The next ten weeks were absolute hell for Blaine, spent up-state with a lovely live in nurse, because with his dominant arm broken, a bullet wound in his other shoulder, and ribs that had seen better days, as well as cutting ties with his brother and his...Kurt, Blaine was fairly close to useless. So it was rural living and relaxing until he thought he was going to go absolutely mad.

It didn't help that he hadn't not practiced the piano for more than a day since the last time he had been in the hospital for an extended period. This time, he had been there for just over a week, thanks to a fever that wouldn't drop and then the time it took for the antibiotics to run their course. After that, he had retired to one of the family's estates until he decided what he wanted to do.

By the end of week three Blaine got clearance to practice the little upright piano with his left hand.

He tried twice.

Both times he ended up slumped over, tears he couldn't explain dampening his cheeks, not stopping even when he shut the cover and the click rang out in the silence of the too-big house.

He walked a lot to stave off the crushing boredom, downloading college lectures onto his ipod and walking until he had trouble breathing, then picking himself up from the low stone wall he had been sitting on and continuing. Philosophy, Ethics, Literature, History all were a good collective attempt, but nothing could hold his attention.

By the end of week four his mind was spinning and just so confused as he sat, numb, staring at the name and phone number written so innocently on the bit of paper.

"How are you this week, Blaine?"

"Mending. I can walk around the property once without stopping now. I'm thinking about trying to walk into town as my goal for this week. My shoulder isn't hurting as much and it has been getting easier with the physical therapy moves you suggested. I'm still having some trouble sleeping, but nothing terrible." Something told Blaine he should say something more, but he didn't know what.

"And mentally? Emotionally?"

Blaine paused and thought about that one, the doctor continuing in his silence. "Because I got a call from the pharmacy where your prescriptions are filled to authorize a refill a week early." Blaine tensed in his seat. A week early? He hadn't thought...

"I thought I only took one or two extra. Not a week's worth."

"To help with the sleeping, or with something else?"

He still couldn't play the piano. He had almost asked the nurse to have it moved anywhere else, but even though it hurt to look at, the thought of not being able to look at it hurt even more. He didn't listen to music anymore. Talk radio, lectures, and audiobooks tried to fill the empty spaces in him now, but it was a hollow, weak filler, dull monotone blending into a seamless haze.

Something must have shown on his face, because the doctor was writing very carefully on a postit note, handing it to Blaine with an understanding smile. "This is one of my colleagues. I think you should give her a call. There is no shame in what you are feeling, and I think she will be able to help you out."

Blaine called two days later, after he sat on the couch and looked at the pills in his hand, two instead of one, because numbness was easier to deal with.

He was ushered into the office of a kindly woman who reminded him of an aunt that afternoon.
They both sat primly, formally speaking and getting to know each other. Blaine felt something in him crack when she asked about his family and then shatter when she asked something that should have been easy to answer - "Who is your favorite artist?"

"I'd rather...not talk about music, if that's okay."

"Is there any particular reason why?"

"I...I don't know."

"Okay. We will shelve that for a moment."

He left, still confused but lighter, with orders to flush the remaining pills and use the new ones instead and to pick up some chamomile tea to help with his sleep. They had decided to start with talk therapy first and add in an antidepressant only if they were not happy with his improvements.

With the fifth week in his quasi-exile, Blaine's doctor cleared him to use his left arm.
He walked into town without stopping to rest and treated himself to ice cream, sitting on the patio of the little ice cream shop and people watched until his cup was empty and the grayness started to creep back in.

Blaine listened to a seminar on Alexander the Great on his way back.

He didn't notice any changes until the second week (fourth time) seeing Dr. Parker. They had done nothing but talk and Blaine felt he cried all the time, but it seemed the worst of it was over. He walked to a coffee shop and chatted with the barista, the occasional customer interrupting their conversation. Blaine didn't think he did so badly for the first time he had an extended (though not personal) conversation with someone in seven weeks.

He went back again the next day.

Somehow, and he didn't know how, Blaine survived the retelling of his last week in the city (the one before everything happened). He clutched a pillow to his chest like a lifeline and spoke to the floor, ignoring the scratches of Dr. Parker's pen across the paper..

Though he was not ready to forgive, Blaine emailed both Kurt and Cooper halfway through week nine, then lay on his couch and watched a Ghost Hunters marathon, wishing his heart would stop hurting.

At his next meeting with Dr. Parker, he told her about the emails- short, formal, 'this is how I have been doing for the past nine weeks.'

"Why did you choose to do that, when you know that the nurse sends in a bi-weekly update to Cooper?"

Blaine had to think for a long moment, arms settled on his knees and eyes boring a hole into the floor. "I... I miss them. Cooper is Cooper and..." He trailed off, swallowing down the tightness in his throat, "I still love Kurt, despite everything." Blaine refused to name what had happened in his head, even so far after.

"Despite the fact that both of them lied to you repeatedly and in doing so almost cost you your life." Blaine tucked himself up tighter, curling around the aching hole in his chest that pulsed with each heartbeat. After a minute, when breathing hurt less, he nodded, still looking at the floor. "I am going to say a few things you will not believe right now, but will need to in the future, okay Blaine? This was not your fault. They chose their own paths and lied to you. You are allowed to be mad at them and still love them."

Blaine let the words wash over him, sipping from them and tasting how they felt.

They didn't fit. But he could feel that they might at some point.

"When are you scheduled to have your cast removed?"

He could have cried with relief at the subject change. "I have a final x-ray next week, and then hopefully I can have it off."

"Tired of having to use your left hand for everything?"

"And tired of depending on someone to wash my hair for me, and..." He had to pause and gather enough momentum and courage to say it, because it still hurt and he didn't know why. "Tired of not being able to play the piano."

"How has your relationship with music been lately?" Dr. Parker looked up, Blaine could feel her eyes on him as he stared at the floor, and why did talking about it hurt so much? "Or perhaps we should leave it for next time?"

Somehow not talking about it seemed worse. "I want to be able to play. This is the longest I have gone without it."

"Why did you stop playing?"

It made the hole in his heart throb.

He raised the arm encased in plaster. "It didn't make sense to practice only one hand."

"And how about listening to music?"

His heart clenched but he forced himself on. "I still can't listen to it for very long. And it makes no sense because I am music and performing and now I can't and I miss it so much but it hurts too much still and I have no idea why and I am just so tired of it hurting."

He didn't know when he had raised his voice to a near shout, but he had. Dr. Parker looked at him for a moment as he gathered himself.

"I am sorry for that..."

"Blaine." She was firm in her interruption, words forcing his eyes to meet hers. "You are allowed to have emotions and to express them. This is the safest place for that. Now, I want you to listen to one song a day, any song, and think about what could be causing your emotions towards it. There is no right answer, okay?"

Blaine nodded. He knew why it hurt. He just would rather not talk about him.

"What are your plans for after your cast is removed?"

"I had been thinking about Boston or Chicago. But I don't know. I might just stay here."

"What changed?"

"Uh. This, mostly. If I cannot really handle life here, moving might not be the best plan."

"Okay. May I suggest something else to think about?" Blaine looked up before she continued.
"Are you bored, living here? You do not need to answer now. Think about it for next time?"

Blaine nodded. His head was starting to hurt.

"I think that's it for today. As always, you have my number."

Blaine nodded again, thanked her, and guided the door to her office shut behind him.

He walked to the little park in town and watched the ducks swim around the pond until the families around him started to leave, leaving only the whispers of ducks through water and wind through trees. The walk back to the house was uneventful, white noise of the fall of Rome filling him just enough to let him think.

As the house came into sight, Blaine stopped and flicked through his ipod. He could do this. He chose a song that he knew wouldn't remind him of the city took a deep breath, and listened.

The song was calming, escapist. It was not something he had ever listened to with anyone else or performed at a gig.

It still hurt. Blaine felt his heart clench around the ragged hole still torn through its center. But the pain wasn't debilitating. He felt tears prick his eyes, but he could do it. Even though it wasn't anything he had played, it made him think of sitting under a hot spotlight at a piano, playing to a room full of people who were too drunk to notice the minor mistakes. It reminded him of meeting someone at the bar with a kiss and a smile. Someone who loved him and wouldn't ever hurt him. Until he had.

He sat outside and listened to the song as the sun sank beneath the horizon, dabbing the tears away. He could...do this. Blaine knew he wouldn't be able to bear any of his favorite songs yet.

But this much he could do. And for now, Blaine was content with that.

The final x-rays were clear and the cast off four days and four songs later. He stayed away from anything that would remind him of...him. Kurt. If he wanted to be able to forgive him, then being able to say his name, even only in his head, was necessary. At least, that is what Dr. Parker told him.

His arm was lighter and paler and he felt rebalanced and off-kilter at the same time. The doctor had reduced his pain medication to almost nothing and Blaine thought he might as well buy stock in a tea company with the amount he had been drinking. Blaine felt more aware. He wasn't sure he liked it.

He didn't like it enough that he brought it up when he went to his appointment with Dr. Parker.

"Explain to me more of what you are feeling."

"I.. It's kinda like I am drifting. I don't really know of another way to describe it. I can listen to two songs in a row, now. I can walk anywhere in town and back with no problem. My physical therapy stretches are easy. Everything is going right..."

"But you still feel off?"

"Exactly.

"Do you think, perhaps, that you are bored?"

Blaine turns this over in his head a few times before responding. "Maybe..."

"Here is my reasoning for it-you grew up in the city and left only on the occasional vacation and never for this long. You seem the...most at ease talking about people you talk to.". Blaine nodded and she continued, "Have you thought any more about moving?" He hadn't. "I think the isolation, while needed at first, will negatively impact you in the long run. While I have not seen you in a social setting, I feel that you are happiest when there are others around."

The cushions sighed as he leaned back against them. "I hadn't really thought about it or anything recently. I think... I think I do miss living in the city."

"So think about moving back there. Being here and bored won't make you any happier, and that should be your goal."

"But I am content here."

"Which was good. And is good. But I think that you should set your sights higher. I want you to be happy, and I don't think you could be that here."

Blaine nodded and promised to think about it.

He walked to the edge of the property and sat, leaning against a tree and thought. He had listened to music all the way there and would listen to it on the way back.

Blaine had made up his mind before the cd ended.

After his dinner, Blaine did not immediately do his physical therapy exercises. Instead, he sat at the piano, reminding himself to breathe evenly. He opened the cover and settled himself, checking his posture and his wrists.

He took the piece, one of the first he had mastered on his own, too slowly and messed up. He finished and mentally flipped pages back to the beginning.

Blaine played it perfectly, tears falling slowly as he held the final chord before releasing. As the sound resonated, he felt the hole in his heart start to close.

He had a list of possible apartments before he went to bed.

The next week, his last in the big, empty house passed quickly. Each day had some definable goal that was met before he went to bed. There were calls to realtors to be made, properties viewed by webcam, payments in full made (a very late graduation gift from Cooper after an hour of constant emailing back and forth until Cooper threatened to hack his laptop and purchase all the possibilities).

Then there were boxes to pack and movers to call, boxes to get from storage, his piano to move.

Each day he went on a run, which he could do now that the cast was off, did yoga, and practiced the piano, a little longer each day. Each day, Blaine collapsed, exhausted, into bed.

The day before he was set to leave, Blaine went to his last appointment with Dr. Parker.

"How are you feeling?"

Blaine hated that question. "A bit of everything and overwhelmed."

"What sticks out most in your mind?"

Blaine nodded to show he heard and then thought, moving through the cluttered mess of his mind, shifting to find the causes. "I'm afraid I am making the wrong choice. I'm afraid of losing any progress I have made. I..." He shifted around in his seat, swallowing a few times as he forced the words. "I'm afraid of not being happy there. I'm...afraid of being happy there. I'm absolutely terrified that one day I am going to wake up and...n-not love him anymore."

Dr. Parker hummed softly, obviously waiting for Blaine to continue, taking over the conversation when Blaine shook his head. "Why are you afraid of succeeding?"

"I...I guess I had always thought that I would always live in New York."

"And Kurt?"

"What am I going to do if I move to Boston and do well and love it and...forget him?"

"You may, in that case, meet someone else." She had not finished speaking and Blaine was shaking his head in disagreement.

"I know that you are probably going to say I am too young or that I should not forgive him, but I can't imagine loving anyone else like I do him."

"One, I do not think you are too young to know that. Two, whether you forgive him or not is something you can decide for yourself. I think he made a mistake and I think he knows that. All I want you to do is move at a pace that is healthy for you, and not what you think you should, okay?"

Blaine could only nod.

"Now, our time is up. Here"- she handed Blaine a list-"is a list of my colleagues. My personal suggestions are the two with asterisks by their names. They are both good friends of mine and I think they would fit well with you. Remember, appointment by skype two days after you arrive, and you have my number in case of emergencies."

Blaine stood as Dr. Parker did, moving in to give her a hug, which she returned. "Thank you, Dr. Parker."

"Be happy, Blaine, and enjoy Boston."

Boston was beautiful. Blaine could see himself coming to love the city. Perhaps not as much as New York, but that wasn't a fair contest. The parks were lovely, his neighborhood was quiet, just outside the middle of everything, and his baby grand, which he could play again, was tuned and sitting in the corner of his living room.

His skype appointment with Dr. Parker went well, as he finished relaying the story of the move and settling in. It was only after they had disconnected that Blaine felt tears welling. That one conversation had been their last as doctor and patient. His final assignment had been to make an appointment with a therapist in the area. Part of him wanted to protest and say he did not need to be coddled. But the radio silence from Cooper and the fear of slipping down again kept the protest silent.

When the tears did not go away, Blaine changed quickly into running clothes, slipped into his shoes, and went on a run. Running helped a surprising amount, the physical exertion keeping him from thinking of anything except the even pounding of his feet and steadiness of his breaths. And after, the endorphin rush certainly didn't hurt.

Three days later, after dropping Dr. Parker's name, Blaine had his first appointment with Dr. Barson, a man a few years older than Cooper, with the same enthusiasm but without the self-centeredness. It was what Blaine guessed was a fairly standard first appointment- names and basic information exchanged before the hated "What brings you here?"

Dr. Barson-"Call me Scott, please"- seemed to be a decent guy, nodding and smiling, his questions leading Blaine along, pulling the information out of Blaine. If the lightness in Blaine's mind at the end if the appointment was any indication, Scott would be a good choice.

Sitting at the piano, Blaine practiced and practiced for hours, until he could not hear the effects of his break anymore. The next day he had two trial gigs at clubs in the area.

For the first time since moving to Boston, Blaine felt like he could beat the cloud that lingered over his head.

Some thunderstorms come without warning.

Others build slowly from a light sprinkle until everything is flooded and winds howling until you were pulled down into the darkness.

First it was the little things. A lightly twisted ankle from a fall that left scratches on his palms. Inconsiderate neighbors. Running out of milk just before he poured himself a bowl of cereal.

Then it was bigger things. One of the clubs not renewing him after his trial run. Rain keeping him from running three days in a row.

Part of Blaine noticed the changes these little setbacks had on himself.

That part was swallowed in the numbness of too much chamomile and an extra pill in the morning.

He could still play music, so it wasn't serious.

Blaine still went shopping, went to his gigs, went on abbreviated runs.

The morning of the day he had an appointment with Scott, Blaine got an email. He read it, face blank. He wrote on a piece of paper, fighting as the gray that had clouded his mind came back.

Blissfully numb and painfully aware something was wrong and he could not get his mind to stop running in circles trying to figure it out, Blaine made it to Scott's office.

He slid the paper across the table between them to Scott, leaning forward and curling into himself, finally giving into the tears.

Kurt emailed me and wished me a happy birthday.