(Author's note: The first scene in this chapter is a turning point for Finn. Thanks to my good friend Jack for letting me interview him about firing a weapon, both at the range and in an active situation. Quoting herein from episode 2x07 The Substitute, and the usual warning for D/s, as well as polyamory negotiations and anal plug training. -amy)
"I usually shoot outside," said Carl, pushing open the glass door for Finn, "because I don't have to pay for range time, but it's cold today."
The smile Carl gave him was friendly and not too intimate, but Finn still had to fight the response he felt to being this close to him.
This is supposed to make it less complicated, not more, he told himself firmly, and took the door in his own hand before Carl could let it close.
Carl paused briefly at the counter to speak with the woman at the register. She handed him two plastic tags, one of which he pocketed. The other he handed to Finn.
"I'm still not sure why you think shooting a gun will help with my homework," he mumbled.
Carl raised his eyebrows as he beckoned for Finn to follow him. "It's a physical act of discipline and focus. I spend a couple hours a week here. You need something uncomplicated to focus on. Well, this is about as uncomplicated as it gets. Aim, breathe, fire." He nodded decisively. "You'll see."
There wasn't much to look at in the firing range. A few other guys were stationed down at the other end, their guns pointed at the far-away targets, and each report made Finn jump. Carl first handed him a pair of what looked like earmuffs before settling his own over his ears. Then he withdrew a black pistol from within his bag and placed it on the counter.
"Is—is that mine?" Finn asked nervously.
Carl shook his head. "I use a Beretta M9 because that's what I was trained to use when I was in the service, but I'm going to start you with a .22. The Beretta kicks less, but I don't want you having to learn to shoot at the same time you're learning not to flinch."
When Carl reached out and took his hand, he let it open without thinking about it. The gun Carl placed in it was smaller than the first one. His fingers slid into the trigger, and he shivered.
"I don't know if this is a good idea," he said.
"It's okay to be anxious. There's no ammunition in there. See? Here's the magazine. Just hold that." He pointed out across the firing line. "Targets are run back and forth electronically, so nobody can get in front of anybody else. If we were outside, we'd be shooting at steel plates, but inside we use paper targets."
The target didn't seem to be too far away. Finn could see it clearly from where he stood. He watched Carl slide the magazine into the Beretta and release the safety, then raise it with practiced grace to sight along his outstretched arm.
"There's, like, no aiming thing," Finn said. He tried to relax his grip, which was getting more sweaty as he stood there.
"You can get sights, but I think it's better to learn to aim without them. Put your hand on my shoulder, there. Okay. You bring the pistol up like this, and hold it steady while you squeeze the trigger. The double-action will automatically load another round, so you don't have to stop before you fire again."
Finn cringed as Carl fired three times in slow succession at the crosshair target. He watched in reluctant fascination as Carl pushed a button to bring the target closer.
"I thought you shot three times? Why aren't there three holes?"
"There are." Carl chuckled. "Don't expect this kind of precision from yourself. I've been doing this since 1991. You ready to give it a try?"
While Carl returned the target to the range, albeit in a closer position, Finn fumbled the cartridge into the butt of the gun and gave it a little halfhearted push. Carl had to help him insert it all the way. He swallowed, glancing over at Carl, then brought his arms up, trying to hold it the way he'd seen Carl do it.
"I can't believe you've never had an opportunity to shoot a gun before," Carl said. "You live in Ohio."
"I mean, sure, BB guns, but nothing like this." He tried to still the shaking in his hand and took a deep breath, then another, settling his stance.
"That's it," Carl said. He was being calm and encouraging, but that didn't really help settle Finn down. Finally he cleared his throat. "What's different about this?"
"It's a weapon. It's made to kill people."
"You're not killing anybody. I wouldn't suggest you think about it that way."
But Finn found himself doing it anyway. He pictured the face of Aaron Puckerman superimposed on the outline of the head painted on the wall behind the paper target. He gritted his teeth.
"What if I can't help it?"
"You can help it," Carl said, his voice low and firm. "This isn't about the gun or what you can do with it. It's about how you are, right now, in this moment. Do you see your target?"
Finn nodded. He let his eyes settle on the intersection of the crosshairs.
"Do you know what you need to do to get there?"
"Not really," he said. Carl laughed. His hand slid down Finn's arm to cup his hand, holding the pistol.
"You'll learn. Until then, I'll be here to help. Just trust me."
The gun jumped in his hand as he pulled the trigger, and he yelped. When Carl redirected him and said sharply, "Just like that, again," he took a quick breath and focused, feeling his stomach tighten with the effort.
The shots weren't neatly grouped like Carl's had been, but the small holes had at least hit the paper. The approving smile Carl gave him made him flush with pride.
"You'll get better," Carl assured him. "Don't worry about that. Let's try another couple rounds."
This time, his encouragement made a difference. Once Finn knew what to expect from the .22, he stopped bracing himself against the sound. There was a precise timing to it that reminded him of playing the drums. Carl unclipped Finn's fourth target and sized it up with a critical eye.
"That's really very good, Finn."
"Like you said, it's not actually ready-aim-fire, is it?" Finn said. "It's more like aim-ready-fire. Like, the space in between matters more than what you're doing with your hands."
Carl nodded. "That space between is the difference between luck and intention. You're trusting your body to get where you want it to go without following the thought through to its end—but be assured, it's skill, not instinct, that will help you maintain this kind of consistency." He grinned. "Not to mention your physical condition. Have you been spending more time in the gym?"
"The Coach has been working us pretty hard. And Sam, he works out at least twice a day, so even when Puck—" He paused, letting the fear and regret wash through him, until it had passed and he felt solid again. "Even when Puck can't handle being in the locker room some days, I've still got a spotter."
Carl was watching him closely as he spoke, but he just nodded and handed Finn another magazine. They loaded their weapons in silence, then took turns firing another several rounds.
"How do you feel?" Carl asked him when they were done.
Finn ran through the standard assessment Carl had taught him, monitoring his heart rate, rotating his shoulders to check circulation. He nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Good. Calmer, more focused. You were right."
Carl's eyes flashed, and though he did not laugh, Finn felt the mantle of success settle over him. He straightened up, feeling taller.
"Can we do it again tomorrow?"
"As often as you like," said Carl. "You're welcome to continue to use this .22 whenever we are here. For now, you'll have to come to the range with me. They won't let you shoot alone until you're eighteen."
On any other day, a reminder of the amount of time before Finn's birthday would have prompted a fresh wash of anxiety, but today, all he felt was thoughtful. Whatever they had once been doing in preparation for that day, they hadn't talked about it for months.
And I'm not freaking out about that, he realized.
While Carl settled into the front seat of the Corvette, Finn gave the plug inside him a squeeze. He watched Carl as he did so, and when the tension escalated in response to being near him, as it always did, he let himself shift into the calming routines Carl had taught him, setting an internal focus, moderating his breathing, relaxing his stomach muscles. Within seconds, he had reached equilibrium.
"Wow," he murmured, smiling. Carl arched a curious eyebrow.
"Wow?"
"I'm—" Finn paused, then chuckled. "I'm kind of proud of myself."
Carl nodded, smiling back. "As well you should be. Imagine how much you'd accomplish in your life if you were this intentional about everything you did."
"You mean, like, my grades."
"I mean, like, your grades," Carl echoed softly. He waited until Finn ducked his head.
"Yes, sir," he whispered.
Carl reached out and took his hand, interlacing their fingers, and gave it a squeeze. "You'd mentioned wanting a tutor. I wonder if Lauren might be a good option?"
"Oh—" He nodded, feeling hope buoy him along with Carl's hand in his. "Yeah, she and Sarah get along great. And I think maybe Puck made her soup earlier this week? I don't know what that was about, but… yeah. I'll talk to her."
"Excellent. If you ever need a place to study, my house is always available to you."
Finn imagined what it might be like to be with Lauren, sitting at Carl's dining room table, reading his history textbook, and hearing Ms. Pillsbury in the kitchen, but he managed to keep a straight face as he nodded. "Thanks. I'll—keep that in mind."
The door shook with the force of his dad's fist. "I know you're in there, Noah. You might as well come out."
"No," he shouted back. He had his flashlight, so he wasn't in the dark. The closet door was solid. His dad couldn't come in.
"Open up or, I swear to God, I'm breaking down this damn door, Noah. Noah!"
"Noah?"
The last voice was significantly higher and lighter than his dad's, and the word was spoken with gentleness, but he woke up with a jolt anyway.
"He's asleep," Sarah said drowsily. "Sort of. As well as he ever sleeps."
"No, no, I'm… I'm awake." He rubbed his face, trying to clear his memory of the dream. That fucking flashlight. One more thing I'd forgotten. One more thing I wish I hadn't remembered.
"I'm sorry to bother you." Kurt sounded so apologetic.
For a minute Puck almost climbed out of bed and put his arms around him. Then the conditioning kicked in, and the idea became revolting enough to turn his stomach. He sighed. "Not your fault."
"I just got back from seeing RENT with Blaine, and… I wanted to tell you about it. If you're not too tired."
"Yeah. Sure, just a sec, I'll just…"
"I'll get dressed and meet you downstairs," Kurt interrupted, and Puck nodded.
It only took a few minutes to put on his uncle Samuel's old sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, but he knew Kurt would take longer. The thick, formless layers weren't complete protection against being distracted by Kurt's body, but the less his imagination had to work with, the better for both of them.
Finn was already in the kitchen by the time he got downstairs, stirring a pot on the stove. He paused when Puck arrived.
"How about you do this," he said gruffly, holding out the wooden spoon. Puck grabbed it before it could drip milk on the floor, and Finn backed away.
"Thought you were at Carl's?"
Finn shrugged, keeping his eyes on the floor. "We went to the range, but then I—we're taking it slow."
Puck had too many memories of working with Carl not to know what that probably entailed. He thought about what Lauren had said to him: I doubt you got that kind of epiphany from Topping your boy. He followed Finn's example, focusing on the handle of the pot he was holding, rather than the image of Finn and Carl taking it slow.
"I bet he's feeling lucky you even want to try again," he said.
"Why do you say that?" Finn asked slowly.
"Because your life is already complicated enough without adding him back in. And you already made the choice once not to, right? Free and clear, it was your decision. Now you're back, but… he doesn't know if he's going to get any say about how long or anything. He's letting you call the shots. That's got to be tough for somebody who wants to be in charge."
Finn crossed his arms, hunching into his sweatshirt. "Yeah."
"But he wants you enough that it's worth it."
He made a little mirthless laugh. "Well, you know."
"Yeah," Puck said quietly, stirring the milk. "You're his boy."
"How can you even talk about that?" Finn whispered.
He shrugged. "I don't know. How come when you tell me to stir the fucking milk, I'm fine, but when I think about how Kurt's neck looks in his tan shirt, I feel like shit?"
"Taupe," said Kurt from the doorway.
"What?"
"The color… it doesn't matter." He moved to the central island and sat, not too close to either of them. In his grey Ohio State sweatshirt, he looked a lot more like an ordinary high school junior than he had ten minutes ago.
"So how was he tonight?" asked Finn. "I was wondering if anything would come up, being at that show with you."
Kurt leaned his chin on his fist. "The performance was all right. But I didn't get any sense of Blaine. On the phone yesterday, Jeff said he'd been grumpier and more sullen at home, refusing to do his homework and complaining about his meds. I didn't see any sign of that. He was… on, the whole time."
"Like he was performing for you." Finn rubbed his chin. "Jeff calls him Blaine Warbler. But that's not what you saw at Irene's."
"You know how when Brad and Andi and Laurie take Cory out," said Puck, "and she's, like, the model toddler, and then when she gets home she throws a complete shitfit?'
Kurt gave him a wan smile. "You think Blaine is waiting until he's in his dorm room to have a temper tantrum?"
Puck tapped the milk off the spoon and ladled some into a cup for Kurt. "I think Jeff is as safe as anybody gets right now."
"He knows Anderson men don't make a fuss in public." Finn made a face. "But at home… even if his dad does have eyes everywhere, maybe that's enough privacy for him to let off a little steam." He gave Kurt a pointed look, but Kurt just sighed.
"Are you going to tell me the plan?" Puck handed another cup to Finn, who took it carefully so that their fingers didn't accidentally touch. "Or do I have to guess?"
Kurt bowed his head. "Dave thinks if he publicly bullies me at school, it'll give my dad enough of a reason to send me to Dalton."
"That's Project Jailbreak?" Puck forgot about not looking and stared at Kurt, appalled.
"Project what?" Finn demanded.
"That's just fucked up. I mean, sure, it might work, but—fuck, what if Dave gets kicked out of school or something, and your dad still doesn't let you go?"
"I don't even know if it's up to me anymore," Kurt said quietly. "He and Santana have been planning the whole thing at his SAT study session without us."
"Maybe one of us should be there, then." Finn raised a hand. "Probably should be me, since you would never go to something Dave offered, and—"
"Yeah, and I'd never go to a study session, period," added Puck.
"I was just about to say you were already too busy." Finn looked a little hurt, which didn't make a lot of sense given he'd been dissing himself. Then he thought about how it felt when Blaine talked trash about himself, and Puck felt suddenly abashed.
"I—I'm sorry," he said. "Artie did say he would help me not fail math."
Finn glanced away in a hurry, but Kurt gave him a grateful smile. It didn't feel good, exactly, but it didn't feel bad either, and that was more strange than hopeful. The smile had vanished by the time he turned back around to the stove.
"Anyway. I wanted you to know what was going on, because…" Kurt's voice faded away until he stopped talking.
"It's cool," said Puck. He shrugged his shoulders so Kurt could see, and kept stirring the milk, even though they'd already had some, and he wasn't about to drink the stuff without—
"Okay, well…" Kurt sighed. "I'm heading to bed. You're going to see Bethie tomorrow. Blaine's coming out on Sunday night to study. If we're lucky, Mr. Schue will be healthy and back in Glee on Monday, and maybe we can clarify what needs to be done."
Puck waited until Finn and Kurt went upstairs to dump the rest of the milk in the sink. He gripped the edges of the stainless steel basin until he was sure he wasn't going to be sick. Then, meticulously, he cleaned the pot, even though Carole had told him he didn't need to. We have a dishwasher for that, Puck.
But that was his job. That was what he could do.
Upstairs in Sarah's room, under the covers in her second single bed, he watched the video of Blaine singing on his phone. He thought about Kurt's account of Blaine singing "Teenage Dream" with the Warblers at Dalton, wishing desperately he had a video of that, too. He knew neither Blaine Warbler nor Patrick in Columbus were supposedly really Blaine, but he guessed there was no way to really know who Blaine really was anymore.
When the video was done, he called Blaine's number again, just to hear the message that told him it was blocked. He closed his eyes, ignoring his sour stomach and his stinging eyes, and hoped that sleep might claim him eventually.
"… and she just shoved the tater tots up Sue's tailpipe!" Holly rolled her eyes fondly. "And you know how much Sue loves that LeCar. Mercedes got into so much trouble. I figured the best way to handle it was to act even more confused and dysfunctional than she was, so Sue would blame me? I think I took most of the heat. She's probably not going to suspend her or press charges, anyway."
"Sue usually calms down if you leave her alone for a little while," agreed Will. He opened a second beer and handed it to her, and they clinked bottles. "I'm glad you figured out a way to manage her."
"Well, to be honest, I'm still gathering intel. She's a real wild card. If I had to hazard a diagnosis, I'd have to say sociopath, but I'm not that kind of therapist." Now her face was pensive. "I worry about your kids under her influence. And they call me impetuous."
"I promise I'll keep an eye on her. And, hey, now that I'm better, maybe you'll keep substitute teaching at McKinley? The kids really respond to you."
She hesitated, tapping the bottle against her knee. "That's my plan? I'm still taking classes, and I have a few clients left who see me periodically, so I'm trying to keep things flexible. You know, mellow and fun, but no commitments."
"Sounds lonely," he said, with a bitter laugh. "But who am I to judge?"
"Who indeed, Will Schuester?" But her eyes were twinkling. "You're not telling me that being with Emma makes you lonely?"
"Uh… yeah, well…"
He was considering what he could tell her when the front door suddenly opened, and Terri was there, holding a casserole dish and staring accusingly at Holly.
"Wow, Will," she whispered. "I mean, wow."
He rose from the couch. "What are you doing here? You should have called."
"I brought you some more soup." She set it on the table beside the door. "But I guess baby's feeling a lot better if he's healthy enough to have a beer with a friend."
"Hi," Holly said, with a little wave. "I'm Holly Holliday."
Terri's eyes narrowed. "Are you a porn star or a drag queen? I'm Terri Schuester, Will's wife."
"Wow," said Holly to Will, maintaining the same conversational tone. "Your wife's kind of a bitch."
"She's my ex-wife." He sighed, rubbing his head. "And I have no idea what she's doing here. Terri, last night was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I woke up and realized what we'd done. Please, don't come back."
The extended exit just made Will feel more sorry for Terri, but even as he was escorting her out the door, Holly was standing to follow.
"No, wait," he protested, "I have more expensive beer?"
"You have a suitcase full of complications, that's what you have." She rested a hand on his shoulder, gathering her coat. "Will, last I checked, you have a lovely man in your life, and he adores you, and you adore him. You're engaged to him. And you chose to begin a new relationship with another woman—and now I come to find out you're newly divorced and still having sex with your ex-wife? I seriously don't think I should be having more than two beers with you. What are you planning to do if Toby comes back to collect on that engagement ring, huh? Move?"
"It's not… what it looks like," he said weakly.
"It doesn't matter what it looks like, Will. Whatever it is, I think you should call Toby and tell him what happened with Ms. Porn-Star-Or-Drag-Queen-Soup-Lady last night. He deserves to know." She handed him the bottle. "Thanks for sharing your great kids with me this week. I'm glad you're feeling better. Don't hesitate to call me if you need a Glee substitute in the future."
The apartment seemed extra quiet after both Holly and Terri had left. Will picked up the soup and brought it into the kitchen as he dialed Toby's number. It went to voice mail.
"Uh… hi," he said, after the tone. "It's me. I'm sorry I'm calling at all, I just… something happened that I thought I should tell you about? It probably wasn't… I mean, it didn't…" He closed his eyes. "I was sick and I'm feeling better and I just wanted to say hi. If you want to call, maybe we could… talk? And, uh. I love you. Hope you're doing okay."
It was just about the worst message he could imagine leaving, but it wasn't going to get any better hanging on the line and listening to himself breathe, so he hung up. Then he got a ladle out of the drawer and spooned up some soup, because whatever bad things he could say about Terri, her cooking wasn't half bad.
Mercedes was still laughing as they walked out of Glee. "Okay, I never thought I'd say this, but gangster rap musical chairs was actually pretty fun."
"It might have been more fun if we didn't have thirty-seven other things to do to get ready for sectionals." Kurt rubbed his forehead. "I seriously miss Mr. Schue."
"You're the one who was so excited about getting Ms. Holliday in the first place. And you were right. She's great. Part of me wishes we were doing more of this kind of thing and less of the arguing and competition. Isn't Glee supposed to be fun?"
Kurt stared at her. "Mercedes, what exactly do you think we're doing here? We were in the Cheerios together. Isn't arguing and competition part of what we agreed to?"
"I know, I just…" She paused beside Kurt's locker, watching him with a wistful expression. "It seems like you and I never have fun anymore. This week with Ms. Holliday felt like just the kind of break we needed. But you're still—"
"Mercedes," Kurt interrupted, as Dave rounded the corner and headed toward him. He gave her a little nudge. "I think we might need to talk about this later."
She followed his gaze and her eyes narrowed. "Karofsky. Is he giving you a hard time again?"
"I think I should handle it alone." Dave had slowed down, but he wasn't changing course. Kurt's nudge turned into a two-handed redirection. "Mercedes, please. I don't want you involved."
She looked more than a little upset by this, but she did as he asked and left him there at the locker.
Seconds later, Dave drew up in front of him and took advantage of the audience passing in the hallway to glare menacingly.
"Question for you," Dave murmured. "You tell anybody else what happened? How I kissed you?"
"I thought I kissed you." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "And I haven't figured out how we're going to spin this, so… no, I haven't told anyone else."
"Well, if you did," Dave said, "I wanted to make it clear that would have been hard for me to deal with. You hear what I'm saying? I probably would have told you I'm gonna kill you."
His gaze narrowed in on Kurt for just a moment longer, until he saw Kurt's eyes widen. Then Dave moved on down the hall. He wasn't moving carefully, like he usually did. He was moving like he didn't care who he ran into.
Like Puck, thought Kurt, and leaned back against the lockers with a shaky sigh. Like he's given up trying to be anything other than exactly what other people see him to be.
"He called me. Wanted to chat, but I let it go to voice mail." Toby stretched his legs all the way down to his toes, then let his head fall back on Davis's couch with a sigh. "I swear, Davis, that man's going to be the death of me."
"Only if you give in," said Davis. He smiled affably. "I'm generally in favor of giving in, you know."
"I know." Toby exclaimed as his stomach was suddenly beset with a great furry gray mass. "Gracious light—you really do have the biggest cat I've ever seen."
"Wilford isn't really mine, he's Carl's." Davis stroked the feathered ears as Wilford began to purr. "But Emma is allergic. And Wilford loves me better anyway."
"Long as you don't feel put upon by having to take care of him." Toby watched the cat pad and knead his stomach with dubious curiosity.
"Oh, I don't think so. When you love somebody, taking care of them isn't a burden."
"Hm. I suppose not." Once Wilford settled on a spot and made a barely-contained circle of floof upon him, Toby ventured out a finger to scratch under his chin. "Sometimes that's hard to tell from the outside."
"I guess I have a slightly different perspective on it," Davis conceded. "Folks in my community take pride in assuming varying levels of responsibility over one another, to a degree that would look remarkably codependent to vanilla eyes."
Toby's eyebrows went up. "But you don't need anybody to take care of you."
Davis hooted with laughter. Wilford opened his eyes and stared balefully at Davis before closing them again. "I think Carl and everyone who knows me well would disagree with you. Strongly." He smiled. "Luckily, I have a Top who keeps a close watch over me."
"You said." He thought of the forbidding photo of James on Davis' fridge. "I suppose I wouldn't understand what you'd be like without him."
"We don't see one another very often, but I'm well situated with day to day coping mechanisms. My job affords me access to people who can help me when I need—mechanical solutions. And Carl helps when he can, though he's been busy with his own relationships." He leaned over and placed a kiss on Toby's bare shoulder. "And friends help, too, in their own way."
"I wonder… you remember Will's students, Kurt and Puck? Oh, and you might know Finn."
Davis's smile remained steady. "I know them, yes. I've done some legal work for Puck on behalf of his adoption of his daughter Beth."
"There's a boy they met last summer, Blaine. He goes to school in Westerville, and they've fallen right hard for him, all three of them. I'm telling you this in confidence, you understand."
"Of course," murmured Davis.
"Well, his daddy discovered some of the things they were doin' together, some things you might know about? And he cut them right off, forbade them from seein' him. I can tell, it's been a terrible burden on Kurt not to be able to see him. To give him what he needs." Toby sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It seems Blaine can't say no to his daddy, about anything."
"Mmm." Davis ran a compassionate hand down Toby's shoulder.
"If Kurt tells it right, he's threatening the boy, sayin' he'll pull him out of school and send him away if there's any more of that business." Toby snorted derisively. "Money talks, I reckon. Money and power. You'll act as befits the Anderson legacy…"
Davis's stroking hand stopped abruptly, then resumed. "His father's not… Darren Anderson?"
"I don't rightly know. But Kurt, he's hurting something fierce. Maybe it's like that for Blaine, what you said? He doesn't have someone to help him cope."
"Sometimes you need someone to Top you," said Davis, nodding. "And sometimes you need your own Top, and there's nobody else will do. Poor kid."
"Poor all of them," Toby agreed. "I miss those kids. Bein' away from Will, we don't see each other much. I wish…"
The silence went on for long enough that Davis put an arm around him. Toby leaned in, feeling the hurt.
"I'm not trying to be a substitute for him," Davis began, but Toby put out a hand.
"It's not like that. Me and Will, we'll figure it out. It may not look the way I expected it, but…" He shrugged. "Maybe I'm regretting my choices, telling him no."
"You've set your own boundaries." Davis grinned. "That's something I don't have a lot of experience with."
"Yeah, well, in the vanilla world, I think it's expected that we all do that for ourselves." He sat forward and took a deep breath, then let it out. "Okay. I think that's enough of a rest. Can we work through that routine again?"
Davis' apartment was sparely furnished, which meant the empty space on the floor was perfectly suited to serve as an impromptu studio. Even without a barre or a wall-length mirror, they'd been able to choreograph Davis's entire flash mob. It was pure delight to work with a quick study like Davis again.
"You should come in and talk to my kids in VA," Toby said when they paused for a break. "They could use a role model who does something other than dance for a living."
Davis handed him a towel, bowing his head as he smiled. "You'll have to forgive me if I decline. I try hard to keep a low profile around teenagers, especially near cities where I play. You never know what they might discover. My anonymity is hard to maintain, especially once my clothes come off."
"You ain't kiddin'. Those brands go alllll the way down." He laughed as Davis twisted away from a prodding finger to his washboard abs. "See, that I don't get. How can you even be ticklish when you love pain so much?"
"I can react to subtle sensation too," he objected. "It's just the way I'm made. I was born this way."
They discussed the composition of the flash mob, including Toby's suggestions to involve Mike Chang and Brittany.
"And that nice substitute teacher at McKinley's a dancer," Toby added. "Holly."
"And your adorable boyfriend," said Davis. Toby paused.
"I don't think Will's going to want to dance in Carl's flash mob."
"Not Will. The one at the coffee shop."
"Pretty sure Jon doesn't dance."
Davis laughed. "You've got more beaus than a Christmas package. I'm talking about Darius. Isn't he still helping get things set up at the Lima Bean for Irene?"
Toby licked his lips. "I don't remember sayin' anything about—"
"Toby," Davis said gently, and Toby closed his mouth. "I know I look like a dumb blonde, but I'm not. I hear things. And he's a great guy. You don't have to define the way things are between the two of you just because you and I are spending time together."
"The problem is, we never really defined the way things were," Toby admitted. "Not after this summer. It was me and him, and…"
Davis's eyes widened slightly. "Ohhh. And Will."
"Yeah. And then it was over. To be honest, I'm not sure Will even knows Darius is in Lima right now. He's a little cut off from the community."
Davis thought about this while Toby laced his boots and stretched his knit cap over his sweat-dampened hair. When Toby slid his arms around Davis's waist and gave him a kiss, Davis kissed him back, but absently.
"I'm sorry my life is complicated," Toby said.
Davis smiled. "We're friends, right? Friends hang in through the complicated. In the meantime… call your Will back, okay?"
Toby settled himself in his car and pointed it back toward Westfield Center. For a moment, he considered driving over to Will's place, but the memory of what he'd found the last time he'd done that was enough to spur him home.
Will picked up after the first ring. "Toby," he said. He sounded so relieved.
"Look, I ain't forgetting what you told me," Toby said. He gunned the engine, passing the car ahead of him as headed north on I-75.
"No, I… no. Nothing's really changed." Will sighed. "But thanks for calling me back anyway."
"No reason we can't be civil to one another. We've gone through this before." His voice was a little pointed, and Will sighed again.
"I know. I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing."
"Following your heart? Bein' a sucker?" Toby hit the cruise control and glared at the road ahead of him. "Or maybe just a good friend."
"Maybe. Things aren't getting any less complicated, that's for sure. I'm in uncharted waters with Emma."
"Rocky Horror didn't do the trick, huh? Not everybody gives it up as easy as you did, Will."
He laughed unhappily. "We worked through the choreography to Toucha-Touch Me in the choir room? There's definitely chemistry between us, but she ran off before we could get anywhere."
"Maybe that's because you were at school. I don't think Emma's willing to have sex with anybody in the choir room."
"She said she didn't want to have sex with anybody, period. How can she be asexual—did you know that was even a thing?—if she's attracted to me?"
"I don't know, Will. I don't have any more answers than you do."
"Well, she's with Carl. She's happy with him, and I have to be okay with that. But he asked me to help, and—that's kind of a mixed message?"
"Come on, Will, Carl said he's been in polyamorous relationships before." So have you, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. "It's not like that's impossible."
"Emma's not ready for that."
"Who are you to decide what she's ready for?"
"And if she just wants to be friends, and Carl's telling me to keep trying with her… I mean, who do I listen to, Emma, or Carl? If he's the one in charge…"
Toby hit the steering wheel. "Ask. Them. You ain't gonna get clarity by thinking about this or talkin' about it with me."
"You're right. I'm—I'm sorry. You don't need to hear about all these people I'm involved with."
He took a few long breaths, trying to relax the tension in his hands. "No, you know what? I do. I do need to hear about it."
Now Will sounded nervous. "What do you mean?"
"I mean after what happened with Jon, we agreed there were probably always gonna be other people. But we have this long history of don't ask, don't tell, and I think we noticed that didn't work so well for us. And you and me, we kind of went there this summer, so it's not like we can't. So I think… we need to talk about it. About the other people. If we're gonna stay together—"
"Together?" Will said hopefully. "You still want that with me?"
"I said I did, didn't I?" Toby snapped. "I'm just as fuckin' in love with you as I ever was."
He felt Will's quiet gasp in his gut, but he kept his eyes on the cars in front of him.
"Um, okay. Well, I told you about… my people, and—maybe I should ask? Have you… been seeing Jon?"
"Not since I reassured him I was negative. He's still working at the Starbucks. I think he's doin' okay. But we haven't seen each other—uh, socially." Toby felt the sweat forming around his collar.
"Maybe he could use a friend. A positive diagnosis, that would be hard to cope with alone."
He couldn't help but laugh. "You're telling me to ask him out?"
"Well, I don't know," Will protested. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just trying—"
"It's fine, darlin'. You're doin' fine. There is… someone, though. Davis Lawton."
"The dancer from London?" Will sounded startled, but not upset, and Toby relaxed a bit into his seat.
"Yeah, him. He's been helping with the carriage house. Turns out we have a lot of people in common. He's Jesse St. James' father, for one."
"He's—what!?"
"And he and Carl have history, but nothing recent, I think. They still work together professionally. Anyway, he's been a good friend."
"Friend…" Will was clearly a little dazed. "That's not quite right, is it? I think I'm going to need to learn new words for all these people in your—in our life."
Toby couldn't help but smile. "Our life is a hot mess."
"Yes, but it's honest. That's what I want. The rest, I think I can manage, as long as we stick together. You taught me that this summer."
"Yeah. That was… something else." He bit his lip, then added, "Darius has been workin' for Irene at the Lima Bean these last couple weeks. I think he's still there."
"Oh. Really? He didn't say he was…" Will paused. "Oh."
"You might drop by, see if he's free."
"You mean I should…" Will sounded startled. "I don't think he would… if it was just me and him."
"Will, he was a hundred percent into you this summer. No question."
"But wouldn't it bother you? Wouldn't you be jealous?"
"If lack of jealousy were a prerequisite for doin' anything, Will, I think nobody in the gay community would ever go out on a date."
Will laughed nervously. "I suppose I'm in that, now. The gay community."
"You are," Toby agreed. "And it's okay, Will. You want to see him, you go right ahead."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'd rather we both come to your house."
Toby let himself enjoy the thrill of the memories of their night together with Darius for a good five seconds before pushing them aside. "You figure things out with Emma first, darlin'. There'll be time for you and me."
"But there are so many things I want to tell you. We sang Singing in the Rain in Glee on Friday, a mashup with Rihanna's Umbrella. Um… and there's something else, but… I'm not sure it matters yet."
"I think we've had enough talk for tonight," he said firmly. "You hold that thought, okay? And if it seems like it's still important, you tell me tomorrow."
"Okay, Toby," Will said. "Thanks for all of this. I feel a lot better. And I love you."
It wasn't a short drive from Lima to his house, but Toby barely noticed the miles. He parked on the gravel driveway, let Annie out into the snow-dusted yard, and put the kettle on for tea without thinking. His mind was occupied with visions of Will and Darius from this summer: flirting, dancing together, drinking in Toby's living room, their hands on each other in the shower. He gritted his teeth.
You can't expect to be watching out for how he's going to react to other men all your life, Darius had said to him. You're going to have to decide if you're sure he wants to stay with you. Or else get out of his way and let him make his own fucking decisions.
He sank into a kitchen chair and let Annie lick his hand.
"It'd be a lot easier if Will knew how to make good decisions," he told her. She wagged her feathered tail at him and grinned, and he sighed. "Yeah. Well, I guess all I can do is be here to point him in the right direction, if he asks… and keep myself occupied."
Puck wasn't sure if Darius would even be at the Lima Bean on Sunday afternoon, but he was, frowning over a spreadsheet. He looked up, obviously surprised, as Puck picked up an apron.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Akron with your kid?" Darius asked.
"I was. There's this big snowstorm coming through tonight, so I came back a couple hours early." He peered into the back room. "Got anything for me to wash?"
Darius wrinkled his brow and glanced briefly at the nearly-empty counter beside the sink, but he he just said, "Sure. Knock yourself out."
The big double sink wasn't entirely unlike the one at Adventure Camp, with a powerful sprayer and enough room to set the racks from the industrial sterilizer over the second sink. He placed the stopper in the first one and began filling it up with hot water. While he waited, he hovered just behind the doorway, not quite far enough out to be in sight of the table in the corner by the window, where Blaine and Kurt were studying.
They were very focused, but Puck supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He remembered nights studying with Kurt and Finn on the floor beside the green couch. He was pretty sure he'd learned more during those evenings than he ever had during any class, ever. He closed his eyes on the loneliness and regret, swallowed hard, and went back to the sink.
If Darius noticed he paused every several minutes to watch Blaine and Kurt, he didn't mention it. There were so many things he wanted to tell Blaine about Beth, how she'd grown more than he'd thought possible in the weeks he'd been gone. She can sit up and scoot on her butt, but she still can't crawl. She loves sweet potatoes and green beans. She listens to every fucking word I say. It's the scariest thing I've ever done. He wasn't even sure if Blaine still remembered Beth, or if she'd disappeared into the hole of can't-have-that his dad had created for him.
Darius came into the kitchen about a half hour before closing and tapped on the counter.
"That snowstorm you were mentioning, it's getting worse. I'm not sure if they're going to plow the mall parking lot before you go home. You want to let Kurt know?"
Puck turned off the water. "Uh, he doesn't actually know I'm here. Could you tell him?"
"No problem," Darius said, without hesitation. "Why don't you head out now. Blaine has a long drive home, right?"
That had not escaped Puck's awareness. He hung around for several anxious minutes before catching a glimpse of Blaine putting on his scarf and heading toward the door, but that didn't feel like enough. What if Blaine drove off the road on the way home? He'd never know.
About thirty feet toward the center of the mall, down the corridor from The Lima Bean, was a cell phone kiosk. Puck didn't know the blue-haired dude who was working tonight, but when Puck asked him if he could hook him up with a cheap prepaid phone, he nodded gamely.
"300 minutes to start," said the blue-haired dude. "Just call this number to reload it."
Puck took the phone with him to his truck and sat in the cab, his heart beating hard. It took him a couple tries to dial in Blaine's number because his fingers were shaking.
Hey, Blaine, I wanted to make sure you got home okay. Can you let me know when you get there?
He didn't get a response right away, but he didn't expect he would. He also didn't expect the incredible wave of relief that came over him when Blaine's reply did finally come through.
I'm fine. The plows were right ahead of me the whole time. Who is this?
Puck let out a shaky sigh. Not only did the response mean Blaine was safe, but it also meant Puck might be able to read Blaine's texted words without feeling sick.
I work at the mall. Typing on the phone's alphanumeric keyboard was ponderous enough that he he had time to make sure every word was spelled right. You and Kurt were heading out into the snow, and I was worried.
That is so sweet. What store?
Next to the fountain on the east side.
You're being very mysterious.
Just consider me your secret admirer. He felt the thrill of freedom that went along with anonymity. I've had a thing for you for a long time.
Oh, my. I'm actually not supposed to think about boys. I'm at school to focus on my studies.
I know. It made him a little sad to see Blaine's dad's words coming out like that, like they were his own. I'll try not to distract you too much.
It's a pleasant distraction. You seem to know something about me. Can you tell me your name, at least?
He cast around for a name he could use. Call me J.
Well, J, that was really nice of you to check on us. Kurt lives there in Lima, so he didn't have far to go. Do you want me to ask him to send you a text?
No, it's fine. Even as he sat there on the couch, he could hear Kurt's shower turn off. I'd rather he didn't think I was distracting you.
Are you concerned about coming between us? Kurt and I are just friends.
Puck sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing away the visions of Kurt in the shower that threatened to sully his pleasant conversation. Not concerned. Go ahead and get ready for bed.
Yes, sir.
He stared at Blaine's words for a moment, wondering what to do. They were playful, not meant to mean anything, he was certain, and yet—it was impossible not to respond.
Good boy.
There was no reply after that. He let himself think about Blaine taking off his wool coat and shaking the snow out of his hair for a few moments before the headache began. It grew bad enough that he went right upstairs to his room when he got home, avoiding contact with everyone.
He didn't look at the prepaid phone again until he was getting ready for bed himself. They still wouldn't let him sleep alone, but tonight was Kurt's night to watch over him, and Puck could still hear him practicing the piano. He had some time to himself.
Blaine had sent one more text, just a few minutes previously: In bed now. Not sure if you wanted to hear that.
Glad to know it, he said. Blaine warm and safe and a little boundary-challenged was apparently not going to make him sick either. Sleep well.
I'll be wondering all night who you are, J.
I'm not anybody, really.
You are a boy, right?
Yeah.
Older or younger?
Older. Blaine had only turned sixteen that May, but Puck had hit seventeen in July. And he was not going to get stuck in thoughts about that night, in which he and Blaine had slept on Carl's workshop's floor after the session with Finn and the St. Andrew's cross. I'm going to bed. Good night, Blaine.
Night, J. Sweet dreams.
That made him cry when the rest of the conversation hadn't. His recent dreams were worse than they had ever been. Now he remembered them in a way he never had in the past. He set the phone down on the floor next to his bed and closed his eyes. Maybe tonight, if he hoped hard enough, he would dream of Blaine and Bethie, and it would be nothing but wonderful.
Sarah had grown accustomed to Kurt or Noah or Finn or Tatenui or somebody looking over her shoulder every three minutes to make sure she wasn't doing something she shouldn't. Tonight it was Kurt. To make it easier on him, she tended to follow him around the house, doing whatever she was doing in the same room with him.
Carole was the only one who hadn't changed her behavior around Sarah since she'd returned from Tessera. You don't need me to tell you when you're doing things wrong, Carole told her. You tell yourself better than anybody.
That wasn't quite right. Sarah had a pretty good sense of how the word worked, and how much she could get away with before somebody else noticed. It didn't bother her to break the rules. But on top of that, now, she had another layer of awareness of what everybody else around her was doing, and how many of them were screwing up on a regular basis. She'd always had that awareness about Noah and his actions, and Timothy to some degree, but now there were more people within the scope of her notice. Sometimes she ignored it, but more and more often these days, she would start to think of ways she could improve their situation. It wasn't easy to turn off that awareness now that she had it. It was almost like a superpower.
Kurt played the same wrong note on the piano for the fifth time. He let out a short sigh, cracked his knuckles, and turned the music back to the first page for a sixth attempt. Sarah watched him over the edge of her notebook as she leaned back on the green couch.
"When did you start playing piano?" she asked.
She had asked him that before, and maybe if he hadn't been so stuck in his head, Kurt would have realized that, but he replied, "When I was seven."
"It looks hard."
"My mother was sick a lot that year, and she liked to hear me play, so that kept me motivated. I never missed a lesson after that, until—" He massaged his wrist.
"What happened?"
"Freshman year. I broke my wrist, and the cast made it hard to practice. Then I started taking lessons again last year, with Brad." He flashed her a fake smile. That hurt a little, but she knew by now it was to protect himself, not to push her away. "Shouldn't you be finishing your homework?"
"Finished," she said, waving the notebook. "I'm just doodling now. Can you show me how?"
He paused, looking at the keyboard. "How—to play the piano?"
"No, how to build a birdhouse. Yes, the piano. Doofus."
Just as she knew he would, Kurt looked pleased as she hopped up from the couch and sat next to him on the bench. "Well…" He scooted over to make room for her to move to the center. "This is middle C. See? Where the two white keys touch, in the middle. White keys are letter notes, C, D, E… like that. Black keys in between are letters too, plus a symbol. You call them sharps, if you're going up from a white key, or flats, if you're going down…"
Sarah knew very little music theory, and Kurt was a thoughtful teacher, so she actually learned something as she listened to him regain his confidence. When she put her hands on the keyboard, he showed her how to curve her fingers the right way, and he smiled encouragement when she tried it. It wasn't a fake smile this time, but a real one, and that made her smile back. I did that, she thought. My superpower made him better.
"I think I still have an old beginner's book of practice pieces," he said. "It helps to start by reading music right away. Blaine could help you, too."
It seemed to take Kurt a moment to realize what he'd said. When his smile vanished and he took a breath to take back his words, she interrupted with a hug.
"I'll ask him, the next time he comes to the house," she said into his neck.
"…Yeah," he murmured. He sounded a little teary, but he hugged her back. "Soon. He'll come to the house again soon." That wasn't fake, either, even if it was sad.
When the doorbell rang, they both looked at one another, startled.
"Who do we even know who rings the doorbell?" Sarah asked.
"It might be Dave…" Kurt stood up, glancing down at his robe and pajamas. "I think—I should change. Could you get the door?"
Carole beat her to the front hallway. They were both there to open the door and greet Lauren.
"Hope it's not too late to come over," she said to Carole.
Carole smiled, holding open the door to let her inside. "Depends on who you're here to see?"
"I think I'd better start with Kurt and Finn." Lauren brushed the wet snow off her trench coat. "But then the elder Puckerman, too."
"Middle Puckerman," Sarah corrected, while Carole went off to locate Finn. "My big brother Timmy's the older one. Not counting my dad."
"He sure as shit doesn't count," Lauren agreed. "Okay if we use the library, short stuff? This is kind of a formal proposal."
That definitely sounded interesting. Sarah went in ahead of Lauren, tucked herself into a chair in the corner, and made herself invisible.
Finn appeared first, his hair wet from the shower, but his face was calm and focused. Sarah seldom needed to use her power to improve Finn's state. She wondered if that was because he had his thing with Carl, or if it was just because Finn had his own superpower.
"Lauren, hey," he said, nodding. "I was going to call you. How much would you charge me if I asked you for tutoring?"
"You couldn't afford me," she drawled. Then she grinned. "Assuming I wouldn't do it for free. What subject?"
He held out both hands, palms up. "Take your pick. I'm doing okay in Spanish this year—really, I'm doing okay in most things? But I've been trying to up my game. Do better than okay."
"Quieres ser un excelente estudiante. Admirable, Hudson." She cocked her head at him. "Is this a disciplinary matter?"
"Uh…" To his credit, he didn't look at Sarah or drop his gaze, though his cheeks turned a little pink. "No. It's my own, uh, directive."
"That's cool. I think we might be able to work something out."
Kurt showed up next, fully dressed. He looked back and forth between Lauren and Finn. "Can I help you with something?"
"As it happens, I'm the one who's here to offer you some help. All of you, but specifically Puckerman." She arranged her hands on her lap in a pattern Sarah had seen her do before. Whether it was a calming measure or something else, she wasn't sure. "You know what I do with dudes, in my extracurricular practice."
Kurt was obviously startled by the turn of the conversation, but Finn just nodded. "I have some idea," he said.
"It's contractual. Specifically, they need something, and I give it to them on a schedule. Usually they're looking for focus, sometimes more specific things."
"You don't need to get into detail," Kurt said quickly. She nodded. Sarah wasn't thrown; she and Lauren had had enough conversations about this last spring for her to know what she was talking about.
"So your boy showed up to my house on Monday to make me soup. And watching how he was when he did it, it got me thinking. He still needs all the stuff you used to give him, and as far as I know, he's not getting any of it anymore. Not because you don't want to give it, or because he doesn't want to get it, but because—there's some connection in his brain between liking guys and all that stuff, and it's hurting him. Sound about right?"
Finn nodded soberly. Kurt looked a little pissed off.
"He doesn't want that from you," he said flatly.
"Maybe not. But I think if I can do a little digging, he might be able to fix some of those connections. Maybe."
Finn leaned forward, watching her intently. "You think you can get him back?"
"Maybe," Lauren repeated. "Maybe he'll have some bad reactions, too, but I've dealt with that before. And, if not, at the very least, I can likely give him some peace of mind."
Kurt's expression wasn't any less sour. "He's already overbooked. I think it's a bad idea."
"Yeah, but if you go to Dalton to take care of Blaine, I'll be one more pair of eyes on him here at home."
Now Kurt looked completely floored. Finn touched his knee, and he blinked at Finn, then back to Lauren. "How did you know I was planning…?"
"She guessed," said Sarah. They all turned to stare at her. She restrained herself from giving them a triumphant smile. They'd completely forgotten she was there. "She didn't know until you confirmed it just now."
"Maybe," Lauren said a third time, but she was grinning at Sarah. "So this is my proposal: after football practice on Mondays and Thursdays, and after dishwashing on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, Puckerman comes to my house. I'll keep him twice a week for dinner, and twice a week we'll come back here. Fridays he goes to see his kid, Sundays he comes back to me, and I'll bring him home before dinner. Hudson, you can join us for studying on the two nights we come back here, after dinner, and on Sundays."
"What… will you do to him?" Finn asked slowly.
Kurt glanced anxiously at Sarah, but she waved him off, and although he scowled at her, he didn't speak.
"I don't know yet," Lauren said, sounding thoughtful. "I have a pretty big toolbox, but this one is going to need some strategizing. I mean, I could ask you for his safe word and any hard limits he has, but you might not even know what they are anymore."
"He…" Finn hesitated, then he went on. "He wears our collar. Used to. And—Max's."
She shook her head. "I won't use one, unless he asks for it. This isn't about submission. It's about surrender. I'm not interested in making him comfortable."
Finn nodded. "I think we should try it. Baby?"
Kurt still looked like he was sucking on a lemon, but he nodded too, and stood without hesitation. "I'll go get him."
While Kurt was out of the room, Lauren turned to Sarah. "What do you think about this, short stuff?"
Sarah laughed. "Me?"
"You know your brother better than anybody else does." She shrugged. "What do you think he needs?"
"He needs to figure out a way to stop feeling bad about everything that happened to him when we were kids," she said. "But he wants to be in charge of himself."
Lauren snorted. "Well, that sure as hell ain't going to happen."
"Yeah, I know. So maybe if you can make him understand that's not really what he needs, his brain will be able to work on the first thing."
She nodded. "All right. I'll keep that in mind." Then she turned to Finn. "I'll write up a contract and bring it here after school tomorrow."
Finn was clearly affected by the idea of a contract, but he remained silent until Kurt came back downstairs, now in his formless sweatshirt, with Puck following behind. Finn and Lauren both rose from their chairs.
"We'll do it the way Carl taught us, if that's okay," he said. She nodded.
Puck's eyebrows went up higher on his head as he looked from Finn, to Kurt, to Lauren, and finally to Sarah.
"What's—"
"Shh," said Kurt. He swallowed, then put a hand on Puck's shoulder. "Rest."
Puck's eyes widened, and he looked back to Finn, almost in a panic. Finn just nodded his head, not moving from where he was. Finally, slowly, Puck put his hands behind his back, shuffling his feet until they were shoulder-width apart, and settled his gaze on some middle distance. He didn't wince or look sick, which Sarah thought was definitely a good sign.
"Noah," Finn said, and Puck's breath caught in his throat with a quiet noise. "Lauren is going to be taking care of you after school, for now. She's in charge. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," he whispered. His eyes didn't shift from the wall. Finn looked over at Kurt, who clenched his hands once before relaxing them again.
"We want you to be a good boy for her," Kurt said, his voice even. "You listen to what she tells you, okay?"
"Okay," Puck said. He sounded very okay with that idea.
"That's good." He looked at Lauren, furrowing his brow, but she was already stepping forward to stand in front of Puck. She was a little bit taller than he was, and she gazed levelly into his face.
"You're not going to kneel in front of this window," she said. "Or at school. But you should do it in your head, whenever we're together. Got that?"
"Uh—" His eyes were wide and shocked, but he nodded.
"Words, Puckerman."
"Yes ma'am?"
"That's fine," she said. Then she reached out and patted his chest, once. He didn't step out of rest position, but he did rock back a little. "You got any homework due tomorrow?"
"Some math," he said. He didn't hesitate. "I didn't do it. And there's that book we're reading in Brit Lit. I'm way behind."
She didn't look at Kurt or Finn. "Do the math before you go to bed," she said. "Lights out by ten-thirty. We'll start on Great Expectations tomorrow after football practice, my house."
"Yes, ma'am." He took a shaky breath, and let it out. "Thank you."
"I'll take that thanks," she said severely. "But eventually, you're going to have to tell them thank you. Not today, and not until you can do it without feeling bad. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"All right. Pick me up tomorrow morning at six-forty-five, and we'll head to the football field for some laps before school." She gestured with her chin. "That's all."
He nearly ran out of the room and back up the stairs. Sarah listened carefully, but she didn't hear any noises that indicated sickness. She nodded in satisfaction.
"That was awesome," she declared. Lauren burst out laughing, and reached out a hand. Sarah slapped it.
"Glad you approve, short stuff. Let's hold off on any summary judgment until we see how he does this week. He's not going to like the schedule I set for him."
"Yes, he will," Kurt said heavily. He was still watching the empty staircase. "He's going to love it."