Blaine awoke to… a mask on his face? No. What time is it? He forced his eyes open and peeled whatever is was off of his face. His gerontology notes, with a decent-sized drool puddle.

"Great," Blaine mumbled, trying to smear it off and attempt to read his handwriting.

The first year of medical school was no joke. It was only October, and the six-week course rotation at NYU was so far kicking his butt. Blaine made the grades, but it just about killed him to get there.

His path to medicine was a long and winding road. After being married to Kurt for six months, he just felt burned out with theater and NYADA. He knew Kurt fought like hell to get into that school, but Blaine finally came to the realization that he and Kurt didn't have to do the same things.

Then, after a lengthy conversation with his father about "the direction of his life," he offered to pay for Blaine to take some pre-reqs, the MCAT, and then, medical school if he got accepted. He couldn't back down to a challenge like that.

"Blaine, you've got the mind for it. You're driven. You and your brother played doctor all the time, remember that? And then when Sydney actually busted her head open you didn't tell us cause you wanted to fix her?"

It sounded great to talk about. When Blaine's MCAT scores were off the charts, there was no turning back. Blaine loved his clinical hours. Plus, he got to support Kurt in his endeavors, and keep his musical talent as a hobby on the side. He was happy.

Until that October night he dozed off before the gerontology exam. Once Blaine blinked away the sleep from his eyes, he dared to look at the clock. 11:42.

"No," he pleaded, shuffling together his notes and grabbing his book. The exam was in eight short hours. Blaine relocated from the couch to the kitchen table and set up for several more long hours of studying, but he was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

He figured his throat was dry. He didn't even know what time he had fallen asleep. Blaine grabbed a glass of water, but was hit with a wave of nausea and dizziness when he stood so quickly. He shoved it off, until-

"Oh no." Blaine's eyes opened wider, and he just about dropped his glass from his hands. Three days prior, at the hospital. He worked in the clinic, and had to diagnose a young child with the flu, who promptly coughed all over him, and even though he was wearing a mask, they weren't a 100% barrier.

He didn't know what to do. His exam that was ticking closer and closer was essentially his final exam for the course, before they moved on to the next unit. Blaine recalled feeling a little more tired than usual all day, but nothing was out of the blue, until he fell asleep studying and woke up feeling horrible.

He headed to the bedroom to grab a blanket. Flu or no flu, he was going to take the exam. Kurt was already in bed, so Blaine tried to swiftly grab one of their throw blankets from under the comforter without waking him up, but was unsuccessful.

"Blaine?" Kurt jumped. "Are you coming to bed?"

Blaine scratched his head, mentally berating himself for waking up his tired husband. "Not yet," he said softly, walking around to Kurt's side of the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm still studying. Go back to sleep."

"Gimme a kiss," Kurt murmured, his eyes already shutting again.

Blaine paused. "Uh," he mumbled. "I can't, babe. I might be sick."

Kurt was up in an instant. "What? What's wrong? You need to go to bed, Blaine, not work yourself to death all night!" He had even raised his voice slightly. Blaine stepped back, still shivering since he never grabbed his blanket.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, taking Blaine by the hands. "You just push yourself past your limits. Your hands are like ice. Come get in bed."

Blaine didn't need to be told twice. He crawled over to his side, grateful for some warmth. It was then, when he let himself fully relax, that he realized how bad he felt. His throat was irritated, and he couldn't breathe out of his nose. I should've known, he thought. I could've grabbed some Tamiflu.

Kurt jabbed their digital thermometer into Blaine's mouth. "Sorry, babe. Hold that. What do you think about your test? I don't know what the school does about illness and exams."

Blaine waited a moment before the thermometer beeped and he could talk again. 101.5. Not great, considering his situation.

"I have to go." Blaine accepted his defeat. "I mean, I can petition to get it moved, but that's so much of a hassle. The test is three hours at the most. I don't… I don't have a choice."

Blaine drank some of the Gatorade Kurt had brought him. It hurt to swallow, but he of all people knew how bad dehydration could get, and how quickly it could set in.

Kurt sat down on the mattress by Blaine's legs. "I wish you'd move it. I could take the morning off and you could sleep in."

Blaine sighed. Failing the exam was not an option. His choices were to either sit through the exam feeling miserable, or sit through the exam a few days later, and risk not retaining all of the information and receiving a lower grade.

"I think I have to," Blaine sighed. He really, really did not want to. He didn't even feel like getting out of bed.

Kurt kissed his forehead. "If that's your choice I wanna help you. What do you think? Do you want to sleep now and wake up in a few hours?"

Blaine shook his head, feeling the pounding of an oncoming headache. He hated how quickly flu symptoms made their way known.

"I just dozed off on the couch," Blaine remembered. Thinking about the test made his stomach lurch even more. "I have to study, babe. Listen, I'll go to the table so I don't get you sick. I'll come to bed, I promise."

Blaine could tell Kurt was mulling it over. "Blaine, you're sick. What if we at least get you feeling better before you try to pull an all-nighter?"

Blaine knew better. Kurt was usually pretty lenient with his late hours studying, but being sick wasn't going to change. "Kurt, I think it's gonna get worse before it gets better. Please. I'll come get you if something is wrong."

Kurt was losing, and they both knew it. "Promise me. I don't want you to wind up getting more sick."

Blaine promised, huddling in his blanket and going back to his spot in the kitchen. Kurt followed, making him tea, soup, and giving him Extra-Strength Tylenol on a napkin before leaving him alone.

Hours ticked by. Blaine ignored the pounding in his head, the aching in his joints, and reviewed slides, charts, and every note he could get his hands on. It was pushing four in the morning when he finally finished the soup and tea, grateful to have something in his system, until he couldn't control it anymore.

The stomach cramps and nausea hit almost instantly. Blaine was grateful for an apartment with two bathrooms, so he didn't have to wake Kurt up again. I'll feel better after, Blaine assured himself. He tried to keep himself from throwing up, but that only made it worse, and he found himself hunched over the toilet, choking and gasping to breathe as everything he just ate came right back up.

Blaine paused. No noise from the bedroom, so thankfully Kurt was still sleeping. He rinsed his mouth out and returned, trying to make up for lost time. He was aware he was half-crazy, pushing himself when he could move the test, but he had already put in so many hours to study. And, well, he wanted his dad to be proud of him, considering he was helping to pay the rest of the tuition NYU didn't already cover.

Another glass of Gatorade helped him stay awake. His eyes hurt from staring at his laptop, and all the words in his textbook were starting to run together.

Five minutes on the couch, Blaine told himself. I'll even set an alarm on my phone. Then I'm back at it.

Blaine looked over at the couch, and it almost felt like it was pulling him over. He turned off the kitchen light, set a timer on his iPhone for not five, but ten minutes, and got comfortable in seconds.

He heard footsteps. In his dream, Blaine felt like he was walking around in a daze. He heard Kurt's voice on the phone. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't on the couch or at the table, but in his bed.

Blaine scrambled to check his phone. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom curtains. 9:24. He kicked all of his covers off, nearly falling out of bed. The test. He was so late. There were no excuses in medical school, Blaine was going to-

"Good morning," Kurt said, appearing in the doorway of their room. "How do you feel?"

Blaine yanked open his dresser drawers, looking for clean socks. "My test, Kurt! Did you turn my alarm off? How could you? I'm going to be almost two hours late!"

Blaine felt anger rising up in him, and began to panic. He still felt horrible, possibly even worse than the night before, and wanted nothing more than to climb back into his bed and sleep for ten hours.

Kurt put his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "Blaine, breathe. I called your dean. I explained everything. They were happy to move your exam. You just need to get a diagnosis from a clinic to take in to them. I promise. You aren't in trouble. I'll help you study extra before you take it. You were passed out on the couch when I got up to make coffee. I took a full day off for you. Come on, back in bed."

Blaine took in all of Kurt's words but remained confused. He was so tired…

"You'll get sick," Blaine protested, letting Kurt tuck him in and shut the curtains. "You're missing work."

Kurt gave Blaine more Tylenol and a big glass of water. "Sick day. I haven't used any. Remember? I never get sick. I'm going to bring you crackers. When I was sick my mom and I would share a plate of saltines, and something about it always made me feel better."

Blaine closed his eyes and smiled. He loved when Kurt talked about his mom.

The morning passed in a haze. Blaine's fever had gone up to almost 103, so Kurt took him to an urgent care clinic for some relief. His symptoms began to fade after three days or so, and he would up making above a 100 on his gerontology exam. The whole ordeal had worked in his benefit since he didn't have to go through the test feeling miserable, but the tables turned when, four days later, Kurt woke up with the flu.

"Oh, Mr. Haven't-Used-A-Sick-Day," Blaine teased. "My turn to take care of you."

"Shut up," Kurt moaned, swatting his hand at Blaine. "Go study or something."

Blaine laughed, grateful to be better, but still feeling guilty he got his husband sick after all. "Love you too, babe!"

Author's Notes:

Well, I hope I'm back and here to stick around for awhile! Writing after such a long break has felt awesome. I even got to reconnect with my old friend Jess the past few days! We have stuck through this fandom together, so go check out her work (Klainelover1997) if you haven't already and are in the mood for something new. This chapter is for her, because she loves her some Blangst.

I love the idea of Blaine doing something with his career outside of music. He is so talented, driven, and empathetic that I think he could literally do anything. I wrote a couple prompts about him as a trauma doctor, and I loved it. If you have anything else you want me to write, shoot it over to my Tumblr (Gleeklaine01) that I have finally begun checking regularly again.

With that, see you soon-ish? I don't have anything in the works at this moment but I am open to any ideas/prompts. And of course, I'll try to get the ball rolling with a few new chapters too!