Author's Note: Hi everyone! I know it's been two-and-a-half years since I updated this story, but I'm writing once again and will work to finish it soon. I decided to dispense completely with the AU setting, so goodbye "Diamond City," hello Manhattan. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Photo of Kurt (remove spaces): mms. businesswire media/20131017006272 /en/ 387876/5/ ChrisColfer_TLOS2Photo.

Ella Fitzgerald singing "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man of Mine": Youtube (watch?v=ikAXH7fIgT4)

Chapter 9: Some Inconvenient Revelations

18 days. 18 days of life on the road and then Detective Schuester appeared at the box office one afternoon, brandishing Kurt's photo.

"Have you seen this man?"

Ms. Beiste's face gave nothing away as she contemplated the photo. "No," she said flatly.

"You sure? Someone in Harpin caught your show and thought they recognized him. There's a big reward for whoever helps me find him."

"What's this about, Mister?" Ms. Beiste asked brusquely. "We've got a show to put on tonight."

"Kurt Hummel – that's his name – ran off to marry some song and dance man in New York City and Daddy dearest is determined to stop the wedding."

Ms. Beiste hummed dismissively. "Hmm. In case you haven't noticed, we're not in New York City. Probably be there in a few days but not with this guy."

"Mind if I talk to the other performers?" Schuester persisted. "He's been missing nearly three weeks and his father's getting anxious."

Ms. Beiste continued to look unimpressed. "Sure, don't see the harm. Sebastian," she called to the tall, brown-haired man on the stage. "This detective here is looking for some guy named – what was that name?"

"Kurt Hummel, heir to the Hummel auto empire."

"Right," she said, feigning disinterest. She turned back to Sebastian and gave him a pointed look Schuester could not see. "Some guy named Kurt Hummel. Call the troupe together. He wants to show a photo."

Heart in his throat, Sebastian forced himself to amble casually off stage, but once behind the curtain he ran straight to the wardrobe room.

Kurt and Chandler looked up puzzled from their joint sketch as Sebastian rushed in. "There's a detective here!" he cried frantically. "Hide!"

"Wh-what?" Kurt seemed frozen but Chandler, without asking any questions, was already pulling the costume racks towards the back of the room and tugging Kurt into position behind them as though this sort of drill happened every day.

"Stay here," the wardrobe master told him cheerfully. Kurt looked panic stricken. Chandler gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry. We'll get rid of this guy."

Everyone lined up on stage and took turns looking at the photo. One by one they categorically denied ever having seen Kurt before. When Detective Schuester mentioned the sizeable reward, Sebastian's eyes flickered towards Puck, but the man just crossed his arms over his chest and stood impassive along with the rest. Santana and Lauren each gave Shuester a particularly murderous glare.

Shuester scrubbed his hands down his face in vexation. "Mind if I search the place?"

Ms. Beiste did not hide her irritation. "Look, Mister," she said roughly, "we don't know this guy and we got a show to prep for. So unless you can sing, dance, or play an instrument, why don't you just move along and bother some other hard-working outfit?"

Shuester looked once again at the line of performers and cast his eyes around the stage and out over the empty theater seats. He took a quick peak behind the rear curtain and into each of the wings before huffing out a frustrated breath.

"Fine. But if you see him, call my office and they'll get in touch with me. Remember, there's a reward." He held out his card and Ms. Beiste took it without grace.

After the detective had gone, she crumpled up the card and contemptuously threw it in the trash can. Then she and Sebastian went to find Kurt.

"Millionaire runaway groom, huh?" Ms. Beiste said, crossing her arms sternly and flicking her eyes between the pair. "You two better start talking."

Kurt heaved a sigh and told her his story in brief. "I'm so sorry you all had to lie for me."

She waived her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Okay, now I've got his story," Ms. Beiste said, turning to Sebastian. "What's yours? And don't try telling me you didn't know who he was."

It was decision time for Sebastian. He had treasured these past 18 days of growing closer to Kurt. He'd know that eventually he'd have to come clean about the article, but now, suddenly out of time, he felt like the world's worst heel.

"Yeah," he said reluctantly, a heavy lead ball in his stomach growing larger by the second, "I've known all along. I'm a reporter for the New York Chronicle and I was assigned to write a piece on Kurt." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Kurt stared open-mouthed, like he was seeing Sebastian for the first time. Then he slapped him hard across the face.

"I thought you helped me because you were a good person!" Kurt fumed. "I thought you cared, that we were friends! And this whole time I was just what you reporters call a 'scoop'."

"Kurt," Sebastian began, reaching for him, "let me explain –"

Kurt drew back violently. "No! Get away from me! Come near me again and I swear to God I'll deck you!"

"You better get out of here, Sebastian," Ms. Beiste said quietly. "Go wait up in the balcony."

Sebastian gave Kurt an apologetic, guilty look and walked off with his head down.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Beiste," Kurt said, obviously distressed. "I can't stay here. I've got to get to Manhattan as soon as possible."

But Ms. Beiste shook her head. "Actually," she said shrewdly, "sticking with us is your best bet right now, since that gumshoe went away empty-handed. He's not likely to come back."

Kurt considered this. They were scheduled to be in Manhattan in five days. Could he wait five days? Should he call Blaine to discuss it? Yes, that made sense. He hadn't spoken to Blaine recently anyway and needed to let him know Kurt was nearly there.

"I have to talk it over with my fiancé. But even if I stay, there's no way I can perform with Sebastian tonight. I don't even want to be in the same room with him."

"I can pull one act from the show last minute but not two. If you stay, you'll still have to sing "Lovin' Dat Man". You okay with that?"

As angry as he was with Sebastian, Kurt knew he was obliged to Ms. Beiste, to all of the troupe. They'd befriended him, sheltered him, lied for him. He couldn't just walk out on them. Kurt set his jaw in determination. "Yes, I can sing."

"Okay then, we'll do that. And I'll have Sebastian bunk with Puck tonight. There's still a couple hours until showtime" she said kindly. "Go call your fiancé and tell me what you decide about tomorrow. I'm not gonna lie – we'd be sorry to see you go, and not just because you're a hell of a performer."

Up in the balcony, Sebastian was a wreck. He kept pacing back and forth and running his hands through his hair in agitation.

It's okay, everything will be okay. You've got plenty of material for the story, he tried to assure himself. It would end with detailing what a sensitive, compassionate person Kurt had become, how he'd come to really appreciate people who hadn't had the privileges and opportunities he did and wanted to make their lives better. Or maybe Kurt was always like this, and just needed to see a bit more of the real world to let these qualities shine. Plus, his smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds, and his blue-green eyes were like a stormy sea, the kind of eyes a guy could willingly get lost in and never want to be found, and –

What the hell? How Kurt looked was irrelevant. Sebastian wasn't writing some sappy romance novel, for Christ's sake, he was writing a serious piece of journalism! So what if Kurt hated him? In five days' time, they were supposed to go their separate ways anyway and presumably never see each other again. Sure, Sebastian liked Kurt. In a platonic way. He was a good guy, after all.

Not like that flighty, shallow sponge Blaine Anderson. Oh, Sebastian had kept up on his shenanigans during these past 18 days. Lavish parties, flashy dinners out, strutting all over town like a prize peacock in those ridiculous bowties. Practically begging the press to pay attention to him. Anderson didn't care about Kurt. He didn't appreciate Kurt for who he really was, just wanted his money, his connections. Burt Hummel was absolutely right to keep his son away from that freeloader. Kurt deserved so much better, a guy who would really see Kurt, value him for his talent, his kindness, his generosity, a man who was his intellectual equal and could match him tease for tease –

Sebastian frowned. None of your business, he scolded himself harshly. Who cares if Kurt throws his life away with pea-brain Anderson? Maybe Shuester's visit today was a blessing in disguise. Sebastian had gotten too invested in this story. Now he could just get back to New York and his regular life of being yelled at by Sue. She'd have to give him better assignments after this. Maybe a raise. Okay, so the life of an unattached investigative journalist was a little lonely, but that was no big deal. Sure, go back to how it all was before. Sebastian could do that. Sure.

"You're gonna wear out the rug with all that pacing, and I don't feel like paying to replace it," Ms. Beiste said wryly, coming up behind him. "Sit down, Sebastian."

Sebastian blew out a breath in frustration and threw himself gracelessly into a seat. Ms. Beiste took the one next to him.

"Okay," she said matter-of-factly, "so Kurt doesn't want to perform with you tonight, and frankly, I can't blame him. You gave him a pretty big shock. He's going to call his fiancé and decide about leaving tomorrow for Manhattan or staying with us a few more days. In the meantime, I'm pulling your striptease and you bunk with Puck tonight. Kurt needs his space."

Sebastian sighed and nodded in defeat.

"You gonna tell him you're in love with him before he goes?"

Sebastian stared at her in surprise. "Wh-what? Who said that?" he asked defensively.

Ms. Beiste scoffed. "Anyone with eyes can see it. The way you watch from the wings every time he sings, the heat coming off you two when you dance the bolero. I gotta say, it made me think you really were married to each other."

"Well, we're not and I don't," Sebastian said angrily. "It was the only way to get close to him for the story, see?"

"Fine," said Ms. Beiste with a shrug and a knowing smile. "Whatever you say. Anyway, you're off for the night. My advice? Don't hang around the theater. Go to a bar, have a couple good stiff drinks. But don't get drunk. That never helps anything. Even if Kurt stays the next few days, if he refuses to dance with you, I'm not gonna force him. If that happens, I think it's best for all concerned that you go back to your paper. But don't slink away without saying goodbye to everyone beforehand. People here care about you, Sebastian. You've worked hard and helped out, and they respect that. Plus," she added with a smirk, "I think Santana would track you down and break your fingers if you just cut and run. Make sure you never use a typewriter again."

Sebastian gave a weak smile. "Okay," he said gloomily. "Liquor sounds like a good idea right now. I promise I won't overdo it."

Ms. Beiste put her arm around his shoulder and gave him a sideways hug. "It's gonna be okay, Sebastian," she said soothingly. "Things have a way of working out in show business."

Kurt's hands shook as he dialed the long-distance operator for Manhattan 352. What a rat! What a traitor! Kurt angrily flicked tears from the corners of his eyes. He never wanted to see Sebastian's stupid handsome face again! Handsome? Well, he was objectively good-looking. And smart. But that didn't matter. All this time he'd been lying to Kurt, making him think Sebastian really cared about him. But Kurt was just some cheap story, copy to sell papers! And to think, Kurt had been dancing with him all these weeks, bare chested, touching him on stage, lying next to him at night whispering until the wee hours, confiding in him, relying on him –

"Hello?" Blaine's voice came through the receiver.

"Hello, Blaine, it's Kurt!"

"Kurt, baby! How's my sweet porcelain doll?"

Kurt ignored the irritation he felt at hearing the condescending nickname Blaine had stuck on him. He'd have to tell Blaine to cut it out, but right now there were more pressing matters. "Not good, Blaine. Listen – that guy I've been traveling with, Sebastian? It turns out he's a reporter for the New York Chronicle and he was just helping me so he could do a story on me. A cheap exposé or something on me trying to get to you for our wedding."

"But that's great, Kurt!" Blaine sounded elated. "The New York Chronicle has a huge circulation. If they run a story about your trip, then they'll surely want to do a follow-up on the wedding itself and that will be the perfect way to really launch my career on Broadway."

Kurt scowled at the receiver. How could Blaine be so insensitive? "First of all, it's not a 'trip.' I haven't been busting my butt every night on stage, eating bologna sandwiches, sleeping in drafty theaters, and riding on smelly, rickety busses for days on end just for pleasure. Second, our wedding is not a publicity stunt. We're marrying because we love each other! And third, Sebastian betrayed my trust. He deceived me, Blaine, don't you get it? If the New York Chronicle tries to run that story, I'll sue them so fast their heads will spin."

"I see you're upset," Blaine said, although he didn't sound very sympathetic. "But let's not be hasty. We could turn this to our advantage. Sure, the wedding is for us. Of course it is. But all the best people will be there. Mercedes Jones and her band are going to play. I was thinking maybe I could even sing a love song to you in front of the guests. You know, perform for you – you know how much you love that – and also showcase my talent. If the media is there, think what good exposure that will be for me."

Kurt could not believe his ears. Here he was feeling raw and vulnerable, and all Blaine could focus on was himself. Kurt wiped more angry tears from his eyes. He wasn't going to leave tomorrow, he decided. He needed to calm down and think. Beiste was right, staying with the troupe was his best option. But if she'd cut the bolero from the line-up, then Kurt would insist Sebastian leave. Kurt couldn't deal with either him or Blaine right now.

"I have to go now, Blaine," he said sharply. "We're due to arrive in the City in a few days. I'll see you then."

"Okay," said Blaine in a breezy tone. "Take care of yourself, my darling porc- "

Kurt slammed down the receiver.

When he stalked back to the stage, Beiste assured him Sebastian had made himself scarce for the night. That evening, when Kurt sang "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man of Mine," even the hardest hearts in the audience got misty-eyed. He'd always sung it with feeling, but now his voice was so plaintive, so full of melancholy.

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly,

I gotta love one man 'til I die

Can't help lovin' that man of mine.

Maybe he's lazy, maybe he's slow,

Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I know,

Can't help lovin' that man of mine!

When he goes away

That's a rainy day,

But when he comes back,

That day is fine

The sun will shine!

He can stay out as late as can be,

Home without him ain't no home for me;

Can't help lovin' that man of mine!

Kurt always used to think the man in the song was Blaine. Now, he wasn't so sure.