*crawls back from the dead*

Burt leaves a few days later, with firm handshake for Blaine and a lingering hug for Kurt. "I don't like this," he tells his son, who merely replies, "Neither do I."

As much as they can, things go back to normal. Kurt staples Blaine to the couch, only letting him to go the bathroom and then back to bed at night. There's not a whole lot of bookwork at NYADA, but Kurt keeps in touch with all of Blaine's professors and brings him sheet music and assignments. He uses his experiences caring for his father to become quite the nurse, despite Blaine's protests.

"I'm fine, Kurt," he insists from his place on the couch. "It doesn't even hurt that much, look!" He pokes his wound and winces. "Ouch."

Kurt sends him a withering glance from the kitchen. "And you want to go back to your jazz class."

Blaine tosses the blanket off of himself and starts to heave his legs off of the couch. "Let me help you make dinner, I've been sitting for days—"

"Are you insane?" Kurt drops the knife he'd been chopping onions with and crosses the loft in a few steps. "You will rip out your stitches and bleed all over my apartment."

Blaine pushes himself upright. "Let me help. I'll be careful, I promise."

With a put-upon sigh, Kurt helps him to the kitchen table, where Blaine sits and chops vegetables. They work in comfortable silence, with Kurt's iPhone plugged into some speakers, until Blaine says, "I want to take a knife with you next time."

"Hmm?" Kurt hums absently, taste-testing the guacamole for their vegan tacos.

"I want you to take a knife, the next time you go to work for my dad."

What Blaine's saying finally registers, and Kurt turns slowly. "What?"

"I don't trust these…clients not to pull some shady shit. Their entire business is shady shit. I'd just feel more comfortable if you had a knife on you."

"Yes, Blaine, because what really matter is that you're comfortable with the situation," Kurt says acidly. He sees Blaine's eyebrows flick upward, and he rubs a hand over his face. "Sorry, I'm sorry." He leans heavily against the counter. "I'm not sure they'd even let me in the building with a knife on me."

"Have you ever been patted down before?"

"Not by security." Neither of them laugh. "Okay, so what, I bring a knife, and pull it when a guy gets too handsy? They're mobsters, Blaine. They have guns. I think we all know what happens when you bring a knife to a gunfight.

"And besides!" He turns back to the guac. "I don't know what I'd do with a knife."

Blaine gives a disbelieving snort. "I've seen you with those sai swords, Kurt. You may have forgotten your West Side Story audition, but I sure as hell haven't."

"Fine!" Kurt slams his sauce spoon down on the counter. "I'll carry a knife with me, happy?"

Abandoning his knife on the cutting board, Blaine demands, "I don't understand why you're so upset about this. I'm just talking about having some protection!"

Kurt whips back around. "Maybe because I don't particularly want to think about this, Blaine!" It's silent for a moment. "Maybe when I'm here, with you, and not there, I don't want to think about being there, or about when I'm going there next, or about what may or may not happen to me while I'm there. Maybe because it feels like hell every time I go, and if I don't think about it I can pretend it's not real."

Neither of them speak for a long time. Kurt curves against the counter, breathing heavy. Blaine pushes himself up from the chair, face twisting a bit in pain, and shuffles over to him. He ignores Kurt's attempts to sit him down again and wraps him up in a tight hug. "I'm sorry."

Kurt leans into him, burying his face in the crook of Blaine's neck. He takes a few shuddering breaths. "I'm sorry, too. I know where you're coming from, I just…"

"Shh." Blaine tugs Kurt along, hobbling toward the couch. "Come on, lay down with me."

"Dinner—" Kurt protests, but Blaine ignores him and settles onto the sofa, pulling Kurt down with him. They carefully arrange themselves into a comfortable position—Blaine wants to be the big spoon, but the bullet wound makes things difficult, so they lay face-to-face. Blaine reaches a hand up to play with a strand of Kurt's bangs. "I don't tell you enough how lucky I am to have you in my life."

Kurt lets out a humorless laugh. "I think we're both lucky to be alive right now."

"Yeah, but more than that." Blaine kisses his nose, and Kurt's face naturally scrunches into a smile. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I still can't believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you."

Kurt's eyes fall closed as a thick tear runs along the curve of his nose. Blaine rests his forehead against Kurt's, and the music plays on.