Kurt sat fiddling with the wires in his hands. They shook as he tried to connect the two ends together. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his arms and concentrated on holding his hands as still as possible. Try as he might, his hands still shook. He knew that he was getting sick, but he also knew that he didn't have the resources to help himself. He needed medicine, and he just didn't have any. He took a little comfort in the fact that his leg didn't seem to be infected, and they had been taking their malaria pills, as they should. Still after almost three weeks with little food and water, he knew that his body was fighting to stay alive.

So far none of the others had been showing signs of anything other than malnourishment and dehydration. Kurt was the only one who was sick. He knew though that if they went on for much longer that would no longer be the case. Their water supply was almost gone and so was the little amount of food they had with them. They couldn't survive much longer out here.

Kurt knew this and so he continued to try and work, even though his hands shook with fever and his eyes were having problems focusing. The light was dimming and he knew that he needed to hurry if he wanted to accomplish anything else with it before the light left again.

They had hunkered down in the downed chopper for days before they realized the army wasn't going to find them, if they were even looking. They would hear choppers in the distance on occasion, but never near enough to even think of trying to flag them down. They talked about building a fire, but the idea was soon dismissed with fear of drawing the wrong attention to themselves. They knew that whoever had shot them down couldn't have been too far from where they crashed, and they did not want to be found by them. They knew if they were, they would either be held prisoner or shot on sight.

When it was decided that it would be too dangerous to light a signal fire, Kurt began thinking. He knew if they could get the radio working, they could call for help. First he had Ballard take him out to check the battery and the choppers engine. Everything seemed to be working fine. He then disengaged the damaged propellers and began working on his plan. That was over two weeks ago and Kurt was still trying to get the radio repaired. He knew it was a long shot but it was their only hope.

All day, Kurt would sit working on the radio and checking on the others' health. At night while Ballard, Winters, Steele and Jackson would take turns keeping watch, Kurt would lie awake and let his mind drift to Blaine. He knew Blaine had to know he was missing at least, he just hoped that was all he was told. He couldn't bear the image of Blaine believing he was dead. Kurt would quietly cry until his body would produce no more tears. Kurt had to make it home to Blaine, so he worked even when his mind started to become fuzzy with sickness and hunger.

"Hey man, I think you should lay down," Jackson told him, placing his hand gently on Kurt shoulder.

Kurt shivered from the touch, his body too weary to produce a proper jolt from the surprise touch. He shook his head, "No I can work for a few minutes, and the light isn't gone yet."

Jackson looked him in the eyes, his face dark and serious. "If you don't rest and eat something, you aren't going to make it through the night. We need you, Doc. Why don't you tell me what to do and I will do it while you eat a bite."

The rice balls were long gone, and he only had a few more spoonfuls of peanut butter left in his jar. They only had two unopened tins of c-rations, but Kurt wouldn't touch those no matter the protests the others threw. He quietly told Jackson what he was trying to do as he savored the one spoon of peanut butter and small sip of water he allowed himself. Jackson had just finished securing the final wire when Kurt passed out.

The night passed with one man keeping watch, one sleeping, and one trying to cool Kurt down with rags soaked in alcohol. The Chopper was quiet, but all occupants exchanged looks in the dark, worried about their brave friend.

The sunlight piercing his eyes woke Kurt the next morning, his head pounding with it. He groaned, but stopped short when he heard a new noise, one he hadn't heard in three weeks time; the static of a radio.

He vaguely heard Jackson relaying their possible location as he looked around to see the others gathered around him all with anxious looks on their faces. Ballard glanced over his shoulder then and caught Kurt's eye.

"You did it Doc, you finally fixed it." He said with a tired smile.

Kurt tired to form a smile before he drifted out of consciousness again.

Jostling woke Kurt next, He tried to lift his heard to see what was going on only to see Billings above him, his focus intent on the area ahead of him. Kurt could hear a chopper whirling in the distance. "What..." Kurt croaked out.

"Hey Doc, we got you now." Billings told him when he looked down. Kurt tried to say more but Billings hushed him. "Hey, it's okay now, you're going home."

"Home, Blaine... I need Blaine." Kurt said through his haze patting his helmet that was now lying on his chest.

"Who?" Billings asked.

Tears sprang to Kurt's eyes, "I need my Blaine, my beautiful Blaine. I need him." Billings had by then sat Kurt's stretched down waiting for the others to be loaded into the waiting transport. Kurt was clumsily patting his helmet. Billings reached down and pulled Blaine's picture out of the band inside. He looked at the curly haired man and understanding hit him. This was B that Kurt always talked about. He knew no one could ever know of this.

"Yes, you will go home to B. Now I have all your things tucked away and I will send them home to you, just tell me where. And keep B close to your heart, best not speak of him now." He whispered to Kurt while pulling out a notepad he always kept in his pocket. He quickly jotted down the address Kurt mumbled to him before slipping both the notepad and picture back in his pocket.

"Remember now, think of B, but best not talk about it. You get better, Doc."