Okay, guys: updated! Thank you so much for the awesome reviews and I'll try to get Ch 11 up ASAhumanlyP!

Also: you all wish myownghost was your Beta.

Dave considered himself the Dean of Kurt Hummel Studies: he could look at Kurt's face and know if something was bothering him, hear his voice and know if someone had pissed him off, and tell by the way he moved if he was sad, or troubled. Granted, this was probably because of all the misery he'd caused Kurt, and all the time he'd spent thinking about it, regretting it, but the end result was that it was always a complete fucking shock to him when he saw how clueless Blaine seemed to be.

Because Blaine? Was blowing it.

And man, there was a big part of him that just wanted to kick back and watch Blaine burn his house down. But Kurt lived in that house. And as much as Dave had spent the last couple of hours tortured by happiness, he still couldn't do anything that would hurt Kurt, or not do something that would help. The high road, whatever. Noble sacrifice, whatever. Dave was just powerless to do anything else when it was Kurt's heart on the line.

So Dave calmed Blaine down: it was actually pretty easy. Therapy paid off in really unexpected ways sometimes…

When he asked Blaine why he never talked to Kurt, Kurt's mouth fell open into a little "O" of surprise. Blaine looked so genuinely confused that Dave felt sorry for the guy. After the blank expression passed over his face, though, Blaine's eyes were stormy once more.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Dave. Kurt and I don't have secrets from one another. I think this," he gestured at the three of them hunched around the side of a hotel room bed, "makes that pretty obvious."

"That's crazy, dude. That's, like, double speak. You don't have any secrets, but you rented this hotel room two weeks ago? You don't have any secrets, but you gave a surprise performance of a couple songs that you knew Kurt associated with me? You talk your shit out, sure, but he had no idea you were going to go all cult-leader Kool-Aid tonight, purging him of his confused feelings of desire?"

Kurt snorted through his tears and smiled up at Dave. "You are such an idiot," he said fondly.

Dave's heart leapt into his throat at Kurt's smile; he wanted to pull the boy up into his arms again — hell, he wanted to just pick him up and carry him out of this cheap-ass Lima Holiday Inn — but he made himself keep talking. "The thing is, Blaine, I'm a fucking idiot who'd never so much as gotten to second base, much less had a boyfriend, and I could have told you that this thing was going to be a train wreck tonight. I know Kurt could have told you, but you don't talk to him. You just… you decide what you think is going on and then try to spin it in your favor."

Blaine was breathing hard through his nose, his jaw set. At least if there was going to be a fight, Dave thought, he wasn't the only one not wearing underwear.

But when Blaine spoke, he was still wearing his 'Dr. Anderson' voice. "Then why did you agree?"

Dave shook his head. "To what?"

Blaine gestured to the room around them. "Why did you agree to be a part of this train wreck?"

Dave considered the question carefully, knowing Kurt would hear the answer as well. "Because earlier tonight, Kurt bitched me out for never going for what I wanted. And if my choice was between one messed up night where I got to touch him and hear him say the things he's said to me or spending the rest of my fucking life NOT doing either of those things? Easiest decision I've ever made."

"But if you knew Kurt would get hurt…"

Dave leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes. "Yeah, that's my bad. I figured I'd be the only one limping out of here in the morning."

Kurt spoke, staring down at the floor. "I just don't understand what you thought was going to happen, Blaine. If you knew that David and I were going through some transformation—"

"God, will you stop romanticizing this? Why does everything you feel have to fall from heaven with a set of wings flapping on its back and a choir singing? Why can't you just call it what it is? You've got a hard-on for Karofsky. It gets you off that he won't move without you saying 'go here or go there.' It was sort of endearing at first, to watch you spoon feed him little bits of self-esteem and gay pride, but honestly? Since when do you have the answers, Kurt? A year and a half ago this guy was your worst nightmare and you were crying to me that he stole your first kiss — now you're letting him blow you in a shower stall like some fucking slut."

There was too much wrong with what Blaine had said for Dave to formulate any kind of rebuttal. He did, however, think his fist in Blaine's face would have the appropriate metaphorical value. Before he could manage that, though, Kurt shook his head very slightly, as if he'd read Dave's mind, which, Dave acknowledged, wouldn't really have been too hard to do.

Kurt's voice was very low when he spoke. "A lot can change in a year, Blaine. That's for sure."

Blaine lowered his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his damp and curling hair. "That was just frustration talking, not me."

Kurt pushed himself up so that he was kneeling in front of Blaine. "Actually, it was you. It bears all the hallmarks of Blaine reasoning: you know what's going on better than anyone in the room; you alone can see or judge what's important; you get to decide what matters to me, or if I'm being too much of a princess to see things as they really are." He tilted his head to the side and studied Blaine. "Your hair looks better this way, you know that?"

Dave couldn't help it: he flinched when Kurt reached out to touch Blaine's hair. He tried to cover it up by glancing at the clock on the bedside table, but what difference did it make anymore?

Blaine took Kurt's hand. "Kurt—"

"Let me talk for a minute more and then I'm done. I love you, Blaine. For all of your flaws — and we've all got those — you saved me. You took away my loneliness. For the first time, because of you, I thought that I could be happy — and I really, really want to be happy, Blaine. This," Kurt ran the backs of his fingers against Blaine's cheek, "this isn't happiness. Not really. Not in the way you or I want each other to be happy."

"Kurt, you're not leaving me for this—"

"I'm not leaving you at all, Blaine. But let's leave us. I don't know how this is going to work, how I'm going to wake up and not call you first thing in the morning. I don't know how I'm going to get through the day without reaching for your hand. I really don't. But David asked why you don't talk to me and I think I know. Want to hear?"

Everything, all of the spark and anger and charm that made Blaine Blaine, seemed to go out of his face at once. He stared at Kurt; Blaine, like David, seemed to be holding his breath.

"You don't talk to me," Kurt whispered, "because you think you know everything about me. You think you see right to the heart of me."

"I don't, Kurt. I don't…"

"No, you don't. But it's not because you haven't tried. I know you try. When you're not being a total lunatic, I know you try. But how can you know what's going on with me when I haven't been honest for such a long time?" Kurt was openly crying now, and it was all David could do not to reach for him.

"You are so amazing, so gorgeous and talented and charming — how could I not want to be with you? And not being with you would mean being alone and it was so scary being alone, Blaine. Everything that wasn't great between us I just shoved out of the way. Pollyanna, right? Everything that hurt or made me feel small or stupid or just wrong, I put it aside because I needed us to be happy. But that's not the kind of happiness either of us deserves."

"Nothing I've done compares to what this guy did to you, Kurt. Nothing. But hey, you've got options now so fuck me, is that what you're saying?"

Kurt hung his head, but his voice was very clear when he finally spoke. "I'm saying that while it means everything to me that you're in my life, it's never really mattered how."

Dave squeezed his eyes shut because it was impossible to look at Blaine in that moment and not tell Kurt to make it stop. The guy looked like he'd been taken apart and put back together wrong, with his heart on the outside of his body. When Dave opened his eyes, Blaine was standing up, glancing around the room curiously.

"I think… I'm going to call a cab and come back for my car tomorrow. I just need to figure out where my phone is." Blaine took a few steps to where his clothes lay crumpled on the floor. Pulling on his pants, he reached into the pocket and withdrew his cell. "Ta-da."

"Blaine! Will you stop trying to be such a fucking adult for a minute?" Kurt's voice was still full of tears, but Blaine refused to even glance his way.

"No, actually, I won't… You've said what you needed to say, and I get to deal with this however I want, Kurt. And what I want right now is to get dressed and get out of here so that I don't have to look at you, or him, for another. Fucking. Minute."

Dave watched Blaine gather up his things. He put his shirt and jacket on, but didn't bother to button them. Blaine grabbed his overnight bag with a wide, tight smile.

Without turning to face them, he said, "I'll leave you two the bottle. Seems like you'll be celebrating."

And then he left.

Dave had never felt less like celebrating. The part of him that wanted to cheer at the thought of a Kurt no longer tied to Blaine made him feel sick. This was not a victory. This was a train wreck. He hadn't done anything but watch it happen. Hell, he'd probably made it worse.

He looked down at Kurt, who sat on the floor in a loose knot of long arms and legs. "Kurt?"

"Can we maybe just go to sleep?"

Dave nodded. "I'm going to get a blanket, okay?" He walked to the closet, still holding the sheet around his waist, and brought down the linens Kurt had folded and put away earlier that night.

Kurt climbed up onto the edge of the bed and lay on his side, staring at the wall. Dave turned out the light and shook the blanket open, pulling it over Kurt's shoulders and drawing it close around his body. Then he flopped onto the very center of the bed that felt as vast as an ocean. He didn't want to move, for fear of brushing up against Kurt — he was pretty sure that if he touched Kurt right now, there was no way he'd be able to keep from pulling him into his arms and telling him he was sorry, he was sorry, he was sorry.

"David?" Kurt's voice was soft and small in the darkness; it made Dave shiver.

"Yeah?"

"Are you crying?"

He was, and though he hadn't realized it, it didn't really surprise him. "No. That would be totally gay."

He felt — he swore to God, he felt — Kurt smile. "Are you scared?"

Dave shook his head, though he knew Kurt couldn't see him. "Yeah, maybe. That sounds about right."

Kurt turned to face him, his hand moving across the sheet until he found Dave's shoulder, his elbow, his hand. Holding it tightly, Kurt spoke again.

"When we wake up, we're going to have to talk about all of this."

"I know."

"Okay."

They lay there in silence for a long time, their hands bridging the distance between them, until Dave was sure Kurt had fallen asleep. He was almost there, too, when he heard Kurt whisper his name again.

"David?"

"Kurt?"

"I know you're not wearing any pants, so this might sound more forward than I mean it right this minute, but if I came over there, do you think you could just hang on to me without fear that I'll molest you again?"

Dave choked out a single broken syllable before he opened his arms and he was crying into Kurt's still-damp hair.