Blaine was still in the car, and Kurt could hear the radio continuing to play from where he stood.  Blaine was curled up in the passenger seat fast asleep with a small plaid blanket tucked around him. Kurt had brought the blanket for picnics, and he felt a strange swoop in his chest at the notion of he and Blaine having a picnic lunch together, happy and easy and utterly unburdened by the world of shit their lives had become.

Well. Maybe world of shit was a slight exaggeration. If things were that bad, he wouldn't have Blaine. He wouldn't have hope.

Kurt hugged himself tighter against the chill of the night air. He should have brought a cardigan with him or something, but initially he had just pulled over to pee. But that had been before he realized that he was standing on a precipice, and that it felt like he was standing on top of the world.

It had been so long since Kurt was in this part of the country. He had honestly never imagined he would come back. After what had happened, his family had strictly come to visit him in New York. Kurt realized with a pang that Carole and Finn would be planning to come and stay with him again that year for Christmas – Thanksgiving too, if they could manage it. But that was all over now. No matter what happened, Kurt was reasonably confident that he would never see them again.

Kurt bit his lip. He could call, but it was entirely likely that their phones could be tapped by now. And how could he explain any of this? How could he endure the fear and confusion in Finn's voice, the sheer pain in Carole's? After what he'd already put them through...

Kurt focused on his breathing, pulling himself away from the edge of panic at the mere thought. Of course Blaine had figured it out; Blaine knew Kurt better than he knew himself. But holy fuck did Kurt wish that this was one particular experience that they did not have in common.

Of course no one had believed Kurt. Even Finn – Finn! – had given him a cautiously skeptical look and said, “a-are you sure, dude? I mean, you did have a lot to drink, and you were kind of all over him last night...”

Finn had stammered and apologized and actually cried at the way Kurt crumbled in response, and in the end Finn was so supportive that it nearly broke Kurt's heart, but still. That look. That doubt. Even Finn.

Kurt never wanted Blaine to have the experience of anyone looking at him that way. Never wanted Blaine to experience the cold, clinical probing of the medical examination or the way the lawyers and police officers and the jury and judge and strangers at the fucking gas station had looked at Kurt, the doubt layered with judgment and disgust.

He didn't want anyone telling Blaine that he had ruined the life of his rapist, and at least that motherfucker Sebastian was dead, because Kurt certainly didn't want Blaine to come face-to-face with the man in the grocery store, the guy screaming into his stunned face about what a piece of shit he was for outing him like that.

Kurt took another deep, steadying breath. No. He couldn't think about it. That had all happened years ago, and rehashing it wasn't going to help Blaine at all. Kurt frankly didn't understand how Blaine was keeping it together so well in the first place, though he had a sneaking suspicion that once their lives settled into whatever new version of normal they were headed toward, Blaine's ability to cope might decrease significantly.

But even when that happened, Blaine wouldn't be alone. And no one would look at him the way they had looked at Kurt. Kurt would make sure of it.

“Hey.”

Kurt turned to see Blaine approaching, still wrapped in the blanket and scruffy with sleep. Kurt couldn't help but smile, warmth rising in his chest a the sight.

“You okay?” Blaine asked when he reached Kurt.

“Yeah,” Kurt replied. “Yeah, I'm great.”

“What's up?”

Kurt shrugged. “Nothing. Just...just thinking.”

Blaine reached for Kurt and Kurt let himself sink into the embrace, into the warmth of Blaine's body and the blanket that Blaine was extending to envelope Kurt's shoulders as well.

“I'm sorry...about before,” Blaine said, still holding Kurt close.. “I just...I don't even know what to do with....with...when I remember, it's just...all I can...It's like...” Blaine huffed an irritable sigh, apparently frustrated at his own inability to articulate what he wanted to say.

“I know,” Kurt answered simply. “I understand.”

“I wish you didn't, though.” Blaine's voice was thick.

“I wish neither one of us had to,” Kurt agreed, wrapping his arms even more tightly around Blaine.

Blaine hesitated. “Will you...will you tell me about it someday?” he ventured nervously. “I don't mean anytime soon, just...someday?”

“Someday you'll know all there is to know about me, Blaine.” Kurt tilted his head to rest on Blaine's shoulder. “You'll know me so well you'll be bored half to death.”

“I don't think I could ever find you boring,” Blaine said, reverence clear in his voice. Kurt lifted his head to look at Blaine and smile, and then kissed his lips before pulling away so that they stood side by side, slipping Blaine's hand into his own.

“My god, this is beautiful,” Blaine said with soft awe as he looked out over the plains.

“It surely is,” Kurt replied, but he wasn't looking at the scenery. Blaine blushed when he felt Kurt's eyes on him.

“Mr. Hummel, are you trying to seduce me?” Blaine asked, eyes dancing.

Kurt chuckled softly. “And here I thought that I already had.”

“You definitely have,” Blaine answered with a smile. Kurt squeezed his hand.

“I always wanted to see more of the country,” Blaine mused, turning look back at the view spread before them. “I just never really had the opportunity.”

“Well, you've got it now.” Kurt's voice was edged in melancholy. “Enjoy it while you can.”

Blaine looked at him.  “We're going to make it, Kurt,” he said fiercely. “I can just tell. We're going to make it.”

Kurt swallowed, searching Blaine's face. It was true that he never wanted anyone to look at Blaine the way they had looked at Kurt. The thing was, it wasn't his life and it wasn't his choice to make. And before they went further, before they fell too deep into talk of the future and leaving the country forever and making it, Kurt needed to know that this was really and truly Blaine's honest choice.

“Are you – it still isn't too late to get on a bus in Indiana, Blaine. I mean, armed robbery isn't good, but it is your first offense and you won't end up behind bars forever – you can even say that I forced you to–”

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupted impatiently.

“I just...I would die if anything happened to you, Blaine.”

“I know.”

“I'm asking you to leave your whole life behind. Your family, your career–”

Blaine shook his head, staring at Kurt with absolute conviction. “I'd rather lose all that than lose you, though,” he answered. “The only thing I can't live without is the way you make me feel.”

They made love slowly, gently, the music from the car radio almost seeming to grow louder and clearer against their heavy breathing. Blaine's untamed curls were framed by the golden-pink light of the rising sun behind him as he looked down at Kurt. He looked earthy and primal and cherubic and otherworldly all at once. He touched Kurt like he was a priceless treasure, and there was no word for the look in his eyes, none at all – awe and love and lust and yearning and trust and acceptance fused together, and all of it completely unconditional.

“You're gor–” Kurt started to pant, but paused when Blaine flinched and went still. “Oh. I – what is it?”

Blaine released a heavy breath and looked into Kurt's eyes like he was forcing himself not to look away.

“I just – I – could you maybe not call me g-gorgeous? I just–”

“Okay,” Kurt cut in quickly, because Blaine may have preferred that Kurt didn't understand, but the simple fact was that he did. There were words and gestures, buried in the world like landmines waiting to go off, that would make Blaine flinch and shudder and rage and cry. And it would probably be happening for a long time to come.

Kurt took half a second to hate Sebastian just a little bit more for taking gorgeous away from him. Because god, what better word was there to describe the man in his arms?

Kurt brushed a gentle hand across Blaine's cheek and kissed his lips softly. “Can I call you beautiful?” he asked. Blaine nodded and Kurt kissed him again and began rocking his hips slightly, experimentally. “How about lovely?”

“Yeah,” Blaine breathed, moving with Kurt, tension dissolving into languorous pleasure. Kurt kissed him again.

“Breathtaking?”

Blaine whimpered in affirmation, crushing their lips together and wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist.  He pulled Kurt with him as he settled back on his knees, Kurt coming to rest in his lap. Kurt let out a deep groan as he settled into the new position, Blaine impossibly deep inside of him.

“Exquisite,” Kurt managed, panting harsh and ragged against Blaine's lips.

“You're exquisite,” Blaine returned, their mouths fusing together once again.

Santana rubbed her temple and sighed into the phone. “Sue, it's me.”

“Why, if it isn't Boobs McGhee. I was wondering when I'd be hearing from you again.”

“Sue, I – I need a favor. More than one, actually. And they're...kind of big ones.”

“Well, I figured,” Sue replied, sounding much less smug than Santana had anticipated. “Otherwise you wouldn't be calling me from some random McCell phone you probably bought from a homeless person outside a Wal-mart. Now what can I do for my best agent?”

“Ex-agent, Sue, remember?” Santana asked tightly. “I'm with the Pennsylvania PD now.”

Sue snorted. “You still going along with that crap? Forget that dog-and-pony show. Come back to us.”

“I, uh...I don't think ethics violations are the sort of thing the Bureau will look past,” Santana muttered. “I'm lucky to have a job at all.”

“So you say,” Sue said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “I violate ethics every day. Why, just this morning I waterboarded some snot-nosed kid for picking on my daughter at school. The difference between you and me, Jugs, is that I know how to avoid getting caught. And if you really want back in on the Bureau, I'm sure I can make it happen. Technically you did resign, you know; you weren't fired. But you don't want back in, do you?”

Santana didn't answer right away, but thankfully Sue allowed her a few moments of quiet to gather her thoughts. “Sue, I don't know if I can do this anymore,” she finally blurted, surprising herself.

“What? Find enough skin to stretch over your increasingly ridiculous rack?”

“Follow the letter of the law like a lemming, when I know–”

“Santana.” Santana stopped short at the actual use of her name. “You're threatening to bore me with your lack of snark. What do you need?”

“Um. How...how difficult is it to manipulate the results of a google search?” Santana asked, chewing on her thumb nail, because – fuck – she was really doing this, wasn't she?

“Please,” Sue scoffed. “I could do that with one hand while simultaneously reading Fountainhead and waterboarding a terrorist with the other. Is that all?”

Santana swallowed. “Um, no, but that's good. That's...that's excellent.”

“What else?” Sue asked, and Santana could have sworn that there was a touch of actual softness in the woman's voice. “I told you you could come to me for anything, Sandbags. The number of people I've extended that offer to could fit in the basement compartment of a sealed-off elevator shaft. Now what else can I do for you?”