Home Part 3-C
Spoilers: Up to 2.22
Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, ableism, homophobia, physical abuse by a caretaker, a smidgen of Stockholm's, serious injury, tertiary character death.
Rating: R
Word Count: Whole fic: 52, 000; Part 3: 23, 340
Disclaimer: RIB and FOX own everything ever.
Beta: rdm-ation
1A | 1B | 2A | 2B | 3A | 3B | 3C
This prompt. If Will wants a family, Terri will give him a family. And if he wants his precious glee kids - two birds, one stone.
There were several reasons that Emma wished she had never met Sue Sylvester. Her daily life would have been less stressful, for one thing. She would have heard approximately eighty-four percent fewer jokes about her hair, a very sensitive topic for her. She would have had probably a week’s worth of time not spent cleaning up Sue’s messes or doing damage control. She would have had to question far less frequently her belief that aside from her parents, humans were basically good and well-intentioned, and that when they lashed out it was due to their inner pain rather than a genuine desire to hurt others.
Really, the stress issue was hard to overstate.
Also she would not be on this unplanned flight. She would not be sitting ramrod straight praying that the last thousand people who had used this seat had been hygienic. She would not be wishing she’d brought oxygen so that she could breathe something besides the filthy recycled air coating her lungs right now. She would not be wishing that she might go temporarily deaf so that she could miss the strident calls of “You call this an on-flight beverage? I could produce a more potent on-flight beverage with my left breast” from first class. She would not be having a minor anxiety attack wondering what would happen if the pilot realized she was connected to Sue and put them both on a no-fly list. In short, she would be home, clean, and safe. If only she didn’t know Sue Sylvester.
Right now she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed with tissues and a movie, preferably one with an adorable animal as a major character. It had been a day and a half and Will hadn’t so much as called. He had gone to visit his wife of sixteen years, his first and, for most of his life, only girlfriend, and he hadn’t called Emma. No matter how incredulous she’d been initially, she knew. She knew what that meant.
Instead, here she was on a plane to Florida, headed for a humiliating and completely horrible confrontation. Because of Sue Sylvester.
At six that morning, Sue had given her a heart attack by throwing open the door to her bedroom. Emma had no idea how she’d gotten into the apartment, or even how she’d known where the apartment was. There hadn’t been a good moment to ask. By the time Emma had stopped screaming and convinced herself it wasn’t a nightmare, Sue had thrown a handful of clothes at her and said, “Get dressed, Angelina, and try not to choose a blouse with so many printed flowers it irritates my allergies. I’m going on a rescue mission, and I’ll need you to staunch the wounds, always assuming that you don’t faint at the sight of blood.” She sounded as though she viewed fainting at the sight of blood as a grave and deliberate character flaw.
“What - what are you talking about, why are you here? Now?” Emma clutched the blanket to her chest. Her nightgown wasn’t at all revealing, but there was nothing like having Sue Sylvester in your bedroom to make you feel exposed.
“I want you to narrow your eyes, Imelda, because if you get them any wider they may well fall out of your head, like those small yappy dogs you resemble in so many ways, and I do not have time to pop them back in. Get up, put on some pumps and an offensively bright skirt, and let’s get going. We have a flight to catch.”
Emma could be assertive. Maybe especially against Sue, because she really had no patience left for the woman. But she could not be assertive at six in the morning, in her bedroom, wearing her nightgown, still half-asleep and with a six-foot woman breathing fire down her neck.
So she ended up in a taxi with Sue Sylvester driving - Sue had called the taxi service in from Columbus and then informed the driver that he would be scooting over. “Where are we going?” she asked, clinging with a tissue to the door handle to keep still in the swerving vehicle. Tissue did not grip well.
“Florida,” Sue said, turning left, the light still red.
Emma shrieked as another car screamed by mere inches from them.
“Someone’s going to call this plate in,” said the man who had delivered the taxi. “I could lose my job!”
“Florida?” Emma repeated.
“I’m sure you listen to plenty of soppy, immature music about fighting for your man.” Sue tapped the dash. “Is ninety as fast as this thing goes?”
Emma closed her eyes when a stop sign whizzed by. “My relationship with Will is none of your business, and I realize that I did share some details with you yesterday, which was foolish and unfair of me, but - I’m confused. You hate Will and me. What are you doing?”
“Well, Amelia, you worry about fighting for your man, and I’m going to take care of fighting for my arch-nemesis. No unsuccessful, backstabbing flunky is going to take my one worthy opponent from me using underhanded means. I’m afraid, Emily, that you’ll just have to accept it: neither your embarrassment of an on-again off-again fling nor Honey Badger’s terrified, desperate clutches can change the fact that William Schuester is, essentially, mine.” She shook her head. In the rearview mirror, Emma could see her gazing into the distance. Closer to, the roof of the toll booth sailed above them and Sue yanked the wheel around, spinning them onto the highway. “I’m getting soft in my old age, but Ermengard, I’d be lost without him.”
“You can have the taxi,” said the driver. “Just let me go.”
Now, Emma sat bolt upright and tried not to think about the sweaty man snoring next to her, and Florida rose to meet her.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The party was, at least, pretty. Rachel had to concede that much. It was very pink, but it was pretty. There were streamers along the walls and billowing out from the overhead light in arcs to the corners of the room and balloon bouquets blossoming from the back of her chair, a pile of presents sparkling on the table, and a towering frosted cake. She had no idea how Terri had gotten a cake in without them noticing, but there it sat, covered in little pink roses and some kind of edible confetti-type substance. Funny Girl was not being projected against the wall the way it would have been at home with her dads, and there was no stage, but still, it looked like a normal birthday party. Except for the chains, of course.
She’d never had a birthday without her dads before. She’d never get this one back. She used to worry and fantasize about the first time she’d be too busy with her rehearsal schedule, what with the revival of “Evita” on Broadway that she would star in and produce, to celebrate with her dads. It would be bittersweet and a part of growing up and accepting her responsibilities as an international star. And instead, this was happening.
“I would suggest that we sing happy birthday,” Terri said, beaming and giving Rachel the first slice of cake, “but I think we’ll save it until the presents are open. I know my family will want to make a production out of it.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, and picked up her fork. She wasn’t even angry about this, or sad, or anything anymore. She felt pleasantly done with all of this. All she had to do was smile, call Terri ‘mom,’ and say appreciative things once in a while. She barely even had to be present.
The cake tasted dry and chalky.
“I want you to open this one first,” Terri said, patting the biggest present. “Then we can finally sing ‘Happy Birthday’!”
“Okay,” Rachel said, and smiled. She stood and leaned over the table, sliding her newly-smooth fingernails under the tape and jerking upwards. The paper, striped candy pink and glittering silver, tore easily, and hard black plastic emerged. She knew what it was, but it took too long for it to sink in. She waited and kept smiling.
“A sound system!” Terri clapped. “I already set it up, baby, and the microphone is all ready. Why don’t you and Kurt sing a little something with your father?”
“Thank you,” Rachel said again. “That sounds nice.”
“Actually,” Mr. Schue touched Terri’s hand. “Would you mind coming into the living room with me for a minute? Kurt and Rachel can warm up on their own. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Oh.” Terri looked put out, but shrugged. “Well, if you two can behave on your own…”
“We’ll be good,” Kurt said acidly. “Mom.”
“Then I guess there’s no harm in a little grown-up time. Make it quick, though, Will. It’s right in the middle of our daughter’s birthday party, after all.”
Mr. Schue looked at Rachel, who she stared back absently. “It’ll only take a second.”
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
“I can’t do this,” Will said as son as they were alone. He didn’t bother trying to turn the chair to face Terri, waiting instead for her to walk around in front of him; he had no idea how Artie managed these things. “You have to stop, Terri. Rachel’s falling apart.”
Terri did not come around to face him. He could feel her standing just behind him, hear her breathing. “I had really hoped you wouldn’t start this again,” she said.
“Well, I guess I’m having trouble developing Stockholm’s Syndrome as quickly as you would have liked. Honestly, what did you think was going to happen? People know that I was coming here. You could make this so much easier on yourself by letting us go right now.”
“Oh, no, darling, I don’t think that would be easier on anyone.” Terri’s hands closed on his shoulders. “Especially you.” Her voice lilted, mocking. “Honestly, what did you think was going to happen when you left me? I really thought that after you’d punished me for lying to you, you’d come to your senses. I admit I was scared there for a while. Really frightened that we were over. But then I took a look at what your life was without me. A dead-end relationship with an April Rhodes substitute, Will, really? Holly could never have loved you and you knew it. And then back to chasing your crazy little red-head, and I understand her appeal, really I do. She worships the ground you walk on. Who wouldn’t find that attractive? I feel like it’s my fault, in a way. Our relationship wasn’t entirely healthy, and I was domineering, so you found the single easiest, most non-threatening woman on the planet. You probably haven’t even slept with her yet. Really, it’s pure high school.” Her hands tightened, then released, and she stepped into view, crouching beside the chair. “But high school is over, Will. We’re married. It’s time to grow up.”
He swallowed hard. “I know this used to work for you,” he managed, “but I’m in love with Emma. What we had is over. You can’t dismiss everything I’m feeling as a stupid throwback to my glory days now. We’re divorced.”
“Oh!” Terri stood up and stalked to the window, glaring out it at the driveway where the mud was drying to dust under the sun. “Maybe you should go to one of the kids’ rooms and stay there until I calm down, Will. I’m not feeling up to dealing with this kind of behavior from you today.” She shook her head and started sorting through her purse.
“This isn’t -” Will shook his head. “I asked you in here because of Rachel, not us. If you don’t do anything else, if you keep me, if you keep Kurt,” and it hurt to say it, but they’d be found soon, it wasn’t so much of a betrayal, not really, “you have to let Rachel go. Blindfold her and drive her somewhere. She’s falling apart, Terri. You’re killing her.”
“Oh, don’t be melodramatic. She’s a little shell-shocked from all the changes and how happy she is about her birthday. Eighteen is a big deal. You know, I have done everything right. I got everything ready, I made sure it would all work with Sugar, and now you’re just… trying to throw it all away.” She cocked her head, staring at something he couldn’t see.
“She’s suffering from emotional trauma, and you don’t know that she’ll ever get better - Sugar?“
“What is Sue doing here?” Terri murmured.
“Stay with me, the world is dark and wild,” one of the kids sang in the other room, and stopped, the microphone clunking.
“Wait, what?” Will craned his neck, pushing himself up and trying to balance without upsetting the chair. “Sue - Sue Sylvester?”
“And look who’s with her,” Terri said thoughtfully. She turned, leaving her purse on the windowsill, and faced the door. She held her arms out straight, fingers tight around the gun in her hands.
“Terri -” Will said, starting up again.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he heard Sue say just outside the door. “There’s a trick to it, Irma, and the trick is being supernaturally strong due to a strict diet of protein shakes and rage.” The door shuddered.
“What’s going on?” Kurt called from the dining room.
“Nothing, sweetie,” Terri called back. “You two just stay where you are.”
“Oh my God,” Will said. “Sue, she’s got a gun!”
“Will, would you let me handle this?” Terri snapped.
“I have a tracksuit made entirely of Kevlar,” Sue hollered, and the door shuddered again. “Anyway, Honey Badger, this place is surrounded by my elite backup team in three directions, a helicopter of FBI agents above, and me. I admire your resourcefulness, but there’s a time to live to fight another day. Or so I hear.”
“Miss Sylvester?” Rachel was standing in the doorway to the dining room, supporting Kurt with one arm. The horrible glassy, vacant look in her eyes was starting to dissipate, and at the worst time. “Mr. Schuester, what’s going on?”
“Get back, Rachel, get out,” he said, trying to turn the chair; she ignored him and walked in, pulling Kurt with her.
“Dad?” Kurt was staring at the door. “Dad?!”
The door slammed open.
Terri shot once, almost absently, in Sue’s direction, and then she turned toward the kids, aiming over Will’s head. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Be brave for your sister,” she said, and pulled the trigger. Will propelled himself upward as she was still speaking, and was brought up short at the ankles but got high enough to come between her and Kurt.
The sound was deafening, much louder than the first shot. Maybe it just seemed that way because this one hit him. He lay on his side, the chair’s wheels spinning noisily behind him, blood pooling beneath his leg, and felt relieved. He’d saved Kurt. That was fair.
He never heard the third shot, but a few seconds before he passed out, Rachel hit the ground beside him, blood covering her face. Oh, he thought, and then he stopped thinking anything at all.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Emma had been knocked backward a step when Sue reeled into her with the force of the shot that hit her chest, and she hadn’t moved since. Her ears rang and her heart pounded.
Sue had lied about the reinforcements, but not, apparently, about the Kevlar. After her momentary lapse, she had launched herself at Terri and grappled her to the floor, yelling about a citizen’s arrest and hurling the gun to a far corner of the room.
Kurt stared at her, face white and blank. She didn’t look down at Will and Rachel.
“Amber,” Sue grunted from her citizen’s arrest, “if you could see your way clear to calling 911 before we lose either Captain Butt-Chin or his sidekick Lady Loudmouth, that would be just swell. It is what I brought you along for, remember?”
“Oh my God,” Emma said, sinking to her knees. “Oh my God.”
“Phone, Ellen,” Sue repeated.
“Oh my God,” she said again, but pulled her phone out and dialed. “This stupid thing - I have to save it as a contact before I can call - Kurt stop - stop the bleeding -”
“Rachel,” he said finally, dropping to his knees with a gasp of pain. “Rachel no please no,” and he scooped her up against him. Her head flopped back and for a second Emma could see it, through the near-black blood concealing her; the right side of her face was smashed, her eye a pulpy mess.
The phone started ringing against Emma’s ear as she turned away from them to vomit.
“Emma,” said Sue, and it took her too long to realize whom Sue meant; the keys hit her shoulder, making her jump.
“Oh,” she said, and dropped the phone, scrambling to untwist Will’s legs from the chair turned on its side. Everything was too heavy and her knees were slipping in all the blood. The keys slid through her fingers twice, getting slicker each time, before she could turn them in the restraints.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, clutching Rachel. “I’m sorry, please no, please….” He had taken his shirt off and balled it against the right side of her face. To staunch the blood, Emma realized, and tore her sweater off to do the same for Will. It was too late, it had to be too late - there was so much blood and most of it was his, from his leg -
A tinny voice sounded from the floor and she remembered the phone. “Yes,” she gasped, snatching it up. It was tacky with blood and slid against her ear, hair sticking to it.
She turned away and vomited again.
“Oh, give me the phone,” Sue said. “I have Honey Badger in a foolproof hold anyway.”
Emma didn’t look, only tossed the phone over. Sue would know what to tell them about how to get here. They had found the house themselves because Sue had hacked some kind of military satellite with her iPhone.
She wound her sweater around Will’s leg as tightly as she could manage, trying to remember her first aid lessons at the swimming pool - there was definitely a tourniquet involved, but she could only pull a cashmere sweater so tight and it was already soaked -
“You’ll never have him like I did,” Terri said, quiet and crystal clear. Emma stared at her, uncomprehending.
“She’ll have him alive, though,” Sue said grimly. “That’s a Sue Sylvester promise. Pull that sweater tighter, Effie. Like his life depended on it.”
Emma pulled tighter, and pressed down. Her ears rang. Kurt sobbed. Terri started to cry, and for a moment Emma thought she was laughing.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x Epilogue x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Rachel stared vacantly at herself in the mirror and hummed as she brushed her hair out. She never used to hum. Why hum when you could sing? But for months now, ever since she got out of the hospital after Miss Pillsbury found them, she’d had this tune stuck in her head. She found herself humming it constantly. “Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee…” The words were something like that. She thought it might be a hymn. Hardly her usual.
She made a mental note to research the effects of humming on the vocal chords, and promptly forgot.
“Rachel?” Leroy leaned around the door. “Are you ready, sweetie? Kurt and Blaine are here, and Finn is on his fourth bowl of pre-celebration cereal. Your dad is submitting himself to a blow-by-blow report of a sporting event to keep him downstairs, so if you value either of their lives you should probably say yes.”
“All right.” Rachel turned her head slightly to the left, examining herself in the mirror. Her left eye was bloodshot in the corner. The right one wasn’t. She looked straight ahead again. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe no one would have noticed if they hadn’t all been looking for it. She stood up, head very straight, and thought of Eliza Doolittle on her way to the stairs.
“Rachel, honey, I know you’re supposed to keep your head above your shoulders,” Leroy said, putting a hand on her arm. “But you don’t have to balance imaginary books.”
“I’m just playing it safe. My therapist says it’s natural to try to control my surroundings to the utmost of my ability and to avoid all risky behavior because of my PTSD, or possibly because of one of the other ones. Anyway, it’s perfectly normal.”
“Okay, okay.” Leroy maneuvered ahead of her. “Let me announce you.”
Rachel looked carefully over her shoulder; she could just make out her reflection in the bathroom mirror down the hall. She looked normal, from this far away. She looked pretty. She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. It was pink. She’d made it herself.
She took a deep breath and followed her father down the stairs.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Kurt had made a firm resolution to be charitable about this, but: the party Finn had planned as a welcome home event (which had naturally been put off when everyone was found only to be driven directly to the hospital, and for months again because of the trial and Rachel’s surgery) had been turned into a celebration of the unveiling of Rachel Berry. Honestly, he had to admire her for it.
“Would it be wrong to take bets on whether she’ll be wearing knee socks with a miniskirt?” he whispered to Blaine.
Blaine settled closer to him on the couch. “I like her knee socks.”
“Really, Blaine? Say that again and you’re going to have to sit with Finn.” He shifted away, covering it with a smile.
“Hiram, kids,” Leroy called from the bottom of the stairs, “Rachel’s ready.”
Blaine got up first and offered his hand to Kurt, who pretended not to see it and got to his feet with some difficulty, leg protesting and gloved hands slipping on the couch. He had always maintained that, given incentive, he could make any article of clothing work, but gloves were tricky. They had been out of style for two hundred years, for a start. And it wasn’t as if there were a wide variety of choices. It was difficult to even find gloves that weren’t meant to provide warmth. He’d resorted to tailored opera gloves and some eclectic things bought on the internet from people obsessed with the Victorian era. They were next to impossible to design an outfit around, but they were better than the twisted, rippling mess that was his hand.
“Hey,” said Finn, still chewing his cereal. He put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “How are you?”
“Still fine, despite the four minutes that have elapsed since you last asked,” Kurt said, voice light.
Rachel did not make the production of her entrance that Kurt would have in her place - or thought he would. He would have before this summer. She paused only once on the stairs before darting down and staring, eyes unnaturally wide. “How does it look?” she said, gaze shifting rapidly between the three of them.
Kurt knew how much Rachel valued honesty. He also knew that Leroy was glaring at them all over her head and that Hiram’s hand was tight on Leroy’s arm, possibly in preparation to fake a debilitating disease if someone started to say the wrong thing. And he knew how vulnerable Rachel was right now. What he did not know, however, was what to say. The right side of her face was still different, swollen and tight from surgery. Her left eye was bloodshot and teary, and her right eye stared straight and perfect and just a touch too large, too still - but they would work all that out, her ocularists. They were being paid enough to, certainly.
He opened his mouth, still unsure what to say, and heard Finn draw breath beside him to say something full of love and good intentions and completely, utterly wrong.
“You look like you.” Blaine’s mouth turned down, then up, and he stepped toward her. Rachel threw herself into his arms, all of her, all at once, arms tight around his neck. Kurt bit his tongue. She didn’t have scars covering half her body like so much crumpled paper; she didn’t feel them there even when they weren’t visible. It was one thing for her to fall all over Blaine.
Kurt sank back under Finn’s arm for the few seconds left before Rachel turned to them. “You look beautiful,” he said then, stepping forward.
Rachel smiled. “Do you like my dress?”
“It’s very pretty.” It was. It made him sick to his stomach.
“Thank you. I made it myself.” She looked up at Finn, her wide, beseeching eyes thrown off by the weight on the right side of her face.
“I love you,” he said, and let go of Kurt to crush her to him. She wrapped around him, easy and open.
Blaine came back to Kurt’s side, reaching absently for his hand, and Kurt jerked to avoid him before realizing it was the good one. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No, I -”
“Well, what do you kids say we move this party to the basement?” Hiram put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders. “I know some of us have been dying to hear you break out the karaoke set, and the rest of the party should be here soon.” He looked at Leroy. “Do you have the drinks ready? No one likes to wait on a Shirley Temple; it’s adding insult to injury.”
“Don’t make fun of your daughter’s menu,” Leroy said. Kurt tugged on Blaine’s arm, cocking his head toward the basement.
“I’m sorry,” he said again on the way down
“It’s okay, Kurt,” Blaine insisted, reaching for his hand again. He caught himself up this time. “I’m sorry! I’m - I’m used to touching you. I just don’t know when I can anymore.”
Kurt shook his head. “I don’t either.”
“We’ll wait for you to figure it out.”
He heard the desperation in Blaine’s voice and felt awful - Blaine was afraid Kurt was going to break up with him, he knew it. But addressing the issue would require actual communication, and it would get around to Terri, and his scars, and what had happened, and he just - he couldn’t.
The door slammed overhead and the murmur of voices rose; the rest of the guests had arrived. Rachel wanted to keep things small, and not even New Directions was invited, but Burt and Carole were coming, as well as Will and Emma. Quinn had also been invited, although Kurt wouldn’t take any bets as to whether she’d show up.
The others trooped down the stairs after them, and Kurt hurried over. “Hey, Dad. How’s your Shirley Temple?” He was holding it like he thought it might jump out of the glass and bite him.
“It’s very bright,” Burt said. “You want it?”
“Empty calories,” Kurt dismissed. “You can’t drink it either, Dad. Your heart.” He took it and handed it imperiously to Carole.
“Thank you.” Carole downed most of it in one gulp. “He never listens to me about food.”
“I’d have listened to you about this if Hiram had given me a chance.”
“It’s made with real grenadine,” Rachel called on her way down the stairs, stiff-backed and clinging to the wall. “I cooked the pomegranates myself.”
“That’s real impressive, kid,” Burt said fiercely, as though someone might contradict him. Kurt leaned into his side, and his dad pulled him close.
“Who still needs a Shirley Temple?” Miss Pillsbury asked, maneuvering the stairs with a tray full of them. She was followed, very slowly, by Mr. Schuester.
“Oh, me!” Blaine moved closer, reaching to help with the tray.
“I can’t wait to tell Finn how impressed I am by the decorations,” Carole said, toeing the cardboard yellow brick road, which swooped twice around the room before running out of space and crossing over itself to lead to the stage.
“He outdid himself,” Kurt agreed, although technically Finn would have outdone himself by taping some streamers to the wall, given that he had nothing to outdo.
“I’m a very lucky woman.” Carole leaned against Burt’s other side. “I’m proud of all my boys,” and she reached over to touch Kurt’s cheek.
Kurt dodged her, protesting, “Remember Contagion? We don’t touch the face, Mom -” and he stopped, sick.
Carole blanched, and his dad’s arm slackened on his shoulder before pulling painfully tight. She recovered quickly, eyes soft. “Kurt,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Kurt stepped away. “I’m going to go talk to Rachel.” He put a hand to his stomach as he fled up the stairs, avoiding Blaine’s gaze, and his dad’s, and Carole’s. They couldn’t talk about it here. Not during Rachel’s party. It wasn’t even the first time it had happened since he got back. That didn’t make it any better.
Rachel was standing at the front door, flanked by Hiram and Leroy. Quinn, barely visible around the three of them, stood on the front steps. She was holding an envelope.
“I’m just not ready,” Rachel said. “Can you tell her I’m sorry?”
“I will.” Quinn held the envelope out. “She already understands that, though. That’s why she wanted me to give you this.”
Rachel leaned away, into Leroy.
“Ah, thank you, Quinn, but this is, if I may suggest, not the best time for that, either,” Hiram said.
“She’s Rachel’s mother.” Quinn smiled, brittle and false. She shone in the sunlight, all perfect blonde hair and clean white dress. “I just think she should be able to send her own daughter a note when something this big has happened.”
“I changed my mind.” Rachel stepped away from Leroy, back into the house, and saw Kurt. “Quinn, you’re not invited anymore. I want you to leave.” She hurried over to him, and he put his arms around her. She slotted against him, the right side of her face hidden against his chest.
“Thank you for the effort,” said Leroy. “I’m sure Shelby will be willing to wait.”
“It was lovely of you to go out of your way,” said Hiram. He sounded somewhat other than grateful.
Quinn’s jaw set. “Fine. I understand. Rachel, congratulations. You look beautiful.” She turned on her heel and Hiram closed the door.
“I don’t like that girl,” he said.
“Don’t, Dad. Quinn is my friend.” Rachel shook her head. “I just can’t deal with Shelby right now.”
“You don’t have to,” Leroy said, one hand on Hiram’s back. His face was drawn, jaw flexed; he sounded nothing but concerned.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, and turned toward them.
“Rachel.” Hiram beckoned to her, and she stepped toward him.
Kurt had the impression that this was about to become a private family moment. Feeling harried, he retreated to the basement stairs.
Finn met him coming from the kitchen with another tray of Shirley Temples. He looked over Kurt’s head, craning to see the vestibule. “Is Quinn here?”
“Eyes on your drinks,” Kurt said, steering him away. “And no. She got here, but she had a message from Shelby and Rachel freaked out. I’d let her alone with her dads right now if I were you.”
“Oh, wow.” Finn started his precarious way down the basement stairs. “That’s super awkward. I get why Shelby came back when she heard, but…”
“You’d think that she could recognize that the last thing Rachel needs right now is a ‘mother’ coming between her and her dads again,” Kurt finished in a rush, and had to stop for breath.
“…Yeah. I guess. What you said.” Finn stopped on the landing. The glasses swayed and tinkled on the tray, and Kurt winced. “Look, Kurt, my mom loves you.”
“I know.” Kurt drew back, stiffening. “I love Carole too. That’s not the point.”
“…Do you want us to go away?” Finn looked down into the fragile fluted glasses. Bubbles flew up from the bottom and popped at the surface. “I heard them talking about it. If we went away for a while and you could have your dad to yourself.”
Yes, Kurt thought, and then imagined being home alone while his dad was at the shop on weekends or running errands or at a game - and imagined having to ask him not to do those things, or to let Kurt come. “No,” he said tightly. “I want you here.”
“Good.” Finn nodded. “I want to hug you right now, but I can’t with the drinks in the way.”
“That’s okay.”
They came out into the basement, and Kurt stopped to really take it in - the four walls hung with red, blue, yellow, and purple streamers respectively; the stage covered in green and with a green cardboard castle. There were flying monkeys hanging from the ceiling, felt ones attached with scotch tape, and an old-fashioned broom dangling from the light fixture.
“This is really amazing,” he said.
Finn smiled. “It was pretty awesome of Rachel’s dads to let me do it. I think Leroy almost passed out when I started putting tape on the ceiling.”
“Well, you’re a rebel that way.” Kurt patted his shoulder and took the long way around the table to his dad, avoiding Carole and Blaine, who were sharing the couch and a plate of green cookies cut like emeralds.
“Hey, buddy.” He had been watching ever since Kurt came back into view, and studied Kurt’s face minutely now. “You want to go home?”
Kurt returned the favor, checking for paleness or the odd waxy quality his dad’s skin got when he was feeling sick. “No! No, the party just started. It’ll be great.” He slumped against his father’s side once he was sure his health checked out, though and let his head fall on his shoulder. “I’m just going to rest here until Rachel comes down and really lights things up.”
“Yeah? If anyone can sleep standing, it’s you.” Burt wrapped an arm around him. “Go ahead, take a nap. She’ll wake you up when she gets down, that’s for sure.”
“Yes, she will.”
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Will hadn’t heard Kurt follow him. Of course, he hadn’t heard anything, too focused on completing the task at hand: a flight of stairs. And Kurt could walk silently compared to him, no dragging or gasping.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Well, quite a lot of celebration. I needed some air. Do you want help?”
“I wouldn’t mind a hand to the couch,” Will conceded. The constant offers of aid didn’t bother him, in a good mood. He could appreciate the need to feel useful - to feel anything besides helpless.
Kurt slipped under his arm to support him, taking his weight easily, and for the first time in three years it occurred to him that Kurt had grown. He didn’t remember how he’d looked in New Directions’ first year, unable to see past the way he was now, but he was certain it would have been a much longer drop to Kurt’s shoulder back then. Not to mention Kurt probably couldn’t have lowered him to the couch so easily. They were growing up, his kids. Finn and Rachel, Santana, Kurt, Mike. Eighteen already. And Kurt and Rachel were making headlines, still in high school - for all the worst reasons.
“Do you ever wish…” He looked down at his lap. Kurt sat beside him, and Will did not look over at his hands, gloved, one of them twisted and painful. “If Sandy were still your choir director, none of this would have happened.”
Kurt didn’t answer, really, but then, Will hadn’t really asked the question. “You’d still be married to her,” he said instead.
“Maybe.”
“Oh, you would. You’d be an accountant. We saved you.” He felt Kurt turn to look at him, but didn’t look back. “Thank you. Jumping in front of me was very brave. And it’s nice not to have a bullet wound on top of…” he waved his hand at himself. He did not mention death as a possibility.
“I don’t think it was brave,” said Will, who really didn’t mind being told otherwise. “I didn’t think about it.”
“Thank you anyway.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rachel appeared in the doorway, and Will realized he’d been expecting her. She walked over, back straight as a pin, and sat carefully between them. “Apart from my victim impact statement and my speech at the memorial for Sugar Motta, I’ve been extraordinarily brave and silent about this,” she said without preamble.
“We know,” Kurt said, nudging her foot with his.
“And I’m trying to be happy for my party.”
“We know,” Will said, patting her knee.
“But I’m missing an eye. There’s a piece of plastic in my head that still doesn’t move enough to fool anyone, I can’t see, I can’t dance - and who ever heard of an international superstar in show business with a prosthetic eye? Don’t say Sammy Davis Jr., he was already famous when it happened and he’s a man.”
“He was before the internet, too.” Kurt rubbed his hands together. “Before everyone knew what you looked like and devoted entire websites to discussing it.”
“If I have to assign a month-long Britney Spears lesson, to boost your self-esteem, I’ll do it,” Will said. They didn’t laugh. Neither did he. He didn’t have a future career to worry about, but he had loved to dance. And now -
“I’m only listing my disadvantages academically,” Rachel said. “What matters is the press we’ve gotten from this and the overcoming obstacles essays we’re going to be able to write.”
Kurt shook his head. “The last thing I want to do is…”
“Talk about it,” Will supplied. Ever again. Even in passing. “Yeah.”
“My depth perception and balance are shot. My right eye is always going to look too big and motionless and it’s going to affect my acting,” Rachel said, voice terribly even. “I can’t - I can’t even make the expressions I used to, my face isn’t… And your leg, Kurt. Even once your family has the money for surgery on that, or if you take Al Motta up on his offer to pay in honor of his daughter. Say if it’s completely successful, that will still be months out from whatever you’re doing at the time for recovery and physical therapy. We still don’t know if they’ll be able to fix your hand at all.”
“A purely academic list,” Kurt said dryly.
“Rachel,” Will protested. He knew what a relief it was to be honest about how bad things were, had said horrible things to Emma about what his life would be like with a chunk of his thigh missing, but to bring Kurt into it…
“I’m just saying that our odds are pretty bad,” Rachel continued, unperturbed. “We have to use the advantage we have - any advantage we have.” She turned to Will. “Even if you never do get to go to New York, you could lever tenure out of this.”
Kurt leaned into her, staring through the wall.
“I’m only being realistic,” Rachel said. “We have to be honest with ourselves.” She waited, and Will waited, and Kurt made no move that Will could see but Rachel nodded as if he’d agreed with her. “We have to be practical,” she murmured, and wound her hands through theirs, one on each side.
“What we have to do is get back to your party,” Will said. “Before someone comes looking for the guest of honor.”
“All right.” She looked at Kurt. “First I want you to promise me something.”
“Okay.” Kurt met her eyes slowly.
“We’re going to do whatever it takes. Aren’t we, Kurt. Promise.”
Kurt swallowed. “I promise.”
Will had missed something important, he was sure of it. Kurt helped him up, though, and Rachel hurried back to the basement ahead of them, conversation over, and he was too late. He never got to ask.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
“Guardian angels God will send thee,” Terri hummed, needles clicking and with one eye on the communal TV. Thank God for whatever study had shown that knitting was helpful for convicted felons; she would have gone absolutely crazy without something crafty to do.
“Who’re you making that for?” asked Rosa, who was a lovely woman despite the fact that orange did nothing for her complexion. Terri was sure that backing her car up over her husband had been a misunderstanding of some kind. “It’s so… sparkly.”
“Oh, do you like it?” Terri beamed, shaking it out. The yarn was dark green, shot through with sparkling silver threads. “It’s a sweater for my son. I have one all ready for my daughter. It’s absolute torture being here without them.” She sighed and set the sweater down, looking instead at the TV. Kurt and Rachel were being interviewed by CNN this time. She had learned after their first few interviews to insist on the sound being off; they said the most ridiculous things about her. But it was such a relief to get to see them - the way Kurt’s chin lifted when he spoke; the way Rachel played with the hem of her skirt when she was silent. It was yellow this time, but still made by hand. Just like Terri had taught her.
Sue was with them. She often was. Terri resented her for it, but thought from the few interviews she’d listened to that it was for the best. Sue could head the reporters off when the questions were too hard for the kids. Someone had to look out for them, after all, while Terri was gone. Al Motta came on sometimes as well, but he didn’t look up to any kind of job. He just stared dead into the camera and reminded everyone to come forward if they found any trace of his daughter’s body.
It was too bad Will was never on. She liked to think it was because he couldn’t bring himself to say bad things about her; the kids were just kids, but Will knew better. That didn’t change the fact that she missed seeing him.
Terri picked her knitting back up. She had to have presents for them. She wasn’t allowed to send things, apparently; she’d discussed it with her lawyer. Still, she wanted to have something ready just in case. “I can’t wait to see them again,” she said, and settled into her chair, humming again. “I, my loving vigil keeping, clear through the night…”
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Master List
Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, ableism, homophobia, physical abuse by a caretaker, a smidgen of Stockholm's, serious injury, tertiary character death.
Rating: R
Word Count: Whole fic: 52, 000; Part 3: 23, 340
Disclaimer: RIB and FOX own everything ever.
Beta: rdm-ation
1A | 1B | 2A | 2B | 3A | 3B | 3C
This prompt. If Will wants a family, Terri will give him a family. And if he wants his precious glee kids - two birds, one stone.
There were several reasons that Emma wished she had never met Sue Sylvester. Her daily life would have been less stressful, for one thing. She would have heard approximately eighty-four percent fewer jokes about her hair, a very sensitive topic for her. She would have had probably a week’s worth of time not spent cleaning up Sue’s messes or doing damage control. She would have had to question far less frequently her belief that aside from her parents, humans were basically good and well-intentioned, and that when they lashed out it was due to their inner pain rather than a genuine desire to hurt others.
Really, the stress issue was hard to overstate.
Also she would not be on this unplanned flight. She would not be sitting ramrod straight praying that the last thousand people who had used this seat had been hygienic. She would not be wishing she’d brought oxygen so that she could breathe something besides the filthy recycled air coating her lungs right now. She would not be wishing that she might go temporarily deaf so that she could miss the strident calls of “You call this an on-flight beverage? I could produce a more potent on-flight beverage with my left breast” from first class. She would not be having a minor anxiety attack wondering what would happen if the pilot realized she was connected to Sue and put them both on a no-fly list. In short, she would be home, clean, and safe. If only she didn’t know Sue Sylvester.
Right now she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed with tissues and a movie, preferably one with an adorable animal as a major character. It had been a day and a half and Will hadn’t so much as called. He had gone to visit his wife of sixteen years, his first and, for most of his life, only girlfriend, and he hadn’t called Emma. No matter how incredulous she’d been initially, she knew. She knew what that meant.
Instead, here she was on a plane to Florida, headed for a humiliating and completely horrible confrontation. Because of Sue Sylvester.
At six that morning, Sue had given her a heart attack by throwing open the door to her bedroom. Emma had no idea how she’d gotten into the apartment, or even how she’d known where the apartment was. There hadn’t been a good moment to ask. By the time Emma had stopped screaming and convinced herself it wasn’t a nightmare, Sue had thrown a handful of clothes at her and said, “Get dressed, Angelina, and try not to choose a blouse with so many printed flowers it irritates my allergies. I’m going on a rescue mission, and I’ll need you to staunch the wounds, always assuming that you don’t faint at the sight of blood.” She sounded as though she viewed fainting at the sight of blood as a grave and deliberate character flaw.
“What - what are you talking about, why are you here? Now?” Emma clutched the blanket to her chest. Her nightgown wasn’t at all revealing, but there was nothing like having Sue Sylvester in your bedroom to make you feel exposed.
“I want you to narrow your eyes, Imelda, because if you get them any wider they may well fall out of your head, like those small yappy dogs you resemble in so many ways, and I do not have time to pop them back in. Get up, put on some pumps and an offensively bright skirt, and let’s get going. We have a flight to catch.”
Emma could be assertive. Maybe especially against Sue, because she really had no patience left for the woman. But she could not be assertive at six in the morning, in her bedroom, wearing her nightgown, still half-asleep and with a six-foot woman breathing fire down her neck.
So she ended up in a taxi with Sue Sylvester driving - Sue had called the taxi service in from Columbus and then informed the driver that he would be scooting over. “Where are we going?” she asked, clinging with a tissue to the door handle to keep still in the swerving vehicle. Tissue did not grip well.
“Florida,” Sue said, turning left, the light still red.
Emma shrieked as another car screamed by mere inches from them.
“Someone’s going to call this plate in,” said the man who had delivered the taxi. “I could lose my job!”
“Florida?” Emma repeated.
“I’m sure you listen to plenty of soppy, immature music about fighting for your man.” Sue tapped the dash. “Is ninety as fast as this thing goes?”
Emma closed her eyes when a stop sign whizzed by. “My relationship with Will is none of your business, and I realize that I did share some details with you yesterday, which was foolish and unfair of me, but - I’m confused. You hate Will and me. What are you doing?”
“Well, Amelia, you worry about fighting for your man, and I’m going to take care of fighting for my arch-nemesis. No unsuccessful, backstabbing flunky is going to take my one worthy opponent from me using underhanded means. I’m afraid, Emily, that you’ll just have to accept it: neither your embarrassment of an on-again off-again fling nor Honey Badger’s terrified, desperate clutches can change the fact that William Schuester is, essentially, mine.” She shook her head. In the rearview mirror, Emma could see her gazing into the distance. Closer to, the roof of the toll booth sailed above them and Sue yanked the wheel around, spinning them onto the highway. “I’m getting soft in my old age, but Ermengard, I’d be lost without him.”
“You can have the taxi,” said the driver. “Just let me go.”
Now, Emma sat bolt upright and tried not to think about the sweaty man snoring next to her, and Florida rose to meet her.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The party was, at least, pretty. Rachel had to concede that much. It was very pink, but it was pretty. There were streamers along the walls and billowing out from the overhead light in arcs to the corners of the room and balloon bouquets blossoming from the back of her chair, a pile of presents sparkling on the table, and a towering frosted cake. She had no idea how Terri had gotten a cake in without them noticing, but there it sat, covered in little pink roses and some kind of edible confetti-type substance. Funny Girl was not being projected against the wall the way it would have been at home with her dads, and there was no stage, but still, it looked like a normal birthday party. Except for the chains, of course.
She’d never had a birthday without her dads before. She’d never get this one back. She used to worry and fantasize about the first time she’d be too busy with her rehearsal schedule, what with the revival of “Evita” on Broadway that she would star in and produce, to celebrate with her dads. It would be bittersweet and a part of growing up and accepting her responsibilities as an international star. And instead, this was happening.
“I would suggest that we sing happy birthday,” Terri said, beaming and giving Rachel the first slice of cake, “but I think we’ll save it until the presents are open. I know my family will want to make a production out of it.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, and picked up her fork. She wasn’t even angry about this, or sad, or anything anymore. She felt pleasantly done with all of this. All she had to do was smile, call Terri ‘mom,’ and say appreciative things once in a while. She barely even had to be present.
The cake tasted dry and chalky.
“I want you to open this one first,” Terri said, patting the biggest present. “Then we can finally sing ‘Happy Birthday’!”
“Okay,” Rachel said, and smiled. She stood and leaned over the table, sliding her newly-smooth fingernails under the tape and jerking upwards. The paper, striped candy pink and glittering silver, tore easily, and hard black plastic emerged. She knew what it was, but it took too long for it to sink in. She waited and kept smiling.
“A sound system!” Terri clapped. “I already set it up, baby, and the microphone is all ready. Why don’t you and Kurt sing a little something with your father?”
“Thank you,” Rachel said again. “That sounds nice.”
“Actually,” Mr. Schue touched Terri’s hand. “Would you mind coming into the living room with me for a minute? Kurt and Rachel can warm up on their own. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Oh.” Terri looked put out, but shrugged. “Well, if you two can behave on your own…”
“We’ll be good,” Kurt said acidly. “Mom.”
“Then I guess there’s no harm in a little grown-up time. Make it quick, though, Will. It’s right in the middle of our daughter’s birthday party, after all.”
Mr. Schue looked at Rachel, who she stared back absently. “It’ll only take a second.”
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
“I can’t do this,” Will said as son as they were alone. He didn’t bother trying to turn the chair to face Terri, waiting instead for her to walk around in front of him; he had no idea how Artie managed these things. “You have to stop, Terri. Rachel’s falling apart.”
Terri did not come around to face him. He could feel her standing just behind him, hear her breathing. “I had really hoped you wouldn’t start this again,” she said.
“Well, I guess I’m having trouble developing Stockholm’s Syndrome as quickly as you would have liked. Honestly, what did you think was going to happen? People know that I was coming here. You could make this so much easier on yourself by letting us go right now.”
“Oh, no, darling, I don’t think that would be easier on anyone.” Terri’s hands closed on his shoulders. “Especially you.” Her voice lilted, mocking. “Honestly, what did you think was going to happen when you left me? I really thought that after you’d punished me for lying to you, you’d come to your senses. I admit I was scared there for a while. Really frightened that we were over. But then I took a look at what your life was without me. A dead-end relationship with an April Rhodes substitute, Will, really? Holly could never have loved you and you knew it. And then back to chasing your crazy little red-head, and I understand her appeal, really I do. She worships the ground you walk on. Who wouldn’t find that attractive? I feel like it’s my fault, in a way. Our relationship wasn’t entirely healthy, and I was domineering, so you found the single easiest, most non-threatening woman on the planet. You probably haven’t even slept with her yet. Really, it’s pure high school.” Her hands tightened, then released, and she stepped into view, crouching beside the chair. “But high school is over, Will. We’re married. It’s time to grow up.”
He swallowed hard. “I know this used to work for you,” he managed, “but I’m in love with Emma. What we had is over. You can’t dismiss everything I’m feeling as a stupid throwback to my glory days now. We’re divorced.”
“Oh!” Terri stood up and stalked to the window, glaring out it at the driveway where the mud was drying to dust under the sun. “Maybe you should go to one of the kids’ rooms and stay there until I calm down, Will. I’m not feeling up to dealing with this kind of behavior from you today.” She shook her head and started sorting through her purse.
“This isn’t -” Will shook his head. “I asked you in here because of Rachel, not us. If you don’t do anything else, if you keep me, if you keep Kurt,” and it hurt to say it, but they’d be found soon, it wasn’t so much of a betrayal, not really, “you have to let Rachel go. Blindfold her and drive her somewhere. She’s falling apart, Terri. You’re killing her.”
“Oh, don’t be melodramatic. She’s a little shell-shocked from all the changes and how happy she is about her birthday. Eighteen is a big deal. You know, I have done everything right. I got everything ready, I made sure it would all work with Sugar, and now you’re just… trying to throw it all away.” She cocked her head, staring at something he couldn’t see.
“She’s suffering from emotional trauma, and you don’t know that she’ll ever get better - Sugar?“
“What is Sue doing here?” Terri murmured.
“Stay with me, the world is dark and wild,” one of the kids sang in the other room, and stopped, the microphone clunking.
“Wait, what?” Will craned his neck, pushing himself up and trying to balance without upsetting the chair. “Sue - Sue Sylvester?”
“And look who’s with her,” Terri said thoughtfully. She turned, leaving her purse on the windowsill, and faced the door. She held her arms out straight, fingers tight around the gun in her hands.
“Terri -” Will said, starting up again.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he heard Sue say just outside the door. “There’s a trick to it, Irma, and the trick is being supernaturally strong due to a strict diet of protein shakes and rage.” The door shuddered.
“What’s going on?” Kurt called from the dining room.
“Nothing, sweetie,” Terri called back. “You two just stay where you are.”
“Oh my God,” Will said. “Sue, she’s got a gun!”
“Will, would you let me handle this?” Terri snapped.
“I have a tracksuit made entirely of Kevlar,” Sue hollered, and the door shuddered again. “Anyway, Honey Badger, this place is surrounded by my elite backup team in three directions, a helicopter of FBI agents above, and me. I admire your resourcefulness, but there’s a time to live to fight another day. Or so I hear.”
“Miss Sylvester?” Rachel was standing in the doorway to the dining room, supporting Kurt with one arm. The horrible glassy, vacant look in her eyes was starting to dissipate, and at the worst time. “Mr. Schuester, what’s going on?”
“Get back, Rachel, get out,” he said, trying to turn the chair; she ignored him and walked in, pulling Kurt with her.
“Dad?” Kurt was staring at the door. “Dad?!”
The door slammed open.
Terri shot once, almost absently, in Sue’s direction, and then she turned toward the kids, aiming over Will’s head. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Be brave for your sister,” she said, and pulled the trigger. Will propelled himself upward as she was still speaking, and was brought up short at the ankles but got high enough to come between her and Kurt.
The sound was deafening, much louder than the first shot. Maybe it just seemed that way because this one hit him. He lay on his side, the chair’s wheels spinning noisily behind him, blood pooling beneath his leg, and felt relieved. He’d saved Kurt. That was fair.
He never heard the third shot, but a few seconds before he passed out, Rachel hit the ground beside him, blood covering her face. Oh, he thought, and then he stopped thinking anything at all.
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Emma had been knocked backward a step when Sue reeled into her with the force of the shot that hit her chest, and she hadn’t moved since. Her ears rang and her heart pounded.
Sue had lied about the reinforcements, but not, apparently, about the Kevlar. After her momentary lapse, she had launched herself at Terri and grappled her to the floor, yelling about a citizen’s arrest and hurling the gun to a far corner of the room.
Kurt stared at her, face white and blank. She didn’t look down at Will and Rachel.
“Amber,” Sue grunted from her citizen’s arrest, “if you could see your way clear to calling 911 before we lose either Captain Butt-Chin or his sidekick Lady Loudmouth, that would be just swell. It is what I brought you along for, remember?”
“Oh my God,” Emma said, sinking to her knees. “Oh my God.”
“Phone, Ellen,” Sue repeated.
“Oh my God,” she said again, but pulled her phone out and dialed. “This stupid thing - I have to save it as a contact before I can call - Kurt stop - stop the bleeding -”
“Rachel,” he said finally, dropping to his knees with a gasp of pain. “Rachel no please no,” and he scooped her up against him. Her head flopped back and for a second Emma could see it, through the near-black blood concealing her; the right side of her face was smashed, her eye a pulpy mess.
The phone started ringing against Emma’s ear as she turned away from them to vomit.
“Emma,” said Sue, and it took her too long to realize whom Sue meant; the keys hit her shoulder, making her jump.
“Oh,” she said, and dropped the phone, scrambling to untwist Will’s legs from the chair turned on its side. Everything was too heavy and her knees were slipping in all the blood. The keys slid through her fingers twice, getting slicker each time, before she could turn them in the restraints.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, clutching Rachel. “I’m sorry, please no, please….” He had taken his shirt off and balled it against the right side of her face. To staunch the blood, Emma realized, and tore her sweater off to do the same for Will. It was too late, it had to be too late - there was so much blood and most of it was his, from his leg -
A tinny voice sounded from the floor and she remembered the phone. “Yes,” she gasped, snatching it up. It was tacky with blood and slid against her ear, hair sticking to it.
She turned away and vomited again.
“Oh, give me the phone,” Sue said. “I have Honey Badger in a foolproof hold anyway.”
Emma didn’t look, only tossed the phone over. Sue would know what to tell them about how to get here. They had found the house themselves because Sue had hacked some kind of military satellite with her iPhone.
She wound her sweater around Will’s leg as tightly as she could manage, trying to remember her first aid lessons at the swimming pool - there was definitely a tourniquet involved, but she could only pull a cashmere sweater so tight and it was already soaked -
“You’ll never have him like I did,” Terri said, quiet and crystal clear. Emma stared at her, uncomprehending.
“She’ll have him alive, though,” Sue said grimly. “That’s a Sue Sylvester promise. Pull that sweater tighter, Effie. Like his life depended on it.”
Emma pulled tighter, and pressed down. Her ears rang. Kurt sobbed. Terri started to cry, and for a moment Emma thought she was laughing.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x Epilogue x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Rachel stared vacantly at herself in the mirror and hummed as she brushed her hair out. She never used to hum. Why hum when you could sing? But for months now, ever since she got out of the hospital after Miss Pillsbury found them, she’d had this tune stuck in her head. She found herself humming it constantly. “Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee…” The words were something like that. She thought it might be a hymn. Hardly her usual.
She made a mental note to research the effects of humming on the vocal chords, and promptly forgot.
“Rachel?” Leroy leaned around the door. “Are you ready, sweetie? Kurt and Blaine are here, and Finn is on his fourth bowl of pre-celebration cereal. Your dad is submitting himself to a blow-by-blow report of a sporting event to keep him downstairs, so if you value either of their lives you should probably say yes.”
“All right.” Rachel turned her head slightly to the left, examining herself in the mirror. Her left eye was bloodshot in the corner. The right one wasn’t. She looked straight ahead again. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe no one would have noticed if they hadn’t all been looking for it. She stood up, head very straight, and thought of Eliza Doolittle on her way to the stairs.
“Rachel, honey, I know you’re supposed to keep your head above your shoulders,” Leroy said, putting a hand on her arm. “But you don’t have to balance imaginary books.”
“I’m just playing it safe. My therapist says it’s natural to try to control my surroundings to the utmost of my ability and to avoid all risky behavior because of my PTSD, or possibly because of one of the other ones. Anyway, it’s perfectly normal.”
“Okay, okay.” Leroy maneuvered ahead of her. “Let me announce you.”
Rachel looked carefully over her shoulder; she could just make out her reflection in the bathroom mirror down the hall. She looked normal, from this far away. She looked pretty. She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. It was pink. She’d made it herself.
She took a deep breath and followed her father down the stairs.
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Kurt had made a firm resolution to be charitable about this, but: the party Finn had planned as a welcome home event (which had naturally been put off when everyone was found only to be driven directly to the hospital, and for months again because of the trial and Rachel’s surgery) had been turned into a celebration of the unveiling of Rachel Berry. Honestly, he had to admire her for it.
“Would it be wrong to take bets on whether she’ll be wearing knee socks with a miniskirt?” he whispered to Blaine.
Blaine settled closer to him on the couch. “I like her knee socks.”
“Really, Blaine? Say that again and you’re going to have to sit with Finn.” He shifted away, covering it with a smile.
“Hiram, kids,” Leroy called from the bottom of the stairs, “Rachel’s ready.”
Blaine got up first and offered his hand to Kurt, who pretended not to see it and got to his feet with some difficulty, leg protesting and gloved hands slipping on the couch. He had always maintained that, given incentive, he could make any article of clothing work, but gloves were tricky. They had been out of style for two hundred years, for a start. And it wasn’t as if there were a wide variety of choices. It was difficult to even find gloves that weren’t meant to provide warmth. He’d resorted to tailored opera gloves and some eclectic things bought on the internet from people obsessed with the Victorian era. They were next to impossible to design an outfit around, but they were better than the twisted, rippling mess that was his hand.
“Hey,” said Finn, still chewing his cereal. He put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “How are you?”
“Still fine, despite the four minutes that have elapsed since you last asked,” Kurt said, voice light.
Rachel did not make the production of her entrance that Kurt would have in her place - or thought he would. He would have before this summer. She paused only once on the stairs before darting down and staring, eyes unnaturally wide. “How does it look?” she said, gaze shifting rapidly between the three of them.
Kurt knew how much Rachel valued honesty. He also knew that Leroy was glaring at them all over her head and that Hiram’s hand was tight on Leroy’s arm, possibly in preparation to fake a debilitating disease if someone started to say the wrong thing. And he knew how vulnerable Rachel was right now. What he did not know, however, was what to say. The right side of her face was still different, swollen and tight from surgery. Her left eye was bloodshot and teary, and her right eye stared straight and perfect and just a touch too large, too still - but they would work all that out, her ocularists. They were being paid enough to, certainly.
He opened his mouth, still unsure what to say, and heard Finn draw breath beside him to say something full of love and good intentions and completely, utterly wrong.
“You look like you.” Blaine’s mouth turned down, then up, and he stepped toward her. Rachel threw herself into his arms, all of her, all at once, arms tight around his neck. Kurt bit his tongue. She didn’t have scars covering half her body like so much crumpled paper; she didn’t feel them there even when they weren’t visible. It was one thing for her to fall all over Blaine.
Kurt sank back under Finn’s arm for the few seconds left before Rachel turned to them. “You look beautiful,” he said then, stepping forward.
Rachel smiled. “Do you like my dress?”
“It’s very pretty.” It was. It made him sick to his stomach.
“Thank you. I made it myself.” She looked up at Finn, her wide, beseeching eyes thrown off by the weight on the right side of her face.
“I love you,” he said, and let go of Kurt to crush her to him. She wrapped around him, easy and open.
Blaine came back to Kurt’s side, reaching absently for his hand, and Kurt jerked to avoid him before realizing it was the good one. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No, I -”
“Well, what do you kids say we move this party to the basement?” Hiram put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders. “I know some of us have been dying to hear you break out the karaoke set, and the rest of the party should be here soon.” He looked at Leroy. “Do you have the drinks ready? No one likes to wait on a Shirley Temple; it’s adding insult to injury.”
“Don’t make fun of your daughter’s menu,” Leroy said. Kurt tugged on Blaine’s arm, cocking his head toward the basement.
“I’m sorry,” he said again on the way down
“It’s okay, Kurt,” Blaine insisted, reaching for his hand again. He caught himself up this time. “I’m sorry! I’m - I’m used to touching you. I just don’t know when I can anymore.”
Kurt shook his head. “I don’t either.”
“We’ll wait for you to figure it out.”
He heard the desperation in Blaine’s voice and felt awful - Blaine was afraid Kurt was going to break up with him, he knew it. But addressing the issue would require actual communication, and it would get around to Terri, and his scars, and what had happened, and he just - he couldn’t.
The door slammed overhead and the murmur of voices rose; the rest of the guests had arrived. Rachel wanted to keep things small, and not even New Directions was invited, but Burt and Carole were coming, as well as Will and Emma. Quinn had also been invited, although Kurt wouldn’t take any bets as to whether she’d show up.
The others trooped down the stairs after them, and Kurt hurried over. “Hey, Dad. How’s your Shirley Temple?” He was holding it like he thought it might jump out of the glass and bite him.
“It’s very bright,” Burt said. “You want it?”
“Empty calories,” Kurt dismissed. “You can’t drink it either, Dad. Your heart.” He took it and handed it imperiously to Carole.
“Thank you.” Carole downed most of it in one gulp. “He never listens to me about food.”
“I’d have listened to you about this if Hiram had given me a chance.”
“It’s made with real grenadine,” Rachel called on her way down the stairs, stiff-backed and clinging to the wall. “I cooked the pomegranates myself.”
“That’s real impressive, kid,” Burt said fiercely, as though someone might contradict him. Kurt leaned into his side, and his dad pulled him close.
“Who still needs a Shirley Temple?” Miss Pillsbury asked, maneuvering the stairs with a tray full of them. She was followed, very slowly, by Mr. Schuester.
“Oh, me!” Blaine moved closer, reaching to help with the tray.
“I can’t wait to tell Finn how impressed I am by the decorations,” Carole said, toeing the cardboard yellow brick road, which swooped twice around the room before running out of space and crossing over itself to lead to the stage.
“He outdid himself,” Kurt agreed, although technically Finn would have outdone himself by taping some streamers to the wall, given that he had nothing to outdo.
“I’m a very lucky woman.” Carole leaned against Burt’s other side. “I’m proud of all my boys,” and she reached over to touch Kurt’s cheek.
Kurt dodged her, protesting, “Remember Contagion? We don’t touch the face, Mom -” and he stopped, sick.
Carole blanched, and his dad’s arm slackened on his shoulder before pulling painfully tight. She recovered quickly, eyes soft. “Kurt,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Kurt stepped away. “I’m going to go talk to Rachel.” He put a hand to his stomach as he fled up the stairs, avoiding Blaine’s gaze, and his dad’s, and Carole’s. They couldn’t talk about it here. Not during Rachel’s party. It wasn’t even the first time it had happened since he got back. That didn’t make it any better.
Rachel was standing at the front door, flanked by Hiram and Leroy. Quinn, barely visible around the three of them, stood on the front steps. She was holding an envelope.
“I’m just not ready,” Rachel said. “Can you tell her I’m sorry?”
“I will.” Quinn held the envelope out. “She already understands that, though. That’s why she wanted me to give you this.”
Rachel leaned away, into Leroy.
“Ah, thank you, Quinn, but this is, if I may suggest, not the best time for that, either,” Hiram said.
“She’s Rachel’s mother.” Quinn smiled, brittle and false. She shone in the sunlight, all perfect blonde hair and clean white dress. “I just think she should be able to send her own daughter a note when something this big has happened.”
“I changed my mind.” Rachel stepped away from Leroy, back into the house, and saw Kurt. “Quinn, you’re not invited anymore. I want you to leave.” She hurried over to him, and he put his arms around her. She slotted against him, the right side of her face hidden against his chest.
“Thank you for the effort,” said Leroy. “I’m sure Shelby will be willing to wait.”
“It was lovely of you to go out of your way,” said Hiram. He sounded somewhat other than grateful.
Quinn’s jaw set. “Fine. I understand. Rachel, congratulations. You look beautiful.” She turned on her heel and Hiram closed the door.
“I don’t like that girl,” he said.
“Don’t, Dad. Quinn is my friend.” Rachel shook her head. “I just can’t deal with Shelby right now.”
“You don’t have to,” Leroy said, one hand on Hiram’s back. His face was drawn, jaw flexed; he sounded nothing but concerned.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, and turned toward them.
“Rachel.” Hiram beckoned to her, and she stepped toward him.
Kurt had the impression that this was about to become a private family moment. Feeling harried, he retreated to the basement stairs.
Finn met him coming from the kitchen with another tray of Shirley Temples. He looked over Kurt’s head, craning to see the vestibule. “Is Quinn here?”
“Eyes on your drinks,” Kurt said, steering him away. “And no. She got here, but she had a message from Shelby and Rachel freaked out. I’d let her alone with her dads right now if I were you.”
“Oh, wow.” Finn started his precarious way down the basement stairs. “That’s super awkward. I get why Shelby came back when she heard, but…”
“You’d think that she could recognize that the last thing Rachel needs right now is a ‘mother’ coming between her and her dads again,” Kurt finished in a rush, and had to stop for breath.
“…Yeah. I guess. What you said.” Finn stopped on the landing. The glasses swayed and tinkled on the tray, and Kurt winced. “Look, Kurt, my mom loves you.”
“I know.” Kurt drew back, stiffening. “I love Carole too. That’s not the point.”
“…Do you want us to go away?” Finn looked down into the fragile fluted glasses. Bubbles flew up from the bottom and popped at the surface. “I heard them talking about it. If we went away for a while and you could have your dad to yourself.”
Yes, Kurt thought, and then imagined being home alone while his dad was at the shop on weekends or running errands or at a game - and imagined having to ask him not to do those things, or to let Kurt come. “No,” he said tightly. “I want you here.”
“Good.” Finn nodded. “I want to hug you right now, but I can’t with the drinks in the way.”
“That’s okay.”
They came out into the basement, and Kurt stopped to really take it in - the four walls hung with red, blue, yellow, and purple streamers respectively; the stage covered in green and with a green cardboard castle. There were flying monkeys hanging from the ceiling, felt ones attached with scotch tape, and an old-fashioned broom dangling from the light fixture.
“This is really amazing,” he said.
Finn smiled. “It was pretty awesome of Rachel’s dads to let me do it. I think Leroy almost passed out when I started putting tape on the ceiling.”
“Well, you’re a rebel that way.” Kurt patted his shoulder and took the long way around the table to his dad, avoiding Carole and Blaine, who were sharing the couch and a plate of green cookies cut like emeralds.
“Hey, buddy.” He had been watching ever since Kurt came back into view, and studied Kurt’s face minutely now. “You want to go home?”
Kurt returned the favor, checking for paleness or the odd waxy quality his dad’s skin got when he was feeling sick. “No! No, the party just started. It’ll be great.” He slumped against his father’s side once he was sure his health checked out, though and let his head fall on his shoulder. “I’m just going to rest here until Rachel comes down and really lights things up.”
“Yeah? If anyone can sleep standing, it’s you.” Burt wrapped an arm around him. “Go ahead, take a nap. She’ll wake you up when she gets down, that’s for sure.”
“Yes, she will.”
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Will hadn’t heard Kurt follow him. Of course, he hadn’t heard anything, too focused on completing the task at hand: a flight of stairs. And Kurt could walk silently compared to him, no dragging or gasping.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Well, quite a lot of celebration. I needed some air. Do you want help?”
“I wouldn’t mind a hand to the couch,” Will conceded. The constant offers of aid didn’t bother him, in a good mood. He could appreciate the need to feel useful - to feel anything besides helpless.
Kurt slipped under his arm to support him, taking his weight easily, and for the first time in three years it occurred to him that Kurt had grown. He didn’t remember how he’d looked in New Directions’ first year, unable to see past the way he was now, but he was certain it would have been a much longer drop to Kurt’s shoulder back then. Not to mention Kurt probably couldn’t have lowered him to the couch so easily. They were growing up, his kids. Finn and Rachel, Santana, Kurt, Mike. Eighteen already. And Kurt and Rachel were making headlines, still in high school - for all the worst reasons.
“Do you ever wish…” He looked down at his lap. Kurt sat beside him, and Will did not look over at his hands, gloved, one of them twisted and painful. “If Sandy were still your choir director, none of this would have happened.”
Kurt didn’t answer, really, but then, Will hadn’t really asked the question. “You’d still be married to her,” he said instead.
“Maybe.”
“Oh, you would. You’d be an accountant. We saved you.” He felt Kurt turn to look at him, but didn’t look back. “Thank you. Jumping in front of me was very brave. And it’s nice not to have a bullet wound on top of…” he waved his hand at himself. He did not mention death as a possibility.
“I don’t think it was brave,” said Will, who really didn’t mind being told otherwise. “I didn’t think about it.”
“Thank you anyway.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rachel appeared in the doorway, and Will realized he’d been expecting her. She walked over, back straight as a pin, and sat carefully between them. “Apart from my victim impact statement and my speech at the memorial for Sugar Motta, I’ve been extraordinarily brave and silent about this,” she said without preamble.
“We know,” Kurt said, nudging her foot with his.
“And I’m trying to be happy for my party.”
“We know,” Will said, patting her knee.
“But I’m missing an eye. There’s a piece of plastic in my head that still doesn’t move enough to fool anyone, I can’t see, I can’t dance - and who ever heard of an international superstar in show business with a prosthetic eye? Don’t say Sammy Davis Jr., he was already famous when it happened and he’s a man.”
“He was before the internet, too.” Kurt rubbed his hands together. “Before everyone knew what you looked like and devoted entire websites to discussing it.”
“If I have to assign a month-long Britney Spears lesson, to boost your self-esteem, I’ll do it,” Will said. They didn’t laugh. Neither did he. He didn’t have a future career to worry about, but he had loved to dance. And now -
“I’m only listing my disadvantages academically,” Rachel said. “What matters is the press we’ve gotten from this and the overcoming obstacles essays we’re going to be able to write.”
Kurt shook his head. “The last thing I want to do is…”
“Talk about it,” Will supplied. Ever again. Even in passing. “Yeah.”
“My depth perception and balance are shot. My right eye is always going to look too big and motionless and it’s going to affect my acting,” Rachel said, voice terribly even. “I can’t - I can’t even make the expressions I used to, my face isn’t… And your leg, Kurt. Even once your family has the money for surgery on that, or if you take Al Motta up on his offer to pay in honor of his daughter. Say if it’s completely successful, that will still be months out from whatever you’re doing at the time for recovery and physical therapy. We still don’t know if they’ll be able to fix your hand at all.”
“A purely academic list,” Kurt said dryly.
“Rachel,” Will protested. He knew what a relief it was to be honest about how bad things were, had said horrible things to Emma about what his life would be like with a chunk of his thigh missing, but to bring Kurt into it…
“I’m just saying that our odds are pretty bad,” Rachel continued, unperturbed. “We have to use the advantage we have - any advantage we have.” She turned to Will. “Even if you never do get to go to New York, you could lever tenure out of this.”
Kurt leaned into her, staring through the wall.
“I’m only being realistic,” Rachel said. “We have to be honest with ourselves.” She waited, and Will waited, and Kurt made no move that Will could see but Rachel nodded as if he’d agreed with her. “We have to be practical,” she murmured, and wound her hands through theirs, one on each side.
“What we have to do is get back to your party,” Will said. “Before someone comes looking for the guest of honor.”
“All right.” She looked at Kurt. “First I want you to promise me something.”
“Okay.” Kurt met her eyes slowly.
“We’re going to do whatever it takes. Aren’t we, Kurt. Promise.”
Kurt swallowed. “I promise.”
Will had missed something important, he was sure of it. Kurt helped him up, though, and Rachel hurried back to the basement ahead of them, conversation over, and he was too late. He never got to ask.
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“Guardian angels God will send thee,” Terri hummed, needles clicking and with one eye on the communal TV. Thank God for whatever study had shown that knitting was helpful for convicted felons; she would have gone absolutely crazy without something crafty to do.
“Who’re you making that for?” asked Rosa, who was a lovely woman despite the fact that orange did nothing for her complexion. Terri was sure that backing her car up over her husband had been a misunderstanding of some kind. “It’s so… sparkly.”
“Oh, do you like it?” Terri beamed, shaking it out. The yarn was dark green, shot through with sparkling silver threads. “It’s a sweater for my son. I have one all ready for my daughter. It’s absolute torture being here without them.” She sighed and set the sweater down, looking instead at the TV. Kurt and Rachel were being interviewed by CNN this time. She had learned after their first few interviews to insist on the sound being off; they said the most ridiculous things about her. But it was such a relief to get to see them - the way Kurt’s chin lifted when he spoke; the way Rachel played with the hem of her skirt when she was silent. It was yellow this time, but still made by hand. Just like Terri had taught her.
Sue was with them. She often was. Terri resented her for it, but thought from the few interviews she’d listened to that it was for the best. Sue could head the reporters off when the questions were too hard for the kids. Someone had to look out for them, after all, while Terri was gone. Al Motta came on sometimes as well, but he didn’t look up to any kind of job. He just stared dead into the camera and reminded everyone to come forward if they found any trace of his daughter’s body.
It was too bad Will was never on. She liked to think it was because he couldn’t bring himself to say bad things about her; the kids were just kids, but Will knew better. That didn’t change the fact that she missed seeing him.
Terri picked her knitting back up. She had to have presents for them. She wasn’t allowed to send things, apparently; she’d discussed it with her lawyer. Still, she wanted to have something ready just in case. “I can’t wait to see them again,” she said, and settled into her chair, humming again. “I, my loving vigil keeping, clear through the night…”
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Master List