Chapter Text
Rachel made her entrance into the bar with her usual flair by marching straight to their booth, sliding in next to Tina and announcing loudly, "Jesse St. James is coming back to New York to star in the Off-Off-Broadway production The Pen."
Tina seemed both appalled and amused. "Isn't that the one about the ..."
"Yes, dear. It's the experimental theater about the polyamorous hogs." Kurt's voice was as laconic as Henry had ever heard it, but there was a solid two degrees temperature increase from his usual cool demeanor, when he turned to look at Rachel. "And here you are, starring as Velma Kelly on Broadway. Isn't it nice when life throws the eggs back at them for you?"
Rachel looked at the rest of them with a smile so wide that she was seconds away from swallowing her own ears.
Unsure of what they were talking about, Henry decided yet again that as entertaining as Blaine's friends were, they were also ... peculiar, and he really should look into making his own. He didn't exactly mean to become a part of the little clique. He didn't really mind though. Even though he didn't always know what they were talking about, they did their best to try to include him, and on nights like these when Blaine was working late, it was nice to be out having a drink instead of feeling lonely at home.
It's just that he met Blaine, fell madly in love with him in about three seconds (which got him teased mercilessly by everyone except Kurt, who always looked sympathetic, and at times a little bittersweet), and then kind of got sucked into Blaine's orbit.
Blaine came across as terrifyingly perfect, and even once you got to know him well enough to spot all the flaws, he still set a ridiculously high standard to live up to, especially when you happened to be his boyfriend.
Blaine Anderson (of the Boston Andersons) came from old money and his blood was as blue as it ever got this side of the Atlantic. He'd arrived in Manhattan a year ago with a shiny new degree from Harvard Law in his pocket and a head full of dreams, and promptly got himself a job as a law clerk at the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit. He was polite, considerate, sweet, good-looking, impeccably groomed, just enough of a dork to avoid being entirely unapproachable, and so ridiculously charming that Henry was almost 99% certain that if he should ever walk through Central Park singing, it might cause a melee of birds and small woodlands creatures as they rushed to be the first to provide him with back-up singing and dancing worthy of any Disney princess.
They'd met shortly after Blaine arrived in New York. Henry had moved to the city two years before after getting a job at a local firm working as a CPA. He'd been walking home, when Blaine had accidentally body checked him into the pavement after being goaded by Tina into his one and only attempt at roller-skating. On their way to the hospital, a mildly concussed Henry had apparently mentioned that he didn't mind being jumped on by cute guys, but the polite thing to do would have been to buy him a drink first. A mortified Blaine had asked him his number and the rest was history.
The idea that Blaine had spent a good chunk of his formative years in Ohio was vaguely confusing to Henry. Having grown up in California, he tried but often failed to overcome his snobbery towards the flyover states. Ohio conjured strange conflicting visions of agriculture and gang violence and aggressive averageness that Henry knew had to be wrong, given that all of Blaine's closest friends came from there and they were all as unique as he was.
Rachel Berry was a rising star on Broadway and though at times she came across as every cliche you'd ever heard about young ingenues coming to the big city to become famous, the fact was that she was now well on her way to famous, and entirely too larger than life to ever be ordinary. Also, for all that she would toot her own horn about her talent, Henry knew from passing comments from the rest of the group that hard work and dedication had played a huge part in getting Rachel where she now was.
She could be incredibly abrasive about the most random things, and there were occasional glimpses of whirring crazy in her eyes if you brought up certain topics, but she was a well-loved and fiercely loyal friend. When he and Blaine had started getting serious, she'd been the one to take him aside and make the traditional threats of violence should he hurt Blaine. She'd also wished the two of them happiness, and Henry could see she meant it.
Henry looked at the woman sitting next to Rachel and laughing hard at what her friends were saying. In the unlikely event that there had been an average bone somewhere in Rachel's body, Tina Cohen-Chang would have been the one to ask. New York's city newest M.E. was as bubbly as her chosen career was gruesome. Kurt and Rachel both insisted that she'd been a very shy teenager, but Henry just couldn't see it. If ever a woman had grabbed life by the balls, it was Tina, who liked good booze, good food and fine-looking bed partners. The men and women that she loved and left provided the rest of them with an endless stream of eyecandy.
He'd asked her why she hadn't been the one to threaten him instead of Rachel, given that spending her days cutting dead bodies open for a living would allow her to paint some pretty disturbing pictures with words. She'd let out a full-throat laugh that had turned the heads of several men in the cafe where they'd been (along with one lesbian barrista), before confessing that she thought he was good for Blaine, so didn't want to scare him off. Then she added with a shrug that if he ever did hurt Blaine, Kurt would track him down first anyway and once Kurt was done, there'd be no body left for her to do anything to.
Henry let his eyes move to the right to look at the man sitting next to him, because strangely, that off-hand comment had caused him a lot more worry than what 5'2" Rachel Berry might do to his kneecaps with a hockey stick, which was scary enough as it was.
At first glance, Kurt was an even more unlikely threat. Kurt was tall, slim, one might even call him delicate, but Henry suspected it wasn't so much his size as it was his features and flawless porcelain skin. He was always impeccably dressed (even if his idea of fashion tended to be a little bit avant-garde) with perfect posture, and the image that came to mind the first time Henry saw him was that of a pedigree cat that happened to be exceedingly fastidious about its personal grooming.
Kurt was quiet, with a past that Henry knew little to nothing about. The most he'd managed was to find out was that Kurt had once been a lot happier and friendlier, until some personal tragedy caused him to disappear for a few years, before reestablishing contact with those of his friends that had also relocated to New York.
Annoyingly enough, Kurt was also that ex, the one by which Blaine measured all other boyfriends. Shortly after meeting Kurt, early in his relationship with Blaine, Henry had considered ending things to avoid the inevitable broken heart down the line when the two reunited. But Kurt had showed up unannounced at his place and with perfect manners had ruthlessly twisted Henry's arm into going out with him for a drink. Kurt had then explained that as much as Blaine and him had loved each other and still loved each other, they would never again be what they'd been. The best thing for them was to move on and Henry made Blaine happy. As he left, Henry got to see him smile for the very first time, just an impish quirk of the lip to go with his parting shot that Tina was not wrong, but that Kurt wouldn't have bothered talking to Henry if he had doubts.
Despite a somewhat icy poise, Kurt was genial enough, and had a hilarious dry wit that only showed when he was among trusted friends. The rest of the world got to deal with Kurt Hummel-Cranston (of the Manhattan Cranstons had added a somewhat puzzled Blaine, as apparently no one had even suspected about it back when they all still lived in Ohio). By virtue of his family money, Kurt had become despite his young age one of New York's most formidable ladies who lunch, which Henry found hilarious, especially after hearing Blaine's aunt Agatha tell the two of them fondly about a charity dinner in which she witnessed him in action. A representative up for reelection who had previously pandered to the conservative vote by fighting stem cell research had had the misfortune to be in attendance, and he'd ended up on the receiving end of such a murderously polite tongue-lashing that even Agatha's husband, Colonel Bruce Anderson, had been impressed.
Right now Kurt was looking at his friends fondly and using paper towels to mop up the beer that a flailing and cackling Rachel had spilled. She was carrying on with the tale of her much-loathed ex's disgrace, and Tina was laughing so hard that she had tears in her eyes.
Then something caught Rachel's attention near the entrance of the bar, that caused her to grab Kurt's hands in hers and look him straight in the eye. "You know that I love you more than any other man in the universe except for my Daddies, right?"
A suddenly terrified-looking Kurt tried to pull his hands back. "Rachel, what did you do?!"
"He messaged me on Facebook that he was moving here, and he and his girlfriend just got settled into their new place, and you pussied out of contacting him so many times ..."
Kurt's eyes opened so wide in horror, that for a moment Henry thought Kurt looked like an anime character about to be chomped on by a giant monster.
The tall guy who'd approached their table cleared his throat.
Henry gave him the quick gay once-over : uninspired haircut, plaid shirt over a white tee, cheap jeans and sneakers. The newcomer wasn't breaking any fashion barriers, but he was ridiculously tall and buff, with pleasant features and a certain rosy-cheeked freshness that many women spent a great deal of money on cosmetics trying to achieve. He was looking adorably confused, and then his eyes met Kurt's, and both Tina and Rachel held their breaths.
"Hey."
Kurt looked more at loss than Henry had ever seen him. Rachel pinched his hand and he spared her one brief deadly glance before answering the man.
"Hey, Finn."
* * * * *
In life, there are good days and bad days. Lately, Linda had only had the bad kind.
Like a perfect storm of shit making landfall, everything that could possibly gone wrong had : her mother having a meltdown, the co-worker that'd stabbed her in the back, the nigh-empty bank account, the flu she couldn’t quite shake, and so on, and so forth. The crappy birthday which everyone pretty much forgot (and thanks to some kind of bug on Facebook, no one was reminded of) was just the cherry on top of the horrible, horrible cake.
Trying not to be depressed about the unpaid overtime she'd just clocked to try and finish everything she was juggling, she hurried along towards the bus station, feeling that the jacket she'd picked this morning had let her down twice. Aside from the brownish spot on the lapel from spilling her coffee earlier, it was now proving to be nowhere near warm enough to keep her warm in the chilly autumn weather.
Linda stopped when she heard the phone ringing. The wind down the street was freezing cold and she ducked around the corner of building with a nearby alley to check it. Her dog had spent the last two days at the vet and the prognosis wasn't good, but the doc had promised he'd give her the test results before six.
She was desperately digging through her purse to get to her damn phone, hoping to find out if Thaddeus was going to be okay, but all she managed was to drop several items, and she still missed the call. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed the hairbrush and her grocery shopping list. She looked for her meds and noticed that the bottle had rolled a little further into the alley. She walked over, picked it up, and was just about to put it away when she heard the footsteps.
The first thing that struck her was how young they looked.
Linda was only thirty-four, but the five guys blocking her way out of the alley looked like they might be old enough to legally drink, with an emphasis on the might. They were dressed like your usual street toughs, wearing what were probably gang colors, but what did she know?
But there was something off about the way they looked at her.
Lately crime had been down in this part of the city. The talking heads on various local news channels were still debating whether it was the weather, or the moon, or the latest in scary urban legends, but they all agreed on the result so she hoped for just a second that her instincts were off.
She put on a polite smile and made as if to exit. The street was only twenty feet away.
One of the guys moved to block her.
She started backing off slowly as they stepped forward, trying not to stumble while keeping her eyes on them, for all the good it might do. Her fear started to overwhelm her. She felt that her heart was beating so fast, she might vomit or pass out.
One of them licked his lips in a very ugly way and, humiliatingly, she started crying.
She thought she might appeal to them but barely got out a “Please don't hu...” before one of them backhanded her right off her feet. She crumpled to the ground, her purse spilling its contents.
She grabbed her phone and started crawling backwards, trying to get some distance.
She wondered why they'd stopped walking, using their distraction to get behind the nearby dumpster, and then with shaky fingers she started dialing 911.
Her knees were scratched, her clothes ruined, and she was still terrified but after a few seconds, she realized that they should have followed.
She looked back and noticed that mist was swirling into the alley, covering the ground. Her attackers were looking at the entrance of the alley with something like dread.
The figure standing there was slender and wore a black trenchcoat and a hat, and might be a tall girl or a guy for all that she could see of it in the dim light. It was strangely non-descript, more like the idea of a person than an actual person. Its face was hidden in shadows cast by the black fedora it wore, and all she could vaguely make out was pale skin, the angle of a jaw, and a horrible open smile that showed no teeth, like a grinning comedy mask.
Two of the guys had pulled out guns, another a switchblade, but it was like they were too scared to move.
The one who'd leered at her took a step forward, raising his gun.
“Die, hijo de puta!”
He shot several times and the sound was horrible and deafening.
The figure stood there unfazed and said, The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.
Linda's brain registered the words, but she could swear she hadn't heard them.
She retreated behind her dumpster, and she could hear the increasingly agitated voice of the 911 operator, but she was too scared to speak. She didn't want to make a sound.
She heard another shot and a wet sound, and then a thump like something heavy falling down, then another shot, more muffled, and another thump of a body hitting the ground.
Two of the guys retreated far enough that she could see them again. One dropped his switchblade and walked dazedly over to a nearby wall, which he proceeded to hit repeatedly with his face, again and again and again, until he slid to the ground, twitching and leaving a dark smear on the wall.
Linda jumped as she heard a sharp high scream from further down the alley, and then horrible quiet.
The one guy she could still see was staring at the entrance of the alley with a frozen expression. He stood there, perfectly still, as if paralyzed, but with horrified shock, Linda watched his shadow on the wall as it started to move on its own.
She heard someone whisper "... that's not possible ..." and covered her mouth with her hands in fear when she realized she'd been the one to speak.
The man's shadow started wrapping its hands around its throat, and the guy wheezed, then abruptly stopped breathing, his face turning red, his eyes bulging and crying.
Then he fell to his knees, his hands suddenly moving again, clawing at his own throat as if desperate for air.
That's when the figure re-entered Linda's line of sight.
There was no motion involved: one moment it wasn't there, the next it was, looming over the dying man.
The last thug eventually stopped moving, and the figure turned slowly towards her.
She thought for an instant about how scared she should be, but at this point in time, it felt like she was floating in icy water, having reached a strange place somewhere even beyond terror.
She could still hear the tinny voice of the 911 operator trying to reassure her that help was on the way.
Linda could feel the darkness where a face should be staring at her.
She was startled by a horrible feeling, like her brain had just shivered, and suddenly she knew that she would not have been these men's first victim, that she wouldn't have lived to tell the tale.
With words that reached her while bypassing her ears completely, the figure spoke again.
It leaned slightly forward and said, Crime does not pay : the Shadow knows.
Then it was gone.
And Linda started screaming thinking she'd never be able to stop.
* * * * *
Finn was running late and it was totally not his fault.
He really thought he'd messed up his last chance to reconnect with Kurt that night in the bar. Kurt had barely exchanged three sentences with him before announcing that he had to go and leaving.
Tina and Rachel told him it was just the shock and that Kurt didn't do well with being surprised, and that Henry dude said that Kurt did it to the rest of them all the time, so he shouldn't take it personally. But the Kurt that Finn remembered didn't vanish like that, so it still felt weird. Then later that night he'd gotten a text from Kurt, who'd apparently gotten his new number from Rachel and wanted to have coffee with him, which was good.
So here he was, running late because he still hadn't quite figured out the subway yet, and praying that Kurt hadn't gone off somewhere out of reach for a few more years.
He entered the coffeehouse and looked around. Kurt was sitting in an armchair in the back, sipping his drink, and looking straight at Finn with that direct stare that always made Finn squirm a bit.
Finn gave him a little hello with his hand, went to get himself some coffee, then walked over to Kurt, who gestured at the seat across from him.
"So."
Finn nodded. "Yeah."
"It's been a while."
"Seven years and three months ..." said Finn, before shutting up. The last thing he wanted was Kurt on the defensive.
But Kurt didn't seem to react other than looking down at his mug.
"Sometimes, it almost feels longer."
Finn could believe that. Kurt looked older. Not in any kind of physical way, because physically, he was the same as ever, and Finn remembered enough about Kurt's skincare routine to know that wasn't likely to change. And the outfit was probably super-fashionable and stuff, but nothing like the stuff Kurt sometimes wore back in Lima. But there was something grim about him that hadn't been there before.
Oh, man. Before. Now there was a loaded word.
Kurt was looking at him like he was reading him like a book.
"So tell me, Finn. What brings you to New York City?"
Finn relaxed a bit. "Suzie got a job here."
"Suzie?"
"My girlfriend."
Kurt gave him a friendly nod. "Did you meet her in college?"
"Actually, I knew her back in high school, she was a senior there when we were freshmen, but yeah, we only met properly in college. We knew some of the same people. We became friends, and then more than friends. You know how that goes."
"Not really," answered Kurt.
"Anyway, things kept getting more serious, and when she told me about being offered a dream job which she couldn't pass up, we decided to both come here. Me, I'm a teacher, so I can do that anywhere."
"What does Suzie do?"
"She's in medical research. She designs new drugs and stuff. She was recruited to study this rare Tibetan pepper or something that she wrote her thesis on, for like, medical puposes."
Kurt tilted his head a bit. "You must love her very much to follow her here."
Finn shrugged. "We work, you know? No drama, no angst. We've got a good life and she's a really nice person. You'll like her." Finn suddenly wondered if he'd overstepped. "I mean ... You'd like her if you're willing to meet her? I don't wanna push you to do it, but ..."
Kurt put a hand on his before he started babbling. "Finn, it's fine. I'm sure she's lovely and I'd be happy to meet her."
"It's just ... we're both new here. We're doing okay, but some pointers about life in New York would be nice. I mean, I'm sure your life is nothing like ours, what with you being a high roller, but you know what I mean."
"I do. I'll be happy to give you and Suzie some pointers."
"I missed you," said Finn, unable to hold it back. Kurt looked uncomfortable, but Finn knew that it was now or never. "I get that you were wrecked. I get that. God knows I was. Burt was as good as my dad, you know that. And I know that it was so much to face at one time. And I know that you've always felt like you've got no one to talk to about your problems, but even if I didn't get any of it, I would have listened. And I missed you."
Kurt looked even paler than usual. "Finn, after it happened ..."
"Is it about what Mom said? Because she told me and she totally didn't mean it like that. You know that, right? She's been worried about you ever since. When she found out you were in touch with Rachel, she cried for a solid hour, and then called her asking to know everything about how you were doing."
Kurt shook his head. "It wasn't just about what Carole said, Finn. I know exactly what she meant, now, but back when it all happened, I just ... I went to a very dark place. And I couldn't stay in Lima anymore. I would have dragged down with me anyone who tried to help. The things I went through after that ... I can't take any of it back and I'm glad that none of you were there for it. If Margo hadn't stepped in, I'm not sure who or where I'd be."
"Is Margo your boyfriend?"
Kurt laughed. It was a dry little sound, like he hadn't used it in quite a while. "Margo's my great-grandmother."
"Oh," said Finn. "Is she nice?"
Kurt looked wistful. "She could be, but she was always kind."
Finn wished that they weren't surrounded by all these ghosts. "So you're better now?"
"I am."
"Then why didn't you call me? You know, once you were better." Finn still didn't get that. If Kurt had needed time, then fine, but why not call everyone once he sorted himself out? Finn was glad to know Kurt was okay, when he found out from Rachel, but he was still hurt that Kurt didn't get in touch with him.
Kurt's expression was a mix of awkward and bitter.
"When Margo passed away, she left me pretty much everything, and most of the family business is tied to New York. So I left France and came here to take things over, and I thought about getting in touch with people from back home. I decided I'd do a dry run by getting in touch with the one person who'd always had my back. I looked up Mercedes."
Finn nodded. "How is she? We're still friends on Facebook, but I kind of lost touch when she moved away to college."
"I wouldn't know. I went to Chicago to see her, but she told me that I was in her past. Despite the death threats, she was really upset about me going to Dalton, so when I left again, it was too much. She told me that all that turmoil had brought her closer to God and that she'd pray for me to have the strength to conquer my demons, but that she made a good life for herself in Chicago and that life had no room for me in it."
"Dude." Finn couldn't believe it.
Kurt shrugged. "After that I figured it was probably for the best if I didn't seek anyone out. I ran into Rachel socially and she wanted us to be friends again, and well, what Rachel wants ..." They grinned at each other. "She mentioned that others from Lima were now in New York and that's how our merry band reconnected."
Finn nodded. "Do you think there'd be room for me in the merry band?"
"Of course, Finn. If there wasn't, I'd make some for you."
Finn smiled.
* * * * *
Kurt hadn't felt this tired in a long time. He was glad to have Finn back in his life after so long, but dredging up all those memories, all the bottled-up feelings, it had been exhausting.
He got out of the cab and walked up the stairs to the mansion's entrance. A few seconds were spent checking his pockets for where he'd put his keys and then he let himself in.
The moment he shut the door, he realized something was off.
He rapidly shed his coat, grabbed the japanese short sword from its ornamental display and unsheated it in the same motion. The katana would have been too large to use in close-quarters. He moved soundlessly past the hall to the parlor where the sconce on the back wall had been turned a quarter of the way clock-wise, revealing the hidden passageway behind the eastern wall.
All his senses reaching out for any potential threat, he slowly made his way down the stairs to the hidden sanctum.
When he saw who was sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace, he lowered the weapon in his hand.
"You know, most people would just call instead of breaking into my secret lair."
Marion smiled, but kept his eyes on the snifter of brandy in his hand, watching the golden liquid swirl in the glass as he moved it this and that way.
"Well, I'm family after all. And who can you put up with if you can't put up with family ?"
Kurt resheathed the wakizashi. "Don't be ridiculous. You're always welcome here. You know that. I just didn't expect to see you here, especially around this time of the year. Didn't you plan on spending the colder months somewhere tropical with comely natives to help you enjoy your much-deserved retirement?"
Marion's smile widened slightly, showing a glimmer of sharp white teeth. "Other matters have caught my attention."
Kurt looked at him and he couldn't quite refrain from admiring him. Marion had the same Cranston physical traits as Kurt : pale skin, the hair, the strong features, the smile, but where they'd looked effete on Kurt for most of his life, they looked patrician on Marion. Of course, his self-confidence and smooth baritone voice probably helped. So did the dangerous-looking scar that ran from his right temple into his hair, which it should considering everything that it had cost him.
Marion finally turned his gaze away from the snifter towards Kurt. "Aren't you going to ask ?"
"Do you want to tell me?"
Marion laughed softly. "I must say, I had my reservations when Margo picked you as my replacement, but you've certainly come a long way."
Kurt couldn't deny that as his mind drifted back to the past.
* * * * *
A few years ago
Papillon came to slowly and took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the headache that felt like boiling acid inside his skull.
Whoever had captured him, they were good. They’d extracted him from his house despite the guards and the state-of-the-art security system. It seemed they’d also done a thorough job of tying him up.
He opened his eyes and took a quick look around. He was in an airplane cabin and one of his kidnappers was sitting ten feet away, watching him. The man had an air about him that screamed ex-military. Papillon tried to ask a few questions, but got no answer.
They landed not too long afterwards.
He was carried to and thrown in the backseat of a black Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith which had been waiting on the tarmac. He smothered the irreverent thought that if you were going to be abducted, you might as well have it done internationally and in style.
Wherever he was, the sun was rising. He’d overheard nothing useful since being captured, but his captors were speaking French, and a quick check of the road signs on their way to wherever they were taking him confirmed that they were somewhere in the South of France.
After half-an-hour, they reached their destination, a mansion on top of a bluff, with what looked like a pretty spectacular view of the Mediterranean.
He was dragged inside and then out on the other side to a terrace where an elegant lady in her eighties was having breakfast. She put down “Les Echos” and looked at him with a harassed expression which managed to convey without words that he was a complication in her life she could have done without but would have to deal with all the same.
She gave her men a slight nod, and they immediately untied him and left. He got to his feet and rubbed his limbs to get his blood circulating. She took a slow sip from her tea, put down her cup and tapped her chin with her finger with a thoughtful expression.
Papillon gave her his best sneer. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Sadly, I know very well who you are. I wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble otherwise.”
He flexed his muscles, looking at the elderly woman. “Then you should know exactly what I can do to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You overestimate yourself, dear. Do have a seat. We need to talk.”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk.”
She pursed her lips. “Sulking doesn’t become anyone, Kurt. Least of all you.”
Kurt felt the blood drain from his face when he heard his real name.
“Who the hell are you ?!”
“I’m Margo Cranston, your great-grandmother. And it seems I’ll be the one to rehabilitate the thug you’ve become into a decent human being.”
Kurt felt the familiar icy rage rising. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t know me.”
He lunged at her and she waved negligently with her hand. He felt a wave of vertigo overwhelm him, and crumpled to the ground dry-heaving. After a short but agonizing moment, it passed, and he struggled to get back up and stared at her with a mix of dread and disbelief.
Margo seemed utterly unruffled as she stared back.
“Au contraire, Kurt. J’en sais plus que tu n’imagines. Mais ne t’inquiètes pas : tu est là pour apprendre.”
* * * * *
Kurt had come a long way. There was no denying that.
Marion gestured at the seat across from his.
"Come on. Tell uncle Marion everything that you've been up to."
"I had coffee with Finn today."
"You gave up on coffee years ago, Kurt. I doubt that's changed. Unless I'm wrong, you had chai latte with Finn today, which we'll definitely be talking about in a moment, but that's not what I was asking."
Kurt sat down. "Are we pretending that you don't already know?"
"I'm sure I know most of it, but you've been a busy boy. You've done really well for yourself. I know all too well how tough the family business is, and you've done an excellent job both of doing the work and of balancing it out with your legitimate activities, which I was never very good at. I came across as mysterious, which can make people suspicious, but no one would ever suspect what Kurt Hummel-Cranston does on his off-time."
Kurt laughed darkly. "I have previous experience in that area which you don't."
"Papillon was a long time ago, Kurt."
"Not long enough."
"Your past is part of what makes you you, Kurt. You can't ignore it, so instead you make the most of it. The shady skillset of Papillon is just as useful as the dramatic flair of Kurt Hummel, and you know that now, so both are put to good use."
"We've had this conversation many times. I know. I agree. But my feelings about all this will never be entirely rational." Then he added indignantly, "Also, did you just call me a drama queen?"
Marion rolled his eyes. "A rolling carpet of mist, Kurt? Really? What's next: a giant organ in the cellar?"
Kurt tried to come up with the cruel bon mot this clearly called for, and as he tried to focus his thoughts, he felt something brush ever so gently the edge of his mind.
He tensed instantly.
Marion stood up as Kurt jumped to his feet. "I was wondering when you'd notice, but you never pried. Too well-mannered to invade my privacy, which is sweet of you. And to think that in the end, I gave myself away. You've gotten better. Much better. Even Margo had a hard time sensing me when I used such a soft touch."
Kurt tried to process the new information, shielding his mind as thoroughly as he could.
"How is that even possible? Both Margo and you told me that the brain damage that took away your abilities was irreversible."
Marion shrugged. "We both thought so at the time."
"Is that why you're back, Marion? You want to be the Shadow again?"
"Oh, no. That's you now, Kurt. I just wanted to check up on you. I have plans, Kurt. Big plans. And it's time I stopped letting me hold myself back. And I thought you might be helpful, but you're exactly where you should be."
"I won't let you leave without telling me what's going on."
Marion gave him a mischevious grin. "My dear Kurt, whatever made you think you can do anything about it?"
And then Marion faded away in an instant. Like the Cheshire Cat, his grin faded last.
Kurt focused entirely on his abilities, casting out his mind to sense Marion's presence and felt it fading as the front door opened and shut. He sat down, shaken, trying to figure out what it all meant.
"Well, fuck."