Black Eye

It was an accident, of course it was. But that doesn't mean that Kurt isn't holding a pack of frozen green peas to his face while he sits in a walk-in clinic, pain throbbing through his cheek and into his skull insistently. It doesn't mean that Puck isn't sitting next to him, a burning blush of shame warring with a pallor of sickness on his face.

"I'm so sorry; you have no idea how much."

Kurt closes his eyes and lets the irritation that flows through him run its course before looking over at the other man, one eye piercing while the other is swollen shut. "Shut up, Noah. I know." His voice comes out in a snap, and the flinch it brings makes all of the anger stream out of Kurt, leaving behind only exhaustion and pain. "I'm sorry, Noah. I honestly don't blame you, okay?"

Even as Puck nods, lips pressed tightly together and knuckles whitened from his hold on his knees, Kurt can see the disbelief, the self-recrimination.

"Noah," Kurt says softly, "please look at me." Puck turns a little, but his eyes don't leave him lap, as though he is afraid to tear their gaze away. "Please?"

Finally, and with an intense hesitation, Puck's neck swivels and his eyes, bloodshot and hard, meet Kurt's eye. "What?" he asks roughly.

Kurt licks his lips and his eyebrows pinch together in sympathy. "You can't blame yourself like this. If it was anyone's fault, it was my own."

Puck's hands tighten even more on his knees and he hisses at the motion, right hand instantly loosening its grasp. Blood is spreading beneath his skin on his knuckles, bright and splotchy as it pools.

"That doesn't matter," says Puck, "I was the one who swung without looking, who did that." He points at Kurt's face, at the thick swelling under the cool pack, and runs his uninjured left hand over his mohawk.

Kurt is at loss for words; as much as he would like to assure Noah again and again how much he shouldn't blame himself, Kurt knows that the other man won't listen. Not right now, when it is so fresh and bright in his mind and memory.

"Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt and Puck's heads shoot up at the question, and they stand, Puck holding on to Kurt's upper arm as they move, to follow the nurse into the small room. She indicates a table covered with white tissue paper for Kurt to sit on.

"Doctor Henderson will be in soon," she says and leaves, closing the door behind her.

The small room, walls covered in diagrams, a calendar, several bookshelves with supplies, and one anatomical model, seem to loom over them. Kurt can only see the top of Noah's head as the man sits slumped in a chair and he wishes he could move to him, hold him close and tell him that this won't change anything, won't change how he feels.

The door opens with the slightest of creaks and Kurt looks over to see an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, stepping through. Her hair is brown with many grey streaks and her face shows many years of large laughs and days in the sun – she looks like someone that Kurt would like to know outside of a professional capacity.

"Hello," she says in greeting. "What can I help you with today?"

Kurt nods his own greeting and reluctantly pulls the bag of frozen peas from his face, turning his left eye toward her so she can see clearly. "I just wanted to get this checked out. See if I might need x-rays."

The doctor moves in, eyes intent on Kurt face, and takes in the swelling and fresh bruise. "What happened here?"

Kurt shoots a quick glance at Puck and says, "I was struck in the eye about two hours ago."

Doctor Henderson raises one brow even as she reaches one hand up to gently probe his injured flesh. "With what?"

"A hand," Kurt says awkwardly, watching as Puck's shoulders slump just a little further.

"So you were punched. Don't mince your words – be blunt."

At the doctor's no-nonsense tone, Kurt finds himself nodding. "Yes. I was punched."

"Hmm," Dr. Henderson hums. "It doesn't look like anything is broken, but this can be tricky. Can you still see out of the eye?"

Kurt's vision is watery and blurry at best, but that is probably because of the swelling. "Sort of. Everything is a bit blurry."

"Understandable," the doctor says. "Now – I really must ask – was this domestic violence? The hit was obviously quite hard to do this sort of damage."

Kurt is shaking his head before she has finished speaking. "No. It was a complete accident, I assure you."

Dr. Henderson's eyes flash to Puck, who has been silent since she entered the room, and to the hand that he has cradled in his lap. "Okay," she says hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes – you really don't have to worry."

She looks at Kurt intensely for a moment, eyes searching his face for something, but then seems to accept his answer. "Alright then. Since I can't tell for sure if there is any damage to the bone, I'm going to send you for an x-ray. Just give me a minute and I'll have a requisition."

She stands and leaves in a twirl of loose professional clothes and comfortable runners, the door coming closed behind her.

Kurt instantly hops off of the examination table and comes to stand before Puck, hands reaching down to push the man's shoulders back so that he is sitting straight. Kurt then gently sits himself down in Puck's lap, bum settled on one of Puck's heavily muscled thighs, and wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"I love you," he says, voice muffled by Puck's shirt.

Puck reacts immediately, wrapping his own arms around Kurt in turn and chest hitching. "I'm sorry. I love you, too. It'll never happen again, not on accident or on purpose."

"Aw, Noah," Kurt sighs, "I've never worried about you hurting me. I won't start now, certainly not because of this. Okay?"

Puck nods, cheek brushing against Kurt's soft hair, and he presses a kiss into the side of Kurt's head, careful not to put any pressure on his left side. "Yeah. Okay."

Doctor Henderson finds them like that mere seconds later when she walks back in the door, requisition form firmly in hand.