Chapter 2

Blaine Anderson was lying on his bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling. He was bored. He was fucking bored out of his mind and there was nothing he could do about it. Well, there aren't a lot of possibilities when you're locked up in fucking prison. Yes, Blaine Anderson was in prison. He'd been there for five years now and hated absolutely every day of it. He hated the clothes he had to wear, he hated the food he had to eat, he hated the people he had to interact with, he hated the cell he had to live in, he hated everything and couldn't wait for the moment when he would finally get out of there. Three years more. One thousand and ninety-five days.

Blaine groaned and ran his hands through his hair. He sat up on the bed and reached for his sketchbook. Drawing was the only thing he had left, the only form of art he was allowed in this hellhole. He flicked through the filled pages, landmarks, faceless portraits, animals, plants. He found a clear one, took the pencil in hand and hovered it above the paper.

But nothing came. He sat like that for a few minutes more, waiting for a rush of inspiration to come into his head, anything. But nothing happened.

Frustrated, he threw the notebook across the cell and watched it hit the wall. The prison was killing him slowly from the inside. If he at least had music. But… there was nothing. Blaine leaned forward and dropped his head to his hands. He'd never felt so numb and empty in his life.

He didn't know how much time had passed but suddenly there was banging on the bars of the cell door. He looked up to see the guard, looking bored, as always. “Anderson. You have a visitor.”

Blaine raised his eyebrows. A visitor? That was new. He stood up and walked to the opened door. The guard searched him briefly and Blaine rolled his eyes. It's not like I'm going to stab you with a pencil, you moron. They started walking but instead of the usual visiting area, the guard led him to one of the separate rooms, the ones that the lawyers usually used if they needed complete privacy to talk to their clients. The guard opened the door and gestured at Blaine to come in.

He stepped into the room and vaguely registered the sound of closing the door. His attention was drawn to another man who'd already been in the room. He was looking through the window and standing backwards so Blaine couldn't see his face but he had a strange feeling that this man seemed familiar.

“Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Anderson?” The visitor asked.

And Blaine knew this voice. He knew this voice all too well. When he didn't move, the man slowly turned around. Coiffed hair, pale skin, slight smirk and these piercing, blue eyes. He hadn't changed, not even a bit. “Fancy meeting you again.” He spoke calmly.

“Sounds familiar.” Blaine said quietly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Special Agent Kurt Hummel?” He added snidely, slightly drawling man's title and name.

The agent didn't respond, instead, he moved from the place beside the window, and sat on one of the chairs. He propped his elbows on the table and looked at Blaine expectantly. After few moments of stillness and silence, the forger plopped down on the other chair, crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows mockingly.

Kurt almost rolled his eyes but managed to stop himself, figuring it wouldn't do him any good. “I see you remember me.” He said nonchalantly.

Blaine scoffed. “Please. It's not that hard to remember the man who put you in the hellhole like this.” Especially if he looks like a fucking model.

“You're not enjoying your stay then?” Kurt quipped with a smirk, he couldn't help it.

The anger flashed through Blaine's face. He leaned towards Kurt. “Why are you here, Hummel?” He asked, his tone low and dangerous. “Because if it's only to boast about catching me and being a wonderful superhero agent, then I am really sorry to disappoint, but I'm not even remotely interested in that conversation and I'd much rather stare at the ceiling in my cell than talk to you. So unless you have something else to say-” He got up slowly. “-we're done here.”

Kurt had to admit, it was going to be interesting. “Relax, and sit back down.” He said calmly and waited for Blaine to sit before continuing. “We have an offer for you. You have three years of yours sentence left, am I correct?” Blaine nodded wordlessly. “Well, if you agreed to the deal, maybe we could do something about that.”

“What deal exactly?” Blaine asked immediately, eyeing Kurt suspiciously.

“We are currently working on the case that we believe your… experience would help solve.”

Blaine scoffed. “I'd rather die in here than cooperate with the feds that put me here in the first place. So, if you forgive me…”

“It's about Sebastian Smythe.” Kurt interrupted him. Blaine stilled and Kurt could see his whole posture tensing. “We've been trying to get him since we caught you. No success so far.”

“What makes you think that I'd want to help with that?” Blaine asked, his face and tone calm and composed. But inside he was livid. So this bastard was still out there. Sometimes he wondered if Sebastian had been killed somewhere and he truly hoped he hadn't. Not because he cared, oh no. That son of a bitch deserved something way more painful than death. Blaine wanted nothing more than to see him locked up, he would go crazy in here, he would lose his mind…

“Come on, Blaine.” Kurt's voice broke through his thoughts. “I know you're not stupid, far from it actually.”

Blaine smirked slightly at the compliment. “Oh, really? I'm flattered, Kurt.” He said, basically purring agent's name.

Kurt ignored him and continued. “Five years ago we got a call from an anonymous caller who said you'd be at the docks around 5 p.m. After capturing you, we went through your phone and found a text message from Smythe, asking you to meet him at the docks at 5 p.m. Just like the tip said. At first it seemed that Smythe ran away when he realized that FBI had caught you. But we had been monitoring the area from 4 p.m., to 6 p.m., just in case. And I know for sure that Smythe had never showed up on the docks. So, for me it's pretty obvious who the anonymous caller was.” Kurt paused. “And I think it's obvious for you, too.”

Blaine hadn't move an inch since Kurt started talking. He sat there with his fists and jaw clenched but his hazel eyes showed no emotions. “What's your point?” He asked, his tone deathly neutral.

“You want revenge.” Kurt said simply. “And it's understandable. Why wouldn't you? He destroyed your life. The question is; how much do you want him to suffer? Because I'm sure that you wouldn't want him dead. It would end way too fast, wouldn't it? No, he deserves so much more, he…”

“Enough.” Blaine interrupted harshly. He stared right into Kurt's eyes, his own dark and suddenly full of anger.

“I thought so.” Kurt chuckled quietly, well aware that he was currently playing with fire. “So, why don't you stop shooting daggers at me and listen to what I have to say?”

Blaine remained silent, so Kurt took it as the sign to continue. “If you graciously decide to help us, you'll have to wear an anklet monitor and an FBI agent wouldn't leave your side, which means you'd be living with them and you wouldn't be able to go anywhere without them or at least without their approval.”

Blaine's posture changed a little and something shifted in his eyes, but Kurt couldn't quite pinpoint what it was so he made a note to himself to analyze it later. “You'd be working with us on Smythe's case, unless you'd be only pretending to help, then you're coming straight back here.”

That being said, Kurt leaned back on the chair to observe Blaine. He looked different than at the beginning of this conversation. He wasn't glaring at Kurt anymore, he was currently looking at the wall on his right, looking much younger and lost in thought.

“What's the catch?” Blaine asked quietly after few minutes of silence.

“There's no catch.” Kurt sat up straighter and shrugged. “Why would there be?”

Blaine looked at him incredulously. “You can't expect me to believe that you're going to get me out of this hell, let me live in a normal world and then maybe reduce my sentence only in exchange for help with catching the little prick that Smythe is.” Blaine spit the name of his former partner like a poison. “There has to be a catch, there's always a catch.” He finished darkly, turning his gaze back to the wall.

Kurt scoffed at that. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but, you see,  in my world deals are made to be kept. And even if I'm not the biggest fan of this one, I'll keep it. I'd say to trust me but we both know it's not going to happen, so looks like you have to either take a risk or go back to your fascinating life in your cozy cell.”

After another few moments of silence, which were starting to piss Kurt off to be honest, Blaine slowly turned his head him to him and his demeanor was, once again, changed. He looked at Kurt piercingly with shining hazel eyes, wearing this arrogant smirk that Kurt hated the most.

“Okay, gorgeous.” He said as his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Since you've come all the way here and presented me such a generous offer…”

Blaine started leaning forward, still keeping his gaze on Kurt. “I think you've got yourself a deal.” He breathed basically in Kurt's face. After that he leaned back and studied Kurt's expression. He had to admit, teasing Hummel was definitely the most entertaining thing that had happened to him since being caught, so he wasn't going to waste the opportunity to practice his skills and have a little fun.

In the meantime, Kurt was silently thanking God he didn't believe in for the self-control he managed to maintain and for stopping the involuntary shiver that threatened to run through his body when he felt Blaine's hot breath on his lips. Don't let it affect you, don't give him the satisfaction. He didn't avert his gaze from the forger and gave himself a mental high five for keeping his face expressionless.

“Excellent.” Kurt said with a polite smile, his voice sure and steady. He reached to his briefcase and pulled out a folder with some documents. After some searching, he took out few sheets of paper, and moved them towards Blaine along with the pen. “I'm going to need you to sign these.”

Blaine took the documents, and started going through them, leaning comfortably at the back of his chair. Kurt looked at him slightly shocked. Apparently, legal stuff was another area that Blaine Anderson was familiar with. After few minutes of reading Blaine glanced up at him and smirked, again.

“Don't look so surprised. You assumed correctly, I'm not going to trust you.” He said with the amusement and went back to reading. Kurt wondered briefly if Blaine was only messing with him or if he actually was checking the content of the contract. Before he had time to dwell on it, the forger sat up straighter and took the pen to sign the documents.

“Everything looks fine.” He said, and pushed the signed papers to Kurt. “Though I'm quite surprised that our wonderfully strict and boring FBI agreed to something like that.”

“You're not the only one.” Kurt muttered quietly before he could stop himself. He quickly put the documents back to his briefcase. “Okay, so looks like that's all.” He said, standing up. “You'll be picked up tomorrow morning.”

He headed to the exit and was by the door when Blaine spoke. “By whom?”

Kurt closed his eyes. “By the agent you'll be living with.” He answered after a short pause without turning around and exited the room. He nodded to the guard but before walking away he could have sworn he heard a low chuckle and Blaine's voice from behind the door that made him stop dead in his tracks.

“Then see you tomorrow, pretty boy.”

After talking to the prison governor and informing him about the details of Anderson's departure, Kurt headed back to his car. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he released the breath he'd seemed to be holding since his encounter with Blaine. He was exhausted after barely forty-five minutes of playing games with the forger and it would only get worse when he'd have to share his apartment with him. He groaned loudly at the thought.

Murdering Santana and dumping her body in the Hudson had never sounded more appealing.

Kurt sighed and checked his watch. It was still too early to head back home, he had to make an appearance at the Bureau so he could at least pretend to be working. He winced when he remembered the stack of paperwork waiting for him on his desk and he still hadn't written the report about the Smythe fiasco. Wonderful. There's nothing better than describing your huge failure in details for your boss to read. Even if said boss doesn't think of it as a failure, still.

Sighing, Kurt started the engine and drove to the work. After leaving the car in the underground parking, he decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to get something for lunch and that the paperwork would still be in his office in 30 minutes.

He walked out of the building and headed to his favorite coffee shop. “Piu Bella Cosa” was placed just around the corner and was owned by an Italian family. It was small and cozy, unlike the loud Starbucks Kurt's colleagues seemed to be obsessed with. Kurt opened the door and stepped in, the scent of fresh coffee and muffins immediately hitting him and making him realize how hungry he actually was. He walked to the counter and smiled to Mary, the girl that usually worked at the time Kurt was getting lunch.

“Hello, Kurt!” She greeted him cheerfully. “The usual?”

“As always.” He answered with a smile and took out his wallet. “I'm just as boring as that.”

“Oh, I'm sure that's not true at all!” She said, and winked playfully. Kurt sometimes wondered how she managed to be this chirpy every day. He laughed and shook his head. He paid and moved to the other end of the counter when his phone started ringing. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Johnson.

“Good afternoon, sir.” He answered formally.

“How did it go?” His boss asked right away, without wasting time for any introductions.

Kurt took a deep breath. “He agreed.”

“Good. When are you picking him up?”

“Tomorrow morning, sir.”

“I'm expecting you both at the office day after tomorrow. The sooner he starts working on the case, the better.”

“Of course, sir.” Kurt said, hoping his boss wouldn't hear the bitterness in his voice.

“Alright. Well done, agent Hummel. I assume it wasn't easy to get him to agree. Good job.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kurt said quietly and then Johnson hung up.

As soon as the call ended, he heard his name being called. He picked up the tray with his food and coffee, and looked around to find a table. With relief, he noticed that his favorite one, next to the window, was empty. He tiredly plopped down on the chair and took a sip of his grand non-fat mocha. He sank his teeth in his sandwich with tomato and mozzarella and swallowed down the moan of pleasure that was threating to leave his throat. This sandwich was a pure heaven and Kurt, as a fan number one of the Italian food, definitely approved. In moments like this, he wished he could abandon all the worries, and simply live in that little coffee shop. Just as he was wondering if there was any way to elope with his delicious sandwich and get married in Vegas, his phone buzzing with a new text pulled him out of his reverie.

Santana: The word on the street is that you're getting a hot piece of ass to live with you.

Kurt huffed in annoyance. That evil woman. What was it that made her think it would be a good thing to make him live with the criminal, Kurt had no idea, but he'd find out and give her a piece of his mind, that's for sure. But knowing Santana Lopez, she had no ulterior motives, she was just being a bitch.

Kurt: We're talking about it when I get to the Bureau.

After sending the message, he quickly finished the sandwich and drank the rest of his coffee. Standing up, he smiled to the Mary who waved at him cheerfully from behind the counter and then stepped outside of the coffee shop. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of a cool fall air. It was an early October, Kurt's absolutely favourite time of the year. He smiled slightly as he felt the light gust of the wind and with that smile on his face he made his way back to the work.

As it turned out, Santana wasn't there when he arrived. As Mike informed him, she was out on a stake-out and wouldn't be back in the Bureau until the next day. How convenient, Kurt thought bitterly, shutting the door to his office. He sat behind the desk and ominously eyed the pile of papers lying in front of him. With a sigh he started working, letting it take his mind of everything else.

It wasn't before he was at his apartment, lying in his bed with Satine snuggled by his side, when Blaine Anderson's words came back to him.

Then see you tomorrow, pretty boy.