"TOMORROW! TOMORROW! I LOVE YA, TOMORROW! YOU'RE ALWAYS A DAY AWAY!"

"Rachel, hush!"

The two friends giggled their way down the avenue arm-in-arm. They'd just left a community theatre rendition of Annie, the dark sky above signaling the end of their girls' night out. Kurt hoped to make it back to his and Blaine's two-bedroom apartment before his husband fell asleep, feeling energized by the martini he'd downed before leaving the restaurant for the theatre; if things went according to plan, they'd have the chance to repeat the previous night's amorous activities.

They reached the turn-off for Rachel's street, only a few blocks from Kurt and Blaine's, and they stopped on the corner. "You want me to walk you to your building?"

Rachel looked around. Every streetlight buzzed with life and few cars passed their way. "No, I'm good. It's only another two blocks down this way. You head on home to your man." She winked, and Kurt laughed.

"Alright. I'll call you tomorrow about that audition I found at the coffee place."

"You'd better!"

They kissed each other's cheeks and waved goodbye, Rachel turning left down a side street and Kurt continuing forward. Four blocks, a right turn, and two blocks more and he'd be home. He hummed "Tomorrow" under his breath as he strolled along, hands in his pockets. He smiled at Will, the owner of the coffee shop he and Blaine frequented, across the street as the older man began to close the cafe down. Will waved, grinning broadly.

Then, suddenly, the proprietor's face fell from greeting to horror. Confused, Kurt started to turn to see where Will was staring behind him, but before he could do so completely, four hands grabbed his jacket roughly and used it to shove him into the alley beside him. With a yelp, Kurt slammed into the wall, head cracking against the brick.

"Dumb faggot." One of Kurt's attackers laughed harshly, and immediately an icy shiver ran up Kurt's spin, freezing him in place. A fist landed in the middle of his stomach, and he doubled over, coughing and wheezing pain. This vulnerable position allowed one of the dark-clad men to drive his elbow into Kurt's back, sending the terrified man sprawling onto pavement. Two feet began crashing into his torso and back, and Kurt tried to curl in on himself for protection, but the world around him was quickly growing black. The last thing any of his senses registered was a shout of "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" and a gravelly voice hissing, "Get you later, bitch."

And then nothing.

"Hello?"

"Is this Blaine Anderson-Hummel?"

"Yes, may I ask who's calling?"

"This is Martha Piper with New York Downtown Hospital. Are you the husband of one Kurt Anderson-Hummel?"

"..."

"Sir?"

"Y-Yes. Oh god. Oh god, is he okay?"

"Sir, your husband was admitted to Downtown approximately fifteen minutes ago. He was brought in by paramedics—"

"Is. He. Okay?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't discuss this over the phone. If you would like to come in—"

"No, of course I'm coming. I'll—I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Very well, sir. Just ask for him at the front desk."

"Yeah...yeah. Thanks."

"Good evening sir."

Blaine hung up the phone, letting the device fall to the floor with a tremendous crash he didn't hear. For a long moment, his body remained frozen. Half of his mind screamed at him to get his ass in gear and run to the hospital, which was mercifully only a handful of blocks north of the apartment, while the other half was stuck on a torturous skipped track that merely said Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt.

And then he was moving, flying through the flat, grabbing his cell phone and keys, shoving his feet into mismatched shoes and snatching a jacket off of the hook by the door before tearing into the hallway, not even bothering to lock the door. Someone could come in and steal all of their belongings; none of that mattered while Kurt was laying in a hospital bed, alone and in god-only-knows what kind of condition. He bolted to the nearest subway stop, grateful that he didn't need to make a jump from one train to the other to reach the hospital. Due to the hour, the car Blaine had claimed was empty, so he paced back and forth, occasionally punching a handrail when time was moving too slowly. The skipped track in his mind refused to allow him a moment of peace as his worry increased exponentially by the passing second.

The doors slid open, and he was running, blowing past the handful of other subways passengers as he leapt up the stairs and sprinted down the street, turning a few times before skidding to a stop in front of New York Downtown Hospital. He nearly slammed into the automatic main doors as he waited for them to open. He practically slid into the front desk, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "K-Kurt...Anderson-...Hummel," he wheezed, not even caring that he was obviously scaring the daylights out of the receptionist.

"R-Right away, sir." Eyes wide, the brunette behind the counter typed furiously at her keyboard, quickly accessing the information she needed. "Relation?"

"Husband."

"He's on floor three, room three-twenty-nine. He's stabilized and sedated. His doctor can tell you more when you get there."

"Thank you." Without another glance at the woman, he raced for the elevators, sliding in one and jamming the button labeled 3. Years passed before the elevator reached the third floor, but suddenly Blaine couldn't move again. What if Kurt looked a bloody mess? What if he was dying? What if he woke up without any memories? What if—

The doors nearly closed again before Blaine willed his feet to move. He slowly approached the nurses' station, catching the eye of a large woman in Tweety Bird scrubs. "I..." His voice died, and he coughed twice to clear it. "I'm Blaine Anderson-Hummel? My...my husband Kurt..." He trailed off, not trusting his voice to remain unbroken.

The nurse smiled understandingly. "You're Kurt's husband." He nodded weakly. "Come with me." She lifted a clipboard from the wall and led the way down a cold, white hall. Blaine's heart sank somewhere around his knees when he saw a uniformed police officer standing beside the entrance to a room, the same room the nurse—Jenna, by her nametag—halted before. "Your husband's in here, sir. This is Officer Cravis. He's going to fill you in while I fetch Doctor Stevens." The nurse smiled kindly once more before trotting back down the hall.

Blaine faced the officer, trembling from head to toe. The dark-skinned man gave him a wry smile. "Hello, sir, I'm Officer Cravis. You're Kurt's husband?" Blaine nodded again. "How about we go in and see him, and I can fill you in on what happened."

With lead-filled feet, Blaine shuffled through the open door on Cravis's left to see a single bed. Its occupant was hooked up to several machines, one of which emitted a steady beeping that sounded more like music than any instrument Blaine had ever played. Kurt was deathly pale against the white sheets, the small bit of skin Blaine could see covered in bruises. Kurt's normally coiffed hair was terribly askew, and dirt covered the man's fingernails. A stray though of Kurt would go nuts if he knew how he looked right now crossed his mind, and Blaine let out a shaky laugh that came out more a sob. He stumbled to the chair beside Kurt's bed, flinging himself into it and snatching his husband's hand in his own. Tears began to flow freely. "Kurt...Jesus...Kurt, what happened to you..."

Officer Cravis cleared his throat; Blaine had completely forgotten his presence. "Yes, we have a witness to what happened. Your husband was walking home, and he passed the Daily Grind, a coffee shop the two of you go to frequently?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, it's our regular place." Blaine's eyes never left Kurt's closed ones.

"Yes, well, a Mr. William Gould, the owner, witnessed Kurt being taken into an alley by two men, where he was accosted. He was punched several times, once in the stomach and once in the back, before collapsing to the ground and being kicked repeatedly." The words fell like blows on Blaine's ears. "Mr. Gould managed to scare the attackers off within thirty seconds, but the battery was enough to cause this damage."

Blaine finally looked up at the officer, who had moved to the opposite side of Kurt's bed. "What damage?"

"I think I can answer that." Both conscious men turned to the door, where a white-coat-clad man entered with a smile that made Blaine's blood boil. "Hello, Mr. Anderson-Hummel, I'm Dr. Stevens. Your husband sustained two bruised ribs and a mild concussion, in addition to a litany of cuts and bruises. Overall, I'd say he was extraordinarily lucky for suffering through an attack of this kind. He'll suffer no lasting damage, and he should be back to full health in four or five weeks. The ribs will take the longest to heal, but we can walk you through how to take care of those."

Blaine was incredibly put off by the doctor's flippant attitude—my husband was just beaten by men mostly likely because he's married to a man, you heartless bastard—but he decided not to press the issue with the man holding Kurt's life in his hands. "So...he's going to be okay."

"Absolutely fine. The sedatives we gave him to stave off the pain should wear off in an hour or two."

"And I'm going to wait here to take Kurt's statement once he wakes," Officer Cravis added with a gentle smile. Despite his world crashing down around him, Blaine appreciated the cop's kindness.

"I have other patients to attend to. If you need anything, sir, please press the help button there by your knee and one of the nurses will come help you." And then the doctor was gone.

"What an ass," the officer muttered, and Blaine let out a choked laugh. The older man pulled a chair to the opposite side of Kurt's bed and sat in it. "How long have you two been married?"

"A year and a half next month." Sometimes the time flew by so fast it blew Blaine's mind. To him, it felt as though only yesterday he was shakily sliding the claddagh ring onto Kurt's left third finger, heart pointing outward for the first time.

"Who proposed?"

Blaine chuckled again, sniffing back tears as he did so. "I did. At the end of my Broadway debut. Got the orchestra involved and everything." A stray tear leaked from the corner of his eye as he pressed Kurt's knuckles to his lips. "We're high school sweethearts, you know. Met my sophomore year, his junior. Took me forever to figure out that I was in love with him, but then I always was a little slow."

Officer Cravis smiled softly at the clearly enamored man, who reached up to stroke his husband's pale cheek. He continued to ask Blaine questions about his and Kurt's relationship, wanting to keep the worried and heartbroken man's mind off of the state of his lover.

Fortunately for Blaine, that plan was somewhat successful.

His eyelids had to weigh a thousand pounds apiece, because lifting them was the hardest thing he'd ever done. They fluttered open, and he groaned at the invasion of bright light. Suddenly, a murderous throbbing in the back of his head caught his attention, and he hoped all of the pain meant he was alive, because if this was death, it sucked.

"Kurt?"

A familiar, broken voice to his right gave him the strength to turn his head slightly and crack his eyes open again. A handsome man, face ashen and eyes red, swirled in his vision. A tight pressure on his hand kept his eyes from rolling backward.

"B-Blaine?"

Blaine laughed, relief coursing through his body. "Oh my god...Kurt, baby, yes, it's me. Are you okay?" He turned to the police officer across from him, and the man smiled. He returned his gaze to his groggy husband. "Love? Kurt, talk to me."

"Hurts."

Blaine's heart shattered at Kurt's weak voice. "I know it hurts, love. Do you remember what happened?"

Kurt blinked several times, and his eyes seemed to clear slightly. "I...I was attacked." Blaine gripped Kurt's hand more tightly. "Two men...big...dressed in black...punched me...kicked me...then...nothing." Tears filled his icy blue eyes as he gazed questioningly up at his husband. "Blaine...what happened to me? Why does everything hurt? I was so scared, Blaine, I was so scared, I—"

"Sh..." Blaine stood slightly and bent forward to press his lips to Kurt's. A short while ago, he worried he would never be able to do that again, so he cherished every second of that kiss. When he pulled back, he placed his free hand on Kurt's cheek and rested his forehead on the older man's. "Listen to me. You are okay. What you went through tonight was horrible, but we're going to catch the guys who did it, and we're going to make it through this. Together. Because I love you, and I'm never going to let you suffer alone."

Tears flowing freely, Kurt nodded. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

A throat cleared behind Blaine's back, but neither man moved. "Mr. Anderson-Hummel, if you'd like, I could take your statement now, or I could wait until you're more ready."

Kurt sighed, and Blaine settled back into his chair, never letting go of Kurt's hand. "Honestly, I don't remember much. Two men, all in black. They hit me to the ground and kicked me until I blacked out. I do remember Will, though. I saw him just before I was shoved into the alley. Was he the one who...the one who called nine-one-one?" Officer Cravis nodded. "I always liked Will." Blaine told the officer the name of the theatre Kurt and Rachel had been walking from.

Officer Cravis snapped his notebook shut. "With this information and Mr. Gould's, we have enough to start an investigation. I want you to know that you have the entire force of the police department behind you. I'm going to nail these guys for you, okay? I'm not sure yet if this was a hate crime or a mugging gone wrong—"

"It was a hate crime." The other two men looked at Kurt in surprise. The bedridden man's lip trembled. "I...it's coming back to me in pieces, but...I remember, one man, he...he called me a d-dumb faggot." Kurt's eyes squeezed shut as more tears fell.

Blaine saw red. "I want these assholes behind bars."

"Kurt, do you think you could identify this man's voice if you heard it again?" Kurt nodded shakily. "Excellent. You've been a big help. Blaine has my card if you remember anything. Call me any time, with any information, okay? Nothing is insignificant." Kurt nodded again. "I'll be in touch with you as soon as I can."

"Goodbye, and thank you," Blaine said sincerely as the officer ducked out of the room.

Kurt carefully slid sideways on his bed and patted the open space. Blaine immediately crawled into it, grateful that Kurt's monitors were attached to the other arm, never releasing Kurt's hand. He pressed light kisses into Kurt's hair. The two lay there as the nurse came in checked Kurt's pupils and ribs, gave Blaine permission to stay, and bustled out, snuggling as close as physics would allow and falling asleep together, Kurt's head tucked under Blaine's chin.

Two days later, Blaine helped Kurt out of a taxi and into their apartment building, grateful that they lived on only the first floor. He settled the bruised man on the couch, rushing into the kitchen to make a quick pot of chamomile tea before returning to sit on the sofa with Kurt's feet in his lap. They sipped their teas slowly, Kurt wincing every time a movement agitated his bruised rib and Blaine refusing to look anywhere but at his husband.

Kurt blushed under the attention. "Blaine, I'm not dying, I promise."

"I could have lost you." The words came out as a whisper. "I got that call from the hospital and my whole world stopped. Kurt...I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you." Blaine's face twisted as tears began to fall. "I was so scared...so scared I-I'd never see you laugh or smile or wink or look at me with those damn eyes of yours...I thought I'd never get to feel you, or smell you, or hear you, and nothing made sense. Because you make everything make sense, Kurt. You're like some Rosetta Stone for the universe. I just look at you and everything falls into place, but if you were to leave me...you can't ever scare me like that again, Kurt. You can't ever make me live without you."

Kurt nodded, his own eyes shining. He grabbed Blaine's hand and squeezed hard. "I'm okay, I swear it, baby. I'm so sorry you were scared—"

Blaine laughed breathily. "No, no, don't worry about me, really. I mean, what you went through...I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm sorry life...sucks." He set his teacup on the coffee table and then took Kurt's and did the same. He slid to the floor and knelt by Kurt's head, gathering both the older man's hands in his own. "I love you so much, Kurt Elizabeth Anderson-Hummel. I will spend every day of the rest of my life doing whatever I can to prove that to you." He leaned up and locked their lips together.

The nightmares never fully faded, not really. Even into his old age, Kurt would still be awoken by visions of brutal blows and cruel men. Of course, by that point, such dreams were few and far between, but within the immediate months after the attack, they were nearly a constant. Night after night, Kurt would jerk awake, gasping for air and drenched in sweat, only to sob into Blaine's shoulder as the younger man comforted him into a fitful slumber.

Blaine's heart broke all over again each time Kurt let out a garbled scream, eyes snapping open in terror. Both of them were lacking in sleep for several months, but Blaine honestly didn't mind staying awake to sing softly in his distraught husband's ear, because it kept his own nightmares at bay, nightmares of corpses and blood and coffins and loneliness.

Both of their work started to slack, but luckily, their coworkers and bosses didn't mind. The head of the small design house Kurt worked for allowed him to do more designing at home, so on the nights during which he could not sleep, he could at least do some good for himself and for the company. Blaine's schedule was far looser, as his show had closed about a month and a half prior to the attack, and he was now working on his solo album.

Things slowly started to return to normal about four months after the attack, with Kurt waking up few nights per week, and both of them sleeping through the night more often. That progress hit a stumbling block, however, when Officer Cravis phoned the apartment one afternoon.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Anderson-Hummel?"

"Yes, this is Blaine."

"Hello, Blaine, it's Officer Cravis."

"..."

"Blaine?"

"Sorry, I had to move into the spare bedroom. I don't want Kurt overhearing something that might upset him."

"I understand. I have both good news and bad news."

"Fantastic."

"The good news is, thanks to both Kurt's and Mr. Gould's information, one of the attackers was caught. He was a kid, barely over eighteen, and clearly out of his depth. He immediately flipped on his partner, whom we caught yesterday. They both lawyered up, and because they're cooperating...well, here comes the bad news: they're only going to spend six months in county jail, with mandatory anger management classes and community service upon release."

"Are you kidding me? Six months? It's been four since this happened and Kurt's still not over it. They deserve prison."

"Believe me, I know. I hope this is somewhat of a comfort: Kurt won't have to testify. They've both pleaded guilty in accordance with their plea bargain. Kurt never has to see them again."

"Yeah, that's something. So, basically...this whole thing is over?"

"They're processing through the system as we speak. It's over."

"Thanks, Cravis. You've been a really good friend throughout this whole ordeal."

"I'd say I was just doing my job, but...my cousin's gay, and if anything happened to him, there are no laws I wouldn't break to seek justice."

"I completely understand. Thanks again, man."

"Anytime."

Blaine hung up and stepped out of the bedroom. He slowly padded into the living room, where Kurt was sketching the finishing touches on a design. "Aaaaaaand...done!" He tossed the pad and pencil onto the coffee table. "Now that that's over with, I can finally take a nap."

"Wait." Kurt looked up at his husband in confusion. Blaine perched himself on the edge of the couch beside his husband and gathered his hands in his own. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Would that have anything to do with the mysterious phone call you just took?"

Blaine flushed and looked down momentarily. "You're way too perceptive for your own good. Yes, this is about the phone call. That was Officer Cravis." Kurt's breath hitched. "They caught them. They caught the bastards. They're going away. Six months. I know it's not a lot, but..."

Blaine was cut off by Kurt's arms around his neck. His own arms wrapped around the older man instinctively, rubbing up and down his back. "This is great news," Kurt whispered. He pulled back slightly. "I mean, I fully expect the nightmares to come back, and I was just starting to get over them, but at least I know they're not still on the street. This is good, Blaine. I promise."

Blaine grabbed Kurt's face and kissed it soundly, smiling when the gesture was returned enthusiastically. "I suggest a movie marathon to celebrate."

"The best of Barbra?"

"Just so long as you don't tell Rachel about it." The two cuddled together on the couch after Blaine slid in the first DVD.

Everything was not alright.

But it would be.