Chapter Text
The new guards that came onto the bus to replace the previous ones spoke French, so at least Kurt could make out a little of what they were saying. Unfortunately, it wasn't helpful or even encouraging, and that was assuming that he was understanding correctly. There was quite a lot about stubborn idiots, extra security, pigs of bombers interfering in decent people's livelihoods, people too pig-headed to reschedule or move, and millions of euros. The part about extra security was the most discouraging, but none of it sounded good. It's the ones who questioned themselves, or even saw themselves as not always being good or right that were most likely to stop what they were doing, whether it was opposing legislation that allowed slaves some protection or owning a freeable slave. Only somebody who can identify with the powerless can see them as equal rather than lesser beings.
Those thoughts brought Kurt's mind back to Blaine. That was what made Rachel's idea about a documentary such a good one. Blaine looked like he'd have been such a normal kid, the kid next door you'd have played with or been glad to see your own kid playing with, then the nice boy you'd be glad to see your sister or daughter date. If he could end up as a slave through no fault of his own, didn't that mean it could happen to anybody?
Maybe, maybe if Blaine and Rachel continued the documentary, maybe it would be a success, enough that wherever he ended up, whoever bought him, he'd hear of it, hear another voice say Blaine's name, even see an image of his face. He doubted that whoever owned him or associated with his owner would speak of him kindly, but it would be an instant of hope. If he was able to escape, even if he never made it back home or to wherever Blaine might be then, it would be even better.
The bus slowed after turning into the parking lot of some kind of complex and Kurt tried to memorize every detail of the buildings, doors, and loading docks.
They were ordered out of the bus one row at a time and one of the building's guards patted down each person in turn before they were taken inside. When Kurt and nine others were taken out, he wanted to ask the guard exactly why he thought that the girls' breasts required such a thorough searching, but knew it wouldn't accomplish anything except perhaps make the guard remember him. He hadn't even let himself say anything to the girl who sat next to him, who wasn't in this group, and hoped that she had remained silent for the same reason, not for fear.
Still in the same groups of ten, they were led to a kind of dormitory, where they were told sit on the cots and given sandwiches and bottled water. The water was already opened and Kurt wondered what kind of security measure that was, but couldn't figure it out. When they finished, they were ordered to wash their faces and brush their teeth at the nearby sinks, then get into the cots. Again, Kurt wanted to say something sarcastic but had to remind himself that it wasn't worth it. He was suddenly sleepy enough that he suspected the opened water bottles contained some kind of sedative. It couldn't be a strong one or they'd have been more cautious about dosages, he thought, but then fell asleep before he could finish surveying the room for another exit.
Kurt woke up in the morning to bright lights, the sound of yelling, and a horrible taste in his mouth. They were ordered to shower and wash their hair. Kurt tried to tell himself that this was just to keep them from looking so horribly greasy that the sight of them would make anybody other than high school boys disgusted, but the luxury-level soap, shampoo, and conditioner in the tiny, industrial showers made the other conclusion far too clear: Today was the day they were going to be sold.
This was confirmed when they were given another round of sandwiches, but this time still-sealed bottles of water, and then led to a room that looked like a beauty salon. His hands began to shake as he was led to a chair and a woman studied his face and then styled his hair, plucked a few stray eyebrows, and then did a quick but expert job on concealing the circles under his eyes. She looked at him again and then applied a very subtle lip gloss. When she gestured for him to get up, he was shaking too badly to do so. She sighed impatiently and signaled to a man who was standing and watching. "This one is severe," she told him and he removed a syringe and little bottle from the counter before coming over.
He looked Kurt up and down, muttered to himself, "About 50 kilos." He cleaned Kurt's arm with an alcohol pad and Kurt began to plead, "No, please, don't drug me, I can calm down, please, no drugs, please." The man ignored him as if he were nothing but a kitten mewing before getting its shots and proceeded. At first Kurt felt nothing but his panic continuing to increase, but then felt a sudden groggy detachment, as if he'd just been awakened from a strange dream. It seemed like he was watching somebody else being put into a very short pale wheat-colored silk robe, so thin it was translucent, and led through a back hallway, into a service elevator, and then into a hall about four times the size of the McKinley gym, but with a thick, soft carpet underneath, chandeliers, and ornate, gilded mirrors on the walls. It looked like the standard luxurious hotel ballroom from any glamorous movie, except that the room was filled with large, semi-closed booths. Each booth had several photographs attached to it, and it wasn't until he was led to one featuring his own photographs and pushed lightly onto a green watered silk chaise that he realized this was the actual sale place.
The woman in the booth with him looked him over and then continued to look into space, occasionally checking the time on her phone. After what seemed like another half hour, he heard a general stirring and a few minutes after that, somebody came into the booth and started to examine him with a buyer's eye, touching his hair and face and skin.
The woman was all charm with the potential buyers, speaking at least six different languages that he could make out, offering them additional details that he didn't even know that the sellers knew about him, that he'd been a cheerleader once, or confirming details from the catalog description, including that he was not only a virgin but had almost no sexual experience. She told one buyer, "It is rare to find somebody this pretty who is not only virginal but so timid, so shy, but then, fortunate for you, is it not? You could shape him into whatever you please, he is so unformed yet." A few of the buyers went to far as groping at his groin, but she stopped them with an almost impish smile, "Oh, I understand the temptation, but wait until this charmer is yours, after the auction, if you please."
Some of them seemed gentler than others, while others terrified him, even in this strange, detached state. One man looked at him with such cold, even hate-filled eyes, even while he was running his hand down Kurt's side, that Kurt found himself shuddering away. When he saw that this brought a smile to the other's face, he decided that this man was the exception, that if his man bought him, he would try to kill himself rather than endure whatever he had to until he had a chance to escape. Another had come into the booth after a brief lull during which Kurt had closed his eyes and rested for a moment, and had even said very quietly to the woman, "I'll come back," but Kurt had jerked to alertness at the sound of his voice. He'd even made himself smile shyly at the man, in the hopes that somebody like this would be easier to escape from. As the man looked at the written description again, the woman said, "This one has such a sweet, pleasing nature, a little kindness would win him entirely, isn't that so, Kurt?" Even in his drugged emotional tumult, Kurt had to fight his instinct to roll his eyes, and instead looked away diffidently. When the man put a hand under Kurt's chin to turn his face back, Kurt forced a timid but trusting expression and another shy smile when the man stroked his cheek lightly. He wasn't in any state to make new plans, but he was still clear-headed enough to keep to the existing one.
An announcement came over movie theater quality speakers, in several languages before English. "Ladies and gentlemen, the preview will be closing in ten minutes."
Finn was trying hard not to watch Burt and Carole cuddling on one of the beds, since he was positive that there was tongue going on and hands where parent hands just shouldn't be. Instead, he looked out the window or flicked on the television. He'd thought that England only had the BBC, so it was pretty neat that there were lots of channels, even if he was too restless to watch them much. Blaine was curled up in a chair reading, but looking kind of restless, too. Peter was reading email on his laptop, it looked like, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention, either. His phone rang and as he saw who it was, his expression changed to deep concern and grew even grimmer as he answered with an abrupt, "What is it?"
"What do you mean, Zurich?"
"So we fell for a honeypot." Finn had no idea what that meant, but it sounded bad.
"All right, get as much information as you can, follow whoever it is, keep on it. We'll be there as soon as we can."
Peter turned the phone off and then said, heavily, "He's in Zurich after all. What we hacked into was fake data, meant to be hacked. The sale is going now and security is so tight that my person there couldn't even get in."
"What do we do now?" Blaine asked, the first of them able to speak again.
"Monica's got us the fastest flight she can, a private one to Zurich. It'll get us there in three hours. There are some other people flying there from Geneva, they'll be there in about an hour." He looked absolutely defeated, nothing at all like the confident, powerful businessman he'd always seemed before.
"Uncle Peter," Blaine almost whispered. "It's not your fault."
"Except it is. I failed you, Blaine, and now I've failed Kurt, too." He looked at them, bleakly. "We'd better go. There's still some kind of chance."
There was a break of about an hour between the preview end and the beginning of the auction, Kurt estimated. They stayed in the booths and one more person came to look at him, maybe somebody they let in late, but otherwise, the only thing that happened was the stylists coming by and redoing the concealer around his eyes and the only thing that marked time was the tiny snaps of glossy paper as the woman flipped the pages of her magazine.
Announcements came through to bring in various lots, and at "Please bring lots 51 to 75," she got up and led him to a room just outside the ballroom where, he waited until he was brought onto a platform and could see all the bidders. It looked like a UN assembly, he thought to himself, mostly men, a few women, in formal attire of several nations.
"Pre-registered bids have already met the reserve for Lot 67, a 17-year-old male, so the bidding will start at 250,000 euros. Please tender your bids in increments of 5,000 euros." He tried to convert that in his head to dollars and was furious at how much money he would be making for all the monsters involved in the trade. Even if he escaped, no, once he escaped, they still would have made money from his enslavement. He was too agitated to track the bidding and couldn't even see clearly into the audience as he heard the price rise again and again, while his anger did the same.
He fought tears of anger and fear while the bidding continued and when it ended, at almost 400,000 euros, he walked off, head still high. They wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him afraid or of having drawn tears from him.
After what seemed another interminable waiting period, he was brought over to two men, both heavy but in very expensive suits. The woman from the booth smiled charmingly. "Enjoy your purchase, gentlemen, and please remember us for next time." One of them grunted a "Thank you" and took him by the wrist in a strong, almost bruising grip. There was nothing sexual about it or in the way that they looked at him and Kurt wondered what was going on. They took him out to a waiting limo and pushed him in when he hesitated.
They spoke to one another occasionally in a language that he couldn't identify and ignored him. He felt more rage and fear building up. Not even a word to him to say who they were, not a name, nothing, as though he were an inanimate object or an animal. One of them took a call and answered in English. "Yes, 450 with the buyer's premium. Well within the budget."
"I'm sure that he will agree now, not only the five million in ready and untraceable cash but a sweetener of the kind he likes most. We show him the boy and the money and he'll be more than ready to sign."
"We've been through this before. If he doesn't, we give the boy to somebody else, sell him again, keep him around for special hospitality, it doesn't matter, he's not going to be a loss."
So that explained it. He was part of a bribe package. He kept looking out the window at the other cars on the highway, blinking away the blurs each time his tears returned.
Carole watched as Peter kept looking at the bottle of whiskey that was held securely on a shelf by netting. She knew what it was like to want that drink to take the edge of things, to feel like less of a failure, to feel less alone because the alcohol never judged you. She understood both the way that Burt couldn't look at Peter and that Peter was wrong to blame himself so entirely for a mistake that could have been worse. They were still on Kurt's trail.
It was breaking her heart all over again. Blaine was quietly hugging himself, head lowered. The poor boy was the only one who actually knew what being enslaved was like and the knowledge had to be agonizing. She knew how much Blaine loved Kurt with all of his sincere heart and sometimes wondered if it was more than that. That would torture him even more, if he were in love with Kurt.
When they landed, Peter's phone rang again. "Yes?"
"Already?"
"Of course." She saw Peter relax a little and gripped Burt's hand.
"Thank you, Genevieve." He turned to them. "We're closer. They don't know exactly who it is, but the Geneva people were watching the parking lot and are following the car of the people who bought him. The car is alone and as soon as they have enough reinforcements join them, they'll get him out of there.
When the car slowed to a stop, Kurt's dread made his earlier experiences with bullies seem calm. His stomach lurched and if he had had anything in it, he would have vomited. The two men looked at one another in surprise and one asked a question to which the other shrugged.
A police officer opened the door and swiftly yanked Kurt out, holding his arms behind his back. One of the men barked, first in French and then in English, "You cannot do that, the boy is the property of his Excellency the Ambassador!"
"His Excellency, I assume, would prefer that his property not explode and kill him," the officer rejoined tartly. "We have reason to believe that this boy is one of ten who were placed deliberately in the auction with implanted bombs." As he continued to hold the bewildered Kurt, another officer, a woman, came over to scan Kurt with an electronic wand, returning several times to his stomach area.
"It's inconclusive, sir, but there may be something in his abdominal cavity," she told a third who was wearing a suit. "We will need to take him for an MRI."
"Or make him confess here and now, eh?" said the one who was holding Kurt, shaking him. "It will go better for you if you do, that I can tell you."
"I...I don't understand, I..." Kurt didn't know what to say or even what he wanted, which situation would make it easier to escape.
The female officer put a hand on the other officer's arm. "Stop it, he may be telling the truth. My name is Lucie, yours is Kurt, is it not?" He nodded. "Tell me, did you have any operations over the last week, even something minor, or were you ever unconscious?"
"This is wasting time," the other growled, "We take him for the MRI now, find out one way or another, and then either give the wretched boy back to His Excellency or find out a great deal more from him."
The one of Kurt's buyers who seemed to be in charge compressed his lips but nodded. "We will go with you to the nearest hospital and then end this farce."
"No, I'm afraid you cannot come, we must take him to a secret location, very secure, you understand?" The man wearing the suit smoothly moved between Kurt and the buyers. "I will give you an official receipt, of course, and will inform His Excellency immediately of the status of his rightful property." The two exchanged displeased looks but did not appear to wish to argue the matter.
The officer who was still holding him dragged Kurt over to the middle one of the three black SUVs and pushed him in. A petite woman on the seat next to him took his hand the moment the door slammed behind him and the officer who had shoved him got into the driver's seat and turned around to smile at him, an open, friendly smile. "You are safe now, Kurt, and with friends. I am Genevieve, by the way. We will now drive like bats out of hell and in about fifteen minutes, join your family. Your papa, now, wants to talk to you." She dialed a number on her cell, "Peter? We have him. Now let him speak with his papa."
Kurt wondered if he had entirely lost his mind or if he had been drugged again and was hallucinating. If he was safe, and his father was on the phone, that meant he was safe, too...He weakly took the phone and asked, "Dad?"
"Kurt? Kurt, oh, my God, it's you, Kurt, are you all right?"
"Dad? It's really you? How..." He was crying openly now and so was his father.
"Kurt, we're here in Zurich, we'll join you in just a few minutes. Kurt, son..."
They weren't able to speak any more for crying, but Kurt was still holding the phone so tightly that his hand was hurting. He could hear Finn and Carole in the background, and at one point he even thought that he heard Blaine.
"Only five more minutes, now," Genevieve said, patting his knee. After a few more minutes, the car turned into a nondescript office building parking lot. "Now, Kurt, in case anybody is watching, Philippe will pretend to be rough with you again and push you into the other car, but try not to bear a grudge or to hurt him too much, he is underneath a rather nice man."
"Despite the influence of certain women," he growled and she laughed happily.
Kurt didn't care in the least about anything else, because when Philippe dragged him from the SUV to a black car, again with tinted windows, he pushed him into his father's hug.
Blaine watched from the front seat as Burt and Kurt clung to one another, almost crushingly tight. He wanted, more than almost anything, now that Kurt was safe and back with them, to be back there and holding onto Kurt as well, but they were his family, and he knew that it would be a bad idea to stop, just on the off-chance that they might be followed. Soon, Finn and Carole were hugging Kurt tight, too, in one complicated back seat mass of arms and backs. Then Kurt awkwardly reached around the back of the seat and scrabbled for Blaine's hand. Blaine squeezed it hard in his, and for a moment was glad that he couldn't come into closer contact, or he never would have been able to let go.
At first it was just the sound of names and crying and little exclamations, but soon Kurt asked, ″How did you find me?″ in a little voice that shook Blaine. Of course, he knew that Kurt had to have been scared, but somehow this evidence of it went straight to his guts. He'd never seen Kurt actually frightened. Even when he and Burt left the house that last night, Kurt had taken the time to dress for the occasion and adjusted his cap in the mirror on the way out the door. But Kurt even sounding like he'd touched that point of absolute terror seemed so wrong.
He hated, too, seeing Kurt wearing that horrible robe that was intended to emphasize his near-nudity even more than real nakedness would have. He knew they'd have made him wear something like that and how much Kurt would have hated it. He hastily passed Kurt the loose, long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants that he'd picked out and packed for him. They'd also be easy for Kurt to get into while they were in the car. Kurt thanked him with a quick smile of appreciation.
″Peter, Blaine's uncle, he tracked Blaine to you,″ Carole answered Kurt's question as he pulled the clothing on, her voice still shaking. ″He did everything to find you and Burt, too. Burt was easier, but...for a while we were so scared...″
Burt was holding Kurt almost in his lap and, clearing his throat several times, asked the question that had been digging into Blaine's mind like a set of claws. ″Did anybody...hurt you?″ From the look of pain on his face and the way that he held Kurt, Blaine knew what he was really asking, and Kurt seemed to understand as well.
″No,″ he shook his head. ″It was so close, though...″ Blaine closed his eyes in relief. Nobody had done that to Kurt, nobody had violated him like that. Burt was holding Kurt so protectively and so close and Blaine knew it had to be lessening the horror.
Kurt sought out Uncle Peter's eyes in the mirror. ″I...thank you. You saved my dad, and me...thank you.″
His uncle smiled at him. ″I'm still the one in your debt, Kurt. You saved Blaine's life and you, all of you, gave him a family when he didn't have anybody.″
Kurt opened his mouth to say something else, but when he hesitated, Peter filled the awkward silence with practical details. They were almost at the Italian border and Italy would be a safe refuge, at least for a while. Italy and Switzerland were feuding again over extradition issues and Italy would, if anything, take great pleasure in refusing to investigate a theft. There was also a fairly active anti-slavery movement, and Peter had taken the precaution of making a large donation before their arrival.
Crossing the border into Italy was easy. During the last few miles to the border, Kurt memorized the details of his passport and their family story. His name was Daniel Wilson and he was traveling with his adoptive parents Jack and Lisa and his brother Frank. They'd met their parents' old college friend Tom and his son Terry for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to watch the Formula One live when Tom's company gave him free tickets for the event in Monza. They'd come through Geneva because Carole had always wanted to see the lakes and the flights worked out cheaper that way, anyway. As it turned out, the borders officials seemed supremely uninterested in them.
Once across, he used the GPS to find a hotel although it took a few tries to locate one with vacancies. Booking anything in advance might have indicated their direction. ″Only two rooms available, but they can take in the six of us.″
Blaine kept looking back at Kurt, who was sandwiched between Finn and Burt, Carole resting her head on Burt's other shoulder. He still looked drawn, even haunted, but at least he seemed to understand that this was real, that he was safe. Blaine remembered how he and his uncle had felt almost compelled to be in physical contact or at least in constant sight of one another during the first few days after they'd been reunited as a family. That contact had been almost like some kind of background music, constantly reassuring each other that this was real, that nothing had broken the loving bonds between them. His uncle had moved in with him and his father after his mother had left and he had been almost like another father, so the bond was almost as strong as Kurt's and his dad's.
Burt was telling Kurt his own story since they'd been separated. He emphasized that nothing terrible had happened to him. Blaine felt a tension that he hadn't even realized he was still holding release when Kurt remarked, snarkily, that Burt's experiences had been the kind that slavery advocates held up as indications of how slavery kept the criminal classes industrious and productive and wasn't all that bad an experience. Kurt's voice was still shaky and he was still holding onto his father and brother, but at least he was still sharp-tongued and quick to be sarcastic.
When they got out of the car at the hotel, Blaine couldn't help smiling so widely his face hurt when Kurt put his arms around him. It was slower than the way that he and his father, Carole, or Finn had grabbed for one another, but felt no less intense. ″Blaine,″ Kurt whispered, ″I thought I'd never see you again.″ It was so good to hold him, to hear that Kurt had thought about him, to feel how close Kurt was drawing him. He rested his head on Kurt's shoulder for a moment exhausted by the sensation of all the worry and horror draining away.
In the hotel, they had two adjoining rooms. Burt and Carole took the single room and Finn, Kurt, Peter, and Blaine took the other with the two king beds. They gathered in that room for room service, since none of them had the energy or desire to go to the hotel restaurant. They sat on the beds to eat and Blaine was relieved to see Finn wolfing down food in his normal fashion again. He'd actually taken to picking at his food and saying that he wasn't hungry while Kurt was gone and seeing him eat his usual huge portions was another step back to the world being normal, another sign that Kurt was there and safe among them.
It wasn't long before most of them were exhausted and separated to sleep. Burt and Carole gave Kurt one last hug and Burt tried to thank Peter again, despite Peter's insistence that it was entirely unnecessary.
Finn and Kurt took the one bed and Blaine and his uncle the other. Blaine hadn't realized, until he got into the bed, what kinds of sensations sharing a bed with another would bring. He tried to make himself relax, but nothing logical could keep those old emotions from coming back, as sharply and swiftly as if they were a rubber band that had only been tugged away and suddenly released again. His mind knew better but the rest of him was remembering the pain and humiliation that had always accompanied the nights he spent in a bed with another person.
Blaine silently got up and went to the chair to try to finish the night. He was nearly falling asleep again when he heard a sudden gasp and then a few soft pants coming from the bed Finn and Kurt were sharing. He padded over and in the faint light that was coming through from the street, he could see Kurt's eyes open. In the dim light, they looked all pupil, wide and distressed.
″Dreams?″ Blaine asked, quietly, not expecting any answer other than Kurt's nod. Hesitantly, Blaine put a hand on his shoulder, and then it seemed as though the only possible thing he could do was to get into the bed, putting his arms around Kurt. Kurt seemed to melt into the hold, and Blaine felt his own tense body start to relax, as if he had finally come home.
When Kurt woke up, his mind needed a few moments to rewind events enough that waking up in a strange bed, cuddling with Blaine made sense. He was still shaken by how close he had been to never seeing his family or Blaine again, how close he had been to the life of a slave, and felt himself shiver a little. Almost as if he were reading Kurt's mind, Blaine, still asleep, rubbed his head against Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt intertwined his fingers with Blaine's, where they rested on his side. They still hadn't talked about exactly what they felt, but it seemed as though it would be just a formality, finding the words that went with the way things had seemed to change without their speaking of it. The quick kiss, brushing each other's lips, before going back to sleep was all the communication they needed to say that they were holding to one another as more than friends.
He turned his head so that he could inhale the smell of Blaine's hair. He closed his eyes, savoring the subtle scent, when it seemed as though a log fell across him.
″Ooof!″
″Wha?″
″Uh?″
Finn had apparently thrown an arm across him and Blaine and the results woke up not only Finn and Blaine but Peter.
″Oh, sorry, guys, I kind of didn't remember you were there. Because I was asleep.″ For Finn in the morning, that was remarkably lucid.
″Well, it worked better than my alarm clock. Oh, wait, I didn't actually set one.″ Kurt tried to snark but it came out muffled when Finn yanked him and Blaine into an uncoordinated tangle of hugging limbs.
″It is so good to have you back,″ Finn grinned.
″So you're celebrating by crushing us to death?″
″Well, yeah, that's my job. Wait...uh, Blaine, you weren't here when I got into bed, were you?″ Finn blinked at him in confusion.
″What, you don't remember?″ Blaine looked at him with big innocent eyes and then relented, his eyes sobering. ″No, Kurt was having a dream, and I heard, and...″ Finn held them both tighter for a moment and Kurt squeezed harder in response.
″I'm going to go get coffee, I assume you all want some?″ Peter's voice was dry but he was smiling as he stood at the foot of their bed, watching them pile together. At the nods and ″yes, please,″ he left.
Kurt knew from long experience that Finn liked being tactful, he simply needed a few hints to get started. ″Finn, why don't you take a shower? Take as long as you like.″
Finn looked ready to say that he was perfectly fine in bed cuddling them both, but before Kurt had to be more direct yet, he figured it out. ″Oh, you two want to have some alone together time. Cool,″ he beamed. Well, he was still working on the being subtle about being tactful.
Kurt turned back to Blaine. ″About us.″
Blaine took Kurt's hand in his and raised it to his cheek. ″There is an 'us,' right?″
Kurt desperately wanted to skip the talking and go right to what the loving gesture said, but he had to be sure. ″I want there to be, if it's what you want, too. And if you're sure. I don't want anything to hurt our friendship and if you aren't positive, I'd rather wait until you are, one way or another.″
″No. I mean, yes, I'm sure.″ Blaine smiled, remembering. ″I fell for you almost immediately. I thought so often about kissing you and what it would feel like, but I never thought that you'd...″
Kurt had truly meant to ask more but the certainty in Blaine's eyes and the fact that he was turning his face for Kurt to kiss him overwhelmed that plan. He could feel Blaine savoring every instant as their lips met and their mouths opened to welcome the other, the way that Blaine's hands pressed so tightly against his back to draw and hold him closer, the feel of his own hands against Blaine's back, no longer bony but firm and healthy, the sound of Peter's startled, ″Oh!″
He and Blaine pulled apart as the meaning of that last sound became clear. Blaine's uncle looked at them with a raised eyebrow and a ″I should have remembered that could happen and knocked. Kurt, later, I want to have the usual words with you.″
He heard Blaine draw a breath and start to say, ″It's...I love Kurt and-″
Peter held up a hand. ″Blaine, I'm not blind or deaf and I'd have to be both not to see that you have feelings for one another. This is just the time-honored tradition.″ Kurt felt his stomach knot; even though Peter handed him a cup of coffee as though nothing at all were happening, he could tell that Peter was more serious than his words let on. Kurt was ready to defend himself and Blaine from any unfair attack but was afraid that this was going to be more than the usual ″break his heart and I will break you″ discussion. Even Blaine's head against his shoulder and their intertwined hands couldn't shake his sudden nerves.
Finn's return helped to lighten the mood and when Burt and Carole knocked a few minutes later, and Kurt went to hug them again, that helped as well. When Peter offered to get them coffee as well and some breakfast, Kurt took the opportunity to offer to help.
In the hallway, Peter led them a few steps away from the door and stopped to face Kurt. ″Kurt, you know that even before his father died, Blaine was like my own son to me. I moved in to help his dad after his mother died when he was just a baby and never left. Since both his father and I had to travel so much, that guaranteed that he always had somebody there for him. I'd been divorced recently and was still licking my wounds and there never was another woman for Philip after Maricris died.″
Kurt nodded. ″Blaine told me some of that.″
″I'm the only one now who really remembers what he was like as a child.″ Peter's eyes were distant. ″He was confident, lively, had every reason to trust the world...he was so sunny and energetic and innocent, he was just like a puppy. We could tell early on that he would grow up to be gay and of course that would make his road more difficult, but that wasn't even on the horizon for him...″
Kurt swallowed hard, as he still did at any reminder of what Blaine had endured, and Peter returned to looking at him. ″I know, that phase never lasts for any child, but the way that it ended for Blaine...Kurt, if you were anybody else, I'd be warning you off now, to tell the truth. But you've experienced enough to understand, at least a little, what happened to him, what he's come through. In a way that even I can't. I can imagine it, God knows, but it's not the same as having lived it.″ He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. ″I don't think I'm getting to the point very well. It's that I love Blaine and I want him to be happy, more than anything. I've seen him purely happy before and the closest that I saw him to that again was when he first saw you again. So I'm on your side as well as his. If you're the one that his heart picked, then you matter to me. I want you to be able to talk to me when there's any trouble of any kind and I want you to know that whatever you need from me is yours.″
Kurt had expected much more of the stern talk about not taking advantage of Blaine, about waiting for sex, and everything else. He'd been ready to say all the usual things about loving Blaine and respecting him, and even to go on the offensive and remind Peter that he was the one who found and saved Blaine. ″I want him to be happy, too. I fell for him almost immediately but I didn't want to say anything. I was even afraid that he might feel obliged. But then when we saw one another again, it all came together. I loved him before I fell in love with him and I know it's the same with him.″
Peter smiled. ″That's always the best way,″ he said easily, and led the rest of the way to the coffee shop, where he ordered enough that the cashier looked shocked, so Kurt piped up that it would hold them until they could get to a restaurant for a real breakfast, just to see his face.
During breakfast, Burt and Carole actually had the audacity to look a little smug and knowing when they noticed Blaine and Kurt holding hands. After they had finished eating, Burt cleared his throat. ″We've got some important decisions to make now. Kurt, you and I can't go back to the US, or to any countries where the Stolen Property Law applies. Your brother and Carole decided that they're going to stick with us.″ Burt stole a glance at Carole and as Kurt looked at them and at Finn, his eyes filled with tears.
″Finn, you're giving up Rachel, your friends, everything...″
Finn looked awkward. ″Yeah, but, I mean, you're family.″ Kurt sensed that it was making Finn uncomfortable, so he satisfied himself with a quiet, ″Thank you.″
Peter put a light hand on Blaine's back. ″Blaine doesn't want to leave his new family, either, and even if I had a reason, I'm no better at saying no to him now than I was before, so we'll be around, too.″ If Kurt had needed any more evidence that he was in love with Blaine, he would have had enough in how much the thought that the families might have gone their separate ways seemed like a fist to the gut, even though as soon as the thought had been dismissed as soon as it had risen.
Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand in his. "So this is a fairly new building." The house that Peter was considering buying dated from the 1890s, while the apartment that they were now renting was from the mid 1700s, a converted tradehouse.
"For Rome, this is fairly new." Peter rested his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "Do you like it?"
Blaine nodded enthusiastically. The building was quite narrow with only three full rooms on each floor, but they'd divide it with a shared large kitchen and dining area on the ground floor, Burt and Carole would have the second floor, Finn and Kurt the third, and Peter and Blaine the fourth. Kurt had first been horrified by the thought of living without closets and Peter had deadpanned that they could put up a clothesrod somewhere, and then laughed and said that when they furnished it, they'd get wardrobes, as people did in these older buildings. Kurt didn't even resent the teasing since it made Blaine laugh. It happened much more often than ever before, but was still new enough that Kurt noticed and cherished each laugh. It was a happy and free sound, another sign that the past was behind them.
His dad had already found a job at a local mechanic's, where he'd get a chance to learn on European cars, and then would start up his own shop again. Kurt wholeheartedly enjoyed being able to shop with Peter's credit cards, knowing that Peter was more than happy to let him do it and that even he wouldn't be able to put a dent in them. Burt, on the other hand, was unhappy at having to live, even temporarily, on somebody else's money, no matter how vehement Peter was that as far as they were concerned, it was family money. He remembered the long debates, Burt stubbornly shaking his head at every argument Peter had made, that he considered it their family money, that Burt had lost his business and savings from his work fighting slavery and that he was in a position to make those losses whole, or that while it was no exchange, it was the least he could do for the family that had saved Blaine. Burt had sat with his arms folded, repeating that he didn't want to take the other man's money. Kurt could understand Burt's pride but Peter's logic, plus the fact that they would have been virtually penniless without help, had swayed him. Carole was the only one who had been able to persuade her husband, by saying that they could take the money as a loan. Kurt had overheard her saying to Finn that some people find it painful to give and that some find it painful to receive, and Burt was definitely one of the latter. She herself didn't mind receiving, as long as she knew that if their roles were reversed, she'd be just as happy to give as much money as they could use to Peter and Blaine. "It can be harder for men, especially ones who are used to being the provider."
"Right, so I'll make an offer." Peter turned to the three boys. "Are you going back to the apartment or are you going to explore the city some more?" Finn wanted to go back and watch the big soccer game, but Kurt and Blaine opted for another walk.
They were going to start Italian classes soon, but in the meantime, they were picking up bits and pieces from books and videos, though with the usual stumbles, including the embarrassing ones. Finn had tried to get the accent right on "calzone grande" but had instead said "cazone grande," asking the grandmotherly lady at the food stand, in the rudest possible slang, for a big penis. Blaine had forgotten the difference between "ano" and "anno," so when a passing priest told him that a building was constructed by a generous donor during the Renaissance, Blaine commented "What an ass," instead of asking "What year?" Kurt had asked how much that "caldo moglie nero" would cost, blushing tremendously when the salesclerk told him that he had asked for a "warm black wife" instead of a "caldo maglione nero," a warm black sweater.
Blaine put his hand in Kurt's as they walked along a narrow little street with high walls on either side of yellowish stone, originally rough but smoothed lightly over time. After a few moments, he pressed closer, entwining their arms, and Kurt squeezed Blaine's against his side. They still hadn't gone further than light kisses and cuddling, and while he had to admit that he was hoping fervently for more, soon, he would never mention his impatience to Blaine. Maybe his own comparatively brief ordeal with slavery had a fortunate side, since he was able to understand, even at a physical level, the revulsion of unwanted sexual contact. Even an overly appraising eye from a stranger in the street could make him feel like a stone fell into his stomach, before he even figured out that it reminded him of the way strangers inspected him at the sale.
Blaine paused and chirruped to a passing cat, who came closer for petting, twining around their legs and arching its back into their hands and stretching out its chin. When Blaine rose from his crouch, the cat protested with a loud, vehement meow that made them both laugh. "Can't try to stop a job before it's done," Blaine chuckled.
"The cat always is the one who decides when petting is done," Kurt agreed, gravely. After a few more minutes, the cat strolled away, not without a glance that suggested that it had done them a great favor. Kurt made a token attempt to brush the cat hair off his pants legs and then pulled out his emergency lint roller, briskly cleaning both of them of what the cat had deigned to shed.
A sign reminded them that they were close to the municipal rose gardens and in an unspoken agreement, they headed in that direction. Since it was mid-afternoon on a weekday, the place had only a few dozen other people strolling along the flowerbeds, mostly older couples. Some of the roses were chosen for their color or shapes rather than their scent, but others seemed to radiate a thick, rich scent, almost too suggestive in the warm air. Blaine buried his face in a dark crimson flower, closing his eyes and sighing as he exhaled. The old scars on his face had already faded into almost pearlescent lines and as much as Kurt hated the sight of anything that had hurt Blaine, they also reminded him of how they had been drawn together at the crucial moment and of Blaine's strength.
When Blaine raised his head again, looking almost dizzied with the powerful smell, Kurt asked, quietly, "Can I kiss you?" Instead of answering, Blaine stepped closer and pressed his lips to Kurt's, then, carefully, shyly, opening his lips and slightly parting Kurt's at the same time. Kurt could barely breathe as Blaine gradually deepened the kiss, each tentative exploration catching at Kurt's heart and senses.
When they finally pulled apart, Kurt felt absolutely overwhelmed. "Wow," he breathed, almost laughing at the inadequacy of the word, or of any words, and Blaine repeated, grinning, "Wow." Somehow it seemed best to walk home after that, entwined and newly confident.
Back at the apartment, Finn was Skyping Rachel, who was assuring him that this wasn't necessarily the end to their epic love affair. "After all, I can always come to study voice in Rome, I could always use a vocal range like Julie Andrews' four octaves, and if I study in Rome at one of the opera theaters this coming summer, I'm sure I could add at least two."
"That'd be great, Rach," he said enthusiastically, although Kurt would have sworn he looked a bit pale at the mention of an opera theater. "Mom and I will have to come back to the United States at least a few times to settle things and ship our stuff here and all that, too."
"Finn, maybe we can get them to work on hologram versions of us,that way you and Kurt could still sing with us at Nationals. Or if they can't get it done quite in time, at least we can have somebody bring a Skype connection so you can see my solos and watch us win. We really don't need to let separation come between us, Finn."
Blaine and Kurt tiptoed into the kitchen and Kurt started a pot of coffee. They could still slightly hear the sound of Rachel's voice, and that, plus the sound of Peter working in the study and Carol muttering to herself as she practiced Italian in the other room, plus knowing Burt would be back soon, enthusiastically describing a new kind of engine that he'd worked on, made it all seem like a home.