Part Fifteen – 21 – Kurt

It was Thursday, so Kurt's alarm didn't go off until seven-thirty. A blessing, considering that three days a week he had a seven am class. Seven A-M. No one could convince him that wasn't the work of a sadist.

He sighed, turned himself under the weight of Blaine's body to hug him close, bury his face in the warm crook of his neck. No matter what time it was, he never wanted to get up. But after a few more moments of basking, he did.

Twenty minutes of yoga, shower, bagel, dressed.

Kurt checked and double-checked his hair in the mirror. Even if his job at the costume shop was relatively low-profile (and would have to stay that way, unfortunately, for the sake of his family's safety), he still endeavored to always look his best. Good impressions were everything, especially in the world of fashion.

He ducked back into the bedroom. Nearly nine-o'clock and Blaine was still fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach and shirtless and hugging Kurt's pillow. Kurt smiled, bent over him to kiss his shoulder, then the corner of his mouth, and Blaine murmured groggily, "Have a nice day."

"You too, sweetheart," Kurt whispered.

Every day, every moment was a gift that filled his heart to bursting.

As he passed through the living room he noticed Quinn standing there, already dressed, staring out the window.

"Looking at something good?" he asked, coming up behind her.

She didn't bother turning to consider him. "Maybe," she said.

He peered out the window, trying to follow the direction of her eyes. Across the street was a moving truck, and alongside several chunky older men in uniforms, a lanky teen with long, messy dreadlocks was unloading boxes and pieces of furniture.

Finn and Burt were working late at the shop that night, and Carole wouldn't be home at all because of her shift at the hospital. It was Kurt who made dinner for the five of them, setting something aside for Carole to eat when she got off at midnight. It made his day a little hectic since he only had an hour between work and dinner to cook, another hour to eat and then it was off to his evening class. But he made it work. They made it work.

Kurt, Blaine, and Quinn were halfway through their meal when Finn and Burt came home, up to their elbows in grease. "Bathroom," Kurt said in his best no-nonsense voice, pointing down the hall with his fork for emphasis. "But be sure you take your shoes off first!"

They were on dessert by the time his father and brother (and wasn't that still a strange way to think of Finn?) were settled at the table. "Sorry," Finn offered. "We had a few late customers."

"Can't afford to turn 'em down when you're just starting," Burt added.

Kurt shrugged as Blaine said, "It's cool."

"You kids ready for class tonight?" Burt asked, looking pointedly at the three of them each in turn.

They all nodded, Blaine with a little extra enthusiasm. He was lucky to be part of such an advanced Fab's program. Some of Kurt's classes were open to him, and he had the opportunity to earn a Fine Arts certificate.

He shouldn't have to settle for that, but he didn't mind. Blaine didn't mind any of it; not his abrupt fall in social and political status nor his substantially reduced educational and career opportunities. He didn't mind the way people so often snubbed him in public, the way he was treated and seen as Kurt's property.

"I don't mind, Kurt, really."

Kurt minded. He kind of wanted to slap Blaine every time he said he didn't, which was mostly every day.

He used to torture himself wondering if Blaine was really happy like this, if Blaine could ever possibly be happy like this, if he shouldn't hate himself for even permitting the opportunity for Blaine to make this kind of sacrifice. But Quinn was happy—she had her third political science class tonight—and Kurt was (mostly) happy, so Kurt begrudging had to conclude that in Blaine's world, that translated to Blaine being happy too.

Kurt still tortured himself wondering if he would have made the same choice, if it had come down to his independence or Blaine. He didn't understand Blaine, how Blaine was so content with simple things, so selfless, so easily satisfied with pleasing others. Understanding another person was hard, even and especially another person you intend to spend your life with. But Kurt was trying.

It was working out pretty well so far.

It helped that they weren't alone, that they were six instead of two. He was nineteen; he shouldn't need his father, and maybe he didn't need him, but it was good to have him here. To have them all here, to have a family that was determined to stick together.

It helped with the fear.

Two years after Rachel walked away Finn seemed genuinely happy, but he was still alone. Kurt kept watching for signs that something was developing between him and Quinn, but although he got that dopey wow that's a pretty girl look on his face from time to time when they were together, nothing ever really happened. Maybe it was Quinn, that Quinn wanted somebody different (smarter) than Finn. That thought made Kurt more than a little bit angry, so he tried not to dwell on it.

Maybe Finn was still in love with Rachel. Kurt tried not to think about Rachel, because every time he did he still wanted to slap her. Kurt tried not to think about Finn very much at all, because when he did he felt guilty, even guiltier than he felt about Blaine. A slow-dawning guilt that bloomed with the ticking seconds of age and maturity.

When he thought of Finn now, he realized: Finn was the only one of them who hadn't really gotten anything out of this. His whole life changed, uprooted, and he was just following along after Kurt, after their family, as steady and unchanging as the oak tree that grew, solid and towering, in their new backyard.

Finn who came home from working at the shop, smiling and sweaty, and cleaned up because Kurt made him clean up and he always listened to Kurt. Finn who loved to eat more than he loved almost anything else. Finn who was fiercely protective, fiercely loyal, never complained or asked for anything more from life than what it offered him. Finn who seemed to sense it when Kurt couldn't sleep and met him in the kitchen to share mugs of warmed milk; Finn who seemed to know when Kurt was sad and watched Moulin Rouge with him—even though he didn't get it—until Blaine showed up.

Today Finn came home from the shop, smiling and sweaty, and started into the kitchen until Kurt gave him The Look, and he backed up, tugged off his boots, began to tiptoe in his holey socks to the bathroom.

Kurt was suddenly, breathlessly grateful for him.

"Finn," Kurt said, stopping him in his tracks. "You know you're… you're so much more than the statue I chose from a lineup that day. You're more than the form I filled out to order you, or the one I signed when they brought you to my door." His words were choked, hurried, because he needed to say them. He'd spent so much energy over the past two years reassuring Blaine, who seemingly needed no reassurance. But he had never said this, not once in the past eight years. Not to Finn, who perhaps needed to hear it the most. "You're so much more than what they see in you, how they treat you. I should have told you that a long time ago."

Finn stared at him, his face as open as ever, his eyes unfathomable. He stepped forward, pressed a lingering kiss to Kurt's forehead, tugged Kurt up against his chest, wrapping him in strong arms. "You never had to say it," he said.

Kurt loved Finn, and he would tell him every day… every day until Finn finally, hopefully, found the person he belonged with like he'd never quite belonged with Kurt.

Blaine was working on Kurt's only day off and so were all the others, so it was just he and Quinn at home, and Quinn wanted to make cookies.

It was a suspicious request from the start, but Kurt loved to bake and so he played along. They made several dozen—chocolate chip and snickerdoodle and cranberry-oatmeal. "What on earth are you going to do with all of these?" Kurt finally asked her. "Even Finn can't—"

"They're not for Finn. Well, not mostly." She set a few aside—"Three for Finn, two for Blaine, and one each for the rest of us"—and packed the rest into one of their nicer tins. She straightened her dress, ducked into the bathroom to touch up her hair and lipstick, then marched them out of the house and across the street, ringing their new neighbor's doorbell.

Sure enough, Dreadlocks answered. "Hello," he said, drawn out and a bit surprised.

"Hi!" Quinn replied brightly, flashing him her prettiest smile. "I'm Quinn, and this is my brother, Kurt. We're your neighbors from across the street. Cookies?" She held up the tin in offering.

Dreadlocks' eyes widened, and he smiled back at her, took the tin. "Wow, thank you," he said. "My name's Joe. You guys can come in, if you like. Share these with me?"

Kurt was about to make up a polite excuse when Quinn nodded. "That would be lovely, thank you," she said, and followed him inside.

Joe chattered as he led them through the house. "Dude, you don't know how awesome it is to finally be somewhere that's warm! Before we lived up in Washington, and I hate wearing shoes so my feet were always cold." He paused in the middle of the hallway, wiggling his toes, then continued until they wound up in what looked to be the kitchen. Joe cleared a spot on the junk-cluttered round table off to one side of the room, placed the tin of cookies there, and gestured for them to sit. Quinn sat. Kurt, glaring at the side of her head, followed suit.

"My parents are out right now setting up Mom's new office," Joe continued. "I'm sorry if you were hoping to meet them."

Quinn placed her chin in her hands, smiling at him coyly. "To be honest, I was more interested in their son."

Joe blushed, looking back down at his feet. Kurt rolled his eyes. "He probably has a Fab somewhere, Quinn. Or he is a Fab." He looked at Joe in question.

"Actually, um… I'm a reject."

"Oh," Kurt said.

"Oh?" Quinn echoed.

"Yeah. I was born with this weird condition where my legs weren't quite shaped right. It's stupid because my parents paid to fix it, and I'm pretty much fine now, as you can see, but yeah. Reject. Exception to the law."

"Isn't that hard?" Kurt asked. "Knowing you'll never be matched?"

Joe grinned at him. "No, dude, it's totally rad! I've devoted myself to Jesus."

"How interesting," Quinn said, voice dripping with sweetness. "I'm sure that's a very fulfilling choice for you."

Kurt frowned. "Do you mind telling me your opinion on Fabs, then?" he asked coldly. Christians were few and far between now, so much so that Kurt had never actually met one before, but he knew what everyone knew about them. They had been some of the largest protestors of the fabrications laws, but they were also some of the largest protestors of Fabs altogether, believing they were an abomination as only God was meant to create. They were tolerated only marginally by the government these days.

"Kurt!" Quinn scolded.

Joe looked taken aback, but he soon recovered, finally pulling out a chair and joining them at the table. "Sure, no, that's a fair question." He paused, looking directly into Kurt's eyes. "I think it's all about the golden rule. Treat others as you would like to be treated, you know? Whether Fabs are 'real people' or not shouldn't even be a consideration. They do everything that we do, they feel everything like we do, so we should treat them with equal amounts of love and respect. God loves everyone, dude."

Quinn stared at him with a new degree of admiration. "You should come over to our house sometime," she suggested. "I think our parents would like you."

She looked to Kurt, finally. "I think they would," he begrudgingly agreed.

"I would love that," Joe told her. "Thank you." He opened the tin and took out a cookie, actually moaning when he bit into it. "These are amazing," he said, directing the compliment at Quinn.

She smiled—as if she'd ever stopped smiling. "Oh, they're just a little something I whipped up. You come over, and I'll make them for you again."

Their eyes locked. Kurt began to mentally count the seconds that they held each other's gaze, but he eventually gave up. He sat back, crossed his arms, and deliberately did not huff.

This was going to be painful, he could already tell. It was going to be trouble. But if everything somehow, magically worked out, then Quinn would be happy, and Blaine would be happy, and that would make Kurt happy too.

It was nearly ten o'clock on a Friday night. Outside a winter storm raged, but in their cozy living room the six members of the Hudson household sat on the floor by the fire, finishing up a post-dinner game of Monopoly.

The doorbell rang, and everyone froze.

Kurt clutched too-tight to Blaine's hand, knuckles white and heart pounding. Quinn's jaw set, her body beginning to quiver until Finn put an arm around her, shushing into her ear, his own expression one of alarm. Burt and Carole exchanged a look, and slowly Kurt's father rose to his feet.

Nobody said a word. Nobody needed to. They all knew that a visitor this late, on a night like this, could only mean one thing.

Carole was the first to rise and doggedly follow Burt to the door, but the rest soon mirrored her actions. When Kurt moved to pull his hand from Blaine's, Blaine wouldn't let him. Instead he tugged him close, whispered a hoarse I love you into his ear. Kurt squeezed his fingers, swallowed thickly and nodded, too rooted with terror to speak.

They all crowded into the small foyer, Burt's hand on the knob.

The doorbell rang a second time.

Burt took a deep breath and slowly turned his hand, pulling at the door until it begrudgingly swung open.

On the stoop stood a girl, dark hair damp and windblown and littered with snow, huddled in on herself so that she appeared even tinier than her actual stature.

"Rachel!" Kurt exclaimed in a breath, the first to find his voice.

With a cry she tore through the short distance into the house, throwing herself against Finn's body. His arms closed around her, engulfing her, holding her tightly to him, shock and pure joy evident on his face as he bent to place a kiss on her clammy brow.

"I'm sorry," she said, words muffled and heavy with relief. "I wanted to come home."

"You're staying?" Finn asked. "Please, please tell me you're staying."

She stared at him, glanced around at all of them sheepishly. "If you'll have me," she said.

Kurt rolled his eyes, because of course Finn would have her. As for the rest of them, they'd muddle through it and figure it out. He wanted to hold on to his anger, to his hatred, but all of that paled in comparison to the smile on Finn's face.

… And Blaine's as well, the romantic, idealistic dope.

"I guess this means I have to forgive you now," he said begrudgingly.

She turned in Finn's arms to look at him, offering a small, tentative smile. "Kurt," she said. "I would appreciate it."

He nodded, and somebody—Quinn—finally had the good sense to close the damn door. Carole went off to fetch Rachel a towel, and the rest of them headed back to the living room and the warmth of the fire.

As they settled in, Kurt looked around at each of their faces, glowing in the firelight, and saw his family. The danger was still there, still real, perhaps even greater now that Rachel had joined them. But surrounding him was nearly every person he'd ever truly loved, all here, together, a part of his life for the foreseeable future. All part of a life they'd somehow managed to fabricate.

He felt Blaine's hand slip into his, felt his gaze, knowing, as he watched him. They shared a smile. Blaine lay his head on Kurt's shoulder, and they went back to their game.