The Warblers were very efficient in cleaning up the party room. The caterer was paid, tipped, and asked to deliver the food to a shelter. The decorations were taken down, pieces of tape removed from the wall, strings of lights coiled for later use, and the streamers and banner neatly deposited in the trash. The presents were piled with the large box on the bottom and the medium-sized ones on top of that, with the small ones and cards collected in a bag. Peter volunteered to help Wes carry them back to the dorm since the large box, containing a large down blanket, was rather unwieldy. Most of them didn't talk much, and when they did, it was in the hushed and faintly awkward way that those who escaped injury might talk at the scene of some disaster.
Kurt shook his head a little at the rapidity of the room's transformation, from festive to forlorn as its finery was partially stripped back to tidy polished wood. In a way, he felt truly sorry for David and even felt some respect for his successful fight for some dignity in the face of a vicious and humiliating blow. David certainly wasn't one to beg for pity or make himself out as a tragic victim. Part of Kurt, though, was also feeling some vindictive satisfaction that somebody who had at least agreed to the plot to entrap him was feeling wounded to the core, lost in uncharted terrain. He didn't feel any particular shame or pride in the feeling; he merely observed it.
He was also silently observing and trying to understand Blaine's reactions. He could recognize Blaine's fury at Lynne's callousness, especially because Blaine had exclaimed several times that he couldn't believe how somebody could be so unfeeling towards somebody who loved her so much. He also easily comprehended Blaine's frustration at his own impotence to help in any way that felt significant, his inability to take away any of the pain. But there were also elements that he couldn't put his finger on, sudden flashes of pensiveness. Knowing now Blaine's ability to plot and execute a plan, he thought to himself that Lynne might well find herself regretting what she'd done to Blaine's friend.
Kurt continued to observe as the Warblers started to break up, with hugs or long looks from those who didn't live in the same dorm, rather than the usual cheerful goodbyes or waves. Even that was like a cross between a funeral and the way disaster survivors behave, the awkwardness of staying together with nothing to say or do versus the desire not to be the first to actually leave.
Blaine came over and took his hand to leave. He sighed again and briefly rested his head on Kurt's shoulder. "I still can't believe it." Just inside the dorm building, Hamza, wearing a jacket and clearly leaving, eyed Blaine in surprise. "What's going on?" he asked, his eyes darting to Kurt to confirm that he was all right and that it was Blaine alone who was distraught.
Blaine stopped, his voice as full of venom as Wes' had been earlier. "David's rotten girlfriend. Instead of coming here for his 18th like she said she would, she had another girl call him up and say that she'd decided to dump him."
Hamza raised his eyebrows. "Rough."
"Unbelievable. I'm sure she got her claws into somebody richer and decided she'd trade up. That kind doesn't let go of a good thing unless she has something better lined up."
When Blaine didn't say anything else, Hamza continued to the door and then turned. "Kurt, I dug up my old textbooks. If you want them, don't let me forget to give them to you."
"Great, thanks." Hamza had talked with Kurt about the possibility of independently taking Advanced Placement tests, even when McKinley didn't offer the classes, in order to get college credit for his high school studies. He'd offered to share his old textbooks and email Kurt his notes so that Kurt could get a sense of the classes and what he'd need to pass. Blaine had enthusiastically supported the idea and had filed a petition with the Dean of Academic Affairs to allow Kurt to enroll in or at least audit classes, since Dalton offered almost all the Advanced Placement courses. Kurt had mixed reactions to the possibility, uncertainty that it could work out, but mixed with hope that it could and the awareness that he might be able to save enough college costs that he could afford a better school than the kinds that would accept a student who would require a full scholarship. Hamza's encouragement and even Blaine's made it seem much more possible.
Inside the dorm room, Blaine as usual held Kurt's jacket as he took it off, then removed his own. But instead of following with the usual kisses, Blaine closed his eyes and shook his head. "I still can't believe it." He sat heavily on the bed and shook his head again. "I actually feel kind of dirty." He laughed shortly. "I need to shower and think a bit." Kurt sat to finish some Spanish exercises. Mr. Schue had, at Kurt's request, sent him the class assignments, which he graded and returned, and it would be good to get this one done early.
Sue Sylvester certainly hadn't gotten where she was by caring about whether other people were asleep. Or even in a coma, for that matter. If she needed them to talk or to be talked to, she'd do it, so poking Will Schuester in the ribs with a pointed fingernail was nothing, despite his childish complaint that it was 4:30 in the morning.
"But I was awake," she explained, slowly and patiently. "And because you spend more time communicating with the school's legions of losers than I can bring myself to, I need information."
"Couldn't it wait until morning?"
"I didn't feel like waiting, obviously."
Will surrendered to the inevitability of Sue's getting her way in the same manner that a cannonball dropped from a helicopter onto a picnic surrenders to gravity. Sue had witnessed this from personal experience, though needless to say, not from the perspective of somebody on the ground. "What is it?"
"I took my Cheerios to the gun range yesterday and it showed yet another lamentable weakness. Only Santana stood her ground when the Marines said that it was for their exclusive use and we shouldn't have broken onto the base. I pointed out that as government property, it also belongs to individuals like me and threatened to court-martial them all, but it really wasn't worth taking it as far as I did, except for the pleasure of making Marines cry, since arming my Cheerios would create more problems than it would solve. Only half of them are safe with a car, let alone a small, easily fired weapon. I reluctantly abandoned the idea of an armed division of Cheerios and now we need to think of another way to make the school safe for Porcelain to return."
After a moment, she poked Will again. "Has your hair gel entirely blocked your ears or are you trying to think? I've personally declared a zero-tolerance for bullying, but until the UN gets off their collective asses and makes my wishes international law, or the Nobel Prize people award only successful attempts to clone me, that won't be enough." She thought for a moment. "The UN can't enforce its own international laws anyway, so it's up to the Nobel Prize. Or maybe the MacArthur Genius Prize. But that's going to take at least a year, since neither of them returns my phone calls any more. I need to enforce this sooner than that.
"So think about it, William, and report to me in the morning." Sue turned over and went back to sleep.
Will was able to clear his brain of the mental image of armed bands of Cheerios roaming the halls and shooting out disputes, something he suspected he wouldn't have been able to a few months ago without at least extensive therapy. He supposed this was part of getting used to Sue. But she did have a point. If the administration wouldn't, and only a few teachers would, there would have to be a critical mass of students who refused to tolerate bullying.
The Glee kids had learned how to stick up for themselves and one another. Ignoring bullies and taking consolation in having a brighter future doesn't work when it puts that future at risk. Turning the other cheek doesn't work when that means that the other cheek will itself get turned into hamburger. The Cheerios would do whatever Sue told them to. Sue herself had changed, picking only on the aggressors and, it appeared, also on US Marines. Well, that was Sue. He himself had to be more active in taking names and kicking ass. There were a few other teachers and other staff members who might be interested enough to help. When he and Brad had gone out drinking after an especially trying week, Brad had admitted to getting to like some of the kids, even if he did suspect Santana and Brittany of making out on his piano. He might be willing to patrol the halls, too. But that still wasn't enough.
It was Figgins that was the problem. He was too scared for himself; he just wanted to keep his job until he could retire. He overlooked the bullying, he overlooked anything that didn't help or hinder his job security. That was acceptable in a school where everything was going fine, one that didn't need leadership, but at one where all the students needed somebody to speak up for them, not just the ones who won games and competitions, it wasn't good enough. Will had tried talking to him quietly and reasonably, had tried pleading with him to make the school safe, but as far as Figgins was concerned, budget shortfalls, winning track records, teaching to the various standardized tests, and avoiding lawsuits were the only things that mattered. That was all that concerned the school board and so that was all that concerned him.
So the next thing was to find a way to make Figgins care or make the school board care. Will squinted and blinked in surprise at just how easily a plan for that came into his head. Looking fondly at Sue, he said, "You're a good bad influence," and happily spooned against her. He must be a bad good influence on her, too, he realized, since lately she hadn't even lowered his grades for spooning afterward.
Lynne's dumping David kept forcing thoughts of Kurt's being with somebody else into Blaine's head. As he showered, he allowed those thoughts to occupy him, like an injured hiker would slowly try to put his weight onto a twisted ankle, to see if he'd be able to make it back. The water flowed unceasingly down his body as he let each image in. Other lips and hands exploring every millimeter of Kurt's body, uncovering all the spots that could make him shiver. Another mouth catching Kurt's in a kiss, except perhaps tilting Kurt's head up rather than lightly pulling it down. Somebody else's face buried in Kurt's shoulder or the small of his back, somebody else's hands or mouth coaxing Kurt's member into arousal, somebody else hearing Kurt's soft breathing during the night. Other hands buried in his hair. Blaine leaned his hands into the shower wall, gasping for breath. If this kind of mental torture is what David was enduring...
Blaine turned the water off, dried himself, and dressed again. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and whispered, "Courage."
Kurt was absorbed in a book and didn't look up as he emerged from the bathroom, and Blaine watched him fondly for a few moments, then crossed the room. He didn't think that he'd be able to manage this if Kurt were too close.
"Kurt?"
His dear Trophy looked up. "Hmmm?"
"I want you to go to David."
Kurt frowned, clearly not understanding. "I barely know him, it's not like I could say anything much."
"No, I mean I want you to stay with him." Kurt's eyes widened but Blaine could see that he had put it to obliquely. Kurt was only sensing and not fully understanding his meaning. "Like you've been with me."
AN: Sorry for the delay!
Please do review, I'm not quite sure how to charge through the writer's block where I know what's going to happen next (I think) but getting the words down is like pulling teeth. From an alligator who doesn't appreciate it and can also disappear into another dimension when it feels like it. So I'm hoping that a comment will anesthetize the alligator. If that makes any sense at all!