Disclaimer: I have no affiliation to Glee or its characters. This is fiction pure and simple.

Thanks you guys. I have taken far too long with this chapter. I apologize life got in the way. Hope you love it.

FutureEIC, Gleeville, LokiFirefox, Caticia1, AgainstAllOds and Miss Elenath. _ Thank you soooo much all your reviews meant so much to me.

Waiting for Forever

Year Nine: Pottery

Blaine rearranged the cutlery for the third time, moving the place settings even closer together. Stepping back he eyed the intimately arranged dinner for two. The candles were all set and ready to be lit; champagne was chilling in the bucket. Takeout packets were disposed of. "Perfect." He looked over at Dalton for approval but the large dog gave him a judging look before padding off. Tossing his arms up, he yelled. "I was only gone a month."

It hadn't been that long. Sure the elaborate dinner was a bribe so Sam wouldn't be mad at him. And it looked like while he'd been gone the amount of ruffled feathers and fur he'd have to soothe had tripled. This wasn't an over exaggeration; there was an actual bird in a stylized black metal cage hanging on the terrace. At least he thought it was a bird, most of its pale feathers had fled its body leaving disturbing patches of skin.

Shuddering, Blaine turned to the tiny orange fur-ball on the windowsill. "You still love me, don't you Murdock?"

Jumping from the daring height, Murdock skirted him delicately, chasing after Dalton. As always Blaine stared, marveling at the way the half blind kitten managed to maneuver around the furniture without incident. Well that just left the two hamsters, both of whom were just happy to get fed and the turtle with the yellow lightning bolt painted on its shell. He wasn't sure what wrong with the turtle but there had to be something.

Sam hadn't started painting again or collecting strays until after the incident.

It seemed callous and dismissive to think of it that way. A nine year old slitting her wrists in a bathroom stall after a visit from her dad should never be so easily set aside. It hadn't been easy, not for Blaine. The specifics of that night – the frantic phone call from Riley, red and blue flashing lights, blood on Sam's jeans - danced at the edges of his mind pushing in at odd moments but he buried his head in his work effectively keeping them at bay.

It certainly hadn't been easy for Sam. He blamed himself. All Blaine's rationalizations about how he hadn't even been at the Centre but way across town enduring his Social Statistics final hadn't dented his belief. It wasn't Sam's fault that the college volunteers he'd left in charge for an afternoon had been more interested in hooking up in the backroom than upholding Ava Hoult's strict no family policy. Even though there was no possible way he could have foreseen the tragic turn of events, Sam had been inconsolable, scarily so, leaving Blaine helpless and terrified in the face of his grief. Through the hospital wait, police investigation and the funeral, with the distressingly tiny coffin, Blaine held his hand. But no matter how tightly he held on, he could still feel him slipping away.

Somehow time went by. The Aberdeen House provided extensive counseling for the remaining children and staff. After a few sessions Sam brought home a half starved kitten that he'd rescued and it wasn't till it kept bumping into the front door that they realized it was half blind, a fact that pleased Sam even more. He named it Matt Murdock because Daredevil seemed too unkind and a week later he adopted Peanuts and Pickles, the pair of hamsters that had been liberated from a Serum company. Starting a pattern of pet rescue that given the turtle and bird, continued long after Blaine had left.

It was the day Sam started to paint that stuck out the most in Blaine's mind. Barefoot, in his jeans, music blaring from earphones, night after night, he'd crawl out of bed and paint. Ava alive. Ava dying. Ava dead. Over and over and over, the dead girl covered canvas after canvas until Blaine thought he'd explode.

Sam was obviously very talented; his art leapt off the page, stark and visceral but Blaine had never missed macaroni portraits more or felt so alone. There was no easy fix for sorrow. Nothing Blaine could do or say that would make a difference, everyday started and ended the same, with him slowly losing the love of his life. He scoured the Internet – websites and chatrooms - for information on secondary trauma desperate for a solution to their problem. He met a ton of people who were just like him; spouses and partners of caregivers in similar situations but all the advice they offered mostly involved giving Sam time to deal with the aftermath. This was too passive to suit him. Time was a fickle bitch; she was never to be trusted.

Somewhere in Blaine's mad scrabble for answers, Sam healed. With the help of therapy at work, a grief support group after work and painting when he couldn't sleep he came out stronger on the other side. Blaine was the one left gasping and struggling in the wake of the tragedy that had split them right down the middle. His boyfriend stood on one end with his new friends and acquaintances that were all in the business of saving lives. Blaine was on the other end with everybody else leading their self-involved little lives. It felt like Sam didn't need him anymore, not as much as he used to anyway and it was only a matter of time until he realized it too and they broke up. So in an irrational effort to delay the inevitable Blaine stayed out later and worked longer, creeping home in the wee hours leaving at the crack of dawn until they became the couple that communicated in Post-its on the fridge. When the Toronto International Film Festival came up he fled dragging Artie across the border with a million excuses, they had to meet other industry folk, and they were searching for a new script yadda yadda. They were bullshit reasons but they got him out of town and he stayed away a lot longer than he should have hence the appropriately named 'I am an idiot please don't leave me' dinner.

Checking his watch, Blaine panicked. It was almost 8:00pm. Was Sam even coming home? What if he was with someone – No! He scrubbed his brain of that thought before it could fully form. Sam would come home. He had to. Blaine paused before drifting to the covered easel in the far end of their apartment. It squatted there like a live thing oozing pain and despair. Fingering the stiff sheet he contemplated taking a peek at what lay beneath. It was the easiest way to know what Sam was thinking or feeling but he dreaded looking at Sam's paintings. After the first couple of times, the tiny wrist and blood splattered candy bracelet had become a staple in his nightmares. Shaking, he dropped it and walked away. Picking up his phone, his lips lifted at the lit screensaver he flipped through photos of them over the past three years. Was there greater torture than the memory of a time you'd been perfectly happy and how easily a strangers' decision had ripped it apart?

"Blaine?" Spinning around Blaine's smartphone bounced off his foot racing across the floor. "I thought you were still in Toronto?"

This wasn't how they greeted each other, not after a month apart. This distance was new and awkward and totally his fault. Apologies were about to pour unchecked out of him when another guy stepped in behind Sam. Blaine recognized him immediately.

Jonah. Fire Marshal. Gorgeous. All round douchebag.

He was always at the fringes of their life watching, waiting. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was waiting for. His eyes followed Sam like a fat kid after cake.

"And I thought you were working?" Blaine sniped. "Guess we were both wrong."

"Work? No." Sam stepped forward. "I was supposed to watch Ella but Rachel decided she wasn't ready to leave her alone just yet so they cancelled date night."

"Well, you are just in time to catch this one." Jonah said surveying the room a mocking twisted curl to his lower lip. "I'd better head out." They hugged. "Goodnight Brian." He yelled.

"It's Blaine." Blaine corrected over the grinding of his teeth muttering, "Asshole" under his breath.

Sam frowned. "What is up with you two?"

Blaine snapped, the fear sitting on his chest making it impossible to breathe. He'd done the desperate single dance and knew the difference between having sex with strangers and making love with the man he loved. He had no intention of ever going back to that barren emotional wasteland. It made him doubly possessive of Sam and the relationship they had. He'd been wrong to doubt them, wrong to leave but still… "Is he going to be around all the time?"

"What?" This was followed by a very drawn out suspicious, "Why?"

"He's hitting on you."

Sam eyes went wide with believable shock. "Are you kidding me? He's married. We met his wife."

"We met his beard." Blaine swore. "He's all over you all the time, with the eyes and the smiling and the calling me Brian – asshole! – And the late night phone calls."

"He calls about guy stuff, not us kind of stuff."

Ill concealed possessive rage obliterated rational thought when Sam dared to defend him. "If you want to be with him then just admit it." He snarled. "Because this deliberately obtuse thing you do is getting old."

Oh fuck! Too far. You've gone too far, he thought frantically. There should be an entire village of idiots applauding you right now because you might as well just have giftwrapped him and dropped him on Jonah's doorstep.

"You are never mean."

"I am sorry." Blaine uttered but it felt like too late.

"You are never mean or pointlessly cruel. Never with me. In fact you usually treat me like fucking glass, which drives me crazy." Sam inched forward. "And yet after coming home three weeks too late, you've called me stupid and accused me of cheating on you."

Oh God, he's going to leave you. "I am so sorry, Sammy." Apologies at this point were like slapping a Band-Aid over a severed limb.

"What's going on?"

Blaine shook his head miserable.

"Tell me what's going on." Sam insisted. "This isn't about Jonah or me because you know I would never cheat. I would never deceive you in any way. So? What. Is. Going. On?"

They stared at each other silence growing thick; Blaine chewed on his lower lip then relented the horrible news escaping him in a piteous gasp. "Tina's filing for divorce."

"What?" Blaine could see his shock mirrored on Sam's face. He could still hear Tina's voice in his head, devastated but resolute. That more than anything had sent him tearing out of his hotel room and on the first flight back to New York.

"We were just at their wedding. What the hell happened?"

"She said something about irreconcilable differences." Blaine shuffled back sitting down for the first time since he'd arrived five hours ago. "Mike's been travelling. She didn't want to leave the practice." He shrugged. "They drifted apart."

Sam sank onto the couch next to him. Blaine drew his knees to his chest, lacing his chilled hands together. The entire time he'd been listening to Tina, he'd been thinking about Sam. Thinking about how everything had gotten so screwed up. Not in one large fight like you would expect but in tiny little details. He realized how something as simple as an altered morning routine could snowball. Their mornings together had been the highlight of Blaine's day. He woke up before Sam put on coffee for himself and brewed Sam's disgusting white tea before waking him up and they talked through showers and toothpaste and elusive socks and the super long goodbye kiss at the door. It was nothing and yet it was everything. The first time he'd walked out and left Sam asleep had been the beginning of the end. So he hadn't been able to dispute Tina's logic because he could understand exactly how it could happen. To any couple. To them.

"Blaine, look at me." Sam leaned into his space turning his chin until their eyes collided. "They are not us."

"They could be just like us. I have been doing that too. Travelling." He sighed. "Running away because we weren't getting along as perfectly as we used to. I left you alone and I wouldn't blame you if you met someone else."

Sam's eyes softened. "I don't know about Jonah, if he's into me or whatever. I honestly haven't noticed, my gaydar hasn't kicked in yet but I won't hang out with him anymore. I don't want you to be uncomfortable or jealous of any girl or guy."

"He's not just some guy."

"Yes he is just some guy and he's always going to be just some guy and you are always going to be everything." Sam took his hand, playing with his fingers.

Blaine's breath caught in his throat, his hand gripping Sam's harder. "Don't… don't do that, don't let me off the hook so easily."

"Honey," Sam breathed and just like that Blaine was practically in his lap, tucked against his chest. "I love you and I'm still here even though you've been acting like a dick."

"I am sorry." Blaine's words muffled against his neck. Wiggling closer he buried his face in the crook of his neck. Months of fear, struggle and jetlag hit him and he sunk content onto his Sam. He was home.

"You're exhausted so we can hash this all out tomorrow." Sam stroked his hair, nimble fingers massaging his nape. "I hope you weren't cooking." Sam grinned, amusement leaking through his voice. "We didn't refill the extinguishers from last time."

"It was a minor grease fire."

"Yeah minor." Sam snorted. "Well we can have some dessert and a lot of wine."

"Champagne." Blaine mumbled. He had gone all out; now that he wasn't getting dumped he could enjoy it.

"And – " Sam took a deep breath. "We can watch The Notebook."

Blaine's incredulity moved him a fraction off Sam's shoulder. The Notebook was hands down his favorite movie, Ryan Gosling's appeal aside it was the greatest love story ever. He watched it when he was sad and when he was happy, when he was sick and for no reason at all. Sam tolerated it but he'd never offered to watch it before. "Really?"

Sam looked him square in the eye and said, "If you're a bird, I'm a bird."

It was little moments like these that cemented their bond. Blaine could never be this open with anyone else or this insane. Sam knew him, knew the exact right thing to say and do when he was falling apart. "I love you." He whispered.

"I love you too." Sam tapped the side of his head. "Don't forget it again."

Blaine fell back on the couch as Sam went to the kitchen then he shot back up. "Speaking of birds, what is wrong with that bird?" He waved in the general direction of the terrace.

"Petey's molting."

"Petey the parrot?"

"Actually he's a cockatoo."

"Sam."

"I know."

"We have a dog, a one eyed cat, two hamsters and a molting bird." Blaine counted mentally. "And a turtle. Sam…"

"I know. I know and Wile E is the last one I promise."

Blaine drew up his legs to make room for him. The bottle, two flutes and the double chocolate torte were placed around the coffee table and he popped the cork and topped off the glasses while Sam set up the movie.

"I love you."

Sam turned giving him an easy smile. "I know you do. And it's okay for you to let me take care of you every once in a while." He sat next to him, Blaine once again pushing up against him. "I won't break."

"I can try." Blaine said meekly. He probably wouldn't. Taking care of Sam was his personal kink. He could hear the movie start up but Sam's hand was tangled in his hair softly scraping his scalp.

"You won't leave me again." It was both command and plea, sexy as hell. Blaine loved all of it. The familiar tightness in his chest and groin, the ache for those soft lips that never went away. Just before Sam kissed him, there was a banging at the door.

"Christ," Blaine swore. "I cannot catch a break."

Sam laughed dropping a quick kiss on his lips, just a little taste; it's not nearly enough.

Rachel and Puck burst through the open doorway pushing a sleek stroller. They were mid whispered fight, Blaine and Sam's stares bouncing between them.

"I'm not leaving her here. She's not ready."

"You mean you are not ready. She will be asleep for hours."

"You don't know that. She could wake up any second and miss her mommy. It could scar her for life."

"Rach, they are Ella's honorary, gay, Christian godparents. She couldn't ask for better." Puck pointed at Sam. "This one knows baby CPR.

Rachel blustered then countered with, "They've been drinking. You want me to leave my baby with a couple of drunks." Turning she hissed. "I don't mean that, I love you guys."

"I haven't touched a drop." Sam stepped in. "We can watch her for a couple of hours."

Puck lit up. "I miss spending time with you. Okay?" He cajoled. "Let's leave her here for an hour tops, maybe two." The look Rachel threw him should have peeled off his skin. "I meant one - one hour."

It was the incredibly cheesy; "I love my princess but I miss my queen" line that finally got Rachel out the door without her baby. Sam was still laughing as he locked up behind them. "Never ever say that to me."

"Ditto." Blaine tilted his head staring up at him as Sam slipped his arms around his waist. "Baby CPR? Really?"

"I'm like an iceberg. You have only touched the tip. "He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Speaking of tips…"

"Wait." Blaine pushed against Sam's chest halting his descent. "I can feel her eyes on me."

"Honey," Sam choked out a laugh. "She's asleep and even if she wasn't, she's three months old she can't recognize her own face in the mirror and even if she could she can't talk."

Blaine hesitated and Sam caved.

"Okay. I will put her down in our room."

Blaine caught the baby monitor Sam tossed at him only knowing what it was when a strange melodic tune drifted through its speakers as he was playing connect the dots with the condensation on his glass. Draining the bubbly liquid in one swallow he followed the sound of the music.

"Hey" He squinted in the muted lighting. Sam sat cross-legged on the bed wielding a small curved instrument. Helpless he drew closer not sure if he was drawn by it, Sam, Ella or the strange combination they all made.

"It's a mandolin." Sam whispered answering his unasked question. "She kinda likes it."

The stroller Rachel had brought Ella in was parked just inside their bedroom door. It took Blaine awhile to figure out what was bothering him. His eyes flicked between the stroller, Sam and the fancy looking - bright red - baby-holding crib that was beside their bed. He was pretty sure it didn't come in with Puck who'd been carrying the bulging yellow bag with blue butterflies. So it had to be…theirs? His eyes shot back to Sam. Oh God, his boyfriend had baby fever. Blaine should have seen this coming Sam had been singlehandedly supporting the pet rescue down the street and he'd offered to stop with Wile E far too easily.

Approaching him cautiously, Blaine tried to steady his breathing. Don't panic!

He pointed at the crib… bassinet… weird baby thing taking over his vision. "Is that ours?" Oh hell! Super high voice. Dial it down. "Ah! I mean we aren't at ba-babies stage yet right?" Why the hell wasn't he saying anything? "Sam? Why do we have this?"

"Well I thought that we could use Ella as practice for when we have kids of our own."

"What?" The shriek escaped him.

Sam hushed him tossing the oval instrument onto the bed. He checked on the sleeping baby taking an inordinate amount of time tucking the absurd amount of blankies around her oblivious to the raging emotional storm brewing behind him. Blaine watched him stunned, confused; he hadn't thought about his blankie in years but God did he need it now. In a daze, he fell into step behind Sam worrying the entire way as his hand was taken and he was dragged out the room.

He wasn't ready for this. They needed more time together just the two of them especially after the chaotic past year. But it made sense, you know, he was in love with the freaking Pied Piper. First came all the animals, then the tiny humans, lots and lots of them. The moment Sam closed the door behind them he blurted out. "I am not freaking out." He was. He really was until Sam – the jerk - burst out laughing, great big guffaws that came with tears and him leaning weakly against the wall.

"You should see your face." He chortled wiping up tears. "The crib is Rachel's. She dropped it off last week just in case."

"Dammit Sam." Blaine shoved him, his heart slowly creeping back down his throat and he stalked off, irate. Strong arms slipped round his waist spinning him then Sam's hot mouth was on his, nipping and sucking at his lips.

"I am not ready." He confessed between kisses.

"I know." Sam hugged him closer. "You hold Ella like she's about to explode."

"She does explode - from both ends." Blaine grumbled. "But you want kids."

"Yes. Eventually."

Blaine knew it. Pied Piper. He pulled back. "Can you give me some sort of timeline?"

"God. I don't know." Sam's big hands cupped his jaw. "When we are more settled… Maybe five years."

Five years still felt too soon. "About five years or definitely five years. You know we can't just wake up one day and have one. There are so many complicated options for two guys." Blaine's mind was racing faster than he could keep up. "Do we adopt or use a surrogate? Whose sperm do we use?"

"Honey." Sam rambled against his lips, impatient hands popping the buttons on Blaine's shirt. "Shut up."

"Okay." Blaine mumbled sinking into his kiss.