Plot Summary- Kurt and Isabelle have a heart to heart and realize they have more in common than just fashion. Mainly, the losses they've experienced in their lives, and the things they see in each other. Isabelle/Kurt friendship. Deals with grief.

Disclaimer: I do not own the show Glee or it's characters.

Notes: Hi guys! Well, while I was working on the new chapter for NOS, this idea hit me and I had to write it. This is a one-shot and currently, I don't plan on writing a sequel, but I may revisit this later on. Just a warning; a lot of sadness and it deals with the concept of death. Also, nothing in this story is based off spoilers, so it should be fairly safe to read in that regard. Just a bit of head-canon that I decided to run with. Also, my final note, a huge thank you as always to my beta, irishflute! She's a big fan of Isabelle as well as I am :)

So, with all that said and done, I hope everyone enjoys!

Kurt hasn't known Isabelle for very long, but he feels a connection with her he doesn't feel with most people. Isabelle's a sweetheart in a dog-eat-dog world. She genuinely feels bad when she has to fire even the most terrible employee, and she's always lifting other people's spirits. He can tell, somewhere inside, she's very capable of being venomous, but the fact that she chooses not to be makes her all the more likable to Kurt. Isabelle's just been there for him. She's believed him when he hasn't exactly believed in himself, and it's helped him become the Kurt Hummel he wants to be. New York isn't the dream he thought it would be, but she's certainly the boss he's always wanted.

It's that affection that allows him to notice when she's not quite herself. Namely, today. She walks into Vogue at the same time as usual, but Kurt does a double take as she walks by. Her typically loose sandy blonde locks are wrapped in a tight bun and while this showcases her thin face well, it also shows just how little make up she's wearing. Kurt can admit that Isabelle has the natural beauty to go without it, but it does make her look older, a trait easily scrutinized in this industry. Her clothing is very casual, but presentable enough. She's gone for the bare minimum, but the real attention getter is the pair of sunglasses resting on her head. Kurt's seen those glasses before, but it's rainy outside and Isabelle usually keeps her glasses in a case, or at the very least, hangs them on the collar of her shirts. She's never worn them in this way. A small detail to anyone else, but for Kurt, who analyzes style like other people read books, it says a lot.

Isabelle passes by Kurt's desk. She doesn't stop for conversation, but instead just calls over her shoulder. "Kurt darling, no calls for the morning please, and bring me the strongest coffee in New York, will you?"

Kurt nods, but knows she isn't looking. He starts to vocalize his agreement, but the door to her office closes before she can possibly hear it. Kurt forwards Isabelle's calls to his cell phone and braves the rain for delicious, gourmet coffee. He lists off her usual like it's his own, momentarily forgetting she wants it strong today. The change in whether is starting to get to him; maybe that's what's going on with Isabelle?

That theory becomes invalid when he returns to her office. He opens the door, and she jumps in her seat. She quickly pulls the sunglasses over her eyes and Kurt discovers the reason for Isabelle's choice in how she wore sunglasses today: easy access, and there's one reason why someone would need to put on sunglasses quickly inside a building on a rainy day. His heart sinks when he realizes Isabelle's been crying.

"Sorry, you startled me. Oooh, you're a lifesaver. Tell me it's strong," she says with a fake smile.

"As Anna's heart," he teases quietly while shutting the door behind him. Kurt knows the respectable thing to do is to give Isabelle her coffee and then leave. She obviously doesn't want people to know she's upset, and Kurt's afraid talking will make things worse. However, it's not in his nature to just leave people alone when they're upset. At least, not the people he cares for.

He walks over and sets the coffee on the desk. His eyes drift and he finds a few pictures underneath Isabelle's fingers. That's not really a rarity, but the fact that they're not professionally taken is. Kurt dares another look and sees a much younger Isabelle holding a toddler with dark hair, and Isabelle's gorgeous blue eyes. Kurt pauses; Isabelle's never mentioned any sort of family, never mind having a kid. "Who's that?"

The moment it comes out of his mouth, he feels embarrassed. It's not hard to put the pieces together, but his curiosity got the better of him. Isabelle picks a different photo up in her hand—this time, it's the same toddler, only as a four-year-old girl. A large, fashionable red hat covers her dark hair. Isabelle gives a very small smile at the photo. "My daughter," she replies, confirming Kurt's suspicions. She says it as though the word brought her simultaneous joy and sadness. He believes it's been a long time since she's used that word out loud, or looked at those pictures. "Alyssa."

"That's a beautiful name," Kurt tells her. Isabelle thanks him under her breath and sets the photo down. She reaches under her glasses to wipe her eyes.

"Her father and I wanted a common name, but not so much so that'd she'd share her name with ten of her classmates. Well, actually, her father wanted to name her Calvin. He was disappointed when he found out we were having a girl," Isabelle laughs at the distant memory. "Maybe that's why we never got married. That, and the man could never put his laundry in the hamper."

"Unforgivable crimes," Kurt states with a little laugh of his own. He gains enough courage to pick up one of the photos himself. He takes a good look at Alyssa—cute kid, very small, narrow face, probably could be a model or an actress. "She looks a lot like you."

"She acted a lot like me too. She used to spend hours trying to pick outfits for her Barbies. Every year for Christmas, all Lyssie ever wanted was for me to sew her and her dolls matching dresses. Then for her 5th birthday, she had me sew her this amazing ball gown and we had a few of her friends over for a tea party. The gown's actually still in my portfolio. Beautiful blue color with pearl sequins." Isabelle's voice gets quieter and quieter, until Kurt could barely hear her. She went from speaking about what must have been sweet memories, to discussing them as if they were nightmares. Kurt places a hand on her shoulder and rubs gently.

"Is she-" he's afraid to ask out of fear Isabelle might break down. It seems a little late to be worrying about that. Not saying anything now would almost be more harmful. "I take it she's not here anymore?"

Isabelle doesn't break down. She's completely still for a long time and then she shakes her head very slowly. "No, she passed away ten years ago today," She places her hand over Kurt's hand and squeezes very gently, looking for the strength to get it all out. "Leukemia. Lyssie fought for over a year, but she was just so tired towards the end, I knew it was time for her to go. She would have been seventeen this year, just a little bit younger than you are. That seems crazy to me. Then again, the whole situation does. I still can't make sense of it after all this time."

Isabelle forces a laugh that's almost sadder than any sob Kurt's ever heard and shakes her head. "Sorry, it's not your job to be my personal therapist—"

"No, no, you're fine." Kurt says, though he could feel his eyes start to water. It's hard to believe that someone with such a cheery disposition could have gone through such a great loss. Then again, Kurt would know all about that, wouldn't he? He's spent years pretending his mother's death didn't affect him. Maybe he didn't put up the happy front that Isabelle did, but the hurt was hidden underneath layers of pride, strength, and isolation. "You would think it gets easier over time, but it really doesn't."

Isabelle pushes her sunglasses up on her head and stares up at her employee. She's borderline surprised, but prevents expression from truly coming through. "That sounds like it came from experience."

Since Isabelle shared her loss, Kurt thinks it's only fair to share his. He never talks about his mother, not even to Blaine when they were together. It's not that he wants to forget her; it's just hard to talk about someone that isn't there anymore. He feels that talking in excess about someone who's gone makes the memory more of an identity than the person themselves. Besides, the memories are never as vivid as the real person. Kurt can describe his mother in great detail all he wants, but it just hurts more when he gets something wrong. He remembers once bawling like a baby because he couldn't remember his mother's favorite shade of lipstick or exactly what shade of red her hair was. Today, he's willing to make an exception.

"It is… I lost my mom when I was about eight, almost nine. Breast cancer actually. She had it the first time a couple months after I was born, but it went into remission. The second time around, she put up one hell of a fight but…" Kurt shrugs. He doesn't want to say it wasn't good enough. There's only so much a fight someone can put up against something beyond their control. He could never say his mother went down easily.

"I'm sorry," Isabelle says with an apologetic look. Kurt removes his hand from Isabelle's shoulder and crosses his arm.

"Me too. I mean for your loss. Losing a parent is hard, but I can't imagine losing a child."

The lines around Isabelle's mouth, the ones that were covered by make-up, release as she frowns. She wrings her hands together over her desk. "It's certainly not a pain I'd wish on my worst enemy," she says. She gets up and starts picking the pictures off the desk. "For a long time, I lived my life for Lyssie, even after she was gone. I wore jewelry she liked, made dresses with fabric she picked out; I dated men I thought she would have liked for a stepfather. Like maybe if I build this life for her—she'd come back. Of course, one day you realize what you're doing and then it just hurts more."

Kurt watches as Isabelle picks up the photos and walks over to her file cabinet. She opens a drawer and pulls out an envelope. "I was the opposite. My dad and I spent a lot of time trying to pretend nothing happened. The only time I let myself cry was when I'd go into my parent's room and open my mom's old dresser. It smelled like her perfume and it use to comfort me. It's in a storage unit now. I would have brought it here with me but…"

…but what? he asks himself. He's never really thought about why he didn't bring it. He was furious when his dad put in the storage unit. Burt promised Kurt could take it when he went to college, but he hadn't. He forgot about the plan until now. Now he feels guilty and little bit sick to his stomach. Isabelle puts the photos into the envelope and puts them back into the cabinet. The drawer clings loudly in the silent room.

"You don't need it like you use to. That's a normal part of loss you know. You hold on to so many things to try and keep them close, but over time, those things don't hold the same value. It use to be 'well, she's gone, but I still have these things,' but eventually it becomes, 'I have these things, but she's still not here',"

Isabelle presses her back against the file cabinet and smiles weakly. Kurt can't hold his tongue anymore; he has to know. "How do you lose someone like that and still be so happy?"

Isabelle blinks like she wasn't expecting that question. "I've never been asked that before. Most people were just relieved when I stopped crying." Because she's never been asked, she has to think about her answer. After awhile, she shrugs. "It took a lot of practice. Just forcing myself to get out of bed and smile when I wanted to sleep. I threw myself into my work, drank a lot of coffee, just lived a normal life,"

She clears her throat, her blue eyes a little lighter. "And I did things that I thought Lyssie would be proud of. If only she got to see my designs in Vogue—I know she'd be proud." Isabelle's fingers curl through her hair. A lone tear drops from the corner of her eye. "I wanted her to be proud, but I had to stop living my life for her. There was a time when I needed to think about her needs and our lives seemed like they were one, but I realized that if I wanted to move on, I had to start thinking about myself. Of course, I'd give anything to have her here again, but…accepting that she isn't helps me get through."

Kurt is amazed as Isabelle brushes the tear away. In seconds, it's like she never cried; yet she slides the glasses over her eyes. Kurt can still feel her expression—hope—as she looks at Kurt. "You know, I think that's part of the reason I like you so much. You're so close to the age she would be today and—and your passion for fashion is as strong as hers." She walks over, absent-mindedly (perhaps) smoothing out his collar in the most motherly way. It then occurs to Kurt that Isabelle sees him as her child, which makes sense, because Isabelle has been like a mother to him. There's a void in his heart that can never be filled, no matter how worthy the person, but she comes as close as close can get. Besides Carole, she's a part of him in a way very few people ever will be. He needs her to be that part of him. "Along with the fact that you're just Kurt."

Without warning, Kurt drags Isabelle into a hug. She tenses from confusion, but then accepts the hug without protest. Actually, after a moment or so, he's sure she's clinging to him harder than he is to her. Kurt laughs at his own need for physical affection and tries to stop himself from crying. He's mostly successful. "Have I told you how much I admire you recently?"

"No, but it's always nice to hear," She replies. Her attempts to remain intact fall apart. Her voice is hoarse and tears start to soak into Kurt's shoulder. She rubs his back and closes her eyes. "I love you, Kurt. I don't say it often enough, but I have no idea what I would do without you.

"You'd get along, but I'm so glad we don't have to find out." They hug each other for a while, an unspoken agreement that after the hug, it'd be back to business as usual. They make each moment last, meditating in each other's warmth, remembering the ones they love and the people who make that pain easier to deal with, like the way Kurt does for Isabelle, and Isabelle does for Kurt.

()

It seems like a normal day when Isabelle comes to work the next day. Kurt's already gone to run errands by the time she gets to the office. She gives his desk a fond smile as she enters her office.

She stops in her tracks. The walls aren't as she left them. They're lined with wooden pictures frames that matched the wood of her desk. Inside them were her pictures of Alyssa. All of them.

She closes the door and drops her bag on the floor. Tears form as she walks around the room, taking in each photo and wondering if she was dreaming. In her dreams, there were always pictures of her daughter, but in those dreams, Alyssa was still alive. She would work at her desk and stare at the pictures until her daughter came to her office. In her dreams, they were the second best thing as opposed to the best.

There's one picture that wasn't in the collection. It's a picture of taken during the Thanksgiving party a few weeks ago. Kurt and Isabelle are sitting on his couch. The two are half-smiling, half-laughing, as they wrap their arms around each other. Sitting on the frame is a note. She hesitantly grabs it and opens the note.

Isabelle,

I really hope I'm not overstepping here, but it didn't seem right to have Alyssa's photos locked away. I know you said you don't live your life for her anymore, but I just thought you'd want to remember how proud she is of you. I would be if you were my mother.

Please don't fire me,

Kurt

Isabelle rubs a thumb over Kurt's handwriting and peers around the room. For years, she's only looked at the photos on the anniversary of Alyssa's death and on her birthday. All that time, Alyssa's only been a memory. Now, even though they were only photos, it feels like she's more of a presence. Like she's here with her still.

Isabelle wipes her tears away and smiles at the photo of Alyssa in her ball gown. "Here's to you baby…and you too, Mrs. Hummel. I never knew you, but thank you for raising such an incredible boy."