It's different this time, but somehow still the same. There are no other agents, no pointing guns or fingers hovering over triggers, but the lost expression on Kurt Hummel's face is familiar, as is the barely noticeable slump of his shoulders as he leans against the wall of the empty apartment, staring out of the window and blinking his eyes slowly.

Blaine stops in the doorway, just watching the scene for a moment. There's light streaming in from the large window on the opposite wall, and the way the sunlight catches on Kurt Hummel's hair reminds Blaine of the blurred photograph they used to have in the conference room at the office, the first one they ever got of the Songbird. It was taken by a surveillance camera, and in the picture Hummel is looking to the side, the lighting of some private art gallery making his face look even paler than it actually is, his eyes a startling shade of grey in the black and white photograph.

Blaine used to stare at the picture for a long time almost every day when he was pursuing the Songbird for the first time. He always waited for a moment when the conference room was empty and then just stood there, leaning against the large table and examining the lines and shadows of the Songbird's face, trying to memorize them. He told himself it was for purely professional reasons, but Agent Evans caught him staring at the photograph once, startling him out of his thoughts with a cough.

"You okay there?" Sam asked, a weirdly understanding smile on his face. They were the same age, had started at the Bureau around the same time, and Sam was Blaine's first choice when their boss asked him to put together a team for the Songbird case. They were close, Blaine supposed, but not in a way that would have made Blaine feel comfortable about sharing anything from his personal life.

"Yeah," Blaine said, shaking his head. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Sam just scratched the back of his head and gestured towards the photograph. "He's pretty handsome, you know. I mean... If you're into, you know, men."

Blaine gaped at him for a moment. "Sam, what are you –" "It's okay, Blaine," Sam said. "I'll just leave you to it."

And with that he was gone, closing the door and jogging down the stairs that lead to the conference room, leaving Blaine staring after him. He turned back to look at the photograph after a moment, a faint blush painting his cheeks as he allowed his eyes to follow the lines of the Songbird's eyebrows once again.

The man leaning against the wall of this empty apartment still looks the same as he did all those years ago. His eyes are still startling, his long limbs still inexplicably graceful, and the lines and curves of his face still look like they have been sketched by one of the greatest masters of art. As Blaine looks at him in the silence of the afternoon sun, he suddenly realizes that no matter what he's been telling himself for these past four years, Kurt Hummel still fascinates him in every single way. He's not over their game of cat and mouse, not at all. The pure excitement he felt when he found out that Hummel had escaped should've already clued him in on that, but perhaps he needed to see the man with his own eyes before he was ready to admit anything to himself.

"You should've known that I would find you," Blaine points out as he takes another step into the apartment.

Hummel doesn't startle, doesn't flinch in surprise or spin around to look at him; he just turns his head a little, a barely noticeable smile flashing across his face before it disappears again. "I was counting on it," he answers. He rubs the back of his hand, frowning a little in a rare moment of honesty. "I was just... I was just hoping I would manage to see someone else before you found me."

Blaine takes another step, taking in the clothes Hummel is wearing, a button-up shirt and a pair of black pants. There is a matching suit jacket folded on the floor, and Blaine smiles. "The prison guards thought you were a lawyer visiting one of his clients. They said that none of the prisoners walk with such purpose or... I think the word they used was 'swagger'," he muses.

Hummel turns around. "That was the idea." He looks Blaine up and down. "You, however, are still wearing that same tie you were wearing the day you arrested me for the first time."

Blaine glances down at his tie. "It's vintage."

"I know it is. It's a nice tie."

"But still not a bowtie," Blaine counters.

Hummel looks up, surprised, and after a brief moment they share a smile. Blaine feels his heart thud loudly against his ribcage. There is something about Hummel's smile, something in his eyes, that makes Blaine want to reach out and squeeze his arm, maybe even hug him for a moment, just to show some gesture of kindness even though he has no reason to.

"Are you carrying a gun?" he asks instead.

Hummel snorts, turning back to lean against the wall. "I don't like guns, you know that."

"Well, yes." Blaine takes a few more steps until he's standing almost next to Hummel. He hesitates for a moment, but then decides to just say it. "The person you were hoping to see here... It was your brother, right?"

Hummel freezes next to him, before he quickly schools his face into the familiar mask of indifference and obviously false content. Or perhaps it's only obvious to Blaine.

"You found out he's leaving the country and tried to see him one last time?" Blaine continues, gesturing at the empty apartment with his radiophone. "But you were too late."

Hummel scoffs. "You know, it's not really fair that you know so much about my brother when I don't know practically anything about yours, Blaine."

Blaine startles at the familiar first name, almost taking a step back before he stops himself. "I think it's pretty fair, considering I'm an FBI agent. It's my job to know certain things about the criminals I'm trying to find."

"Criminals," Hummel repeats in a low voice. There's something bitter in his voice that Blaine can't exactly put his finger on, and his heart thuds painfully once again, making him regret asking about Hummel's brother.

"They're going to give you another four years for this," Blaine changes the subject, moving to stand in front of Hummel. Four more years, only because he had to break out of prison a few weeks before his release. It seems like such a waste. "Was it worth it?" he can't help but ask.

Hummel looks away. "Of course it was."

He's the only one I have left goes unsaid, but for some reason Blaine thinks he can see it in Hummel's eyes anyways. Maybe because he knows that feeling himself as well.

He lifts the radiophone in front of his mouth, hiding his feelings under his professionalism once again. "All clear. Suspect identified and unarmed." He turns to look back at Hummel, opening his mouth to say something like I'm sorry but this is how it has to go, but the con-man is staring at Blaine's sleeve with his brows furrowed, clearly concentrated on something.

"What were you doing before you came here?" Hummel asks out of the blue, pointing at Blaine's sleeve.

Blaine lifts his hand. There's a small scratch of dried paint on the sleeve of his shirt, light red against the white of the fabric. He frowns a little. "Oh, that. It probably got there from this forged Renoir I was examining right before I found out you had escaped."

"A Renoir?" Hummel repeats, looking up.

"Yes?" Blaine says. "Someone is forging his paintings and selling them as the real thing to unsuspecting people with a lot of money."

"Are the forgeries any good?" Hummel asks, lifting his eyebrows in amusement.

Blaine shrugs. "Well, yes. We've tried everything, but we have practically no leads and... Why am I telling you this?"

"Because I know that shade of red paint," Hummel answers. "There's only one person who can mix a light red in that exact shade and who has the skills to forge a Renoir."

Blaine blinks his eyes. He can hear the other agents making their way to the apartment, can practically feel Kurt Hummel slipping away from him again, but he can't help but ask, "Who?"

"David Montgomery. He's a professor specialized in Renoir at the NYU." Hummel looks over his shoulder towards the doorway. The sounds of the other agents are getting closer.

"We spoke to him," Blaine says. "We spoke to him, and he said he had his own studio, but we didn't even think he would actually... Are you sure?"

Hummel gives out a laugh. "He might have mixed me a sample of that exact same shade of red once upon a time. Allegedly." He winks at Blaine. "Check it. And let me know if I was right."

The agents rush into the apartment at that very moment, guns raised and crossing the room in a few quick steps. Kurt Hummel lifts his hands, letting one of the agents snap a pair of handcuffs on him, but he keeps his eyes on Blaine, an odd sense of excitement shining from them as Blaine stares back in disbelief.

"Let me know, okay?" Kurt repeats. The agents are already dragging him away from Blaine, and Blaine almost asks them to stop, almost asks them to leave Kurt Hummel alone just for a moment so they can continue their discussion, so Blaine can look into those startling eyes for a few seconds longer. But he knows he can't ask for something like that, so he just watches as Kurt lets the agents lead him away, watches as Kurt looks over his shoulder one last time, his lips forming the words let me know once more, and Blaine just nods back at him, right before he disappears through the doorway.

Blaine stands still, slowly averting his eyes from the doorway and looking down at his sleeve. The scratch of dried paint looks weirdly bright in the sunlight. How didn't he realize it earlier? He spoke to Montgomery, he sat opposite him and talked about Renoir with him, briefly even wondered if Montgomery knew more than he was letting in on, but quickly dismissed the thought when nothing else seemed to be pointing in his direction. But now...

Blaine is still staring at the paint when he fishes out his phone from his pocket and presses speed dial two. Sam answers just after a few rings, immediately asking if he found the Songbird already.

"Sam," Blaine says, ignoring Sam's question. "Are you still at the Bureau with that Renoir forgery? Could you... Could you do me favour and get a sample of that pink paint on the woman's dress in the painting?"

"Um, sure." Sam sounds confused. "Any particular reason why?"

"I just..." Blaine hesitates. "Let's just say I got a tip from a reliable source and promised I would check it."

Only a few hours later Blaine watches as Sam arrests David Montgomery for forgery, reading him his rights and escorting him to the police car waiting outside, and suddenly the puzzle pieces fall into place. Blaine knows what he has to do. He knows what he can do for Kurt Hummel.

And, if he's being completely honest, for himself.