As soon as they arrive, Kurt is sitting in the office designated as Gwen's private dressing room, mending some costumes. The girls' high heels are murder on the hems of their gowns, and Suzie keeps popping her zipper and sequins are dropping like flies. Gwen saunters in, dropping her coat, hat and gloves on the table, checking her lipstick in the mirror – it's smudged from kissing the gauntlet of soldiers waiting for her. She's flushed and giggly – one (or more of them) must have been cute.
There are sharp, smart footsteps down the hall, and then Blaine is there, dress uniform sharply pressed, officer's cap tucked snugly under his arm. The belt around the jacket accentuates his slim waist, the insignia on the boards of his shoulders emphasize their breadth. His hair is styled just so, his shoes bright with polish. He's beautiful. Kurt feels the breath has been knocked of him.
Gwen invites him in, Blaine snapping his heels together as he nods to her in thanks. He hasn't taken his eyes off Kurt. He's afraid if he blinks, this will all be a dream – Kurt won't really be here, he'll be alone and staring at the bunk above him, as usual.
The pop of Gwen snapping the lock on the door is like a starting pistol for Blaine, who rushes to Kurt, dropping his cap on the table in front of him, swooping down to capture Kurt's mouth as he sits in his chair. Kurt kisses him in kind, feverishly and without self-consciousness – at the moment, he really could care less that Gwen is standing there.
“Boys,” she whispers. “I'm just going to pop out of here now – Kurt, don't forget that the show's at 4. And for Christ's sake, lock the door behind me.”
Blaine straightens, blushes and attempts to smooth his hair down. “Uhhh. Sorry. Sorry. I just...”
“It's okay, honey. I can only imagine what it's like to have him here,” she smiled sadly.
“No, ummm, the boys would like to meet you. Both. I mean, they don't know about.....they know I have a relative on your tour, and they'd really like to meet my cousin, Kurt. And, of course, they're wild about you, Gwen. I'm supposed to bring you out to meet the plane, and the rest of the crew.”
Kurt is folding his mending tidily, putting everything in order. He smoothes his hair, smoothes his trousers as he stands. Blaine can't help but rake his eyes over his lover's lean body. Gwen clears her throat, patting her hair into place.
“Kurtsie, hand me my lipstick. And spritz me some more perfume. If I disappoint Blaine's crew, I'll never be able to live with myself.”

*****

A few minutes later, they are striding carefully down the flight line towards Blaine's plane. Blaine, with his cap now jauntily on his head, has Gwen's hand tucked under his arm. Kurt is walking on her other side – any closer to Blaine and he won't be responsible for his actions.
As they get closer to the plane, Kurt can see the crew sprawled out on the grass next to it – he hadn't realized how huge bombers were. When they saw Gwen, they all jumped to their feet, brushing dirt and grass from their uniforms. Everyone lined up to be introduced to Blaine's friends – barely paying any attention to Kurt, eyes only for Gwen.
The crew clambered up in the plane, hoisting Gwen up – each eager to show her “his” piece and responsibility. They promptly forgot Kurt and Blaine, still standing outside.
Blaine walked Kurt to the front, towards the huge glass nose cone and pointed up.
“Teenage Dream?” Kurt chuckled.
“I couldn't name her “Kurt”, now could I?”
“Her?”
“Planes are always “her.” Just like ships.”
The painting accompanying the name was similar to those Kurt had seen in newsreels. A long-legged woman, half turned away, was smiling coyly over her shoulder, long brown hair curling down her back.
Kurt raised his eyebrow. “Did you get to pick this out?”
“Yes. Well, I won the coin toss – and the boys liked my ideas anyway, so everyone was happy.”
Kurt smiled at him. Blaine was grinning widely.
“But, look closer. I gave very specific instructions.”
Kurt stepped up nearer and craned his neck to look at the painting. First he noticed, the eyes of the woman. Blue-ish green, cat-shaped, with long brown lashes. His eyes. Those were close to his cheekbones, and something of his mouth, as well – almost too wide, with full lips and definitely his smile.
“Come on,” Blaine said softly. “Come see my spot.”
Kurt watched as Blaine hoisted himself easily up into the belly of the plane, eyes sparkling. Kurt was less graceful, but managed. No one was watching him anyway.
“Careful here. Watch your head.” Blaine cautioned.
They scrambled up to the cockpit, the two chairs side-by-side. Blaine motioned for Kurt to sit in the left hand side – the captain's chair, sitting in the co-pilot's seat himself. Kurt delicately ran his fingertips over the controls, his hands over the stick.
Stuck in the bezel around one gauge was a small snapshot – Kurt recognized it easily. He and Rachel and Blaine – their arms slung around each other, sitting on a couch. Blaine is kissing Rachel on the cheek. Rachel's head is thrown back, mouth wide open, obviously cackling. Kurt is looking straight at the camera, his eyes bright with laughter.
“I just told them it's the best picture I have of my sweetheart back home.” Blaine said softly. “It's the only one I can carry of you. It's what convinces me to come home every time.”
Kurt's lips trembled. He wished he could reach out his hand, wished Blaine would take it. But the crew was just below, making all sorts of ridiculous comments and succeeding in making Gwen laugh loudly.
“Every song I sing....it's for you,”Kurt whispered. “It's always for you.”
A moment passed, then Charlie poked his head in, “Cap'n, this lady says she parched and needs a drink.”
“And we all know you can't keep a lady waiting!” Blaine smiled rakishly at Kurt.

*****

That night, the concert was amazing. The crowd loved the banter between Gwen and Kurt, they ate it up. They cheered raucously when Gwen announced, “at random”, the name of Captain Anderson and pushed him up on stage cat-calling and whistling, for Gwen to sing “I've Got A Crush On You” while perched in his lap. Blaine, never one to back down from a challenge, played along, holding her hips securely, waggling his eyebrows, earning more cheers and hollers from his comrades. Kurt stood to the side, loving every minute of it.
Gwen's Private Picnic Basket was waiting in her dressing room, along with a just-arrived Ginger, when the concert ended. Kurt raised his eyebrow once again, as Blaine plucked it up, along with the blanket, hanging it over his forearm and ushering them all outside again.
Night was just beginning to fall. Gwen and Ginger discreetly peeled themselves away as they passed the last barracks – Kurt hadn't been able to get out of Gwen what the two of them had been up to – but he had his suspicions.
Blaine led his way off-base, into the countryside. After a short walk, they found a dense stand of trees – “privacy,” Blaine whispered. Blaine spread the blanket out in a small clearing, with a beautiful view of the ocean and sunset beyond.
They ate slowly, savouring the food and their time together, talking quietly. The summer night was warm, and they tangled themselves around each other, safe from prying eyes. They talked of everything, and nothing – mundane daily life and hopeful dreams. They mock-argued over new drapes for the dining room, what time of year they'd finally go to Miami, planning their lives once they were together again.
Sometime after the sun set and dark really fell, they both fell asleep, Blaine curled around Kurt's back, their hands intertwined.

*****

Blaine woke to a sharp kick to his shins, an elbow to his ribs. Kurt. Kurt was struggling in his sleep, struggling to get away. His breaths were coming in short pants, his face contorting, tears sliding down his face from behind his closed lids.
“Kurt,” he whispered. “Kurt, you're having a nightmare. It's okay.”
Kurt continued to struggle, writhing in the blankets.
“Kurt.” Blaine said firmly, “You need to wake up. It's just a dream, baby.” He shook Kurt's shoulder slightly, then more strongly.
Kurt's eyes opened, frantically searching. He reached out with both hands, grabbing at Blaine's shoulders.
“It's me, baby,” Blaine comforted. “It's just me.”
Kurt shuddered, running his hands down Blaine's arm, clenching Blaine's hands. “Oh god. I...” He shook his head, tears still streaming.
“Baby, you're okay. Everything's okay. It's just me.”
“I dreamed you were hurt. You were hurt, and I couldn't find you.”
“I was hurt, baby, but not any more. I'm okay. It's okay.”
“You were screaming,” Kurt sobbed. “You were screaming and begging me....and I did everything I could, but I couldn't find you.”
“Shh,” Blaine clutched Kurt to his chest. “It's okay, baby. I'm here. I was hurt, but I'm fine now. I was lost, but they found me.”
“I just.....I just couldn't....and oh god, Blaine, I couldn't find you.” Kurt's sobs rocked them both.
“Hey now. Hey, love. It's okay. It's okay now. I'm okay. It's okay.”
“There's always fog. And mist. And I can hear you, but I can't ever see you. And you're begging...you're hurt and you're begging me to find you. And I.....I can't ever find you.”
“I'm okay, now. I'm here. I'm right here with you, Kurt.” Blaine whispered into Kurt's hair.
Kurt's tears slowed as Blaine continued to chant over and over again, “I'm fine, baby. I'm here. I'm here with you.”
“I just need you. I need you, Blaine.”
“I'm here, Kurt. Always.”
It would be lovely to think that the rest of the night passed without more tears, without more aching. But there were more. Blaine wept as Kurt came inside him, overcome with the emotions of the pleasure coursing through him, the steady and clear light in Kurt's eyes. Kurt broke down when Blaine kissed his shoulder – just like he used to.
Suddenly, Blaine wrenched his head away from Kurt, peering at the sky. A faint whine in the sky was growing louder.
Blaine jumped up, slipping his pants on with practiced ease.
“Kurt, get dressed,” Blaine's voice held an authority and command Kurt had never heard before. “We need to go. Now.”
“What....”Kurt struggled into his shirt as Blaine jammed his feet in his boots. “What's going on?”
“We need to get back to base, on the double.”
“What? Why?” Kurt's pants were half-fastened, as he crammed his feet in his shoes.
Blaine reached his hand out to help him up blindly, his attention back on the sky.
“Those aren't our planes.”