Quinn doesn't arrive in time, and Finn and Rachel do miss their timeslot to be married. In the doorway of the meeting room where the bridal party is gathered, Carole is standing with Rachel, who is crying while trying not to, and Finn, who is trying to comfort her and looking bewildered by the entire situation, as if it only just now occurred to him how insane this all has been. Blaine is still sitting too straight in the red leather desk chair, staring off into space. From his perch on the desk, Kurt swings his leg forward to nudge Blaine's chair with his toes, drawing Blaine's attention, along with a tentative smile. Dreadful as the wedding shenanigans have been, Kurt cannot complain about Blaine in a dinner suit.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" Tina whispers.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," Santana drawls loudly enough to receive a sharp glare from Rachel.

"We could go to the comic book shop," Brittany says. "I used to go with Artie, but I haven't been in a while."

Anywhere but here sounds like a good idea to Kurt. He sees his Dad in the hall talking with the Messieurs Berry. They're largely failing at hiding their relief. "Is it far, Brittany?"

"Just a block or two," she says.

"Blaine?"

With a nod, Blaine runs his hands down his thighs and stands. "Yeah, I could use some fresh air," he says.

"Shouldn't we all be waiting for Quinn?" Mercedes asks.

"We're not going far," Kurt says. "Text us if something happens."

Sam, Artie, and Puck join their small venture, and the six of them amble down Main Street toward the square. The few trees lining the street are bare, but Kurt can see the reddish nubs that will become the new growth with warmer weather and longer days. The sun is sliding low and bloated orange as late afternoon heads into early evening; there's little direct sunlight between the long shadows cast by the closely spaced buildings. Winter's chill lingers on. Artie gives his suit jacket to Brittany, and she walks beside him while they talk about what they hope to find at the shop. Kurt's glad they're still friends. Sam and Puck are engaged in an animated discussion about some Star Wars graphic novel compilation.

"You know, I've never been to downtown Lima," Blaine says, looking about at the terribly banal architecture on their walk from the genuinely lovely Allen County Courthouse. The courthouse itself is worth a look; it's made of soft hued sandstone in a sort of French Second Empire style. Kurt's always liked the corner towers with the steep mansard roofs. It looks extravagant and ambitious—wholly out of place—perhaps magical, as if going inside could transport one somewhere more exotic and civilized. But it's in poor company, towering over the cookie cutter banks, shabby retail spaces, and drably functional government buildings nearby. There aren't many structures over three stories; an historic hotel a few blocks down is one other. No other pedestrians are on the sidewalks, though parked cars line the streets. As they approach the town square, there are more signs of life in the lit windows and the occasional neon sign. The store fronts grow older, prettier, and better maintained.

It's been a while since Kurt's been here. His Dad used to bring him downtown on his birthday. It was livelier then, and they'd go to the little local art gallery, browse a few boutiques, and have burgers and milkshakes for dinner at the old Kewpee diner. He wonders if the burgers are as good as he remembers. "It's quaint, I guess," Kurt says. It's the most generous word he can summon. The majority of the streets and store fronts haven't changed much since he was small. It's like the town stalled some indeterminate amount of time before he was born with 'newer' buildings scattered about the older town center being a decidedly non-eclectic mix of tired brutalism. There are some signs of genuine modernity, but they seem out of place, haphazard. The town lacks a consistent vision.

They don't make it to the comic shop.

It's Puck who gets the first call (from Quinn's mother, Kurt will later discover). Kurt watches Puck go ashen faced and still as a stone, and he feels the sick weight of dreadful apprehension sink cold in his belly. Then his phone rings. It's Rachel, and she's hysterical.

Kurt sits on the cracked tile edge of the empty fountain in the square and tries to get her calm enough that he can understand what she's telling him. Blaine's hand is on his shoulder when Rachel finally gets it out clearly: Quinn's been in a car crash. A bad one.

~*~

It's a grotesque parallel to Beth's birth, Kurt thinks, as the members of New Directions crowd into the hospital lobby in their wedding finery, anxious, seeking news, and offering impossible comfort to Quinn's mother. Quinn is in surgery, her condition critical.

~

They all end up at the Berrys' except Puck, who stays at the hospital. The place is set up for the reception with all the food including the cake (from which Kurt has the wherewithal to discreetly remove the topper to his pocket). It feels more like a funeral than a wedding reception, though it's neither of those things. Everyone is so quiet and tearful. Rachel's Dads are gracious, if subdued, hosts. No one eats much, and the cake remains untouched. Rachel gets a call from Puck to let them know Quinn is out of surgery and has been admitted to ICU. She's in a coma, critical but stable. They'll know more in the morning.

Everyone seems to take the update as a cue to go home. Finn stays.

~*~

Kurt remains composed until he's shut safely in his bedroom with Blaine. The click of his door latch is like opening a valve that looses all the vitality from his limbs, and Kurt finds gravity pushing him to his knees. He clings to Blaine's legs and presses his hot face against Blaine's hip, trying to breathe. The last conversation he had with Quinn was unfriendly. They've never been friends, not really, at least not in any conventional sense. Their worlds are different enough, they're like aliens to one another. But Quinn is part of his odd little family; she's on his mental list of people to whom he fears terrible things happening.

It's not guilt this time, despite their last conversation. It's more like some kind of sadistic, cosmic kick to the gut. The injustice of Quinn in hospital fighting for her life—a life she's already fought for (and with that thought, maybe, Kurt realizes they aren't quite as different as they both like to insist), and it's just... He's angry. But there's no one toward whom to direct his anger and nothing to blame. It's just chaos and pain and all those inevitable disasters of existence. The abyss looms close, and his anger gives way to a sudden yawn of loneliness. Kurt doesn't want to go there, to that mental place where bright things—happiness and love and hope—all feel like a fraud: life's great swindle. Fortunately he's been there before, and he knows the way back. That path's well trodden, and anyway, he's not alone.

He tightens his hold on Blaine who is standing very still—probably frozen in uncertainty, for Kurt is behaving so bizarrely. The absurd melodrama of his falling to his knees in pent up anguish is not lost on Kurt, but there's simply no strength in him. Blaine soon brings one hand to finger comb through Kurt's hair; with the other he strokes Kurt's exposed cheek. His fingers are cool against Kurt's face. "Sweetheart?" he says, and then his hands are going to Kurt's wrists and gently loosening Kurt's hold on him.

Blaine kneels with Kurt, and he reaches for his boutonniere, carefully unpinning the white spray of flowers from Kurt's lapel. He smiles shallowly, doesn't say anything as he reaches up to set the rose on the bookcase. Then he unbuttons Kurt's suit jacket, pushes it down his shoulders and off. He has to get up then, to pick up the jacket, shake the folds from it and lay it upon the bed. Kurt brings his fingers to his tie, but his joints feel rubbery and his muscles weak; he makes slow work of unknotting it.

Blaine offers him both of his hands. "Can you get up?" he asks, "And come sit on the bed?"

Kurt nods and places his hands in Blaine's, manages to stand and stumble to his bed with Blaine's support. Blaine takes over undoing his tie and then unbuttons his shirt. Kurt realizes he's never actually let Blaine undress him, not completely. He lets himself remain limp but cooperative, lets Blaine remove his shirt and undershirt, his shoes and socks. Then it's his belt and his trousers coming undone, and maybe Kurt should feel like there's something sexual going on here, with Blaine's hands on him like this, but his body isn't responding that way.

"Lift up for me?" Blaine prompts, and Kurt lies back and lifts his hips. Blaine pulls down the pants and Kurt's underwear, and then Kurt is lying naked upon his bed, heavy limbed and despondent. His emotions have flattened into apathy for the moment as he watches Blaine hang the suit up neatly, hook the belt on the back of his closet door, and put the rest of his things in the laundry hamper.

"Were you and Quinn close?" Blaine asks him softly. He takes off his own suit jacket, hangs it on the back of Kurt's desk chair, and then he returns to Kurt, sits down beside him on the bed and takes Kurt's hand.

Kurt shakes his head. "Not exactly, but we've seen each other through a lot, have been there for each other in that quiet, from a distance sort of way."

"She seems... hard to be close to."

"Yeah," Kurt says, and as he thinks about it, how fiercely guarded Quinn's always been, a wave of sadness, pity, and empathy wells up in his chest. Kurt takes a few deep, quick breaths to clear it out. It's a half faded echo of longing tangled up with fearful self-imposed isolation. Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand and is grateful to his bones for Blaine, for everything he is in Kurt's life and for everything Kurt believes they will yet be for each other. He sends a wish—a hope, not a prayer—out to the universe, for Quinn to be all right and for her to one day have someone like Blaine, whether a friend or a lover, just someone like that.

Blaine nods and leans over to reach under Kurt's pillow for his pajamas, but Kurt stops him. He rolls, half sits up, and wraps his arms around Blaine's waist. "Can we just..." Kurt trails off, as Blaine comes back into his arms, turning to face Kurt and moving close until Kurt's bare skin is pressed up against the faint prickle of Blaine's suit pants and the stiff cotton of his dress shirt and Blaine's face is tucked against Kurt's neck, his breath soft and warm.

They stay like that for a while, silent and still but for the clenching of Kurt's fingers into Blaine's shirt and the repeating light stroke of Blaine's hand up and down Kurt's naked spine. "I'm so glad I know you," Kurt murmurs.

"Me too," Blaine says and gathers Kurt up more tightly in his arms, rolling them so Kurt is half sprawled on top of him. Their legs are still hanging over the edge of the bed, and Kurt, despite Blaine's hold of him, is beginning to chill.

"We should get under the covers," Kurt says.

"Okay," Blaine says, and extricates himself from their embrace. Kurt sits woozily, wriggles his fingers through his hair to work out the hold of his hair spray. He really should go brush his teeth and wash his face first. Leaving the room though...

He won't give in to that lethargy. Kurt makes himself get up and he gets his dressing gown. "I'm just going to brush my teeth," he says. "But I was wondering if we could, um, sleep nude together tonight?" He's not embarrassed to ask for this, it's just that the only times they have slept together naked have been after sex when they've known they'd be waking up alone. But they aren't alone in the house tonight, and if someone comes in? It seems such a trivial concern, considering.

Blaine blinks at him, "Of course we can."

"I don't... I don't want sex or anything tonight, " Kurt explains. "I just really want to feel you. With me."

"Yeah, sure," Blaine says, and they finish getting ready for bed, so they can slip beneath the covers, bare to the sheets and bare to each other. Kurt leaves his bedside lamp on. He doesn't think he can sleep yet. His eyelids won't stay closed.

Kurt lies on his side with Blaine spooned up snug, smooth, and warm behind him. It's only natural that Blaine is semi-hard, his cock pressing against Kurt's ass, just nudging high between Kurt's buttocks. Kurt flexes his spine, presses back a little against Blaine, feels the twitch of Blaine's dick against him. A tentative coil of heat tries to knot in his belly, but it doesn't hold. But something within Kurt eases at feel of it. It's... exceedingly intimate. Usually when they lie like this it's after, and everything is loose and blunted. But while Kurt is feeling drained, he's not in anything like the comfortable carelessness of the afterglow.

"Sorry," Blaine says. "Is this okay?" He shifts his hips back just a little.

Kurt nods. "Yes, it's fine."

"I know you said you didn't want to—"

"I know. I don't, not really. But it feels nice. You feel really good... like this." And it is so good, to feel Blaine pressed against him so intimately, skin to skin. He can imagine the barrier between them dissolving, imagine his heart syncing up to Blaine's pulse where he feels it throb against his back and even lower. Blaine is here, alive and vibrant and here with him. Kurt reaches back to urge Blaine's hips back against him, closer.

"Mmm, it does. You feel really good, too, Kurt." Blaine finds Kurt's hand and tangles their fingers together as he drapes his arm over Kurt's waist. He rests his chin near the top of Kurt's shoulder blade.

"Do you want me to... do anything to help you out there?"

"No," Blaine says. "I'm good. My dick and I are content to just hold you." There's a pause. "So long as you're good too."

That makes Kurt laugh softly, unexpectedly. "Yes, Blaine. I'm good. We're all good over here."

"All right," Blaine says, tightening the arm he's got draped over Kurt's waist and flattening his hand over Kurt's pressing Kurt's palm against his belly. "But if that changes, you'll let me know, right?"

"You'll be the first, I promise."

Blaine nuzzles against the side of his neck, exhales a quiet chuckle to raise goosebumps.

With that glib promise, Kurt realizes there are things he needs to tell Blaine, things Blaine should be the first to know: like the little secret decision Kurt's made, that he's been turning over his mind in idle moments. He really shouldn't wait any longer to tell Blaine. So he'll tell him now, while they are together, while they maybe need something to look forward to that's more immediate than escaping Lima alive and intact. "You should know," he starts. "I've been thinking about it a lot, Blaine." And then Kurt realizes that, for all the times he's considered the doing of the thing, he hasn't rehearsed this part: actually asking Blaine for it.

"Hmm, what's that?"

"About..." Kurt huffs out a less than patient breath. It's just words. He's certainly said filthier things to Blaine in the heat of the moment, and they've talked about this before. There's a distinct implication in the way they're lying together that makes any pretense of coyness nonsensical. So he makes himself say it plainly: "About you fucking me."

"Oh, okay..." Blaine says neutrally.

"And I've made a decision," Kurt says, "That if you want to, I'd like it if, the next time we're alone together and have the time, if you would..." He takes a breath, lets it out. He takes another and says it, "...fuck me."

Blaine's response is immediate and unmistakable: palpable where Blaine's cock is secure between Kurt's buttocks, and Blaine exhales a hot, shaky breath across Kurt's shoulder. "Oh," he says; his fingers curl between Kurt's, digging into the softness of Kurt's relaxed belly, holding Kurt firmly against him. "Kurt... Yes, I would... I would love that. I mean, if you're sure."

Kurt wonders in a flash then, what it would be like if Blaine simply pushed him over and did it right now, with Kurt muffling himself against his pillow, while the house sleeps around them. It's a tempting thought, but he doesn't want the first time he's with Blaine that way to be something so hushed or anxious, and certainly not on a night when his emotions have been through the shredder and the memory would forever be tainted with sadness. "I am sure," he says, tightening his fingers between Blaine's. "I'm tired of waiting. I don't want to wait anymore, to be close to you like that, to find out what it's like."

Blaine loosens the grasp of his hand, strokes along Kurt's fingers, and kisses his shoulder. "What is it you've been waiting for?" he murmurs.

"To..." It sticks in Kurt's throat. It's not something he likes to admit, not even to himself. "To stop being afraid, I guess," he whispers.

Blaine doesn't respond immediately. Then he says, his lips grazing Kurt's skin, "I hope you know, you don't need to be afraid with me. I won't hurt you."

"I know, and it's not that. I'm not afraid of the mechanics of it or anything. It's not that. I just." Kurt pauses. The fear is less clear now than it's ever been. It's evolved into something diffuse and abstract. He's no longer ashamed of wanting it, even the memory of that shame feels like it belongs to someone else. But there's still some sort of trepidation, something holding him back. Maybe he wants it too much and is still afraid he can't have it, or that it's just an illusion, or nothing he'll be allowed to keep. Or maybe he's just so used to the fear, he's running on emotional momentum and there's not actually any there there.

Or maybe it's the old self-defense, of don't let them too close, they'll only turn away if they get a good look. But that's nothing to fear with Blaine. So Kurt is not confident he can articulate it well enough. But he tries his best. "I want to be able to give you so much, Blaine. I do. But, I think, sometimes that's what frightens me."

"But you already do," Blaine says softly. "You give me so much, Kurt, more than I..." Blaine leaves that thought unfinished again.

"No," Kurt says. "I still feel like—no, I know—I'm holding back. I'm not giving you all of me. But I want to."

"And that scares you?"

"I think so?"

"Why?"

"I guess, maybe..." Kurt closes his eyes, tries to understand it, the way his heart trembles when he imagines it. He wants it so much, it steals his breath, but? Then what? "Because I worry that once I give you everything of myself, I won't have anything left to offer. And what if it's not enough?" Kurt thinks that may be closer to the truth, but he still wonders if he's just groping the edges of it to describe its shape.

"That's. Kurt, that's not how it works," Blaine says. "You're never going to be insufficient to me. You can't be, because you're you. I can't imagine how—"

"But if I give you everything, what's left?"

Blaine doesn't reply for several heartbeats, and when he does, his voice is clear and serious. "Kurt. What's left is still everything you are."

"Everything?"

"Yes," Blaine says. "We're still talking about sex here, right? I mean, not just sex, but that's what this is about?"

"Mm, I think so," Kurt says. It's the pivot point anyway. Or the metaphor. Or the physical manifestation of the emotion, or... It's something.

"Okay, so, do you think you've had all of me just because you've... what? Fucked me? Do you think that I've got nothing left to give you?" Blaine asks. There's something urgent in his voice, like he's desperate for Kurt to understand something here. "Do you really think you've given me less than I've given you? That we're out of balance or something?"

Kurt considers it; there are too many questions for a simple answer. "No, but I don't know. I haven't really thought about it that way, not exactly." And he hasn't, because a lot of the time he tries so hard not to think about it, at least not in these sort of base terms. It's not like he believes there's some weird magic to having a cock in his ass, like his 'everything' is located somewhere in his rectum, and Blaine just has to tag it with it his dick to get it. It's ridiculous. Of course Kurt doesn't think that. So he adds. "No, I don't think that at all, at least not in those terms. Not about the physical part of it anyway.

"But also yes," Kurt continues, "because I have been scared, Blaine. And to me it still feels like a big step. I have held things back from you. You probably have given me more of you than I've given you of me," Kurt says and frowns because it all came out jumbled like a tongue twister. He hopes he said what he meant to say.

"I don't believe that," Blaine says.

"No?"

"Look at me, Kurt."

Kurt rolls over and Blaine takes both his hands in his own, looks directly into Kurt's eyes as he speaks with such earnestness and gravity, Kurt can't look away.

"What we are, Kurt, within ourselves and for each other, is infinite, and infinity is indivisible, right?"

Kurt nods; he doesn't have to believe in an immortal soul to accept that premise.

"There's no finite sum of you or me we can give each other and then we're done. It's continuous because... Well, you can't step in the same river twice." Blaine pauses with a flash of a grin that Kurt returns. Blaine continues, "Sex is a way, one way, for us to connect in a moment. Even if we give each other everything we can in that moment, or if what we give each other is different at different times, or even if it feels like less or more at another time?

"It's not everything we are for all time. I mean, it's important, yes, of course it is; and it matters, but it's not like you lose anything to me by doing it; that something is given and then it's gone. You're giving of yourself, sure, but you're not giving anything away, you're not losing something. That's not how it works."

Kurt blinks; his eyes are dry, but he feels like he wants to cry, and he can't articulate why.

Blaine smiles gently, speaks even more softly. "The way you make love to me, Kurt," Blaine says, with a glance down at their joined hands. "You're such a generous lover, I thought you knew that."

It's the first time either of them have said that two word phrase out loud. Kurt takes a breath and asks, "The way I...? Is that what we do, Blaine? Do we make love?"

"I think so."

"Even when I say dirty things to you and make you beg?"

"Especially then," Blaine says, grinning, open-eyed and unabashed.

Kurt smiles. "Yeah. I think so, too."

"Okay, so, can we agree that I'm not going to hurt you or find you inadequate or somehow use up all your sex mojo?" Blaine teases.

Kurt nods and laughs. "Yes, we can agree to that."

But then Blaine sobers to continue. He tightens his hold on Kurt's hands as he speaks, "I know this is a big deal to you. And honestly, Kurt, as much as I can say to you that it's not necessarily more than the other things we do together, there is something about it. When you're inside me like that."

Blaine lowers his gaze and licks his lips before lifting his gaze back to Kurt's and holding steady as he continues, "When your cock is so deep in my ass and you're fucking me so hard I can't remember my own name? It's, Kurt, it is so intimate, and it's intense, and it requires trust and faith and, I believe, love as well. So I do get it, that you might be skittish to be vulnerable like that with me—both to me and within yourself. But, Kurt, I promise you, if you want to do this with me, I will take care of you. All of you, not just your body."

At that Kurt does feel tears spring sharp behind his eyes, and he takes a feeble breath. He's been crying so much this week, he guesses he's just that raw with everything that's happened. "Blaine, that's how I know I'm sure," he says. "I'm sure of you."

Blaine's eyes shine and he smiles. "I'm so glad, Kurt." He frees one hand and lays it warm upon Kurt's cheek, running his thumb over Kurt's bottom lip. Kurt's eyelashes flutter at the tender touch, and his heart speeds at Blaine's next words, that come so low and heavy with intention, "I will make it so good for you." Then Blaine bends his face near to replace his thumb with his mouth, sealing his promise with a kiss, and Kurt surrenders himself to it.

~*~

The next week is a bit of a blur. Between Rachel and Puck, they stay informed of Quinn's status. Her condition continues to improve, and the doctors think she'll wake up soon. She'll be spending more time in the hospital though. There are internal injuries to heal and broken bones and whispers of damage to her spine. They take turns visiting the hospital in the afternoons after Glee. Mrs. Fabray doesn't want anyone but family going into ICU to see Quinn, but she is grateful for the flowers and cards, the cups of coffee and magazines they bring. Kurt and Blaine make cookies and fill a thermos with minestrone for her the afternoon they visit.

On other afternoons, Kurt tries to keep busy. He starts practicing in earnest for his NYADA audition, staying after Glee in the afternoons to use the auditorium or choir room. Blaine is his audience for the first run through each day, but then Blaine heads to the gym for what he calls quality time with the heavy bag. They say goodbye in the parking lot with a squeeze of their hands and a "I'll text when I get home and talk to you after dinner." Kurt hopes fervently, more and more, that Mr. Anderson will have a business trip soon, a long one. When Kurt gets home, he cooks and does homework, and for each day that passes without catastrophe, he's grateful. But he still can't shake the impatient irritation nagging in the back of his brain that, now he's decided he's ready for his boyfriend to fuck him, the universe owes them an opportunity.

At some point Kurt looks at the calendar and realizes the anniversary of his and Blaine's first kiss is approaching, and it's on a Saturday. Not this coming weekend, but the following. He texts Blaine asking him of the likelihood his house will be free. Blaine isn't sure, but Kurt hears Finn talking about heading down to Kentucky with Rory and Sam that weekend to help Sam's parents with some sort of home renovation and repair job. He encourages them to take this much needed break from Lima. And then the week swallows him up again. Most of his teachers are laying on projects, assignments, and tests in advance of Easter break, so the homework is starting to pile up.

And then it's Friday already, but Blaine can't stay the night because his father is taking him out early Saturday morning to spend the day playing golf. Kurt says it's fine and it's wonderful that Blaine's Dad is taking an interest in spending time with his son. Kurt's pretty sure Blaine doesn't believe that it's anything other than the semi-annual half-assed attempt to straighten him out, but Kurt doesn't say anything discouraging and neither does Blaine. So Saturday morning, in the absence of Blaine, Kurt steps out into the backyard to see what needs to be done for the Spring.

He doesn't have much of a green thumb, but given that Carole used to have her yard spray painted, coordinating the spring garden chores falls to Kurt while his Dad's away. There's not much to do. The yard is nearly all lawn patched with swathes of clover and wild strawberries. There are mature trees and a few shrubs, and in the front yard are some daffodils and irises, but Kurt doesn't think they require much intervention. The woodpile alongside the house needs to be tidied up, and the roses along the back of the house pruned. The honeysuckle draping the back fence might need some attention. Then there's the old derelict greenhouse with which they've done nothing since moving in. Kurt changes into one of his Dad's old work shirts and ventures into it, wary of the broken glass on the ground and the precariousness of some of the panes above him. There's still a scraggly and tenacious raspberry vine living at one end of it. It must get just enough rain through the holes in the roof, and it looks like there may be a few volunteer cherry tomato plants struggling among the weeds. Or they're potatoes or nightshade. Kurt isn't sure he can tell them apart.

He makes a half-hearted attempt at pulling some of the things he's certain are weeds, but the ground is too dry and hard and the weeds young and tender; they break off at the roots. He'll need to get a watering can or something, drag the hose in here, to soften the ground.

Maybe he can get some kind of gardening guide or do some research online, call a glazier to repair the broken panes, clear the place out and put it to its intended use. Once school finishes, he still has the summer before heading to New York. It would be a nice summer project to have some garden fresh vegetables with which to cook. He can plant the things he has trouble finding at the supermarket: various peppers, sweet Japanese eggplant, and heirloom tomatoes come to mind. And fresh herbs. Unfortunately, he hasn't the faintest notion of where to start, so he calls Mercedes. She helps her Mom with her garden, so she'll have some ideas. It may be a good way to rekindle their friendship.

Sunday, Mercedes comes over and they spend the afternoon at the dining table on his laptop scrolling through heritage seed catalogs and planning a small starter garden for Kurt. It's good Mercedes is there to reign him in. Kurt is dazzled by the variety of plants available. She keeps having to explain to him that it's easy to over commit, the garden will take his time every day, and if he plants that many summer squash plants he'll end up inundated with more fruit than he can possibly eat, store, or give away. They scope out a sunny corner of the yard Mercedes thinks will be a good spot for a raised bed. Kurt asks about no till methods. Mercedes rolls her eyes at him, explains how those kind of beds need to be set up at least a year in advance of planting. She also thinks Kurt will be better off buying young plants from the local nursery instead of growing directly from seed for his first attempt at a garden.

Mercedes stays for dinner—Kurt makes a lentil shepherd's pie and a side salad of spinach, orange, and walnuts. He finishes the meal with a low fat vegan chocolate-cherry mousse for desert. They make a tentative date for the following Sunday to actually start setting up the garden. It's not going to be as grand as what he's imagined in his head, but it will be something. He's going to plant peas at least.

~*~

Onions are sizzling, fragrant and savory, in olive oil on Monday evening when Carole comes into the kitchen to talk to Kurt. He's just begun throwing together a quick marinara sauce in which to cook some mushroom 'meatballs' he's pulled out of the freezer. "I need your help, Kurt," she says.

"Yes?" Kurt replies.

"I'm trying to talk your father into staying in D.C. this weekend so I can fly out and meet him there, and we can go for a drive down to Williamsburg, spend the weekend meandering about looking at historical sites and antique shops and enjoying the warmer weather before schools get out for Spring Break. He's been working so hard since he got elected, and God knows, I always need a holiday." Carole goes the the fridge to pour herself a glass of iced tea. She leans against the counter, outside Kurt's work area and sips her tea.

"I'm sensing a 'but'," Kurt says, glancing up from one last pass of his knife over the garlic he's mincing. "He's not interested?"

"He is," Carole says, "But he thinks he needs to be home with you, given everything that's been going on lately. With Finn and Sam going to Kentucky, he worries about you being alone. We both do."

"Oh," Kurt says, scraping up the garlic into a little mound so he can slide it onto the knife blade for transport to the fry pan. He wasn't expecting this sort of directness, but he appreciates that Carole doesn't pussyfoot about the issue. "I'm doing okay, Carole." Kurt swallows hard and keeps his features placid. He's horribly aware of what 'okay' means in this conversation. Carole was around the last time he wasn't okay. She held his hand through the terrible time when his father couldn't. And she later gave up her own honeymoon to keep him safe, to make sure he could be okay again. "He knows I'm okay, doesn't he?" Kurt asks.

"I don't think he does know, honey," Carole says. "And I want to be sure that you are, Kurt. I don't know what's been going on with you and Blaine, but I do know we haven't been seeing him as much, which means you haven't been seeing him as much. So I want to ask you, is everything okay?"

Kurt adds a generous pinch of dried chili flakes to the onions and garlic and sautes them together while he gathers words. If they are the right words, he's uncertain, but he tries to explain. "I promise I'm fine, and Blaine and I are fine," Kurt says. "But I think Blaine and his father are... not."

Carole sighs, but it's not exasperated, not exactly. "Are you having problems with his parents again?"

With a shrug Kurt replies, "I don't know. Blaine hasn't wanted me to come over for some time because his Dad is... I don't know what's going on with his Dad really, but it's like Blaine's been passive-aggressively grounded or something. It's probably partly because of me, but not me, just that I'm his son's boyfriend." Kurt tips the chopped tomatoes into the pan, stirs them until they start bubbling. He adds the herbs with a dash of salt and a generous grind of pepper, stirs again, and turns the heat down. "I think Blaine's father wants a straight son, and I think he thinks there's something he can do to make it so. And one of those things he thinks he can do is to make it harder for Blaine and I to spend much quality time together." He looks up from the pan and turns to Carole.

She's frowning. "So really I should be asking you if Blaine is okay."

"I think he is," Kurt says. "I mean, I know this is hard on him, and he's frustrated, and I'm frustrated, and this weekend is actually our anniversary, but his father is probably going to drag him off to play golf again, or find some other tedious manly WASPish thing to do... I don't know, fox hunting or sailing or someth—" Kurt stops when he realizes how much the volume of his voice has risen. He rakes a hand through his hair, regrets it immediately since his fingers are sticky with garlic juice, and tries to calm down. "Sorry," he mutters and goes to the sink to wash his hands.

"It's okay," Carole says carefully, coming forward and setting her glass down on the island. "So go ahead and invite Blaine to stay the weekend, Kurt, and I will... talk to your Dad about inviting the Andersons on a special VIP tour of Washington D.C."

"Seriously?"

Carole shrugs. "Sure, why not? I've got to start acting like a Congressman's wife at some point, and they did invite us to their Christmas party after all."

"They're not even in our district, you know."

"I'm pretty sure they can still donate," she says, "And your father has to start buttering up the rich folks for his eventual Senate run."

"Oh my god," Kurt says, and he starts laughing. "That is both brilliant and ridiculous."

She beams at him. "Best stepmom ever, huh?"

"If you can pull this off? I'll buy you a t-shirt and a mug declaring it to be so," Kurt says, and when Carole opens her arms for a hug, he goes to her.

"You better," she says, giving him a quick squeeze and then releasing him. "And Kurt," she says as he goes back to the stove to poke at his sauce.

"Yes?"

"I hope you know that if Blaine ever needs a place to go, he's always welcome here. Anytime, no matter what. I mean it. Your Dad or I will pick him up if he needs a ride."

Kurt smiles. "I know, Carole."

"Make sure he does, too, sweetie, okay?"

"I will," Kurt promises, though he suspects Blaine already does.