Kurt was floating on his own personal cloud nine as he rode the elevator back up to his high rise. The post-Wicked dinner with Blaine had been amazing. The meet-up went smoothly enough; Blaine took his friend to the subway before meeting Kurt at the coffee shop where their pasts first crossed. From there they wandered mostly—Kurt steering them clear of The Olivia and Blaine seeming determined to keep them out of East Chelsea. They wound up in a restaurant in Little Italy, where they watched the couples strolling past, headed to bars and concert halls.

Blaine had been full of stories about the show, and Kurt had been more than willing to listen. It was interesting, seeing this regular guy talk about musical theatre. Kurt’s people spent so much time talking about his newest project that Kurt almost forgot that other artists existed. Kurt said as much during a lull in Blaine’s play-by-play of the first act; Blaine dropped his story and asked about Kurt’s professional life, and when Kurt balked at the questions:

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. I mean, we’re in public and everything…”

But Kurt told as much as he could, about Emma and Roz and the rest of his entourage; the good times they had during rehearsals, the first couple of gatherings he’d been cleared to go to without Terri being there to watch over him like a demented hawk. Blaine and he had laughed for hours about Finn and the dancing lessons Brittany gave him when he complained about dancers not keeping rhythm to his beats, Sebastian’s many drunken Karaoke solos, and Sugar’s attempts to convince Kurt and Dustin that a subwoofer was just the thing to make the bass line stand out on the CD.

And if Kurt dropped hints that not everything was completely perfect, Blaine didn’t probe. So the dinner was most definitely a success.

However, dinner was behind him—now Kurt was back at The Olivia, waiting for the elevator to open to his apartment, at 3 Thursday morning. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that someone would be waiting on him once he stepped over the threshold. He hoped it was Emma; she was easier to handle than Roz, and compared to Terri, Emma was practically a fuzzy woodland creature. Emma he could convince that his jaunt was necessary and not totally unprofessional.

So of course it’s Terri perched in the ‘parent pose’ Kurt had only seen in movies—sitting back in the lone armchair, ominously in the shadows except for the relief cast on her face from the lamp on the coffee table. If it weren’t for the fact that she rearranged his furniture for the effect, Kurt would have been terrified.

“Taken up interior decorating, Ter? I gotta say, you’re no Sandy Ryerson, but you’re showing some real potential. I’m loving the ‘psychotic’ air you’ve given the sitting room.”

“You aren’t funny, Kurt.”

“Not even a little?” He moved to the center of the room, crossing his arms and preparing for battle. If Kurt was hard to handle if he woke up with too little sleep, Terri was just as bad if she stayed up too late. Kurt had to prepare for the worst.

“Do you realize how bad your little stunt could make us look? People are bound to realize you just don’t care about keeping your obligations. We said you came down with a case of food poisoning, but trying to make up sessions with Leno, the tailor, and the tour producers is going to be damn near impossible. We had this stuff booked for months.”

He beat down the guilt she was trying to make surface.

“The tailor and producers shouldn’t be that hard to get into contact with; aren’t we all under contract or something?”

“You’re missing the point. You can’t just up and leave every time you feel like it. It’s unprofessional.”

Kurt bristled. Making accusations already? Terri was an idiot if she thought Kurt was about to lie there and accept whatever she threw at him.

“No, what’s really unprofessional is planning random dinner dates with underage movie starlets who have less personality than old bath water, and then trying to force them on someone who has made it obvious they are not interested in said starlet.”

“It isn’t unprofessional, it’s business. Alix has got a lot of good things going for her, and so do you. It only makes sense to pair you up right now—”

“Pair us up?” Kurt said, and if his voice was a little louder than it should have been for the wee hours of a Thursday morning, too bad. “What are we, some purebred dog and bitch being mated or something? I’m not fucking with the Ayerson circle just because it seems like a good idea.”

“I would appreciate it if you watched the way you spoke to me.” Terri hadn’t moved since Kurt entered the apartment. Kurt hadn’t noticed until she raised her hands to her lips, fingertips pressed together. If felt like she was analyzing him, and she probably was. Looking for the one thing to say that could bring Kurt back under her control.

“I’m not asking you to marry the girl, just make friends. You never know what connections she’ll have.”

“But if I’m making friends because of her connections, I’m not really making friends, just using her to get ahead.”

“Exactly.” Terri nodded, expression lightening since Kurt seemed to be understanding.

“But wouldn’t that make us fake? Especially once she hits the scandal a young movie star is prone to have and drives that sterling reputation and its connections into the ground and we stop talking with her and her people?”

Terri sighed, exasperated. “You’re extrapolating. There’re no signs that she’s headed that way—”

“Or were there for the Olsen twins. Or Lindsay Lohan. Or—”

“Enough with the commentary. Alix has talent and people out to make sure she reaches her potential.” Kurt rolled his eyes. Sure Alix had potential, just as much as Kurt showed real promise at juvenile dentistry. “I had been wondering why they felt she needed so many people around, and after your little stunt, I’m thinking I understand.”

Understand? Understand what? She’d pulled the rug from under Kurt’s feet; he wasn’t sure were the argument had gone. Terri took his silence as one of wonderment and continued.

“We need more people here to make sure you keep on track. Especially if you’re going to take impromptu personal days.” She picked up her phone from the end table and pressed a button. Kurt watched warily as the call was placed, wondered suspiciously when she snapped out “Send them up.”

But he understood when two guys walked off the elevator and sized him up. One was short and stocky; he looked more equipped for a day of watching pay-per-view sports channels than for standing around a million-dollar high-rise in the middle of the Theatre District. His piggy eyes darted around the living room, and Kurt felt the need to scrub down everything that caught his gaze. The other was taller, and seemed to be well-muscled under his t-shirt, his arms brawny and crossed intimidatingly over his chest.

“Terri, what are you doing?” Kurt asked, eyeing the men warily. He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted Terri to say it.

“Making sure this…thing doesn’t happen again. These are Carl and Ken; at least one of them is going to be nearby at all times, making sure you’re safe and accounted for.”

“So they’re babysitters.”

“We prefer to be called bodyguards, actually.” The taller one said “Since that’s what we do.”

“Bodyguards who are apparently going to be staying in my apartment when I’m here, and trailing around to make sure I don’t get lost or into trouble. Sounds like babysitting to me.”

The stocky one moved forward. “Hey. We just happen to be some of the best in the business. They trained us in jujitsu, tae kwon do, and plain old street fighting.” He took a second to readjust the waistband of his shorts. “I’ve personally taken down professional wrestlers just to prove that I could. Nothing’s gonna get past me.”

Kurt stared. He had adopted a very smug expression, waiting on someone to ask him about the wrestler, but no-one was interested. Kurt didn’t have Pilates in the morning and unless Terri scheduled something while he was out yesterday he didn’t have plans until eleven; he really wanted to get to bed. He shot a glare at the men and Terri.

“You have hired idiots, I don’t approve of babysitters, and I swear that you will regret this decision.” Kurt said. He moved towards his room as Terri finally stood.

“Are you threatening me, Kurt?” he turned around and gave an obviously well-rehearsed smile.

“Never, Terri.”

The taller babysitter moved to follow Kurt to his room and Kurt rounded on him.

“Let me make it clearer than I already have: I. Don’t. Want. You. Here. Stay out of my way and you won’t have any problems, but if I wake up and find either of you in my room there will be hell to pay; and that is a threat.”

He didn’t hear anything past Terri’s scandalized “Kurt!” as he slammed the door and turned the lock home. The nerve of the woman, calling people to watch him like he couldn’t be trusted.

Granted, he had spent 24 hours in disguise in one of the largest cities in America. But if Terri had taken into account that there is more to life than the next project or venture he wouldn’t have felt the need to disappear for a while. And he also wouldn’t have met Blaine. Meeting him had been a good thing; for the first time since freshman year Kurt had someone he felt he could tell things to without them getting jealous or turning the conversation to get Kurt in trouble. Kurt could have normal conversations now. So he didn’t regret the sneaking out—he would force himself to deal with the consequences. Ken and Carl may have been able to keep Kurt from leaving the premises, but they wouldn’t be able to stop him from talking to people.

Kurt emptied his pockets of the day’s spoils: candy wrappers (since when did a king size Kit-Kat substitute a meal?), loose change (who knew quarters could be so heavy?), restaurant menus and calling cards (did he really stop at that many restaurants?), his wallet, his phone. He checked for any messages he might have missed during his confrontation and saw one from Blaine.

Coffee Mate [2:34am]: I got back fine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rache this mad…oops? It was fun though.

Coffee Mate [2:35am]: let me know when you make it home, okay?

Coffee Mate [2:37am]: or not. Since I’ll hear about it if you actually *do* go missing.

Coffee Mate [2:37am]: god. I’m going to stop texting now.

Coffee Mate [3:02am]: okay, so I lied. Are you okay?

Kurt chuckled. Blaine must not be from a very big town, if not answering for about a half-hour is enough to make him nervous.

Ohmigod [3:12am]: sorry about that. couldn’t hear the phone over the trains. then i got in a little trouble and really didn’t feel it going off. but i’m home now.

Coffee Mate [3:13am]: glad you’re home safe. trouble?

Ohmigod [3:14am]: ya my manager was waiting for me in my living room and she wasn’t happy. i have babysitters now :/

Coffee Mate [3:15am]: i’m sorry for you. But at the same time i don’t blame her?

Ohmigod [3:15am]: hey now who’s side are you on?

Coffee Mate [3:16am]: I’m just saying. You’re a little too well-known to try that kind of thing too often. People can be bad crazy sometimes. And having a little brawn to help you out can only be a good thing…

Ohmigod [3:17am]: what are you even? the voice of reason?

Kurt hit send before he had a chance to register what he’d said. Shit. There were the claws. He knew he could be catty when people told him no, and he was usually pretty good about unleashing his inner bitch only on Terri when she deserved it. The problem here was that Kurt was in the wrong—he knew it, Terri knew it, and apparently Blaine knew it—and he didn’t want the fact that most of America knew his name to distract from his being newly legalized and needing to live his own life. He sighed and picked his phone back up again.

Ohmigod [3:20am]: crap. sorry. you and terri are right, i just don’t want them around just yet. i’m gonna head to bed. text you later?

It was a while before Blaine replied; long enough for Kurt to have showered, put on his pajamas, and started his skin care regimen before he heard the familiar buzzing of the phone’s vibrating.

Coffee Mate [4:23am]: it’s fine, you wer mad, i get it. and sure. wish i could be you; i’m headed to the District again. rush for Chicago tciketes. kill me it would b kinder than this…

Ohmigod [4:25am]: you don’t seem very excited. all those women running around in lingerie with garters everywhere…

Coffee Mate [4:27am]: not interestd. i got to sleep mayb and hour nad then had to get up again. i can tough ti alone tho. you go to sellp okay?

Coffee Mate [4:28am]: typos yes. dont care. text u eventaluly.

Ohmigod [4:29am]: jesus, blaine. go find some coffee…

Coffee Mate [4:29am]: GO TO BED KURT

What did he mean, ‘not interested?’ Kurt wondered as he pulled the covers over his head. Not interested in sitting rush, or not interested in the women themselves?

Kurt didn’t want to think about that any further. Blaine had to be nervous because Kurt was a singer he really liked from an aesthetic standpoint. That had to be it.

Because it would make no sense for a boy like that to want another boy, period.

__ ________

Kurt awoke at ten to the blaring radio of his alarm clock and a slew of messages from Blaine.

Coffee Mate [5:34am]: i really odn’t get why wer’re awake right now.

Coffee Mate [5:35am]: the ambassador doesen’t even OPEN until 12.

Coffee Mate [5:45am]: and NOBODY ELSE IS OUT HERRE

Coffee Mate [6:50am]: and she wont let us stop fo r coffee

Coffee Mate [6:55am]: im not allowed to go get nay by myself…

Coffee Mate [7:15am]: we’re going back to the hsoelt BLESS

Coffee Mate [8:22am]: ugh. bed yes. night.

Poor kid. From the times they had texted before, Blaine had to be exhausted to be hitting random buttons on his Blackberry and not bothering to correct them. Either that or his spelling generally sucked, which wasn’t likely. Was he meaning to text Kurt, even?

Ohmigod [10:15am]: okay so i’m the only person you’re allowed to drunk text. especially if you livetext everything.

Ohmigod [10:45am]: Hello?

Ohmigod [11:00am]: I know you all have to be up by now to catch the subway…

Maybe he had forgotten his phone. Which wasn’t likely. He could have just been busy, not feeling it go off. At any rate, the car had arrived to whisk Kurt and one of the bodyguards (the stocky one, who told Kurt he was Ken as he ate half of the muesli Kurt fixed for breakfast) away to Choreography.