{Kurt}

Kurt was up before Jon, showered and riffling through his closet for his Sunday shirt while Jon still made a lump in the blankets under their tent. Pulling on his black Johnny Cash Tshirt, Kurt tousled his hair back into an artful mess and then gave Jon's foot a shake.

"White, you sleeping through church today? We're leaving in 10."

Jon's foot withdrew. "I'm up," he said softly from the tent. After a moment, he asked, "What day is it?"

Kurt peeked around the tent wall, his mouth quirked with amusement. "Sunday."

Jon dug his knuckles into his eyes. He was not up, still undressed and horizontal on their pillows. "Day of the month."

"Uh," Kurt checked his phone. "December 6th."

Jon exhaled. "Great," he said flatly. He sat up like his limbs were heavy and pulled himself to his feet using the side of the tent, shuffling into the room. "I'm so here for it."

Kurt watched him pick up his clothes from yesterday off the floor and start to put them back on. His partner looked so tired and grim that he decided not to comment, just went downstairs to start the coffee.

He waited until Jon had half his mug and all his gluten free toast and peanut butter in him before taking a seat at the table next to his bowed body.

"Hey love?"

Jon slid him a guarded look.

"You wanna tell me what's going on with you today? Or am I gonna need to ask Cary?"

"I'm tired and I slept like shit and Judah went to the hospital today," Jon said flatly. "For the last time." He turned his face aside, shrugging his shoulders up to make himself smaller.

Kurt made a soft noise, touching Jon's arm. "Do you want to talk about that?" he asked uncertainly.

Jon shook his head. He drained his coffee and got to his feet. "Let's do this. December 6th. Bring it on; The living have to live."

Kurt pressed his hands against his chest, feeling like all the things Jon wasn't feeling about that had spilled over into him.

{Jon}

Every year, stepping into this week of December felt like hitting a wall of Jell-O. Even when Jon didn't pay attention to the date, when he had no reminders in his calendar of what had happened, his body somehow kept time. The weight of Judah's passing settled on his limbs and chest, slowing him to a crawl. It was a week when he crept along the ledge in the dark and kept his shit to himself because he didn't trust himself to notice if he was being an asshole. The less said this week, the better. For years he and Cary had a rhythm for these days in December: Cary put food in the fridge and gave him a mile of space and Jon was eternally grateful for both.

Jon had no idea how to do this week with his beautiful, feely partner in close range. As they drove to church, Kurt's mirror ball swung from the rear view mirror of his car, jangling softly with a collection of beaded necklaces. Kurt had put on growly rock for the drive and was beating his hands on the wheel in time, softly singing the lyrics he knew.

Jon glanced at Kurt's bare face; the other man's expression was peaceful and glad in the slanting winter sunlight. Jon's feelings felt like one muddy shade of angry and heavy, but this year there was another distinct color, how upset he was for Kurt. It was obvious that his partner was as happy as he'd ever been and Jon felt like garbage that he going to drag Kurt through this week with him.

He might be short on words and feelings right now, but he could still count on his tired body to do the things. He touched Kurt's arm without looking, finding his hand to hold it. The other man drew his hand against his chest so Jon could feel him humming through his palm. In that moment, Jon made up his mind; he wasn't dragging Kurt through this week with him. As far as he was able, he was keeping his partner in the dark about the dark.

He kept hold of Kurt's hand through the entire service, letting go only once to go up to the rail for Communion. The bread and wine were supposed to be a gift of grace and as usual Jon needed all the grace he could get.

{Kurt}

Sunday evening Kurt stayed in with Cary to watch the hockey game, and when it was done neither of them felt like lifting off the old leather couch. A Christmas movie from the eighties came on and Cary grinned, big and child-like. "I love this one. About the kid who wants a Red Ryder BB gun. Have you seen it?"

Kurt shook his head, rustling through the super sized Doritos bag between them. "Turn it up, Douglas, I'm all in."

"'You'll shoot your eye out,'" Cary quoted from the film, then laughed to himself.

Mid-way through the campy movie, Jon's feet shuffled down the first three stairs and he leaned down to check the couch. Kurt smiled up at him.

"Hey Jon, welcome home. We're just finishing this Christmas movie."

Silently Jon padded the rest of the way downstairs, stepped up onto the couch and curled in a ball next to Kurt. Kurt rubbed his hand over Jon's neck, checking his face. Jon's freckles stood out darker than usual against his pale skin, and his expression was flat. "Okay day?" Kurt asked.

Jon nodded, leaning into his body and closing his eyes.

Kurt rearranged the sheep blanket to cover Jon's feet and tucked him under his arm. He became aware that the storyline unfolding on screen included two adorable brothers, who fought and played and hugged. For a second, he wanted to cover Jon's eyes but the other man wasn't watching. His head was heavy on Kurt's chest and Kurt thought he might be asleep already.

Kurt tipped his head back against the couch, sighing. He stroked the hair off Jon's forehead, praying for he didn't know what. Maybe just for a big strong Creator God to lift the load with Jon.

*

By Wednesday, Kurt could have counted on one hand the number of words he'd heard out of Jon's mouth this week. He thought his partner was sleeping through the night; he hadn't heard him have another nightmare, but Jon seemed exhausted even first thing in the morning.

As Jon hunched blearily over his morning coffee, Kurt put his hand on the other man's forehead, then touched the sides of his neck. "You think you might be coming down with something?" Kurt asked. "You feel hot to me."

Jon batted his hands away. "I'm fine," he said.

Kurt pulled up a chair next to him, studying the side of his face.

Jon opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, revealing his smooth pink throat. "Look. Everything's normal. Get a thermometer if you want to check."

"Your head okay?" Kurt asked. "Any ringing or rainbows?"

Jon made a dry noise that might have been a laugh. "You're such an old woman. I'm not sick. I'm just...sad." He lifted his chin, his mouth hard and flat. "And it feels like carrying a thousand extra pounds. I can't stay home and lie in bed because Judah's dead. I just have to--go on." He met Kurt's eyes, looking more angry than sad. "I would rest if I was sick, okay? If I feel a migraine coming on you'll be the first to know."

Kurt nodded, putting a kiss on Jon's forehead as he got up. "If you need someone to-take a couple hundred off your shoulders. You know you can talk to me, right?"

Jon's eyes followed him, and he shook his head once. "I'm fine, Visser."

Kurt shot him a look, his mouth crooked. It didn't feel awesome to have Jon lie to his face, but he didn't want to call him on his shit right now and maybe touch off a fight. He'd never seen Jon this fragile, and he guessed his partner was a fighter when he was getting hurt, not a runner like Kurt.

Watching him, Jon's face crumpled a little, and he pushed his hand on his chest. "Kurt, I'm giving you everything I have right now. I can't--" He opened his fingers like a door to his heart. "--in the middle of this week." He took an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry."

Kurt let out his breath, his chest aching for Jon, even with all his questions unanswered. He tapped his fingers against his own chest. "Hey, c'mere," he said softly.

Jon unfolded slowly and shuffled over to lean his body against Kurt's. Kurt hugged him tight. "You are a good man walking through a shit week," Kurt murmured in his ear. "And that is okay, Jon."

He felt the alert stillness of Jon's body, like for a second he'd come fully awake. Jon's hands fisted in his shirt at his back and he took a shuddering breath, rubbing his face against Kurt's shirt.

It was the only time Kurt saw him cry all week.

1865 words.