Chapter 28

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Ex—

"Kurt?"

Kurt let out the last breath in a loud burst of air, his rhythm decidedly thrown off. He met Rachel's eyes and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Are you awake?" He could feel the warmth of Rachel's breath on his cheek; it still smelled faintly of toothpaste.

"Yes."

"What time did you get in last night?"

"Late."

He felt her fingers graze the edge of his shirt, "Did you eat dinner before you came home?"

She'd been back in Ohio for less than twenty-four hours and Kurt was fairly sure she'd been hovering over for most of that time. Only Finn had proven to be enough of a distraction to tear her away from time to time. He contemplated the question. Had he had dinner? "I…yes. With Reese after work."

Nine hours, one broken ladder, and too many yards of string to count later, all of the cranes had been hung at Anthropologie and Kurt had hugged Reese goodbye one last time and smiled and nodded over the offered open couch for he and Blaine if they ever came to visit before Reese left to catch a flight back to New York. The display was beautiful, dinner had been nice, but it had seemed...small and oddly anticlimactic. All of that work and all of that time for a smile from Darcy, a quick meal with Reese, and the semester was over. Kurt hadn't decided yet if he was going to go back after winter break.

Rachel rolled over from her back to her stomach and frowned, clearly unconvinced, "What did you eat?"

"French fries," Kurt scowled at her, "Believe it or not, I've been in charge of feeding myself for about five months without someone reminding me."

Rachel's expression softened, "You still look like you forget from time to time."

Kurt fixed her with another withering look though he wasn't entirely sure she could see it in the barely there glow of the nightlight glowing dimly in the corner of the room, "I don't need a lecture on weight, Rachel. Not today."

"I know you don't," She rubbed a hand up and down his arm, "How long have you been awake?"

Kurt blinked up at the ceiling. It was still dark, but that didn't tell him much about the time. It could be two in the morning or seven and it would probably look the same, "I don't know."

Rachel slid in a little closer. Her feet were warm against his shins, "I've missed having sleepovers with you."

"Quinn's not a bedtime cuddler?" Kurt murmured.

"Sometimes, but she's not really a fan of sharing a bed and she's not as good at it as you," Rachel nudged Kurt's leg a little harder, "Are you liking being home in your own bed again?"

Kurt managed a smile, "This is the mattress from the guest room and this is the first night I've been in my room since I moved. Are you liking being back in Ohio or is life here too dull for you already?"

"Well, it certainly isn't New York. I don't know how to sleep without the sound of traffic anymore," Rachel smiled, "But being here has its perks. My dads weren't very happy I wanted to spend my first full night back over here."

"I didn't ask you to stay," Kurt rolled his eyes. He'd made it home from Columbus no earlier than midnight to find his father waiting up for him at the kitchen table. After a hug and a murmured conversation about Blaine and plans to drive back to Columbus the following morning, Kurt had lugged his bag up to his room to find Rachel already asleep in his bed.

"No, but that's what makes me such a good friend," Rachel's teeth flashed white in an even bigger smile in the semi-dark, "Besides, I barely got to talk to you yesterday. I saw your apartment for two minutes and then when I came to see you at work, you were too busy to even talk to me."

"You came to see me at work. I was working." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Still," Rachel sniffed, "Finn was packing up his dorm, and he still managed to talk to me."

"That's because you were packing for him while he sat and stared at you," Kurt yawned, "Are you two back together yet?"

"Kurt!" Rachel snapped.

"Rachel."

She sighed, "It's…complicated. We'll see."

"Hm." Kurt's eyes drifted back up to the ceiling.

Rachel filled the silence quickly, "I have new shoes that I think you might actually approve of."

"Hm."

"Do you want to see them?"

"Right now?" Kurt frowned.

He heard the swish of her hair against the pillowcase and assumed she was nodding.

"Is it an acceptable hour for us to be awake looking at shoes?"

"Does it matter?"

"I see your point," Kurt pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted against the light when Rachel turned on the bedside lamp.

His room was depressingly bare with most of his things still residing at the Columbus apartment, but his father and Carol had obviously made an attempt to make it seem a little homier for Kurt's return. There were pictures on the shelves Kurt recognized from their family room, a throw blanket across the end of his bed from the basement; a chair from the living room that had been moved into the far corner. He sat down in it and tucked his feet up beside him while Rachel rummaged through her overnight bag.

"Here they are!" She handed over a pair of nude colored heels with a smile.

Kurt studied the shoes, "Did Quinn pick them out for you?"

Rachel looked mildly offended, "No, I chose them all by myself, thank you very much."

"They're great. New York is like your very own fairy godmother," Kurt turned the heels over and studied them for a few more seconds before handing them back. His gaze drifted toward the window. The glass was steamed over at the edges, "What time is it?"

Rachel glanced at her phone "Five."

"Exactly five?" Kurt tilted his cheek into the back of the chair; closed his eyes.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Five o' seven, then." He could feel Rachel's eyes on him.

Three hours and fifty-three minutes. When he felt his heart quicken, Kurt tried to remember his breathing. He took in a breath, held if for eight seconds. When he exhaled, he counted out another eight seconds before sucking in another slow breath through his nose.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

In—

"I'm sure I have some headshots in here somewhere you should see or maybe you could do my hair or—"

Kurt opened his eyes and turned his gaze toward Rachel.

She was digging through her bag almost frantically; her gaze flitting up to Kurt occasionally.

He sighed, "I know what you're doing."

"Doing? I'm not doing anything except trying to find my things in my bag—we could give each other manicures, too, I'm sure I have a clear coat in here somewhere and if you still have—"

"Rachel," Kurt smiled a little, "I know you're trying to distract me, but, please, just stop. You're putting me on edge."

Rachel's face fell, "I am?"

He nodded, "I appreciate you being here, and I'm sure you and whoever else helped you come up with this plan—"

"Finn."

Kurt resisted the urge to laugh, he should have known, "I'm sure you and Finn have nothing but the best intentions, but if you'd just sit here with me, I'd be a lot happier."

Rachel smiled, her slightly crazed expression melting, "I can do that. Do you want to go back to bed?"

The idea of lying in his bed with nothing but Rachel curled into his side and his thoughts for company seemed almost claustrophobic. He shook his head, "Lets make coffee."

They sat together at the kitchen table and stared down into their mugs.

Rachel stifled a yawn in the crook of her arm.

Kurt felt a twinge of guilt. He occasionally forgot that not everybody was on his and David's insomniac's wake-sleep cycle, "You can go back to bed if you want."

Rachel sat up straighter and shook her head, "No."

"Really, Rachel, I'll be fine for a couple hours."

"I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to," Rachel lifted her feet onto her chair and rested her chin on her knees, "…I went to see Blaine after I left your work."

Kurt looked up from his untouched coffee to her face.

She picked idly at an invisible piece of lint on the bottom of her pajama pants, "His parents were worried about germs and so was I, but he made me hold his hand for awhile."

Kurt nodded. He beat out a steady rhythm against the side of his cup with his index finger, "That's what we've been doing, too. Every time I go over there, I'm terrified I'm dragging the plague or something into the house. I've tried just sitting by him, but he says—"

"He wants to be able to touch you or else you might as well just be on the phone," Rachel glanced up; smiled a little, "He told me that, too."

Kurt sighed; shook his head, "He's so stubborn."

The silence hung heavy between them. The quiet drum of Kurt's finger against the cup suddenly audible in the quiet until Rachel spoke again, "He told me about the advance directives."

Kurt's hand stilled.

"He says you're upset."

Kurt's gaze jerked back to Rachel, "And you're not?"

"It's scary…" Rachel met Kurt's eyes fleetingly before looking back to her pajama bottoms, "but I understand the decision."

Kurt's throat felt tight as he spoke again, carefully, "You understand his decision to essentially kill himself if things don't go well?"

Rachel looked up at him again, frowned, "Kurt, you know it's not like that."

Kurt glared down at the table; tightened his grip around his mug, "No? Then what's it like?"

"If it was the other way around, what would you do?"

"I'd fight." Kurt snapped.

"What if it wasn't fighting anymore? What if Blaine just kept coming back to you week after week and month after month and year after year hoping you'd wake up? Would you want him to do that?"

Kurt gave her an icy glare, "I'd think you of all people would find that tragically romantic or something."

"At one time, I might have, but it's different when it's actually happening…" Rachel took a small sip of her coffee—or maybe she just lifted her cup to her mouth as an excuse for something to do, "…you didn't answer the question."

Kurt remained silent for a while, but they both knew his answer. Of course he wouldn't want that. He knew Blaine's decision made sense. He knew it wasn't cowardice or a lack of tenacity that led to it at all. Still, he didn't respond. Couldn't condone it. The idea of Blaine potentially signing away his life—

A hand closed over his.

Kurt looked up to see Rachel watching him with tears on her cheeks, "I'm scared, too. W-we have to be b-brave though, Kurt."

Kurt twisted his hand around until their fingers were laced. He squeezed tight and swallowed down the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, "For Blaine."

She smiled a little; squeezed harder, "For Blaine."

They stayed together at the table, the coffee growing cold and their hands still linked together until they couldn't wait any longer to get dressed.

When they were finally ready and returned to the kitchen, Burt was already there with Carol, the car keys on the table. He met Kurt's eyes; smiled grimly.

Kurt found Rachel's hand and linked it with his own, "Lets go."

Kurt stared around at the pack of people already in the waiting room and they stared back at him.

He recognized Blaine's grandmother, a pack of Dalton alumni along with the current Warblers in a corner (Trip was absent), almost all of the New Directions sat together nearby; Blaine's grandmother sat alone, a strip of empty chairs acting as a buffer between her and Mike Chang. The only other person sitting by himself was David. He met Kurt's eyes with a mix of pity and mild relief.

Wes stood and crossed the room; shook his hand, "Always good to see you again, Kurt. I wish it could be under better circumstances."

Kurt nodded, "That makes two of us."

Kurt nodded a mute hello to some of the newer Warblers. He couldn't remember most of their names. He shook hands with a few more old classmates from Dalton; exchanged quiet words with his friends from McKinley. No one went so far as to hug him. It was like they were afraid to touch him too much.

Kurt tried to meet Helen's gaze, but she stared resolutely down at her lap. He looked around the room one last time before sitting down in the first empty seat he spied. Carol and Burt flanked him on either side while Rachel and Finn took the couple open spaces left near the New Directions.

Only the quiet hum of a heating vent and the slow tick of a clock above the door interrupted the silence. The Warblers and New Directions whispered to one another quietly or typed out quick messages and passed phones between each other.

Kurt drummed his fingers on his knees, tried to quiet his heart that felt like it was leaping into his throat.

When the door opened again, everyone's heads snapped up.

John and Elizabeth stood side by side; their shoulders bumping occasionally and both of their gazes directed at Kurt.

"We had a talk with the doctors," Elizabeth's eyes were red, Kurt noted, but he wasn't sure if it was from lack of sleep or tears, "Blaine wants to see you for a couple minutes if you'd like—"

Kurt jerked up out of his seat. He ignored the eyes in the room burning into the back of his neck as he followed Elizabeth and John out of the waiting room.

He was oddly aware of the sound of his shoes on the floor as he moved down one hallway and then another—they made a strange rhythm; a tap as his toe struck the linoleum; a squeak at the ball of his foot; a groan of leather, and then the pattern repeated as he dropped down the other foot.

Tap, squeak, groan

Tap, squeak, groan

Tap, squeak, groan

Tap, squeak, groan

…. on and on it went as they navigated the maze of hallways.

John handed him a mask. His fingers brushed Kurt's as he murmured something about contagions.

Elizabeth's hand bumped his arm as she added something about Blaine cutting his hair again.

Kurt remained mute. He watched doctors and nurses move past them in a steady hum of activity; noted empty hospital beds by the walls and patients pushing IV stands—their skin seeming to soak in the ugly yellow, gray glow of the fluorescents overhead and reflect it back out in an equally dull glow. He tried to remember the last time he'd walked hospital halls like this—how he'd felt; what he'd seen and heard and smelled and said. All that came to mind was the hum of an electric razor and the feeling of paint chipping beneath his fingers as he sat at Blaine's bedside in a folding chair.

Elizabeth squeezed his arm gently, "We'll give you two a minute."

They were stopped outside of a door. Kurt looked between the Andersons for a moment before slipping the mask on over his ears. He wrapped his hand around the handle and pushed the door open just far enough to let himself slip in before closing it firmly behind him. He wondered vaguely how many germs he might have let in with the opening and closing of the door or if the door was even capable of keeping them out in the first place.

Blaine's bed was reclined at an angle so that he was sitting up high enough to watch Kurt. His head was freshly shaved, and in the powder blue hospital gown, he looked oddly pale. His whole face transformed though as soon as he smiled, "I did a bad thing."

Though he knew Blaine couldn't see it under the mask, Kurt returned his smile, "What's that?"

Blaine glanced around the room as though checking for anyone else who might be listening in, "I may or may not have faked a bit of an angry, emotional meltdown to make them let you back here."

Kurt raised his eyebrows in mock shock, "You did not."

Blaine's smile turned devious, "I did. Don't tell on me, okay?"

"Your secret's safe with me." Kurt tried to take a mental picture of the particular tilt of Blaine's head; the angle of his chin.

Blaine watched him quietly for another few seconds, "Are you just going to stand on the opposite side of the room or are you going to come over here where I can actually see you? If you need me to, I can throw another tantrum."

Kurt actually laughed but then, just as fast, felt like he might cry. Only Blaine. He moved across the room wordlessly, his eyes never leaving Blaine's face.

Before Kurt could sink down into one of the chairs already at the bedside, Blaine reached out and grabbed his wrist, "Don't you dare. You're sitting on the bed."

Kurt nodded and sat tentatively on the edge of the mattress. He flinched a little when it groaned beneath the added weight, but then reached out and rubbed his thumb over the back of Blaine's knuckles, "Your hand is cold."

"It's chilly in here," Blaine glanced toward the window, "I keep hoping it'll snow before they take me out of here—it'd be kind of nice to see…peaceful…"

Kurt glanced toward the window, too, but then directed his gaze back to Blaine, "Do you want another blanket?"

"I already have one, and I won't be in here for much longer," Blaine shrugged.

Kurt wrapped his hand in a little more securely around Blaine's.

Blaine's gaze moved over his face, "You know I love your eyes, but it'd be nice if I could see a little more of your face."

"I need to keep the mask on, Blaine."

"Are you sure? I could throw another tantrum if it means you'll take it off," Blaine smiled hopefully.

Kurt squeezed his hand, "You already made that joke."

"Did I?" Blaine's smile fell, and his gaze dropped down to his lap.

Kurt mentally kicked himself for mentioning it. He slid in a little closer to Blaine, "Hey, don't worry about it—Finn makes the same joke all the time and he doesn't have any form of an excuse except for just being Finn."

Blaine's gaze stayed on his lap.

"Blaine, hey," Kurt reached out and brushed his fingers across Blaine's cheek, "I shouldn't have said anything."

Blaine peered up at him, "Do you feel bad enough so that you're willing to take the mask off now to make me feel better?"

Kurt stared at him for a moment and then gasped indignantly, "Oh. My. God. You knew you did it twice."

Blaine fought off a smile, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't even know what I said twice anymore…I think my whole memory is coming apart. Do you feel bad enough now?"

"Blaine Anderson, you're awful. You can't just fake tumor symptoms to get what you want!" Kurt laughed.

"It worked once before," Blaine shrugged.

"You're terrible," Kurt gave Blaine's shoulder a gentle shove.

"You love me," Blaine grinned.

"I do," Kurt smiled.

All at once it hit him again.

The surgery.

The papers.

The frailness of Blaine's hand in his.

The possibilities.

He let out a shuddering breath and that was all it took for Blaine to pull him in close.

"Shh," Despite his quiet assurances, Blaine's hands shook against Kurt's back. Or maybe Blaine wasn't shaking at all, maybe it was just Kurt.

Kurt had wanted to be brave for Blaine. He'd wanted to look strong. Instead he closed his eyes tight; fisted a hand into Blaine's hospital gown, "Can I be honest?"

"Of course." Blaine buried his nose in Kurt's hair; took a deep breath.

"I'm scared. I'm so scared." Kurt swallowed down a sob.

Blaine turned his head; nuzzled his cheek into Kurt's head, "Me, too."

"You don't seem scared," Kurt whispered.

"I think I'm in shock…or maybe they drugged the Jell-O."

"You can't eat before the surgery." Kurt shifted so that his shoulder wasn't jabbing Blaine in the ribs.

"Hmm, you're right. Just shock then, I guess," Blaine pressed his fingers a little harder into Kurt's sweater, "...Maybe we can just go. Run away right now."

"Skip the surgery?"

"Sure," Blaine's voice held just the faintest notes of a tremor, "We'll go someplace warm. Decorate a palm tree for Christmas; go snorkeling and find pearls to give each other as gifts. Somewhere with white sand beaches so it looks like snow."

Kurt smiled just a little, "I won't even pack a bag. We can leave now, and I'll buy clothes from the gift shop at the hotel."

"No hotel; we'll have a little shack on the beach," Blaine laughed quietly, "Okay?"

"Okay." Kurt sniffled hard. The smell of antiseptic soap and hospital filled his nose.

Blaine sighed, "I wish we could. I really, really, really wish we could."

"You could still ask to change your paperwork," Kurt whispered.

Blaine was quiet for a moment; his fingers brushing a slow rhythm against Kurt's skin, "I have a proposition for you. A deal of sorts."

Kurt brushed a thumb over the inside of Blaine's elbow, "IVs tend to get in the way of arm scratching, but I can try."

Blaine laughed quietly, "No, not that. Instead of our usual arm scratching for back scratching trade-off, I was thinking we could do a different sort of trade."

"What's that?"

"Song for a song?" Kurt could almost hear the smile in Blaine's voice.

Kurt blinked in confusion, but didn't move out of Blaine's hold, "Right now?"

"When else?"

"If that's supposed to be funny—"

"It's not."

Kurt swallowed hard; searched his head frantically, "I…I don't know what to sing."

"I do," Blaine pressed a kiss to the top of Kurt's head.

"Then I guess you're going first," Kurt closed his eyes, still trying to think of the right song for this moment.

Blaine nodded a little and was quiet for a moment. He took a deep breath; let it out slowly.

I remember tears streaming down your face

When I said, "I'll never let you go"

When all those shadows almost killed your light

I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window, darling

Everything's on fire

The war outside our door keeps raging on

Hold on to this lullaby

Even when the music's gone

Gone

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be—

The door opened with a quiet click, "Blaine, sweetie? It's time to go."

Kurt tried to pull away, but he felt Blaine's fingers dig into his skin a little harder.

"Please don't make him leave yet." Blaine whispered into Kurt's chest.

"Blaine, we really need to send him back to the waiting room," The nurse replied, her voice kind.

"Please," Blaine whispered back; his hand fisting into Kurt's shirt, "Please let him stay."

Kurt opened his eyes and met the nurse's gaze. She couldn't be older than fifty. Probably a mother, "Please just give us a couple more minutes. I promise I'll go then."

She sighed, "One more minute. Your parents are going to step in for a moment, too, Blaine."

The door clicked open again and this time Kurt opened his eyes to see John and Elizabeth. He tried to move to grant them space, but even when he'd slid off the bed, Blaine clung tightly to his hand.

Elizabeth had a mask on, but she still touched a kiss to Blaine's cheek through it, "Everything's going to be okay, baby, I promise, all right? Everything is going to be okay."

Blaine pressed his forehead to his mother's; allowed her another kiss before returning a soft one on her cheek, "I love you, Mom."

John pressed a hand to the back of Blaine's head, nodded gruffly. His voice was thick but steady, "They're good doctors, Blaine; damn good doctors. They're going to get rid of this thing once and for all."

Blaine nodded shakily in response.

John opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, closed it, opened it again, "…I love you, Blaine."

Blaine gripped his free hand over his father's wrist, "Love you, too, Dad."

Kurt stood quietly; his fingers still laced with Blaine's. When another woman in scrubs walked through the door, he made quick work of engraining the feeling of Blaine's hand into his memory. His fingers were cold, his palm clammy, the space between his thumb and index finger was dry. It wasn't how it normally felt.

"We need to get going," The nurse smiled around at all of them apologetically. She was already pulling the guardrail up on the right side of the bed; kicking up the breaks on the wheels.

Blaine nodded, he let go of Kurt's hand reluctantly, "Right, yeah…schedule to keep and all that…"

The nurse smiled, "They won't rush through anything, don't worry."

Blaine's mouth twitched up for a moment, too, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. They'd barely made it a foot before he was twisting around, "Wait!"

The bed halted with a short jerk. Blaine was already groping a hand out toward Kurt, "Kurt, I-I need to, I, just, I need—"

Kurt wrapped Blaine's hand between both of his, "What? What do you need?"

Blaine's eyes searched Kurt's face almost frantically, "You didn't get to do your song, maybe we should wait to go to the OR until—"

"Blaine." Kurt spoke his name softly; brushed his thumb over the back of his hand.

But Blaine only shook his head, "I—I know I'm being ridiculous right now and—and—I can't—the words—just… fuck…I don't—"

"Take a breath," Kurt sniffled hard to steady his own brittle breathing, "and start again."

Blaine inhaled a shallow breath and suddenly he looked a little calmer; less frantic; less desperate, but his face still held an odd intensity, "I love you. I love you a lot and I—I need you to know that, okay? B-because it's important and you're my best friend and... I-I love you."

Maybe it was Blaine's nerves or maybe it was the way his eyes flitted from Kurt's hand to his face and then back again with a strange sense of urgency, but whatever it was about Blaine, it reminded Kurt of a day that seemed like forever ago in the Dalton Senior Commons. He wasn't sure if he could actually smell tacky glue or if it was just his imagination, but it made him light headed either way. They should kiss. That should be the natural result of Blaine spilling his feelings, and Kurt wanted it so horribly; wanted to feel a familiar mouth against his. But that wasn't an option.

Kurt decided on another smaller risk. He pulled the mask down off of his mouth, made sure Blaine was looking at him. Kurt was sure there were words for this moment; there had to be some crucial message he needed to make sure echoed in Blaine's head under the murk of drugged sleep and scalpels. He couldn't think of it though, so he blurted the first words that were willing to stumble out across his tongue, "I love you. I love you more than anything."

It didn't feel quite right, but it apparently was enough for Blaine because he smiled, "There's something else I wanted to say."

Kurt watched him intently, "What?"

"I can't remember," Blaine's smile widened a little; he shook his head.

"Oh," Kurt sniffled hard.

Blaine pulled his hand free. He reached out and pressed his palm over Kurt's heart.

The gesture was calming; familiar. Kurt pressed his own hand to Blaine's chest where he could feel the pound of his heart below his fingertips.

For a flickering moment, Kurt forgot where they were and why they were there. There was only Blaine and the pressure of his hand and the honey of his eyes. They stared at one another and smiled.

There was a blank spot in Kurt's memory.

One moment Blaine's heart was beating underneath his palm, and the next Kurt was in a waiting room with a thousand pairs of eyes on him.

He took his seat between Burt and Carol, leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

He focused on what he could swear was still a warm spot where Blaine's hand had been pressed over his sweater. When even the memory faded, he didn't know what else to do except wait.

He focused on his breathing and pretended it was Blaine's. Breathing meant they were okay, breathing meant they were alive. All he had to do was inhale, exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale….