Kurt kept walking, not sure of his overall game plan. He figured he could go back to his car and leave, but the parking lot was behind him. Kurt wasn't quite prepared to turn around and walk past Blaine and Sebastian's table again, past all of those people still waiting in line. He had an urge to hide out, let things blow over, but where? Everything was pretty much out in the open. To his left, he spotted a planter with a large palm tree growing in it, surrounded by some sort of hedge which would allow people to sit on the planter and be concealed. Well, this looked perfect. He could hide here till everyone left and then slink away, indulge in a cathartic cry.

He had had no intention of breaking down the way he did. Normally, he wouldn’t let things like that get to him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been jeered at because of his profession. It wasn’t even the first time he’d been called a prostitute. But then again, it had been a long time since he had been somewhere other than work, the kids’ doctors’ appointments, or the occasional holiday dinner thrown by Dave’s office. He wasn’t used to people attacking him over his job when he was out of armor. Dressed in vinyl or leather, with a flogger in his hand, he would have been well equipped to tell everyone present to “Fuck of!” But dressed in a fine suit and surrounded by vanilla people, trying to capture back a little of what it meant to be Kurt before he became a father, before he became a Dominatrix, back when he was still finding himself and this show was important to him, he wasn’t prepared to be ripped apart.

He hadn’t prepared himself for it. He didn’t know how to handle it - not here, and definitely not in front of Blaine Anderson.

Kurt felt his iPhone vibrate in his pocket, and the faint but familiar sounds of his ring tone, ‘Defying Gravity'. He pulled his phone out of his inside jacket pocket and looked at the screen. The caller ID read Home.

Great, Kurt thought, but deep down inside he needed to hear Dave's voice. He needed Dave's strength or else he would fall apart, and fuck being able to drive after that.

Kurt answered the call, and in the brightest voice he could conjure up, he said, “Hey, Dave!”

"Hey, hon. How's it going?" Dave's voice was welcome and soothing; two words he never imagined he would use to describe the man who tormented him during most of high school. But here Kurt was, talking to him, picturing him sitting on the tattered sofa in their home, most likely with one or more sleepy-eyed rug rats cuddled in his lap.

"Great," Kurt lied, stemming the tide of tears that wanted to fall in earnest.

"Kurt?" Dave said, concern creeping into his voice. "What's wrong? It sounds like you're crying. Aren't you having a good time?"

Oh, sure, Kurt thought. Remember when we were in high school and you used to shoulder check me every day, and throw me in dumpsters, and then you hate kissed me in the locker room? Yeah, well, this is slightly less fun than that ...

"No. I mean, yeah, I'm having a great time." Kurt forced himself not to sniffle, even though the need to do so was strong. "And no, I'm not crying. It’s … my allergies. It's really dry here. My eyes are watering like crazy."

His lie worked. He heard Dave sigh, relieved. He could even hear a smile in his voice as he continued.

"That's great," Dave said. “Not about the allergies. I’m glad you’re having a good time. You deserve this. But we missed you at the Wii Sports Resort tourney this afternoon."

Kurt let himself relax. He settled down onto the edge of the planter. He closed his eyes and focused on the timbre of Dave's voice; the roll of his laughter comforting to Kurt even though he was miles away. 

"Really?" Kurt chuckled. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Well" - Kurt heard rustling on the other end of the line, the telltale sounds of someone getting tucked in to bed – “Junior won the coin toss, so he chose first.”

“And what did he choose?”

“Archery. He managed to beat my high score."

"Oh!" Kurt laughed honestly as he imagined Junior beating Dave, then performing his obnoxious fist pumping, butt wiggling victory dance. "You must have loved that."

"Yeah, well," Dave grumbled, adorably disgruntled, "don't get too cocky. Barbra knocked your high score out of the park in sword fighting."

Kurt gasped. "That little ... well, good for her," he groaned. Dave laughed, and Kurt couldn't help it. He laughed, too. "And then what?"

"Well, we made cookies ..."

"Oh, Dave! Don't tell me you gave the kids cookies for dinner?"

"All right, all right," Dave said, then muttered under his breath, "I won't tell you ..."

“Dave!” Kurt scolded, but his smile remained. 

“It’s your fault,” Dave scolded back. “Technically, it was your turn to cook dinner. Without you here, we had to fend for ourselves.”

Kurt choked on the laugh fighting with the remains of that lump in his throat. Since he made dinner most nights, that was a bogus excuse, but he’d let it slide. Dave went through a lot to give Kurt this gift. Just because the gift went sour didn’t mean the effort was any less appreciated.

"Okay, okay. This once is all right, I guess. Just keep an eye on Eva.”

Dave huffed. “Don’t I always?”

“Since I’m not the genius who gave her cookies for dinner, I reserve the right to nag.”

Dave stopped his argument, properly shamed. “Fair enough.”

Kurt opened his mouth to comment, but a yawn intervened. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until just then. Getting ganged up on could take a lot out of a person. Plus the drive up didn’t help. He wasn’t looking forward to hitting the highway again. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened.

“Look, Dave, it's getting late, and I'm really tired, so I think I'm going to spend the night at a hotel."

"Okay." Dave’s voice had become a hushed whisper as he pulled the blankets up on the sleeping girls in their family bedroom. "Where are you staying?"

Kurt struggled against another yawn as he answered. "The Airport Motel 6.”

The sound of a throat clearing yanked Kurt from his happy place. He opened his eyes, reluctantly ripping himself away from the small, often cluttered, but cozy confines of the rundown trailer he called home, where his haphazard family, and the man he never thought he would have any kind of a relationship with, were getting ready for bed. He returned back to the asphalt courtyard, with too many people and too much noise, its harsh, white lights, and Blaine Anderson, hovering like a specter, eyes shining, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Dave, I need to go. I'll call you when I'm at the hotel."

"Oh. Ok," Dave said, confused by the clip in Kurt's tone. "Bye, sweetheart."

"Bye." Kurt hung up his phone and pocketed it quickly, as if removing it from sight would keep his little world safe from the cruel scrutiny of Blaine Anderson.

Blaine looked at Kurt, waiting for an invitation to sit, a drop dead, anything.

Kurt glared at Blaine, waiting for him to get on with whatever and leave.

“Hello,” Blaine said, then waited for a return greeting.

He didn’t get one.

Blaine knew he should probably just leave the poor man alone, but he couldn't get the angel in the blue suit out of his head. His smile, his hair (that looked so sinfully soft, Blaine had to do everything in his power to keep from reaching out and touching it), and his eyes. Oh, God, those eyes. Those subtly powerful eyes, that couldn't seem to decide if they wanted to twinkle blue like the calm sea, or sparkle grey like a violent storm. Blaine had been moved by those eyes, and he would see them forever, wherever he went. 

Blaine's insides coiled tighter and tighter as the night dragged on, especially since Sebastian and Mia took way too much delight in reliving the horrific humiliation of Blaine's angel to anyone who would listen. After hearing Mia exclaim, "I mean, how embarrassing!" for the hundredth time, Blaine had had enough. He called for a break and left a still growing line of fans as he went in search of Kurt.

Blaine walked off in the direction he thought he’d seen Kurt go, and prayed that he had hung around for ... for what, Blaine had no idea. Luckily, only a few yards from the autograph tables, Blaine heard Kurt’s melodious voice, sad at first, then laughing. Blaine was relieved to hear the man in better spirits, and could only hope that Kurt would accept his apology. 

Blaine had found him on the planter, eyes closed, face serene, as he spoke to a friend? Partner? Kurt didn't wear a ring. Please, oh please be a babysitter on the other end of that phone. Blaine hadn't wanted to interrupt, didn't want to deprive Kurt of the smile that had returned to his tear streaked face, but Blaine knew someone would come looking for him, most likely Sebastian or Mia. He didn’t want to put Kurt through that again.

When Kurt had lifted his gaze to look at Blaine, Blaine felt himself go cold. Blaine could see by the switch of emotion in Kurt's eyes, shining in the dark like iridescent glass, that this angel definitely hated him. They stared at each other in the stillness, Kurt poised as if preparing to run, and Blaine blocking his only viable exit. 

"So," Blaine began after his failed hello. He’d raised his hand for a wave, but relegated it to nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "You have kids? That must be nice." Kids? I can deal with kids, Blaine thought, then realized a second later how creepy a thought that was. This man hated him, and for good reason. What did Blaine expect to happen here? That his star power would simply wipe that all away, like a speeding ticket?

Kurt continued to stare, not answering Blaine's question, looking like he had no intention of answering. Blaine sighed dejectedly.

"Look," Blaine said, a tentative seat on the planter beside him, "I am really, really sorry about what I said."

Kurt continued to stare, but not at Blaine. He looked at the ground, looked at his hands, looked at his shoes, anywhere but at Blaine's face. He considered just standing up and leaving, but he remembered what a wise friend from high school had once told him when Dave was bullying him.

Call him out. Confront him.

Kurt took a steadying breath, and Blaine sat motionless, giving him audience.

"I watch Sing all the time," Kurt began in a calm voice - calm, but strong. "I've never missed an episode. I relate to it. All your fans do in one way or another, I imagine."

Blaine watched Kurt speak, willing Kurt with his mind to turn his head and look at him, but Kurt kept his eyes on his hands instead.

"I was in high school when the show started. I even auditioned to be on it." Kurt laughed lightly, but sadly. He looked wistful. Blaine wanted to slide over and put an arm around him, but he knew for a fact that that wouldn’t be well received. He kept his arms crossed over his chest to kill the impulse. 

"Your character, Blaine ..." Kurt stopped. Blaine saw a tear run down Kurt's cheek. Blaine itched to wipe it away. Kurt beat him to it. "Your character made me feel less alone in the world. He gave me hope, talked me down from the ledge more times than I can count."

Kurt’s throat tightened around his confession, and they sat quietly for some time. Blaine didn't know if Kurt was going to continue. He noticed Kurt's clasped hands trembling. Any second, he expected Kurt to get up and bolt.

"But tonight, you were a bully, Blaine. You cut me down in front of all those people for no reason. You know nothing about me ..."

Blaine swallowed hard. He swallowed guilt and shame, and a loathing that he was familiar with, but which he had the unique talent of ignoring most days. "Kurt ... I ..."

"You spoke out against bullying on your show. Not just your character, Blaine. You. Those PSA’s you did after that school shooting, and when that one boy in Kentucky committed suicide, and …" 

Blaine couldn't look at Kurt now. His heart twisted in his chest at those words. The ache it left behind incapacitated him.

"I have been bullied my entire life," Kurt admitted, wringing his hands till it looked like it hurt, till Blaine could hear skin rubbing against skin. 

"Kurt," Blaine said, "I have no excuse. I'm sorry. I really am. You have no idea how much."

Kurt flipped his hair out of his eyes, visibly irritated. Blaine shook his head. His apology sounded so weak. What he really wanted to do was explain all of the things that his fans didn't know. He wanted to tell Kurt the position he was in compared to the things he really wanted. In the end, he couldn't, not without making himself sound like more of an asshole. His final explanation, trite and juvenile, grated in his brain. 

"But I'm only human," Blaine said. 

A dumb human ... Blaine thought.

Kurt sniffled, and that clinched it for Kurt. Kurt Hummel didn’t sniffle, and he didn’t get reduced to a sappy mess over a man. He declared himself done with the self-pity party, with this pathetic public spectacle. He lifted his head resolutely.

"Yeah," Kurt said, "but I thought you were one of the better ones.” He brushed stray bits of leaf litter off his pants. “No need to apologize. It was my mistake. They say you should never meet your idols. Now I know why." He got up stiffly, and left without a goodbye.

Blaine watched him leave, too stuck on stupid to think of a clever way to make him stay, a single word that would make this better since I’m sorry didn’t seem to cut it. And it shouldn’t. What he did to Kurt went beyond having a simple I’m sorry wipe the slate clean. He dropped his head into his hands, so utterly unimpressed with himself it made him sick. He rubbed his eyes hard with his fingertips, then raised his head to look over at the empty spot where Kurt had sat ... except it wasn't empty.

Sitting on the planter was Blaine's signed photograph.