Epilogue

September 2002

Kurt took a sip from his coffee mug and wrinkled his nose when he realized the liquid inside was ice cold.

He quickly set the cup down and turned back to the canvas in front of him. He pursed his lips as he surveyed the half completed face. Something about the painting was off, but he couldn't quite place it.

Maybe it was the nose.

He looked over to his workbench, analyzing the photographs he was using as reference to paint he face in front of him.

It was definitely the nose.

He sighed in frustration, setting down his brush and stretching out his hands gently. Maybe he just needed a break. He wiped his hands on an oily rag and strolled back to the front of the gallery. It was empty, as it had been most of the day, with only a few patrons wandering in to appreciate the paintings that covered every wall of the small art gallery on the Upper West Side.

The big open windows at the front let sunlight stream in and allowed a view of the west side of Central Park in the warm September weather. He looked over each painting as he walked by it, strangely comforted by the rows of faces he had painted and hung up in the gallery.

But one in particular stopped him in his tracks.

He often found himself staring at this face in particular, one he knew so well and so intimately. He lost himself in the lines of the face, not even noticing when the bell on the door jingled, announcing the entrance of a customer.

He let his eyes wander over the long eyelashes and settle on the tea coloured eyes. He followed the line of each dark curl of hair, and across every laugh line in the faintly olive skin.

His reached up to rest his fingers on the full lips of the face and looked into the eyes of the painting again. He had painted them sparkling, and even now, he could see the laughter in his eyes.

Kurt was so enthralled by the beautiful face that he startled when a voice broke into his thoughts.

"Did you have to make my eyebrows quite so triangular?"

A pair of warm, strong arms had wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and Kurt laughed when he heard the familiar voice whisper into his neck.

"I was merely maintaining artistic integrity. Don't blame the painter because your eyebrows look like they walked out of a bag of Doritos and onto your face."

He turned into the arms, laughing as Blaine attempted to look offended.

"How's my very own Picasso today?" Blaine asked, kissing Kurt before he had a chance to answer.

Kurt hummed into his mouth, "Mmm, good now that you're here. How was school?"

"I think it's safe to say I could now recite Mozart's entire requiem in Latin in my sleep."

"Good to know you're learning useful things in college." Kurt smirked, rubbing circles into the small of Blaine's back.

"I'm a music student, I think learning anything useful would defeat the purpose." Blaine kissed him again, sucking on Kurt's bottom lip as he pulled away.

"How about you? Making good progress?" Blaine asked, gesturing to the paintings on the walls.

Kurt sighed heavily, "I could paint for my entire life and probably never do enough."

"That's not true." Blaine said quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of Kurt's eyes. "You've done more than anyone could have ever asked for."

Kurt nodded and his eyes wandered back to the faces hung up on the wall. Each canvas was filled with a faithful depiction of the faces of one of the victims of the September 11th attacks. Kurt had never planned for the project to get this big; it had all started when Blaine had been in the hospital.

It had been a torturous few weeks of teetering on the edge of not knowing whether he would make it, weeks of sitting by Blaine's bedside, holding his hands and brushing away stray hairs from his bruised face. So Kurt had found a way to occupy his hands, his mind, a way to soothe himself.

He had picked up the brushes Blaine had given them and hadn't put them down since.

It started with Blaine's face; laughing, bright, beautiful, based off an old photograph Kurt had taken in Central Park.

The process of nursing Blaine back to health had been slow and painful, and Kurt continued painting. The faces of the other victims of the attacks haunted him when he saw them on the news, the family's grief stricken faces when they were interviewed. Kurt knew that not everyone had been so lucky.

So he contacted a few families. Asked if they wanted a painting. He gathered pictures of their faces, happier times, and slowly began to pay tribute to the people of New York who lost their lives on that terrible day.

Things snowballed from there, and soon the mayor caught wind of what Kurt was doing and before either he or Blaine could blink, the city had set Kurt up with his own gallery in Manhattan; an artistic tribute to the victims of 9/11.

Kurt's train of thought was interrupted when Blaine placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Where did you just go?" he asked.

"Nowhere. I'm right here with you." Kurt smiled, lacing his fingers through Blaine's.

"Good." he replied, the scruff on his neck scratching at Kurt's face.

The gallery was quiet, and they took the opportunity to sit in the chairs they had outside in front of the gallery window. They sat facing the park, looking into the greenery and letting the September rays of sun warm their faces.

Blaine linked his hand loosely around Kurt's and they sat in easy silence, letting the sounds of the city wash over them.

"Batman or Spiderman?" Blaine asked.

"You know, there's this saying and it says "silence is golden", have you ever heard of it?"

"I'd say Spiderman, because he has actual powers. Batman just had a bunch of high tech gadgets like the Batmobile."

"Obviously not." Kurt muttered under his breath.

"Finding Nemo or Emperor's New Groove?"

Kurt raised his eyebrow at his boyfriend. "Really? Do you remember how much I balled when we watched Finding Nemo?"

"Good point, Nemo it is."

Kurt laughed and they lapsed into silence once again. He looked over at Blaine who seemed to have given up on their game because he was lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about now?" Kurt finally caved when Blaine had been silent for an uncharacteristically long time.

Blaine hummed, closing his eyes for a moment and soaking in the sun. He shuffled his chair closer to Kurt's and placed a warm kiss on Kurt's cheek before answering.

"It's strange to think about all the moments that led us to this one, you know? Like, even the bad things in our lives, eventually seem to lead to good things it seems. If I had never run away from home, I never would have met people like Cecily and…Ray…" Blaine's voice cracked a little over the name and Kurt rubbed a hand reassuring against his back.

"And if I had never been with Nathan and then homeless, and playing in the park, I never would have met you."

Kurt studied Blaine's expression. He looked lost in thought. He had moments like this sometimes since the attacks. He was a little less bright, a little more thoughtful. But he still was, thankfully, endearingly, heartbreakingly Blaine.

"And I'm not saying that, those were good things, or that I still don't wish they never happened, but it's kind of a comforting thought when you realize that even with so much death, so much tragedy, the world still picks itself up and goes on."

Kurt nodded. "If you had never gotten hurt, I probably never would have quit my job. I wouldn't have the gallery, and everything I ever dreamed of."

"Exactly. I never would have got to go to college. It seems selfish to say it like that, when so many people were devastated by what happened that day but…"

A bird chirped in the tree beside them.

"I don't think we're meant to understand it, honey." Kurt supplied when Blaine trailed off and didn't speak again.

Blaine smiled sweetly, running a thumb against Kurt's cheekbone. "No. We probably won't ever understand it. But, god, it's amazing to think that out of all the bad things we've been through, we've finally found-"

As Kurt savoured the lingering sweetness of Blaine's lips on his own, he knew exactly how to finish his sentence. The pleasant swelling in his chest as his finger's registered Blaine's steady heartbeat against his palm could only be described by one word,

"Happiness."

The End

A/N: Haha! Jokes's on you. You all really thought I would kill Blaine? My sweetie pie Blaine? Naaah. Well anyway, this is the real end this time. Bless all of you for taking time to review, every one of your reviews made me so happy and motivated me to keep going. I'm so glad that I could bring just a little bit of enjoyment into your lives with something I wrote. Happy trails readers!