Fic: The Fame Monster (5/7) (Kurt/Mike)
Title: The Fame Monster (5/7)
Author: Invalidattempt
Characters/Pairings: Only Kurt and Mike in this one, but mention of some other characters. Kurt/Mike.
Words: 2, 400 ~
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Glee, nor do I own Doogie Howser.
AN: Written for the Kurt/Mike Summer Love Fic Fest prompt #68: Movie star Kurt, Bodyguard Mike, why 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.
A heavy silence hung in the air in the back seat of the taxi. Mike stared out his window, listening with half an ear to the radio, where Britney was singing about a girl named ‘Lucky’. He could feel Hummel’s nervous stare burning into the back of his head, but he forced himself not to turn around. Instead, he watched blindly as cars and buildings and people rushed past. Even as he looked at them, all he could see was Artie being wheeled into an ambulance, and all he could hear was Hummel’s voice, high and melodious and urgent as he begged, “Don’t say a word. Not one word. Just - just wait. Please.”
The cab pulled up outside Hummel’s apartment, and Mike shoved the door open with a bit more force than necessary. He leaned against the car in the humid summer air, listening to Hummel pay the driver, listening to Hummel thank him, voice once again deep. Then Mike followed Hummel into the building.
The ride up to the seventh floor was quiet. Once they got out of the elevator, Hummel strode to the door of his apartment, fumbling with his key for a moment before successfully unlocking the door. His hands were trembling.
Hummel vanished into one of the rooms as soon as they got in, leaving Mike to wander aimlessly around the living room. The couch looked comfortable, and he knew it would be heaven to let his tired and banged-up body relax, but he felt incredibly restless, so instead he examined the bookshelves, chuckling quietly at the selection (Harry Potter, The Art of War, Pride and Prejudice, and a complete set of the Calvin and Hobbes treasuries caught his eye.) Then, he moved to look at a collection of pictures assembled above the electric fireplace.
There were many photos hung above the fireplace, photos of Hummel with Mercedes, a couple of photos of him posing with Quinn, one of Santana and Brittany kissing his cheeks as he blushed furiously red, even one taken as he won an Emmy for his guest star role on Ugly Betty. The glass of the frames glinted with light reflected from the faux-chandelier that hung in the middle of the room.
On the mantelpiece, however, there were only three photos. In the center, in a beautiful frame, stood a photo of a small, bright-eyed Kurt Hummel gesticulating at a poster for the Mickey Mouse Club as a woman smiled proudly at him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. She had chestnut-brown hair and the same wide green eyes as Hummel did.
The second photo showed Hummel smiling, waving at the camera, with Sue Sylvester standing behind him, one hand on his shoulder, unintentionally copying the pose from the other photo. Here, Hummel looked older, like he was carrying a weight with him. He couldn’t be more than sixteen, but his smile looked strained.
The final picture was, oddly, facing the wall, as though someone had turned it away. Mike couldn’t help his burgeoning curiosity, so he glanced around quickly and saw that Hummel was still in the other room. Mike picked up the photo, flipping it around to examine it. It was framed simply, and wasn’t of particularly good quality; it was a little blurred and the photo had been taken from a strange angle. Mike inspected the photo and discovered that this was because the photo was being taken by the man in the photo. The man was grinning broadly into the camera, face ruddy and set with twinkling eyes, as he mussed up Hummel’s hair. Hummel’s face, laughing despite an expression of outrage, had been caught by the camera, preserved in a moment of happiness. Mike stared at Hummel, stuck in the headlock of a large man in flannel and looking more alive than Mike had ever seen him, and felt his throat tighten.
The sound of a door swinging open had Mike swiftly replacing the photo so that it was once again facing the wall, and swinging around to face Hummel as he finally exited his room. He had removed his ruined clothes, and now wore a simple oversized T-shirt over a pair of leggings. It was a strange look, but somehow it worked. He looked young, so, so young, and Mike realized that if Hummel had been nine the year the ‘All-New MMC’ had ended, as Tina had said, that meant Hummel was a whole year younger than him. It was a disorienting thought; Hummel always seemed so together. His constant air of superiority aged him thoroughly.
Feeling a sudden sting of pain, Mike inspected his arm as Hummel made for the kitchen. The paramedics had been frantically working with Artie, and hadn’t had much time for either of the other two survivors. They had dealt with the few major cuts Mike had obtained in the collision, and made them promise to check in with a doctor as soon as possible, then hurried away to the gurney Artie was being strapped on, muttering worrying things about ‘spine’ and ‘fractures’ and ‘permanent’. In the rush, it seemed they had missed a scrape on his arm.
“Do you have any band-aids?” He asked.
Hummel paused as he opened the fridge, then turned and pointed wordlessly towards a door off the hallway. (Mike wondered if Hummel thought not talking would make him forget what he had heard, earlier.)
The door opened into a luxurious bathroom, complete with Jacuzzi-tub. Mike allowed himself a moment to drool with envy, then began opening the cupboards searching for bandages.
Once he found them, he returned to the kitchen. Hummel was sipping a glass of milk, his eyes following Mike as he moved. Mike settled onto one of the couches, opening the box of band-aids. He stopped when he heard Hummel clear his throat.
Hummel met his gaze for a moment, then averted his eyes. Quietly, he said, (and his voice was high and it sounded so natural and yet unnatural, too) “How much do you want?”
There was a beat of silence as Mike processed this question.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Hummel snapped acidly. He was no longer staring determinedly at the counter top; instead, he was glaring intensely into Mike’s eyes. “How much will it cost to keep you from going to the press?”
Mike returned the glare with equal animosity. “How about some answers? How about you explain how America’s ‘most eligible bachelor’ somehow actually has the voice of a chipmunk?”
Hummel gaped at him.
(Okay, Mike acknowledged, that was a little harsh.)
Hummel’s face was pale and his fists were clenched with rage as he spat, “Why the fuck do you think, Chang?”
Honestly, Mike couldn’t think of a single reason.
“Are you a woman?”
Now Hummel wasn’t pale; his face had flushed bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. He snarled, “Are you for real? Do you need me to whip it out so you can check?”
Mike was about to yell back that he didn’t know, he was so damn confused because all of a sudden some things were making sense but so many more weren’t making any sense at all. But in his head he could see those pictures of little Kurt, of happy Kurt, and he thought that maybe here, right now, this was his chance to figure out what had changed between then and now. He took a deep breath, then let it out. When he looked back up, Hummel was once again staring at the counter as though it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries, not even noticing the little trickle of blood streaking down from where he’d grazed his cheek when he’d fallen out of the car in his rush to escape.
Mike stood up slowly, repressing a groan as he felt his muscles strain, and approached the counter, box of band-aids in hand. He wrapped a hand around Hummel’s bicep and lead him to a seat perched next to the island in the middle of the kitchen. Instead of using the chair, Hummel hoisted himself up to sit daintily on top of the island. As he settled himself, Mike turned to the sink, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it.
Without turning around again, he asked, “Why would I go to the tabloids?”
A bitter chuckle came from behind him, then Hummel replied, “For publicity. If anyone found out, it would ruin me. I’d never work again, probably.”
Mike felt that angry knot in the pit of his stomach clench, but he kept his hand steady as he returned to Hummel and began to clean the graze with the wet cloth. He knew, however, that his anger was clear in his voice as he said through clenched teeth, still diligently wiping the scrape, “So it’s about your career. You’ve been lying for - God, it must be years now. You’ve been lying to advance your career. You’ll do anything for fame, won’t you?”
Hummel tensed beneath his hands, but he didn’t move. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “What makes you think that, Chang?”
Mike lowered the cloth and grabbed a band-aid from the box, then he straightened to look Hummel in the eye. “The fancy clothes, all the interviews - do you do one every single week? It feels like it.”
He bit back the last part of his answer, the accusation that had been dancing on the tip of his tongue for weeks now.
Hummel’s breath hitched slightly as Mike leaned in to place the band-aid down across his cheek, but said, “You hesitated. Spit it out, Chang. What exactly have I done that makes you so angry, what have I done to further my own popularity?”
Having finished with the band-aid, Mike inspected his work, then braced himself with his hands against the top of the island, effectively trapping Hummel. Reading the challenge in his eyes, Mike finally breathed, “You came out to the world on national television. You said you were gay.”
Hummel was staring at him now; it wasn’t a glare, it wasn’t a scowl, he was staring at Mike with confusion in his eyes.
Mike continued, feeling the relief of honesty, finally honesty, coursing through his veins. “You just hopped on the band-wagon. It didn’t hurt that guy - who was it? It didn’t hurt , uh, ‘Doogie Howser’s’ reputation at all. Did you think it would give you an edge, so that you wouldn’t be just another cardboard-cut-out celebrity, so that people would think you were an actual person, not just a figure on a screen? Did you just decide, well, one more lie couldn’t hurt? What-”
“Stop.”
The command was quiet, but intense.
“I am gay.”
Mike snorted in disbelief.
Hummel jumped off of his perch to stand in front of Mike, forcing him to take a step back. Mike cursed himself inwardly for allowing Hummel that advantage, so he stepped back, crowding Hummel’s personal space. Neither gave an inch, glaring face-to-face in front of the island in the brightly lit kitchen.
Hummel scowled at him, saying, “Why do you get to deny what I’m saying? You don’t get to decide whether or not I like men, you know. If you have a problem with it, that’s your issue -”
“But that’s just it, Hummel,” Mike stated calmly, “I did my research for this job. If you really like men, why haven’t you ever dated a man?”
And there it was.
Mike waited, full of certainty that Hummel wouldn’t have a reply. What could he say to that, anyway? He was shocked when Hummel burst out into a loud peal of laughter, head thrown back as the light in the kitchen highlighted the line of his throat. He laughed so hard he clutched at his sides, but his eyes were wild and angry.
Gasping for breath, Hummel leaned back against the island for support. He said, “That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? I don’t date men?”
Mike glanced away, mind clouding with doubt. (But, but...)
“I don’t date men, Chang. I don’t date anybody! How could I?” Hummel leaned forward now, getting into his face, and Mike found he couldn’t look away from those desperately unhappy eyes. “How can I date anybody without them finding out? Without them finding out, without them telling everybody? Maybe they wouldn’t; maybe I’d find a nice guy. But that nice guy would have family. He’d have friends. And he’d let it slip, and then they’d let it slip, and then I’d be working as a waiter for the rest of my life, because no one would hire me if they knew I talked like this.”
Hummel seemed to hunch in on himself. He dropped his gaze, and Mike felt like he was being released from some kind of hypnosis; for a minute there, he had felt like he couldn’t breathe, he was so caught in the impassioned speech and the vivid eyes.
Wrapping his arms around himself, Hummel spoke quietly. “I’ve been lying to the whole world since I was sixteen years old, since Sue told me I’d be typecast as the ‘gay best friend’ forever if I didn’t hit puberty. I’ve lost everything. Coming out, it was the only honesty I could afford. I was able to say, ‘this is me’ and have it be the truth.”
Guilt filled Mike’s throat like bile, sour and impossible to repress.
“Hummel...” He corrected himself. “Kurt. I’m sorry.”
Kurt closed his eyes, but nodded.
“I’ve put my foot in my mouth a hundred times tonight,” Mike admitted, “and I might be about to do it one more time. It’s just - wouldn’t it be better to just tell the truth? You’re talented, people have seen what you can do, it wouldn’t be the end of your acting career or anything.”
Kurt rubbed at his temples, and Mike smiled a little at the familiar gesture. That was something he did all the time, too. “Please, Ch - Mike, please try to understand.” He gestured helplessly, then continued, “Maybe it wouldn’t be that big a deal. Maybe everything would be fine. But I just can’t risk it. This is what I do; I act. I love my job. When there’s a camera rolling, and I’m surrounded by competent people doing their jobs, and I know that everything is going to work, that makes me more happy than I can possibly say. I can’t risk that.”
And maybe Mike did understand. He understood because when he fought, when he moved, he felt more happy than he could possibly say, too. And so he nodded. They stood in quiet solidarity under the bright light in the kitchen, because they’d both run out of words.
AN: Just two more parts! Please pardon any shoddy editing or writing- I’m trying to meet a deadline. This chapter was a lot of talking, but I hope it explained a couple of things about both Kurt and Mike for those of you who were confused. Thanks for the reviews from the last chapter, I wasn’t very happy with my work on that one so I appreciated the encouragement.
Please leave a comment, your kind words speed my typing as I try to finish two more chapters before midnight tomorrow!