Chapter Text
“Take him down, Hummel.”
Kurt smirked easily, batting Puck’s hands away as he tried to fix his tie.
His face dropped when some temp took away his coffee, replacing it with a product placement cup. Filled with tea.
He turned to Puck, ready to play any card he had to get his coffee back.
But Puck was already walking off the stage, giving him a mock-sympathetic face before blowing him a kiss.
The lights focused on him right as the countdown started.
“We’re live in five, four, three, two...”
“Good evening, New York, and welcome to Truth Time With with Kurt Hummel.”
He gave the camera his trademark smirk as the director gave the hand signal for the intro to start, giving Kurt a few seconds to introduce himself to whatever guest came on the show.
The whole premise of his segment was to put political people - or wannabes - on the spot; make them sweat until something broke, either their pride or their secrecy. It was all quite despicable and deliciously entertaining.
Every week he smiled and shook the person’s hand, distantly wondering why they had agreed to being there if they knew exactly what he did on the show and if they didn’t, if anyone had warned them.
He got to use the powers of manipulation and snark he had perfected throughout his life to take slimy men and women down; either politically, emotionally, or professionally. Everyone knew what he did and yet, every week, there was a guest, all with varying degrees of confidence about surviving a twenty minute sit-down with Kurt Hummel.
He enjoyed it far more than he should, but in the game of politics and the people behind it, morals were somewhat, well, irrelevant. He was a showman, after all.
So he shook the guy’s hand, smiled smoothly before sitting back down, giving Puck a raised eyebrow as he reorganized his papers, his notes. His weapons. The countdown began again.
--------
Kurt walked back into the living room, happily leaving his suit behind as he treaded over to the couch in his pyjamas.
Puck handed him the bowl of sweetened popcorn. It was Puck’s week.
Because this is what they did; every Friday night after the show, they hung out, they watched movies and every week one of them chose how to serve the popcorn. Kurt liked it salty, Puck liked it sweet.
Kurt would never admit it, but after doing this for three years, he was starting to like it as well.
But then Puck grabbed the remote and hit pause.
“We’re almost at the end of our season,” Puck started, staring seriously over at Kurt.
“Indeed,” Kurt responded, putting on his sarcastic somber voice.
“In two episodes, we’re going on summer break,” Puck went on, ignoring Kurt. “That means your contract will be put on the table, it will be renewed, there will be fundraisers and stuffy meetings with stuffy rich people in stuffy offices and a fourth season will be talked about.”
Kurt nodded, curiosity starting to get the better of him.
“What if we didn’t do that?”
Kurt blinked. He put his bowl down.
“No fourth season?”
“No fourth season there. We change channels.”
Considering, Kurt reached over to get some more popcorn out of Puck’s bowl before leaning back and plopping one into his mouth with a raised eyebrow.
“Hear me out, we refuse to renew with AMIL and accept one of the many, many, demands for you somewhere else. The only reason we went with them in the first place was because you were a nobody who needed money.”
“Hey!”
Puck grinned, “I’ve been with you since this whole thing started, Hummel. You can’t pull any fast ones on me.”
“You’re a horrible manager.”
“I’m a great manager. Which is why I’ve got you booked to meet with the head of ADAYN down in LA this weekend.”
Kurt’s mouth dropped open, letting two pieces of popcorn fall out.
“Puck! Oh, my god! But that’s...”
“That’s right, no more cable, baby. We’re getting you on every tv in this damn country!”
“Wait, wait. So we’re meeting to discuss, what, me bringing my show onto their channel?”
“Nope, we’re talking about a whole new show, one with a bigger audience. New name, new title, new reach. America is your new playground, Kurt Hummel,” Puck said with a grin that Kurt couldn’t help but return.
“I take it back, you’re the best manager.”
Kurt spent the rest of the evening being shushed by Puck as he spitballed ideas for new show names.
--------
Less than ten minutes into the meeting, Puck was politely asked to leave.
An hour and three minutes after that, Kurt had signed a brand new contract. Two year starter with a brand new everything. They tried to make him fire Puck, but he refused.
“Soul sold?” Puck asked as soon as he walked out.
Kurt rolled his eyes before pulling Puck away from earshot.
“You didn’t sign any documents with the words “twink” or “nudity” in it, did you?”
Snorting, Kurt handed him the contract. He watched, lip between his teeth as Puck read it over.
“Kurt. You agreed to doing half and half between politisickos and celebs? Won’t that just... turn your show hollywood? Did you just agree to hosting a puppies and kitties talk show?”
Kurt grinned, “No, it stays political. It just happens that half my victims will be... easier to take down.”
Puck narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
“My favorite thing to do on ‘Truth Time’ was prove my guests’ ignorance in their own subject. Think of what I could do with a bunch of self-centered, overrated celebrities who think of themselves as activists or spokespeople.”
With a maniacal smile Puck reached his fist out for Kurt to pound it.
----------
“Next we have this guy,” Puck handed over a new sheet of paper before adding: “Anderson.”
“Who is he?” Kurt asked around a candy stick, taking the paper.
“Blaine Anderson. America’s sweetheart, they call him the new Gene Kelly.”
Kurt snorted, eyes skimming the page without actually registering anything.
Puck continued, “He’s the newest musical star, broadway baby with a knack for charming his way into a political situation. Big fan of equal rights.”
Kurt bit down on the candy, enjoying the satisfying crunch in the silence. A silence Puck gave him so he could roll his eyes.
“A musical brat who thinks of himself as an activist. How cute.”
“How long are you planning on being a smartass?” Puck teased, smirking. “I need to know whether to schedule him for next week or next month.”
Kurt threw the candy wrapper at him, eyebrow raised. “I beg your pardon, I am not that predictable.”
Puck mirrored his eyebrow. “So next week or next month?”
“Next week. I need to ruin him before his name reaches my circles.”
With a small laugh Puck asked in mock seriousness “Cut him off at the knees before he uses them to waltz into your parties?”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite so crudely but, essentially, yes.”
“Take his tap shoes away before he dances his way to the top of the “Hollywood politicians” list? Oh, my god what if they offer him a talk show!”
Groaning Kurt let his head fall back, making himself keep sucking on the candy rather than argue back. Puck always saw right through him anyway so there was no point in just giving him the win.
“What’s his charity minority of choice?” He asked after a moment.
“I’ve got four to seven letters for you; L-”
Kurt sat up, letting the candy fall into his lap. “LGBT? Really?”
“Did I not mention that he was America’s gay sweetheart?”
With a huff, Kurt picked the paper back up. “Schedule him for next week.”
----------
Under the new name “The Political Way” his new show took off in less than a month. From the start he had steady ratings, some from his old audience and a growing new one but it was still a surprise when they spiked violently after the name “Blaine Anderson” was added to the schedule.
Suddenly the numbers nearly doubled, videos of Kurt’s best and better successes started doing the rounds on the internet, multiple clips and montages showing up over every social media website with various levels of excitement or worry from fans, critics, and professionals alike.
There was a buzz surrounding the whole thing for a week before Anderson was supposed to appear on the show and even Kurt, who actively avoided all things “viral” - especially about himself - caught wind of it.
He wasn’t nervous, he was eager. He had learned to ignore outside influences and stick to his guns a long time ago, long before the influences came in the shape of articles and reviews and demands from networks.
Kurt was going to take Blaine Anderson down, it didn’t matter how loved or hated he was, just like every other celebrity he’d had on the show he would do his job; he would show him up as an empty vessel with an agenda, with a script his manager wrote for him. With a breakable image.
Since he’d moved to LA nine actors had been on his show, all of them claiming to be a part of the political world or a particular social movement and he had disproved all of them. They had all asked to be on his show and they had all left with a black mark on their reputation.
The media called him Hollywood’s Houdini, except instead of a hunt for phony spiritualists and mediums it was political posers instead.
Anderson would be no different.
If Kurt took a little more time preparing for the interview it was only because Puck asked. Or Puck’s version of asking which was pretty much the equivalent of setting a metaphorical fire under his ass and grilling him to make sure every rebuttal was on point no matter which or what way the interview went.
If Kurt didn’t know any better, he would think Puck was nervous. Puck never got nervous.
The day of the show, everyone on set was fidgety. Kurt rolled his eyes when the crew averted theirs as he walked up to where Puck was talking to one of the camera guys.
“Hey, you’re new. I’m Kurt,” Kurt addressed the guy, ignoring Puck. He gave the kid a smile and a hand to shake. “And you are?”
“Um, Ryder?”
Kurt smiled, everyone’s shock at his niceness was always entertaining. People were always taken aback when they met him off screen, expecting some hardass jerk with a quick wit that could easily sting.
Puck clapped Kurt on the back and led him towards the dressing room. Kurt sent a last farewell Ryder’s way just to see his confused smile and returned hand movement that barely resembled a wave.
“Good luck tonight, Ryder!”
He looked just baffled enough for Kurt to stay entertained through most of Puck’s “pep talk”.
Halfway through it, though, Kurt made him stop talking with a frown.
“Where’s your drink?”
Puck sighed and crossed his arms before shrugging. “What drink?”
Narrowing his eyes, Kurt straightened up.
“Stop it.”
This time, Puck’s sigh was a defeated one. Still annoyed, but mostly defeated.
The only times in the years that they had known each other that Puck hadn’t had a glass of “fancy pee colored booze”, as he called it, was when something was bothering him.
He had water the Friday Burt had his second heart attack. He had coffee the Friday one of the most famously and violently homophobic politicians was on the show.
It was a new set, a new city and a new show but they had kept up with all their traditions, including this one. It was their joke, it was Puck’s thing because he had made it in the big leagues and he could afford that half glass of expensive alcohol.
That was one of the best parts of doing a show, for Kurt, watching the face Puck made when he drank from the glass.
“Where’s your damn drink, Noah?”
Puck glared at him but there was no heat in it, only annoyance at having been figured out.
“A lot of people will be watching tonight, Kurtikins.”
Kurt stepped up to him, enjoying the fact that they were the same height so he could give him the full Kurt Hummel “you’re an idiot” stare-down treatment.
“Have I ever crumbled?” He asked.
“No.”
“Have any of my guests ever, in the history of any of our productions, bested me?”
“No.”
“Will this Blaine Anderson clown be any different?”
“No.” Puck rolled his eyes at him.
“Then go get your damn drink.”
Puck smirked at him, “I could fucking kiss you right now.”
Kurt snorted before patting Puck on the head. “Dream on. Now come on, we’ve got stuff to do.”
With an obnoxious kiss to Kurt’s cheek Puck headed off.
By the time it was announced that Blaine Anderson was on the lot, Kurt had gotten three good eyefuls of Puck sipping the drink he still hated. He focused on that rather than the telltale pangs of nervousness in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years, especially since he’d joined the entertainment industry.
But then things accelerated, like they always did a few hours before they went live.
It was like adrenaline was coursing through the set itself, affecting everyone. Before long the stage was set, the lighting ready and the countdown prepared. The stars were called to the floor.
“Take him down, Hummel,” Puck whispered as he gave him a little push into the lit area where Blaine Anderson was already seated.
The smile he sent Kurt’s way was brighter than any of the lights on them and Kurt’s throat went dry.
Somehow in all the research Kurt had done - and Puck had redone - he never saw an actual picture of the guy.
He had seen glamour shots in the corner of articles but neither he or his ever ever really lingered because his job was about looking further than what the rest of the world saw.
Kurt was a man who appreciated beauty. Be it in art or music or clothing, he was a fan of aesthetic and he could appreciate an attractive person, but when it came to his own preferences, physical appearance never mattered much.
He cared about kindness and passion and intellect and traits that didn’t show up in actors and politicians when the cameras were off. Blaine was handsome, yes, but that wasn’t what got Kurt’s attention, what took him by surprise, it was what he himself played on sometimes; his kindness.
Because usually every smile he got before the show was fake; either nervous, or overly confident, or just bored. But Blaine’s was genuine and warm and somehow Kurt knew that it fit his personality. The one that shone through every quote and article and action on his resume.
Kurt had met a few honest people in their business but even with them their ethical lines were faded and blurred or pushed to where they wanted them. Kurt found that no matter how good people seemed there was always a reason, a selfish fine print behind plastic smiles and expensive suits.
But in a game of power and manipulation Kurt hadn’t been able to place Blaine. In all his preparation he hadn’t managed to figure him out. It wasn’t a first but Kurt had always been able to trust his instincts when it came down to the wire.
Now, however, as Blaine reached to shake his hand with an excited and silly grimace that was deceptively adorable, Kurt felt lost.
From what Kurt could tell - and he could always tell - there was no mask, no act. Nothing but bright honesty.
Maybe Blaine hadn’t been poisoned yet, maybe he was that much of a blank page, maybe he was an idiot easy to use as a tool with a puppet master in the background, maybe his agenda was bigger than what Kurt could find or imagine.
Every excuse seemed more likely than him actually being who he was on paper.
Kurt held on to that thought desperately as he shook Blaine’s hand and returned his smile because he couldn’t help it.
Just like he couldn’t help the way his fingers felt cold when Blaine let go.
He swallowed and sat down, being very careful about keeping his eyes on his papers rather than either Puck or Blaine. Maybe if he focused on the words enough he’d remember them when needed.
Because his first line of defense had been rendered irrelevant and he knew that all he had left was showing Blaine up to look like a fool. Ask all the right and wrong questions to have him stuttering, to bleed all the googling his manager had done for him - and given him to learn by heart - dry.
For the first time in four years, Kurt felt guilty. Not only that but he didn’t want to go through with it.
Because Blaine was kind and sweet and talking to the production assistant who brought them their coffee.
Because Blaine kept smiling over at him like he couldn’t quite believe Kurt was real.
The countdown was already at two digits, he didn’t have time to regroup but just enough time to panic a little because it was his facade that was crumbling and taking his professionalism with it.
So he sat up straight, rearranged his thoughts along with his desk and prepared a line of questioning in his mind that could potentially destroy Blaine. Because this was his job.
The countdown went down to one digit.
“And we’re live in five, four, three, two...”
“I’m Kurt Hummel and welcome... to the Political Way.”
The red light on the camera blinked off just as the credits started rolling along with a few messages from sponsors giving Kurt just enough time to breathe in and out a few times.
Puck had taken up meditation after their first season, Kurt suddenly wished he had come along to a few classes and actually paid attention instead of posting pictures of Puck in yoga pants on Twitter.
“Are you okay?” Blaine whispered, leaning towards him with an outstretched hand and a worried frown.
Instead he swallowed and raised an eyebrow at him like he was the one who wouldn’t be okay soon enough. But instead of backing down or even showing any signs of worry or fear Blaine just smirked.
Not in a cruel powerful way like most Hollywood people when the light wasn’t on them but in an amicable way, like he was being teased and could push right back. It was sweet and Kurt had never seen anything like it. Not on that stage, not in that city.
He was given the signal that they were going live again.
Everything started like it usually did: he introduced Blaine, asked a couple mandatory boring questions about his life and career and Blaine managed to give original answers Kurt hadn’t read about during his dig.
Something about the way Blaine said them, eyes fixed on Kurt, made him think that maybe he was trying to prove himself. Not to the show or the audience or the critics who were watching with grinding teeth but to Kurt himself. Impress him, not with his career and talent but with his person, his wit; his mind.
It was exhilarating.
It wasn’t extensive training in public speaking or endless practice with his publicist that had Blaine keeping up with everything Kurt threw at him.
By the first ad break Kurt hadn’t found a single crack to dig at and if he weren’t so happy to have found an equal he would have been been terrified.
It wasn’t until Puck took him aside with a questioning and worried look that he realized just how badly he was screwing this up.
He hadn’t even been going easy on Blaine but he had taken any signs of discomfort as an excuse to stay away from subjects rather than press harder, like he usually would have.
“How obvious?” He asked, looking away, back towards the set.
“It’s fixable but if I didn’t know any better I, along with thousands of others, would think you were letting him walk all over you.”
Kurt ground his teeth together. He wasn’t one for taking things lying down but even he knew how it must have looked. At the time he just didn’t care.
“I have no ammunition.”
Puck stared at him and Kurt hated that he was looking for a lie in his features.
“Is it because you stopped looking for some?”
Kurt thought about it. “No,” He said, sure of his answer.
Puck nodded. “Do you think you can fix this?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to get people on it?”
After a pause it was Kurt’s turn to nod.
“Get me anything you can. If you see me drum my fingers you’ll know it’s time.”
Kurt walked away, then, he didn’t want to deal with Puck’s disappointment, whether it was actually there or not.
The countdown began again and Blaine smiled excitedly at him. Kurt didn’t smile back.
Ten minutes into the second part of the interview Blaine made him laugh. He drummed his fingers.
Two minutes after that Puck’s voice sounded in his ear.
“Talk about his father. Daddy Anderson is your golden ticket. He’s a big deal in the world of psychiatrists. He’s also an asshole.”
Kurt’s throat tightened. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to resort to such low means but it was the first time he felt any level of guilt about it.
Blaine was going on about the importance of political connections from both sides and Kurt waited until there was a lull before asking his next question:
“Did your father help you get some of those connections?”