So if anyone is familiar with my work, then they will probably recognize this fanfic and the fact I haven't updated my work in years despite numerous requests to do so. Part of that is because I was disgusted with the direction the Glee writers were taking the final season of Glee or what I call 'Season Spinoff', but it was also because I wasn't sure of my own writing style. I think I have matured as a writer and this hopefully proves it. I will be working on longer chapters in this fic.
As mentioned above, I do not like 'Season Spinoff' and therefore, the last episode I acknowledge is actually Season 5s finale. This fanfic takes place far into the future with even reminisces a few years into the future.
I hope you enjoy
No Matter What, No Matter Where
The Chief of Medicine
The sunlight filtered through the window, bounced off the gold finished coffee table, reflected in the standing mirror, and hit Chief of Medicine Blaine Devon Hummel-Anderson in the face, softly waking him from his sleep. Just as the rest of his life, the slight method of a ray of sunlight reflected the ever so put together world of the great doctor. It was such a small thing, such a trivial part of the morning, which was grouped together with hot coffee, warm showers, and a quick glance at the newspaper, but even the smallest things had the biggest effects. Years of research had definitely proved that.
Blaine had given twenty years of his life to a list on a piece of paper. It had started off with a plan of how to raise more money by taking a shift at a coffee house, followed by the application for pre-med at Princeton, Columbia, and Dartford, then what seemed a lifetime of work getting his MD, his PHD, and numerous other certificates in both biological and chemical research, surgery, general medicine, drug analysis and creation, and finally he had reached the position of chief of medicine and director of the most important hospital in the great state of New York. Twenty years work which had started out with a pale yellow post it that Blaine had scrap booked at some point of his life.
Yet, that was his life. His love wasn't passed down to some inspiring offspring, nor was he content being a husband in a fruitful marriage. He wasn't an actor, or a dancer, or a singer, or really a performer of any kind. He didn't have a Tony, Grammy, Oscar, or any other major award outside the realms of non-fiction writing and medicine. His walls weren't covered with images of friends and he had rarely stepped foot out of the East coast aside from conferences that were a must.
No, Blaine Hummel-Anderson's life was medicine.
Or, at least his life had been medicine until today.
Today was the day when his life would start anew, when he would be able to help another person again, the person again. At two thirty on this most important day, the change he had been working towards for over two decades would be at his fingertips. The chance to pull the most important person in his life, twenty-four year old actor, Kurt E. Hummel-Anderson, out of cryogenic sleep and sink the needle holding the antidote into the flesh of his arm.
Today, Kurt came back to life.
Only a few months ago however, was the doctor's forty-fourth birthday.
Not only had twenty years passed by in the course of study and research to reach this point, but it had been twenty years of forming a gap that separated him from the love of his life. It was a noticeable gap, the smallest possible of course, but a very noticeable gap.
The significance of twenty years hard work was what might prevent him from holding hands and being intimate with the reason for his entrance into the field. After all, Kurt Hummel-Anderson had been a Broadway star, a Broadway legend, and an extremely sought after male and these days Blaine sometimes had trouble hiking for more than three hours at a time.
It gave a lot to think about.
Still, the chance to see Kurt enjoying life again even if he had no part in it other than being the man's treating physician was worth it, he had been worth it for twenty-years, he had been worth it from the day Blaine had encountered him on the Dalton staircase.
As the August sun started to brighten, Blaine rolled over in his sleep, pressing his face into the second pillow in the king size bed. He pulled the ocean blue, Egyptian cotton sheets to his body and was woken up by a black cat with a white tail and white face.
The cat didn't know what was special about today as he batted his owner in the face. He didn't know that the doctor's life would change dramatically in only eight hours. He knew he was hungry and he knew that if he kept hitting Blaine with his tail then he would get food, he would get his water refreshed, he would get his litter box cleaned, and he would get a long colder. That was the morning routine and to this cuddly creature, that wasn't meant to change any time soon.
"Jeeeet," Blaine groaned as he woke to his animal friend, he coughed as he pulled away from the cat's tail. "Daddy is very tired today," Blaine moaned, but still didn't resist the chance to run his finger's through Jet's fur. "It's a very important day for Daddy." Blaine pushed himself up and against the wall, "Daddy gets his special friend back today. He has to look his best, but I guess you can look your best too."
Jet meowed noisily and nuzzled his owner, pressing his face right against Blaine's cheek and neck before jumping off of the bed and turning towards the door. He meowed again and turned back to the mess of curls and pajamas hoping his owner would get the hint.
"Daddy really needs to teach you to tell time," he yawned again. "Well, maybe if he ever teaches you to play the piano, he'll be able to teach you how to read the clock."
Blaine swung his feet over the edge of the bed, making sure to get each of his velvet slippers on and followed Jet out of the room. "So, food first?" he asked as he ran his fingers over the three year old cat's head. He went to the cupboard beside the sink, pressing his finger on the door latch to unlock it and pressed the button to rotate the contents until he had the large bag of food. He put his hand in the bag, located the scoop, and dished out Jet's food for the day. He closed the door and locked it with his finger print again.
He repeated the action with Jet's dish of wet food and then turned his attention towards the tap in the sink. Pressing once to activate the tap, he ran his finger up until he could see that it was the right temperature. He then tapped it twice and the right amount of water filled into the measure underneath. Blaine placed the bowl next to the measuring cylinder and the water filtered out.
"You are so lucky that you have this technology, Noah never had it," he grinned to Jet as he reminisced about his first cat, the one he had adopted when he had moved into his first apartment after receiving his Bachelors of Science.
Jet lapped up his water without even looking up. He was just glad that his dish had been filled.
"Daddy is going to get some breakfast too, maybe he should fry some bacon," he laughed as he went to what appeared a small tablet similar to the iPad which had come out too many years ago and now had the importance that a Palm pilot had in the 2010s. He selected breakfast and waited as it loaded all the different food he could have, the ones which he did not have the ingredients for were in a dull green which meant he could purchase those and have them delivered to his door in about half an hour time span.
Bacon and eggs were not in this dull green, neither was the buttered toast. He selected the buttons for those before pressing the temperature he wanted his breakfast to be. From the range of bowls presented on the screen, he picked the white porcelain and listened as the whirs and buzzes played a sort of melody. Twenty minutes later, the large metal box which was attached to the wall beeped and Blaine opened it to see his requested breakfast.
"Should have asked for some coffee too," he laughed, "but somebody had to wake me this morning." He pressed the buttons for a mocha from the machine and took his plate to the table. "I wonder who that somebody was," he joked but Jet just cleaned himself.
Blaine's problems were his own, not Jet's and Jet couldn't solve the fact Blaine had no coffee. In fact, had Jet known that that was the problem Blaine had had, he most likely wouldn't care.
"Daddy gets to wake Sleepy Beauty up today, he's been having quite a long rest," Blaine laughed, talking to Jet who seemed more interested in leaving the room in search of a toy then listening to Blaine's voice. "Yes, I think he'll experience quite a shock when he sees how much the world has changed, how much I have changed. He'll definitely not be able to see me as that young Dalton student he first met."
Blaine laughed, "It's funny how so much has changed and yet due to his cryogenic slumber, he has remained exactly the same."
At this point Jet had left, but Blaine didn't care. He was going to achieve his goal, his reason for becoming a doctor, and all of that hard work would be complete. He would be able to get a proper night's rest and shed some of these extra pounds that had accumulated around his mid section.
A very long time ago he had saved up enough money for somebody else to research the cure to waking up his husband, his silver swan, the love of his life. Yet, people were never to be trusted and when the funding had been cut he had had no other choice but to jump in and change his life, his career, and every single routine he had been accustomed to.
He had had no other choice, or at least no other choice he had been willing to live with.
The termination of the treatment and of his husband's life was never something he had thought about accepting.
That was why, after today even if Kurt fell in love with another guy, got married to him, had some kids, and started a life without Blaine being involved in the slightest, it would be okay. As long as the knowledge that Kurt was breathing, was moving, was feeling emotions, filled the chief of medicine's head, he could live with it. His greatest wish had changed from wanting to be with Kurt to seeing Kurt alive.
Somehow he had finally, finally reached that point.
After all of this time, that was the only thing that mattered.
Kurt had always been the only thing that had mattered in Blaine's strange life.
As he proceeded to eat his bacon, he looked down at the deep, white, jagged scar over his wrist in the shape of the edge of a jigsaw puzzle and frowned at the lump under his veins. If he were ever to try to heal this…condition, it might lead to his death. As much as he hated that lump that shocked his nerves and had led to permanent damage and deep rooted pain, until Kurt was awoken, he would do nothing to treat it.
"It isn't too much longer," he whispered as he tried to forget why he had that lump and why he felt that it would never go away. "As long as he's okay, then I will be okay."
He closed his eyes, remembering that sweet and somewhat high-pitched voice.
Honey bee, I love you, you know I love you. I won't blame you if something happens, if you move on from me because you have made my life special. You have kept me as safe and as loved as you could and you married me. You took my hand and placed this ring on it because you love me as much as I love you. I owe you everything in the world, honey bee, and the only thing I have left to ask of you is to try to be hap—-
Blaine was pulled out of his memory as the beep that told him his coffee was ready played over his thoughts. He loved remembering Kurt's voice and he had managed to do it so well. He had managed to remember the most important moments in their relationship, the songs that Kurt had always perfected, and even the apologies that had put them back on track.
Everything about Kurt was recorded down in memories both in Blaine's head and on the top shelf of the silver bookcase.
The truth was that he hadn't been happy, he had wanted so badly to find that happiness for Kurt, but now he would see it. If he could just see Kurt move, hear him speak, look into those beautiful and enchanting eyes then that would make happiness a possibility once more.
As Blaine looked at the stainless steel coffee preparer however, that happiness fled and he saw his disfigured face, the bags under the eyes, the nose that had had to heal itself after being broken, and the uneven shoulder bones. More than anything, those two deep scars that went from the middle of his forehead down to his left chin were where his eyes was drawn to. One was of that white line that always remained even if the physical cut had healed over. The other was a deep purplish red. Another three lumps protruded slightly underneath the scar.
Removing his contacts and placing them in the case, Blaine put his thick, Clark Kent style glasses on and tried to apply cover up so that no one would be able to see these lumps in his face. Everyone knew what they were though, well everyone apart from Kurt and he didn't know how he would explain them if his husband, former husband were to ask.
How did one ever explain that they were a traitor to their own country, a criminal.
How did one ever explain their part in the rebellion.
How did anyone ever explain how they had once been a performer, someone beautiful that had been admired by cheering audiences and had had benefactors wanting to support them, turn into a mess of a man with a limp and a severely damaged back.
How could anyone explain that they were the Blaine Hummel-Anderson.