Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Glee; it all belongs to 20th Century Fox, Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended. The songs, of course, are not mine either, and all due credit goes to the wonderful writers and performers of those songs.

Author's Note: This story came pretty much out of nowhere, and it isn't the kind of Kurt and Blaine story I normally write, but the two of them (very different from their usual selves) started talking to me, and I just listened. This isn't finished at all, so please bear with me; my time to write at the moment is extremely limited. This deviates from canon about mid-season 2, as you'll see, and for my own sanity, the boys are in the same year in school. As always, thanks to my lovely friend WickedForGood13 for the beta and the constant encouragement.

Begin Again – Chapter 1

April 2026

It was 8:45 a.m. on a Tuesday when Blaine received the text.

He's gone.

Blaine sighed, letting his head fall back against his leather desk chair. He'd been expecting this any day, but that didn't make it any less painful.

I'm so sorry, Kurt.

I know.

I'll call you tonight. 7?

Thank you.

I'm always here. You know that. Call me before then if you need to, Blaine typed. He opened the calendar on his laptop and reviewed his schedule: he had a production meeting at nine, a recording session at ten for a new vocalist, a meeting with his own manager at noon, another recording session at two, and a late meeting about his next concert tour. He was going to have to keep everything running on time if he wanted to call Kurt as promised.

It was going to be a long day.

"Do you want me to fly out there?" Blaine asked gently, much later that evening. He was curled up on his couch with a glass of wine, and he wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and hold his best friend, who was on the opposite side of the country and three hours later. "I can get a flight tonight."

"No," Kurt sniffled, his voice still thick but his tone determined. "I can't ask that of you. I know what your schedule is like, and I'm not – I'm not sure I could keep it together. Just – the funeral will be in a week, I think. James's mom and I are arranging it. Rachel is going to help. Come then?"

"I'll be there. I'll text you my flights."

Blaine found himself searching for Kurt almost before he left the terminal at LaGuardia, his eyes roving over the people sitting at tables, standing in line, and relaxing in rockers. He caught sight of Kurt almost immediately, standing gracefully next to a table, immaculately clad in a dark gray suit of his own design. Kurt saw Blaine almost at the same moment, and a sad smile tugged at his lips. He set down the coffee cups he was holding as Blaine approached, and the minute Blaine was close enough, he put his carry-ons on the ground and enveloped Kurt in a hug.

"God, I missed you," Kurt sighed, his voice muffled in Blaine's shoulder. "Five years is too long." He was clinging to Blaine, the only sign of how close he was to collapsing, how much effort it was taking for him to be collected fashion icon he showed to the world.

"I know," Blaine agreed quietly, breathing in the scent of Kurt's cologne – always the same – and the aroma of coffee and fresh linen that always seemed to surround him. Blaine often thought that it must come from all of the years of working with fabric – the distinctive smell of textiles had simply become part of Kurt. He rubbed along Kurt's shoulder blades, feeling the tension and the knots there. "How are you?"

"I am beyond tired, which would be incredibly obvious if I were willing to let you go right now, but I'm not," Kurt replied. Kurt's arms tightened even further around him, and Blaine felt a smile form on his own face at his friend's characteristic bluntness. There were so few people who were allowed to see all of Kurt Hummel, and in sixteen years Blaine had never taken that privilege for granted.

Kurt relinquished his hold after a few moments, and offered Blaine one of the coffees. "Medium drip, black and strong," he said, once again attempting to smile. It didn't reach his eyes, however, and Blaine ached at the thought that it might be a long time before he saw Kurt's true smile again. Kurt had spoken the truth; there were deep circles underneath his eyes and his skin was even paler than usual from fatigue. Blaine wanted to chide him for not getting enough sleep, but he held it back. If their situations had been reversed, he wouldn't have slept either, and Blaine had vowed to himself to try and be as normal as possible under the circumstances. Kurt hated it when people treated him like he was made of glass, and there were going to be a lot of people doing that in the next few days.

"Thanks," Blaine said gratefully, taking a sip of the scalding liquid. "I got an early flight, but the time change is still going to throw me for a day or so. It's four p.m. here, but my body thinks it is one p.m., and I was up at five a.m. my time just to make it to the airport."

"You can sleep for a bit at the apartment if you'd like," Kurt said kindly. "I have to go to the office for an hour or two; the summer line is almost done and there are things that I have to finish."

Blaine shook his head, his eyes lighting up. "I'd much rather come with you, if I won't be in the way," he said eagerly. "I've never seen your office, Kurt! I haven't seen you work on clothing designs since we were in school!"

"All right," Kurt agreed, his smile the closest to genuine that Blaine had seen yet. "It's fine with me, but don't be surprised if you get odd looks. I don't usually let anyone near but the models and the assistants, and even the assistants have to go occasionally."

He sobered again as he shouldered Blaine's messenger bag, while Blaine pulled his small suitcase along behind him and they made their way toward the exit. "I have to meet Sheila for dinner – that's James's mother," he clarified. His eyes grew anxious. "Will you be fine for a few hours? I hate to leave you alone when you just got here, but –"

"Kurt," Blaine said softly. "I understand. Sheila doesn't know me, and finalizing all of the arrangements for the memorial service is going to be difficult enough. This is New York, remember?" he said, teasing Kurt just a little. "I love it here, and I haven't been back in ages. I will find somewhere fabulous to eat, and I will be back whenever you need me to be back."

"Okay," Kurt said, letting out a relieved sigh. "That would be wonderful."

They walked in silence for a few feet before Kurt spoke again. "Dad, Carole, and Finn are coming in tomorrow," Kurt informed him. "Rachel's already here, of course, and I know she'll want to see you. I don't know who else is coming. Santana and Brittany promised that they would try. Mike and Tina couldn't come; he's touring with his dance company and so she's looking after the little ones. Mercedes is in the middle of an album, but I know she's going to send flowers and call."

"I'll be so glad to see everyone who does make it," Blaine said with a smile. "I've missed them. Mercedes and I see each other now and then, but otherwise it's been so hard to get together."

"They'll be glad to see you too," Kurt said warmly. He stopped momentarily and turned to Blaine, his eyes the bright blue that Blaine always associated with Kurt at his most open. "I'm so glad you're here, Blaine."

"I with it didn't have to be for this reason, but I'm grateful I could be here," Blaine answered, reaching over and giving Kurt's hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.

As they exited the doors, Kurt hailed a cab with a practiced wave of his arm, and the cabbie affably put Blaine's luggage in the trunk before inquiring their destination.

"West 42nd and 6th, please," Kurt said, and the two men climbed into the backseat.

The day of the memorial service was bright and sunny, not too hot, a perfect April day. Blaine was grateful for the weather, at least; he knew James well enough to know that he wouldn't care for rainclouds, and sunshine would help Kurt, even if he never noticed it was there.

James Mason was that rare breed, a native New Yorker who had grown up on the Upper West Side. His family was very well off, and while James had a natural interest in business management and accounting, something he had pursued determinedly since college, he had made it a priority to take on clients who were working on artistic endeavors. He had a deep appreciation for all fine arts and aesthetic art in particular, which was how he had met Kurt. They had been introduced through a mutual friend when Kurt had just finished his fashion degree at Parsons and was starting his first job at a fashion design firm. The two of them had become firm friends almost immediately, though it had taken them over a year before they became a couple. As Kurt began to make waves in the fashion world and James's business expanded enough that he could start his own firm, the pair of them nurtured Hummel Designs together. James handled all of the business and financial ends of Kurt's work so that Kurt was free to create the unique clothes that he loved.

Now, ten years later, Kurt's fashion house was thriving and James's management and accounting firm was first in the city for artistic start-ups and charitable foundations. James had picked his employees carefully and well, insisting that no one have more clients than they could reasonably handle and that each client's accounts were personally overseen by a specific employee. Exuberant and social by nature, he was the perfect foil for Kurt's more reserved cordiality.

The service for James was bigger than Blaine had imagined; Kurt and Sheila had booked a large hall that could easily hold several hundred people. All of James's family and social connections, his clients and business partners, Kurt's models and assistants, and their many friends filled the space with hardly any room to spare. Blaine searched the crowd with his eyes. He had talked with Burt, Carole, and Finn for a long time the night before, as all of them were staying in Kurt and James's large apartment. Rachel had been over for dinner, hugging him long and hard and whispering words of endearment and thanks to him. She was flying every which way right now, making sure that everything happened in order, that the microphones were adjusted properly, that everyone had programs and water and coffee. She herself was one of the luminaries that would put this service in the papers; Rachel Barbra Berry had become the Broadway star she had always longed to be. Today, however, she was simply doing her best to make the day bearable for Kurt.

Blaine sat quietly through the memorial, grieving for the man who had made Kurt so happy and for the person he considered a good friend, though they hadn't seen each other in the flesh that often. Their friendship had been based in phone calls and texts and a shared understanding of Kurt that transcended far beyond the normal friendship between a best friend and a spouse of the same person. Blaine and James had genuinely liked each other and enjoyed each other's company, and they had a tacit agreement that keeping Kurt together, sane, and grounded was their shared priority, though the kinds of affection they held for Kurt were quite different.

Together and sane were far too much to hope for right now, so Blaine settled for grounded, keeping his hand in Kurt's during the speeches and tributes, providing an anchor point with his eyes when Kurt had to get up and speak about his husband, and doing his best to be a silent support as Kurt greeted and thanked all of the people who had come to say goodbye to James. Carole and Burt were an immense help in this last arena as well, forming a receiving line with Kurt and taking some of the pressure away from him.

The one person who truly caught his attention as she made her way through the line was Santana, her dark-haired Latin beauty as distinctive as ever. She caught sight of Blaine as she was hugging Kurt, and after she had talked with Kurt for a long time in low tones, she worked her way over to where Blaine was standing, her smile sad but her eyes bright.

"Hey, Hobbit, how are you?" she said affectionately, and Blaine laughed for the first time all day. They held out their arms at the same moment and exchanged a long hug. Despite the fact that they had never gone to the same school, Blaine and Santana had formed an oddly affectionate friendship almost from the moment Kurt had introduced them at the junior year Regionals competition. Blaine appreciated her fierce defense of and loyalty to her friends, and he and Kurt were two of her staunchest supporters when she came out to her family and friends during her senior year. Now, the two of them frequently sent e-mails and phone calls between New York and L. A., since it was rare for them to be on the same coast.

"I'm so much better now that I can enjoy your insults in person," Blaine quipped, shooting her a quick grin.

"You know it," Santana shot back, grinning in her turn. "You should move back to New York, Blaine; you'd have the pleasure of my company so much more often."

"Speaking of which, where's Britt-Britt?" Blaine asked, looking around. "She didn't come with you?"

"No, but she should be by Kurt's tomorrow to visit," Santana said. "She was swamped with work today; she's in charge of the choreography and the dancers for a new R & B concert tour, and they're in their last week of rehearsals. She said to send her love to her other dolphin, though, if I saw him," Santana smiled, running a hand affectionately through Blaine's hair.

"There's still nobody in New York who can dance like Britt," Blaine said, shaking his head.

"Absolutely not," Santana said proudly. "I wish she could have been here, though," she said, whispering as she glanced over at Kurt. "She always makes Kurt feel better. Hopefully she can do some of that tomorrow. How is he holding up?"

"He's not," Blaine sighed. "He's doing what he always does, putting on a mask until it's all over."

"He didn't really talk to us, you know," Santana said sadly. "He was at work and at the hospital, and toward the end he pretty much lived in James's room. We brought him food and clothes and brought James flowers and other things, trying to be cheerful and positive. Kurt was – he was so strong," Santana said, her voice breaking as she wiped away tears. "All smiles and love and tenderness for James, and he never let any of us see him cry, if he ever did."

The guilt that had been threatening to overwhelm Blaine since he arrived rose to the surface. "I wanted to come sooner," he whispered. "I really did, but Kurt wouldn't let me – he said it was better not to see James that way, that James wouldn't want it, and that it would be better for him if I came now. I tried to talk him into letting me come out several times in the last few weeks."

"I know," Santana said, sympathy shining in her dark brown eyes. "You know how Kurt is, though, Blaine – he's not going to impose on you or your music career any more than he can possibly help – and maybe he's right after all," she added perceptively, her gaze sharpening into the probing look Blaine remembered so well. "He had us while all of this was happening, but it's you he's going to need once everything is finished. He never did let himself collapse in front of anyone but you. You are the only person outside of James that he ever trusted that far."

Blaine simply nodded, his throat too tight to speak, and Santana folded him into another hug. They stayed together as the crowd broke up, waiting until it was just Burt, Carole, Finn, Rachel, and Kurt left.

Kurt walked over to them with the others trailing behind, and he looked around forlornly at the folding chairs, the flower arrangements, and all of the other décor that had to be cleared away. His shoulders slumped.

"I don't know if I can deal with this," he murmured, and when he looked up at Blaine, he looked just as lost and terrified as the day they had first met. The heartbreak on Kurt's face twisted in Blaine's chest.

Blaine and Santana exchanged a quick glance. "Berry and I have this handled," Santana said firmly, reaching out and catching Rachel's hand in a gesture of solidarity.

Rachel nodded emphatically in agreement. "We can do this, Kurt. We'll bring the flowers by later and make sure everything gets put away."

"I'll square things with the management," Burt spoke up, his arm around Carole's shoulders. "Don't you worry, kid. Go home and get some rest."

"Come on," Blaine entreated quietly. "I'll come with you. I don't want you to be alone right now, but you really should sleep, Kurt."

"But I don't . . .," Kurt began to protest weakly, before his strength failed him and he sighed, running a hand through his hair distractedly. "Okay. But – you'll come with me?" he verified, threading Blaine's fingers through his own.

"I'll be right there if you need anything," Blaine promised. "Let's go."

When they arrived back at Kurt and James's apartment, Blaine followed behind as Kurt flipped on the lights and dropped his keys on the table. He pulled off his suit jacket and threw it over the back of a chair, rather carelessly for him, Blaine noticed worriedly. Then Kurt simply stood, looking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that allowed the early evening light to bathe everything in its gentle glow. He didn't say anything for a long time, and Blaine waited, knowing that he would speak when he could.

"I keep expecting James to come home," Kurt whispered finally, curling his long fingers over one of the tall chair backs surrounding the table. "Even when I knew he wouldn't leave the hospital, I would stop at home and feel as though he would come walking in, as though he was just running late. It was almost a relief to be at the hospital and the office all the time. When I went to the hospital at the end of the day, when I slept and woke up in his room, at least James was there. Anything was better than being here and feeling like he was already gone."

A strangled sob broke from Kurt's lips, the first one he had allowed since Blaine had arrived, and Blaine was behind him in an instant, wrapping his arms around Kurt and turning him so that Kurt's head was tucked against his shoulder. He carded his fingers soothingly through Kurt's hair as his best friend finally succumbed to all the grief he had kept walled up for goodness only knew how long.

"I have no idea how to do this – none," Kurt choked out, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. "James and I have done everything together for ten years. I'm not sure I know how to function without him anymore. Blaine, what am I going to do? I just want James to come home," he wept.

Blaine simply held him, rocking slowly and feeling tears prickle his own eyes. Despite all of the difficulties they had gotten through together in the last decade and a half, Blaine had never seen Kurt like this, so utterly broken, and it hurt to a degree he could never have imagined.

"Come here," he murmured, once Kurt's cries had slowed. Keeping one arm around Kurt's shoulders, he led Kurt carefully into his bedroom before sitting him down on the bed and kneeling to pull his shoes off. He tucked the laces into the shoe tops and set them under the bed, then hesitated for just a breath before raising himself on his knees and reaching for the buttons of Kurt's dress shirt. Kurt tried to reproach him, but Blaine shushed him with a simple shake of his head, undoing the buttons and easing the shirt down Kurt's arms and over his hands. The shirt, like the suit, was one of Kurt's designs, and Blaine knew how much it was worth. He put the shirt carefully over a chair, leaving Kurt clad in his dress pants and cotton t-shirt. Blaine went around to the other side of the bed and pulled the covers down, and Kurt wordlessly climbed underneath, curling up on his side. Blaine sat next to him and resumed running his fingers through Kurt's hair before he spoke.

"You have to give yourself time to grieve, Kurt," he said softly. "I know you think James wouldn't want it, and he wouldn't want you to stop living your life, but of course you're going to need time. You haven't given yourself that; you haven't been able to. You've been taking care of everyone else, as you always do. Now you have to let us take care of you."

Tears had been trickling silently down Kurt's cheeks, and he closed his eyes and nodded.

"All you have to do right now is get some sleep," Blaine continued. "Then tomorrow, we'll deal with whatever comes next. Your dad and Carole are here, Rachel's here, I'm here. We won't let you do this alone."

"Thank you," Kurt whispered.

Blaine shifted slightly, and he saw the fear flash through Kurt's eyes before his friend repressed it, closing his eyes again and curling more tightly in on himself. Just the fact that he had seen the look at all told Blaine exactly how devastated Kurt was. Kurt so rarely allowed himself to show dependence on anyone, even (and sometimes especially) Blaine. Blaine knew that Kurt didn't want to be alone; being entirely by himself right now would make the grief too great, the loneliness too acute.

"I'm not going anywhere," Blaine reassured him, pulling off his own shoes and stretching out on the bed behind Kurt. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, all right?"

Kurt nodded again, and Blaine fit himself against Kurt's back, laying one arm carefully over his torso and around his waist. Kurt rested one hand on Blaine's forearm just briefly, tightening his fingers in thanks, before shifting so that his arms were in a more comfortable position.

They stayed like that for a long time, Blaine waiting until Kurt's breathing had evened and slowed, until the small twitches in his muscles had subsided and the tension in his body had relaxed. Only when he was sure Kurt was in a deep sleep did Blaine slip away, almost soundlessly sliding off the bed and out of the room, making his way out to the living room and the couch on trembling legs.

He sat, running his hands through his still-dark curls and taking several deep breaths. Something in him was shaken profoundly by everything that had just happened, though he wasn't at all sure he could wrap his mind around the feeling. He knew Kurt better than anyone except James, and Kurt knew him better than anyone else ever had, but there were still physical boundaries in their friendship that had been established years before – boundaries that definitely did not include crying in one another's arms, undressing, or spooning. Seeing Kurt so fragile that he couldn't bring himself to care about those lines (most of which he had established for his own self-preservation, at the time, and which Blaine had silently complied with out of respect for his feelings) left Blaine floundering in a way that was wholly unfamiliar. There was almost nothing they wouldn't do for one another, but to have Kurt turning to him for physical rather than (or as well as) mental or emotional comfort was earth-shattering in its rarity.

A key rattled in the lock, and Blaine rose swiftly, putting a finger to his lips as Rachel and Santana's heads appeared around the door, both of them partially obscured by some of the flower arrangements from the service. The women nodded at him in understanding, moving carefully and placing the flowers around the living and dining rooms before retreating into the kitchen. Blaine followed and began making coffee as the girls draped their coats and bags over chairs.

"He's asleep?" Rachel queried, keeping her voice low.

"He is," Blaine nodded. "He just fell asleep a little bit ago."

Rachel, ever-perceptive despite her occasional self-centeredness, must have seen something on his face, for she reached out and touched his shoulder. "What happened?"

"About what I thought," Blaine said sadly, lifting his eyes from the coffee press to look at Rachel. "About what we all thought; he just – let go. He spent most of the time crying in my arms."

"And that upsets you because it hasn't happened in a while," Santana said shrewdly, though her voice was kind.

"It upsets me because it's Kurt, and I never want to see him that unhappy," Blaine said sharply. "But – it's been more than a while," Blaine admitted, his voice dropping to a hush as though he were confessing something sacred. "The last time I remember him crying in front of me was when he didn't get accepted to NYADA that first time. He drove to Dalton that afternoon and stayed the night."

Rachel winced. "I remember," she said, her voice pained.

"It feels so – so strange," Blaine said tiredly. "I wish I knew some way to make this better for him. I'm worried that he'll close himself off after this, and he shouldn't. I don't want that."

"You are doing exactly what you should be doing, Blaine," Rachel said firmly, stepping over and hugging him. "You're here, which is all that he wanted. I know that Santana and Britt and I are usually the ones he comes to when he needs snuggle bunnies," and both Blaine and Santana cracked smiles at the term, "but it's always been you and James he needed at the worst points in his life. You two have been friends since you were seventeen; trust that."

"And get some sleep yourself, Hobbit," Santana chided him gently, hugging him in her turn. "You look like hell. Burt, Carole, and Finn were coming home shortly after us, and they should be here soon. Rach, Britt, and I will be back tomorrow."

"Okay," Blaine said gratefully. "Thank you for doing so much today."

"That's what friends are for," Rachel said, kissing him on the cheek. "'Goodnight, Blaine."

The girls left, and Blaine changed into soft flannel pants and a t-shirt to sleep, mechanically brushing his teeth before collapsing wearily onto the fold-out couch. He had insisted that Burt and Carole take the guest bedroom, and Finn was camping out on an air mattress that could hold his long frame.

He quickly fell into an exhausted sleep, but Kurt's tearstained face haunted his dreams.

The next morning, Blaine awoke swiftly, warm and comfortable but completely awake, and he rolled over to see Kurt curled up in an armchair by the windows, cocooned in a blanket and sipping a mug of coffee. Early morning sunlight streamed over his pale face, and Blaine could see the shadows under his eyes.

He threw aside the covers and stood, moving over to Kurt and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he greeted him softly.

Kurt turned his head to look up at Blaine and managed an approximation of his usual sweet smile. "Hey."

"Is there more coffee?" Blaine asked, striving for normalcy, and Kurt actually chuckled, making Blaine almost weak-kneed with relief.

"There's a whole coffee press just for you," Kurt answered, making a shooing gesture. "The one on the left. Go."

Blaine walked to the kitchen and pulled down the largest mug he could find, filling it to the brim, before returning to the living room and pulling up a chair across from Kurt. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and cradling his coffee mug in both hands. The pair of them sat in silence for a while, sipping their coffee and watching the sun rise.

"Blaine," Kurt said finally, "Thank you for last night. I'm sorry that you had to see that –"

All of Blaine's apprehension was swept away with that one comment. "Don't," he interrupted swiftly, reaching across and grasping Kurt's hand. "You don't have to apologize, Kurt. Not to me, not ever, and especially not for this. Don't you know that by now?"

"I know," Kurt agreed, another sheepish half-smile crossing his face. "But I feel like I should."

"You shouldn't," Blaine disagreed. "I just wanted to help, and I didn't – I didn't want you to shut me out. I was afraid you might."

Kurt's eyes went wide with surprise. "As if I ever could," he said reprovingly. "You should know by now that there's no one else I would turn to."

Blaine smiled a little in acknowledgement, and Kurt suddenly sat up straight as something struck him. "Wait," he said, and he untangled himself from the chair and the blanket, hurrying down the hall to his bedroom and then returning with an envelope in his hands.

"I – I forgot about this," Kurt said shyly. "James wanted me to give it to you. He wrote it a few days before – before the end."

He held out the envelope, and Blaine took it slowly. His name was written on it in James's slanting, angular script, though Blaine could see that it wasn't as firm as usual. Blaine tore the envelope open with shaking hands, taking a fortifying breath before beginning to read.

Dear Blaine,

I'm sorry to say goodbye this way, through a letter, but it's better like this, it really is. I know that you are probably hurting over the fact that Kurt told you not to come, but he did what I asked him to. It was the right thing to do. I wouldn't want anyone to have to remember me like this. I wish Kurt didn't have to. Pancreatic cancer is an ugly disease, and the effects of the treatment are just as bad as the degenerative results of the illness.

You have been such a wonderful friend these past ten years. I am so grateful that I was given the privilege of knowing such an extraordinary person. The absolute joy you take in your music and the music of those you support, the unconditional love and loyalty you give to your friends, the happiness that you create with smiles and jokes – these are gifts to be cherished, Blaine. I am thankful for every moment of your friendship with Kurt and with me, for everything that you have done for both of us and especially for Kurt.

Please take care of him for me. I know that you will; you might be the only one who can.

Always,

James

Blaine silently held the letter out to Kurt, tears trickling down his cheeks. Kurt took it and read, equally silent, and when he put it down the two men cried together, supporting each other through another wave of grief.

Eventually their tears slowed and Blaine cleared his throat, his voice hoarse.

"The girls should be here soon," he said. "I don't think any of us will have much of an appetite, but I thought eggs and toast?"

"That would be wonderful," Kurt said gratefully.

Blaine gave Kurt one last hug and rose from the floor, going to the kitchen in search of toaster and frying pan.