Kurt met the gaze of a tall, green-eyed man, and felt a twinge of awareness at the interest there. But he didn’t encourage it, closing his eyes and trying to relax in the steamy surroundings.

Coming here was exciting, but always had that edge of danger from being in public, being caught. There was talk about police raids a few years ago at another bathhouse, with over twenty men arrested. 

He felt a presence beside him, and opened his eyes, half-expecting it to be the green-eyed stranger making a bolder move, but was relieved to see it was Blaine. 

Still, he kept his face neutral, acting like a stranger, giving Blaine a thorough look-over before closing his eyes again, feeling the sweat trickling down his chest.

Someone else entered, and must have thought the other guy was his best shot, as when Kurt opened his eyes, there was a blond man sitting near him. The steam room was empty except for the four of them. 

Leaning back, his eyes half-lidded, he watched the non-verbal interaction between the two men, the eye contact that lingered, the way they moved closer to each other, shifting until their thighs were touching. 

Beside him, he could sense Blaine's faster breathing and knew he was just as affected by watching as Kurt was. Glancing over at him, his olive skin was beaded with sweat and his muscular arms looked particularly appealing. 

The blond man was pulling at the tall man's towel, loosening it enough to slip his hand underneath. Kurt felt a surge of arousal, and grabbed a spare towel to drape over his lap, wanting more coverage than the thin towel around his waist would provide. 

Blaine moved closer as the tall man leaned back, letting out low moans as the blond man stroked him. He leaned to kiss near Kurt's ear. "Can we find somewhere more private?" His tone was breathy, hot against Kurt's neck.

Nodding, Kurt got up, sparing a last look at the tall man, lost in his pleasure, so bold and unashamed. It was still a shock when Kurt saw displays like this. Shocking, and arousing as hell.

Walking quickly in the dimly-lit hallways, Blaine unlocked the small room he had rented, and they were soon behind it’s closed doors. Their kisses were hot and urgent, pure want and need. Hands sliding over their bare, sweaty skin.

Kurt sat on the wooden platform, and pulled Blaine’s towel away. He was already so hard, and Kurt’s hands and lips made him even more so, his hands clutching into the wet hair at the nape of Kurt’s neck. 

“You do that so, so well…” Blaine groaned, trying to resist pushing deeper into Kurt’s mouth and ending things too quickly. It was hard to pull back, running his fingers over Kurt’s mouth, and looking down into his darkened eyes. “I want you so much, Kurt.” 

Digging around in his bag, Blaine pulled out a vial of oil and passed it to Kurt. He laid out his towel on the platform, and lowered down onto it, face-first, spreading his legs in invitation. 

Kurt took it, kneeling between Blaine’s legs, kissing down his spine. His breathing was fast against Blaine’s skin, and he knew Kurt matched his level of aroussal. His long fingers prepped Blaine well, finding the spot inside that made Blaine shudder with sensation and teasing him until Blaine let out a small whimper. 

Rolling Blaine onto his side, Kurt laid behind him and bent Blaine’s top leg up towards his chest. It was a different position than they had tried before, and Blaine sighed out how different it felt as Kurt pushed into him, tighter, deeper. Just wanting him hard and fast. Kurt felt the same urgency, the same need, and they rocked together at a quick pace. 

By the time they had both found their peak, they were a mess. Sweat, oil and cum soaking into their towels as they panted, recovering. 

Kurt kissed Blaine slowly for a few minutes before regretfully pulling back and looking at Blaine’s pocket watch. “I really wish we could clean up and go for a coffee or something. It feels like we haven’t talked much lately. But I have to get to rehearsal pretty soon.” 

Blaine nodded, sighing as he looked down into Kurt’s blue-grey eyes. Although they had both promised to be better at making time for each other, it hadn’t happened as much as they had wanted. They had tried out this bathhouse that Jeff and Nick suggested, and found it exciting and convenient, being about halfway between them. Unfortunately, they were trending towards only having quick sexual encounters, getting ramped up by the environment, and not making time after to talk. 

Sitting up, Blaine rubbed a towel over his stomach, cleaning up. “There are so many holiday events at the hotel, and then Kitty has me going to so many gatherings with her as well.” He sighed. “I’m sure it will calm down after the holidays. I will definitely come out to a few more of your rehearsals then.” 

Kurt got up, wrapping the towel around his waist. “I understand, Blaine. I’m just glad we could see each other before I head back to Lima.” 

Grabbing Kurt’s arm, Blaine pulled him between his legs. “Are you sure you are OK with exchanging gifts when you get back?” He looked at Kurt with concerned eyes, really trying to see how he felt about this. This all felt so rushed and strange to him, but he’d never had to deal with the Christmas rush at the hotel without his father before. Even Jeff and Nick were looking frazzled. 

Kurt leaned in to give Blaine a little kiss. “I’ve been so busy with rehearsals, I hardly had time to get gifts for my family. Waiting for a quieter time, when we can both relax, is fine with me.” 

Blaine nodded, still looking a little unsure. He reached for his towel and they both headed to the washrooms to clean up.

---

Marcus clapped his hands. "Ok, everyone, I think we are in good shape, and we will resume rehearsals on January 6th. That gives us four weeks to polish things up before we open. Everyone please practice your lines over the Christmas break so we can be fully off book when we're back. OK?"

Everyone was nodding in agreement, and calling out Merry Christmas to each other, some of the cast and crew hugging or shaking hands before they eventually all dispersed.

Kurt was one of the last to leave, taking the time to pack up the pieces from his many costumes into a large valise. He needed to practice changing costumes quickly, and may do some alterations to make this easier.

As he closed the bag with a snap, he saw the man was back, sitting in the back row. Kurt hadn’t noticed him there as much lately, and had almost forgotten about him. But here he was, and the theatre was practically deserted. 

Looking around quickly, Kurt saw that he had all his things, and walked backstage to the stage door. There were still a few of the crew working back here, so he relaxed slightly. Something about that man made Kurt feel uncomfortable. 

The stage door exited onto a back alley, and Kurt made his way back to the main road. It was almost seven pm, and dark out, but there were the normal amounts of people walking around. Even so, Kurt still noticed the man from the theatre waiting near the main theatre entrance.

A block later, Kurt waited to cross a street, and the man came to stand beside him.

“Mr. Hummel, I believe?” The man smiled, holding out a gloved hand. He was middle aged, wearing a black hat and a long, black wool coat. He had a stocky frame, and intelligent dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. 

Kurt looked down at the proffered hand, and shook it with a sigh. “Yes, and you are?” 

The man nodded, and pointed to a nearby restaurant. “I think it best if we talked over a drink, or a meal. Could you spare me a little time?” 

Caution fought with curiosity in Kurt’s mind, and the latter won out. They would be safe enough in a public place, and he was a little hungry. He’d kill two birds with one stone. He nodded to the stranger, and then followed him into the restaurant. 

After settling into their seats, Kurt followed the man’s example, ordering a simple meal and some coffee. Once the server had moved away, the man leaned forward, talking in a soft tone that Kurt had to strain a little to hear. 

“You can call me Mr. Chapman. I have been scouting your theatre and others, talking to some of the directors, looking for some very special people.” His chin was tipped down slightly, his eyes intent on Kurt’s.

Kurt furrowed his brow, trying to understand what Mr. Chapman was getting at. “Are you casting for another play? If so, I am flattered, but I’m committed to this one until April.” 

Shaking his head once, Mr. Chapman carried on. “It is not a play, Mr. Hummel, although I am very interested in the acting skills I’ve seen you demonstrate in this production. I have heard that you speak French and German fluently.”

Kurt struggled to keep up with the man’s rapid conversation. “Um, yes, I lived in Paris for a few years and would consider myself fluent. My German is conversational, not as strong.” This conversation just seemed odd. Why would a casting director care about his other languages? Was he wanting Kurt to do lines in German? 

Mr. Chapman nodded once. “I see. We may be able to provide you with German instruction. May I ask if you are a married man? Any children?” 

Their server arrived with their meals, and Kurt wondered again over this strange line of questioning. It did not feel like anything he had encountered for his other jobs. 

“May I ask why that is relevant?” Kurt replied. When in doubt, avoid a question by asking a question yourself. 

Cutting into his chicken, Mr. Chapman took a small bite. “The position we are considering you for could involve travelling to Europe, working there for periods of time. Do you have family here that depend on you?” 

Kurt dug into his beef stew, thinking of how to answer. His father and stepmother were independent, obviously. He went months without seeing them, although they wrote often. Was Blaine ‘family’? They had called each other husbands back on the Titanic, but they were barely seeing each other for a few hours each week, both just seemingly pulled more and more into the whirlwind of their own lives.

“I am not married and have no children. I have travelled extensively for work the past few years, in fact. I toured with Vaudeville, and the English music hall circuits.” Kurt decided to answer factually, now curious about where this odd interview was going to end up. 

“Excellent.” Mr. Chapman nodded, his face still not betraying much for emotion. He was a very hard man to read. Kurt was good at watching for mannerisms, accents, things that made a person distinctive. This man seemed muted somehow, like he had none of those things that would make him stand out. 

They had finished their meals, and Mr. Chapman paid the bill. “Do you have a minute to go into the hotel lobby? I would like to explain the position we are considering you for, and it would be best to be away from other people to do this.” 

Having come this far, Kurt nodded and followed the older man into the adjoining hotel lobby. It was quiet, with subdued lighting and upholstered chairs grouped around the roomy space. The hotel clerk was reading a newspaper behind his counter, and gave them an uninterested glance before returning to his reading. 

Mr. Chapman waved Kurt into a chair, and took one that was close by. He leaned forward, talking in that fast, soft way that made Kurt prick up his ears to listen closely, afraid to miss something. 

“From my queries beforehand, I understand you were living in Paris for a few years, just leaving there this spring.” Mr. Chapman said quickly, his eyes intent on Kurt’s.

Kurt nodded, a little surprised at this man knowing that. He had gone by the name Marcel Lapointe mostly, finding it easier to fit in if he presented himself as a Frenchman. In England, he had gone by the name Archie Taylor. 

Mr. Chapman seemed to speak even quieter then. “During your time in Paris, those years, did you sense a change in the country? The politics?” 

Furrowing his brow, Kurt was more confused than ever by the direction of this conversation. He decided to give it ten more minutes, and then he would make his excuses to go home. “Well, I worked in the outskirts of Paris, in Montmartre, which was mostly artists, theatre folk, people on the fringe of society. I wouldn’t say the political climate of France was a major topic of conversation.” 

“Yes, but you also socialized with your clientele to some extent, didn’t you? Many of them wealthy businessmen of Paris or abroad, looking for some entertainment and a good time, often drinking enough to talk more than they should, perhaps?” Mr. Chapman pressed, his eyes still so intent on Kurt’s. 

Kurt was beginning to get an idea, an incredible idea, about what was happening here. “All the entertainers socialized with the clientele to encourage their drinking and relationships that would make them return.” Kurt had often spent time in the audience as Nikita, acting as a woman, chatting with the patrons. They were always shocked when they saw his act for the first time. After that, most of the men spoke with him differently, never flirting like before, treating him as a man who had pulled a practical joke on them perhaps. He made friends out of the regulars, his quick wit making them laugh. 

“Again, did you get a sense of things changing in the country during your time there?” Mr. Chapman asked. 

Biting his lips slightly, Kurt thought back to his time in France. At first, just adapting to getting work and finding a place to stay, working on his act, making friends and connections. But after a few months, he had gotten a feel for the theatre and the area. And things had changed. So much so that he was actively looking for ways to get back to the US for many months when the Titanic opportunity came up. 

“I got a sense of unrest, of tensions increasing. I read the newspapers, and did talk enough with the patrons to get a sense of that. They were well-travelled, educated businessmen, and I could see how they were hesitating to rely on German imports, and pulling away from some of their business interactions.” Kurt shrugged, leaning back in his chair. 

Mr. Chapman nodded. “This is exactly what we are looking for you to do for us, Mr. Hummel. You are very good at fitting into places, seeming unthreatening, and making people comfortable. I have seen that you do many accents perfectly. You are fluent enough in French to pass as a local. You are intelligent and hard working. We are prepared to offer you a position and provide you paid training. The compensation is quite generous.” He named a sum that made Kurt blink hard for a moment, unsure if he heard it correctly. 

Kurt shook his head slightly. “Mr. Chapman, you still have not told me what this position entails.” 

The older man steepled his hands, leveling Kurt with a steady look. “Reconnaissance.”

It took a minute for Kurt to catch his breath, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh out loud or just repeat that word back to make sure he heard it right. Mr. Chapman’s gaze was steady on his, brooking no arguments. “You want me, Kurt Hummel, to be a spy.” His eyes were wide, and he said the words slowly, wanting them to be clear.

Mr. Chapman nodded. “As you have said, things are changing in Europe. We need to gather information now to protect our interests, and that of our allies.” He pulled out his wallet, and passed Kurt a business card that only had a street address on it, no name.

The man stood up, adjusting his coat. “Mr. Hummel, please take the holidays to consider the offer. In January, come to this office and make an appointment to see me if you want more information or to accept my offer.” With a quick handshake, he left the stunned actor sitting there, still clutching the business card.

---

It was a relief to get on the train at Grand Central Station for the trip to Ohio. He was looking forward to seeing his family again, and having Christmas with them for the first time in many years. His luggage was full of small gifts and tins of treats he had baked in his tiny apartment, recipes he had learned from the places he had travelled, looking forward to sharing them with Burt and Carole. It would also be nice to be in quiet, snowy Ohio, away from the busy New York streets and constant noise. Time to rest, read and visit. 

He had considered asking Blaine to join him, knowing his family liked him and wanted to get to know him better. But Blaine was so busy with the hotel and Kitty for the holidays, so many parties and functions going on, it would have been ridiculous to even ask him. 

Lately, he wondered if Blaine would have even come, even if he hadn’t been so busy. They kept promising to spend more time together, but had a hard time squeezing it into their schedules. Kurt groaned to himself as he considered the next few weeks when he got back, and knew it would be just as hard to see each other the next few months. The play was opening at the end of January, so there would be intense rehearsals as soon as he got back for the whole month. Then, he would be doing eight shows a week. Kurt was anxious, having eight roles to keep straight in his mind, and to make the costumes work right for the quick costume changes. He would have to be at the top of his game for every show. 

The show was scheduled to run until early April, with the possibility of an extension if it was well received. Of course, if it totally bombed, it could end sooner. If it did well, it could lead to other jobs for Kurt, and could grow into a career. If not, he was back to scrambling day-to-day for jobs.

Pulling out his wallet, he looked again at the business card Mr. Chapman had given him. Reconnaissance. Spying. What would it really involve? The pay was certainly appealing, and it sounded like Mr. Chapman was impressed with Kurt’s skills. But Kurt wasn’t foolish enough to not realized the true reason he had asked if Kurt had a wife and children. The job had it’s dangers, and he wouldn’t want to risk himself if he was attached.

The way things were going, he could probably go away for a month on a business trip, and Blaine would be too busy to notice. Could Kurt really consider himself ‘attached’ when they saw each other so little? Blaine hardly relied on Kurt for anything, and Kurt didn’t rely on him either. 

Kurt had read espionage novels, like “The Riddle of the Sands”, and enjoyed them. But what would it really be like trying to collect information about other people like that? The danger of being captured by a hostile government, and who knows what would happen. But then again, he knew people who lived in France and England still, had good friends there. If his actions could maybe help prevent or minimize the chance of a war, wouldn’t that justify his actions? If his actions could save American lives? 

The whole idea just seemed so crazy to even consider. But he was very good at fitting in, dressing and acting like people around him to avoid notice. He could stay in character for hours, days, if need be. And frankly, Kurt had always sought out adventure in his life. He had joined Vaudeville for a chance to perform, but also to travel and meet interesting people. He had moved to England and France for the same reasons, and loved it all. It would be exciting to see if he could rise to this challenge as well, to push against his limits. To rely on his own skills and judgment in tight situations. 

---

"So, how are things going for you in New York?" Burt nudged Kurt's shoulder. 

Carole was working in the kitchen, after firmly pushing Kurt out to relax on the sofa with Burt. 

Kurt shrugged and gave his dad a crooked smile. "It's going OK. I'm still adjusting to working more in regular theatres instead of Vaudeville."

Burt's eyes were probing, looking for the full truth behind Kurt's words. "You don't sound too happy."

Sighing, Kurt closed his eyes. He opened them, knowing he could talk openly with his father. "I knew it would be a challenge, but it still grinds me down. I have found a good apartment, made some friends, and like the community I live in. It reminds me of Montmartre, actually, full of artists and bohemian views. The work isn't as steady as I want though, so I'm considering some other work, but it would involve travelling again."

"And where does Blaine fit into all of this? I thought you moved to New York to be with him." Burt asked. 

"Yes, I did, but..." Kurt took a steading breath, feeling emotional talking about this.

His dad hugged Kurt, rubbing his back. "Oh, kiddo, I wish I could make things easier for you."

Kurt pulled back. "Blaine and I try to be together as often as we can, but with our schedules, it's usually only a few hours a week. It's not enough. I can feel things are becoming more distant between us, and I don't know what to do." Saying it aloud made it feel even worse, more real.

"You mentioned a woman he was considering marrying." Burt prompted.

"They aren't engaged, and we are all friends. They go to society events together quite often." Kurt shrugged. There was no way Kurt would be accepted at those functions, and at least Blaine wasn't approached by other women when he was with Kitty. "If they did marry, it would probably be similar to how it is now."

Burt shook his head. "So, you have to decide if you can be happy having him only part of the time, and making the rest of your life as good as you can, or giving him up completely and trying to find a happy life without him."

Kurt considered discussing his strange job offer, but rejected the idea. It would just worry Burt. "I've been offered a job that would involve working in Europe some of the time. It would use my French and German language skills, and pay quite well." 

"Would you be OK getting back on a steamer?" Burt gave him a concerned look.

Shrugging, Kurt nodded. "It would be scary, but it's unlikely I'd be on another sinking ship." Ships crossed the Atlantic safely every day.

"It sounds like you have some hard decisions to make, Kurt. But you are a strong, brave man and I'm proud to call you my son. I know you will make the choice that is right for you." Burt gave him a wobbly smile, and hugged him tight. 

----

-Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Sorry it's taken me awhile to update. I hope you like this twist... ;P 

-Kurt and Blaine were at 'The Everard Spa Turkish Bathhouse' (28 West 28th Street). It was a former church building that was converted into a bathhouse in 1888, intended for general health and fitness. It was patronized largely by homosexuals by the 1920s and became the community's preeminent social venue from the 1930s onward. On January 5, 1919 the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice encouraged a police raid in which the manager and nine customers were arrested for lewd behavior. It was raided again in 1920 with 15 arrests.

It had a reputation as "classiest, safest, and best known of the baths," eventually picking up the nickname "Everhard". Emlyn Williams described a visit in 1927: "Up some stairs at a desk an ashen bored man in shirtsleeves produced a ledger crammed with illegible scrawls. I added mine, paid my dollar, was handed a key, towel and robe, hung the key on my wrist and mounted to a large floor as big as a warehouse and as high: intersecting rows of private rooms each windowless cell dark except from the glimmer from above through wire-netting shredded with dust and containing a narrow workhouse bed...[he later heard] a casual whisper, a sigh lighter than thistle-down, a smothered moan. Then appeasement: the snap of a lighter as two strangers sat back for a smoke and polite murmured small talk, such as they might exchange in a gym." Over the years, patrons included Gore Vidal, Rudolf Nureyev, and Truman Capote. It operated until 1986 when it was closed by New York City mayor Ed Koch during the city’s campaign to close such venues during the AIDS epidemic. 

-Mr. Chapman: He is a fictional member of the War Department’s Military Intelligence Division (MID), a predecessor to the OSS (1942-1947) and the CIA (1947-). US military intelligence was a spotty thing around this time. But when WWI broke out in 1914, it became obvious as the war continued that the US would soon be involved. By the war's end in 1919, MID had grown to 282 officers and 1,159 civilians, most of them specialists. This included French-speaking agents to do undercover investigations of individuals and organizations in France. I took some liberties here, imaging Kurt as a possible early recruit for MID. 

-‘The Riddle of the Sands: A Record of Secret Service’ by Erskine Childers (1903). A very popular novel before WWI is an early example of the espionage novel that influenced later spy fiction. Ken Follett has called it ‘the first modern thriller’, and it has made it onto lists such as ‘the ten best classic spy novels’ and ‘100 greatest novels of all time’. The whole genre of "invasion novels" like this one raised the public's awareness of the "potential threat" of Imperial Germany.