19 YEARS LATER.....

The sun streamed through the blinds on the window behind Blaine's desk, sprawling over the wooden surface of the desk and the large store-bought cake that now sat upon it. Blaine's colleagues were gathered tightly around it, helping themselves, chattering happily until Mike popped a bottle of sparkling juice nearby and cleared his throat loudly.

Blaine paused from shaking what had to be the fiftieth hand that day, weary but perfectly content. He grinned widely as Mike raised the glass in his direction.

"Just to remind you all that it is not free cake at work day," Mike said pointedly, "I propose a toast. Not only did this guy single-handedly solve one of the biggest crimes our city has ever known, but he's managed to kick our butts into gear for fifteen years--not an easy feat. So let's hear it for the captain on his fifteenth anniversary, huh?" He lifted his glass. "To Blaine Anderson!"

"To Blaine Anderson!"

There was a smattering of enthusiastic applause, and Blaine waved it off, though the corners of his eyes were deeply wrinkled with his smile. Mike clapped him on the back happily as everyone took their pieces of cake and dispersed.

"Watch it," Blaine joked. "I'm an old man now. This back isn't what it used to be."

"Oh please," said Mike, rolling his eyes. "You're not officially an old man until you've reached sixty. And besides, you're in better shape than most of the officers around here. Which reminds me--"

"I'm not going to start dating again," Blaine finished for him, rolling his eyes. "I'm--"

"Fifty-five," Mike finished for him in turn. "I know, I know. Which is the new twenty-five, by the way. Anyhow, I need to go-- It's my turn to pick up Amber from dance class. You relax your tired bones, old man."

Amber was Mike's second child; their first daughter, Bonnie, was already in college. Blaine let the jibe go and laughed, and didn't let the sadness touch his heart until Mike was gone. It really had been above and beyond for his friend to throw an anniversary party for him, and he appreciated it-- But really, Blaine preferred solitude as much as he always had. It wasn't the desolate sort of existence he had before; he simply had no desire to see anyone romantically. He spent his time honoring Kurt's wishes and living life as fully as he could--starting with a move to a new apartment, one where he could look out the window and see pigeons nesting in the steeples of beautiful old churches--but his heart was still so full of Kurt that he couldn't bear to let in anyone else.

He still had no idea what had happened, but something had changed. The spirits were gone; the prescription Rachel had given him was working, and he no longer felt any need to see her--for appointments, that is; he visited her and Finn every other weekend for card games, in between his bi-weekly outings with Mike's family. Indeed, things were clearer now, and for the first time he could finally describe himself as alive.

Things wound down at the station, and Blaine returned to his desk just as a woman with auburn hair approached from the lobby. She beamed at him and he blinked in reply, uncertain.

"Detective!" the woman mock-admonished in a breathy sort of voice. "I can't believe you don't recognize me!" Her long fingernails were painted fuschia, Blaine noticed, and he put two and two together.

"Sugar?"

"Uh-huh!" she replied with a blindingly white, toothy smile. "I inherited my daddy's piano company and now I'm super rich. I'm in town though because I wanted to show my son the crappy city I used to live in so I wanted to visit and say hi and thank you."

Blaine stared, then nodded. "Well-- That's very nice of you, Sugar. Thanks."

His eyes followed her hand as she reached into her purse. The arrow tattoo on her wrist was gone--mostly removed, with the lingering ink forming a flower instead. When her hand emerged it was clutching a pair of keys, which she thrust at him.

"And these are keys for the new car I bought you," she said, almost as an afterthought. "It's in the parking lot."

Blaine's jaw dropped. "What-- Sugar, you didn't have to--"

"I know," she said simply. Ignoring the curious look from a passing officer, she moved around Blaine's desk and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Blaine stiffened self-consciously but didn't move.

"Thank you," she whispered. "All of us thank you. You saved us, Detective Anderson. You're our angel."

Blaine slowly relaxed. After a few moments, he patted her awkwardly on the back. He was relieved when she finally pulled away and handed him the keys and a small card.

"What's this?" he asked, glancing at the card.

"Oh that's a gift card for crappy little coffee shop you like," she said with a sniff and a shrug, brushing at her teary eyes with her fingers. Blaine smiled.

"You really live up to your name, Sugar," he said softly. She shrugged,

"I get that a lot," she replied, then turned to leave. "I gotta go. I hate this place; it smells like fish. I wanna go home." She paused at the door. "Bye Detective."

He waved back. "Bye Sugar."

Once she left he looked down at the gift card and the keys, and then out the window. His eyes found one of the churches in the distance and fixed on it--at the old, crumbling, beautiful cross--and felt no disdain.

--

At break time Blaine drove to the nearby coffee shop with the windows down, enjoying the smooth ride despite himself. He ignored the fact that the sleek sports car screamed midlife crisis and walked into the shop with a spring in his step, heading for the counter.

"A medium soy latte, please," he ordered.

"Is that all?" said the barista.

Blaine's heart stopped. He looked up sharply at the barista, and for a moment was quite convinced he was hallucinating.

Kurt.

He was older--taller, with sharper featured and broader shoulders--but it was unmistakably Kurt. The voice was still soft and musical, the skin pearlescent, the eyes like spears of ice sparkling wildly under the winter sun--Blaine's mind and heart flooded with memories so suddenly and violently that they threatened to burst from his bones, and he stood there gaping at the counter for nearly a full minute before anyone said anything.

"Um...you all right, sir?" The barista tilted his head, concerned, and Blaine's fantasy crumbled to pieces. His eyes darted to the boy's nametag-- Angel.

What are you thinking, old man? Kurt is gone.

"I'm fine," said Blaine, shaking himself. "You just-- You look like someone I used to know, that's all. Ah... Very much. It's uncanny, actually."

The barista smirked. "I'll bet you say that to all the cute boys."

Blaine did something he hadn't done in years, and blushed. "Well, to be fair, I don't think the word 'cute' quite does you justice."

A mysterious smile still clung to the boy's lips as he went about making the drink, and-- Christ, even his movements were the same. Blaine fought not to stare, but he must have been failing, because the barista seemed to catch him in the act. He wore a knowing grin as he handed Blaine his cup.

"So what are you going from here?" he asked playfully, leaning over the counter. "Someplace fun?"

"Not at all," Blaine replied, raising his eyebrows. "I'm going to do incredibly boring things in incredibly boring places, because I'm old. Much too old for you."

"Oh come on," said the barista with a roll of his eyes, moving back from the counter. "Fifty-five is the new twenty-five."

With that, the barista turned to take another customer, just as Blaine realized with a jolt-- How does he know how old I am?

He realized he was staring again, and finally tore his eyes away to go and find a table. He sat near the spot he and Finn had once shared coffee many years ago, watching out the window in between sneaking glances at the barista. It took a great deal of mental coaching, but he managed to tear his eyes away and focus on his drink.

Just as he finished, he moved to get up and found the barista standing next to his table, holding a fresh coffee in one hand and his apron in the other.

"It's on me." he said softly, handing it over. Blaine took it wordlessly. He watched the barista smile mysteriously and turn away before all but disappearing out the door.

After a good few solid seconds Blaine took a sip of the coffee and realized something was written on the cup. As he read it, his eyes widened. His heart sped up way too quickly for a man his age, making his world spin. It was amazing how many years seemed to evaporate just then, and he grinned broadly as he all but drained his second coffee and hopped back into his car to zoom back to the station.

He'd always found his line of work to be more grisly duty than anything else--and maybe it still was, but it wasn't everything. It wasn't about settling his own personal demons, at least. It wasn't about retribution, either. It was about saving people instead of himself, because he didn't need saving anymore.

His name was Blaine Anderson. He was fifty-five years old, and he had just been born.

--

230-977-5768

Call me.

It's never too late to start over.

--Your Angel




THE END.