It's late already, but Blaine still hasn't come home yet.

Kurt glances at his watch for the umpteenth time, sighs and then stands up and finally starts putting away the leftovers they were supposed to have for dinner tonight. Perry lifts her head from where she's lying on the kitchen floor at the movement, following Kurt carefully with her eyes as if she's hoping that he'll drop something. Kurt clucks his tongue at her, and she lowers her head again, looking as sheepish as a dog possibly can.

Kurt can feel his lips twitching into a smile at their dog's behavior, but the smile slips away too quickly. Blaine had texted Kurt earlier, saying that the case he was supervising was dragging on and he would get home a little later than usual, but it has already been over four hours. Kurt's not worried, not enough to freak out, not yet at least – Blaine said he was just supervising a routine stake-out and wouldn't probably even get out of the van because he was there as the senior agent, keeping an eye on the team and making sure everything was done properly – but Kurt can't help feeling a little anxious anyway. Blaine usually texts him every time his plans change, and obviously something has changed if ‘a little later' has already turned into several hours.

Kurt puts the food away slowly, trying to keep his nerves in check. Perry yawns on the floor now that she's not getting any treats, rolling over without a care in the world. Kurt sometimes really envies her relatively simple life. He glances at his phone again once the food is in the fridge, biting his lip when he notices there are still no new messages from Blaine, no calls he could've missed even though the phone has been right on the counter next to him.

Maybe he should call him. If Blaine is just supervising, he should be able to answer his phone. But on the other hand, if he is in the middle of a case, Kurt doesn't want to disturb him. He doesn't want to turn into one of those husbands. He's heard other FBI agents complain about their spouses and their unnecessary worrying enough already.

Perhaps he should just spend some time reviewing his latest column for Vogue, and if Blaine still hasn't come home yet when he's done with that…

Kurt's still holding his phone in his hands and staring at the kitchen cabinets with a frown when he suddenly hears the soft click of a key turning in the lock from the hall. The sound startles him, and when he turns to look, Perry is already scrambling to her feet, wagging her tail in greeting as she jogs into the hallway, her nails clicking against the floor.

Kurt listens, still holding his phone, until he hears the door close and Blaine's quiet greeting to Perry breaks the silence. Kurt slowly lets out the breath he's been holding, lowering his hands and dropping his phone on the table.

Blaine's home. He's okay.

There are footsteps, and then Blaine appears into the kitchen doorway, Perry trailing after him with her Labrador smile. Kurt looks up with a smile of his own, just in time to see Blaine loosening his tie as he leans against the doorframe, looking… more tired than usual. There's something lingering around his eyes, something worried and anxious and painful.

“Hey,” Blaine says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as if it's sore. He doesn't meet Kurt's eyes. “I'm sorry I'm so late.”

Kurt can feel the smile fall away from his own face once again, his stomach suddenly twisting with worry. “You okay?” he asks carefully, taking a step closer.

Blaine slowly curls in on himself, still keeping his eyes on the floor and shrugging his shoulders. His suit looks rumpled, his hair breaking free from the gel on his temples and sticking up at the top of his head, and when Kurt dips his head he can see how lost Blaine's eyes look like.

“Blaine? Honey?” he asks again, keeping his voice quiet and reaching a hand towards him.

Blaine wraps his arms around himself, swallowing roughly. “I'm fine, it's… It's just that– The case didn't go as well as we predicted.”

Kurt rests his hand on Blaine's arm, feeling it tremble a few times under his palm as he strokes his thumb over the fabric of Blaine's suit jacket. “Is everyone else okay?” he asks, understanding the words between the lines.

Blaine swallows again, and his eyes focus even more determinedly on the floor. “Agent Nichols, she– She's new, fresh from Quantico. This was one of her first assignments, actually, and the…” He blinks his eyes rapidly, and Kurt tightens his hold on Blaine's arm, the worry in his stomach twisting and coiling. “The perps we were after started firing shots and Nichols–”

Kurt inhales sharply. He moves without hesitation, closing the distance between himself and Blaine, and wraps his arms around Blaine's unnaturally still frame, pulling him close until Blaine's head is resting against his shoulder.

“I was yelling orders in the van and I could hear her shouting at the perps through my headphones,” Blaine continues, his voice a little frantic, “I could hear her and then there was a loud shot and she wasn't shouting anymore and–”

“Blaine…” Kurt hushes him, his own voice sounding strangled as well as he squeezes Blaine tightly against himself and strokes his hands soothingly down his back.

“I– I went to the hospital with her. That's why I'm so late,” Blaine goes on. “She's still alive, but the… T-the doctors said it's not looking that good and that she– she m-might–”

“Oh god,” Kurt whispers. He can feel something wet against the curve of his neck, and he holds Blaine closer, feeling like he's trying to protect something precious from the ugly world with just the strength of his own arms.

“I-I'm responsible for them, Kurt,” Blaine gasps, hands curling into Kurt's shirt. “I'm the ASAC, if I'm supervising them then I'm responsible for them even more than I usually am, I'm responsible for N-Nichols and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't do anything, and I had to call her parents and tell them that their daughter is in the hospital because a criminal we were after shot her and the doctors don't know if she's going to make it and the… the sound her mom make, Kurt, I can still hear it in my ears, it was so–”

“Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, hey,” Kurt says, leaning back and framing Blaine's face with his hands. There are tears on Blaine's cheeks even if most of them are still pooled in his eyes, and he looks so lost, so pained that Kurt doesn't even know what to do. “Breathe, honey, breathe,” he instructs, stroking his thumb slowly over Blaine's cheekbone.

Blaine gasps, blinks his eyes rapidly and then takes a shuddering breath, his whole body trembling with it. Kurt knows Blaine has lost agents before, knows that sometimes the work Blaine does is tinged with threats and pain and hospital visits and violence, no matter how boring or non-violent white collar crimes are most of the time. He himself has worked with Blaine on cases that didn't end happily, on cases that followed him into his nightmares, into both of their nightmares – but he hasn't seen Blaine like this for a long time. The last time was months before his sentence was commuted, before their lives changed, and every time something like this happens he hopes he'd never have to witness it again.

Blaine takes another shaky breath, and then his arms slowly unwind from where they're wrapped around his body, his hands settling on Kurt's waist almost hesitantly. He's trembling, tiny tremors running up and down his body every now and then, and suddenly Kurt can really see how tired he looks, how his whole skin looks sallow and there are dark bags underneath his eyes. But at least he's not close to hyperventilating anymore.

“I… I'm sorry I didn't call you or text you,” Blaine says in a low voice, finally lifting his eyes and meeting Kurt's.

“It's okay,” Kurt promises. “I was just worried for you,” he adds, searching Blaine's face.

“Sorry,” Blaine repeats, lifting a hand to scrub his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Hey, I told you, it's okay,” Kurt says, leaning in to press a small kiss on Blaine's lips. Blaine's eyes flutter closed at the touch, and he chases Kurt's mouth when they break off, looking like he needs the gentle touch now more than he needs anything else. Kurt gives him a smile and strokes his thumbs over Blaine's cheeks again. “Come on, let's get you to bed. You look like you could use some sleep.”

Blaine nods and then follows him into the bedroom without a word, Perry trailing after them carefully as if she can sense something's wrong. Kurt doesn't turn on the lights; he just guides Blaine to stand next to their bed and reaches out to slip the loosened tie from his collar, folding it gently over the back of the chair next to Blaine's nightstand. He kisses Blaine one more time and then starts slowly helping him out of his clothes, even though Blaine tries insisting that he's perfectly capable of doing it on his own – but this is one of Kurt's ways to show that he cares, one way to show that he's here for Blaine, even when he's had a rough, horrible day.

Eventually they're both wearing just their undershirts and underwear, goose bumps breaking out on their skin in the cool air of the room. Perry has settled down on the floor next to their bed, her eyes halfway closed already and her head resting between her front paws. Blaine looks a little calmer; there's still that haunted look in his eyes, the one that tells Kurt that he's blaming himself for what happened, that he's still thinking if he could've done anything different and Agent Nichols wouldn't be in the hospital right now.

Kurt knows whatever he says won't fix this or make everything magically better, so he just reaches out his hand again, cupping Blaine's face and smiling when Blaine leans into the touch, his eyes slipping closed.

“I know this won't probably make a difference,” Kurt says quietly, “but you do know it's not your fault, right?”

Blaine opens his eyes and lifts his own hand to pull Kurt's hand away from his face and holding it in his instead, lacing their fingers together. He takes a deep breath, looking up. “I… I know it, logically. Trust me, I've gone over it in my head so many times that I know there's nothing I could've done to prevent it, but I still–”

He trails off, frowning at the ceiling.

“You still feel there should've been something you could have done?” Kurt finishes softly for him, watching the way the shadows fall over Blaine's face, making the bags under his eyes look even more pronounced. “I know you want to keep everyone safe, Blaine, but you can't protect every single person from harm.”

Blaine gives a strained laugh. “You know, when we were in Seattle your dad jokingly asked me if I was a… ‘A gun-crazy overachiever' was the expression he used, I think,” he says, lowering his gaze and massaging the back of his neck.

“You're not gun-crazy,” Kurt replies immediately.

“No,” Blaine says, “but I am an overachiever. Always have been. I could've become a number of things when I decided to pursue a career in crime solving, but I chose the FBI even though it could've been easier to just… become a regular cop, or a lawyer, like my mom.”

“But you love the FBI,” Kurt says quietly, wondering what Blaine's getting at. “And you're so good at your job.”

“I know, I know, it's just…” Blaine shakes his head. “This is the first time I've lost– the first time something like this has happened after I became the Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge. I have more responsibility now, and it feels so much more– It feels different. It's feel worse, if that's somehow possible. Like I should've been able to do something.”

“ASACs are not superheroes, Blaine,” Kurt says, keeping his voice careful. He pulls Blaine towards their bed, sitting down and tugging at Blaine's hand until he sits down as well. “You do have more responsibility, but if a stake-out that was supposed to be just a routine investigation suddenly goes horribly wrong, there's no way you could have predicted that. Or stopped it from happening. If there was something, you would've done it already.”

“I know that,” Blaine comments, his voice stubborn. He blinks his eyes, something wet shining in them again, and Kurt unconsciously holds on to his hand a little tighter.

“I know that,” Blaine repeats, “but I can't help feeling like I… like I'm still somehow responsible. Like Agent Nichols shouldn't be in that hospital, fighting for her life.”

“Of course she shouldn't,” Kurt soothes, grasping Blaine's shoulder, needing the contact just as much as Blaine does. “But sometimes these awful things just happen, even in the boring and plain White Collar Division. You know that.”

“I do, I just…” Blaine trails off again, making a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and rubbing his hand over his face, the movement looking tired.

Kurt moves to wrap his arms around him again, pulling him down on the bed until he himself is lying on his back with Blaine's head resting on his chest, one of his hands carding through Blaine's hair and massaging the back of his neck where all of Blaine's tension seems to have gathered. Blaine breathes out against him, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Kurt's undershirt. He's still not relaxed, still not at ease, and Kurt knows it's going to take a long time before that happens. Tomorrow morning Blaine will go to work and look like the same agent he's always been, shoulders squared and every hair in his head perfectly in place, his suit perfectly tailored and pressed; he will do his job just as well as he always has – but Kurt will still see him carrying the guilt around for a long time, even if no one else will notice it.

(“You never really forget the cases you've worked on,” Blaine told him a long time ago, when they were just starting to work together. “Especially not the ones that were left unsolved, or the ones that ended badly in any way. You just slowly learn to live with them.”

The same could be said for all the crimes Kurt committed, for all the people he somehow hurt during his con-man years when he was just trying to get by in any way he could.)

“I get it,” Kurt says in a low voice. “It's not fair. But it's also not your fault, Blaine. If it's anyone's fault, it's the fault of those perps who decided to open fire at your team.” He looks down at Blaine, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Please trust me when I say that it's not your fault. If there was something I could do to make it all okay, I would do it without a moment's hesitation.”

“You're already making it better for me just by being here,” Blaine whispers. He strains his neck and kisses Kurt slowly, initiating a kiss for the first time that evening, and Kurt can feel some of the tightly-coiled worry in his stomach ease up, at least a little.

“I will always be here,” Kurt promises, echoing back to what he said during his proposal.

“For better or for worse, like we promised,” Blaine murmurs, nuzzling Kurt's jaw, his eyes already blinking sleepily.

“Exactly.” Kurt shifts on the bed until he can pull the covers over them. “And now we're going to get some sleep before Perry wakes us up with her snoring.”

Blaine lets out a tired laugh, snuggling closer to Kurt. “Alright. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Kurt replies quietly, kissing Blaine's head one last time.

After a while Blaine moves his hand slowly to Kurt's chest and says in a low voice, sounding like he's half asleep already, “I really hope she'll make it. Agent Nichols, I mean.”

Kurt sighs, stroking Blaine's back. “I really hope so too.”

—-

(Less than a week later Blaine tells Kurt that Agent Nichols does make it. She won't work as an agent anymore; can't work as an agent because of the intermittent tremor in her hands, a result of the nerve damage that the bullet inflicted. It's not the best case scenario, not by far – but she does make it.)