Fic: The Fame Monster (4/?) (Kurt/Mike)
Title: The Fame Monster
Chapter: 4/?
Author: Invalidattempt
Characters/Pairings: Kurt, Mike, Mercedes, Artie. Kurt/Mike.
Length: 3,400 words approximately
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence. Lots and lots of swearing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, end of story, goodbye.
AN: Written for the Kurt/Mike Summer Love Fic Fest prompt #68: Movie star Kurt, Bodyguard Mike. The real reason Kurt Hummel never dates.
Summary: Mike Chang really doesn't like Kurt Hummel. Mike Chang thinks Kurt Hummel is a pretentious egotist obsessed with garnering media attention. Too bad Mike Chang's new job is protecting Kurt Hummel.
Chapters 1; 2; 3;
Mike had been working for Kurt Hummel for exactly one month the day he got home late and heard someone singing.
It had been another long, long day at work. Hummel had a movie premiering in a few days, and the fans had become rabid. It seemed like the very moment he and his boss stepped out the door someone would be there, asking for an autograph.
Occasionally, a particularly deluded fan would show up. This was why Mike had been hired: to keep the crazies from grabbing the golden boy. In the past week, at least five women and three men (and one scary toddler) had bypassed security around the set where Hummel was working and tried to enter his trailer.
It was therefore entirely understandable that Mike was in a terrible mood when he returned home from work. His knuckle was stinging from where the toddler had bit him, his shoulder ached after a woman swung a large purse undoubtedly full of bricks at him, and he had one of those skull-cracking migraines that no amount of Tylenol would ever fix. That last was all thanks to his boss.
Mike grumbled under his breath as he collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his temples with one hand. As the premiere of ‘In the Air’ approached, Hummel became more and more tense. While he had always been snide, he was becoming incredibly obnoxious under pressure. The insults and criticisms were coming hard and fast, directed at anyone who dared enter a twenty-foot radius of the star. Never more than now had Mike resented the fact that it was part of his job description to be silent.
He reached blindly for the coffee table in front of the couch, searching for the pack of Advil he had taken to leaving out for days just like this. Mike cursed as he realized that the packet was empty, (had he really had that many bad days?) so he made his way towards the kitchen for more.
It was as he was entering the kitchen that he began to hear the music. The kitchen in his apartment opened directly into a hallway that lead to his laundry room, and he could tell that was where the noise came from. Above the constant hum of the wash cycle, a pretty melody floated as someone sang.
Forgetting the Advil for the moment, Mike followed the music down the hall and into the next room, where he found Tina. She was sitting atop his old-fashioned washing machine, swaying to the beat with her eyes shut as she sang. Mike took a moment to enjoy the picture she made, all black-clad in the middle of the white, white room, before he spoke.
“Can’t you do laundry in your dorms?”
Tina’s eyes snapped open and the song stopped abruptly. She grinned widely at him, jumping off the washer and giving him a big hug. Mike smiled into her hair as all the badness of the day faded away.
As she pulled away, she said, “Yeah, I could, but then I’d have to pay. Everything’s free here!”
Mike chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her towards the kitchen.
It made him so happy seeing her like this, laughing and happy. University had changed her for the better - she was so much more confident now. When Mike had first met her, she was ten years old and could barely stutter out a shy greeting, standing half-hidden behind her father with her shoulders hunched. When their parents moved in together, Mike had done what he could to make her feel more comfortable, and she seemed to have appreciated it, but she never came fully out of her shell. He was twenty-one when he joined the army after his mother’s death, but Tina still hid behind her long hair when she spoke to people, and she still had that damn stutter.
He left the army as soon as he heard what had happened. He returned to find that all her insecurity had melted away once she started doing what she loved every day. Tina was an amazing singer, and in Juilliard she had found similarly talented people with similar goals. Of course there was loads of drama and vicious competition, but under the guidance of good teachers and a few new friends, Tina had thrived. She had left her stutter behind, and he had never seen her look happier.
Well, once the funeral was over she looked happier. But even then, she seemed stronger than before.
Mike was snapped from his thoughts as Tina opened the fridge, pulling out his leftover lasagna. He took it from her and popped it in the microwave, setting the timer.
“So,” he started, “How are things going at school?”
“Good, things are good. “ She smiled, and said, “That’s the piece I’m going to be performing on Friday. Do you like it?”
“It sounded great, Tina.”
The microwave dinged, and he pulled the lasagna out. He cut it in half, then put the two pieces onto two plates that Tina offered him. Mike handed one plate to Tina, then they went to sit at his small table.
“I’m not just here to do my laundry, you know, Mike.”
He raised an eyebrow in question at her, as he couldn’t ask himself- his mouth was full.
“You remember what’s coming up in a week, right? It’s Father’s Day, Mike. Last year, you forgot to ask Matt for the day off until the very last minute. I just wanted to remind you so that you could give K-Kurt a little more notice.”
He frowned, looking away. No matter how much his job annoyed him sometimes, he hated asking for time off. But maybe Hummel would take the day off too. He probably had rich parents hidden away somewhere, right? And if he went and visited them, then Mike would be free for the day.
He stood up to clear the plates as Tina went to go check on her laundry. Once she was out of sight, however, he pulled out the drawer beside the oven, shoving aside his spare tablecloth to grab his chequebook. He made out one of the cheques in Tina’s name, and then made his way to the front door where her coat and bag were lying, slipping it into one of her pockets. (He knew how tight money was for her, sometimes.)
And the next day he approached Hummel, just as he had promised Tina before she left.
Hummel had an appointment with some big-name designer that Mike had never heard of, because apparently the designer wanted Hummel to be wearing his clothes at the upcoming premiere. Mike, for the first time, followed him inside the building, instead of waiting outside like he normally did. As Hummel neared the front desk, however, he slowed, turning to stare inquisitively at Mike.
“What are you doing here?”
Mike sighed, scratching at the back of his neck, and trying to think of how to ask. Taking a full day off would seem excessive, probably, but he had promised…
“Do you have a mute button I need to switch off? If you’ve got something to say, just get on with it. I need to be on time to make sure the suit isn’t too flamboyant.” Mike couldn’t help raising his eyebrows pointedly, glancing down at the golden epaulets on Hummel’s hot pink shirt. Mike had no doubt this was considered the cutting-edge of fashion, but it was still definitely flamboyant.
Seeing where he was looking, Kurt glared up at him, explaining through clenched teeth, “I am the male love interest in this flick. No one will take screen-version-me seducing Blake Lively seriously if all they can think about is the feather boa I wore on the red carpet. Now, if you’re done wasting my time -”
“I need the nineteenth off. Next week.”
Hummel froze. He was staring at Mike with huge eyes, and seemed to be speechless.
Feeling compelled to continue, Mike said, “It’s Father’s Day -”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
“But -”
“I said we’ll talk about this later!”
Mike leaned back in surprise. He didn’t think he had ever seen Hummel so worked up: his fists were clenched, his face was ashen, and his deep voice was a low growl. Without another look at Mike, Hummel spun around and strode over to the front desk, completely ignoring him.
Fuming, Mike turned and left the building. What the hell was that?
Outside, Artie was leaning against his car, watching as Mercedes headed for the nearest Starbucks. Mike went to stand beside him. They stood in silence, as Mike raged in his head against his employer (why was he so damn unreasonable? God, Tina was going to be so disappointed), until finally Mike burst out, “I can’t stand him!”
Artie glanced at him in surprise, then said, “Who? Kurt?”
“Artie, you seem like a good guy,” Mike said. “Why the hell are you working for him?”
Artie chuckled at him, but when Mike scowled, he raised a placating hand. “Mike, I know Kurt can be a jerk, and he’s definitely a bitch sometimes, but- he’s not always like this. I don’t know why he’s giving you so much grief, but you see the way he is with me and ‘Cedes, it’s totally different. Besides, I owe him, like, everything.”
Mike gestured for him to continue. One more piece of the Hummel puzzle was about to be laid down.
“I’m going to be a dancer, Mike. But I come from a small town in Ohio, where good dance classes - classical dance classes - are damn hard to find. So I’m here, saving up my pennies until I can afford to go to a real dance school. Those things are freaking expensive, you know? But Kurt hired me - and now I’m making twice, maybe three times as much as I would at any other job.
Another year, maybe another two? I’ll be taking classes. I’ll be doing what I love! And then, there’s the big league; music videos, stuff like that. It’s my dream, and Kurt’s helping me make it happen.”
“Kurt? Kurt Hummel?”
Oh fuck. One of the people walking by must have been a fan.
“Oh my God!”
And suddenly people were gathering, crowding together on the sidewalk in front of the outlet, and while many of them were teenagers and middle-aged women there were a few bigger guys that could be trouble.
Mike spun to face Artie, but he was already talking. “Go grab Kurt, head for the back exit. I’ll be waiting.”
With a curt nod, Mike ran for the door, shoving through the people blocking his way. Once he made it into the building, he rushed towards the room he had seen Hummel enter. Ignoring the receptionist’s protests, he barged in, interrupting his boss mid-rant.
“You think I would be caught dead in bell-bottoms? Just because they’ve got a label on them doesn’t mean - Chang?”
Mike grabbed his arm roughly, steering him out of the room. Hummel struggled in his grasp for a moment (and he was stronger than he looked, Mike thought), before relenting, tossing the offending garment back at the red-faced designer.
“We’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands.”
Hummel sighed, jogging slightly to keep up with Mike’s quick pace as he searched for the exit sign. “It’s the fans, isn’t it? What with the premiere, I should have been expecting a rampant outbreak of obsession.”
As he swung open the door, Mike glanced at Hummel. He sounded harried, and he looked exhausted.
(Maybe fame isn’t treating him well. Well, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.)
A blast of fresh air hit their faces as they exited the building, blowing Mike’s hair into his eyes as he neared the car. He didn’t notice anything was wrong until the tinted window of the driver’s seat rolled down.
A stranger sat in Artie’s place.
“Get in the car, now, or I blast your man.”
He was a big man, broad and strong; he was probably one of those guys Mike had been worrying about out front. And he was pointing a gun at Artie’s head. Artie, who was sitting in the passenger seat, hands bound by one of his own suspenders.
Hummel was frozen beside the car, one hand on the door and every muscle in his body visibly tensed. His lips pursed, then he opened the door and got in.
Hummel was either very foolish, very brave, or more selfless than he had thought, Mike decided. He followed Hummel into the car. He shut the door, carefully so as not to startle the armed psycho, then attached his seat belt. (After his mother’s death, he had promised Tina the same thing wouldn’t happen to him. No flying through windshields for Michael Chang.)
The man in the front struggled to work out how to start the car without putting down the gun, but Mike’s attention was focused on Artie. The kid (although he wasn’t really, not much younger than Mike, but still not much older than Tina, and, God, don’t think about her now) was trembling, his face was bloodless under his tan, and his eyes were fixed somewhere behind Mike’s head.
Mike twisted slightly, staring out the rear window of Artie’s SUV until he saw what was behind him.
Mercedes was making her way down the alley, balancing a tray of Starbucks coffees in one hand and texting with her other. She was headed right for the car, and so right for the maniac behind the wheel.
Just then, the car snapped forward as the man up front worked out his conundrum, and Mike was snapped back into a regular seated position facing forward, but not before he saw Mercedes’ eyes widen as she saw them leave.
The car sped around the corner out of the alley, heading down the mostly empty main road at break-neck speed. The driver kept one hand on the steering wheel while the other pointed the gun at Artie’s head. He turned his eyes from the road to face Hummel (and Mike really wished he wouldn’t do that.)
“Hiya, Mr. Hummel. Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Dave, and I’m a huuuuge fan.”
‘Dave’ spoke conversationally, but he was leering in a way that worried Mike.
“I hope you don’t mind this little detour from your everyday schedule,” and he said ‘schedule’ in that snooty, upper-class British way where the ‘sch-‘ sounds like ‘sh’, “but I just saw your man out there and had to act. Carpe diem and all.”
The man was almost definitely mocking Hummel, Mike decided, which meant that this wasn’t going to be one of those cases where the assailant just wanted to make some celebrity a cup of tea but wasn’t sure how to ask. Whatever Dave was intending, it wouldn’t end well for Hummel, and it looked like he knew it. He sat rigidly straight behind the passenger seat, eyes flicking back and forth between Artie and the driver.
Dave stepped a little harder on the gas pedal.
If he leaned over slightly, Mike could see the odometer. Dave was pushing 60 mph, and he still wasn’t watching the road. Mike was about to comment on it (‘Kidnapping is pointless if the target is dead’ or something like that) when the sirens started wailing, a chorus of jarring angels to Mike’s ears.
He allowed himself a tiny smile; Mercedes must have realised what was going on. For all her diva issues, she was incredibly quick on the uptake. Mike swayed a little to the right so that he could see the road reflected in the rear-view mirror.
No less than three police cars were following them.
Dave swore violently as he also checked the mirror. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all. God damn!”
He was sweating profusely, eyes darting from side to side for an escape. He tried a sharp turn down a side street, but the cops weren’t shaken.
Mike watched Dave nervously. He was reaching the stage of ‘fight or flight’ where people did stupid, stupid things to save their own skins. Stupid, stupid things that could put any one of the other three passengers at risk.
The sirens were getting louder as the cars got nearer, ringing in Mike’s ears. Dave was throwing panicked glances over his shoulder, and his driving grew more and more hectic, veering from side to side.
And then one of the police cars drew up beside the passenger door.
“Fuck.”
And then Dave was grabbing Artie with one hand, Artie who didn’t have his seatbelt on, and he was kicking the door open with one foot (Christ, they were definitely going to crash!). And then he was shoving Artie out of the car, hands bound and eyes wide, and Artie was slamming into the police car.
A violent cry was torn from Hummel as he watched, high-pitched and feral.
Everything slowed down.
Artie was out of the car, which meant Dave had no more collateral, which meant Mike could act.
The sirens, while still going, faded into the background as Mike grabbed the headrest of the passenger seat, pulled himself to the side to create a clear path from his foot to Dave’s head.
As his foot flew out, Mike could see the minute widening of Dave’s eyes as he realised what was happening, he could see Dave’s hands gripping the wheel tighter, and then… impact.
And Dave crashed forward, head smashing against the wheel, and the car swung to the left completely out of control, and they were crashing and Hummel wasn’t wearing his seat belt!
Letting go of the headrest, Mike snapped back into his seat, one arm shooting out and grabbing Hummel as he went. He reeled Hummel in and clutched him tightly to his own body, twisting to shield him as all the world exploded around them.
Then everything was fire and sharp and glass but his heart was still beating and Hummel was warm in his arms, one hand clinging to his bicep and the other pressed against his chest.
Hummel had his head tucked under Mike’s chin, and he was mumbling quietly. Mike could hear policemen shouting, he could hear new sirens signalling the arrival of the paramedics, but he couldn’t hear what Hummel mumbled.
Mike reached (and Jesus that hurt - there was probably some glass digging into his arm) and undid the seatbelt, then pushed Hummel towards the undamaged door on the side opposite the impact. Hummel fumbled with the lock, then pulled the handle and shoved the door open, falling out onto the hard pavement. Mike followed carefully, standing up and gazing around in dazed shock.
An ambulance had pulled up beside Artie’s prone body (was he breathing? Mike couldn’t tell.) The NYPD were parking all around them, while policemen ran to check on them. Others were trying to figure out how to extricate Dave’s (mangled) body from the wreckage. Hummel sat at his feet, leaning against the car. He looked like a mess; his hair fell haphazardly and his prized clothes were now dirty and ripped. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was shaking, staring into the distance towards the ambulance. Now that they were out, Mike could hear what he was saying.
“Artie. Oh God, Artie.”
Mike knelt in front of him, feeling all the aches in his body come alive with the simple movement. He put his hands on Hummel’s shoulders, and shook him lightly until he met Mike’s eyes.
“Come on, Hummel, it’s okay. We’re out, we’re safe, we’re fine.”
Hummel looked up at him with huge green eyes that were glazed with horror. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and unusually high.
“He was going to be a dancer, you know. He was so good. I don’t think he can dance anymore.”
“Hummel, chill out. Deep breaths, Hu- Kurt. Deep breaths. You’re hyper-ventilating, Kurt; if you don’t breathe properly, you are going to pass out.”
Hummel looked up at him, confusion etched all over his face. He took a few deep breaths, but when he spoke his voice remained at the same pitch. “I’ll be fine, Chang. Don’t you think you should be worrying about Artie, instead of me? He flew out of a fucking car, in case you’d forgotten.”
… He did seem to be breathing normally. “But your voice - you can’t be breathing properly, you can’t be calm, are you sure you aren’t hurt? Your voice, it’s too -”
Hummel sat up rigidly. His mouth tightened and his eyes snapped wide. He looked terrified.
Hold on.
He was breathing normally? He wasn’t totally freaking out? Then why - why -
Oh.
Christ.
It’s too high.
AN: Okay guys, three more chapters and we’re done. They should all be shorter than this one, so hopefully I’ll meet the deadline…
Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!