Chapter Twenty-One A Minute's Silence

Broadway Round-Up

Staff writer: Julian Baker

It was this reviewer's very real privilege to be in the audience last night to witness Kurt's Hummel's triumphant return to Broadway. Having said that, to the performer, I would like to extend my sincerest personal condolences on the passing of his father early last month.

However, judging from his portrayal of Liam last night, it has to be acknowledged that Mr Hummel's bereavement appears to have transported the actor into a whole new realm of creativity. I was among the first few to review My Turn, over a year ago, when it first opened on Broadway with Mr Hummel in the lead role. I said it then, and I state it now again: the dreadfully tragic story of Liam Cavendish is one which just simply had to be told and what better way than on stage, in song, dance and mime?

Back then, when it first opened, Mr Hummel was nothing short of extraordinary. No one in the audience was left with any doubt that he felt acutely in sync with the character and we all know he had much to do with the original concept, together with writer 'extraordinaire', Mr Cameron Watson. I was not present in the house on the 1st January when Mr Hummel replaced the absent understudy but I have read other reviews which claimed he was "as fantastic then as he had been on his own opening night." So, it was with a sense of excited anticipation that I approached last night's performance - the show's management having announced the exciting news that Mr Hummel would be returning to the show three times a week.

But, nothing could have prepared me for the raw emotion I was to witness. Mr Hummel seemed to rip open his chest and lay his heart bare on the stage floor for the audience to see. It was uncomfortable, it was exhilarating, it was pure, unadulterated theatre and I was captivated by this new level of perception and heartache which, quite literally, seemed to ooze fluidly from the actor's pores. Never before have I ever felt the desperately bizarre urge to rush up onto a stage, gather a character in my arms and embrace him until the agony of hurt had passed, but I did last night. Mr Hummel, you have this reviewer's appreciation and applause, and you deserve every accolade and ovation that is sure to come your way.

Slowly, Blaine replaced the theatre section of the newspaper on his desk and reached inside a pocket to retrieve a clean handkerchief. He wiped away the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he read the review of Kurt's first night back on Broadway.

"Beautiful," he whispered brokenly, his face buried now in the soft comforting fabric. "What have you done to us?"

Blaine berates himself daily for what happened between himself and Kurt. But he couldn't have foreseen the epic fallout because he didn't see the warning signs which was, probably, just as bad, because when the vicious storm struck, destroying absolutely everything in its path – Blaine was left helpless, defenceless and all alone.

In retrospect, Blaine knows, now, that he should have recognised the signs or those that he did actually recognise, he knows now that he apparently misread them completely.

For instance, he should have known that Kurt was shutting down; simultaneously erecting hasty walls while weeping on Blaine's shoulder in front row of the theatre. The news of Burt's third and fatal heart attack sucked the joy and delight from his beautiful boyfriend's face and Blaine had held on tightly as Kurt's flood of tears ran its course and took its toll.

Blaine should have sensed the barriers being constructed in the quick, clipped tone of Kurt's barrage of questions that followed his emotional torrent.

"When?"

"How?"

"Where?"

"Who told you?"

"When?"

The signs were there in the perplexed, betrayed look Kurt gave him when Blaine explained that Carole had rung with the news just before Kurt had gone on stage. That look alone should have been a bright- red flashing, warning sign and Blaine should never have missed the message hidden in the dangerously quiet question, "And you didn't tell me?"

Blaine should have realised immediately that that was where he'd gone wrong but he didn't – all he saw was his distraught boyfriend and he immediately sought for the many ways he could help to make it better, easier somehow for Kurt to cope with this dreadful loss. He arranged seats for them back to Ohio on the 3am flight which meant they arrived bleary-eyed and exhausted back in Lima around 6am the following morning to be greeted at the front door by a red-eyed, weeping Carole. Kurt went into her waiting arms immediately while Blaine busied himself by carrying in their luggage in from the taxi.

Blaine should have figured something was not right when Kurt explained that he wanted to be alone, that Blaine should return to his apartment and wait for Kurt's text or phone-call. Of course, Kurt had wrapped it up in concern for Carole and a million and one things to be done and Blaine had reluctantly agreed.

"Beautiful, I'm so sorry you're hurting right now but just know: you are not alone; I am here with you."

Blaine should have sensed that there was a problem when his texts over the next few days went unanswered and he was about to make good on his promise to drive over to Kurt's house when a text did finally arrive from Kurt.

Blaine – it's no use coming over – house inundated with relatives and still so much to do before tomorrow. I'll see you at the funeral.

Finally, at the funeral it dawned on Blaine that he was being deliberately evaded and rebuffed. Having arrived at the venue with them, he sat with Sam and Santana a few rows from the front. When Kurt walked in with Carole on his arm, Blaine's heart wanted to break for his boyfriend. Kurt looked exhausted and completely drained of life. His pale face was gaunt from lack of sleep and his beautiful eyes couldn't hide the traces of dark, unkind circles. Blaine guessed too, that the dark suit Kurt was wearing would be hiding severe weight loss as well. His breath hitched and he hoped to catch Kurt's eye as he passed by but the man looked resolutely forward to the front of the room, his eyes fixed on a large portrait of Burt which stood, almost incongruently, on top of the casket which overflowed with brightly-coloured flowers.

His eyes trained on the back of Kurt's head, Blaine didn't hear a word of the ceremony. Only when Kurt stood up to deliver the eulogy did Blaine wish with all his heart that he could have been the one sitting beside the man to give his hand an encouraging squeeze. Blaine watched as Kurt, the consummate performer, delivered a sincere, heart-warming and, at times, cheerful tribute to his father and whilst there was not a dry eye left in the audience, Kurt's impassive eyes revealed that his emotions, for now, were under control.

Afterwards, in the large venue next door where tea and snacks had been provided, most attendees filed passed Carole and Kurt to offer their deepest condolences. Blaine felt out of place in the queue with these strangers and yet, when he approached his boyfriend he was met with the same resigned, stoic face that Kurt had offered everyone else. Blaine breached the gap Kurt had created with his outstretched hand and took Kurt into his arms anyway. But he did not miss the reluctance in Kurt's body, the stiffening and the abrupt pulling away.

"Kurt?"

"There's a row of people behind you, Blaine," Kurt offered with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes not quite meeting Blaine's. "I'll speak to you later," he promised, handing Blaine off to Carole who accepted and returned the coach's desperate hug with an easy, kind smile.

'Later' didn't actually happen because when he did approach Kurt, Blaine was told that he should leave with Sam and Santana because Kurt's car was filled to the brim with relatives.

"I could come by the house later, if you like?" he offered quietly but Kurt shook his head.

"No, no that won't be necessary – still so much to do with the family and the lawyers," was the response, his eyes still darting everywhere but Blaine's face.

"Okay," Blaine accepted the excuse, swallowing his disappointment. "Well, I'll ring you later."

He reached for the Kurt's hand but Kurt pulled away immediately, looking around.

"Kurt, love, what's wrong?" Blaine asked and immediately the venomous look in Kurt's eyes told him he had asked the completely wrong question.

"What's wrong?" Kurt hissed. "We're at my dad's funeral, Blaine and you ask what's wrong?"

"Beautiful …" Blaine tried desperately to redeem himself, "Look, I didn't mean – You know I'm - " But Kurt interrupted impatiently.

"Blaine, I can't right now. Just go. I talk to you later." He turned away from Blaine and walked off in the direction of Carole and a small group of older women.

"Is everything alright Blaine," Santana asked as she drove them home.

"No, 'Tana, I think everything is not okay. Somewhere between here and New York, I've lost Kurt. I don't recognise this man I saw today. I know he's grieving and I know he's hurting something awful but he's keeping his distance from me. It almost feels like he can't bear to be near me."

"Wait, you know what? I read about this once," Sam's voice interjected from the back seat. "It's like you were the bearer of the bad news so now Kurt sees you and his father's death as one and in his head he can't separate the two."

"Samuel!" yelled Santana smacking the steering wheel as she drove, "That is seriously the weirdest shit that's ever fallen from that trouty mouth and that's saying something because, honestly, over the years some serious rubbish has been known to fall."

But Blaine intervened. "No, actually, 'Tana, that's about the only thing that makes sense right now. Kurt and I - we got real close in New York. We were both completely on the same page and ready to take our relationship to the next level - "

"Okay, wait! Stop please! Your sex life with Lady Hummel might be too much for even my ears to handle…"

"Can it, Santana!" interrupted Sam. "Time and place, please?" he rebuked harshly.

Blaine continued, seemingly unperturbed by the pair duelling in the car. "I told him I loved him, 'Tana and he told me he loved me too. That's why we were able to be intimate on New Year's Eve because we were sure of each other, secure in our love for each other. But now, I don't know? Since our return last week, he's hardly spoken to me and hardly returned my calls or text messages. Surely at a time like this – this is when you lean on your boyfriend? I know if this was happening to me, I would want him at my side the whole time."

"Unless he was the one who told you of your father's death," reminded Sam and Blaine nodded thoughtfully as Santana pulled into a vacant parking space outside their building.

Kurt didn't return to school the day after the funeral which was to be expected as he still had much of his father's business to take care of. He did send a text asking Blaine to run his Glee club rehearsals for that week which Blaine did with great pleasure and secret enjoyment. But when he sent texts to Kurt explaining what he'd done with the kids each day, there was no response. Blaine took to deliberately phrasing his texts with a question in the hopes that it would engage Kurt in dialogue but, instead, Kurt had rung him.

"Blaine, please you have to make those decisions on your own. I can't deal with petty Glee Club matters now when I'm trying to decide what to do with my father's garage. This is why I asked you to deal with it so that I didn't have to. Please tell me you are up to the task?"

Blaine bit back the retort that had risen quickly in hurt retaliation and simply apologised for disturbing Kurt. Before ending the call though, he whispered, "I miss you, Kurt," but he wasn't sure if his boyfriend had heard him or not because there was no reply.

The weekend after the funeral, Blaine was torn between wanting to spend time with Kurt and travelling up to Westerville to see Nick and Jeff to spend some much needed time on the piano again. He decided not to give Kurt any warning but simply arrived unannounced at the Hummel house.

After a long while, Carole answered the door and Blaine could see that she'd been crying as recently as a few moments prior to his arrival.

"Oh Blaine," she sighed into his warm hug. "It's so good to see you, honey."

"You too, Carole. How are you holding up?" he asked kindly.

Carole nodded half-heartedly."Some days are better than others," she replied with a small smile. "Today's been fairly rotten."

"I'm sorry to disturb you then," Blaine apologised, "but I was hoping to speak with Kurt. Is he here?"

Carole shook her head slowly not meeting Blaine's eyes. "No, I'm afraid he isn't, Blaine but I can tell him you stopped by." The tears were filling her eyes again.

"Oh, okay? Yeah, please tell him that. I should go but I'm not sure I should leave you when you're upset like this. Is there something I can do?"

Carole smiled and patted his arm. "No, honey, I'm okay. I'm going to head upstairs and have a long soak in the tub. It always does wonders for me."

Blaine hugged the grieving widow once more and headed towards the door. At that moment, there was a crash from upstairs followed by a curse which Blaine definitely recognised as Kurt's voice. He looked back at Carole in hurt astonishment and the guilt flooded her eyes with tears again.

"He asked you to tell me he wasn't here, didn't he?" Blaine asked Carole, the awful realization dawning, and she nodded helplessly.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I don't really understand what's going on," she added in an attempt to explain.

"Me neither," said Blaine forlornly. "Would you just tell him tell him that I love him and I'm here for him when he's ready?"

Blaine got into his car, looked up sadly at the windows on the top floor wondering if Kurt was watching; he put the car in reverse and backed out of Kurt's drive then he changed gears and headed towards Westerville.

"It's bullshit!"

Nick slammed his fist down on the bar counter and despite Jeff's consoling patting on his back, Nick was having none of it.

"The little shit promised me to my face that he would not hurt Blaine. Lying, scheming bastard! How dare he? What the flaming hell is his problem?"

"He's grieving, Nicky, and no one can make sense of that," Jeff explained quietly.

"Grieving, huh? Kurt's grieving the death of his father. Then tell me this, Angel, what exactly is it that Blaine is doing, then?"

Jeff looked over towards the piano where Blaine was playing, his heart and soul pouring into the haunting melody as his fingers ran slowly up and down the ivory keys. Both men heard the tightening in Blaine's voice as he struggled through what was normally one of his favourite 'go to' songs and they could see his watery eyes as he sang sadly into the microphone.

"That's grieving, Angel. And the last time I saw Blaine that hurt - that broken - was when the doctors told him he'd never play football again."

Three days later, Mr Williams called Blaine into his office and asked the coach if he would consider taking over the Glee Club permanently following Mr Hummel's resignation.

"Mr Hummel's what?" Blaine gasped in shock.

"He's resigned with immediate effect," replied Mr Williams, his voice completely unemotional. "Truth be told, it came as no surprise to me. I always knew Mr Hummel was only here in Lima because of his father. The minute I heard his father had passed away, I knew that we would be losing Mr Hummel. But, be that as it may, you're still here, Blaine, and you've been doing a great job standing in for him these last two weeks, I thought perhaps we could juggle your schedule a wee bit and have you take over the club completely?"

Blaine was choking on the words he couldn't get out fast enough. "No, Mr Williams, I can't do that. Look, I … I've gotta …. I've gotta go."

It was a small miracle that Blaine made it to the Hummel home in one piece as he had no recollection of collecting his keys and jacket from his office, getting into his car and driving to Kurt's house. All he recognised was a blinding rage surging in his head threatening to spill over when he knocked fiercely on the door.

"Kurt! I know you're in there, so open up!" he yelled.

The door swung open and Kurt's tired, wretched face appeared and Blaine's heart took a moment to smart at the sight of his beautiful boyfriend, so haunted, so hurt.

"There's no need to yell on my front porch, Blaine," Kurt spoke softly but without any emotion - so disconnected that the fury in Blaine's brain kicked in again. "Come in," invited Kurt.

"If you ask me, there's every reason for me to be shouting right now," Blaine fired the first volley as he walked in passed Kurt and turned to face his boyfriend in the entrance hall. "Can we talk? Please?" he begged.

"Are we going to talk or are you going to yell?" Kurt asked and Blaine was immediately defeated by the cold, detached man standing before him.

"Kurt? What happened?" And he held his hand up as Kurt's mouth fell open aghast that Blaine could still be asking that question.

"No, no don't attack me again – you know what I mean. What's happened to us? What's wrong? Why won't you let me in? Why do I have to hear from Peter Williams of all people that my boyfriend has resigned? Four weeks ago, Kurt, I held you in my arms and I told you that I love you and you told me that you love me too. Four weeks ago, we were intimate – we connected. I've never felt this …I've never been that close to someone in my whole life as I was with you in New York. But we returned to Lima and it's like I barely know you. I'm afraid to reach out to touch you because I know you're going to find a reason to move away, to disengage. You don't return my calls; you don't reply to my texts. It's like …it's like you're very, very angry with me and I don't know why. Please tell me, Beautiful -"

"Don't call me that!" snapped Kurt.

Blaine swallowed. "Kurt, please tell me. What did I do?"

Kurt looked at him oddly. "You don't really know do you?" he whispered incredulously and Blaine shook his head sadly.

"No, I honestly don't. I've been racking my brain for weeks now trying to work out what I did to warrant this abusive treatment from the man I love."

"Abusive treatment," Kurt interrupted, "that's a bit harsh, Blaine – I've been busy with my father's death,his funeral. I've been wrapping up his estate," Kurt spat out the horrible words as if they were distasteful to him. "I'm sorry if you feel you've been neglected. I've had a little bit too much on my plate to pander to the wants of a needy boyfriend."

Blaine breathed in harshly as the caustic words hit their mark and wounded him severely.

"Kurt – that's not true and you know it. You've been punishing me for something and I think I deserve to know what," he argued.

"You deserve to know? That's an interesting turn of phrase coming from you, Blaine," Kurt countered.

"What do you mean?"

"You think you deserve to know and yet, when it came down to the most critical piece of information of my entire life, you decided that I didn't deserve to know," Kurt's voice was loud now, strong as he found his momentum.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused." Blaine shook his head once or twice trying to make sense of Kurt's statement. "I decided you didn't deserve to know what? What the hell are you talking about Kurt? I am so lost here. Please, Beautiful?"

"Blaine!" Kurt's voice had reached its maximum volume. "You knew my father had had a third heart attack! You knew he was dying! You knew he wouldn't make it and you decided I didn't deserve to know!"

Blaine's breath caught in his chest and he slumped down into one of the chairs in the kitchen.

"The phone-call before your show," he whispered.

"Yes," Kurt declared self-righteously. "Carole told me that she rang your cell because mine was off. She told you that my father wasn't going to make it and that we should come home. But you, you, Blaine Anderson, you took it upon yourself not to tell me! You decided to keep that for yourself and only after the show, only after I had performed – that's when you decided to rip my heart out."

"Kurt, Beautiful – please believe me. I never meant to hurt you at all. It wasn't like that at all. You make me sound like a callous, cold-hearted …"

"That's because you are, Blaine!" Kurt yelled, the tears now welling up in his eyes.

Blaine couldn't believe the man standing before him, yelling at him and accusing him of deliberately hurting his beautiful boyfriend. The words stuck in his throat as he tried to explain.

"Kurt, I never …"

"Wait one moment! I want to show you something."

Kurt left the kitchen and, in despair, Blaine let his head fall into his hands on the kitchen table. He looked up when Kurt returned, waving a piece of paper at him. It was crumpled almost beyond recognition but Kurt opened it up and flattened it with the back of his hand on the kitchen table.

"This," he hissed at Blaine, "this is a letter Mercedes had me write when I made my decision to come back to Lima. She knew that I would regret giving up Broadway and she wanted to help me remember why I had made that decision when those times of regret came. I want to you to read this line, Blaine – this line right here."

Kurt's finger jabbed at the paper and, through his tears, Blaine read:

1. I want to be there beside him, holding his hand if I have to say Goodbye.

He looked up at his boyfriend in anguish. "Kurt, I - "

"You took that away from me, Blaine. I didn't have a chance to say goodbye," Kurt's tears were streaming down his face now unashamedly showing Blaine just how much he was hurting.

"But Kurt, even if we had left as soon as Carole rang, we probably wouldn't have made it back in time. I just wanted so much for you to have that moment on stage," Blaine knew from the look on Kurt's face that it was useless to try to explain but he had to at least try. Kurt's furious temper cut off his attempt.

"I've had that moment on stage! Damn it! I've had many moments! I gave up all those moments so I could be with my father, Blaine. Don't you get it? You chose not to tell me so you could have that moment of seeing me on stage – this was all about you!"

"No, Kurt, that's not true. Dear heaven, how could you think I could be so selfish? I swear, Kurt, I was thoroughly torn that night - I didn't know what to do. Carole trusted me to do whatever I thought was right. I knew we wouldn't get back in time…"

"You don't know that for sure."

"… but there was a theatre full of people …"

"Screw them!"

" … and you were beyond excited for the opportunity."

To this Kurt had no come back but he snatched up the piece of paper and waved it in front of Blaine's face again.

"This!" he yelled, "This is what I wanted, Blaine. I wanted to be here in Lima, available to say goodbye if I had to and you denied me that opportunity. You took that moment from me!" He started to sob. "I didn't get to say … goodbye …. to my dad and … I'll never …. ever … never forgive you for that."

Blaine stared dumbly at the sobbing wreck of a man standing in front of him.

I did that, he thought. I destroyed this beautiful man.

His heart was aching with a very real physical pain and his brain was whirling with thoughts and arguments and counter-arguments and excuses but nothing made any sense. Blaine stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and pushed the chair back in under the table. He held onto the back rest to hold himself upright and looked at Kurt.

"I'm … I'm so sorry Kurt. I never meant …"

"Just go, Blaine. Just go!"

Over the next few days, booked off from school with the pathetic excuse of a bout of 'flu, Blaine attempted to explain his case and defend his decision though a number of texts sent to Kurt, all of which went unanswered.

Eventually Santana wrenched his sorry ass out of bed, demanded he showered and sent him back to school. By this time the Glee kids had been told that Mr Hummel had returned to New York and Sam told Blaine that Carole had gone to stay with her sister in Florida for a few months, leaving the house with the realtors to rent out. Blaine was a walking corpse but his friends rallied around to help and assist where they could. Every evening, without fail, Blaine called Kurt's phone and every evening, without fail, his call was declined.

Alone in his office on the last day of February, Blaine picked up the theatre section of the newspaper again and re-read the article.

"You're wrong Julian Baker," he explained to the reviewer. "It's not his bereavement that has caused him so much pain – it's me. It's all me."

Just then, Sam's phone, which was lying casually abandoned on the desk, vibrated with an incoming message. Blaine looked at the phone with little interest but then, slowly, a plan began to form in his head.

Slowly, he reached out and picked up Sam's phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to unlock it, quickly he found Kurt's number among Sam's contacts.

With a deep breath, he clicked on 'connect" and listened as the phone rang on the other side.