It was always the noise that was the most terrifying. The sound of crashing, glass breaking, water rushing forward, wood cracking and the metal groaning under the pressure. It seemed to come from every direction, leaving no place to escape it. The feel of the ship shuddering below them as it was overwhelmed by the power of all the water, ripping it apart. The groan of the metal increasing and increasing in pitch, until it matched the screams of the hundreds of passengers.

That sound always seemed to linger in Blaine's ears when he woke up, shaking and heart pounding, breathing fast and sweat dampening his hairline. He could only close his eyes tight, and just concentrate on the next breath, trying to slow it down.  In...slowly...now out...slowly...

Eventually, his breathing and heart rate went back to normal and the terrible dream faded, for now at least. It had been four months, and he still woke, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, several times each week.

A soft hand squeezed his forearm, and he opened his eyes to look at the elderly woman to his left. She passed him a cotton handkerchief with a kind smile, and he accepted it with a small nod. He wiped his face, straightening in his seat, and hesitated to offer the damp cloth back to her. 

"Don't worry, dear. Keep it." She patted his arm, and looked back at her book, giving Blaine the privacy he needed to wake up fully and get his bearings. 

Looking out the window, it was hard to tell how long he'd been napping. Tall pine trees rushed past the train windows, with occasional openings revealing a clear blue lake or river gorge. Places he'd never seen before.

"We will be in Helena in about an hour." His neighbor volunteered.

Blaine looked over and nodded in appreciation. 

She was likely in her seventies, but dressed well in a deep purple dress and her wispy silver hair in a tidy bun. Her eyes were her most striking feature, a deep blue-green shade, and lively with intelligence. 

"Forgive me for being so forward, but it seemed like you were having a very bad dream before." Her eyes were kind and concerned.

Blaine closed his briefly, and then nodded. He met her gaze, and gave a tiny shrug. "I'm a Titanic survivor." 

Her eyes widened, and she squeezed his forearm. It was rare to meet a male survivor. So few men had made it. He could see the questions she wanted to ask, but didn't want to overstep. 

"I was knocked unconscious, injured, but ended up in a lifeboat with a family friend. My father and my spouse died in the tragedy." All these months didn't make that easier to say, and his voice wobbled at the end.

Her warm hand stroked along the sleeve of his suit. "Oh, you are far too young to be a widower. Were you married long?"

Blaine shook his head quickly a couple times, looking out the window as he dabbed the handkerchief at his eyes. 

"I was married fifty-one years, and I've been a widow now for three. I miss my Walter still everyday. But it's eased now to having his response to certain situations pop into my mind." She gave a little smile.

Blaine looked back at the senior questionly, not really understanding what she meant.

She shrugged. "He was a straight shooter, with a dry humor. I can hear what he'd say to you right now, even."

Blaine let out a little chuckle. She was proving to be an interesting seat companion. "What would he have said to me?"

"Be thankful for the time you had together. And don't be afraid to move on and live your life." Her eyes seemed to glow as she said it.

Nodding, Blaine agreed with the comments. But it was still hard. Hard to get a good nights sleep when bad dreams woke him up. Hard to get the energy to get up and do things each morning. Hard to live in a world that didn't have Kurt in it.

It had been Kitty's idea to take this trip. He had been in the hospital so long, and then home consoling his mother in her grief, never able to talk about the loss of Kurt with her. Everyone took his demeanor as a reaction to the tragedy and mourning his father. Guilt over being a survivor, especially a male survivor. 

Kitty had been incredible from the start. Visiting him daily in the hospital, and then at his home. They sat in the garden, and when he healed enough, went for long walks. She was the only one who knew about Kurt, although he never revealed his name or that they had handfasted. It was enough that she knew he'd lost his love. They helped each other, the talks always flavored by the fact they had both survived. Both seen and lived through that horrible night.

"Are you from Montana?" His neighbor seemed determined to get him talking, maybe to pull him out of his sad mood.

Blaine shook his head. "No, I'm from New York. I visited with my brother's family in San Francisco and I'm taking the long route home."

"No rush to get back to family or work in New York?" Her eyes were quite perceptive. 

Thinking back on New York, he could clearly picture his mother's face and Kitty. 

"They encouraged me to make it a long trip, knowing I needed time to myself, time to think." Blaine said softly. Kitty had told him not to hurry back. His mother had a good support network of friends, many of them widows too. She was doing OK.

The hotel was doing better than ever, and he felt very confident leaving it under his new managers. When he was still in the hospital, feeling overwhelmed by his injuries, grief and all his new responsibilities, Kitty had suggested getting some help with the hotel, at least for a while.

Thinking over friends of his past, he had reached out to Jeff and Nick, who he'd known since prep school. They had jumped at the opportunity, their business degrees a good background, but their natural skills helped them run the hotel as a perfect team. Jeff did well with paperwork and numbers, Nick with managing the staff and customers. And they loved the perk of getting their own rooms to live in, with discrete adjoining doors.

It had been such a relief to leave New York for the long ride to San Francisco. The motions of the train lulled him as he watched the scenery from his window. 

Of course, his thoughts were often on Kurt, discretely wiping the tears up with his handkerchief as he went over every second with him. Thought of his grey-blue eyes, his pale perfect skin, and his full lips tha so often smirked at Blaine. Or kissed him senseless. Thought of all the stories of his life, trying to imagine travelling all over the country, Vaudeville theatre to Vaudeville theatre. After going all the way to California, Blaine had a new respect for the size of the country.

He gave himself the time to grieve. To honor their love, their loss and all the dreams they had started to plan for a future together that would never happen now.

---

Blaine was thankful for the darkened theatre as he wiped away the tears that streamed down his face with a damp handkerchief. Although he laughed and gasped in wonder with the various acts along with the rest of the audience, the tears still came. And he let them.

Vaudeville theatres were where he felt the shadowy presence of Kurt the most. It was somewhere like this where he'd first seen Kurt, first talked and kissed and more. But they were also the places Kurt had worked for so many years, perfecting his craft. With every act that came onstage, he could imagine Kurt taking on a role. 

The next act was introduced and the curtain pulled back to reveal a female impersonator. She was in a blond wig with a deep pink dress, and strutted around the stage, her voice and mannerisms hardly convincing at all. Kurt would have blown her out of the water. But the act made Blaine cry into his handkerchief, feeling so alone and desperately sad. He had to leave to go back to the hotel, huddling under the covers. 

Rolling onto his back, he wiped his wet face with the corner of the sheet. He had been dipping his toes in, testing his pain, his grief. It was time to jump in fully. He was tired of doing this, being this way. He was going to face it, and either he could handle it or not.

The next morning he booked his train tickets to Lima, Ohio.

---

Arriving late at night, Blaine didn't have much of a chance to see the town before checking into his hotel and falling asleep. His body seemed so drained lately, dealing with his grief, or maybe just giving his overwrought emotions a rest with some deep sleep. Luckily, the Titanic nightmare stayed away that night. 

He awoke early, feeling disorientated at first, but it all came back soon. Thinking back on their conversations, he tried to remember places Kurt had mentioned, wanting to make sure he had a chance to see them today.

After a light breakfast, he headed out in the direction the concierge had sent him and was soon at the cemetery. He found the grave of Kurt's mother, Elizabeth Marie Beauchamp Hummel. Not very far away was the one for his stepbrother, Finn Hudson, who had died so young.

Sitting down on the grass, Blaine clutched his bent knees and lowered his head. It was so disappointing that his father hadn't put a headstone for Kurt here. Something tangible as a remembrance. 

Pulling out the long silk floral scarf from his pocket, Blaine wrapped it around and around his hand. "Mrs. Hummel, Kurt and I used your scarf to help seal our bond. I've been carrying it with me every day since he gave it to me, and every time I reach into my pocket, I feel the silk and it reminds me of him. It reminds me of our love, our promise, and the feel of his smooth skin. I know you loved him. I loved him too."

Blaine looked up at the cloudy sky, blinking his eyes to keep from crying again. It was getting to the point of acceptance now. He had cried his tears, come to peace with the idea. He would never forget Kurt, forget their love, but their loss was not a burning pain in his chest anymore. It had cooled to a constant ache, a deep loneliness and emptiness. 

He felt a bit better as he walked back, his fingers rubbing against the silk scarf tucked back into his pocket. 

Taking a slightly different route, he ended up walking past a long, tall brick wall, with lots of clanging and mechanical sounds coming from the other side. Reaching an opening in the wall, there was an entranceway with 'Lima Locomotive and Machine Works' on its signage. Blaine's breath caught, and he stared at the sign, unable to move.

"Can I help you, son?" An older man walked near him, wearing coveralls and a dark cap.

Blaine stepped back in surprise. "Oh....um, is Mr. Hummel here today?" He said the first thing that came to mind.

The man nodded. "Sure thing. Wait here, I'll send him to the gate."

And before Blaine could say anything, the man turned and walked into the rail yard. Blaine thought of calling him back and telling him to forget it, but he didn't act fast enough.

Shifting from foot to foot nervously, Blaine watched as men walked nearby, wondering if each one would be Kurt's father, and what he would look like. Tall, fair-skinned and slim like Kurt, but older? And what would Blaine say to explain himself?  I was curious to meet you because you are my dead husband's father. But I don't want anything from you...

What did he want? Why was he here? Blaine felt more and more nervous as he waited. 

Eventually, a middle-aged man with a baldhead walked towards Blaine, wiping his greasy hands with a rag, a questioning expression on his face. "Were you asking to see me?"

Swallowing hard with his nerves, Blaine held out his hand and hoped his voice was steady. "Mr. Hummel, I am Blaine Anderson. I knew your son, Kurt."

He did pretty well, until he said Kurt's name out loud. He hadn't said it to anyone else before. And as Mr. Hummel shook his hand, giving him a curious perusal, Blaine blinked rapidly, trying to keep tears from escaping.

"Hmmm...Is that so? Well, I wouldn't take you for a Vaudevillian, Mr. Anderson." Mr. Hummel did not look much like Kurt. He was average height and a stockier build. His large green eyes seemed kind though.

Blaine let out a small laugh. "No, I'm a businessman. I knew Kurt from The Titanic." 

Understanding was in Mr. Hummel’s eyes then, and Blaine felt bad for bringing up bad memories. Suddenly, his emotions already so on the edge, got the better of him. He scrambled to pull his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at his eyes.

He didn't notice that the floral scarf had slipped out of his pocket also. Mr. Hummel stepped forward and picked it up, looking down at the material a long time, before handing it back to Blaine.

"I'd like to talk with you more, Mr. Anderson. Would you like to come back to my house for some lunch? Just something simple like sandwiches?" Mr. Hummel was looking at Blaine closely. 

Still feeling a bit emotional, Blaine just nodded and walked along with the older man when he nodded back. 

They moved from the industrial part of the town into a residential area, walking silently side by side, and gradually, the stirred-up emotions and tension in Blaine eased down. He could breathe easier, and was grateful to the older man for giving him this time to collect himself. 

Reaching a small, tidy family home, Mr. Hummel went up to the front door and opened it. 

"Hey, it's just me. And I brought someone along for lunch." Mr. Hummel called out towards the kitchen, as he undid his shoes.

Blaine bent down to untie his laces, following Mr. Hummel's example.

"Dad, you should have warned me so I could have made more soup." A voice called back, a very distinctive voice Blaine had been hearing in his memories and dreams for months. A voice he never thought he'd hear again.

---

-Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I think I will do three alternative endings for the fic. This is the first one and looks like it will 2-3 chapters long.