A/N: Here it is, the long-awaited meningitis fic :D This is post TBU, so canon for that, and canon for 4x14 and the shenanigans there, but other than that pretty much ignores canon. Kurt kept his job at Vogue while attending NYADA. This first bit is exposition, with parts 2 and 3 longer and action-y, and it's looking to be four parts overall. Mostly written, just being tweaked and edited before it's posted! Thank you to the lovely Katelyn for the quick beta *mwah*
"And then she takes the samples to Isabelle and tries to convince her that we should put them up in the next issue. American flag printed underwear, Blaine. She was trying to get us to run a feature on the wonders of patriotic lingerie," Kurt finishes his story with a flourish and a loud sigh, shaking his head as he waits for Blaine's reaction. The Skype connection is a bit shakier than normal, and it takes an extra minute for Blaine to hear and process his story.
"I take it Isabelle was just as unimpressed as you were?" Blaine asks with a small smile, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose from where they slipped down.
"Worse. I've never seen her kick someone out of her office so quickly. The way Annalise was carrying on for the rest of the day, you'd think Isabelle kicked her puppy."
Blaine lets out a bark of a laugh, covering his mouth as it turns quickly into a cough. Kurt frowns, narrowing his eyes as Blaine yawns and winces.
"You're wearing your glasses again," he observes when Blaine finally settles. Blaine shrugs, grinning sheepishly.
"I've had a little bit of a headache since last night, yeah. I think my contacts are making my eyes strain, and since I've been sick-"
"You went to the doctor for that respiratory infection, right?" Kurt asks, shaking his head when Blaine ducks out of camera-frame, hiding his face. "Blaine."
"I got better with the stuff my parents had in their medicine cabinet," Blaine mumbles into his keyboard, still avoiding Kurt's eyes. "I'm fine."
"You sounded terrible last week, Blaine. I thought you were going to hack out a lung and literally die in front of my eyes."
"Well, technically, it'd be virtually in front of your eyes-"
"Blaine."
"If I'm not back to 100% in two days," Blaine relents, picking his head up and rubbing at his eyes," I'll go to the doctor. Scout's honor."
"You're not allowed in the Boy Scouts anymore," Kurt quips lamely, and Blaine snorts, hiding a yawn behind his hands.
"Then maybe I'll try the Girl Scouts," Blaine jokes back, smiling cheekily at Kurt when he finishes yawning, stretching his arms above his head. "Listen, I know we haven't had much time lately, but I'm feeling-"
"Get some sleep," Kurt interrupts, smiling warmly at his best friend-cum-ex-boyfriend. "You're exhausted, and you won't kick this bug without rest. Need me to sing you a lullaby?"
"Need you to cuddle me to sleep," Blaine mumbles, picking up his laptop and disconnecting the power cord, heading over to his bed. He folds back his comforter and slides under, settling the laptop next to his pillow. "'Night."
"Love you," Kurt whispers, bringing two fingers to his lips and pressing them against his webcam, waiting for Blaine to do the same. They may not be "together" anymore, haven't been for months (since the night that shattered Kurt's heart), but they're still best friends, best friends with a history and a love for each other that edges the boundaries of "platonic."
"Love you," Blaine returns.
"Feel better, honey," Kurt says as Blaine exits the Skype window, snapping his laptop shut and setting it on his bedside table. He's asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, dead to the world and snoring softly.
Hundreds of miles away in Bushwick, Kurt closes his own laptop with a smile, unfolding himself from his comforter to set it gently on his desk, flicking off his lamp as he pads back to bed, sliding under the covers and snuggling down. There's a tiny, niggling worry in the back of his mind about how sick Blaine had really seemed, that Blaine, still afraid of shattering their newly built peace, isn't being entirely truthful with him, but he pushes it down, closing his eyes against the soft light from the living room, where Rachel's still awake, slaving over an essay for her History of Musical Theater class.
"He's fine," Kurt whispers to himself, shaking himself slightly. "He promised."
Blaine groans as he blinks awake, his entire body stiff and rebelling against him. There's no light streaming through his window, no indication that it's time for him to get up, get ready, so Blaine gropes on his nightstand for his phone, pressing the home button to see the time.
3:07 AM blinks up at him, the light from the small screen making his eyes water, sending tendrils of pain shooting through his head. He feels worse than he did mere hours ago, worse than he's ever felt in his life. Blinking away tears, Blaine drops the phone to the bed, becoming acutely aware of just how much his body aches, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
Rolling onto his side, Blaine gasps when the room seems to spin around him. He wants nothing more than to fall back to sleep, to curl up under his comforter and wait for the pain to ebb away. But his bladder has different ideas, and Blaine whimpers when he realizes he's not going to be able to stay in bed.
Bracing himself on one arm, he eases into a sitting position, keeping his eyes screwed shut to try to ward off any further pain. Getting his legs to cooperate with him is another matter entirely, his knees shaky as he tries to stand. It takes him a full ten minutes to make it to an upright position, and he almost collapses back to the bed with the effort it takes to keep his head up, to keep his neck straight. He can't remember ever feeling like this; he feels like he's burning up from the inside, despite the chill in his room, and his neck is stiff, his head in agony.
Blaine makes it to the bathroom under sheer force of willpower, using the wall to guide his movements as he's too afraid to attempt turning a light on again. He barely manages to sink onto the toilet to relieve himself, body shaking with the effort to hold himself up.
"I have a fever," Blaine mumbles aloud, more than aware that there's no one in the house to hear him, to come help him. He thinks it explains the fact that his body can't decide if he's too hot or too cold, the shivers and shakes wracking his frame. Finishing up on the toilet, Blaine stumbles back into his sweatpants, washing his hands and leaning heavily against the vanity. He opens the medicine cabinet, finding the thermometer by touch alone, still too afraid to open his eyes fully. Sinking to the cool tile floor, Blaine slips the tiny device underneath his tongue, closing his mouth and waiting for the beep.
When he finally gets the courage to look at the result, the number 103.8 blinks up at him.
"Shit," Blaine hisses, reaching forward to put the thermometer back on the sink, passing a hand over his eyes. He definitely has a fever, and, as another shiver passes through him, Blaine realizes that he definitely needs help. Getting back to his room and his cellphone is another Herculean feat, and when he reaches his bed Blaine wants nothing more than to collapse face-first onto it, but he forces himself to sit on the edge, grabbing his phone with shaking hands.
His parents programmed the emergency line for their family physician into his phone before they ever gave it to him, told him to call Dr. Lewis's service if he ever woke up sick with no one home to take him to the doctor. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the number, tapping the screen and holding the phone to his ear as it rings. He follows the automated prompts to reach an operator, waiting patiently for the phone to be picked up.
"You've reached Westerville Family Practice's answering service, this is Felicia, how may I help you tonight?"
Blaine coughs to clear his throat, wincing when his voice comes out scratchy.
"My name's Blaine Anderson, I'm a patient of Doctor Lewis'. I was hoping I'd be able to speak with her? I woke up pretty sick, I've got a high fever, and I'm home alone, I'm not sure what to do."
There's the sound of a few clicks on the other end, Felicia presumably typing on a keyboard, before she comes back on the line.
"Blaine? It looks like Doctor Lewis is on call tonight for the practice. Would you like me to go ahead and page her for you?"
"Would you mind?"
"Not at all, Blaine. Let me just get some information from you, and I'll go ahead and page Doctor Lewis. She'll be able to get back to you as soon as possible, alright?"
Blaine gives the operator his name again, relaying his phone number and as many of his symptoms as he can remember, and hangs up to wait for his doctor to call him back. He pulls his comforter around his shoulders, burrowing into its warmth while he waits. Barely three minutes later, his phone rings in his hand, and Blaine swipes across the screen to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Blaine? It's Doctor Lewis, how are you?"
"I've been better," Blaine manages, covering the mouthpiece of his phone with a hand as he coughs. "Thank you for calling me back."
"Not at all, Blaine. It's a slow night for call anyway. So, what's going on? You're running a fever?"
"I was sick last week, I think, some kind of cold or flu. I stayed in bed and got better with fluids and cold medicine, but I started getting a headache yesterday again. I thought it was my contacts, so I switched to my glasses, but it just kept getting worse. I woke up about an hour ago and I couldn't-I could barely get out of bed."
Dr. Lewis hums on the other end of the phone, prompting Blaine to continue.
"How high was your fever?"
"Um-one-oh-three, I think? Point eight. That's pretty high, right?"
"That's really high, Blaine," she says, and Blaine can hear the concern in her voice. "What about other symptoms? Do you have aches, any pain? What about chills, weakness, anything like that?"
"My head is killing me, yeah, and my whole body kinda aches. It's pretty hard to move. I can't turn the lights on either, it's too bright. And my neck is pretty stiff, I guess, but I couldn't get comfortable falling asleep, so I might have slept on it wrong."
Blaine hears her rustling on the other side of the phone, opening a door and moving around. He's confused, because he doesn't know what she's doing, and her increased worry when she speaks again sparks fear in him.
"Blaine? From what you've told me, I really think it would be wise for you to come into the emergency room. Your fever is dangerously high, and with the other symptoms you've mentioned-I think you need to get checked out, as soon as possible. You're home alone?"
"My parents are in Italy," Blaine says, quietly terrified. "I'm alone."
"Is there anyone you can call to take you to the hospital? It's important that you get there as quickly as you can, Blaine. Otherwise, I'm going to have to call you an ambulance."
"I don't-" Blaine feels tears pricking his eyes as he wracks his brain, tries to come up with someone he can call. There's no one. Except-"Wait. Yes, I can-I have someone who can come. I think."
"Okay, Blaine, that's great. Thank you. I want you to hang up and go ahead and call them, okay? If they can't take you to the ER, I want you to call nine-one-one, and ask for an ambulance to bring you to St. Ann's, okay? I'm going to head out now, and I'll meet you in the emergency room. You okay to hang up?"
"Thank you," Blaine murmurs, overwhelmed by how quickly the night has changed.
"I'll see you soon, okay, Blaine? We're gonna get you feeling better."
Blaine nods as she hangs up, wiping at his eyes as he pulls up another number in his phone book, waits for the phone to ring out. It's past four in the morning, but this is Blaine's only hope right now, so he crosses his fingers and waits.
"H'lo?" a sleepy voice on the other end of the phone answers, clearly confused at being awoken so early. "Blaine?"
"Mr. Hummel? I need-I need your help."