Hello everyone!
I'm really sorry for skipping the update last week. I wasn't home for the weekend, and then I got distracted with work and life in general and forgot to post the chapter. Hope you can forgive me :)
I got a few messages telling me that some of the things Max does aren't very believable for his age. I have to admit I don't know much about children, but everything Max does here is somehow influenced by my two nephews and my baby niece. There might be a few mistakes, but bear with me. It's as realistic as possible.
That said, I hope you'll like this chapter!
I own nothing!
Kurt would never forget the sound of sheer happiness his father made when he told him he would be coming home for Christmas, after all. He would have loved to record it so he could replay it over and over again when he had a bad day. Everything, everything was worth it as long as it resulted in Burt Hummel being that happy.
And Kurt owed it all to Blaine Anderson.
If just a couple of months ago someone had told Kurt that Professor Anderson would become such an important part of his life, someone he cherished as much as he cherished his family, he wouldn't have believed it. Sure, the guy was a good teacher, passionate and kind, always patient… but he was his professor, nothing more.
Today, he was like a lifeline.
When Kurt had felt so close to drowning, twice had Blaine reached for his hand and pulled him up towards the surface.
And, this time, Kurt wanted to be the one to pull him up for a breath of much-needed air.
Blaine was locking up his office door at the end of the day when he heard a voice calling for him down the hallway, another professor from the English Department, waving at him as she entered her own office. "Happy Holidays, Blaine!"
"Thanks, Nat! Happy Holidays to you too!" He replied, trying to imprint the words with a joy he didn't feel. In fact, they felt so heavy in his mouth, it was almost like he was choking.
He thought he had this under control. He thought he could just ignore all the holiday cheer around him, pretend nothing special was going on, go home and bury himself under a blanket until Christmas break was over. But it's everywhere, impossible to miss, decorations in gold and red all over the city, twinkling lights hanging from balconies, snow men wearing Santa hats in the park, Christmas music playing loudly in grocery stores and elevators. He had never before noticed the insane amount of mistletoe people put up, or the completely unnecessary Christmas themed coffee options that the New York City cafés offer. Gingerbread praline latte? Seriously?
As he walked off campus, wrapping his green scarf around his neck a little tighter, because it was so cold that his breath came out practically frozen in front of him, he realized he was truly turning into a Grinch. But he couldn't bring himself to care - there wasn't much to celebrate in his life, not this year.
Max's first Christmas and his parents weren't around to see him sit next to the Christmas tree and open his presents.
Blaine felt a little pang of guilt - Max's first Christmas. He kept telling himself that Max was too young to notice the absence of Christmas cheer, the lack of tree and decorations. But shouldn't he had made a little effort, push past his own misery, do something nice for his nephew? It wasn't Max's fault. He deserved the best Christmas in the world.
But Blaine's strength and energy were all focused on getting him through the holidays. He wasn't sure he could manage much more.
He navigated the crowded streets, people carrying multitudes of bags, last minute Christmas shopping. There was one Christmas memory, a day he thought about every year, but that this year hurt, burned his heart like he was throwing it into the chimney.
Blaine had been fourteen years old, and had just come out to his parents. Hugh and Andrea Anderson hadn't been pleased. It had been obvious in the way Blaine's dad got up from the couch and disappeared down the corridor without saying a little word. It had been obvious in the way Blaine's mom simply stared at him like she didn't know who this child was at all. By the time Christmas rolled around, a few weeks later, neither of them had said anything yet. They simply ignored it, like they hoped Blaine's confession would disappear if they didn't talk about it. But Blaine still noted the simple, silent changes - how his mother stopped touching him even in the smallest of ways, no more careful brushes of her hand on his forehead if he said he didn't feel well, no more wrapping her arm around his shoulder casually, no more kisses on his curls before he left for school. And his father… oh, Blaine didn't even remember seeing his father those days. It was like he was always at work. Or maybe he was just avoiding his gay son.
Neither of them admitted it, but when Mr. and Mrs. Anderson announced a couple they usually played tennis with on the weekends had invited them to their cabin in the lake for the holidays, Blaine still knew it was because they didn't want to be with him.
"It's parents only," Andrea said, not even looking at him as they told him and Cooper their plans over dinner one night. "The Richardsons aren't taking their kids either."
But Blaine had heard the Richardsons' kid, David, talking about it in school, about how he was going to the lake with his parents for the holidays, how they were going to throw a party, how the fireworks on New Year's Eve would be the best and loudest Ohio would ever see.
He didn't say anything. What do you say to the people who are supposed to love you the most, when it's clear they want nothing to do with you?
"That's absolute bullshit," Cooper said out of nowhere, and the other three Andersons just turned sharply to stare at him.
"Cooper!" Andrea exclaimed, scandalized. "What…?"
"Do you think you're going to change Blaine by isolating him like this?" He said angrily, and until then, Blaine hadn't realized just how upset Cooper was about all this. He had assumed his brother was on his side, but Cooper hadn't been so vocal about it. Until now. "You two are the biggest hypocrites. This is your kid! Look at him!" He practically screamed, and their parents simply averted their gazes, as if they couldn't even stand glancing in Blaine's direction. "I said, look at him! He's your son, and he needs your support! This is how you treat him?"
Blaine could see Cooper's hands shaking. He reached across the table and touched his brother's wrist. "Coop, it's okay…"
"It's not okay," Cooper spat, standing up abruptly. Hugh and Andrea stared at their golden boy, their perfect son, who suddenly seemed to be a million miles away from them. "It will never be okay. But we will make it okay. You and me, Blaine. We'll have our own holidays, and these two jerks aren't invited."
He grabbed Blaine's hand and pulled him out of the dining room, their father's voice booming across the house, demanding Cooper to get back in there immediately and apologize for his insolence.
Cooper didn't even blink, nor did he turn back around.
On Christmas Eve, they sat together in the living room, Blaine's favorite Christmas movies playing on TV, and they roasted marshmallows on the fireplace for dinner ("We are going to get it all over the carpet," Blaine had said, worried, and Cooper only replied "Fuck the carpet."). They made a fort with the couch cushions and slept by the Christmas tree, and in the morning, with sleepy eyes, they unwrapped their presents for each other, simple and cheap, but more valuable than any expensive ones their parents could have gotten them.
That was the day Blaine knew he would always be able to count on his big brother.
He just expected to have him around for a longer, longer time.
It took everything he had not to burst into tears in the middle of the street.
By the time he made it home, he felt exhausted, jaded, and disheartened. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to do everything he could to make Max happy, but right now… it all felt like too much.
His apartment was like a little pocket of warmth when he opened the door. There was a delicious scent invading every corner, and soft music playing in the living room. He started unbuttoning his coat, trying to mask his face into something less depressing. "Hello? Max, Kurt? I'm home!"
"Over here!" Kurt's voice called, and Blaine followed it into the living room.
He stopped in his tracks.
There was a medium-sized tree in the corner by the window, fairy lights twinkling away in a sea of primary colors, reflecting the ornaments hanging from the branches. Every bookshelf was outlined with tinsel and surprisingly classy red bows, and there were two stockings hanging over the windowsill, stitched carefully in curly handwriting: Blaine, Max. On top of the coffee table, there was a large plate of freshly-baked cookies, which explained the sweet scent. White Christmas was playing quietly in the background, and when he looked at Kurt and Max, both staring at him hopefully, he realized they were both wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters he had ever seen in his life.
"What… I… how is this…?" Blaine babbled stupidly.
"Merry Christmas!" Kurt exclaimed, and Max raised his arms in the air and shouted a few words that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but still managed to convey his excitement.
"Kurt," Blaine mumbled, stepping closer, knowing his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were too wide, but unable to do anything about it. "What is all this?"
Kurt bit his lip as Blaine examined the tree, marveled. "I hope I'm not overstepping. I know you said… I know you said you were not doing anything for the holidays this year, and that it was fine, but… I just… I understand how difficult this time of the year can be. I understand how the empty spaces seem to become so heavy, and so obvious and… I hated thinking of you and Max alone here, being sad."
"Kurt," Blaine repeated, because he didn't know what else to say.
"And this is Max's first Christmas," Kurt continued, a little nervously. "I know it won't be the happiest holiday in his life, and I know it'll be even more difficult for you. But he deserves a little magic, and so do you. And I know decorating your apartment doesn't really fix anything, but I was hoping… I was hoping maybe you'd look at the pretty lights, eat a cookie or two and find even the smallest reason to smile."
"Kurt," Blaine said once more, because it was the only word he was capable of. This wonderful, wonderful man's name.
"I…" Kurt seemed becoming more and more anxious at the lack of Blaine's actual response. "The tree is mine and Rachel's. It's artificial and it doesn't smell as good as a real one, I know, but it was more practical and cheaper so… and neither she or I will be at the apartment for the holidays, and we thought you might enjoy it more, instead of letting it sit alone in our apartment… and uhm, some of those ornaments were my mom's, but Max and I made a few new ones today, and you can keep those, uhm, if you'd like…"
Blaine spotted a round clay ornament, the shape of Max's hand engraved in it with his name underneath, and touched it reverently, like it was the most precious thing he had ever seen.
"And now I'm starting to become a little worried that I tremendously screwed up and finally overstepped," Kurt muttered with a shaky laugh that showed he was only half-joking.
Blaine swallowed with difficulty and turned towards them. "I'm starting to think you were the best thing to happen to me this year, Kurt Hummel," he said, and Kurt's cheeks became so red he almost burst on flames.
He wanted to tell him: This is the nicest thing anyone's done for me for the holidays since Cooper stood by me when I was fourteen.
He wanted to tell him: You make me want to be strong and put aside my own pain and be there for Max, because isn't that what I'm supposed to do?
He wanted to tell him: I didn't think I could ever come across someone as inherently good as you.
He wanted to tell him: Sometimes you make me forget what sadness is, and when you leave I remember.
He didn't stop to think about any of those things, or what they meant. Instead, he said the only thing that truly seemed to encompass everything he was feeling and was totally insufficient at the same time: "Thank you, Kurt."
Kurt's face lit up even more than the Christmas tree. "You're welcome."
The text messages started almost immediately.
The first one said: Kurt, I'm sorry to bother you, but have you seen Max's blue bunny? We can't find it and he's getting restless.
Kurt was just checking into his flight, so he replied one-handed, his other arm loaded with his coat and his carry on: Last time I saw it, it was in his bedroom. Check under his crib, just in case.
Blaine's reply was almost immediate: There it is! Max says thank you. Let me know when you land, so I know you made it home safely.
Kurt smiled at his phone as he made his way towards his gate: Will do! Thanks again for this, Blaine. Can't thank you enough.
He got one more text from Blaine just before he was supposed to turn his phone off to take off: Don't mention it. Have fun with your family x
Kurt wished he could say something to Blaine as well, ask him how he was holding up, how Max was doing… but he didn't want to push. He didn't want to remind Blaine of any of his reasons to hurt.
He tried to relax during his flight. He had brought a couple of magazines with him that he hadn't had time to flip through until now. He was determined to enjoy his break, to relax, to focus on his family… but still, as soon as he landed, he turned his phone back on, and messaged Blaine: Landed safely in Ohio.
He didn't have time to see if Blaine replied or not, because after picking up his luggage, he went out into the main hall and immediately found Carole amongst all the other people waiting to welcome their family members back for the holiday. There were entire families gathered there, hugging each other, loud in their joy, and suddenly Carole's lonely welcome seemed almost sad.
After holding her tight enough to almost break her ribs, genuinely happy to see her, he pulled away, frowning without being able to stop himself. "Where's Dad? Why didn't he…?"
"He's fine," Carole reassured him at once, grabbing his carry on from him. "It's just too cold, and I didn't want him driving. He must be pacing a hole into the living room floor as we speak."
Kurt's heart beat a little out of time. He knew it wouldn't regain its normal speed until he could see his Dad. "How is he doing, Carole? Honestly."
Carole hesitated, her eyes not meeting Kurt for a moment, as they made their way towards the exit. "Well… He's not a kid anymore, Kurt."
"I know that," Kurt answered, a bit frustrated. "But I mean… I mean…"
He didn't want to ask the question in his head. He didn't want every single hope he had shattered if he didn't like what Carole had to say. So he let his voice shut down, and Carole didn't say anything.
The silence became a threat.
Just as soon as they opened the door, Kurt was enveloped in a hug. The smell of his Dad's cologne filled his senses, and he dropped his luggage to wrap him arms around him, burying his face on Burt's shoulder, and squeezing.
How could he have thought he would survive the holidays without this? How would he have managed to get through it without his Dad, without his strong arms around him? Oh god, Blaine, thank you, thank you, thank you…
"Let me see you, let me see you," Burt said, pushing Kurt gently back, but keeping his hands on his kid's shoulders, grey eyes travelling all over him. "You look good, kiddo. Have you been eating well? Have you…?"
"I should be the one asking all the questions," Kurt chuckled. And then he got a good look at him, watched this man who had raised him, who had made him who he was…
Burt Hummel had always been a big man. He would have lived off cheeseburgers and beer if Kurt hadn't bullied him into taking better care of himself. But no matter how many salads he forced him to eat, Kurt had never quite managed to make his Dad lose that pudgy belly.
It was gone now.
Burt looked thin. The change was noticeable even in the shape of his face. Kurt's heart stopped for a moment, and he felt the sudden urge to buy all the junk food in the world, just as long as his Dad looked a little thicker again, a little more full of life.
Carole was avoiding his eyes.
Was there something they weren't telling him? Kurt felt like screaming. They wouldn't hide any bad news from him, would they?
Right now, though, it didn't look like Burt had any bad news to share. His eyes were shinning, his lips stretched into a huge smile, already leaning down to grab Kurt's luggage.
"Come on, kiddo, I'll help you to your room, and then we can chat, and have some lunch," he said, sounding happy and satisfied, and Kurt didn't understand.
"Please, Dad, let me," he hurried to say, grabbing the biggest suitcase from him, and Burt groaned in protest, but complied.
They took the luggage upstairs, to Kurt's old room. It always felt smaller, every time he visited. Like his life, his experiences, his dreams kept outgrowing the place where he had been a scared kid who barely made it through high school, where he had made his own clothes from scratch because there was no store in Ohio that could truly provide for what he wanted, where he cried and laughed and waited to get out of here forever…
Burt said he was going to let Kurt get settled and freshen up. He went downstairs to help Carole with lunch, and Kurt sat on the edge of the bed, looked around, and told himself not to cry.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, distracting him from the painful tugs of his heart, and he was so grateful to find a new message from Blaine: I'm glad you made it! I would like you to know Max and I were super brave and went to the supermarket on Christmas Eve. We made it out alive, though I nearly had to wrestle with an old lady dressed entirely in purple for the last can of green peas.
Kurt couldn't stop the little smile that appeared on his lips as he read the message. He typed a reply: Wow, I leave for one day and you two are already attacking poor little grandmas? (Also, purple? Really? Am I feeling a Barney vibe or…?)
They exchanged a couple more of text messages before Burt's voice echoed through the house, announcing lunch was ready. Kurt took a deep breath, put his phone down on the bed, and went back downstairs to rejoin his parents.
There was only one thing that mattered right now, that he needed to focus on: They were together. That was the most valuable thing in the world.
That night, Kurt couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, but no matter what he did, his brain wouldn't shut up. Nothing exasperated him more than staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to come, feeling so awake that he could just keep his eyes open forever. So he kicked his blankets off, reached for an old, comfy cardigan to put on top of his pajamas, and left his bedroom, trying to be quiet as he went down the stairs towards the kitchen.
He was suddenly aware of the absolute silence that fell on the neighborhood. Despite having lived here most of his life, Kurt was now so used to the noisy restlessness of New York, the city that never sleeps. But here… there was no sounds of traffic, no music playing from another apartment, no sirens wailing in the night.
It almost made Kurt nervous, how still everything seemed.
Once in the kitchen, he moved from one cabinet to the other, and to the fridge, almost without realizing he was doing it. He was as restless as his beautiful city, couldn't bear the idea of sitting down, of lying down and waiting for sleep to come to him.
By the time Burt came to join him, Kurt had finished with the crust already, placing it neatly into a pie plate, and was whisking eggs on a bowl. His father announced his presence first with his heavy footsteps as he came down the stairs, and now with a little chuckle as he watched his son.
"I had a feeling I would find you here," he commented, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
Kurt didn't turn around, too busy adding milk to the eggs. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I could bake a pie for tomorrow."
Burt came into the kitchen. The chair scraped noisily against the floor as he moved it to sit down. "What are you making?"
"Custard pie," Kurt replied, reaching for the vanilla and almond extracts. "With a little nutmeg."
"Your Mom's recipe." Burt said.
"Your favorite," Kurt muttered, in confirmation.
They didn't talk until the pie was in the oven. They simply minded their own business - Kurt, with his whisking, and then pouring the creamy custard on top of the crust; Burt, just contented watching his son. When he was done, Kurt put everything on the sink to wash later, and sat at the table, across from his father.
"How are you, Dad?" He asked, and now he was tired. Just getting those words out exhausted him. "And please, be honest."
"Not great, kiddo," Burt said, leaning his arms on the table. "It's been a few rough months."
"Is there…? Can I help?" Kurt felt like a child asking this question. He couldn't grab a crayon a draw his father a new, healthy heart. But he wished there was something, anything, that he could do.
Burt sighed. "You and me know there's not much to do when it comes to these things," he said. "I'm not getting any younger, Kurt. I can eat all the healthy, vegan food that you want, and I can go for walks and do exercise, and take care of myself… but it just won't reverse the damage that's already there."
Kurt swallowed with difficulty. The kitchen was slowly being invaded by the sweet scent of the pie being baked. It seemed such an unlikely contrast, that sweetness and the sudden sour taste in his mouth. "You're talking like you're a hundred years old. You're… you're not that old, Dad. This is stupid."
"Kid, like I said… it's not up to us. We can't choose when it's our time to…"
"Don't say it, don't say it, you can't say it…"
"Kurt," Burt frowned, clearly anguished by the look of defeat and fear in Kurt's eyes. "After your Mom… and Finn… we know. We've learned our lesson. We can't choose. It will happen. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next year or the one after that… but at some point." He paused, reached for Kurt's hand, gave it a firm squeeze. "And all I want, all I can ask for right now, is that you're prepared, and that you won't let whatever happens to me devastate you."
"You can't…" Kurt shook his head. Denial was his best friend right now. "You can't ask me that."
"Yes, I can," Burt said, just as firmly as his hold on his son's hand. "I can ask this of you, Kurt. Because you're a strong man, who's had to live through an unfair amount of grief, but who has bounced back every time. And I trust you to be able to get back on your feet and not let anything, not even something that happens to me, defeat you. Nobody pushes the Hummels around, Kurt. Certainly not something as trivial and unavoidable and mundane as death."
Kurt sucked in a sharp breath, as if he hadn't expected his father to actually use that word. "This is insane… it sounds like you're saying goodbye. You're not saying goodbye, Dad. It's not time for that. Not yet."
"No, not yet," Burt said, patting his hand. "But at some point. And you need to come to terms with it before it eats you up inside. We are all going to die, Kurt. Some people die way too early, before their time. We know that, because of your Mom, and because of Finn, and those are the deaths that hurt the most. They had so much to live for, so much ahead to enjoy. Your Mom didn't get to see you become this amazing man you are today. And Finn… god, Finn. Eighteen years old. It doesn't get more unfair than that. But I've lived my life, short or long, Kurt, I've lived it. I had your Mom, I had you, I had Carole and Finn. It was a rich life, and I made sure of it every day, since your Mom taught me how quickly it can end, how much every day matters. So I'm not afraid of it, but I am afraid of being alive to see you stress and worry and overwork yourself the way you did these past few months."
Kurt wiped his tears off his cheeks hastily. "Dad, that's not…"
"Don't deny it, kid. I'm not stupid."
"I'm not stupid either," Kurt said stubbornly. "And I know you and Carole are struggling financially. All those hospital bills…"
"Sure, those things are expensive, and we're trying to pay them off," Burt shrugged, like it wasn't important. "But we have the garage, and Carole's got her job, and we'll manage, the same way we always did. I don't need my kid to work himself to death for any debt, big or small. Don't you see, Kurt? It's all meaningless: money, and debt, and even jobs sometimes, when you're not passionate about what you do. You won't take any of those things to the grave. The only thing that matters is family, the people who love you, the time you spend together. The only thing that matters is your own happiness, because that's what will make your life worth living."
Kurt covered his face with his hands, trying to push back the overwhelming sob threatening to climb up his throat, trying to calm himself. "God, Dad…"
"Come here, kiddo," Burt mumbled, and Kurt didn't need to hear another word, he practically threw himself towards his father, right into his arms, and into a big, warm hug.
They held each other, tight and close, until the over timer made Kurt jump, startled. Burt chuckled and let him go before the pie got burnt, and watched as Kurt got it out of the oven and set it on the countertop to chill for a while, before rejoining him at the table.
"So… how's that new job? Are you any happier with it? Because I want you to do what's best for you, Kurt, not whatever you think you need to do for Carole and I," Burt said, focusing his clear eyes on him seriously.
"Surprisingly, I love it," Kurt answered. "Max is adorable, and such a well-behaved kid. It breaks my heart to think how he lost everything at such a young age, but Blaine is amazing with him, no matter how much he doubts that."
"Blaine," his father repeated, carefully studying his face. "That's your teacher, right?"
"Literature professor, yes," Kurt said. "He's a great guy. I…" He glanced at his silent cellphone on the table next to him. Blaine and him had texted back and forth all day long, silly, little meaningful texts throughout the day. Kurt tried to send him things that would make him laugh, hoping it would made the first Christmas without his brother even a little easier, though he knew nothing would ever make the first holidays without a loved one easy. It was a matter of time, of letting the heart heal… "I'm so grateful. He's been incredible, and he didn't have to help me at all. He's so generous and sweet and…" Burt was making a strange face at him, and Kurt frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," Burt said, but he looked like it was actually something. "Tell me about Max. How old is he?"
Kurt couldn't stop the small smile blossoming on his face at the mention of the little boy. So he told his father everything, not sparing a detail, both so entranced on their conversation that they didn't notice the minutes ticking by on the clock. They talked and talked - first about Max, and Kurt's job, and his classes, and then how Burt had been managing the garage, having to hire a couple more guys to make up for the manual work he couldn't do anymore - until it was so late that it was actually early, the sky slowly lighting up in the horizon.
By the time Kurt crawled back into bed, he was so tired he didn't have time to worry, to wonder at the possibilities. Burt's words and the time shared with him lulled him to sleep, wrapping him up like a warm, soft blanket on that cold Christmas morning.
Please review, that would make my day :)
I will do my best to update again on Thursday, to make up for the lost day, AND to celebrate Klaine's Anniversary like I do every year. Hopefully life won't get in the way. Fingers crossed!
See you soon!
L.-