Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for reading and your amazing reviews. For those of you who write as guests I wish I could answer you so sign in if you can! I love having communication with my readers.

Tissue Warning for this chapter (canon Character Death). Yes, that time has come. For those of you who read RTF as well, I'm sorry these two chapters come so close together. Maybe I should buy some stock in Kleenex ;-)

Many thanks to my awesome beta and BFF tifarae. Love you, you are the best!

December 13, 2001

"Sweetie, it's bedtime." Elizabeth peeked into Kurt's bedroom, the light from under the door betraying him. He sat on his bed, a flashlight glowing as he read a piece of paper in his hand. He looked up at her smiling with guilt, and she came and sat down next to him. "What's that?" she asked.

"Just a letter from my penpal," he said, turning the flashlight off and lying down.

She remembered the project. She'd signed a permission slip. "And this letter is so important that you need to read it at nine o'clock on a school night?" Her voice was low and airy, a bit of a laugh on the tip of her tongue. "Must be a pretty special pen pal."

"It's the boy who played Gavroche on Broadway," Kurt admitted, immediately growing bashful. "I wrote to him never thinking he'd write me back, but he did. And we've been writing back and forth now for a few months."

"Well, he must think you're pretty special than too," Elizabeth smiled, brushing a hand through Kurt's hair. "But now it's time to sleep." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He reached up for a hug and kissed her on the cheek as well. "Love you."

"I love you too Mommy," Kurt answered and laid down with a smile. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes sweetheart?"

"I want to make a friendship bracelet for him for Christmas. Can you help me?"

"Of course," she said. "Now go to sleep."

She gently put the letter on his desk and blew him one more kiss before closing the door behind her. He waited three…two…one…then jumped out of bed and pulled his chair by the window, grabbing the letter to read again by the moonlight and the light of the back porch. He shivered against the chill seeping in. One more time, he promised himself. Then he'd go to sleep.

Dear Kurt,

Another Saturday matinee, another chance to write to my favorite penpal. Well you're my only penpal, but even if you weren't you'd still be my favorite. I'm so glad your production of West Side story is going well. You really need to send me a picture of you as a Baby Jet. I bet you're absolutely adorable.

I'm also really glad your voice lessons are going well. That's amazing. I finally did what you said and asked again if I could at least take Jazz, but Dad said no boy of mine is dancing like a fairy. I tried to tell him fairies don't dance they fly, but well, he didn't take that very well. But I'm still proud of myself for asking. And, Rachel said she'd teach me in our spare time backstage and at school.

I'm getting a little nervous with the end of my contract coming up. I really hope they'll ask me back for another 6 months. And that Dad will sign. I don't think my Dad wants me staying in the show, but some of the boys are 12 so it's possible I could stay for a long, long time if they let me. It's not like I'm growing very quickly. Cooper says though that everything in theater is fleeting. He's back auditioning. I'm sure he'll get something soon.

Anyway, enough about me. How's third grade treating you? I think it was so much easier than fourth. Fourth grade is hard. I hope you're okay. Do you have another audition coming up after your show closes? I feel like I want to say I miss you even though we've only met once. I wish we could talk on the phone but I know it's kind of weird. Our parents would never understand.

Write soon!

Your Friend,
Blaine

P.S. I hope you like your Christmas present!

January 7, 2002

Happy New Year Blaine!

I'm sorry I didn't get to write much over Christmas break. Thank you so much for my signed book of Les Miserables! Mom says she'll find all of Gavroche's parts and we can read them together. I'm sorry your Dad reacted the way he did about the dance class. Parents can be so dumb sometimes. My mom got me a new tea set. That probably seems silly to you. I mean what boy wants a tea set? But she knows I like those things. Dad told me it would be Mom's job to play that with me, he'll teach me how to throw a football. Not sure I really want to learn, but I love him so I'll try.

How's Rachel? I feel like I should write to her sometime soon because I know so much about her

"Kurt?"

Kurt looked up from his letter to his teacher at the front of the class. Ms. Wright from the main office was with her and they both looked kind of grim.

"Kurt, pack up your things, your Dad's here to pick you up," his teacher said warmly.

Kurt's heart immediately started to race. He didn't know anything about being dismissed early and scenarios began running through his mind. He tried not to guess as he put his books away and gathered his things. He could see everyone looking at him. He shoved the letter to Blaine into his communication folder. He'd finish it later.

He walked into the main office but didn't see his Dad. Ms. Wright led him into the principal's office and now Kurt was worried he'd done something wrong. His father's back was to him, hunched over, head in his hands. When he and Ms. Wright came in and closed the door behind them, his Dad sat up and turned around. Kurt froze. He looked like he'd been crying.

"Have a seat Kurt," the principal said and Kurt scooted into the wooden chair next to Burt, his feet nowhere near reaching the floor. "Your Dad has something he needs to tell you."

His dad took his hand and squeezed it. Tears formed in Burt's eyes and Kurt felt his own welling up even though he didn't know why. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Kurt." His dad's voice was rough and he choked on his words. "Bud, your Mom's in the hospital. They're not sure what's wrong with her. She had a headache this morning and now she won't wake up."

Kurt immediately started to cry and his voice shook with fear. "But she's going to be alright, right?" he asked.

Burt shook his head and took a deep breath. "I don't know son. The doctors don't know."

Kurt stood up and grabbed his things. "I need to see her," he demanded with all his strength.

Burt smiled softly at the boy who was stronger than anyone else he knew and stood up, keeping his hand wrapped around his son's. "Ok. Let's go."

Kurt sat by his Mom's bedside as long as they would let him. She looked so peaceful, lying there like she was sleeping, but the beeps and the buzzes and the doctors in and out drawing blood, trying to figure out what was wrong annoyed him. He prayed that God would make her better, but he was beginning to wonder if anyone was truly up there listening. She was on a machine to help her breathe. They said it didn't look good. They told him to say goodbye.

"Kurt, do you remember Dr. Lopez?" his dad asked him and Kurt looked up in the doorway. Santana's dad. He'd seen the man sometimes at dance class. Kurt nodded. "You're going to stay with Santana and her Mom tonight."

"I want to stay here, with you and Mom," Kurt insisted through his tears.

"You need to get some sleep and you aren't going to here. Go have a sleepover with Santana. I'll see you in the morning," Burt said.

"And mom?" Kurt asked.

Burt took his son in his arms and squeezed him tight. He didn't want to let go but he also didn't want Kurt to be here when it happened. "Mommy will always love you, Kurt. Don't ever forget that."

Kurt was lying on a mattress on the floor of Santana's room. He'd never been to her house before. It wasn't like his. It smelled different. It felt different. Spicy. His house was sweet. He stared at the ceiling into the darkness. He didn't know how his father could think he would sleep while his mother lay dying.

He knew that was what was happening.

"Are you asleep?" Santana whispered into the dark.

"No," Kurt breathed quietly.

"Do you think your Mom's gonna die?" Santana asked softly.

"Yes." His tears started falling again. He wasn't sure if they would ever really stop.

"Was she sick?" Santana rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand.

"No," Kurt said. "She was fine just yesterday."

"I'm sorry," Santana said.

"I wish Blaine was here."

"Who's Blaine?" Santana asked curiously.

"He's my penpal. From school."

"Oh, you're still writing to yours? I stopped months ago," Santana said.

"He's my best friend," Kurt whispered.

Santana wasn't sure a penpal could be a best friend and she thought it was kind of sad that he would need a best friend that lived so far away, but she thought it would be a little mean to point that out right now while things were so bad. "You can write to him tomorrow," she said instead.

"No," Kurt mumbled. He didn't want to write to Blaine. He wanted to talk to him. Hug him. Have Blaine tell him everything was going to be okay. "I don't really want to write until I know what's going on. I don't want to jinx anything."

Santana nodded. The spirits were mean like that. "That makes sense. I can be your best friend for now."

Kurt didn't say anything. They were quiet for a while, thinking, praying. Santana peaked over and saw Kurt's eyes wide open. "Do you want to come in bed with me? Or do you want me to come down there?"

Kurt just shrugged, so Santana slipped out of bed and snuggled in next to him. She put her arms around him and held him close. "If your mom dies, you can share mine. I know it's not the same but she's really nice."

Kurt swallowed and nodded. He didn't want her mom, he wanted his own, but he knew it would be rude to say that. "Thanks," he said instead. He barely felt Santana's arms around him but it was better than nothing. Very slowly, he drifted asleep.

His mother lasted until the end of the week but in a blink of an eye she was gone. He didn't write until after the funeral. He thought maybe if he didn't put it down into words then she could still come back. But after he saw her coffin lowered into the ground he was pretty sure she was gone for good. He and his Dad returned to the house and he went right up to his room. He wasn't proud of it but while he was at Santana's house he had taken some stamps. He hoped they wouldn't notice. He couldn't stand the idea of going to his mother's drawers yet. He took off his suit coat and his tie and his dress shoes and took out the letter he had started a week ago. He drew a line beneath where he'd stopped and dated it again. By the time he was done the page was stained with tears, but he knew Blaine wouldn't mind.

January 15, 2002

Dear Blaine,

My mom died.

We had the funeral today.

Nothing seems real. Everything is wrong. Her things are still here but she's not.

I don't know what to do.

I wish I could hear her voice.

I wish I could hear your voice.

My phone number is 419-555-0121.

My dad won't even notice if you call. It's like he's in a fog. I could rob a bank right now and he wouldn't even know.

Oh look at that. Humor. I guess it doesn't all go away when someone dies.

Anyway, call me if you want to.

Your Friend,
Kurt

Author's Note:

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