Stop Loss: Chapter 29, Part 2
But wait, there's more!
The rest of the week flew by in a flurry of classes and rehearsals, homework and shop paperwork and doctor's appointments until suddenly it was Thursday night, less than 48 hours before the National Show Choir Competition was scheduled to begin. Two district busses would be arriving at Carmel by 7:30 the next morning to take Vocal Adrenaline-and their massive amounts of luggage and costumes-to the airport for their 10:15 flight to LAX, and Kurt's suitcase was already waiting by the front door, only the few items that he'd need in the morning left unpacked.
Burt was distracted after dinner by a phone call from one of his old high school buddies, so it was easy for Kurt to slip out of the house as the sun was setting, leaving a note on the table claiming that he was out picking up a few more travel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner for his trip. Well aware of Kurt's distrust of hotel-provided toiletries, his dad probably would have believed him anyway, but if Kurt had to lie to Burt at all, he preferred to do it on paper.
And in this case, a lie was necessary: the idea of explaining to Burt why he had to go to the Zoo on a Thursday night-the Thursday night right before his flight to Los Angeles, no less-was just too much for Kurt.
Blaine's lions had gotten so big since the first time that Kurt had seen them. They still weren't finished growing, if the size of their mother was any indication, but Kurt couldn't think of them as babies anymore, the way that he initially had. They were almost too big for their exhibit, even counting the large outdoor pen that was attached to their indoor room, and Kurt had no idea what the zoo was going to do with them once they had fully grown up, leaving them with four adult cats.
"They'd better keep you," he murmured quietly, watching the one little lion who was closest to the fence as she paced, the only one of the three no-longer-cubs who wasn't sleeping in the corner. "Blaine loves you so much."
Blaine. If there was anyone in the world that Kurt wanted to call about his Academy letter, it was Blaine. He still had no idea what to do about the summer and his dad, even though he'd been thinking it over like Burt and Shelby had both suggested, nor did he have a clue what would be best for him anymore-and even if Blaine didn't have any answers either, at least Kurt would feel safe and loved instead of so hopelessly alone.
But Blaine had asked for space and Kurt had promised to give it to him, and Kurt was determined to keep his promises this time, even when they became difficult not to break. So he had come to see the closest thing he had left to Blaine, instead.
The little awake lion had stopped her pacing and was sniffing in his direction, and Kurt smiled sadly back at her. "I don't know which one you are," he admitted softly, "Mali or Priya, or-I don't know. But Blaine does, and I know that he must drive out here from school to see you, or maybe he comes on the weekends."
He paused, gripping the fence with both hands. "The next time he's here, tell him I love him, okay? And that I miss him, and that I know that he needs more time, but everything is just so much harder without him, and-"
Kurt cut himself off, inhaling sharply.
The lion looked at him. If she recognized him, she didn't show it-or maybe she did, and Kurt was just a dumb human who couldn't see what was right in front of him.
"Sorry," he apologized stupidly, closing his eyes. "You were probably doing just fine until I got here, weren't you?"
When Kurt looked up again, the lion was lying down on the ground, watching him with her inscrutable expression that could have meant anything or nothing at all. "Right," he muttered faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. "Sorry to dump all of that on you; I just miss him. But that's not your fault."
He glanced at his watch, then grimaced. "I've got about three minutes before they lock the gates with me inside, so I should go," he informed the lion-Priya, he decided; maybe he was wrong, but it was easier to think of her by any name, whether he was accurate or not.
As if she would have known the difference. "Goodnight, Princess," he sighed, heading toward the door. "I'll see you when I get back to Ohio."
She blinked a sleepy goodbye at him on his way out, and Kurt drove home in the dark, hoping that Burt would still be on the phone when he got home.
He slept badly that night, images of Blaine feeding his lions and smiling beautifully keeping him awake until nearly dawn.
The flight to California was predictably boring. Under strict instructions not to speak unless it was absolutely necessary (a strained vocal cord was worse than a bullet wound during Nationals), to finish their airline-provided pretzels and bottles of water (the usual method of replacing lost fluids with an IV drip would leave needle marks, so avoiding dehydration was key), and not to fall asleep (the time zone change was not in their favor as it was), there wasn't much left for the team to do but read or watch the in-flight movie.
One look at Adam Sandler's face in what obviously wasn't The Wedding Singer was enough to have Kurt scrambling for his book.
Once the plane touched down in LA, it was more of the same: a shuttle bus waiting for them at the airport whisked them off to the hotel where they (and at least three other teams, given the commotion in the lobby) were staying, three blocks away from the Convention Center where the competition was being held. Shelby went alone to register Vocal Adrenaline, giving everyone an hour and a half to unpack and freshen up before they spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in last-minute rehearsals for the next day, only stopping for a thirty minute dinner break.
"Apparently,we used to go to the official Kickoff Meet & Greet, instead of being confined to our hotel floor the night before the competition," James confided in Kurt from the desk in their suite that evening, where he was trying to access the hotel's wireless network. "But rumor has it that someone from one of the other teams tried to sabotage us the year that Nationals were in Baltimore by sneaking shellfish into our lead singer's pasta. She went into anaphylactic shock and had to be rushed to the hospital, and now Shelby carries half a dozen EpiPens in her purse and won't let us go anywhere, just in case."
Andy, who was sprawled across his and Kurt's bed-with four people to a room, everyone was sharing with someone else-looked morbidly interested. "Did they ever catch who did it?" he asked, eyes lit up with interest.
James shrugged. "I don't know for sure; that was Alicia's freshman year, so I was only eight or nine at the time," he explained, naming the elder of his two big sisters, both of whom had also been in Vocal Adrenaline.
His smile took on a dangerous quality. "I do seem to remember something about the third place team's auditorium being permanently closed that summer, though," he added, keeping his tone neutral. "Something about five hundred pounds of rotting oysters contaminating the whole building during a record-breaking heat wave."
They went to bed soon after that, mindful of their 5:30am wakeup call, and Kurt fell asleep listening to James's hushed voice as he told them story after story about Vocal Adrenaline, passing down more of his sisters' stories as well as telling his own.
"Four years," he murmured after a while, just as Kurt was finally drifting off. "It's hard to believe that everything ends on Sunday."
Despite being 5th in the program lineup, Vocal Adrenaline was the first team to arrive at the Convention Center on Saturday morning, stumbling in the front door with their Carmel-subsidized Starbucks immediately behind the head of the building's custodial staff, who looked as tired as Kurt felt.
An hour and a half later, the stage was discreetly marked with thin strips of glow-in-the-dark tape, indicating their starting positions for each number, their costumes were securely locked in VA's private dressing room (theirs until 2:30, when it would be taken over by an all-girl choir from Miami), and Shelby had commandeered one of the dozen pianos scattered throughout the building and was leading everyone in an extended vocal warm-up. Despite not being entirely awake yet-jet lag was a vicious, vindictive bitch-Kurt found it relatively easy to concentrate on the tone and tenor of his voice, and then on the comfortable stretching of his muscles when Ben began their familiar dance warm-up.
Or maybe being tired is actually helping, he mused, as Shelby gave them a final pep talk before dismissing them for half an hour, ordering them to be back in the dressing room when the first group took the stage in order to get costumed and made up before their own call time. If I'm not awake, I can't be nervous about singing my first competition solo in front of eight thousand people.
Checking his watch, Kurt grabbed his phone out of his duffle bag and weaved his way through his teammates and out into the hall. If he hurried, he could squeeze in one last phone call to his dad before Burt left for the afternoon shift at the shop.
Or maybe wake him up-he could never remember what time zone he was in, relative to home.
Kurt was ten feet away from the dressing room door when his phone rang in his hand, twenty-eight minutes later.
He didn't even look at it as he answered. "I'll be there in five seconds," he promised whichever one of his impatient teammates that was calling him, "I'm right outside."
Grabbing the door handle, Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear, ready to hang up and turn the sound off until after the competition.
And stopped, frozen in place: Blaine's picture was lit up on the screen, dark eyes smiling shyly at him through impossibly long eyelashes.
Kurt's hand flew back up to his ear so quickly that he nearly dropped the phone. "Blaine?" he asked hurriedly, his mouth suddenly dry and his stomach clenching with more nerves than he'd felt all day.
There was a long, terrible pause, and Kurt was almost beginning to worry that Blaine had hung up on him-or, even worse, that he had pocket-dialed him by mistake and hadn't really wanted to talk to him at all-when he heard a soft sigh.
"…Hi, Kurt," Blaine said quietly.
Kurt's eyes were suddenly, messily filled with tears, and he let go of the doorknob and sat down with his back against the nearest wall before his legs could betray him and collapse. "Hi," he breathed back just as softly, too mentally incoherent to say anything else.
It seemed to be enough for Blaine, however, and Kurt's grip on the phone grew painfully tight as he instinctively pressed it closer to his ear.
"I just…" Blaine began, before sighing and starting over. "I wanted to call and wish you-break a leg, today."
He paused. "I didn't know when you were going on, though, since I don't know the performance order, and the time difference and everything," he rambled apologetically. "Am I too late?"
Kurt shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Blaine couldn't see him. "No," he managed to gasp, choking back a sob even as tears were running freely down his cheeks, "No, we're not on for another half an hour; you're not too late."
Kurt heard a strangled hiss over the phone, and Blaine's voice was pained as he spoke. "Oh no, don't-don't cry," he stammered. "Kurt, pleasedon't cry. God, I shouldn't have called, I should have-"
"Don't you dare hang up," Kurt cut him off mid-sentence. "So what if I'm crying, I don't care."
"But you have to sing," Blaine reminded him, "and-"
"I don't care," Kurt repeated, not bothering to keep the tears out of his voice anymore. "You're here, that's what I care about. It's been weeks,and I've been-I didn't know how much I needed to hear your voice until right now."
"I'm so sorry, Kurt," Blaine choked out, clearly starting to cry as well. "I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you. I've missed you so much."
Kurt's tears were beginning to soak the collar of his shirt, and he wiped his face distractedly with his sleeve. "I miss you too," he managed to reply, "god, Blaine. It's been so hard without you."
"I know," Blaine answered quickly, his breath hitching, "I know. I have post it notes all over the place in my school notebooks, in my dorm room-every time I think of something that I want to tell you and you aren't there. There must be hundreds of them, by now."
Kurt opened his mouth-he didn't know what he was going to say, but that hadn't stopped him so far-but before he could speak, there was a hand on his shoulder.
"Kurt, we've gotta go," someone was saying, and Kurt shook his head, wanting whoever it was to leave him alone. The hand gripped his shirt insistently, however, and Kurt looked up to see Sasha staring down at him, a worried expression on her face.
He sighed. "I have to go," he told Blaine sadly, feeling his chest tightening anxiously, "I'm supposed to be-"
"No, I know, I'm sorry," Blaine interrupted, sounding as wrecked as Kurt felt. "You're going to be amazing today, Kurt. I love you so much."
A fresh wave of tears filled Kurt's eyes. "Can I call you?" he asked quickly, before Blaine could hang up. "When I get back to Ohio? I need to-I just really want to see you again, or even just talk to you, if you're not ready."
"I-yeah," Blaine stammered, exhaling softly in Kurt's ear. "Yes. Call me when you get home. I-I want that, too."
Kurt bit down on his lip to keep from sobbing with relief. "I will," he promised. "I can't wait. I really have to go, though."
Blaine laughed. "Go, Kurt. I love you."
Kurt closed his eyes, smiling. "I love you, too. I'll talk to you soon."
He waited for Blaine's quiet "Bye, Kurt," before hanging up, then turned his phone off and handed it to Sasha.
Her face softened as she slipped it into her pocket. "You are so late," she admonished gently, holding out a hand and helping him to his feet. "And your face is a mess."
Kurt grimaced, feeling the salty tear tracks on his cheeks as they pulled slightly at his skin. "I know," he agreed apologetically. "I'm sorry."
Sasha nodded. "Did you do what you needed to do?" she wanted to know. When Kurt nodded back, she smiled softly at him. "Go wash your face, and I'll do your makeup," she ordered, turning him around and steering him toward the men's room. "Your eyes are so bloodshot, you'd probably stab yourself in the face with the mascara wand, and then we'd all be in trouble."
Kurt couldn't help but sniff a little. "I love you," he told Sasha, who rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, well, you just love everyone right now, don't you," she pointed out, smirking. "Tell you what-get through this performance, and maybe I'll return the favor."
The curtain was made of heavy black velvet; sprinkled with dust and close enough that Kurt could have reached out and touched it, if he'd wanted to. Vocal Adrenaline's championship performance the year before had begun with everyone backstage, and Kurt had forgotten at some point that the stagehands lowered the main curtain between groups at Nationals, in order to give each choir the same opportunity to set up in privacy.
With nothing but a wall of fabric and twenty feet of empty space separating him from several thousand people, all of whom were eager to see what the Vocal Adrenaline Machine was going to pull off this year, however, it seemed impossible to Kurt that he could have forgotten the only protection he had left. The anxiety that had been absent all weekend was finally beginning to catch up with him, and Kurt took a deep, shuddering breath, determined to calm back down before his lungs began to spasm.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so incredibly small. He wished his dad was there. And his mom. And Blaine.
Blaine.
Out in the auditorium, the thunderous voice of the Master of Ceremonies announced Vocal Adrenaline's name and defending championship status, and the sound of applause filled the room, ringing in Kurt's ears and overwhelming all of the nervous voices in his head.
Whether he was ready or not, it was Showtime.
Slowly, the curtain began to rise.
When Shelby had first played Kurt the song that she wanted him to sing at Nationals, all the air had rushed out of his lungs, and he'd struggled to hold himself together even as he refused.
"I can't sing that," he'd argued weakly, "not after-it's just too much right now, Shelby. I'm sorry."
Shelby had shaken her head in disagreement. "It's the perfect song for you, and you know it," she'd maintained. "I know everything feels a little distressing for you right now, and that's all right. Use it."
"I can't," Kurt had persisted, aware that she had a point but still unwilling to face it. "Jesse can do it; he's got the range for it, and-"
"Jesse is an incredibly gifted singer," Shelby had interrupted evenly, "but he doesn't sing with his heart. You do, Kurt, and I haven't always encouraged that because I thought that you needed time to build up your dynamics and raw abilities, first. But it's time, Kurt, and the only thing that's going to stop you from being extraordinary is you. You can do this."
Behind him, Danny played a quiet opening note, and the familiar music began.
Gripping the microphone in front of him so tightly that a tiny, detached part of himself was surprised when it didn't shatter in his hand, Kurt took a deep breath and began to sing.
"I found the pieces in my hand; they were always there, it just took some time for me to understand;
You gave me words I just can't say, so if nothing else, I'll just hold on while you drift away…"
His voice, high and clear, rang out beautifully in the enormous space, cleaner and sadder and more breathtaking than it had ever been before. He didn't take the time to appreciate it, diving into the chorus as a small cross-section of singers softly began to harmonize underneath the melody. Jesse was among them, Kurt knew, but for once his voice didn't stand out from the group-he was blending perfectly with the others, letting Kurt have his moment without trying to overshadow him.
Kurt was grateful to him for that.
"The cities grow, the rivers flow; where you are I never know, but I'm still here,
If you were right and I was wrong, why are you the one who's gone and I'm still here?"
The rest of Vocal Adrenaline was onstage by the end of the bridge, but Kurt didn't turn around, choosing instead to close his eyes as he started the third, and the hardest, verse:
"I held the pieces of my soul; I was shattered, and I wanted you to come and make me whole,
And then I saw you yesterday, but you didn't notice,
And you just walked away."
Forcing his eyes open, Kurt let the choir carry him through the chorus. Everything he was feeling-all the grief and longing and sadness and anger and hope, most of all hope-was written all over him, and that, so much more than being the loudest or the most precise, was what mattered.
Which was good, because Kurt couldn't have stopped it for anything. Not after his conversation with Blaine had stripped away all of his defenses and left him, raw and exposed, on the stage in front of everyone.
And besides that, he had a song to finish.
"The lights go out, the bridges burn, once you've gone you can't return, but I'm still here,
Remember how you used to say I'd be the one to run away, but I'm still here.
I'm still here."
The applause was deafening, and only grew louder as the crowd rose to its feet and gave Kurt Hummel his first personal standing ovation.
Smiling professionally, Kurt took a single, appreciative bow, and then quietly exited the stage as the team arranged themselves for the next number.
As anyone at the competition could have predicted in their sleep, the rest of Vocal Adrenaline's performance was exquisitely flawless.
Mindful of the abrupt emotional transition between Kurt's solo and the group number that followed it, Shelby had pulled Kurt out of the second piece, putting two sopranos on the countertenor part with Andy and giving him a few minutes to recover and change outfits before Jesse closed out their set with his stunning, highly anticipated rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. The vocals were more than solid, the dancing was crisp and visually spectacular, and as the curtain finally fell-Jesse had bowed three times, to tremendous accolades-it briefly occurred to Kurt that he felt incredibly sorry for whichever unlucky choir was sixth in the program lineup.
According to the fliers posted in every hallway, dressing room, and restroom in the building, eighteen of the twenty-nine groups that had both qualified and made it to Nationals were scheduled to perform on Saturday. The other eleven would finish early the next afternoon, giving the judges plenty of time to deliberate and finalize their rankings before the Awards Presentation and the official Closing Ceremonies on Sunday evening. Except for the awards, which were mandatory for obvious reasons, only the freshmen were required to stay for any of it (or else be forcibly shipped back to the hotel). The rest of the older students were welcome to remain and watch the other performances if they felt like it, but were otherwise free to explore Los Angeles-"In groups of three or more, and legal activities only," Shelby had warned them sternly the night before, "I am not explaining to anyone's parents why their child suddenly has a tattoo written in a language they can't actually speak."-until 7:00pm, when the entire team would meet in the hotel lobby to go out for a celebratory dinner.
Although all Kurt wanted to do was go to the hotel and sleep until it was time to take the shuttle bus back to the airport, he ended up appeasing Sasha and James by agreeing to meet them for a late lunch after he had the chance to shower and take a short nap (and if he was breaking Shelby's rule by going alone, well, nobody had to know).
And he had every intention of keeping his promise, but for some reason, changing out of his costume and washing off all of his makeup had become tasks of insurmountable difficulty that required far more effort than usual, and by the time he was finally dressed and cleaned up, he was the only one left in the dressing room, and he couldn't seem to persuade his useless body to move from its slumped, hopeless sprawl in front of the mirror.
Get up, he urged himself impatiently. You just impressed an enormous crowd, you're in a spectacular city with friends that want to spend time with you, and Blaine is talking to you again. There's no reason for you to be alone, acting like someone shot the puppy that you will never have because dog hair on everything you own, God.
The pep talk was, shockingly, less than helpful.
Kurt glared tiredly at his reflection in the mirror, which was paler and more bleary-eyed than he remembered. "I'm starting to think that Shelby might have had a point about you, the other day," he muttered at it darkly.
His reflection stared right back. Kurt sighed.
Typical.
"There you are."
Kurt, who hadn't heard the door open in his fatigued stupor, whipped around in his chair. Shelby was watching him with one hand on the doorframe and a small smile on her face, as if she'd been summoned by him mentioning her name.
If she'd heard him, though, she didn't say anything. "I didn't see you leave with the others," she explained, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to congratulate you-you were incredible today, Kurt. I've never been more impressed with you than I was today, and I'd be extremely shocked if we don't win tomorrow, with the way that you sang."
Kurt was stunned by the compliment. "Th-thank you," he managed, well aware that his eyes were far wider than was considered normal or at all attractive.
"Of course," Shelby replied evenly, sitting down in one of the empty chairs across from him.
She studied him for a minute, contemplating, and Kurt squirmed slightly under the scrutiny, not sure what the reasoning behind it was. Before he could develop any theories, though, Shelby smiled at him sadly.
"I'm leaving Vocal Adrenaline next year," she said quietly, continuing to watch him with steady eyes.
Kurt sat up so quickly that he nearly tumbled out of his chair. "What?" he asked stupidly, certain that he'd misheard her.
Shelby's expression turned indulgent. "You're the first one I've told," she admitted, glancing at the door before turning back to him. "Everyone else will find out at our next rehearsal on Wednesday-I'm trusting that you can keep it a secret for that long."
Kurt shook his head absently, a million questions running through his brain.
"Why are you telling me now?" he asked finally, not sure what else to say.
Shelby blinked at him. "After today, I'm surprised that you have to ask," she replied. "When my replacement arrives in September, you'll be taking over as Vocal Adrenaline's lead singer."
Kurt's heart stopped.
"You want me to take Jesse's place next year," he clarified, looking inquisitively at Shelby. "For me to be the lead soloist."
Shelby nodded. "You've proved that you can handle it," she told him. "What's more, you've earned it, Kurt."
Kurt nodded back, slowly. He let the words wash over him, waiting for the meaning to sink in.
Nothing happened.
The excitement, pride, gratitude that he'd expected to feel, hearing Shelby acknowledge his hard work and talent and reward it accordingly-none of it was there. He felt…
Nothing. Numb. Just as strangely empty as he'd felt when he'd opened his acceptance letter, one week earlier.
Kurt blinked. What the hell is wrong with me?
A warm hand slid over his own. "Kurt?" Shelby asked, her voice more gentle than he could ever remember hearing it. "Are you all right? Talk to me."
Kurt exhaled shakily.
"Being the lead soloist, winning Nationals," he said slowly, staring at their hands. "Getting into The Academy. All of it's happening at the same time. Everything that I wanted, for so long."
Kurt looked up. Shelby was nodding, waiting for him to continue.
He took another deep breath. "But I don't feel anything," he confessed, almost pleadingly. "Why don't I feel anything?"
Shelby looked at him silently for a long, long time.
"There's a baby girl, back in Ohio," she said, finally. "Her name is Beth. She's perfect, Kurt, an innocent little angel that deserves to be the center of someone's world. And she's spending over three whole days and nights with a nanny, because her mom is on the other side of the country with three dozen teenagers, chasing after awards and titles that aren't going to mean anything to any of them in twenty years."
Kurt stared at her, too shocked to interrupt.
Shelby met his eyes. "Sometimes, the things that you think you want the most change, without you even realizing it," she said seriously. "You have so much talent, Kurt, and I think that you could be something amazing. But you're the one who has to live with your choices, your decisions. No one else."
Before Kurt could even begin to process what she had said, Shelby was pulling her hand back and straightening up in her seat.
"I know that this isn't the best time," she admitted, a hint of apology in her voice. "But there's someone outside who's been waiting to speak with you, and I've kept her waiting long enough. Can I send her in?"
The last thing that Kurt felt capable of was more conversation, but he nodded anyway, too overwhelmed to disagree. Shelby nodded back, taking his hand one more time and squeezing it briefly before standing up and slipping out the door.
A minute later, Kurt heard a faint clicking sound as a woman in stilletos crossed the threshold into the dressing room. "Hello, Kurt," a vaguely familiar voice greeted him.
And even though he had only heard it once before, Kurt recognized her immediately, and knew even as he stood up and turned around who he would see.
Sarita Jackson, the lead instructor at The Academy, had just entered the room.
The rest of the week flew by in a flurry of classes and rehearsals, homework and shop paperwork and doctor's appointments until suddenly it was Thursday night, less than 48 hours before the National Show Choir Competition was scheduled to begin. Two district busses would be arriving at Carmel by 7:30 the next morning to take Vocal Adrenaline-and their massive amounts of luggage and costumes-to the airport for their 10:15 flight to LAX, and Kurt's suitcase was already waiting by the front door, only the few items that he'd need in the morning left unpacked.
Burt was distracted after dinner by a phone call from one of his old high school buddies, so it was easy for Kurt to slip out of the house as the sun was setting, leaving a note on the table claiming that he was out picking up a few more travel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner for his trip. Well aware of Kurt's distrust of hotel-provided toiletries, his dad probably would have believed him anyway, but if Kurt had to lie to Burt at all, he preferred to do it on paper.
And in this case, a lie was necessary: the idea of explaining to Burt why he had to go to the Zoo on a Thursday night-the Thursday night right before his flight to Los Angeles, no less-was just too much for Kurt.
Blaine's lions had gotten so big since the first time that Kurt had seen them. They still weren't finished growing, if the size of their mother was any indication, but Kurt couldn't think of them as babies anymore, the way that he initially had. They were almost too big for their exhibit, even counting the large outdoor pen that was attached to their indoor room, and Kurt had no idea what the zoo was going to do with them once they had fully grown up, leaving them with four adult cats.
"They'd better keep you," he murmured quietly, watching the one little lion who was closest to the fence as she paced, the only one of the three no-longer-cubs who wasn't sleeping in the corner. "Blaine loves you so much."
Blaine. If there was anyone in the world that Kurt wanted to call about his Academy letter, it was Blaine. He still had no idea what to do about the summer and his dad, even though he'd been thinking it over like Burt and Shelby had both suggested, nor did he have a clue what would be best for him anymore-and even if Blaine didn't have any answers either, at least Kurt would feel safe and loved instead of so hopelessly alone.
But Blaine had asked for space and Kurt had promised to give it to him, and Kurt was determined to keep his promises this time, even when they became difficult not to break. So he had come to see the closest thing he had left to Blaine, instead.
The little awake lion had stopped her pacing and was sniffing in his direction, and Kurt smiled sadly back at her. "I don't know which one you are," he admitted softly, "Mali or Priya, or-I don't know. But Blaine does, and I know that he must drive out here from school to see you, or maybe he comes on the weekends."
He paused, gripping the fence with both hands. "The next time he's here, tell him I love him, okay? And that I miss him, and that I know that he needs more time, but everything is just so much harder without him, and-"
Kurt cut himself off, inhaling sharply.
The lion looked at him. If she recognized him, she didn't show it-or maybe she did, and Kurt was just a dumb human who couldn't see what was right in front of him.
"Sorry," he apologized stupidly, closing his eyes. "You were probably doing just fine until I got here, weren't you?"
When Kurt looked up again, the lion was lying down on the ground, watching him with her inscrutable expression that could have meant anything or nothing at all. "Right," he muttered faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. "Sorry to dump all of that on you; I just miss him. But that's not your fault."
He glanced at his watch, then grimaced. "I've got about three minutes before they lock the gates with me inside, so I should go," he informed the lion-Priya, he decided; maybe he was wrong, but it was easier to think of her by any name, whether he was accurate or not.
As if she would have known the difference. "Goodnight, Princess," he sighed, heading toward the door. "I'll see you when I get back to Ohio."
She blinked a sleepy goodbye at him on his way out, and Kurt drove home in the dark, hoping that Burt would still be on the phone when he got home.
He slept badly that night, images of Blaine feeding his lions and smiling beautifully keeping him awake until nearly dawn.
The flight to California was predictably boring. Under strict instructions not to speak unless it was absolutely necessary (a strained vocal cord was worse than a bullet wound during Nationals), to finish their airline-provided pretzels and bottles of water (the usual method of replacing lost fluids with an IV drip would leave needle marks, so avoiding dehydration was key), and not to fall asleep (the time zone change was not in their favor as it was), there wasn't much left for the team to do but read or watch the in-flight movie.
One look at Adam Sandler's face in what obviously wasn't The Wedding Singer was enough to have Kurt scrambling for his book.
Once the plane touched down in LA, it was more of the same: a shuttle bus waiting for them at the airport whisked them off to the hotel where they (and at least three other teams, given the commotion in the lobby) were staying, three blocks away from the Convention Center where the competition was being held. Shelby went alone to register Vocal Adrenaline, giving everyone an hour and a half to unpack and freshen up before they spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in last-minute rehearsals for the next day, only stopping for a thirty minute dinner break.
"Apparently,we used to go to the official Kickoff Meet & Greet, instead of being confined to our hotel floor the night before the competition," James confided in Kurt from the desk in their suite that evening, where he was trying to access the hotel's wireless network. "But rumor has it that someone from one of the other teams tried to sabotage us the year that Nationals were in Baltimore by sneaking shellfish into our lead singer's pasta. She went into anaphylactic shock and had to be rushed to the hospital, and now Shelby carries half a dozen EpiPens in her purse and won't let us go anywhere, just in case."
Andy, who was sprawled across his and Kurt's bed-with four people to a room, everyone was sharing with someone else-looked morbidly interested. "Did they ever catch who did it?" he asked, eyes lit up with interest.
James shrugged. "I don't know for sure; that was Alicia's freshman year, so I was only eight or nine at the time," he explained, naming the elder of his two big sisters, both of whom had also been in Vocal Adrenaline.
His smile took on a dangerous quality. "I do seem to remember something about the third place team's auditorium being permanently closed that summer, though," he added, keeping his tone neutral. "Something about five hundred pounds of rotting oysters contaminating the whole building during a record-breaking heat wave."
They went to bed soon after that, mindful of their 5:30am wakeup call, and Kurt fell asleep listening to James's hushed voice as he told them story after story about Vocal Adrenaline, passing down more of his sisters' stories as well as telling his own.
"Four years," he murmured after a while, just as Kurt was finally drifting off. "It's hard to believe that everything ends on Sunday."
Despite being 5th in the program lineup, Vocal Adrenaline was the first team to arrive at the Convention Center on Saturday morning, stumbling in the front door with their Carmel-subsidized Starbucks immediately behind the head of the building's custodial staff, who looked as tired as Kurt felt.
An hour and a half later, the stage was discreetly marked with thin strips of glow-in-the-dark tape, indicating their starting positions for each number, their costumes were securely locked in VA's private dressing room (theirs until 2:30, when it would be taken over by an all-girl choir from Miami), and Shelby had commandeered one of the dozen pianos scattered throughout the building and was leading everyone in an extended vocal warm-up. Despite not being entirely awake yet-jet lag was a vicious, vindictive bitch-Kurt found it relatively easy to concentrate on the tone and tenor of his voice, and then on the comfortable stretching of his muscles when Ben began their familiar dance warm-up.
Or maybe being tired is actually helping, he mused, as Shelby gave them a final pep talk before dismissing them for half an hour, ordering them to be back in the dressing room when the first group took the stage in order to get costumed and made up before their own call time. If I'm not awake, I can't be nervous about singing my first competition solo in front of eight thousand people.
Checking his watch, Kurt grabbed his phone out of his duffle bag and weaved his way through his teammates and out into the hall. If he hurried, he could squeeze in one last phone call to his dad before Burt left for the afternoon shift at the shop.
Or maybe wake him up-he could never remember what time zone he was in, relative to home.
Kurt was ten feet away from the dressing room door when his phone rang in his hand, twenty-eight minutes later.
He didn't even look at it as he answered. "I'll be there in five seconds," he promised whichever one of his impatient teammates that was calling him, "I'm right outside."
Grabbing the door handle, Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear, ready to hang up and turn the sound off until after the competition.
And stopped, frozen in place: Blaine's picture was lit up on the screen, dark eyes smiling shyly at him through impossibly long eyelashes.
Kurt's hand flew back up to his ear so quickly that he nearly dropped the phone. "Blaine?" he asked hurriedly, his mouth suddenly dry and his stomach clenching with more nerves than he'd felt all day.
There was a long, terrible pause, and Kurt was almost beginning to worry that Blaine had hung up on him-or, even worse, that he had pocket-dialed him by mistake and hadn't really wanted to talk to him at all-when he heard a soft sigh.
"…Hi, Kurt," Blaine said quietly.
Kurt's eyes were suddenly, messily filled with tears, and he let go of the doorknob and sat down with his back against the nearest wall before his legs could betray him and collapse. "Hi," he breathed back just as softly, too mentally incoherent to say anything else.
It seemed to be enough for Blaine, however, and Kurt's grip on the phone grew painfully tight as he instinctively pressed it closer to his ear.
"I just…" Blaine began, before sighing and starting over. "I wanted to call and wish you-break a leg, today."
He paused. "I didn't know when you were going on, though, since I don't know the performance order, and the time difference and everything," he rambled apologetically. "Am I too late?"
Kurt shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Blaine couldn't see him. "No," he managed to gasp, choking back a sob even as tears were running freely down his cheeks, "No, we're not on for another half an hour; you're not too late."
Kurt heard a strangled hiss over the phone, and Blaine's voice was pained as he spoke. "Oh no, don't-don't cry," he stammered. "Kurt, pleasedon't cry. God, I shouldn't have called, I should have-"
"Don't you dare hang up," Kurt cut him off mid-sentence. "So what if I'm crying, I don't care."
"But you have to sing," Blaine reminded him, "and-"
"I don't care," Kurt repeated, not bothering to keep the tears out of his voice anymore. "You're here, that's what I care about. It's been weeks,and I've been-I didn't know how much I needed to hear your voice until right now."
"I'm so sorry, Kurt," Blaine choked out, clearly starting to cry as well. "I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you. I've missed you so much."
Kurt's tears were beginning to soak the collar of his shirt, and he wiped his face distractedly with his sleeve. "I miss you too," he managed to reply, "god, Blaine. It's been so hard without you."
"I know," Blaine answered quickly, his breath hitching, "I know. I have post it notes all over the place in my school notebooks, in my dorm room-every time I think of something that I want to tell you and you aren't there. There must be hundreds of them, by now."
Kurt opened his mouth-he didn't know what he was going to say, but that hadn't stopped him so far-but before he could speak, there was a hand on his shoulder.
"Kurt, we've gotta go," someone was saying, and Kurt shook his head, wanting whoever it was to leave him alone. The hand gripped his shirt insistently, however, and Kurt looked up to see Sasha staring down at him, a worried expression on her face.
He sighed. "I have to go," he told Blaine sadly, feeling his chest tightening anxiously, "I'm supposed to be-"
"No, I know, I'm sorry," Blaine interrupted, sounding as wrecked as Kurt felt. "You're going to be amazing today, Kurt. I love you so much."
A fresh wave of tears filled Kurt's eyes. "Can I call you?" he asked quickly, before Blaine could hang up. "When I get back to Ohio? I need to-I just really want to see you again, or even just talk to you, if you're not ready."
"I-yeah," Blaine stammered, exhaling softly in Kurt's ear. "Yes. Call me when you get home. I-I want that, too."
Kurt bit down on his lip to keep from sobbing with relief. "I will," he promised. "I can't wait. I really have to go, though."
Blaine laughed. "Go, Kurt. I love you."
Kurt closed his eyes, smiling. "I love you, too. I'll talk to you soon."
He waited for Blaine's quiet "Bye, Kurt," before hanging up, then turned his phone off and handed it to Sasha.
Her face softened as she slipped it into her pocket. "You are so late," she admonished gently, holding out a hand and helping him to his feet. "And your face is a mess."
Kurt grimaced, feeling the salty tear tracks on his cheeks as they pulled slightly at his skin. "I know," he agreed apologetically. "I'm sorry."
Sasha nodded. "Did you do what you needed to do?" she wanted to know. When Kurt nodded back, she smiled softly at him. "Go wash your face, and I'll do your makeup," she ordered, turning him around and steering him toward the men's room. "Your eyes are so bloodshot, you'd probably stab yourself in the face with the mascara wand, and then we'd all be in trouble."
Kurt couldn't help but sniff a little. "I love you," he told Sasha, who rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, well, you just love everyone right now, don't you," she pointed out, smirking. "Tell you what-get through this performance, and maybe I'll return the favor."
The curtain was made of heavy black velvet; sprinkled with dust and close enough that Kurt could have reached out and touched it, if he'd wanted to. Vocal Adrenaline's championship performance the year before had begun with everyone backstage, and Kurt had forgotten at some point that the stagehands lowered the main curtain between groups at Nationals, in order to give each choir the same opportunity to set up in privacy.
With nothing but a wall of fabric and twenty feet of empty space separating him from several thousand people, all of whom were eager to see what the Vocal Adrenaline Machine was going to pull off this year, however, it seemed impossible to Kurt that he could have forgotten the only protection he had left. The anxiety that had been absent all weekend was finally beginning to catch up with him, and Kurt took a deep, shuddering breath, determined to calm back down before his lungs began to spasm.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so incredibly small. He wished his dad was there. And his mom. And Blaine.
Blaine.
Out in the auditorium, the thunderous voice of the Master of Ceremonies announced Vocal Adrenaline's name and defending championship status, and the sound of applause filled the room, ringing in Kurt's ears and overwhelming all of the nervous voices in his head.
Whether he was ready or not, it was Showtime.
Slowly, the curtain began to rise.
When Shelby had first played Kurt the song that she wanted him to sing at Nationals, all the air had rushed out of his lungs, and he'd struggled to hold himself together even as he refused.
"I can't sing that," he'd argued weakly, "not after-it's just too much right now, Shelby. I'm sorry."
Shelby had shaken her head in disagreement. "It's the perfect song for you, and you know it," she'd maintained. "I know everything feels a little distressing for you right now, and that's all right. Use it."
"I can't," Kurt had persisted, aware that she had a point but still unwilling to face it. "Jesse can do it; he's got the range for it, and-"
"Jesse is an incredibly gifted singer," Shelby had interrupted evenly, "but he doesn't sing with his heart. You do, Kurt, and I haven't always encouraged that because I thought that you needed time to build up your dynamics and raw abilities, first. But it's time, Kurt, and the only thing that's going to stop you from being extraordinary is you. You can do this."
Behind him, Danny played a quiet opening note, and the familiar music began.
Gripping the microphone in front of him so tightly that a tiny, detached part of himself was surprised when it didn't shatter in his hand, Kurt took a deep breath and began to sing.
"I found the pieces in my hand; they were always there, it just took some time for me to understand;
You gave me words I just can't say, so if nothing else, I'll just hold on while you drift away…"
His voice, high and clear, rang out beautifully in the enormous space, cleaner and sadder and more breathtaking than it had ever been before. He didn't take the time to appreciate it, diving into the chorus as a small cross-section of singers softly began to harmonize underneath the melody. Jesse was among them, Kurt knew, but for once his voice didn't stand out from the group-he was blending perfectly with the others, letting Kurt have his moment without trying to overshadow him.
Kurt was grateful to him for that.
"The cities grow, the rivers flow; where you are I never know, but I'm still here,
If you were right and I was wrong, why are you the one who's gone and I'm still here?"
The rest of Vocal Adrenaline was onstage by the end of the bridge, but Kurt didn't turn around, choosing instead to close his eyes as he started the third, and the hardest, verse:
"I held the pieces of my soul; I was shattered, and I wanted you to come and make me whole,
And then I saw you yesterday, but you didn't notice,
And you just walked away."
Forcing his eyes open, Kurt let the choir carry him through the chorus. Everything he was feeling-all the grief and longing and sadness and anger and hope, most of all hope-was written all over him, and that, so much more than being the loudest or the most precise, was what mattered.
Which was good, because Kurt couldn't have stopped it for anything. Not after his conversation with Blaine had stripped away all of his defenses and left him, raw and exposed, on the stage in front of everyone.
And besides that, he had a song to finish.
"The lights go out, the bridges burn, once you've gone you can't return, but I'm still here,
Remember how you used to say I'd be the one to run away, but I'm still here.
I'm still here."
The applause was deafening, and only grew louder as the crowd rose to its feet and gave Kurt Hummel his first personal standing ovation.
Smiling professionally, Kurt took a single, appreciative bow, and then quietly exited the stage as the team arranged themselves for the next number.
As anyone at the competition could have predicted in their sleep, the rest of Vocal Adrenaline's performance was exquisitely flawless.
Mindful of the abrupt emotional transition between Kurt's solo and the group number that followed it, Shelby had pulled Kurt out of the second piece, putting two sopranos on the countertenor part with Andy and giving him a few minutes to recover and change outfits before Jesse closed out their set with his stunning, highly anticipated rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. The vocals were more than solid, the dancing was crisp and visually spectacular, and as the curtain finally fell-Jesse had bowed three times, to tremendous accolades-it briefly occurred to Kurt that he felt incredibly sorry for whichever unlucky choir was sixth in the program lineup.
According to the fliers posted in every hallway, dressing room, and restroom in the building, eighteen of the twenty-nine groups that had both qualified and made it to Nationals were scheduled to perform on Saturday. The other eleven would finish early the next afternoon, giving the judges plenty of time to deliberate and finalize their rankings before the Awards Presentation and the official Closing Ceremonies on Sunday evening. Except for the awards, which were mandatory for obvious reasons, only the freshmen were required to stay for any of it (or else be forcibly shipped back to the hotel). The rest of the older students were welcome to remain and watch the other performances if they felt like it, but were otherwise free to explore Los Angeles-"In groups of three or more, and legal activities only," Shelby had warned them sternly the night before, "I am not explaining to anyone's parents why their child suddenly has a tattoo written in a language they can't actually speak."-until 7:00pm, when the entire team would meet in the hotel lobby to go out for a celebratory dinner.
Although all Kurt wanted to do was go to the hotel and sleep until it was time to take the shuttle bus back to the airport, he ended up appeasing Sasha and James by agreeing to meet them for a late lunch after he had the chance to shower and take a short nap (and if he was breaking Shelby's rule by going alone, well, nobody had to know).
And he had every intention of keeping his promise, but for some reason, changing out of his costume and washing off all of his makeup had become tasks of insurmountable difficulty that required far more effort than usual, and by the time he was finally dressed and cleaned up, he was the only one left in the dressing room, and he couldn't seem to persuade his useless body to move from its slumped, hopeless sprawl in front of the mirror.
Get up, he urged himself impatiently. You just impressed an enormous crowd, you're in a spectacular city with friends that want to spend time with you, and Blaine is talking to you again. There's no reason for you to be alone, acting like someone shot the puppy that you will never have because dog hair on everything you own, God.
The pep talk was, shockingly, less than helpful.
Kurt glared tiredly at his reflection in the mirror, which was paler and more bleary-eyed than he remembered. "I'm starting to think that Shelby might have had a point about you, the other day," he muttered at it darkly.
His reflection stared right back. Kurt sighed.
Typical.
"There you are."
Kurt, who hadn't heard the door open in his fatigued stupor, whipped around in his chair. Shelby was watching him with one hand on the doorframe and a small smile on her face, as if she'd been summoned by him mentioning her name.
If she'd heard him, though, she didn't say anything. "I didn't see you leave with the others," she explained, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to congratulate you-you were incredible today, Kurt. I've never been more impressed with you than I was today, and I'd be extremely shocked if we don't win tomorrow, with the way that you sang."
Kurt was stunned by the compliment. "Th-thank you," he managed, well aware that his eyes were far wider than was considered normal or at all attractive.
"Of course," Shelby replied evenly, sitting down in one of the empty chairs across from him.
She studied him for a minute, contemplating, and Kurt squirmed slightly under the scrutiny, not sure what the reasoning behind it was. Before he could develop any theories, though, Shelby smiled at him sadly.
"I'm leaving Vocal Adrenaline next year," she said quietly, continuing to watch him with steady eyes.
Kurt sat up so quickly that he nearly tumbled out of his chair. "What?" he asked stupidly, certain that he'd misheard her.
Shelby's expression turned indulgent. "You're the first one I've told," she admitted, glancing at the door before turning back to him. "Everyone else will find out at our next rehearsal on Wednesday-I'm trusting that you can keep it a secret for that long."
Kurt shook his head absently, a million questions running through his brain.
"Why are you telling me now?" he asked finally, not sure what else to say.
Shelby blinked at him. "After today, I'm surprised that you have to ask," she replied. "When my replacement arrives in September, you'll be taking over as Vocal Adrenaline's lead singer."
Kurt's heart stopped.
"You want me to take Jesse's place next year," he clarified, looking inquisitively at Shelby. "For me to be the lead soloist."
Shelby nodded. "You've proved that you can handle it," she told him. "What's more, you've earned it, Kurt."
Kurt nodded back, slowly. He let the words wash over him, waiting for the meaning to sink in.
Nothing happened.
The excitement, pride, gratitude that he'd expected to feel, hearing Shelby acknowledge his hard work and talent and reward it accordingly-none of it was there. He felt…
Nothing. Numb. Just as strangely empty as he'd felt when he'd opened his acceptance letter, one week earlier.
Kurt blinked. What the hell is wrong with me?
A warm hand slid over his own. "Kurt?" Shelby asked, her voice more gentle than he could ever remember hearing it. "Are you all right? Talk to me."
Kurt exhaled shakily.
"Being the lead soloist, winning Nationals," he said slowly, staring at their hands. "Getting into The Academy. All of it's happening at the same time. Everything that I wanted, for so long."
Kurt looked up. Shelby was nodding, waiting for him to continue.
He took another deep breath. "But I don't feel anything," he confessed, almost pleadingly. "Why don't I feel anything?"
Shelby looked at him silently for a long, long time.
"There's a baby girl, back in Ohio," she said, finally. "Her name is Beth. She's perfect, Kurt, an innocent little angel that deserves to be the center of someone's world. And she's spending over three whole days and nights with a nanny, because her mom is on the other side of the country with three dozen teenagers, chasing after awards and titles that aren't going to mean anything to any of them in twenty years."
Kurt stared at her, too shocked to interrupt.
Shelby met his eyes. "Sometimes, the things that you think you want the most change, without you even realizing it," she said seriously. "You have so much talent, Kurt, and I think that you could be something amazing. But you're the one who has to live with your choices, your decisions. No one else."
Before Kurt could even begin to process what she had said, Shelby was pulling her hand back and straightening up in her seat.
"I know that this isn't the best time," she admitted, a hint of apology in her voice. "But there's someone outside who's been waiting to speak with you, and I've kept her waiting long enough. Can I send her in?"
The last thing that Kurt felt capable of was more conversation, but he nodded anyway, too overwhelmed to disagree. Shelby nodded back, taking his hand one more time and squeezing it briefly before standing up and slipping out the door.
A minute later, Kurt heard a faint clicking sound as a woman in stilletos crossed the threshold into the dressing room. "Hello, Kurt," a vaguely familiar voice greeted him.
And even though he had only heard it once before, Kurt recognized her immediately, and knew even as he stood up and turned around who he would see.
Sarita Jackson, the lead instructor at The Academy, had just entered the room.