PART II

**** February 1895 *****

Chapter 8

The city remained quite immobilized for the next few days, even though many of the people vacationing in St. Augustine were used to such cold temperatures in New York. The residents and officials of the small town seemed fairly unsure how to handle the freeze and no one had really brought the type of overcoats and clothing for such a cold snap, so most everyone stayed indoors.

Kurt and Blaine stayed in bed.

With Dr. Anderson and his new bride gone to South Florida on their honeymoon, they had the run of the house. Blaine allowed himself the decadence of fantasizing that he and Kurt were masters of the mansion together and they could live alone and keep house as a married couple would.

He knew it was frivolous, indulgent thinking, but he couldn't help himself even as Kurt's words from the night of the dance rang in his ears. They could never be together in the way that he would be bound to Quinn. It was a fact; one he'd been largely content to ignore until now, but Kurt was right. It would always be a lie.

When they finally emerged from Markland – three days after the wedding – Blaine asked Kurt to take a walk with him, not knowing what he wanted to say, but knowing that whatever it was, it needed to be said in a place where they couldn't touch intimately. He needed to have his wits about him. The scrutiny of public opinion would force him to keep his distance and prevent Kurt's glorious pale pink skin from tempting him into silence yet again as he explored and worshipped and fell under Kurt's spell.

"You look troubled," Kurt said as they made their way through the plaza and toward the bay front. "Should I be worried?"

Blaine tried to smile reassuringly, but even he could feel the tug of melancholy on his lips and the dim light of doubt shining through his eyes.

"We need to talk," Blaine said.

Kurt's shoulders tensed; he lifted his head higher and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Blaine had already come to know this as his defense: look tall and proud and no one could hurt you.

"Please don't shut me out," Blaine implored, wishing suddenly he could take Kurt in his arms.

"I'm just bracing myself," Kurt said, his jaw tense as he refused eye contact. "You're obviously done with me now that you've gotten what you want."

"Oh, no," Blaine said unable to stop himself from grabbing Kurt by the arm and halting his steps. "Not even close."

Kurt smiled hesitantly. "Then what is it you want to talk about?"

Blaine scuffed his shoe against a brick in the walkway and took a deep breath.

"What you said the other night about living a lie..."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. He let Blaine take his time to gather his words.

"You're right," he continued finally. "And I hate living a lie. I've been doing it all my life."

"Then what has changed?"

"You," Blaine said simply. "I didn't expect to ever meet someone like you, and now... Well now, I don't want to live the lie anymore. I was content enough to concede to my parents' wishes and marry before, but now I know what true love feels like, and it's like trading gold for brass. It has all the shine, but none of the value."

"It's just like everything else in this world," Kurt said, looking out over the choppy waters of the bay as a biting breeze wafted toward them.

"How do you mean?"

Kurt turned and leveled Blaine with a piercing gaze. "All the gilt... all the shine and splendor," he said, "it's just that. A shiny layer of easily removed decoration that no matter how often you polish it or try to pass it off as the real thing, it will never be real... because reality isn't pretty. No one wants to live with the shadow of death or the harsh truth of poverty or even forced marriage. It's easier to pretend it's fulfilling and the real deal."

"My precious maddening man," Blaine said, his hand drifting up to cup Kurt's cheek before he remembered where they were, and he clenched it at his side. "How do you understand things I'm only now coming to know?"

"I can't help it," Kurt said with a shrug. "I'm a realist."

His words sounded serious and resigned, but there was a mirthful light in his eyes. Blaine smiled.

"What we have is real, though. I never want you to doubt that."

"I won't," Kurt said. "Besides, I don't plan on letting you go that easily."

"Oh, really now," Blaine replied. "And just how had you planned to keep me?"

"I'll think of something," Kurt said as he began walking again.

"I'm sure you will."

Blaine kept up with Kurt's longer strides and stole glances of his lover. There was no way he could give this up. Not now.

"Mr. Flagler offered me a job, you know," Blaine said, needing to make conversation.

"I hadn't realized."

Kurt kept walking but the set of his shoulders belied his curiosity.

"Apparently the Flagler System is opening a new hotel in New York and they want me to run it."

Kurt stopped short. "Have you ever run a hotel before?" he asked.

"No, but I used to help my father with the bookkeeping for his practice. I suppose that's all they need. Someone to look after expenses while Harry looks after the Florida hotels."

"But your writing," Kurt said.

"Well, if I'm to marry..." Blaine said. He didn't finish his sentence because it didn't need to be said. Kurt knew as well as he did that a man needed to provide for his family.

"It's just like me working for Mr. Ford," Kurt said. "Why must we give up on our dreams to meet expectations?"

He sat down on the sea wall facing the water and Blaine joined him. He knew Kurt meant more than taking jobs they didn't want. Everything was a compromise for them.

"Because we are good men," Blaine said, "and we will do what is expected of us."

He glanced around them, and seeing that they were quite alone, slipped his hand over Kurt's, grabbing the other man's fingers and drawing him closer. As he did so, Kurt rubbed his thumb along Blaine's fingers.

Obligation dictated their every move and their lives would be shaped by it, but for now they had this moment, and for now, it would have to be enough.

"It's just so depressing," Quinn said. "Everything looks just as bleak and dead as it does at home."

Blaine nodded ruefully at her words. Everything had changed with the hard freeze. Sadly, the gorgeous flowers, including the orange blossoms, had frozen on their branches during the ice storm, leaving blackened shrubbery and dead, lifeless limbs in its wake.

When the ice finally thawed, the city seemed to have died a little with it, many of the guests of Flagler's three hotels leaving the city for alternate locations. The Fabrays had stayed; Blaine assumed it was because Quinn's parents suspected he would propose any day now, and they didn't want to risk being out of sight for too long.

"I don't suppose we'll get the blooms back any time soon," Blaine said, Quinn's arm cradled delicately against his elbow as they walked the hotel grounds. Her mother sat in the shade of the loggia, wrapped in a long cloak and covered in a thick blanket, watching them to ensure nothing improper happened between them.

Blaine nearly laughed at the notion. His desire to besmirch Quinn's reputation couldn't be more nonexistent. Burt Hummel was the one who should be concerned.

Kurt had kept his distance, though, since the ice had thawed, and after explaining to his father that he and Blaine had gotten trapped in Markland waiting out the storm. It was probably for the best; they needn't start any gossip about them spending too much time together. The three days trapped inside made sense; continuing to pursue each other's company once they were free for other activities just looked suspicious.

The wait to see Kurt alone again was killing him.

"I heard Mrs. Howell say there is to be a cake walk next week," Quinn said, tilting her head and glancing sideways at Blaine. "They're said to be quite entertaining."

"Indeed," he replied.

"Mother says it's improper to go without an escort," she added.

"Your mother hopes I will escort you?" He asked, realizing Quinn was gently nudging for an invitation.

Quinn smiled at him and nodded politely. Blaine stopped walking and released her arm.

"Miss Fabray," Blaine said as he turned to face her, sweeping into a shallow bow, "would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the cake walk this Saturday next?"

"I think it's a Friday," Quinn replied, stifling a giggle behind a gloved hand.

"Details," Blaine said, taking her arm once again and leading them around the fountain for a third time since they'd begun their walk. There was something to be said for the redundancy of their path as they circled round and round the courtyard as if it weren't the most futile of exercises. "The point is, I've asked you a question, and you haven't answered."

She smiled but did not glance over at him – always the picture of propriety.

"Yes, Mr. Anderson," she said. "I will attend the cake walk with you." She paused as a devilish smile teased at the corners of her mouth before she schooled her expression. "That is, if my father allows it."

"You tease me, Miss Fabray."

Blaine couldn't deny he was fond of this young woman. Even if he had no desire to marry, at least he could choose his match, and Quinn Fabray would never be dull. She had a good head on her shoulders and interests that she and Blaine could share. He only hoped when the time came, she wouldn't be too terribly disappointed in their lack of intimacy.

"Oh, there's your friend Mr. Hummel," she said, pointing toward the archway leading into the hotel's lobby. "Isn't he cold dressed like that?"

Blaine's eyes shot up, seeing Kurt entering the courtyard with a book under his arm. He was wearing a light-weight checked suit, a sharp contrast with the drab colors everyone had taken to wearing since the temperatures took a downturn. It made Blaine's heart soar to see him defying expectation like that. Every tiny act of rebellion Kurt made reminded him that he was risking everything too, that hey were in this together.

"We should go say hello," Blaine said, tugging lightly on Quinn's arm.

"Whatever you want," she said, but Blaine could tell she wasn't thrilled at the prospect. He squared his shoulders and led her over to where Kurt was now seated underneath a tree, his book open in his lap.

"Good afternoon, Kurt," he said.

A pair of blue-green eyes met his with carefully concealed adoration. The corners crinkled ever so slightly, but his smile remained polite and friendly. Blaine bit the inside of his own cheek to keep from blurting out his undying devotion for this man on the spot.

"Hello, Blaine," he said. "Miss Fabray. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"I'm just glad the sun came back out," Quinn said. "I was getting so bored being locked up inside with only my mother for company."

"I didn't mind it so much," Kurt said.

Blaine inhaled sharply, covering his surprise with a cough. Quinn patted his arm and looked at him with concern.

"Are you alright?" she inquired.

"Excuse me," Blaine said. "Just a tickle in my throat."

"I hope you're not coming down with something," Kurt said, smirking at him while Quinn continued to look at Blaine with concern.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Blaine replied, turning his gaze to Quinn, mostly to keep himself from laughing at Kurt's bemused expression.

"Maybe we should go sit down," Quinn said.

"You go join your mother," Blaine said. "I'll only be a moment."

Quinn reluctantly left, nodding to Kurt before allowing her gaze to linger on Blaine for a few moments.

"Don't be long," she said.

"I won't."

When she was a safe distance away, Blaine looked down at Kurt who was pretending to be engrossed in his book.

"Well, she has you well-trained already."

"Don't," Blaine urged. "You know I have to do this."

"I know," Kurt said, not looking up. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, I suppose not."

"Are you spoken for all day?" Kurt asked after a moment.

"Mrs. Fabray usually takes an afternoon nap, and she won't leave Quinn alone with me. So I should be free until dinner."

"And after that?"

"What did you have in mind?" Blaine asked, hoping Kurt was thinking the same thing he was.

Kurt glanced up quickly and smiled before returning to his book.

"I was thinking of calling on a friend of mine," Kurt said. "Do you suppose he'll be home?"

"I can almost guarantee that he will," Blaine said, glancing over his shoulder at the Fabray women. They were studying him intently, so he lowered his voice and clenched his teeth around his whispered words. "I'll meet you by the back gate as soon as Jenkins heads home for the evening. I'll blow out one of the lanterns on the front porch so you'll know it's safe."

Without looking up, Kurt nodded and said at full volume, "Have a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Anderson. Perhaps I'll see you at dinner."

"Good day," he replied and crossed the courtyard to sit with Quinn and her mother, hoping he could hide his distraction until they retired to their rooms.

Dinner took longer than Blaine wanted, Mr. Fabray insisting they have cigars in the smoking room after dinner. So by the time he returned to Markland, Jenkins had already gone home for the evening, leaving Blaine's pajamas laid out on his bed and a warm fire burning in the hearth.

Blaine raced to the front porch to extinguish a lamp, hoping Kurt hadn't given up on him yet, and then he ran to the back gate to wait for his lover to appear.

He didn't have to wait long, as he spotted a dark figure strolling toward him; Blaine felt his face break into a wide grin as the man approached. Only it wasn't Kurt.

It was Felix de Crano.

"Good evening, Mr. Anderson," he said. "You're out late."

"Um, yes... I was looking for one of my cufflinks," Blaine replied, thinking quickly. "I seem to have dropped it on my way home and I was retracing my steps."

"I find that's usually the best way to find lost things."

"Indeed. Why are you out so late?" Blaine inquired.

"Same reason as you."

"You lost a cufflink?"

"Kurt asked me to come."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Blaine said, his brow furrowed as he spoke. "Why did he send you?"

"Mr. Hummel is sick," the man said. "He said you would be waiting and I should tell you not to worry. He'll be on his feet in no time."

"I wondered why he wasn't at dinner," Blaine said, mostly to himself. "Is he alright?"

"He's a strong young man," de Crano added.

"You know him well," Blaine replied. He'd grown fond of this eccentric painter, and how he seemed to understand everything just a moment before he and Kurt did. Blaine wondered if he knew the true nature of his and Kurt's relationship and whether he approved. "Do you know what happened?"

"I stopped by to deliver a sketch Kurt had made and he nearly collapsed in the lobby. He began running a fever this afternoon and his father won't let him leave the room until the doctor's seen him."

"Oh, goodness, how soon do you think the doctor will come?" Blaine asked. He was desperate for information, but also knew he needed to conceal his heightened anxiety so as not to further rouse Mr. de Crano's suspicions.

"I am not sure. His father was having trouble finding one who would come to the hotel. He was looking for a nurse friend when I left."

"Which nurse?" For once, Blaine wished his grandfather was home.

"Mrs. Hudson I think he said. She's a guest at the hotel."

"I should help them find a doctor," Blaine said. "If only my grandfather wasn't on his blasted honeymoon."

"Mr. Hummel seemed to have it under control. You should get some rest. Go see him in the morning." The old man paused and smiled at Blaine. "Don't worry, Mr. Anderson, your friend is in good hands, and his father is worried enough for you both."

That didn't reassure Blaine much, even as he smiled at the painter and bid him goodnight. Blaine paced the hallway for hours that night, unable to sleep. He stopped himself from racing to Kurt's room several times, and just as the sun was coming up, he changed his suit and headed over to the hospital to talk to Dr. Smith.

Frank Smith was a good physician who often filled in for Blaine's grandfather; he'd done a lot of work with consumption in his career, so Blaine knew Kurt would be in good hands.

"Blaine," the doctor said, rising up from his chair. "Isn't this a surprise? I wasn't expecting you."

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call," Blaine replied, urgency flooding his veins. He desperately wanted to get Dr. Smith back to the Ponce to take a look at Kurt.

"Are you feeling alright, my boy?" Dr. Smith asked, looking at him with concern.

"Yes, quite," Blaine said. "It's my friend – he's a guest at the hotel. He collapsed yesterday with a fever and I was hoping you'd see him."

"Any other symptoms?" Dr. Smith asked, grabbing his bag and following Blaine out the front door.

"I'm not sure," Blaine replied. "I just know that he collapsed and was feverish. I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon."

"Why didn't you fetch me sooner? You know I would have come."

Blaine didn't respond. He wasn't sure why he didn't think to call on Dr. Smith the night before. Perhaps he was worried about appearances if he showed up unannounced in the middle of the night because a friend had fallen ill. A wife, maybe, but a friend — especially Kurt — he'd have to explain. There would be questions, like how he knew that Kurt was ill, or worse, why he was waiting on Kurt at his home after midnight. Any of that could easily get back to his grandfather, and the thought terrified him.

Blaine felt like a coward. The first test of his devotion to Kurt and he had failed.

They were silent the rest of the walk to the hotel, Blaine shoving his hands deep in his pockets and walking as briskly as he could with the elderly doctor in tow.

Dr. Smith didn't question Blaine when he knew right where the Hummels' room was, and when Burt's shocked face appeared at the door, he wasted no time.

"Mr. Hummel, this is Dr. Smith. I asked him to come see Kurt."

"How long has he been feverish?" Dr. Smith asked, pushing his way past Burt and into the room without an invitation.

"Just since yesterday before dinner. He was complaining of some nausea and a headache and then he fainted."

"Any other symptoms since?"

"He won't eat anything, and says he's achy all over."

"We had a few patients with similar symptoms at the hospital last week," Dr. Smith said, nodding. "We suspect a mild yellow fever outbreak, but we've only seen one severe case, and he's been quarantined since last Tuesday."

Burt led the doctor into Kurt's room without another word, and when the door shut behind Dr. Smith, Burt turned to Blaine.

"Thank you," he said.

"My pleasure," Blaine replied. "If my grandfather wasn't on his honeymoon, he'd have come himself."

He wasn't sure if that was true, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Burt slumped down in an armchair near the fireplace and dropped his head into his hands. He looked exhausted.

"How is he?" Blaine asked.

"Not good. He's been in and out all night."

"Mr. de Crano said you had a nurse come see him?"

"Ah, so that's how you knew Kurt was sick," Burt said, wiping his hand across his face and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "My friend Mrs. Hudson did some volunteer work at the hospital back home and she was the only person I knew who would come."

Blaine didn't press further. He knew the doctor would have more answers anyway, and he was thankful to Mrs. Hudson for getting Kurt, and Burt, through the night.

The wait felt excruciatingly long, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the stuffy room. Blaine pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Burt, but he declined, opting instead to pace the room like an expectant father. Maybe in a way he was – praying for his son to have life.

When Dr. Smith finally emerged, Blaine had smoked three cigarettes and begun pacing the floor in alternate time with Burt.

"He's quite feverish still," Dr. Smith said. "His symptoms indicate a mild case of yellow fever, but he needs to rest. The fever should break on its own in a couple of days, but I've given him something to help him sleep. Just send someone to fetch me if he gets any worse or if his symptoms change, and I'll be back to check on him tomorrow morning."

"Thank you doc," Burt said, shaking the man's hand. "I'll have some money wired down—"

Dr. Smith waved him off. "No need. Any friend of the Andersons is a friend of mine. Just make sure he rests."

"Thank you," Burt said to Blaine. "Kurt's lucky to have a friend like you."

"Can I see him?" Blaine asked, not really sure to whom he was directing the question.

Burt glanced over at the doctor questioningly and Blaine's heart fell as he saw the man shake his head.

"He really should rest," Dr. Smith said, clapping Blaine on the shoulder. "Why don't you buy me breakfast?"

Blaine nodded reluctantly and followed the doctor out of the Hummels' sitting room.

"He'll be fine," he said to Blaine as they descended the stairs.

"I know," Blaine said, even though he didn't believe it. He wouldn't feel reassured until his saw Kurt's rosy cheeks and heard his bright laughter.

Two days later, Kurt's fever broke and Blaine received word that he could visit. He practically ran all the way to the Ponce and up three flights of stairs, taking them two at a time.

He was panting when Burt opened the door.

"Mr. Hummel, I heard Kurt was doing better. Do you mind if I say hello?" Blaine asked.

"Just keep it brief," Burt said. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

Blaine entered the room slowly, taking in the scene before him. Kurt was lying flat on his back, the blankets pulled up tightly around him; his face was wan and his cheeks hollow, but he didn't look too bad, all things considered.

"Hey there," Blaine said.

At the sound of his voice, Kurt's head turned slowly and Blaine could see him try to smile around a wince of pain.

"Blaine," he said, his voice sounding hollow and thick from three days of fever. Kurt struggled to sit up, propping himself up on his elbows and nearly collapsing from the effort.

"Don't," Blaine said. "You're still weak."

"I guess I shouldn't have teased you that you were coming down with something," Kurt rasped, dropping back down onto the pillows.

"Hush," Blaine said, chancing a caress to Kurt's flushed cheek. "What did the doctor say?"

"To let the fever run its course. Stay in bed; get some rest. The usual."

"Well that shouldn't be too hard," Blaine said, forcing a smile as he tried to provide some levity. "You can barely move."

"A temporary setback, I assure you."

"He'll be on his feet in no time." Burt had appeared at Blaine's left side and was trying to look stern even as he smiled warmly at his son. "But he needs his rest."

"I'll be back to see you later," Blaine said. "Maybe I'll bring something to read to you?" He turned to face Burt, seeking his approval.

"I suppose that would be alright," Burt said. "But just for a little while. He's still recuperating."

"Of course," Blaine said, smiling brightly. He leaned down and rested a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "I'll be back around tea time."

"Looking forward to it," Kurt said. "It's just been me and the old man for the last three days. I'm sick of his face."

"That's the thanks I get for nursing you back to health," Burt chided as he turned to Blaine. "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

"I'm sure he's a horribly demanding patient."

They chuckled as Kurt tried his best to pout at their teasing.

"If I wasn't an invalid right now, I'd lock you both in here so you only had each other for company and see how you'd like it."

"Ah, but you are still an invalid," Burt said. "So I guess you're stuck."

Kurt rolled his eyes, and at the sight, Blaine took the first deep breath he felt he'd gotten in days.

Kurt was on the mend.

When Blaine returned that afternoon, a copy of "Through the Looking Glass" under his arm, Kurt still looked pale, but was sitting up. He smiled at Blaine through bleary eyes.

"Hello, stranger."

"Ready for my incredibly ridiculous voices for the Red Queen and White Knight?"

"If not, I'll just pretend to fall asleep and you'll have to leave."

Blaine placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You cut me to the quick, Mr. Hummel. I came to do my duty and read to the invalids of this fine establishment and this is the thanks I get?"

"Well, don't let me keep you if you have other patients to attend to," Kurt teased.

"I'm so glad you're better," Blaine whispered, leaning over Kurt and stroking his hair. "If something had happened..." He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Kurt reached up and laid his hand on Blaine's cheek and gazed lovingly into his eyes. "I'm sorry I worried you," he said.

Blaine placed his hand over Kurt's and nuzzled into his palm, reveling in the closeness for a moment. Burt was in the other room, but they were far from alone. The little bit of contact would have to do for the moment.

Pulling back reluctantly, he sat in the chair next to Kurt's bed, adjusting his jacket and opening the book. He read to Kurt for a while, Kurt laughing at his voices and chiming in on his favorite parts. Gradually his responses grew softer and there were longer pauses in between. Blaine imagined Kurt was growing tired.

"Would you like to get some sleep?" he asked when he reached the end of the next chapter.

When Kurt didn't respond, Blaine looked up to find him slumped back against the pillows. At first he thought Kurt had fallen asleep, but then he noticed Kurt's eyes were rolled back in his head. Blaine's heart began to race as he slowly rose from the chair.

"Kurt?"

He didn't respond.

"Kurt!"

Blaine shook him, but his head just lolled on his shoulders, and even through the fabric of his night shirt, Blaine could feel how hot his skin had become.

"Oh, god, you're burning up... Burt!"

"I'm afraid it's gotten more severe," Dr. Smith said when he had finished examining Kurt. "And it's definitely yellow fever."

"Oh, god," Burt said from where he was standing in the doorway of Kurt's room and leaning heavily on the frame.

"Will he pull through?" Blaine asked, swallowing thickly around a tongue that felt two sizes too big for his mouth.

"If he makes it through the night, he's got a good chance of surviving it. But we won't know until the fever breaks. Let's just pray he doesn't start throwing up blood."

Burt looked positively stricken, and Blaine wanted to collapse to his knees, but somehow managed to hold it together.

Over the course of the next two days, Kurt's skin took on an unnatural yellow hue and his fever returned even hotter than before.

Blaine kept vigil at his bedside, even as Dr. Smith reassured them that Kurt's symptoms weren't uncommon with yellow fever. His assurances did little to alleviate Blaine's concerns, though; Kurt's conditioned seemed to deteriorate by the day. On the third evening, after Kurt had a mild seizure and was admitted to the hospital, Blaine sent a wire to his grandfather in Miami letting him know of Kurt's condition and asking him to return home.

The reply was addressed to Dr. Smith.

Heard of yellow fever outbreak. The freeze should have killed the mosquitoes. Will be home end of month as planned.

"What in blazes do mosquitoes have to do with anything?" Blaine said after he'd read the telegram for the fourth time. He balled up the paper in his fist and threw it in the trashcan next to Dr. Smith's desk.

"Your grandfather believes this new theory that yellow fever is spread through mosquito bites. With the freeze, well... no more mosquitoes."

"I don't care about an outbreak," Blaine muttered. "What about Kurt?"

"I've told you there's not much we can do but try to keep his fever down. Watch him for the black vomit."

"And just wait? Hope he doesn't die?"

"You could try praying," Dr. Smith suggested.

"I think I'm going to go home," Blaine said, refusing to acknowledge the suggestion.

"Good," Dr. Smith said. "Get some rest. We can't have you falling ill from exhaustion."

Blaine smiled half-heartedly and headed north toward Markland, barely feeling his feet as he walked. He'd spent two full days at the hospital, despite how it appeared to everyone else. He didn't care. He just wanted Kurt back.

As he crossed King Street and passed the entrance to the Ponce, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. He turned toward the voice to find Quinn, dressed in a pale pink frock and carrying two small bundles.

"I thought that was you," she said as he approached.

"Good morning," Blaine said.

Quinn tilted her head and studied him for a moment before correcting him.

"Afternoon," she said.

"I'm sorry... I've been at the hospital," he said. "I must have lost track of the time."

"Seeing Mr. Hummel again?" She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.

"He's quite ill," Blaine said, feeling suddenly exhausted and just wanting to go home to bathe and change out of his stale clothes.

"I heard."

Her words were clipped and her countenance pinched. Even in his haggard state, Blaine could sense her ire, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Miss Fabray," he said, pinching his nose between two fingers. Suddenly his head felt as if it were throbbing and he wanted to get out of the sun. Everything felt too acute; the sun too warm on his face. "My apologies that I haven't called on you in a few days. With my grandfather gone I've been helping Dr. Smith with his patients. I'm sure you understand."

Her face softened a little at that. Perhaps she believed his lie.

"Will you still be escorting me to the cake walk on Friday?"

In all the worry over Kurt's health, he'd forgotten completely about it.

"Of course," he said, chin held high. "I promised, didn't I?"

He would not go back on his word, even as his heart ached knowing Kurt may not make it to see the sun rise. He sent up a silent prayer: he would do his duty and fulfill his obligations, and even ask Quinn to marry him, if only God would let Kurt live.

"Good thing I bought a new hat, then," Quinn said, holding up the larger of the two parcels she carried. She smiled and bounced a little on the balls of her feet, a gentle reminder that she was only 17 and still held onto some of her childish impulses. Blaine often wished she'd let that side of her show more often. He quite liked it. It reminded him of Kurt.

Blaine smiled half-heartedly and said, "I'm sure it's lovely."

Quinn's top lip quivered slightly, the only indication that she was disappointed in Blaine's less than enthusiastic response.

"Well, I'll let you get home," she said, mask of politeness firmly in place. "I'm sure you want to get cleaned up."

"Yes, it's been a long night," Blaine said. "Give my regards to your parents?"

"I will," she said. "Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson."

He tipped his hat to her and continued west toward Markland. He wanted to get cleaned up and head back to the hospital. If this were to be Kurt's last night on earth, he wanted to share it with him.

By the time Blaine returned to Alicia Hospital that evening, Burt had gone back to the hotel to sleep, Dr. Smith urging him to rest now that he had sedated Kurt. If the fever didn't break soon, there was little hope for his recovery, and no point in Kurt's father being there to see that.

"Is he still feverish?" Blaine asked.

"No change," Dr. Smith replied as he held his fingers over Kurt's wrist and measured his pulse. "But at least he hasn't gotten worse."

"His color looks better. Don't you think?"

"Blaine," the doctor said, leveling him with his gaze. "Please don't get your hopes up unnecessarily. I've told you what to expect. All we can do now is wait."

"Yes, sir."

"I thought you were going to get some rest, anyway."

"I don't want him to be alone," Blaine said, looking down at his lover. "No one should be alone when they die."

"How right you are," Dr. Smith said, resting a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "You're a good man. You'd have made a fine doctor."

Blaine smiled up at him and bid him goodnight before taking a seat beside Kurt's bed and gripping the man's hand tightly.

"Kurt," he whispered. "Please come back to me."

There was nothing but silence, and Kurt slept on –– albeit fitfully.

Blaine stroked Kurt's hand as he held it in his own, the gesture a faint shadow of what he felt for the man. Everything he had ever known had changed when Kurt Hummel entered his life, and he had no idea what he'd do without this man in it.

"Quinn wants me to take her to that confounded cake walk on Friday, but I can't bear it if you're not there. All the color, the music, the laughter, it just pains me without you here. Please, please get better."

It was idle chatter, but it made him feel less useless, less alone. Maybe Kurt could hear him. Blaine glanced down at their joined hands and felt sick at the sight of Kurt's jaundiced skin, a sharp contrast to his usually peachy complexion. His beautiful man –– a shell of himself, a phantom who might soon be a ghost.

Blaine began to sing softly to Kurt –– a nameless melody that he'd begun humming whenever he thought of Kurt. Tears streamed down his face as he sang, but he didn't reach up to wipe them away; he just let them fall, garbling his notes as he choked on his own sorrow.

When the final notes of his song had ceased their echoes around the room, he leaned down and kissed Kurt's warm cheek. It was still heated from the fever and his face was hollowed from the weight loss, but he was still as beautiful as ever.

Blaine's tears began to fall heavier then as he leaned his forehead against Kurt's temple and sobbed, his tears dripping down onto the pillow and drenching them both. He choked on his own breath as he released his pent up anguish and allowed himself to feel everything he'd been holding back for days.

There had to be a way – something he could do to make Kurt better.

"If only I'd studied medicine as my father had wanted," he said to the quiet room. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm sorry I can't help you."

His breath evened out as his tears subsided. When his crying finally ceased, he wiped his face with his sleeve, not caring if he ruined the fabric. He reached down and stroked Kurt's hair away from his forehead, running his fingers through the thick strands.

"I love you," he whispered.