Kurt steppeds out of the elevator, determinedly marching over to the receptionist and standing in front of her with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed until she looked up.
"May I help you?" she asked, kindly.
"I have an appointment for four o' clock." Kurt told her, feeling a little guilty for how rude he probably seemed. The receptionist typed something into her computer, and looked back up at him.
"Kurt Anderson-Hummel?" she asked. Kurt felt a little twinge of sadness, but quickly brushed that feeling aside.
"Yes."
"You can wait over there," The receptionist saidys, gesturing over to an area behind him with about six or seven chairs. "Dr. Williams is seeing another client at the moment, but she should be done soon." She then gave him a sympathetic smile and turned back to her computer.
Kurt was getting really sick of those smiles.
He inhaled sharply, turned around and walked over to the chairs behind him. He noticed a girl sitting in the corner behind the elevators, her blonde-streaked brown hair hiding her face as she bent over the book in her lap, reading intently. Kurt watched her for a little bit, thinking about how the position she was sitting in couldn't possibly be comfortable.
She shifted, curling her legs up in front of her and looking up at Kurt.
"I can feel you staring at me," she said softly, looking at Kurt from behind her glasses like she couldn't decide whether or not to glare at him.
"Sorry," Kurt apologized.
"No, you don't have to be," she sighed, "I'm pretty used to the staring."
"Why?" Kurt found himself asking. Her head tilted, looking at him confusedly.
"I'm sorry?" she said, like it was a question.
"Why do people stare at you?" Kurt asked. The girl looked a little shocked. She parted her lips, like she was about to answer, but then the door next to the receptionist's desk opened, and a little boy walked out with a young woman. At the same time, the elevator doors opened, and an older woman came out, smiling at the little boy.
"Well, see you next week, okay, kiddo?" the younger woman said, kindly. The little boy nodded.
"Bye, Miss Sarah!" he said, enthusiastically, before grabbinged the older woman's hand and walking with her back into the elevator. The young woman smiled and looked over to the seating area.
She frowned, looking at the girl, who was looking back sheepishly.
"Alyssa, why haven't you left yet?" she asked the girl.
"…Because my dad is late?" Alyssa replied, embarrassed.
"Do I need to call him?" the woman asked.
"No, it's fine. He'll be here," Alyssa said, not as confidently as she tried to sound. The woman exhaled loudly and looked over at Kurt.
"Are you Kurt Anderson-Hummel?" she asked. Kurt nodded his conformation.
"Come in, then!" the woman said cheerfully, gesturing inside the room.
It was a small office, with a slightly cluttered desk in the corner, and two couches in the center of the room, facing each other. A couple of bookshelves were against the wall, books of all sizes filling them. There was only one thing on the walls, a picture of what seemed to be a blue door, with the words, 'POLICE BOX' written above it, and a light on top of the whole thing.
"Have a seat," the woman said, closing the door as she re-entered the room., "I'm Sarah Williams, if you haven't guessed yet."
She was kind of pretty, Kurt thought, watching her moving the papers around on her desk. Like the girl in the waiting room, she had brown hair, but it wasn't streaked like the girl's, and it was tied back in a loose bun. She glanced back up at Kurt, her brown eyes glinting as she smiled.
"So, Kurt, what brings you here today?" she asked, coming over to sit on the couch across from him.
"You know already, don't you?" Kurt said, dryly. He didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"Yes, but I want to hear it from your point of view. Also, even though it hurts, it helps to talk about these kinds of things." Dr. Williams told him kindly, another of one of those stupid sympathetic smiles on her face. Kurt's eyes narrowed, already defensive.
"Well, I don't know exactly what type of information you have, or who you got it from, but I know that there's one thing you need to know," Kurt said, angrily, "My husband is not dead. I know that it's been two months, and he hasn't shown up or even called, and I also know that the police have given up, but I haven't!. Blaine is out there, somewhere, and I just hope he comes home soon so everyone can stop giving me those stupid sympathetic smiles and treating me like I'm something that could break any minute!"
The last part ended up turning into a yell. Dr. Williams just stared at him, a neutral look on her face.
"Okay, how about this?" she finally said, patiently, "I don't treat you or think of you as a young widow who just lost the love of his life, and you don't treat me like I'm some kind of monster only here to make you believe that your husband is dead. When you come in here for our weekly appointments, you can just tell me about him, like we're me and you are friends. But, there's one condition. Every week, I'll give you a prompt, and you will have to tell me about it. Does that sound good to you?"
Kurt honestly didn't know what to think about this at first. Here was a complete stranger, offering to let him go on and gush about Blaine all he wanteds, without her interrupting and correcting him every time he said "'is"' instead of "was" and treating him like he was made of glass. Not even his friends could promise that. It seemed like a good deal to him, and he had to keep coming to these stupid appointments anyway if he wanted to not stay at home all day (Isabelle had set up the appointments, claiming to be worried about him, and telling him that if she gets even one any calls that he missed an appointment, she would suspend him from work.). Why not make it as enjoyable as he could?
"Okay," Kurt finally said, quietly. Dr. Williams smiled.
"Good. Now, for today, and just so we can get this over with, how about we make the prompt be the accident. What was that day like for you, beginning to end?" she said. If her asking that hadn't pulled up every single awful memory and emotion about and from that day, Kurt would've been mildly impressed. This lady didn't mess around.
"I -" Kurt started, his voice thick with emotion. He sniffled and continued. "S-sorry, ma'am. It's just - that was an awful day."
"I completely understand. And please, call me Sarah." She said, offering Kurt a box of tissues. He thanked her and wiped his eyes.
"Well , first of all, it didn't start out that awful," Kurt started to say, his voice still shaking a little, looking at the floor to the right of Sarah's chair.
Kurt woke up to the sound of Blaine's voice, talking exasperatedly to someone on the phone.
"Are you sure it's not just - ? Okay, okay, no need to shout. It's just…do you really need me to- Fine! I'll be there in a couple hours. Just don't keep calling me every three minutes, okay?"
Blaine then hung up his phone and put it on the nightstand, wrapping his arms even tighter around Kurt and pressing a kiss to his temple.
"Who was that?" Kurt asked groggily, staring at Blaine with half-open eyes. Blaine winced.
"Cooper. He broke down a couple hours outside of town, and he apparently needs me to go pick him up. I'm sorry if I woke you up."
"No, it's okay." Kurt yawned, "And I'm not mad that you have to skip out on our weekly stay-in-bed-all-day-and-watch-bad-reality-TV Sunday. Now go get dressed, and I'll start the coffee maker and make you something to eat on the way."
"You are a saint." Blaine said, adoringly, as Kurt sat up and walked out of their room.
"I love you, too." Kurt replied, smiling.
Blaine hurriedly threw on a (hopefully) clean shirt and jeans, hopping out into the tiny kitchen while pulling on his socks, Kurt laughing a little at his husband as he handed him a mug of coffee.
"There's a couple PopTtarts in the toaster. I'll go get your shoes, phone, and keys. You just sit down and eat, okay?" Kurt told Blaine, the latter jumping up to sit on the counter, sipping at his mug.
"Okay, now I'm getting suspicious. Are you trying to get rid of me?" Blaine teased.
"No, I just don't want to deal with your brother whining every six minutes about how you left him out in the wild for hours." Kurt yelled from their room.
"Whatever you say," Blaine said in a sing-song voice as Kurt walked back into the room, earning him a playful smack to the head.
Three minutes later, the two were sharing a sweet kiss at the door.
"Don't miss me too much, now, you hear?" Blaine said.
"Trust me, I'll be fine for a couple hours." Kurt replied, rolling his eyes.
"I love you."
"Love you too. Now go be a good brother."
Blaine smiled and started to jog down the stairs.
That was the last time Kurt had seen Blaine.
Three hours later, Cooper called.
"Where's Blaine? He hasn't picked me up yet, and I'm dying, Kurt. Dying."
"What do you mean, he hasn't gotten there yet? He left three hours ago, he should've been there by now," Kurt told Cooper, drying a bowl. Cooper let out a small, 'oh' and a string of cuss words.
"Coop? What's going on?" Kurt asked, worried.
"Nothing. Just- I'll call you back, okay?" Cooper said quickly. The line went dead. Panicking, Kurt picked up his phone again and dialed Blaine's number.
An unfamiliar voice answered.
"Hello? Who is this?" the voiceit asked, gruffly.
"T - this is Kurt Anderson-Hummel. Wh - who are you, and why do you have my husband's phone?" Kurt asked, feeling like he might pass out or vomit. Or both.
"Oh," The gruff voice said, "Um, sir? Does your husband drive a car with the plate number 943-SXQ?"
"Yes, he does." Kurt replied, hoarsely, afraid of what was the person on the other end would say next.
"We just found his car in a bad wreck on the side of the highway. Unfortunately, he is not anywhere in the vicinity, but we will keep looking. Can I get you to -"
Kurt only half-caught the rest, the gruff voice telling him to come down to the police station as soon as he could as Kurt quietly sobbed.
After he hung up, Kurt practically slammed his phone down on the counter before running into his and Blaine's room, slipping on a pair of shoes, and then racing back out, grabbing his own keys, tears still running down his face.
After looking for hours upon end for Blaine in the woods near the car, despite the police and Cooper trying to stop him, Kurt went back home and ended up falling into a dreamless sleep as the sun began to shine through the tightly drawn blinds.
"I'm sorry," Sarah told him, quietly, as he finished telling her the story. "That must have been awful, to be so happy one minute, and have the best thing in your life pretty much ripped away from you the next."
"It was," Kurt sniffled, dabbing at his eyes again, "The worst part is that people seem to have just…given up. And since I refuse to give up, my friends have…well, they haven't been exactly avoiding me, but most of them have barely even called."
"Well, that could be that they just don't know how to deal with what they believe is your in denial of losing Blaine. They also could just be giving you a little space because they don't know how to handle their own grief." Sarah told him.
"Yeah, but I don't want them to "give me space.". I just want to have someone to talk to," Kurt replied.
"Well, now you have me to talk to." Sarah said, smiling, "And on that note, our time for this week is up. See you at the same time next week?"
Kurt took the subway home, looking at his phone out of habit every three seconds, expecting a text or a call from Blaine. Two months later, and he was still waiting.
At home, he ate and took a shower, changing into an old pair of Blaine's sweats and curling up under a blanket on the couch to watch mind-numbing reality TV to lull him to sleep. Right before he closed his eyes, he glanced over to the kitchen counter, where Blaine's mug still sat, coffee-stained and untouched since it's owner had left it there two months earlier.
