Friday! I'm starting to get a pretty good idea of how all the final scenes will piece together, so here's hoping the next chapters come as swiftly as these. We're extremely close to the climax, I just need to fit in a little more development before we get there.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it, it makes me want to write more. :)

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There was an electric charge in the air, a low buzz that only Kurt could hear. It followed him into restless sleep and back out again, filling all the gaps in conversation, all the murmuring. His father's anger, Carole's words of comfort, the questions officer Schroeder asked. Eventually, Kurt recognized that it was there; he was brushing his teeth, and realized that a hum was filling his head, softening everything around him. He looked into the mirror above the sink and stilled.

A line had been crossed. Comparatively, being hit by a car, beaten, threatened with a noose and chase from his home—it all paled to this. When you have a grudge against someone, you can pull out all the stops, you can leave dignity at the door and put your all into tearing them down, but you never cross this line. No one does. You never bring the deceased into it.

The tombstone wasn't fancy, in any sense. Whether it was because they couldn't afford it at the time, or because his mother insisted on something simple, Kurt didn't know. But he had spent the last nine years visiting it, placing flowers at its base, singing to it. Wishing that the epitaph was longer, because surely, five words didn't cover it. 'She will always be loved' was true, but it hardly scratched the surface. All the things he wanted to say to her, all the memories he had. Everything that his mother was, it couldn't all fit onto the stone. But it was there somehow, with every bouquet he set down, with every word he spoke. All those Sundays, rain or sleet or snow. He and his father had built her aura around it, and even though Kurt knew she wasn't there, it still felt like her. His mother's final resting place.

And in the cloak of a single, chilly night, it had been destroyed. Broken into two chunks, the lower half still stuck into the earth. Pink spray paint scarred its surface, the hard letters running in the rain. Faggot lover.

Burt had reached a point with his anger that Carole had to separate him from Kurt, just to keep him from making things worse. For the first two days, Kurt cried. He was only thinking of his mother, trying to lose himself to the electric humming in his ears, a white noise that he had never heard before. He would sit by her dresser with his forehead against his knees, trying to fold himself into her memory.

It wasn't until he had found out what they had written on his mother's grave, until he heard Carole whisper it to a friend, that the humming suddenly started to grow into static. The renewed anxiety, the shock, the fear—the overwhelming sadness—it began to turn into something new.

Anger.

Raw, uncharacteristic anger swelled in his gut, building higher into his chest each time he thought about it. It became so strong that it started calling for escape, calling for him to grab something and throw it, slam a door, punch a wall. Kurt wasn't used to such unbearable rage; he didn't know how to handle it. They hurt him, they hurt Finn, they hurt his family. They threatened his life. And now they disgraced his mother. Broke her grave, one of the few reminders he had left, one of the last places where her memory still lingered.

He imagined the lanky man, who had thrown the brick at his window. He pictured himself bringing his father's oak baseball bat into the side of the man's head, and it felt good, however momentarily. It felt like justice.

But, he knew better. Kurt hated violence, hated the fact that it was all he wanted. But mostly, he hated that his mother would tell him to take a deep breath and be the bigger person. Because it was for her sake that he felt so angry; he couldn't just turn the other cheek.

"Kurt?"

He looked away from the mirror to find Rachel looming in the doorway of the bathroom. He hadn't realized how long he'd been standing there, staring at himself.

"Do you have a minute," she asked gently, sounding hopeful and concerned. Kurt rinsed his toothbrush and set it down in its travel case before giving her a brief nod. He followed her down the hallway, keeping his eyes on the hem of her nightgown as it trailed around her calves. Like everything else during the past few days, it made him think of his mother.

"I was hoping you'd be up for a little impromptu girl's night," she said gently. Everyone had bee gentle with him lately. Not for fear of making him cry, but because they sensed something had changed within him. And it had.

"Girl's night?" he repeated, stopping beside Rachel's door and peering into her room. Her bed and been decorated with an inviting layer of blankets and pillows, and a stack of DVDs were sitting beside her flat-screen television. Kurt looked blankly at the home screen of The Wizard of Oz and said nothing.

"Yes, just a little something to lift the mood. Would you rather watch something else?"

Kurt shook his head and turned suddenly, finding it in himself to smile at her. "No," he said, "Blaine and I had planned on watching The Wizard of Oz this weekend anyway. Thank you, Rachel."

Her smile flickered between softness and excitement, as she looped her hands around his elbow and led him into the room. He followed, struggling to latch on to the sudden chance at a good mood. It felt fleeting, like it could flutter away at any moment. He stopped halfway to Rachel's bed as an idea came to him, and despite the concerned look that she suddenly gave him, he turned away.

"Don't worry, I just want to grab something from downstairs. I'll be right back." He left before she could protest, though he did hear a confused "okay" follow him out of the room. Quickly, Kurt scooted down the hall and ghosted into the lower part of the house. As he crossed the kitchen, his eyes searching for the door to the basement, he found Finn standing by the fridge.

"Hey Kurt," he greeted, shrugging. He had both of his arms back in good health now—if his shoulder was still sore, he didn't say anything. Kurt have him a half-smile, which was more than Finn had seen in the last few days.

"You alright, dude?" he asked, shifting. Whatever vibe Kurt had been giving off recently, be it sadness or anger, Finn didn't know how to approach it. Now he saw a chance.

"I'm alright. Rachel has organized a girl's night."

Finn grinned, the same goofy way he always did. "Yeah, I helped her bring in some pillows and stuff from the hall closet."

Kurt's eyebrows elevated just a small amount, surprised at Finn's investment in an event usually reserved for Kurt, Rachel and Mercedes. Finn seemed to sense this, that maybe the comment was a little out of place.

"So, you're gunna watch movies, then? I mean, I thought it'd be in Rachel's room."

Kurt watched him flounder for a moment before realizing, quiet suddenly, that the humming had stopped. Finn's familiar discomfort had silenced it.

"It is," Kurt smiled, suddenly embracing the chance to relax his stomach muscles. "I'm just going to get something."

Finn's face mirrored Kurt's sudden happiness. "Okay, awesome. Um, I was wondering, while you're here... Can you help me tomorrow? Mom and Burt have been really stressed, and I thought we could bake them something, but I can't bake, so..." he trailed off his eyes darting around, unable to settle directly on Kurt. The countertenor smiled; it was nice, not having the humming around.

"Sure, Finn. That's a great idea."

They parted then, silently agreeing that the moment was over. Kurt pulled open the basement door and move down the steps in a haze, stopping beside his bag and angling himself carefully to pick up Mr Bubbles. The old sock monkey felt oddly warm in his grasp, and he smiled again. If anything could anchor him in the moment and help him stay happy, Brittany's doll was it.

The hum didn't return until morning.

-x-x-x-

I don't know about you guys, but I'm sensing some Klaine coming up…