Dear darlings! The epilogue will be posted tomorrow.
Thanksgiving is just a few days before Kurt's follow up-appointment with his oncologist. He wants to go to Lima, but his doctor doesn't recommend flying yet, and it's not as if he can afford it with how little he's worked this month anyway. So Carole and Burt fly out to be with him, in New York. Rachel goes home to Lima to celebrate Thanksgivings with her fathers, one of the last family moments before she moves to London. Blaine and his dad go to Cooper in LA, while Mercedes and Sam have invited both sets of parents to talk wedding. Santana and Brittany are celebrating together, as a family, with their daughter and newborn baby. Puck and Quinn are too busy to go anywhere, but Jake is on his way to spend the weekend with his brother.
With the loft entirely to himself, he offers his parents to stay there, taking Rachel's bed. They accept, for which he's glad, it'll make the turkey day so much better when they can just sit and talk for as long as they want, and then crawl to bed without leaving the apartment or looking for a cab.
His only worry is if they'll fuss over him, like they did last time they visited. He knows he still is weak from chemo, he knows he isn't back to his usual strength. And that's okay, as long as they don't make a big deal out of it. To be economic with his energy, he starts preparing the food on Tuesday, and he readily accepts Carole's offer to help him – he wants to spend time with his parents, of course they should be in the apartment with him. They've been in the city repeatedly; they don't need to do the tourist route each time they are here.
Rachel and Blaine go to the airport together on Wednesday evening, and they both call him before bedtime to make sure he's doing fine on his own. Carole and Burt are coming in early next morning.
He's sitting crosslegged in front of his stove to make sure the crust on the apple pie is just right, when his phone abandoned on the coffee table rings.
"Dad, would you mind answering that?" Kurt asks, so the other Hummel does that.
He ends up talking on the phone for quite a bit, discussing the football match he'd watched earlier. Kurt would bet anything that it's Blaine on the other end.
He's taken the pie out and started peeling the potatoes while chatting with Carole, by the time his Dad walks over.
"It's for you," he says with a glint to his eye, and hands him his phone.
"You don't say," Kurt drawls, but nevertheless he's glad that they can joke and act almost normally with each other.
His suspicion is confirmed, it is Blaine calling.
"Good morning," Blaine chirps.
"Good day," Kurt greets back, chuckling over the time zone differences. He walks to his room, for the little hint of privacy the curtains provide.
After making sure Kurt is still as well as he was when his friends left New York 18 hours ago, Blaine catches him up on his family, including Cooper's girlfriend.
"I just wanted to tell you, that this Thanksgiving I'm so grateful for having you back in my life," Blaine says softly, but emotionally. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," Kurt murmurs, almost stating the sentence in the present time. "And I'm really glad I have you. I can't imagine going through the past few months without you," Kurt admits.
"You are the strongest and most resilient man I know. You can do anything."
"That may be," Kurt preens, but rolls his eyes. "Doesn't mean it hasn't been nice not doing it alone, though."
"Kurt Hummel!" Blaine gasps faux scandalized. "Is this you admitting that you've learned to accept help offered?"
"Don't tell anyone!" Kurt laughs.
"Your secret is safe with me," Blaine murmurs, and Kurt nods. He knows. He's pretty sure anything would be safe, cradled in Blaine's hands and soul. Even his heart…
"You've helped me, too. Without you, Tim might still be problematic."
"I didn't do anything special. It's not as if I knew what my impromptu visit could lead to," Kurt shrugs back. "You would have figured something out. You've grown these years. I see it, Blaine. You're more self-assured and confident. You were always exceptional at standing up for anyone who needed it, but you've finally embraced yourself too, and you handle your battles with maturity. I'm proud of you, Blaine," Kurt murmurs.
"Thank you," Blaine swallows heavily. "I… It means a lot."
They're silent together for a moment, listening to the other breathing.
"Look, Cooper is being an ass outside my door, so I have to see what he wants. It's probably about my beard. But I'll be back Saturday morning, as planned. Are we still up for that matinée you raved about?"
"I've got the tickets," Kurt confirms.
"Great! Happy Thanksgiving, Kurt," Blaine murmurs.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Kurt murmurs back.
Kurt had been by the oncologist for his blood test on the last day of Movember, which happened to be the day after Thanksgiving. His dad and Carole had insisted to tag alone, to literally hold his hand, even if he was just quickly in and out for the sample. The test results wouldn't be available until three days later. Kurt had insisted he could go on his own for the answers, and Blaine had insisted he shouldn't go alone. Even if Blaine had remained optimistic, and claimed Kurt was in the clear, they both had a certain "what if?"-doubt graining on their brains. So it wasn't really a surprise when Kurt found Blaine waiting outside his building on his way to the doctor, and he was glad to see him. If he was destined for bad news today, it would be necessary to have someone by his side. He just couldn't take yet a setback. He hadn't told Rachel, but had a hunch she still knew, considering how she'd been distracting him the previous night with a Mamma Mia-singalong, which turned into a Grease-singalong.
Crossing the distance between his apartment and his doctor was quicker than usual, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the buoyant company or the wish to postpone potential positive test results.
As if Goddess Fortuna is against him, or something similar, he doesn't have to wait more than ten minutes, before Dr. Perry lets him in. He wants to be reassured by the way he smiles at him. No kind doctor would smile like that if he had bad news? Or maybe it's a comforting smile, a "we'll get you through this too"-smile?
Kurt tries not to fidget in his chair, but his fingers keep coming back to his turquoise scarf loosely looped around his neck and down his chest, running it through his fingers like it's some kind of rosary. Religion is probably too late now.
Blaine takes his hands in his, and smiles at him. He watches the steady movement of Blaine's chest, and it helps him synch his breath into something bearable.
"Kurt," the doctor says kindly. "All your test results came out negative. You are officially cured of cancer."
His words echo in Kurt's ears, and he thinks he can feel Blaine tightening his hold around his hands.
"I'm… I'm not sick anymore?"
"No. Everything is gone," he smiles, as if he's honestly happy for Kurt, and not just a doctor informing his patient about the latest test results.
It's almost more than he can take, and he can't help the few tears escaping down his cheeks. Blaine glomps him in a tight hug, awkward and probably hurting a little, leaning like that across two arm rests.
"We'd like if you come back in six months for a new blood test, just to make sure all the levels are still normal. But otherwise, I hope I'll never have to see you again," the doctor smiles, and Kurt nods frantically over Blaine's shoulder.
Somehow, they end up outside on the sidewalk, and Kurt is still vibrating from the good news.
"You did it," Blaine beams.
"I conquered cancer… I conquered cancer!" Kurt shouts, and throws his arms around Blaine, the reality finally kicking in. "I won!" he grins, and plants a solid kiss to Blaine's lips. Surprised by his own action, he takes a step back.
"Sorry…" he mumbles shyly.
"'s okay," Blaine murmurs dazzled.
"I hate your beard," Kurt mutters, desperately trying to move on from kissing someone he isn't supposed to kiss.
"I know," Blaine smiles excitedly, bouncing still giddily on his feet, and slings an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, the other boys are waiting."
"But I need to call Dad," Kurt objects. Blaine's face morphs into a serene smile, and understanding eyes.
"Of course. I'll just wait here," Blaine nods at a closed store, where Kurt can stand back on the stairs for some privacy.
The conversation is like a quick whirlwind, with Burt shouting at one of his employees to run out for champagne – the good stuff – for him, and demanding that Kurt comes home for Christmas for a proper celebration. Kurt agrees easily.
Kurt didn't know what Blaine meant when he mentioned the boys, but soon found out. Blaine had taken him to his own place, where Sam had already locked himself, Puck, Artie and Elliot in. They waited for Kurt with razor blades, shaving gel and machines. Over pizza, beer and wine, they all ceremoniously got rid of their beards, while toasting for Kurt's ball and health.
The next evening, the girls - lead by Rachel - invade the loft to celebrate. Santana and Brittany got a babysitter, Mercedes and Quinn are there, and even Dany shows up to celebrate her fellow band member. Edina is finally introduced to Kurt's friends, and fits in perfectly. There are homemade mojitos and strawberry daquiries, delicious tapas dishes from their favourite deli, and some really memorable gifts. Santana and Brittany get him a knitted ball-warmer in the rainbow colours, now that his ball doesn't have anyone to cozy up with to keep warm. Dany gets him a "one ball to rule them all"-tee. Rachel gets him an international phone card, which makes them all tear up again. Mercedes has made him a mixed CD of various uplifting tracks sung by her, including the mash up of I'm A Survivor The Troubletones did in high school. And Quinn gives him a framed picture of all the guys with their ridiculous beards.
Said guys show up an hour later, with more alcohol, and they party recklessly for someone claiming to be adult and mature, with jobs and responsibilities the next morning. There will probably be a sudden erupt of stomach bugs, if you ask their bosses. But what better excuse can there be, than conquering cancer?
Nobody says anything, and politely ignores it, when Kurt and Blaine late at night slowly dance to Come What May.
The rest of December is a blur for Kurt of holiday preparations, intensified Beezewax-rehearsals which keeps Blaine busy, packing up Rachel's life in the States, experiencing some New York-highlights with her yet again, babysitting for Santana and Brittany, gaining his energy back and getting back on his feet, doing a Christmas-spirited set with One Three Hill at Callbacks, and trying to be a friend for Blaine without complicating it. Christmas is spent in Lima, quiet and comfortable, and so, so happy.
He returns to New York for New Year's Eve, which is spent partying. The night doubles – or triples, if you also count the transition to a new year – as Rachel's farewell party and Kurt's celebration – even if they had an impromptu party when he got the last test results, Blaine had insisted on doing something classy and proper. He had offered up his apartment for the party, and everybody is there. The music is good, the alcohol supply seems endless, they've already toasted in champagne twice, and Blaine has prepared tasty snacks and finger food. The mood is a bizarre mix of sadness and happiness. Kurt has mostly gotten used to his clean bill of health, and stopped worrying about his future. But the butterflies in his stomach flip their wings whenever someone congratulates him on coming through to the other end all recovered.
There may be tears of joy, but there are most definitely tears of farewell too. Rachel is trying to talk with everyone, and she's laughing with excitement for her new adventure, but knowing she's leaving them all in just a few days is also difficult. What you do for love…
She corners Kurt in the kitchen late in the night, or perhaps early in the morning, both of them influenced by what they've been drinking.
"I'm so glad the chemo worked for you," she sniffs, and hugs him tightly. "You have to promise me two things, okay?" He nods against the top of her head. "Never ever give up your dreams of performing, don't stop chasing the possibility of your own troupe. Secondly, you need to love again. Don't deny yourself something, just because you're scared or once got hurt."
"If you say anything about climbing back on the horse for a true ride, I'll delete your number from Santana's phone," Kurt threatens. They've been far too close lately, and he's not sure he approves of how Santana's crassness has rubbed off on Rachel.
"It's true, though," she grins. "You revealed your favourite position during truth or dare on my 21st birthday."
"That was the vodka talking," Kurt mutters. He's still embarrassed about how much he shared that night…
"I'm gonna miss you," Rachel sighs, and leans closer. "London doesn't have anyone like you."
"I'll visit you," he reminds her. They've already made tentative plans for Easter, if he can save up enough money for the plane tickets. He's prepared to sacrifice some good fashion purchases this winter, if it can take him to London.
"Barbra," Santana slurs, and leans heavily against them both. "We're gonna ship you off to Europe with style. If it's up to me, you'll still be hung over when you board that flight. Come on, it's time for party games," Santana orders, and yanks Rachel with her. "You too, Hummel, we're gonna celebrate the fuck out of you!"
Somehow, she manages to take over command of the entire room, and introduce her game plan. Kurt knows from experience that her kind of games involve a lot of alcohol and even more embarrassment. But, the silver lining is that there probable aren't much left to reveal that they haven't already weaseled out of him.
She calls for two volunteers, and is too soon flanked by Puck and Blaine, hauled up by her from their seats.
"Our two lead characters have always fought through diva offs. Now we want to see them compete in body shots!" Santana triumphantly announces, and Sam and Quinn instantly jump to their feet to clear the table, while Elliot darts to the kitchen to find salt and lime.
"Kurt, you finish Blaine off," Santana instructs, and giggles at her own innuendo, "while Puck pairs up with Rachel."
Puck wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Rachel, and Quinn throws a stray ice cube at him.
"Keep it in the pants, Puckerman," she laughs.
"You each do a body shot off your teammate, so in total two shots per team. Any questions?" Santana sways on her heels, supported by Brittany, who has the bottle of tequila in her hand.
"I do, actually," Kurt begins. "What if…"
"Ready, set, go!" she steamrolls over him, and he looks helplessly at Blaine. He may have grown up while living in New York, but this is so far beyond his comfort zone, and he's not even sure what he's expected to do.
Puck has already peeled off his shirt, and is on his back on the table, while Rachel is getting the ingredients together.
Blaine must sense his discomfort, because he leans in and whispers quickly in Kurt's ear, while unbuttoning his vest.
"Just open your shirt, and follow my lead," he whispers, breath hot against Kurt's skin.
With his vest and shirt unbuttoned, he lies down next to Puck, feet prodded on the floor, and tries to pay attention to what Blaine is doing, so he can repeat it next.
Rachel has drizzled salt all over Pucks chest, and shoved a huge chunk of lime into his mouth. She is struggling to keep the tequila on his body, though. Puck's once toned stomach has lost some definition, and he's gained some "love-pounds" after he moved in with Quinn, so Rachel is basically soaking him in tequila.
"My poor table," Blaine mutters, but smiles at Kurt as he carefully leaves a trail of salt along his breastbone. He pinches a wedge of lime, telling Kurt to hold it carefully between his lips, and then to clench his abs while tilting his upper body slightly up. It's enough to create a dip, where Blaine pours the tequila. It tickles, but Kurt has excellent vocal control, he can master his lungs, and he can keep this position, he reassures himself.
While straddling his thighs, Blaine looks at him as if to make sure everything is okay, and Kurt blinks once, slowly, in lieu of nodding. Without breaking eye contact, Blaine leans down and drags his tongue up along his chest, and oh my God, that shouldn't be as sexy as it is. Or maybe it is; it must be a reason why people do this. Blaine quickly scoots down to lap up the tequila, and a few drops are trickling out of the corner of his mouth as he climbs up to take the lime. Kurt doesn't, doesn't, doesn't think about what this is supposed to look like, but shoves the wedge out of his mouth with his tongue to help Blaine get it.
Blaine jumps off of him, and offers a hand to help him up. A part of him wants to button his shirt, but his competitive strike makes him ignore his halfnakedness – he's not going to let Rachel and Puck beat him in this. Puck is already working on Rachel, trying to convince her to pour salt in her cleavage, while she objects how she doesn't want to itch in her bra for the rest of the night. So Kurt takes advantage of their tiny bickering, swallows down his pride, and gets to work. Blaine is already on the table, shirt and blazer discarded, but his bowtie still around his neck, untied. Kurt moves it to the side, and then copies Blaine's ministrations. Blaine smiles kindly, encouragingly at him, and their friends are alternating rooting for Puck and him.
"Lay still, woman," he can hear Puck mutter next to him, and Rachel giggles uncontrollably.
He takes a deep breath, and then dives down to lick up the salt, slurp up the tequila, and in his haste he almost falls on top of Blaine while going for the lime. Blaine catches him, though, and holds him so they won't topple off the table. He squeezes his eyes shot, and bites in the bitter wedge.
"Done!" Blaine exclaims enthusiastically, right before Puck jumps off Rachel.
Kurt sort of rolls off Blaine, but lands on the floor on his feet. Better than a cat!
"We won!" Blaine cheers, and jumps excitedly around him.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Kurt waves him off, more concerned with buttoning his clothes. "It's not as if we'll get a prize."
"Sure is, Hummel, you can get the rest of the tequila," Santana cackles.
Kurt rolls his eyes at her, while he adjusts Blaine's bowtie. He feels dizzy after the shot, after sprawling out on the table, after everything Blaine.
"My feet need to dance," Brittany interferes, and Artie – self-proclaimed DJ – finds something dance-worthy on Blaine's Spotify.
"May I have this dance?" Blaine asks sweetly, and Kurt doesn't think he deliberately uses the same phrase as he did during that awful prom, but it still does something to Kurt.
He can't refuse Blaine his gentlemanly request, so he's back in his arms.
One song turns into five, turns into ten, and with the little amount of blood in the alcohol running through his veins, Kurt needs to cool down. He tells Blaine so, who takes him out on a balcony through his bedroom.
Kurt inhales deeply, the cold air clearing his head somewhat. Blaine drags a quilt from his bed and drapes it over a short metal bench, gesturing for Kurt to sit down. Blaine plops down next to him, and they are comfortably silent for a long time. But when a shiver runs through Kurt, Blaine wraps an arm around him, cradling him against his perpetually warm body.
"I know forgiveness isn't easy," Blaine murmurs into his hair. "I'm forever grateful I have yours. And lately, I've been able to forgive myself too. It's in the past," he swallows. Kurt sits up to look at him properly, but stays in Blaine's arm. "I'm ready to look ahead and embrace the future," he says seriously, and Kurt blinks his painfully dry eyes. "I want you to be part of my future, even more than you are my present. I'd really like to be your boyfriend. Kurt, can we please, please try dating? Can we try getting back together?"
Kurt looks at him, eyes and brain all of a sudden feeling clearer. He takes a deep breath, and waits until Blaine looks him in his eyes.
"No."