Tuesday, 10:13 a.m. - Tuesday, 11:19 a.m.

Wisconsin, Iowa

Kurt was surprised that his heart didn't actually stop beating when he heard the siren behind them, because fuck.

“Oh, shit,” Kurt muttered, panic rising in his throat. He grabbed Blaine's bicep and shook him roughly. “Blaine – Blaine, wake up. We're getting pulled over.”

Blaine's eyes popped open, his expression moving from confused to concerned to downright terrified in less than two seconds. “What?” He turned his head to fully absorb the flashing blue lights behind them. “Shit. Shit! What should we do? What are we going to do?” Blaine's voice was shrill and he seemed to be having trouble breathing properly.

“I don't know, I don't know!” Kurt swallowed. “Okay. Let's just – I guess play it by ear? Maybe they don't know. We're in Wisconsin, they might not know – maybe they're just going to give me a ticket.”

“Oh god,” Blaine whispered fervently, his eyes closed. He reached out blindly until his hand found Kurt's, squeezing tightly and repeating “please don't let us get caught, god, please don't let us get caught” on a continuous loop as if it would stop this from happening.

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand just as tightly and took a deep breath. Calm. He had to appear calm for this, even if he was screaming and praying and vomiting on the inside. “OK,” he said, the control in his voice a surprise to his own ears, “I'm just going to pull over.”

Kurt pulled the car over to the side of the road, wanting to kick himself for letting this happen. They had barely encountered another car for miles, and Blaine had been sleeping, and Kurt had lost himself in thoughts and daydreams instead of remaining as alert as possible. He should have seen the cop. He should have known this would happen if he let his attention wander.

The cop car pulled up behind them, lights still flashing even after the siren was turned off.

“Turn off your engine,” came a voice, crackly over an intercom that Kurt realized was coming from the car itself behind them.

Kurt turned off the engine.

“Oh my god, he's a Nazi,” Kurt whispered when he caught sight of the officer walking toward them  through the rearview mirror. The man had a dark blonde buzz-cut and a perfectly pressed uniform, mirrored sunglasses completely hiding his eyes. He moved like a fucking robot.

Kurt looked up at the cop, giving him his most dazzling smile. He could practically feel Blaine doing the same.

“Hello, officer,” Kurt said, his voice a bubble of sweet confusion. “Is there a problem?”

“Want to let me see your license, please?” the cop replied coolly, not returning their smiles. He wore a brass nameplate on his right breast pocket, identifying him as Officer B. Ryan.

“Um...of course,” Kurt said, flustered. He reached for his messenger bag and fumbled for the coin purse where he kept his cards.

“I told you to slow down,” Blaine said to him, tossing the cop a grin as if in solidarity. “Officer, I told him to slow down.”

Kurt laughed weakly. “That’s true, he did. How fast was I going?”

“About 110,” came the clipped reply, as Ryan took Kurt's license and examined it.

Kurt swallowed. “Oh.”

“Want to get out of the car please?”

Kurt gave Blaine a quick, nervous glance. “sure,” he said, fighting to keep his composure.

Kurt climbed out of the car and stood awkwardly, surprised that his legs didn't give out from sheer nerves. This did not appear to be going well at all.

“Is this your vehicle?” Officer Ryan asked.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Kurt answered.

The officer nodded and gestured for Kurt to follow him.

“You want to get into the car, please?” he said, nodding toward the cruiser. Kurt took a deep breath and glanced back at Blaine, who was watching them with round, frightened eyes.

“Um...front or the back?” Kurt asked.

“Front.”

Kurt turned and locked eyes with Blaine one last time before opening the door and getting into the police car.

“You want to take off your eyewear, please?” Ryan asked as soon as they sat down, not removing his own sunglasses.

“Y-yes, sir,” Kurt stuttered, fumbling to remove them. He took a deep breath. “Am – am I in trouble, officer?”

“As far as I'm concerned, yes, sir, you're in a lot of trouble,” Ryan replied, picking up his police radio to contact dispatch. “Hello, this is 98–” he began. Kurt clamped his eyes shut and held his breath, awaiting the inevitable.

But the cop cut himself off in mid sentence and then barked, “you want to step back and get in your car, please?”

Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine standing at the open driver's-side window, smiling in at them both.

And then he pulled out Dave's gun and pressed it into the side of Officer B. Ryan's head.

“Officer, I am so sorry about this,” Blaine said, sounding like he meant it very much. “But would you let go of that?”

Ryan immediately dropped the radio.

“Now I really, really apologize, but would you put your hands on the steering wheel?”

The cop quickly braced his hands against the wheel, staring straight ahead.

“See, now if you get on that radio, you're going to find out that we're wanted in two states, and probably considered armed and dangerous – at least, I am. And then our whole plan is just going to go straight down the tubes. Kurt, take his gun.”

Kurt's mouth dropped open as he stared at Blaine.  Or rather, he stared at the man who was currently inhabiting Blaine's body. Because this man sounded fearless and confident and like he didn't need Kurt to protect him at all.

“Kurt, take his gun,” Blaine repeated. Kurt just kept gawping at him, frozen in place. “Right there,” Blaine added encouragingly, nodding his head toward where Ryan's gun sat at his hip. Kurt continued to stare at him.

“Kurt,” Blaine enunciated forcefully. “Gun.”

Kurt blinked, finally springing into action when he realized that – holy fuck – he should probably hurry up, because they kind of had a police officer held at gunpoint on the side of the road.

“Right,” Kurt finally managed to articulate. He turned to the cop, who actually looked kind of scared even behind his sunglasses. “I'm so sorry about this,” Kurt said earnestly as he slid the gun out of its holster.

“Would you step out of the car, please?” Blaine asked officer Ryan calmly, stepping back but keeping the gun trained on Ryan as he opened the door and got out. The man looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Now I swear, three days ago neither one of us would ever pull a stunt like this one,” Blaine explained, “but if you were to meet my husband, I'm pretty sure you'd understand why I finally snapped.” Kurt nodded in fervent agreement.

“Would you put your hands on your head, please?” Blaine asked kindly. Ryan complied. “Kurt?”

“Yeah?” Kurt asked, still not entirely sure that this was actually happening.

“Shoot the radio.”

“Right.” Kurt located what he was pretty sure was the radio and fired, the volume knob and pre-set buttons popping and sparking at the impact.

“Um...I meant the police radio, Kurt,” Blaine said, very obviously trying not to laugh.

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Kurt mumbled, his cheeks red. He supposed that did make a lot more sense.

Kurt shot the police radio – twice for good measure – hearing it crackle and then cut off into silence.

“Got it,” Kurt announced with satisfaction.

“Fabulous. Thanks, babe,” Blaine said, shooting Kurt a wink, and Kurt didn't know whether to roll his eyes or swoon, because honestly. Just because it was ridiculous didn't mean it wasn't also hot.

“Want to step to the back of the car, please?” Blaine asked Ryan, walking backward and nodding to indicate the trunk. The officer followed silently.

“Kurt – get the keys?” Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded, leaning over to pull the keys out of the ignition. As he sat up, he heard two loud gun shots and a deafening clang of metal. Kurt's eyes widened and he scrambled out of the car.

“What's going on? What just happened?” Kurt asked as he ran to Blaine's side. Blaine had the gun fixed on the trunk itself, and was in the process of re-training it on Ryan, who was staring at the trunk with his mouth hanging open.

“Air holes,” Blaine explained, two smoking bullet holes side by side on the trunk lid.

“Oh,” Kurt said, exhaling. He unlocked the trunk and opened it. “Want to give me a little warning next time? You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry. You want to step into the trunk please, sir?”

Officer Ryan finally burst into tears.

“Please. I've got a wife and kids,” he whimpered. “Please stop!” Kurt bit his lip.

“You do?” Blaine asked. “Well, you're lucky. You be sweet to them. Especially your wife. My husband wasn't sweet to me, and look how I turned out. Now go ahead, get in there.”

Still whimpering, officer Ryan began to lower himself into the trunk.

“Oh, officer, wait just a moment,” Kurt said, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a case of beer. Blaine raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Oh, and sir, could you give me your belt, please?” Ryan began unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers. “Extra ammo,” Kurt explained to Blaine.

“Good idea,” Blaine praised with a smile.

“And, oh – Blaine, maybe we should leave him with some water?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Blaine agreed. “Hurry up, though, if anyone comes–”

Kurt ran back to the car as fast as he could, exchanging the belt and beer for two large water bottles before running back to join Blaine.

“Officer, I really am so sorry about this,” Blaine said, as Ryan curled up on his side and Kurt placed the water bottles next to him.

“I apologize also,” Kurt added sincerely.

With one last regretful look, Blaine gently but firmly closed the trunk lid. “Okay, let's go,” he said, turning to Kurt. Kurt nodded and threw Ryan's car keys into the brush on the side of the road.

When they reached the car Kurt immediately climbed into the passenger seat, because he was so not in the mood to get behind the wheel again right now, and Blaine jumped into the driver's seat without question.

“You ready?” Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded. “Let's hit it.”

Blaine gunned the engine, the radio blaring to life and making Kurt jump slightly in his seat.  They took off like a shot.

Blaine laughed, a little manic and a lot giddy. “I know it's crazy, but I just feel like I've got a knack for this stuff, Kurt,” he said.

Kurt nodded, loading a fresh clip into his newly acquired gun (a Glock 22; It was no Jericho, but it would certainly do), before beginning in on Dave's gun. “You know, Blaine, I believe that is absolutely true,,” he agreed, because holy shit. “Drive like the wind, OK?”

Blaine did.

~000~

“You know, what I can't figure out is whether these boys are really smart or just exceptionally lucky,” Sandy mused. Schuester smirked at him through the laptop moniter.

“It doesn't matter,” Will said confidently. “Brains will only get you so far, and luck always runs out.”

Santana didn't say anything.

“Lopez? How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine,” she said crisply.

“You sure? You don't have to stay on this case, you know. You've done great work so far, but Detective Ryerson can just as easily–”

“I'm fine, Chief,” Santana snapped.

Will stared at her through the screen. “Sandy, would you give us a moment?” he asked. Santana sighed irritably.

“I understand if this case is hitting a nerve,” Will said as soon as Sandy had gotten up and wandered into Karofsky's kitchen for some more iced tea. “I could see how this might look a bit like the Peterson case on the surface, but–”

“On the surface?” Santana snorted. “You take the federal issue out of the mix, and this is exactly–”

“Lopez. I know at least some of the reason that you left the Bureau, and I will take you off this case, even if you are the best I have, do you understand? You can't let your personal feelings lead you astray here.”

“But chief, my gut just–”

“Your gut is not admissible in a court of law, Santana,” Will replied, gentle and patronizing, and Santana wanted to reach through the computer screen and rip his stupid smug face off and tell him to stop fucking interrupting her, but instead she just gave him a tight smile.

“I understand that, chief. I promise to only follow evidence-based leads, all right? Just...just give me one more day. That's all I need.”

Will sighed. “Don't make me regret this, Detective Lopez.”

~000~

“Ummmm...Kurt, aren't we still going to Canada?” Blaine was back in the passenger seat, because Kurt really hated letting anyone else drive his car, even if it was Blaine.

“Of course we are,” Kurt replied.

“Then aren't we going in the wrong direction?”

Kurt laughed sharply. “Well, yes, but I figure that if you hold a police officer at gunpoint, shoot out his radio, take his gun and lock him in the trunk of his car, it's probably best just to get out of the state as fast as possible.”

Blaine nodded thoughtfully. “You're a wise man, Kurt Hummel,” he said.

“So I've been told,” Kurt agreed.

Blaine took a swig of the warm, cheap beer the had procured from the trunk of Officer Ryan's car, wrinkling his nose against the taste but continuing to drink.

“You know what, though? I'm really not,” Kurt added suddenly, frowning at the road ahead.

Blaine furrowed his brow. “Kurt?”

“I think...I think I really fucked up, here, Blaine. I think I got us into a situation where we could both get killed. I just – I don't know why I didn't just go to the police right away like you suggested.”

“You know why,” Blaine said with a frown. “You already said why.”

“What did I say again?” Kurt asked weakly.

Blaine shrugged. “Nobody would believe us. We'd still get in trouble, we'd still have had our lives ruined. And Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

Blaine sat up straight and put his beer down in the cup holder. He looked at Kurt seriously. “That guy was hurting me. If you hadn't have come out when you did, he would have hurt me a lot worse. And I'm fairly confident that nothing would have happened to him. Everyone did see me dancing with him all night. They probably would have thought I was asking for it, or even...even that I seduced him or something because I'm definitely gay and I'm pretty sure he was married to a woman, so – you know – what are people going to believe? My life would be so much worse than it is now. At least now I have you, Kurt. And you know what else?”

“What?” Kurt asked, his eyes soft and fond.

“At least now I' finally having some fun."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh at that, because - for better or for worse - he had to admit that he wasn't having the worst time in the world either.

“And Kurt, I'm not sorry that piece of shit is dead. I'm just sorry that it was you who pulled the trigger and not me.”

Kurt nodded. That was something he could definitely understand.

“Blaine, I...even if I did fuck up, though, the worst part is that I'd do it all over again. Anyone who does that to you doesn't deserve to take up space on this planet.”

Blaine reached over and brushed his thumb across Kurt's fingers on the steering wheel.

“I'd kill for you too, you know,” Blaine said, his voice dark and potent. “I mean, I'd rather it not come to that, but if I felt like I had to, I would. I wouldn't even have to think about it.”

Kurt swallowed, his heart pounding in his ears at the significance of Blaine's words.

“Can we just agree to something right now, though?” Blaine asked.

“What's that?”

“No regrets? Just – no more regrets, okay?”

“No more regrets,” Kurt agreed, pulling his hand off the steering wheel to wrap his arm around Blaine and let him nestle close.

They drove on.