Santana wasn’t sure how long she had been wandering the hospital halls, but she could have navigated it with her eyes closed at this point. She wasn’t good with waiting: it made her restless, it made her feel useless and afraid, and Santana Lopez was not the kind of woman who was used to being afraid.

Santana Lopez was the kind of woman who made things happen, who found solutions to every problem, who wasn’t reticent to get her hands dirty.

Except, in this opportunity, there really wasn’t anything she could do but sit hopelessly in a waiting room. She couldn’t be next to Blaine, couldn’t perform the surgery, couldn’t save his life.

She just had to sit, and wait, and accept whatever outcome the doctor brought her once they were done.

She hated it.

Brittany had called a million times. Santana had appreciated every second of those phone calls, her wife’s voice the only thing tethering her to sanity. She wished she could just wrap her arms around Brittany, allow herself to be vulnerable the way she was when only the love of her life could see her, and find comfort in her. But Santana didn’t want Brittany here, at the same time. She didn’t want to put stress on her or the baby, or to make her listen to any bad news that could potentially harm her or their son. Santana knew that if anything happened to Blaine, Brittany would be completely devastated, but Santana had to be selfish, at least this once, at least for this, and give herself the space to be devastated without having to take care of anyone else. If something happened to Blaine…

“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” she murmured fiercely, and an old woman who was slowly walking down the hallway with a cane looked at her as if wondering if Santana was talking to her.

So Santana waited (something she hated), alone (something she also hated, no matter what other people thought).

Rachel had called from the office a few times. Things are the bureau were hectic, to say the least. Captain Jones had stopped by the hospital briefly to get an update on Blaine before joining the team for a big meeting. Santana was technically supposed to be there, as well, but not even her boss had dared to remove her from this cold, terribly-decorated waiting room.

With a sigh, she headed towards the end of the hall to get another cup of crappy coffee. She would never insult the coffee they had at the bureau ever again.

Santana caught a flash of white coming the opposite direction and she stopped in her tracks. She had seen like a million doctors since she had arrived earlier (or was it the night before, or the day before?), but no one had had any answers for her. However, she thought she recognized the woman, her dark hair held back in a strict-looking bun, and she was wearing blue scrubs under her white coat.

“Excuse me,” the woman said. “I’m Doctor Mullins. Are you here for Mr. Anderson? I think I saw you with him when they brought him in.”

“Yes,” Santana said desperately, and suddenly her heart was lodged in her throat. “Yes, I’m Santana Lopez, his partner. We’re in the FBI together. Is he okay? What happened?”

“He’s just out of surgery, so we have to wait and see how he evolves now,” Doctor Mullins said calmly. “He lost a lot of blood, so he will be a little weak, and we’ll keep him in observation for a few days. But everything went well and we’re expecting a full recovery.”

Santana had never felt lighter in her life. She was grateful for the gun she carried at the waist - its weight seemed to be the only thing keeping her from floating away. Her knees felt a little wobbly, so she allowed herself to fall onto a chair nearby. She looked up at the doctor, shakily. “So he’s fine?”

“As fine as someone can be after being stabbed in the chest,” Doctor Mullins replied. “Like I said, we need to see how he evolves, but the surgery went well, so we’re not expecting any complications.”

In a moment of weakness, Santana did something no one would have ever expected from Agent Lopez.

She hugged the doctor tight.

“Thank you,” she muttered, relieved. “Thank you. When can I see him?”

The doctor patter her back gently and Santana let go, quickly regaining her poise. “The nurses should be bringing him into a private room in a few minutes. Once he’s settled, you can go in and see him.”

“Thank you,” Santana repeated, and she could have said only those two words for the rest of her life.

After exchanging a few more words, the doctor walked away, leaving Santana alone, but surrounded by strangers who didn’t understand how important it was that Blaine Anderson was still a part of this world. They had no idea what they were missing out on.

So Santana fished her phone out of her pocket and called someone who did.

“Honey? It’s me. He’s going to be fine…”

*

She knew perfectly well it was a cliché, but even so, Santana couldn’t help thinking that Blaine looked tiny in that hospital bed.

He was hooked up to a bunch of machines, surrounded by white sheets, white walls and white gauze on his chest. It was like a cloud had swallowed him. He was pale, and there were dark marks under his eyes.

Frankly, he looked like shit.

Santana dragged a chair next to the bed so she could sit by his side. She studied him silently for a moment, taking in all of the details. She analyzed them efficiently in her head, cataloguing all the things that didn’t feel right: the little cut above his eyebrow, the purple bruise on his shoulder, the cuts on his knuckles. It wasn’t the first time Blaine was injured during a case, but it was the first time Santana had thought he might not make it.

She was going to give him hell for worrying her like that.

Blaine groaned and moved his head from side to side, slowly. He was still under the effects of the anesthesia, it seemed. The nurses had told Santana that he might be groggy for a while. They had advised her to let him sleep it off.

He didn’t look like he wanted to sleep it off. If anything, he looked restless.

“Blaine?” She said tentatively.

He opened his eyes and tried to focus them on her, but he seemed to be having trouble with that. “Santana?” He slurred.

“I’m here, buddy. Just sleep for a while and we can talk when you’re feeling better,” she said.

“Kurt,” Blaine said instead. He began to move as if wanting to get out of bed, but clearly too out of it to be even remotely successful. “Kurt.”

“Hey, hey, hey, easy. You can’t get out of bed. According to the doctor, you’ll be there for a few days,” Santana replied. “So chill.”

“Kurt,” Blaine insisted, sounding more and more desperate.

“Kurt is fine,” Santana assured him, and she saw him relax minutely. “He’s with his brother. Everything’s fine. It’s over, Blaine.”

The anesthesia was making it hard for Blaine to stay awake, but he made the effort anyway. “Kurt. Need to see him,” he mumbled, and it took a couple of seconds for Santana to decipher what he had just said.

“Okay, fine,” Santana said, rolling her eyes. Even completely drugged and after being stabbed, Blaine could be so damn stubborn. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Blaine’s eyes fell shut again, and he was out like a light in a second. Santana sighed - it wasn’t perfect, but things were going to be fine, eventually. It was good enough for now.

She walked out of the room slowly, making sure not to disturb Blaine, and dialed another number on her phone. The call was picked up before it rang the second time.

“Mr. Hudson? This is Agent Lopez. Could you please put your brother on the phone?”

*

Kurt burst through the hospital doors, his feet moving so fast they practically didn’t touch the floor. Finn was having trouble keeping up with him. He was a professional athlete, how could Kurt make him sweat like this?

But Kurt had something much more important than a trophy waiting at the end of the line.

He jogged through the hallways aimlessly, looking around for something that indicated where Blaine was, or for someone who could help him. He finally spotted a nurse coming out of a room and stopped her, his voice pleading as he said: “Please, could you tell me where Blaine Anderson is?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t know. But there’s a nurse station in that direction if you want to…”

Kurt wasn’t listening anymore. He spotted Santana at the end of the hallway, clearly having a heated argument with a vending machine.

“You fucking thing, give me my Snickers bar!” She was saying, and punched it hard with her fist.

“Thank you,” Kurt said, not really paying attention, and leaving the nurse behind to go straight towards Santana, Finn right behind him. “Agent Lopez?”

Santana turned towards him, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline as she regarded him. “Oh, Mr. Hummel. I didn’t think you would make it here so quickly…”

“He dragged me out the door as soon as you hung up the phone,” Finn said, chuckling, but quickly stopped talking when he realized Kurt wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Where is he? Can I see him? What did the doctor say?” Kurt asked, his hands wringing in anxiety.

Santana studied him for a moment before she replied. “As I told you on the phone, the doctor said he will be okay, we just need to give him a little time. He’s asleep - the anesthesia is kicking his butt - but I’m sure when he wakes up he’ll be glad to know you were here to…”

“I want to see him,” Kurt cut her off, both polite and sharp, making sure she understood he wasn’t going anywhere until he could see Blaine.

Santana once again paused, like she was analyzing every single one of Kurt’s words and actions. Finally, she nodded minutely. Whatever she had found seemed to have satisfied her. “Very well. He’s in room 206. Just down this hall, third door.”

Kurt looked at Finn briefly, who simply smiled in encouragement and waved him away, as if assuring him he would be fine waiting here with Santana. Kurt took a deep breath and stepped away from them, heading down the hall towards room 206.

The door was ajar and he saw Blaine even before he was inside. At first glance, he seemed so peaceful, like he was just resting after a long day. But once Kurt went in and walked closer to the bed, he saw the bruises, the cuts, the paleness of his skin.

The bandage that hid the place where the killer had stabbed him.

Kurt let himself fall onto the chair by the bed. For a few seconds, he just sat there and looked at Blaine, trying to understand how the hell they had ended up here, like this. Not too long ago they had been tangled and warm in a bed, smiling and sharing secrets. Now Blaine was in the hospital, and Kurt was trying to force his heart to calm down, to beat normally, to stop fearing he would lose this wonderful man he had met a few weeks ago and who had already weaved his way into Kurt’s life and soul.

Blaine shifted in his sleep, and then grunted, as if the movement had been painful. Kurt straightened up in his seat and inched closer, just as Blaine blinked his eyes open sleepily.

“Kurt?” He murmured, his voice low and hoarse.

“Hey you,” Kurt said, as a smile spread over his face. He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. A lonely tear made its way down his cheek and Kurt quickly wiped it away. “How are you feeling?”

“Don’t know,” Blaine answered. He seemed to be having trouble staying awake, but it was clear he was fighting to achieve it anyway. “You?”

“Me? Oh, honey, don’t worry about me. I’m okay,” Kurt assured him. “Just glad you didn’t… you…”

Kurt’s voice cracked. Even thinking about what could have happened to Blaine sent pangs of unbearable pain all over him.

Blaine’s hand twitched on the bed, palm up, and it took a couple of seconds for Kurt to realize he was reaching for him.

Without hesitation, Kurt slid his hand into his, feeling himself revive just from the touch of Blaine’s skin. “You’re the bravest man I have ever met, Blaine Anderson,” he whispered, leaning closer. “And I owe you my life.”

A small smile hinted its way onto Blaine’s lips, just before his eyelids drooped. He was clearly too exhausted to stay awake, and though there were a million things Kurt wanted to say to him, he was just as contented sitting here as he rested, holding his hand, feeling his warmth and his pulse, and waiting for Blaine to recover.

That was all that mattered now.

*

Blaine slept.

Kurt stayed where he was, in that chair next to the bed, Blaine’s hand cradled between his, his thumb stroking little circles into his skin, over and over and over again.

He didn’t want to let go.

Nurses came and went, checking Blaine’s vitals, scribbling things on clipboards, glancing curiously at Kurt as he sat there, unmoving. He had no idea how long he was there. He was too busy counting the times Blaine’s chest rose as he breathed to care about time.

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind him, startling him. He looked over his shoulder and found Agent Lopez, arms crossed over her chest, gaze intent on Kurt. He noticed how she focused on the way he was holding Blaine’s hand, but she didn’t say anything.

“Captain Jones called. Some agents went looking for you at your brother’s apartment, but when they couldn’t find you there, Agent Berry suggested they tried here,” she explained. “They want you at the bureau to take a statement.”

Kurt sighed. “Does it have to be today? I’m tired.”

“There’s not much point in you sitting here, Mr. Hummel. He’s going to be sleeping on and off for a while. I think it’d be better for you if you just get this over with. Blaine’s not going anywhere.”

Kurt almost said that he wanted to be there whenever Blaine woke up again, no matter how long he was awake for. He wanted to hear his voice and look into his eyes and begin to understand that the worst was behind them.

He suspected Santana wouldn’t care much for his sentimentalism.

“Okay, fine,” he said reluctantly. He hesitated for a moment, and then simply lifted Blaine’s hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered.

Santana watched him with an arched eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the gesture.

“Let’s go,” Kurt said, turning towards her.

“Oh, Agent Evans is waiting outside to take you,” Santana replied, taking his place on the chair. “I’ll stay here with Blaine.”

They exchanged a quick glance. They didn’t say a word, and yet they suddenly meant so much, and agreed on even more.

“Okay. Keep me updated?” He asked, and she simply nodded, all the promise he could get from her.

He left the room with one last longing look towards Blaine.

*

Captain Jones was a strong, strict woman who could command a room with just a look, who could intimidate her staff with her presence if the circumstance required it, and who inspired love and loyalty in every single person who worked at the bureau. She was a force to be reckoned with.

She was also incredibly gentle and understanding.

Kurt found that he was having trouble breathing. He had thought he would be okay retelling the events of the night before. He thought that now that threat was gone, now that Blaine was out of danger, he would start to feel better, go back to normal.

Apparently shooting and killing a person, no matter how awful that person was, did something to you.

Captain Jones placed a glass of water in front of him. Kurt drank it in two large gulps.

“I appreciate you coming in and talking to us,” she said softly. “I know it was a very traumatic experience, and I want you to know we’re here for you, if you need anything. We have amazing counselors you could talk to, if you want.”

Kurt shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it again, at least not now. Deep down inside, where he was still rational despite the nervous breakdown, he knew he would probably have to talk to a professional, maybe go to therapy, at some point. But today… he couldn’t deal with saying all of it, all over again. Once was enough.

“Thank you,” Kurt said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Captain Jones smiled at him reassuringly. “What you’re feeling now is perfectly normal, Mr. Hummel. I have agents who have been with the FBI for years, who are trained for the kind of thing you went through, and still have trouble accepting traumatic events. It’s normal.”

Kurt nodded. “I know.”

“And you saved Agent Anderson’s life,” Captain Jones added warmly. “He’s my best agent, and an amazing man. You did what you had to do, and I thank you for your bravery.”

Kurt stared at her, disbelieving. He had been so humbled and grateful to Blaine for saving his life, that he hadn’t realized he had also saved Blaine’s.

In so many ways, they had saved each other.

He sniffled and nodded again. He didn’t know what to say.

Captain Jones stood up and extended a hand towards him. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Hummel. We appreciate your cooperation throughout this case. We wouldn’t have been able to put a stop to these crimes without you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurt said, although it didn’t feel right. What he wanted to say was: Thank you for forcing me out of New York; thank you for assigning Blaine to my case; thank you for bringing us together.

“You can stay here, if you need a moment. Your brother is waiting outside for you,” she said gently. “And if there’s anything we can ever do for you, do not hesitate to let us know.”

Kurt thanked her again and watched her leave the conference room. He remembered being in this same room what felt like a lifetime ago, standing by the window and looking out at the city he loved so much, wondering what would happen to him, back when his biggest worry was getting a bigger role on a Broadway show.

Life had a funny way to put things in perspective.

He could see Finn sitting outside in the hallway, waiting for him. His brother was sneaking glances around the room, as if looking for something. It had been just the two of them for so long now, and sometimes it still felt like they were lost, missing a piece, stumbling through life as a family of two.

More than ever, Kurt longed for his father’s embrace, his words of wisdom, the pat on the back after a job well done, the kiss on the forehead when he was sick. Whenever he had been lost before, he had turned to his father. But his father wasn’t there anymore.

Kurt felt like he was being pulled in two directions: he wanted to run back to Blaine’s side, but he also needed a moment to get back on his feet, to learn to live with the events of the past few weeks.

He found his brother’s eyes across the conference room’s glass. He knew what he needed to do.

*