Chapter 10

Kurt twisted the strap of Blaine's duffle bag between his hands, wrapping it so tightly around his fingers they turned a sickly jaundiced shade of white and yellow. He'd been waiting in the Anderson driveway for what felt like hours. He glanced at the clock on his dash. 9:47. He'd only been sitting there for fourteen minutes. He closed his eyes and tried to take in a deep breath. He exhaled it slowly, paid attention the muscles in his chest relaxing, pressing out the air in his lungs through his mouth; his nose. His head kept buzzing all the same.

"Fuck it," Kurt muttered and resumed his normal breathing pattern. He glanced for the thousandth time in his rearview mirror at the empty street.

The promised twenty-four hours of isolation had stretched to three days for complications that no one could explain to Kurt. The three days had turned into another two in which it was strictly family only. The two days had suddenly backtracked to another twenty-four hours of ICU time, and then the family only time had once again commenced. Tides that ebbed and flowed around Kurt's feet, pulling Blaine in closer to him, only to pull him back out of reach again. And now finally, nine days later, Blaine was coming home.

"You'll have to be gentle with him," Elizabeth had murmured the day prior, her voice so tired, Kurt could practically see her stooped shoulders and smudged make up through the phone, "He's… fragile right now."

Despite his father's repeated commands to rest, Kurt hadn't slept that night; he'd tossed and turned and finally thrown the covers off at four to moisturize, shower, and select the perfect outfit for being reunited with Blaine. The only thing that had shackled him to the house until past seven had been his father insisting he eat breakfast and Carol shoving something wrapped in tinfoil into his arms to give to the Andersons. When he'd finally been given the okay to leave the house, he scrapped his dignity and literally ran for the door, tossed Carol's food offering into the passenger seat atop Blaine's forgotten duffle bag, and jammed the key in the ignition. The devastating scraping sound of his car bottoming out at the end of the driveway that would have normally made him groan aloud with displeasure barely registered in his ears as he peeled out of the neighborhood. He was jittery off of too many cups of coffee and the notion of seeing Blaine. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the wheel when he had to slow behind other vehicles and he cursed the nearly two-hour distance between his and Blaine's homes. Lights passed in blurs, and he moved automatically between lanes; it wasn't until he was passing the exit that would have normally lead him to Westerville and Dalton that his mind finally reengaged, but all his awareness did was heighten his nerves. When he pulled into the driveway and dialed Blaine's number, he had been disappointed to hear Elizabeth answer the call and inform him they'd be another ten minutes or so. The wait combined with the smell of banana wafting out from the confines of tinfoil beside him made him feel nauseous.

He resumed toying with Blaine's duffle bag; he zipped and unzipped the top; traced his fingers around the little embroidered warbler on the front; the thick red ribbons of thread that spelt out Blaine's last name on the back pocket. When he saw the sleek, black shape of a BMW pulling into the drive beside him, he let out a little yip of excitement and threw open the door of his Navigator. He floundered for a moment of confusion when he couldn't move from his seat before realizing he hadn't undone his seatbelt. He paused in his flurry of movement to take another breath; center himself. If what Elizabeth said was true, Blaine didn't need Kurt jumping at his heels like someone's attention-starved Jack Russell Terrier. He calmly unbuckled himself, hitched the strap of Blaine's bag over his shoulder, and cradled the silver wrapped loaf against his chest. He smiled brightly at Elizabeth as she stepped out of the car.

"Kurt, it's nice to see you," Elizabeth offered him a strained smile.

"It's nice to see you, too, Mrs. Anderson; Carol sent this over for you," Kurt motioned to the silver-wrapped loaf.

"Oh, how thoughtful," Elizabeth looked surprised but then pleased, "Really, very sweet of her to go through the trouble."

"She loves to bake and she loves Blaine, so I'm sure she was more than happy to do it," Kurt replied as pleasantly as he could, but his eyes were glued on John pulling open the backdoor, leaning into the seat to murmur something to the other passenger.

John straightened and waited patiently, one hand extended out as Blaine pushed himself unsteadily out of the backseat.

Kurt bit down on his lip. Blaine's face was nearly as pale as the gauzy bandages wrapping his head; his eyes hollow and rimmed in angry purple circles. He stumbled a little, but was quickly caught by his father.

"Easy," John murmured, "Remember what Dr. Johnson said, don't push it."

"I'm fine," Blaine murmured, his eyes focused on his feet as he shuffled a few more paces forward.

Don't you dare start to cry, Kurt screamed at himself; he clenched and unclenched his hands, willed his voice to remain steady. He wanted to say something sarcastic; something silly and witty, but he couldn't come up with anything, "Hi, Blaine."

Blaine's head shot up so fast, he stumbled a little; his arms jerked out a few inches to maintain his balance. After the momentary look of surprise while he regained his balance, a smile broke out across his face, "Kurt! I've missed you."

That smile changed everything. The same Blaine; the same bright eyes and charming grin. Kurt tucked the bread under his arm and crossed the space between them. He ignored the uncomfortable look that crossed John's face and put a gentle hand on Blaine's elbow to lead him forward toward the door, "I've missed you, too. Let's get you inside before they decide to try and take you back again or something."

Blaine complied, but it was a frighteningly slow process—he watched his feet every step of the way as though unsure of whether or not they would follow the path he set for them and paused occasionally paused as though afraid they wouldn't work at all.

Kurt offered no comment on the matter, nor did he say a word about the fact that Blaine's hand was still twitching just as it had before the surgery. When they finally got him inside, all four paused to look at the stairs leading up.

"I could make up a spot for you on the couch down here," Elizabeth brushed a hand across Blaine's back.

Blaine chewed at the inside of his cheek and contemplated the steps for another minute, "I can make it up."

"Honey, are you sure?"

"Positive," Blaine bobbed his head up and down quickly.

She nodded complacently, "I'll come make up your bed; John, dear, could you show Kurt where to put the bread?"

John glanced at Kurt almost uncomfortably, "Why don't I bring Blaine up? If he falls…"

"I won't fall," Blaine's cheeks turned pink as he glanced toward Kurt.

"You didn't think you'd fall that day at the hospital either—"

"I said I won't fucking fall!" Blaine shouted.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed out his name in shock. He looked unsurely between Blaine's suddenly stormy expression and Elizabeth's tired one.

Elizabeth looked unfettered by the sudden outburst, "Your father will go up with you. Kurt, why don't we put that bread in the kitchen?"

Blaine gave her a tired look before letting out a world-weary sigh, all signs of his previous fury gone, "Fine."

"I'll be up in a few minutes," Kurt squeezed Blaine's arm as gently as he could before following Elizabeth to the kitchen.

Elizabeth took the aluminum wrapped loaf from Kurt and set it down on the counter, "Tell your stepmother thank you for us, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, of course I'll tell her…. " Kurt's thoughts had been on Blaine's sudden outburst; he tried to shake the shuttery feeling from his limbs, "Mrs. Anderson, if I might ask, what… what just happened back there?"

Elizabeth turned to face him and Kurt could see the weariness he had heard in the previous night's phone call etched into her features, "The doctors say it should be temporary, but it's a side effect of the surgery."

"I thought the surgery was supposed to get rid of those things, isn't that the point?" Kurt felt a jolt of panic in the pit of his stomach; what if the surgery hadn't worked at all?

"It will eventually, but right now his brain is still recovering, and it's possible there will be some…" Elizabeth glanced toward the window overlooking the front lawn and then back at Kurt, "some more long lasting side effects."

"Like what?" Kurt asked guardedly.

"He has trouble talking sometimes—he can't get the words out right," Elizabeth smoothed at wrinkles in her dress that weren't there, "And his hand."

Kurt adjusted the duffle bag still hanging from his shoulder just for the sake of having an excuse to move; a place to put even a fraction of a percent of the sudden adrenaline spike he felt, "How long lasting are we talking?"

Elizabeth's eyes left his, "He has a speech pathologist and he did a little work with a physical therapist this week. We're moving him to a closer treatment center for chemotherapy and radiation; they'll get him back on a more regular schedule for those things as soon as they can. It's supposed to help."

Kurt regarded her for another long pause, contemplating whether or not he wanted to point out that she hadn't answered his question.

"He got sick from the medications they were giving him," she said abruptly, turning to look at him again, "That's why they kept him for so long. I'm sorry I didn't explain it better over the phone, I guess I was just… distracted."

Kurt wasn't sure what to make of the newly offered information. He smiled awkwardly, "It's understandable, Mrs. Anderson."

"You can go up to see him if you'd like," She turned away again; picked up Carol's banana bread; put it back down in the same place.

Kurt hesitated, considered saying something, but then settled for just exiting the kitchen quietly and jogging up the stairs to Blaine's room.

Blaine was settled in his bed, his father standing awkwardly beside him. He grinned when he saw Kurt, "I was worried you would spend your entire visit chatting with my mother."

"Not a chance," Kurt dropped the duffle bag down on the floor, and pulled Blaine's desk chair over to the side of the bed.

John cleared his throat and backed toward the door, "You're all right, then?"

"I'm fine, Dad," Blaine glanced his direction, "I'll yell if I need anything."

"You're not supposed to shout, remember—"

"I know, I know," Blaine rolled his eyes, "Kurt will yell. I'll sit quietly."

John nodded, sent a quick glance Kurt's direction, and disappeared out of the room, pulling the door shut with a definitive click.

"Wow, closed door and everything," Kurt looked toward the door, an eyebrow raised.

Blaine snorted, "It's not like I'm capable of doing anything scandalous right now."

"How are you feeling?" Kurt reached out to squeeze Blaine's hand.

"I'd be doing a whole lot better if you'd get up here and cuddle with me instead of sitting in that chair," Blaine slid sideways in the bed and patted the vacated space beside him.

Kurt complied more than willingly, sliding into the space that was still warm from Blaine's body, "How about now?"

"Much better," Blaine smiled at him blissfully.

Kurt wanted to grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him as hard as he could. He restrained himself and settled for squeezing his hand around Blaine's a little tighter. His eyes drifted up to the bandages, "…does it hurt?"

"My head?" Blaine reached up a hand and rubbed absently at the white gauze; his fingers trembled, "Not really; it feels like a bad headache sometimes but that's all."

Kurt nodded as though he understood. They lapsed into silence.

"I'm sorry I'm not very entertaining company right now," Blaine blinked sleepily.

"Lucky for you, I brought some entertainment," Kurt clambered back out of the bed, suddenly remembering what he had tucked into the top of Blaine's bag almost as an afterthought. He hid his find behind his back until he was settled back on the bed, "Guess what I got."

Blaine tilted his head, "Umm… gimme a clue."

"It is your very favorite guilty pleasure."

Blaine's face lit up, "It's—"

Kurt felt a sinking in his chest as Blaine's smile fell.

"Um, it's…" Blaine looked down to the comforter, a frown line formed between his eyebrows as he thought.

"It's what, Blaine?" Kurt spoke quietly.

Blaine was silent; he closed his eyes tightly as he thought.

"Like a book…" Kurt offered.

Blaine squeezed down on his hand tighter and looked up at him; his eyes intense, "I swear I know it."

Kurt nodded; tried to ignore the sound of his heart hammering against his ribs. Elizabeth had told him it would happen. It was natural; it wasn't anything to be frightened by, "I know you do."

"It's… it's…" Blaine clenched his free hand around the blanket, tipped his head back and closed his eyes again.

"Do you want me to tell—"

"No!" Blaine pulled his hand out of Kurt's; pinched the bridge of his nose, "I can get it, I just need…"

"Hey," Kurt pulled his hand out from behind his back and tucked the magazine between Blaine's hands, "Look at it; see if that helps."

Blaine opened his eyes and looked down at the glossy cover. He turned it over between his hands.

Kurt watched him silently and tried not to hold his breath.

Blaine's face suddenly lit up, "Magazine."

"That's right," Kurt let out a relieved sigh, "A magazine."

Blaine glowered at him, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Kurt looked at him in alarm.

"Pity me," Blaine was still scowling at him, "Don't you fucking dare. I get enough of it from my parents."

"I wasn't trying to," Kurt covered Blaine's hand with his, but Blaine retracted his fingers quickly.

"I get it, okay?" Blaine looked down at his hand, "I'm a fucking mess, but I don't want you to look at me like somebody's neglected puppy. I can barely deal with my mom and dad doing it; but if you keeping looking at me like that too… I can't handle that."

Kurt bit back his protest. It was true, he couldn't help but feel a hurt in his chest for his boyfriend's plight, "I don't mean to—I just… this has all happened so fast, Blaine, seeing you like this is… I can't help but hurt for you when you seem like you're suffering."

Blaine studied him in silence, until he let out a sigh, "Can you promise me something?"

Kurt nodded quickly, "Of course."

"Promise me you won't do it anymore—pity me, I mean. I need you to… I don't know really, but please, I can't do this knowing you're constantly feeling sorry for me."

Would it be worse to lie and make the promise or to tell him he couldn't help but feel an ache in his chest every time he looked at Blaine's trembling hand? ...He could do his best though to fight the feeling, couldn't he? He stuck out a pinkie to Blaine with a smile, "I promise to work my absolute hardest to not feel sorry for you."

Blaine smiled; relieved. He linked the pinkie of his more stable hand with Kurt's, "Thank you."

"Can we please look at this now? I have been fighting every natural impulse I have to not look at the pictures from the newest Kardashian wedding just so we could tear them apart together."

They settled in together, Blaine's head on Kurt's shoulder and the magazine propped on his knees for them to see. Kurt chattered away and things almost felt normal again as they giggled and flipped through the pages—gushing over the better looking actors and rolling their eyes over sleazy pop stars. Slowly though, Blaine quieted, his thoughts clearly drifting.

Kurt kept talking all the same, but when he followed Blaine's gaze downward, it was not focused on the magazine. His eyes were trained on his hand. He flexed it open and closed; open and closed. It trembled the entire time.

Kurt's voice trailed off. He brushed a hand over Blaine's forearm, "Everything okay?"

Blaine held up his hand, spread his fingers open wide; tried to hold it steady. When it proved useless, he dropped it back down to his lap.

"Blaine?" Kurt squeezed his arm a little tighter.

Blaine suddenly swung his legs over the side of the bed and shoved himself upright.

Kurt scrambled after him, the magazine crushed beneath his knees as he pushed himself off the bed, "Where are you going?"

"Downstairs," Blaine replied; distracted. He bumped his shoulder on the doorframe as he made his way out, but didn't acknowledge the misstep.

"Hey, wait up, I'll come with you," Kurt caught a hold of Blaine's arm and tried not to let on that he was terrified Blaine would slip and fall down the stairs.

Blaine didn't object to Kurt's hand at his elbow. He slowed his pace a little as they made their way down the stairs, mindful of every step. As soon as they were back on level ground, he quickened his pace again.

"Blaine, honey, what are you doing?" Elizabeth looked up from the couch, a laptop perched on her knees.

Blaine didn't answer. He breezed past the couch and sat down on the bench in front of the piano, his fingers grazing over the tops of the keys.

Kurt met Elizabeth's confused gaze and shrugged. He sat down on the bench beside Blaine. He watched Blaine bite his lip as he pressed down gently on a black key, then a white.

Blaine's hand paused. He lifted the other one to the keys. He pressed down one chord; another… he played a melody Kurt didn't recognize, but he could see Blaine's shoulders relaxing, his eyes were half-closed. When he finished he looked… relieved.

"That was lovely, Blaine." His mother said softly. She hadn't moved from her place on the couch, but she watched the boys on the bench intently.

Blaine nodded his thanks but said nothing, he walked his fingers up a scale of notes and then another; his thumb occasionally bumping an odd note. He let out a frustrated grunt in the back of his throat.

"It'll steady out," Kurt offered quietly.

Blaine didn't respond; his hand dropped from the keys to his lap.

Kurt sat silently beside him, and then slowly lifted his own hand to the keys. He tapped out the beginning of Heart and Soul .

Blaine watched him mutely.

"Well, are you going to do the other part or not?" Kurt nudged Blaine's shoulder with his.

A shadow of a smile traced Blaine's mouth. He tapped out the accompaniment slowly at first, and then a little faster.

John emerged from his office, cell phone in hand, looking disgruntled. He sat down beside his wife and murmured something in her ear.

Kurt watched them surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. He switched songs abruptly and winked at Blaine.

Blaine grinned back, clearly more at ease, as he tapped out the other half of the song.

Kurt kept him busy while he watched Liz and John murmur back and forth, both frowning. He missed a note, but when he tried to get back into it, he couldn't find the melody.

Blaine stopped playing, still looking mellow, "Thanks for indulging me."

"Anytime," Kurt resisted the urge to kiss Blaine with his parents sitting so close.

"Very nice, boys, very nice," John clapped lamely.

"I didn't even hear you come in, Dad," Blaine looked over his shoulder in surprise at both his parents sitting on the couch.

"I was in my office earlier. I was on the phone with your Uncle Harry," John motioned his phone toward Blaine, "He called to ask if we were coming out for the family week at the cottage… I had to give him the news about everything that's been going on."

Kurt knew about the Anderson Family summer gathering; he'd endured the loss of his boyfriend the previous summer to the same trip. A week at some distant relative's house in the Hamptons that Blaine had been more than a little sullen about partaking in after, despite ceaseless begging, he was not allowed to bring Kurt along.

Blaine nodded, "No week on the coast for us then, I take it?"

"No, I'm afraid not," John shifted on the couch uncomfortably, "For any of the family, actually."

Blaine frowned, "What do you mean?"

John looked tired, "It's your uncle's thought that if you're here and sick, they should all come to Ohio for a visit."

Kurt couldn't help but note the almost uncanny way Blaine looked identical to his parents when his face, too, took on an exhausted quality—his father's same amber colored eyes with his mother's look of weariness, "Please tell me you told them no."

"I tried to; I told him you'll have just started treatment and you'll be sick and tired," John sighed, "But he just saw that as all the more reason to come see us."

There was a brief silence that blanketed the room as Blaine mulled over the news.

"…Okay," Blaine tried for a smile, "I guess they're well-intentioned at least… and I like the kids."

His mother and father exchanged a weary look.

Blaine frowned, "What?"

John sat up a little straighter. Kurt knew what that meant, he'd seen Blaine imitate it on multiple occasions—that quick stiffening of his shoulders; the little clearing of his throat—it meant John was going to say something Blaine didn't want to hear, "It's not just them coming, Blaine. Your Grandma Helen is coming, too."

Blaine let out an immediate groan, "Dad."

"Blaine, be reasonable, she's your family." John spoke sternly, but his face held little conviction.

"She hates me," Blaine gave his father a pleading look, "Can't you convince her to stay home?"

"Her mind is made up, Blaine," his father frowned, "And she doesn't hate you."

Blaine's frown turned into a deeper scowl, "Right, she just hates 'my choices'."

John let out a sigh; pinched the bridge of his nose, "Blaine, we can't keep having this conversation."

"I wasn't aware there was even a conversation to be had," Blaine snapped, "She's the one who acts like there's an argument to be made."

"She's old-fashioned, Blaine, she just doesn't understand," John rested his elbows on his knees as though sitting upright was too much of an effort.

"I'm happy and I try to be a good person. What's there to misunderstand?" Blaine leaned his back against the keyboard, his face set in a scowl.

John glanced between him and Kurt, "Blaine, please, you know we're not anymore plussed than you are about how conservative she is—"

Blaine snorted, "Right. That's why you won't let me bring Kurt with to church, because you're so open-minded, Dad."

"Can we please not argue right now?" Elizabeth touched a hand to her husband's back, "It can't be good for Blaine's health, and this conversation never leads anywhere."

John and Blaine stared at one another in silence. Kurt shifted uncomfortably at Blaine's side but said nothing.

John studied his son; his tired, angry eyes; the bandages wrapped around his head. His expression softened, "You know I love you, Blaine."

Blaine scowled back at him for a long minute, but then he just looked tired. He looked down at his lap, "I know."

"I'll call your grandmother and see if I can get her to change her mind," John added, trying to meet Blaine's eyes again.

"Thanks," Blaine said lamely.

Another lull of quiet filled the room.

"Blaine, are you hungry?" Kurt was surprised by the sound of his own voice filling the space, "Carol sent over banana bread."

Blaine's expression relaxed; he smiled, "I'm not hungry, but I'll never say no to Carol's baking."

Kurt pulled Blaine to his feet, he glanced toward the Andersons still sitting on the couch, "Do you mind if we go to the kitchen?"

"Not at all," Elizabeth's tone was artificially cheery, "Go right ahead."

Kurt settled Blaine in a kitchen chair before filling a glass with milk and dropping the loaf unceremoniously on the table in front of his boyfriend along with two plates and a knife, "Bon appétit."

Blaine snorted out a short laugh and worked at untangling the tin foil from around the bread. Kurt took the seat beside him and watched. He filled the space with mindless talk, "We should get sheet music for more duets. It'll be good for both of us—you can work on your hand, and I can add more music to my repertoire."

Blaine looked up at him; studied his face, "We're just going to pretend that conversation in the family room didn't happen then, I take it?"

Kurt hesitated. He wanted to ask a million questions; about the hated grandmother, the uncle who Blaine affectionately chuckled over from time to time; the awkward fight about church that Kurt had heard alluded to twice now. He eyed Blaine's head, "For now, yeah we are. Today has been too intense for more talk like that. Lets just chat about stupid gossip and stuff ourselves silly with trans fats and sugar."

Blaine laughed softly, he resumed unwrapping the bread, "I like that idea."

As Blaine started chattering about summer and missing Rachel and the Warblers already, Kurt tried his best to look cheerful; well-engaged. He tried not to draw attention to himself when he pulled the bread and knife away from Blaine, afraid he'd chop off a finger with his shaky hand. He tried to hide all traces of concern from his face when Blaine floundered for a word. He smiled pleasantly and talked about mindless nothings and tried to get his mind to feel as light as his voice sounded. He focused on Blaine's eyes—bright, cheery; unchanged—he was regaling Kurt with a story about the dorm bathrooms flooding as the result of a senior prank gone awry at Dalton. His hands flew through the air excitedly as he talked, just like they always did; his voice, even when a word escaped him, was filled with laughter. The normalcy of it all trumped the bad and Kurt felt himself relaxing. He was still Blaine.

Kurt leaned across the small space between them and touched a quick kiss to his cheek.

Blaine paused in his story, but he didn't question the sudden affection. Instead, he grinned, leaned his hands on Kurt's knees, and kissed him fully on the mouth.

He would always be Blaine.