Imprint.

Its quiet in the hangar bay at this hour, but over the comm line, Rachels voice is loud in his ear, as if shes trying to make herself heard over a crowd. "Im so sorry, Kurt, I cant be there any sooner. You know Im happy to help you out—of course I am, and why didnt you get in touch sooner? But previous commitments—"

Kurt closes his eyes. "Its fine, Rachel."

"If you could delay your departure a few days, I can definitely do it."

But a delay means a penalty fine. "I have commitments too," Kurt says. "Its not possible."

She sighs. "Ill make sure Im there when you get back, okay? Send me your itinerary."

"Yeah, I will."

"And Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Its good to hear from you. Its been a while."

"It has," Kurt says, soft with wistful affection.

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," Kurt says. "Thanks, Rachel." Kurt ends the call and slips the earpiece off, returns it to his breast pocket by feel. Then he opens his eyes, crouches down, and looks back into the open engine compartment where Bettys cantankerous drive array is exposed.

He runs his fingers along each glassy crystal spear, from the squat cut of the bass modulator to the needle thin attenuators. Theyre all a cool and flawless cloudy gray. He seeks evidence of fracture or fissure, some indication of why theyre not holding their imprinted tones. But early stress is rarely visible.

His legs burn and threaten to cramp, so he shifts his weight to sit cross-legged on Bettys deck plates.

Tentatively, he places his fingertips on the first fat crystal in the sequence. He hums a low D flat. The crystal resonates as it should. Its vibration tickles beneath his touch. If he can isolate a single crystal causing the trouble, that can be fixed with a single replacement. He can afford that—if he gives up his night with Blaine after his return. Which doesnt bear much advance contemplation. Hell have to swallow his pride and use the Guild clinic.

So, with hope screwed into determination, Kurt works his way in discrete steps across two and a half octaves with a gentle touch and a gentle humming call and response for each crystal. Its a simple diagnostic that he could once do with scarce thought or effort. So far, so good. Which is not actually the result he wants.

And as hes forced to transition into the upper part of his range, he feels the tightness in his larynx grow into discomfort. He stops immediately before his voice falters. Hes healed, but hes also learned the hard way: dont push it.

With a sigh, he leans back, braced on his arms, and stares at the silent crystals. He ignores the dull trembling pain in his triceps and forearms, and the nagging curl of hunger in his belly. The fatigue behind his eyes wont budge without sleep, and he still cant manage it. Its the graveyard shift, he feels kin enough to the walking dead to be up. He has but five days to turn both Betty and himself around.

"Still cant sleep?" comes from outside Bettys hull. Its not a voice he expects. He left Blaine yesterday before noon when his time ran out, and to the best of Kurts knowledge, Blaine never comes down to the hangar bay.

Kurt scrambles to his feet. Or, he intends to scramble, but he ends up dragging himself up stiffly, finding handholds on the bulkhead, wincing and swearing under his breath as he straightens his posture, steps to the open hatch, and looks down to the hangar deck. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

.

Jukebox.

"Insomnia," Blaine replies, cheerfully enough that Kurt laughs. "Believe it or not," he continues, "I dont sleep well alone."

"I see," Kurt says. He keeps the smile left by the laughter, but crosses his arms over his chest. Hes not sure what this is, why Blaines here.

Blaine holds up a cylinder of stacked metal food containers. "I brought you some supper."

Its a meal Kurt needs; food was next on his to do list. He considers Blaine for a long moment, and he fails to convince himself theres any real danger here. So Kurt tips his head back in invitation and takes a step back into Bettys interior. "Come up then."

They sit on a thick blanket on the floor, and Blaine undoes the metal canisters, one by one. Hes brought a savory broth flecked with tendrils of egg, noodles with vegetables (or at least their reconstituted doppelgangers), and three generous slices of dark chocolate mousse cake with raspberry jam filling. Kurt knows the bakery where he got it, and its a favorite.

"So this is your ship?" Blaine says. He dunks his plastic spoon in his soup in a manner Kurts sure is meant to be idle, but Blaines shoulders are too rigid.

Kurt nods and swallows a mouthful of noodles. "Yep, this is Betty," he says, aiming for casual himself. Rachel once told him hes often inadvertently intimidating.

"Shes… uh… " Blaine looks around him at the dimly lit space with its close metal bulkheads and lack of human comfort and amenities. His eyes are wide.

"Cramped?" Kurt supplies. "Inhospitable?"

Blaine exhales an embarrassed chuckle.

"Its okay," Kurt says, poking through his noodles in search of a decent sized chunk of mycoprotein. He flashes Blaine a grin. "She doesnt need flattery to fly."

"And youre alone for the whole journey?"

"Yeah, though, to be fair, for all but two hours of it, Im in there." With his thumb, Kurt indicates the oblong cryopod set vertically into the wall. "Chilling."

"Right," Blaine says, he glances at the pod only fleetingly, then he blinks and smiles, and for the first time Kurts been with Blaine, his smile seems forced.

"Hey, you sing," Kurt says, trying to salvage some degree of comfort between them. "Obviously, given how we met." The memory brings its own warmth: Kurts first day on the station with his brand new Guild membership. Hed been homesick and scared on the eve of his first run. Hed been drawn into The Blue Bar by music and a warm voice, singing old Sinatra, smooth as silk. Kurt hums a few bars.

"Today I may not have a thing at all
Except for just a dream or two…"

With color rising on his cheeks, Blaine ducks his head and says, "Yes."

"I dont suppose you have both perfect pitch and a four octave range?" Kurt asks lightly, and then he adds, "Although three and a half would do."

"No, Im sorry, Kurt, I dont." Blaine looks up again, genuinely regretful.

And so Kurt has to explain, "No, its fine. Blaine, youre an amazing singer, and I would never expect—that was meant to be a joke. I know you cant tune Bettys drive. Well, unless you could tune her on pop standards."

"Oh, right," Blaine says. "Sorry."

"Crap. That was… supposed to be a joke too." Kurt takes a deep breath that makes his ribs spasm painfully. He grits his teeth, exhales through his nose until the twinge subsides, and picks up his thought. "Im failing at humorous teasing, and Im sorry. I meant what I said: youre amazing, and you know every song people request, no matter how obscure or antique. Its impressive. Youre very impressive."

"Thank you," Blaine says. Just that, simple gratitude that shines in his beautiful eyes for a long moment that steals Kurts breath, and Kurt wishes he could get used to being looked at that way.

But letting Blaine into his space like this may not be the best idea Kurts ever had. Hes never seen Blaine off his game—or this fragile seeming. Kurt wants to ask him whats wrong, but hes not sure hell be able to do anything with the answer. So Kurt says nothing more than, "Youre welcome," and he turns his attention back to his food.

"How are you feeling?" Blaine asks to break the next awkward silence.

Kurt shrugs dismissively. "You know."

"I dont actually," Blaine says gently, but theres a query there, too. Which Kurt doesnt want to answer.

"Okay," Kurt says, and he sets his bowl down. "Full disclosure. Youre uncomfortable, and I dont know why, which is making me uncomfortable, and Ive never been all that great at alleviating mutual social discomfort, Blaine."

Blaines smile fades and he bows his head with a grimace. "I certainly didnt come to make you uncomfortable, Kurt."

"Then why did you? Come?"

A flicker of a real smile, but dimmed with a hesitant vulnerability. "I came because I like you."

"You like me."

"Why the incredulity?"

"Most people dont like me," Kurt says. "Ive been told Im not even a taste that can be acquired. Industrially processed algae cubes have got nothing on me."

Blaine laughs this time, properly. "Ill consider myself in good company then, in liking you."

Kurt shares a smile with Blaine. Its distressingly pleasant. "But I keep saying the wrong things," Kurt says.

"Kurt, you really should know by now," Blaine says, and his smile pulls into a teeth-revealing grin. He sets his bowl aside and reaches across the space between them to fold his palm over Kurts too bony wrist. He cocks his head. "You dont have to try so hard to impress me."

Now Kurt laughs.

.

Kindred.

Technically, theyve known each other for just over two Earth years. In practice—since Kurts slept for most of the past two years—theyve spent less than a weeks worth of time together. And yet, its impossible, no matter how Kurt reminds himself of the timeline of it, not to feel like Blaine knows him as well as Kurts been known by anyone—better in some fundamental ways. Ways that, in somber moments of solitary reflection, occasionally terrify Kurt, for when he goes to Blaine, its when hes at his most unguarded and desperate. Sometimes he wonders if its right that anyone knows another person in such a way. But along the way, necessity overcame his dignity. Kurt tries to keep what he can for himself, but Blaine is…

Blaine is here with him now, and Kurt doesnt know what to do, now that the food is gone. So, Kurt surprises himself when, after Blaine has neatly packed up the dishes and stood, Kurt takes the hand Blaine offers him. (And hes grateful of Blaines strength in helping him stand.)

Once standing, Kurt isnt sure what to say to the quiet, contemplative look Blaine directs at him. At least the swoop of dizziness that dims his vision at the edges, Kurt knows is only low blood pressure. Still, he reaches for Bettys wall so he wont swoon into Blaines arms like some kind of ancient romance heroine.

"Why dont you come up top with me?" Blaine says, and his gaze is wide open in invitation. "My apartments more comfortable than Bettys floor, which is only marginally less comfortable than that shoebox youve rented." Blaine touches Kurts arm lightly. "If neither of us is sleeping, then we can at least not sleep together."

But despite the draw of Blaines request, and how much the thought of another night in Blaines care comes with the promise of easing every weary hurt within him, Kurts attention catches on the pin at Blaines lapel: the intricate gold knot that pronounces Blaines status as a registered Host. "You know I cant afford more time with you," Kurt says.

"Im not soliciting your custom," Blaine says warmly. "Im inviting you home with me for the remainder of the night. Its a thing people do sometimes, when they like someone."

"Isnt there a rule against this sort of thing for you?"

"No," Blaine says.

"Not even an ethical guideline? Some kind of professional standard of practice?"

Blaine shakes his head. "My free time is my own. Come up with me, Kurt."

.

Legacy.

Walking beside Blaine along the upper deck promenade is not the way Kurt usually takes to Blaines apartment. When hes alone, he prefers the shortest path possible, and uses the lift the entire way up, but Blaine wanted to take the longer route, ostensibly so Kurt may enjoy views of both inside the station—the top decks are open to those below, and the graceful spans of metal arches drip with dazzling technicolor mosaics of light—and outside, where the bright streaks of the nebula stream overhead.

But Kurts less attentive to the views, and more concerned about how out of breath hes become walking up three flights of stairs from the deck below. He wills himself not to sweat, and tries not to pant, which makes both his head and lungs feel stuffy. Blaine pauses at the railing. Relieved, Kurt rests his weight upon the rail and breathes deeply. Blaine makes no comment on Kurts flustered state, nor does he apologize. Kurts grateful for Blaines restraint.

As his heart slows, Kurt looks across to the wide viewing windows. A tug is going out to meet an automated dark matter collector. The massive ships come in so slow and heavy, that even with their smart onboard systems, a mandatory escort must guide them into the docks to ensure the safety of the station. The distinctive band of turquoise lights ringing the tugs hull blinks steadily as if in greeting. Nimbly its pilot maneuvers the compact vessel alongside the lumbering bulk of the other ship. The tugs thrusters flare in bright spurts.

Kurt mind automatically slips to thinking about the collectors drive array: itll be a set of thirty-two amber crystals in addition to a standard array of twenty-four gray. The extra power of the amber is required to stabilize a warp field around the collectors great mass. Back in the day, Kurt was never very accomplished at tuning amber solo—his voice lacked the power and timbre in its upper range—but he could offer complement to a stronger singer, like Rachel, to tune them in duet. At least he could until… Kurt touches his fingertips to his throat where regret is lodged like a sharp stone.

He misses it. It had been his dream, and tuning like that? That moment when he would discover the precise right pitch, pressure, and intensity for the final crystal, and the whole array would come together and sing like a chorale. The resonance of the crystals voices with his own (and that of his occasional partner) would swell within and enfold him in a moment of such pure joy, he cant imagine anything ever coming close to it. Not even—he allows himself a wry smile—very good sex.

Which makes Kurt wonder. He studies Blaines profile, the relaxed line of his mouth, the calm in his gaze. The whole aura of contentment he has, Kurt envies it. "So is this what you dreamed of doing when you were young?" Kurt asks.

Blaines lips twitch into a smile."Ask a nice boy home with me, or live on a space station at the edge of the galaxy?"

Kurt snorts a laugh. "Nice boy?" He asks, and then he reaches out and touches Blaines lapel pin. "No, I meant this."

Blaine nods and lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug. "Growing up, I always knew I had the opportunity," Blaine says. "There was a place for me reserved at the College because of my mother and grandmother, who were both Hosts before me. But I was at the Dalton Music School throughout my adolescence, to keep my prospects open. It took me a while to decide if I wanted to make the commitment Hosting requires, and I came to the College late."

"And are you happy? Hosting?"

The smile Blaine turns on him is the brightest Kurts ever seen. "I am," he says. Then he reaches for Kurts hand. "Come on, I know a shortcut from here."

.

"May I use your shower first?" Kurt asks. Hes aware of the stained knees of his coveralls and the sweat of the day.

"Youre welcome to, of course," Blaine says, but something unsure flickers in his smile. "Will you need help?" he asks.

"No, I dont think so, but…" Kurt tilts his head and softens his gaze, tries to be alluring—as alluring as he can be, such as he is in his current state: weak and dirty and gaunt. "Join me if you like?"

"Id love to," Blaine says.

They havent kissed before, not mouth to mouth. Its been one of Kurts rules: no kissing on the lips. At the beginning it seemed like a sensible line to have; hes always felt kissing on the lips is for people who are in love. Its intimate.

But since then, hes done things with Blaine hes never done with anyone else. Blaine has touched him in ways hes not sure hell ever trust another lover to.

And standing in the hot spray of the shower with Blaine looking at him with his bright crystal-amber eyes framed in his long wet lashes, Kurt wants to kiss Blaines lips. But hes not. Hes close though, pressing his mouth right beside Blaines, just catching the corner of his open, gasping mouth. Kurt wants to kiss Blaine, but he also likes knowing its something they havent done together yet. All he has to do is ask. But its good to hold a desire in his heart that doesnt seem so impossible.

They stay in the shower together until Kurts wobbling on his feet. Blaine shuts off the water and leads him out.

.

On Blaines bed, Kurts flat on his back.

"Do you need it to hurt tonight?" Blaine asks softly. Hes got Kurts wrists loosely held in his hands, pinned to the mattress on either side of Kurts head, but theres no force in Blaines grip. His mouth is on Kurts neck, a hot caress of lips and breath that makes a pleasant shiver scatter over Kurts skin everywhere.

"No, I—" Kurt sucks in a quick lungful of air at the querying scrape of Blaines teeth over a bruise left from the previous night. "Youve always taken such good care of me," Kurt says. "Tell me what you want. I want to do something for you."

.

Midnight.

Now its Blaine on his back, and his hands are upon Kurts shoulders with gentle but irresistible pressure. Blaines request is simple enough—but for the way it thrills so gloriously in Kurts blood. Kurt lowers his weight to his elbows and drags his lips across Blaines lax lower belly. He scoots farther down the bed and takes Blaine into his mouth. He fits his lips and tongue snug around Blaines flesh as he slides up and down. Blaine hums in pleasure, and Kurts eyelids slip closed.

Its so good, and Kurt wants it so much, but his body is a wreck. He struggles to maintain a rhythm, has to keep stopping to rest the muscles of his neck and jaw. Blaine pets his hair and face and reassures him each time, but Kurt knows he must be frustrated.

"Im sorry," Kurt says, pulling off as the tension in Blaines thighs mounts for what must be the sixth time without the desired consequence. Kurt breathes heavily and rests his cheek in the smooth hollow of Blaines hip. "I cant keep this up." He squeezes his eyes shut hold back the blur of his disappointment. Hes too out of sorts to even accomplish this?

"Hush," Blaine says, and coaxes Kurt up into his arms. Blaine strokes his back and kisses his cheek. "Youre doing beautifully."

"No," Kurt says. "Im not. That was—maybe? The only thing youve actually asked me for, and I wanted so much to do it for you."

"Hey," Blaine says. "Its just a blow job. But if you want to keep going, we have options if youre tired."

"I really do," Kurt says, pushing himself back up to his elbows. "What did you have in mind?"

"Here," Blaine says. And his hands are more insistent then, guiding Kurt over and arranging the pillows behind him until Kurts propped comfortably against headboard. "Comfortable?" Blaine asks with an encouraging smile. He waits for Kurts nod, and then he straddles Kurts chest. With one hand curled around himself, offering, he says, "Like this."

"Oh," Kurt replies, "Yeah," and he reaches for Blaine to pull him back in.

"Just… ah… stay open for me," Blaine says. "Ill do the rest."

So with the pillows supporting his weight, Kurt lets Blaine find his own pace. Kurts mouth is sloppy and open around Blaines cock. His fingers dig into the strong flex of Blaines buttocks. One of Blaines hands cradles his jaw so tenderly, the other is a little bit rough in his hair, tugging, angling, and holding Kurt just how he wants him. Its overwhelming how saturated Kurts senses are with Blaine: taste and scent, friction and pull. The rough sound of his voice, how it breaks and cracks with each deepening moan. Kurt grows more and more aroused in response, until hes hot and squirming and panting through his nose. And hes so gratified by Blaines pleasure, Kurt scarcely requires a touch in return.

.

After, sleep finds them both, blissfully. But Kurt wakes after less than an hour, so it wasnt even one full cycle. He dreamed though, in vague flares of dread and shadow. He shifts within Blaines embrace, careful not to jostle him. In the dark, Kurt blinks at the black walls and tries to pull the thread of his fatigue back into unconsciousness. Its futile. He thinks about kissing Blaine awake, but he doesnt.

A glance at Blaines clock shows midnight on the station was nearly three hours ago. Its another day.

.

In the morning, over sweet, cinnamon-spiced coffee in bed—which Blaine has topped with real cream, whipped into soft peaks—Blaine asks him, "So when are you leaving this time?"

"Oh." Its a fair question. "Five days," Kurt says. "Well, four now."

Blaines eyebrows rise. "Thats soon. Isnt that the minimum—?"

"Yeah," Kurt says, glances down at the drape of the white sheets over his lap, and he tries to sound flippant, like this isnt cause for Blaines concern. "I know, its not much time, but I have to meet my schedule, or theres a fine to pay."

"Kurt," Blaine says, so sadly, and with an urgency Kurts not accustomed to hearing from Blaine. "You have to know—"

"Please, dont," Kurt whispers. The lingering warmth within him fades.

"—youre killing yourself. This is killing you."

It hangs between them, a truth Kurt cant protest. He knows, in ways he doesnt wish to acknowledge aloud, that Blaines right. Hes not recovering this time, not the way he should. Its as though his body has stalled, or hes lost something essential to being alive that hell never get back. Theres a cell deep weariness that doesnt want to heal. Kurt looks at his body, so pale and malnourished, like hes got a wasting disease. Across the bed from him, Blaine is perfect and warm, flush with health and vigor. In comparison, Kurt feels like hes already a corpse.

Kurt draws his knees up, and sips his coffee. He doesnt need to heal, he just needs to endure three more runs. "I dont need you to save me," Kurt says, and he hopes that will be the end of it.

But Blaine frowns and presses his lips together. "Cant someone else do your run this time?"

"No," Kurt says, and his anger prickles within him, cold and sharp on his tongue. He sets aside his drink. "God, is that why you invited me here last night? To try to… lecture me or tell me how to live my life?"

If anything, Blaine looks sadder—and disappointed. No trace of his customary smile bends his lips and his expressive eyes are glassy. Gently—so gently—he says, "What life are you living? Youre not living, youre killing yourself in pieces. I dont understand."

"Ive never asked for your understanding, Blaine. I dont need you to understand anything about me. I just need you to—" Kurt snaps his mouth shut.

"You need me to do what, Kurt?"

Kurt gets up, and the combination of anger and pride lends him enough strength, he collects his clothes and dresses without faltering. Then he stalks out of Blaines bedroom. He shouldnt have come. Shouldnt have accepted Blaines meal in the hangar last night. Shouldnt have even walked into that stupid bar two years ago.

Still nude, Blaine follows him to the door. "Tell me, please. What do you need?"

"Nothing," Kurt says harshly, and then more softly as he tries to hold back the bitter rush of tears, "Nothing at all."

.

Needle.

"Hmmm," the Guild tuner says. Its not the usual guy, but the girl he saw playing the piano in The Blue Bar that first night he was back. Marley Rose, she said her name was. Which sounds more lounge singer than technician. But shes got her Guild contract and certification as a tuner, and Kurt cant deny, shes got the voice for it. She seems too young to be out here on the edge of everything. Its hard for Kurt to fathom that shes probably only four years his junior. Maybe its just that he feels so old these days.

"Hmmm?" Kurt prompts.

Marley tucks her hair behind her ear and lowers the atomic ‘scope in her hand. Shes given Bettys drive a far more thorough check than her predecessor. Youth has its benefits, shes neither burned out nor careless with routine. "Theres no stress fractures or serious deformation yet, but youve got a dislocated attenuator," she says. "Number twenty-three, your F6." She rests the tip of her finger on the delicate point of the gray crystal.

"Wait… what?" Kurt says, and he crouches down beside her. The possibility didnt even occur to him—the previous Guild tuner definitely didnt check for it. "But she had a clean bill of sale and a Guild warrant when I bought her." And he paid well for what that warrants supposed to mean.

"Well," Marley says. She passes the ‘scope to Kurt and gives him an apologetic smile. "See for yourself. Someone fudged the records. Your ships had a mismatched replacement, maybe done on the cheap? Certainly not by anyone with Guild certification. So thats why she wont hold her tune. Im really sorry."

"Fantastic," Kurt mutters. He adjusts the scope, looks, and finds shes right. One crystal with a lattice out of sync with its mates will seem just fine on its own—and itll tune with the rest of the array—but as the drive sings, itll diverge from the pattern slowly, causing dissonance, interference—and eventually damage to itself or other crystals in the array. When individual crystals in an array are replaced, theyre matched carefully at the atomic level, to avoid dislocation. A dislocated crystal is not a common problem.

"The good news is, the Guild will pay for a complete new set," Marley says. She takes the ‘scope back from Kurt and stands up. "Ill draw up the paperwork and put in the order for you."

"Right. And then itll take them six weeks to process and approve the request." Kurt fortifies himself to stand, casually reaches for the top of the drive casing as he pushes himself up from the floor. He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. Closes his eyes while his blood catches up to his head. "I dont have the time or the money to wait."

"I know the penalty fines are hard to negotiate," Marley says. "But even if I tune her now? Its not going to hold."

"It should hold for one run," Kurt says with more confidence than he feels. "Bettys a good ship, she pulled through the last one. We can install the new array for her when I get back."

But Marley wrinkles her nose. "I wouldnt recommend it. You used to tune, right? So you know as well as I do, theres a chance the whole array will blow out. The stress, if it propagates, can have catastrophic consequences. The regs dont prohibit it, but you shouldnt run a drive in this state."

"Yes," Kurt says. "I know." Any day can bring catastrophe, Kurt also knows. Hell take his chances. He can thread this needle. The universe owes him one. "But please get her ready to go for me, and let me know when the paperwork is ready for my signature."

"Sure, okay," Marley says with an unhappy grimace and sympathetic eyes. "Ill do my best with her." She reaches out and squeezes Kurts shoulder before she goes. "But, to be honest? You look like you could use a break too."

Kurts getting tired of people looking at him like that.

.

Since he came to the hangar directly from Blaines, Kurt makes his way back up to the gallery to get a green protein shake with a double caffeine shot. The morning bustle surges around him as he makes himself walk the perimeter while he drinks it. The least he can do is try to maintain what strength he has. He doesnt want to go down to the clinic and visit the therapists there. They might revoke his fit-to-fly status, or worse, pump him full of stimulants and steroids. Hes not ready to accept that outcome for himself, not with two more runs after this one. If he survives it. If Betty does.

He cant afford the doubt any better than he can afford the time, but maybe he should call his Dad before he goes.

.

In the shower in his rented efficiency, he cranks up the water with enough heat and pressure to pound his skin red, Kurts fingers find the soreness in his arms and across his ribs. His neck and shoulders. He kneads the muscles he can reach until the sharp pains dull. But the one in his chest he cant ease. He lets himself cry anyway.

.

He lies on his narrow bunk with its thin foam mattress and wishes for sleep. His mind wanders of its own accord. Kurt hasnt the psychic will to stop it. It meanders about uselessly, revisiting loss, regret, and failure. Which keeps bringing him to Blaine, and how he cant take back his harsh words or bitter thoughts, or how he walked out this morning. He should have tried to answer Blaines question at least. After everything Blaine has done for him, paid for or not, Kurts mistaken not to afford him that basic consideration.

So what does he need from Blaine? To take care of Kurt when he needs it, and to not care too much about him when he doesnt?

No. Kurts not so mercenary, not even now.

"To love me enough to let me go," Kurt dares to say to the bare metal overhang close above his face. Even though Kurt wishes he could stay. Even though love is impossible, and even though Kurt knows he should never mistake Blaines compassion for it. He needs Blaine to let him go.

"Stay. As long as you want," Blaine had said to him.

In his weakness, in the safety of Blaines care, Kurts desire took him immediately to assume—not an afternoon, a day, or a week, but some kind of always. Or at least a time without a fixed or near expiration. Kurts desire though, comes with the relentless undertow of need, but he cant permit himself to confuse what he wants with what is necessary. He should be brave enough answer Blaines question: He needs Blaine to let him go, even though he doesnt want him to.

And if this is Kurts last opportunity? He wonders what else Blaine may want. If Kurt cant stay, is there is something more Kurt could give him, not with any sort of expectation or exchange, but just because, really, he likes Blaine too.

.

Occasion.

That evening finds Kurt standing at the open door of his narrow wardrobe and trailing his fingers down the sleeves of the fine jackets and shirts hes not worn since coming to the station. Some are two years or more out of fashion. He pulls a black felt blazer out. Its cut is classic—slim, three button, with a narrow notch lapel. But is has some details, raw edges with contrasting white overlocked stitching to keep those edges from fraying. Its one of his favorites, and holds memories of school nights out with Rachel in the city, planetside on New Sierra, spending too much money on ridiculous cocktails and not enough on their board.

His touch lingers on the sleeve of a shirt with a tiny paisley print in shades of green, gold, and orange. This he remember wearing for the first time on his first trip up the orbital elevator to the ship yards. A freshman class field trip during orientation—they toured the drive chambers of dozens of vessels. Kurt took notes and video on his wearable the whole time. Rachel asked to borrow them after class; he gave her copies. It was how they met.

Kurt pulls both the shirt and the jacket out and drapes them on his bunk. He chooses slacks: black stove pipe with a narrow shadow-stripe. They once clung to his thighs like a lovers fond attention, but theyre loose around his legs now, come to rest lower on his hips than they should. And, as expected, the shirt is no longer snug over his chest once buttoned. At least the blazer still fits the breadth of his shoulders.

He dusts off his patent leather boots, the pair with a fine silver buckle over the ankle, and then he looks in his wooden box of accessories to see what other embellishment he may add. His tuners badge rests among the cufflinks and brooches. He touches it briefly in a moment of longing, and then selects a fleur de lis pin that belonged to his mother.

.

He doesnt know if Blaine is with a client tonight, but when he gets to Blaines apartment, the indicator by his door is dark, so hes not home. Down to the gallery level Kurt goes, and as he approaches The Blue Bar, he hears the piano, strings, and horns filter out to twine among the sounds of the pedestrians on the promenade. He hears Blaines voice: bright and energetic. It pulls him in just as he knew it would.

Marleys there too, seated atop the piano with a microphone dangling from her hand. She twists her shoulders in time and grins down at Blaine as he plays and sings up at her:

"And wait ‘til you see that sunshine day,
you aint seen nothing yet!"

Then she raises her microphone and takes up next the verse:

"The best is yet to come and babe, wont it be fine?
The best is yet to come, come the day youre mine…"

They toss the lines back and forth playfully, and their joint performance charisma is palpable. Theres not an unsmiling or bored face in the joint. Kurt takes a seat at the bar and orders his usual. Its only after the bartender slides his tumbler across the bar, that it hits Kurt: Marley and Blaine know each other. Of course they do, but it brings a trickle of apprehension, as if hes overexposed himself somehow. Has Marley told Blaine about Betty? Did Blaine tell her his concerns? Is that why she looked at him the way she did?

Kurt tips his glass against his lips, lets the alcohol just meet his lips without taking a full sip yet. He inhales long and deep, and only then takes a mouthful. It burns across his tongue, and the aroma flares in the back of his nose. Blaine and Marley finish out "The Best is Yet to Come". Neither of them has noticed him yet. He considers leaving, but he came here for a reason tonight, and he wants to watch them.

Marley slips off the piano and smooths her lace dress. She bends near Blaine to whisper in his ear. He nods, and once the applause fades, he begins playing again, opening with a wistful trill. The band remains silent, resting their instruments.

Between one flourish and the next, the piano is sedate and sonorous. It builds up to a pause that hangs while Marley lifts the microphone.

"Desperado," she sings, and Blaine rejoins her on the piano, low and gentle. "Why wont you come to your senses?"

Her voice aches over the words. She sways into it and closes her eyes, holds the microphone in both hands. Admiration shines in Blaines eyes as he watches her, and Kurt feels the song all the way to his soles of his feet. The shift in mood catches him inside, a snag to his heartbeat and a stutter in his lungs. The song is not for him, he knows that. The way Marley sings it lets him know this is a song fueled from her heartbreak and longing; its her story, not his. Yet, he cant look away from Blaine when she gets to the crescendo:

"You better let somebody love you,
Before its too late."

And Kurt knows hes in the right place tonight.

.

"Hey," Blaine says. Its cautious, but friendly. He stands near the empty stool next to Kurt, and his hand hovers near the back of it, as if needing permission. His hairs come loose into waves and his face is flushed. Hes set aside the jacket he wore earlier in the evening, and Kurt can smell the heat off his body, sweat and cologne. It pulls at his insides.

"Please, sit," Kurt says, and he turns toward Blaine as he does. Its late, the band has gone, and the bar is close to empty. Kurts stayed through every performance. He doesnt want to miss a moment, now that hes here. The music has left his heart cracked open and tender. Hes infused with new emotion, and against all reason, he feels hopeful. "You and Marley," he says. "Wow. I havent experienced a performance like that in so long. Youre both so—" he fumbles. "Present and honest."

But some trepidation lingers in the shallow bend of Blaines smile. "Im glad you came," Blaine says. "After you left this morning, I didnt know if Id see you again."

"Im so sorry about… all of that," Kurt says. "May I buy you a drink?" He lifts a hand to catch the bartenders attention.

"Oh, yes, thanks," Blaine says to Kurt, and to the bartender, he says, "A Jack Rose, please?"

"On the house," the bartender replies.

Kurt laughs softly and turns his own drink between his hands. "Never mind."

"I get all my drinks free here," Blaine reassures him. "Its the thought that counts, right?"

"So they say," Kurt says, and he flicks a glance and a smile at Blaine. He doesnt understand how he can feel this nervous around a man with whom hes already been naked—literally and figuratively.

Blaine laughs too. "Um, so?" Blaine starts slowly, and Kurt is encouraged. At least hes not the only one with nerves. But the look Blaine turns on him reflects all the tenderness Kurts gathered in his heart tonight, and all the vulnerability along with it. "You look very handsome tonight," Blaine says. "Whats the occasion?"

The question is blessedly simple to answer. Kurt can see the truth of it in Blaines lovely eyes. "You."

.

Please.

Soft jazz plays over the house speakers. Kurt sits at the bar with Blaine, and the neon tubes above them tinge their hands blue. "I need you to understand," Kurt says. "There are things I cant do, no matter how much I may want to." Theyve been talking for a while, topics of less consequence, favorite songs, favorite performances. Deciding on a place to have breakfast together in a few hours. But some harder things have been lurking at the edges of their conversation—in the shadow of Blaines gaze and the pauses that rest a heartbeat too long. Kurt cant leave them unsaid.

"Like?" Blaine asks.

"Stay." Though he tries, Kurt cant make himself keep smiling. It just makes his lips tremble. "I cant stay. I have to make this run."

Blaine looks down into the bowl of his glass, his fingers press either side of its stem. "I wish you didnt."

Kurt lays a hand upon Blaines forearm. "It doesnt mean I dont care for you, it doesnt mean I wouldnt rather stay here with you."

"Kurt, even if you were in perfect health, your ship? You might not make it back this time."

So Marley did tell him. Kurt nods. "I wont lie to you. That is a very real possibility."

"If you want to help your family? How is this helping your family?"

"I have a Plan B."

"Then why not—do whatever that plan is. Its got to be better than what youre doing now."

"If only," Kurt says. "But its not. Plan B is what happens if I dont make it back."

"Oh."

Haltingly, Kurt explains. "I have life insurance with the Guild. Its a flat amount plus the value of the run I didnt make and the next job on my docket. It wouldnt be enough if I hadnt got this far already, and its still not quite enough, but its close, and maybe they can make up the difference." Hes never said any of this aloud, just done the math in his head and hoped hed never have to seriously consider this a viable backstop.

"And, um, if Betty makes it and I dont, Ive requested that the money from her sale goes to my family too. Though, thats less likely; the Guild is disinclined to honor those requests when the pilot owns their own ship and is registered with the Guild."

Blaine stares at him. "I dont know whether to be impressed or horrified."

"Obviously, its not my best case. Its not what I want."

"Whats your best case, then? What do you want? Whats your ideal outcome."

"Within the constraints of reality?"

"Sure."

"I make these last three runs and so does Betty. My father gets a new heart. I go home to see him. Maybe take a break there. Then I go back to New Sierra and I see if I can requalify with the Tuning Federation, and I—" Kurt sighs and shakes his head.

"And?"

"I dont know how it fits with everything else yet, but I…" Kurt closes his eyes and makes himself continue. "I want to let myself fall in love with you. But in all my planning, I didnt anticipate you, and I know that—given the commitments of your profession? I know you cant promise me anything, and Id never ask you to. Id never expect you to leave here or fall in love with me too or, anything really? I dont know how this part can ever work. I just know that I want you to be in my life."

No response from Blaine comes. When Kurt cautiously opens his eyes again, he finds Blaine considering him with a surprisingly relaxed and amused smile, his cheek propped in his hand.

"What dont I know here?"

"You know the family that built the Oasis Station?"

"Um?" Kurt frowns as he thinks. Its a fancy three-syllable name, begins with a ‘D hes sure. "The Davenports?"

"The Dolloways," Blaine corrects. "Theyre based on New Sierra."

"Okay?"

"Their matriarch is… one of my clients."

"Wait…" Kurts frown deepens as he tries to think of who Blaine means, then he realizes, and his eyebrows rise toward his hairline. June Dolloway is one of the wealthiest people in the sector. "Isnt she, like, a hundred and fifty or something?"

Blaine laughs and shakes his head. "Close, and, oh, your face, Kurt. Its not like what youre thinking."

"Im not sure if thats better or worse," Kurt says wryly.

Blaines smile gives nothing away. "What Im trying to tell you is, I make that trip fairly regularly."

"But… hang on. Youll be working when youre there."

"Not the whole time. Wed get to see each other."

"How often?"

"More than we do now."

Kurt lets out a breath. Its not ideal, but sometimes, he well knows, the ideal is impossible. You work with what you can. "That sounds like something I could potentially look forward to," he says.

"I forget how much you miss because youre not actually here."

"Right," Kurt says. "I know. Ive slept through my last two birthdays."

"Have you?" Blaine says.

Kurt shrugs. Its not something he wants to dwell on. "So why do you live here then, Blaine? If you have connections like that on New Sierra?"

Blaine mirrors Kurts shrug. "I came to Hosting late, as you know, which can be a detriment socially if not professionally. Its harder for men anyway," he says. "So I wanted to get away from the competition in the city. Its very… stressful. Here is more peaceful, I can freelance. And Ive far more ability to actually connect with and help people, rather than simply amuse and divert them.

"The work I do on Oasis, whether in here—" Blaine indicates their surroundings, the tables and chairs, the stage with the piano. "—or in the privacy of my apartment. It matters to people in a way it wouldnt if I were just one among the many younger Hosts vying to play cocktail parties and escort fashionable socialites."

"So youre saying this is a small pond, and you like being a big fish?"

"That, and it enables me to network in my own way. I met June here on the station, not on New Sierra, where my even being in the same room as her would have been extremely unlikely. Her patronage affords me opportunities without my having had to navigate through Sierran high society or fight my way through the politics of the Host agencies."

"Oh," Kurt says. "Would you ever consider moving back then? If its that… fraught."

"I might, under the right circumstances."

Blaines smile makes Kurt wonder if he could become a right circumstance. But that hope is so much to hold. It seems volatile. "I cant believe Im even talking about this, the future like its…"

"Like its what?"

"Possible." Kurt says, and he flushes with warmth at the audacity of that confession.

Then Blaine says, "So why dont you let yourself fall in love with me now?" And the warmth drops to flood Kurts belly.

"Because—"

"Come on, dance with me." Blaine stands and offers Kurt his hand. Etta Jones sings around them. Smooth and slow.

The unsteadiness in Kurts legs is more than weakness from disuse. But he goes into Blaines arms without stumbling. Blaine pulls him into a close embrace, and as they sway together, Blaine sings softly along.

"There were birds in the sky
But I never saw them winging
No I never saw them at all
Till there was you"

His breath past Kurts ear makes Kurt shiver so pleasantly, and the press of their bodies together, the tender weight of Blaines arms make Kurt want to stay so badly. Here, like this. But he cant. So he says it, as much for himself as for Blaine: "You have to let me go, Blaine. When its time."

Blaine just pulls him closer, and kisses Kurts cheek near his ear. "Theres an art to it, you know. Being in love with a person."

"I dont understand."

"Im in love with all my clients when Im with them. But I can always let them go, Kurt."

The words refuse to settle. A cold confusion sweeps through his head, and Kurt resists Blaines embrace, tries to step back. "So have I misunderstood your feelings for me? Have a been wrong to think that you…?" Kurts voice gives out.

"No." Its emphatic, and Blaine doesnt release him. "Youre not wrong at all."

"Then?" Tentatively, Kurt relaxes back into the music, back against Blaine, but his heart beats too fast, and he doesnt understand.

"I dont want to let you go," Blaine says. "I dont think I can."

"But I need you to, Blaine, thats my answer to your question from this morning. Thats what I need."

Blaine doesnt reply immediately. "I can watch you get on on your ship, and I can watch you fly away, but what I cant do is let you go from my heart. I cant stop loving you when you leave me. God knows Ive tried, Kurt. Youre the one I cant let go."

Oh. And Kurt hears it in Blaines voice, the fragile tremor. Wonderingly, "are you crying?" he asks.

"Yes."

Kurt holds him tight for a time, strokes down his spine and feels Blaines breath hot and ragged against his neck, the wetness of his tears.

"Tell me what you want, Blaine. Tell me what I can give you that I can… actually give."

"Time," Blaine says immediately, and his voice has regained its confidence. "Time is the most valuable thing we have. The three days you have left, please, spend them with me. Be in love with me, just for now, until you go."

"I… Okay."

"And theres one other thing Id like," Blaine says. "If youre willing."

"If I can do it, then yes, of course, Blaine, anything."

Blaine steps back, takes Kurts hand, and pulls him toward the stage. "Please? Will you sing with me?"