“Seat belt?”

“Seat belt.”

“You good?”

“Just drive.”

Blaine chuckles at Kurt’s put-off tone of voice and puts the car into gear, pulling his BMW away from the curb at 415 Whitman Avenue. Kurt leans his head back against the headrest, averting his eyes out the window, but it doesn’t help. As they start down the street, driving away from his father’s house and their sick little girl, the repetitive switch between bright and dark from street lights they pass cause the tinted windows to reflect the interior of the car with picture perfect clarity…along with Blaine’s fuzzy yellow feet.

Kurt inhales for a five count before he speaks.

“Why?” he asks, side-eyeing his husband’s ridiculous choice in footwear – Birkenstock-style sandals festooned with the faux carcasses of yellow ducks; their stuffed, bobbing heads mounted to the toes; plush rears affixed to the heel straps; and fluffy, feathered wings on either side of each, right below the ankle.

But the most vulgar thing about them is they quack when Blaine walks. When he puts any sort of weight on them, really. So as he comes to the stop sign at the end of the street and gently applies pressure to the brake, he’s also pressing the squeaker inside the sole of the right sandal. The pathetic creature lets out a sustained, mournful, “Quuuuaaaacccckkkk,” which putters at the end grotesquely like a last dying breath.

“Because, Kurt, it’s almost nine o’clock at night and we’re in a hurry. We need to pick up Tracy’s prescription now before the pharmacy closes, and these were the first shoes by the door. Besides” – Blaine snickers as he switches from the brake pedal to the gas, causing the sandals to chirp as the car picks up speed – “we’re using the drive thru. We’re not even getting out of the car. No one’s going to see what I’m wearing on my feet.”

“But I can see them,” Kurt mumbles unhappily. He exhales, counting this time to ten. Tonight, their first night of a week’s vacation in Lima, has been miserable. They came out to celebrate their daughter Tracy’s fourth birthday in Ohio with Kurt’s and Blaine’s family. They trade off every year. Last year the whole troop of Hudmels and Andersons flew out to New York, so this year, the Anderson-Hummels made the trek to Lima. They had decided to drive when Tracy developed an ear infection. Nothing major, no fever involved, but they didn’t want to risk flying and having the change in air pressure cause her unnecessary pain. They saw the ten hour trip (with an overnight stay at a Marriott halfway in between) as an adventure. Kurt and Blaine could appreciate a good road trip, and Tracy was growing up to be a travel bug, just like her parents. But as they arrived (an hour behind schedule, thanks to traffic) to the small gathering of their family and friends for a welcome home dinner, Blaine realized that they had left Tracy’s antibiotics on a bedside table back in Pennsylvania. They had to call their pharmacy in New York to have an emergency prescription transferred to a nearby pharmacy in Lima. That part all worked out, but seeing as this is Ohio, the place closes at nine.

It’s already 8:53.

So Kurt can understand the logic behind grabbing the first available shoes Blaine could find. Kurt himself is wearing his Oxfords without socks and the laces untied. But honestly, he would have preferred if Blaine had gone barefoot, which is saying something since it has to be nineteen below outside.

Sam bought Blaine those insane duck sandals because he thought Tracy would get a kick out of them (though why he didn’t just get Tracy a pair of the damn sandals instead of Blaine, Kurt will never understand), ergo Sam is going to get punished severely as soon as they see him again.

To take his mind off of Blaine’s sickly quacking shoes, Kurt decides to focus on the more important aspects of their evening quest. The car rolls to a stop at their third red light in a row, prompting Kurt to check the time on the dashboard clock. 8:57. Crap! The traffic lights on the main road have not been working in their favor. By his estimation, they’re going to make it with only seconds to spare. He doesn’t like being away from Tracy, especially when she’s sick, but some stupid snafu with their names on the insurance cards, which Kurt couldn’t get resolved before they left New York, requires both him and Blaine to pick up her prescription, so they didn’t have a choice. He drums his fingers anxiously on his knee, wishing the light would change faster. Blaine reaches over and takes Kurt’s hand in his.

“It’ll be fine,” Blaine says, lifting his husband’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Tracy’s too busy watching The Little Mermaid with Carole to even realize that we’re gone, and the pharmacy is up ahead.” The light turns green and Blaine continues on, merging into the right line. “We called them ahead of time to let them know we were coming. They said they’d stay open an extra ten minutes if we don’t get there on time.”

“I know, I know. I just…I don’t want anything else to go wrong.” Kurt shoots a stern glare at Blaine’s feet.

Blaine catches Kurt’s darting glance and laughs, but when he starts laughing harder than Kurt thinks necessary, Kurt stares at him appalled.

“Blaine? What in the hell’s so fun…ny...?” Kurt turns to look out the windshield as Blaine pulls into the shopping center and parks the car. There, at the mouth of the pharmacy drive thru, hangs a sign chained between two support pillars that reads “drive thru closed”. And it’s not just closed because there’s no attendant at the window. Kurt might try calling inside to get someone to make an exception if that were the case. But below the sign, there’s a huge, ragged hole torn into the asphalt, filled to the brim with oily water, the whole thing cordoned off by yellow caution tape.

Yellow…like Blaine’s awful sandals.

Kurt lets out a long, exhausted sigh.

“We’re going to have to go inside,” Kurt says. Not a question. An acceptance of his fate.

“Yup,” Blaine answers, undoing his seat belt with a goofy grin on his face.

“I’m guessing I can’t convince you to stay in the car and let me call you if they absolutely need you,” Kurt says. Another defeated statement.

“Nope.” Blaine reaches over and unclips Kurt’s seat belt.

Slowly, but not too slowly considering they’re working against the clock, Kurt opens his door and slides off his seat. He closes the door and steps away from the car…and that’s when he hears it. In the quiet of the night, it’s even louder and more obnoxious than Kurt had anticipated.

Quack-quack.

Quack-quack.

Quack-quack.

Quack-quack.

Kurt feels Blaine closing in on his left elbow and he walks a step faster…but that only makes it worse.

Quack-quack, quack-quack, quack-quack echoes in the air, the gabbling taking on an urgent, almost panicked quality as Blaine rushes to keep up. Blaine starts to giggle, in large part due to his shoes, but also because of his husband - the strained look on Kurt’s face as he glues his gaze to the pharmacy doors in front of him, bolting for them like a runner towards the finish line, trying not to look at Blaine, even in distaste, lest anyone realize that they know each other.

Of course, they’re the only two people in the parking lot, and they’re walking approximately a foot apart, so if anyone else was around to see them, it’s probably obvious that they’re together.

“Kurt,” Blaine calls, easily keeping pace behind him with Kurt’s own shoes flip-flopping loosely against the pavement. “Oh, Ku-urt.”

“I don’t know you.” Kurt attempts to walk faster without tripping over the laces he forgot he’d left untied. He can’t stop to rectify that or else Blaine will definitely catch up.

“Yes, you do, Kurt.” Blaine sings his reply above the incessant quacking of his fuzzy-shoes. “You know me, and you love me.”

“Honestly, I have no clue who you are, stranger-with-the-hideous-duck-feet. Please, stop following me.” Blaine breaks down completely when Kurt sprints through the sliding glass door, leaving the dreadful clatter of quack-quack, quack-quack in his wake. Blowing past an aisle of sundry items on his way to the pharmacy, Kurt imagines how those sandals will sound burning to a crisp when they get home and he throws them into the fireplace.