“No,” Blaine replied, at the same time as Kurt shook his head and countered, “does this jacket look like it's a survivor of baby vomit?”

Puck laughed. “Fair enough. I'm surprised at you, though, Blaine – didn't you say you were married? You seem like you'd be a great dad.”

Blaine felt himself blush slightly at the compliment. “Well I – I'd actually – I mean, I love kids, but Dave – that's my husband – he says he's not ready yet. Says he's still too much of a kid himself. He kind of...prides himself on being infantile.”

“He does have a lot to be proud of,” Kurt deadpanned, lighting a cigarette.

“He and Kurt don't get along,” Blaine explained, turning his body more fully to face Puck.

“Hmph,” Kurt snorted. “That's putting it mildly.”

“Kurt thinks he's a pig,” Blaine added, enjoying the amused smile Puck was shooting back and forth between the two of them.

“Correction: I know he's a pig,” Kurt asserted.

Puck continued to look back and forth between the two of them, some kind of secret insight seeming to dance behind his eyes. He turned his attention back to Blaine. “So you...you must have gotten married pretty young, Blaine. Unless you look even better for your age than I thought you did,” Puck added with a wink.

Blaine blushed and ducked his head, fiddling with the empty nip of Wild Turkey in his hands. Kurt narrowed his eyes as he glanced back at Puck through the rear view mirror.

“Well...I suppose twenty-two is pretty young,” Blaine admitted. “And we were together for three years before that, so.”

Puck whistled long and low at that. “Man, I can't imagine being saddled with one person so young,” he said, shaking his head.

“I...it's...I mean, other than fooling around with a couple guys in high school and my first year of college, I've never been with anyone but Dave,” Blaine said, starting to feel a bit flustered.

“Wow,” Puck said seriously. “I'm...sorry.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You know, if you don't mind my saying so, he sounds like a real asshole.”

Blaine sighed, fixing Puck with a thoughtful look. “It's OK,” he answered. “He is an asshole. Most of the time I just let it slide.”

Puck looked like he was about to respond, but something caught his eye in the distance and he sat up straight. “Oh, hey, Kurt – you might want to slow down, that's a cop up ahead.”

Kurt and Blaine both stiffened, exchanging terrified glances. The police car was parked far enough ahead that it could be avoided if they could find a turn off the road, but Kurt wasn't seeing one anywhere. And given that they hadn't seen another car for a good few miles, the cop might just be bored enough to run Kurt's plates for the hell of it.

When he caught sight of a public access road, Kurt nearly wept with joy, turning onto it quickly and rumbling down the dirt path. Blaine's hands were clutching the sides of his seat so hard that his knuckles were white, and Kurt was fairly sure his jaw would be sore later from clenching it so tightly. The road brought them deep into the woods, and Kurt turned again at the first opportunity, going left and heading down a long stretch of rough country road before the pavement finally resumed. After a few more turns, selected completely at random, they emerged on another large two-lane road. This one did not border the valley that had previously been unfolding to their left, and was instead bordered by thick forest on both sides.

Kurt paused and took a deep breath before turning onto the road and continuing along. They could figure out where they were once they saw some sort of road sign, but the important thing was that there were no police to be seen.

Blaine reached over and gave Kurt's shoulder a comforting squeeze, and they exchanged relieved smiles as the car once again began to pick up speed.

“So, uh...one too many parking tickets, huh?” Puck asked lightly. Kurt gave him a steady look in the rear view mirror.

“Look, Puck, we'll take you to Indianapolis and then you'd better be on your way, all right?” Kurt said, his tone clipped. He was already beginning to regret giving into Blaine's pleading and picking Puck up in the first place.

“So the results are in. Prints on the car match those belonging to Blaine Karofsky-Anderson,” he said, his voice irritatingly smug.

“Okay,” she answered, pacing the tiny hotel room in tight circles. “Well, I just finished interviewing the husband. He says his gun is missing. Says Karofsky-Anderson took a lot of stuff, like he planned on being gone for awhile.”

“How about that,” Will answered.

“The thing is,” Santana continued, “the husband said he would never touch the gun. Said he didn't even believe in guns, and refused to learn how to shoot it. The husband got it because he's out late a lot, but he says it's just been sitting in a drawer for years.”

“Huh. What kind of gun was it?”

Santana sighed. She didn't want to think about how badly she did not want to answer that question. “941,” she admitted.

“Right,” Will said, sounding so fucking elated that Santana wanted to throw up. He didn't know anything about these boys and obviously didn't really care to. It shouldn't have been a surprise - one surely didn't become a state police chief through acts of studied compassion. “Where are they?” Will asked, as if the question were an actual piece of detective work in and of itself.

“They were on their way to a friend's cabin and they never showed up,” she answered honestly.

“Any reason to think they've left the state?”

I'm fairly certain that that's exactly what they've done if they've got one brain between the two of them, Santana thought. “It's definitely possible,” she said.

“All right, I'm gonna go ahead and let the Bureau in on this. You stay there – Karofsky-Anderson will probably try and call his husband at some point, and I want a location nailed down on these two as soon as possible. I also want to see what else you can find out about them, if there's anyone else they could be planning to stay with or anywhere in particular they might be headed. I'm sending Ryerson to assist you.”

“Ryerson? You can't be serious, Chief.”

“He's good with the tracking equipment. And I figure you two will...uh...have a bit more luck communicating with the kind of people who can give us information on these two.”

“There isn't some kind of secret queer handshake, Chief,” Santana deadpanned. “Can't you send Pillsbury or Jones instead? They may not be gay, but I think people really respond to the fact that neither one of them is a slimeball.”

“That's enough, detective,” Will replied coolly. “Detective Ryerson will meet you in your hotel lobby first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, chief,” Santana answered woodenly, before hanging up the phone. She sat down on the bed and sighed, looking around her. The hotel bar had looked depressing at best, but it wasn't really late yet, and she definitely needed a stiff drink. Maybe she could head back to Songbirds. It had actually seemed like a pretty nice place. Maybe Brittany would still be working. Maybe her shift would be ending soon.

Until he did.

“Yeah, I've slept with a couple guys. I don't see what the big deal is,” Puck said with a shrug. Kurt's attention suddenly shifted from the radio, latching onto Blaine and Puck's conversation. “I mean, I don't usually call myself bi or anything because I tend to prefer the ladies, but if you're hot you're hot, you know? Don't matter what kind of equipment you're working with.”

“It sounds to me like your sexual orientation is slut,” Kurt said suddenly, with venom. Blaine's jaw fell open.

“Kurt!”

“What? I just...oh my god, I was kidding. I didn't mean-”

“Nah, don't apologize. I actually...I actually kind of like it,” Puck said with a broad grin, ignoring Kurt's graceless attempt to excuse his own rudeness. “My sexual orientation is slut. Cuts right to the heart of things doesn't it? Thanks, Kurt!”

Kurt pursed his lips and resolutely ignored Blaine's glare.

“I mean, god gave us prostates for a reason, right?” Puck added.

“That's actually the best argument for Intelligent Design that I've heard,” Kurt conceded.

And then Puck and Blaine were off on some new topic of conversation, while Kurt was left to stew.

He formulated some very articulate arguments in his head for why Blaine should not, under any circumstances, actually sleep with Puck. First there was the fact that Blaine was married. It wasn't that Kurt cared on principle – Dave didn't deserve Blaine in the first place, so anything that would nudge them toward divorce couldn't be a bad thing – it was just that Kurt knew Blaine would care on principle. If Blaine broke his wedding vows, he would never forgive himself, and Kurt just cared too much about Blaine to watch him go down a path that–

OK, so maybe he wasn't even really buying that one.

But there was the undeniable fact that Blaine had just...well, he had just been raped. Or nearly raped, anyway, but he had definitely been assaulted, sexually and violently, and that wasn't the kind of thing a person just got over. Kurt was concerned what falling into bed with the first attractive guy he found might do to Blaine. And this concern was genuine, even if it wasn't the entire reason for Kurt's uneasiness at the increasingly flirtatious banter between Blaine and Puck.

Kurt chewed his lip, willing the miles to fall away faster, for them to get to Indianapolis and drop Puck off and be done with him permanently.

“That's a really good idea. What do you think, Kurt?”

Kurt glanced over at Blaine. “About what?”

“About getting a motel room for the night? There's no way we're going to make it to Indianapolis without stopping for some sleep at this point, and if I have to just doze off in the car again I think the damage to my neck might be permanent.”

“I don't think that's the best idea,” Kurt said carefully, trying not to reach over and swat Puck's hands away as he began massaging Blaine's neck. “We should really save our money.”

“Oh, come on. There's a – aaaaah, fuck – one of those really cheap ones just a few miles past the next intersection.” Blaine was attempting to look up lodging options on the prepaid phone they had finally purchased while Puck rubbed his neck, intermittent moans of satisfaction escaping Blaine's lips.

“Blaine, I just don't think-”

“Hell, I'll spring for one of those rooms,” Puck said, peering over Blaine's shoulder to look at the motel he'd found. “Whatta ya say, wanna be bunkmates?” He asked, his lips almost touching Blaine's ear. Blaine actually giggled. Kurt nearly ripped the steering wheel off its column.

“Actually, it's probably a better idea if Blaine and I get our own room,” Kurt said.

Blaine stared at him incredulously. “You just said you didn't want to pay for a room, but now that Puck's offering to pay for one for us, you do want to pay for one after all?”

“I just...you made a good point about getting some sleep. Who knows when we're going to get a decent night's sleep again, so we should try to do it while we can. I just...I think we're better off in our own room, that's all.”

“Kurt–”

“Aw, come on, Blaine, man's got his reasons, I'm sure. All I care about is getting horizontal for a while, huh?”

“Kurt, what is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Blaine gave an irritated laugh. “What's up with Puck? You're acting...I don't know. Rude? Weird? More high strung than usual?”

Kurt sighed, slumping onto the mattress of his twin bed and rubbing at his temples. “Blaine, we just don't know the guy. We can't automatically trust him just because he's hot and probably wants to fuck you.”

When his declaration was met with a resounding silence, Kurt opened his eyes halfway. He opened them the rest of the way when he saw the expression on Blaine's face.

Kurt sat up. He had never seen Blaine look at him that way before. Blaine looked like he actually wanted to punch him.

“You know what, Kurt? You can be a real asshole sometimes,” Blaine said, his voice just barely managing not to shake. He grabbed his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I'm going to go hang out in Puck's room,” he said over his shoulder, as he headed toward the door.

“Blaine, wait. I-”

“Just...I think I just need a break from you right now, all right?” Blaine asked, the fight mostly drained from his voice. He just sounded...hurt. Kurt wanted to hug him.

“All right,” Kurt finally said. “I- I'm sorry, Blaine.”

“You always are,” Blaine said quietly before walking out the door.