Summary: Kurt and Blaine lead very different lives, both of which are results of unfortunate circumstances. They meet at a time when they both could use a friend. Despite their age gap, the chemistry felt between them can’t be denied, but will it be too much for them to handle?
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Summary: There were very few things that made Blaine happier than walking hand in hand with Kurt. It was a beautiful April day in New York and they decided to stop at their favourite coffee shop for a snack. As it had become customary in their relationship, Blaine ordered for Kurt … They had always loved their coffee dates. There were times when they would spend hours talking and then more hours gazing into each other’s eyes. Today was one of those days.
Lynne’s review: I truly loved this story of married!Klaine in NY. A little angst thrown in with Blaine’s estranged daddy, but other than that, beautiful.
This is my fic for the Todaydreambelievers 2016 fic exchange! My prompt was: husbands!Klaine finding each other again after one of them has been missing for a long time (years) because of some dramatic event - kidnapping, amnesia, voluntarily needing time away, midlife crisis, etc ... Once they find each other again they have to then start over, getting to know each other, catching up with each other's lives, etc.
Title is adapted from Troye Sivan's song, Lost Boy.
warnings for kidnapping, some light physical injury, depression and angst.
word count: 41k | on AO3
for @fearlesslysgleefics. hope you enjoy it!
Kurt will not give up on finding Blaine.
Three years, and he refuses to give up. He still looks for Blaine on the street, listens for his laugh on the subway. Blaine’s clothes are still in the closet, and once every few months he gets them out and washes them, keeps them fresh and spritzes them with Blaine’s favourite cologne. He still goes to sleep on his side of the bed, even though more often than not he wakes sprawled across the entire mattress, or curled around Blaine’s pillow.
He still has his wedding ring, on a chain around his neck. Wearing it was too hard, people would ask after his husband and the explanation would leave Kurt cracked open and raw every time. He prefers it this way - it’s his reminder of Blaine, kept close to his heart, against his skin. He never takes it off.
Rachel keeps telling him he has to move on, telling him that she knows how much it hurts, that she lost her soulmate too, but Kurt refuses to listen to her. Losing Finn, that was a different kind of pain. Finn was gone. Blaine is missing.
He still remembers the day it happened, still blames himself for being sick with the flu, for letting Blaine walk home from the bodega next to the subway station alone even though he said he thought someone was following him. He remembers the lilt in Blaine’s voice, the way he joked that he had a stalker, and how Kurt had brushed it off because Blaine always got a little paranoid when he was stressed. He remembers drifting off waiting for him, listening to music with food on the stove, and waking to the acrid stench of burned soup and no sign of his husband.
He still hates that he didn’t call the police straight away. Hates that he called around his friends before realising that it was later than he thought and it shouldn’t have taken Blaine an hour to walk three blocks. Hates that he assumed he got caught up at the bodega, and waited another half hour before he started getting worried. Hates that he didn’t just get up and find him. He remembers spending hours sitting in the lobby of the police station, trying to persuade the sergeant that Blaine wouldn’t just disappear. Yes he has depression and anxiety, yes he has cheated in the past, yes we’ve had problems but you don’t understand you don’t understand -
But by the time he made them see that Blaine wouldn’t just disappear, the trail was cold and Kurt’s husband was gone.
It’s three years, two months and six days since Blaine never came back from the subway station, and Kurt doesn’t go an hour without thinking of him.
He sets up a twitter, @FindBlaine. And a Facebook page, Find Blaine Hummel-Anderson. For a little while, there is interest from news channels, but after a few weeks, everyone stops caring. He updates the pages daily for the first couple of months, and then a few times weekly. His parents and friends share and retweet, but after a while the kind responses peter out. He becomes just another feature of their newsfeeds. Tips stop coming in. The online trail, like the one in real life, goes cold.
He wakes up freezing most days, without Blaine’s warm body. Leans out of bed and switches on the electric heater, burrows back under his covers and checks his phone. The lock screen still makes the pit of his stomach ache. Sometimes Blaine’s bright smile is all that gets him out of bed in the mornings.
His dad wants him to move back to Ohio, but Kurt won’t leave their apartment. It’s filled with little pieces of Blaine, and sometimes that’s all he has. Kurt still buys the oatmeal Blaine likes, even though he can barely stand it. He keeps the ugly glass bowl Blaine bought for their keys. Still goes to the same coffee shop every Saturday morning, and buys coffee for the person behind him because he can’t buy any for Blaine. He donates to the youth centre that Blaine spent his Saturday mornings at, teaching at risk kids music, because being there and seeing the display they have with his smiling face on it hurts so deep in his chest he feels like he’ll never breathe properly again.
Mercedes takes him to the dog shelter on the fourth anniversary of Blaine’s disappearance. It’s the same one as where Sam found McConaughey, and she refuses to let him leave until he picks out a pet. Kurt decides on a sleek, grey ex-racing hound, the first one not to snap and bark at him. She rests her chin on his knee and blinks up at him with big, trusting eyes, and Kurt remembers the way they’d been debating getting a pet just before Blaine -
Her name is Pepper, and she sleeps for twenty of the twenty-four hours in the day. Their first night in the apartment, she invites herself up onto the bed, and curls up right where Blaine used to. Kurt goes to sleep with her warm weight against his back, and wakes from a blissful dream about Blaine without his husband in his arms.
He brings her to the police precinct for his monthly meeting with the detective in charge of Blaine’s case. She sits by his leg, chin on his knee, and is his anchor when the detective tells him - with barely hidden frustration - that there are no new leads. Kurt prides himself on his NYADA education, but even that isn’t quite enough to keep the tears from slipping free. Nobody will use the term cold case, but Kurt knows that’s what it is. Sometimes Blaine’s file is on the detective’s desk, and it breaks his heart to see Blaine’s whole life reduced to a few pieces of paper in a manila folder.
Time ticks by. Kurt gets promoted at Vogue. Occasionally directors try and get in contact with him, wanting him for a new musical, but his agent is well versed in politely but firmly turning them down. Isabelle trots him out at galas occasionally, but he’s satisfied to work behind the scenes. The spotlight… feels different without Blaine. Kurt won’t let himself get used to it.
His therapist says he’s punishing himself as a coping mechanism instead of facing his grief head on. Kurt doesn’t care.
“Blaine wouldn’t want you to stifle yourself like this,” Rachel says over coffee, sitting outside so Pepper can lie at Kurt’s feet, “He would want you to go on performing. To go on being yourself. Finn -”
Kurt loses his temper.
“Finn is gone!” he shouts, “Blaine and I never discussed this! Nobody knows what Blaine wants because Blaine isn’t fucking here!”
Rachel stares. The people in the coffee shop stare. Kurt takes a deep breath and grabs his jacket, looping Pepper’s leash over his wrist. “I have to go.”
“Kurt -” Rachel stands, but he’s already gone.
Pepper helps. She brings his life structure, gives him a living creature to return home to in the evenings. He gets out more with her, meets people at the dog park. He even gets asked on a date or two, but the flash of his wedding ring on the chain around his neck is enough to quash those inquiries before they go too far.
It’s three weeks before Blaine’s 28th birthday when the agents from the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms division arrive at his office.
They knock politely, and Kurt barely even looks up from his sketchpad. Designing has become one of his few retreats, he’s even considering opening up a shop online. “Come in,” he calls, squinting at the lines of the dress that don’t quite work.
“Mr Hummel?”
“Hummel-Anderson,” Kurt corrects automatically, and looks up. The man and woman in the doorway are dressed smartly but conservatively, immediately pegging them as external workers.
“Can I help you?” he rises up from behind his desk, takes off his glasses, “If you’re looking for Isabelle -”
“Special Agents Aaron Smith and Elizabeth Lane, with the ATF,” they both show their badges simultaneously. Kurt looks at them as if he knows the difference between real and fake, his stomach sinking. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re here about your missing husband, Blaine Anderson?”
“Hummel-Anderson,” Kurt’s throat closes up, “You’ve - you’ve found -?”
“Yes, sir, we have.”
“Is there a body?” Kurt feels his knees start to give out and he grips onto his desk for support, “Is there - do I need to identify… my husband.” The words catch in his throat.
“Mr Hummel-Anderson,” Agent Lane puts her hand on his shoulder and smiles, “Blaine is alive.”
Kurt’s knees buckle and he sinks back into his chair, throat working silently. “He’s -?”
“He’s alive and well,” she nods, “And asking for you.”
“Oh my god,” Kurt gasps, “Oh my god. He’s - oh my god. Do you have - do you know where -”
“We’re here to escort you, sir,” Agent Smith says, “If you’d just get your coat -”
“I don’t need it,” Kurt grabs his bag and fumbles his sketchpad closed, “I don’t need - let’s go.”
“Mr Hummel-Anderson,” Agent Lane says calmly, “Your husband is currently at a hospital in the Catskills, it’ll be a long drive. It might be smart to stop over at your home, to pack an overnight bag -”
“I don’t need a bag,” Kurt says sharply, “How long is the drive? An hour? Two?”
“You could be there for a few days -”
“I. Don’t. Care,” Kurt says desperately, “Please? Can we just go?”
“Of course,” Agent Lane says after a beat, and holds the door open.
The drive to the hospital takes hours, even with the lights and sirens screaming. Kurt’s hands shake, his breathing unsteady. Agent Lane keeps offering to call someone, but Kurt doesn’t want her to. He’s been living in limbo since the day Blaine disappeared, and right now, the idea that he might be back - that he’s really okay -
Kurt feels like he’s lost his grip on reality. He focuses on his breathing. The end of his limbo is within view, but not within reach. And he’s not ready. He’s scared. Several times, he comes close to calling his dad, but every time he can’t bring himself to do it. Because what if.
What if it’s not Blaine. He knows it’s stupid, but still, he can’t help it. What if it’s some sick bastard who just wants media attention? What if? What if? What if?
The agents won’t tell him anything about where he was found, when he was found, anything. They don’t even have a photo. Kurt is too scared to push, feeling out of his depth in the back of this ridiculously big SUV. He just sits there and waits.
If the drive takes hours, walking into the hospital takes days. He stares hard at every face he sees, terrified he won’t recognise his own husband. The agents flash their badges, guide him through a door that says Resus, and Kurt clutches his jacket and tries to breathe through the stifling panic in his chest, peering into each curtained off booth as they pass.
“Where is he?” he asks, swallowing hard, “I don’t see him. Where is he? He’s here, right -?”
And then he stops dead because Blaine is right there.
Grey faced and pale and clearly exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and a split bottom lip, but he’s right there. Sitting sideways on a hospital bed, bruised and hurt and wearing an ugly gown. Alive. Breathing. Real.
“Blaine,” Kurt whispers, his knees weak as a family slowly pass, blocking his view of his husband. “Blaine. Blaine.”
His legs propel himself forward and he shoves through the crowd and Blaine sees him and -
And Blaine’s in his arms, bony and shaking and whispering his name over and over. They sink to the floor, Blaine’s hands fisted in the back of Kurt’s shirt, and Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s waist and buries his face in his shoulder. Vaguely, he registers the clatter of a drip stand toppling against the bed, the exclamations of various medical professionals, but he doesn’t care. He has his husband in his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he gasps, “I got you, baby, you’re okay. I got you.”
“Kurt,” Blaine sobs, “Kurt, Kurt -”
“You’re okay,” Kurt cups the back of his head, rocking back and forth, “You’re okay. You’re safe, I got you. You’re safe, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
Blaine is almost hyperventilating, and Kurt squeezes him as tight as he can, feeling tears soaking into his shirt. He’s crying as well, half relief and half fury at the people who hurt him like this.
“I n-never th-th-thought I’d see you a-again,” Blaine whispers, “I n-never thought -”
“I’m right here,” Kurt says fiercely, forcing down his tears, “I’m never leaving you again. Never. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
Carefully, he slides his arms under Blaine’s legs and lifts him, his heart breaking at how light Blaine feels. A few steps and then he sinks onto the bed, leaning back enough to look into his eyes, cupping his husband’s face.
“You’re really here,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over Blaine’s cheek, “You’re okay.”
“Sir,” a doctor says, “Would you mind leaning back a little?”
Kurt starts to move but Blaine grabs onto his shirt, eyes wide. “No.”
“It’s okay,” Kurt brushes his hair back, presses a kiss to his forehead, “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”
Blaine’s hands are shaking so hard that Kurt takes them in his to still them, pressing them to his heart. “You’re okay,” he whispers as one of the nurses peels Blaine’s gown away from his shoulder, revealing red-stained gauze on his upper arm. Kurt swallows down the lump in his throat, kisses Blaine’s bruised, split knuckles, and turns to the closest doctor.
“What happened?” he asks, standing. Blaine leans in, rests his head against Kurt’s side, and Kurt runs his fingers through Blaine’s hair.
“He’s malnourished, couple of healed fractures in his hands and ribs, one hell of a vitamin D deficiency too. But he’ll be fine.”
“No, I mean, what happened?” Kurt gestures to the gauze, and the doctor’s eyes flash sideways at where the agents were standing. “It’s a light graze, a gunshot wound. Nothing serious, he probably won’t need surgery -”
“He was shot?” Kurt exclaims, “Who shot him? Why - is he under arrest? I don’t understand -”
“As far as I know, it was an accident as they secured the area,” the doctor says reassuringly, “We’re treating him, and he’ll be fine.”
“Who shot him?” Kurt demands, “Who?”
“Kurt,” Blaine says softly, “Kurt, please.”
Kurt glances down and sees Blaine’s expression, exhausted and defeated, and he stops immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he sits down next to Blaine, “I’m sorry, I just - okay. You’re okay.”
He’s half comforting Blaine and half comforting himself. Blaine leans up against him, tucks his face into Kurt’s neck, and the steady huff of his breathing is the best sound Kurt’s ever heard. When the doctor peels the gauze away, Blaine flinches and whimpers.
“It’s okay,” Kurt takes his spare hand and kisses his hair. Blaine smells kind of gross, but there’s also a whiff of something clean, like soap - but not the kind you buy in a grocery store. Like the organic stuff Rachel once bought him from some roadside stall in Ohio, but a little off.
Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand, his breathing coming faster. “Kurt,” he says tightly, “Can you talk to me? Tell me - tell me what I missed.”
“Are you sure?” Kurt asks, “Is this a good time?”
“My arm really hurts,” Blaine hisses through his teeth, “Please, just talk.”
“Okay,” Kurt nods, “Okay. Beyoncé came out with a new album - Mercedes features on one of the songs. Every time I listen to it -” his throat closes up, because the song is about love and every time he had listened to it he’d sobbed until his throat was raw. “ - it’s really powerful. Um, Gaga finally made that visual album she’d been promising us. And Mercedes - god, you should hear Mercedes’ album. It’s incredible. Rachel got a role in a romcom in LA, it’s the kind of good-bad we both love, I can’t wait to watch it with you. Tina got married - to this lovely girl, they live in TriBeCa, we’ll go visit some time.”
“She’s happy?” Blaine asks, and Kurt nods. “Very. Um, I’m still at our apartment - we have a new oven, now, though, and a new fridge. It has an ice cube compartment, which - oh. Um, we have a dog now.”
Blaine looks up. “A - a dog?”
“Her name is Pepper, she’s an ex-racing greyhound,” one-handed, Kurt fumbles for his phone, unlocks it to show Blaine his favourite photo of Pepper.
Blaine’s smile is so beautiful that Kurt feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “We have a dog?” he echoes, and Kurt nods. “I talk about you all the time. She once stole one of your sweaters when I was doing laundry. Sometimes when I sing she sings along too.”
“Are you still on Broadway?” Blaine asks, “Performing?”
Kurt’s smile fades. “I - no. Not really.”
Blaine’s face falls. “Kurt…”
“I couldn’t do it without you,” Kurt confesses painfully, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Pepper will love you. Dad and Carole - they’ll be so happy to hear that you’re back, that you’re okay. We never gave up, Blaine.”
Blaine’s voice cracks when he says softly, “I did.”
Kurt blinks. “What?”
The doctor steps away, smoothes a fresh gauze patch over Blaine’s arm, and leaves, drawing the cubicle curtain behind them.
Blaine’s face crumples, and tears start to stream down his face. “I gave up. I gave up. I let them break me. I’m sorry -”
“Sweetheart -” Kurt whispers, “Sweetheart, sweetheart -”
“I just couldn’t see how they’d ever let me out, I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t -”
“I know, baby,” Kurt pulls him in and hugs him tight, “It’s okay. I got you. I got you.”
“It was so dark down there,” Blaine sobs, “It was so dark.”
Kurt eases them back against the thin hospital-issue pillows and closes his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”
Blaine lets out a shaky breath. “I really want to get out of here.”
“Okay,” Kurt presses his lips the top of Blaine’s head, “Okay, I - is there a nurse button? I’ll call a nurse.”
The doctor wants to keep Blaine overnight for observation. They say he needs fluids, that he’s dehydrated and they want to keep an eye on his bullet wound. Blaine quietly asks if that can’t be done from home, and Kurt almost has to step outside to compose himself. Home. Even though it’s two hours away, the thought of home makes him smile.
“I can get you a private room,” the doctor says, “But I’m not comfortable discharging you right now.”
Blaine just nods, but he looks crushed. Kurt wraps an arm around his shoulder and asks if they can be moved to that room sooner rather than later.
The nurse helps Blaine get settled, asks if they have any loose clothing that would be more comfortable than the hospital gown.
“No,” Blaine says, “I’m fine.”
“We won’t be moving you again, so if your husband wanted to go home and pick up anything -”
“No,” Kurt says immediately, “I live in New York City, and I’m not leaving him. Not a chance.”
“O-oh. Okay,” she nods, “Well, there’s a phone right here if you want to call anyone. If you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall.”
Blaine looks shell-shocked, sitting in the bed twisting his hands together. Slowly, Kurt seats himself on the bed and lays his hand on top of Blaine’s, stilling them. “Blaine? Honey? Are you okay?”
Blaine takes a shaky breath and says, “This doesn’t feel real.”
“It is,” Kurt cups his face, “Baby, it is. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re going to be fine.”
“I was so sure nobody would ever find me,” Blaine’s voice cracks, “I was so sure. I thought I would die there.”
Kurt wants to cry. “You’re safe,” he repeats, a lump growing in his throat, “You’re safe now.”
He doesn’t know what happened to Blaine, who took him or what they did to him or why the fuck they’re in the Catskills. But he knows that he’s going to do anything to keep him safe from now on.
“I really want to talk to my mom,” Blaine swallows, “Can I?”
“Of course,” Kurt grabs the phone, hands it to Blaine, “Do you want the room?”
“Okay,” Kurt pulls up a chair and nods, “Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
With trembling hands, Blaine starts to dial and then freezes. “I -” he screws his eyes up, “I don’t. I don’t remember the number.”
“Okay,” Kurt pulls out his phone and scrolls to the entry Pam Anderson (B’s Mom). “I’ll dial it for you, okay?”
Blaine gives Kurt a faint smile and takes the phone from him when he offers it. He lifts it to his ear and Kurt hears it ring faintly a few times before it clicks and Pam’s voice echoes tinnily out of the receiver.
Kurt turns his head away, not wanting to intrude. Blaine’s fingers tighten around his hand, and he lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. It’s really me.”
Kurt focuses on his phone, tries to give Blaine as much privacy as possible. He has three missed calls from Isabelle, seventeen texts, and four alerts from Twitter.
He ignores all of them and calls his dad.
It rings for a little while, then goes to voicemail. Kurt curses, hangs up and calls the line for the tire shop.
“Hummel Tires and Lube, Joey speaking.”
“Hey Joey,” Kurt says shakily, “Can I talk to my Dad?”
“Sure, Kurt. Everything okay?”
“I just really need to talk to him,” he says.
There’s a moment of static, and then his dad says gruffly, “Kurt? You okay?”
Blaine’s let go of his hand, and Kurt stands and walks on shaky legs over to the window.
“Dad,” he whispers, “Blaine’s alive.”
And then he only barely manages not to break down. The lump in his throat makes his tongue unwieldy, every word thick and difficult. Luckily, Burt does most of the talking, asking questions to which Kurt gives monosyllabic answers.
Half an hour later, his dad has promised that he and Carole will be on the next flight to New York as soon as Kurt and Blaine are home. Kurt wipes his damp eyes, says a quiet goodbye, and turns back to Blaine.
His husband is still talking to Pam, but now he’s lying on his side with the phone cradled to his face. His cheeks are wet but he’s smiling, giggling squeakily at something his mom says. Kurt takes a deep breath and walks back to his seat, takes Blaine’s spare hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
His wedding ring is gone. Kurt isn’t surprised - whoever took him probably pawned it. He wonders if the jeweller they got them from is still open. He’ll have to buy a new one.
“Hey,” Blaine says softly, “Kurt?”
“Mm?” Kurt looks up to see Blaine offering the receiver out to him. “Mom wants to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Kurt has to shuffle closer because the cord doesn’t stretch to his chair, “Hey, Pam.”
“Kurt,” Pam has clearly been crying, but he can hear the smile in her voice, “Kurt, I’m on my way to Columbus right now, I’m getting on the next flight, I’ll call Blaine’s dad on the way. Do you need me to contact your parents?”
“No, I just called them, but thank you, Pam. Thank you.”
“You’re in the - the Catskills?”
“Hudson,” Kurt says, “It’s a couple hours drive - we’ll be back in New York soon if you just want to -”
“You better not finish that sentence.”
Ashamed, Kurt feels his cheeks go red. “Of course. Sorry. Memorial Hospital in Hudson.”
“Okay. I’ll be in the air in a couple hours. I love you.”
“Love you too, Pam,” Kurt says, and she hangs up.
“You didn’t tell me we’re uncles,” Blaine says with a little smile, “Cooper had a kid?”
Kurt puts the phone back on the hook and leans in to kiss Blaine’s forehead, mentally kicking himself. “I’m sorry, I forgot - I haven’t seen them for a year. Devon is adorable.”
Blaine blinks rapidly. “I can’t believe he called her that.”
Kurt smiles. “She’s an angel.”
Blaine inhales shakily and then shivers. “I’m cold.”
Kurt grabs his warm, fleece-lined jacket from the back of the chair and drapes it carefully over Blaine’s shoulders. “When my dad gets here, I’ll get him to bring you your winter pajamas.”
Blaine pulls the jacket up to his chin and shivers again. Kurt unbuttons his cardigan as well, tosses it over Blaine’s legs.
“Kurt,” Blaine says weakly, “You’ll get cold.”
“Don’t care,” Kurt says, “You need to be warm. Warmth helps the healing process.”
Blaine giggles. “That’s not true.”
The sound of his laugh makes something in Kurt’s chest ache, and he knows it reflects on his face. Before he can collect himself, the dam that’s been holding back all of his panic breaks and he lets out one pathetic sob. And then another, and another, and then he’s clutching Blaine’s hand in both of his, doubled over with his forehead pressed to Blaine’s knuckles as he cries and cries and cries.
“Kurt?” he hears Blaine exclaim, and then, “What -”
“I’m s-sorry,” Kurt takes a deep breath but his lungs feel too small for his chest and it explodes back out of him as another utterly pathetic noise. Sniffing, he covers his face with his hands, “I’m sorry, one s-second -”
He feels a gentle hand on his wrist, and another on his side. Blaine guides and Kurt follows, getting one shaky leg onto the bed and then collapsing. Blaine’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and Kurt curls his hands into the papery hospital gown and folds his larger frame against Blaine’s smaller one, trying to muffle himself into Blaine’s shoulder.
Kurt cries. Blaine’s hands pet at his hair and rub circles on his back. The situation feels off kilter, somewhere in Kurt’s brain he knows that he should be the one comforting Blaine, that Blaine is the one who has been through this traumatic event, but he can’t stop. He just can’t.
Blaine doesn’t shush him, doesn’t tell him that he’ll be fine, just repeats in his raw, soft voice, “I know. I know. I’m here.”
After a while, Kurt realises he’s mumbling nonsense against Blaine’s tear-soaked gown. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, “I didn’t find you -”
“I know,” Blaine’s fingers comb through his hair, “I know you tried. I know.”
“I should have -”
“I know you tried,” Blaine presses a kiss to the top of his head, “I know, Kurt. I know.”
“- tried h-h-harder.” Kurt screws his eyes up and takes a shaky breath, feeling wrung out and limp.
“You tried,” Blaine releases him and wipes the tears from his face, “I know you did. I love you.”
Kurt starts to sit up, to ease out of the bed, but Blaine puts a hand on his shoulder and says softly, “Stay.”
The hospital bed is too narrow for both of them, but if Blaine doesn’t care neither does Kurt. His breathing settles, his tears dry, and after maybe half an hour he realises Blaine has fallen asleep.
He looks peaceful. Kurt’s chest feels warmer at the reminder of how long Blaine’s eyelashes are, how he pouts a little in his sleep. But at the same time, the dark circles under his eyes are unfamiliar. Blaine’s jaw is clenched, and his face twitches a little, head turning like he’s listening out for something.
Kurt starts to get up - he really does need to start spreading the news, start informing Vogue that he’s taking all those months of holiday right now, that he doesn’t know when he’ll be back. But almost as soon as he’s shifted his weight Blaine’s eyes are open and he’s sitting up.
“What is it?” he says, and then stops. Looks around like he’s disorientated, and then says in a small voice, “Kurt?”
“Hey,” Kurt reaches out for his hand, “You were asleep, it’s okay, honey.”
“Oh,” Blaine blinks several times and rubs his eyes, “Okay.”
“I was just gonna make some calls,” Kurt says, “If you wanna go to sleep, I could… I could make them outside.”
“No,” Blaine shakes his head, “No, I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Kurt squeezes his hand, “Okay.”
**
Blaine can’t quite kick the feeling that all of this is just a really, really good dream.
He listens to Kurt talk quietly on the phone. His husband looks different - tired, sadder, less vibrant. He’s wearing greys and blacks, even though the Kurt Blaine knew -
No. The Kurt he knows. This is real. This is happening. He is safe.
The Kurt before was all bright colours and patterns, even in winter. This Kurt is paler, dressed in layers of grey.
He no longer wears his ring. Blaine thinks of their apartment, wonders if there’s another body living there now, sleeping in their bed. Wonders why Kurt would refer to them as a we if he found another man.
“I know, Isabelle, I know,” Kurt’s voice is wobbly, “Thank you. I’ll tell him. No, we’re okay, but thank you. Yeah, the notes are on my desk. My office is open. And Pepper gets fed at 7 - I’ve told the super to let you in. Okay. Okay. Bye.”
He hangs up and smiles. “Isabelle says hi.”
“You’re still at Vogue?”
“Going on six years, now,” Kurt nods, “Head of my own department and everything.”
“Wow,” Blaine breathes, “That’s amazing.”
And it is. He’s always known Kurt was destined for greatness.
“I can’t wait to get you home,” Kurt says, “These sheets are awful. I got these Egyptian cotton ones for Christmas, they’re like sleeping on a cloud. Though everything in our apartment is covered in a thin layer of dog fur.”
Blaine listens, this pit in his chest getting deeper. Is there someone else? Is that why you have nice sheets and no ring?
“I have a lot of holiday saved up, so I won’t have to go back to work for a while, and I can do a lot of stuff from home, too. It’ll be nice to have some time off for once, god knows the apartment needs a decent spring clean. Your clothes - they’ll be a little musty, I haven’t done a dry cleaning run in a while. But your button ups might be a little tight on your arm, you can wear mine. Obviously. I still have that hoodie that you love, the ridiculously soft one that you look so good in, and I bought this really nice knit blanket off etsy, it’s this super chunky knit -”
“Kurt,” Blaine says softly, “Do you still have your ring?”
Kurt stops mid sentence, and almost looks hurt. “Do I - yes. Yes, of course, Blaine,” he fumbles at his throat for a second, and then pulls a fine silver chain from inside his shirt. Looped through it is his wedding ring, shining in the fluorescent strip lights.
Something painfully hopefully swells in Blaine’s chest, overwhelming the ache that tells him Kurt doesn’t love him any more.
“I was thinking,” Kurt says, as if the question was just a part of their conversation, “Once we’re back in New York we should head down to the jewellers we got them from, we need to replace yours. I don’t know if they’re still open, but if they’re not we can just commission a new one. We used to be almost the same ring size, didn’t we? I think you were a few up from me -”
“You - you still - want to be married?” Blaine whispers.
Now Kurt looks hurt. “Of course I do. Of course I… wait. Do you - do you not want to? Because that’s okay, that’s totally okay -”
“No,” Blaine feels a lump grow in his throat, he cannot start crying again, “No, I do. I was scared there was someone else.”
He feels ashamed immediately. How could he doubt his husband this way? But Kurt doesn’t look upset at all. Instead, he pulls his chair closer and looks Blaine right in his eyes.
“There’s no one else,” he says, “Never.”
Blaine screws up his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Kurt squeeze his hand, “Don’t ever apologise. I love you so much, Blaine. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Blaine is starting to shake again, “I missed you so much, Kurt.”
“I know,” Kurt’s eyes are shining with tears again, “I know, I missed you too. You’re back now. We’ll go home tomorrow and everything will be okay.”
Blaine doesn’t know how to tell him that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be okay again.
He’s still looking into Kurt’s eyes when there’s a knock on the door and two figures clad in ATF gear enter.
“Mr Hummel-Anderson?” one of the agents ask, and both of them look up. The agents - unfamiliar ones - look at each other, and then one of them clarifies, “Blaine Hummel-Anderson. Sorry.”
Blaine sits up and straightens Kurt’s jacket where it lies over his lap. “Yes?”
“Special Agents Ramirez and Teller. We know this is traumatic, but we need to take a preliminary statement.”
Blaine feels his heart sink. He glances sideways at Kurt, who is looking at the agents with his brow furrowed. “Can’t this wait?”
“I’m sorry, but we need to get your husband’s statement sooner rather than later,” the older one - detective Ramirez? - says, her eyes sad. Blaine swallows and takes a shaky breath. “I don’t really know what I could tell you that’s helpful.”
“Names,” they come to stand at the foot of Blaine’s bed, “Dates, events, anything. We don’t know if it’s useful until we have all the information.”
“Okay,” Blaine says reluctantly.
It takes them a little while to set up, with a voice recorder on the table next to Blaine and two spare seats brought in. Kurt’s thumb strokes gently over his knuckles, and when the agents are out of the room for a moment, he asks if Blaine wants him there in a low voice.
“Stay,” Blaine says, “Please.”
“Of course,” Kurt nods, “I’ll be right here.”
The agents reappear and sit down opposite them. Agent Teller presses start on the recorder, and says calmly “Could you state your name for the record, please?”
“Blaine Devon Hummel-Anderson,” Blaine says, and feels Kurt’s fingers tighten around his.
“Okay. Could you start at the beginning please, Mr Hummel-Anderson?”
“Of today?” Blaine asks, and Agent Ramirez clarifies, “Of your abduction.”
“Of my - but that’s - that’s a long time.”
“As much detail as possible would be great,” Agent Teller says.
Well. Okay.
Blaine starts with the evening that he doesn’t really remember that much of. He knows that Kurt had been sick that day, and so hadn’t been able to walk him back from the bodega they usually met at half a block from the subway station. How he’d spotted one of the kids from the youth centre following him and stopped to ask why she hadn’t been around for a couple of weeks, if she needed help getting somewhere.
After that all he remembers is being bundled backwards into a van, paper bag of groceries and all, and hitting his head hard enough to black out.
“And when you came to, you were in the compound?”
“In the basement, yes,” Blaine says. He can’t bring himself to look around at Kurt.
“Did they tell you where you were?”
Blaine shakes his head.
“Did they tell you anything?”
“That I’d been chosen,” Blaine hears his voice break, “That I was part of their family now.”
“Did they explain who ‘they’ were?”
“A government-aware group who is prepared for the inevitable breakdown of society,” Blaine recites.
In other words, a group of people wearing tin hats blaming everything bad on the internet.
Every time he mentions the basement Kurt’s grip tightens. When he talks softly about the radiator he’d been cuffed to for a week he hears his husband make a pained noise.
“Were they clear about why they had chosen you?”
Blaine has to stop and take a deep breath. “They knew I was good with kids,” he whispers, “I had mentioned how I wanted to start the adoption process when I was at the youth centre. That’s how they found me.”
He hears Kurt gasp softly, and shuts his eyes tight to fend off tears.
**
Kurt’s heart is breaking.
Listening to Blaine talk in his raw, quiet voice about how he’d spent months and months locked in a basement with grubby, starving toddlers while their parents got high and ‘prepared’ for the end of the world upstairs. The pain in Blaine’s voice is clear, when he talks about how he had begged for food and blankets when the basement grew icy cold during the winter.
“One of them told me that when the breakdown of society started the rich would lock themselves away with all of the supplies and the poor would starve, so we had to be prepared,” Blaine stares vacantly into space as he talks, “Sometimes I had to pick which kid would eat that day because they wouldn’t give me enough food or they were too high to remember to open the door.”
He continues in that vein, talks quietly about how he had spent the four years he was gone taking care of kids that should have been in foster care, not stuck in a dirty basement with him. He details the tiny generator that had powered his electric kettle and microwave, all he had to heat up what food they gave them. The tiny, dirty bathroom with no hot water. How eventually they let him out of the locked basement and he tried to run and got shoved down the stairs. How he didn’t eat for a week after that. How he realised there wasn’t a phone, a laptop, a pager in the house. The way Blaine’s voice goes tight when he describes his realisation that he was trapped in a walled off compound with no way to contact the outside world makes tears spring to Kurt’s eyes.
“Walled off?” Teller asks. Blaine gives him a suspicious look. “Yes.”
“And I assume there was a locked gate?”
“And guard duty.”
“You had no way to get past them?”
“They had guns,” Blaine whispers, “I didn’t want to die.”
Kurt has to bite his lip to stop from screaming.
They ask Blaine about the people who lived there. Blaine describes them with the certainty of someone who spent hours examining each face, etching them into his memory. When they ask for names he’s a little uncertain, referring to the people who imprisoned him with the nicknames they gave each other or nicknames he gave them. When asked about the drug charges Blaine looks baffled.
“All I knew was that they smoked. I never - they had another building, but it was always locked. I never got to go in.”
When they ask about the children -
Blaine’s face. It doesn’t light up, not exactly, but the stress fades. He talks about the children with the kind of genuine care that Kurt has always loved. Names, likes, dislikes - he even smiles. Gives approximate dates of arrival and departure, physical descriptions, even identifies a few photos. Kurt feels something in his chest get lighter.
“How many children were there?”
“Once, twelve,” Blaine says, the light in his eyes fading, “But usually only seven or eight.”
“What happened to the ones who left and didn’t come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“How old were they?”
“The oldest is eight,” Blaine wipes his eyes but keep staring at the opposite wall, “The youngest, maybe two. I don’t know.”
“You ever meet their parents?”
“Some of them lived in the house, some didn’t, I don’t - I don’t know.”
“You seem to not know an awful lot about the activities of the cult you spent four years with,” Agent Teller comments.
“Excuse me?” Kurt snaps, “What the fuck are you implying?”
“I’m just saying that it’s a little -”
“Are you saying Blaine agreed with them? That he let them starve those kids and - and sell drugs? That he enjoyed being stuck in a basement and passed his food through a dog flap? Like some kind of animal? Hasn’t he given you enough? Names, faces - now you’re saying he’s some kind of double agent? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Teller, why don’t you go grab us some coffee,” Agent Ramirez says suddenly, having not spoken for a while. Teller glances at her and then stands, leaving silently with a stony face.
Blaine visibly tries to compose himself, wiping his face and sniffing, and Kurt squeezes his hand and murmurs, “It’s okay, honey. I’m here.”
Agent Ramirez runs her hand through her hair, looking tired. Kurt glares at her, mutters, “Your partner’s an asshole, do you know that?”
“You have to understand,” Agent Ramirez sighs, leaning forwards, “From our experience - from what we’ve seen in other cases - after four years with them, they must have trusted you enough to let you out of the basement. To let you in on how they were making their money, how - anything.”
“I just - I was almost always with the kids, they never talked about that stuff in front of the kids. Never. And we were in the middle of nowhere,” Blaine says desperately, “They kept talking about how if anyone tried to leave they’d just die in the woods, I thought I was going to die there anyway, and I - I couldn’t leave the kids, nobody cared about them but me, I couldn’t just leave them to starve.”
“Mr Hummel-Anderson, you’re saying you never tried to escape?”
“Of course I did!” Blaine yells, tears starting to streak down his face, “I thought I was going to die there! Of course I tried! But they threatened - they threatened me, hurt me, and when I tried again - they - they threatened the kids, and then -”
He starts to cry in earnest and Kurt scrambles up onto the bed, wraps his arms around him. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, “It’s okay.”
Blaine’s breathing quickens again, and he curls into himself before mumbling something into his hands.
“What?” Kurt asks, catching his name, “Honey, I’m right here.”
Blaine’s tear-stained face emerges from behind his fingers, and with a shaky breath he confesses “They told me they’d kill you.”
Ramirez sits up. “What?”
“They threatened Kurt,” Blaine sobs, “They told me they’d kill him. Told me they’d tie him down and - a-and - I didn’t even know they knew about K-Kurt I never talked about h-h-him to them and then they told me they knew where he lived, they knew his n-name -”
Blaine’s barely breathing in at all now, just whimpering between hysterical sobs, and Kurt recognises the start of a panic attack. “You need to go,” he says firmly to Agent Ramirez, “Now.”
Blaine’s hyperventilating, trembling in Kurt’s arms, and Kurt pets his hair gently, rocking him. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m okay. We both are. You’re going to be fine. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Blaine cries, “I’m sorry, I should have tried harder, I should have -”
“Wasn’t I just saying that earlier? You survived,” Kurt says, firmly, “You survived, and that’s what matters.”
Silently, Agent Ramirez gathers her things and leaves them in peace, Blaine’s body folded in against Kurt’s, shaking. He recovers faster this time, mumbling apologies under his breath.
“Don’t apologise,” Kurt murmurs, “You’re fine.”
“They’re right,” Blaine wipes his eyes, “I should have tried harder to escape.”
“I doubt either of them have been trapped in a basement with a cult for four years, so I wouldn’t listen too hard to what they say about you.”
Blaine lets out a pained laugh. “I missed you so much, Kurt.”
“I missed you too,” Kurt squeezes him, “But I’m not letting you out of my sight again, ever.”
**
Pam arrives in the middle of the night, dishevelled and wild-eyed. Blaine falls into her arms immediately, and Kurt steps out of the room for a moment to give them privacy. One of the passing nurses offers to show him the way to the visitors room where he can get a cup of coffee, but Kurt declines. There’s no way he’s going anywhere without Blaine in eyesight.
After maybe ten minutes, he gingerly reenters, finds Pam clucking over Blaine’s cut hands from the seat next to his bed. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters, “That fancy patch job on your arm but they can’t even put some Neosporin on this.”
“Mama,” Blaine says, wiping his eyes with a tissue and wincing when Pam pokes at a bruise, “It’s okay. They don’t hurt.”
“Can you believe this, Kurt?” she shakes her head, “I’ll find a doctor as soon as their shifts start, we’re getting you transferred up to New York immediately.”
“If he doesn’t I’ll make sure we have you transferred to a New York hospital,” Kurt takes the spare chair, dragging it close and taking Blaine’s hand when it’s offered. The feeling of Blaine’s hand in his - even though his skin is dry and his fingers thinner than they were before - is still one of the best things in the world. He runs his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles, feels the uneven skin and scabs, and thinks of that fancy hand cream he has on his nightstand back in their apartment.
“Are Burt and Carole on their way?” Pam asks, and Kurt nods. “They said they’d book a plane when we were back in New York.”
The hospital had kindly provided them with a fold out cot, which Pam takes once Blaine falls asleep. “I’m not as young as I was once,” she remarks wryly as they wrestle with the legs, “I think sleeping in one of those chairs might break my back.”
Kurt doesn’t mind taking the chair - it means he can cushion his head on the mattress and listen to Blaine’s breathing. He closes his eyes for a little while, but sleep doesn’t appear to be on its way, so instead he just holds Blaine’s hand and drifts. The nurses come in and out a few times, but they’re so quiet and unobtrusive that he barely notices.
At 5am, he gets a text from his dad telling him that they’re leaving to catch a flight, that they’ll get a hotel room. Kurt tells them he’ll call when they’re on their way back.
The police officer outside the room switches shifts with a very sweet guy called DeShawn at 7am, who brings coffee and donuts which Kurt gratefully accepts. He’s not tired - not yet - but the coffee snaps him out of the weird drifting state he’d been in, and he’s aware enough to be able to ask questions when the doctor appears for rounds at 7:30, waking Pam up too. She disappears to find tea, enquire about when Blaine will get discharged, and bring back some sort of hot breakfast.
Blaine wakes up with a jerk around 8, when Kurt is on his second cup of coffee and his third donut. He seems disorientated, starts getting out of bed before Kurt manages to stop him and snap him back into reality.
“Oh,” Blaine wobbles a little bit before sitting back down on the bed, looking down at his lap, “I thought… the kids, I thought… I had to…”
“No,” Kurt kisses his forehead, runs his thumb over Blaine’s cheekbone. “No, you’re okay. You’re safe.”
Blaine nods, looking sleepy. “Where’s Mom?”
“She went to find a doctor and ask about when we’ll leave, and to find breakfast. She’s trying to kick coffee, apparently.”
Blaine yawns. “I haven’t had coffee in…”
Years, Kurt finishes in his head.
He offers out his mug, heavily doctored with sugar and cream. “Want some?”
Blaine takes a sip and hums. “Mm. That’s good.”
“It’s nasty hospital coffee,” Kurt says, arching an eyebrow, “We need to re-educate you. I got a fancy coffee machine after our old one died, that’s good coffee.”
Blaine smiles. The cut on his lip is now accompanied by swelling, too, and it makes his smile a little lopsided. “I really missed you.”
Kurt smiles back. “I know. I really missed you, too.”
**
Getting discharged from the hospital is infinitely more complicated than it really should be. There’s insurance forms that have to be filled out, contact details given to the local police and the ATF agents, clothes to be found for Blaine, prescriptions to be filled… by the end of it all, Kurt has developed a serious headache and just wants to take a nap.
Apparently they’re important enough to be given a ride back to New York by a pair of agents. Blaine - wearing scrubs that are roughly a size too big and a pair of tennis shoes that Pam ran out and bought twenty minutes before they left - is visibly exhausted, and nearly falls asleep during the wheelchair ride out of the hospital. Kurt shoulders his bag and puts an arm around Blaine’s waist to keep him steady as they wait for the agents to pull up, careful not to jog his arm where it’s strapped to his chest in a sling.
Pam has to drive her rental car back, so she parts ways with them when they get into the SUV and promises to call once she’s back. Kurt gets another text from his dad as they set off, telling him that they’ve arrived, and they’ll be ready whenever he needs them. Kurt feels some of the stress about returning home fading, enough to rest his head against Blaine’s and relax.
The agents are a lot nicer than Teller and Ramirez (and a lot younger) and their easy banter in the front seat helps put Kurt at ease. Blaine curls his legs up onto the seat and nudges Kurt with a small smile.
Kurt doesn’t even have to ask, he just wraps his arm around Blaine’s shoulders and sinks his fingers into his curls.
“Your hair’s longer,” he murmurs, and Blaine hums. “I know. I need a haircut.”
“I’m surprised that it’s not really long.”
Blaine hums. “I shaved my head.”
Kurt’s heart skips a beat. “You - ?”
“Sorry,” Blaine mumbles, “That was weird.”
“No, no,” Kurt presses a dry kiss to his forehead, “It’s okay. You shaved your head?”
“A couple times,” Blaine shrugs, “The kids, their hair… it would get matted, and they wouldn’t give me scissors. My hair was kind of going the same way, and… I don’t know. I didn’t care what I looked like any more, didn’t think I was going anywhere, getting out or anything, so I just… yeah. Shaved it all off after I cut the kids’ hair.”
“Hm,” Kurt says, trying not to show how shocked he is, “Buzzcut Blaine. Sounds kind of cute.”
Blaine snorts. “There was no mirror, so I really doubt that.”
“I have to disagree with that,” Kurt says, “Seeing as you’re cute at all times.”
Blaine smiles, but doesn’t reply.
They don’t talk much for the rest of the drive back. Kurt’s stuck in his own thoughts, unable to stop imagining his husband trapped in some dingy basement. Alone with his depression, convinced nobody was going to find him, that he was going to die there…
Kurt feels tears spring to his eyes and he blinks rapidly until they dissipate. Sighing, he pulls his husband closer and whispers “We’re going to be okay.”
Blaine hums an agreement under his breath, and reaches over to squeeze Kurt’s spare hand, like he knows the statement is as much for Kurt’s benefit as it is for his.
“Mr Hummel-Anderson?”
The agent who isn’t driving - Jones? James? Something like that - turns in her seat and offers them both a kind smile. “We’re nearly there. NYPD have posted a couple unis outside your door, and they’ll be around if you need anything.”
“A - uniform?” Kurt checks, and she nods. “It’s nothing to worry about, just a precaution we’re taking as not all of the members of this group were apprehended.”
Kurt pulls Blaine a little closer. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” she says, “We’re closing in on them, and there’s no way they’ll be able to get into the city with descriptions at all the toll bridges. Like I said, just a precaution. No need to worry.”
“But Blaine said earlier that they knew where we lived,” Kurt says nervously, “They won’t… come for him, will they? Should we get a hotel room?”
“If that would make you feel safer, we can arrange for that, but there’s really no need to worry,” she says, “I’ll ask them to be on the lookout, they’ll be down in the foyer with descriptions of all the members. There’s no way they’ll be getting in.”
Kurt nods, but makes a mental note to double lock the doors tonight.
When they pull up, Kurt feels like there are butterflies flying loops in his stomach. Blaine’s hands are shaking as they get out of the SUV, and Kurt thanks the agents and shoulders his bag, wrapping an arm around Blaine’s waist.
“We’ll take the elevator,” he says softly, helping Blaine up the steps, “Is your arm okay?”
“Fine,” Blaine breathes, looking up at the apartment building as Kurt searches for his keys. “God, this place looks exactly the same.”
Kurt smiles as he unlocks the front door, holding it open for Blaine. “Just wait until you see the inside. The super’s daughter took over when he got put in a care home, she’s totally redone the whole place.”
“Wow,” Blaine looks at the shiny wooden floors, “I almost feel like this is a whole new building.”
“The apartment still looks the same, trust me,” Kurt hits the up button and sighs in relief when the doors open immediately, “You okay?”
“Kurt, I’m fine,” Blaine says, rolling his eyes. The gesture is so familiar it warms Kurt’s heart.
When the elevator doors open on the fourth floor, Kurt feels a lump stick in his throat as Blaine walks down the hall with him. He never gave up hope, sure, but this? This is better than he could ever have imagined.
“Is Pepper there?” Blaine asks, and Kurt thinks he detects a note of nerves in Blaine’s voice.
“Yeah,” Kurt fumbles with his keys, “Let me go in first, she’ll be grouchy because she’s missed breakfast.”
“Does she bark?” Blaine’s voice is definitely nervous now, “Or - or bite?”
“Bite? No! No, Blaine, don’t worry, she’ll probably ignore you until I’ve fed her,” Kurt reaches out and squeezes his hand, “She’s nervous around new people, but she’s not going to bite or bark or anything. You’ll be fine.”
Blaine nods, and Kurt takes a deep breath and opens the door. “Welcome home, honey.”
The meaningful moment is ruined by a grey streak of fur bounding through the door and knocking Kurt right off his feet, Pepper’s paws on his shoulders and her slippery tongue all over his face.
“Oh - god, Pepper - no, girl, off, off off off -”
She leaps off him and circles around his back, then climbs back into his lap and returns to licking him in earnest, and Kurt yelps and tries to shove her off -
Blaine is laughing.
His eyes screw up and he puts a hand on the wall to support himself, giggling hysterically as Pepper’s whole body wiggles with excitement, firmly seated on Kurt’s lap while he wipes his face clean. “You’re a menace,” he tells her, and with a big doggy grin on her face, she bolts back into the apartment with a soft woof.
Blaine is still laughing, and Kurt can’t help but smile too as he gets to his feet. “Not exactly the welcome I was planning, but I guess it could have been worse. C’mon, let’s get you inside and into some real clothes.”
Watching Blaine walk back into the apartment makes Kurt simultaneously happy and sad. Happy because his husband is back, sad because even after he’s tried to keep it the same, four years have changed the apartment. The bowl that holds his keys is the same, but the table it stands on is different, switched with one in the living room. Only Kurt’s jackets hang on the hooks by the door, only his shoes sit in the rack. Now Blaine’s back, he notices all the holes in his life that he’d gotten used to.
Kurt realises he’s just standing in the hallway staring into space, and that Blaine has already walked into the kitchen. He curses quietly, drops his keys in the bowl and heads through to join his husband.
There’s dirty dishes from some meal in the sink, a half-drunk cup of coffee on the table along with the crossword book he’s been working on. Pepper knocks her head against his leg and whines, and Kurt puts the state of the apartment out of his mind and rushes over to the cupboard where he keeps her food.
“So, um,” he clears his throat, “You can - you can take a shower, if you like, or take a nap. All your clothes are still in the dresser and the wardrobe, and my stuff is in the same place as well, so you can wear anything you’d like,” he shakes half a can of wet food out and dumps half a cup of kibble on top, “And there’s food in the fridge, obviously, help yourself to anything.”
He puts Pepper’s bowl down and she nearly bowls him over again in her haste to get to it. When he turns Blaine is standing in the middle of the kitchen in his oversized scrubs, looking a little lost.
“Honey?” Kurt says quietly, “You okay?”
“I never thought I’d be back here,” Blaine whispers, blinking rapidly, “I never thought… I’d be home again.”
“You are,” Kurt crosses the kitchen and cups his face, “You’re home, and we never have to leave this apartment again if you don’t want to.”
Blaine laughs. “I don’t know if that’s really feasible.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Kurt says simply, “Anything you want, I’ll do for you. Anything.”
Blaine smiles, and lifts up on his toes, face tipped up. Kurt hugs him, careful of his arm in its sling, and says, “Shower? I know I’m gross.”
“Oh - sure. That sounds good,” Blaine falls back on his heels, “That sounds really good.”
“You go first,” Kurt kisses his forehead, “I’ll get some clothes ready for you.”
“Okay,” Blaine nods, “Thank you. I love you.”
“Love you more,” Kurt pats his hip lightly, “Shower still works the same way. I think your shower gel is in the cabinet.”
“You still have my shower gel?” Blaine asks, and Kurt shrugs. “I like the smell of it.”
Blaine ducks his head and smiles as he disappears towards the bathroom.
Kurt calls his dad quickly, freshens up Pepper’s bowl of water and piles the dirty dishes up in the sink as they talk. Burt and Carole are eager to get on their way, but they’re yet to check in to their hotel halfway across the city and Kurt’s not anticipating them for at least an hour and a half.
I’ll lay out some clothes for Blaine, he tells himself as he heads into the bedroom. Blaine’s left his tennis shoes on the floor by his side of the bed, and the bathroom door is closed. Kurt opens the dresser drawer where he keeps his old clothes, the ones he takes Pepper to the groomers in and wears when he has to fix a pipe. The soft pink button up that Blaine used to wear on Sundays is right on the top, and he takes it out with a fond smile and puts it on the bed. He digs out an old, comfortable pair of sweatpants, and is just about to start sifting through his wardrobe full of sweaters when there’s a crash and then a louder thump.
Kurt spins on his heel, calling Blaine’s name as he crosses the room and knocks on the door. “Blaine? Honey, are you okay?”
“It’s not locked,” he hears through the door, and wastes no time throwing the door open.
The shower curtain has been pulled halfway off its rail and there is a distinctly Blaine-shaped lump in the middle of it. Kurt tugs the shower curtain off him, his heart beating way too fast, and cups Blaine’s face. “Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”
“I slipped,” Blaine grimaces, “The hot water made me dizzy. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” Kurt wipes some of the soap suds off his face, “Your arm’s okay?”
“Fine,” Blaine smiles, “Seriously. Just banged my hip.”
“Okay,” Kurt nods, “Need help getting up?”
“Thank you,” the shower curtain falls away from Blaine’s lower half, and Kurt averts his eyes. “You want me to rehang the curtain?”
“Okay,” Kurt backs away, feeling nervous about leaving Blaine alone, “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Blaine nods. Kurt nods back, and shuts the door behind him.
He returns to his sweaters, but listens out in case Blaine falls again. He’s laying out the thick grey button up that he bought one very cold winter when he hears Blaine call his name.
“You okay?” he calls back, abandoning the clothes on the bed and pushing the door open.
“Yeah,” Blaine tugs the shower curtain back a little, “Um, I - you don’t have to, but could you… my hair. I can’t wash it one handed, I keep slipping, I just… need a hand.”
“Of course,” Kurt nods, “Um, do you want to rinse off, or - ?”
“We’re husbands, right?” Blaine smiles nervously, “We can take a shower together.”
Kurt blinks, several times. “Right. Right! Of course. Okay. I’ll, um, I’ll just be a minute.”
Blaine pulls the shower curtain closed again, and Kurt heads back into the bedroom, stripping off with the kind of nervous anticipation he doesn’t think he’s felt since their first time. In the shower. With Blaine. Naked. We will both be naked. Not wearing clothes. And wet. And slippery. Oh god.
Taking a deep breath and dropping the chain that holds his wedding ring on his vanity, he wraps a towel around his hips and calls out, “Are you ready?”
“Sure,” Blaine says, and Kurt pulls the curtain open and steps into the tub.
Blaine’s back is to him, and the first thing that Kurt notices is the red, raw wound on his upper left arm. It’s smaller than he thought, but still makes something unpleasant curl in his stomach. He averts his eyes quickly, focusing instead on the pale skin of Blaine’s back. The knobs of his spine poke out more than they used to, as do his hips, and it makes Kurt’s heart ache.
“Hey,” he puts a hand on Blaine’s hip gently, “Pass me the shampoo?”
Blaine’s found the stuff he used before he was taken, the fancy organic stuff that made his hair smell really good. He passes it over his shoulder, and Kurt murmurs a thank you and squeezes some into his hand.
“Can you, um,” he swallows hard, “Can you turn to face me? A little? And probably shut your eyes, too.”
Obediently, Blaine shuffles around to face him with his eyes closed, steadying himself on the tile walls. Kurt very carefully doesn’t look anywhere below his shoulders, rubbing his hands together and then sinking his fingers into Blaine’s curls.
Blaine’s lips curl up into a smile as he gently massages the shampoo into his hair, grimacing as his fingers encounter clumps of grit and dirt. Doggedly, he carries on until Blaine’s head is more bubbles than anything, then leans over his shoulders to rinse his hands. “Okay. Head back?”
Blaine tips his head back, screwing up his eyes as the warm water washes rivulets of shampoo down his face. “Sorry,” Kurt murmurs, working his fingers through Blaine’s hair until the water runs clear. “Okay, back towards me?”
Blaine’s eyes open and he smiles at Kurt. “I missed your magic hands.”
Kurt squeezes more shampoo into his palm busily, refusing to give Blaine the flirty smile that he wants so badly to. “These magic hands are all yours, honey.”
Blaine closes his eyes again and Kurt can’t help but admire his stupidly long eyelashes, the perfect cupid’s bow of his lips. His husband is beautiful, even with a swollen mouth and dark circles under his eyes. But -
Kurt refuses to think about Blaine like that, like he’s an object. He’s been through enough disrespect. Kurt’s not going to add to that.
“Okay,” he says, “Head under the water again?”
Blaine tilts his head back. When all the shampoo is rinsed out, his hair is plastered flat against his head, and he opens his eyes and pouts up at Kurt.
Kurt laughs. “What’s with that face?”
“Magic hands,” Blaine pushes his curls off his face, “I missed them.”
Kurt cups his face and kisses his forehead. “I’ll let you get on with your shower.”
“No, no,” Blaine turns away sharply, switches off the shower, “I’m done, it was just my hair.”
“Okay,” Kurt starts to draw back the curtain awkwardly, “You need help redressing your arm?”
“No,” Blaine’s face isn’t as happy as it was earlier, he almost looks… embarrassed. “No, you can shower now if you want. Thank you.”
He steps out of the tub and Kurt screws up his face, turning the shower on as hot as it goes and putting his face in his hands. Way to make the first time you see your husband naked in four years super awkward, Hummel-Anderson.
He showers quickly, getting rid of the two-days-without-washing funk that seems to cling to him. When he opens the curtain, the bathroom is empty, the door closed.
“Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, towelling off and grabbing his moisturiser, “Idiot, idiot, idiot. Just wear your underwear into the shower next time, idiot.”
He pushes the door to the bedroom open, expecting it to be empty, and instead sees Blaine sitting on the bed, wrapped up in the clothes he left out.
“Hey,” Kurt glances over his shoulder and shuffles towards the dresser, opening the underwear drawer, “I’ll, um, change in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” Blaine looks back down at his hands, “Okay. That’s fine.”
Kurt wants to bang his head against the wall. Blindly, he grabs sweatpants and a henley, and shuts the bathroom door behind him.
“You are the worst,” he tells himself, raking his hair off his forehead, “The worst, Kurt.”
When he opens the door, Blaine is standing right there.
Kurt jumps, not expecting it, and grabs the doorframe for support. “Blaine! Sorry, you scared me, I wasn’t - expecting to see you. Are you okay?”
“Is it me?”
Blaine’s voice is small, scared. Kurt frowns. “Is it - is it you what?”
“You won’t look at me,” Blaine says, “Is it because I’m different? I look different?”
“What?”
“I invited you into the shower with me and you didn’t even - we’re married. What is it?”
Kurt stares at him. “What? Blaine, you just got back, I’m not going to - you have a gunshot wound, I really don’t think shower sex -”
“I don’t mean sex!” Blaine yells, “I just want to go back to normal! I just want to feel like - like this is real, like I’m real, not like I’m this fragile little victim that my husband is too scared to touch! I just want to stop thinking about that fucking basement, is that so much to ask?”
Kurt takes a step back, because this is a side of Blaine he hasn’t seen in a really long time. Chest heaving, eyes wet but unmistakably furious, and he doesn’t know what to do.
He doesn’t know how to comfort his husband.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking, “I’m sorry. I just - I’m sorry. I just want to keep you safe this time. I’m sorry. I’ll give you space.”
Tears burn his eyes and he turns to slide past Blaine, trying his hardest not to show how upset he is. He’s hurrying out of the bedroom when Blaine stops him, a hand on his arm.
“That’s not what I want,” he says, and he’s gone from angry to broken. “That’s not what I want, Kurt, I just - I am so scared. I - I’ve done stuff, I’ve - and I don’t want to think about it, but I can’t not when you look at me like that, and I can’t - I’m so fucking scared. That when you find out what I did. You’ll hate me.”
Kurt takes a shaky breath. “Blaine… nothing you could do could make me hate you. Nothing.”
“I just don’t want to remember,” Blaine sinks down onto the bed and puts his face in his hands, “I just want to go back to how everything was before. I want to be who I was before.”
Kurt approaches him carefully and sits next to him, putting a hesitant hand on his knee. “I wish I could reset the clock,” he says softly, “But I can’t. And no matter what they made you do, I’m not leaving you. I just got you back, Blaine. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
Blaine sniffs and shakes his head. “You don’t know.”
“I don’t care,” Kurt takes his hands, “I’m sorry for treating you like you’re fragile, I’m just scared. I don’t want to end up hurting you, not after you’ve been hurt already.”
Blaine nods. Kurt squeezes his hands and looks right into his eyes. “Blaine. Anything I can do - anything - I will do. If you want to move back to Ohio, we’ll pack up and go today. If you want to get into bed and not come out for a month, I will bring you endless sandwiches. If you want to never talk about this again - I mean, I think it would be good for you to do that, and I think maybe if you wanted to talk to a therapist we could do that, but if you never want to mention it around me again I won’t make you. If you want to get thirty more dogs and be weird dog gentlemen for the rest of our lives, I’m ready to buy a ranch. Okay? I’m here for you. I’m your safety net. Whatever happens. I’m on your side.”
Blaine’s face crumples and he hides his face in his hands again. “I don’t deserve you,” Kurt hears him mumble.
He wraps his arms around Blaine and pulls him in against his chest. “You deserve the world,” he says softly, “And I’ll give it to you if I can. Okay?”
Blaine nods, tugging the sleeves of his sweater over his hands to wipe his eyes. Kurt drops a kiss to the end of his nose and says quietly, “Lunch?”
Blaine lets out a shaky laugh. “Really?”
“You still like my grilled cheeses?”
“Is that a joke?”
Kurt laughs. “C’mon. Let’s get you a grilled cheese and your painkillers, I’m sure you’re due your next dose.”
Blaine grabs his wrist before they get up and asks softly, “Kiss me?”
Kurt freezes. “A-are you sure? Your lip -”
Blaine nods. “Please.”
Kurt rests their foreheads together and smiles. “My pleasure.”
(Their first kiss after four years makes them both cry.)
**
Blaine still likes Kurt’s grilled cheese sandwiches.
He’s devouring his second one-handed after Kurt insisted he put his sling back on, watching Kurt navigate the kitchen with a large four-legged shadow. Pepper seems eternally hopeful that the next grilled cheese will be for her, her long tail whipping back and forth at high speed every time Kurt so much as glances at her.
“Not for puppies,” he says firmly, carrying his own grilled cheese across to the tiny counter that doubles as their breakfast bar, “No, Pepper. Bed. Go on.”
Her tail slows to a stop and she looks almost hurt, slinking past Kurt and around the end of the counter. Glancing over his shoulder, Blaine whispers her name and offers out a bite of his grilled cheese.
Her ears go up and she snuffles eagerly at his hand, taking the treat from him delicately and then trotting over to her bed with a smug look, where she gulps it down in one bite.
“Blaine,” Kurt says, “Did you just feed her?”
Blaine puts on his most innocent expression. “No.”
Kurt sighs. “I’m trying to transfer her to a raw diet and you feed her grilled cheese.”
Blaine pouts. “I’m trying to make her like me.”
“When she doesn’t eat her dinner, I’m blaming you.”
Blaine hides his smile in a bite of sandwich.
A few minutes later the door buzzes, and Kurt leaps up, motioning for Blaine to stay where he is. By the tone of his voice, it’s someone he knows, and when he comes back in he’s smiling.
“Pam’s here,” he says, “And she’s bringing cake.”
Blaine perks up. “Cake?”
Kurt laughs. “Cake. Listen, Dad and Carole are on their way too, but if you’re not feeling up to it -”
Blaine feels a lump lodge in his throat. “Burt and Carole are on their way?”
“They’re probably half an hour away,” Kurt picks up his plate, “But I can tell them to turn around, I don’t want you to get tired.”
Blaine swallows hard. “No, I… I’d like to see them. That’d be great.”
“They won’t be offended if you say no. You have four years of New Directions gossip to catch up on, they’ll understand if you need time before going through that.”
Blaine can’t help but laugh. “I want to see them. I really do.”
“Okay,” Kurt offers out his hand, “Let’s get you settled on the couch, okay? I’ll let Pam in.”
He’s not going to lie, being doted on is nice. Kurt heaps him with cushions, tucks the thick-knit throw around his shoulders and clucks his tongue disapprovingly at Pepper when she tries to get onto the couch beside him. He disappears for a second to let Pam in, and Blaine pats the sofa cushion beside him and makes a clicking noise.
Pepper, in her bed, lifts her head and looks at him.
He clears his throat and pats the cushion again. “C’mon, girl,” he whispers, “C’mon.”
She gets up, stretches leisurely, and pads over, poking her nose into his hand. Blaine sighs and pats the cushion for a third time. “Pepper. C’mon. Uh, up? Up?”
She plants one neat grey paw on the couch cushion, and then his mom’s voice echoes through the apartment and she’s gone in a flash.
“Pepper!” he hears Kurt yell, “Pepper, down, no! Jesus, Pam, I am so sorry, people don’t come into the apartment often. Pepper! Bed!”
Pepper hares back into the living room, runs a loop around the couch and jumps into her bed with such force that it slides a little on the wooden flooring.
Blaine laughs, and then his mom rushes in and wraps him up in a tight hug.
“Hey, baby,” she says warmly, “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Blaine says, and means it. “Kurt helped me wash my hair and made me grilled cheese.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s taking good care of you,” she inspects his face carefully, as if looking for evidence of hunger or sadness or anything, “I stopped off at the bakery, do you still like cheesecake?”
Blaine hasn’t eaten anything nicer than a cheap kid’s Walmart birthday cake in four years, but he doesn’t want to say that, so he just nods.
“I’ll make coffee,” Kurt offers, “Blaine, honey, I still have that tea you like. Do you want some?”
Blaine can’t remember the tea he’s talking about, but he nods again. The feeling of not being right is creeping in again, but he tries to ignore it. Focuses on the wedding band, replaced on Kurt’s fourth finger. His own ring finger feels empty, and he rubs the skin where the band used to lie, missing the feeling of metal more than ever.
His mom settles next to him, already talking a mile a minute. Blaine tucks the blanket tighter around his shoulders and does his best to listen about Cooper’s wife and Devon, the bright-eyed curly-haired angel of the family. She has endless pictures, and Blaine has to admit that his niece (He has a niece. He has a niece.) is absolutely adorable.
“Cooper’s trying to get time off to come up, but he’s in the middle of filming his first big summer blockbuster,” his mom says excitedly, “His wife - Jane, she’s lovely - she’s a film journalist, wrote a scathing review of one of Cooper’s first movies and they’ve never looked back.”
Blaine laughs, partially because the idea of Cooper being in a blockbuster is ridiculous and partially because he’s glad that Cooper’s finally found someone who doesn’t take his shit.
Kurt returns with a tray filled with mugs and slices of cheesecake. The plates they’re on are new, when Blaine takes his he can tell that they’re nicer than the ones they had before.
He’s spent the last four years eating off plastic plates and out of microwaved tupperwares. This feels surreal, sipping expensive tea out of expensive mugs and eating expensive cheesecake off expensive plates with expensive forks. Kurt is perfectly at ease in the armchair, legs crossed and hair falling in a perfect unstyled sweep over his forehead as he talks with Pam. Blaine curls his legs underneath him, grimaces as his bruised shins ache. He puts the tea down. It’s too sweet, the cheesecake too rich, everything is too - much. He wants to go back to bed.
And then the doorbell buzzes again.
“That’s my dad,” Kurt says, leaping up again. He steps over Pepper, nearly trips when she gets up with him, and staggers out to the hallway to buzz them in.
Blaine mumbles an excuse and makes his way into the bathroom, locking the door securely behind him. His hands are shaking as he steps over to the mirror, leans one-handed on the shining white porcelain of the sink, and looks at himself.
He remembers how he used to look in this mirror. Hair neatly styled, no dark circles, without this haunted look to his face. He can see how gaunt he is now, how hollowed out he looks.
He remembers sharing this mirror with Kurt in the early morning, styling his hair while Kurt brushed his teeth. Remembers the way his cheek would tingle when Kurt pressed a minty-fresh kiss to it. The way Kurt’s hand would close, warm and wide, over his hip and squeeze when he murmured a compliment in Blaine’s ear.
Blaine doesn’t feel like that happy married man any more.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel like that again.
Someone knocks on the door, and then Kurt’s muffled voice calls “Honey? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Blaine calls back, “One second.”
He flushes the toilet and washes his hands. Takes a deep breath and opens the door with a smile pasted on his face.
“Hey,” Kurt looks concerned, “You’re not feeling sick?”
“No,” Blaine shakes his head, “Just tired.”
“Okay,” Kurt puts an arm around him, “We’ll cut this visit short, huh? Dad and Carole won’t mind.”
Blaine appreciates the thought, but as soon as he walks into the living room he knows that’s not going to happen.
First Carole hugs him, then Burt. He has to blink away tears when Burt says in a gruff voice, “Good to have you back, kid. We missed you.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles back, and lets Kurt guide him back down onto the couch.
He pretends to sip tea, forces a few more bites of cheesecake down his throat. Burt and Carole clearly haven’t seen Kurt in a while, they spend half of their time asking after him and the other half drawing increasingly monosyllabic answers out of Blaine. Carole asks him a whole list of questions, most of which Kurt answers because Blaine has no idea what antibiotics he’s on.
Eventually the conversation gets too loud and he closes his eyes, trying to shut everyone out. It seems to have the opposite effect, making everything louder and -
“Blaine?”
He opens his eyes again, sees Kurt’s worried face in front of him. “Are you tired?”
Blaine doesn’t know what else to say, so… he nods.
“Take a nap,” Carole advises, “It helps the healing process.”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, “I will.”
“Do you need help?” Kurt starts to get up, but Blaine waves him off. “‘M fine.”
He braces himself on the wall as he walks into the bedroom, pushes the door closed behind him. The bed is cold, and he curls into himself, staring numbly at the opposite wall. The bedroom shows more of Kurt than it does of him; knick knacks and accessories strewn everywhere. All of Blaine that can be seen is four photographs.
He doesn’t recognise the smiling man in them at all.
Blaine hugs his knees to his chest, shivering. The feeling of numbness - of not belonging - only grows, and he grits his teeth and buries his face in the pillow, breathing shakily.
He is exhausted, though, and the bedroom door shuts out most of the noise. As the bed warms up around him, the numbness ebbs and his eyelids grow heavy, and he just. Sleeps.
**
When Kurt shuts the door behind Pam, Burt and Carole that evening, he feels the relief all the way down to his bones.
He loves them all, but the sheer intensity of questioning gives him a headache. Half of them he can’t answer, the other half he doesn’t want to. He knows they mean well, but questions like how do you think Blaine is coping? makes him uncomfortable. It’s like Blaine is here but not, in body but not in mind. He doesn’t want to answer for his husband. He spent four years doing it, and he’s not going to any more if he has to.
Quietly, he gets out a chopping board and sets to making dinner. Something mild, easy on the stomach - Carole says that the antibiotics Blaine is on can make him sick. Miso soup is an old favourite, and he adds plenty of ginger and scallions, hoping the familiar meal will help Blaine settle back in.
With dinner simmering, he heads into the bedroom. Blaine is curled up in a ball, his back to Kurt, but when Kurt steps on one of the creaky floorboards he stirs, rolls over.
“Hey,” Kurt whispers, “You hungry?”
Blaine sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Mm. What are you making?”
“Miso soup,” Kurt moves to sit next to him on the bed, “You feeling okay? Good nap?”
Blaine shrugs. “Sure.”
Kurt frowns. “Blaine?”
There’s a beat, and then Blaine hangs his head. “I - seeing everyone again. It just got too loud. I got stressed.”
Kurt feels like an idiot. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”
“I shouldn’t feel like this,” Blaine mumbles, “I haven’t seen them in years, but all I want to do is - they just want so much from me, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I feel.”
“You don’t have to see them again for a little while if you don’t want to,” Kurt doesn’t reach out and touch him, not wanting to overstep, “I can cancel tomorrow. Whatever you want.”
Blaine looks lost. “I just… I should want them here, right? I should want my mom and Burt and Carole - I should want them. I should need them.”
“Hey,” Kurt says softly, “You just made it through four years of hell. By yourself. There’s no guide book for this. You feel how you feel, and I do what you want. Okay?”
Blaine nods. “Can I not see anyone tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Kurt whispers, “Blaine, I will do anything for you. Remember? I will raise hell for you.”
Blaine shuffles across the bed and leans up against Kurt’s side, sighing. “I don’t know what I feel,” he says again, miserably.
“That’s okay,” Kurt slides an arm around his waist, kisses the top of his head.
“One second I want everything back to normal and the next I don’t want to see anyone for months. What’s wrong with me?”
“You went through hell,” Kurt repeats, “Let yourself breathe. You just need some time.”
“How do you always know what to say?” Blaine’s voice breaks, “It’s not making it any easier to believe this is real.”
Kurt squeezes him tight. “Therapy.”
“You’re still going?”
“Never stopped.”
Blaine clears his throat. “You - you think Dr. Yu would let me make an appointment?”
“I think if we call her tomorrow she’d probably come to us.”
Blaine inhales shakily. “I think I’d like to see her.”
“Okay,” Kurt rests his cheek on Blaine’s head, “You can do that. I’ll set a reminder. Okay?”
Blaine nods. “Can we have that soup now?”
“We can. You wanna eat in bed?”
“No,” Blaine swings his legs out of bed and stands, “Let’s eat together. Like normal.”
“Okay,” Kurt takes his hand and swings them back and forth, “But eating around Pepper is an exercise in patience and vigilance. In our first week together, I turned my back for twenty seconds and she stole a pork chop off my plate.”
Blaine giggles. “Serves you right for turning your back.”
“Oh, that’s harsh,” Kurt says, faking sadness, “I’m feeding your soup to Pepper tonight.”
“Does she even like miso?”
“Let’s find out,” Kurt says, “Might be fun.”
Blaine settles at the counter again, rests his bad arm on the counter in front of him. “Are you putting noodles in it?”
“Mm,” Kurt nods, “Lots of ginger, lots of scallions, a squeeze of lemon. You still like it like that?”
There’s no reply, and he turns. “Blaine?”
“I don’t like that tea any more,” Blaine says.
Kurt blinks. “Oh. Okay. I won’t make it for you again.”
“And the cheesecake. It’s too rich. I can’t eat it.”
Kurt is starting to feel a little out of his depth, and he turns back to the stove. “I’m sorry. I - I mean, I’ll send it back with Pam tomorrow.”
“No, that’s not it,” Blaine sounds ashamed, “I don’t - I ate spaghetti hoops and peanut butter sandwiches, Kurt. I haven’t touched cheesecake or - anything like that. I don’t remember what I like.”
Kurt stops stirring the noodles and turns back. “Hey,” he says, “That’s okay.”
Blaine sighs heavily. “I keep asking you to treat me like normal -”
“And I’ll do that until you tell me not to,” Kurt taps his fingers on the countertop in front of Blaine’s slumped shoulders, “Hey. I may not be a mind reader, but I’ll do my best to be a damn good listener. Honey, I’m just so glad to have you back, I don’t care if you hate everything I have in the fridge. I’ll order every cookbook on Amazon until we find stuff you do like.”
Blaine reaches out and stills Kurt’s tapping fingers with a hesitant smile. “Just promise me, no more spaghetti hoops or peanut butter?”
Wordlessly, Kurt walks to the cupboard and removes the peanut butter. With a smile, he holds it out and then bends down, placing it next to Pepper’s other treats in the cupboard under the sink. “No more. I don’t think I even have spaghetti hoops.”
“Or baked beans,” Blaine requests, “No more of those, either.”
Kurt bows. “Your wish, my dear, is my command.”
He serves Blaine a huge bowl of miso soup and noodles, and offers out both a fork and chopsticks. Blaine takes the fork with a wry glance to his arm in its sling. “I think chopsticks are a little adventurous.”
“You’re probably right,” Kurt grabs a cheap pair from his last chinese takeout and snaps them open, “We’ll work up to it.”
They eat in companionable silence at their tiny kitchen table, with Pepper laying at their feet. Blaine only gets halfway through his bowl before he sits back, eyes half-closed. “I still love your miso soup.”
“Good,” Kurt stirs his chopsticks through what soup he has left, “You done?”
Blaine casts his eyes down. “Sorry, I - I’m not used to eating this much.”
“Don’t apologise,” Kurt smiles, collecting their bowls, “Like I said, we’ll work up to it.”
He puts the leftovers in the fridge, deposits the dirty bowls in the sink and crosses the kitchen to make up Pepper’s dinner. It’s soothing, adding everything together, even if it’s still a little gross.
“What is that?” Blaine asks, wrinkling his nose as he moves his chair back across to the counter, “It smells… weird.”
“I read online that raw food is better for dogs,” Kurt reaches down and ruffles Pepper’s ears, “The shelter said she wasn’t fed too well by the guy that had her, and I needed something fancy to do with my time.”
“What’s in there?” Blaine peers into the bowl, “Doesn’t look like what you fed her this morning.”
“It’s called BARF,” Kurt says, and laughs at Blaine’s revolted expression. “I met a lady at the dog park who feeds her dogs the same thing, she told me where to find everything online. All kinds of meat and oils and stuff. It’s good for her.”
“It’s nasty looking.”
“Yeah,” Kurt shrugs, “But I like to think it makes her healthier.”
“You turned into a real dog dad while I was gone,” Blaine comments, and Kurt shrugs. “Pepper was good for me, after I got her. She gave me a proper schedule again. Plus, she likes ground beef.”
He puts the bowl on the floor and Pepper’s whole body wiggles with excitement as she scarfs it down.
“C’mon,” Kurt washes his hands and gestures to the couch, “You can pick a movie - or you can just go to bed! I don’t mind. Anything you want.”
Blaine glances down nervously and then says softly, “Could you just - tell me what happened?”
“When?”
“Just catch me up on your life.”
“Oh,” Kurt says, “Wow. Okay. I can do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course,” Kurt nods, “Of course. Easy.”
It’s kind of embarrassing how easily the last four years can be summed up. He starts with his promotion at Vogue, the one he’s pretty sure he got because Isabelle felt sorry for him, but he doesn’t say that. Talks about the new office he had, the pay increase that meant he could finally buy that coat he’d been coveting.
He bitches about what was then the new hire and what is now a firmly lodged thorn in his side, Brad Jones. He waxes poetic about Samara and DeRay, his coworkers, who stopped him going crazy with work in the first few months after Blaine’s disappearance. He updates Blaine on the lives of all of the New Directions - at least those that he’s still in contact with. Talks about his dad’s reentry into politics, campaigning for a young congresswoman who stands for equal rights and political reform.
Blaine’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling as Kurt talks. As the evening gets on they move closer, until Blaine’s curled up against Kurt’s side, his head resting on Kurt’s chest.
“What else do you want to know?” Kurt asks, trailing his fingers up and down Blaine’s back, “I feel like I’ve covered everything important.”
Blaine nuzzles his face against Kurt’s shirt. “M’okay.”
Kurt lowers his voice a little and holds Blaine closer. “Do you wanna talk?”
“What?”
“Do you wanna talk?” Kurt repeats, “About anything? I feel like I’ve been talking about myself all day, I just… want you to know that I’m here to listen.”
Blaine says quietly, “I did something bad.”
“I know,” Kurt tucks Blaine’s head under his chin, “I know. But nothing you could say could make me leave you.”
Blaine shakes his head a little. “You don’t know.”
“Then tell me.”
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I could never hate you,” Kurt kisses the top of his head, “Never.”
Blaine takes a shaky breath and says “If I tell you, you have to - just let me talk. Don’t interrupt.”
“Okay,” Kurt nods, “I can do that.”
Blaine turns his face into Kurt’s chest, and starts to talk.
“It was last summer,” he says, “And, uh, a couple of the kids got the flu. The basement was always so cold, and I - I thought that was good. I always like the room to be cold when I’m sick, so I - I didn’t think anything of it.”
Kurt wants to ask how many kids were sick, how many Blaine was even taking care of, but he doesn’t. He just listens.
“Joy, she was - she was the sweetest little girl. She was Filipino, and I - I used to sing this song to her, that my dad knew, it was - the only Tagalog I could remember,” he sniffs and curls in closer, “ I - this is awful, I cared about all of the kids, but she… she was special. She was so sweet. And she had such a sassy streak, just like you, even though she was barely two. I - I think she was adopted, her parents were white. They were rich, spent all their time getting high and talking about how the world was going to shit. But she was such a sweetheart, she - used to give me this huge smile, it was like the sun coming up..”
Blaine takes a shaky breath and then whispers in a pained voice, “I didn’t know she was so sick. She had a fever, but so did some of the other kids, and I - I thought she would get over it. So I just, I put her into bed with the others and I sat up all night with Toby because he was throwing up and then when I went to check on her in the morning she wasn’t moving, she was barely breathing and she wouldn’t wake up and I just started screaming and screaming and -”
Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine, feeling a lump grow in his throat. Blaine’s words are running together as he shakes, tears soaking into Kurt’s shirt.
“I called for help for so long,” Blaine whispers, “And when someone finally came they just took her away. They wouldn’t let me see her, they just - took her away, and she was still in her sleepsuit with the little - the little bears on it. And then the next day -”
He lets out a choked whimper and covers his face, “The next day, I saw them digging a hole in the back of the compound, and I never saw her again.”
Kurt feels a chill settle over him as he realises what Blaine had seen. His husband sobs into his chest, shaking violently, and Kurt pulls him in close and rocks them back and forth, his own tears dripping off his face.
“I let it happen,” Blaine chokes out, “I let them take her and I couldn’t help her -”
Kurt can’t help it, he breaks his silence. “No,” he says fiercely, “No, honey, you couldn’t have known. You did your best.”
“I let her die,” Blaine cries, “I let her die, and I didn’t do anything.”
“No, no,” Kurt whispers, “No, you didn’t. You didn’t, baby. You did your best.”
Blaine cries harder, shaking his head, and Kurt tucks him in close. “Honey, you have to tell the police. This is important.”
“No,” Blaine shakes his head, “No, they’ll - it was my fault, I killed her -”
“You tried to protect her but they are the ones who - who took her away,” Kurt says firmly, “We have to tell the police, Blaine. That’s murder.”
“I don’t wanna leave you again,” Blaine curls his fingers into Kurt’s shirt tight, “I won’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Kurt tugs his sleeve over his hand and gently wipes away Blaine’s tears, easing them upright, “I promise you. Listen, let me call Agents James and Carter and ask them to come over tomorrow. This is - this is bigger than drug charges or kidnapping, Blaine. They need to know.”
Blaine nods silently. Kurt cups his face and thumbs a tear away. “And she deserves a proper burial, right? I know you cared about her. Let’s give her that.”
Blaine nods again, and says softly “Can I call them?”
“Sure,” Kurt digs in his back pocket and hands over his phone, “I’ll go clean up dinner. Her card is tucked into the credit card slot.”
Blaine lets out a tremulous laugh. “I thought you hated those kind of cases. You said they were a recipe for losing your money and your phone simultaneously.”
“The case was too nice to pass up,” Kurt says, secretly ecstatic that Blaine remembers his hatred for phone cases that serve as wallets, “I keep business cards and photos in there, instead.”
Blaine rolls his eyes. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”
Kurt screws up his face and then blows Blaine a kiss. “I’ll give you the room.”
He does the dishes slowly, dries them and puts them away. Pepper seems to realise that she’s not getting her evening stroll, so she follows him around the kitchen with her stuffed toy rabbit in her mouth, squeaking it every few minutes to remind him that it’s there.
“Go put rabbit back in your bed,” he tells her. She squeaks it again.
“Pepper, no. Daddy’s busy.”
“Daddy?” he hears Blaine echo, and nearly drops the glass he’s drying. “Uh -”
“You are such a dog dad,” Blaine puts his phone on the counter, “Agent James updated me on what’s going on.”
“Oh yeah?” Kurt puts the glass down and turns to face him, “Good news?”
“She said they found the rest of the cult,” Blaine says, “But they’re gonna leave the uniforms outside the building for a little while.”
“That’s good,” Kurt says, “And, uh…?”
“She said that, uh. They need to interview me properly, so, um, I have to go down to them tomorrow. Agent James said they’d send a car.”
“They can’t come to us?” Kurt asks, and his husband shakes his head. His hands are visibly trembling, so Kurt crosses the kitchen and hugs him, tucking Blaine’s face into his shoulder. “It’s okay. You did the right thing.”
“I hope so,” Blaine mumbles.
“Tell you what,” Kurt brushes his curls back, “How about I run you a bath to take your mind off things. Do you still like baths?”
“I wish,” Blaine yawns, “The doctor said no baths. My arm can’t be soaked.”
“Ah,” Kurt’s ideas pretty much stop there, “Hm. Well, maybe…”
“Could we watch a movie? Is… Netflix still a thing?”
“Netflix will be a thing until humanity is wiped out,” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, “Where do you wanna watch?”
“Um… would the bed be okay? I’m just really tired.”
“Anything for you.” Kurt points across the room at where his laptop sits on the kitchen table. “My password is your birthday. Go choose something, I’ll make popcorn.”
“Popcorn?” Blaine sounds amused, “Real or microwave?”
Kurt turns his back. “Not answering that.”
“Good thing I love microwave popcorn.”
When Kurt returns with his microwave popcorn, Blaine is scrolling through Netflix one-handed, brows furrowed. “They made a lot of superhero movies.”
“Some might even say too many,” Kurt sits down next to him, “Picked anything?”
Blaine looks more stressed than the act of choosing a movie warrants, so Kurt gently tugs his hand away. “Okay, let’s just watch something easy. Disney?”
Blaine relaxes, looking calmer. “Yes please.”
“Princess and the Frog?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Kurt hands him the bowl of popcorn, knowing full well that it’ll be half gone by the time that he sits back down. Blaine curls into his side as soon as they’re both seated, cushioning his head on Kurt’s shoulder.
Kurt pays more attention to his husband than the movie, noting each soft laugh and hum. Blaine picks at the popcorn, but not enough that Kurt needs his own bowl like he usually does. Halfway through Pepper leaps up onto the foot of the bed and curls up on Kurt’s feet, and he can’t help but smile. For the first time in four years, he feels right. Whole.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs.
Blaine turns his face up and grins, his eyes scrunching up. “Love you too.”
Kurt tucks him in closer to his side. “So glad you’re home.”
Blaine just nuzzles his cheek against Kurt’s shirt and goes back to watching the movie.
By the time Tiana smashes the talisman Blaine’s eyes are drooping closed, and when they turn back into humans his face is smushed up against Kurt’s shoulder, drooling a little and snoring softly. Kurt lets the credits roll, just enjoying the feeling of a warm body snuggled up against him, lifting a hand to gently brush a few curls behind his ear. Blaine wrinkles his nose, mumbles something and throws an arm over Kurt’s stomach.
Kurt smiles, brushes a loose eyelash from his cheek. He can’t seem to stop touching Blaine - he’s had this dream, this exact heartbreaking dream of sleeping next to and talking to and holding his husband so many times before - the reminder that he’s real, he’s okay, cannot come enough.
He glides his thumb over the shell of Blaine’s ear. Runs his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, longer than he’s ever seen them before. Twists one of the slightly frizzy curls around his finger until it springs back even frizzier.
There’s a scar on his forehead that Kurt hadn’t noticed before. It’s hidden under his hair, but only barely. He knows all of Blaine’s scars, so this one is new. He wonders if this came from being pushed down the stairs, or -
No, he tells himself, don’t do that. Don’t list what happened. Don’t.
The bump on the bridge of Blaine’s nose that he’s always loved seems a little more pronounced. Kurt isn’t sure if that’s because he just hasn’t seen it for a long time or if maybe Blaine’s nose was broken again. Gently, he trails his fingers over the bump, and Blaine wrinkles his nose again.
“Sorry,” Kurt whispers, taking Blaine’s hand instead. His fingers are still too skinny, some a little crooked. Kurt remembers the doctor talking about old fractures.
He runs his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles, still bumpy with scabs. “My brave husband,” he says softly.
Blaine is skinny and scarred and has a lot of healing to do, but he’s home. That’s what matters.
“Never gonna let you go,” he pushes Blaine’s curls back with his spare hand and kisses the new scar on his forehead, “Never.”
He’s happy to sit and listen to Blaine’s breathing in the half-light casted by the lamp on his nightstand and his computer screen. In fact, he’d be happy to fall asleep right here, but his phone buzzes quietly, the screen showing Blaine’s meds!!
Kurt is loath to wake Blaine when he seems truly peaceful, but he also doesn’t want his arm to get infected or for him to wake up in the morning in ridiculous amounts of pain.
“Blaine,” he whispers, “Sweetie. Wake up.”
Blaine doesn’t stir at all. Gently, Kurt tugs at his earlobe. “Honey? I’m sorry, you need to wake up for a moment.”
Blaine turns his face away and grumbles, cracking one eye open. “Mmn.”
“Stay awake for me, I’m gonna get your pills,” Kurt slides out of bed and grabs his laptop, depositing it in the kitchen. He double-checks Blaine’s dosages and pours him a glass of water, hurrying back into the bedroom.
Blaine’s asleep again already, and Kurt shakes him awake and presses the pills into his hand. “Here you go, sweetheart. Don’t forget to take off your sling, okay?”
Blaine grunts something, and Kurt kisses the top of his head and strips off his henley and sweatpants, switching them out for his oldest Hummel Tires & Lube shirt and pajama pants.
“Do you wanna change into pajamas?” he asks Blaine softly, and Blaine nods and sits up, bleary-eyed. Kurt sits opposite him, helps him get out of his sling and then his sweatpants and sweater too. He folds them both and places them on the chair in front of his vanity, hanging the sling over the back and then heading into the bathroom. His husband is curled up under the covers with his back to Kurt’s side by the time he’s brushed his teeth and moisturised, so he lifts up the other corner of the comforter and climbs into bed with him.
For the first time in four years.
Careful not to wake Blaine again, he inches across the mattress and pulls him into his arms, tucking his face against the worn pink button up. Blaine yawns and sighs, hums something quietly and snuggles back into Kurt’s chest.
“Love you,” Kurt whispers.
Blaine doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to.
**
Blaine wakes cold.
He lifts his arm to pull at his worn blanket and feels pain burn across his bicep. Blinking his eyes open, it takes a minute to remember where he is.
Home. Safe.
There’s an arm around his waist, someone’s face buried against his shoulder, and a heavy weight on his feet. Blaine rolls over, taking his weight off his arm, and comes face to face with his sleeping husband, partially burritoed in the comforter. Blaine wonders when Kurt got in the habit of stealing the covers. That used to be his thing.
Kurt is dreaming, his lips pulled down into a frown, and he grumbles as Blaine tugs the rest of the comforter over him, dislodging Pepper from her position curled on top of his feet. Still cold, he wriggles down against Kurt’s chest, disappearing almost entirely under the sheets.
The sound of Kurt’s heartbeat is reassuring, and Blaine counts each beat, matching his breathing to Kurt’s. His eyes drift closed, and he lets himself relax. He’s safe. Kurt has him. He’s safe.
Even that reassurance doesn’t help him sleep through the night, though. He wakes intermittently; at unfamiliar noises, the flashing lights of an ambulance passing by, the bed shifting when Pepper moves. When he blinks his eyes open and there’s light shining through the curtains, he gives up.
The apartment is different without Kurt beside him. He puts on his husband’s clothes, unsure if he’s ready to get out his own. He goes back into the main space of the apartment, grimacing as his stomach rumbles. The kitchen seems bigger, the breakfast bar that separates it from the living room seems smaller than he remembers. The chairs look more worn, their little kitchen table shoved up against the wall has more scratches and dents in it. There’s a stain that looks like wine on the corner that wasn’t there before.
Quietly, he steps into the living room, hugs his elbows to his sides. The coffee table has different coasters on it, the overstuffed armchair next to the couch has the old throw draped over the back. The corner on the other side of the couch, the one that used to hold a bookshelf filled with miscellaneous items is now filled with Pepper’s bed and toys, what was once there is now scattered about the apartment in new shelving units bolted to the walls. Blaine turns his head away, back to the kitchen, and feels his stomach grumble.
It’s as if his body remembers his old schedule. He’s opening the cupboard immediately, and the sight of the oatmeal he used to like makes a sad smile come to his face. Quietly, he takes one of the packages and pads quietly across to the stove, filling the (new, new and shiny and does it even work this way?) kettle with water and struggling with the new hob before figuring out how to set it to boil.
He moves to the window by the fire escape and looks down into the alley between their apartment building and the one next door. It hasn’t changed much - overfilled dumpsters, loose trash, and a few rats scuttling about. But that means it’s familiar.
Blaine has missed that alley.
The kettle whistles, and he returns to his breakfast quickly. Pours the oatmeal into a bowl and the hot water on top, stirs it and then returns to the cupboard to find the sugar.
The oatmeal may be in the same place, but the sugar isn’t. He searches fruitlessly for a few more minutes before returning to his plain oatmeal, unable to find the brown sugar he used to eat by the spoonful.
He crosses the room and takes his seat on the windowsill by the fire escape again. His memory of the oatmeal was bland, but now it’s sweeter than he thought. Not too sweet, though. He curls his knees up to his chest and eats it slowly, watching the morning commuters passing by.
He remembers how he’d tried to persuade Kurt to put flowers on their fire escape. It’s so boring, he’d complained, we should decorate. It’s like our own little balcony.
When the apartment is on fire, I’m not losing you over the edge because you tripped on a flowerpot, Kurt had responded. Instead, he had bought a little tray and planted herbs all along the kitchen windowsill. Blaine remembers how happy he’d been returning from work one day to find Kurt hard at work, tending their tiny garden.
The garden is still there - with a small rosemary plant squashed in between the thyme and sage. The basil plant is still going strong, and Blaine remembers how proud he’d been, bringing it back from the dead one winter.
He turns back to the window, enjoying his oatmeal and the rising levels of noise from the city. A driver leans on their horn, someone shouts something out of their window. A pigeon perches on the roof of the opposite apartment building, and Blaine remembers the time he’d tossed seeds out of the window, only to watch them disappear through the metal grating of the fire escape. It brings a smile to his face, the memory of Kurt’s laughter. How he would spread the birdseed on the windowsill instead.
There were birds at the compound, too. That was the nicest thing about that place. They sang constantly, and sometimes Blaine would see their blurry figures hopping about outside the window at the top of the basement. He’ll miss those birds.
He does love New York pigeons, though. Kurt never understood his love for them, and Blaine can’t really explain it either. He just does.
He scrapes his bowl of oatmeal clean and leaves it on the floor.
He really missed watching the sun rise over New York. Even his narrow view of the city is beautiful.
He’s actually feeling ready to doze off when there’s a thump from further into the apartment and Kurt’s voice calls out “Blaine?”
Blaine startles upright, blinking rapidly, but before he can reply Kurt appears in the hallway, looking terrified. “Blaine? Blaine - Jesus, there you are.”
Blaine climbs down off the windowsill, a little worried. “Are you okay?”
Kurt leans up against the wall, running a hand through his bedhead. “I woke up and you were gone,” he says, “I thought - I’ve had dreams like that before. I thought it was all…”
“I’m here,” Blaine gestures for him to come over, “It’s okay.”
Kurt stumbles across the room in that sleepy-uncoordinated way he has, eyes half-closed, and nearly steps in Blaine’s oatmeal bowl before he throws his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and pulls him into a warm, soft hug.
“I’m glad you’re not a dream,” he says into Blaine’s hair. Blaine puts his good arm around Kurt’s back and smiles. “I’m glad too.”
Kurt yawns, steps back and stretches. “Breakfast?”
“I had oatmeal,” Blaine points at the bowl, “But thank you.”
“You still like that stuff?”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, and grins. “Yes. I do.”
“Did you find the sugar?”
“Didn’t need it.”
Kurt smiles sleepily and leans down, and before Blaine can adjust Kurt’s mouth is on his.
Kisses still feel - weird. Maybe that’s what happens when you don’t get kissed for four years, but he kind of forgets what to do. Luckily, Kurt carries the kiss well enough for both of them, parting with a smack and planting a second kiss on Blaine’s cheek. “C’mon. Let me make you some real coffee.”
He fetches Blaine’s sling, too, and while the coffee brews they try and figure out how to put it on again. Blaine dissolves into giggles when Kurt mutters a series of curses under his breath, stupid fucking piece of shit sling, why can’t you be intuitive it’s early and I haven’t had any fucking coffee -
“You curse more now,” he says, and Kurt laughs. “I don’t have you saying things like darn and yikes to stop me. Okay, is that comfortable?”
Blaine nods, and Kurt fakes a relieved sigh. “Thank god, because I have absolutely no memory of helping you put that on yesterday. Do you still like - I mean, how do you want your coffee?”
Kurt sounds nonchalant, but Blaine appreciates his effort, and he shows it by shuffling up beside him and looping his good arm around Kurt’s waist. “Um, how you made it at the hospital. Cream and sugar?”
“That I can do,” Kurt taps his fingers on the two creamers lined up in front of him, “Vanilla or plain?”
“Um,” Blaine has to think for a second, “Vanilla?”
“Oui oui, mon amour.”
Blaine grins. “I love it when you speak French.”
Kurt reels off a sentence in his sleepy-French accent that Blaine doesn’t even try to understand, just lets roll over him, and thinks about how nice it is to talk about Kurt in the present tense again.
“Your coffee, my love,” Kurt offers out the mug and Blaine accepts it gratefully. He sits at the counter and watches Kurt make up his own, humming quietly under his breath.
“Are you feeling up to talking to the agents today?” Kurt asks without looking up. Blaine hides his face behind the coffee, relishing the taste. Add that to the list of things I’ve missed.
“I think so,” he says, “I… I want closure. For Joy.”
Kurt nods. “If you need to leave, we can. We have our very own guard dog.”
Blaine snorts. “And where is said guard dog right now?”
“Oh, uh… I think she’s still on the bed.”
Blaine silently arches his eyebrow and Kurt laughs. “Okay, never mind. Have you taken your meds yet?”
Blaine shakes his head. Kurt grabs the bottles and frowns at him. “They’re painkillers, Blaine, they’re supposed to be taken regularly so you’re not hurting.”
“I’m not hurting,” Blaine says, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he registers the deep, throbbing pain in his left arm.
“Are you sure?”
“Um,” Blaine gives him a wobbly smile, “I think I was just ignoring it.”
“Honey, you don’t have to do that.”
“No, I don’t - I’m just, I’m used to ignoring it.”
He looks away so he doesn’t have to see the heartbroken expression on Kurt’s face. Instead, he feels Kurt squeeze his shoulder and then he says softly, “Tell me if I ever do anything that hurts you, okay? You’ve been through enough.”
Blaine looks up at him, feels his heart skip a beat at the concerned look in Kurt’s eyes. “You never hurt me.”
“I hit you with a sword.”
“That was during combat class, doesn’t count.”
“I nearly broke your nose that one time.”
Blaine frowns. “Which time?”
Kurt laughs. “You don’t remember? We were - uh, sort of making out after we got back from dinner one night, and I went to kiss down to your chest, but then I realised I was going to sneeze and sat up really quickly and headbutted you in the face.”
Blaine starts giggling. “Really?”
“Not my finest hour,” Kurt says dryly, “I have done sexier things.”
“I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”
“It’ll come back to you,” Kurt glances at the clock above the sink, “The car is coming around nine, right? Enough time to shower.”
It’s surreal to Blaine that he can shower as much as he likes now, that he’s not limited by the amount of rainwater in some rudimentary plumbing system. He doesn’t have to use the weird-smelling soap one of the women in the compound made for them. He spends half an hour just standing under the stream of water, enjoying the warmth and pressure. When he gets out, Kurt has laid out clothes for him again. He dresses one-handed and then pads into the kitchen, holding his sling.
“Hey,” Kurt’s hair is styled off his forehead, and he’s wearing a nice sweater and slim fit jeans, “Good shower?”
“Mm,” Blaine holds out his sling with a sheepish smile, and Kurt snorts and does it up expertly this time. “I’m making another cup of coffee, do you want one?”
“I’m okay,” Blaine clears his throat, “Does, um, does Mom know I’m kind of busy today?”
“I called while you were in the shower,” Kurt says reassuringly, “Your schedule is cleared.”
Blaine glances at the clock. It’s ten minutes until nine.
“Hey,” Kurt says softly, “It’s going to be okay. You’re doing the right thing.”
Blaine takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”
Silently, he adds, I hope they see it the same way.
When they arrive, Kurt isn’t allowed into the interview room with him.
His husband presses a kiss to Blaine’s knuckles, whispers “I love you,” and gives him a reassuring smile as Agent James ushers him into a wood-panelled room filled with bookshelves, with a conspicuous mirror taking up half of one wall.
Agent James reintroduces herself, tells Blaine to call her Ellen. She walks him through how the interview will proceed, offers him a drink, and then finally hits start on the recording.
She’s much kinder than Ramirez and Teller were. Talking is easier - not as easy as talking to Kurt, but easier. Blaine doesn’t realise just how much he remembers until she asks. It hurts to remember, though - both psychologically and physically, as the painkillers he’d taken start to wear off.
When the subject of Joy comes up, the question that’s been lodged in his throat for hours spills out.
“Have you found her yet?”
Agent James frowns. “I believe they’re still looking.”
“But - but I gave you the site where -” his throat closes up, “Where her body is.”
Agent James shakes her head and is about to reply when someone raps sharply on the door.
“Let’s take a break,” she says, “I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”
Blaine obliges, but he can’t help but feeling that he’s just delaying the inevitable event that will be his arrest.
**
Mercedes is in New York for exactly thirteen days.
She has three performances, ten interviews, two collaborations, a photoshoot and the end of a music video to shoot. Her agent is going nuts with reschedulings, and her assistant has come down with the flu. So right now, she is checking up on her best friend.
Her best friend, who is not answering the buzzer.
Kurt’s been scatterbrained since Blaine disappeared, sure, but not like this. She’s been busy the last few days, with two interviews and the music video, but so was Kurt with finishing up for the next edition of Vogue. But this afternoon of reconnecting had been planned for months. And this wasn’t like Kurt.
Sighing, she pulls out her phone and calls him. It only rings for a few seconds before he picks up.
“Mercedes, hey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“You tell me. Which one of us has been standing in the cold for five minutes, ringing the buzzer?”
“What?”
“We had plans!” she says, “Remember? You made dinner and I brought drinks?”
“We - fuck. Fuck, ‘Cedes, I am so sorry.”
She chuckles. “You at work? We can get drinks near there instead.”
“No, actually, I’m - hold on. Sweetie, are you okay?”
Mercedes rolls her eyes. Every time she talks to Kurt, he treats his dog more and more like a child. “What happened, Pepper look sad?”
She really isn’t a dog person, and she’s chuckling to herself until the next words are transmitted crystal clear through her phone.
“B, are you okay? Honey?”
She’s never heard Kurt call anyone but Blaine B.
“Kurt,” she says, “Who are you talking to?”
“I - one second, B -”
“Kurt, who are you talking to?”
“Mercedes, I… I don’t know how to say this.”
She covers her mouth. “Don’t tell me -”
“He’s, um. He’s home.”
Mercedes takes a deep breath. “You better not be fucking with me right now, because I will bring the wrath of god down on you.”
There’s a scuffling noise, and then a familiar, sweet voice says “Hey, ‘Cedes.”
Her legs go weak. “Blaine, is that you?”
“It’s me.”
She gives up on standing and descends the stairs to sit on the low wall outside the apartment building. “Oh, honey, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
He laughs. “How are you?”
“How am I? I’m fine! Jesus, boy, where the hell have you been?”
Blaine clears his throat. “It’s a long story.”
“Then it can wait,” she says, blinking rapidly to dissipate her tears, “Are you two at home? Are you ready for visitors?”
“We’re, um, at the police station?”
“Right,” she nods, “Right. I - wow. Thank god you’re home. Thank god.”
Blaine sounds just as relieved as he says “I know. I’m happy too.”
“Listen, I’m - I’m in the city for another eleven days, I -”
“I would really love to see you,” Blaine says, and she tips her head up to the sky, murmurs a silent thank you.
“You get back to your husband,” she says, “Be safe, you hear me? We just got you back.”
“Love you too, ‘Cedes,” he says, “I’ll see you soon.”
He hands up, and Mercedes puts a hand to her chest and takes a moment to compose herself. She texts her driver and puts her sunglasses back on, unwilling to be caught by fans in this moment of vulnerability.
She can’t even imagine how Kurt must feel, how Blaine must feel. They’d been so happy together, and the loss of Blaine - well. Kurt wouldn’t admit it, probably doesn’t even think it’s true, but she knew that it nearly killed him. He hadn’t been himself.
She closes her eyes, and does her best not to cry.
**
Blaine is visibly exhausted. It’s their second break of the day, and he’s emerged from the interview room with red eyes and dishevelled hair. Silently, he reaches out, and Kurt folds him into a hug.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and Blaine shakes his head miserably.
“Do you want to leave? We can go,” Kurt rubs his back gently.
Blaine pulls away, wiping his eyes with his good hand. “I’ll be fine,” he says roughly, “I want to get this done. We’re only stopping so Agent James can take a phone call. Should be done soon.”
“You sound like you need a glass of water,” Kurt cups Blaine’s jaw, “All that talking will wreck your throat.”
Blaine smiles. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Kurt kisses his forehead, “C’mon, I saw a water cooler down the hall.”
Blaine slumps against his side as they fetch water, and Kurt fusses over him as he drinks. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”
Blaine nods, but he looks so tired Kurt wants to take him home anyway. Instead, he just hugs him in close.
Blaine disappears back into the interview room with a wan smile. Kurt returns to his seat, too nervous to read the book in his bag or try and complete the new levels of TwoDots. Instead he just chews at the inside of his cheek, watching Agent Carter in the office space across from him shout something muffled across the room.
Something must have happened. He doesn’t know what, but he’s going to find out.
Just as he stands, Agent Carter reappears and speeds past him, throwing him a tight smile before she pushes open the door to the interview room.
Kurt takes a deep breath. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not panic.
Then, nothing happens.
The people in the office seem unconcerned, getting on with their work. Kurt can’t take it any more - he gets up and starts to pace, biting his nails. There’s an increasingly sour taste in his mouth, and he’s certain that any second someone is going to give Blaine bad news that will utterly destroy him.
He paces for a long time - an hour, maybe? - and then his new shoes rub the beginnings of a blister into his heel, so he sits down and jogs his leg up and down. Then he gets a cramp in his thigh, so he goes back to pacing, gritting his teeth. He’s starting to feel nauseated with anxiety, his heart beating too fast, and he swallows hard. He has no more nails left to bite, so he chews on the side of his thumb instead.
What is going on? Why are both of them in there? God, what is going on, what is going on -
The door opens.
“Blaine!” he rushes forward and then stops dead at the expression on Blaine’s face.
He looks -
Numb.
Agent Carter walks past, but Agent James stops and takes his arm.
“We haven’t yet found a body,” she says, “At this point, it looks like we won’t.”
“What?” Kurt can’t comprehend what she’s saying, “But - but Blaine gave you the location.”
All she says is, “We’ll keep you updated if we need to carry out any further interviews. I’ll send someone to walk you out.”
Blaine’s clearly about to cry.
Gingerly, Kurt sits down next to him. “Sweetheart?”
“I want to go home,” Blaine turns exhausted eyes on him, “Can we please go home?”
“Of course,” Kurt says, “Of course we can.”
An intern escorts them down, tells them nervously that if they wait a while they can be driven back. Kurt politely but firmly tells the intern no, they’ll make their own way home, and half a block down he hails a cab.
Blaine is barely keeping it together on the ride back to the apartment. He holds Kurt’s hand tight, blinking rapidly, and stares out of the window, unseeing. The taxi driver seems aware of the precipice they’re both standing on, and makes no attempt at small talk.
When they arrive home, Kurt ushers Blaine up the stairs, doesn’t even stop to talk to a neighbour. As soon as the front door is open, Blaine disappears into the darkness, and Kurt hears the bedroom door open and shut.
He takes a deep breath and kneels to greet Pepper, who is clearly at full energy capacity and ready to explode. Her toys are strewn across the living room, and she’s left several presents for him. Kurt starts to get angry, but then he remembers that the last time she went outside the apartment was when Isabelle took her out.
“Fuck,” he rubs her head, “I’m sorry, girl. Let me clean this up and we’ll go for a walk.”
He puts on music, in the hopes that it’ll comfort Blaine behind the closed door, and cleans up the mess on the kitchen floor with every spare newspaper he has. When the entire kitchen has been wiped down and spritzed liberally with several antibacterial agents, he does a slow check of the apartment for any other presents and then tosses the whole nasty package down the garbage chute.
After washing his hands (several times, even with rubber gloves on) he knocks hesitantly on the door.
“Blaine?” he calls, “Are you okay?”
There’s silence, and then the door opens.
The bed is made, but there’s a Blaine-shaped wrinkle in the sheets on Kurt’s side. His husband’s eyes are red, his cheeks wet, and he looks… smaller.
“Hey,” Kurt whispers, “Can I do anything?”
Blaine shakes his head. “I feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin,” he whispers, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, “Okay. How can I help?”
“I need - I need - I don’t know. I just - god. I failed her, Kurt. I failed her.”
“No, you didn’t,” Kurt does a swift check of his clothes and feels confident wrapping Blaine up in a hug, “You didn’t fail her, honey, you didn’t. You’re probably the first person who ever tried to look after her.
Blaine locks his arm around Kurt’s back, and Kurt hears him sniffle. “I let her down.”
“Just because they haven’t found her yet doesn’t mean they won’t,” Kurt says, “You have done everything you can.”
Blaine stays in his arms for a few more minutes, and then pulls away, wiping his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I - keep crying all over you.”
“Hey,” Kurt smiles, “I’d take you crying on me over not having you any day.”
Blaine lets out a noise that’s half sob, half laugh. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Kurt feels something nudge the back of his leg and he turns.
Pepper is sitting on the floor, her tail wagging and her big brown eyes fixed on Kurt. At his acknowledgement, she bounces up onto all fours and her tail goes from max speed to a blur.
“Is she okay?” Blaine asks, and Kurt grimaces. “She’s gone two days without a walk, and she kind of used the kitchen as her personal bathroom.”
“Oh my god,” Blaine stares at him, “Really?”
“It’s fine,” Kurt shrugs, “I, um, I’m just going to walk her around the block, I… if you want to stay here -”
“No,” Blaine says quickly, “No, I want to come with you.”
“Are you sure?” Kurt doesn’t want to force him out of the apartment, “You don’t -”
“I want to walk somewhere,” Blaine says firmly, “Please.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, and offers out his hand.
They walk Pepper around the block, Blaine bundled up in a coat that’s a little too big on him and their hands joined. Kurt holds on tighter than he maybe needs to, as if someone might try and snatch him away any second.
There’s a little park nearby, and they do a few loops around it, until Pepper is a little calmer. Kurt’s aware that he might have to contact the dog walker he hired when he was sick to give her some proper exercise tomorrow, but he doesn’t say anything. He’ll call her later, when Blaine can’t hear him. The last thing he wants is for his husband to feel like a burden.
**
The walk helps Blaine settle. His mind stops whirling. They’re on their third loop around the little park, Pepper trotting happily beside him, when Blaine finally feels calm enough to voice what has been sitting in the back of his mind since the moment the agents told him they hadn’t found a human body anywhere on the grounds.
“I’m scared I made her up.”
“Joy?” Kurt asks, and Blaine feels a warmth in his chest that Kurt knows who he’s talking about immediately.
“I had this recurring dream,” he says, “Where I was sleeping in bed with you. And you put your arms around me, and you tell me that you love me, and you kiss my cheek. And then someone crawls onto our bed, and we look up, and it’s Joy. And she says good morning daddies, and I reach out to pick her up, and then -”
He feels tears well up in his eyes and he takes a shaky breath, “And then I always wake up, and I’m alone, you’re not there, and I - every time, every time for a split second I think that the basement is a dream, and I try to wake up to you and Joy in the apartment. And then I realise, but sometimes I - I would still feel your arms around me, and it - god, I don’t know -”
Kurt stops and does exactly what he did in that dream. He puts his arms around Blaine, and kisses his forehead, and says, “I promise you, this is not a dream.”
“What if it is?” Blaine sobs, “What if I dreamed her? What if I dreamed all of it? What if I’m dreaming you?”
“You’re not,” Kurt squeezes him, “Dreams don’t shoot guns or break ribs. Dreams don’t hurt you like you’ve been hurt.”
Blaine turns his face into Kurt’s jacket and cries.
Kurt walks them sideways to a bench and just holds him, talking in a low, reassuring voice. “You’re not dreaming,” he says, “You’re not dreaming. I’m holding you right now, I’m touching you, and you’re not dreaming. Pepper’s drooling all over your knee, and that’s not a dream. We’re gonna go home and order pizza and watch reruns of Golden Girls, and it won’t be a dream. I promise. None of this is a dream. Take my hand, okay? Do you feel me squeezing? That’s real, Blaine. All of this is real.”
Blaine feels Kurt squeeze his hand, tight enough for it to hurt a little. He squeezes back, and Kurt starts to hum under his breath, and then sing.
“Never knew I could feel like this,” he rocks Blaine a little, “Like I’ve never seen the sky before…”
Blaine can’t help it, he lets out a painful, audible sob. Kurt just holds him tighter, and keeps singing. “Want to vanish inside your kiss… every day I’m loving you more and more.”
It feels like he’s done nothing but cry since he got back, but he just can’t help it. Kurt rocks them, and sings, and by the end of Come What May Blaine’s breathing a little easier.
“Hey,” Kurt says softly, leaning back and wiping his face gently, “Let’s go home, huh? Let’s go home.”
“Okay,” Blaine tries to compose himself, but can’t quite manage it. “I’m s-sorry -”
“Hey,” Kurt reaches for his jacket and zips it up, then tugs his hood up so his tearstained face is mostly hidden from view, “New Yorkers aren’t gonna judge you. We’ll just say that Pepper farted real bad.”
A laugh explodes out of Blaine and he huddles closer. Kurt puts his arm around his waist and pulls him in. “C’mon. We’ll get a proper New York pie, huh? Like real New Yawkahs.”
His husband’s silly accent makes Blaine laugh again, and he nods. “Can we get pepperoni?”
“Mm, would I get anything else? Just don’t feed Pepper any, I made that mistake early on in our partnership.”
“Was it bad?”
“The worst.”
They walk home, not in silence this time. Kurt talks - about how the sweet old lady at their favourite Chinese place who always asks if he’s home yet. Blaine asks if she still tells Kurt he’s too skinny. Kurt laughs so loudly a passersby glances at him, and asks “How did you know?”
Blaine says quietly, “Because you are.”
Kurt pulls him closer and doesn’t reply.
When they get in, Pepper dances around Kurt’s feet until she’s fed. Kurt helps Blaine out of his coat, and tells him he looks like a handsomer Napoleon.
“Napoleon had two arms,” Blaine says, “That he had one arm is a common misconception.”
“I mean that you only had one arm in your coat, and you looked very debonair, but thank you for correcting my historical knowledge,” Kurt kisses his cheek, “You still want pepperoni on your pizza?”
“Always,” Blaine says.
The pizza is huge. Blaine forgot just how big they are in New York. They sit on the couch, fending off Pepper’s inquisitive nose, and Kurt finally starts to ask him about the basement.
“So,” he says, clearly trying to be casual, “Did you, uh, have a shower down there?”
Blaine holds up one finger and finishes his mouthful of pizza. “One,” he says, “And it didn’t have hot water.”
“Hm,” Kurt says, reaching over him to grab his glass of soda, “Because I was thinking - and stop me if you don’t want to - but I was thinking that we could take a bath tonight.”
“But - my arm,” Blaine frowns, “I’m not allowed to soak it.”
“I have a workaround,” Kurt says, “A very shallow bath and lots of waterproof band-aids.”
Blaine blinks. “Really?”
“Well,” Kurt looks down at his hands, and appears to lose steam, “I - I mean, I thought, if you wanted to take a bath we could figure something out.”
“I do,” Blaine hasn’t taken a bath in four long years, “I do want to. If you do.”
Kurt smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out. “I missed the baths we used to take.”
“When we drank wine and complained about our crappy weeks?” Blaine asks. Kurt giggles. “Exactly.”
They finish the pizza with some crappy reality TV show playing on Netflix. It makes Kurt laugh, even if Blaine doesn’t get a lot of the references. But he figures Kurt can catch him up.
Blaine insists on clearing away their dinner, even though all it involves is folding up the pizza box and throwing away the disposable napkins they wiped their greasy fingers on. Kurt runs the bath, and before too long he’s joining Blaine in the kitchen again.
“I have an idea,” he says, rummaging through a kitchen drawer, “And that idea involves saran wrap.”
Blaine stares at him. “What?”
“I thought if we wrapped it around your arm it’d keep it waterproof enough to bathe,” Kurt grumbles something and then emerges triumphantly, “Wanna try it?”
Blaine grins. “I love you.”
“I will take that as a yes,” Kurt leans in and pecks him on the cheek, “Join me when you’re ready.”
Ready to take a bath with my husband.
Yes, Blaine thinks decisively, I am.
When he opens the bathroom door, Kurt is already down to his underwear, standing next to the bath which is cloudy with some sort of nice-smelling liquid. Blaine had thought of Kurt every day since he was taken, but some parts he’d forgotten. Exactly how pert Kurt’s ass was. How long his legs were, how broad his shoulders - are.
He doesn’t have to think in the past tense any more.
“Hey,” Kurt turns, his hair already falling over his forehead as the steam loosens the hold of his hairspray, “Need help getting out of your sling?”
“Please,” Blaine mumbles, unable to stop looking at Kurt. The chestnut hair that grows sparsely on his chest, his happy trail - god, it has been too long.
“Eyes are up here, honey,” Kurt says playfully as he undoes Blaine’s sling, “I’m not a piece of meat.”
“Sorry,” Blaine mumbles, averting his eyes quickly, “Didn’t mean to.”
“What? No, Blaine, baby, I’m joking. Stare at me all you like,” Kurt grabs his chin and turns his head back towards him, “Seriously. I don’t mind. I was just messing around.”
Blaine rolls his eyes, and Kurt laughs.
Getting undressed is daunting, though. Blaine’s painfully aware that he doesn’t have the physique that he did before. He’s much thinner now, his hips and ribs are almost visible in a way he’s never been before. He lost almost all his muscle mass, too.
He’s no longer the man Kurt fell in love with. Not physically anyway.
But Kurt doesn’t look at him with disgust. Doesn’t even look surprised. He just smiles his sweet, loving smile, and says, “Ready to be saran wrapped to all hell?”
He’s gentle with Blaine’s arm, asking several times if he’s being too rough. Blaine just smiles, and shakes his head.
And then he has to take off his underwear.
Kurt - wonderful, lovely Kurt - goes first, and gets into the bath immediately. He smiles and beckons. “You can lie on me, keep your arm out of the water, okay?”
“Okay.” Blaine takes a deep breath, pushes his (Kurt’s) underwear off, and climbs into the bath.
He settles back against Kurt’s chest and sighs happily. The hot water is like a balm to his sore muscles, and he doesn’t realise just how tense he’s been until Kurt’s arms are around him and he’s guiding Blaine’s head back against his shoulder, making sure his bad arm is out of the water and braced on the edge of the tub.
Kurt’s knees hug his hips. “Is the water warm enough?”
“Mm,” Blaine smiles, “Perfect.”
He’s floating in nice, lavender-scented water. His husband’s arms are around him, and he’s warm, and he feels safe. It’s perfect.
Kurt takes the hand that’s lying across his stomach and slowly starts to massage the palm. “Carole insisted on sending me to a spa one winter,” he says conversationally, “And I had this incredible hand massage. I’d been sketching and making notes nonstop for the latest issue, and I would have turned it down but I’d had this persistent cramp at the base of my thumb for weeks. It was so good that I took a course so I could give them to myself - and to you, of course, when you came home.”
“Mm,” Blaine hums. His eyes are closing, and he’s so comfortable and warm he might fall asleep.
“Apparently we actually carry a lot of tension in our hands. Probably not as much as in our shoulders, but still. I remember you used to get such tense shoulders, do you still?”
“Mm-hm.” Blaine doesn’t even open his eyes.
“I’ll have to do something about that later,” Kurt hums, “I’ll buy some massage oil online or something. Amazon is so good, these days, even if Carole gives me shit every time I mention it. She’s been reading a lot of books on tax evasion lately. I swear she questions me about my salary more than the government does.”
Blaine laughs. Kurt keeps massaging his hand. “You know, some crazy stuff has happened while you were gone. Donald Trump committed tax fraud and went to prison. JK Rowling released another Harry Potter book, and it’s actually pretty good. Beyonce’s album - god. We’ll listen to it tomorrow, it will change your life. Uh, I discovered avocado on pizza. And pepperoni pull-apart bread, thanks to Tina’s obsession with online recipes.”
“Sounds crazy,” Blaine says sleepily. Kurt snorts. “You should have seen the time we both tried to make zoodles. We just ate zucchini mush because we were too proud to admit we fucked up. It was well seasoned, though, thanks to our little herb garden. I’ve been taking care of it. Planning on adding some oregano next, or maybe mint for tea.”
He’s not really massaging Blaine’s hand any more, just holding it, but Blaine doesn’t mind. Kurt’s thumb is sweeping slowly over his knuckles, their joined hands resting on Blaine’s chest.
“It’s your birthday soon,” Kurt says, “You’re gonna be 28.”
“I am?” Blaine blinks his eyes open, “It’s that close to my birthday?”
“Yeah,” Kurt hums, “I’ll cook something nice.”
Blaine shifts a little in the water, moving back against Kurt. He feels his husband sit up a little, and then -
Oh.
Well.
That’s Kurt’s dick pressed up against his back.
And it’s definitely paying attention.
“Um,” Blaine says quietly.
“Hm?” Kurt says, and then sits up very quickly, sending water splashing over the edge of the bath. “Fuck. Fuck. Sorry, Blaine, I didn’t even - sorry. Um. I’ll get out.
Blaine is jogged forwards as Kurt scrambles out of the tub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “Jesus, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just - i-it’s been a while, you know, I guess I just - got wrapped up in memories. Or something. Listen, I’ll let you finish off. Shit. I mean, I’ll let you finish your bath. I’ll be in the kitchen. Or something.”
“Kurt,” Blaine reaches out and catches the edge of his towel before he manages to track water all through the apartment, “Kurt, it’s fine. Really. Get back in.”
“I didn’t mean to get - that. I really didn’t. I’ve just…” Kurt’s shoulders slump and he looks defeated, “I just really missed you.”
“Kurt,” Blaine beckons. “Get back in. I’m not done lying on you, boner or no boner.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them. Too assertive, too vulgar, shut up shut up -
But Kurt laughs. He laughs and runs a damp hand through his hair and drops the towel. Blaine’s mouth goes a little dry, and he struggles to pull his eyes away as Kurt gets back in behind him.
“That was almost like the Blaine before,” Kurt murmurs, pulling Blaine back against his chest, “Very saucy.”
Blaine tilts his head back on Kurt’s shoulder. “The Blaine before?”
“You know,” Kurt holds him a little tighter, “Before we lost you for a little while. I don’t want to say my Blaine, because you are my Blaine. But we’ve both changed, so.”
“We have,” Blaine echoes, “Are you different to Kurt before?”
“Kurt before cried a lot less,” Kurt says with a note of self-deprecating humour, “And Kurt before would never have allowed a pet into the apartment. Kurt before also took his husband for granted.”
“You never took me for granted,” Blaine says sleepily, “Don’t lie.”
“Well,” Kurt says, “I think we’ll agree to disagree.”
Blaine sits up and manages to turn to face Kurt in the confined space of the tub. “Kurt. You never took me for granted.”
Kurt shrugs, but Blaine is determined to argue his point. “You told me every day how much you loved me. How important I was to you. Never a day went by that I didn’t feel valued and loved and cared for.”
Kurt’s bottom lip wobbles and he smiles weakly. “God, I missed you so much, do you know that?”
“I do,” Blaine says, “I do. I missed you more than I can say.”
Kurt sniffs and shakes his head. “Is it weird if I say I really want to lie in bed and cuddle right now?”
“No,” Blaine says, “Because I want to do the exact same thing.”
They get out of the bath and dry off. The self consciousness that had possessed Blaine earlier barely crosses his mind, maybe because he’s too tired. Kurt gives him a fresh pair of underwear and one of his own pairs of pajama pants, and then offers to change the dressing on his arm.
He’s gentle, and it barely hurts at all. Kurt mutters something about visiting the doctors. “I’m not a professional, but this seems like it’s healing well.”
“It doesn’t hurt as much,” Blaine says truthfully.
“Good,” Kurt nods, “Okay. Pajama shirt or button up?”
Blaine tilts his head. “Are those the pajamas you got me that have my initials monogrammed on the pocket.”
“Perhaps.”
He smiles. “Pajama shirt, please.”
Kurt helps him button it up. “I remember your face when you unwrapped these,” he says, grinning, “You laughed so hard.”
“But I wore them, didn’t I?” Blaine says, “They made me feel royal.”
“King Blaine Hummel-Anderson,” Kurt says, and then jumps up, “I think I have my monogrammed ones somewhere.”
He does. They make quite a pair.
**
Blaine slowly starts to adjust to being free.
His dad arrives and immediately begins throwing money around to compensate for his visible grief. He never says it, but Blaine knows he’d given up. He’s okay with it. His father compartmentalizes. Blaine gets it from him.
Blaine gets a new phone, with only five contacts in it (Kurt, Mom, Dad, Burt, Carole.) Burt and Carole go home after a week, aware that there’s nothing for them to do, but they both call often to make sure Blaine knows he’s in their thoughts. His dad sticks around until business calls him away, but he insists on writing Blaine a check for some ridiculous amount.
(Blaine hands the check to Kurt and refuses to look at it again.)
Somehow the news gets broken that he’s alive. Kurt’s phone blows up with calls and texts for about four days straight. Reporters camp outside the apartment building for a day or so. Tina turns up at their front door, in tears and bearing a large bag of chocolate with her wife hovering awkwardly behind her, and she and Blaine sit on the floor and cry at each other for about twenty minutes while Kurt and Xiu make tea.
Tina is such a comforting presence. She has endless pieces of gossip about the New Directions. Xiu, her wife, introduces herself with a bright smile, and Blaine can tell that she and Tina are soulmates. They bounce ideas and sentences off each other, and make the other laugh constantly. Seeing Tina so happy when before she’d been stuck in a steadily unravelling relationship with Artie almost brings tears to Blaine’s eyes.
Mercedes visits the day she’s supposed to leave New York for a quick lunch. Kurt makes soup, and she plays a demo of one of her new songs. It’s raw and painful but ultimately hopeful, and before she leaves she hands Blaine a copy on a USB stick and squeezes his hand. “Keep on going, sweetie,” she says, “I’m praying for you.”
The gesture leaves Blaine teary-eyed.
His mom sticks around. She cooks and cleans, brings groceries, and walks Pepper. Kurt is in a constant state of anxiety, always trying to take things off her hands, but she insists. Blaine loves her, but the feeling of being stifled is overpowering. He wants to ask her to go home, but…
His brain still can’t settle on whether he wants to be treated like normal or like he spent four years in a basement, half-starved and taking care of kids who should have been with real, caring parents.
And he still can’t stop thinking about Joy.
Kurt is a rock. Gentle and sweet and the perfect husband. He basically refuses to leave Blaine’s side, and Blaine is thankful for that. He acts as a buffer, fielding questions and inquiries from his mom, from Tina, from Mercedes - anyone. Blaine feels truly, properly safe in his presence.
Late one night, curled up in his husband’s arms, he voices this.
Kurt tears up and kisses Blaine firmly. “I love you so much,” he says, voice cracking, “I’m so glad I can do that for you.”
“You’re like one of those big hamster balls,” Blaine says, “Nothing bad gets near me.”
Kurt laughs, and holds him tighter.
Even with Kurt’s magical zorb ball powers, Blaine gets nightmares.
Sometimes every night, or multiple times a night. He relives the worst days in that basement. Dreams that he’s been abducted again. Dreams that they take Kurt, or hurt him, or even kill him. Dreams he has to bury Joy with his own hands.
His sleeping pattern is pretty much fucked, but so is Kurt’s. Some nights they stay up until the small hours, some nights they’re asleep by nine. Some mornings Blaine sleeps until midday, and some mornings he wakes at five and can’t go back to sleep. They both take a lot of naps. Blaine recalibrates his tastebuds with midnight snacks and a lot of takeout. He slowly (slowly) starts to figure out who he is when he’s not in that basement. Makes appointments with a therapist that his old one recommends now that she’s moved out of state.
The physical signs of his ordeal start to fade. He gains weight. His arm heals enough for him to stop using the sling. Kurt stops getting that heartbroken look on his face every time he sees Blaine without a shirt.
He feels like he has all the ingredients to start healing properly, but it’s just not happening.
Maybe, he thinks in the middle of the night when Kurt isn’t there to chase the dark thoughts away, maybe I’m just never going to heal.
**
Blaine’s birthday starts with a song.
He wakes slowly, to his husband kissing across his shoulder.
“Happy birthday to you…”
Kiss.
“Happy birthday to you…”
Kiss, kiss.
“Happy birthday, dear husband…”
Kurt’s lips brush the shell of his ear, and Blaine shivers pleasantly.
“Happy birthday to you,” Kurt nuzzles Blaine’s cheek, “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Mm,” Blaine smiles, rolling over, “‘time is it?”
“Time for you to wake up,” Kurt grins, “I can’t hold Pepper off your breakfast much longer.”
Blaine yawns and sits up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. At the end of the bed, a plate holds a simple cupcake, adorned with a candle.
“Happy birthday, Blaine,” Kurt says, “I love you.”
“Kurt, you didn’t have to bake this,” Blaine can’t get rid of the smile on his face as Kurt hands him the plate.
“Of course I did,” Kurt says, “You’re just lucky I didn’t make an entire cake. Or a cupcake for each birthday.”
Blaine laughs as he blows out the candle, and insists on sharing the cupcake with Kurt. It’s still warm, and Blaine nearly drops it when Pepper throws herself onto the bed and makes a valiant effort to snatch it from his hand.
Kurt cooks pancakes for breakfast. Blaine’s still living in his husband’s clothes, and he sits at the counter wearing the sweater with unzippable sleeves that they both love so much. He’s finally recovering his appetite, and almost manages to match Kurt pancake-for-pancake.
He’s drying while Kurt washes the dishes when the buzzer goes.
“I’ll get it,” Kurt says quickly. Pepper follows him, tail wagging, and Blaine takes over at the sink, washing the plates carefully.
Kurt’s voice carries faintly through the hallway, and he sounds startled. Blaine stops, dries his hands, and goes to join him.
“Kurt?” he asks, “Who is it?”
“It’s Agent James,” Kurt says, turning to face him, “I just buzzed her in. She wants to speak to you.”
Blaine takes a step back, confused. “Did… she say what it was about?”
Kurt shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
Blaine goes from happy and calm to extremely nervous in less than thirty seconds.
He goes and sits in the living room, twisting his hands together. Kurt lets Agent James in, and Blaine hears her turning down offers of coffee or tea. He bolts to his feet as she enters, and manages a smile.
“Good morning, Agent James.” His voice cracks and his smile fractures.
“Sorry to intrude on your birthday,” she says, pulling a manila folder from her briefcase, “But we recently came across some information that I thought you should know.”
She sits, and both Blaine and Kurt follow her lead. Kurt’s fingers intertwine with Blaine’s, and he feels a little of the panic ebb.
Agent James lays the folder on the coffee table, and opens it. “Do you recognise this child?”
Blaine pulls the folder closer and studies the photos. Hope blooms in his chest, but he refuses to let it grow as he studies the little girl’s smiling face. She must be two, maybe three, with a happy grin and bright eyes.
“I - she looks a lot like Joy,” he glances up, “Did you find her sibling? Was - was she not adopted after all?”
He flips the page, and his heart skips a beat.
The photos are of Joy. Dressed in her little pink sleepsuit with the bears on it. She’s in a hospital bed, her tiny body painfully small in the wide expanse of linen, and Blaine feels tears spring to his eyes.
And then his brain makes a sudden connection.
He flips back to the first page. Looks closer.
“Is that - tell me that’s not -”
“Joy is alive,” Agent James says gently, “She was left at a police station maybe fifty miles out from Hudson.”
“Oh my god,” Blaine puts his hand to his mouth and shuts his eyes tight, “Oh my god.”
“She contracted bacterial meningitis,” Agent James continues, “It was touch and go for a while, but she made a full recovery. Currently she’s living with a foster family in Brooklyn.”
It’s like a weight lifts off his shoulders. The ghost that he had been carrying on his back vaporizes. Joy is alive. She’s alive.
“C-can I go and see her?” he asks, hiccupping through his tears, “Is that allowed?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Agent James hesitates and then reaches out and squeezes Blaine’s hand, “I thought this was important for you to know.”
“Can I keep the picture?” Blaine asks, staring down at Joy’s smiling face. Agent James picks up the folder and slides the photo over, with a wink. “You didn’t get this from me.”
“Thank you,” Blaine clutches the photo to his chest, “Thank you so much.”
He can’t stop crying, and he sort of folds over in his seat and covers his face with one hand, pressing the photo against his heart. His mind is spinning, his whole world has lurched.
Joy is alive.
**
Kurt shows Agent James out. He might be a little pushy about it, but his husband is currently crying his heart out in the living room and he doesn’t particularly want a law enforcement officer intruding into this vulnerable moment.
She promises to call with information on whether Blaine can visit Joy, shakes Kurt’s hand and shuts the door behind her. Kurt takes a breath and then hurries through, back to Blaine.
His husband has both arms locked around Pepper and is muffling his sobs into her neck as she licks nervously at his ear. Hesitantly, Kurt kneels in front of Blaine and touches his knee gently.
“Honey?” he asks, and then Blaine releases Pepper and throws his arms around Kurt instead, sending them toppling backwards onto the hard wooden floors.
“She’s okay,” he cries, face smashed into Kurt’s shoulder, “She’s okay, she’s okay Kurt I thought I let her die but she’s okay -”
“She’s okay,” Kurt repeats, “She is. She’s fine, sweetie.”
They sit on the floor for a pretty long time, mumbling back and forth to each other, until Blaine finally sits back and wipes his eyes. “I gotta stop crying on you.”
“Thought that was what husbands were for,” Kurt smiles, “Absorbing catharsis.”
Blaine snorts. “This is the weirdest birthday.”
“A good one though, right?” Kurt asks nervously, and Blaine nods, wiping his eyes again. “Oh man. I think I cried myself out. No more crying for a year.”
“You’re gonna struggle with that,” Kurt teases, “You used to cry at sad commercials with puppies in them.”
“Oh, like you didn’t?”
“You got me there,” Kurt helps him up, “C’mon. Let’s sit at the counter.”
Blaine brings the photo with him and stares at it as Kurt finishes the dishes. It’s been folded, and the crease runs right through the smiling girl’s neck. Blaine folds it shut and then opens it, folds it and opens it.
“Hey,” Kurt says, gently removing the photo from Blaine’s busy fingers before it tears in half, “Careful.”
“What are you doing?” Blaine sits up as Kurt crosses the room and takes down one of the framed photos from the shelving unit.
“Framing it,” Kurt says, “Tell me about her.”
“Who?”
“Joy. Tell me about her.”
“Oh,” Blaine sinks back into his seat, “Well. Uh, she didn’t cry much.”
“That’s nice.”
“The quiet ones are the ones you have to watch out for,” Blaine says, “Most of the kids were old enough to take care of themselves, but Joy was such a handful.”
“How long was she there with you?”
“Probably about a year. She grew like a weed,” Blaine smiles, “She had the hugest appetite. She reminded - reminds - me of you.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one, you both eat like you’re being starved. She used to give me this look when I did something she didn’t like. It was just like the one you used to give me when we argued.”
“Oh,” Kurt grimaces, “I hope she had more positive traits than that.”
“It wasn’t just that. Her laugh - I mean, it wasn’t like yours because nobody has a laugh like yours, but it made me feel the same way. She used to start giggling at the silliest things. You know that stupid face I used to make whenever I didn’t like something?”
“Your sour lemon face,” Kurt says, making the face back at him. Blaine swats at him. “She always made it back at me, just like you do.”
“A girl after my own heart,” Kurt says with a grin.
Blaine’s eyes turn wistful. “I know I shouldn’t have favoured her over the other kids, but I did. Maybe it’s because I knew her since she was a baby, but I just - you know. If we ever have kids, I’d like to have a kid like her.”
Kurt looks at Blaine’s happy face and thinks, yeah, me too.
Pam arrives half an hour later, a huge red velvet cake with the words Happy 28th Birthday Blaine! spelled across it in rainbow icing and a bag full of party supplies under her arm. Kurt covers the cake in candles, and gets a photo of Blaine just before he blows them out. With a smile, he sets the photo as his background - Blaine, with a paper crown balanced at a rakish angle, grinning behind the huge cake.
“Make a wish,” they chorus, and Blaine shuts his eyes as he cuts the first slice. Kurt sees his lips move, and thinks he sees the words Joy and home.
The cake is far too big for only three people, but between them they manage to eat about a quarter of it. Blaine’s appetite has recovered, but he still stops after one slice, content to let Pam and Kurt devour the rest.
“So,” Kurt asks, licking the last of the cream cheese icing off his fingers, “You still like red velvet cake?”
Blaine grins. “I can tell you do.”
Kurt wrinkles his nose and swipes the icing off Blaine’s plate, too.
Thanks to Amazon Prime, Kurt had been able to order a few things for Blaine in time for his birthday, with contributions from the rest of the family and some friends. The first thing is a new laptop, because Blaine’s was already old by the time he was taken, and now it’s positively archaic and stubbornly refuses to do anything but whir and check for updates. The next is a mug that says #1 Dog Dad, which makes his husband dissolve into giggles. There are a few new items of clothing - some thick socks and faux sheepskin slippers, because Blaine’s circulation has taken a turn for the worse, and some comfortable sweatshirts. An iTunes giftcard and a second-hand kindle loaded with all the books he missed. Blaine seems overwhelmed by the gifts, insisting that it’s too much, but when Pam points out that they’re making up for three missed birthdays as well, he accepts them hesitantly.
The last gift is the most important to Kurt. A few days after he got Blaine home, he tried to place an order with the jewellers that made their wedding rings. They had a backlog and told him to contact them later, but in the meantime Kurt dug through his dresser and found - right at the back - the wedding rings that Sue had given them.
He had cleaned his own - Blaine’s fingers being thinner and closer to his own ring size - and put it in a little velvet pouch. It’s burning a hole in the back pocket of his comfortable jeans, and when Pam steps out of the apartment to take a phone call, he pulls it out.
“Hey,” he says, “I have one more present.”
Blaine looks up from where he’s pulling on the thick lambswool socks. “Really?”
“This one’s not new, but it’s the best I could do.” Heart in his throat, Kurt offers out the pouch, and watches as Blaine tugs it open and tips it out onto his palm. His lips part and he gasps softly, touching the silver. “This is -”
“Our placeholder rings,” Kurt says, “I thought you could wear it until we can get a new one made.
“Kurt,” Blaine’s eyes fill with tears, “Thank you.”
Gently, Kurt takes Blaine’s left hand, blinking back his own tears. “May I?”
Blaine nods, pressing his lips together to keep his composure, but both of them lose it once the ring slides home.
“I love you, Blaine,” Kurt says thickly, wiping his eyes. Suddenly, Blaine takes his face in his hands and kisses him. The ring is a cold shock against Kurt’s cheek, and the kiss is salty, but it’s perfect.
It’s the first kiss Blaine’s properly initiated since he got home. To Kurt, nothing has ever tasted sweeter.
“I didn’t even know we kept these,” Blaine says once they part, and Kurt gives him a wobbly smile. “You know I’m kind of a hoarder.”
“I do, and I love that about you,” Blaine spins the ring around his finger, “Do you still have the engagement ring -?”
“Bottom left of our sock drawer, in a bag.”
“My organised hoarder husband,” Blaine murmurs, and leans in again.
Kurt is swiftly relearning how Blaine kisses when the apartment door opens again, and they spring apart.
“Blaine? Where are you?” Pam’s voice calls. Kurt hears giggling, and wonders what’s going on.
“Kitchen, Mama,” Blaine calls back, turning in Kurt’s arms. The giggling gets louder, and a familiar voice goes “Shhh!”
Blaine takes a step towards the hallway and then -
“Surprise!”
Kurt nearly screams when Cooper springs out into the doorway, a broad grin on his face. Blaine’s hands fly to his mouth and his eyes widen. “Coop?”
“Hey, squirt,” Cooper barrels past Pepper and wraps Blaine up in a hug, “Fuck, it’s good to see you.”
“Cooper, language.” His wife scolds as she appears in the doorway, “How many times do I have to remind you!”
Kurt’s first thought is what the fuck, and then swiftly afterwards, so that’s what all the hushed phone calls were about, Pam. He pushes his surprise aside, and crosses the room to greet his sister-in-law.
“Hi, Jane,” Kurt skirts around his husband and brother-in-law and accepts the hug she offers him, “It’s been a while.”
“A year,” she holds him at arm’s length and smiles, “You look good.”
“I feel good,” Kurt says truthfully, “Thank you.”
She looks around. “Have you seen - there you are, sugar pie. C’mere, come to Mommy.”
Devon rockets into the room with her stuffed rabbit under her arm, her dark hair much longer than it was the last time Kurt saw her. When she sees him she stops dead, frowning. “Unca Kurt?”
“Hey, Devon,” Kurt drops to a crouch, “You remember me? It’s been a long time.”
She nods, slides her thumb into her mouth and takes her mom’s hand. “I ‘member.”
“Do you remember Uncle Blaine?”
“He wen’ ‘way.”
“He did,” Kurt turns and points at Blaine, who has finally been released from Cooper’s hug and is looking at them nervously, “But guess what? He came home. Do you want to meet him?”
Devon’s eyes go wide and Kurt gestures for Blaine to come over. He does, and sits cross legged a few feet away. “Hey there Devon. I’m Blaine.”
Devon furrows her brows. She releases Jane’s hand and grabs Kurt’s instead.
“I went away for a long time, and I’m sorry I never met you,” he props his chin on one hand and offers her a smile, “Did you know my name is Devon too?”
Devon glances sideways at Kurt, like Blaine might be lying. Kurt nods, smiling.
“I’m Blaine Devon,” Blaine continues, “Your daddy is my older brother, and I’m married to Kurt.”
Devon mumbles around her thumb, “Unca Kurt.”
“Right. I’m married to Uncle Kurt. Does that make me Uncle Blaine?”
Devon thinks for a moment, then nods.
“Who’s that?” Blaine points to her stuffed bunny.
Devon considers the question, then pops her thumb out of her mouth and answers “Beany.”
“Beany?”
“Beany th’ bunny. D’you like bunnies?”
“I do,” Blaine says, “I love bunnies.”
That appears to be the tipping point; Devon releases Kurt’s hand and stands in front of Blaine. Kurt holds his breath, waiting for Blaine to offer out his hand, and then Pepper - damn Pepper - twists away from Pam and towards the small human that has invaded her space.
Blaine’s hand flashes out and he catches her collar before she manages to jam her nose in Devon’s face. Devon flinches, and her thumb goes back in her mouth, but Blaine stays completely calm, still smiling. “This is our dog. Her name is Pepper, and she’s very fast. Do you like dogs?”
Devon examines Pepper for a moment. “Do dogs like bunnies?”
Blaine grins. “Pepper thinks bunnies are great. Do you want to pet her?”
Devon reaches out a hand and gently pats Pepper’s nose. Kurt can see the strain in his eyes as he holds Pepper back with his bad arm, and Kurt makes eye contact with Pam and jerks his head at them.
Swiftly, Pam intervenes, dragging Pepper away to her bed, but luckily her intrusion has done no damage and the bond has been made. Confidently, Devon slips her hand into Blaine’s. “Mommy has a iPad.” She pronounces it eye-pad, slowly with plenty of enunciation.
“Does she? I don’t, but I do have a phone with lots of games on it. Do you want to play?”
Devon nods vigorously, and plants herself happily in Blaine’s lap.
Kurt shares a smile with Jane, and gets up. Cooper gives him an equally as aggressive hug, but when he pulls away his eyes are wet. “Hey, squirt-in-law.”
“You couldn’t have given us a heads up?” Kurt says, grinning. Cooper shakes his head. “When have I ever given anyone a heads up? I’m all about the dramatic entrance.”
“I wanted to call,” Jane interjects, “I was worried we would catch you in flagrante delicto (or something).”
“Birthday sex,” Cooper adds helpfully.
“Thanks,” Kurt says dryly, “Coffee?”
He’s busy with three different coffee orders when Blaine appears at his side, with Devon perched on his hip. “Hey,” he says, “Devon wants to know if we have juice.”
“We do,” Kurt says, “What can I do you for?”
Devon blinks at him, and Blaine translates softly, “What do you want, Devon?”
“Orange juice,” she requests, and then adds with a toothy smile, “Pease, Unca Kurt.”
Kurt fills her sippy cup and she squirms to get down, juice in one hand and Beany in the other as she crosses the room to see her mom.
“Hey,” Kurt reaches out and touches Blaine’s hip lightly, “You doing okay?”
Blaine smiles. “Is it weird if I say I’ve kind of missed being around kids?”
Kurt wrinkles up his nose. “If I spent four years with seven of them, I’d never want to see anyone below eighteen again.”
“They were the good part of it, though,” Blaine says, “You know?”
“I know,” Kurt opens his arms, “Want a hug?”
“Mm,” Blaine settles into his arms happily, “Did you know they were coming?”
“No,” Kurt rests his cheek against the side of Blaine’s head, “Are you happy they’re here? Do you like Jane?”
“She seems great,” Blaine turns his face into Kurt’s neck and mumbles, “Perfect for Cooper.”
“Devon’s taken a shine to you.”
“She’s a sweetheart,” Blaine yawns, “Can I get some coffee too?”
“Of course, my love,” Kurt drops a kiss to his temple and shuffles them towards the counter, Blaine still wrapped around him like a koala.
“Honey, I have to -”
Blaine reattaches himself to Kurt’s back instead, chin hooked over his shoulder to watch him make coffee. Kurt really doesn’t mind - he could go the rest of his life without letting go of Blaine and be perfectly content.
“Are you sure you’re not getting tired?” Kurt checks, and Blaine shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. Gonna just sit with you.”
“Okay,” Kurt twists and kisses the end of Blaine’s nose, “Let me know when it gets too much.”
They join the others crammed onto an assortment of seats in the living room. Blaine curls into Kurt’s with Devon on his lap, happily absorbed in games on Blaine’s phone.
Cooper dominates the conversation, but Kurt can tell it’s a front to hide how he’s really feeling. Blaine is so visibly happy that he doesn’t do anything though, letting the Andersons regale his husband with stories of what he’s missed in the past four years. He’s content to sip coffee and listen.
There’s cake, and more coffee, and a very long story about Cooper encountering the paparazzi while in the middle of the phone call from Pam about Blaine being alive. Halfway through, Kurt glances over and sees that Blaine is carefully braiding Devon’s wild curls, a neat French braid curling behind one ear. Jane also notices, and compliments Blaine’s handiwork.
“Thank you,” Blaine says modestly, eyes focused on his hands, “Lots of practice.”
There’s a second while that sinks in, and Kurt feels the air turn painfully awkward. He’s about to offer more coffee when Devon’s voice pipes up.
“You do Unca Kurt’s hair?”
“Do you think he does my hair?” Kurt asks, and Devon eyes him up and then shakes her head. “Who, Unca Blaine?”
“Well,” Blaine starts evenly, “When I was away, I had to take care of a lot of kids. Lots of them didn’t have hair brushes, so I would braid their hair so it didn’t get all knotted. Does your Mommy do that?”
“No,” Devon says sadly, “She maked me brush it.”
Kurt breathes easily as the awkwardness fades and Jane rolls her eyes. Blaine continues braiding carefully, but he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
“Unca Blaine?”
Blaine hums, and Devon twists in his lap to look up at him, her thumb sliding back into her mouth. Around it, she says, “Why’d you go ‘way?”
Blaine’s hands freeze. Kurt feels his eyes go very wide, and Cooper sits up, his face going somber. “Devon, honey, don’t ask your uncle that -”
“No, Coop, it’s okay,” Blaine’s hands start to move again, but now he’s undoing the braid, “Devon, do you read books?”
“Mm,” Devon nods, turning back to the phone, “Daddy does voices.”
“You know sometimes in books there are bad guys?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well,” Blaine’s eyes are painfully sad, “I had to go live with some bad guys for a little while. To take care of the kids.”
“Are you a bad guy?”
The question is posed by a little girl who still sees the world in black and white, and Kurt wants to leap in and assure her that Blaine is the furthest thing from bad.
“I don’t know,” Blaine combs his fingers through Devon’s hair until it’s all free of the braid, “What do you think?”
Devon considers the question for a little while, and then announces, “Unca Blaine is a good guy, Daddy.”
“I know, sweetie,” Cooper’s eyes are glistening, but his voice doesn’t shake, “Daddy told you that, right?”
“Mm,” Devon returns to her game, pudgy fingers tapping at the screen, and out of the corner of his eye Kurt sees Blaine blink away a tear.
He leans sideways and presses a kiss to his husband’s head, murmurs, “You okay?”
Blaine nods. “Yeah.”
“More coffee?”
“Yes please.”
“Anyone else?” Kurt stands, “Coffee?”
“I’ll help,” Cooper offers, snatching the mugs out from under Kurt’s hands, “Same thing for everyone? Yeah? Cool, okay, be right back.”
Kurt follows him into the kitchen. “Cooper, you really don’t need to -”
Cooper turns, the smile gone from his face, and says in a low, urgent voice, “Is he okay?”
“What?” Kurt says, at a normal volume.
“Shh,” Cooper starts to make coffee but his movements are jerky and uncoordinated, “Is. He. Okay.”
“Blaine?” Kurt whispers.
“Who else?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Kurt shoulders Cooper aside and switches the coffee machine on, “He’s actually here to answer.”
“You think I didn’t do that?” Cooper snaps, “You think I - haven’t seen my kid brother for four and a half fucking years, he spends all that time in a fucking basement and when I ask him if he’s okay he smiles at me and says yes.”
“Okay,” Kurt glances across the room, sees that the others are deep in conversation and takes Cooper’s arm, marches them into the bedroom quickly.
“You and I both know that only Blaine can answer that question,” he says, pushing the door half-closed behind him, “I’m not talking for him.”
“You and I both know that it would take thirty years of therapy and a goddamn time machine before Blaine spilled his guts to me rather than you,” Cooper says desperately, “I know that, I’ve accepted that, I fucked up being his big brother a long time ago. C’mon, Kurt, just tell me. Is he okay? Is he coping?”
Cooper’s words strike deep. Their troubled relationship, though healing over in recent years, was still something that he knew had hurt Blaine deeply. And he knows that of the two of them, Blaine will turn to him more often than not.
“Cooper,” he rubs a hand over his face, “I don’t know what to say.”
Cooper sinks down onto the bed and puts his face in his hands. “Christ, Kurt,” he mumbles, “Just tell me whether I need to be scared for his life or not.”
Kurt’s stomach sinks. “What?”
“You heard me,” Cooper’s eyes are red, “Do I need to be ready to plan a funeral? Do you need help to pay for a shrink? Does he need to be sectioned? Just -”
“Sectioned? What the fuck is wrong with you? He’s fine!”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Kurt! Four years! Four years in a goddamn basement with a doomsday cult! He’s starved half to death! He looks like a fucking ghost! Don’t tell me he came out of that okay! He is not okay!”
Kurt stumbles backwards, shocked by the fury in Cooper’s voice. His mind is turning over, god what if I have missed something, what if I’m wrong that he’s okay, is he going to hurt himself? Have I messed up that bad?
“Coop? Kurt?”
Both of them freeze. Blaine is standing in the doorway, Devon on his hip. Both of them look startled. Scared.
“Honey -” Kurt starts, just as Cooper says “Squirt -”
“Daddy?” Devon asks, her bottom lip wobbling, “Daddy?”
“Baby, it’s okay,” Cooper rushes forward, scoops Devon into his arms, “I’m sorry, Daddy shouldn’t shout. It’s okay.”
She starts to cry, and Cooper hoists her higher. “Okay, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s find Mommy, okay? Let’s find Mommy.”
Blaine doesn’t watch them leave. His eyes stay fixed on Kurt.
“What’s going on?”
Kurt swallows hard. “I -”
“Were you talking about me?” Blaine’s eyes narrow, “Behind my back?”
“Cooper was worried,” Kurt takes a deep breath, “I -”
“He couldn’t ask me?” Blaine folds his arms, hunches his shoulders, “Why wouldn’t he just ask me?”
“Blaine -”
“Every time I feel I’m getting better someone reminds me that I’m broken,” Blaine blinks rapidly, “I’m not -”
“I know,” Kurt reaches out hesitantly, “I know you’re not.”
Blaine shuffles forward, into Kurt’s arms. “I’m not broken,” he repeats, his voice unsure and shaky, “I’m not.”
“You’re not,” Kurt swallows hard, “Cooper’s just really, really worried about you. That you might - hurt yourself.”
“Why would I do that?” Blaine pulls away abruptly, eyes wide, “I just got home. I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“But you’re not,” Kurt says gently, “You’re not fine, Blaine.”
“What the - of course I’m not fine! But I’m - Jesus Christ, Kurt, are you even listening to me? Am I completely recovered? No! But I’m - god, I’m not going to kill myself. If I was going to do that, I would have done it two years ago.”
Kurt’s legs give out and he has to sit down hastily. Blaine stands in front of him. "Where did this come from? I’ve been home for three weeks and you never - I don’t understand. Why are you asking me this?”
“I don’t know,” Kurt tries to hold back tears, the idea of losing Blaine suddenly sharp and cold in his chest, “Cooper just - I don’t know. I just assumed you were okay.”
“I am okay,” Blaine pushes his hair off his face, “Kurt, I am. Do I really seem that unhinged to you?”
“Cooper’s known you so much longer than I have, though,” Kurt takes a deep breath, “I just… for a second I thought I’d missed something.”
“Missed something? Kurt, I tell you everything. You popped a zit on my ass yesterday.”
Kurt half-snorts and half-sobs. “Oh my god.”
“You really thought I was going to - do that?”
“I don’t know,” Kurt says miserably, “I started doubting myself all of a sudden.”
“Great,” Blaine folds his arms again, looking defeated, “Join the club.”
“Blaine -”
“You know, nothing really gets you thinking maybe you are crazy than your husband and your brother saying you are,” Blaine says icily.
“I’m - I gotta go clear my head,” Blaine backs away, “I’ll be back.”
Panic seizes Kurt. “Wait. Wait Blaine no please -”
“God, Kurt, can you just let me breathe? It’s like being back in that basement again!”
Kurt feels like he’s just been slapped. He stands there, mouth opening and closing, as Blaine claps a hand over his mouth.
“Kurt -”
“Blaine, I -”
They both stop and stare at each other. Kurt ducks his head first, whispers, “I really fucked that up, huh?”
Blaine sighs. “Kurt, I just…”
“I’m sorry,” Kurt sighs, “I’m sorry, Jesus, I fucked up.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Blaine hugs himself, “I didn’t - I don’t feel like I’m in the basement. I don’t.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been smothering you,” Kurt sinks down onto the bed, “I’m sorry.”
“You haven’t, not really,” Blaine sighs and joins him, still sitting a few feet away, “I just - it really fucks with your head when someone asks you if you’re gonna hurt yourself. Tells you you’re not okay.”
“I know,” Kurt says, ashamed, “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Cooper’s fucking with my head.” Blaine’s speaking into his hands, and he sounds exhausted.
“He’s scared,” Kurt murmurs, and reaches out to touch Blaine’s knee, “I’m scared. We all are.”
“He really thinks I was gonna -?”
“He didn’t see you when we first got you back,” Kurt says softly, “He hasn’t been here for the nightmares and everything. He’s just seeing you happy, and he can’t - understand it.”
“Now I feel like I shouldn’t be happy,” Blaine sniffs, “God, this is so Cooper. Everyone has to act the way he thinks they should.”
“He means well,” Kurt says. Blaine sighs heavily. “I know. I know he does.”
“Are we okay?”
“We’re okay,” Blaine takes Kurt’s hand, “I love you.”
“Love you more,” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, “Maybe you should try talking to Cooper?”
“Yeah,” Blaine takes a deep breath, “Can I get a hug first, though?”
“Anytime,” Kurt envelopes his husband in a hug, “Sorry your birthday ended up weird.”
Blaine shrugs. “At least it’s weird at home instead of weird in the basement.”
Cooper is waiting outside the door, and he steps in front of them as they leave the bedroom. “Blaine,” he says urgently, “Can I talk to you?”
Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand, shoots him a smile and gestures for Cooper to follow him.
When Kurt walks back into the living room, Pam casts him a nervous glance. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Kurt says, “It’s fine. You guys still want that coffee?”
**
Having Cooper in town for a couple days actually ends up doing Blaine a world of good.
It keeps his mind off the call that has yet to come from child services. Agent James hasn’t called them, either, but taking Devon to the aquarium and the park and watching her face light up makes it easier.
But they’re all going home today, Pam included. She’s maxed out her time away from work, and though many tears are shed (mostly hers) they both agree that it’s probably time. Plus, the hotel she’s staying in is really expensive.
They’re post lunch, stuffed with a fancy caramelized onion quiche that Kurt and Jane whipped up. Devon is curled up in Pepper’s bed, Blaine’s phone balanced on the sleeping dog’s head as Devon taps at it, her thumb in her mouth. Blaine had been dismissed earlier, after he tried to join in. She held up a hand firmly and said “No, Unca Blaine. Not now. I’m busy.”
(Kurt laughed for twenty minutes.)
They’re sharing the armchair, Blaine’s legs thrown over the arm and his body comfortably ensconced against Kurt’s. The conversation is light-hearted, all heavy topics exhausted in quiet conversations beforehand. Cooper is talking about his new movie - “It’s a sort of tribute to the Fast and Furious franchise, with a nod to Transformers,” - and Blaine is hiding his smile in his hand because that is so Cooper. Kurt interjects with questions about the plot, which Cooper staunchly refuses to answer.
“If I tell you, seeing it in the cinema won’t be as good,” he says authoritatively.
“Who says I’ll see it in the cinema?” Kurt teases, “I still remember how to torrent, you know.”
Blaine snorts and Cooper points at Kurt. “I was going to invite you two to the premiere!”
“We’ll survive,” Kurt says dryly, “Won’t we, B?”
“If Beyoncé is there, I can’t make any promises,” Blaine says truthfully.
Kurt pokes a finger into Blaine’s side and mutters, “Traitor.”
Eventually the time comes for Cooper to hail a cab, so Blaine helps Devon pack her tiny Princess Tiana backpack, making sure she doesn’t leave anything behind. Then, he walks her to the door, promises to send her a picture of Pepper, accepts her kiss on the cheek, and waves as Jane carries her away.
“You okay?” Kurt asks, sliding an arm around his waist. Blaine nods, sighing. “Tired.”
“Me too,” Kurt shuts the door and yawns, “Wanna take a bath?”
“Absolutely,” Blaine glances at Kurt’s borrowed watch, loose on his wrist, “But isn’t it kind of early?”
Kurt reaches over and unbuckles the watch from Blaine’s wrist. “It’s 9pm somewhere.”
“Kurt, I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.”
Kurt makes a face. “You go find that expensive bubble bath, I’m gonna pour us some of that leftover fancy pink lemonade because why the hell not, and we’re gonna have us a nice five in the afternoon bath.”
The expensive bubble bath smells like rosewater and lavender and all sorts of stuff. Kurt hands him a plastic wineglass of pink lemonade and toasts. “To cute kids.”
“Didn’t you steal these from a picnic?” Blaine asks, balancing his glass on the rim of the bath and untying his robe, “I remember you stealing these from a picnic.”
“Hey, I didn’t steal them. They just didn’t ask for them back,” Kurt reclines back in the bath, sipping his lemonade.
“You kept plastic wine glasses for four years?”
“I didn’t take a bath with anyone but myself for four years, and if I was drinking it was from the bottle,” Kurt says, “Are you getting in?”
Blaine grins. “Are you gonna watch me get in?”
“Absolutely not,” Kurt covers his eyes with a hand, “It’s the 1940s, Blaine. We sleep in different beds and one of us is a woman. Why on earth would I see you naked unless it was to produce our perfect cookie-cutter young in the dark - ow, why are you pinching me?”
“You’re being mean,” Blaine leans up against Kurt’s chest, “Hand me my wine-lemonade.”
“Of course, husband who I’ve never seen naked and I imagine is like a Ken Doll down there, all smooth-like -”
Blaine drains the rest of the lemonade and uses the glass to toss water on Kurt.
“Ah! Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m stopping!” Kurt puts his arms around Blaine and squeezes him, “No more water throwing.”
“You started it,” Blaine tips his head back against Kurt’s shoulder and closes his eyes, a smile coming to his lips when Kurt ducks his head and kisses his neck.
“That’s not going to make me forgive you,” Blaine says, even as he moves his head to give Kurt better access, his body melting against his husband’s.
“Oh yeah?” Kurt murmurs against his shoulder, “Too bad, I’m gonna keep doing it anyway.”
The feeling of Kurt’s lips on his skin is familiar, but it brings a more unpleasant question to mind. Before he can think about it, Blaine opens his mouth and asks, “Was there ever anyone else?”
“Hm?” Kurt lifts his head, “What do you mean?”
“I know you didn’t date when I was gone, but was there ever… you know. Company for the night?”
“Like a one night stand?”
“Yeah,” Blaine bites his lip, “I - you don’t have to answer -”
“Nope,” Kurt says simply, “There was no one.”
“No one?”
“Not one person.”
“In four years?”
“In four years.”
Blaine sighs. “Wow.”
“Hey,” Kurt squeezes him, “You know you’re the sexiest man in the world, right?”
“Sure.”
“I’m gonna say it until you believe me,” Kurt puts out a hand, as if imagining the words on some billboard, “Blaine Anderson: Sexiest Man in the World.”
Blaine laughs, blushing. “Kurt -”
In the other room, Kurt’s phone starts ringing.
“Shit,” Kurt mutters, “Hold on -”
“No, no, just leave it,” Blaine says, but Kurt is already climbing out of the bath.
“Kurt, no, come back,” Blaine folds his arms over the edge of the bath and pouts as Kurt wraps a towel around his waist and hurries through to answer the call.
Blaine’s expecting a thirty second conversation, but when Kurt hasn’t returned after a few minutes he starts to worry. He puts his robe back on, dries his feet on the floor towel, and pads nervously out through the bedroom and into the living room.
Where he finds Kurt, naked except for the towel tucked around his hips, frantically scribbling things down on a notepad.
“Uh huh,” he says, “Yeah, I got it. And we can visit when? Next Wednesday? Okay.”
Blaine creeps closer, trying to get Kurt’s attention and failing completely.
“Okay. Thank you so much for getting in contact. Okay. Thank you. Thanks. Bye!”
“Hey, Kurt, what’s going on?” Blaine asks nervously, “Who was on the phone?”
Kurt turns and grabs Blaine by the shoulders. “Blaine - oh my god, honey, you will not believe - that was Joy’s social worker!”
“What?” Blaine frowns, “Her social worker?”
“She called to say you can visit next week,” Kurt pulls Blaine into a hug, “Next week, Blaine!”
“Next week?” the news starts to sink in, “I can see her next week?”
“Yeah,” Kurt pulls back and frames Blaine’s face, “I - is that okay? Would you rather I gave the phone to you?”
“No,” Blaine has to swallow around the lump in his throat, “Thank you. Thank you, Kurt.”
Kurt folds him into a hug. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Blaine takes a deep breath, “I just - wow. Wednesday?”
“Uh-huh,” Kurt presses a kiss to his temple, “But we can always reschedule.”
“I love you,” Kurt says, and kisses him gently, “C’mon. Let’s dry off and get into pajamas, it’s cold.”
Blaine orders Chinese and they sit on the couch together and eat in silence, Pepper waiting patiently at their feet for any dropped food. The food is good but Blaine has no appetite, poking at his chow mein listlessly as nasty thoughts swirl around his head.
What if she has forgotten me? What if she doesn’t want to see me? I can’t make her, she’s a child, she’s a baby, I just miss her so much. How am I going to tell if she doesn’t want to see me? God, I shouldn’t go, I just shouldn’t, I should leave her alone and let her get adopted by a nice family and forget about that fucking basement -
“Blaine? Honey?”
“Hm?” Blaine blinks out of his haze and manages a smile, “I’m okay.”
“You’re not, though,” Kurt takes the carton of chow mein out of his hands and places it on the coffee table, “Are you sure you’re okay to see her?”
Blaine inhales shakily and then the dam holding all of his thoughts back breaks and they all flood out of him.
“I don’t know what to wear. That’s stupid, right? I shouldn’t worry about it but I want to give a good impression, I want to seem - responsible, but what if she doesn’t recognise me? What if she doesn’t remember me at all? I’m not her dad, I’m not even a relative, I’m just a guy she spent a year with in a basement, and I wouldn’t want to see me again, so why would she? And she was so sick, Kurt, she was so sick, and I’m just worried about her, it’s cold and cold is never good for bad chests, she got a cough almost every month - they would just bounce it back and forth and what if she’s still getting it? What if it’s my fault?”
Kurt’s eyes go ridiculously wide. “I - okay. Can I be completely honest?”
Blaine nods.
“You were her primary caregiver for a year, Blaine. One whole year of her seeing you every single day. Depending on you. I know from how you talk about her that you really, really cared for her. She’ll remember you.”
Blaine frowns because he knows he’ll cry if he tries any other expression. “I didn’t know you got your minor in child psychology in the last four years.”
“I believe in you,” Kurt says simply, “And I believe in how good you are, Blaine. You’re a good person, and four years in that place didn’t change that. So I believe that you did everything you could to make that place as much as a home for those kids as possible. And I’m sure that she will be really, really happy to see you.”
Blaine bites his lip hard to stop tears from spilling over. “I’m so scared, Kurt. Maybe we just shouldn’t? Maybe she just needs to move on.”
“We won’t know until you go to see her,” Kurt says gently, “If she won’t come near you, we go home, okay? But she won’t. Kids remember people who are good to them.”
Kurt takes his hands and squeezes. Blaine nods, feels a few tears slip free. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” Kurt smiles, “And if you’re worried about how you look, we can do something about that. We can go shopping, or go to a barbers, or anything. You know how much I love makeovers.”
Blaine tugs at the curls that almost always fall over his face. “A haircut sounds good.”
“We can do that,” Kurt runs his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles, “Anything.”
“I love you,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt lifts one hand to his mouth and kisses the ring on Blaine’s finger gently.
**
Kurt schedules a haircut at the barber near their apartment for the day before they go to visit Joy. Blaine insists that Kurt doesn’t wait with him while his hair is cut, so instead he takes Pepper for a long walk to soothe his nerves at leaving his husband alone. It’s ridiculous, but he still gets anxious when Blaine’s out of his sight.
They’d spent an hour looking at pictures of different styles online, but Blaine’s final decision remains unseen by Kurt. He loves Blaine’s hair long, especially long enough to twist around a finger or tumble over his forehead, but he also knows that long hair is a relic of the basement, of only being able to cut it a few times, and Kurt’s glad he’s finally decided on a change. It feels like Blaine is taking steps to move on.
He and Pepper leave the dog park late after she gets into a manic running loop with another greyhound. Once he finally gets her on the leash, they head back to the barbers, but lunch traffic and slow walkers increase the ten minute walk to a twenty minute one. As they round the corner, Kurt spots a familiar jacket, and quickens his pace, Pepper trotting along at his side.
Blaine turns as if he sensed Kurt behind him, and Kurt stops dead at the sight of his husband, his mouth falling open. Blaine’s hair looks right out of his memories of their Dalton days, but instead of gelled it’s styled artfully over his forehead. A lump grows in Kurt’s throat and he breaks into a jog to cover the last few feet between them, throwing his arms around Blaine.
“Hey - oh, Kurt, oh my god -”
“You look incredible,” Kurt breathes, pulling back to cup Blaine’s face, “Oh my god, you look like a classic movie star.”
Blaine blushes and grins. “They straightened it.”
“Yeah,” Kurt curls a lock of hair around his finger, “Wow, honey. Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” Blaine’s grin widens, “It feels really good to have shorter hair again.”
“You look beautiful,” Kurt straights his collar, “Did you see it curly, too?”
“Yeah,” Blaine nods, “I’m hoping you’re still good at making my hair not look like I stuck my finger in an outlet.”
“We’ll see,” Kurt slides his arm through Blaine’s, “Though I resent the idea that your hair ever looks anything but incredible.”
Blaine laughs. “You’re too good to me.”
“No such thing.”
Blaine disappears into the bedroom as soon as they get back. Kurt assumes he’s changing out of the sweatpants he wore to the barbers and gets started with lunch.
But then his husband re-enters the room.
“Oh my -” Kurt puts a hand over his mouth at the sorry sight standing before him. He’s wearing an awful combination of white polo, oversized pink bowtie and green pants, and he looks… like… a clown. It doesn’t help that everything is a little baggy on his skinnier body.
“I forgot how to coordinate colours and nothing fits,” Blaine says miserably, “Help.”
“Honey,” Kurt pulls Blaine over by his belt loops and undoes the bowtie, reducing him from budget clown to golf caddy. “I thought this might happen.”
“I’m gonna look like a mess tomorrow,” Blaine’s shoulders slump, “I can’t go wearing your clothes, I can’t go wearing my clothes. What clothes do I wear?”
“We’ll fix this,” Kurt smiles, “Okay? Let’s eat lunch, and then we’ll figure out what you’re going to wear.”
Blaine spends all of lunch brainstorming outfit ideas, but his sense of fashion is four years behind and now leans heavily on basement-chic, as he describes it. Kurt finishes his grilled cheese with the suggestion of a bowtie-patterned bowtie with bowtie-patterned polo and -
“Let me just stop you there,” Kurt swallows his mouthful, “Let’s not go loud patterns, okay? You have pulled off triple-bowties before, but we won’t do that tomorrow.”
Blaine sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Good thing your husband works for Vogue, huh?” Kurt leans over and kisses his cheek, “Throw the dishes in the sink and let me fix this.”
It takes him half an hour to pick out an outfit. A navy blue knit sweater that Blaine bought online years ago but was just a little too small then now looks comfortably baggy and warm. He’s holding up different pairs of pants against Blaine when his husband says, “How did you find this stuff?”
“Bi-yearly wardrobe evaluation,” Kurt says, “Donated out all my old stuff, stuff that didn’t fit.”
“But you kept all of my clothes?”
“You weren’t here to tell me what you did and didn’t want,” Kurt says, “So I kept it all.”
“And you remembered everything?”
Kurt swallows hard. “I… this is creepy, but I went through your clothes a lot. It made me feel close to you.”
Blaine reaches out and cups Kurt’s face.
Kurt smiles and kisses Blaine’s palm. “Turn for me?”
“Sure,” Blaine turns and Kurt holds another pair of pants out. “I like these, do you?”
Blaine nods, accepting the pair of slim-fit slacks that Kurt hands to him. “You think this will give off the right message?”
“I think you’re going to look like a very fashionable young librarian, and it’s going to take everything I have not to drag you back to bed and nap on you all day,” Kurt kisses his cheek, “Get changed and let me pick out a belt, then we can call it a day.”
“Hey, Kurt?”
Kurt stops as Blaine grabs his arm, pulling him back. His husband hugs him fiercely, whispering “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Kurt kisses the top of his head, “Is everything okay?”
Blaine releases him and nods, smiling. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
“I think that’s my line,” Kurt pats him lightly on the ass, “Change into these pants while I make coffee, okay?”
“Yes sir,” Blaine calls after him, and Kurt can’t help but laugh.
The outfit doesn’t stay on for very long, to avoid the gray fur that coats everything in their apartment transferring to it. Kurt sets a mental reminder to run a lint roller over both of them before they leave the next morning, because no matter how careful he is Pepper always manages to rub her head against his legs and leave his pants speckled with hairs. Luckily, Blaine-in-sweatpants has no such qualms, and is happy to spend the afternoon sharing the couch with her. Kurt does his best to keep Blaine’s mind off the visit the next day, insisting on introducing him to the new reality show that follows competitive high school dance troupes in the midwest. Within two episodes, Blaine is watching with a pillow clutched to his chest, mouth open as Kurt slices peppers and beef for fajitas and giggles at his husband’s face.
They eat with their feet propped on the coffee table, laughing at the melodramatic coaches and endlessly unimpressed children. Blaine devours two fajitas loaded with homemade guacamole and sour cream with Pepper sitting at his feet, her chin on his knee with her eyes fixed on his plate.
Blaine washes the dishes and Kurt dries. They work in comfortable silence, listening to music (Blaine is utterly obsessed with Beyoncé’s new album, just as Kurt thought he would be) with Blaine humming softly.
“Kurt?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think it’s going to be okay tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Kurt says without even thinking, “I’m certain it will be.”
Blaine takes a shaky breath. “I really don’t want to screw up.”
“You’ll be fine,” Kurt reaches over and pulls him against his side, “I believe in you.”
“Thank you,” Blaine turns and kisses Kurt’s shoulder, and returns to the dishes with a more confident smile.
**
Their alarm goes off at 8 the next morning. Blaine, after tossing and turning the entire night, finally slipped into a restless sleep held tightly in Kurt’s arms, and the shrill beeping is the last thing he wants to hear. Groaning, he clings to Kurt, burrowing back under the covers.
“Blaine,” Kurt yawns, “Honey, we gotta get up.”
“Don’t wanna,” Blaine whines, “No.”
“C’mon,” Kurt detaches himself from Blaine’s embrace and rolls out of bed. Blaine groans and follows him, stretching.
“C’mere,” Kurt pulls him in and inspects the healing wound on his arm like he does every morning, “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Blaine lies, “Hungry.”
“Okay,” Kurt nods, “I’m going to get coffee started, you want oatmeal for breakfast?”
“Please,” Blaine turns to the clothes Kurt laid out the night before and takes a deep breath. He hasn’t worn anything nicer than Kurt’s jeans and Kurt’s cardigan since he got back, and for the first time he opens his own drawers in the dresser and runs his hands over all of the shirts folded and stacked neatly. The choice is too much - who needs all of these polo shirts? - so eventually he just picks a plain white button up to go under the sweater. That paired with the slacks and anchor-patterned socks, and he really does look like a librarian.
He showered last night, and his carefully styled hair has turned into a mess of curls again. He runs a hand through it, tries to turn it into something that isn’t kind of broccoli-esque, but this is the first time he’s tried to fix his hair in years.
“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice drifts in from the kitchen, “Breakfast!”
“Coming,” Blaine turns away from the mirror and tries to put his unruly hair out of his mind.
There’s a bowl of oatmeal sitting on the counter, liberally sprinkled with brown sugar, and Kurt is making up Pepper’s breakfast at the other side of the kitchen. Blaine takes a seat at the counter and picks up his spoon, poking at the oatmeal listlessly. He’s too nervous to eat, his stomach tied up in knots. Kurt appears the same way, picking at his bagel and drinking coffee silently.
Finally, Kurt breaks the silence. “Your hair looks nice.”
Blaine snorts. “I look like an electrocuted librarian.”
“No, it looks very cute,” Kurt smiles, “Sleepy-chic.”
“As opposed to basement-chic?”
“Exactly. I can run some product through it, if you want.”
“Please,” Blaine says gratefully, “I really hate it like this.”
“No problem,” Kurt says simply, and leans across the counter to kiss Blaine’s forehead.
With that off his chest, he manages to force in a few mouthfuls of oatmeal, washing them down with large gulps of coffee. Kurt brings in some fancy new styling gel, and mostly recreates the look of the day before.
And then it’s nearly nine, and Kurt says they need to leave if they’re going to get there for ten. Blaine puts on an old pair of wingtips that still fit, and a light brown jacket that he remembers from his first year in New York. He feels like he’s pretending to be someone else, pretending to be his past self, but before he can get wrapped up in stress Kurt ushers him out of the door and down the street.
It’s the first time they’ve used the subway since he got back. The smell and the crush of people is familiar and weirdly reassuring, and Blaine finds himself sharing exasperated glances with Kurt as they queue to get through the turnstiles.
“I don’t even understand why there are tourists out here,” Kurt mutters, “The only thing to see is a lot of rats.”
Blaine laughs. “Is it weird that I kind of missed the gross subway smell?”
“Are you kidding? I miss the gross subway smell sometimes,” Kurt says as they turn onto their platform, “I think that comes with the territory of being in New York.”
“As well as the rats.”
“And the pigeons,” Kurt sighs, “I still don’t know why you like the pigeons.”
“They’re hardy,” Blaine says, “And they’re kind of cute.”
“I saw a pigeon with one leg and one eye yesterday,” Kurt says, “Cute is the last word I would use to describe that.”
“Did Pepper chase it?”
“No, even she ignored that one,” Kurt shudders, tugging on Blaine’s hand as their train arrives, “Which is good, because I’m pretty sure she would have caught rabies.”
“You can’t get rabies from birds, Kurt.”
Kurt screws his face up in reply.
They manage to get seats, and a father and child sit opposite them. The kid is absorbed in their phone, keeping up a running commentary, and the father looks over their shoulder, a fond smile on his face.
Blaine looks wistfully down at his own hands and tries to ignore the ache in his chest.
It takes two changes before they reach the right station, and there’s still a five minute walk until they reach the address Kurt looked up on Google Maps. Blaine is struggling to keep his breathing under control as Kurt reads instructions off his phone, his shirt sticking to the small of his back and his jaw tight.
When they finally arrive outside the handsome brownstone, he can feel tears pricking at his eyes. Kurt rings the doorbell and looks back over his shoulder, giving Blaine a reassuring smile.
Blaine focuses on Kurt’s hand in his, squeezing tight. The front door opens and a smiling woman steps forward, the very picture of a perfect mother.
“You must be the Hummel-Andersons!” she says brightly, “I’m Marie Hernandez, great to meet you.”
She shakes Kurt’s hand, then Blaine’s, appearing unfazed by their nervous faces. “Joy is in the kitchen, can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea?”
“I’m okay,” Blaine says, and Kurt says the same as they hang up their coats. Blaine takes Kurt’s hand again as Mrs Hernandez leads them through into a spacious open-plan kitchen, backing onto an equally as spacious living room.
“You’re the first visitors Joy has had since she came to live with me,” Mrs Hernandez continues, “Take a seat, I’ll just go and find her.”
Blaine sinks into a chair at the kitchen table and throws a desperate glance at Kurt. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Hey,” Kurt crouches beside him, “If you want to leave we can, okay? Just say the word.”
“Okay,” Blaine closes his eyes, “Okay. Just - don’t go anywhere?”
“I’m right here,” Kurt says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
**
Kurt is ready to call the whole thing off from the expression on Blaine’s face. He looks like he’s between anticipation and fear, biting his bottom lip and glancing around the room. He’s opening his mouth to double check that Blaine doesn’t want to leave when Mrs Hernandez reappears, with a little girl perched on her hip, her face tucked shyly into the woman’s shoulder.
Blaine stands, his eyes wide, and says softly, “Joy? Sweetie, it’s me.”
The little girl’s head snaps around, and Kurt gets a quick flash of a cherubic face and bright eyes before Blaine has her in his arms, squeezing her tight.
“Hey, sweetie,” he murmurs, “Hey, sweetheart. Oh my goodness, I’ve missed you.”
Kurt turns away, gives them a moment of privacy. Mrs Hernandez is watching, and Kurt clears his throat softly, says “Could I actually get a glass of water?”
“Of course,” she gets up and Kurt follows, collecting a glass for Blaine as well.
“So,” Mrs Hernandez says conversationally, “Are you and your husband looking to adopt?”
Kurt chokes on his water.
“I - hm - sorry, ah, say that again?”
“Are you and your husband looking to adopt?” Mrs Hernandez repeats, “I know that look.”
Kurt is painfully aware that he looks like a rabbit in headlights. “I, uh - we haven’t… discussed that. Yet.”
Or at all.
“I see,” she nods, “So this was a surprise visit?”
“Of a sort,” Kurt clears his throat, “I, uh - just going to check on them. Thanks for the water.”
He backs off, still smiling nervously, and then makes a beeline for Blaine, sitting on the floor with Joy.
“Hey, sweetie,” he says softly, “If you need me -”
“Kurt!” Blaine looks completely different from the man a few minutes earlier. He’s smiling, and even though his eyes are a little bloodshot and tear tracks are drying on his cheeks, it’s the happiest Kurt’s seen him since he got back, “Joy, honey, do you know who this is? This is Kurt.”
The sweet kid sitting on Blaine’s lap stares up at him, wide-eyed. Her hair is tied into pigtails on either side of her head, her mouth smeared with chocolate. Kurt throws a nervous glance at Blaine and then tries a smile.
Joy shrinks back and turns her face into Blaine’s chest. Kurt sits back, grimacing, and gestures over his shoulder. “I’ll just, uh -”
She refuses to turn back around, both hands holding onto Blaine’s shirt.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Kurt whispers, “I’ll just go.”
“Don’t,” Blaine pleads, “Don’t go, just sit for a moment, okay? Joy, did you know Kurt can sing?”
Kurt widens his eyes in a silent Blaine, no!
“He sings really well,” Blaine jogs her lightly, “Way better than me. Kurt, just follow my lead, okay?”
“Uh, okay?” Kurt has pretty much no idea what’s going on, and then Blaine starts singing.
It’s definitely not a song Kurt’s heard him sing before, but he can tell it’s familiar to Joy. The words aren’t in English, but Kurt remembers a conversation they had a few weeks ago. A song that Blaine’s dad used to sing.
He doesn’t know the words, but the tune is repetitive, and after a few verses he starts to hum along, then vocalize. Their voices still sound good together, even with both of them out of practice and a little rough, and after a couple of rounds Joy is actually looking at him, albeit apprehensively.
“See,” Blaine says, “Kurt’s a really good singer, and you know what? I bet if you have a favourite song, he would sing it for you. Do you have a favourite song?”
Joy glances at Kurt, and then tugs on Blaine’s sleeve. Blaine bends his head, and she whispers something into his ear.
“Twinkle?” Blaine repeats, and she nods.
“Do you know twinkle twinkle, Kurt?” Blaine asks with a grin, and Kurt resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I do, Blaine.”
“Let’s do twinkle twinkle then, okay?” Blaine takes her hands and counts them in. “And a-one, two, three -”
They sing twinkle twinkle little star over and over until Joy starts to join in, not forming words but following the tune. Kurt can’t help but smile as she starts to open up, giggling as Blaine sways them from side to side.
They sing song after song, ones that Kurt hasn’t heard for years. He imagines that Blaine must have sung them in the basement. There’s a song by a one-hit-wonder from the year Blaine disappeared, things from albums that are buried deep in Kurt’s iTunes. When Blaine starts singing Daydream Believer, it takes a moment for Kurt to get past the ache in his chest and join in.
And then his phone rings.
Kurt scrambles up and excuses himself hastily to silence the ringtone, neglecting to look at the caller I.D. When he brings the phone to his ear, he hears Isabelle’s frustrated voice.
“Kurt, I’ve been emailing you for the past two days, where on earth have you been?”
Kurt winces, “I - god, I’m sorry, Isabelle. Blaine and I have had a busy couple of days, I guess I just forgot to check my email.”
“Kurt, I know you’re going through a lot right now and you want to spend as much time with Blaine as possible, but my bosses are really starting down to breathe down my neck. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but those edits you promised you’d make…”
“Right,” Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose, “Right, right, of course.”
“I really hate to do this - is that screaming?”
Kurt turns and spots Blaine swinging Joy upside down in the kitchen, eliciting screeches of happiness. He smiles, says “Blaine and I are just around some kids right now.”
“Some kids - Kurt, are you guys adopting already?”
“What?” Kurt splutters, “No! No, Isabelle, we’re just visiting some people Blaine used to know, okay?”
“Sure, sure,” she says knowingly, “Anyway, I thought I should also let you know that the headhunter from Marc Jacobs came around again.”
“Uh-huh,” Kurt says, edging towards the kitchen again. Blaine has Joy over his shoulder now, pretending to be some sort of monster.
“And they enquired after you, again, for their merchandising.”
“Oh?” Kurt says, not really listening.
“And - don’t get mad - I showed them some of your sketches because hey, it’s Marc Jacobs and you know I’m always proud of your work - and though as your boss I want you to stick around, as your friend… this is one hell of an opportunity.”
Kurt suddenly snaps back into the conversation. “Wait, what?”
“They’ve been after you for months, Kurt, ever since you did that article about designing. But once they saw your designs, it was a done deal. They want you, Kurt.”
“Uh,” Kurt blinks several times, “Marc Jacobs… want to hire me?”
“Look - come into the office some time this week, okay? I can’t talk for long, but now Blaine’s home and you have your mojo back, this could be your big break. Your really big break.”
“Okay,” Kurt says faintly, “I’ll come in.”
“Great. Give me some warning and we can sit down and talk about it, okay? I have to go, I have Anna waiting, but call me.”
“I will,” Kurt whispers, “Bye, Isabelle.”
She’s already hung up, and Kurt puts a hand against the wall and closes his eyes.
“Think about this later,” he tells himself, “Think about it later.”
With the conversation semi-successfully pushed to the back of his mind, he puts his phone back in his pocket and walks back into the kitchen.
“Neeeeeow!” Blaine, now with his arms out like a plane, swoops towards him with Joy on his back, “Target acquired! Boom!”
Kurt staggers, puts a hand to his chest and collapses to the floor with all of his dramatic capabilities. Blaine wheels away and then comes around again, making a screeching noise like he’s landing. “Quick, Joy! We have to capture the bad guy!”
“I’m the bad guy?” Kurt says, and then shrieks when Blaine sits on his legs, “Aah! You got me!”
“See,” Blaine pats Kurt’s chest, “Come capture the bad guy!.”
Hesitantly, Joy steps forward and then flings herself on top of Kurt’s chest. Kurt groans as he gets a tiny knee to the side, throwing his arms out in defeat. “You got me. I’m captured.”
They high five, and it’s just about the cutest thing Kurt’s ever seen.
With Blaine, Joy seems to be more outgoing than Kurt expected, though she doesn’t leave his side. They play hide and seek, with Joy and Blaine hiding, and though she can disappear under tables and behind armchairs Blaine isn’t quite as capable. Kurt pretends not to spot his husband’s foot poking out from behind the couch, and only ‘finds’ them on his third circuit around the room. She’s just about to go and hide alone when Mrs Hernandez re-enters the room, holding a plate and a cup of juice.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, “But it’s time for lunch, Joy, okay?”
Joy races back to Blaine and grabs onto his leg, frowning. Kurt sees the gentle dismissal for what it is, and reaches out for Blaine. “Well, thank you -”
“No!”
Mrs Hernandez kneels. “Come on, Joy, playtime is finished. Lunch time, okay?”
Joy wraps both arms around Blaine’s leg and shakes her head. Blaine looks lost, unable to move. “Joy, I - it’s okay, lunch time is good, right? Aren’t you hungry?” He pets her head lightly, smiles.
Mrs Hernandez picks her up and Joy’s crying turns to screaming. “No!” she shrieks, reaching out for Blaine, “No! No no no! No go!”
“It’s probably best if you just leave,” Mrs Hernandez shouts over the crying, but Blaine goes closer. “Joy, don’t cry,” he says sadly, taking her hand “Joy, sweetie it’s okay! It’s okay, I’ll come back, I’ll come back -”
“It’s really a good idea to go,” Mrs Hernandez says again, and Kurt grabs Blaine’s hand and tugs. Blaine lets go of Joy, clearly torn. “It’s okay, Joy! It’s okay, I swear, I’ll be back! I’m not leaving forever, I promise!”
They show themselves out, Joy’s cries echoing through the house, and Blaine rubs a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left.”
“Honey, you can’t help that,” Kurt tugs him in for a hug, “It’s okay. She’ll be fine.”
“She got so big, Kurt,” Blaine inhales shakily, “She grew up so fast, and - I didn’t - I didn’t get to help her.”
“Blaine, no,” Kurt pulls back, grabbing him by the shoulders, “Blaine, you can’t blame yourself for this. She’s not your kid.”
“I know,” Blaine runs a hand through his hair, “I know. I just - I feel responsible for her. And I should feel responsible for all the kids, but I don’t. Just for her.”
Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he just hugs Blaine again.
“Let’s go home,” he says softly, “Okay? Let’s go home.”
**
It takes about a week for the subject of moving to come up.
Blaine’s chopping eggplant for a roasted vegetable salad, carefully avoiding his fingers with the blade, when Kurt (sitting at the counter slicing feta cheese) says, “Have you thought about getting a new place?”
Blaine slows, then stops chopping. “Uh, why?”
“I mean… this apartment. It was okay for two early-twenties men still figuring out what they wanted to do, and I know those people stole a lot of the figuring-out time from you, but now it’s just - it’s a little small. For a married couple.”
“And a dog,” Blaine adds.
“And a dog,” Kurt glances at where Pepper is sprawled across the carpet on her back, “I know we loved this place, but… it has a lot of bad memories for me.”
Blaine returns to his methodical slicing. “I get it.”
“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. We don’t have to. But we have a little more money now, and I just figured maybe we could get a bigger place.”
“I didn’t realise you were making that much money at Vogue,” Blaine says, grinning, “If I had I would have bought that fancy back massager from Amazon.”
“Well, that’s the other thing,” Kurt pauses, “I got a job offer. From Marc Jacobs.”
Blaine’s hands jerk, and the knife slices across the tip of his middle finger. He jumps back, the knife clattering to the counter, and jams his finger in his mouth, hissing.
“Oh god, are you okay?” Kurt scrambles over to him, “Quick, put it under water, put it under water.”
Blaine grits his teeth at the sting as cold water washes over his hand. “Dammit, that hurts.”
Kurt pulls his hand back and holds a clump of tissues to it. “God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Is it bad? Should we go to a hospital?”
“No, it’s fine,” Blaine shakes his head, “Just a little cut, I overreacted.”
“I’m sorry, anyway,” Kurt kisses the back of his hand, “Let me find the band-aids.”
“No, no, no,” Blaine grabs his arm, “Kurt, Marc Jacobs? For real?”
Kurt’s concerned face melts into a grin, and he glances away bashfully. “Mm-hmm.”
“To do what?”
“Design,” Kurt’s grin gets wider, “Isabelle said there was a headhunter who’s a friend of hers, and she showed them my sketches and apparently they want to hire me.”
“Oh my god!” Blaine goes to grab Kurt’s shoulders and then realises the tissues clamped to his finger are kind of bloody, so instead he hugs him. “Kurt, that’s incredible!”
Kurt laughs, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s waist. “I still can’t really believe it, but… yeah. They really want to hire me!”
“Honey, I’m so proud of you,” Blaine tucks his face into Kurt’s neck, “So proud.”
Kurt kisses the side of his head. “Thank you.”
“So the pay -”
“Better than what I’m getting at Vogue,” Kurt says, “Only by a bit, but I have money saved up - I did a lot of overtime, a lot of staying late at the office. So. What do you say?”
“What do I say to moving?” Blaine grins, “I say let’s do it. Absolutely.”
Kurt squeals and lifts Blaine right off his feet, spinning him around. Blaine yelps, wraps his arms around Kurt’s neck and joins in laughing as they pitch backwards onto the couch. Pepper leaps up, yipping excitedly, and Blaine squirms away as she tries to lick him.
She collides with the coffee table as she starts another set of crazy loops around the apartment, and Kurt looks at Blaine. “See what I mean about needing a bigger place?”
“Oh, I see,” Blaine says, and kisses him.
Kurt accepts the job offer that evening.
He goes back to Vogue the next day, to get everything in order in the eight weeks before he leaves. Blaine, finding himself alone in the apartment most days, turns his attentions to finding them a new place to live.
It makes him feel useful. He still gets nightmares, really only leaves the house when he has to and then compulsively spends every second talking to someone. Tina is currently freelancing, and she doesn’t mind chatting to him over the phone as he goes about grocery shopping or even joining him to walk Pepper or get coffee when the cabin fever gets too much. She doesn’t question why he tells her which street he’s turning onto, or which shop he’s going in. In fact, Blaine thinks sometimes she writes it down.
He starts off online. Emails a lot of people. Some of them reply, some don’t. After he reaches a wall with most of those, he sucks it up and calls people.
And then he has to start visiting places.
For the first two, Kurt comes. They inquire about parks close by, about bills, about facilities in the building. It’s not easy, but it’s doable. Kurt’s hand on his waist is a constant reassurance. But then work picks up. Kurt feels guilty about leaving, and has to leave Blaine to it.
(Blaine turns on location tracking on both of their phones.)
He tries to get Tina to come with him, but her work has picked up and she can’t. Mercedes isn’t in town, nobody else is free, and so Blaine resigns himself to going by himself, bringing Pepper with him if he can.
It’s nerve wracking, at the very least. He jumps at every loud noise, keeps Pepper’s leash wrapped tight around his fist and his other hand on the personal safety alarm he bought without telling anyone. He takes Ubers pretty much everywhere, and texts Kurt little updates with his location attached. He talks to everyone, greets people who don’t know him, anything to make an impact. He even thinks about buying a muzzle to make Pepper look more threatening. He’s scared.
But Kurt’s relying on him to find somewhere for them to live, so he keeps going. Pepper’s a big enough deterrent, he tells himself. Nobody’s going to try and get you again.
You’ll be fine.
Unfortunately, Pepper’s presence ends most meetings before they start. Either the building has a no pets rule, or they have a weight limit. Pepper looks skinny, but she still clocks in at about seventy pounds, and her weight rules her out more often than it rules her in.
Day after day, more places get crossed off his list. Most apartment buildings are unwilling, and when they are willing to take them, it comes with a hefty fee and insurance policy. Slowly, Blaine gets worn down. His apartment appointments go from several each week to one or two. And he spends more and more time with Joy.
Luckily, her foster mom and social worker don’t mind that Blaine visits so often. As his viewings at various apartments slow down, he visits more, but it never stops being hard to leave her.
After six weeks, he’s visiting three times a week. Kurt joins him for one each week, when he isn’t working.
They’re walking back from the subway station after one of the visits when Kurt voices something.
“You know, it’s really hard to find a dog friendly apartment in the city.”
“Yeah,” Blaine sighs, “I’m sorry, I’ve been looking.”
“You’re sorry? Blaine, don’t apologise! It’s not your fault this city is ridiculous,” Kurt wraps an arm around his waist, “It just means maybe we should look further out.”
Blaine frowns. “Further out?”
“I was thinking,” Kurt says slowly, “Queens.”
“Queens?”
“We could get a house.”
“A house?”
Kurt shrugs. “It’s just a thought.”
“Kurt, we can’t afford a house.”
“I think we could.”
“With what money?” Blaine shakes his head, “We really can’t afford it.”
“Well, your dad gave you some money when we got you back,” Kurt says.
“That’s not - how much even was that?”
“Enough to help,” Kurt sighs, “It’s just a suggestion, honey. We don’t have to do it. I know you love the city.”
Blaine thinks about moving out of the city. Thinks about a house out in Queens. A house, with a little garden and space for a barbecue and -
“I’ll widen my search,” he says, “See what I can find.”
Kurt’s face lights up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Blaine smiles, “I think it might be time we move out to the suburbs.”
“Get a little picket fence?” Kurt teases, “With a dog and two point five kids?”
Blaine’s heart skips a beat. Kids.
“Yeah,” he says, his mouth dry, “Exactly. Two point five kids.”
**
Two days later, he finds a pamphlet.
Kurt is on the phone to his dad in the living room, and Blaine is tidying their bedroom. After four years living in the mess that comes with seven children in an enclosed space, he’s finally understood why Kurt enjoys cleaning so much. There’s something very therapeutic about it.
He’s cleaning up papers from all over the dresser where Kurt had left them after coming back from his last day at Vogue when his fingertips connect with something that isn’t notepaper.
He shuffles the papers about in his arms and pulls out a leaflet.
Adoption in the State of New York, it reads.
Oh, Blaine thinks.
He drops the papers on the bed and walks through into the kitchen, holding the leaflet in one hand. Kurt’s still on the phone, leaning up against the window and laughing.
Blaine stands by the breakfast bar, and waits.
“Okay, Dad. Okay. Give my love to Carole, okay? Yeah, I’ll tell him. Yeah. Bye, Dad. Love you.”
He hangs up, turns, and then lets out a little shriek. “Blaine! Oh my god, I didn’t even hear you come in -”
“What’s this?”
Blaine holds the leaflet out. Kurt frowns, crossing the room to look at it. There’s a beat, and then his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh. God, I - I didn’t mean for you to see this.”
“Kurt, talk to me,” Blaine sits down, “We’re married.”
“I know,” Kurt runs a hand through his hair and sits down opposite him, “Okay. I - you - it’s stupid, it’s really stupid, but -”
“Kurt. Breathe.”
“You told me about that dream you had,” Kurt says, “Where you and Joy and I, we were a family. And I thought about it a lot, but I pushed it to the back of my mind until I saw you with her. Blaine, you were so happy. And her foster mom, she was asking about adoption, Isabelle was asking about adoption, and I just got this thought in my head and I haven’t been able to get rid of it. So I got some pamphlets.”
Blaine stares at him. “You… you think I’m safe to be around kids?”
Kurt looks taken aback. “What? Why wouldn’t you be?”
“Kurt, I get nightmares. I don’t sleep properly. I’m seeing a therapist, I spent four years in a basement - I can’t leave the house without taking Pepper with me or telling someone where I’m going, the exact route I’m taking -”
“You’re healing,” Kurt reaches across to take his hand, “You’re healing, Blaine. You’re going to be okay.”
Blaine exhales slowly. “You really think that?”
“I know it,” Kurt’s eyes are calm and certain, “I know you. And you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But I thought it was worth broaching the subject.”
Blaine’s mind spins.
Adoption. Of course he wants to have kids, he’s always wanted that. And he’s always loved the idea of adoption, but after the basement -
Well. He assumed he’d never have the chance. Nobody would approve a gay, traumatised kidnapping victim for adoption.
Right?
“Blaine?” Kurt says, “Is this too much?”
“No, it’s just… I never thought -” Blaine looks up, “You’d really -?”
Kurt smiles. “We both had to put our lives on hold, right? Now we can move forward. Life can really start.”
“Is this why you suggested getting a house instead of an apartment?”
Kurt pulls a face. “Maybe.”
“Kurt,” Blaine says, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, honey,” Kurt leans over and hugs him, “I love you more than you know.”
**
Kurt starts work at Marc Jacobs, and Blaine starts looking for a house. They get a surprise visit from Agent James, who tells him that the ATF are finally putting their case together. She tells him they won’t be pressing charges against him (and adds, with a wry smile, that they would have nothing to charge him with anyway), but he may be called upon to testify. The idea of it terrifies Blaine - getting up in front of a court to talk about what he went through - but Agent James says they’re offering a plea deal. If it’s accepted, he won’t be required to testify at all.
Kurt says he wishes they’d all rot in prison. Blaine just hopes he doesn’t have to go through his day in court.
He’s alone in the apartment more and more, with Kurt trying to prove himself at Marc Jacobs. Blaine’s not angry - how could he be angry, with Kurt out there making a name for himself - but he is lonely. Looking for houses and seeing Joy only takes up half of his time. He spends many an hour catching up on pop culture, but it only brings back the feeling of being out of place.
He wants to get back into the world. Wants to do something, but he can’t. He can’t while he’s still scared of being outside.
So he starts the process of adoption.
It’s far longer than he thought. There’s finding an agency, then submitting the adoption application, completing the homestudy (how on earth will they complete a homestudy when they’re about to change homes?) and then actually finding a kid to adopt.
And he still hasn’t said anything about the fact that he really, really wants to adopt Joy.
It’s Kurt’s first day off for two weeks, and he’s sleeping in. Blaine wakes at eight thirty, which is late for him, and decided to try his hand at an old favourite.
They have no pancake mix, so he makes it from scratch. Kurt’s been eating blueberries in his yoghurt and granola each morning, so there’s plenty of those, and even some strawberries.
“I love summer,” Blaine says with a grin, and grabs a carton of each.
Pepper joins him a few minutes later, her claws clicking on the tile. Blaine makes a mental note to clip them as he ties an apron around his waist. A cool front is covering New York, making it cold enough to be wearing his monogrammed pajamas again, and he’s not about to get melted butter stains on the dark blue material.
He’s dropping blueberries into the pancake cooking in the pan when a sleepy voice says “Blaine?”
Blaine glances over his shoulder. “Hey, did I wake you? I was gonna let you sleep.”
“No, I woke up hungry,” Kurt yawns, “What time did I go to sleep last night?”
“Nine,” Blaine says with a grin, “You were exhausted.”
“I slept for twelve hours?”
“Uh-huh,” Blaine smiles as Kurt’s arms loop around his waist and his face buries itself in Blaine’s shoulder.
“Still sleepy,” he hears his husband mumble softly.
“Go back to bed,” Blaine turns and kisses the closest part of Kurt that he can reach, which happens to be his ear.
“No,” Kurt yawns again, “‘M hungry, now.”
“Good thing I’m making pancakes then,” Blaine laughs as Kurt presses a kiss to the side of his neck, “Careful, or you won’t get any.”
“I don’t believe my lovely patient husband would do that to me,” Kurt says, rubbing his face against Blaine’s shoulder, “Blueberry pancakes?”
“I was going to slice some strawberries, too, but now I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” Blaine says with an eyeroll to Pepper. Kurt’s leaning on him pretty heavily, and Blaine’s pretty sure he’s fast asleep.
He cooks the whole bowl of mix, making a huge stack of pancakes for each of them. Kurt stands behind him the whole time, not moving and breathing softly against his shoulder.
Once all the pancakes are cooked, Blaine covers Kurt’s hands with his own and shakes them a little. “Honey?”
“Mm.”
“Breakfast, okay?”
“Mm!”
“Go sit at the counter, let me slice some strawberries, okay?”
Kurt releases his hold on Blaine and shuffles sideways to the counter, pillowing his head on his arms. Blaine smiles fondly, and starts a pot of coffee.
Five minutes later, he has a plate piled high with pancakes, sliced strawberries and maple syrup. He places it in front of Kurt, along with a large mug of coffee, and kisses his husband’s bed-rumpled hair. “Food’s ready.”
Kurt’s head pops up, and he grins. “Mm, Blaine, this smells amazing.”
“I hope they taste as good,” Blaine says a little nervously, sitting opposite Kurt with his own plate, “Make sure I didn’t switch the sugar for the salt.”
Kurt is already shovelling forkfuls into his mouth. “Mmmm. ‘S ‘mazin.”
Blaine can’t help but laugh. “Slow down, you can have some of mine if you’re that hungry.”
Kurt pauses only to take a gulp of coffee, one arm curled around his plate like someone might snatch it away. “Skipped lunch yesterday, had to go to a meeting.”
“You didn’t eat lunch?”
“I had a coffee?” Kurt peers over the top of his mug like he’s expecting Blaine’s disapproving look, “It was a busy day.”
Blaine rolls his eyes. “Next time I’m making lunch for you.”
“What?” Kurt’s eyes go wide, “You’ll make me lunch?”
“I’ve been meaning to,” Blaine shrugs, “Collecting recipes. I need something to do when all the real estate sites fry my mind. And Joy’s sick this week.”
“She is?”
“Stomach flu,” Blaine stabs one of his pancakes and transfers it to Kurt’s plate, dripping syrup everywhere, “Mrs Hernandez doesn’t want me getting it and then passing it back to her.”
“Mm,” Kurt folds a pancake in half and eyes it like he might try and fit the whole thing in his mouth. There’s a smudge of blueberry on his bottom lip, and Blaine smiles. Sometimes it’s very clear that Kurt lived alone with Burt for eight years.
“So,” he says, eating his own pancakes at a significantly slower rate, “I’ve been researching adoption.”
“Oh yeah?” Kurt says with his mouth half full, “What’d you find?”
“We need to choose an adoption agency,” Blaine pokes at a strawberry slice, “And once we do that, we have to submit an application form. And then - this is the bit I’m worried about - there’s a homestudy.”
“A homestudy?” Kurt repeats.
“They come and look at your home.”
“Why are you worried about that?” Kurt asks, “Our apartment is fine.”
“Kurt,” Blaine says gently, “We’re moving. If they come and observe here, and we pass, but then we move, what if it sets us back again? And if we say sorry, no, can’t come and look at our house because we don’t have one, I doubt our applications will go anywhere but the shredder.”
“Hey,” Kurt swallows his mouthful and reaches across the counter, “It’s okay. All we have to go is find a house first.”
“I know, but finding a house isn’t easy either,” Blaine runs a hand through his hair, “I’m looking and looking, but I don’t like going anywhere without Pepper or Tina and I can’t take an Uber or a taxi all the way to Queens every couple of days, the costs would really rack up and if we’re buying or renting a house we can’t really afford that and Tina is so busy and nobody else is in town, I don’t want to go by myself and I know I should get over it -”
“Honey, honey, breathe.”
“I can’t do this by myself,” Blaine says miserably, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying but it’s nearly impossible to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Okay,” Kurt crams the last of his pancakes into his mouth, “Okay, let me help. I’m sorry, I haven’t been here, have I? But you have me all to yourself today. Let’s figure this out.”
With Kurt helping, everything that seemed like an impenetrable tangle of information becomes more accessible. They pick a few neighbourhoods that seem nice. Blaine makes a mental note that Woodside has a big Filipino population, if he ever gets the courage to bring up Joy.
Together, they write a list of criteria over a fresh pot of coffee. Must have a yard, must have at least two bedrooms, a decent sized kitchen. With the parameters straight in his head, Blaine restarts his search with Pepper on the couch beside him while Kurt makes lunch.
“Blaine?”
“Mm?” Blaine pauses in his assessment of a cute three-bedroom house in Jackson Heights.
“I was thinking about the whole adoption thing.”
“Yeah?” Blaine copy-pastes the URL of the house into his housing document under the heading Three Bedrooms.
“I was thinking… about Joy.”
Blaine stops. “What about her?”
“Well, you know, adoption can take a while, and sometimes it doesn’t always work out, so I was thinking… maybe we should try and adopt Joy.”
Blaine pushes his laptop off him and jumps up, crossing the room to grab Kurt’s hands. “Really?”
Kurt looks startled. “Yeah. I mean - I thought - do you -?”
“Yes!” Blaine throws his arms around Kurt, “Yes, Kurt, I’ve been thinking about it ever since you brought up adoption, I can’t believe -”
Kurt hugs him back, laughing. “I knew you’d be okay with it.”
“I love you so much,” Blaine draws back, kisses him, “I’m so lucky.”
“That’s my line,” Kurt says, and kisses him back.
**
Seven months later, they close on a house.
It’s nerve-wracking. Blaine can’t really believe that it’s really happening. He’s lost four years of planning, of living, and it feels like they’re moving too fast. But Kurt’s nearly thirty, and Blaine’s following close behind. Maybe they’re moving faster than their friends, but as Kurt jokes, they always did.
Autumn is in full swing as he packs up the apartment. Blaine keeps finding things he’d forgotten about - items of clothing, photo albums. He even finds a picture of them, two weeks before he was taken. It goes in his wallet.
Kurt takes three days off from work to get them squared away. Pepper stays with Tina and Xiu after the first day, because she keeps unpacking things they’ve packed and getting underfoot. They listen to music and talk as they box things up, and Blaine stops feeling scared and starts feeling excited.
Burt and Carole fly out to help. Burt insists on paying for professional movers, which makes life significantly easier. On the second day, Blaine does one last walk through the apartment, hands the keys over to the super, and says goodbye to their old home.
They take a taxi out to Queens, with Pepper sitting between them, whining nervously. The movers truck arrives before them, and they’re already unloading things when they get there. Kurt pays the cab driver and puts an arm around Blaine. “What do you think? Our new home looks pretty cool.”
Blaine laughs. Their modest two-bedroom-and-an-office semi-detached house is the furthest thing from cool, but it’s theirs, and he really doesn’t care about what other people may think.
“Okay,” Kurt opens the front gate, “You ready?”
Blaine holds up the keys. “Ready as I can be.”
He unlocks the front door, heart in his throat, but before they can step through Kurt sweeps him off his feet.
Blaine yelps, throws his arms around Kurt’s neck and then dissolves into laughter as Kurt hums the wedding march, stepping grandly over the threshold.
Home, he thinks, looking at the pale cream walls and the light wooden flooring, this is really home now.
Four months after that, they pass the homestudy. And another two months after that, they’re officially allowed to start visiting Joy, as if they haven’t been seeing her once a week for almost a year.
Agent James is right - the plea deal is accepted by all of the members of the doomsday group. And, finally, the parental rights of Joy’s adoptive parents are revoked.
And she comes to live with them.
“Do you have the cookies ready?” Kurt yells through from the living room. Blaine eases the rack out of the oven. “Yeah, they just finished.”
“What’s the time?”
“It’s… one fifteen.”
Kurt appears in the doorway, his sweater rumpled. “Okay. Is Pepper in her bed?”
“I threw the ball for her for twenty minutes, she’s out cold.”
“Okay,” Kurt smooths his hands down his front, “Okay. Okay! It’s fine. It’s going to be fine, right?”
“Kurt,” Blaine reaches over and hugs him, “It’s going to be absolutely fine.”
“What if she hates it?”
“Hates what?”
“Us. The house. Pepper. Her room. The neighbourhood. The cookies -”
“Kurt, Kurt, hey,” Blaine smiles, “Joy’s met Pepper, hasn’t she. She’s met us. We’ve showed her pictures of her room, of the house. She’s excited.”
“But we still - we still have to pass the supervisory period -”
“And we will,” Blaine says, “I know we will.”
Kurt slumps against him. “I’m freaking out.”
“Me too,” Blaine sighs, “But we’ll be okay.”
Kurt sighs, and then the doorbell rings.
“That’s her!” Kurt gasps, and they both turn and make a beeline for the door. Kurt stops them at the hallway mirror and opens his mouth. “Do I have anything in my teeth?”
“You’re fine,” Blaine takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. And opens the door.
Joy runs through the doorway and straight into Kurt’s arms with a happy squeal, her stuffed dog under one arm. Kurt laughs, spinning her around, and immediately carries her through into the kitchen. Blaine calls “Don’t feed her too much!” over his shoulder, and opens the door further for her caseworker, Leanne Rickers.
“Mr. Hummel-Anderson,” she says with a smile, “Great to see you again.”
“Hi, Leanne,” Blaine says nervously, “Come on in.”
“Do I smell cookies?” she asks, pulling Joy’s bright pink duffle bag off her shoulder.
“I baked,” Blaine says, managing a smile as he takes the bag from her, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, don’t worry, I’m just dropping Joy off,” Leanne smiles, looking around, “I’ll email you the schedule for my visits soon, and of course I’m always available on the phone. Let me know if you have any problems.”
“Of course,” Blaine can feel his palms sweating, and hopes she doesn’t try to shake his hand, “Thank you so much. I - can’t convey how happy we are.”
She smiles wider. “Don’t worry, Mr. Anderson. I’ll just say goodbye.”
She walks into the kitchen, and Blaine hears her say goodbye to Joy. He takes the opportunity to deposit Joy’s bag on the stairs, check his own teeth in the mirror, run a hand over his hair, and makes sure there isn’t too much dog fur on his pants.
Leanne walks back into the hallway, rummaging in her bag, and hands Blaine a card. “I know you already have my details, but I’m constantly losing business cards,” she says with a conciliatory smile, “And on the back is an adoptive parents support group, local to the area. It’s worth going along.”
“Thank you,” Blaine tucks the card into his pocket, “I really appreciate it.”
She holds out her hand, and Blaine curses internally and has to wipe his palm on his sweater before taking it. “I’ll see you soon, then?”
“You will,” she says with a cheery grin, and shuts the door behind her.
Blaine wipes his hands on his sweater again and then turns, walks back into the kitchen. Joy is sitting at the breakfast bar - a real breakfast bar, not just repurposed counter space - with chocolate smeared on her cheeks, half of a cookie in her hands.
“Hey, sweetie,” Blaine kisses the top of her head, “You like the cookies?”
Joy grins, and Kurt leans over and gently taps her chin. “Mouth closed when chewing, Joy.”
“Like you can talk,” Blaine elbows him, “You should see him when he eats pizza, Joy.”
Joy’s eyes widen. “Pizza?” she mumbles, spraying cookie crumbs everywhere, “Can I ha’ pizza?”
They glance at each other. Kurt had planned something healthier, but…
“Sure, sweetie,” Blaine says, and Joy giggles happily and wiggles in her seat. “I go outside?”
Blaine helps her off the chair and watches as she stops by the doorframe, puts a stabilising hand on it and steps down into the garden, a ridiculously huge smile on his face. “I think she likes it here.”
“I think she’s pumped full of sugar and adrenaline,” Kurt comes up behind him, kisses his cheek, “But yes. I think she does.”
“Should we show her where her room is? Make sure she likes the colour, and her sheets?”
Joy has found Pepper’s ball. Blaine almost wants to intervene, but Pepper waits patiently for her to throw it, tail wagging like crazy.
“Let’s give her a second,” Kurt says, “Let her work off some of that sugar rush.”
Blaine laughs. “You’re probably right.”
“She’s more confident,” Kurt rests his chin on Blaine’s shoulder, “Look. Last time she wouldn’t even pet Pepper.”
“I think it’s Maggie,” Blaine looks at the stuffed dog tucked under Joy’s arm, “You were right to give it to her.”
“You were right to suggest it,” Kurt kisses his cheek, “Go out and join her, I’ll make some coffee.”
“I love you,” Blaine says.
“Love you more,” Kurt grins, and pats Blaine lightly on the butt. “Go on. Join her. It’ll be too cold to use the garden soon.”
It’s been just over a year since Blaine stepped out of that basement. He still has nightmares. He still sees a therapist.
