Adrian hopped out of the car and grabbed at Kurt’s hand. He hugged Lizzie securely under his other arm and they headed towards Kurt’s dad’s house.

Kurt’s childhood home. The place that, from the outside, looked like it always had – nicely landscaped with splashes of color dotting the perennial greenery. If you could peek into the backyard, you’d find a large, overflowing vegetable and herb garden, started by his mother, kept to half size by her mother and Kurt until her death and then kept well enough until Carole came and salvaged it, bringing it back to the full life it was intended to have. It was homey and lovely and ordinary and it always made Kurt feel grounded. Loved.

Lately, the differences arose when he walked inside the house. It smelled different. The furnishings were frequently hidden with blankets and paperwork, flotsam from daily living that neither Burt nor Carole had energy or mind to put away at the end of the day. The kitchen table was typically cluttered, indicating they rarely ate there together anymore. Burt’s ball caps had new landing places, never the same place twice, and the counter by the telephone was loaded with scraps of notes, phone numbers, medicinal directions and appointments.

It wasn’t home anymore. It was an interim for life as they knew it and life as it would one day be.

But, as it was, interim deserved time and attention as well, so it was decided this would not only be the final cook-out before winter blew in, but also the time to meet Kurt’s new family, be that as it may.

Blaine was quietly nervous and Adrian acted as though he was meeting his next best friend.

“So, what do I call your dad, Kurt?”

“You can call him Burt. He never liked ‘Mr. Hummel’ too much.”

“Your names rhyme! Kurt and Burt. Kurt and Burt.”

“And his wife is Carole. My brother is Finn and he might have a girlfriend here, but I don’t know her name.”

“What if I forget everyone’s name?”

“We’ll remind you. Just be Adrian and you’ll do fine.”

Kurt tugged on Blaine’s hand, heading toward the backyard. “Sounds like everyone’s outside, thank god.” He snuck a quick kiss before rounding the side of the house and they were off with big smiles, loud greetings, hugs, kisses and oh-my-goodnesses all over the place. Adrian was the center of attention, and he soaked it up like a dry sponge.

Until he spotted a mane of yellow hair two houses down. Kurt couldn’t believe it, but Adrian remembered. And gasped. “Is that the yellow-haired girl? From the parade???”

“Olivia? I think so.”

“Can I? Can I please? Can I please go over and play with Oh-livia? Please???”

After a quick adult conference, it was decided that Adrian would probably have more fun with a playmate, so Blaine and Finn took him down to scope out the options. The new quiet was almost deafening.

“Do you love him?”

“Excuse me?”

“The boy. Do you love him?”

“Adrian? Yes, dad. I do. We have a lot in common.”

“And his dad?”

“I love Blaine more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“Even Bryce? You sure you’re over him?”

“Dad, that was ten years ago. He’s engaged. The High School Sweetheart chapter in my life is officially closed.”

“So, is this Blaine guy good in bed?”

“What? Dad!”

Carole grabbed at Kurt’s shirt sleeve and dragged him to the grill, apparently their new secret discussion location. “He’s been doing that. Being inappropriate. It’s creeping me out and I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Have you looked at any of the pamphlets from Dr. Shivner?” Kurt had to roll his eyes at how completely inadequate that sounded, even though he'd found decent enough ideas on how to cope. How to react.

“Some. Not much. I just…I feel like I’m reading about someone else’s life, not my own.”

“But, Carole. It is your life. And it’s my dad’s life. You can’t keep ignoring it.” Carole bent to check the propane tank of the grill and fired it up, busying herself with the knobs that really didn’t need any adjusting. “Do you want to help him or not?”

“I do.”

“They’re helpful, Carole and I found a few websites that have been too. They say the best thing to do is not react harshly.”

Carole quirked an eyebrow and huffed.

“Yeah, I know, I just did. Knee jerk. Anyway, redirect him? He used to keep baseball stats. Does he do that anymore?”

“He does. Some.”

“Okay, let’s get that rolling again maybe. Finn and Blaine can help. I don’t know the difference between a home run, a touch down or a goal.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Carole, you know this; I watch sports for the sweaty men.”

“So, we keep baseball charts and he’ll stop pinching my nipples?”

“Stop. I don’t…Jesus. We need to keep his mind on other things. Keep him stress-free and when he does crap like that, redirect him to something that will take his full attention.”

“Like a god damned child.”

“Like a god damned child. Yes.” He wraps her into his arms as soon as the tears threaten to fall down her cheeks. “We’ll get through this, Carole. He needs us to.”

Their hug was stilled by a swift smack to Carole’s ass delivered by none other than Burt Hummel, the new playboy in Lima who apparently could maneuver in a wheelchair like a pro – even over grass. “Let me in on some of that action there.”

Carole pulled away from Kurt and kissed Burt’s cheek, wheeling him around and back to the picnic table. “I need you to brush the marinade on the chicken, big guy.”

“I’d like to brush something all over you!”

Kurt rolled his eyes and headed to the front, happy to see Blaine and Finn returning.

“I think we’ve lost Adrian for the day.”

Kurt took Blaine' s hand and squeezed, his eyes intense, speaking quiet words of give me strength in spite of his bouncy demeanor. “Oh yeah?”

With a simple wink, Kurt knew Blaine got it. He was there. For him. With him. Walking along side even when they couldn’t speak about it. “Yep. The girl with the yellow hair has stolen him…possibly forever.”

“Well, I sure as hell hope they have orange macaroni and cheese over there or he’ll come back before we can redecorate his room.”

***

The evening went poorly. Horrendously, actually. Blaine was sympathetic and full of it’s okay and I know this isn’t how he typically treats people and really, he didn’t hurt my feelings but Kurt was horrified and humiliated and so close to yet another round of tears that by the time Blaine had gotten Adrian into bed that night, he had to talk himself out of walking out of the house without so much as a goodnight peck on the cheek.

Burt had been overtly sexual with Carole just about every time he opened his mouth. He pinched Finn’s girlfriend’s ass twice (Kurt still couldn’t remember her name because really, he was so horrified for her that his embarrassment took all of his brain power) and the icing on the cake? He asked Blaine what brand of anal douche he used to clean up for his son.

“What? You told me to get more educated on what…guys…do. So I did!”

That? He remembered. Naturally.

It was a complete nightmare. When everyone was packing up to leave, Burt started to cry, confused as to why his children were leaving him. It was the worst Kurt had ever seen. It was the worst he ever wanted to see him, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be.

He had gone home that night in spite of Blaine’s sincere suggestion that being alone might not be a great idea. In spite of knowing how well Blaine did comfort. The fact was, he needed to be alone with his thoughts and sadness. With his computer. With his untrained, inept and yet very earnest attempts at researching doctors, methods of coping. He had to tear the situation apart into pieces, re-arrange them and maybe, if he couldn't sew them back together into something lovely, maybe just maybe he'd a super duper magical fantastical injection that would make his dad come back to him.

Because that man at the cookout? Was not Burt Hummel.

A few days passed, and Adrian was having his first ever sleepover at a friend’s house giving Kurt and Blaine a rare night alone at Kurt’s. They both missed this. They missed their time alone during daylight hours. They missed the nights without worry of interruption and the luxury and turn-on of being as completely loud and obnoxious during love making as they wanted to be. They missed the New York City of it all – what they originally had. What had started it all.

But tonight, Kurt was melancholy. Oh, he was thrilled Blaine was there. He had prepared an extravagant, romantic dinner that they both enjoyed. The conversation was glorious, much deeper than the most recent plot development on Spongebob or how the playground nincompoop – his name was Evan, if you must know – had been sent to the wall for kicking gravel again.

Kurt relished in the simple domesticity of preparing a load of dishes and later standing over the sink to share a slice of apple pie a la mode to avoid dirtying yet another dish. And let’s be honest, to have an excuse to stand close together and lick off droplets of ice cream and apple juice when a messy forkful happened. Which happened pretty frequently.

But, the cloud from the cook-out, the horror of his dad’s behavior, the memory of Blaine’s face – as professional and courteous and lovely as he was about it – seeped into every waking moment. Kurt needed to fix it somehow. To erase it, if at all possible. To right the wrongs that disease and illness had befallen his father.

And he could only come up with one way to do that. Blaine had stepped out to soak up some autumn air – he was such an outdoor boy – and Kurt dug out the box of flash drives he’d asked Finn to set aside for him a few weeks before. He found the one he wanted and plugged it into his propped up tablet just as Blaine came back inside.

“You should come out back with me. It’s a beautiful night.”

“I will. Can you come here, first? I want…” Kurt stopped himself and gestured for Blaine to take a seat in front of the tablet, which he did.

“What’s up?”

Kurt sat next to him, fiddling with the box, running his fingers through the drives and dangling tags identifying the contents of each. He finally looked up and smiled sadly at Blaine’s questioning gaze. “I want you to meet my dad.”

“Kurt…it’s okay, I told you.”

“No. It’s not okay. And this really isn’t going to make up for the other night, or for the fact that you’ll never, ever really know him the way I do. But, it’s a glimpse. Of him. Of who I miss. And it’s important to me that you see that.”

“Alright. Introduce me to Burt Hummel.” Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand and ran a finger across the tablet to wake it up. “What will I be watching?”

“This is his and Carole's wedding. And bonus? You get to see my high school friends. And me being 17 and awkward. But mostly, you’ll see my dad. It’s not too long after his first cardiac incident, but he’s healthy. And happy. And…” Kurt touched the screen, starting the video. “…and my dad.”

Blaine smiled as soon as he heard the opening music. “Perfect! So, who did the wedding?”

“Me.”

Blaine looked over to Kurt and smiled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I actually considered doing that for a living, but I think there might be some dead brides in my past if I had.”

Blaine’s smile hadn’t faded and he pointed at the screen. “Tell me who everyone is.”

So, he did. Pointing out Rachel who’d helped them get tickets to Chicago on their visit to New York. And Mercedes – the first person I came out to – and of course, Blaine recognized Puck. Mike and Tina brought up the rear and he told Blaine they were the only couple from high school to have made it. Two kids, living in Chicago and now, close friends to his ex, Bryce.

Before Blaine could ask for that story, his eyes lit up as the wedding party made another round up the aisle with Kurt in the lead. “Ah, there’s my man…god, you were beautiful then, too.”

“I was still trying to figure myself out. But that day? I was so fucking happy…”

“It shows…” And then Blaine gasped because the man himself made his entrance. Tears stung his eyes as he watched, touched at the visible depth of heart at this man – the man who raised the man he loved. At his joy. His effervescence. And sadly, how completely opposing it was to the man he'd just met. “…Kurt…”

But Kurt didn’t answer because he was fighting back tears himself, still watching, his eyes not blinking one second of the video away. Blaine took his hand and kissed his knuckles and kept watching. Carole made her entrance and Blaine paused the video. “Do you need to stop?”

“No…I might need to let you watch alone, though.” Kurt sniffed and snorted, wiping his tears away and smiled into Blaine's patient eyes. "You're crying too."

"Yeah. I couldn't have imagined the difference. I'm so sorry this has happened to him."

"He was…sometimes I thought he had to have super powers or something. No one could really be that amazing and patient and understanding. But…he was."

"That disease is a fucking bastard."

"Yes." Blaine waited until Kurt got himself together, brushing tears from his cheeks. “Go on…it gets super cheesy here, so I might be able to make it through.”

“You love the cheese.”

“Only with wine. Hit play.”

So, he did. And he watched and laughed at all the right parts and tried to focus on Burt and not Kurt, but ended up falling more and more in love with this man. This man who had come into his life with a simple red vest, and then promptly turned that life exquisitely upside down. They watched the rest of the video, clips of the reception, of Burt and Carole trying to remember all the steps Kurt had taught them for their first dance, the silly-yet-endearing song Finn dedicated to Kurt and the joy. The pure, unadulterated joy that was so evident in every Hudson-Hummel in the house. After it was over, they were quiet together, Kurt’s head resting on Blaine’s shoulder, their fingers twining and tangling together in the silence.

“Thank you for showing me.”

“Can I show you one more? On risk of totally humiliating myself to explain it?”

“I want to see everything in that box.”

“Oh…some day. Tomorrow? I don’t know, but for now, just this one.” Kurt dug and read tags and finally found the right drive. “This was my graduation gift from Dad. It was a play on something I did at a basketball tournament. McKinley somehow got to state finals and New Directions got to do half time. It was at the Nutter Center and…I made a total ass of myself. SOMEday I’ll show you my version, but for now…Burt Hummel does Beyonce.”

Unknown at the time, Burt had his whole "graduation gift" taped, including their introductory conversation ahead of time, which Kurt had totally forgotten. So, he cried again and Blaine held his hands while he watched these two amazing men talk about their feelings for each other in ways most men just.don't.do. But then, he saw the girls come out on stage and he knew. “Single Lad-…you did Single Ladies? At the Nutter Center?”

“Focus, Blaine. You're meeting my dad.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Down, boy. And do note the Michael Jackson glove, which made no sense except that Dad’s awesome.”

Blaine watched, his hand over his mouth, cackling by the end of it, a hint of jealousy stabbing him around the edges. Yes, the situation with Burt was horrible now. But this relationship. These two men fumbling and stumbling along had become this amazing, loving entity. He had nothing like that with his dad or with his mom, but they were still what the outside world would call, a traditional family. No divorce. No death.

No life.

“Thank you, Kurt.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for…” Kurt’s words felt useless, so he pulled Blaine in for a hug, fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, soaking up the caress of his hands on his back.

“You’re a lucky, lucky man, Kurt Hummel.”

“I am. Maybe I needed to watch these to remember that.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad to grieve what’s going on…”

“I know. And I will. I do. But, I need to remember how fortunate it is that I had him at all.”

Blaine kissed him, soft and sweet, brushing a stray tear from Kurt’s cheek. “Let me see your Single Ladies.”

“You? Are a pervert. I was underage.”

“Age of consent?”

“Blaine Anderson!”

Blaine cocked an eyebrow and pouted. Actually pouted. And Kurt started to cave because hell. He hadn’t seen it in years and while it was humiliating, it had also been a blast. “Fine. Just…fine.”

And when it started Blaine began with a giggle, but within seconds, his eyes bugged out of his head. And then he became pretty unintelligible, mumbling things like Kurt Hummel and do you still have those pants? and clearly you learned your hip techniques at a young age and finally, “The crowd loves you, Kurt.”

“Yeah, gay guy flinging his dick and ass all over the place. It’s an easy sell.”

“I’d buy it.”

“Thank you?”

“Can we watch more?”

“Tomorrow. You wanted to go outside.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Right now I’d like to press you so far into your mattress you won’t be able to find your way out.” Blaine nuzzled into Kurt’s neck and suckled at the tender skin under his ear, right where he knew Kurt could never resist.

Kurt hissed and mewled out a breath, clamoring to catch another one. “This was supposed to be a meaningful…jesus fucking christ…moment, Chief Anderson.”

“Chief Anderson appreciates his meaningful moment and has left the building.” Blaine worked his way up Kurt’s neck, tenderly kissing the corner of his mouth. “Taking his place is Blaine Anderson.” Blaine took hold of Kurt’s face, dotting kisses on his favorite spots between words. “He would like to get naked,” a kiss at the corner of his left eye, “with the sexiest,” another to his right, “most interesting man,” to the little bump on the right side of Kurt’s nose, “in all of Ohio,” and finally on his favorite freckle on his right cheek, “ if at all possible.”

Kurt’s eyelids flickered, a blush heating his cheeks. “You mean, the one and only Kurt Hummel?”

“None other than…”

***

Over the next few days, Blaine had watched all of the videos, some of them more than once. He was enamored, intrigued, genuinely blown away at Kurt’s talent. At the experiences he’d had in high school. At the boy who turned into the man that he loved more than he ever imagined he could love.

“So, do I get those back, or??”

“Yes. I, um…copied the ones I really liked.” Blaine had the decency to blush, but Kurt simply rolled his eyes at him. “I’m sorry. You’re amazing. And I know Adrian would like a few of these and…”

“…and you like gold lame pants.”

“They’re not bad.”

“I’d offer to model them for you, but I’ve grown a few inches since high school.”

Blaine dropped the mug he’d been rinsing out and scraped at the sink to dig it back out, blushing and laughing at himself. Watching teenaged Kurt had apparently turned him into a teenaged Blaine.

“In height, Blaine.” And then silence. And then an amendment. “Although…”

“Just stop. Oh my god.”

Days lead into weeks and before they knew it, it was time to unearth the sweatshirts and sweaters from the depths of closets. Burt’s baseball statistics charts were replaced with college football charts. They did seem to help, not in the frequency of Burt’s outbursts, but in the confusion and upset that could follow.

He saw a neurologist who was working with the cardiologist, but the truth of the matter was, medicine could not improve that which was already damaged. Ventricular dementia, which is the kind Burt had, killed brain cells. What was gone was gone. Keeping his heart as healthy as possible was the only possibility of keeping it from getting worse.

Kurt was in a constant state of tired. Blaine had even made it part of his routine to pop over to the Hummel’s once a week after work. In their minds, it was to be a kind and courteous boyfriend to Kurt. Which, it was, but the reality of it was to do a quick assessment so Kurt had a little more trained information to give to the doctors at their visits.

Either way, Kurt loved the relationship Blaine and his dad were forming, even if Burt had to be frequently reintroduced to him. Burt retained sports stats like it was his job and Blaine knew just the right questions to get him going. When Burt’s speech would start to slur, it was time to pack up and leave him to rest, promising another visit when Burt would get wimpery about it. It was half joyous to see the relationship forming and half heartbreaking because again...this man was only Burt Hummel in name.

Blaine also insisted on regular date nights, finding overnight care for Adrian, going as far as Columbus if necessary to find fun, distracting things to do. It was for Kurt; it was for them. Blaine knew first-hand how exhausting caretaking was and he also knew how important frequent breaks were. Breaks from caretaking. Breaks from day-to-day obligations. Breaks. Blaine insisted on breaks. Kurt was grateful and always receptive.

This particular night, they were staying in Lima, hitting the local theater for an indy flick that somehow slipped through the cracks of the mainstream mindset of their community.

“You almost ready? We’re going to be late.”

“Sorry, sorry…” Kurt scurried downstairs from his loft, an unexpected phone call from New York delaying him and distracting him back into his work mindset. He’s just returned home from his latest journey there, the job obviously not completely finished. He pocketed his phone, stole a kiss and grabbed his jacket when his phone buzzed yet again. “Fuck it. They can wait until Monday.”

By the time he was buckled into Blaine’s car, his phone buzzed again. “Maybe you should see what they want so we can enjoy our evening.”

Kurt growled and dug his phone out, groaning when he saw his caller i.d. “It’s Carole…hello?”

“Kurt! Oh my god. Get over here, quick! He’s si-…he just collapsed!”