Media: Fic
Title: A Nonsensical Turning Point (2/6)
Rating: R
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, minor Finn/Rachel
Spoilers: None
Warnings: MPREG, mentions of miscarriage (not directly Klaine-related)
Word Count: ~6.5k (this part)
Summary: AU MPREG future!fic where both Blaine and Kurt have their own way of dealing with and preparing for a surprise that has come sooner than expected.
Author's Note: Please loosen your grasp on reality if you choose to read this, haha. It's all very absurd. I'm working on chapter 5 right now (just passed 28k, oy) with six chapters and possibly an epilogue planned.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
[xoxo]
PART II
[xoxo]
Kurt dug the heels of his sweaty palms into the firm mattress beneath them, the thin material of the coverlet bunching up under crooked fingers. He sucked in his upper lip between his teeth, eyelids fluttering up at the ceiling as Blaine worked on unbuttoning his plaid shirt from the bottom up. Hands trembling, he slowly spread the fabric apart, and leaned down to touch his lips to the skin below Kurt's navel. Feeling his fiancé's twitching lips trail upward, Kurt gasped in a breath of air, holding on to it tightly until his lungs burned.
The alarm clock on Kurt's cellular phone went off, buzzing loudly and beeping frantically, which Kurt decidedly ignored as Blaine's mouth wetly made its way up his craned neck. He shook his head, reaching out to grab a fistful of Blaine's red polo shirt when he pulled away. He was quick to hook his long legs around Blaine's waist, distracting him from the persistent noise with a hard kiss. Kurt responded to Blaine's hands half-heartedly pushing at his shoulders by squeezing his thighs together. Fingernails cutting into skin through clothing, Kurt eagerly swallowed Blaine's moans as he ground his hips down.
"We can't... we have to..." He looked over his shoulder to steal a glance at the ticking wall clock, the White Rabbit madly dashing through his scrambled thoughts. "No, really. The plane isn't going to wait for us." Eyebrows drawn tightly together, Kurt pulled down on Blaine's shirt collar, both quiet and pensive as his thumb brushed over a fresh hickey. "I'm serious. You know what's going to happen if we miss our flight? Two words."
"More sex?" Kurt asked without missing a beat, grinning wolfishly. He was not looking forward to "toning it down" around his parents while they stayed with them for the week. Burt needed to accept that they were practically married (well, at least they'd be officially and legally married in eleven months), yet he insisted on treating them like they were... teenagers. He smiled, thinking about to how Blaine's hands had been shaking a minute earlier. He loved how they still had that effect on each other.
Blaine pinched at his side. "Road trip." Kurt, in record time, had moved out from under Blaine. He'd started working at the multi-colored buttons on his rumpled shirt before his feet had even touched the ground. "On second thought, doesn't a bus trip sound like way more fun than a boring ol' plane ride?" He rolled off the bed, zipping up his jeans.
Kurt made a face, resting a hand over his belly. "If this baby inherits your sense of humor, I'm doubly doomed."
"I don't see why." Blaine turned his back to Kurt, bending over as he straightened out the covers on their bed. Kurt had packed (oh, and Blaine had helped) the luggage the night before, so all that was left to do was tidy up while waiting for the cab. He twirled around, "I have an impeccable sense of humor. Daffy Duck told me so."
"I'm sure he did, sweetie, but you know Daffy Duck's catchphrase was 'you're despicable,' right?" Kurt was sure he heard the sound of Wile E. Coyote getting crushed by a boulder as Blaine's face fell.
"What?"
Kurt quietly decided to let Blaine Google that on his smartphone while he rolled their suitcases to the door.
[xoxo]
The plane ride to Ohio was pleasantly uneventful (for Kurt, at least. Blaine was stuck with a bored eight-year-old boy with dancing feet behind him). It was during the landing when Kurt started to bite at his fingernails. "Do you think he's going to be able to look at me and notice, like, right away? Like, before we get to sit down and tell them?" He asked nervously, not for the first time, his elbow pressing uncomfortably into Blaine's side. He was referring to Burt, who would be picking them up from the airport very soon.
Blaine shook his head, shifting as much as he possibly could in the narrow seat. His leg muscles were begging for some stretching. "I don't think he's going to notice," was his honest answer. As common as male pregnancies were, it wasn't like Burt was expecting this kind of news from them.
"You don't think he's going to notice? Blaine, I've put on fifteen pounds since he saw me last." That was actually a good thing, Kurt realized. Burt had been very vocal with his concerns regarding Kurt's weight during their past visit to Lima in July. Oh, wow. July. Kurt still felt bad about how neither he or Blaine had been able to get the time off for Thanksgiving.
"If he says anything, you can go with a half-truth to hold us over until tonight. Tell him about how you've been seeing a nutritionist." A nutritionist had been a suggestion from Quinn. Kurt had already been slightly underweight during the beginning of the first trimester after he'd managed to lose a few pounds from the constant morning sickness. Blaine pulled Kurt's hand away from his mouth. "None of that." His fingers stayed circled around Kurt's wrist.
"Do you think—"
"Kurt."
Kurt closed his eyes, sighing when he felt tears prickling at the inside of his eyelids. Rachel and Finn weren't flying in until Christmas Eve, a day later than expected. Rachel had a list of parties she couldn't not go to, not when she had a spring play to promote, and Finn had a seminar in Allentown, Pennsylvania that was worth too many credits to skip. A new layer of guilt sprouted over an older one, and Kurt felt his shoulders crumbling under the weight of it all. They'd put off their announcement enough as it was.
"None of that, either." Blaine's grip tightened. Not enough to hurt or bruise, but enough to clue Kurt in that he was worried. Kurt opened his eyes only when he felt Blaine's warm, dry lips press into his cheek. He was vaguely aware of the other passengers hurriedly moving around them, noisily unpacking from the overhead compartments. They'd arrived; it was showtime. "Am I going to have to carry you out of this plane, or will you follow without any kicking or screaming?"
"Oh, I'll follow. Not making any promises on the 'kicking and screaming' part, though."
That was the response Blaine had been waiting for, hoping for. He, rather annoyingly and yet adorably, asked Kurt that very question during each Lima visit. Kurt had known that responding with a different answer would have only left his fiancé more worried than he already was. Blaine smiled, happy and relieved, and unbuckled his seat belt before leaning him to grace his cheek with another kiss. "Ooph!" Unexpectedly, his forehead knocked into Kurt's temple. He felt the back of his head where he'd nearly been taken out by the wheel from a hideous Vera Bradley roll along duffel bag.
"Whoa, hey!" Kurt angrily called out to the unapologetic woman as she continued on her way as if she just hadn't struck someone in the head with her luggage, his voice shrill. "Excuse you!"
"Excuse me?" The stranger snapped sarcastically over her shoulder. "Oh, yeah right."
Kurt glowered, teeth clenched, and pulled Blaine in closer to him. He tried to push his fingers through Blaine's short hair to feel for a bump, but his hair was stubbornly matted down with too much gel. Taken back by a quick bubbly spasm inside of him, Kurt let out a soft sigh. He rested his chin on top of Blaine's head, taking a moment to calm down.
Yeah, they were definitely back in Ohio.
[xoxo]
Kurt rolled his eyes when Blaine took the time to straighten his lapels in the middle of the congested airport. The jacket wasn't exactly his favorite article of clothing, but it kept him warm and had enough room for him to grow a little—emphasis, as Blaine had pointed out to him after he'd shown him the recent purchase, on "a little." That had started the first of several fights they would have about Kurt's initial refusal to buy any paternity attire. "You going to be OK looking for your dad while I go claim our baggage?"
"Are you going to be OK going off to claim our baggage while I look for my dad?" He playfully tugged at Blaine's crocheted scarf, a Christmas present his mother had given to him the previous year. Mrs. Anderson insisted on giving and receiving handmade gifts for birthdays and holidays. She'd made them matching sets complete with hats and mittens. Kurt still broke out the afghan he'd gotten from her on his eighteenth birthday on especially cold nights. "I mean, we do have a lot of baggage."
"I'll see if I can borrow a forklift. Call to let me know where to meet you guys, okay?"
Kurt pretended to consider that. "I shall," he slowly drew out, then smiled widely. He waved his fingers at Blaine. "You won't be left behind again, don't worry. Although you should consider selling that childhood story to Hollywood. It's very Home Alone meets The Terminal."
It was only about a minute after Blaine bravely ventured off when Kurt easily spotted his father's baseball cap. He sneaked up behind him, wanting so badly to greet him with a tap on the back and: "hello there, grandpa!" He wasn't really sure how he would fare as a dad, but Kurt had no doubt Burt would be an awesome grandparent. Just imaging Burt holding his tiny granddaughter or grandson for the first time was enough to make him tear up—oh, shit. He wiped at his eyes, laughing. Burt took that moment, of course, to turn around.
"Kurt!" Burt immediately pulled him forward by the shoulders into a tight hug. After breaking the embrace, Burt cut himself off mid-way through telling Kurt about how good it was to finally see him again. "OK. What's goin' on?"
Kurt was very much aware of how hard he was smiling. His cheeks were positively aching, and he was sure he could feel the strain up through his temples. He was so setting himself up for premature wrinkles, goddamn. Kurt clasped his hands together in front of him, ready to feign confused innocence like a boss. "Whatever do you mean, father?"
Burt, as if this was anything new, was not patient enough to even consider buying what Kurt was trying to sell. Kurt wasn't really feeling up to all the effort it would take to not blurt out the news he and Blaine had to share (yeah, so let's put a strike through that earlier "like a boss" part). "Out with it, kid."
Well, if you insist... No. Kurt decided the very least he could do was wait for Blaine to find his way to them. He'd already sent a text to Blaine to let him know he hadn't traveled far to locate his father. A defensive "I'm hardly a kid" retort was at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back, shaking his head. He could hear Burt's "you're always going to be my kid" response without him having to say it. "I already told you over the phone that Blaine and I are—that we are having—that we are going to..." Oh god, were all ties between his mouth and brain cut off? He finished with a feeble and hurried, "announce an announcement."
"Am I supposed to guess until then?" Kurt's head continued to shake from side to side. "Let me see... all right, you moved up the wedding again." Burt seemed all too sure of his prediction. Kurt gritted his teeth, a quick shower of annoyance sprayed over him to help wash away most of his nervousness. "It wasn't much of a surprise the first time you moved it up, you know. I've always known you weren't going to wait until you were thirty."
Kurt scoffed, raising a hand to his chest. "No, the wedding date has not been moved up." He added a tense "again" through a low grumble. Changing the date of his—er, their wedding after having much of it already planned out had been a challenge he'd gladly accepted. Thing was, it hadn't occurred to him how much more work would have to go into it when he'd already had a lot going on. With the steadily increasing demand from his intern position and Blaine's twelve-hour rotating shifts, Kurt realized how busy their lives were. It dawned on him, slowly but surely, how much more busy they would be after the baby arrived. He tapped his foot, arm flying out to the side. "Seriously, dad? You don't notice anything different about me?"
Picking up on his son's quick shift from giddiness to distress, Burt frowned. Kurt waited for Burt's concerned gaze to comb through his appearance, not that he was expecting his dad to spot the subtle outward curve of his belly under his thickly quilted, buttoned-up coat. However, Burt's eyes stayed focused on Kurt's face, and he seemed unsure with what he'd found there. "There is something different about you," he admitted suspiciously. Then, with a pleadingly desperate edge to his voice, "this announcement... it's a good announcement, right?"
Kurt closed his eyes as he let a happy sigh loose to match his facial expression. He didn't want Burt to think he was hiding anything behind a mask, not now. "It really is," he promised.
"Tell him," Blaine's voice urged from behind them. Kurt spun around, eyebrows arched in startled disbelief. That had been quick, unusually so. Blaine greeted Burt with a nod and "sir," and then he turned his attention back to Kurt. He nodded his head encouragingly, "go ahead."
"Thank you," Kurt mouthed as he stretched out his arm to offer his hand to Blaine. Together, they were doing this together. He let out a surprised laugh at the feel of Blaine's clammy palm against his own. "Really?" He had to teasingly ask.
Burt watched them share a look that went on for a moment too long before huffing out a loud, tired sigh. "Well?" He asked, arms crossing over his chest.
"Well!" Arms swinging in-between him and Blaine, Kurt held his chin up high. "Well," he repeated in a softer tone, "how would you like a grandchild?" His voice had faltered near the end, cracking on the last syllable. Unable to stay quiet for any longer, Blaine squeezed his hand.
"Because you're getting one," he enthusiastically added. His eyes had gone watery, tears close to forming. "From us, me and Kurt. We're having a baby."
It took Burt's ol' brain an embarrassingly long time to process what had been said to him. Grandchild? Kurt and Blaine... baby? His eyes flicked down to where their over-packed suitcases sat, jaw slack. Kurt grabbed his attention by snapping his fingers, pointing down in a circular motion at his stomach.
"In this general area, actually."
"You... you're?" Burt took a step forward, shoulders hunched as he lowered his voice. "You're pregnant?" Kurt nodded his head once, which he'd done after enough hesitance for Burt's heart to ache. He threw his arms around the both of them, his boys. Kurt had graduated from college seven months ago, Blaine was already a registered nurse, and Finn was working at an outpatient facility as a physical therapist assistant. Damn, his boys had gone and grown up on him. "I don't believe this." Blaine perked up, digging through his pockets.
"I can forward you a sound clip of the heartbeat." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he unlocked the touchscreen on his phone. Burt couldn't imagine being under Blaine's care in a hospital. To be fair, the same went for Finn. He couldn't see Finn teaching him how to, like, use crutches without somehow tripping himself in the process. "I have it on my cell, plus a remix."
Kurt frowned, unimpressed. "You remixed a recording of our unborn baby's heartbeat? What's next, are you going to photoshop confetti and balloons into an ultrasound picture?"
Without looking up from his device, the corners of Blaine's mouth tugged down sharply. "You're definitely not going to want to look through the pictures on here or my DS."
It started to sink in for Burt that he was going to be a grandparent, that his son was going to be a parent. He pulled Kurt and Blaine each into a one-armed hug, chuckling to himself. Kurt leaned into him, laughing at something Blaine showed them on his cell phone. Burt missed it completely, too many thoughts running through his mind, and he gripped on tighter to his son's shoulder. They'd grown up, but they weren't really grown ups, right?
… Right?
Crap. He had grown-up sons. He was going to be a grandpa. He was old.
[xoxo]
It was closing in on midnight when Burt, stomach rumbling, tip-toed downstairs to pick at leftovers from dinner. It surprised him when he saw that the kitchen light was already on. He expected Blaine, but it was Kurt he found cutting out a second slice from one of Carole's homemade apple pies. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked, pulling open the refrigerator door. That pie looked much more delicious and late-night snack worthy than cold pot roast. "Or is this a... y'know, cravings thing." He smirked, recalling Blaine's mention of Kurt's fleeting food affair with tacos drenched in mild sauce. Heartburn had put an end to that.
"Both, I guess." He shrugged, not about to share with his dad the dreams he had about the baby and giving birth. He hadn't even told Blaine about them, about the dreams that were beginning to tread through nightmarish waters. He stabbed a fork into the middle of his wide slice of pie, his comfort food. Kurt had told himself not touch the Christmas Eve and Day desserts, but he'd been given special permission from Carole to dig in early after she had caught him practically drooling at them. "Ah-ah. No pie for you," he sang out when Burt reached for the dish. "There are rice cakes in the pantry if you are hungry."
"How—"
"Oh, and about that bag of fun-sized Snickers hidden in the box of Wheaties? I ate them." Kurt used both of his hands to tug down on the hem of his loose-fitting henley shirt. The fabric stretched across his stomach, accentuating the bulge it'd been covering up. "All of them." Not really, as he'd shared the half-empty bag of mini candy bars with Blaine after supper. He was such a bad influence; Kurt only had himself to blame if Blaine gained any sympathy weight. "Milk, please."
Burt grunted, taking out a half-gallon carton of milk from the fridge. "You miss havin' any willpower?"
"It was doc's orders to temporarily surrender all self-control." … While keeping the word "moderation" in mind. He would bounce back to watching what he ate again once he was closing in on his targeted weight, or at least he hoped he would. "I must admit, I could have gone without hearing about Blaine's mom gaining sixty-eight pounds while she was pregnant with him." Even Carole hadn't put on that much when she had Finn. He looked down at his generous serving of scrumptious pie, nausea roughly prickling through him. Kurt groaned out, "I can't even," and slid the plate toward his father.
Burt leaned against the counter, happily eating up the fruit-filled pastry. He smiled around the fork, quiet for a moment. "Your mom... when she was, uh, expecting—"
Kurt cleaned up by sweeping crumbs into his palm. "Wow, pa." He used his foot to press down on the garbage bin's lever so that the lid held itself up while he brushed his hands off each other. "How 1950s of you," he dryly commented.
"Yeah, well. She would elbow me awake 'bout every other night to fetch her somethin' when she was hungry." As if he were waiting for Kurt to snatch the plate out of his hands, Burt was quick to chow down the rest of the dessert. "So, why isn't Blaine the one down here?" He asked messily through the last bite of pie, much to Kurt's annoyance. Luckily for his dad, Kurt wasn't feeling up to lecturing him about how rude and disgusting it was for one to talk with their mouth full. He also didn't bother to warm up any milk before filling up two glasses.
"Why would he be?" Kurt asked testily, frowning. It was bad enough he got up so often in the middle of the night to satisfy random food cravings; could his pregnancy be any more stereotypical? It wasn't supposed to, though. Male pregnancies were not conventional, and Kurt refused to let any clichéd notions determine or judge how he and Blaine should react in particular situations. His legs were in working order, so Kurt really could not find a reason to force Blaine out of bed to do any "fetching." He bit back what he really wanted to say, but still managed a truthful answer. "I try not to wake Blaine up during the night unless there's something that can't wait until morning."
Burt looked surprised, and voiced exactly that. "Blaine's always been one eager son of a gun. I would've put money on—"
Kurt could feel his blood pressure rising. He should've stayed in bed, warm and comfortable under the weight of Blaine's arm. It was too cold in the kitchen, the linoleum felt like ice under his bare feet. He'd forgotten his slippers, along with Blaine's electric shaver, at their apartment in the city (Kurt had a flashback to Blaine's dad admitting that he'd thought their super-duper news was going to be that they'd bought a house, but had stated that a grandchild "would do"). He took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't come off nearly as offended as he felt. "Blaine," he slowly exhaled, "works really hard to support us."
"Whoa, OK." Apparently he was coming off as offended as he felt. Burt gently set down his fork and plate into the sink. "I never said he didn't, I was just—"
"I know," Kurt stressed out in an apologetic tone, "but he's been working some crazy overtime so that we can save up to put together a nice nursery for the baby while I work full-time hours unpaid, and you know what? He doesn't complain, Not one bit." He'd stuttered out the mention of the "nursery," a messily organized room directly across the hall from their bedroom. It wasn't much now, obviously, but Kurt... oh, he had plans for it. Plans he hadn't discussed with Blaine because they'd agreed not to buy anything baby-related until he was at least twenty-five weeks along. He was willing to ignore the musical crib mobile Blaine had hidden away in a shoebox under their bed as long as Blaine was willing to ignore Kurt's nursery room blueprints and paint swatches that were tucked into an old issue of Vogue.
"Give the kid some credit," Burt heavily sighed out. He slid a hand against his bald scalp. "He knew what he was gettin' into when you took the internship."
Kurt hissed out, "I know," again. "I want—I'm thinking about quitting." He rubbed his hands over his face, wincing when he felt where another pimple was forming. "It's been made very clear that I'm not going to be considered for the position, so there isn't any point sticking with it when my time could be better spent, I don't know, elsewhere." He forced his hands away from his mouth when he felt his teeth painfully split through chewed-down fingernails.
"Yeah, like that didn't sound well-rehearsed or nothin'." He frowned, reaching out to rest his hand on Kurt's tense shoulder. "Want to tell me what's really eatin' at you here?"
Kurt made a humorless chuckling noise. He admitted, out loud and in total honesty, that there wasn't anything "eating" at him that wouldn't be on any other new dad's mind. So what, he demanded to know, if he wanted to find a real job. "We could use the extra income, anyway." Kurt pushed away from the counter, out from under Burt's hand. He'd recognized a certain look that had flickered across Burt's face, a familiar look from his adolescence when Burt was about to tell him something he knew he wouldn't want to hear. "Is there something wrong with me wanting to help provide for my—oh, hello." A hand flew down to rub across his belly. "Someone's up."
Burt had taken a step forward, his eyes wide. "You can feel 'im kick already?"
"No, it's not so much kicking as it is tossing and turning, I guess." He was looking down at his stomach, fingers prodding above the area where he'd felt the burst of fetal activity. "Sorry," he said before his hula hoop of personal space could be invaded. "You can't really feel it from the outside, yet."
"Listen," Burt spoke up in a hushed tone, "there's something I wanted to talk to you about." He touched his hand over the top of his head again. "Now, it's not official or anything, but Carole brought it up before bed, so it's definitely on our minds again. We discussed it when, uh, before Finn and Rachel... but, we were maybe thinkin' about movin' it on over to the east coast." Kurt hopped up, lightly clapping his hands together. "Like I said, not official, and we're not going to live in the city with you kids. We thought it made sense with grandkids comin' into the picture, so we're going to look into it." He knew it wouldn't be an easy move; there were a lot of pros and cons to consider. "Oh, and a reminder for if we manage to work this out? Grandparents are not built-in babysitters."
Kurt bounced forward, hugging Burt tightly. "We'll see about that, gramps." He laughed when Burt groaned, not used to the new title. They stood in the kitchen for a while longer, chatting idly until Kurt yawned into the crook of his arm. After another round of exchanging goodnights, Kurt made his way back upstairs to his bedroom. Blaine was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard. Kurt quietly shut the door behind him, his head tilting slightly to the side. He smiled, very pleased. "You're up."
"I am," Blaine agreed cheerfully. His eyebrows rose when Kurt pushed down his pants. He stepped out of them, toes nudging the silk pajama bottoms off to the side. He sat down next to Blaine, shifting onto his knees. "Very much so."
"Trade places with me?" Kurt cupped Blaine's cheek, pecking kisses to the sides of his lips before kissing him fully on the mouth. "If you think you can be quiet."
Blaine whimpered, which was good enough of a response for Kurt.
[xoxo]
Blaine sat in the cozy Hudson-Hummel living room with Burt, watching an early afternoon football game on the television. He was stuffing a handful of salty popcorn into his mouth when his cellular phone vibrated from inside the pocket of his cardigan, signaling a new text message. He pulled out out, smiling at the beautifully poetic message waiting for him from Kurt. 'I hate you,' it read in bold text.
'Having fun, babe?' he typed out, greasy fingers slipping clumsily across the screen. Carole and Julie, his mom, had kidnapped his fiancé earlier that day to go clothes shopping. Carole had called Julie with the idea after hearing the tantrum Kurt threw because he could no longer get his "fat" jeans to button up. He'd tried to get out of it by feigning a sudden bout of morning sickness, but Blaine had somehow managed to "talk him into it" (also known as shameless bribing).
'I am drowning in an alarming overabundance of sequins and ruffles.' He barked out a laugh, sharing the message with Burt. He was then sent a picture of a top that appeared to be the wild lovechild of a floral aloha shirt and that puffy shirt from Seinfeld. 'Oh my god, your mother is waving a muumuu at me right as I type this. A muumuu, Blaine.'
'Oh, you can rock anything! Go for it,' Blaine urged him while snickering at the adorable mental image of a deadpanned Kurt wearing a colorful, off the shoulder muumuu. Despite sending off the text message without any second thoughts, he knew he shouldn't poke at the bear. He rested the phone on top of his thigh, waiting for Kurt's reply. There were many different responses imaginable for what he'd said, all with varying degrees of special pregnancy hormones-fueled hostility, so when his cellphone went without buzzing with a text message alert, Blaine wondered if a certain someone was plotting his "accidental death." His mind focused back on the game after his team scored a touchdown.
It was during the halftime show's final minutes when a Christmas song ringtone loudly erupted from the speakers on Blaine's phone, Carole's name popping up on the lit-up screen. "Blaine," she urgently rushed out as soon as he answered the call, "this is Carole." The smart-ass in him was knocked quiet from pointing out that he knew who it was by the tone of her voice. It was the same tone he would use at work to reassure patients and their loved ones. "Kurt—"
Blaine felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. "Oh, god."
"No! No, listen to me. He's OK, but there was some dizziness so we're heading back now." He asked to speak with Kurt, needing to hear from him that he was OK. "He's not with me. I asked Julie to get some orange juice in him while I bring the car around to the front." She threw him off by asking if he knew where the teakettle was stored in the kitchen. "I think Kurt would like a hot drink waiting for him when we get home, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. He would." He looked up to see Burt standing above him. "I... thank you." Blaine was already making a beeline for the closet where his jacket hung before he'd even disconnected the call. He pulled his scarf off a hanger (oh, Kurt), and wrapped it twice around his neck. Slipping his feet into unlaced boots, he asked Burt to boil the water for him. He scrambled forward, stopping short of the front door when he noticed the ridiculous look on Burt's face. There was concern mixed in, but it was one hell of a funny expression being aimed at him. He laughed, hand loosely grasping the brass doorknob.
"Boiled water? What, we doin' a run-through of a home birth?"
"The water's for tea, Mr. Hummel." Damn, yet another 'first name basis' setback. He shook his head, he'd get it right another time. Burt was about eleven months away from being his father-in-law. "Kurt's not feeling well, so they're ending their day at the shoppes early." He thought about what Carole had said, wishing she had give him more than "some dizziness." His grip on said doorknob tightened. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wait outside for them."
"Hold your horses, 'not feeling well' as in...?" Burt demanded to know, feet shuffling forward. There was a stubbornly suspicious gleam in his eye as if maybe Blaine wasn't telling him everything, and he wasn't going to settle for anything less than the truth when it came to his kid—and his kid's kid, 'cause he had that to think of now, too.
"Low blood sugar, likely." Hypoglycemia wasn't anything new thanks to Kurt's frequent tendency to skip meals. It popped up every now and then, but Kurt hadn't had much trouble remembering to eat over the past few months. "It's OK," he said, although he wasn't sure if he was talking to Burt to speaking out loud to himself.
Thankfully, it wasn't too frigid outside. A thin blanket of snow covered the front lawn, the sidewalks freshly littered with rock salt. Blaine sat down on the first step leading down the front porch, his side pressed against the metal railing. He rubbed his hands together, mind blank at what he'd done with his gloves. Kurt would know, he always kept better track of Blaine's stuff than Blaine ever could. He stood up as a car pulled into the driveway, feet moving quickly down the stairs. The driver side door flung open, and Blaine's jaw dropped as Finn unfolded out from the teeny-tiny rental car (no, really. It made Rachel appear tall... er, or at least normal sized).
"Hey, dude!" He tugged Blaine into a back-slapping hug. "One hell of a welcome, thank you very much, but how'd you know we were on our way?"
Blaine waved his painfully frozen fingers at Rachel. She mimicked the way of greeting, her too-wide smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I didn't," he admitted. He half-turned away, relieved to see Carole's vehicle coming up behind Finn's. "Sorry, but I've got..." He pointed behind them, trailing off as he hurried around to swing open the other car's passenger side door. "Hey, you." He held out his hand for Kurt to take. Kurt instead brought Blaine's hand to his mouth, his lips brushing over the ridges of his knuckles.
"I'm fine, by the way." He let go of Blaine's hand, reaching down to give him a light shopping bag to carry ("Seriously," Blaine would later scold, "two pairs of regular jeans? That's all you bought?"). "Slight headache, but I'm certain it's from all the tragic crimes against fashion I was forced to witness in such a short period of time." He dropped his chin down to his chest. "Too much," he whispered with sadness, "too much."
Julie slid out of the car from the opposite side. She adjusted her crocheted hat, pulling it down over the tips of her ears. "Son, can you believe he spent half the morning trying to hide from us?"
Blaine gasped loudly. "No, mother, I cannot. My Kurt? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, aren't you two so cute. I wasn't so much hiding as I was trying to escape." Rather unsuccessfully, too. He'd been replying to Blaine's outrageously stupid "go for it" text message when he'd been spotted slouching behind a rack of polka-dotted nursing bras. "I would've gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for—"
"Oh! Oh my, Finn? Rachel?" Carole finally noticed her son and daughter-in-law standing eight feet away. She hadn't been expecting them until late tomorrow night. Finn hadn't sounded hopeful about making it any sooner than that when she'd last spoken with him over the phone. "You're early," she happily squealed, "come here." Carole wrapped her arms tightly around Finn. She held an arm out, gesturing at Rachel to join in on the hug. She'd lingered in the same spot, shifting weight from one leg to the other. "This is great, more time for us to spend together."
Kurt nudged at Blaine's elbow, whispering to him about really needing to use the bathroom. Blaine wetted his lips, chapped from the bitter cold. "Let's get you inside, huh? Your dad's got the water ready for some tea." Julie noiselessly snapped her gloved fingers, hitching a heavy shopping bag over her shoulder.
"Tea and pie sounds lovely," she said.
Once he'd made his way through hugging everyone, Finn strolled over to stand behind his car. "Tea and pie sounds awesome," he said. He lifted up the hatch, looking behind his shoulder long enough to share a wink with Mrs. Anderson. His mouth was already watering for a slice (or three, maybe four if he was sneaky enough) of his mother's homemade pie.
Julie stood on her toes to drape an arm along the tight line of Kurt's shoulders. They were all making their way towards the house. "You going to be able to keep it down, dear? I know breakfast didn't sit well with you, and after that dizzy spell..."
"Oh," Rachel piped up from the back. "Is Kurt ill? Two days before Christmas, too. We are two of a kind, and that is how our luck tends to lean, so it isn't all that surprising."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Blaine heard Finn snap in a very low mumble. He tried to keep from glancing back, too curious for his own good. Having offered to give Finn a hand with some of Rachel's star-covered suitcases, he lagged behind with them. "Leave my brother out of this, Rachel. I mean it."
"He was my friend before he was your brother." She hissed out "stepbrother," as if the emphasized prefix gave the word less meaning. Blaine puckered his lips out in a silent whistle, continuing to stare straight ahead. He picked up his pace, an unpleasant feeling clenching deep within his stomach.
[xoxo]
