"But you told him no, right?"

Blaine nodded to himself as he left just the one fork in the salad. "He told me to think about it, wouldn't really take an answer."

It'd been hours since he'd seen Burt or any of the Hummels and Blaine was still reeling with how easy it'd been to interact with them.

"So, you didn't give him an answer," Nick pressed.

Nick wore a colorful apron that had been a gag joke from Nick's sister last Christmas and was spooning mashed potatoes onto a bowl. He looked almost comical as he tried to give Blaine an annoyed look.

"I'm not going to take the job," Blaine assured him and paused on his way to the table with the salad to say, "although, I…" he shook his head.

"What?" Nick asked, hands on his hips.

"Guess how much money he offered me just to basically give away…just guess."

Nick picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and took it to the table where Blaine had finally set down the salad. "One million? Two?"

Blaine shook his head. "Higher."

"Five?"

"More."

"Eight?"

"Ten," Blaine said, "Ten million, just to give away. So, I have to pause, I have to wonder if I can just walk away from that. Do you know what kind of difference that would make?"

Nick gaped at him, eyebrows raised, "ten million," he said with a bit of awe, "and what…just out of curiosity, what would he be paying you?"

"I didn't really ask," Blaine admitted, "I think he assumed I knew how much my dad was making…and really, it was enough for my mom to still not have to work, so…"

Nick pulled out a chair and sank into it. They were well enough off that they wouldn't have to worry about anything, and although most of the money his father had left behind had gone to a charity of his choice, Blaine had been left a bit of money and his apartment, which he'd happily told his girlfriend to keep.

"Still," Blaine said, "I keep wondering if this is something I should pass up? We've always talked about sending Mia to a private school when she gets older and this is just…another step in that direction. And, is it so terrible to have to deal with their antics? I…I don't know what to do."

Blaine got up to check on the chicken parmesan in the oven, before Nick could respond, trying to not look Nick in the eyes. He knew, or rather was pretty sure, what his reaction would be. Nick hated the Hummels; hated them like he knew only Sue Sylvester to hate them.

The problem was that Nick knew what'd happened between him and Kurt. Not everything - Blaine hadn't been able to disclose absolutely everything to him -, but pretty close to it. And Nick's opinion of Kurt was marred by his jealousy, and the insane notion that Blaine was still somehow in love with Kurt.

"You were together since you were like ten," he'd say, "of course you're still in love with the guy."

"I think," Nick said slowly, "that I really don't like the Hummels. I don't trust Kurt. Or his father. Even the stepmother and brother rub me the wrong way…and I've always said Rachel Berry was a fake…but, you grew up with them. Despite how much you deny it, you were a part of their world and fitting right back into it, it won't be hard for you. You just have to do it for the right reasons. To help people, to stop them from believing that their ability to buy absolutely anything they want does not give them more rights than anyone else…"

It was why he loved Nick, his ability to just know what to say, to phrase what Blaine needed to hear despite his own feelings about the matter.

"I love you," Blaine said, following that with, "I think the chicken's ready."

Nick laughed. "Do you know what you want to do?"

"No. Not really. I think I'll sleep on it. I know I…I know I said that they wouldn't be back in our lives, but, Nick, I'm not my dad. I wouldn't…I wouldn't let what happened to me happen to Mia."

"So, you do know," Nick said.

Blaine didn't respond.

- - -

Blaine spent about fifteen minutes pacing outside Hummel Plaza, the building where the Hummels resided, before Kurt exited the building, wrapping a scarf around his neck even though it was August. The slightly younger man didn't see Blaine at first, but then spotted him.

"Oh," he said, his lips forming the word perfectly, "are you…" he trailed off, and looked awkwardly at Blaine, before steeling himself and asking, "are you planning on talking to my dad about…about the job."

Blaine shrugged. When Nick told him earlier that he knew Blaine had already made up his mind, Blaine hadn't known in which way Nick thought Blaine had already decided. After sleeping on it, he'd even come to the conclusion that Nick had said that because he thought Blaine was sure he wouldn't be taking the job. He'd headed to work as usual, when on the subway he got off just a few streets away from Hummel Plaza where Burt would be expecting him, without meaning to. Whether it was a subconscious thing or he himself having decided in that moment that he needed to take the job, he didn't know, but Blaine some minutes later found himself outside the large, very old building.

"I don't know," he told Kurt.

Kurt blinked at him and gave him a look that read quite clearly, he was weighing what to say next. It reminded him too much of a younger Kurt when he was trying to let Blaine make up his mind for himself.

"Well, dad is up there and is pretty much convinced you're going to show up. Not showing up exactly on time might be throwing him off a bit, so props. But, really, if you don't want to be a part of all of this again, we won't blame you…Dad'll be disappointed sure, but he had Bill Clinton on the phone earlier trying to convince him that he could take the family."

Blaine didn't know if Kurt was joking or not, but he laughed anyway, because even if it was true, it was laugh worthy. Burt Hummel would think himself important enough to possibly render a former president to take on a job as a lawyer, even if well paid.

"We'll be okay if you say no," Kurt continued, "don't let him pressure you into anything…do it because you want to not out of some duty to us or to your father."

Blaine stared at him. Kurt played with his scarf, a nervous habit that Blaine remembered well, and seemed to be waiting for Blaine to say something. But Blaine was more confused than ever, because Kurt, this Kurt standing in front of him was a mixture of the Kurt he'd known growing up and some new entity entirely.

"Look," Kurt said when Blaine hadn't said anything, "I really don't want to sway it either way and I'll even add that it doesn't matter what you do in terms of what we had. I…I respect that it's over and that we've both moved on. So, don't even think of that as a factor for your decision. Just do what will make you happy, Blaine."

With that, Kurt patted his arm gently and muttered something about being late, and began to walk down the street in the direction Blaine had come earlier.

It was strange to see Kurt just walking the streets of New York, as if he weren't worth millions, maybe even billions of dollars. Where was Clark? Why wasn't he being driven anywhere? And yet another question existed, why would Kurt even be late for anything?

Kurt didn't have a job as far as Blaine knew and he had never intended to really take one. He was the sole heir of Hummel enterprises and Blaine imagined that some day he would have run Hummel Enterprises and all the business that entailed. And maybe he was already preparing for when he'd need to do that. Blaine hadn't exactly kept tabs on Kurt. For all he knew Kurt was just late to a meeting with a friend.

Blaine shook thoughts of Kurt away, when he looked back at the door to Hummel Plaza. If he walked in, it'd mean working for the family that had ruined his childhood more or less, but if he walked away it meant not helping thousands of people that could benefit from what he could offer. He was torn.

The door behind him was thrown open again.

Rachel Berry stormed out dressed impeccably, clothes that Blaine was sure Kurt had picked out for her, and looking very melodramatic in her sunglasses and hat. Our of all the Hummels, she acted more like a celebrity. And although she was one in her own right, Blaine would always wonder how far being connected to Finn and Kurt had pushed Rachel to fame.

"Blaine!" she cried upon seeing him and enveloped him in a hug that left some of her perfume lingering in the air around him and possibly his clothes, "you must be her to take the job. Burt will be so pleased. I'm so happy you're here."

And then she proceeded to push him inside and lead him towards the elevator herself. Blaine let her, and realized as he did that Nick had been right. He had made his choice. He wanted the job.

"He's in his office," Rachel told Blaine, "but you know where that is. Is it weird coming back here after all these years? You practically grew up here…you know, people always assumed you and Kurt would end up together…and now look at where you are: You practically married. And Kurt! Oh, don't even get me started on him…"

There had been rumors that Kurt Hummel had turned to the night life, pictures of him leaving famous clubs late into the night or early in the morning, but Blaine had never put too much stock to it, to the idea that Kurt could be the playboy people believed him to be. Blaine remembered well how shy and hesitant Kurt had been all those years ago. He couldn't for even a second believe that Kurt could be promiscuous in any way.

When the elevator opened at the right floor, Blaine practically shot out of it. And when Rachel tried to follow he reminded her that she'd been on her way out.

With a pout she'd remained in the elevator, but before the doors closed, she called out, "I will see you later, Blaine Warbler."

Blaine groaned. Blaine Warbler. Of course she would remember that. He didn't have time to think on it too much, because the moment she was gone, a hand was on his shoulder.

- - -

When Nick was stressed, he drew. Weather it was small doodles on a loose piece of paper at work, or full on drawings of whatever could be found in his imagination. Art was a peaceful balm to him, it always had been. And drawing, when he couldn't set up a clean canvas with an easel and paint was enough for some days.

The day that Blaine accepted the job with the Hummels, Nick brought out his best graphite pencils and just let himself fall into the world of his art. He drew at work, sitting behind the desk where all the records of his sales were kept, as he waited for customers.

His job was easy at the gallery. He got to talk about all the artwork that he in particularly liked from their more popular artists and try and bring the work from obscure ones to anyone that might be interested.

"That's really beautiful," a voice said, surprising him.

Nick nearly jumped and he tried to push the drawing of Blaine he'd been doing right from his memory underneath the open folder.

"No. Don't. It really is amazing."

The voice belonged to a girl in her early twenties. She was a tiny thing, not too tall and as thin as a stick. There was a smile on her face.

"Is it for sale?" She asked next. "I mean, obviously it doesn't look like you're done with it, but will you be selling it?"

Nick didn't know how to respond. No one had ever wanted to buy his art. Nick had never wanted to have to go through the kind of rejection that made artists went through and for years he'd just ignored everyone that urged him to actually show off his art.

Blaine was particularly adamant that he do so, "you have nothing to lose, Nick," he'd say, "even if you get a thousand criticisms, the hundreds of compliments will make up for it."

Blaine had always been for pursuing one's dream.

"I mean, I can understand if you don't want to part with it," the girl continued, "but it really is exquisite. And I'll have you know I own a Matisse and a Renoit."

Nick continued to just stare at her and then he sighed. "I've never sold anything I've drawn."

"Well, you should." She placed a hand on her hip, "and I want it. I'll give you five hundred for it. I'll pay for half now and when you're done you can just give me a call and I'll have someone pick it up."

Nick stated at her eyes wide. Five hundred? He wasn't all that good. Some of the paintings hanging around him in the gallery didn't even sell for that much.

"What?" She asked. "Is that not enough? Because if you want seven, you only have to ask."

Nick shook his head. "No. No. Five…five hundred's just fine."

She grinned. "Wonderful."

Then she was pulling out her wallet from her purse. "Cash will do, right?"

He nodded.

"Good."

She pulled out a wad of twenties and started counting. She handed him exactly three hundred, "and two more when you're done."

Next, she pulled out a business card. She wrote an additional number on the back and then passed it to him. "The number on the back is my personal cell phone so you can reach me there. I'm going to look around a little more if that's okay."

After she turned around, Nick looked from the drawing of Blaine to the money. He hadn't even thought to wonder if Blaine would mind that a random girl had just bought a drawing of him. Perhaps he'd just be happy that Nick had finally sold a piece of artwork, even if it had been completely by mistake.

He entered the number on the card into his phone just in case and turned the card over to see her name. When he saw her name, he dropped the card.

The white card fell, dropping to the ground, and her name in gold cursive gleamed up at him. It read:

Amie Hummel.

- - -

Kurt rubbed at his eyes and tried hard not to yawn even though the meeting had been over ten minutes before and there was no one there but the intern tidying up the place.

He couldn't remember when he'd been roped into going to the meeting with the editors in chief of the magazines Hummel Publishing owned.

"They squabble like children," he said, "each of them wanting more money for their budget. As if I make those decisions. Really."

The intern, a twenty something year old probably fresh out of college, paused and looked at him, "well, they think you can influence your father, or well, Colleen since she's really in charge, right? But you're Kurt Hummel and everyone's always said you had your eye on Mode…and there's been talk…"

"What?" Kurt asked.

He hadn't paid attention to the intern sitting aside by the corner until now. He was about his height, and only now Kurt realized he was wearing an ensemble that he himself would have put together. All designer.

"Well, someone said that your father might want you more involved in the business and Colleen has been making some really bad choices lately with Mode in particular, so everyone's saying that you might be taking over."

There was not a lot of truth to what the intern was talking about, except that Kurt had always, always wanted to play a bigger role in the running of Mode. Mode was his mom's magazine. She'd started it up before he was even born, and she'd kept a close eye on it for years until she got sick. Kurt had always followed the process of the magazine and once he'd even considered taking a more active role in it, but had denied himself that when he realized that his father needed him to be more involved in the business aspect of it all.

The publishing company was just one of their few endeavors, and one day Kurt would have to focus on all of them.

"That is not true," Kurt told him, "I am only here because my father could not be and nothing more."

"Okay."

The intern continued picking things up. Now, Kurt watched him.

He wasn't the boy that had sat in the corner silently taking notes that Kurt had just overlooked. There was a confidence about him that made Kurt all the more interested. This could have been him, he realized, if he'd lead the kind of life that everyone else did. Fashion had always been a passion in some way or another.

"So, you're an intern," Kurt said, "how long have you been working here?"

"Almost a year," he answered, "but I've been offered the position of an assistant for the creative director which is huge. It won't be available for a few more months, but I'm a shoe in."

Kurt nodded, "you must have impressed someone. What's your name?"

"Tyler."

Kurt nodded again and stood up. "Well, Tyler, I do appreciate your choice in clothing and I hope you do get that job. I think I would have been you if my father had been anything else."

Tyler stared at him for a long time and then he smiled. "Thank you."

Kurt's phone vibrate as he walked to the elevator. He fished out his phone at once and answered it without looking at the screen.

"God, finally! I've been calling you like every five minutes. Do you ever answer your phone?"

Kurt had noticed his phone vibrating during the meeting, but he hadn't paid any mind to it.

"I was in a meeting. I couldn't exactly answer the phone. Now what do you want, Satan?"

She laughed. "Well, Hummel, I was just calling because Britt's birthday's next week and we were thinking of having a party."

"And what do you need? Money? Influence? You know I'll be there. How is Britt?"

The elevator doors opened and Kurt eyed his phone before stepping in. He didn't know if he wanted to hope that the phone call was dropped or not.

"I need you to host it," Santana said, "I'll put up the money for the booze, the DJ, everything. I just need you to find a place to hold it at. Artie was going to hook us up, but his friend bailed and now we have nowhere to have it, but I figure you can ask one of your friends and…"

Kurt liked being able to help his friends, but he hated when they asked for favors like these, when he had to use his name to get something done. It'd be easy, of course, but he hated doing it.

"I'll find a place," he said regardless, "don't worry about it."

In the background on her end, he heard a door close and then Brittany's voice saying something he couldn't make out.

"Thanks. I'll e-mail you all the details later. And I'll be sure to invite some cute boys for you."

Kurt laughed.

The elevator doors opened and Kurt stepped out. "Alright. See you soon, Satan."

- - -

Blaine was struck by how simple it had been to just enter the office with Burt following him and say, "I think I'm taking the job."

There had been no hesitation, no moment after those words left his lips during which he regretted his decision.

"I knew you would," Burt told him honestly, "and I do want to make it clear to you, Blaine, that you have always been a part of this family. Your father was for a long time and we will miss him. But, it is good to have you back with us. I love you as if you were my own son."

Suddenly it really felt like coming home, because he knew there was no way that Burt was just saying that to say it. Blaine had always sort of known that Burt considered him a part of the family, but it had never been put like that, just said to him so bluntly.

Burt coughed and opened a drawer on his desk. He pulled out a bulky envelope and handed it to Blaine.

"What is that?" Blaine asked, weighing it in his hands and already sure that it was a lot of cash.

"Just a little something for the week," Burt said. "I always gave Drew some money at the start of the week. You'll need it, trust me."

"It's a lot of money, Burt."

Burt shrugged. "Yeah, well."

Blaine let himself wonder for a moment how he'd wind up using up all this money over the course of a week.

"I'll have my assistant send everything you'll need to your office later today along with some additional information. I'll pass along your number to the rest of the family, and we'll see how it goes."

Blaine nodded. "I should get back to my office, then."

"Yes. Yes, go ahead. I can tell Clark or one of the others to drive you…"

"No thanks," Blaine said, "I like taking the subway."

Burt nodded. "Whatever you want, Blaine. Oh…and you should speak to Kurt about the money for charity."

"Alright. I'll see you soon, then."

Blaine shook Burt's hand and walked out of the office, not knowing how to feel exactly. There was an envelope of cash burning in his inside pocket, and the probability that somehow he'd wind up using it in help of the family.

Before he got to the elevator, Carole caught up to him. "Oh, Blaine, it's so good you've taken the job. We've all been worried you wouldn't…and things have already been so hard without your father."

She put her arm through his and led him to the sitting room. "Now, I need some help, Blaine. I've been trying to figure out what to do about Finn. I don't know if you've noticed, but he'd been slowly getting into a bit of a problem."

Blaine didn't know exactly what she was referring to, but he let her push him into a chair.

"He's been drinking," Carole said finally, "too much. Doesn't seem to stop. Kurt got rid of all the alcohol last week, but I guess he sent out for more or bought it himself…we don't know…but he just spends all his time at home just drinking away at his leisure."

Alcoholism was something Blaine knew just about everything about. He didn't know if Carole actually knew how much of a sore subject it was with him, but he let her go on, keeping his back straight.

"Well, I don't know how I can do anything to help. It's you that should…"

She cut him off. "We always went to Drew with things like these. He…he knew how to handle these issues. He was going to talk to Finn when he…but then the pla…" Carole didn't finish, instead looking a bit shaken, "could you talk to him, do you think?"

Blaine stared at her, not sure what he was supposed to say. Was this even part of his job? He was a lawyer, not some sort of psychologist. He opened his mouth to say as much to Carole, but she was already moving around the room.

"Thank you, Blaine, so much."

Blaine stared after her as she walked off. He didn't understand. Had his dad really planned on being the one to talk to Finn? What was he supposed to say? And if this was apparently part of his job, what else did he have to do for them? Suddenly despite still knowing it had been the right choice, he did wonder just what exactly he'd signed up for.