I Know The Pieces Fit (1/?)
Title: I Know The Pieces Fit
Rating (overall): PG-13 thus far
Spoilers: So far, up until Original Song.
Warnings: Serendipity
Word Count: 4839
Notes: Future!Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Flangst, touch of Crack. Title taken from the song Schism by Tool.
Summary: Drifting apart is easy; communication is hard. Breaks are tough; mending is sweet.
Next (CH2A)
I know the pieces fit cause I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, fundamental differing,
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication.
“If you ever, and I mean ever wish me 'good luck' before an audition again, I will fire you.”
Kurt clutched his cell phone as his manager made a particularly obnoxious whine of apology. Kurt rolled his eyes, tapped the end call button, and sighed.
Honestly. There's a reason why the saying is 'Break a leg' instead of 'Good Luck.'
It's a superstitious reason, sure, but there's a reason for the paranoia. At least, Kurt's wrist was currently a firm believer - oh, he hoped it wasn't broken.
He also hoped, bitterly, that the clumsy woman who had executed her high kicking dance move directly at his wrist was no longer in the running for that particular part.
With a kick like that, she'd be more suitably qualified for the NFL. If she could get past the whole gender obstacle, anyway. Kurt should have known to stay farther away when she had bragged about being a 'champion kick-boxer looking for a change.'
But no, fate was laughing at him. He'd been out of school for years, had landed a handful of minor roles on Broadway, but was ready to take on a lead. He had been confident and determined to get this part.
Then some overzealous macho woman had to go and . . .
Ugh. Damn, his wrist hurt.
Maybe if he wasn't in quite so much pain he'd be able to keep his internal bitching under control.
Maybe if he could actually land a big role, he could find a better manager - one that didn't wish wrist-injuring-good-luck on his clients.
Maybe if the ER waiting time hadn't been so long, he'd not be so irritated over every little thing - like the saccharine sweet smile from nurse that finally led him to the tiny curtained cubicle for his examination.
Kurt hated hospitals. There was no end to the dislike he had for them. Facilities like hospitals offended every one of his senses - they smelt like antiseptic, they were visually depressing, the food was horrendous, the beeps and alarms were irritating and frightening, and the amount of hand sanitizer dispensers truly made him wish he didn't need to touch anything.
He especially didn't want to touch the garish johnny the overly chipper young nurse had set out for him - much less wear the hideous thing. Kurt failed to see why he had to wear the damn thing anyway. Why he had to dress down to that level when all he needed was an x-ray was beyond him.
If he was being honest with himself though, unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt was quite the relief for his aching wrist. Undoing the button on the uninjured hand with his injured one wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, however.
Getting changed was never a quick process with him, but this bordered on ridiculous.
Today's price of fashion was annoyance. He had to shoo away the nurse when his pride refused her assistance, and had barely finished by the time she came by again to see if he was ready.
She asked him the standard questions: Where does it hurt? When and how did this happen? Have you taken any medication? Are you allergic to anything?
Kurt informed her that he'd taken some extra strength Tylenol and that it still hurt like hell, and could she please get him a doctor already, because he seriously was getting impatient with the hospital and had a right mind to compose a scathing review.
The nurse's eyes widened the slightest bit at Kurt's full force bitch face, and she bit her lip nervously.
“Sir, our doctors are just about to change shifts so the wait is a little longer. . .” she began. Kurt cocked an eyebrow. The nurse sighed. “I'll see what I can do.” She handed him an ice pack, which Kurt took gratefully, and left.
Amazingly enough, around five minutes later, a doctor came in and told Kurt what Kurt had already guessed. He needed an x-ray.
Surprise!
Kurt rolled his eyes the second the doctor closed the curtain and resigned himself to the wait until he'd be transported for the scan.
The problem with having this much alone quiet time is that it gave him a bit too much time to think.
And to listen.
On either side of him were other patients. To his left was what sounded like a young girl with similar circumstances to himself. She'd broken something. Kurt couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, however, that the little girl had her father beside her - his voice making soothing statements while the girl whimpered through her discomfort.
To his right, a woman was breathing in exaggerated rhythm while a young man held her hand and whispered encouragement into her ear. “It's going to be alright.” he said. “You're beautiful” he proclaimed. “I bet she's going to have your eyes.”
Kurt thunked his head back onto his sorry-excuse-for-a-pillow. The patient on the left made him think of and miss his dad. It'd been a while since he'd last called, and the distance between New York and Ohio was just too much at times like these.
The patient on his right however, brought his mind to a place that he tried to shove back the instant it crept up.
Young love made him queasy.
Here Kurt was, 32 and jaded, knowing full well that love does not conquer all, that not all dreams come true, listening to some guy coo in this pregnant girl's ear, looking forward to their beautiful future.
Alright, so Kurt was a bit crazy jealous.
It kind of sucked seeing people happy and in love when the one Kurt told he'd never say goodbye to . . .
Well, Kurt said goodbye to him years and years ago.
High school, for all its ups and downs had been mostly ups those two short years that Blaine had been a part of his life. They were the atypical couple, rarely having blow up fights and carrying on like they'd be together forever.
Except that Kurt had the need to follow his dreams of the stage and the spotlight, and Blaine had been accepted to Ivy freaking League Brown University.
They'd decided it would be easier to be friends than to manage a long distance relationship, and though difficult the idea of going backwards was - it worked for a while. They kept in touch at first with phone calls every day, then with e-mails once a week.
Then finals their first year happened, and they went an entire month without contacting each other.
Things went downhill from there.
Breaks between contact got longer and longer; they each had their little flings and relationships with other people. The knowledge of this made it uncomfortable to talk to one another - friendship is hard to maintain when jealousy gets in the way, after all.
Six years ago their communication stopped all together. Neither Kurt nor Blaine were willing to initiate it.
Blaine had told Kurt in the last call that he was thinking of asking his current boyfriend to marry him.
Kurt's heart shattered.
In that span of six years, there was only one other instance of Hurricane Blaine in Kurt Hummel's life.
Six months ago, Kurt's past came back through an chance encounter with Wes at Penn Station. Wes had been in the city interviewing for jobs when Kurt spotted him standing at a ticket kiosk looking like he wished he still had his gavel in order to smash the machine.
Kurt asked him where he was heading in a sly, amused tone, and Wes spun around with a comical look of surprise plastered on his face. Smiling, Wes extended his hand.
“Warbler Kurt. How have you been?” Kurt chuckled, and shook the hand offered.
“I've made a small dent into Broadway - only a matter of time until I take it by storm.” Kurt paused and made a flipping motion with his hand. “You've got your credit card the wrong way around, Wes.” Wes looked at his card and sighed.
“So I do.” Swiping it through, the kiosk spat out his tickets, and Kurt couldn't help notice the destination.
“Providence?” He smirked. “What's in Providence?”
Confusion and surprise flickered across Wes' features for an instant and then was gone.
“Helping a friend move into my apartment here. He just landed a great job, but they want him to start immediately and I just got laid off, so a roommate helps where the unemployment check's lacking. Win Win situation.” Wes paused as his phone rang, and his face paled slightly when he looked at the screen. Scoffing slightly and smirking, he muttered an 'excuse me' before answering the call.
“You're interrupting a serendipitous reunion. This had better be important.”
Kurt's mutter of “Pretentious bastard.” was echoed in loud exclamation by the caller, and Kurt's jaw dropped when he heard the voice coming through the line. Wes had his phone volume set to what was undoubtedly the device's highest setting - Blaine's voice recognizable clear as day from wherever he was calling from.
Providence. Brown University is in Providence. That fact clicking, Kurt's eyes widened. Hearing Blaine's voice after all these years was a sucker punch, and Kurt backed up a few small steps with a nearly audibly gulp.
Wes glanced at Kurt in concern, and Kurt heard Blaine ask who Wes had run into.
Kurt mouthed the word 'no' and Wes raised an eyebrow and sighed.
“A dear old friend who wishes to remain anonymous.” Wes told Blaine, and Kurt glared. There was no way that Blaine was going to just let that go. Sure enough, laughter and an “Aw, come on.” came from the handset. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes, and breathed out through his nose. That laughter - he hadn't heard it in so long, his heart swooped into his throat and his mouth went dry.
Well, shit.
Some things never change. Some feelings never change.
Kurt would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that there was one word screaming through all the jumbled thoughts scrambling through his head.
Courage.
“Damn it.” was what Kurt said, and he reached out his hand in a request for the phone in Wes'.
Wes was a little too enthusiastic to oblige.
“C'mon, man just tell me who it is.” Blaine said. “It can't be that bad!”
“This is Marley's Ghost.” Kurt said with false confidence. “You've studied too hard. It paid off. Congratulations.”
Blaine gave a sharp, shaking gasp, followed by the squeak of his voice as it choked off in his throat.
“Kur-” Kurt ended the call.
Handing the phone back to Wes, Kurt couldn't help but ask - “So, did he ever get married?”
Wes snorted in surprised laughter, then shook his head in negative.
“Kurt, I'm surprised he found time to sleep in-between his job and studying for his specialty. His last boyfriend dumped him because of it.”
“Good to know.”
Kurt was startled out of his thoughts by a different nurse than before clearing her throat and looking down at him over the bridge of rectangular reading glasses. She made quick time of explaining that she was to bring him down to radiology to get his wrist x-ray'd, then did so. The procedure was quick, and then he was on his way back to his little curtained cubicle in the ER.
“A doctor will be with you as soon as possible.” The nurse said in a clipped tone. “We're having a busy night, so it may be a bit of a wait. We appreciate your patience.”
Kurt blinked. Compared to his last nurse, this woman was simply robotic.
Kurt honestly liked her better.
“If I may.” He began. The nurse paused. “I've been in here for well over four hours, and I'm fairly sure the Tylenol I took beforehand has worn off.”
She nodded. “There was a note left from last shift regarding pain meds for you. I'll take a look at your chart and see what I can do.”
Not ten minutes later, the RN was back in the room with a pill and a glass of water. Kurt definitely liked this nurse better. She was straight to the point and efficient.
“Thank you so much. This hurts more than watching Christina Aguilera forget the lyrics to the national anthem.”
The nurse smirked.
“If you think that's bad, you should see Dr. Anderson mangling Katy Perry lyrics.” She chuckled and missed the wide eyed fish out of water look on her patient's face.
“He'll be with you shortly.” She laughed again. “Shortly . . .”
Mistaking Kurt's blank shocked look as not getting what she thought was an excellent joke, she continued.
“I laugh because the guy looks like something straight out of Lord of The Rings. The short people. With the curly hair.”
Kurt nodded dumbly and the nurse wiped her face back into her former stern expression before closing the curtain behind her.
Kurt's bad hand was aching, and his good one was shaking.
No way.
It couldn't be.
“Dr. Anderson! Cheering up the patients is great, but please, get off the counter! You're making the paperwork fly everywhere!”
Fuck.
“What in the world were you thinking?”
Blaine had the decency to look sheepish, hand behind his head and looking downwards, hiding an uncomfortable smirk.
“I just had a to tell a ten year old that he'd lost his parents in the accident he was in this morning.” Blaine sighed. “The kid asked me what I would do if I had a 'very, very, sad day' and I told him that I'd dance around and jump on things 'til I was too tired to think about anything else. He didn't believe me, so I showed him.”
“It's still inappropriate behav-”
“That kid's life just blew up in his face. I made him smile. If that's not treatment, I don't know what is.”
The supervisor's mouth clamped shut before she sighed.
“I understand. You're getting off with a warning this time.” Blaine sighed in relief and reached for the doorknob. “But Blaine,” She began and he paused. “Save that kind of therapy for the psychologists next time, okay?” Blaine smiled and nodded.
As soon as he stepped back out on the ward, his favorite bi-polar RN, Diane, shoved a folder into his hand. He grinned.
“Nice to see you too.” Diane rolled her eyes.
“Patient in room 7, possible fracture, pain in my ass. Hoity-toity little bugger who apparently doesn't appreciate my sense of humor. Told him you look like one of those hobbits and it looked like someone slapped him and told him the sky was falling.” Blaine chuckled.
“Thanks, Di.” Shaking his head he went to open the file. She was loony, that one.
Absolutely nuts.
Except when she wasn't.
Blaine nearly dropped the file when he read the name attached to it.
Hummel, Kurt.
Immediately his heart sped up, fear lancing through him. Fuck. Fracture. She said fracture. Where? Not his skull. Oh thank god, it's just his wrist. Wrists are easy. He's going to hate wearing a cast. They're horrible on the skin. He had such nice skin. Probably still does.
Wait, I need to actually check this x-ray. Oh yeah, definitely fractured his radius.
Shit, I'm the one who has to tell him?
Awkward.
Kurt was positive he'd never been more uncomfortable in his life. It had to be a mistake, life didn't work out this way. It couldn't be the same Anderson.
Oh, but it could. Blaine had been going to Brown for medical, had ample time to have a doctorate by now - hell the guy had been in school for 14 years. Wes had said something about a specialty, hadn't he? Plus the fact that Blaine moved in with Wes a few months ago. . .
It all added up. And as Kurt looked up at the curtain to see what was definitely a guy's hand gripping it, Kurt held his breath.
The doctor, however, was not cooperating with Kurt's nerves, and Kurt was forced to exhale.
After another minute of the hand being on the curtain, and only mumbled voices coming from outside, Kurt had finally had enough. His nerves were shot as they were. Best to just jump right in.
“Doctor, I'd like to go home sometime today, if you'd be so kind.”
The hand on the curtain clenched, and then the curtain was opened.
Apparently two plus two does indeed equal four.
Kurt paled as his heart sped up and then dropped.
Unless Blaine Anderson had a twin, then this was definitely him - fourteen years older than Kurt had last seen him.
The same honey hazel eyes - now with faint wrinkles where they used to crinkle when he smiled.
The same face that still occasionally featured itself in some of Kurt's best dreams and worst nightmares.
The same - ugh, that hair.
“Way too much product. Really, Blaine?”
Apparently Blaine's eyes still crinkled when he smiled. Blaine was positively beaming, shaking his head with mirth.
“Good to see you too, Kurt.” pulling a wheeled stool beside the bed, Blaine sat down and sighed. “This is not the way I would have liked to run into you again.”
“Trust me, this is the last place I want to be right now.”Kurt frowned, watching Blaine worriedly wringing his hands.
Shit. The pause in between small talk was getting a bit long, and Kurt was honestly not sure where to look while he waited for Blaine to spit out whatever he was going to say. He didn't want to stare, but he couldn't help but look. This was awkward.
“I'd expected a MD on your tag there.” Kurt said conversationally, pointing at the badge clipped onto Blaine's pocket and Blaine nodded.
“I have that one too, but my specialty overrides it.”
“Enlighten me. Besides that brief conversation on Wes' phone the last I talked to you . . .”
“It would have been a longer conversation if you hadn't hung up on me, Kurt.”
“Right, well, strictly doctor-patient speaking, I'd really like to know . . .”
“Orthopedic Surgeon.”Blaine said flatly and Kurt's eyes widened, his mouth forming an 'o' of shock.
“Oh my god.” Kurt said, panicked. “Blaine, is my wrist that bad?”
Blaine stood from his chair abruptly, gently placing his hand on Kurt's shoulder in an automatic gesture of comfort before awkwardly pulling it away.
“No!” Blaine took a breath. “Sorry, just,” he sighed. “No, it's really not very bad. You have a distal radius fracture, but the bones aren't horribly displaced. It's actually a really common injury, and it shouldn't take more than a cast to get you good as new.”
Kurt blinked and exhaled.
“A cast?”
“Well, a splint first.” Blaine ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, what's going to happen is I'm going to put you in a splint for a few days. It gives your wrist time for the swelling to go down a bit before we set it in a cast. Then the cast stays on for two or three weeks, and you'd come in again to get it checked. The swelling should have gone down further by then and you'll need a new one to make sure everything heals properly.”
Kurt frowned. “How long until this is all over? I need my hands to work, and I doubt I'll be landing any big-time theater roles with an arm covered in Plaster of Paris.”
“Six weeks in a cast, Kurt.” Blaine said. He paused when Kurt huffed and chin up rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “It's not all that bad.”
“Not all that bad. Blaine, when I'm not hitting the stage I have to work two jobs to keep myself afloat in this city - barrista by day and bartender by night. Have you ever tried to properly shake martinis and pour drinks for multiple people with one hand? Shit.”
“Well, you're not going to be doing any of that for the next two days at least. . .”
“I need to work, Blaine!” Kurt seethed.
“You need to rest, Kurt. While you're in the splint you need to be very careful with that wrist.” Blaine said seriously. “Unless you really want to need surgery, you'll take care of yourself.”
“I would cross my arms and glare at you if I didn't think it was going to hurt like hell to do so.”
Chuckling and shaking his head, Blaine stepped towards the curtain.
“I need to get a few things and I'll be right back.” Blaine smiled softly and Kurt's heart went molten at the sight.
“I'm going to take care of you, Kurt. Don't worry so much.”
Oh.
Kurt's cheeks turned an interesting shade of crimson at that.
He was glad that Blaine missed it.
Blaine had to shake his head and pause to just breathe for a second after closing the curtain. To see Kurt again after all these years and to see him sitting in a hospital bed had thrown him for a loop. Thank goodness it wasn't anything serious.
Hell, if it had been anything serious then he would not have been able to take him as a patient. There was no way he would have been able to treat anything severe on Kurt freakin' Hummel with a clear head.
He'd have to remember to thank whoever was responsible for scheduling him with clinic duty today.
God, Kurt . . .
Blaine had stopped trying to fool himself into thinking he'd ever see Kurt again. He knew he shouldn't have told Kurt about considering marrying Rick all those years ago - but if you couldn't go to your best friend for advice, who could you go to?
Probably not the best idea to be asking the best friend who was once your boyfriend, hell, your everything, for relationship advice.
Lesson learned. Lesson learned in the hardest, cruelest way possible.
When Kurt stopped answering his phone, Blaine realized that perhaps the idea of marrying Rick was a horrible one. Without Kurt in his life, Blaine had trouble feeling anything for anyone, really.
Rick must have felt the loss of interest on Blaine's part, and when it became apparent that Blaine was burying himself in schoolwork in order to avoid having to deal with any sort of relationship with anyone, Rick left him.
Blaine pushed a lot of people away in his college years, but the one he most regretted losing was Kurt. Blaine hadn't even shed a tear when Rick left, he'd simply asked Rick where he could mail any stray belongings after Rick had packed his bags.
And now . . . Blaine had forgotten he was capable of feeling quite so much.
The second he'd laid eyes on Kurt sitting up in that bed, hand gingerly holding his black and blue wrist and looking briefly like he'd seen a ghost, Blaine just wanted to run up and squeeze him.
The past fourteen years had flown by while they were happening - it was all study, work, sleep. Now looking back, Blaine truly realized just how much he'd been on autopilot the whole time. Sure, he had a lot to show for his effort those years - his paycheck was nothing to sneeze at, he was in the process of house hunting, and the cherry-red Porche siting in the employee parking lot was stunning - but god, how empty his life was.
There was one hell of a hole in his perfect painting, and it was shaped a lot like Kurt Hummel.
Blaine shook his head to clear it.
“Dr. Anderson, you look like a kicked puppy. Are you alright? Patient giving you trouble?” Diane said from Blaine's left and Blaine chuckled.
“No, surprisingly enough. No trouble at all.” he smiled. “He's going to need a splint and to be scheduled for a followup for a cast.” He paused. “I'll do it, just call my extension and my secretary should be able to fit him in somewhere. Print him out care directions for a fractured radius, and I'll sign off a script for three days of Tylenol 3. Oh, and he needs a three day work release as well.”
“Alright, not a problem.” Diane nodded. “Also, the girl's father in room 8 has asked about his daughter's ankle. . .”
“Not broken, but severely sprained. I'll be with her as soon as I take care of this splint. Is she comfortable?”
“Should be good for another hour and a half.” Diane said and Blaine nodded.
“Awesome. This will take me ten to fifteen minutes, tops. Let her know I'll be there shortly.”
“Oh no, that color will not bode well for my wardrobe this season. . .” Kurt said upon Blaine's re-entry, eying the beige wrap with disdain. Blaine shrugged.
“You'll get to choose the color of your cast, these splints are a one shade fits all deal.”
“One shade never fits all, I'll have you know.” Kurt replied, rolling his eyes. “And how customizable are these casts, anyway?”
“As long as you don't get it wet or damage it, you can do what you like with it.”
“So, say I were to take my bedazzler to it -” Blaine chuckled.
“Just don't do anything that will compromise the integrity of it, Kurt, and it should be fine. And don't go burning yourself with glue guns.”
“I never foul up that badly while bedazzling, Blaine. I'm a pro. From trinket boxes to bird caskets, I can do it all. Lots of practice.”
Blaine stilled.
Bird caskets. . .
“You're blushing, Blaine.” Kurt said matter-of-factly. “What did I say?”
Blaine coughed and turned his head away from Kurt's inquisitive gaze.
“Bird caskets.”
Kurt blinked.
Oh.
There you are, I've been looking for you forever . . .
We should practice. . .
Oops.
“Let me see your hand.” Kurt blushed.
“Sorry, what?”
“The splint, dummy. Your arm isn't going to wrap itself.”
Oh.
Slowly and with the slightest hesitation, Kurt held his arm out and Blaine gently took it, placing it carefully onto the splint and began wrapping.
Kurt had to force his sharp intake of breath to a more steady inhale, goosebumps raising unbidden at the touch.
Blaine had the look of utmost concentration, his lips pulled in and brow furrowed as he wrapped, and Kurt could do nothing but stare and try to calm his steadily increasing heart rate.
When Blaine was done with the procedure, he nodded, then took one of Kurt's fingertips between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed lightly.
Kurt's eyes widened and he gasped, and Blaine smiled.
“Feel that?”
Heart hammering in his chest, Kurt blinked in surprise.
“What?” breathless, Kurt asked and Blaine raised his head to look Kurt directly in the eyes, then squeezed another finger.
“Do you feel that?” Blaine asked again, and when Kurt didn't respond with anything other than a slackened jaw, Blaine had to think for a second over what he had done wrong.
The touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets. . .
Oh.
Oh.
“Um, sometimes the fingers go numb with a fracture like this, and um, I . . .” Blushing furiously, Blaine continued. “I just wanted to make sure you could feel your fingers.”
“Y-yeah.” Kurt cleared his throat. “Definitely felt that.” Kurt looked down for a moment, then up again. “Blaine, I. . .”
Blaine was already standing up and heading for the curtain.
“I, um, I have to get to another patient.” Blaine said abruptly, shooting out words in a frazzled pace. “Diane will be in with your release paperwork very soon, and um, yeah. I gotta go.” He gripped the curtain.
“Blaine!” turning his head slightly to see Kurt out of the corner of his eye, Kurt clutching the sheets with his good hand, Blaine waited.
“It was.” Kurt began. “It was a pleasure having you help me out today.”
Blaine bit his lip, his eyes stinging.
“I'll see you in a few days, Kurt.” he smirked. “Give some thought to what color you want that cast, alright?”
Kurt opened his mouth to retort, but when he looked up at the exit, Blaine was already gone.