Le sigh. I don't own Glee, and I don't own Moulin Rouge, though I depended heavily on both for my inspiration for this story. Please don't sue me. Or if you do, can I meet Max Adler, Chris Colfer, and Ewan McGregor in person? Please?
Wow. So who here watched Sunday's post-superbowl episode of Glee? Talk about awesome! I think everyone who was with creaturefear (especially me!) in wanting Dave-redemption got a serious preview to better things to come. (Of course, I'm pretty sure creaturefear was referring to 'Trust's version of Dave; I hope y'all won't be disappointed!)
Whew. Talk about a hard chapter to write. I had to go with a couple betas on this (thanks, probablyquantum and Ongakukoi!), just to help me rework some of the kinks. That's the really hard part about being able to see a scene so vividly in one's head before one writes it – little things tend to get left behind. And more often than not, the reaction to my romantic scribblings has tended to be, "Oh. That was… uh… sweet. Very sweet. Yes. I'm going to go throw up now." SO many kudos to my betas for helping with that section! Needless to say, this chapter had (has) me nervous. Let me know what you think? Please?
Thanks to all my readers! 1300 hits in the first week of February. Alone. *faints* Y'all are the greatest!
As per usual, read, enjoy, review! Thanks again!
~Roya
Oh yeah, PS - there IS an epilogue in the works, since my quality review board dubbed it necessary and threatened to hang me by my toenails unless I wrote one. So yay! More Kurt and Dave yumminess!
Thursday
"Karis? Do you really think… I mean, will this… I mean…"
Karis leaned against the back of her big brother's chair, her arm circling around his neck in a backwards hug. "It's going to be fine," she reassured him. "You're going to be fine. Don't worry."
Dave gave a smile, reaching up to hang his hand off of her clasped ones. She squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "Has Dad…said anything? Or Mom?"
He shook his head. "Big blank. Which," he shrugged, "is way better than what I expected. With the way they talk about… about people like me, I was expecting to get tossed out of the house. I had a bag packed and everything."
She squeezed his shoulders. "It's a lot for them to absorb."
"Huh," he coughed a laugh. "Believe me, I know." He fingered the scar across his wrist.
Karis caught his hand and turned it over, rubbing her thumb across his scar. "It's looking good," she murmured. "Have you been using that gel I gave you?"
He nodded. "I think it's working. It's starting to fade."
Her fingers rested on his palm. "It's okay to be scared, Davey. This is a big thing."
Not looking up, he covered her hand with his. "Huge. But I'm tired of hiding, Karis. Dad didn't raise either one of us to be cowards. And I've been a huge coward. It's time to make things right."
Karis eyed the computer. "Well, this will certainly go a long ways toward that. I just hope everything works out okay."
He ran his hand through his short hair, blowing out his breath in one long sigh. "Me too."
~~~glee~~~
The Dream assaulted him again that night.
This time he was at the theater, center stage, brilliant white lights blinding him as he looked out at the audience. He couldn't make out any faces, but he knew they were out there, he could feel them breathing. Their eyes on him felt like lasers, slowly burning holes through his clothes, through his skin, through his soul.
Just before he was about to panic and start running, a lion approached him. It was silent as it came on velvet-padded paws, its heavy coat the color of living gold under the bright stage lights. His mane framed a face that echoed infinite wisdom, and his eyes were at the same time both kind and fierce.
The lion came closer and closer. Dave's knees quaked and he wanted to run, but, as is the way with dreams, the stage had disappeared, leaving nothing but the road at his back and the lion before him. If I get on the road, I'll be stuck, he realized, unable to run, unable to change direction, unable to leave. He'd be a sitting duck. But if I stand here, he'll get me anyway.
So he stood, rooted to the spot, until the lion was almost upon him. Then it opened its huge mouth, and spoke.
"Peace."
It didn't work. Dave was as terrified as ever.
The lion sighed and sat back on its haunches, and suddenly Dave recognized him as a man, the same man he had always met at this point in the Dream. The lion offered his paw. "Take my hand and fly," he invited.
Dave looked beyond the paw at that wild and fierce and somehow almost-human face.
And shook his head. "No. Hell no. I don't fly. No way."
"You either fly or you fall," chided the beast. "There is no third option."
Dave turned to look at the road, feeling its magnetic pull on his feet, on his legs. It was so strong that he took a step in that direction, and another… and stopped. Through sheer effort of will, though it cost him all his strength to do so, he stopped, and turned to the lion. He held out his hand, a supplicating Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
The lion, who was no longer a lion, but a man, reached out and took Dave's hand. Instantly, the pull of the road vanished, though the road itself did not disappear. "Good choice," the man said.
Dave started to shrug, then stopped, really looking at his rescuer for the first time since his transformation. "Kurt?"
"Nah," the man-who-looked-like-Kurt shrugged. "I'm just a symbol. This is a dream, after all, nothing is what it seems, and everything has a meaning."
Dave blinked. "And you being here means…?"
Not-Kurt grinned. "Your dream, your brain, your symbols, crypto-boy. I'm here because you put me here. But, you know, speaking strictly for myself – which is you, by the way, since this is your subconscious – I'd say you're ready for a change." He hit Dave friendly-like on the back as he walked off across the road, dissipating it with every step. It coiled away from his feet like smoke. "Later, Dave!" he called without actually turning around, tossing up a hand in a farewell wave.
Dave waved back, and found himself in his room, in his bed, one minute before his alarm went off.
He was smiling.
~~~glee~~~
Friday
Despite the Dream, it took all of Dave's courage to drag himself to school. He was distracted all morning. His English Lit teacher finally slammed a book down on his desk to get his attention, pointedly suggesting that he 'start reading on paragraph three, if you please, Mr. Karofsky.' His stomach had itself wound up in knots so that he couldn't have eaten even if he'd had the time. Which he didn't. He was too busy trying to figure out how to break into the sound system to bother with lunch. He'd been caught, of course; fortunately it was by Brad, the glee-club's pianist. He listened patiently to Dave's stumbling explanation, then had taken the disc and promised he'd work everything out. He'd even pointed Dave to the right supply locker and oh-so-casually left the door unlocked.
Leaving Dave with nothing to do but nurse a developing ulcer as he awaited the big moment.
The bell rang, releasing the students to the all-school assembly. The mood in the hall was jubilant – any excuse to get out of class was welcomed by McKinley students just as by high school students everywhere. And for kids with better things to do than watch 'Drink, Drive, Die' videos with a representative from the local emergency department, the chaos afforded an ideal chance to slip away for more clandestine activities.
"Karofsky." Dave felt his shoulder grabbed and spun to face Azimio. "Dude, where you going? We gotta get moving if we're going to score prime seats. Cheerios!" He slapped his forehead in exasperation at Dave's blank look. "You can look right up their skirts if you get the right seat."
Moment of truth. "I'm not that interested in cheerleader's skirts, Z," he said. "That's not the way I roll. See you later," and he disappeared into the crowd. Behind him, he could vaguely hear Azimio's incoherent sputter of confusion.
The supply locker was, fortunately, around the corner from where the glee kids were gathered. Old hat as they were with public performances, he could still hear nervous tittering from the group. Today was a practice day, a rehearsal for regionals. And the chance to show off their stuff for the school...
Brad caught Dave a few minutes before the assembly. "Kurt's got a solo straight off," he told him.
Butterflies fluttered in his gut. "Thanks, Brad. I owe you big time."
The pianist waved him off with a grin that said, 'good luck.'
Dave gave him a sick smile in return and headed for his self-appointed spot just outside the doors, on the opposite side of the gymnasium from the New Directions. They had two numbers to sing, led by Kurt's solo. The contralto was already out on stage, facing backwards, waiting for the opening bars to spin and launch into song.
Dave focused on his breathing. Calm… calm… ca-
"What do you think you're doing?"
He choked, caught by surprise. "Finn! Puckerman. What are you doing here?"
The pair of footballers radiated menace as they loomed up in front of them, a united front between him and the door.
"What are you doing here, Karofsky?" Puck's voice was low, threatening.
"Nothin' to do with you." Dave stared between them, ears straining to hear what was going on inside the auditorium. My cue, I can't miss my cue…
Finn got up in Dave's face. "If it's something to do with Kurt, then it has everything to do with me. You think you can intimidate him and get away with it?"
Looking over their shoulders, Dave saw two things. The first was Brad struggling with the sound system. The second was Kurt, anxiously shifting as the titters of nervous laughter filled the gym. He took a step to the side, and Dave knew it was now or never.
Raising the microphone in his hand, he took a breath, and sang.
"Come what may…"
The song came out loud and clear over the speakers. The crowd stilled, looking for the singer. Kurt froze mid-stride, eyes flicking around, searching. Finn and Puck looked at Dave as though he'd grown a third eyeball, but Dave didn't care, he had eyes only for Kurt.
"Come what may…" he sang again, stepping forward. Slowly, Puck and Finn parted, letting him past. Kurt's eyes widened as Dave walked toward him, momentarily confused until the next line, when Dave, gaze locked on Kurt's, belted out, "I will love you… Until my dying day…"
Then the music finally kicked on, but Kurt didn't pick up the song. Dave's throat went suddenly dry. Didn't he like it? Did he hate it? Was he going to run off, embarrassed? Dave couldn't blame him if he did, but Kurt stayed, waiting.
He reached the stage, the intro music chiming from the overhead speakers. "What are you doing?" hissed Kurt, eyes flicking to the staring crowd and back. Azimio was right down front, mouth gaping.
Dave drew Kurt in with his eyes. "Apologizing," he said, then lifted the microphone for the true opening line. "Never knew I could feel like this…"
He drew nearer and nearer to the duet portion, eyes locked on Kurt. There was nothing in the world aside from him. His face was an open book as he warred within himself. What would he do?
Dave's part ended, and he held his breath, praying, hoping. There was a moment of silence that sucked all the oxygen out of the air around them.
Slowly, hesitantly, Kurt stepped forward, his hand reaching out for the microphone, plucking it from its stand. His lips parted and Dave's heart nearly stopped.
The gentle contratenor voice swept through the gymnasium like a spring breeze. "…Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place…" His eyes met Dave's, and, slowly, a smile started to form.
Dave's face lit with an answering grin. Yes!
It was sublime, the ultimate love song. Kurt sang, Dave sang, they were in perfect harmony. At the apex, Kurt switched off his microphone, pocketing it. He wrapped his hands around Dave's, and the two sang into the same mike, the same words, inches apart.
Dave's eyes searched Kurt's as they sang. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me?
Kurt's reply was instant. I can forgive. I do forgive. Just don't turn on me.
Never.
"I will love you… until my dy…ing…day…!"
Their last notes hanging on the air, the crescendo of music deafening their ears, Dave lifted one hand, cupping Kurt's cheek. Kurt couched the microphone in its stand and closed the distance between them.
This time it was Kurt who initiated the kiss, and Dave's heart soared as he kissed him back.
