Blaine knows that there's someone around, but he can't quite make out who it is.

"K-kurt?"

There's a garbled voice, and he wishes he can hear that it is Kurt calling his name.

He tries to say Kurt's name again, but his voice doesn't quite materialize. Then something wet and cold is smacked onto his face and his eyes jump wide open.

"AH!" He jerks away, but ends up twisting his neck a bit. "Owww..."

"My pleasure once again."

Blaine rolls his head on the pillow a bit, then rubs his eyes and stares straight up – at Santana Lopez with a wet sponge over him."Oh my God..." he groans, blindly swiping her hand away and pulling up the blanket over his head. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

Then he stops short. "No, wait." He flips the covers down. "What amIdoing here?"

"Isn't that a question only you can answer?" asks Santana, snidely.

Blaine covers his head with his arm. "I don't remember anything. I was – I was making breakfast for Jamie and then –that's all."

"Oh, you missed your knight in shining armor catching you in his strong, broad arms? What a pity."

"Huh?"

Santana yanks him upright and stuffs the pillow against his back, obviously ignoring his winces. "And that wasn't even the most dramatic bit. Seriously, Anderson, just one slap and all your energy is sapped out? I didn't even give you the full-blown Spanish storm rage."

Blaine has to think quite a bit to get through what Santana has just said, not to mention that his head is aching badly. "What? I – oh." He rubs his temples. "Right. Well, I didn't think it was going to bethatbad."

Santana rolls her eyes.

"Where's Kurt?" Blaine asks, quietly.

"Busy toning those strong, broad arms," says Santana, with a wicked grin. Then she shrugs. "Sending Jamie to school. And thank you in advance for asking after me, I took leave and Sue gave me hell but you know, any chance to get a one-up over that woman is always a trip for me."

"I'm sorry," Blaine blurts.

"Oh, quit that martyr act!" Santana glares at him. "I didn't waste my day coming here to watch you postulate to me, even though I think you should somehow compensate for asking me to come all the way to your place instead of getting Emma."

"I told you –"

"Yeah, yeah," says Santana, folding her arms. "I don't think Emma would have been great in handling your gay issues anyway, she might have just given you one of her mighty pamphlets and scooted off."

Blaine takes a while to piece back his memory of what had happened, before finally asking, "Is Kurt still mad at me?"

"For fainting on him before his breakfast got made, yes."

"Shit," mutters Blaine.

"I'm mad at you too."

"Santana, I really don't need to take crap from you now."

"Of course you do. How else are you going to continue being a happy gay?"

Blaine narrows his eyes at her now that he is feeling more alert. "Your idea of seeking compensation from me is for me to give you my fullest attention while you slice and dice me with that tongue of yours?"

Santana makes an exasperated noise. "Seriously, if there's anybody you should be compensating, it ought to be Hummel."

"Look," says Blaine, at once, though he feels dreadful for saying this, "I know it's been really tough on Kurt since Jamie came to live with us, and I've screwed up big time by pulling him into this situation, and having him go through with this for two weeks... I know that I've been so unfair to him. But..." He takes a deep breath, before staring straight at Santana. "It's been really, really hard on me too! I'm trying my best to take the load off him, so I've worked hard to ensure that Jamie is well prepped in advance for every single thing so that she's comfortable and will ease into situations. I know he's trying to rush out his latest collection, so I really don't want to get him all tangled up in having to manage Jamie. But I have had a long day at work too and the kids haven't been very cooperative all week! And –"

His voice cracks. He hates saying things like that; he understands that everybody has their own problems and he can't possibly be doing comparisons like that. He had promised himself before that he wouldn't compare his work with Kurt's because they were two different monsters altogether. Yet...

He hangs his head. "All of it just came crashing down one day, I guess."

"Yes, Mr. SuperBlaine, of course it's been hard on you. Why you said yes in the first place to Sue is still a mystery –"

"Oh yeah?" Blaine looks up, annoyed. "Would you have?"

Santana clamps her lips together.

"Who else would?" Blaine's voice drops to a murmur. "You and Mike are single, carefree, have your own lives to live. Two weeks having a kid at home is a big deal, a huge disruption to your routine. Will and Emma are getting married soon; they're busy setting up their new home and have no time to handle a kid outside of work hours. And it just works the same for the rest."

He sighs. "I just thought Kurt and I would be ready."

"You're not getting the point though, hobbit," says Santana, crossly. "Whether that assumption was a mistake or not, I don't know, but what Idoknow, is that you weren't the only one trying to make that assumption work."

"Huh?" Blaine blinks rapidly. "What are you – wait – hey, you don't even talk to Kurt!"

"Ah, you see, that's the trick to getting the dirty stuff, Anderson, you talk to everyone elsebutthe person," says Santana, dryly. "Or you might also do a bit of physical investigation, just that it's a little out of my league to track the web history of Hummel's personal computer because what kind of kinky stuff that might yield, I really don't need to know." She pauses. "Though that might be quite a turn-on."

Before Blaine can add another incredulous and bewildered comment, she continues, "What do you think Kurt thinks of Jamie?"

Blaine is tired; he doesn't really want to have this conversation. "He... I think he just does what he can, which I'm proud of him for."

"But what hecando isn't a lot, right?"

"There's only so much he can do after knowing her for like, what, a week?"

"But so did you."

"That's not the same!" Blaine protests.

"So you guys started out on different levels of understanding. But you know what?" Santana leans forward. "Tina told me that Kurt has been reading up extensively on autism, asking her for materials and advice and whatnot. This is like, on top of what he does for a living," she leans back, "which I'm sure is yielding much fruit if I judge by your outfits."

The door suddenly opens – Kurt comes in carrying two cups, nearly overbalancing as he notices Blaine.

"You're awake!" he enthuses, his whole face lighting up. Blaine feels tendrils of warmth unfurling within him, overtaking the waves of confusion as he matches Kurt's smile.

"Whoa, easy does it," says Santana, getting up at once to grab a cup from Kurt. "Don't need you breaking to little china pieces on the ground. You look better glued together like this than in bits on the floor."

"Do you ever have a good word to say about me?" asks Kurt, annoyed. Then he looks at Blaine. "Some caffeine? I think that's a better prescription than those pills they make you pop."

"Kurt," whispers Blaine, as he takes the cup from Kurt. "I know you hate hearing me say this, but I justhaveto. I'm so sorry."

Kurt's smile tightens. "Are you having any headaches or anything like that?"

"A little," mumbles Blaine, even though his head is throbbing madly in all aspects.

"I'll leave you two," says Santana, and makes her way out.

"In case you were wondering," Kurt calls out just as she is about to shut the door on them. "'Headache' isn't a codeword for anything!"

He looks back at Blaine, then frowns. "You know, you scared the hell out of me. You literally fell back onto me like a puppet just got its strings cut." His voice softens. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

Blaine grips the bed sheets and looks away, his lips trembling.

"Blaine?" Kurt's concerned voice just makes the knot within Blaine tighten even further. "Blaine, what's wrong? Did Razor-Head Girl say something?"

Blaine tilts his head back so that the tears won't fall out of his eyes. But it doesn't work for too long because of all the snot is building up at the back of his nasal tract, combined with his headache and burning eyes. A minute later, he has to shut his eyes and turn over to bury his head into the pillow.

Kurt doesn't say anything else; Blaine feels the side of the bed depress a bit, and then there is a familiar presence enveloping him – Kurt's soft hand rubbing the side of his arm, his warm breath against his ear and his legs intertwined with his. Kurt presses a kiss against Blaine's shoulder.

"Okay. No more for today. Just rest, " whispers Kurt. "We can talk again later."

Yes. Rest. There's a lot to talk, but he can't think anymore. All he can do now is rest.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Blaine is discharged from the hospital two days later, armed with a bagful of pills and vitamins and stern words of advice from the doctor. He gets the rest of the week off from work and Kurt dutifully wakes up early every morning to prepare breakfast for both him and Jamie before fetching Jamie to the LAC. Jamie is also wonderfully cooperative for these few days, even going as far as to hand Blaine his pills and a glass of water. Blaine can see Kurt watching by the kitchen table with a quirk at the edge of his lips, and his heart aches even more.

Kurt comes home early one day, and Blaine is rather glad to have some time with him. Before they can converse though, the home phone rings.

"Hello?" Blaine leans back into the sofa with the phone pressed against his ear, flashing an apologetic smile at Kurt.

What he hears makes his face fall. He's not sure what is going to happen, since either way it would cause issues. He mumbles assent, then puts down the phone.

"Who's that?" asks Kurt, sitting down next to Blaine. "What happened?"

"Sue," says Blaine, and his heart sinks when Kurt's eyes light up.

He angles himself to face Kurt and takes his hands. "She says they've found a handler for Jamie–" he swallows hard, "–but she can only take Jamie in at the end of the month because she's moving house or something like that."

Kurt turns away as he says, "So... that means two more weeks?"

"Two more weeks," says Blaine. He squeezes Kurt's hands. "Kurt, I –"

"Listen, you don't have to say anything," says Kurt, quietly. "It's not like we can put Jamie anywhere for the next two weeks."

"Kurt, I know what you've been doing," says Blaine. Kurt looks at him confusedly, so he continues, "I know you've been reading up and asking around and –"

He sighs. "I've just been too caught up to see it, but thinking back, you've been putting a lot of those techniques to use with Jamie. I only remembered the times when you found it tough and I had to come in to help, not the times when... when it actually worked."

Kurt slips his hands out of Blaine's and twiddles his thumbs. Blaine knows that means he wants to say something but can't quite put it in words, so he waits patiently. Eventually, Kurt mumbles,

"It's not like reading much helps.Youare armed with a plethora of experience and yet you can still hit a roadblock sometimes."

"It's about getting used to the kid," says Blaine, his gaze shifting to the drawing block sticking out from below the coffee table.

"Even then," says Kurt, but seems quite unable to continue.

"You know," says Blaine. "I had a kid who had multiple meltdowns in a single day and we were quite at a loss because he just wasn't responding to anything. He couldn't express himself, so all he could do was to scream, bite at his arm and kick the furniture."

Kurt winces.

"We called in his mom and she was crying when she was trying to calm him down. The next day, the kid came to hand in the book that we use to communicate with parents, and the mother had written in the book –'God help us all.'" Blaine shuts his eyes. "He's a terribly precocious kid, very bright-eyed and alert, but just very, very sensitive to things. But his mother was feeling the sense of helplessness and it was painful just to read those words."

Kurt remains silent.

"I kinda felt that when Jamie had her meltdown," mutters Blaine. "That same sense of helplessness."

"I didn't realize how hard you were taking all this upon yourself," says Kurt, finally, his voice a little choked. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have landed up in the hospital."

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine whispers. "Don't. This isn't your –"

"I'm sure there's a psychological theory about going from mutual blaming to self-reproaching," says Kurt, dryly.

"We were all tired, Kurt," says Blaine, then suddenly, it's like another set of lens has come over his eyes – he sees that Kurt has half-moon shadows under his eyes and his hair isn't as perfectly coiffed as usual. He wants to lean over to smooth back Kurt's hair, but his fingers are limp. Kurt is not just tired, he's just asexhausted. It's just that unlike Blaine, he hasn't keeled over yet.

It's only been two weeks and now, they'll have to carry on for two more.

Just because we're not married doesn't mean you can –

Kurt's words had hurt him terribly. They had reminded him that he had taken Kurt for granted, that he had taken their relationship for granted, that he had no right to be imposing all these heavy decisions on Kurt, not when despite their commitment to one another, there was an unspoken understanding that they still had their own young lives to live. Young lives that didn't need to be bogged down by an additional commitment as of now.

Kurt gets up. "Before I go get Jamie, I'm gonna fix dinner. I bought back a rotisserie chicken, and I think we still have enough stuff for a basil, mozzarella and tomato salad. How does that sound?"

Blaine looks at Kurt intently. The word 'family' rolls around at the edge of his tongue, but doesn't quite come out. It's there, but yet it isn't.
Instead, he nods and says, "That sounds lovely."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Blaine is mostly well by Friday, but he knows better than to overstrain himself at this point in time, so he goes to the LAC for half-a-day just to clear some administrative work. Or rather, his main purpose is to go through the case files of the kids and pull out Jamie's. Everyone is at their various sessions, so he sits in the empty staff lounge, kicks back his shoes and reads her file.

It's not to be a relaxing reading session, however. Blaine finds himself chewing far too generously on his bottom lip just reading the orphanage's report that Jamie had been left there at the age of three by her mother, who was dying of lung cancer. Jamie's father had just left both of them behind then, because he couldn't handle taking care of a dying person and someone who was – in Jamie's mother's words – like a monster.

The bitter taste of iron fills his mouth. He shuts the file and pulls his knees up to his chest. He thinks of the kids whose parents come by and pick them up, and then there are the teenagers and young adults who trudge back to the dormitories, away from the ruckus of parents fussing over their children. None of the young kids at the LAC belong to the latter group, yet Jamie will follow them. She will have a room of her own there, supervised by a handler, and this will be her life for a good amount of time. They would guide her to take care of herself. But to what extent?

Then he thinks of his own parents, who didn't say anything about him but looked at him like – like he was a monster too. He hasn't seen them for years, not since he's left for college. He wonders what they would think if they knew he had a kid in his house. He wonders whether they are thinking of him now.

That's too much wondering for the day.

Blaine goes home to find Kurt back early, seated next to Jamie at the coffee table and watching her draw her circles intently. Blaine notes that there are pencils of all colors scattered messily around the table and can't help smiling when Jamie reaches out to tidy a bunch of them together, only to pick out an orange one. She stares at it for a long time, then Kurt neatly places a piece of paper next to her drawing block.

Blaine crosses over and sits down facing both of them. He doesn't miss the way Kurt's eyes crinkle when Jamie eventually starts drawing orange circles on the blank sheet of paper.

"You have a way with her," whispers Blaine.

"I just get lucky," says Kurt, but there is a hint of a smile lingering at the edge of his lips.

"C'mon. Compared to before?You do know your stuff," says Blaine, beaming.

Jamie has gone back to drawing blue circles on her drawing block, so Kurt picks up the paper filled with orange circles and stares at it. "She'sthe one who knows her stuff. She really draws circles very beautifully for someone her age." His smile turns a bit bitter. "Maybe the people at my office might really appreciate her."

Blaine looks kindly at Kurt. "How did the pitch go?"

Kurt puts down the paper. "Kewell is on leave today."

"Oh –" Blaine sits up straight. The silver lining Kurt had been looking for –

"It just made things more straightforward. Levington told me I need to step up my game," says Kurt, pointedly. "When he can't even be bothered to sugarcoat his words, I'm in for some deep shit."

Blaine immediately crosses over to Kurt and slips his hands around Kurt's waist. Kurt relaxes into his embrace, but purses up his lips.

"You've still got it in you," says Blaine, before pressing a kiss against the side of Kurt's neck and eliciting a shudder.

"That's what you always say," mutters Kurt.

"And then you'll ask how I'd know and I will tell you I just know and you won't buy it."

Kurt eyes him skeptically.

"Simply because the Kurt Hummel I know won't stand being stuck in a shithole," says Blaine, wriggling his eyebrows. "He would find some way to emerge out of it with pristine white Doc Martens and a perfectly starched Vivienne Westwood suit with nary a spot..."

"And nary a blemish on my complexion," says Kurt, rolling his eyes. "Blaine, even getting the suit to the dry wash might take longer than the amount of time I have till next Wednesday to submit a new pitch."

Blaine presses a kiss to his cheek. When Kurt doesn't look at him, he knows this is serious. Kurt is scared. Yet, Blaine can't do much because he knows it's Kurt alone who must convince himself that this is the way to go, this is what he wants, and this is all he needs to do.

He turns his gaze to Jamie, who has finished covering her drawing block sheet with circles and is now arranging all the color pencils together. Somehow, she has managed to arrange them in a blended hue of rainbow.

"Hold me closer," whispers Kurt.

Blaine shakes himself out of staring at Jamie and pulls Kurt into a tighter embrace, wishing he didn't have to hear the tinge of loneliness in Kurt's voice.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Jamie has been very good the entire week, and Blaine is very tempted to reward her with a trip outdoors. He thinks of arguing that going outdoors would stimulate Kurt's mind, but somehow the expression on Kurt's face doesn't suggest that he is willing to leave his sketch sheet any moment.

"Would you at least shave some hours off to watchRatatouille?" asks Blaine, innocently. "I'm trying to test if Jamie likes shows of that variety."

"Since when did she ever demonstrate an inkling of watching a rat cooking up French salad?" asks Kurt, looking up from his work skeptically.

Blaine shrugs. "Ever since she's been eyeing you cook the past few days." Kurt opens his mouth to protest, but Blaine beats him to it. "Before you think I'm calling you a rat, I'm merely suggesting that she's rather taken to you making salads for her. It doesn't seem to bore her as fast as me making pasta, and that says a lot considering she was very used to eating pasta at the orphanage."

Kurt goes red. "It's just salad."

"It's adamn awesomesalad. How many people get to eat salad with juicy orange cubes, perfectly grilled bacon bits, croutons coated in sweet vinegar, thick crunchy leaves with the faintest aroma of rosemary, white wine and honey..."

"I wonder who's the one who's really gonna enjoy the show," says Kurt, amused and tired all at once as he finally relents and sets himself on the couch. "Don't drool all over me, by the way."

"Aw, come on. I know you love the whole Parisian feel of it," says Blaine, snuggling up next to Kurt. He beckons to Jamie, who is by the television set. "Jamie, come 'ere."

Jamie perks up at the sound of her name first, then she fixes her gaze on Blaine's outstretched hand. She slowly moves over, but her eyes start to wonder. Blaine makes to pick her up, but Kurt gently presses him back into the couch. Instead, Kurt reaches out to tap Jamie on the shoulder, then he calls out her name again and pats the sofa. Jamie blinks rhythmically, then she turns around, backs up against the sofa and leaps up backwards in between Kurt and Blaine. Kurt sits up a little straighter to give Jamie more room.

As they watch the show, Blaine finds himself looking more at both Jamie and Kurt rather than what is on screen. Jamie is staring wide-eyed and occasionally mumbling to herself. Blaine knows that he hasn't exactly walked the talk when it comes to drawing the line between being Jamie's teacher and being her guardian at home, and it must have frustrated Kurt to no end. But he thinks there is nothing more endearing than watching a child engage in something in the most earnest way possible. Maybe that is what draws him to kids with autism. The earnestness and curiosity and innocent wonder seem to be magnified ten-fold in them. That is what Blaine sees in Jamie's gaze, whereas other people might see it as soulless and discomfiting.

But what makes Blaine feel all warm and fuzzy, is when Kurt's hand unconsciously makes its way over to Jamie's hair to ruffle it and she doesn't seem to mind that much. By the end of the show, Jamie's eyes are shut, her head against Kurt's side with his hand still tangled in her hair, and her legs are propped up on Blaine's knees.

Kurt grins. "I guess she wasn't so taken to a salad rat chef after all."

"There might be a difference between ratatouille and your gourmet salad. A big positive one."

"I need to make ratatouille for you one day to change your mind!"

"Honestly, you never thought of being a chef?"

"A chef?" Kurt snorts. Then he looks startled. "You're serious."

"Of course I am. You're really good at conceptualizing food, whipping a storm out of random ingredients and make them look good and taste amazing. I mean, I see why you're a designer, the same skills apply, but..." Blaine taps his chin. "Really, never ever thought about it?"

"No, even though I'd be a hoot Masterchef judge who adds that people's aprons need to complement their food," says Kurt, with a chuckle. Then he sobers. "I've always saw cooking as a necessity, 'cos of my dad's health and all that. I'm always trying new ways to make his food stimulating, appetizing and healthy all at once."

"Whereas the stage, the lights of Broadway, it was – an escape from reality?" Blaine pauses, then he scrunches up his face. "Sorry, I alwaysmake many assumptions about you. The last one didn't end too well. I should really stop that."

"But that's a true assumption," says Kurt, smiling warmly. He strokes Jamie's hair as he continues, "The stage, music and acting was where I could dive into being somebody else and sing all my emotions out. It was great catharsis. I guess eventually it somehow morphed into being a hobby more than a career, because I still have to live in reality after all."

"What nonsense. Music is reality."

"Says the man who chose to work with autistic kids instead of becoming a musician."

"Ah," says Blaine, rolling his eyes affectionately. "Here we go."

"You started it," says Kurt. His hand hovers over Jamie's shoulder, then he gently places it down. "I know, though. I know you use music as a way to inspire and grow the children. You've made it reality and it's incredibly inspiring, Blaine." He looks intently at Blaine. "I just thought you should know."

Blaine can feel his whole face glowing.

"Although I still think it's a pity you're not apropermusician."

"I am one," says Blaine, his grin widening. "Just in a different way. Music is about emotional connections. I use music to connect with people who would usually find it difficult to connect with the rest of society."

Kurt reaches out for Blaine's hand. "Always about that greater purpose, you."

"I don't deserve to be on whatever pedestal you're putting me on," protests Blaine. "Sometimes I think too highly of myself when it comes to handling the kids, or just anyone with autism. Like how I thought I could manage Jamie on my own and that I wouldn't have to make you feel like it was... you know..." He sighs. "Like a burden."

"Blaine," says Kurt, his eyes widening. "Why are you going back –"

"I just always had that niggling feeling that you weren't very fond of children, despite what you've told me before about how you admire their innocence and all that," says Blaine, shifting his gaze to Jamie. "Not to mention that Jamie needs like tenfold of the patience you think you lack..."

Kurt motions to the sleeping child against him and gestures towards Jamie's bedroom. Together, they gently settle her in Blaine's arms and he carries her into the room, settling her down on the mattress. He tucks her hair gently behind her ears and pulls up the covers.

"Do you ever wonder..." Kurt asks softly from behind. "If we had a child like that?"

Blaine stares at Jamie. She's beautiful; soft, delicate skin and long lashes framed by a curtain of shiny brown hair. She looks like any other girl her age. "She's a special child. I would love a special child."

"You know what I mean, Blaine. I'm not trying to be horrible or anything," says Kurt.

There's a long pause before Kurt continues, "I was afraid. I was afraid when I saw her, and I'm still afraid."

Afraid? Of course Blaine is afraid. He can say a million things to justify that such a child would be beautiful, unique – a gift of love to the both of them, both of them who are also different in their own ways and need love in that unusual yet special way. He wants to tell Kurt that love for a child is unconditional. That dimension of love is so powerful that everything else matters very little. Yet, he knows that if Kurt and him were to have their first child – be it via surrogate or adoption – and if that child that came to them was a special needs child, his own heart would have sunk immediately.

He hates to be reminded of his instinctual sensitivity to differences. He hates to be reminded that despite all the sexuality obstacles Kurt and him have in having a socially and legally acceptable family, something completely unrelated can be the roadblock that could cause their paths to diverge.

"Well," he says as lightly as possible, "We can't all be Neil and David and have twins who look like either of us."

He hears Kurt walk away. Jamie is making little adorable snore sounds, but Blaine sees his hand on hers, where there are the scars of Jamie's scratches. It doesn't hurt there anymore, but it sure does inside, because Blaine knows more than anything that despite all that has happened, despite his training as a therapist who should know better where the line between work and personal life is, despite all his reservations about having a special needs child – he knows that he has fallen deeply in love with this precocious girl and that he would do anything to protect her.

Blaine's heart clenches. He knows (or at least he think he knows) more than anybody else how it's like to be seen as a burden and left behind, seen as somebody different and treated like he needs help. He doesn't want Jamie to have to realize how cruel this world is because he wants her life to be good. He wants her to have the opportunity to be that confident young person that he never got to be early on in his life.

Most of all, he knows that Kurt is the person who would give this girl the confidence to never back down from anything, to stand up for what she wants and who she is, and not take crap from what society has thrown at her.

But how are the next two weeks going to be any different? How is Kurt going to feel any differently?

The cogwheels in Blaine's mind start to whizz, but at the same time, it brings a pounding ache to his head. He shakes the thoughts off; he needs his rest once again, so he gently presses a kiss to Jamie's forehead, leaves the nightlight in the room on and the door ajar. He will go back to his bed with Kurt. For now, he just wants to be with Kurt.

None of them would be lonely tonight.