Santana dipped the brush in the can of green paint and then furiously attacked the wall with it. There were stains of paint on her arms and pajama top, but she didn’t actually care or notice. Part of her wanted to focus on this, on painting the room for her first son. But the rest of her was just looking for an escape from all the tension that her body carried. And there were only so many hours one could spend at the gym unloading her frustrations on a sandbag or treadmill.

“San?” Brittany’s sleepy voice said behind her. “What are you doing? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need to get this done. The baby’s due soon,” Santana replied without even turning. She still needed to assemble the furniture. Maybe she could do that tonight, too…

“Are you okay?” Brittany asked, coming into the room. She had a frown on her sweet face. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

“This is the only time I have to do this. I have to be at the office early in the morning, and we both know my weekends are non-existent, so…” Santana paused when she felt Brittany’s hand on her arm. She finally turned to look at her wife, and her heart almost broke at the look of confusion and worry in her turquoise eyes. “Britt…”

“What is it?” She murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened at the office today,” Santana spilled at last. She could never hide things from Brittany for long. She had figured out Santana planned to propose at least two weeks before it actually happened. “You know, with Sam sure someone went through his stuff. Nothing was missing. Castro checked with security at the lobby but no one suspicious got inside the night before. And Hart checked all the security footage, but he found nothing.”

“So maybe it was nothing. Maybe he just thought…” Brittany suggested, always the optimist, but Santana interrupted her.

“No. I don’t think that’s the case. I mean, Sam can be an unbearable imbecile sometimes, with his impressions and his upsettingly huge lips, but he’s a good guy, a good agent. I trust his instincts. He wouldn’t waste my time if he wasn’t sure,” Santana explained. She dropped the paintbrush and ran a hand down her tired face.

“San, please come back to bed. There’s nothing you can do now…” Brittany pleaded. She sighed. “You know, you always go on and on about how Blaine needs a break, but it’s not only him who had a rough year.”

“I’m fine,” Santana said immediately, almost a reflex.

“You could have died that night, Santana,” Brittany exclaimed. “And you haven’t stopped to even think about that. You never stop.”

“I have work to do. And I can’t… Blaine lost his father and his brother, Britt. His brother died saving me,” Santana said, her voice cracking. “I can’t pay Cooper back for what he did. But I can try and make it up to Blaine.”

“That’s an insanely heavy thing to carry on your shoulders,” Brittany whispered. She watched her wife, but Santana didn’t look like she wanted to keep talking about it. “Please, come back to bed with me. You are almost never home. I want to be close to you. We want to be close to you. Please?”

Santana was never able to say no to Brittany when she was like this. She sighed and smiled softly at her, accepting the hand that Brittany was already offering her. She turned the nursery light off as she went. She had time to finish painting before the baby arrived.

She even had time to catch that bastard before the baby arrived.

*

Kurt had never dreaded breakfast as much as he did that morning. He left the bedroom almost reluctantly, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen slowly, like a wild animal ready to bolt at the first sign of human life.

The smell of coffee was the only thing that persuaded him not to just hide back in bed for the rest of the day. His stomach growled at the thought of a good dose of caffeine. And, he thought, he couldn’t hide from Blaine forever.

Blaine was at the kitchen sink, washing a few dishes. He didn’t even turn when Kurt walked in. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee, if you want a cup. We ran out of eggs, but you can have some bacon or toast. I’ll ask Manuel to do a supermarket run later.”

As Kurt poured himself a cup of coffee, he studied Blaine’s back. There was always tension in his muscles, so it was hard to say if he was still upset about the night before. “Thanks, I’m not hungry.”

Blaine dried his hands and finally turned. Kurt studied his eyes, but he couldn’t see anything there. He wasn’t sure what kind of sign he was looking for, but Blaine was giving out none. “Alright. I’ll go take a shower.”

“Okay.”

And that was it. Kurt sat at the kitchen table and groaned. Things had at least been nice until yesterday. They had been getting along, joking, talking about books and Broadway. But now… Kurt hoped, more than ever, that the FBI would catch the killer, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he and Blaine could remain under the same roof.

*

Kurt had felt isolated before, knowing he wasn’t allowed to see his brother, to go to work, to just cross the front door and go wherever he wanted. But it was nothing compared to what he felt now.

Blaine was avoiding him. There was no other way to describe it. They didn’t even share meals anymore. Blaine disappeared, going outside to work-out or help Manuel around the ranch, and they barely even crossed a word or two during the day.

Bitterness started growing steady inside of Kurt. Why did he have to be so stupid? Why hadn’t he thought before he moved and kissed Blaine?

And the worst of it all was that Kurt actually had an answer to those questions: he was so attracted to Blaine he didn’t know what to do about it.

He had gone through a series of decent boyfriends, but no one who could make his knees weak, who would make his heart rate raise wildly when they walked into a room. He had felt love before, but he hadn’t known this need, this passion that threatened to explode out of his veins. Yes, it had been a while since he had last dated anyone, but that had been a personal choice: he had been cast in the ensemble, and he wanted to focus on the job, try to work his way up to maybe becoming an understudy, if he couldn’t go any further. He had wanted to focus on his career, but he didn’t realize how lonely he had felt until now, when loneliness was all he could feel.

What was he supposed to do? He still had no idea how long he would have to stay in this house. What if this was all he had left, for the rest of his life? If the killer was never caught, would he never be allowed to go back to his old life?

Or would Blaine just get sick of babysitting him and pass him on to another agent, another location, another kind of isolation?

He wondered if maybe it wasn’t better to try to talk to Blaine about what had happened. He wasn’t sure what he could say, but maybe if he apologized again… but how would he even get the chance to do that, if Blaine didn’t stay in a room with him long enough to utter a single word?

*

Whenever he had a day off, Finn usually parked himself on the couch in his underwear, ate chips and watched movies or played videogames. It was his favorite way to unwind, even if Kurt told him there wasn’t anything stressful about wearing at least pajama pants.

But he didn’t know what to do with Rachel in the apartment.

They were sitting together on the couch, their backs too straight to be comfortable, watching the news. Finn hated watching the news, but whenever he changed the channel to something he liked better, he could see her doing a grimace out the corner of his eye. So she wasn’t into zombies, sports or horror movies. What was he supposed to do?

He didn’t know if she was allowed any days off. It seemed unfair that she had to stay with him 24/7. Didn’t she have a family to go home to? A boyfriend? Friends she wanted to spend time with? A cat that needed to be fed?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Finn asked out of nowhere, and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for going with that option. Why couldn’t he had asked about a cat?

Rachel, who had been in the process of reaching for the popcorn on the coffee table, froze in place. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, so red that Finn was scared she would combust. “I… don’t, actually.” She sat back on the couch and carefully placed a strand of hair behind her ear, not looking at him. She was obviously making an effort to sound casual when she said: “Why do you ask?”

Finn felt as if his chest was suddenly filled with more air that his lungs could work with. He probably had to fart. He had been holding back farts a lot since Rachel had come live with him. “I was just wondering. It must suck to be stuck here with me every day. I bet you wish you could go do something else.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Rachel answered. Her face became even redder. “I mean… it’s my job. Of course I don’t mind.”

“Oh cool. I was afraid I was being a huge inconvenience,” Finn replied, still not sure if he believed her.

An awkward silence followed his words. They both fidgeted on the couch and watched the TV, where a man was telling the reporter about a robbery. Finn frowned, not paying attention, his head elsewhere. It didn’t feel like a fart.

They both moved in for the popcorn at the same time and knocked their heads together painfully. They groaned in pain, Rachel sitting back down against the back of the couch, hand covering half her forehead and her left eye. Finn was used to getting hit in the head (football was wild), but he was usually wearing a helmet.

“Ow, I’m sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you…”

Finn blinked at her, the pain already melting away. “Is your eye okay?”

“It stings, I probably got a hair in it or something,” Rachel answered, rubbing her eye with her hand. “Oh jeez, I hate when that happens…”

“Let me see,” Finn inched closer, leaned towards her and gently removed her hand. “Can you blink for me?”

Rachel looked up at him. She gasped. She didn’t think they had ever been this close…

Finn’s gaze flashed quickly down to her lips. He licked his own, as if considering what to do next. His hand was warm and big against her cheek, and she could feel the way his chest moved as he breathed. With one more look down to her mouth, Finn began to lean in more…

“Errands!” Rachel screamed, scaring them both, making Finn jump back to the other end of the couch.

“W-what?” He asked in absolute confusion.

“I just remembered. I have errands. I do need some time off.” She got up. “I have to call the office. I have to talk to Captain Jones.”

Finn watched her retreat down the hallway towards her room. He groaned in frustration. She had scared her away. What made him think she wanted to kiss him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to kiss her. Even if her lips looked really soft, and she smelled really nice, and her skin seemed so smooth and perfect to the touch. And her big brown eyes always seemed so earnest, he would have willingly fallen right into them…

Oh, Finn thought. Oh, shit.

It was almost an hour later when Rachel resurfaced. Finn hadn’t moved an inch, too bewildered by his thoughts to do anything. He looked up at her, who cleared her throat awkwardly.

“I called the office, they are sending a replacement,” she communicated in a very formal voice that didn’t sound much like her. “You have nothing to worry about, your safety is the FBI’s top concern.”

“I thought the FBI’s top concern was catching the killer and protecting my brother,” Finn murmured dumbly.

“Well, of course. You and your brother are a package deal of sorts,” Rachel nodded. She grabbed her bag, which Finn hadn’t noticed until know. “Anyway…” The sound of someone pounding on the apartment door interrupted her. “Oh, right on time.”

Finn stood up nervously. He didn’t want Rachel to go. It had taken a while for him to get used to having someone in his apartment all the time, but in the end, it had been nice to have her company. He wished there was something more meaningful to say that I’m sorry.

Rachel opened the door. Agent Lopez stood on the other side, and she seemed to be in a terrible mood.

“Berry, as usual, you have the most awful timing,” she said, not bothering with a greeting and not even sparing Finn a glance as she came inside. “I have a lot to take care of at the bureau.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Rachel said softly. “I just need a day off, that’s all.”

Santana snorted. “You and me both, sugar.” She walked past Finn and went straight for the couch. She grabbed the bowl of popcorn, put her feet on the coffee table and changed the channel to a Mexican telenovela.

Finn stared at her, eyes wide. He didn’t like this one bit. He turned to beg Rachel to stay, but when he looked back at the door, she was already gone.

“Can you get me a diet soda?” Santana said, and even though she phrased it as a question, it was pretty much an order.

Finn considered chasing Rachel down the stairs, but Santana arched an impatient eyebrow at him, and he scattered to the kitchen.

Between Santana and the killer, he would much rather deal with the killer.

*

The afternoon sun was hot on his back. Blaine’s shirt was sticking to his skin with sweat. He thought about going inside and getting a glass of water, but as he glanced towards the house, he saw Kurt sitting at the kitchen table, staring miserably at the typewriter.

He decided to stay outside.

He grabbed a straw bale, his muscles straining with the effort, and carried it inside the stable, where Manuel was refilling the horses’ troughs with water.

“Where do you want this, Manuel?” Blaine asked.

The man turned towards him and pointed at the wall next to him. “Right here is fine. Thank you for your help, señor Blaine. An old man like me… I can’t carry the heavy stuff like I used to…”

Blaine smiled at him as he set the straw bale down. “I’m happy to help. And I told you, it’s just Blaine. We’ve known each other forever. There’s no need for formality.”

“I may have seen you run around this ranch butt-naked when you were a little boy, but I still work for you, you know?” Manuel pointed out with a chuckle.

Blaine rolled his eyes. “You work for my mother. She’s the actual owner of the ranch. I just drop by for occasional visits.”

“Not often enough, if you ask me,” Manuel said, following Blaine outside as he went to get another straw bale. “Big cities… they wear you down. You look like you need some good Maryland air…”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Blaine shrugged, and carried the next bale. “It’s just hard to find time to escape New York for a while. There’s always so much to do…”

“Yeah, yeah, you work, work, work all day long,” Manuel murmured, shaking his head in disapproval. “When do you have fun? La vida es corta, señor Blaine.”

Blaine piled up the second straw bale in the stable and turned back to Manuel with a little smirk on his face. “You’re one to talk. I don’t remember seeing you do anything but work. You live in the ranch, you spend your day with the animals, you never take breaks. I don’t even remember seeing you go on vacation.”

“Ah, but when you love something… it’s not work,” Manuel smiled at him, and Blaine had the feeling he was being slowly manipulated into a trap. “I have lived here all my life, raised my family here. I love every strand of grass, every breeze, every drop of water. When you love something, it’s not work. You take care of it, just because that’s what you do with the things you love.”

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest and studied him. “You’re going somewhere with this, aren’t you?”

Manuel pointed at the house with a meaningful look on his face. “You and señor Kurt. You’re having trouble, yes?”

Blaine made sure to school his face into something unreadable. He had a lot of practice with that, thanks to interrogating criminals and being friends with Santana. The woman could even extract secrets from statues. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You have spent the last two days with me, instead of being with your fiancé. I may have been handsome back in the day, but I don’t believe for a second you don’t prefer being with Kurt instead.”

Manuel could be frustratingly sassy for an old man.

When Blaine remained silent, and simply leaned towards the dog, who was taking a nap by the stable’s entrance, Manuel sighed. Blaine pretended not to hear and simply scratched behind the dog’s ears, who wagged his tail sleepily in content.

“Look, Blaine,” Manuel remarked, and Blaine couldn’t help smiling at the deliberate lack of formality. “I say this because I care about you just like if you were one of my own boys. But if you love someone… you don’t waste time on silly arguments. Don’t avoid him instead of talking things out. You and me know… they’re not going to be here forever. I would give my right arm, even my life, to see Daniela again, for just five more minutes. I’m sure you can think of a few persons you would like to see again…”

Blaine swallowed. There was a heavy knot in his throat that he didn’t seem able to get rid of. Cooper. My dad.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure you can find a solution. Together.”

Blaine nodded slowly, thoughtfully. This was a conversation he probably would have loved having with his own father or brother. He thought of when he was actually engaged, how easy it had seemed. He had never felt the need to go ask his family for relationship advice. And now that he needed it… there was no one to turn to.

“Would you risk everything to be with someone, even if you aren’t sure it can work out?” Blaine asked, unable to stop himself. “Do you think that even the possibility of that person being the one is worth the shot?”

He’s my assignment. I can’t risk this. I can’t. It could put him in danger. It could cloud my judgement. It could ruin everything. You’re just bored, you need to go back to work.

Then why did I feel the happiest I’ve felt in a long time when we kissed?

“Blaine,” Manuel said, a soft, understanding look on his face. “If love isn’t worth risking it all for, then what is?”

Manuel walked out of the stable, the dog fast at his heels, and Blaine was left alone, feeling dizzy with doubts.

*

The apartment in Brooklyn had been empty for days. Watchful, slimy green eyes barely looked away from the door, as if afraid to miss the man he had been watching out for if he even blinked.

He liked coming here. He liked watching the tension, the exhaustion, the frustration dripping from Agent Anderson. Sometimes he fantasized about following him to the door, surprising him as he fished the keys out of his pockets. Would he look surprised, afraid? Would he even have time to reach for his gun before the knife went through his stomach?

But it wasn’t as much fun without him here. He thought maybe Agent Anderson had gone stay with the man with the pretty blue eyes, but his apartment was empty too. He had a nice apartment. Everything had been in its place, smiling faces staring back from family pictures. His sheets had smelled so sweet, too…

He wanted to find him. He needed to find him.

He had no doubt that wherever Anderson was, Pretty Man would be there, too. He was done waiting. It was time to hunt.

I’m coming for you, Kurt Hummel, he thought with a smile, as he turned around to walk away from the apartment. And I know exactly where to start looking for you…

A beautiful woman with long brown hair passed him on the sidewalk, looking both ways before hurrying to cross the street, like she was late getting somewhere. She looked distracted, and even from the distance, he could tell she had big, blue eyes.

Ah, but first, he said to himself. Let’s create the perfect distraction.

He crossed the street after her.

*