Blaine's parents are due to arrive on the Saturday morning, which leaves two days of them dancing around each other; miss-stepping their own guilt and tripping into a whirlwind of ‘please I'm trying'. It's never been quite so difficult before. They've had their moments of needing care but always one after the other like dominoes, not like this.

Of course Carole tries to make it better, filling the cracks in their tired attempts at trying to love and care all at once without breaking anything. On the Friday she asks Blaine if he would mind going shopping with her, only she wanted to make a nice meal for his parents and she didn't know their favourite. For once Blaine doesn't complain that he doesn't know either.

Before Kurt can offer to join them, Burt is asking for his help on a truck that their new neighbour can't seem to fix. It's a simple procedure but a two man job, and Burt had offered his services. Kurt grudgingly agrees if only because the sweetness of his Father's heart reminds him of all he is doing for Blaine.

And so the tide of their love parts and folds.
***
The supermarket is new and poorly organised, so Blaine and Carole struggle to weave their way through the aisles. The bright light reminds him of hospital and he feels mildly nauseous.

“Alright,” Carole begins, parking the trolley in front of the vegetables, “This stuff is shitty to talk about when you're thinking with your hands and mouth, so here's the deal. We're going to talk and shop. I'll call out what I need and a question, you give me both, okay?”

He nods, because there is something of Kurt's fierceness in her, which shows him why Burt might have fallen for her, she is impossible to say no too.

“It's okay,” she says softly, but does not touch him. For this he is grateful, he feels like he's made of glass, “Veg and an answer that's all you need. One at a time.”

He nods and again and looks pointedly at the stacks of vegetables, waiting until he has something in his hand to talk.

“Okay, I need four leeks and how you are feeling,” Carole starts, rummaging through the already half-full shopping cart, so he doesn't have to have eye-contact.

The leeks are in the far corner but he is still close enough that he thinks she can hear him as he grabs four leeks and tucks them one by one under his elbow, “I feel weak and tired and I feel like I need to make things better but I know that is not possible.” He looks at her then, “I also knows you're going to say that's not my job. “

She reaches for the leeks then, slipping them into a plastic bag and he sees now that they must work together because this is no longer possible for him to complete alone; he can almost feel the slippery plastic between his fingers.

“I understand,” she says, “and you are right but I won't say it because you know,” she twists a knot into the top and places it at the top of the trolley, “Now, I need a packet of mushrooms and how you are sleeping.”

The mushrooms are easy to find and the weight of the packet stretches his fingers and it reminds him of the calming motion of stretching for a note across the piano, he can feel the motions in his movements now and is grateful that Carole knows how much he needs his hands distracted.

“Okay, I sleep in starts, but I do have nightmares, most I don't remember except for the sweat and the fear.”
***
The problem is a simple case of corroded battery cables, which need replacement. Kurt knows this is something Burt could do in his sleep. So he simply waits for the questions, as he passes tools and drifts around his Father trying not to think too hard about Blaine.

“Look kid, you're smart enough to know I brought you here for something,” Burt starts, his hands busy in the car so Kurt doesn't have to control the wince that crosses his face.

“Mmm,” he replies, leaning back against the wood of the tool table, the old garage with its corrugated iron walls and old bicycles, reminds him of his Dad's first garage where he used to run around waiting for his mother's strong arms to scoop him up. If he closes his eyes he can almost feel it still.

“Care to tell me why you've hardly touched a meal since you've been here and why the shadows beneath your eyes are days old?” his Dad starts, his head still stuck under the bonnet, until he's twisted the new wires into place and he can slam it shut, “I know how to count days without sleep in a man's face, Kurt, I've seen it in the mirror,” there is a pause where the memory begins again but they both stop it.

“Dad,” he replies, weakly, now that Burt is looking at him he tries to school his face but he knows the lines of his anxiety are deeper than that.

“Scratch that,” Burt sighs, wiping his oily hands on a cloth, “We all know why, I just want you to admit it.”

“Admit what Dad?” Kurt asks, knitting a pattern with his fingers against the table so he won't have to think too hard.

“That maybe what we're doing isn't enough,” comes the harsh answer.
***
The questions come easily after that, food, pain, problems with movement; he answers them all honestly and calmly, surprised at his words. Yes, food is hard to swallow, especially when watching it dance across Kurt's plate. No, there is not much pain except the swallowing of medicine that highlight the yellow weakness of his body in small pellets. Yes, he feels unbalanced all the time, yes, there are things he'd never thought would be difficult but are, yes, the water of the shower feels heavier than usual, yes, Kurt is part of that imbalance.

“Alright,” the solid voice continues, “I need a handful of tomatoes and whether you want to talk about it with me.”

He is struck by the fact that he is asking what he wants and almost fumbles a tomato, having to jam his knees against the shelving to catch it. In the end he can only carry two and he feels ashamed.

“No,” his quiet shame is, because he cannot be dishonest now; not when the spell of having to answer is broken.

“Okay,” there is a slight change in her voice that makes him think this might be the last, she moves to pick up the vegetables he's chosen in her arms, “Last one, sweetie, I'm going to weigh these and when I get back I need one onion and whether you think you need to talk to someone else.”

She leaves and he tries to catch his breath as he walks towards the onions. He takes his time choosing the best for her so that at least one thing will be perfect. It feels solid in his hand and the dull ache in his forearm is enough to believe that he might have one more answer in him.

There she is, returning with the weight of his worries in her arms, a colourful mismatch of something extremely important.

“Well isn't this healthy?” She smiles, placing them back in the trolley, “Have you got what I need?”

He passes her the onion and the lost weight makes his heart and throat race in the dry heat of fear. But the look in her eyes is solid and non-judgemental; just this and then they can go to check out and put everything away. Just this.
***
“What do you mean?” Kurt asks, his voice breaking like shattered glass.

“Carole thinks that both you and Blaine are showing signs that you're not dealing to well, that maybe you might need outside help,” Burt starts, Kurt can see the echo of his own stress in his Father's face and knows that their pain is shared if only because their love is inescapable. He looks so uncomfortable.

“What kind of help?” he tries to calm himself but his fingers are practically twitching to run.

“Maybe therapy, or a support group, whatever you're more comfortable with,” Burt explains, reaching to pack away his tools so they'll both be more comfortable. Kurt's itching hands reach to help, “Back in Lima of course, because as you know we're going back next week.”

“I know, Dad,” his answer comes, slipping the last pieces in place and handing over the case, “I'll think about it.”

“That's great, Kiddo,” the whispered support arrives, “You know I think you're brave as anything. But we all need a little something.”
***
Blaine answer is brief, squeezed out like an accordion.

“Yes,” is the hiss of air. And they are gone, gone, moving on.
***
The house is jittering with the fluttering of all the nervous hearts waiting for Blaine's parents to arrive. Carole mutters to herself and she scatters ingredients across the kitchen, hoping that if she makes something beautiful perhaps everyone will forget the hurt. An hour before they are due to arrive Kurt joins her, Blaine's unbearable skittishness battering him like a bruise, and only the weaving of fine food together, slicing and dicing and timing, is enough to calm into at least jolting fear. Blaine attempts to join Burt and Finn in watching the game, but the heat of the wet sun is dampening his skin and he can't help but watch to itch.

They arrive half an hour late, but nobody thinks to mention it. It is Finn who ushers them in, continuing a previous conversation with Burt and asking them about the football. Despite a slight raised eyebrow, Blaine's Dad, who does not offer anyone the chance to call him Jonathon, does join them in front of the television. Mrs Anderson, who surprises them with a soft, ‘call me Dee' and offers to make some fresh lemonade.

Kurt watches as her tiny hands squeeze the lemons without even wincing and sprinkle a good hunk of sugar. He wonders if her painlessness, is due to heartlessness or control.

“So, Dee,” Carole starts, which Kurt is thankful for; the shame of knowing nothing to say to the parents of a boy he's been dating for years and will do so forever, “How was your journey?”

“Oh, you know,” she replies, her voice is quiet and sweet, but there is something behind it, “Jonathon complained the whole way but that's just the way it is. We just had to come see our Blaine,” the corners of her eyes flush a little and she lets a wave of curly black hair fall over her embarrassed face, “You must think us awful for not coming sooner, but you must know it's terribly difficult to get away, his work is awfully important,” she hides her face again, squeezing the lemons a little more viciously now, “that's not to say Blaine isn't important. It's just Jonathon doesn't see it that way, he's got a bit of a one track mind, when he's stuck on something, well, I suppose he and Blaine are quite alike in that way.”
“Blaine's not like that,” Kurt protests, fiercely. Behind the controlled unflinching face, this woman is weak and uncaring, too fragile to even love her son enough for it to be seen.
“Oh sweetie, I haven't heard him talk about anything other than you for the past year or so,” she starts, shifting so she faces him, there is a hint of maliciousness in her eyes and it makes Kurt uneasy, “If that isn't one-track mindedness I don't know what is.”

His nerves have been jittering all day and he can't control himself when he slams the knife onto the sideboard and excuses himself with a curt, “Don't talk about what you clearly don't understand,” and goes to join the boys.

They are not faring much better. Aside from the muffled sounds of the game, the room is silent. Jonathon Anderson is sat as far away from his son as humanly possible and Kurt slithers into the gap next to his boyfriend with a pointed glare at the man.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Is everything okay?” Blaine asks, quietly, feeling the burn of Kurt's jumpy skin next to his.

He nods, “Your mother's making lemonade.”

“It's what she does when she doesn't want to face something,” Blaine tells him, still facing the television, his hand slipping slyly between where their thighs are pressed together and rubbing a soothing thumb into the soft material of Kurt's jeans, “It's delicious.”

For some reason, Dee Anderson's lemon sweet criticism have lit a spark in him and he just wants to touch and be touched, hold and be held, he wants to press harsh kisses into Blaine's scalp again, make those curls his instead of his mother's.

“You're delicious,” he hums against Blaine's neck, “will you come upstairs with me?”

He watches as Blaine's eyes dart around the room, his fingers skittering across the leg of Kurt's jeans and he considers his options. There are so many reasons why not. His father's muted gaze. Burt and Finn's desperately kind attempts at friendliness. His Mother in the kitchen. Everyone. All together. But the least together they've been. And then there's Kurt right beside him, asking him to be with him in a way he hasn't in weeks and he can feel it in his very bones. The heat of Kurt.

“Yes,” he hisses, “Yes, yes, yes.”