Without you the ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows. Without you the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play. The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly, without you. The earth turns, the sun burns, but I die, without you.

Without You – Rent Cast

N.B. Text in bold is from Gregory Maguire's script for the Wicked musical.

                When Kurt calls Blaine manages to sound positive – he is an actor after all.  He keeps the conversation light when Kurt asks about his work.  Blaine does not lie; he just avoids talking about his health or mental state.  Instead he keeps Kurt talking about Paris, the latest articles and fashion shoots, the food, the sights, the people.  Blaine relaxes to the sound of Kurt's voice – he has a brief moment of clarity after their phone calls; a flicker of belief that he is ok and that things will get better - that he can do this.  But as the hours pass the flicker dies and the darkness seeps back in. 

He spends every conscious minute that he is not on stage occupied in a strange warped version of the beginning of his senior year at McKinley where he had joined every club he could think of to distract himself.  He goes to advanced dance classes, he goes for runs around the marina; anything that will exhaust him enough to sleep, anything that will stop the voice in the back of his mind.  The headaches do not abate but at least the nosebleeds stop - he takes that as a positive sign.  He takes to keeping a bottle of Neurofen with Codine tablets in his coat pocket and gets surprisingly good at taking them without the need for a glass of water to the extent where numerous members of the cast start to call him ‘House' behind his back. 

It takes about a month for the one person on the cast Blaine would consider a real friend rather than a colleague, Jodie (who plays Elphaba to his Fiyero), to call him out.  She thankfully waits until it is just the two of them – she'd asked him to stay to go over one of their scenes together after their last show of the day.  He waits for her on the empty stage – pre-set and ready for the next day's performance - pacing.  She joins him just as he was about to go to look for her in the dressing rooms.  She can see that he is not Blaine immediately – she has spent enough time with Fiyero to know the difference by now.

                ‘Wearing a trench into the floor, Blaine?' 

She smiles but he notices that it does not quite reach her eyes.  He frowns slightly as she sets her bag down by the edge of the wings and walks towards him. 

‘Why is it that every time I see you youre causing some sort of commotion?'  He launches straight into the dialogue and Jodie immediately knows that talking to him is going to be difficult.  She hesitates for a fraction of a second, deciding whether to actually go through the scene or whether she should tackle him straight-on right now.  She knows he'll probably just leave if she does not engage with him first so she slips into Elphaba.  Blaine's shoulders visibly relax as he notices her change in posture.

‘I dont cause commotions, I am one!' 

‘Thats for sure.' 

‘So you think I should just keep my mouth shut, is that what youre saying?'

‘No!  What I'm saying -'

‘Do you think I want to be this way? Do you think I want to care this much?'  Something in the back of her mind prods her – she's not certain when Elphaba's words became her own. 

‘Look, all I meant was –'

‘Do you think I don't know how easier my life would be if I didn't?'

‘Do you ever let anyone else talk?'  Blaine does his best to try to balance his delivery against Jodie's sudden new take on her lines but he does not break character.

‘Oh, sorry. But can I just say one more thing? You could have walked away back there.'  Jodie breaks her blocking slipping back into her own skin easily; she steps towards Blaine and takes his hand maintaining eye contact as she delivers her lines.

‘So?'  Blaine raises his eyebrow but goes with Jodie's new direction.

‘So, no matter how shallow and self-absorbed you pretend to be -'

‘Excuse me, theres no pretence here: I happen to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow.'

‘No youre not.  Or you wouldnt be so unhappy.'  Jodie looks at Blaine sadly and pulls him down to sit by her, their feet swinging from the edge of the stage.  They sit in silence for a moment and Jodie watches as Blaine slowly drops Fiyero.

                ‘We're not really here to practice are we?'  He sounds so utterly dejected that Jodie is hugging him tightly before she had consciously decided to move.  She feels his body dissolve against her, all strength leaving him.  She holds him up and waits. 

As time passes Blaine becomes more and more aware of how far from silent it is – Jodie's breath and his own come like waves against the shore, punctuated by the roar of traffic outside.  Eventually he untangles himself from her arms and forces himself to meet her eyes when he feels her take a breath to speak.

                ‘Look, B., we've known each other a long time now.'

                ‘We have indeed.'  He smiles slightly.

                ‘So, you going to tell me what's going on?'

                ‘Noth…'

                ‘You say “nothing” and, boxer or no, I'm going to kick your ass.'

He smiles wryly at her threat then shakes his head slightly.

                ‘I was going to say “nothing you can help with”.'

She raises an eyebrow.

                ‘Look, Jo, I appreciate that you're concerned about me, but it's all out of my control.'

                ‘What is?'

                ‘Everything.'

                ‘Pity party for one!'  She calls out to the empty seats before them.  Blaine drops his head at her jest.

                ‘You're not going to quit are you?'

                ‘You know me well.'  She leans back, making a show of getting herself comfortable.

                ‘Fine.'  He sighs.  ‘Look, after the last show in Edinburgh I went to find Kurt.'

                ‘Your ex-boyfriend, Kurt?'

                ‘Boyfriend.  Yes.'

                ‘But…I mean…I thought you and Thom…'

                ‘Yeah…we were.  It's complicated.'  He pauses and Jodie makes the “go on” hand gesture.  ‘I kind of freaked out with Thom and ran to Kurt.  He's my soul mate.  It's kind of hard to explain but I love him.'

                ‘But he cheated on you.'

                ‘Who told you that?'

                ‘Thom.'

                ‘Ah.  Actually no.  Well, he was going to but he didn't…'

                ‘It's complicated, huh?'

                ‘Yeah.'  He smiles ruefully.

                ‘So you went to find Kurt…'  She prompts.

                ‘In Paris.'

                ‘Ah, le bon Paris!  Cest magnifique, non?'

                ‘Mais bien sûr.  It's beautiful.  I'd never been before.'

                ‘I'm guessing you didn't do much sightseeing though?'  She winks lewdly at him and he laughs.

                ‘Anyway…'  He draws out the word to change the subject and Jodie smiles.  ‘Anyway, so Paris, Kurt.  Yes.  Um… We fought a lot and talked and decided we would try us one last time.'

                ‘That's good news then!'

                ‘Yes, but he's in Paris for at least another 3 months and then who knows where!  I just…'

                ‘B., you're a physical person, I get it.  You need the cuddles at the end of the day, you need the physicality of your relationship to reassure you that things are real, that everything is going to be OK, that you are not alone.'  Their eyes lock and she grins at his slightly stunned expression.  ‘I'm exactly the same.  When I'm in a relationship and I'm spending time with them – they're the centre of my world.  As soon as distance is involved I shut down.  I start reading into things – especially text messages and e-mails!  I start to sabotage – I manufacture drama to get attention.  It's actually really bad.  So I get it, I really do.'  She pauses and takes Blaine's hand in hers.  ‘But it's deeper for you isn't it?  I remember the first time you talked about Kurt – he'd just turned up in London remember? – you couldn't stop smiling.'

                ‘You thought I was on something if I recall.'

                ‘I don't think I've ever been in love.  I mean, sure it feels real enough at the time, but I don't think I've met the one yet.  You're lucky you know.'  He frowns at her comment and she laughs lightly.  ‘I know you don't feel lucky because it's hard, but doesn't it make you appreciate him more?'

                ‘I think I know what you mean.'

                ‘So, riddle me this, Romeo – why are you two not properly committed to each other by now?' 

                ‘I have a ring…'

                ‘Oooooh!  Exciting!  Does he know?  Does he suspect?  When are you planning on asking him?'  Her questions pour forth in an excited babble, interrupting him before he could even finish talking.  He waits patiently for her to stop talking again.

                ‘I have a ring;' he pauses and looks pointedly at her.  She mimes zipping her mouth closed so he continues.  ‘I've had it for years now.  I bought it back in the states.  I asked him after we won Sectionals in my senior year – his dad had been just cleared of having cancer and he had stayed to watch us perform.'

                ‘And he said no?' 

                ‘He actually never really answered – we got into an argument and then I passed out.  I'd suffered a micro-bleed and had to have brain surgery.  He kind of freaked out when he found out I was sick…'

                ‘He left you didn't he.'

                ‘Yes.  He went back to New York and I didn't see him again until he appeared in London.'

                ‘And you forgave him?'

                ‘Yes.  I mean, I was angry for years.  I just… I think with time I thought I had gotten over him, you know.  I'd managed to convince myself that it was just an over-romanticised first love.  Not real.  But seeing him again, I realised that I was wrong.  It was real.  It had always been real.'

                ‘So riddle me this, Romeo, you know he's the one – you're both older now, wiser, more steady, right?  So why all the drama?  Why are you still so uncertain?  What are you scared of?'

                ‘I… I don't know.'

                ‘You love him, yes?'

                ‘Yes.'

                ‘And you want to spend your whole live loving him?'

                ‘Yes.'

                ‘Him and no one else?'

                ‘Yes.'

                ‘So, what exactly are you waiting for?'  She smiled sadly at him and he laughed.

                ‘You know life is never that easy, right?'

                ‘I know.  But why not make it that easy?'

They sit together for a while, Blaine mulling over what had just been said.  It is Jodie who breaks the silence.

                ‘So…  Important topic the second to discuss.'

He shoots her a questioning look.

                ‘You aren't eating.'  It's a statement and an accusation and Blaine feels panic and anger flare in his chest at her words.  He takes a calming breath.

                ‘I do eat.'

                ‘Really?'  She raises an eyebrow and then leans over to lift his baggy sweatshirt slightly.  He flinches away from her.  ‘What exactly do you eat and when?  Because you're skin and bones.  Hugging you earlier was like hugging a sack full of sticks.  What's going on?'

He pulls his knees to his chest self-consciously.

                ‘Come on, B.'  She places a hand on his shoulder and he manages to stop himself from flinching away again.  ‘Talk to me.  What's going on?'

                ‘I wasn't lying – I do eat.  I guess I just… sometimes I forget to eat a meal.  It's no big deal – I just try to keep my mind active during the day so I don't start thinking bad thoughts, you know?  It's not bad when we're at work because I can be Fiyero, but after work then I need the distractions.'

                ‘There's more to it than that, isn't there?'

                ‘I'm just not that hungry most of the time so I forget.  It's no big deal.'

                ‘So, what's the deal with those pills you keep popping?'  Dark brown eyes lock onto fractured hazel.  ‘We're not leaving until we have this all out, B.'

                ‘They're just painkillers.'

                ‘Which you eat like candy.'  He rolls his eyes at her and she knows she needs to dig a little deeper.  ‘What are you trying to escape from, B.?  What hurts?  Is it your head?'  She sees his eyes flicker and she knows she is on to something and she immediately wishes she was wrong.  ‘God, B.  You need to get yourself checked out! What if…'

                ‘Look, Jo – I'm fine.  Really.'

                ‘But…'

                ‘No.  Really, drop it.  I'll try to remember to eat more – I'll put reminders on my phone or something, I'll bring a pack lunch and you can watch me eat it, whatever.  OK?'  He breaks eye contact and stands up.  ‘Look, I get that you care.  Thank you.  But I'm really tired and we've got another two shows to do tomorrow so I'm going to head home.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Goodnight, Jo.'

                ‘Blaine, please…'

                ‘Night!'  He leaves before she can follow him.

For the next couple of weeks he tries to remember to actually eat, but his busy routine tends to exasperate the fact that he usually does not actually have time to eat anything much other than breakfast biscuits and dried fruit snacks.  Jodie glares at him whenever she catches him.

‘That's not real food, B.!'

But at least he is actually eating something.  Jodie takes to force feeding him whenever they are at work by bringing him a packed lunch and watching him eat it in front of her.  He begrudgingly acquiesces when she threatens to post pictures of his “skinny butt” on Facebook for Kurt to see. 

                ‘I bet he'll have something to say about this, B.'

It turns out that Jodie is actually a pretty decent cook, and after a couple of weeks she backs off a little, but Blaine ensures he does not take his pain meds in front of her so that he does not trigger a second intervention.

The headaches continue but are soon joined by a second pain - what started as an ache deep in his right side steadily grows worse as the days pass.  At first he ignores it – passing it off as just a bruise, but when it does not fade he tries to relieve it by increasing his dosage of pain killers and using ibuprofen gel but neither work for long.  At night, when the ache becomes a knife in his side, the shakes set in – he's constantly cold and his appetite leaves him completely.  The thought of food makes him feel sick and instead of buying groceries he turns the heating up in his small apartment and invests in thick warm hoodies.  Not that they make him feel any warmer.  When he finally manages to get some sleep in the early hours of the morning he sleeps fitfully and wakes feeling more exhausted than he did before he fell into bed. 

It is two weeks before Jodie all but forces him to go to the doctors – he tries to argue that he's fine, but he's assured that his understudy has already been called by the stage manager.  He gives in under duress uttering assertions that it is just flu and he'll be fine and that everyone is overreacting.    

That evening he is shivering so violently his teeth are chattering and he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds.  His fevered mind suggests that he should make some food though he is well past the point of feeling hungry.  He makes his way to the kitchenette - all his strength has gone from his legs and he slides to the floor in front of the oven to turn it on.  The warmth that pours from the open oven door blankets him, seeping into his core, and he curls up in front of the oven and drifts off.

It is three days before anyone checks on him.

                When he comes to it is slowly and in glimpses – white sheets and white walls, blurred faces shielded by clipboards, the smell of bleach and alcohol, the taste of dry cotton, the rumble of muted voices.  He vaguely recalls someone taking blood, a drip being changed, questions about next of kin, and between this: dreams of staircases at Dalton, kisses that taste like coffee, warm hands, warm skin, and short, hot pants of pleasure. 

Kurt is not there when he finally comes to and for that Blaine feels oddly glad.  However, that all changes when a stern-faced nurse begins to ask him ever more probing questions.  The pain in his side is diminished by careful monitoring of his comfort levels as the hours pass and the administering of pills by the nursing staff.  He gets no real answers from them however, and so waits for the doctor to do his rounds.

The doctor in question (Dr. Whelan) is a tall, jovial Irishman who explains that Blaine had been brought in when a concerned colleague, received no answer to repeated attempts to contact him, and had eventually managed to convince the management company to open Blaine's apartment.  They had found him nestled in 3 thick blankets in front of the oven, which had been on.  For a moment they had thought he had attempted to gas himself but his friend had managed to convince the ambulance crew that he was ill.  The cultures from his blood samples had indicated Hepatitis C.  Had he been sick recently?

Blaine explained his symptoms and the pain in his side, as well as his medical history - the headaches and nosebleeds.  Dr. Whelan hum'ed and ah'ed as Blaine spoke, his face growing darker as he listened.  The doctor mentioned a raft of tests he was going to order as he was not convinced by the Hepatitis diagnosis given Blaine's history – there was a strain of Glandular Fever which attacked the liver, for example, however, his main concern were Blaine's headaches and nosebleeds.  Dr. Whelan then hands him a stack of paperwork to sign.  He does as requested noticing MRI, CT scan and ultrasound consent forms nestled in the pile.  The doctor then replaces the clipboard containing Blaine's details to the end of his bed and continues on his rounds. 

The tests are all relatively quick – the ultrasound of his liver takes the least amount of time once he is in the room, but waiting in the wheelchair, surrounded by pregnant women feels awkward and makes him more uncomfortable than he would like. 

The MRI is for his brain, he knows that, and is no stranger to them by now.  He knows to keep his head completely still (even though his head is strapped in place the staff still feel the need to tell him not to move) and tries to loose himself in the early baroque music blasting over the headphones that vainly attempt to shield his ears from the general noises of the machine.  At some point the music stops and no one restarts it so he listens to the loud bangs and clicks as the electromagnets are charged and discharged.  He's not sure how long he has been in there, but eventually they start to form words – cheesecheesecheesecheesecheese dil-do dil-do dil-do cheesecheesecheesecheese boob boob boob boob boob boob dil-do dil-do dil-do – and he begins to seriously question his mental health.

The CT-scan is last, and by far the most surreal - there is an injection of dye (iodine) into his system to enhance the contrast and he feels it as it enters his bloodstream.  The scanner is more open than the MRI machine and as he lies back he has the sensation that he his floating.

He's unsure how much time is passing – he cannot sleep in the ward, his bed, one of eight, is right by the window to the corridor where the lights are never switched off, and there is an elderly lady opposite who coughs and cries out frequently.  He seems to have been put on a ward that is usually for cancer patients, which does not exactly help his mental state – on the third (?) day the older gentleman two down on his side of the ward disappears between Blaine's assisted visit to the shower cubicles and his return.  The bed lies empty for a few hours before an overweight lady takes up residence.  This one smiles at him and offers him chocolates and grapes – she has a steady stream of visitors throughout the day, every day and they all bring offerings: food, cards and flowers.  Blaine can tell she pities him.

He eventually manages to convince the nursing staff that he is capable of walking around unaided so he takes little walks and takes his own comfort breaks - one more embarrassment he can now avoid, though it is a pain having to walk his IV drip stand with him.

When he does manage to sleep it is, he suspects, because the one nurse who has taken a shine to him has had a word with the on-duty doctor and had some sleep medication prescribed for him.  He had not noticed at first that there was an extra pill in his evening paper cup as he was not sure what he was taking anyway.  He thanks her the next time he sees the nurse and she winks at him then checks his vitals.

A day or so later Dr. Whelan confirms his theory that the Glandular Fever virus had attacked Blaine's liver as the cause of both Blaine's fever and side-pain.  Blaine's most recent blood tests return clear, and Blaine already feels stronger, though his appetite has still not returned.  The doctor follows the good news with the bad – Blaine's MRI showed an abnormality – he suspects the nosebleeds to be symptomatic of high blood pressure, this together with the headaches and Blaine's history, appear to be indicative of an unruptured aneurysm.  A CTA scan is ordered and Blaine is left reeling.

                She needs control – control is the reason she does not drink more than one or two alcoholic drinks when out with friends – she will have enough to feel the buzz but no more.  Control is the reason she is so good at designing computer programs.  The lack of control is something she actively avoids at all cost, except this time – this time it is unavoidable.  The specialist had ordered an arthroscopic MRI of her shoulder joint following the x-ray and ultrasound.  The results of all three tests had confirmed the need for surgery to right the two areas of abnormal bone that looked like serrated knives in the x-ray and were lit up on the MRI.  The plan was to go in on three sides and take 6mm from each of the two bones thus removing the ‘hooks' which were grabbing at and slicing through the muscles and tendons.  All of this she was fine with.  What she was not fine with was that she would have to have a general anaesthetic.  That scared her more than the knowledge that the surgical pain would be horrific and the recovery time would be 6 months, and that she would not have use of her arm for at least a week.  Apparently, she had read, when coming around from a general anaesthetic one was either amorous or violent.  She had never planned on finding out which way she ‘swung' for want of a better term. 

She was also not greatly happy that her operation had been scheduled for two days into her only planned holiday this year, and so she was about to spend her week-off in misery.  That, and the fact that she was not 100% convinced that the program she had spent the last 5 years of her life working on was actually working properly, were the two reasons she seemed to have a constant headache at the moment.  She had left the office on Friday after being almost thrown out by one of the techs who had insisted they knew what they were doing and would be able to ‘hold the fort' while she was out – it was only a week after all.

                Sure – it's only a week – what could possibly go wrong?

                Kurt calls eventually and is full of apologies for not calling more regularly but Blaine waives away Kurt's request for forgiveness.  He's cold to Kurt and he despises himself for it.  The call ends with them both miserable and no mention of Blaine's present situation.

Blaine had been dreading the call.  He'd thought of nothing else since his last talk with Dr. Whelan – he was going to die and it would be sudden and messy and unpredictable and probably soon.  He could not put Kurt through that.  He'd argued with himself for hours, refused the sleep meds, and eventually decided that cutting everyone off now was the best option.

                Push everyone away and then no one will get hurt when you go.

                What about mom, dad, and Coop?  I should get the hospital to call them now...

                Now what?  You're dying?  Does baby want his mommy?

                They have a right to know.

                Fine – you are such a worthless whelp.  Call them.  Let them mourn for you while you're still alive.  Let them suffocate you.

                What about the show?

                What about the show?  Your understudy was better than you anyway.

Tears prick his eyes and threaten to cascade down his cheeks.  Blaine bites his lip and cries out.  Someone presses the call button and soon a nurse enters the ward – the curtains are drawn around each bed so Blaine does not see who the nurse visits. 

Time passes, he does not know how much, then someone enters through the curtains and stands by his bedside.  He forces himself to look – it is the nice nurse.

                ‘One of the ladies said you're suffering, Blaine.'

                ‘No…I'm fine.'

                ‘You don't look fine.'

He tries to put on his most dazzling smile, but this nurse has seen everything and simply hands him a small paper cup with a pill in it then passes him a glass of water. 

                ‘Just take it.  I know you're brave.  You don't have to prove anything you know.'

He takes the pill and watches as she leaves again.  He silently thanks the lady two beds down – he knows in his gut that it was her – and lets the dark voice fade away, and slips away with it.