out of the corner of his eye.
"He would have gone home!" Dave argues, ignoring how Kurt is starting at the ground, looking guilty. "But you stopped him. You stopped him and you poisoned him with those fucking drugs and then you sold him like an animal."
Mark lets out a low laugh, a deep, awful sound that makes Dave's fists clench and his nails dig in so hard they'll leave imprints. He stares at Dave with a smug smile on his face and dares him to hit him.
Dave's never been one to back down from a dare. His fist connects with Mark's face and the man stumbles back, still smiling. It wasn't a hard enough punch to draw blood, but Dave knows it'll be swollen enough to piss him off in the morning.
"Kurt, you need to keep a leash on your dog." He spits, and Dave must have been wrong, because there's blood on the floor. Apparently he doesn't know his own strength.
"Shut up, Mark." Kurt speaks out from behind Dave. Dave sends him a warning glance, a message to stay back, to keep away from Mark.
"Don't you speak to him." Dave growls at the man, "I will never let you near him again. I'm never going to let him out of my sight."
"What are you, his pimp?" Mark chuckles softly at his own joke, "Besides, I wasn't talking to you, meat-rod, I was talking to him."
"And I told you not to do that, you bastard." He barely restrains himself by grabbing Mark by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall. He knows this feeling well, knows he can't lose it or he'll end up doing something really fucking stupid.
"Temper, temper." Mark tuts three times, his eyes cold and ruthless but the smile never leaving his lips. "Well, Kurt? This time last week we shared such a moment, remember? When we fucked? Do you remember what you said to me, Kurtie, how you begged for me to go faster, harder, how you whimpered and moaned? Do you make the same noises for him?" He turns to Dave again, "Isn't he so pretty when he begs?"
Something snaps. "You filthy, lying, son of a bitch!" Dave leaps forward and makes for him again, but this time, Kurt holds him back with a single hand. It has nothing to do with strength; as soon as Dave feels Kurt's fingers tightening around his arm, he just stops. His breathing is heavy and his heart is pumping with rage-induced adrenaline.
"You really should consider a leash." Mark comments, but Dave can see the position he's standing in; he was ready to take Dave on. He's smaller than Dave, but that doesn't mean he can't be strong.
"Get out of here." Kurt says, his voice low and much calmer than he feels. He wants Mark gone, wants him far, far away where he doesn't have to ever see him again. He wants all of this to be over already
Mark feigns injury, staring Kurt down with a hurt expression, "Really, Kurt? After all I've done for you? I'm heartbroken."
Kurt can't listen to it. Because Mark has done things for him, no matter what the situation, no matter what a manipulative, lying bastard he is, he's only given Kurt what he wants. And that's the worst thing, that Kurt practically asked for this, it might as well be his fault as much as Mark's. "Leave me alone, Mark." He says, his voice breaking a little, betraying him as always.
"And I thought we had a connection." Mark continues to mock, ignoring, or perhaps simply enjoying the way Kurt is retreating in on himself, his eyes pained and tears starting to make them glassy.
"He said leave him alone!" Dave cuts in, for Kurt's sake. Kurt glances at him and lets out a breath of relief, his body shaking harder than ever. Mark only sneers at the two of them.
"See, here's the thing, Davey. Kurt here, he's one of my favorites. I don't like losing my boys at the best of times, but him? He's something special. I want him back, and I will get him back." The mocking tone is still there, but there's a not-too-subtle threat too. Well, Dave never did respond well to threats.
"Actually, Mark, you won't." He grinds out, stepping back and grasping Kurt's hand. Kurt, who has steadily begun to look more and more ill, glances at him with a small smile. "Because I'm going to stop you, and I'll protect him if it kills me. You can't have him back."
A muscle in Mark's face twitches.
"You're a sick, disgusting fuck who should be locked up, and if you don't leave right now I'm going to call the cops on you." Dave finishes, proud of himself for having the courage to say it, even if he doesn't want to have to carry it through.
"Are you really?" Mark's voice betrays no emotion but there's definite panic in his eyes. Then, that smile again. "You seem so certain of yourself. It's cute. But when it comes down to it, we both know that Kurt will come back to me eventually." He sounds so fucking confident, and perhaps that's why Dave is so angry, because deep down inside, he doesn't believe in what he's saying, at least not 100%.
"Not if I can help it."
"But you can't, can you? You couldn't help it the other day when he turned up at the hotel, begging me to give him a customer." Kurt's entire body freezes there. Dave squeezes his hand tightly, and Kurt grips back so hard that it's almost painful. "And you won't be able to help it in the future. Kurt, you might as well come back to me right now, and save yourself the trouble."
"I'm never coming back to you." Kurt finally speaks again, his voice stronger than before, just from the feeling of Dave's hand in his. The feeling that someone is there to support him, to protect him.
"Is that what you tell yourself? You forget one very important thing. I'm the only one who can make the pain go away." The smile plays on Mark's lips again like this is an in-joke, but Dave knows exactly what he means.
"I don't need you to do anything for me!" Kurt snaps, letting go of Dave's hand and clenching his fists.
"Oh, but you do." Mark jeers, his eyes dark and angry, but the rest of his face a whole other expression. "Remember all the times you've begged me, Kurt? Remember every time you got to your knees and opened that pretty little mouth up to me? Every time you clung to my sheets and screamed my name?"
That does it for Kurt. He leaps forward, past Dave, and tackles Mark with his entire body. Mark's bigger than him but the surprise and the sheer force of Kurt knocks him against the wall; Kurt's fingers wrap around Mark's neck and he struggles, but to no avail. Kurt has him pinned, using every ounce of energy he has, working on pure rage. Dave doesn't know what to do, can't think straight, and Mark's face is turning purple. For a moment he thinks that maybe he should let this happen, let Kurt kill Mark, but no, he can't, not even a guy like Mark deserves to be murdered, and he can't let Kurt be responsible for something like that. Mark is only seconds from breaking fee, anyway, since Kurt is inevitably weaker than him.
Dave surges forward and tears Kurt off Mark, but Mark is still struggling, his face a picture of shock, and before Dave can even register the flash of silvery metal, all he knows is pain.
There's supposed to be a gunshot. That's how it always is in the movies; a gunshot, the dramatic music stops suddenly and that's when you know things just got serious. Then zoom in on the injured victim, looking confused, holding his stomach and then lifting up his hands to reveal the spectacular wound, courtesy of a great cosmetics team.
There is no gunshot. No gun at all. No dramatic music. Just the quietest, softest squelch of metal sinking into flesh. It's the kind of sound you hear when cooking dinner, not taking a life.
He turns to Mark, who looks almost as surprised as Kurt feels, even as he holds the bloodied switchblade. Before he knows it, Kurt's throwing himself at him again, wrestling for the knife. Pain shoots through him as he tries to grab for the knife and accidently seizes the blade, slicing his palm. And then Mark is gone, running from the scene of the crime. For a second, Kurt watches him go, frozen, terrified and…Dave.
"Dave!" Kurt screams, his throat constricting. Dave gives a groan, looking down, seeing his hands coated with blood, and then falls to his knees. Kurt falls beside him, shaking harder than ever. "Oh, god, Dave." He whimpers, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. Even 911 is difficult to dial with hands this unsteady and slippery from blood.
He speaks to emergency services through sobs and chokes. He forgets Dave's address, he nearly throws up, but soon the ambulance is on their way.
"Kurt…" Dave chokes out, leaning back. Kurt stares at him, sweat rolling off his forehead, face deathly white. He can't stop the tears that escape him. He doesn't know what to do. He knows the paramedic said something, that there's something he should do; put pressure on, try to stop the bleeding, or something, but he doesn't want to touch the wound, doesn't want to make it worse, doesn't want to risk… his hand is bleeding, too, and he hasn't been tested in over a year.
"Kurt, please…listen to me." Dave gasps out, reaching for Kurt, but Kurt backs away, "I need to… I need to…"
"Dave, stop talking, stop. You're making it worse… please..." Kurt begs, wanting so much to touch Dave but scared of his bleeding hand, and scared to touch Dave lest he injure him further.
"I need to… before I…" Kurt clamps his hands over his ears. He can't hear it. He can't listen to Dave say goodbye; not here, not like this. It should be him, not Dave. He should be the one bleeding to death.
Tears run down his cheeks, mixes with the blood running down from his hand and Kurt can taste it, the coppery salty taste of pain.
Even with his ears covered, he can still see Dave's lips. It doesn't take a lip-reader to know what Dave's saying. Everyone knows what I love you looks like.
