Blaine and Kurt made it through Regionals and Sectionals, finishing just high enough each time to advance to the next level of competition. Suddenly, Nationals were upon them and Blaine found himself caught up in a whirlwind. The story of the temperamental diva skater and his ex-hockey player partner had been simmering for a while, but Nationals was where it really boiled over. The seemingly endless stream of interviews seemed to be broken up only by the short periods of time that they spent on the ice. By the end of the competition, Blaine was so sick of hearing himself speak that he wanted to scream.

Despite the distractions, he and Kurt had managed to finish eighth in the competition, well ahead of their goal. The reception from the media had been mostly positive, though not all the critics had been in love with their performance. Some members of the press picked apart Blaine's skills and found him wanting in a few areas, some even speculating that his performance was just smoke and mirrors aided by great choreography and an experienced partner. It was on the artistic side, though, that most of the criticism came. The words "tentative" and "slightly disconnected" were bandied about in several articles. Many writers put the blame for their lack of chemistry on Kurt's shoulders, saying that he appeared stiffer than in previous competitions, wondering if the emotion needed to bring the program to life was beyond the capabilities of a skater who'd always seemed so guarded and contained.

Blaine scanned a few of the articles and then vowed to read no more. They had one year to improve enough to finish in the top two in the 2018 championships and be guaranteed a spot in the Olympics and getting his confidence battered by reviews wouldn't help.

Isabelle had given them three days off after Nationals, telling them to rest up because they would begin working on choreography for their next programs as soon as they returned. Blaine went to visit Cooper and spent the whole first day sleeping, determined to be at full strength when he returned to Lima.

Nothing was going to stop him from making his triumphant return to the Olympics. Nothing.

=^..^=

Kurt spent the first two days of his post-competition vacation at home, working his way through a list of requests for Blackbird designs. He selected the commissions he would work on over the next three months and sent the details off to Mercedes Jones, the woman who managed the business side of Blackbird, Inc. She would communicate with the clients and act as the face of the company in all the dealings with them while Kurt sketched.

He'd committed to doing seven pieces, which was a three more than usual. It was hard to find the time to do the initial sketching, let alone all the revisions that came from program changes and client requests. He wished that he had more time to dedicate to it all, but since his designs were still in such high demand he guessed that people were happy with the final products. He'd just have to knuckle down and be very disciplined about the work. After all, the additional funds would be needed this year.

By the third day of his holiday, he was so restless that he thought he might come out of his skin, so he grabbed up his gear bag and drove down to the rink, stopping only to pick up lunch at a local sandwich shop. He skated alone for a couple of hours, loosening up his joints and stretching out the kinks that had formed over two days spent on the couch.

Finally, his body reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything yet that day, so he slid into the bleachers and pulled out his lunch. He turned his tablet computer on as he ate and read some articles about Nationals, trying hard to ignore anything that looked like it might mention Blaine or himself. He found his resolve weakening, though, when he came across an interview with Sue Sylvester titled The (Skating) World According to Sue.

He fought with himself for a second, knowing that nothing good could come from reading the article, but the temptation proved to be too much. He clicked the link and began reading.

…Perhaps nothing gets Sue Sylvester more riled up than a mention of her former skater, Kurt Hummel. Our interview was conducted the day after the Similar Pairs finals at the U.S. National Figure Skating Championship, where Hummel and new partner, ex-professional hockey player Blaine Anderson, finished a surprising eighth. Though not perfect, they impressed many with their complex and mature programs. Sue, however, has a different take.

"That dog and pony show was an embarrassment to the sport and the nation. Anderson has no business competing at a national level. He hasn't earned it. Also, some of his skills sent up a red flag — at least for me — given how little time he's been skating. Now, I'm not saying that the rumors about him being injected with monkey hormones are correct, but I do have my doubts about how someone can reach even the mediocre level he has in just three years."

"And Kurt, well, he's a once-talented skater who choked when it came to the biggest performance of his life and now he's pathetically trying to recapture his glory days by trotting out a partner who doesn't have the skills, but can provide an interesting hook to reel in the viewers and, more importantly, the sponsors. This isn't about a love of competition or skating. Kurt hasn't loved skating a single day of his entire life. It's about ego and hubris. Sebastian and Chandler won that competition, but I challenge you to find a single article that devotes more space to them than to Kurt and his tamed hockey thug. They made a mockery of those athletes who dedicate their entire lives to the sport. This will not stand."

A quick check did, in fact, confirm that most articles written about the Men's Similar Pairs competition gave more inches to Hummel and Anderson than the winning pair of Smythe and Kiehl. Kiehl had no comment when approached for this article, but Smythe had this to say:

"I think gimmick acts like Hummel and Anderson will spell the downfall of U.S. Figure Skating by turning the sport into nothing better than those tacky ice shows at the local small town rink. Kurt is past his prime as a skater and the sooner he admits it, the better for everyone. There's nothing sadder than seeing someone you once admired not know when it's time to leave the party."

Kurt finished reading the article and set the tablet aside with trembling fingers, his lunch long forgotten. How dare Sue bring Blaine into the personal vendetta she had against him. He was used to her vitriol, but for her to imply that Blaine was taking performance enhancing drugs? There was no "monkey hormone" rumor and she knew it. But there would be now. "Damn her," he ground out as he slammed his skate against the metal steps, taking satisfaction at the resulting clang.

"While I know there are untold things in this world that piss you off, I'm going to out on a limb and say your little temper tantrum is about Sue?"

Kurt looked up in shock, his eyes going straight to the figure leaning against the glass door leading to the lobby. "Santana?"

Santana straightened up and sauntered forward in the slinky way that had brought countless men to their knees. "Snowflake. How's your own personal version of Ice Castles going? Have you gotten any action from your private dancer yet?"

"What? No. God… No, we're not... What are you doing here?"

"I was feeling kind of nostalgic after Nationals," Santana shrugged, her hair slipping off her shoulder at the movement. "Finn and I are taking a few days off before practice starts for Worlds, so I thought I'd stop by and spread some sunshine and love. You know, the usual."

Kurt watched as she came closer, eyeing her like a mouse would eye a passing owl. "Riiiight. When I think of you I always think of joy and good will. Congratulations by the way. It's been a while since we've had a repeat Mixed Pairs champion."

Santana settled down on the step just above him and leaned back on her elbows. "Yeah, well people had better be ready for a three-peat, 'cause there ain't no way I'm letting anyone beat us in an Olympic year. There's this British pair that pisses me off just by breathing and if I don't get the chance to pound them into the ground someone is going to pay. I mean, just hearing the name 'Kitty' makes me want to scratch my face off like that guy eating the chicken wing in Poltergiest." Santana smirked at Kurt's uncomfortable squirm. "Sorry, I forgot. No horror movie references. Seriously, when are you going to grow out of that, Snowbell? After all, some of your outfits are more terrifying than most horror movies."

"Ah, there's some of that patented Santana Lopez sunshine," Kurt retorted, though there was no real heat behind his words. Santana smiled wickedly at him and for a second it felt like it had back when they were partners and it was just them against the world.

"I looked for you backstage after your competition," Santana noted absently, looking down at her fingernails as if contemplating the need for a manicure.

"You did?" Kurt couldn't keep the doubt and surprise from his voice.

"Yeah, I wanted to tell you that you were great out there — both of you — and that I was…proud." She grimaced a bit at the last as if the word felt strange in her mouth, which it probably did.

Kurt felt a warmth in his chest, but he knew that Santana, like himself, preferred not to let things get too sentimental, so he dipped his head back with a finger to one ear. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that? I didn't quite catch what you said."

Santana groaned and bumped his shoulder with her leg. "Don't make me repeat it, please. I already feel like I need to go steal candy from a baby or knock the heads off a bunch of flowers to bring my aura back into balance."

"Hey, at least you didn't say knock the heads off a bunch of babies. You must be mellowing."

Santana snorted in amusement and reached down to absently play with the numerous bracelets around her wrist. "I meant it, though. The thing I won't repeat. I just really wanted you to know that. I got home yesterday and put my medal in the case with the one from last year and I realized that all I wanted to do was share it with you and that the only reason I couldn't that was because I can't let things go. I know I've been horrible and that I've punished you since you left, but I'm so tired of being angry all the time. I miss you. Can we be friends again?"

"I'd like that. You know no one else really fully appreciates my bitchy comments. It'd be nice to have someone to be judgmental with again. I mean, did you see the costume that Rachel Berry was wearing? Oh my god…"

They stayed at the rink for a bit longer before heading over to Kurt's house, where he cooked dinner and they sat around with a bottle of wine. Swapping catty comments with Santana felt like home to him and he found himself laughing more than he had in the past six months.

Santana stayed the night in the guest bedroom and before leaving the next morning she promised to meet up with Kurt for regular Skype bitch sessions. Maybe having someone to vent to would keep the other people in their lives from having to deal with their sharp tongues.

Nah, probably not.

=^..^=

Night had fallen hours before, but the late hour went unnoticed by the two men glaring at each other over the coffee table in the Hummel living room. Isabelle lay on the couch, an arm thrown across her eyes to block out the light, seemingly no longer interested in the battle of wills taking place beside her. The fight was about perhaps the most important decision of their professional careers: the music for their long program for the upcoming season. Music was one of the key ingredients in any program — getting the audience behind you for your performance could mean the difference between standing on the podium and watching the medal ceremony from the sidelines — but it was even more important in an Olympic year. Blaine hadn't had a say in the previous year's music and he was determined to have his voice heard this time around, but both he and Kurt had strong opinions and neither was willing to back down.

Kurt argued that he had experience on his side. He knew what the judges wanted and what would strike an emotional chord with the crowd. He knew what worked. Traditional music would be the key to winning. Blaine maintained that a fresh perspective was what was needed. They were a new type of partnership and they needed to show that through their music. It was time to move away from the stuffy been-there-done-that standards and try something new.

The only thing Isabelle demanded was that the music fit the program she had planned. She still believed that building a program around a romantic theme was the key to them winning. They had the chemistry; they just need to let it shine through during competition.

Kurt first suggested the soundtrack to Man of La Mancha, to which Blaine made a snoring noise and dropped his head back on the couch as if suddenly asleep. Blaine then countered with Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark. He'd barely gotten the title out of his mouth before Kurt pelted him with a crumpled up ball of paper.

They batted ideas back-and-forth for over an hour and Blaine eventually found himself making some truly outrageous suggestions just to see Kurt's reaction. "What about Rocky Horror? Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me," he sang out dramatically as he stood up and mimed a spin, running his hands down his body as he turned.

Kurt flopped down on the carpet with a groan. "If I thought you were serious for even one second, I'd hop on a plane right now and go beg Chandler to come back."

Blaine heard a sputter from Isabelle and looked over to see her laughing from underneath the arm that still covered her face.

"Okay, so maybe that one was a bit too far. Look, why do we have to tie ourselves to a movie or Broadway soundtrack anyways?" Blaine began to pace around the room as an idea crystalized in his mind. "Why don't we create our own story? We could take songs from popular music and mash them together to make something that's uniquely us. Like, if we wanted to tell the story of one of us getting cheated on and then the other one trying to convince him to come back we could use It's Not Right But It's Okay and I Have Nothing from Whitney Houston. We could tell any story we wanted to."

Kurt had sat up part way through his speech and was now looking at him with an interested glint in his eye. "We can't use songs with lyrics, though, so we'd have to use instrumental versions. Wouldn't that lessen the impact?"

"Not if we choose the right songs. People will recognize them and be with us from the first few notes."

"We'd have to get the songs re-recorded by an orchestra in order to fill out the sound." Kurt pulled a pad of paper to him and began to jot down some notes.

Isabelle joined back in the conversation and they began to brainstorm storylines and songs that might fit, running the gamut from Frank Sinatra to Madonna. Finally, the ideas ran out and Blaine sat back with a satisfied sigh, looking down at the paper in front of him that was covered with his neat, precise writing.

"This is what this partnership needs more of," Isabelle pointed out as she dropped Blaine's tablet, which she'd been using to play clips of various songs, back onto the table. "Once you guys got on the same page the ideas just flowed. You were so connected. The critics were right about last year's programs. There was just something missing. A distance that I could feel, even if I couldn't pinpoint why." She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a second. "I've been thinking about something for a while and I want you to hear me out before you reject the idea."

Blaine crossed his legs and leaned forward, giving her his full attention. "Okay."

"I think you guys need to spend more time together."

"What, ten hours a day isn't enough for you? How many hours do you expect us to practice?" Kurt asked skeptically.

"No, I mean you should spend more time together off the ice." Isabelle paused for a minute and then blurted out the rest. "Blaine, I think you should move in with Kurt."

Her announcement was met with stunned silence.

"You need to spend time getting to know each other's rhythms," Isabelle continued. "You have to know what the other person is going to do before they do it and that kind of… intimacy, will only come from being completely familiar with how the other one thinks and moves. Several of the other teams I've coached did this and it worked wonderfully."

Kurt finally recovered from his shock. "That's the worst idea ever. Even worse than the idea to make a reality show about competitive taxidermy." Kurt glanced over at Blaine's confused look. "Yes, it's a real thing. I'm sure it's one of the signs of the apocalypse."

"See! Right there." Isabelle bounced lightly in her seat. "You knew what Blaine was thinking before he even said anything. You need more of that. It will translate into your performance, I swear."

"No." Kurt shook his head emphatically. "No, nope, not gonna happen. Never in a mill—"

"I'll do it," Blaine interrupted.

"What?" Kurt cried incredulously.

Blaine knee walked around the side of the table and knelt next to him. "We've accomplished so much, Kurt. All of the effort, the long hours… We can't have come this far and then back away from taking the final step. This could be what puts us over the top and I'm willing to do whatever's necessary. Are you?"

Kurt just stared at him, dismay and doubt stamped across every inch of his face. He refused to discuss it any more that evening, but before Blaine and Isabelle left for the night they extracted a promise from him to at least think about it.

When Blaine arrived at practice the next day, he was armed with a whole list of reasons why Isabelle's idea was a good one.

His preparation proved to be unnecessary, though, as Kurt walked into the rink, stopped in front on him and said, "Fine. You can move in next weekend on two conditions: we'll split all the bills — I'm not running a hotel — and you aren't allowed to bring guys home with you. I'm going to go change."

Blaine didn't have a chance to respond before Kurt spun on his heel and rushed off to the locker room. He couldn't have been more surprised if Kurt had come in that morning and declared his plans to become a ballet dancer.

Kurt always seemed to zig when he expected him to zag.