“Anderson!”

Blaine groaned quietly in his cup. It was too goddamn early to deal with his stupid boss and he’d much rather drown himself in the shitty instant coffee than actually hold a conversation with the smarmy bastard. Nevertheless, he looked up from his dreary coffee with an exasperated sigh. “Yes?”

Sebastian slinked into his office, leaning casually against his doorway. “We’ve got another one.”

Excitement sparked in Blaine’s veins and he leapt out of his chair, nearly overturning his coffee. “Where?” he asked breathlessly as he grabbed his trench coat and fedora. “What, no, let me guess. Central District? Downtown? Chinatown?”

“Woah there,” Sebastian laughed, half-annoyed, half-nervous. “No, the east side. But where’s the ‘Hi, Sebastian! How’s your day?’ Just one mention of this guy has you running? Should I be jealous?"

Blaine refrained from the eye roll that he was dying to do because Sebastian was his boss. “Jealous that I’m hell-bent on sending this guy to prison? Why? Have any incriminating evidence against you, Smythe?”

Sebastian clenched his jaw in annoyance before letting Blaine pass.

“Chang! Find Lopez and I’ll be back in an hour!” he shouted as he ran out.

“Seriously? Another one?” Mike groaned.

“Maybe this time we’ll be able to put the Canary in a cage,” Blaine grinned. The door slammed behind him.

***

It used to be an old warehouse. Hadn’t been used for five years and nobody lived nearby.

Now it was a pile of smoking rubble, completely destroyed. Well, except for one thing. 

Over the past month, four buildings had gone up in flames, all of them blown up. But in the remains of each was a metal safety box with a small card in it.

Blaine picked up the box, easily opening it to find the cream-colored card with a gold canary on it. He turned it over in his gloved hand.

A smirk curled his lips.

***

“Listen Chief, I’m telling you, these explosives are linked back to Karofsky, I know it!”

“And what,” Chief Schuester sighed, turning back to an over-eager Blaine. “Would this city’s crime lord gain from blowing up a couple of oil drums in the middle of nowhere?”

“I...” Blaine bit his tongue. “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.”

“Right,” Schuester nodded skeptically. He clapped him on the shoulder.“Listen, Anderson. You’re a good junior detective. We might even bump you up one day. But don’t go looking for fire where there’s smoke.”

“Pretty sure you you just mixed up metaphors,” Blaine mumbled as the Chief walked away.

“Robbery!” 

Blaine whipped his head around as one of the trainees, Mike Chang, ran into the station. “There’s been a robbery at the Ryerson party!”

Everyone and their cat knew about the Ryerson party. Thrown by Sandy Ryerson, one of the most ridiculously flamboyant men that Blaine had the pleasure of not meeting, it was an annual party for Ohio’s wealthy blue bloods to get together and essentially flaunt their wealth.

Nearly the entire station emptied as they hurried over to the northeast side of town.

The patrons at the party were all furious, none of them seemingly damaged in any way. Blaine and Mike followed Schuester and Sebastian over to Ryerson, who was hysterically shouting at one of the waiters.

“Sandy!” Will shouted over Ryerson’s screeches. “Why don’t you calm down and tell us what happened?”

Ryerson took a deep breath, waving his hands around his face like he was trying to smooth out his wrinkles using the air around him. “Well William, we were all enjoying my fabulous masquerade and the evening was going just fine, when the singer jumped down from the piano, tore off her wig, and held up a bomb detonator! I never did like her, you see. She insulted my outfit. Frankly, I must say that I look better in a corset.”

They all cringed at the mental image.

“So...” Schuester shook his head slightly. “What happened after she held up the bomb detonator?” 

“She demanded all the money we had on our persons,” Ryerson sighed. “Which, as you can imagine, was quite a bit. Then she left the detonator in the middle of the room here and told us that if we moved it or if any of us came after her, it would explode. And all my precious china is in here!”

“Wait, what?” Sebastian snapped. “You have an explosive in here, and you didn’t even tell us first? Where is it?”

Ryerson pointed to the small rectangular device about ten feet to their left. 

“We’re going to need a bomb squad in here,” Schuester fired off into his walkie. “We have a--”

Blaine snorted, snapping his glove into place and walking over to the device.

“Anderson!” Chang called out in warning.

“It’s an ipod,” Blaine laughed, picking it up. “A pretty old one too, must be at least seven years old.” He turned back to the dumbfounded group. “Look, you can see the paint chipping away. It’s just an old ipod.”

He flipped it over. There was something taped to the back. A cream business card with a gold canary on it. He turned the card over.

“Better luck next time, blazered boys in blue!”

***

Forensics revealed nothing, as usual. Just an irregular pattern at which the explosives were detonated, much like the previous three. 

Blaine stared at the patterns, strewn across his desk. There had to be a connection, they weren’t just random...

“Dapper Dan!”

Blaine rolled his eyes, but smiled affectionately. “What have you got for me, Santana.”

“Close to nothing,” she sighed, collapsing sideways in his comfy chair. “I’ve run all my leads, but no one knows a thing about him.”

“We don’t know if the Canary’s male,” Blaine huffed.

Santana clucked her tongue. “Honey, you’re gayer than the fourth of July--”

“Hark who’s talking,” Blaine muttered darkly. 

“And the whole town knows it. Why would he leave you those notes if he wasn’t a guy and queer as a three dollar bill?” Santana smirked.

Blaine flushed at the mention of the notes. “Yeah, well, back in the Ryerson case, the Canary was put down as a girl--”

“Who took off her wig and dress and was wearing a corset.” Santana shrugged. “Fashion’s just a bit more broad on our side of the fence. Sounds like a lad to me. Plus there was never really an a clear description of the Canary since it was a masquerade.And why would a girl keep asking you out?”

“Santana,” Blaine snapped, but the sharpness was dulled by his blush.

“Just saying, Dapper Dan. But this might cheer you up. Apparently there’s another name floating around with the Canary.”

“Oh, please tell me it’s Karofsky,” Blaine leaned in closer. “Life would be so much easier trying to find either of them.”

“Nope,” Santana shook her head. “Someone called the Bicorn. Whatever the hell that means.”

“Seriously?” Blaine frowned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“It’s...well, basically, it’s a unicorn with two horns instead of one.”

Santana snorted. “Wait, seriously? And someone voluntarily chose that nickname? Well this should be a hoot.”

“Yeah...” Blaine trailed off, staring at the patterns. “Okay, well the last three patterns all have explosives detonating at precise strict intervals, but all of them are seemingly random and none of them match the others.” He threw his pen down. “Why? What is he trying to tell us?”

“Aha!” Santana laughed, pointing at him. “You said ‘him’. You’ve finally accepted it!”

Blaine sighed, rolling his eyes. “Well, the Canary seems like a highly intelligent person, and unless he too was a homosexual male, he most likely wouldn’t be asking me out, yes Santana, you’re correct, you can stop gloating now.”

She laughed as she walked out of his office, leaving him to puzzle.

***

“Blaine, this is the fifth day and we’ve been at it since two in the morning. We’re going to break eventually,” Mike groaned as he tapped his foot against a box. 

“I know,” Blaine groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry guys, we’ll call it a day soon.”

“Smythe’s getting pissed at you as well,” Santana clucked from behind her stack of files.

“This is the Canary,” Blaine said exasperatedly. “Does he really expect us to be done with it in just a couple of days? The first time we ran across him at Ryerson’s was four years ago and that case remained unsolved until he showed up again a month ago. Honestly, what the hell does Smythe expect from me?”

“Besides your mouth around his cock?” Santana smirked.

“No he doesn’t--”

“Blaine, you are the best detective I know,” Mike sighed, tapping his foot. “But honestly, you are completely oblivious when it comes to social cues.”

Blaine scoffed. “No I’m not.”

Their resounding laughter said otherwise.

“Remember when the Canary first came back?” Mike laughed.

“Yeah! And the card--” Santana was cut off by her own cackles.

Blaine rolled his eyes.

***

“Anderson.”

Blaine hurried out of his office, straightening his tie. “Yes?”

Nearly the whole team was assembled. Schuester handed him a pair of gloves. “That old apartment building that was just blown up? Well, one thing was left in the wreckage. I think you’ll find it familiar...” He held out a plastic forensics bag.

Blaine took it, carefully pulling out the cream card. “The Canary?” he asked, astonished. 

Schuester nodded. “It seems like the same one from four years ago, in Ryerson’s case. Can you verify that?”

Blaine nodded. “Same paper, same gold leaf...” He flipped it over excitedly. “Same pen and handwriting! Another note’s written...”

“What does it say?” Schuester asked excitedly, and the others leaned in.

Blaine just spoke aloud as he read. “Hey Anderson, want to grab dinner some time?”

He froze in mortification as the station rang with laughter. He tried to beat down his blush as he turned back to Schuester. “Chief, you have to let me take this case. Clearly the Canary is up to some kind of deal if I’m involved.”

Schuester thought it over for a minute. “Well, I guess you’re the best man for the job. Who’s gonna be on your team?”

Sebastian eyed him eagerly.

“Chang and Lopez,” Blaine said quickly. “I want to work with Chang and Lopez.”

***

“I must’ve been out of my mind choosing you two to work with,” Blaine muttered as Mike and Santana finally quieted their laughter.

“Oh, quit your griping, you know that we the only two here competent enough to work with you, Dapper Dan.” Santana rolled her eyes.

“That’s not saying much,” Blaine snarked under his breath as he went back to paperwork.

He was quickly distracted. “Mike, what are you tapping out?”

Mike froze. “This song that I’ve been dancing to for the past couple of months. Sorry, I can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine sighed. He glanced at the clock. 3:52. “My mind’s just feeling groggy. I think you’re both right. Let’s break. Grab some food. We’ve been at this for far too long.”

***

The afternoon light was almost offending to Blaine’s eyes as he headed to Brewster, his coffee shop of choice. Something else was niggling on the back of his mind. That thing that Mike had been doing with his foot bugged him for some reason...

“Hey, Blaine!” the cheery gothic barista chirped from behind the counter.

“Hey Tina,” he smiled bleakly.

“Wow, you look horrible,” she tsked. “Though, it’s nice to see the curls free for a change.”

“Ha ha,” Blaine intoned dryly. “Can I get the usual, please?”

“One medium drip coming right up,” she saluted. “Just sit in your regular corner, I’ll have it brought out to you.”

“Thanks, Tina. You’re a life-saver,” he said gratefully as he headed over to his usual table. 

He pulled out his laptop and the notebook with the patterns written in it. Why had Mike’s tapping bothered him? He looked at the patterns and started tapping them out--

He froze.

No.

No way.

He thought back to college, music theory class... But there was no way--

He opened his laptop, typing frantically. Music theory, rhythms, intonation.

It wasn’t a code.

It was a song.

The four explosion patterns matched perfectly with metric rhythms of the first four lines of the Beatles’ song “Blackbird.”

Blaine grinned. “Our Canary’s singing.”

“Here you go! One medium drip!”

Blaine tried not to blush as he accepted the drink from his favorite barista with a smile.

“Thank you, Kurt.”