This took me a little longer than anticipated, but I kept getting sad and having to stop. Again, if you want a happy ending I suggest not reading and just sticking to part one. That being said, I feel this completes the story properly. But you will probably be sad, just a warning. Its your choice. Okay, just go read.
It was almost twenty years to the day. Blaine knew his time was limited. When he reached the ten-year mark he started counting the days. Today was day 3649. He had lived for twenty years with a heart that wasn't his own.
He still visited Dr Howard regularly. The man was old now, nearing retirement. He always made time for Blaine, however. His theory on Blaine's life span was that he was so young at the time of the transplant. That and his otherwise good health kept him alive long after most others in similar situations. And, of course, modern medicine.
There was nothing unusual about day 3649. It was spring, just as it had been the day before, and just as it would be the day after. Blaine woke up to the smell of coffee, just as he did every morning. Since giving up smoking all those years ago, coffee was the closest he got to any addiction.
He showered, dressed and kissed Kurt on the cheek goodbye. He dropped Nathan off at school on the way to the office. As much as the teenager complained it was lame to be dropped off at school by his dad he was thankful he didn't have to get the subway and then a bus.
Blaine bought his breakfast at the coffee cart in the lobby of his building.
'Hey Blaine!' The young cashier smiled brightly at him, 'Just the usual?'
'Yes please, Bec.' The barista instantly handed him two slices of cinnamon toast.
Blaine smiled, wondering if he was becoming too predictable. 'Thanks, Matt.'
He pressed the number fifteen on the wall of the lift, riding it up to his office. He felt slightly light headed on the way up but passed it off as vertigo from the movement.
He made is way to his corner office, smiling as he passed his secretary. 'Good morning, Thea.'
'Good morning Mr Anderson-Hummel.'
'It's Blaine, just as it is every morning, Thea.' She just smiled and waved him on past her desk.
When Blaine became partner three years ago John Anderson had donated a sizable sum to the human rights and activism department of the firm. At the time the department did not exist, but it was quickly decided Blaine would head the venture. Since then Blaine had pretty much done his own thing. The first year he worked alone, but for the last two years he had an intern working with him.
He mostly worked with activist groups, but took on the occasional client just to keep himself busy. Something he had learnt during his early college years was that it was much easier to fight with words rather than fists. It also got him into a lot less trouble, with Kurt and the law.
Blaine was shuffling through the papers on his desk, looking for a particular file. He was about to pick up the phone to page Thea when he felt light headed again. It was the same as in the elevator except this time without reason. He shook his head and waited for it to clear, reaching to pick up the phone again before blacking out.
Kurt had been counting for twenty years. There had been 7298 days. Everyday when Blaine kissed him goodbye on the cheek Kurt couldn't help but wonder if it would be the last time. That Wednesday it was.
Kurt had been doing his vocal exercises when the phone rang. He almost missed the call, as he didn't hear the shrill ring at first. Luckily the person was patient enough to hold on.
'Hello, Mr Anderson-Hummel?' Kurt didn't recognize the voice on the other end.
'Mr Anderson-Hummel my name is Lucy, I work at the Kingsbrook Memorial Hospital. Your husband has been brought into us.'
Kurt felt his breath catch in his throat. It felt as though it solidified there, panic threatening to drown him.
'Yes, sir. Now-'
'Is it his heart?'
'Sir, I suggest-'
'Please, just tell me. Is it his heart?' Kurt could hear his voice, calm as it left his mouth, complete contrast to the terror that was now seizing his body.
The voice on the other end sounded unsure. 'Yes, sir. I suggest you come to the hospital straightaway. And, uh, if you have any children, bring them too.'
Kurt nodded, forgetting the nurse couldn't see him. He hung up and grabbed a coat. It was as though his body took over from his brain, going into autopilot. All those years of counting, of worry, seemed to have trained him for this day.
He called ahead to Nathan's school. His son was waiting on the front steps. Kurt couldn't help but draw painful parallels with his own father's heart condition. He tried to reassure himself that his father had been fine then, but something in his heart told him the similarities did not stretch that far.
When they arrived at the hospital they were directed to a series of hard plastic chairs and told to wait for the doctor. Kurt Hummel was not a hateful person but he hated those universal plastic hospital chairs.
They did not have to wait long. Nathan had curled up into Kurt's side. Neither cried, they wouldn't allow themselves. A tall man in a white lab coat appeared from behind the double doors of the emergency room. They weren't the only ones in the waiting area, but Kurt knew this man was coming for them. His expression said everything.
'Mr Anderson-Hummel?' The man had a soft voice. It was a voice that dripped death.
Kurt nodded. The man sat opposite them.
'I'm Dr Ross. Your husband was brought into the ER…' Kurt didn't hear the rest. He caught words here and there, things like 'arrest' and 'shock'. The only word he remembers distinctly is 'lost'.
Kurt hated doctors and he hated doctor talk. It would seem his list of hating had grown exponentially today. He hated the way doctors never told you anything straight. They were all just full of bullshit.
'So he is dead?' Kurt looked Dr Ross in the eye. The man shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the directness of the question.
'Yes. I am so sorry, Mr Anderson-Hummel.'
Kurt felt Nathan collapse beside him. Kurt knew he should be comforting his son, but he couldn't, all he could think of was his husband. He stood just as the doctor was about to retreat behind those godforsaken double doors.
'I have to see him.'
Dr Ross turned around slowly. He looked as though he was about to deny Kurt, but instead just gave a small nod of his head.
Kurt grabbed Nathan's hand and stood. He felt a tug on his hand and turned around to find Nathan still sitting on the god-awful plastic chair. His knees were pulled to his chest, one armed wrapped around his shins, the other hanging limply from Kurt's own. He looked so small and Kurt couldn't help but remember the day they brought him home from the hospital, the way Blaine held him as though he were going to fall out of his arms, so tense he would ache for hours. His heart was breaking, not just because he had lost his husband, but because his son had lost his father.
'I can't Dad. I- just- I can't.'
Kurt just nodded, scared of his own voice. He squeezed Nathan's hand before dropping it and following Dr Ross, disappearing behind the double doors to see his husband one last time. To say goodbye.
'I hate that I come here.'
Kurt was standing. He was too old to be sitting on the ground.
'I tell 'ya, the things I do for you.'
He smiled fondly. If it had been anyone else he would have caught himself, wiped the smile right of his face. But this was Blaine. Everything was different with Blaine.
'So, today is our thirtieth anniversary. I hope you didn't forget.'
Kurt visited every year on their anniversary. He hated himself for coming to this spot. It was nothing more than a patch of earth, but it was Blaine's patch, the part of the earth that would forever remind the world he existed. It wasn't Blaine, but it was the closest Kurt could get.
Kurt struggled. He couldn't lie; Blaine's death was hard. It was sudden but not unexpected. And it hurt. A lot. But Kurt had to keep going. He had a son to care for and a life to live.
He gave some of his best performances in the years after his husband's death. The media loved it; the tragic story of the widower who poured everything into his work, feeding of his own personal pain and channeling it through to the stage. But Kurt ignored it, focusing on the job at hand and his son at home.
He and Nathan became incredibly close, every night included warm milk and lady chats. Of course it wasn't a smooth road. There was the time Nathan lashed out two years after they lost Blaine, and tried to dye his hair black. It came out a strange grey colour and Kurt spent hours and numerous bottles of hair dye attempting to fix it. Then there was the evening Nathan came out to his father as straight and brought a girl home for dinner. He got incredibly upset when Kurt and his date spent over an hour discussing the fall line.
There was even the one time Nathan had attempted to set him up on a date. Kurt couldn't help but be impressed with the boy, and a little shocked at how a like they were. Because, really, how many middle aged, single, gay dads were out there? Nathan had forced them together at a college open night. The man was lovely, but Kurt simply wasn't interested. He loved Blaine. He always had and always would.
Some years when Kurt visited, Nathan would join him. But most he did not. It was their time together and the boy felt awkward. It reminded him of when he was a child and he would interrupt private moments in the study when Kurt would laugh at something Blaine had said and Blaine would lean over and kiss him tenderly, the love shining clearly in their eyes. So he visited in his own time, times when he felt especially lonely, or needed guidance, or just wanted to share his day with his dad.
Kurt visited Blaine every year for the rest of his life. Every visit ended with a kiss, played out in Kurt's head, reminding himself that his husband had once lived and loved. And despite their being kept apart their love lived on through Kurt, and through their son.
Nathan buried Kurt next to Blaine. He knew neither of his parents kept much stock in the afterlife, but the sentimental part of him liked to believe that keeping them so close on earth meant more than just the physical distance. He liked to believe that they were together, somewhere. Because it was hard to imagine anything ever keeping them apart.
I think this is the millionth time I have said this, but thank you for reading my story. It has come a long way from a boy dressed in leather and a boy who hated leather. I love each and every one of you with all my heart. So I hope you enjoyed your time with me, and thank you to the end of time for taking the moments to read my words. x