Title: Mourir pour la danse

Author: L3af Con3yb3ar

Rating: M

Warnings: AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

Characters: Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake, or anything affiliated.

Part Five

Oddly barren and quiet, Kurt passed his dressing room and continued down the hall, a slight limp in his step. A worried Finn questioned him the night before about his whereabouts once he got home. Defensive, Kurt lashed out at him, claiming the party went on later than he'd thought—

"And anyway, why is it any of your business where I go?"

After locking himself in his bedroom, he then stripped out of the suit—and Puck's shirt—and crawled into his bathtub, turning the water to scolding hot. His skin was still a light hint of red from the temperature of the water and from scratching at his body. He was horrified to find that the scratch on his shoulder had gotten a lot worse.

Part of him enjoyed his night with Puck. The other part felt filthy…mortified.

The very last thing he wanted was to attend rehearsal the next day, in fear of facing his director and the thought of what he would say to him. Ahead, he spotted two corps members. "There's a meeting in studio 82," one said before the pair passed him. Kurt nodded his thanks, continuing down the hall. Some of the other dancers stood outside and as he got closer, he could pick up bits and pieces of their conversation.

"…fired…apparently…"

"…stupid bitch."

"…obviously…knows…fucking Puck…"

Kurt's heart began to race.

"…damn shame," he heard another say, "Embarrassing really…"

His breathing stopped and he slunk into the rehearsal space. Could they have known? Did Puck tell them, out of spite, that he slept with him for the role? Was that some common rumor within the company already?

There were murmurs amongst the company when he entered. Blaine leaned against the wall, right next to the door, and tapped Kurt on the shoulder, "Hey, buddy. Did you get home okay?"

Kurt gestured to everyone else, "What's going on?" Blaine shrugged and took his hand.

"No idea, let's find out." He directed them toward Jesse, who stood with Santana nearby. Kurt backed away, reluctant to join the pair who'd take any chance to verbally slit his throat—again. Blaine gave him a look of understanding and walked up to them, alone. "What's happening?"

Jesse diverted his gaze to Kurt and gave him a catty stare. "Someone else is either retired, fired," he smirked, "…or dead."

Blaine rolled his eyes in exasperation, "That's very nice."

"It's true," Santana spoke up this time, "Look."

The four turned to the door and watched as Puck entered, followed by the rest of his support staff. He passed Kurt, stopping to give him a cold, unreadable stare. He was angry. Kurt looked away from him in shame as the director stalked to the middle of the room. The rest of the company formed a semi-circle around him.

"Everyone," he sighed, "I regret to inform you that Rachel Berry is in the hospital."

There were gasps and murmurs throughout the room.

"She had a…near-fatal accident last night."

Assuming the worst, Kurt gasped, clutching a hand to his pounding heart. He tuned out the rest of what Puck was saying, his mind instantly going back to his last meeting with Rachel the night before. Was it just an accident? Had she done something drastic because of him? Blaine watched him with a weary gaze, reluctant to approach him with comfort.

"…is cancelled for the rest of the day. Please keep Rachel in your thoughts and prayers."

Kurt exhaled again, brushing his knuckles together. Alone, he sat outside on the fountain, his bag at his side. If he went home now, Finn would question him, and he didn't want to deal with any of that after hearing his former best friend was hospitalized. He didn't hear Puck quietly approach and take seat next to him.

"I think we have to talk."

"I know you're furious with me, Noah, but could you please spare me the lecture for another day?" Kurt pleaded, shutting his eyes and blocking out the stifling smell of nicotine. "I'm really not in the mood and I already feel bad about last night."

"Fair enough," Puck said, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"What happened to her?"

Puck put out his cigarette on the edge of the fountain, "She walked into the street and got hit by a car."

"Oh, god."

"Can I be honest?" Kurt nodded and Puck continued, lowering his voice, "I'm almost sure she did it on purpose."

Baffled, the brunet stared at Puck, his hands shaking, "How can you be sure?"

"Because everything Rachel does comes from within…" Puck said, some incomprehension in his tone, "from… some dark impulse."

Don't let It take him.

"I guess that's what makes her so thrilling to watch," he continued. Kurt had no reply.

What was she thinking? Could this have happened right after they encountered her at the benefit? Was Puck right? Did she really try to destroy herself on purpose? His face grew paler. He felt colder.

"This is all my fault…" Kurt whispered, his voice hitching, "I shouldn't have… taken the role from her like that, she was so upset yesterday."

Rough hands gently caressed soft, pale skin, "That isn't true," Puck comforted, "This has nothing to do with you."

Kurt shook his head, not believing a single word.

"This is your moment, Kurt. I don't want you to let yourself get distracted."

"Why me?" Kurt asked, "Why did you choose me?"

Puck knew that he pushed Kurt too hard, but only because he wanted to challenge him—to watch the dancer challenge himself, "Because deep down I know that you can do it." He smirked at the slight blush on the young dancer's cheeks and wiped away the tears that started to fall, "I'm sure your family is really proud of you."

"Ballet isn't the sort of thing my step-brother really cares about," Kurt confessed.

"And your parents?"

Kurt froze, weary of answering, "They…" He swallowed before continuing, in a shaky whisper: "They're dead."

Puck watched him with an unreadable appearance.

"It was a little while before I moved here with my brother. I went to a performing arts high school—I studied ballet there. And I was having a recital. My dad and Carol—my stepmom—they were supposed to come. And for weeks I kept going on and on and on about how important it was to me that they were there. They even missed Finn's art fair for me. And on the way to the theatre, they got into a really bad car accident."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"It wasn't your fault, you know that right?"

"Finn doesn't seem to agree. It's pathetic but I have this sinking feeling that that's the reason why he resents me so much," he laughed, bitterly, "I think he blames me. He won't admit it but I'm not an idiot."

"He's the idiot."

"You know a lot more about a person by what they don't say."

Puck wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "I must have re-opened a painful wound that day of the auditions then, huh?"

Kurt had almost forgotten about that. "You didn't know."

"That doesn't make it okay," Puck said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

With a small, cheap bouquet of purple lilies in hand, Kurt emerged from the elevator and padded down the hospital corridor, Rachel's room number fresh in his mind. He approached a heavy-set nurse and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me; do know where I can find Room 829?"

The pudgy nurse turned and pointed down a stark hallway, "Right down there."

"Thank you."

The door to Room 829 was slightly ajar and Kurt slowly stepped inside. His movement stilled at the sight of Rachel, pale and unconscious, and attached to machines. He noticed many large bouquets of flowers sat by her bedside. Nervous, he hesitated before approaching her bed, paling at the sight of her gaunt face, the dark rings around her eyes, and the bruises along her arms. A few bandages covered some wounds on her skin, and her lips were a deathly shade.

"Oh, Rachel…"

Slightly shaking his head, Kurt shut his eyes, exhaling before turning to the side of the room. Dozens and dozens of expensive-looking bouquets were already aligned on the table, presumably from other members of the company. Curiosity got the best of him and he scanned some of the cards to see who each was from. He looked down at his own meager flowers, ashamed at his attempt of support. With his back turned to block his action, he took the card from his bouquet, furtively switching it with another nicer one. He looked up to see the fat nurse from before glaring at him from the doorway.

Kurt set the flimsy bouquet of lilies down and approached Rachel's bedside, unsure if he'd been caught. Thankfully, the nurse had walked away.

He reached out to touch Rachel's face, sorrow coursing through him. With a growing pang of dread in his chest, he gently lifted the blanket from her side and recoiled in horror. From the knee down, her leg was completely gone, a bandage wrapped around the stub.

Unable to breathe or think straight, Kurt choked and fell to his knees in hysterical agony, grasping the sheet and pulling it back over her body. He dug his palms into his eyes, and closed a hand over his mouth, stifling his sobs.

"Oh, god, forgive me… Please forgive me…" he pleaded, unsure if he was speaking to Rachel or God…whomever… "What have I done?"

After a minutes of grieving, Kurt dried his now bloodshot eyes and stood up, braving one last look at Rachel's face. He quickly exited the room, shutting the door after him. Down the hall, the nurse continued to watch him with a distrustful gaze.

Uneasy, Kurt sped toward the elevators.

Days later, after hours of practice, Puck sat in the audience space of a large rehearsal studio, watching Mike and Kurt rehearse the Odile/Siegfried pas de deux with scrutinizing eyes. Accompanied by a small orchestra aligned in the back, the two moved through the choreography.

It seemed, despite weeks of rehearsals, that Kurt still had trouble letting himself go—becoming the black swan. Unsatisfied, Puck shook his head, signaling for the music to stop. With a hand running over his face, he took a deep breath.

"Mike, I have a question for you," he said, "And be honest with me."

"Of course," the Asian male said, arms folding.

Puck gestured to Kurt, "Would you fuck him?"

"What?"

The question seemed out of character, even for Puck, "That's what I thought. No one would."

This was a new low for their director, Kurt thought. Not once had he brought up their night together, and this seemed to be a jab at his bed experience, as well as his dancing. Perhaps Rachel was right. Maybe he was completely wrong for the role.

Alone in his dressing room, Kurt cried for probably the fifth time in days. He still felt guilty for what had happened to Rachel, things at home between he and Finn were getting worse, and his latest embarrassing dispute with Puck had absolutely shattered him.

He was sick of the director endlessly picking on him. The vicious criticism seemed to crush his self-esteem rather than help improve his dancing. Lately, he couldn't predict whether Puck would shower him with attention and praise or tear him down.

Then it hit him: Did Puck regret sleeping with him?

Disgusted with himself and exhausted from the long day, Kurt proceeded to unlace his pointe slipper and throw them into his bag.

"Knock, knock…"

The sharp rapping at his dressing room door made Kurt's head snapped toward the doorway, where Blaine stood, dance bag in hand and an un-lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Are you okay?"

The brunet ignored him, zipping himself into his hoodie, "You aren't allowed to smoke in here."

"Well, I won't tell if you won't," Blaine teased and entered the dressing room, closing the door after him. He awed at the small space, impressed with the decoration, before sitting on the couch, "The perks of being a star…"

Silence.

"So, the big day's getting closer and closer. How do you feel?"

Kurt glanced at him, in no mood for conservation. He continued changing into his street-shoes.

Blaine continued, "I can't wait—I know you're going to be amazing."

"Thanks," the brunet's eyes brimmed with tears, and he hurriedly wiped them away.

A few minutes of silence passed before Blaine spoke again.

"So…do you want to talk about it?"

As Blaine watched on in pity, Kurt shook his head before a sob escaped his lips. He covered his face, ashamed for breaking down in front of the other male. His voice hitched, "I just had a really hard day."

"Old boy playing a little too rough for you?"

"I'm so stressed…"

Blaine got off the couch and crouched down in front of Kurt, rubbing his knee in comfort, "Come on, Kurt, don't cry. He's a prick."

"No…" Kurt shook his head again, "He's brilliant."

"Yeah," the raven-haired man scoffed, "Sure, but it's not like he's all warm and fuzzy."

"You don't know him," the younger man challenged, a little too forcefully.

Blaine raised his eyebrows in interest and bit his bottom lip, "It sounds like someone's hot for teacher."

"Shut up."

"Well, I don't blame you…" Blaine trailed off.

Annoyed, Kurt threw the rest of his belongings into his bag.

"Come on, I was just kidding."

Kurt ignored him, stood up and stalked out of the dressing room, even as Blaine called his name.

Outside, Kurt held an arm out, attempting to flag down a cab. No such luck. Tonight seemed to be the coldest night of the winter, and he could feel a tingle in his throat.

"Going home?"

Kurt turned around, and flushed in embarrassment, his heart racing as Puck stood before him. He politely nodded, eyes looking elsewhere rather than his director's eyes.

"Why don't you come to my place?"

And then what?

"No, thank you," the brunet politely declined, turning away from him. He fixed the scarf around his neck, unaware that Puck had stepped closer to him, sensing his discomfort.

"If it's because I was so crass with you earlier," Puck said, "I apologize."

Kurt shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Is it because of her?"

Blue eyes met hazel ones.

"I've told you not to blame yourself," Puck grasped his arms, "She did it to herself. It's not your fault."

Kurt shrugged him off, walking a little ways from him, "It just doesn't feel right."

Puck scoffed, "So, you're being the good friend now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she didn't exactly treat you like one. She was never a good friend to you—

"Yes, she was."

"Oh, really?" there was a humored tone in Puck's voice, "You should have heard the things she said about you."

Kurt hardened, and bit his lip, "What did she say?"

Puck shrugged, "Terrible things… She called you a whore…accused you of seducing your way into the role."

"That isn't true…" Kurt's voice wavered and he shook his head, offended.

"See?" Puck reasoned, "She was out of her mind."

"Just stop it," the brunet countered, walking away from him toward the corner of the block, "That's enough…"

"Kurt!"

"Just leave me alone!"

Puck chased after him and grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward his chest, "Baby, I'm sorry."

"I'm going home."

"Come on, I shouldn't have said anyth—

Kurt wrenched his arm free and held a shaking finger at Puck's face, his jaw slightly quivering, "From now on, I want our relationship to remain strictly professional." The older man's face darkened as Kurt continued, "Whatever happened, happened. But it's over. You might be my director but you do not have the right to treat me like some common whore or attack my insecurities."

"Fine," the director broke away from him and nodded his head, stuffing a hand into his coat pocket, "Fine, fair enough. Let me grab you a taxi." He raised his hand out toward the street, and then lowered it as a cab came to a stop in front of them. He stepped off the curb and opened the door for Kurt.

"Goodn—

Vindictively, Puck slammed it shut, a glower of displeasure flashing across his face. "Go fuck yourself."

Shocked and bewildered, Kurt watched him walk off, head bowed, not even paying attention to the cab as it slowly pulled off.

Back at his apartment, Kurt lay completely still in his bathtub, staring up at the bathroom ceiling. His mind reflected back to Puck and how he acted after Kurt suggested they keep their relationship professional. He didn't expect him to react the way he did. He didn't even intend to hurt him at all.

Could the older man really feel something more for him?

Still, Puck had no right to throw Rachel's accident or her resentment toward Kurt in his face. Every minute, every second, he was reminded of it. When Puck brought it up, it stung. And then what he'd asked Mike at rehearsal…

He contemplated getting out of the bathtub, rushing to his cell phone and calling him, maybe to apologize.

Maybe just talk.

Part of him wanted to hear Puck's voice again, regardless if they hated each other at the moment.

Further thoughts of the handsome man stirred some growth in his lower region, and he slowly reached down to grasp his erection. The pink flesh slipped through his fist. One… two tugs… and he suddenly stopped, ashamed and guilty.

Pathetic.

Kurt closed his eyes and slid underneath the soapy water.

As he tried to pull his head out, he felt as if he couldn't move, as if someone or something was pressing down on his shoulders, attempting to keep him underneath—attempting to drown him. Aghast, he blinked again and to his horror, a pale figure stared back at him, eyes red and bloodshot. Kurt began thrashing his body, letting out a shriek. As water entered his lungs, he shut his eyes and opened them again, sharply raising his body up from beneath the water.

He choked, gasping for air, and began coughing up water onto the tiled floor. It took all of his strength to pull himself out of the bathtub. Terrified out of his mind, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

Heart racing, grimaced at the drops of blood in the tub and quickly unplugged it.

Shaking, he backed away from the porcelain tub and turned to the mirror, wiping the fog away. Angry red hand prints marked his shoulders. He turned his body, catching a glimpse of the scratch on his back, which grew worse.

A/N: It's been almost two months since I last posted! I've been incredibly busy-and didn't have many ideas. I don't have a beta for this chapter so please disregard any grammar or spelling errors.

I want to thank those who reviewed the last chapter and my good friend Narnia, who created a BEAUTIFUL artwork for this fic. I'll eventually post it to my profile so you guys can see her work.

Thanks for reading! See you next time.