A/N: Written for an anonymous prompt I'll reveal toward the end. Warnings for mention of character death. Angst, au, future fic. Tony Award winner Kurt Hummel spending one last day with his husband Marine Corps Staff Sergeant Sebastian Smythe before his tour of duty begins.
Kurt whisked the eggs nervously, waiting in the kitchen with a huge lump in his throat. When he heard his husband start to descend the stairs, his heart skipped a beat, but he kept whisking, not ready yet to turn around and face him.
Sebastian ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and eyed the wall clock. He scoffed as he made his way to the kitchen table on unsteady legs.
"So, either you let me sleep late, or you're still not talking to me," he mumbled, taking a seat at the table and resting his head on his arms. He watched Kurt move quickly between pots and pans on the stove, preparing what looked like a colossal meal. He groaned.
"Are you expecting guests for breakfast?"
"No," Kurt said, cursing the slight waver in his voice. He prepared two plates, piling them high with eggs, waffles, biscuits and gravy…everything and anything he knew Sebastian liked. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He turned to face his husband at the kitchen table and gasped. Sebastian sat straight up, looking around for whatever flaw caught Kurt's eye. Did he leave his dirty boots on the Persian rug? Was there a spice out of place on the Lazy Susan? Sebastian swore Kurt had tears in his eyes when he walked to the table, setting the plates full of food down in front of him. Sebastian eyed the food suspiciously.
"So, you're not still mad at me for taking one last tour of duty?"
"No. No, I'm not." Kurt sniffled.
"But…what about your new musical?" Sebastian asked, tilting his head to look into Kurt's stormy eyes. "And everything you said last night about…"
"I don't care about that! About any of it!" Kurt rushed into Sebastian's arms. Sebastian pushed his chair back to accept him, letting Kurt fall into his lap and drape his body over him. Kurt held Sebastian tighter than he ever remembered. "Just forget it? Please? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I said, for every fight we ever had. For every time I couldn't admit I was wrong. Please, just…"
"Kurt…gorgeous…what's wrong?" Sebastian tried to pull Kurt's gaze up to meet his, but Kurt buried his face into the crook of Sebastian's neck and breathed in deep. "Kurt…you're trembling, sweetheart."
Kurt braved a look up from where he hid his face against Sebastian's neck, finding emerald green eyes looking back at him, clouded with concern.
"I…I just…I'm scared, Sebastian," Kurt admitted. "Scared you'll go away to some far off country and never come back."
Sebastian's concerned face melted into a warm, relaxed and cocky grin.
"Oh, baby…" Sebastian purred. "We've been over this. I'm invincible, remember?"
"Yeah…" Kurt sniffled again, nodding sadly. "Yeah…you're invincible."
Sebastian wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders until he stopped trembling.
"How about this?" Sebastian offered. "How about we go out for some retail therapy? Saks…Bloomingdale's, you name it. We'll see how close to the limit we can get on the new gold card. What do you say?"
Kurt's head snapped up to look at the clock. It was almost noon. It was getting so late already.
"No," Kurt said. "Not today." He turned back to Sebastian's surprised face and for the first time pressed tentative lips against Sebastian's skin. Kurt felt a familiar spark of electricity travel across his skin. "Let's stay home." Kurt pecked a small path across Sebastian's cheek, blazing a trail of progressively needier kisses towards his husband's mouth. "Let's go back to bed, and not get up again until the president himself pulls you out."
Sebastian moaned at the double entendre.
"That sounds like an absolutely incredible idea." Sebastian lifted Kurt off his lap, and carried him upstairs to get started on their perfect last day together.
Kurt woke up alone. The room around him, grey and dreary, revealed itself to him beneath the dim light. The center had worked hard to get the details right, but little things were amiss if he really took the time to look and notice them. The pale blue paint on the walls wasn't exactly the same shade of Powdered Robin's Egg that Sebastian had picked out for them when they first moved into the small house in San Diego. The knick knacks on the shelves were cheap imitations of the Hummels Sebastian had originally started buying for Kurt as a joke on their second date…the same ones Kurt smashed to pieces the day he found out.
Kurt stood slowly, fighting through a fog of his own depression as he started to get dressed, trying to push away the idea that all of this didn't make things easier than before.
He walked down the stairs where his publicist and best friend Rachel Berry met him. She looked him over, then quietly fixed the buttons that were fastened wrong and turned out the collar that was partially tucked. Kurt's blank eyes stayed glued to the imitation hardwood floor.
"Are you ready?" she asked, trying to gauge her friend's state of mind.
He nodded in response.
They walked through the door of the replica house into a large, two level laboratory. A few men in stereotypical white coats approached, their expressions a mixture of carefully hidden eagerness and practiced compassion. But Rachel, anticipating their approach, threw herself into the fray.
"Mr. Hummel has nothing to say to you at this time, gentleman," she said firmly. "I am sure he'll be willing to meet with you in a week to answer all of your questions."
"My apologies," the lead lab coat said, "but it's crucial for our research if…"
The doctor's words stopped short at Rachel's icy glare. The man stepped back in response.
"Of course," he recanted. "Whenever Mr. Hummel is ready. We'll wait."
Rachel held Kurt's elbow and led him through the maze of hallways until they finally reached to lobby. Kurt stopped at the glass doubled doors, his hands poised on the tension bar. He suddenly felt nauseous, swallowing a few times to fight back the urge to vomit.
"Whenever you're ready," Rachel whispered. "Just take your time."
Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, taking one final, steadying breath. He leaned on the tension bar before he opened his eyes. He walked out the door and was greeted by the largest crowd of people he had ever seen in his life, even with his overwhelming success on Broadway. Reporters raced toward him, microphones at the ready to catch every word Kurt had to say. Security officers from the center held their arms outstretched to keep the reporters at bay, but that didn't keep them from firing off question after question, barely giving him time to answer. Beyond the reporters stood flocks and flocks or protestors, holding large, handmade signs, aimed directly at him and the cameras.
"Here we are now with Tony Award winner Kurt Hummel as he leaves the Second Chance Regeneration Center," he heard a reporter rattle off. "As the public already knows, Kurt Hummel's husband, Marine Corps Staff Sergeant Sebastian Smythe, was killed by insurgents overseas over five years ago. Mr. Hummel is the first client of the center who has actually gotten the opportunity…"
Kurt tuned the reporter's voice out, but another voice took its place.
"…enough of Staff Sergeant Smythe's DNA was recovered in the remains of the explosion to allow Mr. Hummel one last day with a fully regenerated version of his husband. Had more DNA been recovered, days, weeks, even months might have been possible…"
Kurt heard Rachel placating reporters, leading him through the crowd along the way. He walked numbly to his car, ignoring the microphones, the cameras, and the hands that reached out to him, some people cheering their support, just as many screaming in revulsion.
"This is unnatural!" nameless, faceless people cried. "Let the dead rest in peace!"
Crueler taunts were tossed his way, but he barely registered them. He reached his limo, his chauffeur waiting to the last minute before opening the car door. Rachel left his side for a moment, giving one last reporter an opening. The young rookie weeded his way through the crowd before Kurt could slide into the safety of his limo and called out one final question.
"Was it worth it, Mr. Hummel?" The voice carried through the cries of the crowd and hit him like a sledge hammer.
Kurt turned around, his face pale and expressionless.
"What?" Kurt asked quietly.
The reporter, stunned at actually being addressed, took a moment to pull himself together.
"You paid $3.5 million to get one last day with your deceased husband," the man said, trying to sound confident in the face of Kurt's cold, grey eyes. "Was it worth it?"
Kurt let go of the breath he held, and in spite of himself, in spite of the pain, in spite of the agony of living the rest of his life alone, he smiled.
"Every penny."
(The prompt for this was 'death'.)