A/N: Speedy update, gotta go XD

Warning: G/Character Death

They'd gotten out of bed that morning, at Santana's insistence. She'd pushed them both into the bathroom, pushing Blaine under the shower head and turning the water on, leaving when he finally started to unbutton his shirt with shaky fingers.

They'd emerged silently ten minutes later, donning the clothes she'd shoved into their arms without argument, only showing emotion when the other got too far away.

She looked at them in the rear view mirror of her car, sighing slightly as she took Brittany's hand.

They were huddled together, legs pressed against each other's, hands held tight where they rested on their legs. Kurt had his head on Blaine's shoulder, Blaine resting his cheek on Kurt's hair, both of them staring blankly at their joined hands, rather than at the objects they held.

-.-

They stood at the front of the small crowd, still holding hands, their shoulders brushing. Blaine had a ribbon twined around his fingers, feeling the material gently between his fingers. Kurt held a small soft toy, turning it over and over in his hand, both of them fidgeting anxiously every time anyone approached them.

As the ceremony started, Kurt stared down at his feet, refusing to look, unable to stand seeing the tiny coffin that held their daughter's body. Blaine looked up, over the priest's head, blinking back his tears.

Almost two years ago, they'd finally decided to go through the process of finding a surrogate – an idea that had turned into a nightmare. Their surrogate had had a horrible pregnancy, spending most of it hospitalised for one reason or another. The baby was finally born, a beautiful, healthy, baby girl – which was when their surrogate had turned nasty, starting a gigantic custody battle.

The baby, Belinda, they'd named her, was placed into temporary foster care until the matter was settled. They'd finally won when Belinda was about four months old, able to finally take her home.

Two months ago, Belinda had gotten sick, a cold that refused to get better. When nothing worked the doctor sent them to the hospital, worried despite himself.

After a variety of tests, a doctor had come up to talk to Kurt and Blaine with bad news – their baby was very sick.

They didn't understand most of what they got told, but the basis was that her immune system had failed, and she'd caught something horrible – and that there was nothing the hospital could do, they couldn't fix it, couldn't make her better.

All they could do was take her home and wait, coming back for regular check-ups.

Kurt and Blaine had watched as she slowly became sicker, becoming pale, losing weight, exhausted all the time, slowly fading away.

A week ago, Kurt had cuddled her into his arms as they watched her favourite movie. She'd fallen asleep even as Blaine wrapped his arms around them, dressed in her most comfortable pyjama's, the ribbon she'd insisted on earlier that morning tied lopsidedly in her hair, her bunny clenched in her fist.

Belinda never opened her eyes again.

They'd panicked when they couldn't wake her up, taking her straight to the hospital – where they were told there was nothing they could do, except wait.

A couple of hours later, Belinda was dead.

Rachel had come to get them from the hospital, collecting Belinda's belongings, taking Kurt and Blaine home and tucking them into bed, staying the night to keep an eye on them. She made sure the door to Belinda's room was closed, starting to organise the funeral for them, knowing they'd be unable to.

After that night, what was left of the New Directions took turns staying with them, making sure they ate and showered, trying not to let them slip into depression. It hadn't worked.

Santana had volunteered to take them to the funeral, knowing they'd need her no- nonsense attitude to make it through the day, hell, to make it out of the house.

As they started lowering the coffin into the ground, Kurt turned his face into Blaine's chest. Blaine buried his face in Kurt's hair, clinging to each other desperately, unable to look, unable to leave.

They stood there long after everyone had left, until Brittany finally approached them, leading them gently back to the car, sliding into the backseat next to them.

"It's okay to be sad." She told them in a whisper, taking Blaine's free hand. "It's okay to cry, to admit you miss her."

Kurt had moved then, turning his head to look at her.

"Why does it hurt so much?" he whispered brokenly, leaning into Blaine. Blaine rested his cheek on Kurt's head, closing his eyes.

"I don't know." Brittany told him, resting her head against Blaine's shoulder for a moment. "It was the same when Lord Tubbington went to kitty heaven. It just…hurts"

-.-

When they got home, Kurt curled onto the end of the couch, ignoring Blaine when he walked away. His eyes gazed unfocusedly onto the floor, pulling his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around them tightly.

Santana dragged Brittany into the kitchen, making them all some food. Broken sobs interrupted them. Kurt was snapped out of his daze and he launched himself off the couch, hurtling through the house until he found Blaine, in Belinda's room. He threw himself at his husband, hugging him tightly, rocking slowly.

Blaine slowly unwound from the ball he'd curled himself into, clutching at Kurt, crying into his shirt.

"I miss her." He whispered. "God I just miss her so fucking much. Why does missing her hurt so much?"

Kurt started crying then. "I don't know. I don't know and I don't want to know. I just want her back!"

Santana and Brittany watched quietly from the doorway, glad they'd finally broken down, finally started to cry for the little girl they'd lost. They mumbled their losses – her smile, her cuddles, and the way that even when she was sick, she had a way of lighting up Kurt and Blaine's lives. She was their whole world, and to be just ripped from their lives so suddenly…Santana was surprised they hadn't lost it earlier.

"Come on Britt." Santana said quietly, pulling her away. "They'll be okay now."

A/N: :(