"Santana?"

"Mm?"

"What's the thing you're scared of most?"

Santana looked over at Blaine, sitting on the couch, staring absently into space but asking questions suited better to being truly present in thought. "Why?" She stopped slicing the carrots - Blaine offered, but she didn't want him around knives with his concussion - and laid the knife down, turning to face him.

"I just want to know, so I never accidentally make fun of you for it," Blaine explained, and he snapped back into the room mentally - it was obvious by how his entire body shifted just a tiny bit and he really looked at her.

Santana paused. She really didn't want to tell him; but then, she knew if she did he'd tell her his, and she wanted to know. His reason was valid and innocent and she was sure he wouldn't tell anyone or use it as blackmail - he just wasn't the type of person - but your greatest fear is something that not everybody is okay with telling. And Santana hadn't told anybody hers except Brittany... not that that mattered now...

Ah, what the hell.

"I'm scared that my grandmother will die before she loves me again."

The moment the words were out she regretted saying them, but Blaine just nodded seriously.

She waited, wanting to know what his response would be. He seemed to consider it himself, until she figured out he was just trying to solve a problem in his head - he looked hopelessly confused. "But... it's homophobia, right? That's why she doesn't love you?"

Santana wanted to hit him very, very hard. "Yes."

"Oh." Blaine relaxed. "Okay."

"Why?"

"I couldn't figure out why your own grandmother would hate someone like you," Blaine told her, batting his eyelashes without meaning to, and the urge to hit him vanished.

"Oh." Santana wished she were better at this type of thing. She wasn't and she despised the fact; if she were as good at this as Brittany, with everyone, with anybody else but Brittany, she'd be so much more effective comforting people. "What's yours?"

"I... hm." Blaine began and then stopped, the words falling back into his mouth as he weighed his options. "I think - no, it's definitely Kurt never loving me again."

That wasn't exactly a surprise, but at the same time it was. Both of their fears were about someone important to them not loving them for as long as they stayed alive, and though Santana suspected it had to do with Kurt, she didn't think it would be his biggest fear. Was he really so scare that he'd messed up so badly? "What was the other thing you were thinking about?"

"Never being a part of the Hudson-Hummels," Blaine admitted. "Kind of the same thing, really, but Kurt's family is more a family to me than my own, and if I'm never a part of it my life will have kind of sucked."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." His life really did revolve around Kurt. Santana wondered when, exactly, he'd found a purpose; he wasn't in love with Kurt because Kurt gave him purpose, he was in love with Kurt because he fell in love with every single part of the boy, and purpose happened to be included. But until he'd met Kurt, he must have been thinking everything pointless, especially if his life adjusted to be 'our life' with Kurt so quickly. "I'm glad you told me."

"I'm glad you told me," Blaine said in response, giving her a small smile. "I thought maybe you'd run me over with a bus before you admitted you were scared of something more than anything else in the world."

"Just don't ask too much about Brittany and I'll try not to steal a bus," Santana bartered, and Blaine laughed.

When Kurt got home that evening, Rachel was sitting on the couch, her cell phone in her hand - but it wasn't ringing, and nobody was talking through it, and she had it tilted so she couldn't have possibly been reading a text. The door creaked as it slid shut and the key latch snapped a soft sound gently into the air. "Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"What are you scared of?" she asked suddenly, her back turned to him.

He stopped. "Um... big birds, crosswalks -"

"No," Rachel said, shaking her head. "I mean most scared of."

"Um..." he repeated. "I'm most scared of... I don't know."

He didn't know. He didn't have a clue. The more he thought, the more he was sure it was his dad dying and being an orphan - but no, he'd get over that eventually. Something so terrifying that its existence - or losing its existence - was so very traumatic he'd live in a state of horrible grief for as long as he could stand the suffering? He wasn't sure, but for some reason his head jumped to his nightmares. Blaine dying in his arms...

But he'd never say that out loud, at least not now, and Rachel was speaking, so he couldn't regardless. "Okay," she told him. "That's okay. Do you know what Carole's is?"

"Probably Finn dying or going missing or something like that," Kurt answered. "Why?"

"It's actually your dad dying," Rachel told him, and he moved further into the apartment and saw the front of Rachel's face that he hadn't before. She was sitting with her back to the door, and though she was an actress, she was also a human being - and the human being was crying. "I'm waiting for her to call back," Rachel whispered, and Kurt stood in front of her and to the side, not processing the information. "She said the doctors said -"

"What?"

Her eyes, for the first time, met his, and he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach so forcefully it should have sent him flying. "Carole said the doctors said that he should wake up soon, but -"

"Wake up?" his voice was rising in pitch. His day with Blaine had gone great; why was coming home always so much more damn painful? If he didn't know better he'd say Blaine was his home. "Why would he need to wake up?"

Rachel bit her lip and sniffed loudly, and another mascara-stained tear fell from her eyelashes and raced down her cheek.

Kurt was many things.

Kurt was brave. And though sometimes to others he seemed frail, he was strong. He was determined and ambitious, he was caring and supportive. He was confused at the moment, on top of shocked, hurt, and terrified, but not unintelligent. He was loyal and protective and loving and forgiving, even if it took a while - which also made him careful. Kurt was meticulous with planning and immaculate with making the plans work as they should. Kurt was talented, and kind, and witty, and loveable.

But he wasn't invincible.

What he was, however, was in love.

He knew it the moment Blaine picked up the phone. He'd known it for a while, really - he'd known it for years, and he'd never stopped knowing, he'd only started doubting - but when Blaine's voice came through his cell phone and asked "Hello?" was when Kurt knew it wasn't just going to go away like he hoped, and he couldn't make it go away like he tried.

"Blaine?"

"Kurt, hi," Blaine answered. "You kind of left in a rush this afternoon, did I overstep a boundary? I'm really sor-"

"My dad had another heart attack."

No, definitely not invincible.

It had been three hours and Carole hadn't called back. It had taken four hours from the time his father had his heart attack to when the doctor had come out to explain to them what happened when it had occurred before, but this time was different. This time there was cancer involved, and an older age, and more wear on his body. This time there were more people who would sit with him in the hospital for him and not for Kurt. This time Kurt couldn't even be one of them.

And all of it ran through his head like fire and ice. He couldn't tell which it was. When you're burned, the heart is such a surge under your skin your entire body screams in protest in that one briefest of moments, and then you feel cold everywhere but the area where the heat scorched you. When you're freezing, the opposite happens. He couldn't tell which it was.

And he didn't want to. Holding on to Blaine like a lifeline was a fairly good distraction from everything else and he wasn't going to stop.

Every time a new thought about his situation popped into his head he diluted it by analyzing another detail of Blaine.

The first time it was his arms. Strong and wrapped around him, warm, hugging him close, the vein on both sides visible running along his muscles, and Kurt felt more safe in them than he had anywhere else that he allowed himself to think of.

The second time it was his chest. He was hot, in more ways than one, but in this case it was a way that eased some of the chills racking Kurt's body. His heart beat behind the cloth of his shirt and in its beats Kurt found consistency and rhythm. Though sometimes it got faster or slower, and sometimes he was too scared of what his own heart did in reaction to focus on the soft thumps, it was Blaine's heart and he knew it was his, the same way his heart was Blaine's.

And then he didn't have to find any new details, because he'd already analyzed everything. His skin, his eyes, his eyelashes, his cheekbones, his nose, his hair, his fingers, his palms, his legs, his stomach - everything. Kurt knew and loved every aspect of Blaine, even the ones that hurt, because if he didn't what did he have to love?

That thought was exactly the kind he was trying to fight off, and it was a perfect example of his failure to do so. And so he rocked back and forth in Blaine's arms again like he had been for the past hour and a half and let himself cry.

Definitely not invincible.

"Kurt."

Definitely in love.

Kurt swallowed thickly. He'd never known how to respond when Blaine said his name like that; like his name was safe in his mouth, like he was safe in his arms, like he was golden and still hurting but rising up and Kurt ducked his head down and buried it in his chest, incapable of handling the thoughts.

"Kurt," Blaine said again, and Kurt wondered if he even knew he was saying it out loud. "Kurt, please, baby you're okay."

Baby. Nope, he was fairly certain Blaine was unaware he was speaking aloud. But that made it all the sweeter; in his head he was saying this, in his mind he was begging him, in the very parts of his mind that not even his sound could understand he was helping Kurt like this, loving Kurt like this.

I love you, Kurt thought. I love you, I love you, I love you, I'm scared that I love you but I love you.

What made it worse was that Blaine was crying, too. And Kurt's arms were holding him as well, it wasn't all one-sided; Blaine loved his father just like he did, and he was a part of his family, of his life, and he was just as scared as Kurt - except Blaine was basically an orphan already.

"I love you," Kurt thought once more.

"I love you too," Blaine thought back, not even stopping to consider it first.

Neither of them pulled back, even though they heard the other, and neither of them stopped crying, and neither of them ran away. And that was important. They had a tendency to run away during times like these, or to make the other one run away. And that prompted Kurt to ask, "If I don't run, you won't run, right?"

"I'm not running," Blaine promised into his hair. "I'm staying right here."

And so Kurt pulled back a bit, just enough to lift his head to see the quivering but tautly-pulled face of the man holding him, and kissed away the tears that trembled on his lips.

"Wait, wait, wait." Blaine spoke against Kurt's lips brokenly, his voice a mere murmur, deep and hot with breath that Kurt breathed in eagerly. But the words called for a stop, and so Kurt did. He pulled back just enough to rest their noses and foreheads together, and looked at Blaine. And Blaine looked back, and Kurt was sure that his face looked similar to the expression the other man had; worried beyond all reason, petrified with terror to the very core, frozen in doubt and burning in pain, and totally, utterly in love. "What is this?"

"This is us," Kurt told him, and flexed his arms holding Blaine so he was pulled a bit closer. "This is me and you and us."

"But what is 'us'?" Blaine pleaded. "Are we 'just friends' like at the wedding? Are we more? Less? What's happening?"

"You are my best friend," Kurt began without hesitation; but then the trepidation hit and he paused, and Blaine's face fell in the silence. "No, but that's not it, not all of it. You're my best friend, and my first love, and my high school sweetheart, and my college buddy, and my closest loved one, and I love you."

"I love you too." Blaine didn't seem capable of hearing the sentiment without returning it, even when he looked ready to crack at the softest push and break with a forceful one. "I'll always love you."

"And I'll always love you," Kurt replied, and Blaine's eyelashes brushed against both of their cheeks, and Kurt shivered at the proximity. But Blaine seemed only to become more discouraged, and Kurt saw the hope disappearing, the tiny flecks of gold glittering and then sliding into the mesh of brownish-gray that were taking over his eyes. "I'll always be in love with you." He changed his wording just that slightest bit.

And it made the biggest difference. Gold completely overtook his eyes and Kurt was almost blinded by the brightness of it. Not for the first time, he was struck by the color; the color of sunlight through a musty window settling on a glass of whiskey. And Blaine smiled, and though it was shaky, and uncertain, it was there and it was beautiful and it was his. Kurt was his. And Blaine was Kurt's. "You still want me?"

Kurt giggled then, past the lump in his throat that threatened to overtake the ephemeral and small joy that was currently relieving him of such stress as the events of the day had. "I still want you," Kurt confirmed.

It broke his heart to know that Blaine didn't actually believe him - especially with how disappointed in himself he looked - but it made him feel better to know that he could now prove to both of them how right he was, and how okay it was that he was right. "So does this mean if I kiss you you're not going to just say it was fun?"

"Hey," Kurt scolded lightly, "It was fun. It was also a step closer to right now."

And Kurt kissed him again, and this time Blaine didn't tell him to stop. It reminded Kurt of the first time they'd kissed at all - Pavarotti's casket under them, their Dalton uniforms only serving to heat them up further, Blaine's hand moving to the side of his face so he could press against it further, tighter, hotter, closer. Kurt's hand came up like it had then, and Blaine was just as surprised as he had been the first time - but just like last time, he adjusted, and Kurt opened his mouth. It was almost scripted by now, but new all the same. They'd grown, and changed, and matured, and were new people in almost every sense - but their love had grown, changed, and matured with them, and it was as vicious and vital as ever.

They didn't leave Kurt's bedroom for a long time.

"Anderson and Lady have been in there for two hours now," Rachel said, looking at the curtain that the boys were behind. "Do you think they're alright?"

"Only one way to find out," Santana said, and rose from the couch. Rachel's eyes followed her as she walked over to the curtain. She'd been intending to yank it open and interrupt whatever they were doing - probably crying - but just as her hand rose to the fabric she heard something unmistakable.

Kissing. They were kissing.

And normally Santana would yank open the curtain anyway. Normally, Santana wouldn't give a damn what they were doing. But this wasn't normal. Blaine needed someone to kiss him - scratch that, he needed Kurt to kiss him. And Kurt needed to kiss Blaine. And not just to kiss each other, oh no, they needed each other in general, and if they wee just starting over again, or picking up from where they left off, because of this happening - Santana wasn't sure she could ruin that.

But she could sure as hell peek. Aware that Rachel was scrutinizing her acutely, she pulled on the curtain the tiniest bit and peered inside.

She bit back a sicker and let the curtain fall back, moving back into the room. "They're fine."

"Fine?" Rachel asked, suspicious. "After -"

"Kissing," Santana rephrased. "Making out. Laying down. On his bed."

"Oh." Rachel blinked and then wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. We're right in the next room."

"And we couldn't hear them, could we?" Santana challenged. "They're being respectful." And then, because she was Santana: "And hot."

"YOU ARE A CRAP LESBIAN, SANTANA LOPEZ!"

"Love you too, Lady!" Santana called back, and Rachel hid behind her hand and bit her cheek.

They could still laugh. They could cry and fret and make phone calls or stir in silence, but they could laugh, and smile, and it was all the same to them as long as they were happy. It wasn't the end of the world. Frankly, it may have been the start of a better one, at least for Kurt and definitely for the boy he was sucking the face off of on his bed.

The phone in Rachel's hand rang. Santana jumped; she'd never admit it, but she really liked Kurt's dad, and wanted to know if he'd be alright. Well, she might admit to that, but only as long as Kurt's dad never found out. But at the ringing, Rachel brought it to her ear immediately and said, "Hello?"

There was a moment of silence, and then, "He is?"

"He is what?" Santana hissed.

Rachel held up a finger. "So... he's not... dead?"

"Mmmmmm!" Santana grunted in frustration behind lips closed tightly, and she heard rustling from behind the curtain.

"But... I thought... so it's not a complication?"

"He's got to be alright. He's got to be alright -"

"He's going to be just fine, Kurt. It's okay."

They weren't so quiet anymore and Santana felt like simultaneously gagging and melting at the tone of voice they used with each other.

"He's going to... they don't know?" Rachel asked. Santana twirled for lack of anything else to do and played with her hair restlessly. "But he will?" A pause. "They don't know?"

"Oh, god -"

"Kurt, deep breaths."

"Can't. Out of breath."

"Oh... sorry."

A chuckle.

Santana groaned and stomped her foot impatiently. Rachel raised an eyebrow at her, a corner of her mouth tugging down, before she returned to the phone call.

"I'll tell Kurt," Rachel promised, and Santana jumped up and down twice, pumping her fists beside her as she did so in frustration. Rachel flipped her off. We switched roles, Santana remarked mentally. "Yes, I promise. Thank you, Carole, and I - I'm sorry."

And then Rachel hung up and Santana pounced on her. "What was that? What did they say? What happened? Is he awake? Will he be okay? What were you -"

"Would you shut up for a second so I could tell you?" Rachel snapped.

"Did they switch bodies or something?"

"Wanna check?"

Santana wondered what the hell they were going to do when they both strode out of the room. Blaine headed straight for her and Kurt straight for Rachel, and then, to both of their surprises, kissed their girl on the cheek. "What was that?" Santana asked Blaine, but not as harshly as she might have if it had been Kurt.

"I love you too," Rachel said to Kurt, but not as confusedly as she might have if it had been Blaine.

"No, they're still themselves," Blaine decided.

"Didn't you just kiss Hummel with that mouth?" Santana asked.

"Yep, that's Satan," Kurt agreed dryly.

"Santana," Blaine corrected automatically.

"Relax, he means it endearingly," Santana reassured him.

"So what's up with my dad?" Kurt asked, turning back to Rachel. And the other two followed his example; she had three pairs of eyes trained on her before she could blink.

She gulped and the last traces of humor slid from her face. "So, he had another heart attack. The... the cancer doesn't seem like it's actually affecting anything but his prostate, so that's good. On the downside, he's in a coma again, and it's like it was last time, they don't know if he'd going to wake up."

"Thank god," Kurt sighed, relieved, and sank into the couch cushions. "He'll wake up, like last time."

"Well..." Rachel looked down at her hands. "The things is that he's already had a heart attack, and two within the amount of time it's been between them is... not... good. To say the least."

"Your point?" Santana was sure Kurt didn't mean it quite so forcefully, but he said it that way, and Rachel flinched.

"They don't think he will wake up this time, and when they showed Carole the statistics she said it looked really bad."

"Shut up."

"Kurt -"

"No, Rachel." His face was wooden. "Shut up."

"Kurt -" Santana tried.

"No," Kurt said again.

"Kurt."

"Yes?"

Blaine took the few steps away from Santana and to Kurt and knelt by the couch. "Don't tell me to shut up."

Kurt smiled. It was fake, but he tried. "Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Sexual tension," Santana muttered, rolling her eyes. "I swear, Kurt, if you and Blaine weren't both if such crappy parts of your life right now I would force you both to just go off and elope right now."

"Don't," Blaine said, looking over his shoulder seriously, his eyes warning and wide. She took a look at him, and at the set of Kurt's jaw that had returned while she'd spoken, and knew Blaine was right.

"Fine," she told him.