“That's it, Hummel.” Rachel pulled the blanket off him. “Put the book down. Comb your hair. We're going out.”
“Hey, give that back,” Kurt snatched the blanket back. “It's raining and cold and no. The only place I am going is into the kitchen for another glass of warm milk.”
“Kuuuuuurt,” Rachel warned. “Kurt. You can't just sit here all the time. When's the last time you went somewhere that wasn't your shop or the greengrocer's?”
Kurt thought back. It had been a while. His pause was enough confirmation for Rachel.
“EXACTLY, Kurt. We're going out.”
“I don't want to.”
“I don't care. Wash your face, comb your hair, put on something respectable. We leave in exactly 7 minutes.”
Six and a half minutes later, Kurt is shrugging into his trench coat. As they step outside the apartment building, he turns up the collar against the chill wind spattering the raindrops.
“Where are we going?”
“The newest USO canteen. My friend works there, said they're desperate for volunteers. The fleet's in, and they're short-handed.
“The fleet's in?” Kurt seemed baffled.
“You'll find out when you get there. For now, all you need to know is it's the perfect solution for us. The fleet's in – you need to get out and I need to get laid.”
“RACHEL BERRY!” Kurt wasn't really shocked, but he liked to pretend.
“Well, it's the truth.” She sniffed and put her arm through Kurt's and marched them off down the street.
*****
The canteen was looking for volunteers – not just young women to act as “hostesses” – their job was to chat and dance and laugh and make the soldiers feel relaxed and 'at home'. They also needed people to run behind-the-scenes to keep the bars and food restocked. Even with Kurt's bad knee, they were happy to have him.
He went every night the fleet was in – skirting his way around the crowded dance floor with cases of soda pop, hauling up a giant tray of doughnuts, figuring out how to fix the broken coffeepots.
After the fleet left, he couldn't help himself – he still went back, even when it was clear they were no longer short-handed. For the first time since Blaine left, he wasn't having trouble falling asleep – he was too exhausted to fret.
Mikey was the only other male volunteer at the canteen. He'd had scarlet fever a few months ago, and the doctors said his heart still wasn't strong enough to ship out. He was itching to go and relished the chance to help the war effort. They challenged each other to see how much they could carry, how fast they could mix a drink, how doughnuts they could steal from Mrs. Jakobsen's kitchen downstairs before she caught them. Mikey was nice.
The rest of the volunteers were young women, who quickly found that Kurt had a good heart and a sympathetic ear. They also learned of his talent with a needle and put it to good use. At first, he only repaired torn hems from overly exuberant dancing. Then, he helped mend Vicki's winter coat – now it would last another season. He found himself doing emergency fittings for a soldier who was set to ship out the next day, but whose uniforms had not arrived.
One memorable day, he arrived to find everyone in a tizzy. One of their volunteers was getting married, spur of the moment, to a GI shipping out in 36 hours – the wedding, 2 hours from now. Could he help?
He made out her a wedding dress out of two tablecloths, a few handkerchiefs and scraps gleaned out of the holiday decorations box. The bride wept when she saw the simple beauty of it, the groom wept when he saw her, the entire canteen wept throughout the wedding and cheered when they drove off to a hastily procured “honeymoon suite.”
Kurt was busy. He was content – not happy, not exuberant. No longer plunged into the depths of despair, but still with a sharp ache in his chest whenever he caught himself not thinking of Blaine.

Dear K---
I love you so very very much. I'm so happy to hear that you're getting out of the house. Those USO canteens sound amazing, and when my leave comes up, I'll be very very excited if I get to go to one and you're there.
Please don't feel guilty that you're not constantly thinking of me – sweetheart, that's just crazy talk. I know you're not ignoring me. I know you're not forgetting me. You can't think about me all the time or else you're going to go crazy. You're never going to get anything done. I'm in your heart, as you are in mine. No amount of thinking or not-thinking is going to change that.
I can't think about you all the time, either. Aside from being woefully distracting, and damned inconvenient at times because there's very little privacy in the barracks – if you catch my drift --- there are times when just have to Not Think about you. I can't fly a plane if I'm thinking of you. I can't concentrate when I think of you, and your eyes and your lips and your legs ----
There I go again. Damned inconvenient, darling. It's currently damned inconvenient how gorgeous you are.
Things here are going well. I got the “all clear” from the doctors yesterday – I'm cleared to return to flying. The crew threw me a small party last night at the mess hall – one of the nurses snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night to bake cupcakes – and we're expecting orders any day now. We're just waiting right now.
Please give Rachel my love. Ginger sends hers as well – you should be getting a letter from her sometime soon.
I'll write again tomorrow. I love you.
All my love, always
Your B--

Days went by and still they had no orders. Blaine's crew was getting restless. He organized football matches between them and the other crews. They did morning calisthenics together, egging each other on, challenging and laughing all at once.
No one could understand how he inspired it, but Blaine's crew were devoted to each other. Other crews grew fractious with the delays, became short-tempered and quick to fight. Not Blaine's crew. They joked and teased like brothers, making no differentiation between officers and enlisted men. They all had their duties throughout the day – but you'd often find Jim, the co-pilot, out with the ground crew, helping them wash the nose cone. You'd find Johnny, the tailgunner, helping Charlie organize and rolls his charts. They were helpful. They were kind. Their superior officers were in awe, and talked of promoting Blaine, away from the flightline. He politely refused. He was not going to leave his crew.
That night, there was a dance organized – there were girls coming in from off-base, and the nurses were given special rotating shifts so they could all attend at least for a short time. Ginger made Blaine promise that he'd save her a dance – after completely and utterly charming every single nurse who came to his bedside during his recovery, Blaine had gained quite a reputation as a lady's man.
Blaine did dance. A lot. He made the rounds, finding the girls who hadn't been asked to dance yet, the girls who were too shy until he'd wheedled them out on the floor. He waltzed, he fox-trotted, he jitter-bugged.
Finally, he was tired. He sat at a table with the rest of his crew and their dates – Jim was pretty sweet on a British girl from a nearby village, and judging from the adoring gazes she was giving him, it was mutual. He was leaning back, a glass in his hand, when one of his favorite nurses came and threw herself onto his lap.
“Helloooooooo, gorgeous,” she purred at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She'd obviously been outside, drinking.
“Hello yourself,” he laughed, trying to keep her upright, keeping her skirt arranged for her as she crossed her legs.
“What's a handsome fellow like you doing in a place like this?” her speech was slurred.
“Aw, shucks. You think I'm handsome?” She nodded emphatically.
“Well, thank you, honey. I wouldn't be sitting here if you weren't such a good nurse.” Blaine smiled easily at her.
“I am a good nurse. Are you a good doctor?” she giggled.
He laughed. “Well, no, I'm not a doctor, sweetie. I'm a pilot.”
“........I can't think of anything naughty to say about pilots right now.” she admitted.
“That's probably a good thing.” he murmured.
“OH! Are you any good at PLAYING doctor?”
Blaine flushed, just a bit. “No, honey. I'm not.”
“Blainey, will you get me another drink?” she wasn't going to be deterred.
“Sure, honey, would you like water or ginger ale?”
“Ohhhhh, that's not what I want,” she wiggled in his lap.
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Kath, you really should getting some sleep. You're going to regret this tomorrow morning.”
“I know, but I wouldn't have enough courage to ask you this if I were sober,” she whispered back.
“Ask me what?” oh god, what does she have to be drunk to ask me? No matter what it is, this conversation is not going to go well.
“Come with me,” she wobbled to her feet, tugging at his hand.
He glanced around the table. Everyone seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations, giggling and laughing. Only Timmy, sitting next to him, seemed to notice. He looked appalled.
“Okay, honey, okay.” Blaine let himself be lead toward the door.
They got to a quieter corner – Blaine carefully steered them away from the dark corners full of couples already canoodling.
Kath wrapped her arms around his waist and took a deep breath.
“What did you want to talk about, honey?” Blaine was pretty sure he knew where this was going – but Kath was wonderful, Kath was sweet and kind and good and pretty and if it weren't for one – quite major and ultimately deal-breaking – detail, he was fairly certain he'd be happy where this conversation was leading.
“Ever since you were on my ward,” she slurred, “and I helped give you those sponge baths,” she paused to swallow.
“Ever since then, I just can't stop thinking about you. And how handsome you are. And how nice you are. And and dreaming about you and wanting your arms around me. And to kiss....”
“Kath, wait,” he interrupted, putting his hands on her shoulders to push her back slightly. “Wait a minute. I.....I'm flattered, really. And if things were different, I'd.......I'd be really happy that you thought that – but, I've got.....I've got someone back home.”
“Oh,” her face fell. “Oh, I see.”
“Honey, you're wonderful and fun to be around and cute and all that. I just....I just can't. I'm so sorry.”
“oh god.....god, I'm so stupid.
“You're not stupid. You're not stupid – you're wonderful. I'm so sorry I can't....honest, I am. I'm so sorry.”
“I'm stupid, because I'm standing here, drunk, in uniform, and telling you that I want you and oh god,” she put her hands over her face. Blaine thought she'd started to cry.
“Kath, I....I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I.....that I could. Please don't cry, honey. Don't.”
“What's.....what's her name?” Kath sniffed.
“uhhhhhh. Her name?” Blaine's thought went blank, in panic. No one had ever asked – everyone else just took it for granted when he said he had a sweetheart back home. Not a wife, not a girlfriend. A sweetheart, that worked for them.
Suddenly, Ginger was there, with her arm on Blaine's shoulder. “Blaine? I do believe you owe me a dance, sugar. Oh, sorry, I didn't see you were....”
Blaine untangled Kath's arms from around him, “Ginger, can you do me a favor and help Kath back to her barracks? I think she's not feeling very well.”
Ginger took it all in in an instant. “Of course. Come on, sugar, let's get you to bed, okay?”
Kath wiped the final tears out her eyes and laughed shortly. “Yeah, honey, that'd be swell of you. I'm getting an awful headache.”
“You take care, okay, honey?” Blaine straightened Kath's uniform jacket.
“Okay, Blaine,” she smiled at him, weakly. “Thanks for being so....nice.”
Blaine watched as Ginger looped her arms under Kath's gently, holding her up. They walked somewhat unsteadily into the dark, towards the nurse's barracks.

When Ginger returned with a smile and a nod at Blaine, the dance was still in full swing. As he laughed and joked with the people at his table, Blaine could see another girl, one of the village girls, wobbly weaving her way straight toward him. Oh god not again.
Ginger saw the girl as well, hopped up from her seat and nearly vaulted into Blaine's lap with a loud squeal.
“Whoa there, honey,” Blaine wrapped his arms snugly around Ginger's waist. “You're going to knock us over.”
“Yes, but if I wasn't enthusiastic enough, that girl right there was going to come over here and ask to switch places with me. As it is, she realizes you're otherwise occupied, and she'll find someone else to target. See? There she goes!” Ginger was pointing.
“Oh, god, Red. Don't point.”
“Well, judging from the discussion in the ladies room just a while ago, there are several girls who are going to try to get your attention this evening, so to speak.”
“Oh god. What have I done to deserve this?” Blaine groaned.
“You're gorgeous. And kind. And charming. And fun. And gorgeous – did I mention how attractive you are?” She leaned back to put her hands on his cheeks and pat them.
“It's not your fault, B. You just can't help it,” she sighed dramatically.
“Things would be easier if I was just an ass? Would that help?”
“Maybe for a while. But sometimes, there's just something about a gorgeous ass---”
Blaine nearly choked. “Yeah, there is....” he muttered.
Ginger chuckled. “So, I'll be your bodyguard. I'll keep the girls off you, you dance with me and get me drinks and stuff. Just like old times.”
“Just like old times.” Blaine laughed. “Thank god you're here, Red.”
She giggled delightedly.
It was nice to have a friend – a friend who knew. It was even nice to have someone sitting on his lap and --- there was no way around it, Ginger was a cuddler. They were cuddling. Just like old times.
Except, if it was really like old times, Kurt would be walking through the door at any moment, pushing Ginger unceremoniously off Blaine's lap, and making some sharp comment about “competition” and “do I need to draw you a diagram” or something to make them all laugh.
At the thought of Kurt, Blaine suddenly felt empty. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Ginger and rested his head against her shoulder.
Kurt was in the stockroom, loading up a tray with soda pop when Mikey came barreling in.
“KURT! Get your bony ass upstairs!”
“What's wrong?”
“The singer for the big show is caught in traffic. The crowd's chomping at the bit, the band's ready, but the bandleader insists they need a singer, so I told them you sing, and they're waiting for you.”
“You.... what? What?” Kurt started to set the tray down.
“Give me the tray, dummy. You go sing.” Mikey nudged him roughly toward the door.
Mikey had discovered Kurt's singing ability one Saturday morning while Kurt was taking inventory in the stockroom. Kurt had thought he was alone and was singing loudly. He was completely surprised and embarrassed when Mikey began applauding loudly after a particularly raucous rendition of “Why Don't You Do Right?”
Kurt stumbled up the steps, made his across the crowded dancefloor toward the stage. He tripped walking up the steps. The bandleader eyed him critically, and snapped “Tuxedo Junction, in A. Now.”
Kurt went on autopilot. He did love to perform, he knew this song by heart. He wasn't quite as comfortable a showman as Blaine, but he did have a certain something special of his own.
The crowd went wild at the end of the song.
“I Got A Gal In Kalamazoo, in E flat”, the Bandleader snapped again. Kurt sang it flawlessly.
It went on splendidly for the next several songs. The crowd was loving it – dancing and cheering and having a wonderful time. Each song brought a little bit more respect in the bandleader's voice as he gave Kurt the setlist.
Then it was time to sing “I'll Be Seeing You”, Kurt closed his eyes. He loved this song. He let his voice throb, pouring out all the love and longing he felt for Blaine into it.
When he opened them, his gaze was drawn to the side of the stage. There stood the real singer for tonight – FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, THE WORLD FAMOUS GWEN ANDREWS!! – The Infamous Gwen Andrews, diva extraordinaire, famous for her sexually-charged performances that had gotten her banned from several clubs in Washington, scandal-rag fodder – always in and out of love with the wrong men.
Gwen Andrews, standing there in her red satin gown, her hair and makeup done to perfection. Gwen Andrews who was famous for pitching screaming fits when things didn't go her way, was standing there watching Kurt, with the strangest look on her face.