Spiralling Snowflakes

            He sits surrounded by manuscript paper in front of the piano in the practice room – his face is marred by the frown of concentration and his shoulders are hunched.  He taps a pencil against his teeth as he experiments with a phrase on the ivories.  Once he is happy with the sound he scrawls the notes across the paper and moves onto the next section – it needs to be perfect.  Their chances of winning Regionals depend on it. 

After their win at Sectionals (Blaine does not really consider it a win – they pretty much won by default) he will be damned if he does not give it his all so they have best chance of getting through to Nationals.  He could not find an arrangement he was happy with for the number he thinks they should open with so he sets about creating his own version.  It proves a good distraction really – his friends had been treating him a bit like bone china and it had been driving him crazy.  At least this way he has a reason to spend time alone in peace without Doug, Sebastian and Hunter's constant looks.  Blaine rolls his eyes, drops his pen onto the music stand, and stretches his arms and shoulders out wincing at the audible clicks and pops from his tortured joints.  He yawns and he glances at the gilt clock on the mantelpiece – 8pm, he decides to give it another hour and then he'll head home.  He spreads the slightly crumpled pages of manuscript paper out and plays through the score, pencil held loosely between his teeth.  It takes him longer than perhaps it should to detect the gentle hum of his cell phone and he darts across the room to pick up the call, answering without checking the caller ID.  He figures it is his parents wondering where he is, or perhaps Doug.  He does not expect to hear the deep tones of Burt Hummel.

            ‘Hey, Anderson.  I know it's late and this is a bit out of the blue I just…I was wondering whether you could come over for dinner sometime this week?'

            ‘Uh, hi, Burt!  Um…I'd love to but I'd…I think that's probably not a great idea –‘

            ‘Is this about Finn?  Sam told me what happened at Sectionals.  Look, I'll be straight with you – I'm not going to pretend to understand why you transferred back, but I'd like you to tell me about it.'

Blaine lets out a nervous huff – he is glad he does not have to explain to Burt or come up with some half-truth.

            ‘Thanks.'

            ‘So – how about that dinner?'

Blaine agrees to show the next night and, even though Burt does not keep him on the phone much longer, when Blaine finally hangs up he feels utterly exhausted.  He glances over at the piano and resigns himself to the fact that he will get no more work done that evening.  He packs up and heads home – he knows he is not going to rest until he finds out what Burt really wants to talk to him about.  He knows it is not to find out about Blaine's transfer – that was months ago.  He tries not to dwell on it – he really does.  He tries not to get his hopes up.  He tries to keep topics Burt may want to talk to him about separate from the fact that Burt is his ex's father.  He does not succeed because the only things he can think Burt may want to talk to him about are so unlikely Blaine makes himself laugh:

- the Buckeyes: Burt has Finn to talk to about sports, he doesn't need Blaine for that.  Also – not really a dinner kind of thing.

- restoring cars: Burt's a mechanic.

- gay rights: Burt and he had discussed politics many times before.  But why now?

So that leaves talking about what happened weeks ago at Sectionals, or Blaine's transfer.

            Or Kurt.

-+-

            Despite his best efforts to not obsess over what the senior Hummel could want to discuss over dinner, Blaine is a jittery mess.  He arrives early despite changing his mind over what to wear at least 3 times – he does not dare think about the state he left his room in.  He waits on the porch and forces himself to keep his hands still; the bottle of wine he decided to bring with him (less formal than flowers for Carole) helps some.  He catches the scent of roast meat and something sweet as the door opens to reveal Burt.  The man has not changed since the last time Blaine saw him – he pulls Blaine into a bone-crushing hug and Blaine melts a little as he breathes in the thick scent of aftershave and the undertone of motor oil that is so Burt.  Blaine feels Burt pull back, but he leaves an arm draped across Blaine's shoulders as he leads him into the house that had become so familiar.

            ‘I brought a little something.'  Blaine offers and Burt's smile is genuine as he takes the bottle.

            ‘Thanks.'  He gestures for Blaine to go through to the living room and disappears into the kitchen.  Blaine hears muffled voices and tries not to eavesdrop as he removes his coat and hangs it in the hall before making his way through and taking a seat.  Burt appears before Blaine can dwell too much and hands Blaine a bottle of beer – the real stuff.  Blaine opens his mouth to comment but promptly shuts it when Burt gives him a pointed look which says that this is definitely a conversation that requires beer.  Blaine takes the bottle as Burt settles heavily next to him.  They clink their bottles together and each take a quiet sip. 

            ‘We should probably do this now – before dinner.'  Burt's voice gives nothing away and Blaine nods.  ‘There's no easy way to say this kid so I'm going to come out and say it.' 

The words are ice water to Blaine's bowels and he runs every worst-case scenario through his head in a desperate attempt to steel himself for whatever terrible news Burt has for him.  He feels panic rise in his chest and he has to know the answer immediately.

            ‘It's not Kurt is it?'

            ‘No.  It's not Kurt.'  There's a faint smile to Burt's voice but it does not reach his eyes.  Burt looks sad and Blaine does not take any comfort in the elder man's admission.  ‘It's me.'

Blaine frowns when Burt does not continue.  He meets Burt's eyes and holds his gaze.  Burt seems to be searching for something and Blaine takes a breath and lays himself open.  Eventually Burt continues and the words seem to hang pregnant, poisonous and so painfully tangible in the air.

            ‘I have cancer.'

Blaine's mouth goes dry and he marvels at how calm Burt seems.  Burt takes a swig of his beer and Blaine forces himself to do the same. 

            ‘I know – it is just as shocking to hear as it is to say.  Somehow it makes it more real.'  Burt continues quietly.  ‘We caught it early and I'm going to fight it with everything I've got, but Kurt – he told you about his mom, right?'

Blaine nods numbly; he feels disjointed, as if he is floating.  He tries to put together what he knows about the disease and what he sees in front of him – Burt looks healthy.  He looks exactly as he did the last time Blaine saw him.  He does not look like a man with cancer.

            ‘Look, I don't know exactly what happened between you two, but I do know you are important to him.  He's going to need you to help him through this, Blaine.'

            ‘He…he's not exactly talking to me right now.'

            ‘I know.'

            ‘He has…he's got Rachel –‘

            ‘She's not the friend you've been to him.  You know that, I know that and he knows that.  She's lovely, don't get me wrong – but I feel she gets a bit more out of that friendship than he does.  But that's not the point.  Look – he's adamant he's spending Christmas in New York and he's spending it alone because Rachel's going off with her Dads on some cruise or something.  I'm going to head out there to surprise him and I'd like you to come with me.'

-+-

            His fingers are numb and he cannot feel his nose but none of that matters because he is going to see Kurt.  Kurt who will have just found out about his father's cancer.  Kurt who has already had to deal with so much in his short life.  Blaine's heart aches – he longs to be able to shoulder all the pain, the fear, the doubt and sorrow, for him.  He makes another lap of the ice to keep warm whilst keeping an eye out for Kurt. 

Time passes like treacle until Blaine suddenly spots him – he has not yet noticed Blaine.  He takes a moment to study Kurt – his cheeks are glowing from the cold, as is his nose, but he does not look like he has been crying.  Blaine is not surprised – it is so very Kurt to hold everything inside.  He was always the brave one.

He takes a breath and makes his way over across the ice.

            ‘Delivery for Kurt Hummel.'

The words hang in the air between them and Blaine cannot stop a hopeful smile from gracing his features.  It is not long lived.

            ‘Blaine?'

Kurt's voice is sharp with disappointment and thinly veiled horror.  Blaine's world crashes around him as his worst fears are realised – he knew it was a bad idea when Burt had suggested it but he had somehow let the senior Hummel convince him that Kurt would be happy to see him.  The expression on Kurt's face was anything but.

            ‘I'm going to kill him.  What the hell do you think you are doing?  What were you both thinking?  Were you even thinking at all?'  Kurt's voice raises in pitch as the volume rises and Blaine knows he has a very, very short amount of time to try to talk Kurt down.

            ‘Your dad flew me out here – he wanted you to have a friend around to talk to when he told you.'

            ‘He told you before he told me?'  Kurt's voice drops low and Blaine realises his mistake too late.  ‘Of course he did.  Look, Blaine, I appreciate that you both seem to think you know what's best for me but you both have a pretty damn funny way of showing it.  You are the last person I need to talk to right now, Blaine.  The. Last. Person.  I can't do this right now.  I just can't.'  Kurt turns on his heel and is striding away on his impossibly long legs before Blaine even manages to yank his skates off and vault the barrier – oblivious to the angry attendants, oblivious to the fact that the ground is freezing and he is only wearing socks.  He needs to catch up with Kurt – he needs to.  He cannot leave him like this on Christmas Eve.

            ‘Kurt!'  He calls after him as he runs.  He does not expect Kurt to stop on the spot and spin to face him but he is expecting the full force of Kurt's piercing blue eyes.

            ‘Listen to me very carefully.  I do not want to hear it, Blaine.  You are the last person I want to see right now – you and I are not OK.  I do not trust you and I do not want to hear another apology.  I know you are sorry.  I get it.  But I don't forgive you and I am not sure I want to right now.  I just found out the one person I love most in the world has cancer.  I don't want to talk about it.'

            ‘Kurt, I –‘

            ‘Say it.  Go on.  Say you're sorry again, Blaine.'

He snaps his mouth shut and Kurt narrows his eyes.

            ‘Go on.  How are you going to make this better?  What was the plan?  We'd sing a flirty little Christmas duet perhaps?  Get some hot chocolate, perhaps, then head back to the loft and have a postcard worthy Christmas dinner?  How terribly domestic.'

Blaine draws his lips together into a fine line as Kurt hits the nail on the head.  He has been an utter idiot.  This is not how it was meant to go – Kurt's version is exactly what Blaine had dared to hope would happen.

            ‘Grow up, Blaine - life is not a fairytale.  You of all people should know that.'  Kurt hisses the words at him.  Blaine wraps his arms around himself, shrinking under Kurt's attack.  He does not even offer up an apology. 

‘You are right.  You are completely right.'  Blaine manages to get the words out before he forces himself to turn away.

‘Yes, run away.  You're so good at it.'

He spins around to face Kurt again and catches the fire that sparks in the blue orbs he once looked upon as if they held all the answers to the questions of the universe.  Kurt's face cracks with a smile and Blaine almost growls.

            ‘I am not running away.'

            ‘You always run away – you ran away from us at the first sign of trouble just like you ran away from the New Directions and our friends when they needed you.  Deny it.  Go on.' 

            ‘Don't-'

‘I used to think you were so strong, Blaine.  You were this god at Dalton – so sure of yourself and your sexuality.  Playing the mentor.  I looked up to you…'  Kurt's features soften and he takes a breath.  ‘You told me once that you don't know what you're doing.  You were right.  You don't have a clue do you?'  Kurt looks down and kicks his boot against the curb.

The silence deafens them both as the words spin between them.  Blaine somehow remains standing, somehow keeps breathing, but he cannot find a single word.  He was not prepared for Kurt.  Kurt was right – he was living in a fairytale.  His vision blurs and he finds that, yes, there is a new low – he forces himself not to cry.  He cannot cry in front of Kurt.  He just cannot.

            ‘Goodbye, Blaine.'

It is whispered – all anger burnt away by his earlier tirade.  Blaine can do nothing but watch as Kurt walks away from him. 

-+-

            He's not sure when he started walking, or when the tears finally began to fall – he hardly notices as the architecture styles around him change, as the neighbourhoods degrade.  He felt his cell phone vibrate a number of times – a dim thought surfaces that it is probably Burt and that he should answer – let him know he's OK or something.  But he is not OK.  He is anything but OK so he ignores the buzzing.  Eventually, whoever it was stops calling.  He loses track of time completely – he supposes it is the early hours of Christmas day by now.  He keeps walking blindly and it is only when he feels a sharp pain in his foot and then a hot wetness, that he realises that he never collected his shoes.  He hobbles to a bench and examines the wound to the sole of his foot – fortunately it is not too deep.  Must have been glass. 

The sight of the blood seeping through his sock somehow wakes him and he starts to laugh.  A homeless man across the street swears at him.  Blaine somehow resists the urge to swear back and digs out his cell phone from his pocket instead.  He clears the missed calls from Burt but opens the text message.  The text is short and Blaine can picture Burt frowning with concentration as he composes the message on the tiny screen of his phone.  Burt offers him a hotel room and his apologies.  Blaine sends a text back thanking Burt but declining – he does not deserve any kindness from the man, not after what he must be dealing with.  He concludes the message by asking if Kurt got back OK – there is no point in asking how Kurt is.  He stares at the screen while he waits, dimly aware that perhaps, he is not in a neighbourhood where sitting with his phone out so prominently is a brilliant idea.  He squashes the thought – daring the universe to make things worse.

Burt's affirmative reply calms Blaine a little and he shoots back a quick message of thanks.  He stares at the phone for a while before he notices he has started to shiver and that he cannot actually feel his extremities.  He glances around and realises that he has no idea where he actually is – aside from somewhere in New York on a bench.  He tries to stand and winces as pain flares through his injured foot.  He sits down again. 

He unlocks his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he sees a familiar name and dials.