Notes: I... I am so sorry... Seriously, I have no words to express how sorry I am. I have no good excuse for the hiatus on this chapter. I was on a Torchwood fix, and I was like, "Hey, why don't I try to write a little Torchwood fic?" so I did, and... I just kept writing it... And writing it... And writing it... The point is, I got very distracted from this Glee fanfic. I'm sorry. :(

But here it is, finally. Please forgive me.

Chapter

Click-click click click-click click click-click click…

"Mr. Anderson, if you would please stop the pen clicking?" Blaine looked up, his thumb freezing on the pen in his hand. The teacher was glaring at him through thinly-framed glasses, her blue eyes surprisingly fiery. He nodded, but had to click it closed once more, earning himself another glower.

She turned back around to blabber on about some long-dead general, and while everyone else was taking notes, Blaine was staring at his paper and thinking about Kurt. He didn't want to be here; he wanted to be at the Hummel-Hudson house, taking care of his boyfriend. Kurt needed him now more than ever, and he wanted to help now more than ever. This whole thing felt like his fault, and he wanted to be there to help him through it. It was the least he could do, right?

Tap-tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap-tap…

"Mr. Anderson!" Blaine's head snapped up, and his fingers tightened around his pen, stopping it from drumming on the wooden tabletop. The teacher was staring at him, a frustrated look on her face. Around him, students were hiding chuckles, smiling behind their hands and sending him amused glances. One student was even air-drumming enthusiastically as a joke. Blaine stared wide-eyed at the teacher, trying to pull off his signature puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry, Ms. Knight," he said, smiling apologetically and hoping desperately that his most charismatic grin was enough to charm her. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

"Well, maybe the principal will be more amused by your persistent drumming," she said, pointing to the door. He stood, and suddenly the blue and red blazer around his shoulders felt extremely itchy and hot. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and the amused chuckles quickly dissipated into sympathetic glances and encouraging looks. When Blaine passed him at his desk, Trent patted his back reassuringly.

Stopping at the door, he turned and gave the teacher one last, desperate look, hoping to successfully look like a kicked puppy. He didn't really care, though. He was too busy worrying about Kurt to actually learn anything. As he left the room, the door clicked shut behind him, he figured it was better being out of the classroom anyway.

Blaine wondered briefly how long until the entire school knew that he had been sent to the principal. The school was filled with exceptional students, and most did not get sent to the office very often, besides a very select few. And now the lead Warbler was in trouble? The universe must be imploding! He chuckled to himself, walking remarkably slow down the hallway. There was no hurry, after all. Ms. Knight said to go to the principal; she didn't say when to get there.

As he turned the corner, Blaine stopped. The principal's office was right ahead, awaiting his arrival so he could be disciplined about pen-clicking and tapping on desks. However, directly adjacent to the office was the front door to the school. The door was made of glass, giving him a perfect view of the parking lot. Blaine could even spot his car near the front; it'd be easy enough to get to, he thought, biting his lip.

His eyes danced back and forth from the office to the parking lot as he thought deeply. He was being sent to the office for clicking his pen, which hardly even counted as a true classroom disruption. If everybody was going to know he was sent to the principal, shouldn't he at least have a good reason? Like, perhaps, leaving the school premises before permitted to by law?

No, he couldn't do that, Blaine scolded himself for even thinking about doing that. He started to walk slowly forward, intending to go to the office, just like he had been told. A picture of Kurt, scrawny and sick, flashed through his mind, and he swallowed deeply. Well, he figured, glancing towards the office. It was now or never.

Keep cool, Blaine. Just keep cool. If you look like you know what you're doing, they'll think you have permission. He could feel sweat dripping down his back as his feet dragged against the ground, pulling him closer and closer to the door. His arms came up, and he pressed his hands against the bar, pushing the door open and letting in the cold air. A small smile crept up onto his lips as he took the first step outside.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're going?" Blaine's heart stopped cold as the sound of the secretary's voice piped up. He considered lying, but he was a terrible liar, and he knew it. Another image of Kurt played through his mind, and he set his jaw, not even turning around to look at the secretary. His feet pounded against the pavement as he bolted across the parking lot to his car, his tie flapping wildly behind him and the woman loudly demanding to know his name. A wide grin spread across his face as he slammed his car door shut behind him and started the engine.

"I'm such a," he paused, holding back a giggle, "badass," he finished quietly, driving away.

Blaine hesitated when he stepped up to the Hummel-Hudson household. The last time he'd seen Kurt, the boy was sickly and swallowed up by hospital sheets. He could barely speak or move his arms, and he was afraid he hadn't got better. What if Blaine walked into the house and Kurt was still fighting to move his head back and forth? What if he had gotten worse?

He sucked in a deep breath and shut his eyes, lifting his closed fist to the wooden door. He rapped a shaky rhythm, then stepped back to wait. It seemed like forever before the door finally opened. When it did, Blaine wasn't sure whether he should smile at Burt or not. The father looked kind of odd. His eyes were wide, with dark, heavy bags underneath, he kept blinking hard, like he was trying to wake up, and he almost had a look of shock on his features.

"Blaine?" The Warbler stood awkwardly, tugging at his tie.

"Could I see Kurt?" His voice was smaller than he would have wanted. Burt didn't say anything else, but yawned and opened the door wider. When he walked into the home, he expected to hear the familiar bleep that came from a heart monitor. He expected Kurt to still be hooked up to the machine, small and helpless. He expected… Well, he expected anything but that.

Sue Sylvester was lying back in a recliner, her feet up and her hands behind her head casually. When Blaine walked into the living room, she looked up at him and frowned.

"Who invited Teen Schuester?" She glanced at his hair and looked revolted. "The two of you are the sole reason for global warming. You should be ashamed," she said. Then added softly, "So much hair product…"

Blaine self-consciously patted his hair, feeling the familiar locks resist any movement. He was about to protest when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. When he turned, his jaw nearly dropped.

Kurt Hummel walked into the living room from the kitchen, his head held high, determined. His still-swollen cheeks were slightly flushed, splotched with a pale pink, which contrasted greatly with his pastel skin. His eyes looked gray in the light, and they looked surprisingly healthy. There were only very small, sleepy bags underneath; there were no more dark, spooky rims. His lips were still blistered, but they were characteristically set and stone, reminding Blaine of the old Kurt.

But his healthier-looking features weren't the only things that shocked the Warbler. The most astonishing thing was the fact that his boyfriend was dressed in a formal tuxedo, a white towel hung over his arm and a platter in his hand. Resting on the platter was a small bowl and a glass of water. Blaine tried not to laugh as Kurt walked up to Sue and leaned down, showing her the assortment. His boyfriend was a butler?

Kurt hated his life, he had decided. That was the only logical thing to do, really. Once he was forced to make coach Sylvester a meal, he started get a little irritated. After he had been put into formal attire, he had started to lose his cool. But the deciding moment was when he had to bring it in on a silver platter and act like her waiter. Or, as she said, her waitress.

He would have had his dad send her away had she not actually been helping him feel better. It killed him to admit that he didn't feel like death, and it wasn't because of painkillers. Her stupid errands she had him doing kept him too busy to think about the pain in his stomach. It still hurt to talk, but luckily coach Sylvester had told him his voice made her cringe, so he wasn't permitted to speak very often. Sure, the things she made him do were humiliating, but it worked. And Kurt was desperate.

As he lifted the plate of rice and water— a strange combination she had demanded— he could hear her speaking from the other room, no doubt complaining about the "slow service." With a mumble about where the coach should shove the rice, Kurt walked into the living room, trying his best to look confident in what he was doing. Though he wasn't sure that being pain-free was worth this embarrassment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blaine and his heart jumped up into his throat. He could feel his cheeks grow hot with a humiliated blush, but kept his eyes forward, trying to focus on coach Sylvester. If she saw him fumble because of his boyfriend, she'd probably make him cook the food all over again, only blindfolded.

"Your food," he whispered hoarsely, leaning down to show her what was on the platter. She peeked at the food, then looked up at him, a strange gleam in her eyes. He could feel his heart starting to pound as he realized he was going to have to redo it.

"It's not mine," she said, waving him off. Kurt stood up and looked at her strangely, raising an eyebrow. Rice, water… There wasn't much to get wrong here. "It's yours."

"Excuse me?" Kurt coughed out in surprise, his throat itching painfully. He had to eat?

Notes: I apologize for the abrupt ending; I didn't want to ramble on about food yet. I have an idea about the ending, too, so that's good. I think I know how it'll all turn out. :)