Fic Lilaced Moorland Fields (3/7)
Title: Lilaced Moorland Fields - Chapter 3/7
Rating: R
Warnings: This story contains child abuse (sexual)
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 5,138
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"
A\N: So this is up later than I meant it to be; real life can be a bitch like that. Not only was this chapter difficult to write, but I also had a huge falling out with my brother last week concerning his passive homophobia and nasty comments that his friends make about me being a lesbian. So really I wasn't in the mood to write angst last week.
Previous Chapter
“God dammit, Kurt, pick up your fucking phone,” whispered Blaine with frustration into his cellphone. Five times he attempted to get a hold of his husband, and every time voicemail.
“Hey honey, it's me again,” he sniffed into the phone after the beep. “It's four o'clock. Please … just call me.”
Disconnecting, he rubbed his eyes, trying to hide the tears and poked his head back into the living room. Anderson was still curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Blaine had set up the DVR to play recordings of ZOOM, although it didn't appear that Anderson was particularly interested. However, he was just glad that the hard sobs had stopped; once Anderson had given himself permission to cry, it seemed like he would never stop.
Blaine quietly slipped back in to sit on the other side of the sofa, unable to leave Anderson alone for more than a few minutes. At first he thought his son had fallen asleep, but noticed his thumb rubbing over the worn fabric of his stuffed elephant in a familiar fashion. Self-soothing. It was a motion that he and Kurt had watched Anderson make so many times. Carefully, he placed a hand on Anderson's back. In an instant, his son had buried himself back in Blaine's lap.
He and Blaine had spent much of the last hour in this position. Blaine's blood had run cold when Anderson had declared that he 'didn't want it' and that 'it hurt when he put when he touched me there.' After his first confession, Blaine had scooped Anderson up and brought him over the the couch. He hoped that the more comfortable his son was, the easier it would be to withdraw information from him. With some prodding, the story began to unfurl. He said I was such a big boy and that this was how big boys showed that they liked each other. He said that people wouldn't understand and that people would take me away from you and Daddy if I told.
Despite opening up, Anderson had been vague about specific details-dates, locations, and such. Indeed when Blaine pressed for a name, Anderson just shut down, sobbing harder and harder. It got to the point that Blaine was worried that he might force himself to have an asthma attack. After that he just didn't have the heart to press on, especially when Anderson mumbled into his shoulder, “It just hurt so much, Papa.”
So he just sat on the couch with his son in his arms, feeling helpless. God, he had watched enough episodes of Law and Order: SVU in his youth (what could he say, Christopher Meloni had great pecs) to know what was going to happen. He just knew he would fall apart when they went to the hospital.
A ringing from Blaine's cellphone, startled the two of them. Carefully depositing Anderson back on the sofa, he rushed into the kitchen, fingers fumbling on screen.
“Kurt?” he said hopefully, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Uh, no, this is Cheryl. I saw you called earlier.”
In his attempt to contact Kurt, Blaine had called his personal assistant Cheryl Li hoping that she would be able to connect him. Unfortunately, her phone had gone straight to voicemail as well, although he was able to leave a much more composed message.
“Hey Cheryl, by any chance do you have a way to get a hold of Kurt? I tried to call him on his cell, but he's not picking up.” he said, trying not to sound too desperate.
“He's in the middle of a deposition today.”
“I know,” replied Blaine, doing his best not to sound too annoyed. “But this is an emergency. Something happened to Anderson.”
“Kurt got your message about him going home early,” thinking that could be why he was calling. “The school left a message with me and I passed it on to him during their lunch recess.”
“No, that's not it,” said Blaine, getting desperate. “Please, is there any way you can get a hold of him?”
“Well...” said Cheryl and Blaine heard a shuffling of papers in the background. “I can call Jim Waterson's PA; he should be at the deposition and never has his cellphone off. Hopefully he can give him the message.”
“Really? Oh my god, thank you.” Blaine let out a huge sigh of relief. “Just...just please let him know its important.”
“I will.”
Blaine quickly wished Cheryl a good day before hanging up. He just hoped that she was able to get a hold of him.
“Papa, who was that?”
Anderson had made his way into the kitchen, still clutching his elephant. Despite the graveness of the situation, Blaine couldn't help but smile sadly; dark curly hair, not dissimilar to his own was sticking up everywhere, with dark eyes darting around shyly. If this had been any other day, Blaine would think that he was angling for more TV time or an extra snack.
“That was Ms. Li from Dad's office. She's helping get a hold of him.”
Anderson's eyes widened. “Daddy's not going to be mad at me, is he? Cause I interrupted him at work?”
Blaine swatted down to look his son in the eye. “No, buddy; Daddy's not going to be mad at you. Like I told you earlier, you did a very brave thing telling me. Daddy's going to be so proud of you.”
“But isn't he in court? We're not supposed to call Daddy in court.”
“He's not exactly in court today. Remember when Daddy told you about depositions?” Blaine asked. Anderson shrugged his shoulders. “Well, its when he talks to the people he's defending with the other guy's lawyer to get information. So it's okay for us to call him, okay?”
Anderson shrugged his shoulders again. Smiling, Blaine lifted him into his arms, ignoring the protest from his back.
“Papa, do we hafta tell Daddy?” he asked in a quiet tone, but with complete sincerity.
“Of course we do,” said Blaine, heading back into the living room. Ugg, he was getting too old to be hoisting a seven-year-old around. “Why wouldn't we tell Daddy?”
Anderson pulled away from his neck, looking at him with big dark eyes, but refusing to answer his question. “How do you know Daddy's gonna be proud of me?” he deflected.
Blaine shot Anderson a sad smile. “I know that he's going to be proud,” he said, sitting back on the couch but keeping his son in his lap and rubbing his back. “Because I'm proud of you. And if I'm proud of you, then Daddy will definitely be proud of you.”
“Then why were you crying earlier, Papa?”
“Well,” said Blaine, choosing his words carefully. “I was crying earlier because I was very sad about what happened to you and wanted to make things better. But that doesn't mean I'm not still proud of you. It's like when you fell and broke your arm when learning to ride a bike. We were sad that it happened that but also really proud that you were so good when you got your cast on. Now, we need to tell Daddy because Daddy and I are a team and we're going to be your team to help make this better, okay?”
“I guess,” he muttered, turning back to look at the TV. The two of them sat in silence, watching two of members of the ZOOM cast construct flinkers.
“What happens next?” asked Anderson in a small voice, not looking Blaine in the eye.
“A couple different things,” said Blaine, trying stay calm for Anderson's sake. “We'll go to the doctor to make sure you're not hurt physically. We'll also have to go talk to the police to tell them wh-”
“NO!” Anderson yelled, tensing up and clenching his eyes shut tight. “No, no, no!”
“Hey, shhhh, shhh, it's okay,” Blaine murmured, rubbing Anderson's back and shoulders, trying to relax the stiff muscles. “Just calm down … everything's going to be okay.”
“I don't want to tell the police,” he whimpered, beginning to hyperventilate. “What if they take me away?”
“Hey Anderson, you need to breathe, buddy. The police are not going to take you away, okay. Deep breaths. You need to calm down buddy. Come on deep breath in....and out....in....and out.... That's good. You're doing great.” Blaine slowly worked to calm Anderson down to the point they could talk. “Now, it's really important to tell the police. Daddy and I want to do everything to protect you, but sometimes we can't do it alone. The police can make sure the person who did this is p-”
Blaine was cut off by the shrill ringing of his cellphone. One look at the caller ID, and he felt a huge sigh of relief.
“Kurt,” he sighed, picking up the phone.
“Mr. Peterson, you did work for Mr. Waterson at the time?”
“Yes.”
“And you were compensated for your work?”
“Of-of course, but not-”
“A yes or no answer will suffice,” said Kurt almost tiresomely , not looking up from his notes.
The day had dragged on, although Kurt was much more optimistic about reaching a more favorable outcome than he had this morning. His client might have been in the wrong but Nick Peterson, while unarguably a brilliant programer, could not keep his foot out of his damn mouth. At least one thing was going right today. During their lunch break, Kurt had gotten a message from Blaine saying that Anderson had been suspended for the rest of the day due to fighting, as well as from Cheryl who had gotten the same message directly from Bayside. Unfortunately, his frustration from that had effected his mood during the deposition.
“Yes,” Nick Peterson sighed. “But-”
This time Peterson was cut off by a cellphone ring. Waterson's assistant guiltily reached into his pocket, slipping out of the room while bringing the phone to his ear, mouthing an apology to the rest of the room.
“I thought,” said Kurt venomously, closing his eyes for a moment. “Everyone was told to silence their phones. In fact, I believe it's in the record.” There were a few minutes of awkward silence. “Now lets get back to the task at hand. Mr. Peterson, you are aware that according to the contract you signed in May 2029 you forfeit all ownership, which includes the royalties, to the software you develop while at Sancorp?”
“I wasn't paid to develop those apps.”
“Mr. Peterson, are you incapable of answering a simple yes or no question appropriately?” Kurt really should have been politer to the plaintiff but the situation at home left him with little patience. And there was just something so enjoyable about riling up an opponent when he was already on the defensive.
“Mr. Hummel! You cannot talk to my client that way.”
“Then, Mr. Johnson, perhaps you can instruct your client to answer appropriately.”
Dave Johnson was a mousy man over ten years Kurt's junior. He really didn't have anything against the other lawyer but litigation could bring out the worst in him. It was quite similar to a sample sale at Martyn Bal or Paul Helbers.
“Now, you say you weren't paid to develop these apps. But you did use company computers to develop them during company time?”
“I coded them during my lunch break and after hours, not while I was on the clock.”
“But they were programmed on company computers, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And is it not company policy that-”
“Mr. Hummel?”
“What?” Kurt snapped, making no effort to hide the venom in his voice.
Waterson's assistant had slipped back into the room, a look of chagrin on his face as he returned to his seat.
“That was your assistant, Cheryl. Apparently your husband has been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour. You should call him.”
Kurt shuffled his papers in an attempt to keep his cool. “Is that it?”
“Yes, but-”
Kurt turned back to his client, and in a clipped voice, “If that's all, can we get back to the matter at hand?”
“Mr. Hummel, she was really insistent that you call him as soon as possible,” said the assistant meekly.
“We can always take a ten minute break,” Mr. Johnson spoke up quickly. “Neither my client or I have any problem with that."
Of course you wouldn't. Kurt sighed and shot Waterson a look. Noting his slight nod, Kurt gave in. “Fine, let's re-adjourn in fifteen minutes.”
Covering his legal pad with a manila folder to prevent his opponent from reading his notes, he grabbed his cell phone and headed out of the room. Five missed calls, Jesus.
“Kurt?!” exclaimed Blaine after the second ring. That should have been the first clue, the distress in his voice.
“Blaine, what do you need? I'm in the middle of a deposition so you need to be quick.” Annoyance was, unfortunately, seeping into his tone.
“Kurt...something's happened to Anderson.”
“I got your message, Blaine, and I'm fully prepared to deal with him fighting when I get home.”
“It's not that...it's something else...” Blaine rambled. “Um...you see....Anderson was...someone had....”
“Blaine?” asked Kurt, growing more concerned. “Are you okay? What's going on?”
“Um...I trying to get some laundry done and I found some of Anderson's pants...oh god.” Blaine cut himself off with a hiccuped gasp.
“Just breathe, honey,” cajoled Kurt, leaning up against a wall. “What happened?”
“Someone's been molesting Anderson,” he said quickly, as if it was too difficult to say any slower.
Kurt felt his knees buckle and crumpled to the floor. Someone had been...god, it didn't seem possible. They weren't from a broken home. He and Blaine were involved in their son's life. They watched him carefully, didn't let him ride his bike without an adult, or go to the park without one of them or a friend's parent. They talked about bad touches and not to keep secrets like that from them. God, there had to be a mistake. Blaine had to be overreacting.
“Are you sure? I mean, today has been a stressful day and-”
“Kurt, he told me. I couldn't get a name out but there's no reason for him to lie.”
“Still, he knows he's in trouble,” Kurt rationalized. It was so much easier to believe that Anderson was making something like this up to alleviate the trouble he was in for fighting than the alternative. “He could have-”
“Kurt, I found blood in his underwear.”
“Oh god, oh my god,” stammered Kurt, wiping the tears that were starting to fall. “I don't know what... what do we... how did this happen?”
“I don't know.”
“Is he still bleeding. Oh my god, what if something's been torn?” Dread started to fill him up as the graveness started to really sink in.
“I...I didn't even think of that. What kind of parent am I? I should have checked right away. God,” said Blaine after pausing for a moment. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“Okay. Um... let me just wrap things up here. You're taking to...”
“New York Presbyterian. They're close. So I will meet you there...?”
“Yeah. Stay strong, babe,” said Kurt softly.
“You too. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Hang up his mobile, Kurt could only hang his head for a minute. This was just so fucked up. He wiped his eyes and face one more time. If he didn't have more pressing matters, Kurt would have sneaked into the bathroom to wash his face. He knew that he must have looked like a wreck when he reentered the boardroom; the expressions on his client's and opposition's faces said as much.
“Hummel, is everything okay?” Waterson whispered in his ear, when Kurt returned to his seat.
“...Not really.” He had begun to nod his head, not really thinking, but found the truth slipping out. Seeing that everyone had returned, “I apologize for the interruption, but there's been a family emergency.”
A concerned murmurer broke out amongst the two legal teams.
“Is Blaine or Anderson hurt?” asked the first year associate working on the case with him.
“Anderson's on his way to the ER. I need to head out,” he whispered back. He discreetly glanced over at Waterson, who was conversing with his P.A. “If they don't agree on finishing for the day, you're going to need to cover for me.”
The young man looked paled. It was firm policy that first year associates were not to have billable hours. What Kurt was suggesting could get both of them fired.
“Listen,” said Kurt. “I'm hoping that it doesn't happen, and based on how Peterson's testimony is going I'm pretty sure Johnson would love another night to prep his client. Either way, I have your back on this. Okay?”
He nodded. Kurt gave him a watery but encouraging smile. Having been packing up the remainder of his things, he turned back to the rest of the group. “My son is on the way to the emergency room, so I am proposing that we adjourn for the day and meet back tomorrow at nine?”
The room agreed with him. So while the remainder packed up their things, Kurt hightailed it out of the office, heading towards the nearby subway station.
God, why didn't he think to take Anderson to the doctor right away. Blaine was beating himself up as he parked the car in New York Presbyterian garage. After Kurt had hung up, he was quick to throw a coat onto Anderson, grab Patches, and head to the emergency room. All he could do was thank his luck stars that traffic wasn't too bad.
Anderson had grown progressively quieter as they approached the hospital. Blaine had done his best to reassure him that he wasn't in trouble, that he had been really brave, and that nothing bad was going to happen to him. But Anderson had still clamped down, focusing solely on the stuffed elephant in his lap. Blaine feared that it would get much worse once they got to the hospital. He had to promise him that he wouldn't leave him alone just to get him into the car.
“Hey Buddy,” smiled Blaine, opening the back passenger door. He quickly reached towards his back pocket to make sure that his wallet was still there and then scooped Anderson up into his arms. He knew that he was going to have to visit his chiropractor by the end of this, but couldn't bring himself to care.
Blaine groaned internally when they made it to the pediatric waiting room. Why was it so packed at 4:30 on a Wednesday? He had noticed the three ambulances pulling in around the corner as well; at least Anderson's condition had to be more serious than the 15-year-old clutching his wrist. He placed his son in the extra chair by the reception window.
“Hi,” he said to the woman behind the glass. “I'm here with my son Anderson Hummel. I found-”
“One second,” said the woman, not looking up from her computer screen. “How do you spell his last name.”
“Hummel,” sighed Blaine. “H-U-M-M-E-L.”
“Okay and his date of birth?”
“Eleven twenty-two, two thousand and twenty-four.”
“Address?”
“829 Columbia Ave, zip code 10025.”
“And your phone number?”
“212-555-3628.”
“And what's his pediatrician's name?”
“Dr. Matthew Linus, and his phone number is 212-555-6925.”
“And does Anderson have any allergies?”
“None that we're aware of.”
“Okay almost done,” she said, shooting him a smile. Blaine felt a little guilty about his tone. “I just need your name and your relationship to him as well as your insurance card and photo I.D.”
“Blaine Hummel,” he said, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket and handed her his license and insurance card. “I'm his father.”
“Okay, I'm going to make a copy of these and I just need you to sign these form. This gives us permission to treat him and this bill your insurance, and this is his HIPPA form. Would you like a copy of them?” she asked handing off his cards to another woman in scrubs. She slid a tablet underneath the glass window.
“No.” Blaine quickly signed and dated the appropriate lines, keeping one eye on his son.
“Great,” said the woman, fiddling with the tablet when Blaine sent it back. “So, what's the problem?”
“I found blood in his underwear today. My husband and I think he may have been molested.”
The woman did a double take. “Okay, and have you contacted the police yet?”
“Not yet. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't hurt or anything first.”
“And when did you first suspect that Anderson had been sexually abused?”
“A couple hours ago.”
“I see,” she said, typing away at her computer. She slid Blaine back his cards before attaching a hospital bracelet to both his and Anderson's left wrists. “You can take a seat in the waiting room. Triage will call you when they are ready.”
“Shouldn't he see a doctor right away?” inquired Blaine, a little angered that his son wasn't taken back right away.
“We're really backed up right now, okay?” she said, trying to scoot him back. “Next?”
Blaine grabbed Anderson's hand, shuffling the two of them over to a quieter section of the waiting room. He did his best to control his temper, but was annoyed by the woman's dismissive attitude. Sitting down in one of the empty chairs, Anderson curled up next to him. Wrapping an arm around him, Blaine grabbed on of the children's literary magazines on the table next to them and began to read.
He was able to finish the entire magazine before they were called back to triage. Blaine helped Anderson up onto the exam table before taking a seat next to him. He gave the nurse Anderson's weight and height, while the woman took is pulse-ox, blood pressure, and temperature.
“He has asthma and takes 4 mg of montelukast, but it's been under control for several years now. Other than that he's pretty healthy,” said Blaine when asked about his medical history.
“Great,” said Tricia, the nurse, as she filled out the appropriate boxes on her tablet. “So what's bothering you, Anderson?”
“I found blood in his underwear this afternoon. He said that someone had been molesting him,” answered Blaine for him.
Tricia's smile waned slightly. “Okay, do you have a tummy ache Anderson? Is anything sore?”
Anderson gave a slight nod.
“Where is it sore, sweetheart?”
“My bum,” whispered Anderson, while grabbing his back.
“Okay,” said Tricia. “Now, your dad's going to step outside just for one minute, and I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?”
Anderson gasped and grabbed Blaine's arm. “Papa, you said that you would stay. You can't go.”
“I won't, buddy.” Blaine looked over at the triage nurse. His words were for her as much as they were for Anderson. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“I'm sorry, sir, but it's hospital policy for cases like this,” said the nurse, guiding him off the table. She looked over to his son. “Anderson, he can wait right outside the room. I promise it won take more than five minute.”
“Miss, he's freaked out beyond belief,” said Blaine, gritting his teeth. Honestly, this woman was starting to get on his nerves. Still having no idea who had hurt Anderson, not leaving him alone was as much for his own benefit as it was for his son's. “I really think that I should stay here to make sure he stays calm.”
“I'm going to have to insist, Mr. Hummel. If you don't cooperate, you'll leave me no choice but to call security,” she said with a low voice, as she guided him towards the door.
Doctor. Dr Hummel, Blaine thought as he was ushered out of the room to the sound of Anderson starting to cry. He did his best to reassure him that he was right on the other side of the door and that in five minutes he would be back inside no. matter. what. Despite his best efforts, though, he was unable to listen to what was going on after the door was closed.
God, standing outside while his child was under duress was the worst feeling he had ever had in his live. It was worse than the shame he felt at home when he first came out for the first few years. It was worse than the time his senior year when Kurt had been mugged one night in New York and there was nothing he could do about it. It was worse than when Cooper was hospitalized while in Rome. And he couldn't help but think if he and Kurt had been more attentive, they may have caught this earlier when it wasn't so bad, or stopped it altogether. What had Anderson done to make himself a target. Yes, he was a quiet kid, but since when did that make a kid a target for a predator? Should they have done more to socialize him and make him more outgoing? Neither of them thought that Anderson isolated himself; he had friends and everything. Maybe Blaine had thought that they should be setting up more play dates for him, but Kurt was fine with Anderson wanting to spend time playing at home or going to art club.
And where the hell was Kurt? It shouldn't be taking him this long to get here. Waterson's office was only ten miles from New York Presbyterian. If he left right away he should be here by now, whether he took the subway or a cab. The stress of the afternoon getting to him, Blaine let out a yelp and kicked a nearby trash bin out of anger. He quickly murmured an apology to the nearby hospital staff who sent him disapproving looks.
When the door to triage finally opened, the nurse emerged to ferry Anderson out. Noting the tears on his face, Blaine dropped to his knees to embrace his son, use a handkerchief to dry his eyes. Rubbing Anderson's back, he muttered encouragements into his ear, reassuring him that he wasn't going to go anywhere. At the same time he couldn't help but be irritated that the nurse had manged to upset Anderson. It was also a little uncomfortable for Blaine to know the particular cause of his son's tears.
“The questions I asked him were standard questions for any case of suspected sexual abuse,” replied the nurse when Blaine questioned her.
“Did he tell you anything?” he asked quickly, wondering if this strange woman had gotten any information on the molestation that he had not.
“I can't discuss that right now.”
“Can discuss - I'm his father! I think I have a right to know,” sputtered Blaine indignantly.
“It's hospital policy for these things to be discussed with a doctor.”
“Well then when can we see a doctor?” growled Blaine, doing his best not to further upset Anderson. “We've been waiting here for nearly an hour.”
“I'm sorry,” replied the nurse tersely. “Things have been busy tonight but it shouldn't be too long. So if you could please sit down in the waiting room, we'll call you when we're ready.”
After she closed the door, Blaine had no choice but to lead Anderson back to the waiting room, which was even busier than when they arrived.
“Anderson! Blaine!”
Blaine whipped his head towards the reception area and spotted Kurt rushing to their side. While Blaine was relieved to see his husband, Anderson seemed to shrink away, trying to meld into his side.
“Hey, what's wrong?”
“Daddy's not mad at me, right?” Anderson asked him.
As he got closer, Blaine could see why his son would ask that. Kurt's face was flushed and clothing was a little disheveled. It was a far cry from his usual composed persona that Anderson was used to. Indeed, whenever Kurt got angry, the first telltale sign what the color rising to his cheeks.
“Oh buddy, I'm not mad at you, my brave little boy.” Kurt had obviously also heard Anderson voice his concerns. He lifted him into his arms, cuddling him close to his chest. Shifting Anderson over to one hip, Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine, who buried his head into Kurt's neck for a second. After quickly releasing him, they maneuvered their way towards a pair of empty chairs.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here. The police had closed a platform, so the A had stopped running. Of course I waited for twenty minutes before I figured it out.”
“That's okay; you're here now,” Blaine whispered back, entwining his hand with Kurt's.
Keeping Anderson in his lap, Kurt let the little boy play with his elephant; he didn't want to push him any farther. When he would look either of his fathers in the eye, they would rub his back or whisper soothing words in his ear, both doing their best to keep him calm.
“How are you holding up?” asked Kurt quietly when Anderson was suitably distracted.
Blaine rubbed his face with a hand. “I don't even know. I keep wondering who did this to him and why weren't we able to see it. Part of me just wants this whole thing to go away.”
“Hey, we're gonna get through this,” said Kurt, running a thumb over Blaine's knuckles. He scanned the room. “Of course, it would be a little easier if we could. see. a. freaking. doctor. How long have you been waiting here?”
“Since 4:30.”
Kurt bit his lip to stifle out his profanity. Shifting Anderson into Blaine's lap, he rose to go chew out a hospital employee when Anderson's name was called.