CHAPTER 26

Everything was normal, and Kurt reveled in the normalcy.  After taking a limited role in the fall/winter Fashion Weeks of February and March, he resumed his normal active role for the spring/summer shows in the fall, but voluntarily elected to let his trusted employees take on the bulk of the work for the next fall/winter show, finding that he actually enjoyed himself more when he limited his responsibility and commitments.  He delighted in seeing Mason's new line debut to rave reviews.  But mostly, he just enjoyed living, enjoyed feeling normal, healthy.

Kurt didn't even notice at first.  He had never regained much of an appetite, but ate anyway, so it became routine.  Therefore, when what little appetite he did have disappeared, he didn't really notice.  Nor did he notice when he gradually began to lose weight again.  He didn't notice when he began to get tired more easily, and when he did, he thought he was just overdoing things, so he just tried to slow down a bit.  At first it helped, but then it got worse.  When he began to get short of breath, he wrote it off as a cold.  It was not until the sweltering June day when he went to change to go to the dance studio and caught a glance of himself, naked, in the full length mirror, and saw several bruises for which he had no explanation that he began to worry.

Blaine was always aware of Kurt's health, but nothing seemed really amiss.  Blaine didn't notice the lack of appetite, as Kurt was forcing himself to eat.  The slight weight loss could be attributed to his increased dancing.  He was tired sometimes, but not exhausted as he had been, and he admitted it and responded appropriately, getting more rest, which seemed to help.  A little shortness of breath corresponded in time to a mild cold, and only appeared when he was dancing or exercising, so Blaine figured it would resolve itself when the cold went away.  So he was caught completely unaware when Kurt walked out of their bedroom, dressed not for the dance studio, as he expected, but in street clothes, and, taking his hand, looked into his face with wide, scared eyes, and said, “I think we should call Dr. Miles.”

“What?  Why?”  Blaine was confused.  Kurt had been getting regular blood tests and periodic bone marrow biopsies; they had all been fine.

By way of an answer, Kurt unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders.  He heard Blaine's sharp intake of breath.  “There are more.  And my appetite is gone.  I've been eating anyway, thinking it would come back, but it hasn't.  I'm getting more and more tired again, and it's getting worse, not better, no matter how much I try to rest.  And I keep getting short of breath, sometimes it's hard to breathe.  I thought it was just a cold, but the cold is gone, and it doesn't seem to be better.  And the cold took forever to go away.  Maybe I'm just being paranoid.  I hope so.  I hope I go in and she just laughs about all this.  But I'm trying to not ignore things like last time.  I think we need to call.”

Blaine pulled Kurt into his arms.  Kissing his forehead, he said.  “You're right.  We can't take any chances.  Do you want to call, or do you want me to do it?”

Quietly, Kurt answered, “I'll do it.”  He pulled out his phone, found Dr. Miles' number in his contact list, and hit the call button.  Blaine never let go of him as he spoke to someone in Dr. Miles' office, explaining his symptoms.  A few moments later, he said into the phone, “Okay, I'll be there.  See you then.”  It sounded so ordinary, more like a lunch date than a matter of life and death.  Hanging up, he turned to Blaine.  “I have an appointment for tomorrow morning at ten.  The usual drill, blood test, bone marrow biopsy, exam.”

* * *

The next morning found them in Dr. Miles' familiar office, truly scared and nervous for the first time in more than a year.  After the first several months of good test results, the monitoring had become routine, something mildly annoying that just had to be done, but nothing to be frightened about.  This was different.  Less than three months ago, Kurt had been given a clean bill of health.  Now, it seemed to both of them as though their world was ending all over again. 

The nurse called Kurt back.  Taking a deep breath, he gave Blaine's hand a squeeze before standing to follow her to the back of the office.  Once in the back, he followed the familiar routine.  First, he rolled up his sleeve and a technician drew his blood.  Funny, he thought, that it always looks the same, whether the test results were good or bad.  Next, he was led to the procedure room, where he changed into a gown and climbed onto the table to lie down.  A few minutes later Dr. Miles came in and did the bone marrow biopsy, first asking if he wanted to be medicated before the procedure, an offer he refused as usual.  Rather than having him move, she then conducted the exam in the same room, looking at the bruises, checking for any swelling or abnormal feeling lymph nodes or glands, listening to his heart, lungs, and intestines, checking his eyes, ears, nose and throat, and asking him detailed questions about his symptoms, recent illnesses, and other details.  Finally, she was done.  Kurt returned to Blaine in the waiting room, telling him the time of the appointment the next afternoon to go over the results.

They both took the day off, but really didn't talk much.  Neither wanted to give voice to their fears, but both were too consumed by them to discuss anything else.  So they spent the day puttering around the house, accomplishing nothing, but periodically finding each other to just touch, hug, and hold one another.  After an early dinner of delivery Chinese food, they headed for the bedroom.  Blaine turned on the shower in the bathroom, turning to Kurt and saying quietly, “Please, let me.”  And he quietly undressed his husband, drawing him into the shower to bathe him before drying and dressing him and tucking him into bed.  Seeming to understand Blaine's need to take care of him and do whatever he could for him, however small, Kurt didn't protest.  A few minutes later, when Blaine climbed into bed, Kurt snuggled into him, taking comfort in his warm, protective presence.

  * * *

The next afternoon they were seated in front of Dr. Miles' desk when she entered holding Kurt's now substantial file, a new set of reports clipped to the front.  One look at her face told them all they needed to know.  “Well,” she began, “The test results are certainly not what we had hoped.  Kurt, you've had a relapse.  We need to start you on induction chemo again as soon as possible.”

“How bad is it?”  Kurt asked bluntly.  Blaine cringed.

“Pretty bad.  The percentage of cancer cells in your blood is as high as when you were first diagnosed, and your bone marrow is worse than it was then.  That's why we have to move on this as quickly as possible.”

“Is it going to work?”  Kurt questioned.

“I certainly hope so,” she answered.  “If I didn't think there was a chance, I'd tell you.  Believe me, I would never put someone through this unless there was a chance they would get better.  But I won't lie to you.  The chances after a relapse aren't as good as with an initial diagnosis.  You're still on the list for a transplant, which will definitely be your best shot, but there's still no match.  Right now we need to focus on getting you to a position to do a transplant if a donor is found.”

Blaine was silently praying.  So far, none of his prayers had been answered today.  He was down to his last:  Please God, let Kurt cooperate; Kurt, please don't balk. 

Kurt sighed.  “When do we start?”

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief as Dr. Miles said, “As you know, we have a few tests to do at the hospital, we'll need to put in a new central line, and we need to start your antibiotics and anti-nausea drugs.  Given your typical reactions, I would have liked to have had them on board for a few days before we started the chemo, but we can't afford that kind of delay, so I would like to admit you tonight and start them.  We'll start your chemo in the morning.”

“Lumbar puncture?”  Kurt asked.  When Dr. Miles nodded, he said, “Can Mary Beth do it?  And the central line?”

“I can't promise anything, but I'll call and see if she's available.  I need to call and set up your admission anyway.  How quickly can you be back here?”

Turning to Blaine, Kurt said, “Baby, you know what I need.  Could you please pack for me and bring my things over?”  When Blaine nodded numbly, Kurt turned to Dr. Miles and said, “I can go now.”

Blaine left to pack for Kurt and for himself, having no intention of leaving him that night.  On the way back to the apartment he called Ben to apprise him of the situation.  Ben immediately went into action.  Meanwhile, Kurt waited in a small conference room while Dr. Miles made her calls. 

A short while later, a nurse appeared to escort Kurt across the bridge linking the medical office building to the hospital, where he was met by Miranda.  “Just couldn't stay away from me, huh?”  She joked.

“You caught me,” he said. 

Holding out a gown, she said, “I know this isn't really your favorite attire, but I'm afraid you're stuck with it for a few hours.  Hopefully we'll get you changed into your pj's before you go to sleep, otherwise we'll get you into them in the morning.”

“Well, since I came directly from Dr. Miles office and I wasn't really planning on being here, it's pretty much my only choice.  Blaine's bringing my things in a little while, but Dr. Miles wanted to get me started as soon as possible.”  Kurt told her.  That answered her next question, which was why he arrived alone, accompanied by only a nurse.

Before she could leave to let him change, a red-haired sprite entered, saying, “I thought we agreed not to meet here anymore.  We're only supposed to meet at restaurants or your office, and only to discuss the engagement, the wedding, and my dress.  Not here, not for this.”  She was fighting back tears.

“Sorry,” Kurt apologized.  “But I think we're about done with the design.  Once you approve it, we'll take measurements and start the actual dress.  Once that happens it would be really helpful if you didn't gain or lose weight, and don't get any taller.”

“Right,” she snorted, smiling through the tears.  “As if.  I've been trying to get taller for years.  Hasn't worked yet.  Now get changed and let's do this.”

Both women stepped out and Kurt changed into the gown quickly, barely getting it tied in back before an orderly knocked on the door.  He climbed onto the gurney, not surprised when Mary Beth took control.  He held his breath through two harrowing races through the hallways, saying, “I'm really glad you'll be able to put me back together if you break me!”  Mary Beth just laughed.

She placed his central line, then took him back to his room.  “I'll be right back,” she told him after helping him move to the bed.  “Get ready for me.  You know the drill:  on your side, facing the door.”  She walked to the nurse's station and made a few notes in his chart, then handled it to the nurse.  “As soon as possible,” she said.

The nurse nodded, saying, “Dr. Miles wanted his other meds started as soon as the central line was in anyway.  I'll just do this at the same time.  Give me about ten minutes.”  She called the pharmacy, telling them to bring the newly ordered medication immediately.  When it arrived, about five minutes later, she took it, along with the previously ordered medication which was already at the nurse's station, and headed to Kurt's room.

“What is all that?”  Kurt asked, although he was pretty sure what it was.

“Fluids, antibiotics, anti-nausea meds, and pain meds,” she told him. 

“I don't need pain meds,” he told her as she hung the bags from the stand at his bedside and hooked them up to various pumps and machines before attaching them to some of the lines branching off of his central line.

“I don't make the orders, I just fill them,” she said, which was not entirely true.  She was a nurse practitioner and a pain specialist, and had the authority to order and adjust certain medications on her own.  She set the pain pump to deliver a regular dose of pain medication, as Mary Beth had ordered; Mary Beth had wanted it on board before the lumbar puncture, which she knew by now was bound to result in a severe headache.  The medication never seemed to help with the pain much, but it would make him sleepy, and might just knock him out long enough for the headache to resolve.

Mary Beth waited about twenty minutes for the pain medication to start taking effect, using the time to make sure everything she wanted was on the tray.  She went in with the nurse who would be assisting her and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm.  Fuzzy.  Sleepy.”  Kurt answered.

“Good.  Maybe this time your head won't hurt as much.”

“Mmm.”

“Okay.  Draw your knees up to your chest and hold really still.”  She cleaned his back, then numbed it first with numbing cream, then with a local, before inserting the long needle into his spine.  After a moment she removed the needle, then told him, “Okay, Kurt, straighten your legs.  Let me help you.”  She helped him to roll onto his back, then instructed, “Stay on your back for the next four hours.  I'll have the nurse tell you when you can move.”

“'Kay,” Kurt responded sleepily.

Leaving the room, she ran into Blaine in the hallway.  “I started his central line and did his LP, so he's done for the night.  They started his meds before I did the LP, so everything is going.  I ordered the pain pump and had it set to automatically dispense pain medication for the next twenty four hours.  That should get him past the headache from the LP.  After that the nurses will back it down to the on demand only setting, until he proves to us again that he won't use it even when he needs it.  I did have them start it before I did the LP, with everything else, so even if it doesn't help with the headache it may at least make him kind of sleepy.  When I left a minute ago, the headache hadn't started yet, but he was pretty out of it.  I'm hoping he can sleep off the headache.  I'm really sorry you guys are back here.  You know I was rooting for him.”

“I know.  Thanks so much for taking care of him, even when he fights it.”  Blaine said.  Standing on her tiptoes, she gave him a quick hug, then was down the hallway. 

He went into the room and found Kurt sound asleep.  He crossed to the bed and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, then began setting Kurt's things up, plugging in the I-pod dock and starting music, placing pictures, and folding Kurt's blanket and throw across the end of the bed.  He pulled his own pillow and blanket out of the bag, folded the couch down, and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt in the bathroom before settling in for the night.

The next several weeks proved to be a replay of Kurt's near disastrous last round of induction chemo the first time around, with repeated ICU stays, deadly infections, and several brushes with death.  The side effects, from nausea to increased bleeding, from hair loss to intestinal damage, hit him harder and faster than in any previous round.  There was, however, one critical difference:  the bone marrow biopsy done a few weeks after the chemo drugs were ended showed only a slight reduction in the concentration of cancer cells in his bone marrow rather than the hoped for remission, and subsequent blood tests showed that the abnormal cells in his blood rebounded just as fast as the normal ones.  He would need another round of induction chemo.

It was two months after reentering the hospital before Kurt was strong enough and had enough of an immune system to go home.  It took almost a month of rest at home before he was strong enough and his blood counts were high enough to return to the hospital for the next round of chemotherapy.  This time, he was prepared with antibiotics and anti-nausea medication a week before beginning his therapy, and things went a little smoother.  The infections weren't as bad, the nausea controlled a little better.  However, in the end, the results were the same:  there was almost no change in the percentage of cancer cells in his bone marrow, and his immune system was destroyed.  It took even longer for his blood counts to recover.  Kurt knew the news wasn't good, so he wasn't really surprised when Dr. Miles asked to speak to he and Blaine together.

“The drugs we used before have been ineffective this time.  We added some stronger chemo drugs into the mix both of these last two rounds, but they haven't helped.  Kurt, right now you aren't strong enough to withstand another round of chemotherapy.  I would like to say it's going to get better, but realistically, patients in your position don't generally gain enough strength or good enough blood counts to withstand more chemo.”  She told them gravely.

“But what about a transplant?”  Blaine asked.

“First, there's still no match for Kurt.  Second, he's not strong enough to withstand the chemo necessary to prepare for the transplant.”

“No!  You can't just give up on him!”  Blaine insisted, beginning to raise his voice, which carried a panicky tone.

“Baby, it's okay,” Kurt soothed, “Everyone's done the best they could.  We aren't going to win this one.”  Looking at Dr. Miles, he said, “I'd like to go home.  If I'm going to die, I want it to be on my terms.”

“Okay.  I understand.  I'll make arrangements.”  She told him.

“Without this,” he said, gesturing at the central line.

“I really don't think that's a good idea.  You'll need it for antibiotics, fluids, nutrition, and pain medication.”

“No.  On my terms.”  He insisted.

Sighing, she said, “I'll arrange for it to be removed, but you should know that it may mean another trip to the hospital, instead of being able to stay at home.”

“I'll take my chances,” he said.  “How long do I have?”

“That's hard to say.  If you got a major infection now, it could be just a few days.  More likely it will be a few weeks, maybe even a few months.”  Dr. Miles said.

Kurt nodded.  Blaine just shook his head in disbelief, tears spilling from his eyes.  Dr. Miles bid them goodnight and left.  “Come here, Baby,” Kurt said, holding his arms out to Blaine.  Blaine crawled onto the bed with Kurt, curling up against him and laying his head on Kurt's chest.  Kurt held him while he cried himself to sleep, then succumbed to sleep himself.

* * *

The next morning a hospice nurse visited them as they prepared to go home.  She urged Kurt to keep the central line, which led to Kurt threatening to refuse hospice care.  She suggested a hospital bed in the apartment, which Kurt also rejected, saying he wanted to die in his own bed.  He did grudgingly agree to have a wheelchair in the apartment, to assist with his mobility when he was weak, in pain or getting winded easily, and to a removable bench in the shower.  He also agreed to daily checks by a hospice nurse.  After the coordinating hospice nurse left, they began to prepare for the trip home.

Mary Beth came in to remove the central line, making a last ditch effort to convince Kurt to keep it.  “Hey.  You can't give up.  You're going to need this, for treatments, antibiotics, transfusions, pain meds. . . .”  She trailed off, looking at him.  “We're not done.  My gown isn't done.  You can't just quit.”

Kurt looked at her sympathetically.  He had come to terms with what was going to happen, and was trying to comfort those who cared about him.  “I'm not giving up, but I've been really lucky.  My dad survived heart trouble more than once, and cancer; I ended up with a great stepmom and stepbrother; I found Blaine, and we've had so much wonderful time together; we've both had incredible careers; we have these three amazing kids; we have family and friends who love us.  But I'm pretty sure I'm all out of miracles.  I'm not going to win this time.  But I can feel as good as possible, as normal as possible, for as long as I can.  More treatment could kill me, and I'd spend the rest of my life sick and miserable.  Without the effects of the chemo, I can take most of the medicine I need by mouth, so I don't need this,” he said, pointing to the central line, “And normal people don't have alien creatures coming out of their chests.”  Mary Beth laughed.  “And my part of the gown, the design, is done.  You didn't really think I would be sewing it myself, did you?  Bridal fabrics look and feel amazing, but they slip like crazy – they're a nightmare to work with.  I pay other people quite well to deal with them so I don't have to.”  She ended up removing the central line and promising to come to the apartment for gown fittings.

By afternoon they were packed up and ready to go.  They said their goodbyes to a tearful staff and headed home.  On the way, Blaine called Ben; he hadn't been able to do it yesterday – he kept praying for someone to walk in and tell them the test results had been wrong and everything would be okay.  Ben answered and Blaine began to cry; Kurt gently took the phone from his hand and said, “Ben, hey, it's Kurt.  We're on the way home.  There's not really anything else they can do at the hospital.  Can you let everyone know?”

Ben took a deep breath.  He had known things weren't great, but he didn't know it was this bad.  “Is there anything you want us to do?”

“No, not really,” Kurt answered, “And to answer the question you aren't asking, we don't know how long.  If I get sick right away, a few days.  I might make it a few months if I'm lucky.  But I want spend whatever time I have left enjoying myself, enjoying the people and things I love, not lying in a hospital bed with treatments that are making me sick and miserable and won't give me more than a few more days or weeks, with no quality of life.  I guess what I'm saying is that while I'm not up to it today, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't deactivate my studio key.”

Ben laughed.  “I will never deactivate your key,” he promised.

“Thanks,” Kurt said.  “Now we're almost home and I need to deal with Blaine.  He's kind of a basket case right now.”

* * *

It was almost Thanksgiving.  Kurt had called the kids the night that Dr. Miles had spoken with them, explained the situation, and invited them to the apartment for Thanksgiving.  They all knew it would be his last.  Between the crowds in New York City and the fact that it was cold and flu season, it was too dangerous for Kurt to shop or go outside, not to mention the fact that he tired too easily to deal with much.  He was also in no shape to prepare the meal.  Patrick, however, was more than willing to take his father's place, doing for him what he had done for the kids for so many years.  Ian, a for once subdued Ellie, and Graeme carried out Patrick's orders, until at last the meal was on the table in the dining room, and the six were seated around it in their customary places.  Blaine attempted to say grace, but broke down.  Kurt completed it for him; although he didn't believe in God, he knew how important this was to Blaine.  The meal was conducted in near silence, the only sounds the clinking of silver and china, or the occasional soft request to pass a dish or a salt or pepper shaker.  Kurt finally stood and said loudly, “I would like to make an announcement.  I'm not dead yet.  And furthermore, I would really appreciate, since this is a holiday, if you would stop acting like it.  This is supposed to be a celebration, not a sad excuse for a wake.”  Everyone else at the table froze, stunned, for a few seconds.  Ian was the first to break, snorting with laughter.  Ellie glared at him, everyone stared at her, and then everyone was laughing except Ellie.  As Graeme leaned in to kiss her, she finally saw the humor in the situation and began to giggle.  “Thank goodness.  And by the way, if you do throw me a wake, it better be a lot more fun than the first half of this meal.”  Kurt declared.

Kurt tried to maintain as normal a life as possible.  Blaine was terrified of letting Kurt be exposed to germs, and realistically, Kurt knew that any illness for him would be more serious than for a healthy person, and could be fatal, so he left the apartment only rarely.  He really didn't want to die, but he couldn't stand to be cooped up all the time.  So when he felt well enough he worked out in the gym upstairs, or went to the studio to dance.  Friends came to visit, as did family:  Finn and Quinn and his nieces and nephews all came at least once, Carole came and spent two weeks, even Cooper flew in from LA.  He occasionally went to the office, but only if he was feeling good and Jenna certified the office to be “disease free.”  Jenna, Amanda and Mason acted as personal shoppers for him for Christmas gifts, and he thanked whatever powers that were (thinking that if God did exist, he was probably an engineer – either that or a teenage girl who desperately needed to keep in closer touch with her friends than possible with a land line) for cameras and smart phones, which allowed him instant veto power over some of their more interesting impulses.  It also led to the thought that maybe he shouldn't entrust these people to carry on his business after his death.  If he was feeling really well, and was willing to spend the day with Blaine (who was rarely away from him; sometimes he just had to send Blaine out of the apartment for everyone's sanity), they drove out into the countryside, often finding quaint, near deserted, roadsides restaurants in which to eat, or having a picnic on the rare relatively warm winter day.  He still had weekly appointments to check his blood values:  sometimes they got a little better; most of the time they stayed the same or got worse.  He managed to fight off several illnesses; going to the doctor at the first symptom proved to be a valuable strategy, and he spent much of his time on oral antibiotics.  When necessary, he went to the hospital for a day for IV antibiotics or transfusions.  On bad days, he was in pain, sometimes due to the leukemia, sometimes due to infection, sometimes for unknown reasons; he was given oral pain medication, which he usually refused to take.  The hospice nurses were willing to set up a pain pump for him, and Mary Beth was willing to risk her job and malpractice insurance to do it, but he didn't want one.  He wanted to remain clear-headed as much as possible, so he took pain medication only when the pain was truly severe, and usually then only because Blaine begged him to do so.  If he was in pain, he was still alive.  And more than anything right now, Kurt wanted to live.

No one was sure Kurt would make it until Christmas, but it arrived and he was still alive, and relatively healthy.  The toll of the disease on his body was clear:  he was again frighteningly thin, and ten minutes of dancing could wipe him out for the rest of the day.  But he was there, and had no intention of fading away quietly, or soon.  He had told everyone not to get him gifts for Christmas, but he was roundly ignored.  In the days leading up to Christmas, he had fielded a steady stream of visits from family, friends, neighbors, and employees, not to mention delivery after delivery.  Blaine and the kids decorated the apartment under Kurt's direction; he had planned to leave it to them, but took over duties as director after seeing several items placed incorrectly – completely missing the conspiratorial glances exchanged between his children.  When Christmas arrived, the meal showed signs of repeating the pattern from Thanksgiving, so he made his announcement before Blaine attempted to say grace.  This time Blaine managed to hold off the tears, and thanked God profoundly for every day he'd been granted with Kurt, as well as their remaining blessings.  Kurt managed to eat some, which was not always possible.  Afterwards, they opened presents.  Blaine was both astounded and appalled at the gifts from Kurt, because all he could think of was how Kurt had risked his health, no his life, just to buy presents.  Kurt, however, was quick to defend himself, saying, “I behaved, really!”  Seeing Blaine's disbelieving look, he continued, “Check my phone!  Mason, Jenna and Amanda helped me.  I gave directions, they shopped, made suggestions, sent pictures, and I approved or disapproved stuff.  They even wrapped everything for me.  I also engaged in a little internet retail therapy.  Trust me, you'll see the bills.”  At that, Blaine relaxed, and enjoyed the day with his husband and children.

* * *

That evening, after the children left, Blaine helped an exhausted Kurt prepare for bed.  As he tucked him in before going to get ready for bed himself, he sat down next to Kurt and held his hand, stroking it.  “I want to tell you about your anniversary present,” he said.

Kurt smiled.  “Our anniversary isn't for another five days.”

“I know, but I need to tell you about it now.”

“Why?” Kurt asked warily.  Did Blaine know something about his health that he didn't?

“Because,” Blaine answered slowly, leaning in to kiss him gently, “You need to pack.”

“Pack?”

“Mmm-hmm.  I booked the inn where we had our reception for a few days.  We have the honeymoon suite again.  They know the situation.  They aren't very crowded right now, but if they get crowded or have a rush in the dining room, they'll bring everything up to our room.”

“Mmm,” Kurt smiled, “What if I just don't want to go down?”

Now it was Blaine's turn to worry, “We don't have to do it.  If you don't feel up to it . . . .”  Blaine knew when he planned the trip Kurt might not feel well enough, or might be sick, or God forbid, might not even have made it that long.

Grinning, Kurt said, “No, I'm tired, but I'm having a good day.  I'm just suggesting that I might not want to leave the room for other reasons.”  Reassured, Blaine smiled, gave Kurt a quick kiss, and went to get ready for bed. 

The trip was a success.  They spent a little time walking in the woods, and ate in the dining room in a quiet alcove a couple of times, but spent most of the time in their room.  Kurt didn't feel up to too much strenuous amorous activity, but they cuddled a lot, and each knew how to please the other in slow, gentle, relaxed ways.  They tried, and sometimes succeeded, to forget that Kurt was dying.  Other than a slight fever one evening, Kurt felt pretty good, although tired, during the trip, and arrived home exhausted but incredibly happy.

* * *

Nearly a month later Kurt developed a fever and a cough, and began to have trouble breathing.  Blaine rushed him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with pneumonia.  He was admitted and placed on IV antibiotics.  There was discussion of a respirator, but Kurt shook his head.  “You know if they put me on that thing I'll never get off.  I don't want that.  I don't want to be hooked to a machine to stay alive.  I don't want to die here.  I want to go home.”  As much as it killed him, Blaine honored his wishes, refusing the respirator.  Kurt managed to hang on through several days of antibiotics, but it soon became clear that they were not working.  “Please,” he begged, gasping for air, “take me home.”  The doctors explained to them both the process the disease would take, and urged Kurt to stay.  He refused, and signed himself out against their advice.  Blaine took him home.

The kids met them at the apartment.  Blaine put Kurt to bed, propped on pillows to help him breathe, then each of the children went in to see him alone for a few moments.  They knew it might be the last time.  After they were done, they agreed to return in the morning.  They would come several times a day until the end.

Two days later, Kurt began struggling for air.  Breathing had become progressively more difficult and painful as his lungs filled with fluid.  Blaine immediately climbed into bed with him, cradling Kurt against his chest and holding him up so he could breathe a little easier.  “Should I call the kids?”  He asked.  Kurt nodded.  Blaine placed the calls, never releasing Kurt. 

“I'm sorry,” Kurt gasped.

“Shh, Baby, it's okay,” Blaine soothed.  “I love you so much, but you just do what you need to do now.”  Taking a deep breath, he looked his husband of over thirty-five years in the eyes, and told the first blatant lie, not counting white lies about things like presents, he had ever told Kurt during their marriage.  “The kids and I, we'll be okay.  The sun won't shine as brightly, or the birds sing as loudly or as well, and the night sky will have lost its brightest star, but we'll make it.  I promise.”  In reality, he had no idea how he was going to go on without Kurt, who had been his entire reason for living for over forty years now.

Kurt managed, “Love . . . you,” before his eyes closed for the last time.  A few moments later he took a few rattling breaths, then his breathing stopped.  A few seconds later Blaine felt his heart stop beating as well.  He held Kurt and rocked him like a baby, his tears falling gently on Kurt's bald head.

That was where the kids found them when they arrived nearly an hour later, having had to fight rush-hour Manhattan traffic to get there.  Taking in the scene in their parents' bedroom, they instantly understood that they were too late.  Patrick went into big brother mode, motioning to his brother and sister to go in, as he stood just outside their door and made the appropriate calls before going in to help comfort his Papa.