[mood music]

At 4 am Kurt woke up in a cold sweat, his heart beating wildly.  He didnt remember all of the details of his nightmare, but it involved snakes.  He was hardly surprised; when he was worried, he tended to dream about spiders or snake or-in one horrible instance-bats.  And Kurt was worried.  After Blaine finally, finally opened up to him the tiniest bit, he disappeared. 

More precisely, Sam had ridden up on his horse and made a case for needing Blaines presence elsewhere on the ranch, and that was the last that Kurt had seen of him.  After some wheedling, Kurt had convinced Santana to show him where Kurts quarters were in the bunkhouse, but well after midnight, Blaine had not yet shown up there.  Kurt fretted that Blaine might have been serious when he suggested that he leave until Kurt was gone.  The thought that Blaine might have just disappeared without saying goodbye left Kurt feeling chilled to the bone.    

Despite staying up so late waiting for Blaines return, Kurts body alarm woke him up at 4 am like clockwork.  Knowing he wouldnt be able to get back to sleep, Kurt heaved himself out of bed and threw on some clothes.  Then he trudged down into the main room for some coffee before stepping out into the dark morning. 

As if compelled, he made a beeline for the bunkhouse-a series of housing units that held the ranch staff-laid out in a line similar to a motel.  Blaines unit was on the very end, and Kurt walked directly there, sipping him coffee as he went. 

As he drew nearer, he began to hear music.  Kurt instantly recognized it as a section of Corgilianos "Red Violin Caprices." It was beautiful and haunting and freaking impossible to play.  NYADA, in their prudence, assumed that none of their students would actually find jobs in musical theater.  As a consequence, each and every student was well trained in music theory and pedagogy with the idea that if they couldnt perform, at least they could teach.  Kurt vividly recalled being forced to watch "The Red Violin" in one of his endless music theory classes, and he knew it well enough to know that what he was hearing was not a recording, but the real thing. 

As he drew nearer to Blaines cabin, it was clear that the music was coming from inside.  Not wanting to disturb the hauntingly beautiful melody by knocking, Kurt slowly pushed the door open. 

Inside, standing in the middle of the room with a violin-his face pressed to the chinrest-was Blaine.  He was sweating, and his hair was wild, as if he had passed his fingers through it again and again.  His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes were closed.  His hand flew across the fingerboard as his arm pulled up and down powerfully on the bow. 

Kurt sucked in a breath. 

Blaine was spectacular. 

Lost in the beauty of the melody, Kurt opened his mouth as the song came to an end.  He wanted to know how Blaine could play like that and why his talent was wasted on a ranch in Idaho instead of on stage at Carnegie Hall.  However, when Blaine turned his face to the light and opened his eyes, Kurt could see the pain etched into his face.  His cheeks were stained with tears, and they continued to flow freely down his face. 

All of his questions fled from his mind as he took in Blaines tragic countenance.  In a few long strides, Kurt crossed the room and pulled Blaine into his arms.  Blaine set the violin on the bed and collapsed into Kurts embrace, fisting the front of his shirt and soaking his collar with his tears. 

Kurt stroked Blaines hair with one hand and whispered, "Shh. Shh.  Ive got you," into Blaines ear as he clutched him even tighter to his chest with his other hand. 

Eventually, Blaines sobbing slowed, and Kurt gently undressed Blaine down to his wife beater shirt and boxers.  Then he removed the violin from the bed and set it carefully in its velvet-lined case before folding back the blankets so that Blaine could slip between the sheets.  Kurt quickly stripped off his own clothes until he, too, was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxer briefs.  Then he switched off the light and joined Blaine in the bed, pulling him close and kissing along his temple and hairline. 

At length, Blaine spoke, "Im so sorry," he choked out.  "It was a yearling colt.  She had colic.  We didnt catch it in time, and we couldnt track down the vet fast enough.  We tried everything we knew, but she died anyway.  I should have noticed sooner," Blaines voice hitched and cracked as he spoke. "I should have been paying more attention.  I didnt know it was happening until it was too late." 

Blaine was clutching Kurt so tightly he could barely breathe, but Kurt wasnt complaining.  Every time he saw Blaine, he saw a new, beautiful facet.  This Blaine who was so strong and capable, and yet so wrecked at the death of a horse felt like a fragile bird.  Kurt wrapped his arms more tightly around Blaine and held him close, continuing to stroke his hair and his back as he held the broken man in his arms.  Eventually, Blaines sobs subsided and he whispered, "Please dont leave.  Please dont ever leave me.  Not tonight." 

Kurt held him close and kissed him over and over until he finally felt Blaines body go slack in his arms and he succumbed to sleep.  It was only then, as Kurt, too, was about to drift off, that he realized he hadnt had the chance to ask Blaine how he had learned to play so sublimely.