AN: Well, here it is everyone. The end. I can't apologize enough for how long it took me to get this written. Since the last update, I have taken up the guitar again after twenty years and learned a new riding discipline, all in a desperate effort to stem the anxiety and depression from my job situation. In the end, I ended up leaving the job I thought I would retire from and have opted to start over again somewhere else. I start that new job tomorrow and vowed to finish this story before I do. It wasn't an easy decision or process, and it did take up all of my energy to get through it. This story suffered as a result, and I apologize. But I never stopped thinking about it, and I always intended to finish it. Whether it was stress, or just the fear of getting to the end and having it really be over, I was just not able to get it to flow. Every single scene in this chapter has been started and re-started at least three times. I just couldn't get it to work without coming out anti-climactic. While I'm still not entirely happy with the writing in this part, it is every bit the story I wanted to tell. I hope it satisfies. I thank Darren and his amazing met gala costume for reminding me that Glee is a campy show and taking it too seriously only ruins everything that made it great.

On another note, I was plowing through the tribute scene yesterday when I got a Facebook notification that reminded me it was actually the anniversary of Cory's death. I can't help but think that's too much of a coincidence. It also terrifies me that I can't possibly have done a good enough job that scene. I never really cared for the Finn character on the show, but I understood what he meant to the overarching story, and I have to believe that if they'd known when the story would end, they'd have set it up so that his death could have more meaning. I had not intended to write Finn into this story at all, simply because I knew the time line would progress past the point of his canon death, and I didn't want to deal with that. I was more than half finished writing this story when I decided Finn not only had to be in it, but that he had to be important. I hope I did him justice.

That being said, this chapter contains mentions of canon character death.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Burt grasped his wife's elbow, halting her, bent at the waist, before she could straighten to a full stand, then slid his fingers up the flat side of her arm until he had a firm grasp of her hand. "Sit."

"But I should check..."

"He's fine." Burt reached across himself and patted his second hand atop the other two. "Now, sit. You're off duty, at least until we land. C'mon. It's not every day we get to fly in a private jet. There's a fridge between our seats with actual full sized bottles of booze in it and sandwiches stuffed to bursting, not with alfalfa sprouts, but with the cow that ate the alfalfa. I'm pretty sure I heard a moo just now."

"I'm not hungry," Carole protested, despite sinking back into her seat. "And we really shouldn't take advantage."

"Are you kiddin'? That's why it's there. Honey, it's a private jet. If we don't eat it, who will? No one, that's who. And that cow would've died for nothing. Now, sit down with your husband and pickle some red meat with me. The boys are fine." He put a bottle of some expensive looking imported beer on the tray table and unwrapped a sandwich. "That Sebastian kid is taking care of them, and if you ask me, his karma needs all the help it can get. Leave 'em to it." He pushed half the sandwich across the tray. "Plus, I have a vested interest in making sure my wife takes a few minutes to enjoy herself for once."

Burt didn't miss the extra brightness in the corner of her lashes as she craned her neck around toward the back of the plane, the ever present smudge of mascara underneath just a shade darker than the circles under her eyes. She offered him a half-hearted, shaky smile and wiped at her cheek as she met his gaze but didn't reach for the proffered food.

"I draw the line at feeding you," he prodded. "At least not until we're both old and toothless and sucking pudding through a straw."

She picked up the half sandwich and raised it half to her mouth while keeping her ear not-so-subtly tipped over her far shoulder.

"Care..." He dropped his chin down and looked at her over the bridge of his nose, not too proud to beg. "Please?"

She relented her focus but set the sandwich down again. "They're just... too quiet. They're too quiet, don't you think? Shouldn't I check on the-"

"They're quiet," Burt agreed. "They're probably watching a movie, or napping, or reading one of those trashy gossip magazines. That's quiet. It only feels too quiet because you're used to all the hospital noises." He took her half of the sandwich and raised it to her lips. "We're done with all that. No more, okay? No more alarms, no pages, no squeaking sneakers on linoleum floors or elevators dinging. Just quiet. It's a good thing. Now eat."

She took a bite and swallowed. "A good thing," she repeated ahead of a shaking inhale that he'd come to recognize as the sound of tears being swallowed. It'd taken a lot of tears to stem the flow enough for them to be swallowed.

"This is your Captain." A voice crackled into the cabin. "I hope everyone's enjoying the in-flight accommodations. You'll have another hour at cruising altitude to do so. There's nothing but blue skies between us and our final descent into LAX. Our eyes on the ground tell me that the rest of your group is sticking to their itinerary and should be at the interception point as planned and your car service is prepared to get you there as well. Sit back, relax, and let us get you where you're going. Those of you who are of legal age should feel free to partake. I highly recommend the imported dark ale. And for the rest of our guests, we have soda, sparkling water, and by special request, chocolate milk. Enjoy the remainder of your trip. I'll notify you to return to your seats before we begin our descent."

Burt pointed a finger up toward the speaker. "See? Good things. Lotsa good things. Relax. Enjoy." He pushed the sandwich closer to her lips again. "Eat."

She blocked his progression with her fingers momentarily, chin wrinkling as she said, "I love you," and then took a bite that was entirely too large for her mouth.

"I know."

-#-

"'That show choir.' What does that even mean? And how does 'everyone know' that we're 'that show choir?'" Sam couldn't control the quiver in his voice, the amplitude of each wave cresting in sync with the tremor of nerves under his skin. He was officially freaking out, and now? Now was really not the time for it. Not with the glee club lining up backstage at Nationals and Throat Explosion preening and leering from the wings, just waiting for them to fail. Waiting for Sam to fail.

"Sam, just focus. They're trying to intimidate us. We can't let them." Mr. Schuester had good game most of the time, but Sam wasn't interested in playing. He was done playing. Life was too friggin' short. He shrugged past Schue to the edge of the stage as though he could disappear into the velvet folds of curtain separating him and the rest of their ramshackle, decimated show choir from the Nationals audience that was probably preparing the rotten tomatoes as they spoke.

"Or what, Mr. Schue? Or we won't win? Is this your 'pull your head out of your ass, Sam, and be a leader' speech? Because, you know what? Been there, done that." He tried to push back his sleeves only to be thwarted by the cuffs of his suit jacket and the buttons on his shirt, settled for pushing his hair back, instead, while heaving a frustrated sigh. "Sophomore year, you tagged me and Quinn for Sectionals, even though you were totally off your mark about the Warblers, and we nearly got our asses handed to us. Junior year I changed schools to compete with you even though we shouldn't have had a snowball's chance in Hell against Shelby and The Troubletones. And this year, at Regionals, I stepped up and I... I pretended to be... I pretended to be Blaine. But you know what? It's not my job. It was never my job to lead this group, and I don't want it anymore. I c-can't. I can't."

He didn't mean to cry, but his throat was seizing up, and tears seemed to be the only thing free-flowing. The sleeve of his suit jacket be damned.

"Sam... I'm not..." It was Schue's turn to push his hair back in frustration, which he did before pushing the waist of his coat back to place his hands on his hips, chin to chest. "I'm not asking you to step up. I'm not asking you to be Superman. I'm not asking you to save the show, here. I'm just asking you to focus and show up. Be Sam. The rest of the team is going to follow your lead because you're Sam, and you're good at what you do. Just show up."

"Really? That's it? That's all you need me to do, Mr. Schue? Because I don't think... I don't want to... I'm not..." He shook his head, clearing his throat harshly to work his words out past the swallowed emotion. "We already have... We had..." He swallowed again. "You know, everyone's about the win here. Win, or the glee club goes away. Win, f-for Blaine. Win for F-finn. But when you step back and look at the big picture, is it really winning if neither of them are out there with us? Is it going to put Blaine back behind that piano where he belongs? Will it make Finn...? They were the heart of this team, and now the heart's gone." The tears won out, and instead of fighting for words, he turned, pushing the curtain aside enough to scan the audience. Three empty seats in the McKinley section. Defeated, he let the curtain drop. Velvet pressed close around his cheeks and nose, and he just inhaled the recirculated, stale air of his last breath several more times before turning back around. "It's gone, and they're not here. They're not coming."

"Oh, thank God! There you are! Mr. Schue! Mr. Schue! We have a problem!" They spun around as Tina mince-ran around the corner in her high heels and caught herself on the sleeve of Mr. Schuester's suit jacket as she skidded into him. Barely taking half a breath to steady herself, she exhaled with a rush. "We can't find Brad. No one's seen him since rehearsal last night. We think he got left at the hotel."

"Crap!" Mr. Schuester grasped his hair in both hands. "Well, we... he knows where we are. Hopefully he caught a cab, and he'll be here any minute. We just have to..."

The lights dimmed and a tone sounded backstage, the last warning before the final call for 'places.' "Mr. Schue, what are we going to do? The first number's all band, but the second one's just piano and guitar. Artie's blocked into the choreography, and we didn't bring his synth. He can't fill in on such short notice, and..."

"Places!"

Sam took Tina by the elbow and lurched for the green room, jaw set as he fixed Mr. Schuester with a determined gaze. "You heard 'em. Show time!" As he brushed past Mr. Schuester, he leaned in and added, "I'm doing my job, Mr. Schue. I'm getting us on the stage. There's no piano in the first number, and if you don't have someone out there by the time we block for the second, we'll do it a capella. One way or another, we're doing this. For Blaine! Because his number deserves to win, even if he..." He felt his nostrils flare impossibly large as he fought to swallow down an emotion too large for his throat. "You do what you gotta do to make it happen. You owe him that. Both of them. We all do."

He didn't let Schuester finish his stammer before yanking Tina into formation.

-#-

"You okay?" Burt kept his arm across his wife's shoulders, pulling her tight against him while she tucked her i.d. back into her wallet. She nodded, her head tilted into his chest, but didn't speak as she tucked Finn's driver's license in behind hers. He hadn't known she kept it there. Of course she wouldn't have thrown it away. Not given the way her hands had shaken when they presented it to her at the hospital. The way she'd panicked, worried that her tears would smear the signature on the back or the hastily scribbled directive beside it and somehow render it invalid, he'd suspected she was keeping it in the fire safe with the rest of their legal documents. Instead, it fell out of her billfold when they asked for identification at the "Will Call" desk. Burt couldn't help the glare of resentment he gave the desk clerk as she slid their tickets across the counter. Who required identification to reserve seats for a show choir competition, anyway?

The clerk didn't seem to notice. Instead, she cracked her gum and slid the tickets under the glass. "Show's already started. Those seats are yours for the remainder as well as the Awards Ceremony if you choose to stay. Closest entrance to your seats is right through those doors," she added, craning her neck to the left before pointing. "Have a nice day."

Burt noted the tremor in Carole's frame as he moved to turn them toward the door and paused to find her rooted in place, still running her thumb in reverence over the license. He realized, as he watched her trace around and around the lines of handwriting that he didn't think he'd ever seen the picture on the front. Didn't know if Finn was wearing his letter jacket. If he was grinning that big dopey smile he had whenever he knew he'd done something really good but didn't really feel like he deserved any credit for it. If he was maybe going through that phase most teenaged boys went through where he was trying to groom three longish lip hairs into a moustache. Burt had seen the student i.d. picture from Lima U. Finn was wearing a suit and tie on it. Looked every bit like the teacher he was hoping to become. But this was all he'd ever seen of Finn's driver's license- a couple of boxes with X's over them, a signature that looked like he'd been using it since elementary school- hadn't yet gotten around to schooling it into anything formal or pretentious in preparation for all the important, binding, adult type forms he'd someday have to sign- and a little note that he'd barely squeezed in along the bottom edge.

"He used to write letters," Carole offered. "Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, God- well until he discovered Grilled Cheezus," she added with a notably wet chuckle. "You'd think, with all that letter writing, his penmanship would've improved a little, wouldn't you?"

Burt shrugged with a crooked smirk, continuing to rub back and forth over her shoulders as if to massage out the knot of emotion twisting beneath the surface.

"I practically had to hire a translator to figure out what he wanted, most of the time. Because, he'd tell me the things that he needed, especially if he thought they didn't cost very much, but the things he really wanted? He only wrote those in the letters. And even then... only one thing." She smiled then, not that chin quivering, barely keeping it together smile she faked for everyone else's sake, but a dam-breaking, giant whooping breath of pride unleashing, eyes glittering with reverence and joy, smile. "One thing for himself. One thing for Mommy. One thing for Daddy in Heaven. One thing for whoever was his best friend that week... It was a miracle really, that he ever got any of them with penmanship like this." The smile tightened, breath walled up behind it once more. "He was a miracle."

She pulled the card closer to her face, squinting at it incredulously. "I never even knew he did this. He never said anything. But once I saw it... when they brought it to me in the hospital...it's just so him, you know? It was like he was right there, not-not the way he was at that moment, not that shell in the bed, but him. My little boy. He was right there, handing me his letter to Santa Claus and bouncing on his toes, the one thing he wanted most in the world all sealed up like a present I couldn't wait to open." She kissed the plastic, pressed it to her chest. "For a second he was alive, and he was taking care of me and everyone else just like he always had. And any question, any doubt about whether we were doing the right thing was just gone."

"It's what he wanted."

"No." She shook her head. "No; he wanted to be a teacher. He wanted to take that show choir to Nationals, and marry the girl he's been in love with for years." She took a deep shuddering breath. "He wanted to live." A beat followed by a trembling exhale. "But he wanted Blaine to live, too. Part of me thinks that in his idealistic, naive, but so, so brave little boy mind, he believed that as long as he signed this, as long as he made the directive, all would be right with the universe and miracles were coming our way, because that's what he wanted..." She sighed. "His heart was in the right place-"

"It still is."

She looked up at him, blinking as he swiped her cheek with the pad of his thumb, and nodded. The driver's license slid back into her wallet, and she snapped it shut. "It is."

Burt offered his elbow. "You ready for this?"

She took it. "There's no place else I'd rather be."

-#-

It was... wrong.

Good? Yeah. It was good. They'd never managed to get their hand claps to "America," completely in unison before, but today? Perfect. And maybe the choreography wasn't as intricate as it could have been, but it was tight. Spot on. Fluid.

Kitty's voice was... a surprise. Sam knew she could sing. Everyone knew she could sing. They'd heard her every day since that Grease audition, but they'd never listened, the way you never listen to the backing track until it's not there and you can't find a downbeat to save your life.

Now, they were stripped down, flayed alive and cut to the bone. Now they had to listen to what was left. There shouldn't have been enough left of their hollowed out group of misfits to perform anything without falling on their faces. They probably should've cancelled their trip to Nationals after... everything, and maybe they would have if stopping had been an option. It turned out that it wasn't. They'd tried, all of them at some point, but when they stopped-stopped singing, stopped dancing, stopped being together every day close enough to lean on and hold each other up- they ended up circling the drain, sinking instead of swimming. Brittany hadn't lasted a week at MIT before she realized she couldn't be alone. Not now. And Mr. Schue had found them all practicing on their own just two days into their prescribed week off. But now Sam heard it. He heard Kitty's voice, and Joe's, the way Unique and Tina's harmonies had come together, Marley's lower register somehow stronger than before. He noticed them now, things that had always been there just below the surface suddenly bobbing to the top like a life preserver. And they weren't just clinging and floating anymore. They were rising above.

But it still felt wrong. No matter how proud he was that there were enough layers to the New Directions to keep them going, it didn't make up for the painful debridement they'd had to suffer in order to reach those layers. It didn't make up for the hole that they'd been able to spackle over on stage but still glared back at them from the empty seats in their section of the auditorium that kept drawing Sam's gaze.

Maybe it was the wrongness of it all that kept Sam's skin crawling and the hairs on the back of his neck bristling, kept his adrenaline pumping and feet on the beat, or maybe it was that certainty that the other shoe was preparing to drop that allowed him to notice when Tina's skirt didn't twirl to quite the same height as it had been and her eyes managed to widen and crinkle in the span of one hand clap. Whether he noticed by accident or because Tina intended him to, Sam did notice, and he followed her gaze off stage to where the curtains had parted just far enough for someone to peek through, and... Sebastian!

What the hell was Sebastian Smythe doing there? Sure, it had been kind of awesome when he'd volunteered himself and Trent to transfer to McKinley for the last month of school in order to fill their roster, even if it was impractical in their final semester of school and ultimately, illegal, but Sam had already been looking that gift horse squarely in the mouth before the school board put the kibosh on it. Did he really think he could just step in and replace Blaine? What was in it for him?

Anyway, that had been a month ago, right after Finn... and Blaine... What was Sebastian doing there now? In L.A.? And why was he backstage? He couldn't still be trying to sabotage them after everything... could he?

Somehow the adrenaline and muscle memory kept Sam on the beat and driving through the choreography, even as his peripheral vision kept drawing his focus into the wings where... something was happening, a lot of extra motion and way too many bodies darting around in some sort of controlled chaos. Whatever Sebastian was planning, he'd called in reinforcements, and Sam was one chorus of Neil Diamond's "America," from wringing his scrawny, weasel neck.

As Sam was about to turn stage front for the big finish, Sebastian's face split with a grin, and he ducked back behind the curtain. Finishing his turn, Sam tracked Sebastian's line of sight. It wasn't hard. His own gaze had been drawn there for the entire performance, even before Sebastian showed up. Black holes had a tendency to do that.

Except, it wasn't a black hole anymore. The seats were filled! At least, some of them. Burt and Carole were there, still settling in. Carole's purse was taking up the seat they'd reserved for Kurt, but no one had really expected him to come. Not without Blaine.

But Burt... Burt and Carole were there. And this was Finn's song. Maybe they'd missed most of it, but they were there. They made it.

"Today!"

His chest collapsed around the last word as the lights went down, his vision starting to swim behind the sheen of emotion flooding over him. They were here for Finn's song; they were going to be there for Blaine's song, and while it wasn't the same as having Finn or having Blaine, it was the next best thing. The best thing they could hope for now.

As the lights dimmed, he felt the gazes of his teammates boring into him and realized they were waiting for him to give them direction. They'd never tried the number a capella. Someone needed to count them off, and it had to be someone who'd bring them in on key. He was their leader, even if it was by default, so... yeah. He had to... And before the silence got awkward would be good. He cleared his throat, humming low enough that he hoped only he could hear it, tried once, then twice, not convinced he had it but finally drew in a breath, ready to go for broke.

"Two, three, four," a familiar voice cut him off, counted them in from stage left as a piano started playing. Before everyone could draw in their first breath, the curtain drew back, widening the performance area enough to reveal the piano no one had had the chance to push to center stage. The top was propped open so the pianist was obscured from the rest of the choir, his back to the audience as Jake and Brittany danced into the spotlight at center stage. There was no time to gape or even breathe a sigh of relief before the choir began to sing.

They went for broke. No excuses. No holding back. They had to. Glee was about opening your heart to joy, and theirs had been laid open for months, waiting...

Depression is doing all the things you love, throwing your heart into everything the way you always have and getting nothing back. It's opening your heart to joy, wide open, but none shows up.

"I'm a plane in the sunset, with nowhere to land."

It was there. The joy. It had to be. Blaine taught them that. Finn taught them that. And they were ready for it.

It's like catching your breath again after you've been drowning. You get so caught up in it, that you don't even realize you're still drowning, because you've convinced yourself you don't need air.

Blaine taught them nothing they felt in their hearts was wrong.

Finn gave them the heart to feel it.

"Ah la la la la la la la, life is wonderful."

They'd felt it at Sectionals, with Blaine on the stage with them, his soul bleeding into the music and their eyes only just opened, still squinting and fighting for focus.

I felt like that when I sang and I got the audience on their feet. I felt like that when I got a dance move right after practicing it for hours... When I found just the words that someone needed to hear and I said them. When my dad said he was proud of me. When I loved my boyfriend.

They'd felt it at Regionals, when Blaine was the ghost and they the haunted, the lot of them hollowed out and chasing the shadows of what they thought they knew.

And then you're back drowning again, only now it's worse, because you remember what it felt like to fly.

"I want to stay in love with my sorrow."

Like the reverb speaker I'd been tuned into my whole life was wired to the wrong mic, and I never noticed.

"Only a man in a silly red sheet, digging for Kryptonite on a one way street."

They felt it now, their souls burned and scraped raw so that every nerve was still exposed. They couldn't not feel it. Not now. Sam would never have thought they could feel it more, but this was Nationals, the accumulation of everything that came before, where they surmounted the insurmountable odds, and triumphed over the tragedy.

It was almost too much.

"Will I-I-I-I, divi-i-i-ide and fall apart?"

Or maybe it was just enough.

"Full of grace. My love. It's better this way."

They were accustomed to the audiences taking a minute to digest that number, used the lull behind the final sustain to catch their breaths, panting as though they'd done more than standing stationary in silhouette while Jake and Brittany danced, all of them drained emotionally with the final number still to perform. At any moment, they were sure the audience would jump to their feet, and bring down the house while the choir scatter-drilled into final formation.

Any minute now.

Any... minute.

Instead of the applause they were expecting, the audience gasped in unison as the piano bench scraped backward over the wood floor, and the top slammed closed with a puff of smoke.

Sam was ready to call for a fire extinguisher when a figure swirled out of the mist, clad in a yellow cape that disbursed the smoke in its wake. He caught a glimpse of a giant yellow treble clef insignia as the pianist spun to center stage before taking a bow.

"Oh my God," Tina whisper-shouted into his ear. "Its..."

"The Almighty Treble Clef, Uniter of Glee Clubs..." Sam finished, unable to keep the note of awe from his voice.

Tina smacked him, "No, you..."

"Blaine!" Marley didn't bother to whisper as she rushed out to center stage.

But it couldn't be. Blaine couldn't come to L.A. His doctors wouldn't give him clearance to go through the airport terminal. Too many germs. They hadn't even reserved him a seat because...

That's when Blaine turned. Even clad head to toe in Finn's superhero costume (which Kurt had done an excellent job of tailoring down to size from the looks of it) and a paper surgical mask over half his face, there was no mistaking the bushy eyebrows and twinkling eyes.

Glee was about opening your heart to joy, and once it was filled to overflowing, it was about sharing that joy with the world.

That's when they stormed center stage. Performance clock be damned.

The audience didn't hold back either.

-#-

"Ladies and Gentleman, that concludes the competition phase of our show. On behalf of all of our National Show Choir performers, their families, coaches, and chaperones, we'd like to invite you to remain in your seats for a special tribute performance from all of our choirs as the judges leave to begin deliberations. Please allow just a few minutes for everyone to get organized backstage. In the interim, we'd like to thank all of our sponsors and benefactors for today's show, beginning with the HeeHee Hu Method, Lamaze Training for Singers, because breath control isn't just for pushing out babies anymore, now available on DVD and Blu-Ray with special bonus track 'Kegels for Kountertenors, Falsetto Training for The Pop Stars of Tomorrow...'"

Blaine shrugged his shoulders and circled them as Kurt's fingers worked out the knots in his neck. What nerves had been dissipated by the group hug and collective welcome back into the fold, had returned during the quick change out of his Treble Clef costume and into a suit jacket and bow tie. It didn't help that he could hear the entire show choir collective warming up behind him, and it was starting to kick in just how big a deal this was. It wasn't just any performance this time.

And, of course, Carole, God love her, hadn't stopped watching him like a hawk, constantly plying him with hand sanitizer and motioning for him to pull up his surgical mask, reminding him that he wasn't in the clear yet, never really would be. They were only here at all because Sebastian's father owned a private jet that allowed them to bypass the main airport terminal and gain the grudging blessing of his doctor to make the trip. But he didn't want to be thinking about that now. This wasn't about the risks and the setbacks and long term prognoses. This was about the gift. A celebration.

Not a masquerade.

He took a heaving breath, closed his eyes, and ripped off the mask. Hearing Kurt draw in a gasp beside him, Blaine kissed him soundly before he could protest. As the tension melted away, he pulled back just far enough that he could see into Kurt's eyes and whispered, "I got this. I do," then punctuated with another quick peck and spun on his heel, through the curtain, and out onto the stage.

A low spotlight illuminated the piano as he picked up the wireless mic headset from the fallboard and adjusted it into position. Clearing his throat, he noted with satisfaction that the mic was working and strolled around to the edge of the spotlight. Rubbing his hands together, he leaned back slightly. "Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. Is everyone enjoying the competition today?"

A spackling of applause with a stray wolf whistle or two in response gave him the impetus to keep going.

He tapped the mic and adjusted it a little closer to his mouth. "You'll have to bear with me if I'm a little hard to hear. My breath support's not quite back to one hundred percent, yet. But hey, I'm breathing, and 'Look Mom, no oxygen tank.'"

The rumble that went through the crowd was more of confusion than amusement. Blaine closed his eyes and took a minute to regroup. He forgot the mic momentarily as he muttered under his breath, "Stupid, Anderson. This is not the time for jokes." His jaw set, and he opened his eyes again, chin dipping slightly as his shoulder squared up. "I'm sorry. Little false start there. This is," a hiss of breath through his nose, jaw clenching as he fisted the hem of his suit jacket, "a LOT harder than I thought it was going to be."

"Dude, you got this!" Sam called from the wings.

"Blaine!" Tina and Marley shouted their support, and he couldn't help but chuckle to himself before continuing.

"Well, then," he exhaled, "for those of you who haven't pieced it together on your own, my name is Blaine Anderson, and that's my show choir back there, the New Directions of Lima, Ohio. They were amazing, am I right?"

Another smattering of applause, mostly from backstage, this time.

He cleared his throat again, gazing down momentarily. "I know some of you are probably wondering why I'm up here now when I barely put in a cameo during the actual competition." He started a slow pace within the confines of his spotlight, hands clasped behind his back. "I'd love to say it was all part of some grand scheme orchestrated by my older brother, Cooper, in an attempt to steal the spotlight in the name of Anderson, but believe me, there's no place I'd rather have been during that performance than up there with the rest of my choir. Every single one of them is amazingly talented and equally deserving of this spotlight."

He wiped his palms down the sides of his pants before clapping his hands together in front of himself once more, thumb knuckles just missing the mic. "But this isn't their spotlight. Or mine."

A beat.

"It's Finn's."

Behind him, the acoustic shell at the back of the stage became a projection screen. The face of one Finn Hudson beamed off the screen, cheeks flushed with the excitement of performing the opening bars of their Meatloaf number from the previous year's Nationals. Blaine was behind him, slightly out of focus but unmistakable for the height difference and the dark, slicked back hair.

"Finn couldn't be here in person this year, and even though my doctors were extremely reluctant to let me make a trip across the country this close out from my," he cleared his throat again, choking on nerves and emotion simultaneously, "uh, heart transplant, I knew this was the last chance for both of us to be on this Nationals stage together with the people who supported us through what was probably the best and worst year of our lives."

He paused on the very edge of his circle and shook his head briefly to dispel the claws scritching their way past his defenses. "And... with everything going down the way it did, I-I missed the funeral and the memorial service, which was so, so unfair, seeing as no one has more to thank him for than I do." He let that sink in for another beat before turning on his high beam smile, eyes wide in amazement and gratitude. "I mean, look at me. I'm alive. Believe it or not, there was a time, not too long ago, when I was sure I'd never stand here again, and I'm only here now because of him. Don't get me wrong, it's probably best that I didn't get the chance before now to thank him, because, as it turns out, just breathing while your chest is basically held together with fishing line and staples is, well, it's excruciating, so crying is..." He huffed out something between a laugh and a cry, not sure which he needed to do the most. "Anyway, if I shed a few tears up here, rest assured they are tears of joy and tears of gratitude and long, long overdue."

He might as well have left out the 'if' in that statement, as his cheeks were already damp when he turned to face the projection screen behind him. "Joy, because this is the Finn I got to know." The picture transitioned to a shot of Finn beaming after he finally conquered the Widowmaker that day in Booty Camp, one of he and Blaine trading encouragements over the seats while they sat in the audience waiting for their chance to perform at Sectionals, Finn in both his John Travolta disco suit and his original Almighty Treble Clef costume, marker cap in hand with no marker to be found. It faded to black on a shot of Finn and Sam on his motorcycle the day they came to keep Blaine company in the hospital right before Mr. Schue's wedding.

"And gratitude, because of what he was willing to give for the people he cared about." The screen lit up on one of the ridiculous selfies they took that day in the hospital while they were waiting for test results. Blaine tried not to cringe at how pale and exhausted he looked, or the way the collar of his gown had slipped down far enough to expose his ICD, because the way Finn helped support his glassy-eyed self with an arm around behind him, even though Blaine knew the back of his gown was open enough for there to be more than a little skin on skin contact, said so much more about Finn than Blaine. A short muted video clip from the school lockdown focused into full clarity as Finn burst through the front doors with Blaine's body pulled into his chest while SWAT members crouched behind police lines with shields and guns. That cut to a shot of Finn and Sam weighing down the back of the Cheerios golf cart as they barreled down the halls of Dalton Academy to get Kurt and Blaine to their pinning ceremony, followed by another from the ceremony itself, Finn's grinning face perfectly framed by Kurt and Blaine as they clasped hands with the Warblers lining the staircase behind them. A short video clip of the rose petals raining down, faded into a slightly blurred closeup of the back of Finn's Ohio Operator's License where he had not only checked off the organ donor box but scribbled on the side, 'Heart for Blaine Anderson, 3-21-13,' and initialed it, F.H.

The closing shot showed hospital staff lining the hallways from Finn's place in the ICU to the surgical suite where they would harvest his organs for transplant, as was his wish.

It took less than half a beat for the crowd to gasp in unison as realization set in that they were witness that day to both tragedy and miracle.

Still, Blaine wasn't sure they really got it. He turned his face up to the projection booth where his brother Cooper was manning the audio/video portion of the presentation. "Coop, can we go back a little?"

The images on the screen blinked out for a second then back on at the rose petal footage.

"One more," Blaine directed, and when the picture from the pinning ceremony flickered into focus, he held up his hand. "There. That one." He turned to fully face the screen, then, taking in the full effect of image. "This is a great picture, isn't it? I'm not sure who took this exact one, but... wow!" He stayed silent, giving everyone plenty of time to take it in with him.

"There's a lot about this photo that hits home for me. There are the obvious reasons, like, this was the day I got pinned to Kurt. It was a surprise ceremony we sprung on all of our friends. Most of them didn't even know what a pinning was, but they all showed up to support us anyway. They didn't know I'd actually asked Kurt to marry me instead." He chuckled, more of a nervous laugh than humor, but he was far enough removed by then to find some humor in it as well. "At least three times, I think, before he decided I was lucid enough to actually take me seriously. Kurt, of course, knew me well enough to know that I was really saying I was so scared that I wasn't going to make it much longer and wanted to cram as much of our forever into the time I had left as possible. He was also the one wise enough to say we weren't going to let fear dictate our lives any more than it already had. He came up with the idea of getting pinned, and planned the whole ceremony in less than a week. But there was one thing he forgot to account for."

He glanced into the wings with his most assuring smile in place, knowing full well that Kurt would be anxiously scraping his brain trying to figure out what Blaine was referring to.

"He forgot that I needed to shave for the ceremony." The crowd chuckled, but he saw Kurt's eyes well up as he realized where the story was going. "Or rather, he forgot that I couldn't do it myself anymore. Someone had to help me, because I got so lightheaded when I tried to do it that I couldn't be trusted with sharp objects. Usually, Kurt helped me, or my dad, but on the day of the ceremony they were both off at the venue getting everything set up, and my mom's hands were shaking more than my own at that point. So, she called Finn." His laugh this time was entirely mirth. "If any of you had known Finn, then you'd know that it was a little like giving a toddler permission to run with scissors. I genuinely feared for my life, and I know it had to be awkward for him, too, but he showed up with that same goofy grin on his face that always said he was glad to help, no matter what. And he didn't cut me, not even once, which is more than I can say for the first time my dad tried to help me." Everyone laughed, then.

"But the point of the story isn't that I stared death in the face that day or even that I look amazingly clean cut in this picture because Finn showed up. The point is that we had a chance to talk that day. It was the first time we really had a one on one since before the lockdown at McKinley, and even though neither of us knew it at the time, it was the last chance we'd ever have." Blaine turned to stare at the picture again, felt himself fall into the moment captured there, all the emotions of that day, the before and the after, flooding over him. "See, it wasn't just the day Kurt and I got pinned, but it was the day Finn had the accident that he never woke up from. And while my mind can't really reconcile the irony and the unfairness of that, my heart... Finn's heart... is eternally grateful that we got that chance to talk, because my last memory of him will forever be me telling him that I got on the transplant list and he telling me that I was going to dance at my wedding someday." Blaine choked on the next words. "That he-he knew it in his heart."

Blaine was looking at his shoes by then, but he could tell from the muffled sounds around him that he wasn't the only one choking on that last statement. He swallowed hard before continuing.

"I needed to hear that." He cleared his throat. "Um, not everyone knows this, but what Finn did for me is called a directed donation, and while they play fast and loose with the specifics of it on 'Grey's Anatomy,' the guidelines for a directed donation when the recipient and the donor are actual acquaintances requires that both sides consent before the donor passes. Finn gave his consent by scribbling a note on the back of his driver's license, and his family gave theirs by letting him go rather than keeping him on life support indefinitely. But I have to admit, as sick as I was, as much as I knew I needed that heart, I don't think I was at a place, yet, where I believed I was worthy of that kind of sacrifice. Not knowing what Finn meant to everyone I knew, what he meant to me, how integral he was in so much of my life and everyone else's. I didn't believe I deserved that. I don't think I could have lived knowing that he had to die if we hadn't had that moment that day. His belief, no matter how he came about it, made me believe, too. He believed I was worth it. He believed I deserved to live, and when it came down to it, when they came to me and told me it was my decision to accept this heart, knowing they would remove him from life support in order to give it to me, I knew that was exactly how things were supposed to be. Because he believed it, and more than that, because he was happy to do it."

He huffed into the microphone, half a relieved exhale to finally have the weight of that decision shared with everyone in that audience, and half acceptance of some profound truth that he'd only just realized.

"He was. Happy, I mean. He was so happy that day. I-I can't reveal all the details of his private life, but I can tell you that he might have been sleep-deprived that morning, but he had no regrets. Not a single one. He'd made good on everything in his life that made him question himself and his own worth and finally felt like he could have and do everything that he ever wanted, and I believe that if he could have, he'd have reached inside his chest and given me this heart right then and there so that I could feel as good as he did at that moment. I mean, look at his face in this picture," he gestured toward the screen. "That is what it looks like to be completely unburdened and at peace with the world." Then, he turned back to face the audience. "He had that, and he wanted that for everyone he cared about. He made me see that I'm one of those people, and I deserve that as much as anyone."

Blaine got quiet again, not even trying to hide the tears dripping off his jaw that he had to swipe off the arm of the mic to keep it from crackling with moisture. "If I can take even a fraction of that with me into the next chapters of my life, I have to believe that he is grinning that big, dopey grin wherever he is and kicking down any doors that are in my way just like he never left. His heart was just that big."

"Literally." Blaine didn't realize he'd slipped into somewhat of a stupor until Kurt's voice crackled over the speaker, amplified by Blaine's mic as arms slipped around his waist from behind. Blaine sniffled into Kurt's neck, offering silent thanks for the support before straightening and picking up Kurt's segue.

"Yes, literally," Blaine huffed, wiping at his cheeks. "In fact, they'd already put me on bypass and removed my damaged heart before they realized Finn's heart wouldn't fit. It turned out there was too much swelling and edema in my chest from having been in heart failure that they couldn't close it up until the swelling went down two days later. Can't tell you how glad I am that I slept through that!"

The crowd laughed then, and he knew he'd done Finn justice. Laughter through tears wasn't only the best emotion, it was pretty much everything there was to say about Finn Hudson.

That just left the one thing he never got to say to Finn Hudson.

"That sounds to me like a sentiment best expressed through song. And since my voice is still too shaky to really do it justice, I want to welcome onto the stage all of today's competitors to help me in paying tribute to Finn Christopher Hudson, aka, The Almighty Treble Clef, Uniter of Glee clubs." Stepping to the edge of the stage, "Carole, I won't put you on the spot by making you come up here, but I just want you to know that I am forever indebted to you for raising Finn to be the amazing, kind, and giving person that he was. I hope that I can make you half as proud. This song is as much for you as for him."

By the time he'd taken a seat at the piano, the risers behind him had filled up with the rest of the show choirs, including Sebastian who wouldn't be denied his one chance to sing on a Nationals stage, all of them parted in the middle to frame a picture of Finn in his quarterback uniform.

(Hear You Me, Jimmy Eat World)

There's no one in town I know

You gave us someplace to go.

I never said thank you for that

Thought I might get one more chance.

The photo transitioned into more of Finn in various embraces, high-fives, and bro-hugs with various members of the old and New Directions, not a few of which from Burt and Carole's wedding.

What would you think of me now?

So lucky, so strong, so proud.

I never said thank you for that.

Now I'll never have a chance.

The montage shifted between the earlier photo of Finn and Sam visiting Blaine in the hospital, through stills of the school lockdown and the pinning ceremony, to various pictures of Blaine during his recovery, his color returning and scars fading the closer they got to present day.

The entire mass choir joined in to harmonize the chorus.

May angels lead you in.

Hear you me my friend.

On sleepless roads, the sleepless go.

May angels lead you in.

After the second chorus, Blaine stood and moved away from the piano, joining hands with Kurt at the front of the stage as the accompaniment was taken over by the choir vocalizing behind him. He and Kurt performed the last bit as a duet, sharing the same microphone.

And if you were with me tonight.

I'd sing to you just one more time.

A song of a heart so big,

that [God had to let it live].

The rest of the choir took up the chorus in a wall of sound so massive, Blaine almost felt the hair at the back of his neck part in its wake.

May angels lead you in.

Hear you me, my friend.

On sleepless roads, the sleepless go.

May angels lead you in.

When Carole burst into tears, Kurt and Blaine rushed into the audience and brought her onstage with them, Burt pulling them all together in a family embrace.

The song didn't fade out for another fifteen choruses, and when it did, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

Nor was there when Blaine's arrangement won the award for Best Expression of the Theme 'Stigmatized' along with the scholarship money and Public Service Announcement contract that went with it.

If the New Directions only ended up second that year, well, it was one loss they were prepared to handle. The best winners learned how to lose with grace and dignity and came back to win bigger the next time around.

Finn taught them that.

And Blaine was there to make sure they did.

The End

Epilogue

"You know, I have learned to tie one of these myself," Blaine demurred as Kurt reached around from behind him and tied his bowtie.

"I do know that. And I'm sure after ten years together that you know I never pass up the opportunity to share a vanity with my gorgeous husband." Kurt ducked his head so that his head was on Blaine's shoulder, the two of them framed perfectly in the mirror. "My, we make a handsome couple."

"Wow!" Blaine exclaimed. "It still blows my mind to hear that out loud."

"Hear what? Ten years?"

"Well, yeah. It almost doesn't seem possible that it's been that long."

"Longer actually."

Blained hmmed, conceding to the unspoken way they'd both started marking their time together from the day he got his new heart. "Seems like an entire lifetime. It's hardly even the same world anymore, is it?"

Kurt turned his attention to his own outfit, pulling seams straight and checking the fastener on the Warbler pin to make sure it didn't fall off his lapel. They'd almost forgotten, in the wake of Finn's death and everything that came after, about giving each other the personalized pins they'd bought each other before the pinning. But when Lizzie found Blaine's by accident while looking for her favorite pair of sunglasses, Kurt had dug his out as well. The twinkling, Swarovski crystal encrusted phoenix on his lapel was the perfect complement to the Native American inspired thunderbird pin on Blaine's, one beauty and sparkle, the other a mosaic of bold, primary colors, and both a symbol of rising above. "I like to think it's better. The world, I mean."

Blaine stood and turned into Kurt's space, returning the favor by straightening his husband's tie. "And I would have to agree."

"You're a huge part of that, you know?" Kurt took Blaine by the elbows, tilting his chin as they locked eyes. "I mean, if you hadn't used your fifteen minutes of 'Stigmatized' fame to get that meeting with Carmen Tibideaux on behalf of your, stunning, talented, and slightly OCD fiance' and convinced her to implement the mental health support and counseling program at NYADA, I don't know if I'd have been able to graduate on time, let alone finish our co-write. And if that hadn't been picked up for production, I don't know that I'd have ever gotten up the courage to finally bite the bullet and drag you down the aisle."

"And we would never have been able to dance our first dance together as husband and husband to the soundtrack of Finn singing at Burt and Carole's wedding," Blaine smirked, moving his hands to Kurt's hips.

Kurt sighed a happy sigh, eyes tilted to the ceiling in fond reverence as he slid his forearms up to rest on Blaine's shoulders. "Oh, that was amazing. I never danced so much in my whole life."

"And you know what else this means?"

Kurt's face pinched, honestly confounded by the question. "What does what mean?"

"Ten years, Kurt." He gave Kurt's hips a squeeze to punctuate. "When I got this heart ten years ago, the average extended life of someone with a new heart transplant was just under ten years." As a shadow crossed Kurt's features, Blaine fanned his fingers into the small of his back and added, "Of course, at the time the average age of someone getting a new heart was also fifty-five, so I probably started at least a little ahead of the curve on that one, but still... Kurt, it's been ten years. At this point, I'm just as likely to die in a car crash, workplace accident, or heart failure as anyone else my age. And the advancement in assist devices and other technology have made heart transplants almost obsolete, so in all likelihood, I will get to keep this heart for the rest of what we have every reason to believe will be a very long, full life."

Kurt squinted down into his eyes, feigning skepticism as he canted his hips forward into Blaine's. "When did you get to be such an optimist?"

"When I stopped trying to make people love me and let you love me enough to drown out the haters."

"Like you ever had any real haters," Kurt scoffed, if only half-teasing.

"Well, only one that really counted." Blaine saw the way Kurt's gaze fell, felt his forearms slide back until Kurt's thumbs were stroking the edge of his jawbone just under his ear, knew he was remembering that first time he'd woken up in their bed, his chest soaked with Blaine's tears, both of them realizing too late that the bouncy, happy Blaine who'd picked Kurt up from dance rehearsal every day that week hadn't just been extra attentive due to his own finals being finished for the semester.

"Mmm, once I convinced that guy that we didn't have to break up every time he needed his medication adjusted, I think we all learned to get along a little better. After ten years, I'd say we've got it down to a science."

"More like an art," Blaine corrected, "a beautiful," peck, "wonderful," peck, "magnificent and inspired," peck and peck, "art." He kissed Kurt soundly, humming into it to express his deep and abiding gratitude before pulling back. "And you are a regular Maestro."

"All right you two, keep the kinky bedroom talk in the bedroom. These are the hallowed halls of education."

They broke their embrace and spun toward the door. "Wes!"

"Blaine! Kurt!" Wes gave them each hugs in greeting. "You both look amazing. I'm so glad you two could make it. I know you're both really busy, what with your show selling out every night and all."

"Are you kidding?" Blaine scoffed. "We wouldn't miss it for the world. But you know you really didn't have to go to all this trouble. We didn't do it for P.R. or anything."

"Of course not," Kurt concurred. "Dalton is the birthplace of Klaine. It has its own set back in New York. The entire first act of our show is set here. When we heard about the changes you were making, we had to make a contribution."

"A very generous contribution, for which we are extremely grateful," Wes pontificated.

"Just don't spend it all on your new desk, Mr. Headmaster," Blaine joked, clapping him on the shoulder.

Wes blushed into his chest. "You two aren't the only ones whose lives changed for the better here, and as Headmaster, I'm really looking forward to making the new Dalton Academy as safe and accepting as it was before Hunter Clarington and the fire," after a brief pause, he added, "for everyone."

From the corridor, the a capella vocalizations they all recognized immediately as the opening chords of "Teenage Dream" began to filter into the green room. "I think that's your cue." Wes guided them toward the door. They barely cleared the frame before Blaine broke into song, running down the hall and sliding into the throng of Warblers at the bottom of the reconstructed staircase followed closely by Kurt who sauntered up at his own speed, trading a hip bump with his husband before harmonizing the chorus with him. The song ended with raucous applause, and it was only then that they realized half the group was comprised of Warblers from their tenure at Dalton over a decade prior.

"Trent, Thad, Nick, Jeff!" Blaine greeted. "Hey, guys!"

"Sebastian," Kurt added with a sneer. He couldn't hold it more than a second, his face splitting into a grin as he clapped his former nemesis on the back.

"Believe it or not, it's actually good to see you, too," Sebastian acknowledged, returning the gesture.

"Okay, gentlemen," Wes interrupted. "So many people showed up for the presentation that we actually had to move it out to the front lawn. If you'll just follow me into the foyer, I'll introduce you."

The Warblers filed out, lining the steps leading up to the building and made a corridor for Wes as he stepped up to the podium. His microphone crackled for only a second as he adjusted it closer to his mouth. Blaine noted bemusedly that there was no gavel to be seen.

"Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to the first day of our fall semester here at the New Dalton Academy. For the first time in Dalton Academy history, and after many hours of careful deliberation over the logistics of it all, we now have a fully diverse and integrated student body. To accommodate this change, our campus, while maintaining a lot of the historical beauty and architecture that was resurrected after the fire, has gotten somewhat of a facelift to enhance accessibility for all of its students. Besides the addition of both a girls' and a co-ed dormitory, we added extra lavatories in the main building, both gender specific and gender neutral so that no student will ever be more than a hallway away from a facility in which they can feel safe and comfortable. Our athletic wing and field house have had additional locker rooms and showers installed as well, and we've hired a coach to help us develop a competitive co-ed Dance and Cheer team. More notably, perhaps, for our esteemed alumni, the Dalton Academy Warblers have recruited several female members and will be holding open auditions for the first time since their inception. Anyone is welcome to try out without bias."

Wes lifted a spiral bound book off his podium and presented it to the crowd. "These and all other changes to the Dalton curriculum and campus are outlined in our handbook which all new students will receive at enrollment and which can be accessed in pdf form on the school website."

"As you can imagine, none of this would be possible without the generous contributions of many of our alumni and community sponsors. We would be remiss not to openly thank those donors, which is why we're all here today."

"Most of you will recognize our special guests this afternoon. Some of you went to school with them. Others were students here when we were devastated by the fire and they spearheaded the movement to integrate you into McKinley while leading you to a National Show Choir Championship. Some of you saw their show on Broadway and were so inspired by their small town Ohio beginnings that you couldn't wait to follow in their footsteps at the actual brick and mortar Dalton Academy they brought to life on stage."

"You know them as Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel, co-writers, producers, and stars of their semi-autobiographical rock opera, smash-hit based on the music of Air Supply, 'Now and Forever,' which has been nominated for several Tony Awards, including Best Writing, Best Musical Arrangement, Best Costumes, And Best Dual Lead in a Musical. We know them simply as Blaine and Kurt, co-stars not only on Broadway but in life. Married now for the past six years, they were generous enough to donate the money for our co-ed dormitory, recently christened Klaine Hall, as well as setting up a fund to provide full tuition for one lucky LGBTQ student per year. On top of that, Kurt, formerly of Vogue dot com, has volunteered his services as fashion consultant and designer to completely revamp the Dalton uniforms so that there will now be a fashion forward option to complement our traditional ensemble as well as a full line of accessories. Ladies and Gentlemen, Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel!"

Blaine raised his eyebrows suggestively as he backed up to the metal railing on the stairs. As if psychically connected, Kurt winked back and backed up to the opposite railing, counting off three with the fingers of his right hand before they slid down in near perfect synchrony. They were met with thunderous applause, catching the faces of all their friends and family standing in the audience.

Well, most of their friends and family. Reaching the podium together, they each took the other's hand and shared a quizzical gaze, both having noted the glaring absence of their parents. They'd spoken with Burt and Carole just this morning, and Pam and Thomas had put them up for the night, since they lived the closest. They wouldn't miss this for the world. And if they were missing, then where was...

"Places!" A tiny voice squeaked.

They spun to the right where a jodphur-clad five-year old with giant bows at the ends of her dark brown braided pigtails slid her pink sunglasses down her nose using her glitter painted fingernails, pinky finger in the air, and batted ridiculously long eyelashes at them from the pedestal of the bronze statue at the corner of the building. She was just opening her mouth, undoubtedly to begin a spirited rendition of "Tomorrow," her flavor of the week for the past three weeks, when the missing grandparents stumbled around the corner of the building, nearly collapsing in relief to find the object of what appeared to have been a long and harrowing chase materialized safe and sound in front of them. Carole and Pam both surged forward, taking one tiny hand apiece as they shook their heads in apology.

"We're so sorry, boys. She lured us away for a potty break and then took off when she heard the singing," Carole sighed.

"Like daddies, like daughter," Pam shrugged.

"It's okay," Blaine dismissed, holding out his hand.

"You can't keep a diva from her spotlight," Kurt quipped, holding out one of his as well. "Let her come up. This is a family affair, after all." Anyone in the front row would've been able to see they were all wearing matching nail polish as their daughter ran up to join them. Everyone awwed as they hoisted her onto the podium, their arms joining behind her to keep her from tipping back as her feet kicked over the front edge in their tiny little paddock boots.

"Everyone," Blaine addressed the audience, his face splitting with pride, "this is our daughter and potential future Dalton Academy student..."

"Not to mention the in utero winner of the Tony Award for Best Actress in a Musical," Kurt added with a gleeful chuckle.

"Miss Elizabeth Finn Anderson-Hummel."

Lizzie immediately scowled, shoving her sunglasses to the top of her head before crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Blaine. "Daddy!"

Blaine feigned surrender, fanning his hands out in front of him as he took a step back, then moved his lips to the microphone. "Oops, my apologies. Future Broadway star, Miss Lizzie Fine, everyone!"

The crowd applauded, tears in their eyes from laughing, and Lizzie ate it up, mock curtseying from her perch atop the podium. Unable to control himself, Blaine tugged his daughter into his chest, relished the warmth of Kurt's arm at the small of his back. As he was wont to do, he said a silent thank you to Finn for every blessing he'd received in the last ten years, and every one yet to come. Without fail, every time he thought his heart was full to bursting, he got to re-learn just how big it actually was.

Finn taught him that.

His friends taught him that, too, cat calling and wolf whistling from the audience today and at every one of his premieres since high school.

His family taught him that, ready to take Lizzie in a heartbeat without judgment whenever he needed a mental health day... or week.

Lizzie taught him that, spitfire diva one minute and doting cuddle bug the next, ready in the blink of an eye with her favorite blanket and an entire menagerie of stuffed animals to prop him up and keep him warm on the days when Blaine just needed to hold and be held.

Kurt taught him that every day, and he did it with such nuance and grace that Blaine barely even noticed that he was doing it. It happened, and then one day, maybe a day just like this one, Blaine would turn around and realize he was better than before. They were better.

Maybe they were works in progress.

Maybe the progress was slow going and painful, at times. But together they were better, and that was all he needed to know of where they'd been to believe without a doubt in how far they had yet to go. He could wait to get there.

If the journey was this good, he could wait forever.

AN: That's it folks. This marks a huge obstacle overcome for me. I hadn't finished a story in over six years when I started this, and my fear of not being able to finish it almost prevented me from trying again. But I was so inspired by these characters, and I missed the writing so much, I just had to give it one more go. I can't express how much of a relief it is for me to be able to call this one finished. I thought I would never finish a story again. But now what? It's over. This is over a year of my life, and I'm terrified now that this story will disappear into oblivion. All the archives are dead, the rec lists. That's how people find the stories that are worth reading. That's why I still get hits and favorites on Supernatural stories I wrote years ago. Someone recced them. Someone archived them. People read those lists. No one's updating Glee fandom anymore. I was actually reading a story on the crisscolferlibrary on tumblr and when I clicked back to read the next one on the list, the entire archive was gone. I don't know that anyone will ever be able to find this story once it's finished. They won't know to look for it. I feel like posting this final chapter is like sending it into the abyss. Please don't let that happen. Read. Comment, because that's the only way I know you read it, and then bookmark it for later. Tell your friends.

I don't know if I will write more Glee fic. I knew I was taking a chance that there wouldn't even be anyone left to read this one when I started, and now that it's a year later, I feel like there's even less of an audience. But I still love the characters and don't know if I can abandon them completely. I might entertain some oneshot ideas in this story verse if you want to leave prompts, but I can't promise anything. I have some really intriguing ideas. In one, Blaine walks out of that cafe' after the breakup in 6.1 and gets hit by a bus, winds up a John Doe with a somewhat altered appearance, ala Grey's Anatomy, who doesn't know his own identity, is rehabbed with a new identity and discovered while working as a janitor at Tisch or NYADA, ala Good Will Hunting, and winds up in a relationship with Kurt, but since it was his breakup with Kurt that immediately preceded his accident, he has flashbacks and PTSD that are triggered by being with Kurt. Wow, that's angsty. And I have some dark, twisted ideas, like what if Eli C. is actually a Facebook pseudonym for Eli Cooper Anderson? Eli/Cooper has been abusing Blaine all his life but pulls back after Sadie Hawkins. When he finds out about Kurt, and realizes Blaine has a physical relationship with Kurt, Cooper picks up the abuse at a heightened level, and leads Blaine to break up with Kurt out of shame and for Kurt's protection. That's probably too dark, but it does intrigue me. Will I write those stories? I really don't know. Do you want me to? Will you still be here if I do? Or are they so AU I should just write them with my own characters? I don't know. I'm not ready to leave these boys, but I'm not sure I have it in me to put myself out here like this again.

Anyway, please just drop me a comment. I know they aren't supposed to matter to me as much as the process of writing the story, but honestly, I've never been able to be objective enough about my writing to stop questioning why it's not good enough for people to comment on it. That might be pathetic, and I know it's unhealthy, but it's as much a part of my process as the writing. To everyone who's commented already, I thank you so much. The anons who not only guessed where I was going (sorry, I never watched thirtysomething) but understood my medical jargon and even concurred with me on some of my creative leaps, you put my mind at ease, as did those of you dealing with similar medical conditions either directly or indirectly. Your kind words and reassurances kept me writing when it would have been so much easier to stop. I am blessed for each and every one of you. I hope I gave you something you will remember fondly.