It was a cold, clear day in mid-March, and the last of winter's snow was finally melting. The church bells on the corner were chiming one. A single car, a wide and black Chevy Escalade, trundled up the path to the back of the graveyard. It passed gravestone after gravestone with a slow, steady pace. It moved with purpose and stopped with a soft screech before a lone memorial.

The driver cut the engine and got out, his arms laden with a fresh bouquet of lavender orchids. He was dressed in uniform with a long, black woolen peacoat. His hair was parted neatly on the right side and shone a little blonder then normal in the sunlight. The wind played with the bright red scarf wrapped around his throat and he used a hand to tighten it.

His shoes made a soft crunch on the gravel path before he stepped on the grass. He tried to juggle the flowers in such a way so he could bend down and clear away the dead, shriveled roses that were scattered about the gravestone. He grunted softly and teetered on his hunches. A gloved hand steadied his shoulder.

"Kurt," the passenger said. "Let me." He bent and scooped the flowers up before neatly putting them in the large green garbage can a few feet away. A brown curl came loose from above his left temple, but he didn't notice. He didn't notice much of anything but the man arranging orchids. The other stood slowly, his task finished and was silent.

"Blaine," Kurt said. "Come here." His voice was young and old, small and great at the same time. He felt like he had grown up so much in the last year, but every time he came here, whenever he visited her, he felt that six year old boy again, dressed in a suit with too large shoulders and too long pant legs.

Blaine obeyed him, standing parallel to Kurt. What was it he was supposed to do now? All Kurt had said was that he wanted Blaine to meet someone. He had never mentioned the graveyard. He glanced down at the small stone and gasped at the inscription.

Elizabeth Annabelle Hummel

Beloved Wife and Mother

Born August 24, 1971

Died July 14, 2000

"Hello, mom," Kurt said under his breath. "I know it's been awhile, I've been at Dalton since before Christmas, you know, but I wanted you to meet someone. This is Blaine Anderson. My…friend." His voice cut out on the last part. He had wanted to say boyfriend, but remembered himself just in time. Sure, Blaine wouldn't have corrected him, but he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. "My best friend."

"You don't need to say anything back," Kurt whispered to Blaine. "It's just something I always say." Blaine raised a hand to cut him off and took a tentative step forward.

"Hello, Mrs. Hummel. You don't know me, but I've heard about you. I'm sure you already know this, but your son speaks so highly of you. He adores you. He doesn't speak of you very often; to be honest I don't think the pain of your passing has gone away. I don't think it ever will. But it brings me great joy to know he trusts me enough to talk about you, enough to bring me to meet you. I'm honored to know your son, Mrs. Hummel. Though the circumstances of our first meeting were unfortunate, and I know that saying this may make me seem selfish…I wouldn't change any of it, not even for the world. I know Kurt may say that he's lucky to have me, but he's wrong. I'm the lucky one, Mrs. Hummel, and I can promise you that I will never intentionally hurt him, in any way. I shall always be there for him, should he choose to accept my company. I'll protect him, now that you cannot. I promise."

Blaine stepped back so that he was level with Kurt again and looked over at him. The other man was staring at him, just staring. His eyes shone green with tears, but none of them fell. Neither of them knew how long they stood there, looking at each other and at the grave and the field of grass beyond.

"It was breast cancer. Highly malignant," Kurt said. "I guess it is some small comfort that she didn't suffer. Even if she did, I don't think she would have told me or Dad. She was always smiling, always singing, always laughing. I…I think she knew about it a long time before she went to the doctor. She didn't tell us because she didn't want us to worry, I bet." A small laugh broke his melancholy exterior and a ghost of his old smile crossed Kurt's face.

"She would have loved you, Blaine. She would have loved your voice and your untamable hair and your occasionally horrible advice and your adorable shortness as if you were her own son. I don't know how I know but…I can feel it. Now, standing here, more then ever." Tears fell in a steady stream down Kurt's face, but he didn't break eye contact with the grave. "And I really wanted you to know that, to feel it with me. I wanted you to know that it doesn't matter what happens at Regionals. It doesn't matter how many fights we have. It doesn't matter how many times my Dad tries to embarrass you. It doesn't matter what's happened before or what will happen in the future because right here, right now…I know what I want." His head turned to look at Blaine again. "It's you. You and I being…whatever we are," he laughed. "I trust you, Blaine. And this, bringing you here…it was the only way I could think of to show you that."

Silence enveloped the pair, so long that bells on the corner started to chime again, on the hour.

"Thank you, Kurt," Blaine said at last, his voice thick with emotions even he couldn't place. "Thank you for everything." He turned to look at Kurt with shining brown eyes and reached out to take his hand, slowly lacing his fingers into the spaces between the other man's. Kurt smiled, first to the ground, then to Blaine and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Come on," Kurt said, wiping away the tears that had fallen down his cheek. "Let's go home. It's a long drive back to Westerville and you know how Thad gets when we miss practice." Blaine laughed with him and held on to his hand for as long as possible. Kurt was the first to break their connection and walked around the Escalade to start the engine. Blaine looked back at the grave.

Here it was.

The crossroads. Even now, he could feel that everything around Kurt and him was changing into something. Something more. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he wasn't going to fight it.

Blaine reached into his jacket and pulled out a single, red rose. He bent at the knees and put it next to Kurt's bouquet of orchids.

"I don't know if there's a heaven, Mrs. Hummel," he whispered. "I don't know if you can even hear me. But if you can…thank you," he smiled. "Thank you for bringing him to me."

With that, Blaine stood and slipped into Kurt's car.

"What was all that about?" Kurt asked playfully.

"Just something between me and your mother, Kurt. Nothing for you to worry about," Blaine said with one of his extra-bright smiles. He glanced at Kurt's hand on the console before placing his own over it. They drove away like that, content with silence and so simple a touch.

The wind tousled the trees after the Escalade as pulled back out onto the street and rounded the corner. The graveyard keeper, Mr. Adam Jones, came out of his house laden with a trash bag to look for new flower arrangements the snow had ruined. He walked along the back lane and smiled at the new orchids and rose on the isolated grave.

"They all do a good job when the seasons change, that family," he mused to himself. He let out a little bark of laughter and started to go on his way. He yelped and grabbed onto his hat as a gust of wind threatened to take it off. As the blast carried on, Mr. Jones turned in confusion. For a moment, he thought he had heard a voice on the wind. He recognized the sound, but not the voice, and smiled before carrying back on his way.

It was a mother's contented sigh.