Fic Lilaced Moorland Fields (2/7)
Title: Lilaced Moorland Fields - Chapter 2/7
Rating: R
Warnings: This story contains the sexual abuse of a child.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 4,491
Summary: Kurt and Blaine Hummel have been married for fifteen years, living in New York with their seven-year-old son. As two highly sucessful professionals, they are living not their teenage dreams but couldn't imagine life any other way. Unfortuantely the utopia they had crafted came to a screaching halt one day in late October. Title from The Smith's "Suffer Little Children"
Chapter 1
When Kurt's alarm went off at 5:30 the next morning, Blaine groaned and buried himself further into the bedding. He felt his husband shift, turning off the alarm and heading towards the bathroom without turning on the light. Blaine sighed, he had thirty minutes before he had to get up.
He and Kurt had perfected their morning routines several years ago. Kurt had to leave the brownstone by 6:45 to catch his train downtown. Blaine was responsible for getting Anderson ready and dropping him off to school before heading to NYU. It was the reason Blaine was usually the one with the car. Kurt would take a quick shower and style his hair before exiting the bathroom, signaling it was time for Blaine to get up. He didn't even need to set an alarm.
Kurt dressed in a gray Armani suit, with simple cranberry tie, while Blaine shrugged on a shirt and headed downstairs to get their coffee ready. A general rule in the Hummel house was there was little to no talking before Dad and Papa got their morning coffee. Of course, this only really came into play on the weekends when Anderson would often wake up before either of the two men.
Blaine had set coffee maker before he went to bed, so when he made it to the kitchen, a fresh pot of drip was waiting for him. Pouring himself a cup he added a spoonful of sugar and a dash of cinnamon, basking in the smell and taste. For Kurt he added a dollop of vanilla soy milk ready for him when he came down.
“Mmmm, morning,” mumbled Kurt as he accepted his drink and together they let the caffeine kick in.
“What time do you think you'll be home tonight,” asked Blaine as he heated milk on the stove for breakfast. Oatmeal today.
“Dave Johnson, Peterson's lawyer, has a new baby at home so we should finish up the deposition by five. I figure I'll just head home from there. If you pick up some goat cheese from that market by NYU, I can make that zucchini pasta you like.”
“That sounds great,” he replied, stirring the oats into the hot milk. “How many days to you think it will take?”
“Hopefully not more than two. Why?”
“Oh, it's just that Anderson had a dentist appointment at 8:30 Friday morning and my calc II class meets at 9. If you can't take him, I'll call to reschedule.”
“I should be able to do it. I'll let Johnson know that if it takes more than two days, I can't be in until 10.”
“Great.”
Kurt and Blaine silently sipped their coffee, putting breakfast on table. “I'm going to go wake Anderson.”
Since Anderson had started school, it had become normal for their son to eat breakfast before getting dressed in the morning. Kurt wanted to see his son before he had to leave for work every morning and there was no way he could do that if Anderson had to be dressed before coming downstairs.
Blaine came back down to the table, informing Kurt that Anderson was getting up. The two men sat for a moment with their coffee and oatmeal, a third bowl with orange juice set out waiting, and listen for the tell-tale thunder of footsteps. A few minutes later, they heard stomping down the stairs.
“Daddy!” exclaimed Anderson, launching himself into his fathers arms.
“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good sleep?” asked Kurt, who was happy to see the boy in the same pajamas he had worn to bed the night before. He glanced at Blaine, back at the pajamas, and once more back at Blaine. They shared a smile, glad that Anderson had made it through the night without enuresis.
“Yeah,” replied the seven-year-old, adding brown sugar to his oatmeal.
“Not too much,” cautioned Kurt, pulling the spoon back as Anderson went for a third scoop. Sighing, he checked his watch. 6:40. “I got to head out soon.”
“Already, Dad?”
“Yeah,” he said, wrapping his son up in a hug. “Have good day at school today.”
“I'll try.”
Blaine was in the kitchen with a travel mug full with a second cup of coffee. “You are an angel.”
“I try,” said Blaine, giving Kurt a peck on the lips. “I'll see you later tonight.”
After Kurt left, Blaine focused on getting himself and Anderson ready for their days. While Anderson finished eating his breakfast, Blaine quickly ran upstairs to get dressed. Throwing on a faded t-shirt, he grabbed a gray striped cardigan and dark wash jeans. Trends changed (and Kurt was always on top of them), but his style was still the same as it had been in high school. The only thing that deviated was the amount of product he put in his hair. During his undergraduate studies Kurt had finally found a curling syrum that tamed his hair but still let his curls remain relatively free.
7:00. He hurried back downstairs to find Anderson loading his bowl into the dishwasher. He ushered his son upstairs so he could dress while Blaine packed lunches for the two of them. He made a quick turkey sandwich for his son, while grabbing some of last nights lasagna for himself. When 7:30 rolled around, Blaine gathered their things to load up the car. Anderson was waiting at the door, coat and backpack on. To his dismay, his son was also clutching Patches, his stuffed elephant.
“Anderson,” he said, grabbing his own coat. “You know that you can't bring Patches to school.”
“I'll just keep him in my backpack.”
“Anderson, this isn't just one of Dad's and my rules, it a school rule and you know it.”
“Can I just bring him in the car with me?”
“No, go put him back upstairs. And you can leave your backpack down here,” Blaine added.
Anderson huffed, but did as he was told, letting his father hold his backpack. Blaine knew that if he let his son bring his backpack upstairs, the elephant would find its way in.
“Come on, buddy,” he called out. Anderson came back downstairs with a grumpy look. “Hey don't give me that look. Lets go we don't want to be late.”
-------
Everyone knew the rules in Blaine's classroom; all electronic devices were to be kept out sight, including cell phones, laptops, and tablets If he saw or heard anything, the offender was out. So when a cellphone ringer went off fifteen minutes into his compartmental modeling class, a murmur went through the room. Blaine, recognizing the ringtone, sheepishly made his way over to his backpack and pulled out his cell. He meant to just silence the ringer, but stopped when he saw The Bayside School flashing on the caller ID.
“Sorry guys, I really need to take this.”
Stepping outside, the class erupted into a whispering frenzy as he closed the door. Honestly, he understood why; with a class composed of mostly senior math majors, they had all seen him kick some kid out of his class for cellphone use.
“Hello, Blaine Hummel.”
“Dr. Hummel, this is Cynthia Martin from Bayside,” said a calm voice over the phone.
“Yeah, i-is Anderson okay?” he asked quickly, a thousand and one different scenarios going through his mind.
“He's fine, but he beat up another kid at school during recess.”
“He beat up - What?” The possibility of his son starting a fight was the last thing he thought of. Being beaten up by another kid, sure, but not this.
“He started a fight with another student. You need to come pick him up.”
“Yes, of course. It's just … are you sure that's the whole story? We've been worried that he was being bullied by classmates.”
“I just know what the playground monitor said, but for what it's worth, the boy he fought with isn't even in his class. Either way, we need you to come down here and pick him up. Principal Paton will speak to you when you get here.”
“Okay, I'm on my way now.” Blaine hung up the phone. Exhaling slowly, he carded a hand through his hair. “What the hell, Anderson?” he mumbled to himself.
When he walked back into the classroom, the whispering quickly ceased. Blaine grabbed his notes from the front table.
“Sorry about that guys. Family emergency.”
“Everything alright, Blaine?” asked a blonde from the front row, Bella, he noted.
“Yeah, but I have to go pick up my son from school.” Blaine quickly packed his backpack while the students started to put away their notebooks. “So we'll pick up from here on Friday. Just as a reminder, problem set 5 is due then. Um, I probably won't be available this afternoon for office hours, but I should be there tomorrow. And as always, if you do have a question, you can always email me. So … everyone have a good couple of days and I'll see you Friday.”
Blaine shrugged his coat on, going next door to grab a couple things from his office. Rapidly, he shoved the pile of calc II exams in his bag along with his lunch and headed to the underground faculty parking lot. Starting the car, he checked the time. Twenty-five after twelve. Thank god that Anderson's school was in the East Village because he would hate to have to try to make it much farther during lunch hour.
-------
Thankfully Blaine was able to make it to Anderson's school in fifteen minutes despite the time of day. Yet the time he spent driving was not enough for him to wrap his mind around the whole situation. Anderson was a good kid. Yes he was having problems at school, but he was never violent. Not that he didn't believe that his son was in fight, and yes he was extremely frustrated and annoyed with him, but the whole thing seemed to be out of left field.
“Hi, I'm Blaine Hummel,” he told the secretary who had buzzed him into building. “I'm here to see Principal Paton about my son Anderson.”
“Right down the hall, second door on the left,” he told him with a gesture.
Blaine nodded, and followed the directions to the principal's office. He was greeted by Cindy Martin, the principal's assistant, who said she would let Principal Paton know he was here. Anderson, who was sitting morosely in a chair in the corner, jumped up when he heard his father enter.
“Papa, it's not what you think. I -”
“Anderson, I don't know what to think,” said Blaine. “All I know is that I was called in the middle of class by Ms. Martin here telling me you were in a fight and I have come pick you up.”
“Dr. Hummel,” Ms. Martin, politely interrupted. “Principal Paton is ready for you.”
“Okay.” He turned back to his son. “Now, I'm going to talk to your principal. We'll continue this afterwords.”
Principal Paton's office was, in general, a very welcoming place for an office. The walls were painted a cheery yellow with a back wall covered with books. Another wall displayed copies of student artwork and other achievements. It was one of the reasons they choose the school.
“Dr. Hummel, please take a seat.”
Principal Ella Paton was a kind but firm women somewhere between ages 40 and 60. With her simple black pants suit and colorful floral blouse, she wasn't frumpy or unstylish but it definitely was a Kohl's chic.
“Blaine,” he said, shaking her hand as he sat in front of her desk.
“Blaine,” she nodded and glanced at the open manila folder on her desk. “I'm sorry you had to come in like this.”
Me too, he thought. “Yeah. So Anderson was in a fight?”
“During lunch recess. Mrs. Jamison, the playground monitor, saw him push another boy, Alex Kemp, unprovoked. Thankfully neither boy was seriously hurt, but, as I'm sure you understand, there has to be consequences.”
“Of course,” he said, still a little confused. “Not to be rude or anything, but his father and I have been concerned about him being bullied, with his behavioral changes and all. Are you sure this was completely unprovoked?”
The principal let out an audible sigh.
“Let me be frank; I can't have my students beating each other up.”
“And I understand that,” said Blaine, a little exasperated.
“I'm glad. Now here's what we know. No one has seen Alex Kemp ever having any meaningful interaction with your son. From what I've gathered Anderson didn't like something that Alex said and took it out on him physically. I'm sorry, but no one has given any inclination that Anderson was provoked, including the two boys.”
“What?”
“The other boy said that he wanted to kiss a girl in Anderson's class. When your son's motives were questioned, he got so upset that he just shut down wouldn't answer any more questions.”
Blaine let out a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “I'm just - god, it just seems like something's missing.”
Principal Paton sighed. “Dr. Hummel, your son has had disciplinary problems since the start of the year. It could be some type of hyperactivity, fighting with a friend, or just stress from a harder workload - I don't know. Is there any problems going on at home?”
“No, everything's been pretty normal,” he said, a little uncomfortable with her expression.
“Nevertheless,” she replied, sending him one more inquiring glance. “We at The Bayside School may not be able to continue to best serve Anderson's needs if he stays on the same trajectory.”
Was she suggesting that Anderson could be expelled? He was dumbfounded.
“I'm not saying that this is definitely the case or anything,” said Paton quickly, noting his expression. “I'm just saying that it's something to think about.” Blaine nodded. The principal closed her folder. “So Anderson's been dismissed for the day. Before he comes back to classes, he needs to give Alex a written letter of apology. He'll also be spending lunch and recess in my office for the next seven days. Anderson knows this.”
“Okay.”
“Well, I think we're done here unless you have any more questions.”
Blaine shook his head. “No.” Honestly he was a feeling a little antsy and couldn't wait to get out of the office to talk to his son.
“Okay, if you think of anything, please call me,” said the principal, standing and shaking his hand. “And have a good day.”
“You too,” said Blaine as he left the office. Anderson was still in the same chair, watching him with large eyes.
“Papa,” he started.
“Not now, Anderson,” he said shortly. “We'll discuss this in the car on the way home. Do you have all of your stuff?”
Anderson nodded franticly zipping up his coat. Blaine knew he sounded a little harsh, but given the circumstances, it wasn't unfounded. They would discuss it in the car. For now, let his son sweat it a little longer. Perhaps he would think twice about getting into a fight again.
-------
“Papa,” said Anderson from the back seat. “I'm really sorry.”
Blaine looked back at him through the rear view mirror, noting his red eyes and nose. “I'm extremely disappointed in you Anderson.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't whine at me,” he said calmly. “Why would you hit another boy? Your dad and I didn't teach you to behave that way.”
“I..I didn't...”
“You didn't what, Anderson Timothy, you didn't mean to?” asked Blaine, raising his voice slightly.
“No..I..I..”
“I just want to know why?”
“He was saying things.”
“To you?”
“No,” Anderson sniffed. “I hear him saying stuff to someone else.”
“Was he saying stuff about you?” asked Blaine, a little concerned now. Maybe there was more to this whole thing than was first apparent.
“No, about Allie Fergison.”
Blaine took a deep breath. Trying to get Anderson to explain what had happened was like pulling teeth. He had to prod for every little answer. “What was he saying about her?” His son mumbled something inaudible into his lap while gripping the armrest of his booster seat. “You need to speak up.”
“I said that he said that he was going to kiss her this afternoon.”
“So you thought punching him was a good idea?” Anderson shrugged his shoulders and let out a wordless groan. At this point Blaine wasn't going to push him, not while he was driving. “Why?”
“Because…” he trailed off.
“Because …?” Blaine prompted.
“Just because.” whined Anderson, raising his voice.
“Don't give me that tone, mister,” he said firmly. “Now, you and I both know that 'because' isn't a proper answer. I'm going to give you one more chance; why did you think punching Alex was a good idea?”
Anderson just kept his mouth shut, although he had the decency to look properly chastised.
“Fine,” said Blaine, as they made their way by Central Park. “You can just sit there and think about a proper answer.”
The ride home finished in silence, save the mutterings from Blaine as he circled their block twice trying to find a parking spot. Thankfully someone was pulling out across the street from their brownstone.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Blaine tsked when Anderson tried to quickly down the hall once they got inside. “Where do you think you're going?”
“To do my homework,” he replied in at tone suggesting that this fact should be obvious to his father. “In the office.”
In order to keep up some sort of home life when they first moved back to New York, Kurt had been insistent that the place that they got had room for shared office space. During those first few years, they had spent many a night sharing a take-away while working through discovery files and grant proposals. The office in their first apartment had been converted to a nursery for Anderson. However, without space at home, Kurt found himself spending more and more time at his office. After a seventy hour week, Blaine had declared that they needed to find a new place, one with office space.
“But I always do my homework in the office,” whined Anderson.
When Anderson had started second grade and started getting nightly spelling homework, Kurt and Blaine had set up a small desk in the corner. Blaine had reasoned that having him do his homework in a spot that he already associated with work (from a very young age the two of them had instilled the idea that the office was for work not play in him and not to disturb Daddy or Papa while they were in there) would make it easier for him to stay focused. The plan had worked, mostly. The was the one time Blaine had caught Anderson sneaking a book in when he was supposed to be doing math homework; it had resulted in homework being done at the kitchen table under his watchful eye for a week. But other than that, the plan was pretty successful.
“Not today, buddy,” said Blaine, steering Anderson towards the dinning room table. While he hated to interrupt his son's routine, there was bigger issues at hand. “You beat up a kid at school; there are going to be consequences. And you still haven't told explained yourself.”
“But I'm already missing recess for a week,” he complained, ignoring the last comment.
“That is at school, this is here. So park it mister.” He gestured to the table, where Anderson sat with a huff. “Now, are you ready to tell me why?”
Anderson looked at Blaine with wide eyes, and bit his lip. “I just didn't want her to get hurt,” he muttered.
“Anderson,” said Blaine, sitting down in the chair next to him. “When two people kiss it shouldn't hurt.” Well it could, but Blaine really didn't want to get into the idea of assault and rape with a seven-year-old. “You just have to make sure you both want to. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, you are going to sit here and write out your apology letter,” said Blaine firmly. “After that, you are going to do your homework until dinner time.”
“But..but what if I finish?” gasped Anderson, shocked at the idea he could spend over four hours sitting at the kitchen table.
“You have a spelling test at the end of the week and multiplication tables to learn. I'm sure we'll find things for you to do. And don't think this discussion is finished,” called Blaine as he head back to the entry way to grab his backpack. “When Dad gets home, the three of us are going to sit down and have a long talk.”
Speaking of Dad, Blaine really needed to let Kurt know what was going on. Whipping out his cell, he called up Kurt's personal cell number.
“Hello, you've reached Kurt Hummel's mobile phone. I'm currently unavailable right now, but if you leave your name and number, I will try to get back to you as soon as I can.”
Kurt must still be in deposition, mused Blaine as he listened for the beep. “Hey Kurt, it's me. Um, I just want to let you know that I had to pick up Anderson from school today. He got in a fight with another student. Um, we're at home now. And I figure there will be a long discussion with the three of us when you get back so hopefully you aren't too late tonight. I just wanted to let you know so that you had a heads up when you got in. Love you, bye.”
Blaine rubbed his face with a hand. Honestly, this was the last thing he really had time to deal with. Grabbing his backpack, he headed to the great room. Might as well get a head start grading his exams. While he normally graded in the office, he wanted to be able to keep an eye on Anderson. After grabbing a glass of juice, he settled himself down in the recliner, using his cellphone to start up his Adele playlist. The opening notes of “The Trolley Song” filtered through the house's sound system. Back in 2019, she had covered the Judy at Carnegie Hall record in its entirety and was still one of Blaine's favorite albums.
Blaine worked in near silence for over an hour, every so often glancing up to check on Anderson, who was diligently working on his letter of apology and then his regular homework. Blaine quickly made up a few worksheets with basic multiplication and division problems, which he gave to his son after he finished his homework. A quick web search yielded several word problems as well.
Ninety minutes in, he decided to call it quits on his grading. While there were very talented students in his class, there were also lazy ones, as evident by the number of people who got the throw-away homework problem he put on the exam wrong. It was only three o'clock, much to early to start dinner, but he supposed that he could get started on the laundry for the week.
“Hey buddy, do you want a snack?” asked Blaine as he walked past.
“Could I have some cheesy popcorn?” asked Anderson timidly in return. While his shyness was a little disconcerting, especially piled on top of how quiet the boy had been all afternoon, he was glad his son seemed properly apologetic.
“Of course,” said Blaine, as he pulled the Smartfood from a cabinet.
He placed the bowl on the table before heading upstairs to gather dirty clothes. Blaine left the basket of dry-clean only upstairs, bringing their other hamper to the basement. When they first moved in together during college, Blaine had been insistent that he could clean to Kurt's standards. With that in mind, Kurt had spent an entire weekend reteaching Blaine how to do laundry. While he had never thought about it before, it did make sense to wash similar fabrics together, much like colors. Blaine was just glad that they owned their own washer and dryer now; Sundays were no longer spent at the laundromat. Also, Kurt did own a little less couturier now then he did then, but a large quantity of high-end menswear was added. Either way it meant there were few hand wash items, and he wasn't ashamed to admit how much he loved his husband's ass in those perfectly tailored trousers.
Anderson, on the other hand, was not as meticulous with his clothing. It's not that he was a slob or anything, most of his stuff ended up in the hamper, but he was still a seven-year-old and his clothes showed seven-year-old boy wear. So when Blaine realized that he was missing a pair of uniform pants (there should have been three in the hamper not two), he headed back upstairs to find them.
They were underneath Anderson's bed, scrunched in a corner. Blaine just sighed, wondering how on earth they got there. As he turned the pants right side out, he notice a small reddish-brown stain on the seat. At first he was annoyed, if Anderson had spilled something, it would have been easier to remove if he had gotten it right away. However, that train of thought stopped short when he noticed the stain was larger in the underwear still inside. God, was his son hiding some sort of injury?
“Anderson, what's this?” asked Blaine carefully when he came downstairs and held up the pants.
“It's nothing,” said Anderson quickly.
“Anderson,” said Blaine slowly, as he placed the pants on the table and swatted down to look his son in the eye. “This is very, very important; you can't lie to me.”
Anderson's mouth began to tremor. “You promise you won't get mad at me?” he asked, eyes beginning to water.
Blaine nearly froze in response. Yes Anderson had muttered the phrase before, something about his expression threw Blaine off. While he hoped his son was just overreacting, most of the more innocent causes were beginning to leave his mind.
.
“You promise? You won't send me away? Or give me back?” His voice cracked.
Blaine pulled Anderson out of his seat and into his arms. Give him back? Blaine was unsure where Anderson had ever heard such an idea. While he knew he was adopted, Kurt and he had always let him know how wanted he was. A picture that was becoming more and more grim was beginning to paint itself in his mind. And god he hoped he was wrong; he hoped it was bullying or an odd childhood accident not something more sinister.
“Anderson, nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever make Dad or I even think about sending you away,” he said solemnly.
“You promise?” he asked again.
“I promise,” he whispered.
It was then the floodgates opened with just a quiver. Anderson was sobbing into his chest, holding on to him tightly. Blaine clutched his son just as tight. In between the sobs, he made out “I didn't want to.”
Next Chapter