Part Three – Age 13 – Kurt

Kurt couldn't say exactly when it started.  He had always felt it, how he was somehow set apart, shunned, different from his peers.  Somewhere along the way it morphed into jabs and taunts, then little shoves in the hallway, feet stuck out just far enough to make him trip and, eventually, slushies thrown in his face and daily stints in the dumpster and the kind of pushing around that left bruises and the occasional cut.

It didn't bother him, really, beyond the damage to his wardrobe.

At least it didn't until his dad found out.

Burt marched his way straight to the principal's office, dragging Kurt behind him, and gave the man quite the earful.  Kurt didn't even recognize half of the words his father used.

Principal Figgins pretended to listen politely, but Kurt recognized all too easily the nature of the smile plastered on his face.  “Are you the natural parent, Sir?” Figgins asked when Burt was forced to stop for air.

“No,” Burt answered, standing firm and proud.  “But I am the only biological one.”

“I see.  I'm assuming you do have a Nat though?”

Burt gritted his teeth.  “I'd have to, wouldn't I?”

Figgins' smile widened, and he dug around in his filing cabinet for a moment, eventually producing a sheet of paper.  “Here,” he said, handing it to Burt.  “Give this to your Nat; she can fill it out and file a formal complaint.  The school board reviews them in the order they're received.”

Burt snatched the paper from his grasp.  “So that's it then?  My boy is being physically assaulted, and you're just going to sit behind a desk and tell me to fill out a form?  You have an obligation to keep your students safe!”

“And we fulfill it,” Figgins said, the slightest hint of irritation leaking into his voice.  “My hands are tied, Sir.  I'm afraid there is protocol that must be followed, and you are currently in violation of it!”

Burt leaned forward over the principal's desk, stopping inches from his face and slamming his fist down loudly on the wooden surface.  Figgins flinched.  “The thing is, I don't give a damn about your protocol.”

“Dad,” Kurt said, stepping forward to grasp his father's elbow and giving it a firm tug.  “We need to go.”

“Yeah,” Burt growled, finally giving ground.  “I figure there's no one here to reason with.” 

Together, they turned and left the office.

“The Registry will be hearing about this!” Figgins called after them.

Burt paused, his body noticeably tensing, and for the first time in his young life, Kurt was tempted to give someone the finger.

*******

Three months later, the appropriate forms long submitted and presumably ignored, found Kurt's family in much the same boat.

“I don't know what to do, Carole,” Kurt overheard his father saying to his mate.  “I can't keep sending him back there, not when they treat him like this, and we can't afford a private school.”

“Maybe we can help him,” Carole suggested.  “Figure out why they treat him like this and see if he can't… adjust his behavior to something more acceptable.”

“I can't believe you just said that!  My son has every right to be exactly who he is, Carole—it's those other asshole kids who need an adjustment!”

“Of course he should be who he is!” Carole said, her voice gentle but defensive.  “I wasn't meaning… it's just… his clothes, Burt.  They're a little… out there.”

“There's nothing wrong with his clothing!” Burt retorted.  He paused, and then his voice softened.  “He makes them himself.  His mother taught him that.”

“Maybe he could make something a bit more mainstream….”

Something clattered loudly, and suddenly his father's voice sounded much closer.  “I'm not having this conversation with you.  My son does not need to change!”

“Burt, be reasonable…”

“No, Carole.  I'm done.”

A door slammed closed, and Kurt sat very still in his bed, listening intently.  A few minutes later, his door cracked open, and Burt stepped into his room.

“Hey, Buddy!  I wanted to say goodnight!”

“Dad,” Kurt said, finding his father's eyes in the darkness.  “I heard you.”

He could barely make it out, but Burt's face fell into an unmistakable frown.  “That's… that's not for you to worry about, Kurt.”

“Dad,” Kurt repeated, placing heavier emphasis on the word.  “You were fighting about me.”

Silence fell between them, and then Burt was moving closer, sitting himself down on the edge of Kurt's bed.  “Carole and I are fine, okay?  This is just… it's just a tough situation for all of us, buddy, and neither of us know what to do.  We both hate seeing you hurting like this.”

“I don't mind so much,” Kurt said, forcing his voice to stay even, “about the clothes.  Carole's… Carole's right.  I do think that's why they… why they don't like me.”  He stared down at his quilt, picking at threads he couldn't see with his fingers.

“No.” Burt said firmly.  “No, we're going to find a better way.  They shouldn't care what you wear, Kurt.  They should care who you are.  And you're a pretty damned good kid, if I do say so myself.”

Kurt smiled at his father's praise.  “You really think so?”

Burt nodded.  “Course I do,” he said seriously.  “I did raise you, after all.”

Kurt giggled, breaking off when he felt his father's hand cupping the side of his face.  “It's late; you should be asleep.  Get some rest now.”

Kurt wriggled down under the covers obediently.  “Yes Sir.”

“Goodnight, Kurt.  I love you.”

“Love you too.”

His eyes squeezed shut, Kurt allowed the fading sound of his father's heavy footsteps to lull him to sleep.

*******

Kurt didn't hear Burt and Carole talking about the matter again, but a week later his parents made him stay back with them in the living room after dinner.

“Kurt.  Carole and I have been… brainstorming.  We have an idea we want to propose to you.”

“We're very worried about your safety at school, honey.  And there's not much your teachers will do about it, and we can't afford to send you somewhere else, so we thought it might be good if you had someone else who could go there with you, help watch your back.”

“Someone else?” Kurt repeated, feeling puzzled and overwhelmed.

“It's not a perfect solution,” Carole admitted.  “But it may be the best we've got.”

“I don't understand,” Kurt said.  “Who is there to come to school with me?  How is that even possible?”

His father leaned forward in his armchair, placing his hand over Kurt's where it rested on his knee.  “Your mother and I started saving up the day you were born,” Burt said softly.  “Every week, like clockwork.  Carole has been kind enough to allow it to continue.”

“Save up,” Kurt echoed in deadpan.  “Save up for what?”

“We wanted you to have a custom Fab when you came of age.  So you could avoid the auctions, have a mate that really suited you.”

Kurt gasped.  “Dad…”

“Now, we won't be able to afford that at the age you are now,” Burt continued.  “This is much sooner than planned.  But you could choose someone from the factories, certainly.”

“I—“Kurt paused, breathing deeply and willing the rapid beat of his heart to slow.  “I don't know what to say.  How can we afford to keep him?”

“That's all worked out,” Carole said.  “The hospital's allowing me to pick up an extra shift each week.  It'll be enough.”

“And I expect both of you to help out at the shop on the weekends and in the summer,” Burt added.

“Wow.  Dad, Carole, I…”

“Is that a yes?” his father prodded hopefully.

Kurt closed his eyes.  As Carole had said, it wasn't the perfect solution… but it was everything he had dreamed of for so long, and he was getting it now.

He opened them, considering his father and Carole in turn.

“Yes.”

*******

The building was indistinguishable from any other factory Kurt had ever seen—humongous, rectangular, constructed of faded, rusty blue aluminum.  They entered into a block of offices, a stark contrast to the building's exterior.

The hallway was empty, but it was only a few moments before a man appeared who looked to be in his thirties.  His dress was appropriate for a business man, but sloppy, causing Kurt to wrinkle his nose.  A crooked nametag read Dave: Manager.

“Ms. Hudson?” the man questioned, sticking his hand out towards Carole, ignoring Burt and Kurt completely.

She frowned at him but shook his hand regardless.  “Yes.  And this is my mate, Burt, and our son, Kurt.  He's the one who needs the Fab.”

“Right,” the man said, finally looking over to Kurt.  “Well, we make them at infant and ages five, ten, fifteen and twenty.”

“I'd like a fifteen year-old, I think,” Kurt told him, looking to his father for confirmation.  Burt nodded.  “A male, please.”

The man's expression never faltered.  “Right,” he said again.  “Follow me.”

They followed ‘Dave' through a door at the end of the hallway that led to a wider corridor and then through a set of larger double doors that opened into the main body of the factory.  Kurt gasped.  Before him stretched rows and rows of people, each standing stiff as a soldier with a little plaque set before them.  Dave directed them off to the right another twenty yards or so, then stopped.  “These five rows are our fifteen year-old males.  If you don't see anything you like, we have additional options in our catalogue available for order.  Certain upgrades are available too, but I doubt you could afford them on your budget.”

Burt looked about ready to club the man, but Carole put him off of it with a single look.  He settled for grunting instead.  “Go ahead buddy,” he said to Kurt.

Kurt took a deep breath and slowly started down the first row.

There were boys of every imaginable size and coloring, all looking polished and perfectly fit.  Kurt paused in front of a blonde boy with beautiful deep, sea-green eyes, then again before a tallish Fab with adorable thick black curls.  So many of the options were appealing, and then again they creeped him out—their limbs unmoving, their eyes unseeing, and yet it felt as though they were peering into his very soul.

“How do I choose?” he whispered to his father.

Burt's hands closed over his shoulders, squeezing gently.  “Best I can say is just go with your gut.”

“Consider what you want,” Carole offered.  “What's important to you?  The cards should tell you a little about them.”

“Actually,” Dave said, “our models come pretty standard internally.  They all have average intelligence and an equal aptitude for personal development, learning, and interests—they'll adapt to what their Nat wants and also to the environment around them.”

“Oh,” Carole said.  “Well then, Kurt—pick the most handsome!”  She winked at him but he barely managed to smile in return, still feeling nervous and uncertain.

“So I can teach them to, say, like music?” Kurt asked.

“Certainly, to an extent.  He should learn to perform admirably, but real talent would require an upgrade in musical aptitude.”

Kurt nodded.  “Alright, I think I understand.”

He continued to peruse the options, the others trailing behind him.  He paused several times before models he found particularly attractive, but none of them were it.  Then again, he wasn't sure exactly what it would be.

Until he saw him.

The boy was handsome enough, yes, but compared to many of the others he was unremarkable in every way… except for his size.  He gave the impression of safe, and safe, Kurt realized suddenly, was what he most wanted to be.

“This one,” Kurt said, feeling absolutely certain.  “I want this one.”  Brown hair, brown eyes, and at fifteen already surpassing the six-foot mark, Kurt could tell.  “Will he get taller?”

“It's quite possible, yes.  At this age most of our models continue to grow for another few years.”

Kurt nodded, pleased with the information.

“We'd like him to go to school with Kurt,” Burt said, drawing the salesman's reluctant attention.  “Is he gonna be able to keep up?”

“As I mentioned, all our models have average intelligence—advanced intelligence is possible, but it's a very pricy upgrade,” Burt gritted his teeth at this, but thankfully remained silent, and the man continued.  “He'll be perfectly capable of keeping up in school, and we program them with the knowledge they'll need to match a given grade free of charge.”

“Eighth grade,” Burt said tersely.

“Very well.”

“Will he…” Kurt stopped mid-sentence and flushed, looking at the ground and then at his father.  “Will he like me?”

The adults looked puzzled for a moment, and it was Carole who first figured it out.  “Oh!” she said, startled, then turned to Dave.  “He wants to know if his Fab will be attracted to him,” she clarified gently.

“Once they're chosen, our Fabs are programmed to respond to the gender of choice.  It won't be more specific than that, but we do attune them to you.  He'll feel a level of attachment to you, as your Fab.”

“Great,” Kurt said, blushing more deeply but feeling relieved.

“Are there any other questions?” Dave prompted.  No one spoke again, and for the first time that afternoon, the salesman cracked a smile.  “Good.  If you'll come back to my office, I'll have you fill out the order form and we'll get you out the door.  Your order should be ready within two weeks.  Would you like him to be activated before delivery?”

He directed his question towards Kurt, who looked at him blankly.

“He means do you want to him be… animated… before he comes to the house, or would you like to do it yourself?” Carole explained.

“Oh.  Umm, activated first, please.  It's a little creepy, seeing them like this.”  Kurt shuddered, and the four made their way out of the display room and into Dave's much more comfortable office.

*******

Finn (Kurt had meant to choose a meaningful name, but clicking through the internet this one had jumped out at him) arrived two weeks later in a blue zip-up hoodie and baggie jeans—clothes the man accompanying him assured Kurt he had chosen himself. 

 “Sign here,” he said, handing the clipboard to Carole who passed it to Kurt.  Kurt almost missed the line, he was so busy staring.

The man nodded at them once the clipboard was returned to him and gave them a thick packet of information in return.  “Warranty stuff is in there.  It's good for a year.”

Carole thanked the man who smiled politely in return, and then he was gone, and Finn was standing there looking very much like a lost, oversized puppy.

“Finn?” she said, apparently realizing that Kurt was in no condition to speak.  “Why don't you come inside, sweetie, get something to eat?  I'm Carole.”  She held her hand out to him and he stared at it, bemused, before taking it and shaking it as expected.  She stepped back and gestured into the house, and Finn finally walked inside, taking in his surroundings with childlike curiosity.

Carole's hand closed around Kurt's wrist, tugging him forward until he was right at Finn's side.  “This is Kurt,” she said kindly.  “He's your Nat.”

“Kurt,” Finn repeated, all his attention re-focused in an instant.  Kurt swallowed thickly.

“Hi,” he all but squeaked out.

“Burt lives here too, but he won't be home until dinnertime,” Carole said.  “Why don't you come to the kitchen and I'll fix you some lunch?  Then Kurt can show you to where you'll be sleeping.”

“Sure, thank you,” Finn said, still staring at Kurt.

 Kurt didn't know what to think, what to feel, and least of all what to do.  He'd never been so overwhelmed in his life.  But when he finally regained enough control of his body to move, putting one foot in front of the other until somehow he was following Carole, Finn trailed along obediently behind him.  It would have to do for now.