Warning: Implied drugging (probably should have been included last chapter, too).

Counters. Chapter Twenty One.

Kurt feels like he's gliding onto the stage, feet moving forward all of their own accord. The stage area is super-bright; the walls that surround him illuminated, top to bottom, with smiling Counters. As he enters from the left, he takes in the vis-wall that will be his backdrop; lit a brilliant blue, the golden Star Shot logo made up of a million tiny lights, each twinkling, in this moment, just for him.

This is what he's always wanted.

As he takes in the sight of his own Counter there – hair immaculately coiffed, dressed to the nines, big eyes shining the same azure blue as the lights all around it – he feels like he's looking into a mirror; that he is his Counter, smiling and poised and ready.

"Step into the light honey, we won't bite." Sue Sylvester beckons him towards the golden cross in the centre of the stage and he glides towards it, stopping on his mark in front of the judges table; all four of them wearing expectant smiles, waiting.

Jesse St. James adds, "Not unless we really like you."

The assembled crowd of Counters whoop and laugh and Kurt feels his eyes readjust, focus, as he scans the sea of virtual faces; safe in the knowledge that every one of them is just like him.

His eyes are pulled back to the judges table, the nucleus of the room that seems too large and too small all at the same time, when Will Schuester starts to speak. "Welcome to the Star Shot stage!" He smiles and leans back in his oversized chair, "Why don't you tell us who you are and what you're going to do tonight."

The fugue feels like it clears, a little. He's ready for this.

He takes a deep breath before speaking, filling his lungs with the dizzying, purified air. This is what he wants. This is what Dave wants for him. He has to do this, for both of them.

And at that, right before he speaks, Dave's words come back to him and make him smile, because he knows; it's not optional.

Dave doesn't know how to feel. A million thoughts race through his mind, each one clashing in horrible paradox with the last; he wants this for Kurt, he really does, but he's just kissed his boyfriend goodbye with no next time in sight and right now it's hard not to feel like he might've made the biggest mistake of his life.

He takes a step closer to the wall of screens, each one filled with its own striking image of Kurt Hummel – close-up front facing, waist-up in profile, full length from the judges' perspective – as he tentatively takes the stage. This is what he has to get used to, this watching from afar. And, even though Kurt can't be more than thirty feet away from where Dave's standing now, it already feels like he's so far out of his reach that he can't believe he just had him, right here, less than a minute before.

As he watches the close-up, Dave's relieved to see Kurt's look of terror is gone, replaced by a sure smile, and he feels his own features reluctantly twisting to mirror it despite the pain in his chest. He looks like he belongs there; on the stage, on the screen, and that, in itself, feels like both a comfort and a curse.

It's only when he watches – eyes still damp with longing – Kurt's lips begin to move that it registers with him that something's not quite right. He can't hear any music yet – there's no sound at all but for the distant electric drone of the virtual audience, hundreds of Counters still cheering and calling out in the midst of the event – but Kurt's lips are definitely moving, making no sound, and, when he manages to tear his gaze away from Kurt's close-up to look at one of the other displays, he sees that the judges' lips are moving in vain, too. He takes another step closer.

"I can't hear it," he tells the Star Shot staffer, an edge of unpredicted panic in his voice. He watches Kurt's smile grow wider, lighting up the display, as he looks demurely at his feet, mouthing a word that looks a lot it might be 'David', though he knows that's likely just his mind playing a cruel trick on him.

"Oh," Emma looks up at him, momentarily puzzled, before she tilts her head to the side and nods in realization, "that's because you need to wear your buds."

Dave lets out an anguished sigh and rubs the back of his temporarily tattooed hand across his already tear-dampened cheek. "I don't have any. I didn't know I was supposed to..." Even now, as he feels his lip begin to quiver again, the irony isn't lost on him; his words are almost exactly the same as Kurt's first ever words to him, seven months before on the floor. It feels like a lifetime ago. "Do you have any that I could—"

"No, sorry," she shakes her head, smiling regretfully, and pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Never mind. You can still watch."

And so he does. Now, it's all he can do.

"I'm Kurt Hummel and I'm going to sing for you." He feels like he should be trembling, shaking with nerves like he was at just the thought of this moment before, but his voice comes out calm and even, and when he glances down towards this hands they look sure and steady by his sides.

St. James leans forward on his elbows, licking his lips, and asks, "And what will you be singing for us?"

"A song called 'I Want to Hold Your Hand'," Kurt replies, voice never wavering. He's surprised at just how composed, how confident, he feels even in the colossal glare of the spotlight. He feels like he's floating. It feels good. There's not as much as a germ of a negative thought in his mind. He knows he can do this.

"Look at that face!" Sylvester says, turning to her left, towards Noah Puckerman. "He looks like a sweet little porcelain doll."

Puckerman nods, "A sweet song for a sweet guy, huh?"

Kurt doesn't know how to reply to that. The smile stays fixed on his face; they're not saying anything bad. Sweet is good, right?

"Would you like to dedicate the song to anyone...special?" Schuester asks with a slanting smile.

He nods his head, glancing down at his feet just to make sure they're still there, and answers simply, "David."

"Okay," Schuester nods and briefly eyes his fellow judges, "whenever you're ready."

The first few, delicate bars of the song begin to play, filling the space around him and he knows he's still smiling as he closes his eyes – this is no different from singing back at school, or in his pod, or even in the restroom on the floor; this is easy. He focuses on the words, and he sings.

#Oh, I´ll tell you something
I think you´ll understand
When I say that something#

He lets his eyes flutter open as the words flow effortlessly, his gaze drifting over the bright sea of Counters in front of him.

#I wanna hold your hand
Now let me hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand#

His eyes sweep across the faces of the judges and he feels a small thrill of excitement when he sees that they are, all four of them, smiling back at him.

#Oh, please, say to me
You´ll let me be your man
and please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand#

He imagines Dave backstage, smiling, too, and allows himself to move across the stage, voice swelling, arms rising up, hands clasping over his chest, over his heart.

#And when I touch you I feel happy, inside
It´s such a feeling
That my love
I can't hide

I can't hide

I can't hide#

Dave folds his arms across his chest, as if it'll shield his heart from more of the same pain he already feels, and watches Kurt's lips move with grace as he sings – still slightly kiss-swollen and dark against the perfect pallor of his skin – picking out the shape of the words he knows and matching them to the barely-there muffled sounds echoing from the stage door.

"He's good." Emma says, like she's surprised, and he can see from the corner of his eyes that her head's turned towards him.

His eyes stay doggedly fixed on the screen, on Kurt, as he nods in agreement, "I know he is."

#I wanna hold your hand#

There's a roar of preset applause from the Counters on the display as the song fades to a close and the judges are clapping, smiling in his direction. He soaks it in, revels in it. They like him.

"That was beautiful, porcelain," Judge Sylvester is the first to speak, tapping her outstretched hand on the desk in front of her in contemplation. Kurt feels his face beam at the compliment, "At least, it was until I checked out about half-way through. I'm afraid you're a little more sugar than my diabetic sweet-tooth can handle, so I'm gonna bow out now and let these fine gentlemen see if they can't figure out a way to make you entertaining."

His mind struggles to absorb the meaning of her words and, before he can process exactly what she's said, Judge Schuester's already speaking.

"Kurt," Schuester smiles at him again, warm with sincerity, "it's obvious that you have an exceptional voice. Probably one of the best we've had this season. Countertenor, right?"

Kurt nods, hopefully.

"But...I think we've seen your kind of vocalist here before and it's just not...fresh. A year ago, maybe two years ago, but not now. The market for singers like you is so saturated right now—"

"Whose fault is that, Will?" St James asks with a critical smirk.

"—which is partially my fault," he acknowledges, "but I like to give the people what they want. And what they want is always changing. Right now, Kurt...honestly, I don't know, musically, what I'd do with you."

Schuester looks at him, almost disappointed. Kurt still feels like he's floating, but it seems like he's receding, now, into the lights. He feels the smile slide slowly from his face.

"But..." he tries to object, to fight, but he can't find the words to argue. A perfunctory optimism overrides his feeling of disappointment.

"I think I like you," Judge St. James speaks again, casting a slow, appraising eye over him. "You have this innocence, this sweetness..."

"Yeah," Puckerman joins in, leaning forward, looking at him intently, "I mean, I was kinda distracted by that - that was a sweet song, but those lips look like, well, like they'd look good doing something other than singing, am I right?" Puckerman's mouth twists into that same lascivious smile he's seen a hundred times on stream.

There's a tinny cheer of agreements from some the Counters.

St. James nods in fervent concurrence, "Oh but, wait – I think that sweetness is all an act, right? I hear you have a couple of two-twelve breaches under your belt."

Kurt's nerves spike for the first time since he arrived on stage. "I...that was..."

"More than a couple," Puckerman adds with an exaggerated wink.

"That's ok. We don't mind. Shows you've got passion, right?" St. James says with a charming smile. Kurt feels himself smiling back mechanically.

He feels...he's not sure how he feels. This isn't how it was supposed to go. But the judges are still smiling at him, so...

"I'm sure you have other talents, right? Other than singing?" Shuestster asks, encouraging.

Puckerman speaks again before he can answer. "Turn around."

Kurt looks blankly at him, befuddled by the request. "Um...?"

"Turn," He motions with his finger, "twirl. Let me see what you got."

He complies, turning slowly as his mind does the same.

"Nice," Jesse smiles knowingly at Puck before training his eyes on Kurt. "Y'know, Kurt, while you were singing, I read your profile and I couldn't help but picture you in these...forbidden, erotic scenarios. Doing more than just holding hands, if you know what I mean." There's a distant trill of laughter, of cat-calls and whoops, but it all sounds far away. "You have this innocent beauty, but...there's something sexy, too." He looks back towards Puckerman and flicks his head in Kurt's direction. "I think you could really do something with this kid. Look at those lips!"

"Singers are over, it'll be years, three at least, before we're ready for more singers, and by that time..."

"I could definitely see him on my stream. He'd fit right in, no doubt."

"I'd watch it."

"Heck, even I'd watch it."

"He was made for your stream, Puck."

Kurt feels besieged as the judges speak around him, at him; he feels small and distant, like he's watching it all from the safety of his pod and, when he reaches up to swipe absently at the tears he didn't know had begun to fall, he wishes that he was.

"What the fuck's going on? Why is he in fucking tears?" Dave taps roughly at Emma's shoulder before she turns to answer him.

"He's just...overwhelmed. The judges like him. I think Mr Puckerman's making him an offer."

"Puckerman?"

"You have to be quiet now," Her eyes are wide with concern and she softens her voice to a whisper, "or I'll have to get the guard."

"What kind of offer?"

She shrugs her shoulders lightly, perma-smile faltering.

Dave feels his skin begin to crawl. He repeats, voice raised in fury, "What kind of offer?"

"A...generous offer?" She finally says, voice high and hesitant, as her eyes flit towards the screens; she sounds like she's asking rather than telling.

Dave emits a low growling sound and passes her as he moves towards the stage door.

"How about it Kurt," Puck says, suddenly serious amidst the gleeful judges, "we know you know how to make out, but do you know how to act?"

He's sure he can act, but...he feels like he's missing the point of the question. The fugue is back. He doesn't know how to respond. He looks down, away from the judges, and watches a tear fall from his face and land on his chest, swelling black against the pale grey t-shirt.

This is really him. This is really happening.

This is what he wanted, but this isn't what he wants. Is it?

"I...I just want to sing..."

"Listen, Kurt," Schuester says, tight smile tugging at his lips, "I know this is overwhelming. Take a minute to really think about this. Let's go to ad stream."

"Let me see him."

"No!" Emma chases after him, tugging on his arm as he approaches the door. He can hear voices, but they reverberate and fade before he can make out what they're saying.

"I just wanna hear what's going on, he's fucking crying and—"

Before he makes it through there's another hand, stronger, wrapping tightly around his bicep and, when he turns, tries to shake it off, he sees a guard lift a taser towards his temple and then, out of the blue, everything turns black.

When he sees Noah Puckerman approach him on the stage, Kurt feels fixed to the floor – like he does on his bike, when his feet are fastened, caught, in the straps of his pedals – like he can move, but can't go anywhere.

"Kurt," he begins to speak, hushed, as he lays a strong hand on Kurt's forearm, "I'm a businessman. And, unlike the other three here, I can work with you. I know you're not a prude because, well, I've seen your rap sheet, and you've got a cute ass, dick-sucking lips and...I can always use a twink like you, y'know? But I have a project in mind and it'll make you a star."

Kurt blinks back at him amidst the slew of...compliments.

"It's all just acting, at the end of the day. You'd be a professional. You need to remind yourself of that. This is just a stepping stone and, whether you're singing, dancing, acting, judging...no-one goes in at the top. We all had to suck a few dicks first."

"But," Kurt manages to coerce his lips to form some of the words he's been looking for, "my boyfriend..."

"You can't let anyone hold you back."

I don't ever want to hold you back. Dave would never hold him back. He said so. "But Dave..."

"He can watch," Puckerman says with a shrug and an easy smile.

"If I can just talk to him, he's right—" Kurt looks pleading back at the stage door. Dave's watching this; wouldn't he say something, do something, if he wasn't okay with this?

Puckerman cuts him off, grip on his arm tightening, bringing Kurt's gaze right back to him. "Does he watch my stream?"

"Yeah."

"Do you?"

Kurt nods.

"Okay, so how awesome would it be, after a shitty day of pedalling, to come home and watch your boyfriend up there instead of some random guy?"

"I don't know, I'd—"

"It'd be fucking awesome. The next best thing to being with him."

Kurt remembers, dimly, watching Dave on stream during his Pro-Virtua tryout. He remembers with more clarity that he liked it. "It would?"

"Yeah it would." Puckerman nods in earnest and Kurt finds himself nodding along with him. "It's what he'd want, dude. Trust me. And you get the best of both worlds; you get all the pleasure you can handle and all you have to do is can close your eyes and think of...Dave."

"But—" Kurt starts to protest, but all he can think of is Dave; who gave up so much for this chance, who loves him and wants him to do this. You have to do this...it's not optional, Hummel.

"Back in ten, nine, eight..."

"Anything bad you can think of, we medicate against it." Puckerman says and removes his hand from Kurt's forearm. "We're back, it's now or never, okay? These guys – I – don't like rejection. Don't burn your bridges."

Kurt nods again and watches Judge Puckerman walk back to his seat. He feels like he's forgotten something, that he's forgetting something, lost in the glare of the spotlight. He doesn't feel good anymore. But he doesn't feel bad, either.

"So, Kurt Hummel," St James says as the music flares and fades and the Counters cheer around them. "Have you made your decision?"

Kurt tries to articulate how he feels. "I just...I thought...this isn't—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there." Sue Sylvester leans forward, eyes narrowed. "You want to be in the spotlight, princess? Who do you think powers that spotlight? Millions of people, that's who. Putting in an honest day of disgusting, sweaty pedal pushing. They would give anything, do anything, to have this chance you're being offered. And here you are, acting like you're too good to take an opportunity most of them would kill for."

She shakes her head in abject disgust.

"No, it' not like—"

"Maybe if he'd actually worked for the credits that brought him here, he'd feel a little different, huh?" St. James offers and, even through the miasma, that hurts.

"You were gifted the credits to come here and you're willing to throw that gift away?" Schuester huffs with incredulity, "Maybe you do belong on a bike, Kurt. Because you don't seem very willing to step off it."

The Counters all around chant and cheer. "Do it! Do it! Do it!"

"Kurt," Puckerman stands up, silencing the room, and looks at Kurt, optimistic smile on his face, "I can make you a star. Anywhere else, you'll be furniture, at best. You've had all the time I can give you to think about this. You know what to do. Are you gonna be a performer or a pedaller?"

Kurt blinks. He's aware, for the first time since he arrived onstage, of the sound of his heart beating in his chest. It's eerily slow and steady. He knows what to do.

He wants to be a star, but this isn't just about him.

"A performer," he says, evenly. He'd be letting Dave down otherwise, right?

A/N: I'm so nervous to find out what you all think of this chapter! Please, please review to let me know (whether or not you hate me).

As I said on tumblr, I've now plotted out the remaining chapters, including an actual ending, and it looks like there will be another nine after this (although that might well grow a little). I hope you'll stick with it until the end. Thanks so much for your continued support!

Oh, and also - I'm not particularly worried about whether or not the judges' characters are at all in keeping with their Glee-canon personas here. It made sense, for this fic, to use existing characters from the fandom in place of the ones from the show this story's based on, but that's the only reason they're there so, if they seem OOC, I'm sorry (but not really).