Kurt had been looking at the phone clasped between his two pale hands for God-knows how long. The bright lights of the hospital waiting room reflected in his screen, lighting up the picture of a face. At first he'd been staring into the bright blue, laughing eyes of Adam's contact photo, but he couldn't bring himself to do that anymore. What was he going to say? How could he possibly phrase all that had happened since their last conversation, less than a day ago?

Hey Adam, how's England? How's Christmas? Me? Yeah, ok. Sorry I didn't Skype you like I said I was going to last night; funny thing was my dad turned up. With Blaine. So I wasn't really free to chat. And…and now my dad has cancer and I'm at the hospital but it's not for him it's for Blaine because he was trying to tell me something last night and oh God he told me all about how he'd been the one who set us up and how he gave Rachel your number and why did you never tell me you knew who he was but Adam listen Adam he came to tell me something and now he's in the hospital because he collapsed and he was bleeding but Adam oh God they're saying things about a baby and…and…

Kurt just kept staring. How could he do anything else? It was the only appropriate response right now. His dad had gone…somewhere…some time ago. He didn't know where. He assumed it was something to do with Blaine. Paperwork. Or to make that phone call that Kurt couldn't have listened to, to Blaine's mum and dad. What were they doing right now, what were they about to have shattered? Kurt knew he should be desperate with worry about Blaine, that he should be pacing up and down the corridors or overturning carts full of metal hospital equipment that would make really impressive noises as they fell everywhere, reflecting how he felt inside, but he couldn't. He'd seen Blaine scream, seen him in so, so much pain, writhing in agony as the paramedics took him down in the elevator, seen him go so pale in the back of the ambulance, so pale in contrast to the bright scarlet that had stained his cream chinos and Kurt's clasping hands. Kurt twisted his phone slightly. He hadn't imagined it; the red blood had dried and now stuck out in flakes from his own smooth palms. But he wasn't thinking about Blaine at all.

As he turned his hands he saw the eyes of a small girl, sitting across from him in the waiting area, following his movements. Her father, he supposed, sat next to her with a small boy in his lap who was wearing a tea-towel as a sling, whilst her mother filled in a form on a clipboard, her face tired but kind. Kurt now saw that they were both watching him. He went to put his phone back in his pocket, and saw that he had more blood, more of Blaine's blood, on his own trousers.

But was it Blaine's blood? Blaine's alone? To stop himself from crying, from giving in to the black blankness that was threatening to envelop all parts of his brain, Kurt flicked with one finger at the tissue-paper thin crimson film on his left hand, watching as it gradually peeled back. He glanced up again and caught the girl's eyes still watching him. She had beautiful eyes, big, brown and framed by sweeping locks of dark chestnut hair that had been reined into two chubby bunches that sat at different heights on the top of her head. His fingers flicked once more and a dried square came loose, floating between his palms and down to the pale linoleum floor. They both watched it fall and in that moment Kurt finally grasped all that he might have lost. His hands froze at once and then he began to desperately try to press the tiny flakes back onto his palm, which grew instantly tacky and damp beneath his finger. But it was no use, they were coming away and sticking to the pad of his finger instead, or swirling down to join that first one on the floor. It was all wrong, it was all no use. He caught the little girl staring at him one more time and saw her turn away, her eyes even wider with fright as his hands moved frantically over one-another.

She reached her little chin up to look first at her little brother, and then at the man holding him, and in a child's whisper that Kurt would have heard ten feet away, she began to ask him why that strange man was doing what he was doing. But Kurt never heard more than the first word of her sentence.

"Daddy…"

He lost it. He buried his face in his hands and wept, not caring that he was crying into his blood-soaked hands, not caring that he was rehydrating streams of pink and cherry red that were dripping down into his lap, not caring that it was going all over his face. Or caring too much; caring as much as anyone ever could about anything, because he, Kurt Hummel, might just have lost the child that he never knew he had, and all that he would have left of them would be whatever part of them remained in the blood that was on his hands. It was everywhere, it was all over him. Even the smell of it was in his nostrils, stinging them. How could he ever get away from it? How would he ever let himself get away from it? For what portion of time had he been a…a father…without knowing it? A few weeks…a month…a few months? Had he known? Some small, small atomic part of him must have known for it to hurt this much; his body knew what it had done, what it had started, what part of itself it had planted. Otherwise how…how could he not be thinking about Blaine at all, how could he be falling apart over a thing, over a person he'd never know?

"It's going to be ok."

Kurt felt a tentative hand brush over his shoulders and felt something soft pressed onto the outsides of his hands in front of his eyes. A tissue. His fingers curled out to accept the kind gesture of a stranger, but he couldn't unfurl himself from his grief. The hand brushed up and down his back once more, but then stopped as the tears kept flowing.

It's what the paramedics had said to Blaine, as they'd try to pry his hands away from his stomach to get him to lie flat on the gurney…"It's going to be ok."

Kurt let out a sharp angry sob from beneath his hands. How many times a day did they say that? How many times was it ever ok?

No. No, it was impossible.

When Blaine had fallen down, when he'd been lying on the floor and his shirt had fallen flat against him for the first time that night, Kurt had seen it. The irrepressible rise in his front, the swell of a belly beneath the fabric. A part of himself wrapped up in someone else, someone he'd once loved, then hated, then…then…he didn't know…If someone had phoned him a week ago to tell him that Blaine was in the hospital, what would he have felt? Concern? Of course; until he knew whether it was serious or not. Worry? Maybe a little. Kurt never liked hospitals; in his mind they were places that put people he cared about in danger, and he didn't like anyone he knew being in danger. And perhaps a pang of old, deadened grief for what they'd been? Sure; but it wouldn't be enough to ignite any longing, and that would then make him sad, because it would make him realise what he'd truly lost, what they'd had but thrown away…but now? That bump beneath Blaine's skin filled his vision like nothing else. Mad thoughts flew through his mind…Had Blaine hurt…it, just like he had hurt Kurt himself? What was Blaine thinking in flying to New York in the cold of Christmas when he was…was…pregnant? The word weighed as heavy as lead upon Kurt's dazed mind.

His dad. Burt had had to have known, or else why would he have brought Blaine with him…? The sight of Blaine, pale, sweating, leaning up against that chair, against the table before crashing to the floor replayed over and over in Kurt's mind. But now, in every scene, the bulge that Blaine was desperately trying to deflect his attention from was all Kurt could see, swollen to what must be five times its real size…what had been its actual size…

What had Blaine been doing? They'd ended up talking about Adam, hadn't they? That was stupid…so, so stupid…Why hadn't Blaine told him?

But then Kurt realised.

Blaine had been trying to tell him. But he'd been trying to protect him at the same time. Trying to keep the pain to himself, trying to make it so that the news might only be a burden on one of them. He'd…he'd been trying to let Kurt stay free…

"Mr Hummel?"

The female voice rang out across the waiting room and Kurt's hands snapped away from his face in an instant. The voice belonged to a doctor in a white coat; olive skinned with curls of dark hair piled up on the top of her head. The coat reached almost to the ground on her small frame and she was bobbing on tip-toes as she scanned the hunched figures in the plastic seats, clip-board pressed against her chest. Kurt stood up at once and walked quickly towards her, watching her face as she registered the state that he was in and quickly trying to wipe his face on the sleeve of his jacket. He didn't care how much he ruined the camel suede or how much the beadwork scratched at his face, he was numb with dread. She glanced down at his hand as he reached her, as if going to shake it, but then decided not to, keeping both hands tight on her clipboard. Quickly and professionally she drew out of the entrance to the waiting area and towards the beginning of an nondescript cream corridor before turning back to Kurt once more, looking alternately up into his face and down at the notes in front of her. Kurt tried to read them ahead of her, but his eyes were as blurry as his mind; instead he found himself opening and closing his eyes in slow succession as her words washed over him.

"Mr Hummel, I'm Doctor Bardini, Mr Anderson's attending physician."

Kurt said nothing. She didn't seem to expect him to.

"I'm sorry you've been waiting so long; there's a sanitised cloakroom just off the ER if you'd like to clean yourself up at all…"

Kurt clasped his bloodied hands together. How long had he been waiting? It didn't seem long.

"But Mr Anderson was in quite a seriously condition when he arrived here, and our priority had to be in his stabilisation before we could begin a series of tests…"

Blaine was ok then, stable at least. But what about…

"Mr Hummel…"

Her eyes were on his this time, and her voice lifted for a question.

"Mr Hummel, I'm sorry to seem informal and overly personal, but I have to ask; what is your relationship with Mr Anderson?"

"I'm…" Kurt's brain stumbled over itself. What was the adult-world word? "I'm his ex…partner"

She made a small note in a box on a form a few pages below the top of her clipboard and nodded sympathetically.

"And Mr Anderson was a guest at your residence last night?"

What did this have to do with anything? "Yes."

"And his family? His next of kin?"

Hadn't Burt been sorting all this out? "Ohio. Well, his father travels and his mother goes on vacation a lot but…"

She nodded again and made another note. Kurt felt frustration rising inside of him. Blaine was somewhere in this building, so why was he standing here answering redundant questions?

"Listen, Doctor…"

She pursed her lips in a sad smile, seemingly knowing what he was going to ask.

"Mr Hummel, I'm very sorry but the rules of confidentiality in a case like this are very complicated." She shifted in her coat and Kurt suddenly saw the word "Obstetrician" on the badge pinned to her pocket. "Mr Anderson is still unconscious at the moment following the procedure to stop the bleeding in his abdomen; once he regains consciousness he'll be able to decide whether you can be added to the list of people who can be admitted to see him whilst he's under observation. Alternatively, if we are able to make contact with his parents, they can name you as suitable representative in their place in absentia. So I'm afraid it is still a process of waiting before we can allow you to see him, or give you any exact information about his condition. He is now considered stable, however."

Kurt found himself nodding with his eyes closed, but really he agreed with nothing. New tears welled behind his eyes. He was…he was the…father…he had a right to know if…

She glanced into his face once more time, swallowed and looked back at the notes. "But, um, Mr Hummel, if I can give you one piece of advice for the moment, strictly aside from Mr Anderson…"

Kurt blinked quickly, the tears breaking away down his cheeks. She held the board back against herself and moved a single step down the corridor.

"I don't think it's quite time to stop praying, yet, Mr Hummel."