Illegitimi Non Carborundum
Title: Illegitimi Non Carborundum
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some language, but nothing beyond that
Spoilers: For the Christmas episode, and even those are pretty mild
Summary: In which Artie learns two things about Kurt, first that he’s a pretty good guy, and second that he should never be fucked with. Kurt already knows both of those things about Artie.
Set during An Extraordinarily Merry Christmas
Author’s Note: The title is a mock-Latin phrased coined during WWII which, to the extent it translates to anything, translates to “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.” I promise I’m not playing a game to challenge myself to come up with more and more pompous titles, I just really am this pretentious.
This is the only time I’ve ever looked at something I’ve written and said “now how to I make this dirty?”
Losing Sam screws up the flow of the whole second act. Artie had been planning to use Sam’s James Earl Jones impression to round out the Star Wars homage and the fact that it was Sam doing James Earl Jones was going to tie into the exploration of race in the first act. Now Artie is stuck wondering if he can talk some of the guys from the jazz band into playing the wookie family, he’s even considering committing fanboy blasphemy and commingling characters from the two trilogies based solely on the fact that Finn’s complete obliviousness when it comes to his limbs would make him an uncanny Jar Jar Binks.
In fact, Artie is still tweaking all of the script, which he knows is getting on his actor’s nerves. He’s been expecting Rachel to be the one who finally confronts him about it, but he isn’t exactly surprised when it’s Kurt who stays behind after rehearsal.
They are holding rehearsals in the auditorium, but Artie has forgone the director’s table in favor of scoping out camera angles and fixing eye line issues from the middle of the action. Unfortunately, he’s not at all disciplined about where he puts his notes, so they end up scattered all over the set. Kurt doesn’t offer to help him, he just leans against the piano and watches Artie trying to gather them all back up and cursing himself for not numbering the extra pages.
“I know what you’re doing.”
To be honest, Artie isn’t paying much attention to Kurt, he’s still trying to figure out if the camera should follow Kurt and Blaine through the door in a continuous shot or if he should just cut from the porch to the living room and save himself from trying to find an angle that didn’t reveal the missing fourth wall. But Artie is a good director, he can soothe egos in his sleep and West Side Story has taught him how each of his actors want to be handled. Rachel wants to hear about her limitless talent, Blaine wants to hear that he’s the linchpin holding everything together, Mercedes -- he’s learning -- likes to be admired for her hard work, Kurt mostly wants to be trusted and challenged, he wants to hear “I know you can do it, now prove me right” but first he wants a chance to rant.
“I beg your pardon?” Artie asks, just to encourage the rant along, and then settles in to wait for the pause and the blown out breath that will mean Kurt has finished.
Except Kurt doesn’t start in on anything, he’s quiet for a moment and when Artie glances over at him Kurt is still leaning against the piano, loose and serene, but there’s something about him that makes Artie wary, something that commands his full attention.
“Star Wars,” Kurt says finally, “Frosty the Snowman, that jab about the end times. The Hummel-Anderson bachelor chalet. You’re trying to piss someone off. I just can’t figure out who, or what they did to deserve it.”
Watching Kurt, Artie wonders how he could ever have mistaken him for something delicate, or at least how he could have used that as a reason to dismiss him. Kurt hasn’t moved, he’s still leaning one arm on the piano, still cool and relaxed, but his eyes are hard and his smile has gone sharp and Artie realizes that if he doesn’t play this exactly right the Glee Christmas Spectacular could lose Kurt, and probably Blaine with him.
Artie hadn’t planned to tell anyone. In fact, not telling anyone had kind of been the best part of his plan. This isn’t going to be some good-hearted kids coming to the rescue of poor Tiny Tim, it’s going to be Artie, armed only with a camera, $800, and his ability to manipulate his friends into doing what he wants, sticking it to some asshole station manager. When Don Barowski turns on his television and sees what his money has paid for and all the blood drains from his sweaty little face, it’s going to be Artie who did that to him.
But he can’t lie to Kurt. Setting aside the fact that Kurt has a frightening ability to sense bullshit, he probably deserves at least some of the truth. Kurt is a part of this. He and Blaine are probably the biggest part of this after Artie and if he’s going to count on the fact that seeing them together on screen for a Christmas special is going to make people uncomfortable, if he’s going to use that to his advantage, then maybe Kurt deserves to know why.
“Don Barowski,” Artie says finally, “is a douche.”
Kurt is silent for a while, his eyes narrow and measuring, but he doesn’t ask for clarification. Artie wouldn’t have given it him, but he’s sort of thankful to Kurt for not asking.
Finally, Kurt nods and begins to gather his things.
“Okay.”
“Wait --” Artie sputters, “what?”
“Hmm?” Kurt doesn’t seem to be paying him much attention at all, he’s apparently more concerned that his books go into his bag in a very particular order.
“Just ‘okay’” Artie says, “you’re not pissed at me?”
Kurt shakes his head an laughs, but he finally looks at Artie again. “No,” he says, his smile nearly acidic “I’m not pissed at you.”
Artie can’t quite wrap his head around that. He can’t understand how Kurt doesn’t kind of hate him. Artie thinks he would, if their positions were reversed and it was Kurt using him as a sharp joke or sticking him in one of his dad’s commercials to prove that Burt Hummel is a good guy because he’s nice to cripples, Artie is pretty sure he’d be furious, is almost as sure that he’d punch Kurt in the face for it, or at least that he’d want to. But apparently Kurt isn’t angry and doesn’t hate him and has no urge to hit him. Apparently Kurt doesn’t mind being used as a weapon without his consent .
All Artie can say is “Why the hell not?”
Kurt’s bag is finally packed to his exacting standards and he’s swinging it up to his shoulder. “Because you confronted Karofsky last year without the whole background story, without any more information than he was harassing me. You had my back and if this is how I can have yours then I don’t mind doing it.”
Artie is sort of ashamed that he’s so shocked. They aren’t really friends, or at least not close ones, Kurt isn’t even all that nice to him. He’s always been equally as disdainful of Artie and his sweater vests as he is of anyone else -- Artie has always been sort of fond of him for his egalitarian disdain if for nothing else -- but Kurt is a good guy and watching him settle his jacket so it sits correctly underneath his bag Artie wonders why everyone seems to forget that all the time.
“Do me a favor though?” Kurt asks just before he turns to leave, and his eyes are suddenly sharp again, “the next time you want to use my happiness as a needle to stick in someone’s eye, ask me first.”
“You got it” Artie says, because there really isn’t any other choice. Kurt might not want to hit him this time, but Artie is pretty sure that if he does something like this again Kurt -- well he probably still won’t hit him (though, if there’s any truth to what Finn has been saying, Blaine might) but Artie doesn’t have any doubt that whatever Kurt did do would be worse, and much more damaging.
Kurt jumps down from the stage, but he turns back before he reaches the auditorium doors.
“Hey Artie?
He’s expecting some version of don’t fuck up but what he gets is --
“Eggnog.”
He wonders if Kurt is making an oblique threat, but he can’t figure out what it would mean.
“I don’t understand what --”
“Eggnog” Kurt says again, “I imagine they have a lot of it at the Anderson-Hummel bachelor chalet, don’t you think?”
Kurt is out the door before Artie can process what he’s said and long gone by the time Artie is doubled over, helpless with laughter.
That night, Artie is reworking the script again. He wonders if he should have the first page framed.
(BLAINE lifts a tray, heavy with an obscene amount of eggnog, from the side table and -- with his best company manners -- gives it to his guests.)
Or page twenty-three.
KURT: (feeling his oats) And so I said to Justin Timberlake: ‘That’s not eggnog.’
He wonders if he should hang them on his wall as a reminder to never piss off Kurt Hummel.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some language, but nothing beyond that
Spoilers: For the Christmas episode, and even those are pretty mild
Summary: In which Artie learns two things about Kurt, first that he’s a pretty good guy, and second that he should never be fucked with. Kurt already knows both of those things about Artie.
Set during An Extraordinarily Merry Christmas
Author’s Note: The title is a mock-Latin phrased coined during WWII which, to the extent it translates to anything, translates to “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.” I promise I’m not playing a game to challenge myself to come up with more and more pompous titles, I just really am this pretentious.
This is the only time I’ve ever looked at something I’ve written and said “now how to I make this dirty?”
Losing Sam screws up the flow of the whole second act. Artie had been planning to use Sam’s James Earl Jones impression to round out the Star Wars homage and the fact that it was Sam doing James Earl Jones was going to tie into the exploration of race in the first act. Now Artie is stuck wondering if he can talk some of the guys from the jazz band into playing the wookie family, he’s even considering committing fanboy blasphemy and commingling characters from the two trilogies based solely on the fact that Finn’s complete obliviousness when it comes to his limbs would make him an uncanny Jar Jar Binks.
In fact, Artie is still tweaking all of the script, which he knows is getting on his actor’s nerves. He’s been expecting Rachel to be the one who finally confronts him about it, but he isn’t exactly surprised when it’s Kurt who stays behind after rehearsal.
They are holding rehearsals in the auditorium, but Artie has forgone the director’s table in favor of scoping out camera angles and fixing eye line issues from the middle of the action. Unfortunately, he’s not at all disciplined about where he puts his notes, so they end up scattered all over the set. Kurt doesn’t offer to help him, he just leans against the piano and watches Artie trying to gather them all back up and cursing himself for not numbering the extra pages.
“I know what you’re doing.”
To be honest, Artie isn’t paying much attention to Kurt, he’s still trying to figure out if the camera should follow Kurt and Blaine through the door in a continuous shot or if he should just cut from the porch to the living room and save himself from trying to find an angle that didn’t reveal the missing fourth wall. But Artie is a good director, he can soothe egos in his sleep and West Side Story has taught him how each of his actors want to be handled. Rachel wants to hear about her limitless talent, Blaine wants to hear that he’s the linchpin holding everything together, Mercedes -- he’s learning -- likes to be admired for her hard work, Kurt mostly wants to be trusted and challenged, he wants to hear “I know you can do it, now prove me right” but first he wants a chance to rant.
“I beg your pardon?” Artie asks, just to encourage the rant along, and then settles in to wait for the pause and the blown out breath that will mean Kurt has finished.
Except Kurt doesn’t start in on anything, he’s quiet for a moment and when Artie glances over at him Kurt is still leaning against the piano, loose and serene, but there’s something about him that makes Artie wary, something that commands his full attention.
“Star Wars,” Kurt says finally, “Frosty the Snowman, that jab about the end times. The Hummel-Anderson bachelor chalet. You’re trying to piss someone off. I just can’t figure out who, or what they did to deserve it.”
Watching Kurt, Artie wonders how he could ever have mistaken him for something delicate, or at least how he could have used that as a reason to dismiss him. Kurt hasn’t moved, he’s still leaning one arm on the piano, still cool and relaxed, but his eyes are hard and his smile has gone sharp and Artie realizes that if he doesn’t play this exactly right the Glee Christmas Spectacular could lose Kurt, and probably Blaine with him.
Artie hadn’t planned to tell anyone. In fact, not telling anyone had kind of been the best part of his plan. This isn’t going to be some good-hearted kids coming to the rescue of poor Tiny Tim, it’s going to be Artie, armed only with a camera, $800, and his ability to manipulate his friends into doing what he wants, sticking it to some asshole station manager. When Don Barowski turns on his television and sees what his money has paid for and all the blood drains from his sweaty little face, it’s going to be Artie who did that to him.
But he can’t lie to Kurt. Setting aside the fact that Kurt has a frightening ability to sense bullshit, he probably deserves at least some of the truth. Kurt is a part of this. He and Blaine are probably the biggest part of this after Artie and if he’s going to count on the fact that seeing them together on screen for a Christmas special is going to make people uncomfortable, if he’s going to use that to his advantage, then maybe Kurt deserves to know why.
“Don Barowski,” Artie says finally, “is a douche.”
Kurt is silent for a while, his eyes narrow and measuring, but he doesn’t ask for clarification. Artie wouldn’t have given it him, but he’s sort of thankful to Kurt for not asking.
Finally, Kurt nods and begins to gather his things.
“Okay.”
“Wait --” Artie sputters, “what?”
“Hmm?” Kurt doesn’t seem to be paying him much attention at all, he’s apparently more concerned that his books go into his bag in a very particular order.
“Just ‘okay’” Artie says, “you’re not pissed at me?”
Kurt shakes his head an laughs, but he finally looks at Artie again. “No,” he says, his smile nearly acidic “I’m not pissed at you.”
Artie can’t quite wrap his head around that. He can’t understand how Kurt doesn’t kind of hate him. Artie thinks he would, if their positions were reversed and it was Kurt using him as a sharp joke or sticking him in one of his dad’s commercials to prove that Burt Hummel is a good guy because he’s nice to cripples, Artie is pretty sure he’d be furious, is almost as sure that he’d punch Kurt in the face for it, or at least that he’d want to. But apparently Kurt isn’t angry and doesn’t hate him and has no urge to hit him. Apparently Kurt doesn’t mind being used as a weapon without his consent .
All Artie can say is “Why the hell not?”
Kurt’s bag is finally packed to his exacting standards and he’s swinging it up to his shoulder. “Because you confronted Karofsky last year without the whole background story, without any more information than he was harassing me. You had my back and if this is how I can have yours then I don’t mind doing it.”
Artie is sort of ashamed that he’s so shocked. They aren’t really friends, or at least not close ones, Kurt isn’t even all that nice to him. He’s always been equally as disdainful of Artie and his sweater vests as he is of anyone else -- Artie has always been sort of fond of him for his egalitarian disdain if for nothing else -- but Kurt is a good guy and watching him settle his jacket so it sits correctly underneath his bag Artie wonders why everyone seems to forget that all the time.
“Do me a favor though?” Kurt asks just before he turns to leave, and his eyes are suddenly sharp again, “the next time you want to use my happiness as a needle to stick in someone’s eye, ask me first.”
“You got it” Artie says, because there really isn’t any other choice. Kurt might not want to hit him this time, but Artie is pretty sure that if he does something like this again Kurt -- well he probably still won’t hit him (though, if there’s any truth to what Finn has been saying, Blaine might) but Artie doesn’t have any doubt that whatever Kurt did do would be worse, and much more damaging.
Kurt jumps down from the stage, but he turns back before he reaches the auditorium doors.
“Hey Artie?
He’s expecting some version of don’t fuck up but what he gets is --
“Eggnog.”
He wonders if Kurt is making an oblique threat, but he can’t figure out what it would mean.
“I don’t understand what --”
“Eggnog” Kurt says again, “I imagine they have a lot of it at the Anderson-Hummel bachelor chalet, don’t you think?”
Kurt is out the door before Artie can process what he’s said and long gone by the time Artie is doubled over, helpless with laughter.
That night, Artie is reworking the script again. He wonders if he should have the first page framed.
(BLAINE lifts a tray, heavy with an obscene amount of eggnog, from the side table and -- with his best company manners -- gives it to his guests.)
Or page twenty-three.
KURT: (feeling his oats) And so I said to Justin Timberlake: ‘That’s not eggnog.’
He wonders if he should hang them on his wall as a reminder to never piss off Kurt Hummel.