A mans work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.

-       Albert Camus

            It is three in the morning when Kurt finally reappears in the Loft – he ends up accidentally walking in on Sue Sylvester and a man post-coitus, forces himself to swallow down the resultant bile, and writes a mental note to find out if mind bleach is actually a thing.  One thing that is absolutely certain however is that he needs to wash his sheets…possibly to burn them, and the bed while he is at it.  Why she chose his bed is beyond him, however, the lack of Rachel, Santana, Doug, or any of the others who had rallied together for Rachel's big night (and he has no idea how he is even going to begin to apologise for missing the second half yet!) concerns him more in the immediate.

He checks his cell to find the battery (unsurprisingly) dead.  Shooting a glare at a frustratingly nonchalant Sue, he manages to find a spare charger cable down the side of the sofa and hurriedly plugs the device in.  Once he deems it to have charged enough he turns it on and it immediately lights up with messages ranging from panic and anger (Rachel), to concern and threats (Santana), as well as 22 missed calls.  He listens to the last voicemail (from a very drunk sounding Rachel who spends the majority of the call thinking she had hung up and bitching about him being a terrible friend to an equally drunk sounding, giggling Santana) before deleting all of the others without listening to them.  Kurt is about to put his phone down in order to attempt to tackle the Sue-of-it-all when the phone vibrates in his hand.

Blaine: I miss you already. :-( Am I allowed to say that? - Bx

His face hurts before he had even registered that he was smiling and he hurriedly taps out a response without thinking about it too much.  He knows he will regret it later, but in that instant he just needs to share his pain with someone.

Kurt: I miss you too.  Come and rescue me! Sue and some guy just had sex in my bed, Blaine.  He's wearing my dressing gown. I'm going to have to burn it. I liked that dressing gown.

Blaine: :-(  I'll get you a new one.  Try not to set the building alight. I'll be your alibi. – Bx

Blaine: Are the others back? – Bx

Kurt: No. Had a load of drunkdials from Rachel though so I'm Screwed when they get in. Maybe I should move Sue and her beau into Rachel's bed.  That'd distract them!

Blaine: As amusing as that would be… don't do that. I'm not home yet – I could be with you in 20? - Bx

Kurt: Don't worry I'll handle it. You have enough to think about.

Blaine: I love you. – Bx

Kurt: I love you too.  Scratch that – I was wrong - come over.

Blaine: As much as I want to, somehow I think you're right. Not the best idea at the moment. – Bx

Kurt: But you could help me get Sue back.

Blaine: Tempting… - Bx

-+-

            ‘So spill, Hummel, and quickly before Her Majesty emerges from her shower.  She's pretty hung-over so you better be quick if you want my help.'  Santana's voice is altogether too loud and Kurt cringes as he sits up slowly in response to her physically moving his feet from the couch in order to make room for herself.  ‘Why are you sleeping on the couch anyway?'

            ‘Sue had sex in my bed.'

            ‘Wanky.'

            ‘Yeah… thanks for the emotional support but I wouldn't be surprised if they'd done it all over the place so…'

            ‘Did you check the couch?'

He rolls his eyes and groggily reaches for the steaming mug Santana must have provided before inhaling the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans.

            ‘You're welcome.  Now – what was so important?'  She stared at him as a viper does its prey.

            ‘Doug didn't say?'

            ‘Nope.  The boy went all wide-eyed faux innocent on me.'

            ‘That has to be a first.  You not getting something you want out of someone…  Perhaps he's immune to you.'

            ‘Yeah, well – maybe I just let Berry get the deets from you herself…I mean it was obviously really important, right?'  The Latina stands and makes to leave with a mischievous look in her eyes.

            ‘Sit down, Satan.'  Kurt takes a sip of his coffee as his friend returns to her place beside him.  He has known her long enough now to know how to play her games.  ‘Look – I…I had something I needed to sort out, alright?  I would really appreciate it if you could help cover for me.'

            ‘Three shifts at the Diner – you cover for me, I cover for you.'

            ‘Two.'

            ‘Fine, two.  A week.'

            ‘For one month.'

            ‘Deal.'

            ‘Deal.'

            ‘So… you going to tell me the truth at least?'

            ‘Wasn't part of the deal.'  He grins.

            ‘It was the Hobbit, right?  You two get your guilty, twisted mack on again?'  She makes to pull on his collar in an effort to check for hickeys, but he manages to stand and heads over towards his room.

            ‘Not part of the deal, Santana.  Are they….?'

            ‘No.  They're gone I think.  Berry kicked them out.  Thought they were going to wake you actually but it ended up being weirdly civil.  I think our girl may have actually grown up.'

            ‘I think you're right….'

            ‘Want some help disinfecting?'

            ‘Oh, god, yes.'

-+-

            The place is dark when he lets himself in, but he quickly realises that the lights are on in the sitting room.  He does not need to enter to know what will be waiting for him – he is not proud of that fact either.  This scene has played out too many times in the past year for Blaine's liking.  Steeling himself he walks in already reciting from his well-worn script. 

            ‘Douglas, I'm so sorry but I –'

            ‘See, I told you he'd be back, Diggs.'

The voice is chalk and ash and distinctly not Douglas. 

            ‘I…I didn't realise you had company.  Good morning, Dr. Richmond.'

            ‘Well someone needed to talk Diggs here out of going out looking for you.  Someone needed to support your fiancé in your stead.  Just what was so important that you take off without even a message?' 

Blaine gapes then and turns to look to his fiancé utterly dumbfounded but Douglas makes no move to speak or interject on Blaine's behalf.  It rankles him.

            ‘I am not certain how that's any of your business.  I thank you for coming over, but I really must talk to my fiancé alone now.  Surely you have surgery in the morning?  Wouldn't want this to impact on your very important work; you could accidentally kill someone.' 

There is a moment when he thinks that he has assessed the situation correctly – Adrian stands and Blaine relaxes slightly expecting the doctor to take his leave – he could not have been more wrong.

            ‘I'm not going anywhere young man.' 

            ‘Excuse me?  I wasn't aware that there were three people in this relationship!'

            ‘Or are there four?'

            ‘That's enough, both of you.'  Douglas' interjection is weak and tired and serves only to induce a self-satisfied grin upon Adrian's face.  Blaine glowers from one man to the other.  ‘Thank you for coming over Ade but I'd like to talk to Blaine alone now.  I'll call tomorrow.'

            ‘Are you sure?'  The doctor deflates a little but Douglas makes no move and Adrian nods slightly in acquiescence before leaving without another word.

Blaine focuses on breathing in and out slowly in an effort to slow down his racing pulse.  The blood is rushing in his ears and he is acutely aware that the pressure within him is building to a dangerous level.  He realises that he is still glaring at the now closed door a little too slowly for his liking.  He feels off-balance – blindsided in the place that was supposed to be his home.  He needs time to process the evening's events; he needs time to think.  He does not need this.

            ‘Don't, Blaine.'

The words freeze him and he pauses midway between reaching for the crystal decanter.  The choice is there – plain for all to see.  He can stop what he is doing as Douglas had commanded, or he can continue and risk tipping this odd situation into something he is more familiar with.  He takes familiarity over this unsettling unknown.

            ‘Would you like one?'

            ‘No.  No I don't want a drink.  You don't need one either, just… for god's sake, Blaine, look at me!'

            ‘I didn't mean to worry you.'  Blaine's hands are oddly steady as he concentrates on purposefully removing the crystal stopper from the half-full decanter causing tiny fragmented rainbows to dance across the surface of the projected amber puddle of light.

            ‘I know you didn't.  You never do.'

The softness of the other man's voice feels like a knife in Blaine's chest.  There is an acute pain behind his eyes and he knows that all of the stress and tension, frustration and hurt is about to bubble up from within him like a geyser.  Yet, somehow the liquid amber pours smoothly into the tumbler without a drop wasted.

            ‘What was he doing here anyway?  Where does he get off talking to me like that in my own home, Douglas?  You should have said something.'

Douglas' dark eyes follow his movements as Blaine finishes pouring himself a drink before dropping into the seat the doctor had recently vacated.  He drinks partly to burn away the pressure in his head, but mainly to give Douglas a chance to interject – to agree that he should have stood up for his fiancé.  The crystal is empty before another word is uttered and Blaine feels each torturous tick from the skeleton clock as a strike against his own bones.  It is not a competition; he knows that intellectually, but it does not change the fact that whoever speaks next loses.  He sits and seethes in stilted silence.  How dare Adrian slither back into Douglas' life after how he treated him!  How dare they sit and discuss him as if he is some wayward child!  How dare –

            ‘I had a call while I was waiting for you… I…for one awful moment I thought…I thought….  That doesn't matter.  It wasn't about you.  It was Father.  Oliver says that his doctor recommends that family make their way back to see him….'

The words drench Blaine's internal inferno so thoroughly even the embers die in that moment; his tongue tastes of bitter ash.

            ‘Do you want to go?'  The words come out stronger than he had expected, but Douglas seems too tired to notice.

            ‘I don't know.  I really don't know.'

            ‘That's why Adrian was…because you needed me and I wasn't here.'  The pieces click together almost audibly and Blaine feels colour flood his cheeks with palpable shame and disgust.

            ‘Ade…Adrian is trying to make up for the past.  He's…he's trying a little too hard and he had no right to talk to you like that, Blaine –'

            ‘-He cares.'

            ‘Yes; in his own way, I think he does.'

            ‘I'm glad you had that this evening.' 

Douglas nods slightly in acknowledgement but it does nothing to ease the dull ache blooming in Blaine's tight chest.

‘Did you sort it out?'

            ‘I'm sorry?  Sort what out?'  Douglas' change of topic effectively derails Blaine's internal berating long enough for him to finally glance up to meet the other man's molten eyes.

            ‘Whatever it was that was so important with Kurt.'  Douglas prompts softly.

            ‘How –'

            ‘I'm not stupid, Blaine.'

            ‘I never said that you were…' 

And there it is…the moment that Douglas calls him out?  Surely this is it.  But how can Douglas look so calm and accepting?  Does he know?  Can he possibly know?

            ‘So?  It is sorted now?'  Douglas inches closer as if to close the gap between them – as if to cross the wide channel imposed by the overstuffed armchairs.  Blaine tries not to flinch backwards in response.

            ‘I…I don't know what you're asking me.'  Soft chocolate eyes seem to almost embrace him, but Douglas' words make no sense.  Blaine's mind frantically scrambles for some purchase – for something that makes sense…

            ‘You've been so absent recently.  Even when you're here you're not really here.  I spoke to June – she said your duet with Kurt was a bad idea.  The two of you need to get a grip.  You want to be performers?  Fine.  Act like professionals and perform – you can't let personal clashes get in the way; look at Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton!  There is more at stake here Blaine than you can even begin to comprehend – it is not just about you; other people are involved here.  June's putting a lot on the line for you –'

            ‘-You don't think I know that?'

            ‘Do you?'  Douglas glances from the empty tumbler in Blaine's hand to the decanter, before turning slightly again to better face him.  ‘I…June is worried about you.  She thinks you're drinking too much and I think that's at least partly my fault.  I…I don't see you as a child Blaine, you know that.  I've always…I try to give you freedom to make your own choices.  I don't want to rule your life; I'm not your father, but I am your partner.  Do you understand?  Sometimes I feel like we're from two completely different worlds – I wonder if we even speak the same language.  But there are times when you look at me, or you'll say something, and you completely blow me away.  You make me feel again.  You make me believe that I can still be someone even at my age. 

‘You were miserable, Blaine, and I had no idea how to make it better and it terrified me.  I should have been able to say something – do something… 

‘When you are performing you come alive again and I will do everything in my power to facilitate that… I trust that you know what you're doing here.  If you say Kurt is the person to duet with – he's the person to duet with and I told June just that…  So, I'll ask you again - did you and Kurt hash it out?'

Douglas' hand had somehow wound its way into Blaine's and he honestly had no idea who had instigated the contact. 

            ‘I…yes.  Yes we-'

            ‘-Good.'  The interruption is unexpected; the finality of the clipped word thuds against Blaine's chest like a wooden battering-ram.

            ‘It's –' 

            ‘-No.  Enough for now.  Come to bed, darling.  You look as exhausted as I feel.'  Douglas stands and gently prises the crystal from Blaine's unfeeling hand.  He finds himself dumbly watching as Douglas picks up two mugs (and with it the remnants of Adrian's presence).  Something buzzes insistently in the back of his mind however – something Adrian said.  The number Four.  Blaine feels like his is in Sesame Street with the Count for an awful moment.  He remains seated until Douglas returns to turn off the lights, takes his hand and pulls him up from the relative comfort of the chair. 

            ‘What did Adrian mean by “four”?'

            ‘Do you want to do this now, Blaine?'

            ‘I think we may have to.'

Douglas sighs audibly before pulling Blaine towards him so that the younger man's head is nestled against his chest.  The sound of Douglas' heart is somehow soothing – it sounds whole and healthy, not broken, not bruised…

            ‘Let's get some rest, come on.  There's plenty to discuss tomorrow after we've had some sleep.'

He takes Douglas' hand and, on tiptoes, kisses him softly on the cheek.  Dropping back down to his usual height he takes a shallow breath before finding his lips sealed by Douglas'. 

-+-

            Kurt's stomach swoops as he fixes his hair in the mirror for what felt like the fourth time in as many minutes.  After Santana had helped him to strip his bed sheets with Marigold-armoured hands, they had been joined by a silent Rachel, and still obviously half-asleep Doug in a group cleaning party.  Once the loft was once again cleansed of any trace of Sue, Santana had grabbed Rachel's arm and proclaimed a trip to the newsvendor was in order.  The four of them had stood waiting anxiously while Doug had purchased one of each morning paper with an Arts and Entertainment section.

            ‘Don't you think we should call the others?  They did come to see you last night…'  Doug had asked as he handed the pile over to Rachel.  She had simply shaken her head and handed the pile over to Kurt, who had passed them like a primed grenade to Santana. 

Dutifully their friend had read aloud each of the predominantly positive reviews.  After the cooing had finally stopped and Kurt had reached his tolerance for questioning side-eye from both Doug and Santana, he made his excuses and had headed to NYADA.  In a fit of whimsy he called via his favourite café and had ordered two drinks to go; which was why he was now flitting about in the rehearsal room waiting with two rapidly cooling beverages laid out like an offering before him.

Peace or sacrifice?

His eyes wander from doors to mirrors back to the clock again.  The rehearsal had been due to start over fifteen minutes ago – Blaine had never been late before.  Kurt tries not to dwell on the fact that Blaine's frustrating time keeping had actually been a bone of contention until then.

The sharp click of heels alerts him before the door swings open to reveal June Dalloway, and behind her, Blaine.  Kurt's eyes flicker to the two coffees cooling on the table before him and he immediately wants to hide them from the all-seeing avian eyes of Blaine's patron.  What would she read in them?  An innocent beverage?  An offering?  Would she be resentful that he had not considered her (ignoring the fact he had not been expecting her – that was actually confirmation enough right there!)?  

Kurt is brought from his internal fluster by June's impatient

            ‘Are you waiting for something?'

He opens his mouth to retort but Blaine steps in before the words emerge.

            ‘We usually warm up first, June.  Why don't you go and find Carmen?  She's probably in her office and I'm sure she'd like to see a copy of my proposed line-up for the event?  We'll be fifteen minutes.' 

The older woman gives Blaine a look that Kurt does not quite understand before she nods once and leaves without giving Kurt a glance.

Once the gunshots of her heels striking the floors are mere echoes again Blaine seems to crumple slightly.

            ‘Sorry we're late, Kurt.  June – she came by the penthouse and I'd overslept.  I'm sorry.  Things were a little fraught last night when I got back.  How did…how did Rachel -?'

            ‘Rachel's not talking to me, but Santana's on side, and Doug is…he's weirdly loyal so I think he's not going to say anything – not that he knows anything beside that we talked then didn't come back.'

            ‘You told Santana?'

            ‘No - I don't have a death wish.'

            ‘Oh...okay.  Good.'  Blaine swallows dryly.  ‘I…I didn't see anything in the news about a fire or crispy corpses so I'm guessing you managed to resolve the Sue situation peacefully?'

            ‘Apparently Rachel kicked them out in the end, but I was too tired to deal with it at the time.  Santana provided rubber gloves and assisted with the disposal of the…evidence.  I just need some therapy but I think I'll be fine.'

Kurt hands Blaine one of the cardboard cups and the smile he induces makes Kurt instantly regret his next words but he needs to know.

            ‘How did it go with Douglas?'

            ‘We didn't…  Look – June…'  Another heavy swallow; a tongue peeks out over dry lips, his eyebrows draw straight lines, and teeth catch his bottom lip.  He clears his throat.  ‘We should practice.'

            I thought we were…

The echo is almost a physical presence mingling with the aroma of coffee and something inside Kurt twists painfully.  It is Blaine's hand on his arm which, yet again, stops his feet from moving.  He forces himself to turn to face the other man; forces himself to meet swirling amber eyes.  Blaine clears his throat again, but Kurt makes no move.  Their breath is synched; the air saturated with coffee and sparking with polish. 

            ‘I promise we'll talk after this rehearsal.  I promise, Kurt.'

Kurt nods but does not trust his treacherous mouth to talk, so he waits in silence as Blaine gently squeezes Kurt's arm, before releasing him and walking over to take his place by the piano.

            Blaine's hands float of their own accord across the keys – black and white notes in clusters of major and minor chords crescendo and diminuendo around him - as inevitable and automatic as waves against unfeeling cliffs.  Blaine's thoughts are elsewhere.

Kurt's pure voice joins his as they climb scales in harmony together.  Rising and falling; floating and soaring in an andante aria – safe and structured.  Through this outlet Kurt lets his consciousness pour into the meaningless “fa”s and “la”s, “te”s and “me”s.  He catches Blaine's golden eyes with his own and tries to show him his thoughts and feelings without the frustration of words.  He shows him his pain and anguish, his joy and hope.  He shares these offerings the only way he knows how, and Blaine responds to him as beautifully as he always had.  Blaine's eyes are two shining candles for Kurt, and he can almost feel every sweet kiss, taste every soft sigh again, as if they were living things; precious and perfect.

-+-

            It had seemed natural to call Adrian (though the other man's sleepy voice and Douglas' subsequent realisation of the late hour had made him instantly regret his actions).  Adrian had, for once, dropped everything for Douglas and had appeared shortly after the call with a slightly crumpled box of chocolates and a pained expression on his face.

            ‘I panicked.'  Adrian offered in explanation of the gift.

            ‘I see that…'

            ‘Is…where's your Blaine?'

            ‘I honestly have no idea, Ade.'

Adrian had taken over then and Douglas had found himself telling the other man everything – about Project Narcissus and his stress over the Fosker project in London; about Blaine and his emotional (and now physical) distance; about June and his feeling of inadequacy that she was able to give Blaine what he, his fiancé, could not.  He spoke of his relationship with his father – his father's illness, and the phone call from Oliver; about his mother and how things had been left between them the last time he had seen her at the “engagement party”.  All his deepest concerns that had been hounding him for months surfaced like a column of bubbles, and Adrian listened.  He listened while Douglas had paced, the words flowing from him uncontrolled and free.

The kiss had been inevitable, he supposes.  Adrian had been there, and Douglas had been emotionally raw and exhausted and a thousand other roaring emotions besides.   But it was not an excuse.  He had known that there was something going on when Adrian had been so keen to reconnect over the past weeks.  He had known, deep down, during that first dinner they had shared all those months ago. Had that been why he had not told Blaine of the meeting until it was too late and the damage had been done?  Had Blaine seen the future in them then? 

It had been chaste, at least at first – a comfort – but he had not pulled away as he should have.  He had not stopped it and it had quickly escalated.  It felt so right to be wanted, and he was wanted, desperately. 

But…Hands that had once been so familiar, that had once been home, were now so very different - skin no longer firm and elastic.  So very different, so very wrong.  Was this how he felt to Blaine? No different than the crumpled paper of his drawings rasping against the perfect hide wrapped tight over firm desktop?

Adrian had pressed him hard then against the mantle behind them.

            ‘Let me look after you, Diggs.  Let me worship you like I should have been doing for the last fifteen years.  Let me –'

The words were dry and desperate, and Douglas found himself kissing back – kissing the man he had loved as if he were the answer to all his problems rather than their antithesis.  The reaction from Adrian had been instantaneous.

Only Blaine's return had applied the brakes.  The sound of the front door opening had made him feel so instantly dirty as he pushed Adrian from himself, scuttling for the armchair to hide the painfully obvious evidence of his arousal.

Adrian's treatment of Blaine had been a defensive reaction – Douglas knows that now.  But there was truth there.  A truth he was not ready to think about let alone discuss.  Did he even have a choice anymore?

His head aches as he stares down at the paper before him – Penny had helpfully begun to look at the logistics behind the inevitable move to London.  The dates swirl before his eyes until he can no longer bear to look at them and so instead turns his attention to gaze from his office window onto the busy street below. 

The harsh buzz of the intercom pulls him back into the room and he reaches to answer the phone to stop the noise more than to actually engage with the person on the other end of the call.

Penny's voice is altogether too bright to be legal and he grimaces as he listens to her insistence that there was a gentleman on the other line who wished to speak with him.

            ‘I don't know anyone of that name.'

            ‘He says you know his daughter.'

It takes a moment for the haze to clear and he recalls the blonde actress from the previous evening – her father had been an investor?  Was that right?

            ‘Oh.  I think I know.  Put him through, Penny.  Thank you.'

-+-

            The applause is an explosion of fireworks and Kurt glances up to find June and Carmen beaming at them.  He feels like he is suffering from vertigo – or perhaps he fell down a rabbit hole?  Maybe this is the Twilight Zone? 

A glance to Blaine finds his…friend?...equally guppy-mouthed.

            ‘Now see, June, what did I tell you?  That is what you were missing.  That is what your Blaine here saw.'

            ‘I have to admit, Carmen – I may have been wrong about these two - and I am never wrong.  Blaine – a word please.'

Kurt watches as Blaine hurries to follow June from the room and finds himself standing before the grinning NYADA dean once again.

            ‘Whatever that was, Mr. Hummel – that was why you're here.  Remember that.'  She places a hand softly on his shoulder before turning to follow the others from the room, leaving Kurt staring dumbly at the door.