Prompt #26: Fury

Crossover: Glee/Surprise

She stormed down a hallway that reeked of old cheese and mediocrity, her soft curls flying back from her shoulders. The full lips set in a grim frown almost appeared to be a pout. Sparkling brown eyes could have been mistaken as filled with merriment; only those who knew her well would see them as snapping Dobermans, the rancor and fury lurking within.

She ignored the stares. Even before the story broke last year, she was used to them. Nothing these people could say could hurt or intimidate her. The stench of their utter weakness assaulted her senses, forcing her to choke down bile. She was amused that, though they stared, they were quick to dive out of her way. En masse these idiots might be able to intimidate someone who didn't know better, someone whom they had tried to beat down into submission; to her, they were nothing but offal unworthy of marring the pristine red soles of her blindingly white Louboutins.

She sneered at the adolescent males who attempted to make eye contact. She met it unflinchingly, as she always did, and was never the first to look away. They recognized her as the predator she was, so far out of their league as to be ridiculous. She enjoyed making people feel the prey they so richly deserved to be.

She made an abrupt right turn, spiked heels echoing loudly, serving as both a herald and reminder of her presence. Her eyes darted around and her disgust only grew. Her lips tightened.

No, this would never do. This was absolutely unacceptable.

She glanced at the number beside the door, squared her shoulders, and threw it open, sauntering inside.

The singing and dancing immediately stopped.

"May I help you?" asked an annoyed voice.

She offered a slow blink in reply before turning toward the source, looking him up and down, and blinking again. A sweater vest? Really? "I sincerely doubt it."

And then her eyes landed on him, her face softening. "I need to speak with you."

"What are you doing here?" asked a confused Kurt.

She arched a brow. "This discussion requires privacy."

He opened his mouth, but was summarily cut off.

"I don't know who you are," Will said, "but though this is a public school, there are still rules. You simply can't waltz around these halls at your leisure."

"I don't waltz, Mr. Schuester. I stomp."

"Dude," said a flabbergasted Puck, "how can you not know who that foxy lady is? I mean, doesn't everybody?"

Will frowned.

"What the hell is someone like you doing here?" Mercedes barked at the intruder. "And what do you want with my boy?"

The woman laughed. "Little girl, he was my boy long before he taught you to apply eyeliner properly. Thank goodness he did. I've seen the before pictures."

"Aw, hell naw!" Mercedes put her hands on her hips and glared. "If you think I'ma let some …"

"I truly hope you don't believe we're equals, Ms. Jones, or that we're going to be comparing ghetto passes. You don't want to antagonize me and you certainly can't intimidate me, regardless of how many pathetic threats you make to cut me. I know people who actually do that both for a living and for fun. I've kept them out of jail. They owe me favors."

Mercedes gaped, eyes filled with alarm.

Kurt sighed. "For those of you who don't know, please allow me to introduce Olivia Pope ..."

Several gasped.

"... my godmother."

"Not that seeing you isn't wonderful and a soothing balm to my weary person," Kurt said gently after removing them to an empty classroom, "but was that necessary?"

Her eyes softened. "Yes, it was, baby. I may not know these people, but I know them."

His eyes narrowed. "You mean aside from what I've told you. You've had them investigated."

She offered a demure shrug. "Of course, and they're lacking in essentials like character and intelligence."

"Please don't speak of my friends so callously," he said stiffly.

She repressed a sigh. "Are they truly your friends?"

He averted his gaze. "Some of them."

"Like the boy who is soon to become your stepbrother? Shall I count down Finn Hudson's greatest hits?"

He said nothing.

"Perhaps you meant your childhood best friends, Mr. Abrams and Ms. Cohen-Chang. The former ridicules you behind your back to placate his own sense of worthlessness and to impress and fit in better with the bullies who have been tormenting the both of you for years. The latter believes the bullying you've suffered is inconsequential to what she believes your entire club faces. Those friends?"

He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes, willing the tears back.

"What about the girl whose fathers are gay, who is possibly the only one who understands the dangers to which you are subjected, but doesn't offer to do more than sing with you to ease your loneliness?"

"Please stop," he whispered.

"And we both know Ms. Jones has benefited greatly from your protection but has never extended hers to you, instead standing on the sidelines and barking loudly like a clubbed seal."

"You've made your point."

"I haven't even finished opening arguments," she said. "We have yet to address that hockey player and his sexual battery against you."

His eyes widened with humiliation and shame. "How do you know about that?" he hissed.

She sighed, her own eyes welling. "You don't even remember calling me last night, do you?"

"I didn't call you," he insisted.

"Yes, you did, honey. Shall I show you my phone? It logged the call."

"I … I don't remember."

"Did you take anything?" she asked, worried.

He flushed. "An Ambien. I haven't been sleeping well."

"No surprise there," she said bitterly. "You called me last night, Kurt, and you told me everything."

He was speechless and completely mortified.

"You've tried, baby, and I give you all the credit in the world for sticking this out for as long as you have, but it ends today. You don't owe these people anything. You have nothing to prove to them. You don't have to allow yourself to be abused to show your strength."

His hands clenched at his sides. "I don't do that!"

"Dumpster tosses. Pee balloons. Lawn furniture nailed to the roof. Port-A-Pottys. Vandalism. Telephonic harassment. Verbal and physical assault. And now sexual violence. You have to know, to understand, that these things are not normal."

He said nothing.

"When is it going to end, Kurt? When will it be enough? When you're put into the hospital? When you're on a slab in the morgue? These people aren't going to change. You aren't going to change them. There's a distinct difference between renunciation and surrender."

"Hummels aren't quitters," he seethed.

"Oh, you're going with that? And do you really believe Burt would tout that line if he truly knew what went on in this school? Because I don't. Ideally he'd wrap you in cotton wool and hide you in your bedroom for the rest of your life. At the very least, he'd pack up the house and put it on the market by this evening. At the latest."

He face became mottled with rage. "I'm not going to force him to give up his house, his business, his … his life … all because I can't handle …"

She slammed her open palm on the nearest desk. "This isn't about you not being able to handle a bunch of ill-bred, unintelligent, jealous little dickheads, Kurt!" she thundered. "It doesn't matter how smart you are, how tough you are, or how much you're foolishly willing to endure. The situation is not going to change. They are not going to change. You need to learn how to pick your battles, Kurt, because you're losing the war."

"I don't even know what that means," he spat mulishly.

"It means you're losing yourself," she whispered. "I look you and see only remnants of the child you were."

"I'm not a child anymore, Olivia."

"That's Aunt Liv," she snapped back. "Your mother was my best friend, Kurt. She was the only person in this entire world I trusted absolutely. I promised her on her deathbed that I would do right by you and I have failed. Utterly. I'm only surprised the woman hasn't found a way to resurrect herself just to kick my ass."

Against his will, he snorted, fighting the grin threatening to erupt.

"You cannot go on this way, honey. I won't allow it. Hell, I can't go on this way. Not after that phone call, not after knowing what I know now. The teachers do nothing. The administration, whose alleged leader I've had the misfortune to meet, does nothing. They are never going to do anything. The only one who can change things is you."

He scoffed. "By running away?"

"Running from what?" she exploded. "Homophobia? Violence? Fear of rape? Threats of death? This isn't about discretion being the better part of valor. This isn't about sticking your head in the sand or hoping for the best."

"Then what it is it about?" he interrupted.

"This is about your life, a life I want to see filled with the happiness you deserve! You have resources, Kurt. You have money, enough to go anywhere in the world and do anything you want. We both know you could've gotten your GED while still in middle school. Why are you still here?

"Why are you trying to prove something to people who don't care? Who are not and will never be willing to look past what they perceive as wrong to the person you are? How much more of your time, of your life, are you going to waste on them?"

"Instead I should just leave and let them win," he drawled, voice tinged with disgust as he rolled his eyes.

"Win what?" she roared. "This isn't a competition! This isn't even about them anymore, Kurt. It's about you being stubborn. It's about your pride. You're wasting and endangering your life on these small people and their small minds and small opinions. Why the fuck do you care so much? Why are you letting them rule you?

"Because that's exactly what you're doing. You're allowing these people to control you. Every time they push you, every time they hurl slurs at you, every time they question your right to exist and you endure it? When you ignore it and don't report it or demand the authorities enforce the laws on the books which also extend to you? You're dancing to their drum, not them to yours."

"You don't understand," he said plaintively, his last defense crumbling as soon as she had finished mounting hers.

"That retort is weak and beneath you," she said, eyes practically shooting sparks. "You deserve better than this, Kurt. You wouldn't tolerate it if any of your so-called friends were under attack this way. You would be the first to cry racism or misogyny or hate crime. So why are you demanding any less for yourself?"

"I don't know," he whispered, shaking his head, defeated. "I don't even know anymore."

"I do. It's because you have no one fighting for you. It's because you won't allow your father the right to do so – and it is his right, Kurt. How dare you try to take it from him? It's because you're thoroughly exhausted. And that's where I come in."

He regarded her with suspicious eyes. "How?"

"By taking the decision out of your hands," she said reasonably. "You've been too close to the situation for too long. You know it's toxic but, for whatever reason, you can't see how badly it's poisoning you. So if you won't take action, I will."

"And what do you think you're going to do?"

She laughed. "Why, I'm going to be your fairy godmother, of course!" Her eyes hooded. "Since you won't tell your father what's been happening to you, I will. And I mean all of it, Kurt, including everything I know about Finn."

"You can't!"

"You can't stop me," she said easily. "I've known your father a lot longer than you have, Kurt, so I know how he'll react. After all of the screaming and yelling, there will be the tears and self-recriminations and the unbearable hurt that you didn't trust your father to protect you."

He inhaled sharply.

"That's it, isn't?" she asked quietly. "You honestly believe he wouldn't take your side?" She shook her head in dismay. "Oh, honey, don't you know him it all?"

"He loves me, but I embarrass him. I … I shame him."

She choked on a sob and placed her hands on his shoulders. "What a pile of shit."

He startled. "W-What?"

"I don't know what's sadder: that you honestly believe that or that you've convinced yourself it's true. Baby, you are the only person for whom Burt Hummel would fight. He doesn't care that you're gay. He might not understand it, but he isn't ashamed of it. He's terrified. He knows what this world can be like. He's terrified of what might happen to you, of what's been happening to you right under his nose."

She sighed. "He won't thank you for trying to protect him, Kurt. He'll be ashamed that you felt it was necessary. He'll be horrified that he missed so many signs, which, looking back, he'll see clear as day. He'll be angry at himself. He'll be disappointed in himself. He'll be devastated that he failed you so badly."

"He didn't fail me!"

"He won't see it that way, Kurt, and you know it."

His shoulders slumped.

"So here's what's going to happen," she continued. "You're sixteen. You're going to walk with me to the Principal's office, where you will resign from this … institution. Then we're going to go to your house, where you will pack a few bags and come back with me to DC. You're going to live with me until you finish school."

His eyes widened to the size of hubcaps and he began shaking his head.

"We'll send for the rest of your things. I've already secured you a spot at Woodville Academy."

"But … but that's where the President's children go to school!"

She gave him the side-eye. "And where there's a strict no-bullying policy which is adamantly enforced."

She exhaled. "What, you think you can't hack it there?" She rolled her eyes. "Kurt, you have a near-genius IQ. You have a perfect GPA. You have multiple academic awards. You're a National Merit Scholar. If you combine your AP and Achievement Exam scores, you've already received credit for two semesters of college. You're fluent in six languages. You have multiple awards for piano, voice, and dance. You have a national cheerleading title under your belt."

He blinked owlishly.

"If you won't open doors for yourself, Kurt, I'll happily do it for you. You're going to live in our nation's capital and attend one of its premier academic institutions. You're going to attend the opera and the ballet and the symphony whenever you want. You'll have the entire Smithsonian Institution at your disposal. You will visit the Library of Congress. You will watch House and Senate meetings and learn how this country works. You will meet congressmen and senators, the movers and shakers who run this country and can affect change."

His mouth fell open.

"If you fight me, I will sue your father for custody. I'm a lawyer, Kurt, and this is my arena. I play for keeps and I play to win. Even if I don't, I will take the Ohio State Bar and file countless motions and lawsuits on your behalf. I will bury this town in national media attention. If I have to drag them single-handedly into the twenty-first century, I will. If I have to kidnap you and have you deprogrammed to get you out of this godforsaken hellhole, I will. I don't care who I have threaten, cajole, or destroy to make you happy. I'll do it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and, I promise, no one will see me coming."

His breathing quickened.

"You will go to the Harbor and Georgetown and DuPont Circle. You will shop at Pentagon City and Tysons Corner. You will go to gay clubs and bookstores and safe places for LGBT youth. You will meet others like you. You will meet people who see you, not just some visual aid for a sacred text people cherry-pick to bolster weak arguments. You're going to be Kurt Hummel. Not Gay Kid. Not Lady Face. Not Porcelain or Princess. Not anymore. Just Kurt."

His eyes welled. "I don't think I even know who he is."

She drew him into a hug. "Of course you do. You've just buried him beneath this hard shell which was never your onus to bear."

"Dad …"

"You leave your father to me."

He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. "I never had a chance, did I?"

"Not a one," she agreed. "Not here."

He laughed. "I meant against you."

"Never. Congratulations, Kurt Hummel. You've just been Poped."