A/N: A THOUSAND apologizes it has taken me this long to get this posted. The past two weeks have been absolutely crazy for me IRL. I finished my masters, packed up apartment, drove 2000 miles cross country with my parents and surly 17 year old brother, got a new apartment, and came home. Basically, we'd get up, drive, and then I'd fall into bed. I'm also sorry if I haven't been answering PMs… same reason. This chapter is at 4.5K. This is the longest cohesive thing I've written since, I don't even know when.
At this point, I'm so ready to post and make people satisfied, that I'm not sure if I should add more diabetes notes. I guess I'll mention that most commercial blood sugar meters can only read between 20 mg/dl and 599 mg/dl. Outside this range, they display some variant on the messages "LO" and "HI". Also, it is not uncommon for someone starting or re-starting a pump to run a trial with saline (basically salt water) to decide if they can do it/like it/what ever.
Thanks to everyone who has read, or reviewed, or followed. I appreciate it! … I have one more favor to ask of you. A friend of mine is going through a rough time. Her sister and I are trying to fill her Tumblr ask box with 100 messages reminding her that she is special and she is loved. If you have a Tumblr and could drop something (long/short, signed/anon) in the box of breathinginlove, I would totally appreciate it. Thanks! C65.
After three times, he stops counting. The truth is that the Venn Diagram which makes up his and Quinn's networks has enough overlaps between their work acquaintances, time at Children's and the Nude Erections-Warblers connection that they come in contact maybe twice or three times a week. Normally its just a few sentences: a greeting, and an inquiry about the state of Quinn's health, work, or one of their mutual friends. Then, either he or Quinn have to off to take care of something. It is a comfortable acquaintance, but not a friendship. However, in late June, something happens that changes the dynamic of their relationship.
It's an impossibly hot Tuesday afternoon during the last week in June. The children of Western Ohio are staging a protest of the heat: Occupy Swimming Pool. At least 99% of the school age children are joining in. The mercury is just brushing 100ºF and it's so humid that going outside is reminicant of the rainforest. His sadistic side wants to see Blaine Anderson's hair.
He's almost pleased when Leesha calls him to collect her reward. She has avoided blowing out her meter for the past two weeks, while he's been HI three times. Her "punishment" for the support group is … a pool party? She has found a private place, and claims the weather is too hot for anything else. He still thinks that taking off all everyone's clothes and running really quickly would cool people, but apparently Evie has vetoed anything illegal. So, a pool party. The scope of his punishment involves bring at least three guests and food. Before Leesh hangs up, she adds, "I don't care they're gay, straight, orange, purple, dinosaur. You're not coming if you don't bring me at least two other hot men to objectify, Smythe."
He finds himself scrambling more than he'd like to admit to find people. He has a few people who he calls friends at Dalton: the Warblers, Joshy his chemistry partner, and Cerve his Latin buddy. But, it's one thing to conjugate irregular verbs with or spill acid on someone, and another to invite them to be eye candy for a (slightly sex) crazy graduate of an all girl's school.
He calls Trent first, and begs the tenor to join him. Trent isn't too bad, and he's an absolute sweetheart. Even if he's as Takai as Sulu, Leesh will love him, immediately. Everyone loves Trent. Unfortunately, though, Trent isn't available. He, Scotty, and their grandfather, are going to see Mr. Nixon for the weekend.
When he hears the news, he isn't sure what to say. Should he offer to be at the other end of the phone for Trent? Should he tell him how much he thinks the situation sucks? Should he sing a song? Finally, he all he says is, "Call me when you get back, and we'll go for coffee." Trent's sign of relief is audible.
He tries Nick, next. Nick isn't as easy to be friends with as Trent, and he has his own life. But, after living together, they have a sort of friendship. Nick is quiet. Shy, maybe. Not in the same way Bas is shy, where bravado is a cover for fear, but shy nonetheless. Still, Nick was the first person to know his secret. They've spent too many hours together watching movies, bitching about teachers, playing pranks, and finally… talking. Nick, like any Dalton boy, can be charming when he wants to be, even though he's shy. And, he's quite good looking. So, it isn't a stretch to imagine him fulfilling Leesha's criteria. Part of him is surprised when Nick agrees, easily. But, he's relieved as well.
One down two to go.
Over the next half an hour, he steadily works through his list of Warblers. Jeff is in Australia, visiting his father. He can't even reach David, who has apparently retreated to his family's cottage on the shores of Lake Michigan or gone camping. Either way, there he doesn't seem to have cell service. Meatbox is working for two weeks at a church camp, and doesn't pick up, either. He thinks Thad is in New York or California with his mom, but it turns out that he's working for Liz Cohen as well. Thad jumps at the chance for a little social interaction in the evening, after work. It's lonely being the son of a high powered man.
Thad and Nick leave him with one more person. He could call a girl, he supposes, if he knew any beyond Leesh or … Quinn. He dismisses the idea of the blond almost immediately, and returns to scrolling through his cell phone contacts.
Finally, after another half an hour, he calls a number he hasn't been sure he could. Honestly, though, its down to FRESHMAN ANDREW (DNC) or FRODO BAGGINS, and there isn't really even a choice.
Blaine picks up on the first ring.
"Hi?" He says, tentatively.
"Hello, who is this?" Blaine asks, already knowing the answer.
"Sebastian." His voice is quiet. "I was wondering if…" He trails off, then starts again. God, he's nervous. If he'd know it was going to be this bad, he would have taken a shot of Courvoisier or Bombay Sapphire before he made this call. "I need a favor," he finally says.
"Why should I do you a favor?" Blaine asks. Their relationship is slowly recovering from that incident with the rock salt laden slushie. The one that Freshman Andrew was intended to drink, which was confused with the one that was supposed to be thrown in Kurt's face.
He isn't sure how to answer, so he plows ahead. "A friend of mine is having a party, and I need to bring a few good men. Thad and Nick already agreed. … It will just be a handful of people, a pool, and some food." He pauses, trying to decide if he makes the offer that kills him to think about. "You can even bring Kurt, if you want."
He waits. "Kurt is out of town," Blaine says, finally, a bit depressed. "He and his dad are looking at options for his gap year."
He remembers that Kurt was not accepted into his dream school, NYADA, and like an idiot, Hummel didn't even apply anywhere else. What kind of school lets their students put everything on a school that isn't so much a reach as a leap of faith without even a safety school?
"It would still be nice if you could come," he says, finally. "And, I'll be a gentleman. No funny business."
Blaine snorts. "You'll be a rake," his voice is almost playful. Almost flirty. "Because you don't know how to be anything else. Text me the address."
They disconnect, and he slumps into a chair, relieved.
He doesn't know how it happens, but on Thursday morning, his father informs him he has an appointment to start a saline pump trial. Apparently he's trustworthy enough to have a pump again. His old one is four years old, the typically life time of an insulin pump, and it makes sense to get one now. Assuming Obamacare is up-held, he'll be able to get two more before he gets kicked off his parent's insurance.
He plans to pick up Nick at half past five and make it to Leesha's by a quarter 'til. It's less than a twenty minute drive according to his phone. That leaves plenty of time for traffic, or Nick's parents, or any one other thing that might go wrong.
Unfortunately, he forgets to bank on Kaylee.
The five year old is staying with her grandparents and her uncle for the week. Her mom is off… somewhere. He has never liked her mother, Amberlyn. When he and Nick started talking, there were things his roommate said that made him wonder about the girl's motives. Things that made him wonder about Nick's brother, Kevin.
Kaylee opens the door when he knocks. Her short dark curls fall loosely around her shoulders. She wears a pink shirt with a T-Rex and a triceratops. Her army-green shorts are embroidered with little fireflies. She hugs a gray bear with a white neck.
"Hi, Sebby!" His heart melts as the little girl greets him in her high-pitched voice.
"Do you want to ride?" He offers, trying to be gallant. All the Warblers are gentle around Kaylee.
She nods, and he lift her up on top of his shoulders, where she wraps her arms around his head and giggles. Book the Bear flaps against the side of his neck as he ducks through the door into Nick's house.
"Hello?" He calls, feeling awkward in his roommate's parent's house.
Kaylee giggles. "Gramma and Grampa are on da padio," she tells him in her high little voice. "And Uncle Nicky is upstairs, getting ready."
"Where is the patio?" He asks his passenger. She directs him through the modest house to a well tended garden. Nick's parents, who don't look nearly old enough to be grandparents by his estimation, sit together in white Adirondack chairs. Nick's father is drinking a beer in a green glass bottle, and his mother has a tall glass of water.
"Hello Sebastian," Nick's father greets the tall boy. "I see Kaylee has drafted you already."
He shrugs his shoulders, and his little passenger bounces, giggling. He doesn't know a lot about children, but Kaylee seems so small and fragile for a five year old. She doesn't seem to know how precious she is, though. Kaylee is a notorious scamp, always getting into trouble.
"She's good at that, Sir." A smile fills his voice.
Mr. Duvall's smile matches his own. "Yes, she is," he agrees.
She tugs his ear to be let down, and he carefully lifts her from his shoulders and lowers her to the group. Her foot catches on the large pod held to his stomach with a big elastic patch. He's testing it to see if it's the right insulin pump. It hurts when 25 lbs of five year old try with all their might to detach the thing from his stomach, and he wants to cry out or swear. Instead, he unhooks the little girl's foot, and gently lowers the child to the group.
"What are you doing this summer, Sebastian?" Nick's mom asks. She motions for him to pull up a chair and join them.
"I went to see my mom for the first few weeks after school let out," he explains. "I can't believe how early Dalton is done! And then, I've been working for my dad."
"Where does your father work?" Mr. Duvall asks.
He tries to decide the most diplomatic way to answer. "At the State's Attorney office," he explains. At the moment, being charming means not flaunting his family's obvious wealth and privilege. Especially not to people he knows struggle to help cover the bills accrued by hospital stays and chemotherapy for their granddaughter.
"Is this party with work friends, then?" Mrs. Duvall queries. The interrogation suddenly makes more sense.
He's not sure how to answer. He doesn't know if Nick has described his … issues. He wants to imagine that his roommate, and good friend, can keep his secrets. His mind scrambling, he comes out with the first sentence that doesn't betray him. "Aleesha goes to Darby," he supplies the name of Dalton's sister school. "She's the one having the party. Well, she and her parents."
Somehow, the mention of an all girl's private high school and parents does the trick. And, Nick comes down in a hat and board shorts. He grins at his former roommate, engulfing him in a back-slapping bro-hug and leans in to kiss his mother on the cheek.
"Home by midnight," He is reminded, "And kiss us when you come in." Nick half rolls his eyes, but nods.
Then, he calls his niece over and says goodbye to her. It's sweet and yet genunine: the little girl letting her uncle go, knowing everything will be alright when he comes home, and the teenage boy worrying over a child who never should have been his responsibility.
They're quiet for the first five or ten minutes of the drive, each lost in his thoughts. He's still trying to figure out a way to check the pad for delivery. Although, it feels like someone is infusing fire into his hip, so he's pretty sure the saline is flowing. Nick is worrying about whatever Nick worries about: his parents, drugs, alcohol, his brother, Kaylee, Kaylee's cancer…
"How are you?" Nick asks, finally, quietly. He wonders if Nick has been worrying about him. He hopes not.
He shrugs. "Same old same old. How are you?"
Nick echoes the gesture. "Okay. My job kind of sucks."
They continue talking without saying anything the entirety of the drive over to Leesha's house. It's easier to talk about the fact that Freshman Andrew was advised to seek educational excellence elsewhere or how much they both miss Covert Affairs (Nick has a thing for Annie, he prefers Auggie) than to deal with the real problems. They're scratching the surface, avoiding going deeper and talking about things like disease, death, drugs, and anger.
He hefts his pool bag out of he car. He's got a towel, a comic book, a change of clothes, a water gun, and his supplies.
He knocks on the door of Leesh's house. Nick hangs back, a little shy. A girl who looks like a smaller, fairer version of Leesha opens the door. She wears a purple and green paisley bathing suit with soft cotton shorts. He estimates her age to be between 14 and 16. "Are you Sebastian?" She asks, with a smile.
"Yes," He says, offering his hand. "And this is Nick."
"Annabelle," she says, ignoring the offered hand, and turning to lead them into the house. The word GUARD makes an arch across the ass of her shorts. He wonders how Annabelle doesn't feel Nick's pointed, almost uncontrollable stare at her round derriere. The girl is cute.
The three teens emerge onto a small, sunny concrete deck. A few girls from Leesha's school lounge on deck chairs by the pool. One adventurous girl has joined Jaime and Cory in the pool, where they are playing two-on-one basketball, where Jaime's jump shot is dominating Cory and the girl a black bikini. A pair of crutches are leaned against a deck chair within easy reach. Leesha is carrying food back and forth from the air-conditioned house to an already laden picnic tables. Her father is personing the grill, and her mother is filling a pitcher of cold water inside.
There is one person, though, who he can't quite place. He sees the leggy blond in a dark blue and white polka dot bathing suit wearing a wide brimmed straw hat. He can't quite place her, until Cory pulls himself out of the pool, and crutches over.
"Bastian, have you met my friend, Quinn?" He asks, beaming. Quinn clearly looks uncomfortable. Leesha looks uncomfortable. He's sure his face is a mask of discomfort. Nick looks more awkward than normal. Only Cory is beaming.
Quinn smiles politely. "Hi, Sebastian," she greets him with a smile.
"Hi, Quinn," he says, "Been to the GAP, recently." She gives him a bitch look. He gives her a bitch look back.
Annabelle leads the two Dalton boys around, introducing them to the last few members of the party. Then, Nick pulls off his shirt jumps into the pool, to join the basketball game with Cory and the Dorby girl. He knows he made a good choice in bringing Nick when the shirt comes off. How did he not notice that his roommate had pecs? …There is much shrieking and splashing as the boys and girl try to shoot the ball through the hoop.
He sets his bag down in the shade where it must be 90. He pauses, and thinks better of it. His father will murder him if he kills his insulin. This is established fact in the Smythe household, along with the permanent ban on dressing Thor, the Rottweiler mix (no matter how much like the headmaster he looked in that Dalton tie), and that eggs are not for breakfast.
He catches Leesh's arm as she heads into the house, again. A wave of blessedly cool air hits him. "Can I leave this in here?" He doesn't need to be nervous. This is Leesha, the girl who spent at least ten minutes fangirling over Alan Rickman, before pronouncing, "… And he's amazing, because it means that Snape is the voice of God, and doesn't have any genitalia… although I do realize how many fan fics that ruins."
She nods, and turns away to hitch-up the top of her dark green one piece. A line of tubing curls over the top of a sarong, connecting her to the black and silver pump on her hip. "Do you want the fridge?" She asks.
He shoots her a look that says, "Get real." She smacks him gently, and they emerge into the sunlight.
With practiced finesse, Leesha unhooks the pump from, he presumes, her hip, and undoes the sarong. With deft precision, she wraps the tubing around her pump, and the device in her wrap. Then, she grabs a super soaker, and beginning bombarding the group in the pool, before jumping in. He hesitates for a minute, then goes to fill his water gun. He slips off his shirt, and before long, he's joined in the battle.
Leesha's father closes the grill with a snap, and her mother calls the assembled troops out of the pool. "Aleesha, honey, it's six –fifteen," her mother announces, voice laden with significance. The dark haired girl, wrapping herself in her black sarong, shoots her mother a dark look. It's something only a blind man would miss, so naturally, only three people see it.
Annabelle, and the three girls who are clearly her friends, hurry over to the table of food. Nick is quick to join them, flirting with the pretty girls. Quinn is slower. Leesha and the other members of the support group hang back. For Leesh, it's clearly a small act of rebellion. She confessed once that she never eats at 6:15, if she can help it. She will skip meals if she has to not to eat at that dreaded hour. It's a small act, perhaps insignificantly so, but to a person whose life was dominated by a schedule imposed by someone else, it's a personal triumph.
Jaime pulls himself out of the pool, skin and bones and the barest bit of muscle. His ribs stand out. There should be at least another 30 lbs on that lanky frame. Corey tries to follow, but he's slower. It takes him a minute to get out of the pool, and then self-consciously wrap a towel around his waist. Glancing over, its had to say which leg he's trying to hide with his towel… his left one or the third one.
Seb pulls himself out of the pool as well, coming up like a beached whale in front of the blonde in blue and white. She's struggling to her feet, and even though he's wet and she's dry, some long forgotten gentlemanly training kicks in, and he offers an arm. He can be chivalrous, if he wants.
Once she's on her feet, she lets him go, but not before giving his stomach a good once over. He glances down. He knows his stomach is a mine field of scars. But, they're small, compared to what could be there. He's got a few bruises, too, but they're nothing compared to what could be. The biggest and ugliest of them has faded to a faint port wine color and could be covered by a small band-aid. There are a few tiny pricks from injections, but nothing obvious. Then, he realizes that his swim trunks are sliding down enough that the white pod on his hip is showing. He pulls them up, and moves away from Quinn quickly.
Just then, the doorbell rings. Leesh holds her pump against her sarong, and hurries toward the door. He trails behind, glad to escape.
Thad and Blaine introduce themselves, politely. Thad presents Leesh with a bouquet of multicolored daises, while Blaine extends a pair of six packs filled with root beer. Regular, not diet, root beer. A look passes between the three Dalton boys. They've spent enough time with Jeff Sterling that the drink will never have a tame meaning again. Unfortunately, all Leesha sees is the sugar. Which is fine by her, she doesn't touch artificial sweeteners, but will make her parents wild.
Blaine's natural dapperness overcomes the slight faux pas as the four walk back out the pool. His black trunks, covered in rainbow bow ties, draw a few complements as he is introduced around. Annabelle calls them fabulous.
Only Quinn looks unhappy to see the two boys. Even though she's walking well (slowly, but well), she stumbles a little when she sees them enter. He's pretty sure it's Blaine, not Thad, who frightens the blonde. Especially since Thad makes it over to her in two impossibly agile bounds. The boy who steps on Trent and Cullum's feet in Warbler rehearsals (the boys in question usually being halfway across the room) takes the plate gently out of Quinn's hands and offers and elbow.
Blaine's ears turn red, and he hurries over to greet his friend and fellow member of Nude Erections. As he embraces her, he murmurs something that sounds like, "Fell off the face of the earth" in her either. Well, that or "Smell of the space birth".
He makes his way over to the table of food. Leesha is behind him. She glares darkly at the measuring cup in the potato salad. "I think my mom threw out all our other serving utensils in the last move," she says darkly. "I swear to god, when I get my own apartment, I'm not letting a measuring cup or scale in the door."
He chuckles to himself as he loads a plate with potato salad, fresh fruit, and a large bratwurst. He's not sure why, but he settles across from Quinn. She's daintily eating a piece of lettuce. Blaine joins them, shortly.
Annabelle and Jaime are engaged in an argument about some obscure details of academic team. Apparently they compete against each other, and neither is pleased about the topic for the next year. Thad and Leesha are talking seriously about intercollegiate sports. Quidditch, he realizes, as he passes by to get more potatoes. There's something amazing about potato salad without the sliminess of mayo.
"We've missed you," Blaine says to Quinn. He fiddles with a ring made from gum wrappers on his left hand.
"I've been busy," the blonde responds, evasively. "Working, getting ready for Yale…"
Sebastian tries to keep his mouth from hitting the plate. "You got into Yale?" He demands, trying to keep the words, Stench of public school off his lips.
"Early decision," Blaine brags, squeezing the alto's shoulder. She beams.
"Wow…" He says, feeling almost to the point of speechless. "Congratulations." He hopes his father will let him go away to school.
They chat for a while as the group scarfs down burgers and salad. Quinn delicately sips a root beer. They talk about neutral topics. Work comes up once or twice. Blaine is working at a local music store and taking cello lessons. Apparently, he's about eight years older than all his classmates. They talk about music. Blaine is excited for the Freelance Whale's sophomore album. He's sort of obsessed with the group's lead singer.
At some point during the meal, he wanders into the house to dose. It's easier to just take his damn insulin than argue with his father. And, much as he is loathed to admit it, even to himself, he feels better when his blood sugar is in range.
As he walks towards the bathroom, Thad abandons his conversation about the pros and cons of Jim Dale's audiobook versions of Harry Potter, and Nick beckons Jaime and Cory to help. Before the former lead Warbler soloist knows it, Blaine is back in the pool, shaking his damp curls from his eyes.
He pulls the small navy blue pen and a pill bottle of tips from his bag, and goes to the bathroom. By now, dosing is almost mechanical. He knows where he has enough fat that he can slide the needle into without pinching skin. Of course, there's always the danger of hitting a vein.
He emerges from the house, blissfully unaware of the smattering of blood, like dark freckles, across his pale stomach. He settles next to Quinn, content to trade barbs and watch the others swim. Her horrified expression and the sudden gray tint to her pallor make him aware that something is not right.
"Sebastian, you're bleeding," she says, faintly.
He glances down. "Oh, fuck." He pauses for a minute. "You won't believe that I'm secretly a vampire, will you?"
"I've seen you in the sun," she points out. Her voice gains strength "And, much to Kurt's dismay, you neither burst into flames nor sparkle."
"REAL VAMPIRES DON'T SPARKLE!" Somehow, Cory, Thad and Leesha have heard just enough of the conversation to have the same knee-jerk reaction to the off-handed comment.
He brushes his hand against the injection site turned geyser, then presses his finger against it, and glances down. Sure enough, it's red. He takes a tentative sniff, but the blood is free of insulin's distinct stink. Then, he presses his hand against it, and waits.
Quinn looks over quickly, and then looks away. He realizes that it's time to leave her alone. He goes back in the house, and cleans himself, slowly. A dripping Leesha offers him slightly soggy paper towels. "They're better than toilet paper," she offers.
He smiles, and deadpans, "A Martha Stewart like you, I'm surprised you don't have special towels."
She grins back. "What, to go with my make up towel?" He nods.
He avoids Quinn, and Blaine for the rest of the party. Instead, he roughhouses with Cory, and Nick and Jaime. He helps throw Annabelle into the pool, much to Leesha's delight. He soaks the other girls with his super soaker, until they retaliate with the garden hose and long, thin plastic tubes which propel the water at least 10 feet across the concrete deck. He is satisfied to see Thad and Leesha talking … again. That tiny piece of him which could be considered good, which, like the Grinch's heart is probably ten times too small, flares with joy.
The sun has long since sunk below the horizon when he drops Nick off, and starts the drive home. He tries to focus on the road, and the darkness. He tries to think about anything in the world: work, music, college, or the building storm on the horizon. Instead, Quinn's pale horrified face haunts him across the miles.