{Kurt}

Kurt navigated the city freeways in the falling dark, tired and a little low. They'd finished up the day's work sooner than expected, but knowing his sick partner was half-way across the city without him had drained him of the little energy he had to begin with. When Kurt pulled up to their house he was just relieved to finally come home--all he wanted to do this evening was take a long, hot shower and cuddle with Jon. Mel's text mid-afternoon that Jon was awake and eating a little had been the highlight of Kurt's day.

Jon was lying on his back on the floor in the middle of their bedroom, his ribs opening with slow, deep breaths, the sound of running water and birdsong playing in the background. He was wearing his yoga clothes, which was progress, and a plate with crumbs and a cup of tea sat on the bedside table beside his pillow.

"Jon?" Kurt asked cautiously.

Jon's eyes blinked open, and he rolled over carefully, getting to his knees, resting his head against the carpet a moment before he finished the movement and pushed himself up to climb into their bed. "Hey." His voice was still scratchy and low.

Kurt couldn't keep the smile off his face. "How're you feeling?"

"I live," Jon said. He made a tight little smile. "Okay day?"

"Ugh," Kurt groaned. "I feel like putty is smushed into all my pores."

There was a short pause. "My mom was here today?" Jon asked.

Kurt couldn't interpret his tone at all. "Uh huh?" He chucked his filthy shirt into their laundry hamper, glancing back at Jon.

Jon was propped against the headboard, his arms crossed tight over his chest, his eyes flashing with what was definitely anger. "You invited my mom to our house while I was fucking flattened with a migraine."

Kurt blinked. "I called her for help," he said slowly. "Because you were flattened with a migraine. I couldn't stay, love--Cary needed another pair of hands today."

Jon lifted his chin. "Of course you couldn't stay, Kurt," he snapped. "You didn't have to call my mom. I'm not five years old." He shoved his hand against his forehead, his face tight.

Kurt lifted his bare shoulders. He didn't know how to have this fight right now when Jon was obviously in pain. Ducking his head, he stuck his thumb at the open door. "I needa shower," he said quietly.

Exhaling, Jon slid down to lay his face against his pillows. "Go shower then."

Kurt stayed under the spray of hot water a long time, until Cary was banging on the door growling, "Visser. Share the love."

Changing in his own room, Kurt's stomach knotted and his heart drummed knowing Jon was just on the other side of the wall, angry with him. He didn't understand why Jon was upset and he didn't know how to turn Jon's anger back into the affectionate warmth he'd become accustomed to. He hated tip-toeing around an angry family member in his house--it was literally his least favourite thing.

He considered going downstairs to order a pizza for supper and avoid the upstairs for the rest of the evening--it seemed unlikely that Jon's head would be up to managing the stairs today.

As quickly as it occurred to him, Kurt scrapped that idea. It made him even more unhappy to think about avoiding his sick partner all evening--Jon was his favourite person to be with. He was going to have to sort this shit out to have the night together he really wanted.

He edged into the room he shared with Jon. His partner was where he'd left him, curled on top of the rumpled blankets, his bare feet nested together and his hand over his eyes.

"I'm going to order something for supper," Kurt said tentatively. "Are you hungry? Or another cup of tea?"

"Can you please make me a coffee?" Jon asked in a hoarse voice. "I feel like half my headache is caffeine withdrawal right now."

"I can do that," Kurt said. He touched Jon's bare foot and, finding it cold, tugged the blankets up to tuck them back in.

Jon lifted his hand, shading his eyes to look at him, his mouth tucked in at the corner. "I'm sorry I'm so high maintenance right now," he said.

Kurt took that sorry and stretched it as far as he could to cover for Jon losing his temper. He dropped a quick kiss on Jon's cheek without meeting his eyes. "I'll be back in a few."

He made a pour over with a generous amount of cream and brought it to their room like a peace offering.

Jon struggled upright and cupped the mug between his hands, face buried in the steam. "Thank you Jesus for this coffee," he said, and narrowed his eyes in a smile for Kurt. "And also thank you, Kurt."

Kurt tugged the duvet straight on their bed and tidied the clothes up off the floor and chucked them in the laundry hamper. "You want your introvert time, White?" Kurt asked, glancing sideways at Jon.

Jon patted the bed beside him, his face hopeful. "No, you're the one person I want to see. Do you have any stories to tell me?"

Kurt rubbed his shoulder up to his ear. "Nope. Pretty boring day." He felt curled up tight, still protecting himself from their earlier interaction. He could make a beautiful coffee--beyond that he didn't know a thing about making this better.

Jon set his half-finished coffee aside, reaching out his arms. "Please come closer. I miss you. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm only functioning with half my brain right now and it's the stupid lizard half."

"I won't hurt your head moving the bed?" Kurt checked, still just looking at Jon sideways.

"If you're not jumping on the bed smacking me with pillows I'll be fine," Jon said.

Kurt allowed himself to relax a fraction. "There goes my plans for the evening," he said. He climbed onto his side of the bed and Jon reached over, hooking his fingers in Kurt's waistband to get him to scoot closer.

Leaning back against the headboard beside Jon, Kurt put his hands behind his head, scanning his stack of library books. His feelings were too stirred up and swirling to settle and read. Jon tucked his shoulder into his ribs and finished his coffee.

"Music?" Jon asked.

Silently, Kurt queued up a peaceful piano playlist and tossed his phone at the end of the bed to play for them. Jon's hand found his and played with Kurt's fingers, stroking the lines on his palm and rubbing the callouses on his fingertips.

"What's your stance on kissing my cold germs today?" Jon asked tentatively.

Kurt took a big breath, held it, then sighed it out. "I think my feelings are a little too hurt for kissing, White," he said lightly. "Sorry."

Jon smoothed his hand open, sandwiching it between both of his. "Why are you sorry?" he asked, low. "That was--my fault, love, for acting like an asshole." He glanced sideways at Kurt. "I wiped the smile right off your face and I don't know how to put it back."

"Me neither," Kurt said. He tangled his fingers with one of Jon's hands; Jon's honest admission made it possible to be honest in return. "I was worried as hell about you all day. Knowin' your mom was looking after you was the only thing that made me feel okay about havin' to be at work. I didn't think you'd be mad."

Kurt rubbed his free hand over his burning eyes. "What do you even have to be mad about when your mom actually wants to spend time with you and cares if you're dead or alive?" The last words cracked unexpectedly.

Jon drew Kurt's hand to his chest. He was quiet long enough for the urge to cry to pass. "That is true," Jon said in a small voice. "She does care." He leaned his face against Kurt's shoulder. "I don't know why I was mad. I don't...like asking her for things. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to call her for help."

Kurt stared down at him, incredulous. "Uhh--she's your mom, Jon. And she's the mothering-est mom I know. I figured she'd be all up in here fixing your blankets and making you honey tea and toast."

Jon laughed shortly. "Yeah she was." He shook his head once against Kurt. "I'm not a baby--it's just a migraine."

"You're pretty helpless, love," Kurt protested. "It honestly scared me thinking about leaving you home alone."

Jon was still for a moment. "I think that's why." His voice was dry, and he cleared his throat. "I don't want her here when I'm so helpless. She's not...a person I trust for that. I would rather look after myself."

Kurt tucked his arm around Jon's shoulders and Jon relaxed against his chest with a soft sound of relief. He thought of the stocky little boy in his pyjamas, bracing his feet on the side of the tub to heave his mom onto her side so she wouldn't choke on her own vomit before paramedics could get to her. "This is about what happened to little you," Kurt said slowly.

Jon brushed his hand over his eyes quick. "Yeah probably," he whispered. "And all the years after that. She's good. Then she's not. I can't count on her."

Kurt rubbed his fingers up Jon's neck, finding the tension at the base of his skull and stroking it out. Jon shivered and breathed out, his hands tightening on Kurt's shirt.

"Are you gonna give your mom another chance, or no?" Kurt asked frankly. "She's showin' up for you now and it's December for her same as you." He glanced down, but he couldn't see Jon's face. He stroked his hands over Jon's bare, freckled arms wrapped around him, tracing the shape of the hurt out loud, like he could measure it's dimensions.

"Maybe it's a no," Kurt said. "I didn't think of that. That was really--so fucking scary. And you were so small." He hugged Jon tighter a moment. "Christ--you almost lost fifty-percent of your family in one night. And never had your sisters. Maybe you don't really get over that, even when you get big enough to, like, see it from a more grown up perspective. That was your mom bailing on you. Even though now you know she was just a person a little older than you, un-diagnosed and untreated for some really dark stuff going on in her head."

Jon sucked in a choking breath, pushing his hot face into Kurt's shirt. "Stop. Kurt." His voice was muffled and broken. "I get it. I'm an asshole."

Alarmed, Kurt stroked his hand over Jon's hair. "Darlin', that's not what I'm sayin'. Your feelings would be valid. Is what I'm saying. That's a lot to forgive and let go of. I didn't..."

Jon pulled out of his arms and rolled over to reach for the tissues, blowing his nose out noisily. "Ugh my fugging face," he muttered, tossing the balled up wad on the floor to start a new pile. He flopped onto his back, covering his eyes with his hands. Kurt's own eyes heated and overflowed, watching Jon's chest hitch as he swallowed more tears.

"Why are we cryin'?" Kurt asked. "Do you know?"

"Because you suck," Jon said roughly. "And you're right. And I hate that. And I love you. So fugging much." He grabbed another tissue without looking, swiping his face and blowing his nose again, before tipping his chin up to meet Kurt's eyes. Jon's nose and upper lip were raw and pink, but he smiled, tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes and running into his ears.

Kurt exhaled, swiping his thumbs into his eyes as he sorted through those words. "Oh. I love you so fugging much back."

"It's the steps, isn't it," Jon said. "That you're doing. The people I have to let go--who've hurt me or done me wrong."

Kurt sighed, putting the heels of his hands against his eyes as he thought of his own ongoing struggle with that step and his family. "As far as you can," he said. "Some of that shit is harder to heave over than others. You just do what you can. Is where I'm at with that. And my own mom." He cleared his throat.

Jon curled around Kurt's knees, his head on his folded arm, touching Kurt's ankle with his free hand. His expression was clear and vulnerable, his hazel eyes on Kurt. "Are your feelings still hurt?" he asked softly.

Kurt slid down on the pillows, curling to face Jon so their knees touched. He shook his head, letting Jon go for that shitty moment. "Not by you," he said low. "Helps me to know you were hurt under the mad."

Jon scootched closer, tangling their legs together. He kissed the tears off Kurt's cheeks, then pulled Kurt in to rest his face on his shoulder. "Your feelings are still hurt by other people," Jon whispered.

Kurt swallowed on his tight throat. "Yup. Miss my family on Christmas." Tucked up close to the warmth and weight of Jon's body, he was just safe enough to admit that. Jon's arms tightened around him.

"They're redneck assholes, half of them," Kurt said; his laugh was a little sharp. "And we drink too much on the holidays. But they're...my assholes." The words frayed to a whisper and he hung on tight to Jon's shoulders, barely keeping together. "Hurts to think they don't miss me. Or they're glad to be rid of all my fucking drama and whatever." He burrowed his face into Jon's soft T-shirt, his throat closing. Jon's hand wove up into Kurt's hair, and Kurt felt his lips press against the top of his head.

Kurt shivered with the memory of all the times this feeling had haunted him in his nightmares. "I called her, Jon," he whispered. "A thousand fucking times." His breath caught, opening this old hurt that he'd never been able to heal yet. "On her birthday. On the anniversary of her cancer remission. From rehab. From the shelter. Anytime I was sober. I called her from the hospital with Nicky sitting there ready to take me home for keeps. I called her from the street. When I had nowhere safe left to stay. She never. Answered me." He was shaking hard now, and Jon hummed a hurt noise, rocking him with his cheek against his hair.

Kurt choked on his sob. "Why wouldn't she take my calls? What is so wrong with me that my mom just--" He sucked in all his breath trying to hold that in and then blew apart in Jon's arms, crying big, ugly tears.

Jon hugged him tight, breathing deep and steady like Kurt's anchor. When the storm of crying quieted, Jon put his lips next to Kurt's ear, his murmur brushing his skin. "Love, let's go run a bath," Jon said. "Right up to our chins. And put in a bath bomb. That smells completely girly. And do whatever we want because we love each other. Because fuck them, Kurt. There's nothing wrong with you."

Kurt sniffed and laughed a little, rubbing his damp face against Jon's already damp shirt.

Jon slid down to cup his cheek, half of his mouth smiling. "We make a family now--Kurt and Jon Visser-White. And I do a fair imitation of an asshole so you don't even have to miss that." He brushed his knuckles over Kurt's blotchy cheeks. "I'm not gonna quit working on it, though," Jon said softly. "So maybe you'll have to get used to no assholes in your family eventually."

Kurt took a big breath trying to absorb that and spread it over his hurt like medicine. He wiped his eyes with his fingers. "I don't know why I'm cryin' so much these days," he said in a watery voice. "Christmas is my favourite time and you're my favourite person, Jon Visser-White."

Jon's smile warmed, and he tucked Kurt's hair behind his ear. "Same-sies. Not the part about Christmas. But it's growing on me." He cuddled into Kurt, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and his leg over Kurt's hip, tucking his face under Kurt's chin. The squeeze of his embrace eased the hurt of all the cracks in Kurt's heart and he got a big breath in and let it out again.

"Girly bubble baths?" Jon asked. "Sexy husband times? Goin' to sleep together? Does any of this sound appealing to you?"

"That all sounds very appealing to me," Kurt said. "Is your head gonna be up for that tonight?"

He felt Jon laugh softly in his arms. "Not gonna lie, Mister Visser-White, standing is iffy. You might need to carry me to the tub. But once we're lying down, you know me; my everything is up for everything else." They shook together with quiet laughter.

So that's what they did.

2825 words.

*Oh my goodness, all the tears. Why is Kurt crying so much these days?

This scene is from Kurt's pov but I didn't have him remember back to any Klassen family Christmas memories. They're a mixed bag--some of Kurt's happiest family times were around Christmas holidays. I opted to keep the dialogue moving instead. Do you think that was a good choice or do you want me to fill out Kurt's headspace a little here?

It's a three-chapter weekend, lovelies, so I'll see you again tomorrow! Thanks as always for your reads, votes and comments <3*