A warm stream of sunlight snuck through the crack in the curtain and fell across Blaine Anderson's cheek. The soft light warmed his face and he borrowed into the caressing plush of the pillow beneath his head. This peacefulness was on borrowed time and Blaine knew it. The beeping of his alarm would sound through the room any minute jarring him back to reality, back to responsibility.

Blaine let the alarm fill the room for as long has he could stand it before reaching to the bedside table and turning it off. He rolled over onto his back, resisting the urge to melt into the blankets. Stretching, Blaine finally opened his eyes. The clarity of the early morning sunlight spread through the room. Blaine rubbed at his eyes and pulled himself out of bed.

The small bar in the kitchen was littered with case files. Blaine was fresh out of law school and working for his father's law firm, Anderson and Smythe. This had always been the plan, since freshman year of high school, maybe earlier. James Anderson wasn't proud of his son and he never failed to remind Blaine of that. Blaine had to keep up the family name. It didn't matter that he was doing everything his father wanted, it didn't even matter that Blaine had graduated law school at the top of his class. His father took pleasure in seeing his disappointment of a son suffer. Since officially joining the firm, Blaine had been buried in case reviews. He was starting to feel like his father would never let him actually have a case.

Blaine started up the coffee maker and pulled a bagel from the pantry. Leaning against the counter waiting for his coffee, Blaine eyed the papers covering the bar and groaned. He couldn't believe he had put in all of that hard work, giving up what he wanted, to make his father proud and he was still being treated like dirt. Most of the interns were treated better than him.

A long shower later, Blaine was dressed and headed out the door. The young Anderson only lived a short walk away from the firm, in comparison to walking around New York City when he was attending Colombia, at least. The mid-november air was refreshing and Blaine almost forgot about where he was headed. It wasn't long before the tall building rose up in front of him. Blaine took a deep breath and headed inside, determined to keep the warm mood he was lucky enough to wake up with. Even the lobby, full of men and women in black suits, seemed less oppressive than usual.

There were more than a few people in the elevator when Blaine got on, just enough elbow room to be comfortable. Floor after floor, he made his way to the offices. The elevator came to another jarring halt, doors sliding open, to reveal a set of glass doors with Anderson and Smythe printed on them. He smiled warmly at the girl at the front desk as opened the door.

"Good Morning Blaine," she greeted him, joyfully smiling back at him.

"Good Morning Santana," Blaine returned. He came to stop in front of the tall desk.

"What's got you so, well, not pissed off to be here?." Blaine gripped the edge of the desk and leaned back a little.

"It's just a nice morning, San, don't you think?" Blaine grabbed his brief case, having placed it on top of the desk, and made his way passed several offices and into his own. Sitting in the middle of his desk was a stack of, maybe ten, new cases to review. Blaine sat down in the creaking chair and flipped through the files. There were a few divorce cases, some more people suing other people, the same types of things he had spent almost an entire year looking over. The high was already wearing off and he'd only just sat down. Blaine leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Pulling out the files from the previous day, he picked up the phone and paged Santana.

"Is he even here yet?" Blaine asked right out.

"Welcome back my little defiant friend. No, he has a meeting across town at another firm, expected back in a couple of hours. I'll get you some coffee." Santana was Blaine's only savior. She could read him like a book and always knew what he needed.

"I love you," Blaine sighed gratefully.

"If only I could take you up on that," Blaine could hear her smirk through the phone line, "give me a couple minutes and you'll have your coffee."

"Thanks, San." Hanging up the phone, Blaine got to work. He had a couple of files left to go over from the day before and the stack for today was only likely to get thicker. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door frame. Santana entered the small room and placed a large cup of coffee on the corner of Blaine's desk. I'd love to stay and chat but we seem to be having a busy morning." Santana walked back around the desk.

"See you for lunch?" Blaine asked as she reached the door. She glanced back, her smile a little mischievous, "Wouldn't miss it."

A deep voice sounded from down the hallway breaking Blaine out if his reading stride. He'd been working non-stop for over two hours, peacefully, which was a rare occasion. The voice, however distant, chilled him to the bone, body tensing up in immediate response. Footsteps in the hallway were getting closer. Mere seconds before the older Anderson turned into Blaine's office, his cell buzzed with a warning from Santana.

Rough morning. be prepared

All Blaine could manage was a groan before the looming presence of James Anderson took over his office. James had always known how to make a room uncomfortable. Blaine was sure it was a talent, while having previously existed, that was refined to its perfection because of himself.

"I need those cases from yesterday." Blaine gestured to the stack on the left side of his desk. "What about the ones I had Marissa leave on your desk?"

"You mean the ones I just got this morning? Do you think I'm some sort of machine?" Blaine rolled his eyes and scoffed at the way his father thought he was his own personal mindless slave.

"Do you have any of them done or not, Blaine?" He grabbed the file sitting on his right. He had just finished it a few minutes earlier.

"One. Here." Blaine picked up the file and thrust his arm across his desk, practically throwing it at James. He took the file, sure to show his disappointment as he turned and left the room. Blaine collapsed back into his chair. What do the interns here even do, he muttered to himself. It was genuinely amazing how fast the atmosphere in a room could change once James entered it. Blaine rubbed his face, massaging his cheeks and forehead, trying to put life back into his muscles. He glanced at the clock hanging to the right of the door. It was hardly eleven thirty. Deciding he needed to get out of the small office, Blaine took a walk out to the lobby to chat with Santana.

Hopefully the busyness that she had mentioned early had calmed down a little over the last couple of hours. There were a few people waiting for their appointments that he saw when he rounded the corner. Blaine leaned against the front desk waiting for Santana to finish with a client on the phone. Looking around the room there were various types of people. One man, comparatively dressed down, was bent over with his head in his hands. Every few seconds the man shifted, looking around impatiently. Blaine couldn't quite tell if he was angry or devastated, maybe even scared.

"What's that man's story, San? The one with the baseball cap," Blaine asked, having returned his attention to his friend. "Issues with someone's Last Will?" The usually snarky brunette shook her head, her face falling a little.

"His son went missing last night." Blaine's eyes widened.

"Shouldn't he be talking to the cops not looking for a lawyer, right now?"

"I would think. You know I don't really know anything. I'm guessing he knows who is responsible, maybe he knows his son was kidnapped and wants to be prepared to press charges." Blaine nodded at his friend. He looked back over at the man, trying to read him.

"I guess we can't sneak out and get lunch early, huh." Blaine said, acknowledging that several more clients had entered the lobby.

"No. Same time though. I'll let you know if things are still busy out here." Santana had started opening the appropriate things on the computer screen.

"See you in a bit, San." Blaine walked away from the front desk, nodding to the clients that were waiting for their appointments. He glanced at the man in the baseball cap who was sitting only a few feet in front of him. Blaine watched him curiously, the man was no longer hanging his head in his hands but was locking and unlocking his phone with a sad steady rhythm. He only hoped that someone at the firm could help him.

The late morning was dragging slowly into the early afternoon. Blaine's concentration was lost. He read sentences multiple times, sometimes only making it half way through before noticing he didn't actually comprehend what he had just read. Thought after thought kept pulling him back the man in the baseball cap. He had looked lost but somehow in control. Blaine wondered how old the man's son was and hoped that he was at least old enough to protect himself if he had indeed been kidnapped like Santana had suspected. Numerous people walked by the door to his office as they made their way back to the "real" lawyers.

Blaine found himself more interested than usual in seeing who passed by the small room. It only took a few people passing by for him to realize he was looking for the man who was taking over his thoughts. An hour had passed before he saw the familiar faded blue baseball cap, plaid shirt, and jeans pass in front of his door. Hoping that the knowledge that he was finally getting help would put his mind at rest, Blaine set to getting more work done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A deep shout from an office down the hall pulled Blaine out of his intense concentration. Shortly after his father's voice followed, loud as well, but stern. It was the tone he used when he was making a point, when he was letting someone know there was no other option and things were going to remain a certain way. Blaine knew it all too well.

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU ARE REFUSING TO TAKE MY CASE!" The shouting drifted, more like a wave crashing against a rocky shoreline in the heat of storm, past the other rooms. Blaine grabbed his cell phone from the edge of his desk.

Who is in James's office right now?

Burt Hummel. The guy with the missing kid.

I thought so.

Blaine?

Blaine?? What are you going to do?

Blaine!

The young Anderson had already put down his phone and started to leave the office. He went straight for the room at the end of the hall. He got there in time to see the man, looking completely furious, storm out. Blaine moved to the side, letting the man pass before he went into the office. He closed the door and turned to face James. Looking at his father, no one would be able to tell someone had just stormed out of his office. It was like nothing had happened.

"What was that about?" Blaine asked.

"I'm not taking his case. He wasn't happy about it." The dismissive tone made Blaine's skin itch.

"What was the case?"

"It doesn't matter does it? Don't you have work to be doing."

"Why won't you take it?" Blaine tried again.

"Because I don't believe that what he intends to charge will hold up in court." His father left it at that. James lifted his hand and flicked it toward his son, telling him the conversation was over and to leave.