Fic: The Wisdom of Wildflowers - Part 3/9 +epilogue
Title: The Wisdom of Wildflowers
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: 35000, 3800 this part
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Brittany/Santana, rest of New Directions, Burt Hummel
Spoilers: everything through Glease, veers away from canon after that
Warnings: character death
Summary: It's been ten years since Kurt set foot in the halls of William McKinley High School, but the death of a friend has him headed back to Lima and spending time with his old friends. The week brings sorrow, reminiscences, love, and maybe the chance to mend the tears in old relationships.
Three
He needs to escape for some air. He's been the recipient of a literal receiving line of admirers telling him how lovely his song had been: teary-eyed relatives and old teachers and even older ladies. The last straw is Coach Sylvester, who still insists on calling him Porcelain and asking him whether he had gone ahead and had the surgery to become a castrato, for how else had his voice still not changed?
Quinn catches him in the kitchen getting a drink of water before he has the chance to get away completely.
They embrace, Quinn cuddling into his shoulder as she strokes her hands over his back - giving and taking comfort in equal measure. He can see Blaine chatting with Sam and Tina in the hallway from over Quinn's shoulder. He hasn't managed to tear his eyes away before she is releasing him and glancing back. She gives him a knowing look.
“He's single, you know.”
“You asked him that? Jesus, Quinn.”
She arches one eyebrow and steals the bottle of water from his hand, taking a drink. “Well, I didn't just come out and ask it like that. It was a natural topic during our small talk.”
Kurt steals his water back. “Uh huh.”
“So...” She elbows him in the side, turning fully to watch Blaine along with him. “Make sure you talk to him too, okay?”
“Is it really an appropriate time for this discussion?”
“Maybe not, but you know she would have wanted you to be happy. And you did once very drunkenly tell me that in a world full of fishes, he was your only fish. And that's pretty much a direct quote.”
“I think the key words there are very drunkenly,” Kurt says with a roll of his eyes.
“Yes, which means ridiculously phrased nuggets of absolute truth without your usual liberal coating of bull.”
“Quinn -”
She gives him a stern look, effectively cutting his protest at the quick. “He's your fish, Kurt. It's about time you reeled him in, don't you think?”
She steals another drink of his water before heading off into the thick of bodies in the living area, stopping to say a quiet hello to the boys and Tina on her way.
Kurt sighs and wanders out through the french doors off the kitchen and into the back yard. The air is cooling somewhat as evening approaches and it feels nice against his flushed skin. He walks over to the large weeping willow at the edge of the Pierce's property under which Brittany had buried her infamous cat, Lord Tubbington, the summer after she finally got her high school diploma. Kurt bends down and studies the gravestone she had placed there, smiling at the words and etching of the cat that Kurt himself had helped Brittany create.
Oh, sweet Brittany. It had been years since Kurt had done more than send an e-mail or a Christmas card, but he misses her presence. It was calming, soothing. She was unfailingly honest the way few people are in the world. He stands, wiping off his hands and walks on to lean against the tree, the long limbs reaching down, their blooms brushing against his shoulders and the top of his head. He watches as a black cat chases around a leaf in the neighbour's yard on the other side of the fence.
There is a sound, a throat clearing, and Kurt startles, whipping his head around to look over his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Blaine says. “I seem to keep missing you all day so I thought I'd...” He shrugs. His smile is self-deprecating and sorely missed and beyond cherished.
Kurt smiles back and turns to lean against the large trunk of the willow tree. “Hello, Blaine,” he replies, his voice quiet.
“The song... It was so beautiful, Kurt. Truly. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.”
“Thank you.” This time it's Kurt's turn to be self-deprecating. “I was nervous about it. It's been a long time since I sang. Or played the piano, come to that...”
Blaine's brow furrows and he drops his gaze to the grass below, the small cat's tombstone. “How come?” He almost sounds upset.
“Not a lot of time or reason. Not much random breaking into song at the House of McQueen like I'd envisioned when I was young.” Kurt chuckles a little at his youthful silliness.
Blaine perks up. “McQueen? Wow. I see you got a wish from that old list of yours.”
“Yes. It was number three on my bucket list. Better than nothing, I suppose.”
“You're still young. Lots of time for one and two.”
Kurt gives a sad laugh and looks away. He knows there is no chance of that happening, not now. No matter his age. “Too late for those, I think,” he says.
There is a moment of silence, the wind picking up and whipping the branches of the willow, scattering blossoms and leaves on their crisp dark suits. Kurt looks down and brushes off his sleeve, avoiding Blaine's gaze which he can feel nonetheless. His eyes are like searchlights, finding, watching - the heat is too much at such a short distance.
“God,” Blaine says after a moment. “You haven't aged a day in ten years. How is that possible?”
Kurt's mouth quirks up at one corner. “I'm secretly a vampire.”
Blaine lets out a real, honest laugh and Kurt looks up to see him grinning. “Seriously, though... I'm getting all of these lines around my eyes and I have no idea how -”
“Those are the good wrinkles. From smiling. They suit you.”
“Kurt, not the silent w word, geez!”
Kurt smiles and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Lines. Happy? They still suit you, whatever name for them you find acceptable.”
“Well, thank you. But that still doesn't solve the mystery as to why you haven't got any.”
“I guess I just don't smile enough,” Kurt answers, meaning to be silly. But his smile falters slightly and he has to look away. He doesn't want to give away just how true that statement actually is.
Blaine is still watching him, his eyes round and amber and lovely. He looks as though he wants to move closer but he hesitates as though afraid Kurt is going to bite. It almost makes Kurt want to laugh, but it's just not that sort of day. As Kurt watches him, he takes a step forward, then sways a bit from side to side before shrugging to himself and letting out a sigh. And then Blaine is there, right next to Kurt against the trunk of the tree. Kurt can feel his body heat seeping through his suit jacket and into the flesh of his arm.
“So how have you been?” Blaine asks him, his voice low, his eyes still searching. “Before all of this.” He gestures to the house, the corners of his full lips turning down and his eyes clouding over. This. A lovely person and friend dying before she even got to be thirty.
Kurt shrugs. He should just say good or fine, but he'd never been able to lie to Blaine, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to. “Sometimes all right, sometimes not. Same as everyone I suppose.”
Blaine's brow is creased in a frown again and he's fiddling with his cufflink. It's typical Blaine trying to puzzle something out and it makes Kurt's heart ache. “Don't you like your job?” he asks after half a moment, still seeming a bit confused.
“Oh, yes. Sure. I mean, it's not how I used to imagine it would be, and it really sucks having someone else's name slapped on all my hard work, but... Yeah. I'm not thirty yet, so it isn't time to be depressed about not having my own label. I've still got sixteen months.” He grins at Blaine, trying to lighten the mood, but Blaine still looks gloomy.
“And are you not... are you married or kids or anything?”
Kurt snorts a laugh, images of his last few dates dancing through his head, an actual comedy of errors that should probably depress him more than it does. His half laugh turns into a chuckle and on from there until he is literally clutching his middle. He pats Blaine on the shoulder when he's calmed down. “Thanks for that, Blaine. I really needed to laugh today.”
“Um... okay.” Blaine looks unsure, his smile fake like in a school photo. Kurt pats him on the shoulder again, realizing how long he's had his hand there and awkwardly sliding it away and straightening up.
Either he has unknowingly inched closer or Blaine has, because their arms are flush from shoulder to wrist, the two of them just resting there against the gigantic tree trunk. Kurt tries to think of a way he can scooch a bit to the left without seeming like he's doing it on purpose. It's not that he doesn't like touching Blaine, because he does. Maybe too much.
He's saved from any potentially embarrassing faux pas by the arrival of a hurricane in a strappy black dress. She pitches herself, sobbing, into Kurt's arms and he stumbles, glad to have both the tree and Blaine to keep him from falling backwards.
“Rachel, Rachel, shh. It's okay. Did something happen?”
“Santana,” she manages to choke out. “I was just talking to Santana. She lost it. God, I could only hold it together for so long. Tina and Mercedes are with her now. I can't - She's... Kurt.”
Kurt rubs a soothing hand over her back. “I know. I know. Maybe this week at Quinn's will help her. We can all be there for her. That's why Brittany wanted us to go up there.”
“It was Brittany's idea?” Blaine asks. “For us all to have a reunion at Quinn's lake house?”
“Yeah. She asked Quinn ages ago when she was first diagnosed. Her prognosis was never very good.”
Rachel chokes out another sob and Blaine digs in his pocket, pulling out a perfectly pressed handkerchief and handing it to her. “Always the dapper gentleman,” she says with a watery smile, wiping at her eyes and smearing eye makeup all over the soft blue fabric.
Kurt can see Quinn peeking at them from the kitchen window and she is there a second later, peeling Rachel out of his arms and giving him a meaningful look to which he responds with a roll of his eyes. “I've got her, Quinn. I've spent the last ten years looking after her; I can manage.”
“I am well aware of your co-dependency, believe me. I thought the two of you were trying to break yourselves of that finally?” Kurt rolls his eyes again and fixes the crooked strap on Rachel's dress. Quinn raises one perfectly structured eyebrow. “Anyway, you need a breather, Kurt. You've been looking after us all week and you've barely given yourself a moment to mourn. You don't have to keep doing this for us. Take that moment now.”
“Thank you for your opinion, Dr. Fabray, but please keep your psychoanalyzing for paying patients.”
“Rachel?” Quinn coaxes. Rachel regards him with big wet eyes and nods once, wiping Blaine's hanky over her nose. She gets up on her tiptoes and kisses Kurt on the cheek before taking Quinn's arm.
Quinn reaches over and places the cool palm of her hand against Kurt's cheek where he can still feel the stickiness of Rachel's lip gloss. “You're allowed,” she says quietly, then turns and leads Rachel away.
“So... co-dependency, huh?” Blaine asks as they watch Quinn and Rachel walk back to the house.
Kurt gives him a wavering smile. “Yes, we're the worst. It drives Quinn crazy. She was the one who convinced us to finally get our own places.”
“You still live together?”
“Mmmhmm. Well, not for much longer. Leases have been signed. There's no turning back now.” Kurt remembers the water he brought out with him and reaches down next to Lord Tubbington's gravestone to grab it. As he takes a long drink, he can feel Blaine's eyes on him, likely judging him for living with his high school best friend until well into adulthood. His hackles rise at this imagined slight. “It's weird, I know. But Rachel's... she's my family.”
“It's not weird,” Blaine argues. “I'm just surprised. You once told me you'd need my help burying her body within the first month.”
Kurt smiles sadly at the memory. That's when he'd thought Blaine would soon be joining them. He'd been more worried about her horning in on their alone time than anything else. “Well, living with Rachel Berry is not without its challenges, believe me. But at the end of the day, she's who I've been coming home to for a third of my life. It's going to be very strange for a while.”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, his voice almost a whisper. He looks away towards the fence where the neighbour's cat is now meowing at their back door.
The past members of New Directions peter out of the house in groups of two and three while Kurt attempts to carry on a slightly awkward conversation with the suddenly reticent Blaine. The last to join in is Puck, who comes around the side of the Pierces' house with his cell phone to his ear. Kurt can hear him calling someone a princess and has a flashback of being tossed into the McKinley High School dumpster the morning after meatloaf was served in the cafeteria. He still feels nauseous at the long remembered smell.
“My little girls wanted to say goodnight,” Puck explains and shares a sad sort of smile with Quinn.
“All right, losers,” Santana says, commanding the attention of the assembled group. She is no longer crying; she is no longer a mess. She lights up a cigar and takes a long drag, letting the plumes of bluish smoke drift slowly from her nostrils. “It's nearly dark, so it's Mission Impossible time. We need to take as few cars as possible and you all need to tell me if you can pick locks of anything else useful, 'cause whoever can is giving me a ride.”
Tina widens her eyes and she and Kurt share a look before Rachel pipes up. “Um... I can pick locks. I have a lock pick set in my handbag.” When everyone stares at her, their mouths wide open in shock, she sniffs and tilts her head to one side, hands on her hips. Kurt chuckles into his own shoulder, earning a sideways glance from Blaine whose warmth is still seeping into Kurt's very skin. “What?” Rachel continues. “I bought it as a joke for Kurt because he kept forgetting his keys. And then it ended up coming in quite handy.” She taps her foot impatiently when everyone continues to remain silent. “Not for anything illegal,” she adds.
Santana takes pity on her and throws an arm around her shoulders. “You're with me, Tiny Town.”
“Well, I came with Kurt, so...”
Kurt stands away from the tree, both saddened and relieved by the loss of Blaine's arm against him. He mentally shakes his head. A touch of the shoulders is as sexy as it gets, he thinks sarcastically and saunters over to Rachel and Santana, taking the keys of his father's SUV out of the pocket of his suit.
“You too, Blainers,” Santana says. “You're little and easy to hoist up on things. You're riding the Kurt Hummel Express. It'll bring back lots of fond memories.”
Kurt flushes and refuses to glance behind him to see Blaine's reaction, stepping forward towards a smug looking Quinn. She is most definitely watching for Blaine's reaction and Kurt has the sudden urge to murder her in a morbid, drawn out Edgar Allen Poe-esque fashion. He grabs her arm, pretending to ignore the smirk on her face, and starts off towards the truck. He can hear Sugar Motta offering to drive as well as Sam and Finn.
Rachel is showing Santana her breaking and entering implements while Kurt opens the doors and motions everyone inside. Santana hops into the passenger seat without comments or any objections from the others. When Kurt checks his blind spots, glancing in the side and rear view mirrors, he sees nothing but Blaine staring back at him from the centre of the back seat.
“Britts said she wanted a party,” Santana mumbles quietly as Kurt puts the truck in reverse and begins backing up out of his parking spot. He gets in line behind Finn's Volkswagen Jetta and Sugar's shiny opalescent monstrosity, Artie looking out, frightened, from the passenger seat.
Well, this is certainly going to be a wild party, Kurt thinks. He only hopes it doesn't turn out to be the sort of party where parents have to be called to bail them out of jail the next morning.
They park a good distance from the school and all on different streets as not to attract attention. Finn calls Kurt with the idea as he makes his way there, fiddling with the radio dials and trying to avoid the eyes of all three of the people in his back seat.
They congregate at the back doors where Puck informs them there are no security cameras and lots of shadowy corners. They're louder than they should be, the weight of the day has lifted and the spirit and camaraderie takes over. Sam laughs with Mike while Tina rushes up to Rachel with a grin and a bear hug. Sugar has taken a seat in Artie's lap and he wheels her back and forth as she giggles, throwing her head back so that her long hair reaches down the back of his chair. Finn and Puck stand close together, talking in hushed but excited tones, Finn throwing an arm around Puck's shoulders and nodding enthusiastically. Kurt stands back and watches them, his friends, and silently thanks Brittany for what she has done. He hasn't even seen these people since Mike's wedding nearly four years before, and there had been several of them missing. One in particular, who is standing near enough that Kurt can smell his cologne.
“Are we seriously going to break into the school?” Blaine asks him quietly, wearing the same fond look on his face as Kurt is certain is decorating his own.
“That's what she wanted,” Kurt replies. “So yes. Yes we are.”
He grins at Blaine and boldly takes his elbow. “Come watch Rachel work her felony magic,” he says, and Blaine laughs and follows after him.
The locks of the high school are frighteningly easy to pick. Rachel hardly even struggles, getting the instruments in the proper places in moments and popping the lock, the door banging, echoing loudly all around as the assembled group cringes in unison. Puck tries the door and they wait with bated breath. When no alarm sounds, they begin to creep inside in single file, tittering under their breaths. Kurt's heart is pounding but he is grinning along with the others, Blaine's hand flat against his back, staying close, staying connected. Kurt wonders if Blaine can feel the flutter of his heart.
The security lights guide them down the maze of corridors, and though Kurt is sure that even after all of this time he could still find his way through this building with both eyes closed, he is glad for them. The lights give the quest its proper mood: low and shadowy and sullen.
But even with the mood lighting and the reality of the situation and the possibility of their imminent arrests, everyone is in high spirits. Kurt muses that Brittany would be proud of them. They have put aside each of their own personal sadnesses to love and enjoy the company of their friends.
The mood shifts when they finally make their way to the choir room and someone flips the switch, illuminating the risers, the chairs, the piano, the message boards. Kurt notices the yellowed and dog-eared poster declaring it to be a LGBT safe room that Mr. Schuester had placed there during his senior year. And then, of course, there is the trophy. They make their way over to it as a group, as if pulled by some invisible string. There are still smiles, but they are bittersweet now, not just with the loss of one of their own, but the loss of their childhoods.
Without a word, Rachel moves forward and begins to pick the lock on the trophy case.
“Are we stealing our trophy?” Sugar asks. No one answers her.
When the lock clicks, Rachel slides it off and opens the glass, looking wordlessly to Santana, who nods in understanding. She pulls the small bag of ashes out of her pocket and approaches the trophy case. She is no longer the confident woman of half an hour before.
“This is your first place,” she says in a whisper. “A place where you were happy.” She gets up on her tiptoes and drops the bag into the cup of the trophy, running her fingers down the shining surface.
Everyone stands there in silence, the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights the only sound in the room. Kurt clutches his chest, woozy all of a sudden and irrationally worried about leaving her there with no explanation. What if someone dusting the trophy one day finds her and throws her away like garbage? He swallows the lump in his throat, blinks back his threatening tears. No, no, no. He can't do this now. There is Rachel and Quinn and Tina is trembling and... God, Santana. He feels strong arms slip around his body just as the first wave of tears leaves his eyes and slides traitorously down his cheeks. Blaine pulls him against his chest as he sniffles and finally lets himself break down, similar fates befalling his oldest friends all around them.
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