Roses Dipped In Gold

Chapter Twenty

Things had gone from bad to worse in the blink of an eye.

If the publishing of the newspaper article wasn't bad enough on its own, almost immediately afterward, reporters started circling the gate outside of Blaine's house like sharks. To top it all off, Blaine had not been able to make his weekly date with Kurt because he was unable to break through the wall of relentless men and women waiting outside his gate to ambush him.

He was pissed, to say the least. Pissed that someone had intruded on a private moment between himself and Kurt. Pissed that someone had been petty enough to reveal that moment to the world for his or her own gain. Pissed that everyone now thought Kurt was a prostitute. Pissed that he was being kept from Kurt when they needed each other most. And pissed that Kurt was being dragged through the mud just because of his stupid Anderson name.

Now, to put the icing on the cake, Blaine's father had requested him in a private meeting.

For the first time in his life, as he walked from his house to his father's office, plowing through the endless sea of people asking for comments with his head down, Blaine was thankful for the security that had been assigned to him. In the past two days, they had outdone themselves by successfully keeping Blaine's house and the Anderson estate relatively press-free. The Council Building, where Mr. Anderson's office was housed, was on public property, though, and reporters swarmed every door and window.

The inside of the Chancellor's office was a brief reprieve from the mess outside. Blaine sat slouched low in a leather chair, rocking against the back of the chair slightly and causing it to spring back and forth. He stared at his hands, which gripped his thighs with white knuckles. So much tension was built up inside his body that he craved one of Kurt's famous massages. Ugh. The thought of Kurt only made him tense up further.

Mr. Anderson sat across from Blaine in his own leather chair, his whole posture screaming disappointment and dominance.

"You've really put me between a rock and a hard place, here, Blaine. All for some Low Class whore?"

"He's not a whore." Blaine insisted.

"All right, prostitute then, if we're being technical."

"He's not a prostitute." It came out as a half-growl.

"What has gotten into you? It's not shameful to take a whore, Blaine. We all have urges. Here's what we can do: We can pass legislation legalizing prostitution. We can hold a press conference and clear your name. It's simple. But I can't take care of it if you keep denying what you've done."

"I haven't done what you're accusing me of."

"Accuse is such a harsh word. I told you, we will get you out of this."

"And I told you Kurt isn't a prostitute!"

"Just own up to it, Blaine. Stop wasting our time."

"Okay, father. I will own up to what I've done. I am in love with Kurt Hummel. I have been in love with him for six months. We started dating when we were at Dalton, and he is the axis around which my world turns. I've been seeing him secretly for the past month. That's why we were together in that picture."

Mr. Anderson was speechless. His mouth moved soundlessly. "You...I...what...he's the boy you were looking for?"

Now he cared. "The one and only."

"Blaine. This is...There is a press conference scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. The official story we will present to the media is that he's a prostitute."

Blaine slammed his fists on the desk in front of him. "No!"

"Yes. And that's final. You will not like the consequences if you act otherwise."

He and Blaine stared each other down.

"I will not defame Kurt and let the world believe he is a prostitute."

"Do not defy me, Blaine. I was so pleased with the way you commanded the room at that Council meeting on Monday. You have a gift. Do not squander it like this. If you value your position and lifestyle, you will do as I say."

Blaine had never seen his father look so threatening. He knew how important it was to the Resistance for him to remain on the Council. He swallowed hard and nodded once.

38 hours. That's how long it had been since Kurt last slept. Humans were not meant to go this long without sleep. His braking was foggy and he was moving slowly.

On Saturday, Kurt had waited outside all night for Blaine, even though he risked being caught on camera. He decided that if a reporter showed up and happened to take a picture of him standing around in the street, looking exactly like what he was accused of, then so be it. Kurt had paced then sat then paced then sat then paced again.

He was terrified for Blaine. What if something had happened to him? What if he had been arrested? A smaller, more irrational part of him wondered if Blaine stayed away intentionally because everyone thought he was a whore now. Kurt sighed, and paced some more.

Eventually, when it was beyond clear that Blaine wasn't coming, Burt had come out and escorted an eerily apathetic Kurt inside. He had tried comforting Kurt, getting him to open up, but Kurt remained strangely stoic about it all.

Exhausted from the lack of sleep and the worry that had been his constant companion for the past 24 hours, Kurt went through the motions on Sunday. He showered, dressed, ate, and sold his clothes in his zombie-like state.

Thankfully, Sam had noticed and had offered to help him, because Kurt's market stand had become unprecedentedly popular overnight. People had come from hours away just to catch a glimpse of the Blaine Anderson's mystery man and to try to determine for themselves if he was indeed a prostitute. Sam kept checking in to make sure Kurt was okay, but Kurt was doing what he did best: ignoring their questions, throwing out snarky retorts when they made thoughtless comments, and selling more clothes than ever before in a single day.

Kurt, despite his calm exterior, was freaking out on the inside. He kept one eye on the crowd all day, waiting for an officer to appear out of nowhere and arrest him. He knew that was illogical, of course, since there was no evidence of prostitution against him, but still...the paranoia of having broken the law (and more than one law, at that) was catching up to him.

As the day passed, Kurt grew overly conscious of the envelope of bills that he still had stuffed in his waistband. If he was caught with this money...Kurt shuddered to think what would happen to him. He knew Mayor Tai would take the envelope if he asked her to, but he did not want to leave any evidence pointing to her involvement in their operation, and plus, the amount of money in the envelope was far more than even a Middle Class citizen should be allowed to have. No, he would much rather take the fall than to throw even just one person under the bus. These thoughts and concerns chased each other around and around in his head, and by the end of the day, Kurt's mind and body were run ragged.

He had cancelled the community dinner again that evening, in case any reporters were still lurking around, so after the market closed, Kurt collapsed onto his mattress, begging for sleep to take him. Although his mind was racing, his body was too exhausted to resist the sweet call of slumber, and he drifted off.

It could not have been an hour later that Burt woke him up.

"Get up, buddy."

Kurt sat up ramrod straight at the urgency in his dad's voice, suddenly very much awake. "What is it, dad?"

"You need to go to the shop. Take this," he dropped the key in Kurt's hand. "It's locked. Don't let anyone see you, okay?"

Burt was being cryptic, but the look he was giving Kurt told him what (or rather, who) was waiting for him at the shop.

Kurt walked the short distance to his father's auto shop as quickly and as calmly as he could. He twisted the key in the lock and braced himself as he opened the door.

A sigh of relief.

Sprinting across the room.

Jumping into his arms.

Blaine.

"Wes? How good are you at driving under pressure?" Blaine asked him out of the blue as they lounged on Blaine's couch, bored out of their skulls. Neither had been able to leave the property since the story broke, for fear of being photographed and/or followed.

"Um...I feel like this is a trick question. Good, I think?"

"Perfect." Blaine grinned deviously.

Ten minutes later, they were strapped into the Ferrari that Blaine's father had bought him for his birthday, giggling giddily at what they were about to do. They pulled up to the security gates of the house, and Blaine looked at Wes.

"Are you ready?"

"So ready." Wes gripped the steering wheel. They could hear the chatter of the people who had been waiting outside for almost two days, hoping for even just one minute of excitement. Blaine had been assured by security that everyone would be clear of the driveway and road. He hoped they had not been lying.

"How good is your insurance policy?" Blaine asked offhandedly.

"I feel like now may not be the best time to bring that up…"

The gates began to open in front of them.

"Step on it!" Blaine shouted, and they whooped excitedly as the car shot forward down the street, leaving any pursuers in the dust.

Checking the rearview mirrors every few seconds as they twisted and turned down the road at an incredible speed, Blaine finally declared that they had not been followed, and Wes slowed the engine a bit.

"That was exhilarating!" Wes exclaimed. But one look over at Blaine told him that the high of the escape had already worn off and Blaine was back to his brooding, worried self. This was a far cry from the carefree, lovestruck boy Blaine had been earlier that week, and Wes would have done anything to erase the pain Blaine was feeling and bring that feeling back to him.

They turned onto the road that would take them directly into Kurt's village, and Blaine directed Wes to go around the back side of the market toward the auto shop, his voice growing more and more strained the closer they came.

"Drop me and drive off. I don't want anyone to see my car there and trace it back to me. Come pick me up in two hours."

"Aye aye, captain!" Wes saluted.

Blaine realized how awful he had been after what Wes had done for him. "I'm sorry, Wes. I know I'm being moody and a terrible friend and boss. You've been fantastic. Thank you for helping me make my jailbreak." He gave Wes a halfhearted smile before stepping out of the car and into the shop.

Luckily, Burt was still there, and he let Blaine in, locking the door behind him.

"Hi, kid."

"Hello, sir."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need to speak with Kurt." Upon seeing Burt's skeptical look, he added, "I wasn't followed. I made sure of that."

Burt nodded curtly. His distressed expression mirrored Blaine's. "He won't talk to me about it. He's acting like everything is fine…I know better than anyone how strong Kurt is, but…"

"...Even the strongest people need a shoulder to lean on sometimes," Blaine finished for him.

"You have to do anything you can to protect him," Burt begged.

"I will. Always. Everything I do is for Kurt."

"I know it is, bud. You stay here. I'll go get him."

"Thanks. And Burt? I didn't mean for this to happen. I had no idea." Blaine could not help the feelings of guilt swirling in his stomach.

"I know that, kid. None of this is your fault. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Not even yourself." Burt winked as he walked out the door, re-locking it as he went.

Blaine shoved his hands in the pockets of the sweatpants he had been wearing when he escaped from his house. He focused on deep breathing and slowing his heart rate. It seemed like hours later that the lock finally turned and the door opened.

Before he could process the blur flying across the room, Kurt was barreling into him and throwing himself into Blaine's arms.

"I've been so worried," Kurt breathed into Blaine's hair.

"Me too. I'm so sorry I couldn't come yesterday. People are still surrounding my house. Wes and I had to plot an escape to come here," he conceded a small smile. "Has anyone been harassing you?" He set Kurt down, but kept his arms around him.

"A bunch of reporters were here for the first twelve hours or so, but they quickly realized they weren't going to get anything out of me, so they left. Shoppers in the market have been asking me questions and making rude comments, but they're buying more clothes than ever, so I can't complain."

Blaine saw through that front immediately. He brushed Kurt's limp hair out of his face and ran a thumb across the dark circles under his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Kurt. Sorry that you've been dragged into this because of who I am."

"Never apologize for who you are," Kurt shushed him, twirling a curl around his finger.

"Yeah, well, I never thought that who I was would lead the general public to think you're a prostitute."

Kurt blanched. He let go of Blaine to sit on a stool nearby and occupied himself with obsessively wringing his hands. "Remember the nightmares I have?" He waited for Blaine to nod. "There was a time when dad and I were so hungry we would do anything for food. My mom had just died of starvation and I was determined not to let my dad go the same way, so I headed out into the streets one night. Two men propositioned me and started trying to touch me." Blaine's hand flew out to grab Kurt's hand as if he could not help it. "My dad found me before things had gone very far and scared them off. That's what my nightmares are about. Being a prostitute and having strangers touch me intimately because they own my body for that hour they paid for.

"But after that day, my dad and I vowed to never sink that low again, to never be hungry again. That's when we started our...system. Blaine, I've worked so fucking hard and risked fucking everything so that I wouldn't have to sell myself, so that I could preserve my dignity and virtue, and now everyone thinks I'm a whore anyway." Kurt could not bring himself to laugh at the irony.

Blaine pulled him off the stool and in for another tight hug. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am, babe. I had no idea. But I...I told my father the truth. I told him I refused to let the world believe that you're a prostitute. He insisted that I hold a press conference and tell everyone that you're a whore and that I paid for you. He said they'll legalize prostitution to clear my name. He threatened me with my career and my way of life, Kurt. What do I do?" Blaine's chin quivered against Kurt's shoulder. The thought of defaming Kurt that way hurt his heart.

Kurt took a deep breath. He pushed back to look Blaine in the eyes. "You have to do it, Blaine. I don't care what people think. I know the truth, and you know the truth. That's all that matters."

"But after all you've done to avoid having to sell your body - which makes me absolutely sick to think about, by the way - you don't deserve this."

"It's the only way for you to get out of this without consequences."

Blaine clutched Kurt to his chest, a tear rolling down his face. He felt something crinkle between their bodies.

"What's this?" Blaine asked, patting at Kurt's lower stomach.

Kurt bit his lip and extracted the envelope from his waistband.

"Please don't freak out. I need you to take this."

Blaine peeked into the envelope and saw more cash than he had ever seen at one time. His eyes bugged out of his head.

"Don't have a heart attack. It's just money."

"Enough money to get you killed!" Blaine's voice sounded strangled.

"How else did you think I was feeding everyone? I don't magically make food appear! Please. You have to take it. I can't risk anyone finding it and putting my dad or anyone else in danger."

Blaine took the envelope, in awe of the man he loved. Kurt would always opt to take the burden of everything in order to ensure the safety of everyone else he loved. Kurt was stronger than he could ever be.

Blaine slipped a few bills back into Kurt's pocket and whispered, "trust me."

He knew what he had to do.

Kurt walked the steps to Mayor Tai's house with Burt and Sam flanking him, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird.

"Hi Kurt. Come in. It starts in a few minutes."

They followed her to her living room and perched on the couch in front of the television, waiting for Blaine's press conference to be aired.

"I'll leave the three of you alone," Naomi said quietly, stepping out.

Burt put an arm around Kurt's shoulders while Sam paced around the room.

"Sam. Stop. You're making it worse."

"I can't stop! This isn't fair. Excuse me for being worried about you."

Kurt gave him a weak smile. He knew that after Blaine made this announcement, the sideways stares and rude comments and men coming on to him or waving dollar bills in his face would never end. But it would be worth it. Kurt knew Blaine thought that he himself would be the one facing the consequences if he went against his father's wishes and told the truth, but Kurt wasn't so naive. He knew they would try to aim for Blaine's heart and go for Kurt instead, which would hurt Blaine more than anything else they could do to him. So this was definitely for the best.

The breaking news intro chimed through the room, and all three men turned their eyes to the television.

Blaine and the Chancellor stood behind a podium in a room full of reporters and photojournalists. Even though he was nervous, Kurt still swooned a little upon seeing Blaine on the screen. He took a moment to appreciate how just the sight of Blaine could make his heart race for a completely different reason.

"Thank you for joining us today," Mr. Anderson began. "In recent days, there has been much speculation about a photograph of my son and a Low Class man that has been circulating. We are here to set the record straight and dispel any rumors. We will answer questions following Blaine's statement. My son has acted shamefully, and he will issue a full apology for cavorting with someone like the man in question, however, there have been some recent changes in legislation that do not render taking a prostitute to be illegal in any way. That being said, I will hand the floor over to Blaine. Thank you."

Kurt watched Blaine carefully as he stepped up to the podium. He saw it before anyone else did. He saw it in the set of Blaine's jaw. He saw it in the slight narrowing of his eyes. He saw it in the tension in Blaine's shoulder. He saw the truth bubbling up inside Blaine, threatening to burst out.

"No, no, no…" Kurt groaned, pulling at his hair.

Blaine cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon. My father was incorrect. There is nothing shameful about what I have done. The man in question is not a prostitute. He is my boyfriend."

Shit.

The press conference room was in an uproar. Clicks of cameras and bright flashes and microphones waving and question after question after question. The Chancellor, red-faced and fuming, caught Blaine by the arm and ripped him out of the room, leaving his assistant to deal with the aftermath.

Kurt turned his attention away from the screen as his dad spoke to him.

"We have to get home. Now." Burt ordered.

He and Kurt dashed out of the mayor's house and down the street to try to beat the influx of reporters that were undoubtedly coming.

They were too late. Two men were already standing in front of their house. But they weren't reporters. They were officers.

"Kurt Hummel? We need you to come with us."

No.

Kurt stood his ground. He suddenly understood why Blaine had insisted he take that thousand dollars back.

"I'm sorry, officers. My offense was interclass communication. I am able to pay the fee. That does not warrant my arrest. If you wait here, I will retrieve the money for you and you can be on your way."

The officers smirked. "You are not under arrest. We just have some...questions for you regarding unrelated allegations."

Burt gave Kurt a hard stare that told him that fighting it would make things worse.

Kurt took one step forward. "Okay. I'll go."

The two men escorted Kurt into the back of a police car, where he watched Burt as they drove off, trying to convey with his eyes not to worry and that he would be all right.

While his town faded out of sight, Kurt asked through the partition where they were going.

"We're taking you to a holding room. The Chancellor himself has asked for you. You must be someone pretty special." They laughed heartily at their joke.

Kurt slammed his head backward into the headrest just hard enough to give himself a small headache.

Fuck. He would not be all right.