The walk to the principals office was a long, quiet and dreadful one.

Principal Sue had threatened all the students in the bleachers that if they didnt vacate the premises within thirty seconds, she would cancel senior prom- and apparently senior prom meant a great deal to everyone because Blaine had never seen people leave a place that quickly since the events on September 11.

The football team was brought to the locker room where the coach will no doubt scream the lives out of those boys. This walk however, this long anxious walk with Puck by his side clutching his bleeding nose was probably the most nerve wrecking. He feared the worst- getting expelled. The director will throw a fit for sure, and then this would be his first failed mission.

They entered the office and puck and Blaine fell into the empty seats across the big mahogany desk of the principal. She sits in her throne and glares at them with sharp blue eyes.

"I want to know what the hell happened," says principal Sue, her tone of authority at its optimum level.

"He broke my nose!" bellows Puck in anger.

"Only because he attacked me first," says Blaine.

"Who even gave you two permission to throw an illegal football match in my school," ask principal Sue. She was showing some restraint, which was a real wonder.

"Puck challenged me to a match. I merely accepted. How was I suppose to know it was illegal," says Blaine, refusing to be in the wrong here.

"What is this whole rivalry between the two of you? Care to shed some light on to it, mister Jackson?" asked the principal as she lays her hands on her table, her lips in a tight grim line, eyes sharp like daggers. She clearly was a woman of power.

"Puck here is a grade A bully in these hallowed halls, and frankly I dont like when somebody thinks hes of a higher ranking than the other. Hes been tormenting the students in this school even before I came in here- I just dont take his crap like the other students do," tells Blaine out of rage. He would not hold back. He was an adult after all, and it was in his responsibility to report things like this.

"I see," says the principal, pursing her lips as her thoughts wander. "Noah, what do you have to say?"

"My nose is bleeding! Is that not prove enough who started the fight? He assaulted me-"

"Are you kidding me?" says Blaine, his fist already in tight clenches. He restraints himself because punching a student in front of the principal sure as hell is not a good idea.

"You know what I find peculiar about this entire predicament? Is that things like this never used to happen until you showed up in my school, mister Jackson. The school was a peaceful, conducive and safe environment for all the students to progress. You show up, and I have fights to break up. Tell me, how does it look to you?" ask the principal, her eyes boring into Blaine.

He almost could not believe his ears. Were the teachers here oblivious to the daily happenings at this school? He remembered how Kurt had told him about the teachers giving special treatment to the jocks of the school because they came from reputable families, but he did not know to this extent.

"With all due respect, principal, Puck and the boys of the football team have been harassing the other students way before I got here. I dont know how you and the other teachers never saw this but I did," says Blaine, trying to keep his composure intact. He had to remember that he could not be expelled, otherwise he would have a bigger authority to deal with.

"I find that hard to believe, mister Jackson. I have never gotten complaints before. The football team are moral students who are gems to this school. Henceforth, you will be serving detention, and Noah, I will let you off with a warning-"

"This is horse shit!" exclaims Blaine before he could stop himself. He wished he retracted his words because the principal has murder written practically across his forehead.

"You are free to leave, mister Puckerman. Go to the nurse and have her check your nose before you leave. Tell your father I will have the person who is responsible of your nose severely punished," says the principal. "Id like another word with you, mister Jackson."

"Yes, maam," responds Puckerman who rises from his chair and turns to head out the door, but not without pulling a victorious smirk at Blaines way. He practically held on to the armrest to make sure he stayed rooted in his seat.

"You do remember what you said to me on your very first day, right?" says the principal when the door shuts close. "You said that you would not cause any trouble whatsoever if I allowed you to enrol into my school. I told you that if you remotely step outside the lines, your ass will be out of here in a heartbeat. Do you have no recollection of that, or did you just suddenly develop short term memory loss illness?"

"I remember that, but I would not have caused any trouble whatsoever if Puck hadnt attacked me first! Ask anyone in this hell hole and youd get the same answer. The football team stomps down the corridors picking on every weak student they have their sights set on! They are the destructive force of this school, not me. I dont understand how you never saw this considering youre the principal," tells Blaine.

"I never saw all of this because none of your accusations are true. In my eyes, the football team are role models to this school. Theyve won more awards for this school than the number of neon coloured slacks you own. I have never gotten one complaint about them, ever-"

"You know what? The reason youre blatantly being ignorant to the fact that those boys are the cause of terror and fear to the other students is because their parents bloody paid you to keep one eye closed. What youre doing is trading your ignorance for wealth and revenue for this school and it makes me freaking sick. Its not because youve never gotten complaints about them, its because youre paid for your silence. Its the same damn thing that happens all around the world- people succumb to large sums of money in exchange to keep their mouth shut. Its called a bribe, in case you didnt know. What kind of an example are you setting for the students, anyway? Youre suppose to be an educator. If youre a living testament to all the other educators in this world, then frankly I am worried for the safety and education my future children will get," exasperates Blaine before he could stop himself.

He could not believe how the principal did not even try to be subtle or vague about the special treatment she gave to the football team. It irked him, and he does not do well when somebody pushes his buttons- Puckermans bleeding nose was a testament to that, and not this. He wished he could take those words back, not because they werent true, but because this now has a possibility of jeopardizing the mission. He could almost hear the director screaming at him.

"Is that what you think?" ask the principal, whom stays rooted in her seat, her face expressionless as she stares at Blaine with sharp blue eyes. "I do not need to justify myself to you, youre merely a student. I am the principal, and as much as I want to expel you out of my school for that ridiculous and fabricated speech you just gave, expelling you would put a damper on my status. I wouldnt look good to my chairmans especially since were so close to graduation. Youll do detention, until graduation."

"You probably are the worst person in the world. You know those students are bullied every single day- tormented, traumatized, afraid to even each in a cafeteria yet you supposedly to be a responsible adult does nothing to stop this. I, on the other hand, am not going to stand for that and you best start opening up a file for all my bad records because trust me, there will be more coming. Youre setting a fine example, truly. Keep up your good work," says Blaine before he ups and leaves the office. He could not spent another second in that room otherwise he was going to implode even more so than he already has, and he could not afford that.

The principals audacity to blatantly brush off that topic was unbelievable. She knew it was true, Blaine could see it in her eyes, yet she simply wavered it away as if it was dust on her fine, silky white coat. He would not stand for this. Something had to be done.

"Lance!" calls out a familiar voice. He turns around to greet Jacob and his three good friends jogging down the corridor towards him. "Are you alright? You were amazing!"

"Im fine. Thanks guys," says Blaine.

"Im serious. Everyones talking about Puckermans downfall-"

"Is that so?" voices Puck himself as he strides from the end of the hallway towards Blaine, with his two friends who are practically brutes. He is still clutching his nose with a towel now. "My downfall, is it, Jacob? That doesnt matter, because how low I fall, it still wont be as low as you pack of losers-"

"Save yourself the embarrassment and just walk away, Puck," says Blaine.

"Yeah," chimes Jacob, though even he found it a surprise that he dared to respond like that to the great Puckerman.

"Since when do you have the balls to talk back to me, huh?" says Puckerman as he takes a step forward towards Jacob. The boy practically shrinks in the confrontation, but you can see in his mannerisms that he is trying to keep his stance.

"I- I," stammers Jacob.

"You best remember where you stand, you fucking idiot," says Puck and in that moment, his fist rises beside his face as he attempts to swing a right hook at Jacob. Blaine prepares to protect- because that is his nature, but the second that fist comes towards Jacob, the boy does something extraordinary.

He grabs the incoming, accelerating fist and bends it downwards with all his might. The jock falls to his knees, groaning in pain and losing the grip of his towel. His nose is exposed and its bleeding profusely still. Jacob looks positively stunned at himself, much so is Puckerman. He lets go quickly and runs behind Blaine, who could not help himself but to chuckle hard.

"You- youre going to regret that, loser," says Puckerman before he marches down the hallway, trying to keep the bear modicum of dignity he has left.

"Jacob!" exclaims his friends as they wrap him in a congratulatory group hug. "That was amazing!"

"I- I dont know what came over me," says Jacob, his eyes swimming with disbelief at his own actions, but Blaine could not have been prouder.

"You were astounding!" exclaims Blaine.

As much as he was proud of the boy, he could not help but to feel so rewarding for seeing his influence in action. The boy, whom was afraid of Puckerman just a few days ago, whom was dump into a trash bin just stood up to the biggest bully in the school. He knew it meant a great deal to Jacob to have done that, but it meant a greater deal to Blaine.

--------------

The street was dimly lit in the nightfall. There were still a few children playing outside with their fathers as Blaine pulls over in front of a humble looking abode. The pointy white picket fence complement the architecture of the house, a simple sharp roof and a small window next to a brown front door.

Blaine sits in his car for a couple of minutes. He still had not absorbed everything that had transpired earlier. It was chaotic, his afternoon. He still had not reported anything to Carl, whom hasnt reported anything either. His own headquarters was not far from here. It was around the corner, in fact. He noticed a pest control truck parked across the Hummels and knew that there were two agents watching the house.

"Blaine," the voice of Carl suddenly erupts from the small screen on his dashboard.

"Jesus, Carl!" bellows Blaine. "You scared the fucking life out of me."

"Sorry- hey what happened to your face?" ask Carl. Behind him was the group of computer fixed agents as they sit in their chairs and stare transfixed at their computers.

"Hit my locker," tells Blaine, massaging his jaw from where Puck had left a huge, stinging bruise on it.

"You sure? Because I got a report from Marcus that you were in a fight with some football guy?" accuses Carl.

"Who the hell is Marcus?" frowns Blaine.

"Agent Marcus. I assigned him to keep watch and have your back as the janitor. Hes been reporting everything that you thought you didnt have to. Whats the deal?" presses Carl.

"Just a small altercation, alright?"

"Blaine, you know how important being covert is-"

"Carl, I really did not have the best of days so why dont you just save your lecture for somebody who gives a shit. Im about to head into the Hummels house. Ill let you know if I find it, understand?"

"Fine," exasperates Carl. You can tell he is frustrated.

"Oh, one more thing. I found out that Noah Puckerman received a call from a New York number yesterday. Check his phone records, get the number, find out exactly where it came from. It might be Lucius," tells Blaine, remembering the bit of information Jacob had told him earlier in the day.

"You found that out? How? I thought you werent on friendly terms with the boy," says Carl.

"I have- other resources. Let me know as soon as you find out. Im heading inside the Hummels residence."

"Okay. Remember- its most probably a flash drive," says Carl before his face disappears and a black screen replaces him.

Blaine takes a few extra minutes, inhaling and exhaling. He did not understand why he was nervous. He has had to infiltrate stricter places in the past, but somehow going into the boys house just seemed like the most unnerving thing to do. He fixed his clothes- normal clothes this time. After that football match, he could not be bothered to put on Carls choices, so instead he donned the things he kept in the trunk of his car- a simple v neck white t-shirt, jeans and black boots

He clambers out of his car and walks up the stony path that led to the front porch where there was a little lounge area of straw chairs and a wooden coffee table. The wind chimes sang as a slight breeze swept through. Blaine tapped on the door lightly and waited for it to be answered. It pulls open then and the boy, Kurt Hummel, stands in the frame- his eyes glistening as it reflects the porch light. He is donned in an oversized baby blue sweater and skinny black jeans that coils around his eternity legs.

"Hey," greets the boy, slightly timidly. "I realized I didnt properly give you my address. I wasnt sure if youd show up."

"I did drive you home once. I have a pretty good memory," says Blaine

"Oh- great then. Come in," the boy invited as he steps aside to allow Blaine entry. He steps inside as the boy shuts the door closed behind them.

The door led to a small living room with a comfy looking couch, a TV set with a few DVDs scattered around the cabinet and a single seated sofa that has a blanket and a pillow placed messily on it. The floor was covered with a white carpet and the walls held a few pictures- most of which had Elizabeth Hummels lively face. All in all, it looked welcoming.

"Nice place you have here," says Blaine, because he knew it was courteous to say so.

"Thanks," says Kurt. "Its not much, really."

"No, its very- warm," says Blaine. It somehow reminded him of his old house, the one he lived in with his parents way in the past. "Is you dad home?"

"No, hes working," tells Kurt. There was a grim air to his sentence, as if he disapproved or something but Blaine chose to not press on. "My bedroom is downstairs. Can we do the assignment there?"

"Sure," shrugs Blaine as he follows the boy down the short hallway that was basically a walk down memory lane with all the family potraits hung on either sides.

They arrive in front a door that was across the kitchen. Kurt pulled it open and descended down a flight of stairs- Blaine following suit. The stairs led to a basement that had been converted into a bedroom- a very stylish bedroom, Blaine had to add. The floor was carpeted with a black furry moss material that sparkled at every angle, a huge bed sat in the corner of the room covered with a printed bedsheets that looked pretty expensive. The walls were plastered with ripped out pages of fashion magazines. It was minimalistic, yet very well decorated.

"Your room is in the basement?" ask Blaine.

"Beats a broom closet like Harry Potter at least," jokes the boy. "Initially my bedroom was on the second floor but since nobody used the basement, I thought why not just benefit from it."

"Genius," says Blaine. "So, what do you wanna get started on first?"

"I figured the we should do the theory questions first? Write out the introductions and do the practical in school?"

"Sure," shrugs Blaine.

"Oh- where are my manners. Ill get you a drink," says the boy. Who looks nervous, almost as if hes never had someone in his house let alone his bedroom before. He turns on his heel and climbs the stairs.

Seeing as the opportunity presented itself, Blaine pulls out a small leather pouch and produces a little sticky camera- one of the gadgets Carl had given him at the start of this mission. He takes one and climbs on a shaky stool to reach the ceiling fluorescent light. He knew he get a better angle this way. He places it at the corner of the disk before pulling out his iPhone to see if it worked. The camera shoved an aerial view of the bedroom.

The sound of footsteps descending down the stairs startles Blaine. The stool was not of right equilibrium to hold him and before he knew it, he falls with a loud, deep shrill onto a small coffee table that breaks as his weight crashes on top of it.

"Lance? Oh my god," exclaims Kurt as he settles the drinks he had in his hands and rushes to Blaines aid. "What happened?"

"Tripped," lies Blaine as he emits a small groan from the pain of his ribcage.

"Youre bleeding," says Kurt in worry. "Wait here. Ill go get an ice pack," he says before he rushes up the stairs. He appears shortly after carrying a bag of frozen peas and a damp cloth.

"Thanks-" says Blaine as he reaches for them but the boy swats his hand away.

"Stay still," he says as he places the bag of peas on the small cut at the side of Blaines eyebrow. "Enlighten me please, how did you fall."

"The- stool. I didnt see the stool," lies Blaine. His head was throbbing hard now. With all the things that has happened today, his bruised jaw- now he gets to add this to the list.

"Im sorry," says the boy as he gently wipes the blood on Blaines forehead.

"What for?" frowns Blaine.

"I should have put aside that stool of course."

"Youre kidding me if you think its your fault," laughs Blaine. He could not comprehend how good hearted this boy was. It was almost laughable how genuinely innocent he was, a trait that only served to his allure.

"Dont laugh. Youre making me feel worse," says the boy as he experimentally daps the bag of peas onto the wound.

"I cant help it. Youre just adorable," says Blaine before he could stop himself. The boy halts his actions as he is caught off guard himself. He blushes crimson, but he tries to hide it. It felt inappropriate to say, but it was true however.

"Does it hurt?" the boy ask, feigning as if he did not hear what he heard.

"Not as much. Its just a little cut. Ive had worst," says Blaine, trying to recover from letting his thoughts slip.

"This huge bruise on your jaw is a testament to that," says Kurt as he brings the frozen peas to the bruise. It stings for a second and Blaine winces in pain, but it feels good once it settles its place. "You were incredible earlier today, by the way. I mean, I dont know much about football but judging by the anguish faces of the football team, you were pretty radical."

"Thanks. I wasnt sure what I was doing to be honest," tells Blaine.

"Pretty good for someone who doesnt know how to play," says the boy.

"Beginners luck, probably," says Blaine. It feels weird that he is laying on top of a broken table as the boy says beside him, dabbing on his wounds but as weird as it felt, it felt good as well.

The boy wore his hair effortlessly. It did not have any product on it, but it looked just as good as it always did. He could not deny that this boy really was handsome, even though it felt weird to point that out, but he was. He was kind hearted as well, and innocent. He did not understand why the world would be so unkind to somebody as pure as him. It was unfair, and this boy deserved so much more.

"A pretty bad day, huh? From a bad bruise, to a cut now," says Kurt.

"Its getting better," says Blaine.

The boy looks at him then, with eyes as deep and profound as the colour itself. He radiates a gleaming aurora of innocence. It was something he never felt before in his profession. He rarely met people with kind souls as this boy. He did not understand it then, but something about the boy was very alluring.

"We should- get back to work," says the boy as he tears their locked gazes. He knew then that the walls were up, because as kind and innocent as the boy was, he has went through a lot in his youth that resulted in him always being on guard for himself.

Kurt pulls his books for a white study table that sat beside the end of the stairway and lays it in front of them. He wears a conflicted look, as if his thoughts are running like a wind mill, but Blaine chooses to not ask. He needed to focus on another thing- that flash drive. He needed to sneak away to ransack the house- but how.

"Do you have a pen? I just remembered I left my entire pencil case in school," says the boy, and just like that- an idea popped up in his head. It was risky, but it was the only idea he could think off to give him time to search the house. He pulls his pen out from his pocket and hands it to the boy.

As the boy attempts to take it, his eyes set on his books than the pen itself, Blaine clicks it and a tiny needle shoots out and stabs the boy on his palm. He instantly falls unconscious, but Blaine catches his face before it hit the ground. He would feel bad about this later, but it was what he needed to do. He knew the boy would wake up in an hour or so, which meant he had only a short amount of time to ransack the house for a flash drive. Blaine reaches for a throw pillow on the small reading couch and places it beneath the boys head. He could not help but to smile at home peaceful the boy looked as he slept- or in an unconscious state rather.

Blaine searches the boys bedroom, starting with the drawers of his vanity table. He did not find anything remotely of computer accessory. All was in there was hair products, facial creams and moisturisers. He knew now the secret to the boys clear complexion. He went to the night stand and searched the two drawers but to no avail either. He did come across something interesting however. There was a book, a simple notebook. As Blaine flipped through the pages, they were mostly sketches- fashion illustration sketches. They were interesting, and very well thought out. He wondered if this was the boys secret, what he was mysterious about when he had his head buried doing something during lesson time. However, he felt guilty going through personal things as such, so he quickly places it back in place. There was no flash drive whatsoever in the boys bedroom. He knew he had to search other places so he quickly jumped up the stairway two steps at a time and went straight to the living room.

It felt strange searching through the house without permission from the owner itself. Almost as if he was a burglar, but he knew his duties. The frame cabinets were mostly full of magazines and novels. He knew he had to search at more practical places. The family did not know of said discovery, which means wherever it is, it must be a place where Elizabeth Hummel mostly worked, but where. He was running out of options, and Blaine knew he had to invade the master bedroom itself, however wrong that might feel. He pulls his phone out and quickly dials for Carl.

"Did you find it?" ask Carl in excitement.

"Not yet, but I need you to keep a look out and tell me if the father arrives," tells Blaine. "Im about to head upstairs. I have a good thirty minutes before the boy wakes up-"

"Wakes up from what?" ask Carl.

"Dont ask, but keep a look out, understand? Call me the second a car pulls up the drives way," hastily says Blaine as he climbs the stairs up to the second landing where there were three bedrooms.

"Im out it," says Carl before the line goes dead.

Blaine enters the first door on the right, a guest bedroom he assumed from the bare furniture and the fact that it looked as it nobody has ever touched it. He goes to the cabinet and pulls it open, but it was empty, same went for the cabinets that had antique candle holders sitting on the top. He went to the next one and knew it was the master bedroom taking in consideration of the huge bed with silky, floral bedsheets, and single white sofa that sat in the corner, the vanity table and the bathroom. He had to remind himself that this was his job, no matter how wrong going through a deceased persons possession felt. He went straight first for the vanity table and ransacked through the drawers, but to no avail either. They were mostly vanity products. The cabinets had folded clothes in them and even though Blaine went through the piles, no flash drive was hidden in them. He searched the entire room, practically flipped it upside down but nothing came from it. He was about to go to the third bedroom when his phone rang.

"The father just left his garage. You have at least ten more minutes," says Carl.

"The garage? How the heck do you know that?" ask Blaine.

"We have eyes there too. Anyway, have you found it yet?" pressures Carl.

"No, and I dont think Im going to. The flash drive has to be somewhere specific. It cant just be inside drawers. Elizabeth knew how valuable it was. She would hide it somewhere she knew would be safe, and was concealed better," says Blaine. He checks his watch and practically sprinted back to the basement. "Its too late now. Ill try to get it another way, or see if I can get it out of the boy. Hes waking up soon," says Blaine as he basically tumbles down the stairs down to Kurts bedroom.

-------------------

The room felt as if it was spinning hard. His heard throbbed like crazy and for awhile, as Kurt fluttered his eyelids, he could not make out the human figure in front of him until his vision finally came back. Lance was seated, cross legged on the floor as he stares at a piece of paper with a frown on his face.

"Wh- what happened?" ask Kurt as he slowly tried to sit up. His head felt as though somebody had hit him with a baseball bat.

"Well good morning sleepy head," says Lance with a wide grin. "You fell asleep. Dont blame you though. This shit is practically tranquillizers."

"I feel asleep?" ask Kurt. "How- I wasnt even sleepy."

"Maybe you subconsciously were, only you didnt realize how tired you were and your body cave in without your control? Happens to me sometimes too, not remembering how I fell asleep," tells the boy.

"Oh- yeah, I guess. How long was I asleep?" ask Kurt as he fixes his sweater. He could not believe he simply just fell dead asleep like that. That rarely happenes. Sometimes he could not even fall asleep if he wanted to.

"About an hour and thirty minutes," shrugs the boy.

"That long?" says Kurt in disbelief. "Im sorry. We were supposed to be doing the assignment."

"Hey, dont worry about it," assures the boy. "I managed to get all the questions done. Maybe you could do the practical?"

"Yes- definitely. Ill do the practical. Not that I would have been much help if I was awake, but thank you," tells Kurt. He feels eternally guilty for leaving the boy to do all the questions. He knew he was weaker in the subject, and God knows Lance was practically a genius at almost everything, but it still was not fair to leave the boy to do all the work.

"No problem, Kurt. I cant blame you for being tired, not that I blame you at all of course," says the boy. "I hope you dont find this weird or whatever, but I couldnt help but to notice all these fashion articles plastered on your walls. Are you into fashion?" ask Lance.

It was definitely another first for Kurt. He had zero friends in the past so nobody bothered to ask of his interest. His mother knew, of course, but since her passing he never had anybody to share his interest with. It made him somehow nervous to talk about it.

"I just- love the art, I guess. Theres just something about the way a dress, or a shirt is structured that gets me thinking, you know? What the designer might have been feeling, what inspired him or her. It just interesting I guess. I know its stupid-"

"Its not stupid," interjects the boy. "What interest you is what interest you. You dont need to explain or justify yourself to anyone. Do what you love."

Kurt could not help but to flush at the boys response. He always thought it was an odd interest, especially for a boy. He knew he had routes paved for him and he always took it as it was, but hearing now from the boy, telling him to do what he loved- it was an unexpected response for Kurt.

"Youre only the second person to ever encourage me like that," shamefully says Kurt.

"Who was the first?" ask the boy with a slight tilting of his head. His eyes was of a beautiful hazel colour that always gave him goosebumps to look at. There was kindness riddled in them, a look he never got from anyone before besides his parents.

"My mother," tells Kurt. He did not know why he wanted to tell the boy this, maybe because he never understood the dynamic of friends, but this boy made him feel comfortable, and with that comfort, his walls were slowly crumbling without him even knowing. "She used to always get my opinion on the clothes she wears. She said I was as brutal as Joan Rivers. I once practically tore a dress off of her because we had different opinions on it- she thought it was pretty but it was hideous and I could not let her walk out of the house with it."

"You sound like her best and worst critic," laughs the boy. "What was she like? Im sorry if Im prying."

"Youre not," assures Kurt, because even though he might have been, Kurt did not feel as though he was being pried open. "She was- my best friend. She was always there for me, despite the many trips she made to New York for work. She would answer my calls no matter how busy she was, she would make time to take me out shopping. When she was here- I just never felt alone. I felt like I had an army with me even though she was just one person. She was the kindest person I knew."

"She sounds like a great mother," says Lance.

"The best," responds Kurt, because truly that was what she was. "Im sorry. You didnt have to hear me ramble on like an idiot-"

"Hey," interrupts the boy. He places a gentle hand over Kurts and for a moment, he wants to retract but the boy just had a comforting radiance to him that Kurt left his hand as it is. "I told you, Im your friend."

Kurt did not know how to respond. It was rare to never that he got this kind of treatment from anyone- eyes alight with a gentle glimmer, an assuring smile and a firm grip of his hand. "Thanks," manage Kurt, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks because he can feel them burning up already.

"She used it be a scientist? You told me once?" ask Lance. He was keenly interested to know about Kurts mother, and though that did seem odd, he knew the boy was simply trying to help him through th grieving process by talking about her.

"Yeah. A good one, in fact. She was a scientist at Columbia University, working on a project," tells Kurt.

"A project?" ask the boy.

"Yeah. She never told me what was it about though. Pretty secretive when it came to her work," shrugs Kurt. He never actually knew what his mother was always working on. She would spent a few days in New York and then come back, and never did work at all at home, unless it was late at night and would be inside her home office.

"Have you ever followed her to New York?" ask Lance as he stretches his legs in front of me, resting his back on the wall. He looks tired, and Kurt could not blame him. He had been through a lot in a day.

"Nope. I always wanted to, but she never gave me the chance. She said New York wasnt the safest of place for children. I want to be living there one day, hopefully."

"Well, to be fair, nowhere is ever the safe. Danger can come at you wherever you go," says Lance. "Thats why its imporant to know how to defend yourself."

"I cant disagree with you on that," says Kurt. "Maybe if my mother had known how to defend herself she could have saved herself from the muggers."

"Muggers? She was mugged?" ask the boy. He looks surprised.

"Yeah," says Kurt.

"Oh- thats unfortunate. Im sorry," says the boy. Lance seem to go deep into his thoughts, his face slightly scrunched and eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, me too," says Kurt. "You know, its getting pretty late. Your parents dont mind you staying out so late into the night?"

"No, they dont. I basically- live by my own rules," says the boy. "But youre right. I should get going."

The boy rises to his feet and stretches his arms upwards tiredly. As he does this, his light t-shirt rises slightly and flashes the deep V cut line muscles on his pelvic, and guilty, Kurt could not help but to stare. The jeans the boy had on was a perfect fit to his waist- it was almost impeccable. Realizing then what he was doing, he quickly tears his gaze away feeling a magnitude of guilt rise inside of him.

"Thanks for inviting me to come over by the way," says the boy.

"Oh- of course. Though I still feel guilty leaving you to do all the work," says Kurt.

"Look at it this way- if we dont score, youll have only me to blame," jokes the boy, a playful, adorable grin on his handsome face.

They climb up the stairs in silence, and out into the living room to where the front door is. He felt shy for some reason, as if allowing the boy to enter his house gave him an access to his secrets and hell be leaving with his own judgement. Kurt pulls the door open and allows the boy out the front door, but he halts and turn.

"Thank you- for saving me tonight. Without you and your trusty bag of frozen peas sidekick, I might have bleed to death. Remind me to replace your coffee table," jokes the boy.

"Oh- that old thing, dont worry about it. Maybe this was my thank you for helping me start my car the other day," says Kurt.

"Well then, I look forward to saving you next time," says the boy. His eyes are warm and gentle, his lips a moist pink and his face radiated compassion. Kurt could have very well shrivelled into a cave right there and then. "Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight," timidly responds Kurt. His insides were practically hyperventilating. He has never felt this excited and nervous and fuzzy all at once. It was a weird sensation, something he never encountered before.

He watched as the boy climbed into his car, pulls out and drives away. Kurt knew he was crossing boundaries, he knew he stood no chance, he knew he was delusional and he knew he could not feel that way about his only friend, but he could not deny his what he felt inside. Was Puckerman right?

-----------------

"Whats the lead?" ask Blaine the next morning after he got dressed- one of Carls stupid outfits again.

"I tracked that number down. It came from a payphone on fifth avenue," tells Carl.

"Fifth avenue? Isnt that where-"

"CIA headquarters is, exactly. I dont know what the hell the team is doing over there. I checked the CCTV camera and he came into the phone booth at around nine PM. Get this, that wasnt the only phone call he made last night," tells Carl. "He was in there for about ten minutes, but the call he made to Noah Puckerman only lasted for two minutes and thirty seven seconds."

"Thats- really precise," says Blaine. "Any idea who he might be calling?"

"I dont know, but Im finding that out. Im getting all the phone calls made from that phone booth processed. Should get it in about an hour or so."

"Good. I practically turned the Hummels house upside down but to no avail. Its gotta be somewhere more-- I dont know, personal? There was another room on the second landing I didnt managed to search though. I reckon the office or something," tells Blaine.

"You do that. The director is growing impatient. He says that the government is asking about the creation. They want it in their possession as soon as possible-"

"Yeah, well tell them to fuck off. If they think they can do a better job, then go ahead and get Barack Obama to finish the job," says Blaine. He hated when he was rushed. He preferred doing his missions at leisure, plus he knew the government only wants the Elizabeths discovery as soon as possible so they can get their revenue as soon as possible.

"I agree," says Carl.

"Oh- that reminds me," says Blaine as he remembers the information Jacob had given him about Lucius Dame yesterday. "I found out that Lucius Dames recent files are under government protection. You cant access his recent files either, right?"

"No, I cant," says Carl, a slight frown on his face.

"So Im just wondering- if we, the government, cant access the files, neither can public access the files, what does that mean?" ask Blaine.

"Well- in my experience, it usually means the government is trying to hide something- even from us," says Carl. Even this has his brain picking. He looks conflicted as his thoughts wander, but he is a smart man.

"Why would they hide vital files like that from us? We need it, right?"

"Yeah- I dont know really, but Ill find out. Ill ask the director if he knows anything about it. It definitely is weird that I cant access the files. I usually can access anything if I wanted to. Where did you find this out anyway?" ask Carl.

Blaine knew Carl wouldnt be too happy if he knew. He would disapprove to his grave, even Blaine would, but the opportunity presented itself and Blaine trusted Jacob.

"I tried accessing them myself from an outsource," tells Blaine, crossing his fingers that Carl wouldnt inquisition him further.

"Ill worry about that. Hurry on finding the flash drive, alright? Im keeping a close monitor on all the train stations and ferry terminals and airports- make sure he doesnt slip through our fingers again," says Carl.

"You should also know that he went to McKinley High School. I dont know yet if Elizabeth went there too, but maybe we can make the connection if she did. Find that out too," tells Blaine.

"Where are you even getting your information?" ask Carl, his face is suspicion.

"Dont ask, just do," says Blaine.

--------

Kurt waits outside the counselling room that morning. The Asian girl, Tina was inside talking to miss Pillsbury. She probably was called in after her outburst at Quinn Fabray earlier this week- that or because the girl dresses as if shes going to a funeral everyday.

He allows his thoughts to go back to last night- his study session with Lance. He realized that he couldnt rid the boys face from his thoughts- goofy smile, honey coated eyes, drooping curly hair and that very toned stomach. Kurt didnt know what was wrong with him. He didnt know what it was, but last night- he saw something in the boy. Like a glimmer of unfailing hope in his dread of a life.

"Hey Kurt," calls a newly familiar voice. He turns and is surprised to see the boy he was just thinking about, striding towards him from the end of the hall way. He was donned in a blue polo t-shirt, orange trousers and black boat shoes. Someone Kurt missed how the boy looked yesterday- more dressed down than his usual, odd look.

"Hi," responds Kurt.

"What are you waiting for?" ask the boy as he slides onto the same bench as Kurt.

"Counselling," tells Kurt, feeling slightly insecure about it.

"What do they need to counsel you? Youre not suicidal or anything, right?" ask the boy, his eyes riddled with the same worry.

"No, but since my mother passed away, the school insisted I attend grief counselling every morning. Kinda of a drag, to be honest," says Kurt.

"Ill say. If they want to counsel anyone, they should counsel that stupid Puckerman. It isnt normal to have animal characteristics like him," says Lance, in which Kurt couldnt help but to chuckle at.

"Ill be sure to tell miss Pillsbury that," says Kurt.

"Be sure you do," says the boy, a playful smile on his slim, pink lips. "So anyway, when is our next study date?"

"Study date?" ask Kurt, a little startled that the boy would label their study session last night to be a date. It made him blush for some reason, and he did not know if the boy noticed.

"Yeah. Clearly we have more to do. We have three components theory questions, three introductions and conclusions to do and three practicals. Weve only done the first. Why? Dont you want to study with me any more?" ask the boy, his face genuinely disappointed about it.

"No! Of course I do," says Kurt, a little passionately than intended. "Urm- when do you want it to be?"

"How about tomorrow? Your place again?" ask the boy.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," says Kurt.

"You already have plans, dont you?" ask the boy, in which Kurt resisted the urge to laugh so hard his ribs would hurt.

"No, I dont. Tomorrow is fine," tells Kurt. This was probably his first ever plans on a Saturday that did not involve spring cleaning his room, helping his father clear out the things in the attic, pretending to watch a football match with his father or go to the library.

"Great then," says the boy, his smile wide and eyes gleaming. "Oh, and thanks again for cleaning my wound. I have a little scar right here," tells the boy as he points at the small cut on the side of his thick eyebrows.

"The ladies would love it," smiles Kurt.

"Yup, and Ill know who to thank," says the boy. "Ill see you in class."

He strides away then, but not without turning around once more and flashing Kurt a toothy grin and made his insides feel lightweight. Something about the boy just made him want to curl into a ball and blush crimson. He dares not acknowledge his feelings, not yet at least.

"Kurt?" says a voice that pulls him out of his reverie. Miss Pillsbury stands at the threshold, with her eyes big as saucers and her hair neatly combed and bright auburn. "Come in," she invites.

Kurt rises to his feet and grabbed his satchel as he follows the student counsellor into her small office. Everything in that room screamed volumes of her personality- the pens and pencils on her desk were neatly placed, files and books were neatly stacked on top of each other, the curtains on her windows were perfectly drawn to the side, even the chairs were placed at a precise angle and distance away from each other. He was a neat person too, but this woman was the queen of obsessive compulsive disorder.

"How are you this morning?" cheerily ask Miss Pillsbury as she takes a seat, hands placed on her desk as she watches Kurt with curious, comical eyes.

"Fine," shortly responds Kurt because he hated these counselling sessions. It made him feel like there was something wrong with me, but there wasnt. He was mourning, grieving. He understands the schools concern, but daily counselling sessions was ridiculous. They could deal with the limitless bullying cases this school has, but instead they chose to student with the recent loss to feign their compassion.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" ask the counsellor.

"A banana," responds Kurt.

"That sounds interesting," exclaims the counsellor, which was a stupid and ridiculous response. "How are things at home?"

"Fine," says Kurt.

"Have you had any trouble sleeping lately? Any nightmares?" presses miss Pillsbury. This always happened during their counselling sessions. She would try with all her might to get something out of Kurt, but he always refused to let her in on anything. She was nobody to understand his situation.

"None," says Kurt.

"Have you been coping well since our last session?"

"I dont even know how to respond that stupid question," says Kurt. He knew he was being incredibly rude and his parents raised him to be better, but he couldnt help it. He hated being talked down to like a child.

Miss Pillsbury sighs heavily. He could tell that she was growing frustrated that she couldnt get a proper responds out of Kurt. He was hoping for this- to make them think he was beyond help so they would stop trying to break him and start focusing on the real issues in this school.

"Kurt, weve been doing these sessions for about two weeks now and not once have you expressed your true feelings to me. The school is here to help you, to make sure that youre coping well from your tragic loss. I urge you not to push away help. We dont even have to talk about your loss specifically. You can talk to me about anything you want- anything in the world," says miss Pillsbury.

Kurt thought about it then- maybe he did not feel comfortable talking about his mother, and his fathers distance he has been feeling lately to a complete stranger, but maybe Miss Pillsbury could help him with another conflicted thought and emotion he has.

"Is everything I say here-- you know, confidential?" timidly ask Kurt as he sits up straight.

"Yes, of course," says Miss Pillsbury. She looks excited now, as if she managed to get through a very difficult task.

Kurt breathes in. He thought he did not want to confront his thoughts and feelings, but he needed to share about it- to someone who would listen to him and since the opportunity stood still in front of him now, he would go for it.

"Even before my mother passed, I was really lonely because I didnt have friends, I guess. When she died, I felt like I was even more alone and I thought it was going to be unbearable- I thought I was subjected to a life of solitude and it made me really depressed for awhile-- but recently, Ive met someone..a friend. He goes to this school and he is just-- hes really nice to me, and he wants to be my friend and hell listen to me when I talk about my mother, and he seems pretty interested to get to know me more and I just have been feeling..gradually better since I met him," says Kurt.

"Thats great then!" exclaims Miss Pillsbury, a eyes riddled with relief.

"Theres just a slight problem," says Kurt, in which Miss Pillsbury instantly switches to a look of grave worry.

"What?" cautiously ask the counsellor. She looks as if somebody is about to confess a murder to her.

Kurt inhales deeply again, not sure how is he suppose to come out and say it. He got through the first verse, he knew he could reach the chorus- the vital part of the song. What he was afraid of most was that if he put his thoughts into actual words, then it would no longer be an enigmatic secret any more. He did not want to deal with the reality, but he knew he could not stop now.

"I think I like him-- but hes straight," says Kurt.

His whole body relief of stress almost instantaneously. Miss Pillsbury looks positively baffled. She clearly did not have a proper response for this, nor this she go to finishing school to tackle and issue such as this, but it was true. Saying it aloud now- it was true. The way he couldnt help but to smile when she sees the boy walking towards him, the way he blushed crimson when the boy smiled at him, cleaning his wound yesterday was when everything came into perspective when he had to resist himself for leaning down and planting a kiss on the boys mouth when the boy said he was adorable.

"Urm-- well..I guess-- you urm," stammers Miss Pillsbury. She made no coherent sense whatsoever. She opens her side drawer then and searches for something.

"If you give me another self help pamphlet, I will throw it at you," says Kurt.

The counsellor stops her search and sits quietly in her desk. She clearly has no response and it somehow makes Kurt regret even saying anything to her, but he needed to- for him to hear the words in reality. He wasnt sure what he was feeling exactly, conflicted definitely because he had no chance whatsoever.

"Im assuming you havent told him?" ask the counsellor, in which Kurt shakes his head in response. "Well-- maybe you dont exactly like him."

"What do you mean?" ask Kurt.

"Youve been going through a lot lately, and havent had anyone to talk to, so maybe when this boy befriended you and listened to your problems, you just feel like he is a good friend, and because, like you said, you never friends before, what youre feeling is gratitude for having a friend like that only because youre not familiar with that feeling, you assume that you have a crush on him, but maybe its just your relief of having someone to talk to that masked itself for a different form of feeling- if Im making any sense," says miss Pillsbury.

"I guess," says Kurt. Maybe the counsellor was right, though that doesnt explain much on why he wanted to kiss the boy so badly last night.

"Im glad you have someone who listens to you at least. Progress," smiles miss Pillsbury. "Dont shy away from this boy just because you feel like youre crushing on him. Give it time, maybe youll realize later that you just like having him as a friend, than actually liking him."

Even though Kurt agreed to a certain extent of the counsellors advice, he wasnt necessarily sure that she was right because- maybe he did not understand the dynamic of a friendship, but the dynamic was most certainly not wanting to kiss a friend.