All rather dark, I'm afraid, but hopefully enjoyable. Just a one-shot that was in my mind. Altered view on "Glee, Actually" Klaine storyline, with reference to the new love interest, Adam.
Hope you enjoy, and please R+R. Merry Christmas all!
"K…kurt?"
Blaine still seemed to struggle to even say that name; even now, after another day in New York, another day in Kurt's new sphere of life. He slowly crossed the wooden floor of the oh-so-well decorated apartment, nervously attempting to smooth the pattern in his knitted cardigan, running his hands again and again over his stomach. He glanced nervously towards the bedroom areas, cordoned off only by curtains, but saw that there was no longer the light of a lamp drifting through the shimmering fabric; Burt might finally be asleep.
Kurt crossed behind the rough dining table, collecting dishes from their impromptu Christmas supper and placing them delicately into the sink, letting only the minimum amount of hot water run from the creaking tap. He turned his head lightly at the stuttered sound of his own name and gave a half smile.
"Mmm?"
Blaine reached the table and put both hands on the back of a chair, his fluttering eyes watching every move Kurt made, every flowing shape his body managed to form. The knot of pain and fear tightened somewhere behind his stomach, and he ran another slide of his palm over his abdomen, before self-consciously shoving it forward once more to grip the chair with white knuckles.
"Kurt…I…ah…"
Oh God. He couldn't say what he needed to say. Not after all the pain he had put Kurt through. But he needed to. It wouldn't wait. It wouldn't go away, just keep on…growing…
Oh God.
Blaine's breath died in his throat and he had to gasp for air. He was sweating. There was snow falling outside the single glazed loft window and Kurt was wrapped in layer on perfect layer, all the way to a mouse-grey woollen scarf, but Blaine was as burning warm as he had ever been. He felt sick. But that was nothing new right now. The acidic revulsion at the remains of the empty, gutted turkey which still stood on the table between them bubbled to the back of his dry throat, and he had to choke it back down again.
Kurt looked up again.
"What is it?"
He saw the look on Blaine's pale face and felt his heart shrink back from its brief happiness. Oh, what was it going to be this time? Kurt's mind tumbled over itself. No more drama, Blaine, please. Not right now; not today. Today had already exceeded its quota…
Dad's ill…again.
The thought tolled like a bell in his brain, shuddering through it, new and raw and incomprehensible. Cancer. Cancer.
So, please, Blaine…nothing more on top of that. He turned swiftly back to the sink, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. He had to stay strong and positive; he could deal with all of this. His dad was strong; nothing was going to keep him down for long. And he had Carol at home to look after him. And Kurt had NYADA and New York and a new start. And Adam. Kurt was strong. Stronger.
He allowed himself a small smile at the thought of that blonde, smiling face. Adam. He hadn't told his dad yet; he hadn't really had a chance since Blaine had turned up so quickly afterwards. But he would, it would be something they could put both their minds and energies towards, the best kind of distraction. If…if only Blaine would be understanding about it…
Carefully, Kurt placed the soapy dish in his hands onto the sideboard and turned round. Blaine hadn't moved; his hands were balled around the back of the wooden chair, his whole body rounding in and out with each breath, his eyes running around the floor. Kurt realised how long it had been since he'd really looked at him. Blaine was paler, somehow thinner in the face but larger in other ways, disorganised and reorganised from the boy Kurt had last known. He looked older.
"Blaine…?"
Kurt half wanted to call him out, to confront whatever this was about, but at the same time he was worried. He wished they could all just go to bed and wake up in the morning and start fresh, with his dad there to umpire all proceedings. He understood why his dad had thought it was a good idea to bring Blaine with him…the reassurance that there would be someone in Lima to watch over Burt and be there when Kurt couldn't be was a good thing…but now the day was old, dragging and, it seemed, stumbling towards inevitable difficulty. Don't go there, Blaine…not now…
Don't be too hard with him, Kurt, his mind prompted him. Because, sometime soon, he would have to tell Blaine about Adam. And that would be just as painful as whatever awkwardness was in store for him here. He hoped to God that Blaine had moved on, even the tiniest amount, just for his own good. He let one quick sigh escape his lips and tried again.
"What is it?"
In the meantime, Blaine had thought of all the things he had wanted to say before…before he learnt…about…it…
He knew Kurt didn't know he knew about Adam. That he knew Adam, in fact. Ten days ago that would have been his opening question; a happy-go-lucky statement that would shock Kurt into seeing the Blaine had matured, that Blaine was ready and willing to let Kurt move on with his life. But now…
Blaine flustered, flapped and grabbed the front of his own shirt, twisting it up into his hands, wringing it out. Beneath it, his stomach churned and quaked, rippling with pain. Every part of his new existence was reminding him just how much he deserved this…punishment…this torture… He couldn't do this to Kurt. He couldn't put him through exactly the same thing, the same agony of conscience that he was feeling, not when Kurt had just begun building bridges again. For what felt like the millionth time, Blaine opened his mouth to talk and confess the prison into which he had plunged the two of them. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't say it…couldn't repeat what he'd watched the doctor's mouth pronounce…or what he'd finally broken down and confessed to Burt…that he…that he was pr…
Why the hell did Kurt think he was here at all if he didn't have something horrendous to say to him? Why was Kurt being so nice and accommodating, when all Blaine's very presence in New York was doing was stifling his relationship with Adam? Adam. ADAM. Blaine's inner voice shouted, screamed the name at itself, willing some part of it to make any impression whatsoever. Didn't Blaine realise what he was ruining by being here? What he was destroying, minute by minute, day by day, week by week…month…by month…? All the possibility for happiness and success that Kurt had re-built for himself. Adam.
"Hh…hhh…how…is Adam?"
Blaine watched as Kurt's apprehensive face froze in alarm, but he couldn't take any satisfaction from it. He was no longer the brave man taking the high road. He was a coward. He was the torturer, showing his victim what they most desired before ripping it away from them forever.
"What?"
It was Kurt's turn to stutter and pale.
"How…? Who…who said…?"
Blaine allowed his eyes to meet Kurt's for a single second, so that he would see that there was nothing malicious in his question whatsoever. But then he had to turn them away again. Any more than a second, and Kurt might discover him. Might know what Blaine was keeping…inside…oh God…
The thought spun him once more. Another ripple of nausea. Blaine slid into the waiting chair, his legs folding and shaking beneath him. He swallowed. He had to keep going.
"Uh…Rachel…she…"
But Kurt cut across him before he could finish.
"She told you?"
His voice rose, angry and ashamed. But Blaine fought more words out.
"No. No, I already knew."
Kurt slid away from the counter against which he had been leaning and pulled out the nearest chair, keeping a distance between the two of them. Blaine watched him, swallowing hard and feverishly wiping his damp curls away from his eyes before stumbling on.
"She…she introduced you to him, didn't she?"
Kurt still didn't understand; Blaine was speaking in statements, not questions. His mind raced. If…if Blaine had known all along, then…then how long was 'all along'? When had Rachel brought them together? At that party…but that was at least three weeks ago. Maybe over a month…it was right after Thanksgiving. Somewhere in the middle of this he managed to nod a reply to Blaine.
"I…I gave her his number, Kurt."
Miraculously, Blaine felt the smallest weight lift from his shoulders. This, if nothing else, proved that he had, at one time, wanted the best for Kurt.
But for Kurt, nothing was getting clearer.
"What? But…but we'd just talked…on Thanksgiving…I called you, and you said...Why, why would you do something like that? Did you know him then?"
Kurt's heart stopped for a second and a hundred stifled memories of betrayal flooded into his mind.
"Were you with Ad…did you…see him? Before…?"
Blaine choked on his tiny portion of relief.
"No. No, Kurt, never. I'd never do somethi…"
Blaine stopped at the look in Kurt's eyes. Eli. Yes. Yes, you would do something exactly like that. You did, you ungrateful little bastard.
"I…I've never met him in person, Kurt. Only online. He runs the Glee Club page on the NYADA chatroom, you must know that. And…and…I was looking at places to apply for…for college…"
Blaine swore that his vision blurred at even the mention of that now so distant dream. He twitched at the hem of his shirt and tried to fan it against his burning skin, watching as it fell against his…his swollen stomach…then tugging his cardigan around his shoulders and pushing himself against the table, squeezing, compressing, suffocating…
But Kurt saw none of this. Blaine. Blaine had given him Adam. Why? Blaine's voice blabbered back into the silence, tumbling and running over itself.
"He…he seemed really nice…He…he reminded me of you, Kurt. And he was there…here…with you…in New York…where I couldn't be. And I knew he would look out for you and care for you…and…and treat you right…"
Kurt kept looking at the twisting figure in front of him. He felt as if Blaine had tried to say this to himself a thousand times, but Blaine's face told him that the words were not sounding how he thought they would.
"So you…you set me up with someone new?"
Kurt tried to smile. It really was a kind of revelation; he would never have thought Blaine could have done something like this. Not after how crushed he had sounded at Thanksgiving…the 'I love you's'…the apologies. This was selfless. And Blaine was still here for him, helping his dad, filling his Christmas. But as he spoke, Blaine avoided his eyes again, letting out forced breath after forced breath.
"Hey? Blaine?"
Kurt tried, sliding one seat closer and stretching his hand out across the surface of the table, reaching for the stiff arms that were being forced down below the table, trying to catch those hazel eyes.
"Blaine…Thank you."
"NO. No, Kurt. No."
Blaine jumped back with panic, struggling up and throwing himself away from Kurt's offered hand, allowing the cardigan to drop from his clenched fist for a second before snatching it up again and leaning heavily against the edge of the table. The room contracted around him, charging against him. Blaine screwed his eyes shut and bound his belly in his arms. It was…it was so hot…But…but he had to tell Kurt…
But…but Kurt knew, had to know already…instinct…it was Kurt…it was Kurt…it was Kurt…part Kurt…part him…whole…inseparable…
Unbreakab…
Something had hold of him by the shoulders. Blaine tried to shrug it off, feeling the surface of the table slide under his wet palms, staggering, slumping, gagging. More hands on his back as his whole body contracted and stinking, bitter bile rushed out of his throat. Loud sounds were echoing all around his head, distorting in the heat, shimmering and vague, but reminding him of his name.
But then…then a white hot knife of pain was plunged into his side…
He was leaning on his elbows, unable to keep his head from lolling forwards, his hair uncurling and brushing the table…
The knife was twisted, drawn in and out with each shuddering breath. Blaine looked…looked down at himself and saw the blood running down his leg…soaking out through his dark trousers, darker and darker…
One more twist, and the leg he watched fell away. The floor came up to catch him. More than two hands were on him now, and he was rolled over, looking up into a face that his mind called 'Burt'. Burt's hands in his hair, holding his head. Two other hands on his chest, two off his chest…one, brushing against the source of all the pain: his stomach, his swollen abdomen…his…baby…
One hand in his hand…squeezing…and Blaine squeezed back.
"Kurt…lose…can't…no…"
Kurt could not be seeing what he was seeing. Blaine.
Blaine. Crumpling against the table in an instant. Being sick; retching and vomiting onto the bare floorboards. And then screaming.
Screaming as blood bled down his legs. As it stained the wooden floor. As he fell, against Kurt, against the table.
His dad was there. Burt was there, and he was yelling at Kurt to call an ambulance. 911. And Kurt did.
But there was Blaine, lying in front of him. Bleeding. Clutching at his chest. No; his stomach. No. Not even that. His…his raised, bigger, grown, filled…occupied…belly…
Pregnant Blaine. Blaine's baby. Their…baby…
His child.
In New York. With Blaine. A family.
Lost.