Kurt stands there like a being from another world as the small crowd of students bore their eyes at him. He noticed the boy, Lance himself looking a little surprised by his sudden presence here but Kurt had thoroughly thought about his decision to take Lance up on his offer.

After that altercation with his father earlier in the day, he realized he needed to preoccupy himself with something other than repeats of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. He did not understand his fathers rage, but a part of him felt like it was only the beginning of a sudden outburst, like the mug-throw. He needed to learn how to defend himself- from the last person he thought hed have to defend himself from.

"Okay, well- welcome Kurt," greets the boy as he strides through the small aisle in between the other students. "What made you change your decision?" ask the boy, and this time his tone was a little softer, as if only for Kurts ears.

"I needed something to keep myself busy with, plus I actually do need defending skills," says Kurt, keeping his true agenda vague.

"Well, since everybody else is partnered up, youre left with me. Is that okay?" ask the boy.

"Of course," says Kurt because frankly he wouldnt have any it any other way, not that he had any problems with the familiar faces in the bunch, but much like the rest of McKinleys population, he does not have an established friendship with any of them- except for Lance, of course.

"Alright guys, play about your business with your pairs- Jacob and Jeremy you guys take first slots with the bag while the rest of you practice the moves Ive taught you so far. Each pair gets fifteen minutes with the bag, are we clear?" ask Blaine in which the crowd of students not in comprehension.

Lance turns to face Kurt in a swift second, his beautiful lips turning into a proud smirk, his eyes bright and yellow like the sun and his face is just- a breath of fresh air. "Im happy you decided to come," smiles the boy.

"Dont be happy just yet," says Kurt. "So, how does it work?"

"Well, clearly you came in late so that makes you a student lagging behind, so Ill just go over what Ive taught so far. The first is the wristband move," says Lance.

"Wristband?" clarifies Kurt, his eyebrow raising in question.

"Its actually a move that involves bending your attackers wrist- for either a quick getaway or a domination tactic. Depends on what you choose. Id do it to you, but Im afraid Id break you," teases the boy in which Kurt couldnt help but to snicker.

"Im not that fragile," says Kurt, but despite the stab, he could not help but to blush to himself at how playful his relationship with his only friend was. He needed to push those crushing feelings aside- he needed to tell himself that he couldnt risk losing his only friend in this hell hole. "So what do I do?"

"You take a swing at me. As hard as you can, dont hold back," tells Lance. He does not remotely looking cocky. In fact, a taunting smile is plastered across that handsome face of his.

"Dont be cocky," says Kurt, the joke practically tickling the boy.

"This is what you have to remember- one foot front, one foot back. Make sure the foot in the back is at a ready-to-sprint position. Also to make sure you have a good posture, and get your hands ready to push the incoming fist backwards," says the boy. He was attractive in his field- to Kurt. The way he was so sure of himself was very appealing. "Okay?" says boy, gaining Kurts focus again.

"Yes," nods Kurt. "Noted."

"Noted?" laughs the boy. "Now, punch me."

"Are you sure? I mean, we could try something less severe like slap, or a tap or something," says Kurt, trying to hide the actual reason why he is reluctant, but the show looks at him with eyes riddled with suspicion. His head tilts and a cryptic smile pulls across those lips of his.

"You dont know how to punch someone, do you," teases the boy.

"Ive seen Tom Cruise in the Mission Impossible movies, okay? I think I would have gathered how to-"

"Just admit it," says the boy. Kurt sighs heavily as he surrenders to those comical eyes of the boy.

"Fine. I dont know how to punch," shamefully says Kurt. The broad smile pulls across the boys face, a smile that only served to his appeal. He truly was handsome, Kurt could not deny. It was natural for him to crush over this kind and handsome boy, right?

"Get as much leverage as you can. Pull your arm all the way to the back and dont hold back when you swing your fist at me," says the boy, shooting a thumbs up in Kurts way.

Kurt inhales again and does as he was instructed. He pulls his arm all the way to the back of, spinning his torso and swings his fist straight for the boy. He catches it in time and pushes the fist downwards, bends his wrist. Kurt falls to the ground with a loud, deafening shrill. The pain was excruciating, as if somebody had deliberately punched a vein and disallowed his blood to circulate.

"You alright?" ask the boy as he offers a hand to pull Kurt up.

"I thought that was going to be a gentle, start up example," groans Kurt as he takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled up.

"In my defence, you said you werent fragile," smirks the boy. "Now you try. Make sure you take a good hold of my wrist and bend it downwards as hard as you can. Dont worry about breaking me."

"Right," says Kurt as he nervous waits for the punch. He gets into the position Blaine had advised him to, his eyes locked with the boys, a slight gleam in those hazel optics of his.

"Ready?"

"No but yes," says Kurt. He inhales deeply as the boy raises his fist. In his natural state, he would fear away, but he knew somehow that Lance would never hurt him. As the fist comes straight for him, he watches it like an incoming ball and bends the wrist downwards. The boy falls to his knees with a slight groan.

"Not bad for a rookie," says the boy.

"Maybe you just underestimated me," says Kurt.

"Maybe I did. Again," tells the boy as he climbs to his feet, twisting his wrist in circular motion before he repeats the motion.

The practice went on for a few hours as Kurt learns the move taught to him to perfection- because honestly, that was the way he did things. Lance was impressed by his sponge like characteristics to he able to pick something up so quickly. It gave Kurt a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of the stomach to know the boy was impressed with something he did.

"Alright guys," announces the boy as he strides to the centre of the blue acrobatics mat placed on the ground. "You guys were great and Ill see you again on Wednesday. Jacob, make sure you wipe whatever mucus you sneezed onto that punching bag."

The misfits of students wave their goodbyes as they begin to pour out of the little garage that looks as if the whole place might collapse with a slight kick. A boy with large curly hair and spectacles that sit on the crook of his nose walks up to Kurt however.

"Jacob," introduces the boy, extending his hand in formality. "How did you hear about this little club?"

"Lance asked if I wanted to join," tells Kurt.

"Well, Im not surprised. Hes great, isnt he," says the boy as he glances over to where Lance is throwing books into his leather satchel.

"He is," says Blaine.

"I have a question, what is your response to the rumor that you dont have a penis, thats why you can fit into skinny jeans like the ones you wear on a daily basis?" ask the boy, and he looks legitimately curious. Kurt knows this boy. He was known for being a weasel and getting into other peoples business. "Just curious. That rumour has been going around for months now on the McKinley gossip blog."

"Thats a stupid rumor if you ask me," says Kurt. The boy shrugs before he serpents around Kurt and makes his way out of the garage just in time as Lance turns around and a broad smile pulls across his face.

"Youre still here? Cant get enough, can you?" says the boy as he swings his satchel over his shoulder and walks towards Kurt in a confident stride.

"I just- wanted to thank you for this. As much as I do want to learn how to defend myself, I need something to distract me even more," tells Kurt in whole hearted honesty. He almost forgot about the altercation with his father earlier in the day the whole time he was practising that move with Lance.

"What do you need to distract yourself from?" ask the boy, tilting his head slightly and eyes riddle with concern.

"Just- stuff," tells Kurt. He knew he was comfortable sharing with the boy, but he felt maybe pouring all his problems to the boy might chase him away. He couldnt have that. He enjoyed being friends with Lance too much, but the boy watches him with suspicious eyes until he gives in.

"Okay, well Im glad I was a good form of distraction," winks the boy in which Kurt couldnt help but to feel his knees turn to jelly. "Youll be back, I hope?"

"I will be back. Definitely," smiles Kurt trying to keep his calm composure when in actual fact, he was blushing so hard from the boys hopeful tone, as if he genuinely wanted Kurt to come back.

---------

Blaine walks down the corridor the following school day in search of none other than the boy, Kurt Hummel. He was genuinely surprised to see him walk through that doorway seeing as how reluctant the boy was to join when Blaine first told him about it. Something definitely happened that altered his decision, he knew that much from the book of tales those unique set of eyes told.

He would wait, of course, for the boy to tell him himself. Pushing those boundaries is risky, and though he was a man to take risks, this one is different. He needed the perfect bridge to build, from both ends and not just from his own. He also hadnt gone over to the boys house since that short study date turned work out session. He needed to slip another excuse to get in there.

However, Blaine felt awkward when he talked to the boy yesterday but he did his best to play it cool. After seeing the boy naked through a camera, it felt odd to see him in clothes after seeing him without. He didnt know what it was. Maybe of his long deprived sex life, courtesy of being a full time secret agent, but every time he remotely looks at the boy now, his mind quickly envisions that pale skin, those sharp bones sticking out of his skin, a lean torso and that perfect, round, perky-

"Hi," says a Latino girl as she swoops in front of Blaine out of nowhere, startling him and pulling him out of his reverie. "Santana Lopez, Mckinleys top bitch."

"Arent you that girl who insulted my wardrobe, saying how my mother lets me shop at a GAP store for toddlers?" ask Blaine because he quite remembers this girl from his first few seconds stepping into this sorry excuse for a school.

"I have no recollection whatsoever," claims the girl as she wavers the accusation away with her manicured fingernails. "Heres the deal, Im the hottest piece of action this dump will ever see in its lifetime and the next, and as of late, youve been crowned the new guy girls want to thrash around with in bed. I always get my hands first on the newest merchandise on the rack and let everyone else have my sloppy seconds, henceforth you are to take me to the movie event this Friday and make out with me in front of everyone who is anyone. Understood?"

"And why would I do that?" frowns Blaine, the girls words leaving him confused.

"Because even though the amount of grease on your hair can lubricate my bike for an entire year and you are practically shorter than your average lawn gnome, you still somehow pass to be cute. Prom is coming up and I need to be the most liked and the most envied girl in school to get votes, and you might just be my ticket for the throne," says the girl, a self-indulgent smirk on her otherwise pretty face. She has a cunning look about her as well, as if she would not think twice when it came to saving herself or a toddler in a sticky situation. "Deal?"

"Not even remotely," says Blaine without a second thought. "I will however be looking for a day time therapist for you because you have problems. Out of my way please."

The girl looks shell shocked, as if that was the first time a guy has ever rejected her. Her eyes glare at Blaine before she marches down the hallway, pushing people out of the way. She turns into a little red dot, compliments of her cheer leading uniform, at the end of the corridor before she turns a corner and disappears.

That was definitely one of the most weirdest conversations Blaine had ever encountered with. The girl simply was so confident about herself, so sure of her beauty it almost made her unappealing. Blaine continued down the corridor anyway, content to put their weird encounter behind him, that is until a teacher steps in front of him after he took just a few steps forward.

The teacher was of average height but her most prominent feature were her big, comical looking eyes. That practically took up half the size of her face, and she barely blinked. Her hair was combed nearly in two portions and it cascaded down the side of her head, blazing orange. She dons a very dapper get up of matching skirt and blouse. She stands there with a big smile on her odd looking face.

"Hi there. Are you Lance Jackson?" ask the teacher, her voice doing no justice whatsoever to how absolutely annoying she looked.

"Yes," answers Blaine with a slight suspicion to his tone. It was his job to always be suspicious. It came naturally.

"Im Miss Pillsbury. We havent officially met, though I think we will pretty soon. Most students have to attend counseling sessions at least once every month. A mandatory requirement imposed by the principal to keep students at a sane level," tells the teacher.

"A sane level? Im not surprised. Its not uncommon to go crazy in this school," says Blaine.

"Right you are. I actually have a few things to talk to you about, if you would so kindly step into my office," the teacher says with a contrived instructive tone than one of a question.

Blaine shrugs as he follows the woman into a small office. It has glass panels for walls making the office intrusive to anyone who walks pass it. The office resonated with her- clean, cut and very neat. She gesturally tells Blaine to take a seat across a small desk as she takes her own, placing both her hands on the counter top of her table.

"So how are you, Lance? Doing okay here in a new school? Any problems maybe youd like to share with me?" ask miss Pillsbury, her big eyes practically dismantling Blaines every emotion. It was eerie to be under her scrutiny.

"Im guessing that is a formality?" ask Blaine, because he really couldnt be bothered with counseling sessions. "Why dont you just cut to the chase and tell me what is it you want to talk to me about so I can be on my way."

The counsellor is taken aback for the shortest of seconds. Her eyes widening even more than they already are. It wasnt that Blaine wanted to be rude, but he did not like counseling very much. School counsellors are simply people that are paid to find out the students deepest darkest secrets only to share it to the faculty and have them share it with their parents. It was an invasion of privacy in Blaines eyes.

"Okay," surrenders the counsellor. "With careful observation, I have deduced that you are pretty close friends with Kurt Hummel?"

"Yeah, so?" ask Blaine, confused as to where this might lead to.

"Are you aware that he has been going through a hard time with his mother passing away quite recently?" ask miss Pillsbury.

"I am aware that that is confidential information about a fellow student," says Blaine, eyeing the woman whom burns red with embarrassment.

"I am merely a concerned teacher," defends the woman. "What I am also aware of is that he-- has much appreciation to have you as a friend."

"I really dont think- wait, what?" says Blaine, though wanting to scold the teacher for sharing private information in her sessions with Kurt to Blaine, he could not help but to be intrigued. She wears a victorious smirk.

"Kurt hasnt been able to talk to anyone because frankly he does not have anyone outside his grief circle to talk to. He does not share anything with me in our sessions, but recently he has told me that he found a solace to confide in, and that solace is you," says the woman, in which Blaine could not help but to smile so widely at. More than the fact that this means he is progressing in his mission, he somehow also feels warm inside to know the boy feels comfortable to share things with him and that Blaine is the only person he shares anything with. He felt as though he held some sort of winning torch.

"I didnt- know that," says Blaine, trying to hide the flattering smile on his face.

"Yes, well seeing as you are the only person he confides in, you should understand that it comes with certain responsibilities," tells Miss Pillsbury in a stringent intonation.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I care a great deal for Kurt, so I want to make sure that when he shares with you of his griefs that you dont push them aside. I need you to listen to him and make sure he feels like somebody is listening to him," tells the counsellor. She does not seem like she is in a gaming mood. She looks dead serious.

"Of course I would listen to him," argumentatively responds Blaine.

"Also, do not shy away from him if he is a little friendly towards you-"

"What does that even mean?" ask Blaine, a deep frown on his face. The counsellor takes a minute to herself as she rearranges her words, carefully trying to convey her meaning.

"Just- he hasnt had any friends before, and youre his first, so sometimes he does not understand the dynamic of a friendship and if he does get too friendly in certain terms, I urge that you dont get- how teenagers say it- weirded out by it."

Blaine stares blankly at the woman. He was a sharp person and usually could comprehend a tricky sentence in a heartbeat, but for some reason he did not understand this woman. He blamed the woman for twisting her words. It made no sense whatsoever.

"O...kay," says Blaine. "Rest assure, I strive to be a great companion for Kurt. He is an incredible person and a terrific friend. If he needs a listening ear, trust me I would surrender both of mine," says Blaine.

"Im glad to hear that," responds the woman, heaving a sigh of relief. "You are dismissed. Thank you."

Blaine rises from the plastic chair, a little confused by this whole conversation. He learnt that the boy was indeed fond of him as a friend, so that meant he was on the right track. In no time, hed be able to find out the underlying secrets to that household, and the underlying secrets of the creations whereabouts. He fought the urge to call up Carl and gloat to him.

"Oh, and Lance?" calls the orange haired woman one last time."

Blaine halts at the threshold and turns to the woman who sits there, again trying to figure out her words before she says them.

"You mean-- a great deal to Kurt," says the woman. "I hope you know that."

"He means a lot to me too," says Blaine, not quite understanding the rather peculiar woman, though as his own words slip through his lips, he somehow meant it.

----------

"Dear lord, I hate French history. Why the hell did I ever take this subject," groans Kurt as he buries his face into the textbook laid open on his desk.

His day has not been going too well. It first started when he woke up this morning, only to be greeted with his fathers cold shoulder. They both left the house without a single word to each other, and it was definitely one of the worst feelings Kurt has ever felt. When he arrived in school, he noticed a slight rip on his canvas loafers. He was a perfectionist at heart so a slight rip on his shoes caused the biggest of insecurities. The day unfolded on with some mishaps at lunch resulting in a stained white shirt, followed by some rude insults thrown his way by a couple of the jocks.

It was not out of the ordinary for him to have to deal with the day to day struggle of being a homosexual adolescent, but it did not change the fact that vile words like faggot still hurt him. His classes seemed extra dreadful today, but the only upside was getting to stare at the boy, Lance Jacksons face- subtly of course.

"Why did you decide to take it then?" ask the boy, whom is seated beside him, a small aisle distancing them. He much preferred the chemistry labs bench where they were much closer in proximity.

"Maybe I thought taking French history might make me seem more interesting?" says Kurt as he flips through his mundane textbook pages, determined to at least absorb some of the information.

"You dont need French history to make you interesting, Kurt. Thats ridiculous," says the boy in which Kurt could not help but to blush at. It was not uncommon that sometimes the boys words did make his cheeks burn crimson.

"Why did you take it then?" ask Kurt, resting his chin on his palm as he stares at the boy, but not in a way that might be creepy.

"I, for one, thought the subject would be interesting to learn," says Lance. "Who knows? It might come in handy in the future."

"Right. As if knowing the later stages of the Roman Empire will benefit me at all in my future endeavours," groans Kurt.

"Maybe it wont, but trust me- one day when youre older and working long hours of the day, having to take crap from snobby Ivy League idiots, youre gonna wish you were back in class 101 and learning French history," says the boy.

"That was a rather detailed elaboration," says Kurt, but he could not help but to find a point in that analysis.

"So, are you going to that drive-in movie event Friday night?" ask the boy, his pretty hazel eyes watching Kurt in anticipation.

"No," says Kurt. "Im not antisocial or whatever, but its kinda sad to go to an event like that alone while everyone else huddles up in pairs or groups. I rather not put myself through the agony of being reminded of how much of a loser I am."

It was the truth. One of the reasons why Kurt avoided most, if not all, the school events was because he hated sitting in the corner and watching everyone else invest in humorous conversations with their friends. It reminded Kurt of how miserably alone he was at the age where he was supposed to have a colony of wild friends.

"When you say things like that, it makes me want to punch you," says the boy. "Youre not a loser. Dont let anyone let you believe that you are. Ill tell you what, Ill help you with French history if you do me one favour," says the boy, a slight cunning smirk on that ungodly beautiful face of his.

"What?" ask Kurt, a surge of nervousness coursing through his veins.

"You go with me to that movie event, and the after party," says the boy.

"The after party as well?" ask Kurt. He has heard rumours about this big, wild party that always happens after the movie event. He never thought it was real. He assumed it was another one of Puckermans false claims to up his cool factor.

"Yes," says the boy, a determine flair in his optics. Kurt could have very well shrivelled into an insignificant ball and giggled to himself. He has never been asked to go to a school event by anyone in his life, much less someone he had a crush on. But he had to be frank- it wasnt his scene.

"Im not sure," regretfully tells Kurt. He would have loved to, but given his problems at home with his father, he wasnt sure being out late into the night would be the best of decisions to make-- not that his father would notice either.

"Im offering to help you with homework!" exclaims the boy, pulling a playful smile. "Who would pass on that?"

"Just- isnt really my thing. Thank you for the offer though, but you go have fun. From what Ive heard, there is a line of girls just waiting for you to take them. Carnally hungry girls, I might add."

"Trust me, I couldnt care less," says the boy, with a slight humour.

"I hear Rachel Berry is ready to hinge her sharp finger nails into your skin," says Kurt. He never usually succumb to idle adolescent gossip, but every now and then Kurt would go into McKinleys top gossip blog to read up on the latest shit posted about students. These days, most were about the boy, Lance, and how he has dethrone Puckerman. He could not deny that, of course.

"I thought you once said you dont keep with up gossip in this school?" teases the boy.

"Kind of hard not to keep up when its all over the internet," shrugs Kurt, wanting to play it casual from being caught guilty. The boy simply pulls a half smile, one that could have been as bright as the sun.

"Well, Im asking you to go with me," says the boy, his eyes settling right at Kurt. "I hope youll be there."

"Silence in the back!" bellows Mister Fergunson from the front of the class as he glares at them with bloodshot eyes. The boy, Lance, surrenders his hands in the air as an apology for disruption.

He never usually gave school events a second thought of attending, but for the first time, Kurt is truly contemplating risking the bear modicum of social standing he had to simply attend. He wondered if anyone would even notice that it would be his first time being at that event, but he knew for a fact that one person in particular would definitely notice..and frankly, it was the only person that mattered.

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

Friday soon came. The narrow, desecrated hallways of McKinley High was buzzing with excitement as the students came to a definitive on their plans for tonight. It a very peculiar sight for Blaine as he strode pass cliques after cliques. It never occurred to him just what he would be missing when he was practically thrust into an adult world at such a young age. He never got to live the life of an average American teenager, and now seeing just what he has missed out on-- he questioned whether going into the world of the federal protection was really the best of decisions.

"Hey there," the coquettish voice of a girl halts Blaine in his place as Quinn Fabray slides in front of him. He could not help but to let out an exasperated sigh.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Quinn?" sardonically ask Blaine, though somehow he had a hunch.

"Im sure youre going to grace your sexy presence at the after party tonight?" ask the girl. "I know we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but you have to admit to yourself that I am pretty hot-"

"If the dictionary states the definition of hot as a promiscuous trollop, then yeah," says Blaine, not wanting to feed compliments to this well beyond overconfident girl.

"I love it when guys talk dirty to me," breathes the girl as she attempts to skim her fingers down Blaines chest, but he catches it in time.

"Seriously, can you find somebody else to bother?"

"Look, I dont know what is wrong with you. Im not asking you to like me or anything, all Im asking is that we have sex so I can tell everyone that I got first dips. Most guys jump at the chance of climbing on this tree. Are you a fag or something?"

"Get away from me, honestly," says Blaine, feeling disgusted just being in the proximity he was with the girl. The question definitely threw a live grenade into his anger, but he breathed nonetheless. This girl was clearly not worth the outburst.

"Whats going on over here?" ask an all too familiar voice as Puckerman voluntarily steps into the conversation, his bravado clinging to his back. "This piece of shit bothering you, babe?"

"Contrary to what you might believe, Noah, I have no interest to bother your infamous girlfriend. Im trying to make my way to class, so if you two could kindly two step out of my route, Ill be on my merry way," says Blaine.

"You think youre the shit now, dont you?"

"I do not consider myself akin to feces. That is frankly a degrading description of me, I do however think you two deserve the utmost of each other," says Blaine, feeling aggravated just being in their presence. He needed to exit quickly.

"Dont be a smart ass with me. Bear in mind that Ive fucked all the bitches in this school. Youre nothing compared to me," growls Puckerman. His chest is huffed and his nostrils are practically flaring. He obviously is trying to put on a show for the small crowd already forming a circle around their altercation. Puckerman is trying to salvage whatever dignity he has left after that video, and again that football match.

"Good for you, Puckerman. Enjoy your aids," says Blaine with a quick thumbs up before he attempts to serpent around the two, but Puckerman stops him.

"If I see you anywhere near my girl again, your head is meeting the bottom of a toilet, understood?"

"Then you might want to get a shorter leash for your bitch, but as I recall from seeing you in bed with some chick that wasnt Quinn back at your house party, she should get a leash for you too. You guys deserve each other," wavers Blaine as he pushes the jocks hand off his shoulder and continues down the hall, with Quinns shriek of betrayal echoing the halls.

Blaine makes a left turn to a deserted corridor, determined to make his way to class without any more interruptions, that is until he spots the janitor conveniently wiping the locker next to his. Blaine knew who he was before he even got there.

"Marcus, right?" quietly ask Blaine as he turns the dial of his locker and pull out his books.

"Yes, sir," says the man. He was one of the CIAs support team members deployed to assist the head agents. It was not uncommon that they showed respect to their superior. "Carl notes that you should be focusing on the objective than planning to attend a movie event."

"Carl can kiss my ass," says Blaine. "Its part of the mission. Any updates on the whereabouts of a certain man?"

"No, sir. The team in New York has been vigilant but to no avail. Secret Agent Carl has suspicions," tells the man.

"What suspicions?" ask Blaine as he dumps his Math book into the locker, also looking from left to right and making sure that the coast was clear. The corridor seemed deserted.

"That he might have been sneaked out of the city by an accomplice," says the man. This was news to him.

"Carl thinks he has comrades?" ask Blaine, again making sure that the hallway was empty.

"He has suspicions that someone might be helping the suspect to cover all of his tracks," says the man.

"That should make sense, but who?"

"We dont know that," says the man.

"Okay. If it is true that he has people working for him, it has to be crooks as well. Maybe somebody he met in prison. Run the database and find out if the bastard formed any close bonds with his prison cellars," says Blaine. If Lucius was working with somebody else, it has to be somebody who was a felon as well.

"Noted, sir. May I remind you again to keep yourself focused-"

"Lance!" calls another familiar voice, a voice Blaine has found to be very appealing to him. He turns without a second hesitation to find the boy, Kurt, strutting towards him in a brisk pace, his leather boat shoes making tapping noises on the ground. He dons a nude coloured sweater and mustard trousers. "Why were you talking to the janitor?"

"Oh," says Blaine, momentarily tongue tied. Secret agent Marcus has already distant himself from Blaine. "Just a friendly conversation with the staff," shrugs Blaine. "Nice pants. Are you taking pages out of my book?"

"Funny," sarcastic laughs the boy. The laugh sounds contrived. "I just wanted to tell you that I will be there."

"Be where?" ask Blaine, confused.

"The-- movie event," nervously says the boy, as if he was doubting himself and Blaine as well with piercing cyan eyes and a thin lower lip that was caught between his teeth. Something he found to be very attractive for some enigmatic reason.

"Oh! I almost forgot about that. So youll be there? Great!"

"I hope itd be great too," says the boy, his cheeks blushing.

"It will be. Do you want to go together? Or should I just meet you there?" ask Blaine in which the boy blushes even more. Maybe he was nervous or was not used to people making plans with him.

"I think Ill just see you there," timidly says really boy, his lips morphing into a shy smile.

"Sounds like a plan," says the Blaine.

"Yeah," says the boy. He was practically quivering in his shoes for some reason- as if this entire thing made him nervous. "Come on, lets go to class."

"You go ahead. I need to-- use the bathroom first," says Blaine. The boy nods before he continues down the hall and disappears at the T-section at the very end of the corridor.

He did not know exactly how this would help his mission to be frank, but he was definitely excited for tonight. Both for a school event he never in his life experienced before, and also to be around the boy for the night. He was not sure what induced a greater happiness.

"Sir," calls Marcus. He stands there sternly, waiting for Blaine to acknowledge him with his eyes. "Simply making sure this is another scheme to get the objective."

"It is. No worries, Marcus," says Blaine, but even he did not believe himself.

-----------

Kurt is in the biggest crisis since the 9-11 attack. After his routine skin regimes and hair styling, he simply could not find anything to wear in his big walk-in closet. Everything he had were things he had already worn, and God forbid that he would ever repeat an outfit. He cursed himself for not shopping for new clothes for the past few weeks. School was his fashion show, even though he had no audience.

Realizing soon that if he does not put something together, he would have no event to at all. He guessed he had so suffice with whatever he already had and maybe try to pair tops with bottoms he never paired with before. He grabbed a rich brown knitted sweater, one he received a few years ago from his late mother on Christmas morning and dons it. It was one of his favorite sweaters. Digging into the back of his closet, he found an old pair of denim skinny jeans he has no recollection whatsoever of purchasing. Maybe it was one of those random finds at flea markets he often went to over the weekends, but this was no time for recalling his past shopping sprees. He pulls it on and slipped into his favorite pair of black combat boots before he was up the stairs and out of his room.

"Where are you going?" ask Burt Hummel as Kurt emerges out of his room. He glances over his father and does an eye roll before he makes for the door. "I asked you a question," heatedly says Burt.

"I do not having hearing impairment, dad. I heard you, but I chose not to answer," defiantly responds Kurt. He was sick and tired of his fathers mannerisms with him these few weeks. He understood needing to grief, but to push an only son was simply not right.

"I did not give you a choice-"

"Really?" snaps Kurt, because he was not going to stand here and deliberately be ignored by his father. He was going through grief too, but he never pushed his father aside. "I thought you gave me a choice when you almost cracked my skull with that ceramic mug!"

"I know it was wrong-"

"Im pretty sure mum would agree that - wrong - is the biggest understatement of the year," say Kurt, folding his arms across his chest. His father is taken about for a momentary second. He gulps and shuffles uncomfortable in his stances "What is going on with you, dad? What did I do to receive such a cold shoulder from you? I am your son. Im the last living legacy you have of mum. Its like youre deliberately trying to avoid me as if Im a walking reminder of her-"

"Because you are!" suddenly outburst Burt, his eyes riddled with a monstrous rage, nose flared and a face as hard as a stone. "I am trying my hardest to move on with my life, to accept that your mother has left us- but how am I suppose to do that when you have eyes and a smile like your mothers? Its like everywhere I turn in this damn house, I am constantly reminded of her! You want to know why I came stand looking at your face or even hold a conversation with you that doesnt last more than two seconds? Because I am trying to move on but you have traits that remind me of her- and thats too much for me."

"You think I dont suffer the same?" argues Kurt, refusing to comprehend his fathers words because it was unfair. "This whole house has things that remind me of her, but you know whats different between me and you, dad? Its that I dont try to forget her! Instead, I try to seek comfort in the things that remind me of her. I dont want to move on from losing mum, I want to accept it. That is the difference- that youre too much of a coward to face the reality that shes gone. Its scary, I understand, but how long more are you going to keep this up, dad? How long more are you going to push me away?"

Burt looks defeated. His eyes search the ground for nothing in particular, his hands rest on the counter. He has no words to argue to his son because he knew, not matter how much he tried to deny it, that his son was right. He was a coward, he was running away from accepting what is. His accusations of how his son reminded him if his late wife was just an excuse to conceal fear to accept, to come to a reality.

"Im going out," says Kurt. "Ill be back late. There is a school event that I want to go to, so dont wait up. Not that you do," says Kurt, not being able to resist one last stab. He grabs his phone, slides his wallet into his back pocket and is out the door in seconds.

He needed to take a few minutes to himself in his car before he drove off. He had never spoken so abrasively to his father before. He felt extremely guilt, the back of his throat practically dry but he knew he made a good point, and a point that needed to be made sooner than later. He could not have his father stray away from him any more so than he already has. He needed to save the bear modicum of tether they had before it was too late.

But for tonight, he would put that away. For tonight, he would forget the troubles he was facing at home because for tonight, he would slap on another convincing smile.

---------

Blaine arrives a few minutes before the movie begun. He drove his car to the big football field, where at the very far stood a very huge back screen towering over the army of cars parked in front if it. He could barely find a space, but finally after awhile he found one next to pink, Barbie beetle car.

He could feel the wave of excitement fleeting through the air as he clambered out from the drivers seat. He was oddly excited for this. Maybe because he never attended a drive-in movie screening before much less one hosted by a high school. The entire scene reminded him of one out of the old movies he would watch with his parents, BC(Before CIA). It was definitely a new experience, one he knew would a great.

"Hey Lance," says a shy female voice. He turns to find the girl, Marley Rose, standing there with her Aztec skirt flaring around her knees from the slight breeze, a knitted scarf wrapped around her neck and a brown sweater to finish the look. "Im glad youre here-- I mean, Im glad you could make it-- not that I was waiting for you or anything because that would be so weird, right? How weird would that be. Or maybe..not so weird if you thought about me? It! I meant it-"

"Hey Marley," responds Blaine, biting his tongue and holding his laughter in. He could tell the girl was crushing on him bad, but what was he suppose to be? He couldnt be honest with her and tell him he was a homsexual-- that would be ruining the discretion, but she just looked like a hopeful puppy with those large doe eyes of hers. Blaine could not bear to crush her.

"So-- drink?" ask the girl, gesturally showing Blaine to the little snack kiosk stationed at the corner of the football field where there were a crowd of students already there, pushing their way to the front no doubt trying to get everything out of that pathetic stall.

"Maybe later. Who are you here with?" ask Blaine, making conversation with the girl. It was the least he could do after all.

"Tina and Artie. We have a spot way in the front if you wanted to join us," offers the girl, again with the same hopeful light in her eyes.

"Ill pass. Im actually here with someone," tells Blaine, and in a instant, she looks dejected as if somebody told her Santa was simply a fat large pedophile who climbed down chimneys after bribe children with toys for sexual favours, but Blaine decides to put her out of her misery before she could utter another syllable. "A friend. Kurt, you know? From the club?"

"Oh! Okay," says the girl, a bright smile now on her face. "Well if you guys wanted to join us, were up front. I drove my mothers pick up truck here and turned the pick up into a sort of lounge area with pillows and stuff."

"Sure, Marley. Thanks, and see you later," smiles Blaine.

"Hopefully," says the girl with a crimson blush on her fair cheeks before she makes her exit through the small aisle in between cars.

Blaine decides to avoid the cold, crisp air by climbing back into his car and soaking in the heat. You would think he could handle cold weathers especially since he came from New York which was mostly either raining, or cloudy, but no. He still much preferred the sun-- probably because he grew up as a child in a warm town. He could almost envision the trees he used to climb in the He short childhood that he had. He remembered climbing that tree to the very top where he could see the entire town as if it was a floorplan. It was tranquil up there, he remembered very clearly.

"Blaine! Are you there?" the voice of Carl suddenly shatters the otherwise quiet interior room of his car. He groans in frustration and faces the small TV screen on his dashboard where Carls face fills the small screen.

"What is it, Carl? You practically scared the bejesus out of me," irritably says Blaine.

"I have been keeping track of Noah Puckermans cell phone should a New York number calls him, and it did! I need you to find him and listen to the conversation and gather as much intel as you can. Were working on tracking where the phone call comes from. Try to make sure he stays on the phone for at least five minutes!" hastily says Carl.

"Im on it," says Blaine. He practically jumps out of his car and climbs to the roof vehicle as he searches for the jock, but he was nowhere to be seen. He notices the jocks huddled around the small kiosk, munching on what looks like popcorn. He had to swallow his pride and asked them anyway. He jumps of the roof and walks briskly towards the ground, making sure he keeps his composure even though his time was ticking.

"Hi guys," greets Blaine to the group. The jocks practically glare at him with hate and suspicion. They probably are flexing their biceps to intimidate Blaine. He was could not deny that one particular jock was pretty handsome, though he had wide lips. "I was wondering if you knew where Puckerman was," politely ask Blaine.

"You better get your ass out of ma face homie," says one particular African-American boy, whom Blaine remembers crashed into a bookcase when he tried to punch him back at Puckermans house party. Explains a lot of his attitude.

"Its urgent, actually, so I would appreciate your consideration," says Blaine, keeping in mind the already limited time he had to tolerate this bullshit. He could have very well tackled the boy to the ground and forcibly make the boy spit Puckermans whereabouts out of his mouth.

"I would appreciate you to take a long walk off a short pier," says one of the jocks as they fall into a united, obnoxious variation of chuckles.

"Look, were all aware that I could take all of you down with one hand tied behind my back, so lets make things easier. Where is Puckerman," threatens Blaine, because he knew he had about three minutes at least to find Puckerman, let alone make sure he stayed on the phone. The boys look outraged, but they knew it was true.

"Cant help you," says the jock with the unusually large lips Blaine found to be handsome out of the bunch.

"At all? Come on now-"

"We dont know, alright? He was here a few minutes ago, but went somewhere to answer a call. You asked, we answered. Now get the fuck away before he test your theory," says another one of the jocks.

It was impossible. He would have to venture for himself. Puck couldnt be far away if the jocks claimed he was here a few minutes ago. Blaine turns but is stunned when he is road blocked by a very tall boy with warm brown eyes and a short hair do. He wears a cheeky, youthful grin.

"Lance, right? Finn Hudson. We met on that football match," says the boy, formally extending his hand to Blaine. He remembers this boy. His height gave him away. He was the only friendly jock he met on this field.
bo
"Oh, yeah! Hey, nice to see you again. Im in a bit of a rush actually, but maybe you could help me. Have you seen Puckerman around?" ask Blaine, not hiding the desperation in his intonation.

"Puckerman? That would be my last guess if I had asked you who were you looking for," laughs the boy. "I think I just saw him going into the school building. The bathroom, I think," says the boy.

"Thank you," says Blaine as he practically swerves around the boy and heads straight through all the cars parked and make his way into the school building.

The school was deserted-- really deserted. Blaine could almost hear cricket noises if he had strained his ears enough to catch every single sound from the corridor. He searched for the nearest bathroom but instead notices the sign that writes Boys Locker Room. Blaine sprints towards it and presses his ear against the door. He hears nothing, but decides to try it away. With a very gentle force, he pushes the door open, trying to make sure there were no creaking noises and steps inside. Puckerman was definitely in here. He could hear the soft whispering of the jocks voice walls of lockers away.

Blaine knew he had to to pull out his secret agent alter ego and eavesdrop on the conversation. He crept from locker to locker, making sure he was hidden under the dim light and the tall locker walls. Blaine has of course done this before- it was his life, basically, to be a spy and to play it covert, but he was not sure what he was up against now. He needed to be silent, and listen to the conversation. He crouches to the ground and takes a sneaky glance to where the entrance to the showers were, and there stood Puckerman, heated talking into his cell phone.

"Im trying, alright?" aggravates the boy. "Its not as easy, you know. I dont know him, I barely talk to him and now you want me to just steal whatever the hell it is that you need from him?-- I know that were family, Uncle Lucius, but youre asking me for a really unrealistic favour! I dont even know what does this have to do with my life," says the boy. Blaine freezes in his spot as he hears the name Lucius slip through the boys lips. It was him-- Elizabeths killer.

"How do you know that Kurt Hummel has what youre looking for?-- Fine, but you owe me so big for this. The next time you come to town, I want a whole bag of weed, got it?" says Puck before he shuts his phone off. Blaine quickly slides underneath one of the benches, having to keep his vomit down his throat from the number of gum stuck under it.

He knew one thing was for sure- Puckerman definitely was talking to their prime suspect, Lucius Dame. Another bit of information he gathered was that Lucius has figured out the Elizabeth creation is hidden within the family-- and he is after Kurt. Puckerman is going to have to do something to get it from Kurt. He felt a cold shudder run down his spine at the simple thought of somebody hurting the innocent boy he has grown to be really fond of. That was not going to happen at his watch- not at all.