CHAPTER FOUR

December: Moscow

Moscow.

They were sending him to Moscow. In December.

Are they insane?I'll die of frostbite out there! Kurt had fumed to himself in his office one afternoon. I'll have to buy a whole new winter wardrobe for this. Needless to say, he was unamused. As head of the department, he was being sent to the Russian city for three weeks - three fucking weeks! - to meet with several designers who were interested in supplying for their photoshoots as well as overseeing the launch of a sister magazine showcasing Western fashion for Eastern women.

Moscow.

Could they have picked a worse destination? And around Christmas time, too? He was due to return to Ohio to spend the holidays with his family three days after his return from Russia, which left him hardly any time to pack nor prepare for the trip - he would be driving - and he knew that he would be exhausted. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the festive season for his dad and stepmom but it was inevitable. He supposed he would just have to make the most of it.

Automatically, he reached for his cellphone where it lay on his desk, and was dialling Blaine's number before he realised what he was doing and stopped himself. It had been a week since they'd last spoke on the phone, and three weeks since they had spent the flight to Barcelona together, as fellow passengers rather than passenger and attendant. Would it look desperate if I called him to tell him I would be flying to Moscow in a few days? Because he, Kurt Hummel, was not desperate. He didn't want to give Blaine the wrong impression.

Even if he had dreamt of him twice this week and had awoken with the sheets tangled around his waist and his heart thumping in his chest, skin hot and tingling. It was something that both thrilled and embarrassed him. Just thinking about it now brought a flush to his face as he remembered the most recent dream, in which he'd felt Blaine's tongue trace the muscles of his abdomen and graze the insides of his thighs.

Not here! He thought wildly to himself. Later!

So, Moscow. As unhappy about it as he was, he couldn't let his annoyance show in front of his employees and colleagues, and therefore forced himself to appear calm and content. He even managed a vaguely sarcastic "Yes, I can't wait!" when Victoria asked him about the trip later that day.

But he wasn't any more pleased about it.

"Sorry, Dad," he told his father on the phone that evening, "I'm going to be a little late coming home for Christmas. I'm going to Moscow for three weeks and I'm only getting back a week before the holidays. I'll need a few days to recover and pack my stuff and then I'll be home, okay?"

"Sure thing, kid." was the gruff reply. Kurt couldn't help but notice the sadness in his dad's voice, which made him feel even worse. But there was absolutely no way of getting out of it so he'd just have to suck it up.

It didn't mean he had to feel good about it.

Sighing, he switched on his computer and decided to check his emails to see if anything important had come through. He wasn't due in a meeting for another half an hour so he had time to spare. Might as well see what junk is waiting for me to sift through in my inbox.

After searching through some scam mail, junk, and a slightly condescending email advertising "enlargement pills" which Kurt found intimidating and personally offensive, he concluded that there wasn't anything of interest in his email inbox. Other than the details of his flights to and from Moscow, there was nothing worth looking at.

Great. Now I'll just have to do nothing until the meeting, which is exactly what I wanted to do. He tapped his fingernails on his desk, drumming random patterns that made no sense. Twice he picked up his cell as if to make a call, but changed his mind and set it back down. He flicked through a magazine on his desk. He played a few rounds of Tetris on his computer - it was a guilty pleasure, okay? - and used the bathroom.

He texted Rachel. Three times.

What is wrong with me? Usually I can keep myself busy 24 hours a day but now I can't seem to muster the energy to do anything at all.

Of course, he knew the problem. He just didn't want to admit it to himself.

Blaine.

Blaine was the problem. Even when Kurt wasn't trying, he thought about him. He thought about his friendly voice and expressive eyes and wildly curly hair that always seemed to be rebelling against its owner no matter what he attempted to do. He thought about his kindness and the way he seemed genuinely concerned for Kurt.

He hadn't met anyone quite like him in a long time.

His cellphone suddenly beeped and vibrated on his desk, a loud, insistent noise that left a ringing in his ears.

"I've really got to change that tone." he muttered through gritted teeth as he hastened to check who it was that was calling him.

For a split second, he hoped it would be Blaine. No, he wanted it to be Blaine. This is madness. This is insane!

It was Rachel.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's probably calling me to complain about that tiny redhead wedding planner she employed - against my will, I might add. Damn.

"Yes, Rachel?" he sighed.

"Kurt, I have to fire Alice. She is driving me crazy and I want to kill her!" Rachel shrieked down the phone, her voice rising a few octaves higher than normal. Alice was the wedding planner she had hired - when Kurt had precisely told her not to and suggested going with someone he knew through work who was very reputable and well-respected.

But no. Rachel Berry would not listen. And now she was paying the price.

"Do you really want to commit first-degree murder with the wedding six months away? I wouldn't want to be saying my vows through a plastic partition through a telephone connected to the wall if I were you." Kurt replied.

"I don't need your sass today, Kurt, okay? Alice is a maniac and I am going to strangle her with the handmade paper chains I requested for the reception!"

"I think you're mistaking me for someone who cares, Rachel. Look, I'm really busy, so just call me later, okay? And don't fire Alice. Or kill her." Kurt said.

"Fine." Rachel huffed. "But you won't be so quick to judge when I un-invite you from my wedding."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I know you won't do that."

"And why not?" Rachel demanded.

"Because I know all your secrets. The good ones and the bad ones. And if you un-invite me I'll just send a mass mail to everyone we know and tell them about certain.....events in your life that you'd rather have no-one know about." Kurt knew it was cruel, but it had to be done. It was the only way to keep Rachel under control sometimes.

"You wouldn't dare!" Rachel retorted.

"Wouldn't I?" he asked. And then he hung up. That's what she gets, he thought, for being a pain in the ass.

She may be his best friend, and he did love her (most days), but she could really drive him round the bend. He still wasn't sure how or why he'd managed to put up with her for nearly twenty years. Of course, he was forgetting that period of middle school when they'd passionately hated each other's guts and Kurt had often dreamt about clubbing her over the head with the baseball bat the other kids swore was used by a deranged husband to kill his cheating wife.

But that was just a rumour.

Shaking his head to clear his mind of his thoughts, he contemplated calling in Victoria to see if there was anything scheduled for late afternoon because, if he was honest, he wouldn't mind going home early to his boxed sets of all 10 seasons of Desperate Housewives and settling in for the night on his couch with strawberry and lime cheescake.

Yes, it was one of those days. This Moscow thing and not being able to return to Ohio for the holidays as early as he had originally planned was really getting to him. He hated letting down his family, most of all his father.

They hadn't always been close. During Kurt's middle school years they'd sort of drifted apart as Kurt became more, well.....Kurt and his father hadn't really understood it, let alone knew how to react to it. But once Kurt turned fifteen and made the decision to tell his dad he was gay, things changed. He'd been terrified of his father's reaction; he didn't want to disappoint him. But as it turned out, Burt Hummel didn't care that his only son was gay. In fact, he had told Kurt he knew already and had simply been waiting for him to come and tell him. After that, their relationship had taken a much, much better turn.

Running his hands through his hair, Kurt absently checked the large blue clock hanging on the wall of his office. Nearly time for the meeting. Let's hope it's short. He wasn't the cruel, hatchet-man kind of boss but he just wasn't in the mood right now.

Deciding he might as well be early, he got up from his (rather comfortable) office chair and made to cross the room when he realised something.

The clock had stopped. It wasn't half past two, as he had originally thought. It had been like that all day and he'd just never noticed it. Shit, shit, shit. Shit.

Panicking, he checked his phone and realised that it was indeed almost 4pm and he was almost three quarters of an hour late for the meeting he should have been presiding over.

Kill me now. Grabbing his coat, several paper files and a half-eaten banana, he rushed towards the elevators outside his office door, punching the button viciously several times as if it would make the elevator arrive faster.

It didn't.

Whoever invented elevators should have installed a high speed function, he thought bitterly as he cursed himself over and over for being late.

He was never late. For anything. Except, of course, that first flight to Paris where he had met Blaine.

*******************************************************

He was busy sorting through his closet later that night trying to decide which of his clothes would be suitable for Moscow when his cellphone rang.

At first, he considered ignoring it. It was gone 9pm, he was tired, and just wanted to get things sorted. He couldn't explain why this bad mood had come over him so quickly, but it made him feel run down and worn out. He was, in short, fed up.

But his phone kept ringing insistently and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the loud buzz buzz buzz and jingle of the ringtone. Putting down a navy winter coat that he had bought (though he would never admit this to anyone) at a thrift store in Brooklyn, he stomped across the room to where his phone sat vibrating on his nightstand.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, "I'll be there in a minute." He grabbed the phone and pressed Call, not even bothering to check caller ID. If it was an anonymous serial killer or something he'd just hang up.

"Yes?"

"Woah, someone piss you off or something?" Blaine. Kurt immediately felt guilty for answering so rudely and tried to backtrack.

"Sorry, sorry. It's been a rough day." he apologised.

"Want to talk about it?" Blaine offered, concerned.

"Not really. I need a distraction or I'll explode." Kurt replied, pushing his free hand through his hair.

"If it makes you feel any better, I got an unpleasant visit from my father today. He came to interrogate me about my mom and whether I was taking proper care of her, which is rich coming from him because they divorced years ago and for some reason he thinks he still has power over her - and me, for that matter." Blaine ranted, his voice getting angrier and angrier as he spoke. "I feel like....like I've been cheated. I'm the one who's been taking care of her, I'm the one who's been paying her medical bills."

A loud, fuming sigh came from the other end of the line. Kurt didn't know what to say. It sounded like both their days had been pretty shitty and neither quite knew how to comfort the other.

"Sorry, I'm dumping my personal stuff on you again. I shouldn't do that, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. I often find ranting therapeutic." Kurt said. "Though I'm mostly the bottle it up and keep it all in until it spills out kind of guy."

"You're really great." was the reply. The fondness in Blaine's voice made Kurt's heart skip a beat and his face coloured even though he knew that Blaine couldn't see him.

"I don't think so." Kurt protested.

"Why not?" The question confused Kurt. Nobody had asked him before why he didn't feel he was the most perfect person. Quite frankly he found it awkward because he never told anybody his personal issues or feelings, except for his father and occasionally Carole. He wasn't sure how to answer a question like this.

"Just....nobody's told me that before. It took me by surprise, I didn't know what else to say." Okay, so that's a lie. I just lied to Blaine and now I feel really bad. But I can't tell him the truth, he'll think I'm weird or insane and he won't want to spend time with me again.

A laugh. "That's okay. I was just curious because I really like you and I wanted to know if you realise what a great person you are."

"Really?"

"Really. Why is that so hard to believe?" Blaine asked. He seemed genuinely curious, rather than cruel and mocking. Blaine had that tone in his voice that made Kurt want to tell him everything, but at the same time knowing that if he did, he would regret it later because he'd never trusted anyone in that way before.

"It just is." Kurt shrugged as he spoke, although he knew of course that it would go unseen. He felt all the energy drain out of him with the movement; the anger, the frustration, the self-disappointment sinking through his socked feet into the carpet and through the floorboards beneath, leaving him feeling.....calm? No, not calm. Content? No, not content either. I don't know what I feel, really, Kurt thought.

"You don't sound very happy." It was an observation, not a question. A statement, really. One he hadn't heard in a while.

"I am. I should be."

"Then why aren't you?"

"I-I don't...." Kurt stuttered, stumbling over his words. "I don't know."

It had gotten very awkward all of a sudden. Kurt didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, I've made it awkward, haven't I? I didn't mean to get personal, I just....you sounded like you needed a friendly ear....." Blaine babbled unnecessarily, and Kurt could hear the nervousness in his voice.

"No, it's okay, it's just....I'm not used to doing this, this....honesty thing. Not even with my father." Kurt replied.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising, there's nothing to be sorry for."

"Sorry."

"Blaine!"

"Alright, alright....sorry. I can't help it!" Blaine protested. "It's like I've got Tourette's syndrome or something, but I apologise too much instead of cussing."

"Some people may find that offensive, but I for one think you might be right." Kurt joked.

"I know, it's a terrible habit. I'm trying to quit." was the laughing reply.

And all at once the cloud of awkwardness had lifted and Kurt felt at ease again, happy to talk about anything and everything with a man he'd only met three months ago.

Which should have been weird, because they'd only actually seen each other a few times, but for Kurt, it wasn't.

*******************************************************

Kurt had finally finished his preparations for Moscow. After packing and unpacking several times throughout the following week, throwing out clothes he didn't think he'd need and checking a long list taped to the fridge that had been suggested by a colleague, he was sure that he was ready.

It didn't mean he was any happier about it than he had been the previous week.

But alas, the show must go on. I have to do this job well to prove I'm worthy of working for Vogue. Even if it has been three years and I think I have personally proved myself worthy enough already.

Then he realised that his suitcase wouldn't zip shut. Because of all the thick winter fabrics he had packed, the flap wouldn't close, even if he sat on it - which he did, numerous times, but to no avail.

Shit. Well, this really isn't my day. Why was it that every time he was due to travel somewhere, something had to go wrong? Was he cursed or something? Huffing loudly, he flopped back onto the bed, glaring at the offending suitcase. He pursed his lips and huffed some more.

Eventually he decided that it was no use. Although it pained him, he knew that he would have to sacrifice some of his precious winter clothes if he was to make enough room in his luggage. Some of it was brand new, hardly worn and he had been looking forward to showing it off in the icy heart of Moscow. It looked like that wasn't going to happen now.

Yanking open the case, he scrutinised its contents with a critical eye. Which to sacrifice - the Gucci brass-buttoned winter jacket, bought as an impulse buy with his first paycheck after being made Head of Fashion Buying and Merchandising, or the Alexander McQueen coat that he had had since college?

Okay, so maybe they weren't brand new, but they were important and he was proud to have them in his closet.

Screw it, he thought, I'll leave the Gucci behind and take the Alexander McQueen. Those Russians won't know Italian fashion anyway even if it came up and bit them on the nose.

*************************************************************

"Ladies and gentlemen, flight Y2S3 to Moscow, Russia is now boarding. Please make your way to boarding gate 15."

"hk2;l4;m l0; k5;l6;l9;l7;l6;k6;k2;, l7;l6;l3;km0; Y2S3 k4; i2;l6;l9;l2;k4;k, i6;l6;l9;l9;l0;n3; k4; l5;k2;l9;m0;l6;n3;m7;kk k4;lkl4;n3; l7;l6;l9;k2;k6;l2;l0;. il6;k8;k2;l3;m1;l1;l9;m0;k2;, l9;k6;kl3;k2;l1;m0;k k4;k2;m6; l7;m1;m0;n l2; k4;mm3;l6;k6;m1; l5;k2; l7;l6;l9;k2;k6;l2;m1; 15 ".

That was Kurt's boarding call. Gathering his possessions, he made his way to join the queue at the boarding gate. He didn't have first class this time, but maybe once was enough. Even though he had enjoyed the comfortable seating and extra legroom a lot.

As per usual, he presented his ticket and passport to the man at the doors and was allowed to pass through within seconds. He had never encountered any security-related trouble at an airport; he was a reliable, trustworthy air traveller.

The familiar path through the boarding tunnel into the plane had become second-nature to Kurt; travelling so much over the past few months had made him accustomed to the procedures of air travel and he found himself not even being bothered by the screaming children surrounding him, which was a first.

He found his seat with no trouble and settled down in the aisle of row 24, seat F next to a young-looking woman with red hair. Kurt leaned back in his seat, fastened his seatbelt and promptly fell asleep.

*****************************************************

He was awoken some time later by the sound of his cellphone buzzing loudly in his pocket. It hummed and vibrated against his thigh as he rubbed at his sleep-crusted eyes and pulled it out of his pocket. Squinting at the screen, he pressed Read message. It appeared to be from Finn.

Kurt, Burt's in the hospital. He had another heart attack. It's pretty bad but the doctor says he's stable, whatever that means. I don't know any more. I'll keep you posted.

Kurt felt as though all the wind had been knocked out of him.

He couldn't breathe.

A horrible noise of anguish died in his throat as his whole body began to shake outside of his control and his eyes burned with the tears that were sure to spill out any second. His chest ached as he inhaled and he felt sick to his stomach.

His father was in the hospital. He'd had another heart attack, worse than the first one. He was in the hospital and Kurt was thousands upon thousands of feet up in the air on his way to fucking Moscow whilst his father was in critical condition hundreds of miles away in Ohio.

He wanted to throw up. He thought he might. But it would hardly expel the fear and the anxiety that closed around his throat and his mind and his heart.

He needed some privacy.

Still trembling, he put his phone back into his pocket and unfastened his seatbelt, standing up shakily, forcing the tears back as they seared behind his eyelids. He mumbled weak apologies as he squeezed past the people walking up and down the aisles and slipped into the tiny airplane bathroom, locking the door behind him.

The cramped space was cool and blocked out the hustle and bustle from the passengers outside the door. He sat himself down on the toilet and put his face in his hands, drawing deep, gasping breaths as the tears finally escaped and trickled down his cheeks, his chest heaving. It hurt to simply make the effort to breathe.

He couldn't lose his father. He just couldn't. He was his only remaining biological parent and to lose him would mean losing his last remaining blood tie to his family.

He couldn't die. He just couldn't. And the worst part was, Kurt couldn't do anything about it because he was on a fucking plane, in the sky, on the way to Russia. It would be several hours before they landed in Moscow and several more hours until he could call Vogue back in New York and tell them that he had a family emergency and would need to be excused from work.

But he couldn't do that right now and that's what killed him.

There came a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"There's someone in here!" he called, his voice thin and wavering and thick with tears. He furiously tried to wipe his eyes, but only more tears welled in their place.

There was a scuffle outside the door and, a few moments later, a folded piece of paper was pushed underneath, through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor of the plane. Kurt's heart fluttered as he recognised it for what it was.

Sniffing loudly, he bent to pick up the note and unfolded it. The ink was blue this time but the handwriting was familiar. Of course it's familiar. It's from Blaine.

Can I come in? You look like you could need some comfort. If you don't mind.

Kurt thought about this for a moment. He was upset, still shaking like a leaf, red-faced and blotchy and, in the non-blotchy areas, white as a ghost. Did he really want Blaine to see him like this?

The answer was yes. Yes, he did. Because he was upset, he was hurt, he was worried and devastated and anxious and he just really, really needed some comfort from a friend. Well, someone that I would like to be more than a friend, but that's not going to happen, he thought to himself.

He reached across and unlocked the door, sliding it open just an inch, allowing him to let Blaine know that he was welcome.

It was even more cramped inside the tiny room when Blaine slid in, standing in front of Kurt who remained crouched rather uncomfortably on the toilet, but right now he didn't really care. It was just lucky that Blaine was smaller than an average man and fit better in the small space than Kurt did.

"What's wrong?" he asked, locking the door behind them so that no one could interrupt.

Kurt felt the emotion build up again in his chest as he fought to find the words that would explain his situation. He shook his head, putting a hand over his mouth, unable to speak. Kurt watched as the expression in Blaine's vibrant eyes changed from concern to real sympathy and genuine sadness, and also confusion, for of course he didn't know what had made Kurt so upset.

"My dad had a heart attack. Another one. And he's in the hospital but I can't get home and it's three weeks before Christmas and I'm stuck on the way to Moscow whilst he's in critical condition and....and.....I....." Kurt blurted, barely able to take a breath as yet more tears streamed down his face.

"Oh my God....Kurt, I'm so sorry...." Blaine offered, feeling as if he was unable to do anything to help the situation. "How bad is it?" Blaine asked, swallowing loudly.

"Worse than the first one he had, but he's stable so he should be okay, for now at least....." Kurt replied, hands floundering in the air. Blaine caught one of them and held it in his own, gently squeezing Kurt's fingers in a show of affection and sympathy.

"He'll be alright." Blaine said.

"I hope so, God, I hope so..." Kurt sobbed, rubbing his hands across his wet cheeks, trying to dry off the tears.

Blaine knelt down in front of Kurt, so close that his knees bumped the toes of Kurt's fine leather shoes. He didn't let go of his hand and Kurt felt himself getting warm and slightly fuzzy-feeling as his mind focused on the feel of Blaine's smooth skin against his. His calloused fingertips were rough against his fingers but it was comforting rather than uncomfortable.

"Listen to me, Kurt. He'll be alright. The last thing, the worst thing, that you can do right now is panic and worry yourself too much. It won't help anyone if you get upset about this. I know it sounds ridiculous and cliché but.....you need to stay positive." Blaine said, his voice low and caring and Kurt felt himself smiling slightly despite the ache in his heart.

"T-thanks." he stammered, eyes watering. "I feel like an idiot crying in front of you, I'm a grown man, I shouldn't burden you with this......" he started, but Blaine shushed him almost immediately.

"It's nothing. Like I said, I like you a lot, like a lot, a lot. I care about you, even though that sounds outrageous considering we've only met a handful of times."

"Four times." Kurt said. "Not that I'm counting." He gave a weak, watery laugh.

"Not that you're counting." Blaine emphasised.

Kurt looked up, and he realised just how close Blaine was. He could see the firm smoothness of his cheek and the precise angle of his nose. He could see each individual long, sweeping eyelash and the bright sparkle of his eyes.

Kurt was overcome once more and ducked his head to allow a few stray tears to drip onto his (expensive) jeans.

Blaine extended an finger and tipped Kurt's chin up so that they were in each other's direct line of sight. Kurt felt it when Blaine inhaled deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing along the column of his throat. He looked nervous.

"Stay positive, okay? It'll be fine." Blaine said. His voice was breathy and Kurt could hear a tremor as he spoke. "It'll be fine."

Was it just him, or did he sound like he was trying to reassure himself as well as reassure Kurt?

And then Kurt realised why when he felt a pair of soft, warm, gentle lips on his, a feather-light tongue stroking the seam of his mouth, and teeth lightly nibbling his bottom lip as Blaine's mouth moved skilfully yet apprehensively against his. A pleasant warmth flooded Kurt's body from his toes to the tips of his fingers, making him feel calm and content and at peace. His skin tingled as if his nerve endings were buzzing.

And then it was over.

His eyes, which had fluttered closed, flew open as the full impact of what was happening reached his foggy mind, which had previously been so preoccupied with anxiety and worry about his critically ill father back home.

It was this that now flew to the centre of his mind as he placed his hands on Blaine's chest, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his standard flight attendant uniform shirt for a fleeting moment as he moved to push him away.

"Blaine." he muttered against his oh-so-inviting lips, "Blaine, stop."

He pulled away with another nibble to Kurt's bottom lip, eyes slowly blinking open, colour flooding his face as what he had done caught up with him. Kurt's eyes were wide and blue, shock etched onto his face. Blaine let go of Kurt's hand.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, standing up and brushing his sweating hands off on his uniform pants, "I'm really sorry, Kurt, I shouldn't have - I should go."

The bathroom door shut behind him with a loud clang, and Kurt was left alone. The room was dark when the door was closed, a tiny sliver of light from outside sneaking underneath, and the minuscule space made Kurt feel claustrophobic and isolated.

What the hell had just happened?

One minute there he was, distressed and upset, and the next he was attached to the lips of the person he'd been smitten with for a few months now but had never really given much thought to seriously going anywhere with him.

It was shocking and confusing all at once and he wasn't sure what to think or do.

What was he supposed to think? What was he supposed to do? His lips tingled with the aftermath of the kiss and Kurt felt himself reaching up to touch the spot where their mouths had met, wet and salty with his tears. He wrung his hands in his lap and smoothed down his shirt more times than were necessary, feeling fidgety and agitated and, he had to admit it to himself, hurt.

Everything was going wrong for him and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. He had been kissed by the man he was interested in just minutes after hearing that his father was in hospital. If that wasn't conflicting enough, he actually enjoyed the kiss - he'd have to be dead to have not to enjoyed it - and was now feeling more confused than ever.

And to top it all off, Blaine avoided him for the duration of the flight and didn't acknowledge him as he disembarked the plane at Sheremetyevo International Airport. Kurt's thoughts once again were plagued with the fate of his father.