Kurt makes an appointment with Naomi - still in the apartment, per Blaine’s hesitant request. After going out to the bar the other night, he’s a little hesitant to leave the apartment for fear of losing control again, despite Kurt offering to go with him. The morning she’s scheduled to arrive, Blaine wakes up early and shaves and gets dressed, without being prompted, for what Kurt thinks is the first time since he arrived here.

It’s more of a relief than it has any reason to be. Kurt had worried for a moment if Blaine would take two steps back, and refuse to see her. Instead, he sits at the kitchen counter while Kurt tries (fruitlessly) to bribe Amelia into eating her breakfast, poking at a plate of scrambled eggs and looking more nervous than he does before a job interview.

“Hey,” Kurt says, making Blaine look up from his food. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” Blaine says, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“Just be honest and she’ll be able to help you.”

Blaine nods. His face is still tinged green as he pushes the eggs around without eating them. “What’re you talking about?” Amelia says around a mouthful of toast.

Kurt glances at Blaine, who just shrugs as if to say ‘go ahead’. “There’s a doctor coming to see Papa,” Kurt explains.

“Oh! Will she give you medicine?”

“I hope not,” Blaine mutters under his breath.

“Do you have to get a shot, Papa?” Amelia’s eyes widened. “With needles? I don’t like needles.”

“No, honey, she’s not that kind of doctor.”

Amelia frowns and looks skeptical, having never encountered a doctor who didn’t want to stick her with needles - granted, her only encounters have been checkups and flu shots. “Remember how we talked about Papa being kind of sick?” Kurt explains softly. She nods, distracted enough by the conversation that Kurt manages to slip a bite of breakfast between her reluctant lips. Never in his life has he met a child so averse to food. “Well, Doctor Naomi is the kind of doctor that will help Papa stop being sad.”

“Ohh.” She nods, satisfied for now, and hops out of her chair, leaving her breakfast behind as she goes to play. Kurt lets her go, tired of fighting over it.

“I’m not sick,” Blaine says once Amelia is occupied, almost too quiet for Kurt to hear.

“I’m just simplifying it for Amelia.”

“You don’t need to baby her. She’s smart.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “So I’m supposed to tell her everything? No, Blaine, I’m not putting all that on a five-year-olds shoulders.”

“I didn’t mean… never mind.”

He can’t say that things have gotten easier, exactly, since the conversation on the balcony three days ago. Not harder, either. Blaine still has trouble voicing his feelings, gets frustrated easily and lashes out. But he’s more open, too - he’s at least spoken to Kurt every day, which is an improvement.

What he hasn’t mentioned is Kurt’s little slip, his mistake of admitting that he still loves Blaine. Sometimes Kurt isn’t even sure he said it aloud, though in his heart he knows. Kurt wonders if they’re ever going to talk about it, and hopes that day doesn’t come soon. He’s barely ready to admit it to himself. At the same time, though… it doesn’t make a difference. Doesn’t change anything - not what Blaine did, not the tension between them. He’s already made the choice not to bring it up again, hoping that Blaine doesn’t either. All Kurt is there for is to take care of him as long as he needs, and his stupid feelings that just won’t leave him alone don’t factor in at all.

“It was just a way to explain it to her without going into detail,” Kurt says gently. “I know you’re not sick. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Blaine shakes his head. “I’m overreacting. Seriously, don’t worry. And you’re right, aren’t you? If I need a doctor…”

“Blaine…” Sometimes he wants to hate this man for making him feel so helpless. What can he say to that? What the hell makes him more qualified to take care of Blaine than anyone else, when he’s honestly just flailing?

Before he can find what he wants to say, the doorbell rings. Amelia leaps up and rushes to the door before her fathers can do anything about it, pulling it open to reveal Naomi. Her hair is a little wild, her nose pink with cold; once again, Kurt has the thought that she seems too young to be a doctor. She smiles down at a wide-eyed Amelia. “Hi, there. You must be Amelia.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m here to see your daddy.”

“’Kay.” Amelia gives the doctor a wary look but steps aside, letting Naomi into the kitchen. She greets Kurt, but her smile widens as her eyes land on Blaine.

“It’s good to see you again, Blaine,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs, suddenly looking shy. “Not bad, I guess. I don’t know.”

“I was really glad to hear from Kurt. I’d hoped you’d want to talk some more.”

“Well, I have to try something, right?” Blaine glances at Kurt as if searching for approval, and Kurt nods encouragingly.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Naomi?” Kurt asks, remembering his manners.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about me.” She waves a hand. “Well, anywhere in particular you’d like to be, Blaine?”

Another shrug. “We can use the guest room - er, my room. Whatever.” He stands up, his breakfast abandoned, and puts on a wavering smile. “Shall we?”

As he leads her down the hallway, Kurt watches them go. For some reason he’s nervous, though it isn’t like this is some test that Blaine could fail. They’ll just be talking, that’s what Blaine needs - someone to talk to, who knows what they’re talking about. Still, for a moment, Kurt prays to a god he still doesn’t believe in. Please let this work, he begs. Don’t screw this up.

Let him have one good thing.

He can hear voices from the other room, and knows that he could make out what they were saying if he wanted, but Amelia needs attention too. But if he happens to hear snippets, or more than snippets, of their conversation while he sits on the couch helping Amelia write the alphabet - well, he thinks, pushing away the twinge of guilt, he’s not to blame. It’s not his fault the walls are so thin, after all.

--

Blaine’s palms sweat as he takes a seat on the bed, and he wipes them on his jeans while Naomi’s back is turned. There is no reason for him to be so terrified, for his mouth to be bone dry and his stomach twisting itself into knots. Apparently, overwhelming anxiety is just part of the package. Because there isn’t enough wrong with me already.

Naomi sits on the desk chair, pulling her little notebook out of her bag - the way she holds her pen, poised over the paper, makes it all more formal than it seemed before. “You don’t need to be so nervous, Blaine,” she says with a small smile.

Blaine startles. “I’m not,” he lies. He absently scratches at his forearm, where countless silvery scars hide beneath the fabric of the nice shirt he’d actually bothered to put on this morning (only the second time he’s bothered with anything but the pajamas from the luggage Kurt had packed for him, all contents sitting on the floor of the guestroom instead of in the closet.) The cuts don’t hurt anymore, but he’s all too aware of them, can still feel them. The pity in Kurt’s expression the first time he looked at them, after the bandages came off, was one of the worst things he has ever felt, the way Kurt can’t keep his eyes off them unless Blaine wears long sleeves a close runner-up.

The therapist continues to smile. “I like to think I’m good at reading people. But really, just relax. I’m not here to judge you. I won’t laugh. I’m just here to talk, okay?”

“…okay.” He’d been up almost all night, thinking of things to say, questions to ask. Now that she’s here, in front of him, now that he has to talk - he has no idea what to do. Everything that had, in the early hours, seemed like a good topic to discuss crumbles to dust before it can reach the tip of his tongue; even in his head, it all sounds stupid.

He feels stupid, pathetic for feeling like this, and Blaine’s throat is already clenching, the backs of his eyes burning. He can’t cry before they even start talking, god, what is wrong with him?

“Anything you want to talk about, Blaine?” Naomi looks at him like a specimen, like he’s something brand new to her. There’s concern there too, of course, but he’s sure that she can’t let herself care too much. All the sob stories she must hear every single day - his probably doesn’t even compare - and it’s her job, this is what she wants to do for the rest of her life. He would be a wreck, well, more of a wreck than he already is.

“I -“ he chokes and tries again. “I don’t know.” He’s not used to talking about important things, about himself. “I’m sorry, I…”

“No, no apologies. It’s okay.” She thinks for a moment. “Well, has anything happened since we last spoke?”

Blaine bites his lip. “I fell off the wagon,” he admits, voice soft. “The other day, I… I snuck out to go to a bar.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I don’t know how to stop.”

“By not drinking, I would think.”

“Yeah, but - I’m miserable. Without booze. I’m miserable with it, too, but…” He huffs. “The way he looked at me. Kurt, that is. He was so disappointed.” Naomi nods, absently scribbling something down. He tries to meet her eyes, though it makes it harder to talk. “I have to get better. If only to stop him from looking at me like that ever again - I have to.”

“You care about him a lot, don’t you?” Blaine feels his face flush. He doesn’t reply. “Well. Asking for help can be the first step to feeling better. You’re already one step closer. Having someone to motivate you can’t hurt either.”

It sounds simple when she says it, but he looks at the task ahead of him and feels his shoulders slump, the weight of this illness he knows that he has (despite all objections to Kurt saying he’s ‘sick’ he knows, he knows that’s what this is) making him exhausted before he even tries. “How do I do it?” He asks, wetting his dry lips. “When I can barely find the energy to get out of bed in the morning - how do I get through this?”

“I’m not going to lie to you.” Naomi sets her notebook down on her lap and crosses her legs, looking into his eyes. “It won’t be easy, Blaine. But I’ll be here with you, every step of the way. Kurt, too, I’m sure.”

“Then what’s the next step?”

Naomi smiles, and when she does her eyes light up. “I’m going to tell you a secret. A lot of people don’t believe it.” She leans forward.

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

Blaine doesn’t reply, doesn’t know how, he feels like he’s drowning.� She goes on. “You don’t believe me, but it’s true, Blaine. You’re not wrong for feeling the way you do. You aren’t a bad person, you are not a lost cause. And most importantly, your depression does not define you. Accepting that is a big step too.”

Blaine dimly realizes that he’s shaking his head; why he’s so reluctant to listen to this he has no idea, but he just can’t. “I’m sick,” he whispers.

“I don’t like to use that word.”

“I’m -“ He tries again. “I wish I could believe you, but I can’t. I’m not normal. I’m not supposed to be this way…”

“What is normal, anyway?” She shrugs.� “Blaine, no one in the world has lived a life without hardships of some kind, so by that definition none of us are ‘normal’. You don’t see everyone else’s issues because they’re ashamed to talk about them too, because they think they’re sick or wrong, when really, they just need a little extra help. Which is what I’m here for. Some people are obsessive-compulsive. Some people have insomnia. Some people have anger management problems, or PTSD... and a lot of us struggle with depression. And it is a struggle, isn’t it?”

The lump in his throat is so thick now that he can barely breathe. “It’s like... someone’s holding my head underwater,” he says, unsure if he’s making sense or not. “And I want to fight back, I want to do something about this, but I’m not strong enough. It’s like I’m suffocating myself every single day.” He shoots her a half-hearted glare. “You can’t tell me it’s not wrong to feel like that.”

“Of course. You feel awful, and no one should have to feel awful. Trust me, I know.” For the first time, Blaine wonders just how much she understands. He’s not going to ask, but he’s curious. “But you aren’t a bad person for feeling that way. It’s not your fault.”

A laugh forces its way up his throat, harsh and quick, along with the sting of tears that he pushes back. Never mind, she doesn’t understand, she has no idea just how much is his fault. Everything, this entire mess, he has no one else to blame for it.

�“Can I be blunt with you?” Naomi asks.

“If you want.” Blaine shrugs.

“Why did you try to kill yourself?”

His mouth falls open, fully prepared to answer - and he sits there, gaping like an idiot, unable to say a single word.� “Because…” he falls silent again. This is stupid. Of course he has reasons. He even wrote a note, though he threw it away after writing it - it had ended up being an entire letter to Kurt, and it was too long and didn’t make sense, and in the end, he had decided that he didn’t need to tell anyone why he chose to do it anyway. His parents would never see it, he hasn’t talked to any of his friends in ages and they haven’t exactly made an effort either, and Kurt - he blinks and shakes his head, forcing his thoughts away from Kurt. “I…”

“You don’t know?”

“Because I’m… sad.” He says. Pathetic. True, maybe - he is very, very sad - but not an adequate explanation, not that he has to explain anything to this girl he doesn’t even know.

“I don’t believe you,” Naomi says raising an eyebrow. It reminds him of Kurt’s signature bitch faces, and he almost smiles. Almost.

“Because everyone would be better off without me anyway.” He can’t look at Naomi, but he knows exactly what he would see if he did - pity. The very last thing he wants from anyone and the only thing anyone can offer. “Don’t tell me it’s not true,” he snaps before she can speak. “I know it’s true. I was such a disappointment to my parents that I’m not even their son anymore. Apparently, I’m not worth enough for my best friends to speak to. I hurt the - the best thing that ever happened to me, the only person I could ever see myself loving, and if hitting him wasn’t enough, I had to go and keep our baby away from him. God. I don’t even have an excuse!”

He runs a hand through his thick hair, a desperate laugh falling from his lips. There’s something very freeing about being able to just talk, to say anything, and now that he’s finally managed to get started he’s a little scared that he won’t be able to stop. “You’re a really sweet girl, Naomi, and - thank you for trying. But I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve help.”

“But you want help.”

“Yes. I do.” He swallows. “I guess I’m too much of a coward to just… put everyone I love out of their misery and just die already. I called the cops on myself.” He hasn’t admitted this to anyone and isn’t sure why he’s doing so now, somehow it just makes him feel worse about the whole thing. “After I… I cut myself, the way I did, and I started thinking, oh, fuck, I’m going to die… I called 911 just before I passed out. Couldn’t even kill myself right and I’ve been wanting to for years.”

Naomi jots something down and then just looks at him, long enough that Blaine starts to squirm. “I don’t think you really want to die,” she says. “And I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“Did you not hear -“

“I think you’re lost. You’ve lost yourself along the way and you’re having trouble finding your way back.” She leans back in the chair. “Do you agree?” Blaine nods, eyes burning. He doesn’t have anything to say; she’s said it all. “I do want to help you, Blaine. I think I can help you find yourself again, if you let me. I’m thinking weekly meetings, although if you ever need to reschedule them don’t hesitate to call. There are also more ways to go about this besides just talking to me… there’s group therapy, medication; we’ll find a treatment method that works for you.” She must recognize how overwhelmed Blaine is, because she adds, “But maybe we should wait and discuss all that next time. If there is a next time?” She cocks her head to the side, smiling encouragingly.

It takes Blaine a moment to find his voice, when he does it’s strangled and scratchy. “I…” He clears his throat. “I think I’d like that.”

He’s still shaking a little when they finally emerge from the guest room, but he feels lighter. Not better, but less like he has to carry this weight on his own. The look in Kurt’s eyes (proud, hopeful, practically beaming at him) when he smiles at Blaine makes the ordeal, and everything to come, a bit more worth it.

If nothing else, he’ll keep holding on for more of that look.

--

“Naomi!”

The doctor pauses and turns around, looking back at Kurt. It’s too cold for him to be out long without a coat, but he shuts the door behind him, shivering at the icy touch of air outside the apartment. Naomi waits patiently.

“Can you make him better?” Kurt asks desperately. “Please, please tell me you can make him better.”

Naomi sighs. “It’s more a matter of him letting himself get better,” she says. She sounds tired. “I can’t flip a switch and fix him, Mr. Hummel.”

“But…”

He hadn’t heard everything. Tiny bits of conversation here and there - he honestly hadn’t tried to eavesdrop this time, though it was hard. He remembers ‘everyone would be better off without me’, remembers ‘the only person I could see myself loving’. Other things, too, but those stand out the most. When Blaine and Naomi had finally emerged from the guest room, the urge to tug Blaine into his arms and hold him was so strong Kurt could hardly bear it. He had resisted, just because he isn’t sure how much Blaine would appreciate it.

“I do think we should discuss medication, if he’s willing to try it.” Naomi continues. “I don’t know how long his treatment will take, or what might work for him. I just don’t know yet. But yes. I think I can help him.”

Kurt closes his eyes, letting out the breath he had been holding.� “Thank you,” he says softly.

“I think you getting him to open up might be beneficial, too.”

“He… doesn’t really want to talk to me.” Not, Kurt doesn’t say, that I’ve made much of an effort. He just doesn’t know what to say, is all.

“You might be surprised.” Naomi smiles and turns around, tugging her black peacoat tighter around her chest. “See you next week, Mr. Hummel.”