Limits

Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?

Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.

AN: Thank you for all your reviews on the last chapter!

Chapter Fifteen: Chorale

Kurt had hoped that he'd imagined the disconnect that he'd been feeling, that it was something he'd be able to get over after a few hours with his friends. He hadn't.

Rachel's basement was as he remembered: large, spacious, and possessing an entirely too-huge portrait of one Miss Berry herself. Unfortunately, while the portrait was still there, the aforementioned Miss Berry was not, and had left Kurt alone in her basement. If she'd been anyone else, Kurt might have suspected that she was legitimately trying to kidnap him.

Badly.

As it was, though, the girl had immediately flung her arms around his neck and squeezed just shy of strangulation and if it was a kidnapping, it was a really, really terrible one, so Kurt didn't bother worrying about it.

She'd said something about running to the store to grab a few more snacks? Who in their right mind invited someone over and then just left them when other people weren't due to show up for another hour and a half?

Oh.

Wait.

Rachel. Never mind. That didn't really explain much but it at least let him omit the "in their right mind" part of that equation.

Why she felt the need to leave Kurt alone in her house he really had no idea because he wasn't that terrified of her driving, but still. He supposed that it was neither here nor there in the end and settled onto the couch to wait for her to come back, sipping at a bottle of pomegranate juice that she'd pushed on him before she left, along with a plate of I'm Sorry cookies.

He'd asked her what she was apologizing for, and she'd explained that the characteristic, delicious taste could only come from guilt and shame, otherwise they would have been Welcome Back cookies. Well, whatever. They were delicious all the same, even if they were vegan and the secret ingredient was disgrace, real or imagined. Leave it to Rachel.

There was a knock on the front door and it didn't occur to Kurt that it wouldn't be someone from glee, hopefully here to save him from a poorly executed abduction. It did, however, occur to him that maybe he ought to have considered this when he opened the door to reveal someone he didn't know, and wow this was probably going to be super awkward.

A boy stood on Rachel's front stoop, mid-height and dark-haired and looking distinctly nervous.

"Um…hi," the boy said, shifting from foot to foot. "Rachel invited me to her party. Are you…Kurt?"

Kurt's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Several pieces of a puzzle he hadn't known existed slotted into place and he, not for the first time or the last, had the intense and burning desire to maim Rachel Berry.

"You seem to know me but I don't really know much of you, I'm sorry to say."

The boy flushed uncomfortably.

"Er, well, she's always talked about you. We met at Sectionals. I have a photo on my phone if you need proof." Furrowing his brows, the boy cocked his head, "For a glee party, the quiet is more than a bit terrifying. I thought Puck would be swinging by the chandelier by now."

Kurt sighed.

"That would be because for some inexplicable reason, dearest Rachel has invited you over an hour early and has since made herself scarce. I think that's what she tends to consider a plan," Blue eyes rolled. "Well, you don't seem to be an ax murderer and I'm pretty sure I could take you if you were. Come on in."

"Oh, damn, I left the ax at home. I knew I forgot something."

Kurt snickered and opened the door wider to let the boy inside.

"And does the forgetful ax murderer have a name?"

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson." The newly named Blaine rubbed the back of his head and extended a hand. Kurt took it and gave it a firm shake, leading him into the house. "Nice cravat."

That was not a nice cravat like it was a jibe or a dig or a nice cravat that meant pffffft nice girly neck ribbon or that it was actually a hideous cravat and what the hell was he doing wearing one? Who would have thought that in Lima, nice cravat really could ever just mean nice cravat? Kurt smiled, the one that made his eyes crinkle up.

"Thank you. I like your bow tie, very cool."

Preening, Blaine couldn't resist fiddling with the tie, tweaking it back into place despite that it had never been crooked.

"Bow ties are cool," he affirmed, "Any idea when Rachel plans on coming back?"

"No idea," Kurt replied, walking with the other boy down to the basement, "I'm assuming sometime before the rest of glee club gets here because it'd be kind of weird to miss your own party, don't you think? Or it could just be a really elaborate ruse and you're merely a pawn in her really bad plan to keep me captive."

"Should I be more offended that I'm just a pawn or that I'm not the one being kidnapped?" Blaine mused half to himself, shifting his eyes to Kurt just in time to catch the other boy cover his mouth to keep from laughing.

"Did you ever think that I might be the ax murderer?" Kurt countered, "You've never met me; I could have tied up Rachel and tossed her in the basement." Blaine really should have looked more worried, or at least a little bit concerned.

"Nah, you'd totally hear her screaming from here."

"Even with a gag?"

"Most definitely."

"Ah, well. Guess you're on to me, then. Shame."

Blaine had been down here before, shown by the way he didn't hesitate in flopping down on the couch to prop his feet up. Kurt followed him at a more sedate pace, settling delicately into a chair.

"So… Kurt," Blaine began and cast a curious look Kurt's way. The taller boy glanced up from where he was studiously examining his fingernails, raising a single brow in acknowledgement of the question. "Rachel said I wasn't allowed to question you about your mysterious disappearing act? Something about the CIA or the FBI or something…?"

Goddamnit, Rachel.

Kurt sighed.

"Yep, classified information. They'll string me up if I tell. No lie."

Innocent blue eyes met suspicious hazel.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to." Kurt had always been told that that voice was supremely irritating, the infernally superior one that embodied bitchface and dripped in nonchalance. It still worked despite its relative lack of recent use, judging by the scowl that Blaine sent his way. Finally, the dark-haired boy sighed, letting a wry smile wrap itself onto his features.

"Alright, alright, fine. You win. Classified."

Kurt smiled back.

"Now, I have a question for you."

"Oh god." Blaine visibly gulped.

"Avenue Q or The Book of Mormon?"

Blaine, who had clearly been expecting about any question other than that, could barely hold back the bark of laughter that forced itself from his throat and immediately began humming the tune of If You Were Gay. Kurt snickered and shot him a thumbs up.

"Very good, approval gained."

"Who could resist?" Blaine shot back, waggling a brow in Kurt's direction, "Lady Gaga or Katy Perry?"

"Pfffft, Gaga all the way. Don't even suggest otherwise. Blue or red?"

"Both, those are my school colors," With a sheepish grin, Blaine tugged a monogrammed notebook out of his bag, waving it to show off the ornate logo. Kurt inclined his head.

"Fair enough."

"Bengals or Browns?"

"Neither, football sucks. Joni Mitchell or Simon & Garfunkel?"

"Joni Mitchell."

"Good man," Kurt nodded approvingly, "I think I can be friends with you now." From the sofa, Blaine took a jaunty, miniature bow. Kurt scrutinized him, wondering, briefly, how things might have been if they'd met before he'd left with the Doctor. "So… what exactly did Rachel tell you about me?"

There was no hesitation in the response.

"She said you were talented, pretty, and gay."

That was…surprisingly kind considering the original source. Kurt would have been banking more on the lines of overdramatic, pessimistic, and prickly. Gay would still probably have been in the description, though.

"And what about you?" Kurt asked breezily. Blaine shrugged.

"About the same on all counts."

"My, my. Someone's humble."

"I don't see you denying the description," Blaine shot back, unable to keep the smile off his face. Kurt matched it and reclined in his chair, the picture of luxuriance.

"I don't have to because none of it is debatable in the slightest. Anyone with eyes can just tell. It's a vibe I give off."

"Has anyone ever told you that you border on the insufferable?"

"I am a wonderful kind of insufferable. Endearing at the very, very least," Kurt preened, "But yes. Talented, pretty, and gay. And kind of insufferable."

Of all the things that Kurt had been expecting of the evening, this was not one of them. He'd certainly been expecting to have fun, been expecting to play catch-up, but Blaine was a variable he hadn't counted on. It wasn't a bad thing and it meant that any sort of interrogation gang-up wouldn't be happening. As long as Rachel had passed around the story that he'd been kidnapped by the government, things should all be fine.

In theory.

Seriously though, what were the chances of this? What Kurt wouldn't have given, two years ago, to have known that there was another gay guy in Ohio who wasn't one of Rachel's dads or Dave Karofsky. Would it have been him introducing himself to Blaine at Sectionals in another world? What could have been, what could have not? It could have made him sad or wistful or regretful. Instead, he felt happy because even though it took a while, he got to meet him now and better late than never.

"Hold on a minute," Blaine spoke up suddenly, getting to his feet and making his way to the stairs, "That juice is taunting me and I know where she keeps it. If Rachel cares, she shouldn't have abandoned us." As he ascended the staircase, Kurt waved him up with a twirl of his hand with a joking,

"Don't mind me; I'll just be down here, polishing my ax."

This might have been the most awkward party that Kurt had ever been to, and he'd consoled George Washington over whiskey (which might have been the most vile drink to ever grace the planet) after Benedict Arnold's defection. This trumped that level of awkward, and Kurt had thought that there couldn't possibly be anything worse than trying to comfort the future first president in the middle of the Revolutionary War. With whiskey.

Ugh.

It was clear that all anyone else wanted to do was either stage an interrogation, kill him, or smother him to death.

Well, Brittany and Santana already had that bit covered because they'd walked in (not even in his wildest dreams had Kurt ever pictured Santana Lopez in Rachel Berry's basement), immediately shoved Blaine out of the way and monopolized Kurt's lap.

Well, his knees anyway because he now had a cheerleader seated on each.

Finn was in the very large corner of people who apparently wanted to interrogate him because all he'd done since arriving was glower and look like it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut to not spill anything that shouldn't be said in front of someone who didn't know. Was that why Rachel had invited Blaine? Kurt had been thinking it was some sort of gay boy solidarity project or matchmaking or just because Rachel did that sort of thing without thinking about it, but if that was what she'd planned instead in order to keep Finn in line, she was more conniving than he'd remembered.

At least she seemed to be fighting on the side of Good, this time.

"So…Kurt," Quinn had spoken up, green eyes peering up at him from the rim of her cup of coke, "CIA aside, tell us about the Doctor. I don't want to know about what he does, I want to know about him."

All conversation had gone quiet and Finn was giving her that look, the grateful one that made Rachel grit her teeth in frustration, because leave it to Quinn to just come out and ask what people wanted to know. From Kurt's left, Blaine furrowed his brows and looked slightly confused.

"Who's the Doctor?" he asked, tilting his head, "Are you sick?"

It was all Kurt could do to not facepalm and he settled for frowning at Quinn, who merely shrugged and looked unrepentant. She could at least pretend to be at least a little bit abashed but no, Quinn said what she wanted and never took it back. He liked that about her when it wasn't directed at him.

In response to Blaine, Kurt shook his head.

"I'm not sick," he said mildly, "The Doctor is…" he paused, suddenly unsure as to how to phrase what he wanted to say. "The Doctor is someone who's done a lot for me."

"He means a lot to you," Blaine pointed out, and Kurt realized with a start that he wasn't scowling anymore but smiling, unconsciously and without thinking about it in the slightest.

"He's very important to me," Kurt replied, voice low and feathery. He didn't have to work to make himself heard; the room was silent and waiting for him to continue, his friends anticipating and Blaine merely curious. "I trust him. To…" Do what's right. "To not lead me astray. To let me lead myself and let myself be better. People think he's a brook most of the time, bubbling and bright and shallow, and he is sometimes. But hardly anyone sees how deep he goes and how deeply he cares. He can do terrible things, and the most wonderful, the most infuriating and the most kind, and the most beautiful."

"It sounds like you love him."

Kurt froze at Blaine's comment, soft and fair and as unlike an accusation as it could get. Finn looked about a second away from sputtering (With annoyance? Indignation?) and Quinn, despite being the one who asked, had apparently been shocked into silence. Mercedes' face had blanked, showing absolutely nothing.

"Yeah," Kurt finally replied, "Yeah, I do. He's a very precious friend."

Brittany chose that moment to lean closer and nuzzle into his hair, wrapping an arm around his neck and squeezing. She didn't need to say anything because Kurt could feel what she meant from the way she smiled into his cheek.

"Uh, okay, happy subjects!" Rachel suddenly chirruped from the other side of their wavy circle. Kurt scowled; what part about anything he'd said had been even remotely unhappy? "Well, now that you've come home, we need start our game plan for next year! We've got to make it to Nationals before we graduate and starting early is absolutely crucial. You'd be welcome to stay here until college, and Principal Figgins would definitely buy an amnesia story or something. We're going to be seniors together, it'll be fantastic! If we start applying to schools in the fall, we'll know sooner than most people whether we got in…"

The more Rachel prattled, the colder Kurt got.

The light and warmth that had seeped into him blew out quicker than it had come.

This was what he'd been dreading this whole time. He'd never been able to lie very well and he rarely enjoyed it when he had to, and he knew that right now, he was staring across the circle at Rachel who hadn't even noticed that he was looking at her as if he'd just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Yes, where are you going to stay?" Mercedes cut in, voice tight and tense and oh god, she knew. She had to know, that was the only reason why she'd be watching him like that, wary like a hunter who'd come across a bear in his trap. "It'll be a shame that Rose and the Doctor will have to go, but you're home now. This is where you belong."

Not-home, not-home! Kurt's mind shouted, sharp and pleading. He couldn't speak.

A hand dropped to his shoulder and Kurt whipped his head around to look at Blaine, who couldn't have been more bewildered if he tried.

"Are you okay? You look really upset…"

Instinctually, Kurt shook the hand off, gentler than he would have otherwise.

"I…I'm fine," he wavered, "I just…" His voice broke off. Kurt twisted his hands together in his lap, ignoring the way his fingers were scrunching into the fabric of his shirt and wrinkling it to bedlam. "Give me a second."

"What, are you worried about how much school you've missed?" Rachel asked, and Kurt had to wonder if she was really that oblivious or if she was just sadistic. "You'll have plenty of time to catch up over the summer—"

The daisy chain that was Kurt's self-restraint broke and in one swift motion he'd maneuvered Brittany and Santana off of his knees to lurch to his feet, hands trembling and face entirely white. He wasn't sure whether he was hurt or angry or just sad, and why his insides felt tight and then as if they were turning to snakes by turn.

"No," he said, pitch rising, "No. There won't be any catching up. There won't be school in the fall. I didn't… I didn't want for it to come out this way but I can't possibly sit here and lead you all on or—or pretend that I'm going to do something I'm not. I'm not staying. I'm not going to be staying here. When it's time to move on, I'm going to keep traveling with the Doctor."

"You can't do that!" Mercedes protested, angry now. "Why'd you bother coming back, then?"

Kurt reeled back as if he'd been hit and it was clear by the way the girl cut her words off that she hadn't meant to say it. But not meaning to say it and not meaning it were two entirely different things.

This was an accident, it was an accident! We weren't even supposed to land here in the first place! Kurt wanted to scream. They'd been aiming for freaking Peru; if the TARDIS hadn't been some sort of sadist, he wouldn't have even been here. Maybe it would have been better. Saying that he hadn't even meant to return would cut deeper than anything else he could have said and a good chunk of Kurt flexed his mental knuckles to do it, do it, because she'd struck first. But he couldn't.

It was a low blow and it wouldn't just hurt her if he threw it.

So he didn't.

Instead, Kurt straightened up to his full height, muscles coiled like an overwound spring.

"I guess you'd rather be dead, then?" he asked, tone so saccharine sweet that a deaf man would have been able to tell that he didn't mean it.

"That has nothing to do with this—"

"That has everything to do with this!" Kurt retorted, realizing numbly that his feet were moving. He was taking slow, slow steps towards the basement staircase, never taking his eyes off of the angry, confused, and concerned group of people in front of him, "Would you have been okay with dying? Don't you get it? This isn't my place! I'm…" Different. Uneven. Mismatched. "I can't just slot back here as if I'd never left, spend a couple of months relearning math and then head right back into the place that made my life hell and pretend like I haven't been changed! Am I just supposed to pretend, to forget? I'm not staying here. You can take it, you can leave it, you can tell me to go to hell or whatever you want, but that's not going to change the outcome."

"What the hell did that Doctor do to you?" Finn spat, "You just run away from everything you don't like, now? You were never like that!"

Kurt wasn't one to lash out physically. He'd always been better with words and insults that cut better than a blade but right now, all he could think about was how satisfying it would be to slam his fist into Finn's head.

He resisted.

Barely.

"Oh," he breathed, white with rage now, "Oh, Finn Hudson, you've done it now. You want to talk about running away? Better to be a coward than deluded. Better to be a coward than a bonehead or a bully or a cheat. Don't even try to air out my dirty laundry because you have plenty of your own and I can show you exactly where it starts right here in front of everyone because at least I've been honest! Don't you even dare moralize at me for this. Any of you, because I'm not ashamed."

Silence, absolute silence.

"I'm not ashamed of me, nor am I ashamed of the Doctor or of Rose. I'm not ashamed of who I am or what I've done. I'm sad and I'm sorry but I'm not ashamed."

Little green, have a happy ending.

Kurt's heels hit the first step on that staircase.

"I'm leaving. Leaving-leaving, tomorrow afternoon. You can come and say goodbye or you can not, I'm too ticked off right now to care. The TARDIS is parked behind my house."

Kurt was used to running. Two years with the Doctor would do that to you. Now, though, his steps were slow and steady and deceptively calm even though inside he was a flurry of emotion. The room he'd left was silent. Silence through the living room, silence through the hall. Silence through the front door, and it clicked behind him.

If he'd been just two seconds slower, he might have heard the basement erupt with voices and footsteps on the stairs.

AN2: OH THE DRAMA.