Blaine's liberty was only 9 days long. He and Kurt only had 9 days together before he had to report to the docks to board his troop carrier that would bring him to Europe.
They spent the first two days in bed. Or nearly in bed. Sometimes, they were on the floor. Sometimes, in the bathtub – where they struggled to fit them both inside and at the proper angles and keep the water from splashing on the floor as they found their rhythm. They broke the chair that usually sat in front of Kurt's vanity; apparently, it was not meant to withstand repeated applications of the weight of two grown men and their rocking.
By the third day, they were nearly saturated with each other. They dressed, finally, and did not immediately undress. Blaine was now required to be in uniform at all times – surely not all times, Kurt had whispered hotly in his ear the first day, and that was when they had to figure out how to sew the regulation buttons back on Blaine's shirt. This tim, they actually left the apartment for groceries – man cannot live on love alone, Blaine murmured into the back of Kurt's shoulder as they took the elevator downstairs.
Their groceries bought, their errands run, they returned home. Kurt cooked, Blaine helped chop and slice and did whatever Kurt demanded – which frequently involved Kiss me, you fool.
They ate lunch at their table, Blaine telling Kurt about his plane's crew – two of his robunkmates from flight training, Jim, Charlie – and another from his class named Bill – they'd meet the rest of their enlisted men when they “met” their plane at their assigned base.
Jim would be Blaine's co-pilot – he was steady, always calm, very hard to shake. Sometimes hard to read because of his deadpan humor, but he and Blaine got along well. Charlie would be bombardier, Bill would be radio and navigator. Charlie was always cracking jokes, always making people laugh. Bill was intense, could come across as a bit of an ass, but both men were always focused and responsible while working.
The fourth day, Kurt insisted on a fashion show. Blaine put on his dress uniforms – the belted olive-green jacket of his dress uniform that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the narrow of his waist. His two different hats – one to go with his dress uniform that Kurt sighed in pleasure as he set on Blaine's now close-cropped curls, one a khaki cap Kurt had already seen, that Blaine would wear every day. The wedge, an “overseas cap”, Blaine repeated carefully, had certain secret ways to tuck the back corner, depending on which squadron you were assigned – a secret code that only your squadron would recognize. When Kurt asked what the code was, Blaine had looked teasingly at him, it's a state secret, with his dark eyelashes tucked demurely against his cheek. The fashion show had been abandoned as Kurt did some teasing of his own, and, after some intense negotiations involving hands and tongues, Blaine happily declared surrender.
On the sixth evening, Rachel threw another cocktail party, this time to celebrate Ginger's graduation from nursing school the previous week. She'd immediately signed up with the Army Nurse Corps and received her officer's commission. She and Blaine would be taking the same troop ship to Europe, though neither knew where they'd be stationed.
After the party, they all went out to a nightclub, where Kurt got pleasantly drunk. Blaine and Ginger, in public while in uniform, drank soda pop and guided the happy group back to their respective homes.
Kurt was surprised when they got home to see Blaine walk swiftly to the liquor cabinet in their living room and pour himself glasses of whiskey, straight-up – three, four, five – which he slammed back with barely a breathe between them. He sat abruptly on the floor, his legs splayed out in front him, his eyes screwed shut.
“It's not helping,” he said through gritting teeth.
“What's not helping, baby,” Kurt knelt next to him, concerned.
“It's not going away, it's not going away,” Blaine scrubbed both hands through his hair, dislodging his cap which fell to the floor next to him.
“What's not going away, sweetheart,” Kurt kept his voice quiet and soothing, reaching to loosen Blaine's khaki tie.
“I'm afraid, Kurt.” Blaine looked into Kurt's eyes, desperately pleading. “I've never been so scared in my entire life, and I don't know how to handle it.”
“What are you scared of?” Kurt gently asked.
“I'm scared of.....” Blaine searched Kurt's face, finding the courage to let it all tumble out. “I'm was going to say that I'm scared of everything now. But that's not it. I'm not scared of being injured or shot down or captured.”
Kurt swallowed thickly. He couldn't bear...he couldn't bear the thought.
“I'm not scared of pain. I'm not scared of death, really, even. I'm scared that I will never be here again, never just sit on this stupid rug with you, never bang my knee on that stupid cabinet door in the kitchen. I'm scared I'm going to miss all the little things that make up our lives. I'm scared that that was the last time I had to remind Ginger's roommate that I don't want to go out with her, that that was the last time I'll order a vodka tonic at the Black Cat.” He dropped his head, looking miserably into his hands hanging loosely over his knees.
“But I can handle all that – that I can deal with. What scares me the worst is the thought of not seeing you again. I can be brave about everything else, Kurt. I can. But not seeing you again? That's what's going to kill me. I'm so frightened I will never see you again.”
Kurt couldn't think of what to say. His mind had a million words, words of comfort, words of reassurance, but his mouth worked soundlessly. He took both of Blaine's hands in his, gently holding them.
“You will see me again. I promise, love. I'll be here, I'll be here.” Kurt tugged on Blaine's hands as he finally sat down on the floor, pulling Blaine into his arms. They sat in silence for a bit.
“You're coming back. Everything's going to be okay, baby. I'll be here, and you'll come back and everything will be wonderful.” Kurt cooed into Blaine's hair, as Blaine's sobs rocked them both. “We'll finally take that trip to Miami we've been talking about, we'll do Sunday brunch at Rocky's just like we always do. Everything's going to be okay, baby.”
“I'll yell at you about your hair in the tub drain. You'll yell at me about using all the hair pomade.” Blaine's sobs quieted. Kurt continued.
“It'll be just like old times. Nothing's going to change. I'm still going to be yours. You're still going to be mine, right? Right?” Kurt nudged Blaine's side with his knee. “Hey, Captain Anderson? Right?”
Blaine pulled back, knuckling the last tears out of his eyes. His voice was low and rough, “Right. I'm yours. I always have been and I always will be.”
“Good. Now we need to get up, because my ass just fell asleep.”
“Oh, I can wake it up,” Blaine's speech was becoming steadily more slurred.
“You're drunk, Anderson. Five whiskeys in quick succession on a basically empty stomach? On top of whatever you had at the party? You're not going to be able --”
“Can, too.”
“Cannot.”
“Can, too!”
“Blaine, seriously, my legs are tingling, we need to get up.”
“I can make your legs tingle.”
“Yes, darling. Always. Just ---- not now. Come on, now,” Kurt levered the two of them upright.
“Kurt?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. And I love you. And thank you --”
“Let's get you to bed, flyboy.” They began to shuffle towards the bedroom, Blaine's arm wrapped tightly over Kurt's supporting shoulder.
“Kurt? I think I'm drunk.”
“You are certainly drunk, Mr. Anderson.”
“Yes, I am certainly drunk Mr Anderson. That's me.”

*******
The morning of the seventh day, Blaine took an aspirin and a Bloody Mary for his hangover, then ventured out into the city on his own. He returned late that afternoon with a large leather folio, which he promptly handed to Kurt.
“What's this?” Kurt wiped the flour off his hands before taking it.
“I went to visit George,” George was the Anderson family lawyer here in the city. “Just open it.”
They sat on the couch next to each other, Kurt sitting on the edge and pulling the documents slowly out one by one.
“Well, first, that's my Will.” Blaine sighed as Kurt flinched and hastily put it down on the coffee table in front of them.
“You don't need to read it now. But you should know that I named you the executor of my estate.”
“Shouldn't that be a relative? Your brother? Family?” Kurt stammered.
“You are my family, Kurt,” Blaine put his hand over Kurt's and looked at him intently.
Kurt smiled faintly at him.
“I don't have to read it right now, do I?”
“No. You don't. Not now. Just don't lose it.”
“I won't.” Kurt smiled wider at the teasing. He rarely lost anything – it was Blaine that was constantly searching for things he'd had only moments before.
The next document was nearly an inch thick, the pages all clipped together.
“What's this?”
“This is my stock portfolio. Well, copies of the paperwork for it, anyway. I've had my broker add you as the sole beneficiary. If anything happens to me, all the stocks and bonds I own go to you.”
“This....this seems like there's a lot...” Kurt waved his hands at the paperwork.
“It is. My grandmother's been gifting me stock every year since I was born. This is just the stock I'm currently in control of. When I turn 30, I gain control of the rest of my trust. If anything happens to me before that time, it is still held in trust, until you turn 30.”
“I thought your parents controlled that – don't they have to agree on everything that happens --”
“They do. And they did, Kurt. I wrote them from training. They – and my grandmother, too, by the way – sent their paperwork to George. No objections from any of them.”
Blaine's parents were distant and proud. Most of the time, Blaine visited them by himself, but when Kurt did accompany him, they were polite, but....distant. They pretended not to see. They had never acknowledged that Kurt was anything other than a friend of Blaine's.
Kurt's eyes filled with tears, disbelieving. His family had loved Blaine from the moment Kurt brought him home. When they got the chance to talk on the phone, Burt always insisted on talking to Blaine for a few minutes. Carole sent them both the same sweaters for Christmas. But, Blaine's family – this was amazing and incredible and …
“I should call them and thank them.”
“I think my mom would like that. She'd like to know you better. I know she would.”
Kurt's hands were trembling as he pulled out the next documents.
“These are the deeds to both the apartment and to the beach house. Your name is on it now, as well.”
“Blaine --” Kurt shook his head, unable to speak further.
“I just need to know that you're taken care of, Kurt. I need to know you're going to be okay, no matter what.”
“I will be okay, no matter what.”
Blaine sighed. “I know, baby, I know. I just need to know that you've got a roof over your head and money in the bank. I need to know you're taken care of. I won't be able to go without knowing that.”
“I can't do anything about my personal bank account, except to stipulate that whatever money is in there be forwarded to our joint account, in the event of my death.”
He sighed. “I also can't do anything about the Army.”
“What about the Army?” Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion.
“I can't designate you as my next-of-kin. If I'm injured, or ----- worse, they're not going to notify you.”
Kurt swallowed hard.
“They notify my parents. And my mother has sworn, on the life of her mother and her collection of Chanel suits, that she will contact you as soon as she hears anything.”
“IF she hears anything.” Kurt corrected, firmly. “If, baby.”
“Right. If.” Blaine smiled gently.
The folio was empty.
“Is that it?” Kurt asked. “All the serious stuff?”
“That's it. Are you okay with it all?”
“It's overwhelming and I have this feeling that I should probably object and say it's too much to accept and refuse it all....”
“But, you're not going to, right?” Blaine looked anxious.
“I'm not going to. I know if I do, you're just going to keep arguing and arguing-- And I know you, and your reasons. So I'm just going to say thank you. And I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, baby.”

The eighth day was spent re-packing Blaine's bag. Though he'd only been home for a few days, somehow his things were strewn about the apartment. Kurt joked that Blaine clothes always exploded off him and his things were no exception. Kurt showed Blaine how to best fold his uniform to minimize wrinkling and keep the creases sharp. Blaine showed Kurt how he was now required to roll his socks – an exercise in discipline from flight training.
On the ninth day, Rachel and Kurt took Blaine and Ginger to the docks. The mood of the crowd was somber but proud. There were no hysterical goodbyes. No outward tears. Several exuberant signs of affection – soldiers knocking the hats of their girls as they swept them into their arms and kissed them. Blaine stood close to Kurt, reaching out with his pinky to hook it around Kurt's. They didn't speak. Rachel and Ginger chatted animatedly – pointing out attractive soldiers and sailors to each other and giggling.
Finally, the final bell sounded for all military personnel to board the ship. Ginger hugged Kurt tightly and kissed him loudly on the cheek. She rubbed the trace of her lipstick away, smiling fondly.
“Chin up, mate. I'll keep my eye on him as long as I can,” she said softly, bopping him on the nose.
As Ginger hugged Rachel, Blaine spun his hand to grip Kurt's fiercely, just for a moment. Then he let go, as he stepped away. He turned, and anyone watching from afar would think they were only casual acquaintances. Anyone who could see his tortured eyes would know differently.
“Well, so long, Kurt,” Blaine tried to keep his voice light. “I'll be seeing you.”
“Yes.” Kurt managed. “I'll be seeing you.”
With a quick, fierce hug for Rachel, Blaine spun smartly on his heel and walked quickly to the gangplank, Ginger swiftly beside him.
A few minutes passed, and Rachel and Kurt finally spotted them leaning over one of the guardrails on one of the upper decks. They were both grinning broadly, waving like fools so they could be spotted. Kurt waved frantically.
The giant ship blared it's horn and pulled ever so slowly away from the dock. Blaine continued waving like a fool, pausing only gently press his fingers to his lips before waving again.
Kurt, back on shore, mirrored him.
Rachel had tears streaming down her face. She wrapped her arms around Kurt's waist and clung to him fiercely.
Anyone watching them would think it was Kurt holding Rachel up, not the other way around.