A Long December, a New Year

Futurefic. Burt Hummel undergoes heart complications and Kurt returns to Lima for the holidays. Stands alone; yet could-be-a-sequel to 'I am the Rain King'

Ch 1. The Long December

It had been a long December, but he had reason to believe - maybe this year would be better than the last. A shallow and unfounded optimism, unquenchable and unbidden. The approaching New Year had that unwarranted effect on him- but then, he supposed such things always had. The silver screen romance of it all. The bright lights, the fireworks, sempiternal parties coupled with rivers of champagne and the ubiquitous 'first' kiss to be shared with his newest man-of-the-week(-who-just-might-be-Mister-Right). His endless lists of resolutions; passionately made self pledges that demand he make time, cultivate compassion, become ultimately more. So much hope sparkling like stardust, infecting him with fevered joy and tasting like gold leaf and promise. On the Eve he would revel in the intoxicating newness, the unknown possibility of starting unblemished, fresh. And every year he would wake up in a bed that was not his own, thinking 'So this is the New Year- and I don't feel any different.'

Perhaps it was best that this next year, Kurt would wake up in Lima, Ohio.

Continental Airlines Flight 437 L.A. to Cleveland cut crisply across the stratosphere, as Kurt Hummel stared out past the frosted porthole, beyond the unrestrained night. The journey so far had been comfortable, as first class was wont to be. Kurt had indulged himself in the warm leather seats by slipping on his noise canceling headphones and allowing his mind to wander its own labyrinth of pleasant dreams. But it seemed one couldn't sleep forever, or even very long. And in waking Kurt had been confronted with thoughts of a less pleasant tamber.

He couldn't help but dwell on December

It had started well enough, stressful but fun-with long days of filming and even longer nights of parties that melded together in a haze of flash bulbs and clear liquor. There had been the usual rotating door of boys; models, actors and young entrepreneurs vying for his attention. On the eighth he'd gotten a volcano of a zit. Then there was the tabloid scandal, when his ex-boyfriend Rob (or was it Jordan?) had sold horrible candid photographs to Star Magazine, along with an awful story headlined "Kurt Hummel's Icy Heart." Like it was a crime to be discerning. But these minor irritations were nothing, not really.

It had been the fifteenth that had started it really, the day he'd received the call. Kurt had been on set, coiffed and composed, mere moments from shooting when he'd noticed the blinking light, lackadaisically checked his messages. Finn was on the other end of the static line, his voice familiar and kind, the thinly veiled scent of panic beneath. Their father had been in poor health lately, complaining of fatigue and achy joints, the symptoms of getting older. Even so, Finn's voice saying 'Burt's had another heart attack,' seemed impossible, and unexpected. Time had seemed thick, movement slow. Even the following 'but he's fine, everything's fine. He's going to see a specialist tomorrow,' had done little to ease the horrible strangeness.

And there, on the bedroom set of next years blockbuster romance, Kurt 'the Ice Queen' Hummel had fallen apart. Of course he'd wanted to go, to leave, to fly immediately to his father's bedside. Which, as his personal assistant Angelique had patiently explained to him, was absolutely impossible. He was under contract; he had commitments that simply could not be rescheduled, he was a star and that came with certain responsibilities. She had brandished her electronic planner violently beneath his nose to illustrate the point. Besides she had rationalized, his father was fine now and Finn would surly call if there were any more problems. They would be done shooting before Christmas, and then Kurt could rush to backwater Ohio and dutifully nurse his father back to health. But not before.

With a heavy, guilt burdened heart Kurt had stayed and worked; dutifully smiling for the camera. He had called his dad as often as he was able to lay hands on his phone, and diligently researched each new update. It seemed his father had developed silent ischemia, a type of cardiomyopathy that had systematically and nearly painlessly weakened the mussels of his heart. This last attack had been the final straw. Burt's heart could not take another incident, it could barely survive a swift jog about the block. A transplant had been strongly recommended and Burt had been put on the donor list. Finn mentioned that Burt had an early consultation with his assigned surgeon on the 24th- and Kurt had been determined to attend.

The ding of the fasten seat-belt sign sounded, a clear tone signaling relief and anticipation. The descent, the paparazzi and limo ride blurred, running together like watercolors in the rain. Soon, Kurt found himself pushing through the spotless glass doors of Cleavland Clinic. He had managed to convince his 'personal protection' to wait with the car, and it was a strange and refreshing feeling to be entirely on his own. He was rather fond of Marcus White, a hulking, mocha skinned ex-cop with an intimidating scar running temple to jaw and enough sex appeal to stop any red-blooded human dead in their tracks. If only he wasn't so very straight...oh well. All the best ones were.

The reception was relatively quiet, bathed in a pale early morning light that only seemed to reenforce the chill. Kurt sat in one of the office blue 'reception chairs' in a far corner and pretended to read a Paris Vogue through over-sized sunglasses. It wouldn't hold his attention.

The smell of hospitals in winter was something Kurt had never been able to forget.

Luckily it wasn't long before he saw Finn, towering over everything and bustling their parents through the transparent front doors. Kurt was out of his chair in seconds, dashing across the linoleum floor, murmured comments of 'isn't that Kurt Hummell?' and 'no never, couldn't be' scattering in his wake.

There's something about coming home. It's not the smell of the house once the door has been unlocked, flicking on the outside lights or even the rediscovery of small familiar but forgotten details. It's the people that descend, the quick embraces and tired, well worn jokes, the inquiry into whether you've been looking after your health.

After the preliminary greetings had been fulfilled, the hugs and kisses given and received, Carole and Finn walked off to 'check in with the receptionist,' leaving Kurt with his father. Burt Hummel looked much the same as he always had, maybe a little more tired, maybe a little more bald, maybe a little more frail. His son smiled harder in an attempt to conceal his concern and opened his mouth to speak. But Burt cut him off with a tired smile and comfortable laugh.

"How've you been son? Haven't been working to hard have you? Thinking of settling down yet?" Burt might have tried a little harder to mask the disproving look that flitted across his face with the last inquiry.

Kurt responded with an uncomfortable grin. Thank you tabloids. "There's an awful lot of oysters. But no pearls."

Burt gave him a reassuring (but manly) slap on the back. "Never mind, when you find him you'll know. That's how it was with you're mother." The memory smoothed the wrinkles from his face, and all at once he looked younger, stronger, somehow. "Didn't think I'd ever settle down. Then, all at once you look across a crowded room to see the way the light attaches to a girl."The old man coughed and offered an awkward grin."Er-well, boy in you're case."

They chuckled lightly, but after a moment Burt's face contorted again into an awkward mixture of concern and steel. "Look Kiddo, We couldn't get a hold of you last night, but I think you should know-"

Kurt dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Tell me later, they look like they're ready for us."

The receiving nurse bustled them through the steel double doors, down a sterile white corridor and into a small sparse office. There were no pictures on the walls or desk, no trophies or knickknacks on the bookshelves. The only personal touch to be seen was a brightly painted misshapen coffee mug leaving stains on the mahogany.

The moment the nurse closed the door, Burt turned yet again to his son. "Kurt, I just want to prepare you- I know it's been a long time, but I still don't think it's fair of us to just spring it on you unaware. We found out last night that-well, my surgeon is David-"

"Good morning."

The hair on the back of Kurt's neck rose, his stomach dropping as the resonant tone rolled across him, bringing with it scratched and dusty recollections. The scent of old spice and sweat, petrichor; the warmth of bodies in the night and the crisp image of a twisted tree beside a fire escape, framed in an old window with flaking paint. He didn't need to turn to know the speaker. The confirmation was in the stutter of his heart.

"Nice to see you again Mr. Hummel" In the corner of his eye Kurt could see the strong hand envelope his fathers. "Although of course I would have wished wished for better circumstances." Kurt felt him move around the room, complimenting his step-mother, greeting Finn. And then he came to Kurt's chair.

He didn't offer his hand. Kurt was glad, as he didn't think he would be able to take it- or reject it without making a scene. "Kurt."

"Karofsky."

There was a volatile tension laced throughout the atmosphere, though given the circumstances Kurt supposed it was to be expected. What he hadn't anticipated was the solid lump that formed in his throat, impeding any further attempt at speech. He'd always though that if the time came, he'd have someting to say.

Dave seemed to take this silence as permission, or at the very least, an acceptance. He leaned against his desk and hastily launched into a technical explanation of the procedure without preamble or provocation. The sound passed through Kurt, note pad forgotten in his Louis Vuitton. Instead he allowed his eyes to wander over the surgeon, in a disbelieving struggle to process the seemingly preposterous situation he now found himself in. It had been so long, six or seven years at the very least. After so long, it was as if people fell away from the earth and one could not expect to cross paths again.

Dave had changed little, a bit thinner perhaps, a touch more somber. A slimness that came not from exercise but missed meals. A bone tiredness that did not come from lack of sleep. He held himself better however, confident in a way he had never been when Kurt knew him.
As the shock began to fade, Kurt found himself more and more incensed. How dare he, how dare they...? There was a wordless rage coursing through him causing his body to shake. Finn was looking at him sideways, the expression of a dog who knows something is terribly wrong, afraid that he will be blamed. He dropped his massive paw as if to be held, to reassure or be reassured, but Kurt pointedly ignored it.

He knew it wasn't the time or place to make a scene but goddamn it. How could they all just sit there, just act like this was normal, just forget what had happened? Just ignore what they had been, how it had ended?

"Thanks for enlightening us on the procedure Karofsky, really, but I was under the impression we were here to meet the surgeon...?"

His voice was all innocence, syrup sweet and melodic. It's stupid and petty, that's clear the moment it leaves his mouth. But it had the desired effect.

Karofsky flushed, his hands contracting and relaxing in a way that was so familiar it was almost disorienting. Kurt could feel his families eyes upon him, and knew with out looking that Finn's expression was dumbstruck, Carole's face was white and Burt's glare was disproving. But he hadn't said it to see their reactions.

He watched Dave choose a spot above his head, his coloring return to normal, his body forcibly relax. Kurt couldn't help but be a little disappointed by his quick recovery. When he finally replied, Dave addressed the family evenly, but his voice was clipped with forced cheer.

"Why don't I have one of the nurses show you down down to the lab? We need to run some preliminary tests, then you folks can head home. Finn has my number, feel free to call and I'll go over your prescription's again and answer anymore questions you might think of."

Kurt rose gracefully to his feet, avoiding Burt's eye. Not that he was ashamed of his behavior. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption- Dave had planned to become a nurse if he didn't make it in the major leagues. And since they weren't having this awkward little reunion on the football pitch, well?

Karofsky grabbed his elbow as he made for the door. Not roughly, but firm and brief. "Can I talk to you outside?"

Kurt looked after his family as they followed a spunky looking blonde down the hall. Finn had paused to look back, waiting for him. His big dumb face was uncharacteristically unreadable, blank. He mouthed something that looked suspiciously like 'see you later' and continued after their parents. It could also have been 'I'm sorry.'

Dave led him down the back stairs, through the maintenance entrance and out onto a small, dirty deserted concrete loading dock. Kurt walked to the edge and looked out into the parking lot, shivering a little from the chill. He lifted his pale face, but the grey sun offered no warmth. He turned back. Dave was leaning up against the corrugated garage door, head bent into his cupped palm.

"You're smoking again?"

Dave took a long, incendiary drag. "After you left there was no one to impress." He blew a soft cloud of curling smoke out to his left, his dark eyes never leaving Kurt. The silence was cutting; rusty, razor sharp and painful. Dave broke the silence violently, like smashing through glass."You know, I can't remember the last thing you said as you were leaving."

Kurt wrapped his arms around himself, an involuntary recourse, a pithy shield from the cold that his jacket couldn't field. "Well, the days go by so fast."

Dave nodded, eyes betraying nothing, cigarette hanging from his lips. There was another beat of silence, another drag, another exhale of carcinogens before he began again. "Kurt, if you have a problem with this-"

"Isn't there some kind of conflict of interest?" It came out quicker, and harsher than Kurt had intended.

Dave threw the cigarette to the pavement and crushed it beneath his heel. "Look Hummel, I'm the best fucking cardiac surgeon in this hospital. Possibly in this state. The moment I saw Burt's name on my list, I called Finn and we discussed it." He sighed and ran a hand through his thick curly hair. It was such a familiar gesture of discomfort. "The rest of your family is fine with this. I thought they'd tell you before...well. In any case. We were...we were a long time ago."

"Yeah." Kurt's voice was flat and cold, like the endless parking lot behind him. "We were." They continued to stare at each other. Neither was one to back down. Dave opened his mouth, but was interrupted by his beeper. He glanced down at it, and made a face.

"Come on, I'll walk you down to the lab." He held the door open, motioning Kurt in with his head. They began to climb the stairs again, silence stretching out before them. The frigid air seemed to have followed them indoors. Dave cleared his throat. "So...how long will you be in town for?"

"Until the surgery is over. And then as long after that as I can."

"You do know that the average waiting period is six months too three years? Burt was only put on the list two weeks ago. He's status two and he has a rare blood-type-"

"I'm staying. My father's health is the more important thing."

Dave didn't argue. He just changed the subject.

"You won't go back for New Years? You live for the clanking of crystal"

"There will still be explosions off in the distance." Kurt paused, he hadn't meant to say that, for it to slip out wistfully like water on a familiar path. His next utterance was low, and almost private. Almost. It was still audible, and therefore cruel. "I mean, what's one more night in Hollywood?""

The conversation stilted, faltered, stalled. Kurt almost asked why Karofsky was a surgeon now, why he chose cardiac, what had changed. He almost asked. Almost. They passed through doors and long corridors, past people who greeted Dave enthusiastically and stared at Kurt with barely contained curiosity. One of the younger female interns squealed, but Kurt was nonplussed. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Dave giving her 'the look,' and she fell back, embarrassed. Finally they approached a door labeled 'Lab Testing' and Dave cleared his throat again, valiant.

"Congratulations by the way."

"Thanks." There was no need to ask for clarification. Kurt opened the door to enter, and Dave grabbed his arm again.

"Kurt." His hand could still encircled the actor's entire bicep, was still brown and calloused, still so warm. But he only held on for a moment, releasing his grasp as quickly-as if it burned just to touch him. Just long enough that Kurt had turned back. "It's...it's really great to see you."

Kurt didn't reply. The silence was answer enough. Dave nodded slowly and turned away, his posture resigned. Halfway down the hall he paused to speak. "You know Hummel, if you think that I could be forgiven," He didn't turn back, but anything Kurt would have seen in his face was betrayed in his voice regardless. "I wish you would."

Then he was gone.

This will be a three-shot, inspired by two songs- 'A Long December' by The Counting Crows and 'The New Year' by Deathcab for Cutie. The lyrics for both will be scattered throughout the piece.

I wanted to have this finished and posted by this New Year but... :] Anyway, I'm in the market for a beta reader if anyone is interested in helping me out. I'm tired of sorting though that endless list- I figure if there are people actually interested they'll have read all the way down here.

I do not hold any rights to Glee.

As always constructive criticism is encouraged.

-the neverender