Blaine couldn't recall how he'd managed to get home, but his body's automatic pilot must have kicked in, because before he knew it he was opening the door to his apartment, the still darkness inside beckoning him.

He robotically went through the steps of settling in for the evening. He dropped his wallet and keys in the little glass bowl next to the door, put his shoes away in the closet, plugged his phone into charge, and washed the few dishes left over from breakfast.

After hanging up the kitchen towel, he went into the bedroom and grabbed a duffle bag from a storage box under the bed. Methodically, he emptied the drawers of Kurt's things, gently putting them into the bag. He cast a searching look around the room to make sure he hadn't missed anything, then headed towards the front door, stopping to grab the cookbook from the kitchen on the way. The sound of the zipper closing on the bag echoed through the quiet room.

Calmly, he opened the door to the outside hallway and set the bag down. He felt guilty for a second, but pushed the thought away. It was no longer his problem. If it got stolen it was probably the least that Kurt deserved.

Throughout the whole process, Blaine was dry-eyed, too much in shock to cry about the unfairness of it all.

He retreated to the living room and sank down onto the couch. The red light on the DVR was on and in the back of his mind he knew that it was recording the Bob Fosse biography that Kurt had been looking forward. He was going to be so disappointed that he missed it. That struck Blaine as a funny thing to be worried about right then and he began to laugh darkly. The laughter faded away quickly, though, and without any distractions he was unable to keep his thoughts at bay.

It had all been an illusion. Every smile, every kiss, every comforting hug and whispered confidence. Every moment in the past three months that he'd held onto like a lifeline.

Of course it had all been a lie. People like Kurt – funny, talented, passionate, opinionated Kurt – didn't fall for people like him. He should have realized from the beginning that something was wrong.

If Kurt had been willing to fake a relationship with him for so long, fighting what was probably disgust and anger about who he'd turned out to be, then finding the money must be really important to him.

Restless, Blaine strode towards the bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went, dropping them like an expensive trail of breadcrumbs in his wake. He reached into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it could go and stepped in, letting the water pound down on his head and fall in sheets over his face. He stood under the pulsing water for several minutes before the effort to remain upright became too much and he sank down onto the tile floor, legs crossed, back hunched. For a second he just concentrated on the sensations: the water against his back, which was slightly cooler now that it had further to fall before reaching him; the solidity of the tiles beneath him; the smell of the French soap that Kurt had left there the week before. He let his mind go blank, trying to martial some of the meditation techniques he'd learned.

Eventually, the water ran cold, forcing Blaine to pull himself up off the floor. He toweled off and got dressed, putting on whatever clothes happened to be closest. He dried his hair, brushed his teeth, and flossed before curling up on the bed. He could feel an advancing coldness seeping into his chest, the tendrils working their way down his arms and legs until it seemed that every inch of him was frozen.

He played every moment of his time with Kurt over and over in his head, trying to find the moments he'd missed, the clues that would have shown him that Kurt hadn't feel the same way he did, if only he'd been looking. He couldn't find any. He didn't know if that made him especially gullible or just showed what a talented actor Kurt was. Maybe both. Probably both.

He wanted to hate Kurt, he really did. He wanted to feel the cleansing rage wash away all the one-sided love that was in his heart, but it never came. He loved Kurt. There was nothing he could do about that, no magic pill he could take, no hard truth he could tell himself that would change that fact.

He loved Kurt.

That thought kept echoing in Blaine's mind, a strange kind of background music to his thoughts of "what now?" and "how do I go on?" and eventually a calm and clarity fell over him.

Blaine had always felt like a coward. He'd let his family dictate his behavior and turn him into someone he wasn't meant to be, he'd let his father treat him like he didn't matter, he'd run away and changed his name instead of facing his life as Richard Anderson's kid. He'd always been a coward, but now, now was his opportunity to be something more. Blaine still loved Kurt and while Kurt might not really love him back, Blaine could do something for him. He had a way to make his life worth something for a change.

=^..^=

Blaine packed a bag and moved to a hotel the next day. He had to get away from the apartment where reminders of Kurt were everywhere. Kurt called several times in the days after his part in the plot was exposed, but Blaine never answered, and at the end of the second day, he blocked Kurt's number.

He went through the motions of his job, but spent most of the next few weeks racking his brain trying to figure out where his father might have disappeared to. He thought of all the countries he and his parents had visited on vacations when he was younger and disregarded them all. He couldn't be any place obvious or anywhere that he was tied to through family or friends or the FBI would have found him.

There were no friends that would be hiding him, at least to Blaine's knowledge, because no one had liked him well enough to put themselves on the line like that. His business associates and employees were in disgrace because of him — even if they hadn't known about the scam — so they were out, too. There was no one in Richard's life that he'd been close to, no one he would have tried to keep in contact with. The only person he'd ever really seemed to care about was...wait a minute. That was it.

The only person he'd ever really seemed to care about was the mistress he'd almost left Blaine's mother for.

An idea began to form in Blaine's mind, ironically inspired by recent events. If Richard had hidden himself away so well, then the only chance of finding him would be if he wanted them to.

Maybe there was a way to use his father's feelings for that woman from his past in order to draw him out.

Blaine returned to his apartment and burrowed into the back of his closet to pull out a small lockbox. He keyed in the code and open it, taking out a black notebook that held contacts and phone numbers from his former life. He found the number of one of the family's lawyers that he had trusted and wrote it down on a slip of paper.

Once back at the hotel, he called the lawyer and asked him to set up a meeting between himself and the FBI.

Two days later, Blaine was being shown into a conference room in the FBI building in lower Manhattan. His lawyer hadn't given the agents any details about why he wanted to meet, just saying that he had some information he'd like to share, so they were a little taken aback when he laid out his idea: contact Richard's former mistress to see if she had an email address that she could still contact him with. If his father wanted to keep the lines of communication open with her, like Blaine suspected he would, he might still be checking the email account she'd contacted him at earlier. If that was the case, they could send Richard an email claiming to be her and convince him to meet her. Blaine would show up at the location wearing a wire and try to get the location of the offshore bank accounts where he had hidden the stolen money.

The agents seemed intrigued by the mistress angle, but politely refused Blaine's other offer.

"Mr. Anderson, if we can get to your father while he's on American soil, we'll just arrest him and get the location of the money from him once he's in custody. There's no need for you to get involved further and certainly no need for you to wear a wire," one of the agents told him.

Blaine was prepared for this refusal. "You must have interviewed my father at least 20 times before the trial and you didn't get anything out of him. Look, I'm not doing this because I have some burning need to see my father in prison. He can stay wherever he is and rot for all I care. The whole point of my doing this is to help get the money back so that hopefully some of it can be restored to the people who invested in Winterland. If you want me to tell you the woman's name then you've got to promise to let me help." The agents looked at each other doubtfully. "I know my father and I really think this is our best chance to find the money. He won't suspect me — he wouldn't think that I'm man enough to stand up to him like this — and I might be able to get him to talk, maybe even get him to admit to something that might let you convict him of some additional charges."

That seemed to intrigue the agents and they conferred for a moment amongst themselves before asking Blaine to wait as they brought the offer to their supervisors. He waited in the conference room alone for an hour until they finally returned and told him that they were accepting his offer.

He told them everything he knew about his father's mistress and they promised to contact him as soon as they'd located her. Three long weeks passed with no word. Then, on a Monday afternoon, he received a call asking him to come back into the office.

The woman, Lisa Ness, had been found in Miami, Florida and had admitted to the agents that, though she hadn't been in contact with Richard since his conviction, she did have an email address for him that he'd promised was a way to contact him at, no matter what. Luckily, she'd become disenchanted with Richard when she'd learned how he had ruined the lives of so many people, so she'd had no problem cooperating.

Once they had the address, the FBI had sent Richard a mail from Lisa's account, saying that she was in trouble and that she wanted to see him. Someone at least claiming to be Richard had replied only five hours later, giving her a meeting location in the Florida Keys about a mile off U.S. Highway 1 and a meeting time that was only two days away.

Blaine sucked in a breath, surprised that it was all happening so fast. He spent the afternoon learning about the microphone he'd be wearing to the meeting and going over the story he was going to tell his father.

The next evening he climbed aboard a private FBI jet headed for Miami and as the plane left the New York skyline far behind, all he could think about was how he hoped what he was about to do would make Kurt proud.

=^..^=

Early the next afternoon, Blaine got into a rental car and headed towards the meeting location. He'd never been to the Florida Keys before and the drive along the overseas highway, which seemed to stretch on forever, floating above the water like something out of a fantasy movie, was something he really would have enjoyed under different circumstances.

He kept on driving as the highway crossed several small islands, eventually reaching the exit near the spot his father had specified. He turned onto a rough, sandy road and took it all the way to the end. He parked the car and walked down to the beach, towards a dock sticking out into the glorious blue water, stopping to wait in the shade of a palm tree growing close to the water's edge.

The dock was empty and for a minute Blaine wondered if his father had changed his mind or had somehow been tipped off. Then, he heard the sound of a boat approaching. An expensive speed boat came around into view and slowed down to pull up to the dock. The engine cut off and Blaine watched as his dad emerged from the back to throw a rope around the dock cleat to keep the boat from drifting away.

It was the first time he'd seen his father in almost 10 months. Richard hadn't done anything to disguise himself, though his skin was definitely tanned and his hair was slightly longer. He was dressed like he was just out for casual day of yachting, in white knee length shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. He looked like he'd been on some relaxing vacation and didn't have a care in the world.

Blaine stepped out of his shady spot and walked out onto the dock, stopping near the front of the boat.

Richard looked up as he approached his eyes narrowing when he recognized Blaine. He looked around, scanning the area watchfully, but he didn't seem particularly tense or concerned. He obviously didn't see Blaine as a threat.

"What are you doing here?" Richard asked suspiciously. "Where's Lisa?"

The anger at seeing his father again was almost too overwhelming for Blaine and it took him a second to remember his cover story. "She isn't here. It's just me. I tracked Lisa down and asked her to send the email. I'm sorry for tricking you, but I'm desperate. Mom...mom's sick and since the government seized all of the money she can't pay for her treatment." He let some bitter anger ring through in his voice, knowing that his father would expect it. "I need you to give me some money."

Richard laughed carelessly. "Why in the world would I give you money? You were probably doing a jig — or some kind of sashay — outside the courthouse as soon as the jury read the verdict. You probably even helped them convict me."

Blaine reached out a hand to grip the railing of the boat and jumped on board. "How could I have done that? I didn't know anything."

"I'm sure you could have found some way. You always hated me."

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around." Blaine stopped and counted to 10 in his head to try and reign in his temper. When he was once again under control he started again. "But this isn't about me. The money isn't for me. You can't tell me that you want mom to suffer like this."

Richard looked him up and down silently for a minute. "How much?"

Blaine took a deep breath and went for it. "Two million."

"What?" Richard asked incredulously. "She can't be that sick."

"She'll need some money for when she recovers. She's not used to living like this. The stress is wearing her down." Blaine could see his father wavering. "Look, we can make this quick and painless. You can transfer the money to my account or I can set up an account in the same bank where you have the money since, I'm assuming, it has strict privacy rules. Whichever you want. I'll launder the money any way you want. No one will know where it originally came from."

There. The proposal was all laid out and now all Blaine could do was hope that he'd been convincing enough. Richard took a seat on a cushioned bench near the front of the boat and crossed his legs, looking absently out over the water, but Blaine could see in his eyes that he was considering the request.

"Just tell me which bank and I'll set up the account up today, right now if I can get service on my phone to call my lawyer," Blaine couldn't help adding. "You'll never have to see me again."

It was that final bit that seemed to push Richard into agreeing. He snapped out the name of a Swiss bank and Blaine pulled out his phone. He dialed a fake number the FBI had given him and pretended to talk to a lawyer about setting up an account at the bank in question. After a few minutes he acted as if he'd been put on hold.

"So, where have you been hiding anyways?" he asked nonchalantly, trying to get all the information he could. "You did a great job of disappearing off the map."

Suddenly, the sound of an approaching boat broke the stillness. Blaine and his father both look out across the water to see a large speedboat approaching with several men in suits on the deck. Richard spun around to glare at Blaine, obviously figuring out that the whole scene had been a set up. He quickly untied the rope from the dock and ran towards the back of the boat, where he jabbed the start button, causing the powerful engines to rumble to life.

Blaine took off for the side of the boat nearest the dock, but the boat was turning away towards open water before he could get to the ladder. When he realized that he was stuck onboard, Blaine headed back towards his father.

"What are you doing?" he yelled over the sounds of the motor as he held onto a railing to keep from being knocked off his feet.

"I can't believe you set me up," Richard yelled back, "I should have known it was a trap the second I saw you."

The boat took a wild swing to the left and Blaine was nearly thrown to the deck. "Stop! You can't think you can outrun them."

"All I have to do is make it to international waters. The feds can't follow me there."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true. Dad, listen to me—"

Out of nowhere, another boat appeared in front of them. Richard tried to swerve out of the way, but he was going too fast and clipped the back of the other boat as it passed. The impact made Blaine lose his grip on the railing and he felt himself flying through the air.

There was a flash of searing pain as he slammed headfirst into the wall of the cabin and then nothing.

=^..^=

Blaine slowly became aware of a slightly antiseptic smell and a quiet interrupted periodically by the far off sound of rubber soled shoes squeaking on linoleum. He pried his eyes open — which was surprisingly hard to do — and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. A throbbing in his head and shoulder kept him from moving too quickly, but he slowly registered the medical equipment off to his right side, noting that the monitors and IV drip bag were connected to his body.

A sound something like a sigh brought his attention over to his left and he turned his head to find Kurt standing next to a window. He was leaning against it wearily with one shoulder, as if he didn't have the strength to hold himself up without help.

Blaine must have made a noise, because Kurt's head suddenly snapped up. He stared in shock at Blaine for a second before hurrying over to his side.

"Oh god, Blaine. You're awake!" Kurt moved as if to grab Blaine's hand, but then seemed to think better of it, setting it down on the bed somewhere beside him instead. "Let me call a nurse."

"Wait." Kurt froze with his hand halfway to the call button and looked down at Blaine questioningly. "Where...?"

"You're in a hospital in Miami. Do you...do you remember what happened?"

Blaine nodded his head slightly, trying to ignore the ripples of pain that the movement caused.

"It was all over the news that your father had been recaptured. The details were sketchy — just something about an FBI sting and that he'd been caught on a boat in Florida. I was so happy when I heard. I kept picking up the phone to call you, but I chickened out. You hadn't been answering any of my calls and I was sure you didn't want to hear from me. Then, the next day I got a call from the FBI. Evidently you gave them my name as an emergency contact?" Blaine nodded again, this time with a little less pain. "They told me that you'd been hurt, but they wouldn't tell me how or where. I knew though. I knew it had something to do with your father. I flew down here later that day and when I got here the doctors said that the prognosis hadn't been good at first, but that things were looking up. That was four days ago."

"Four days?" Blaine croaked.

Kurt moved around to the other side of the bed to grab a glass of water from the counter. He slipped a bendy straw into it and held it up to Blaine's lips, who sipped at it gratefully.

"You have a head injury, a few broken bones, and internal injuries. You had surgery before I got here and have been unconscious ever since." Kurt gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "My dad was a little worried that you were going to break his record of seven days in a coma. I'll have to call him and tell him that he's still champion."

"Y-your dad knows about me?"

"He knew about Brandon the whole time, but I told him everything — who you really were and what I'd agreed to do — the day after you saw me with Sebastian."

"Was he mad?"

"Let's just say I was glad that there's 600 miles between Lima, Ohio and New York. I don't think he's ever been so angry with me."

"With you? I thought he'd be angry with me—"

Kurt made another aborted attempt to grab his hand. "No, never. He was so disappointed in me that I'd agreed to be a part of Mr. Smythe's plan. He's been calling every day to see how you are."

Blaine lifted the hand that wasn't connected to an IV up to his face, rubbing it gingerly. "The boat I was on hit...something. I remember losing my balance and then...Is my father okay?"

"They showed him on the news being taken into custody and he didn't look hurt, proving once again that the universe isn't fair at all." Kurt made a face as he turned to set the glass back down. "So it's true? You were helping the FBI find your father?"

Just then, a nurse came in to check on Blaine. Upon seeing that he was awake, she immediately called two doctors in to check him out, setting off a flurry of activity. Blaine waited patiently as they did their tests, darting his eyes every so often to Kurt, who had retreated to the far corner of the asked him his name — which took him a minute to answer as he tried to figure out which one they were expecting to hear — and the date and then checked his stitches and shined a light into his eyes. Finally, the doctors finished their poking and prodding and declared him on his way to a full recovery. They prescribed him some pain medication before leaving to presumably give the FBI an update.

Once they were alone again, Blaine asked Kurt to raise the head of his bed up a little and then haltingly told him the story of his idea to flush Richard out and the trip to the Keys. By the time he was done, moisture was gathering in Kurt's eyes.

"Why would you put yourself in danger like that?" Kurt asked, absently knuckling away a tear as it ran down his cheek before reaching out to cover Blaine's hand with his.

"I-I did it for you," Blaine said, dipping his head so that he didn't have to see Kurt's reaction. "I had to do everything I could to get the money back. It's what you wanted." He felt Kurt squeeze his hand tighter.

Kurt began to cry even harder. "You're worth more than every penny my father lost. More than all the money put together. If-if you'd died out there I don't know what I would have done. I love you so much. And I know you don't believe me or trust me, but I'll do anything, anything to make you see that I'm telling the truth. Please tell me what I can do."

Blaine had thought long and hard about his relationship with Kurt while he'd been waiting for the FBI to contact him again in New York. He'd been able to examine the situation without the fresh anger and pain of Kurt's betrayal and had slowly come to accept that Kurt hadn't been faking everything. Maybe hadn't been faking anything, except his ignorance of Blaine's true identity. Though he hadn't completely forgiven Kurt yet, he knew that he was at least willing to try. The fact that Kurt had come all the way to Miami to be with him in the hospital just helped confirm his confidence in that decision.

He realized they still had a ways to go to get back to where they'd been, but he knew now that it was possible they'd make it and that he wanted to try.

"You don't have to do anything, Kurt. I believe you."

"Then...do you think we c-can start over?" Kurt asked hesitantly. "Please?"

Blaine lifted his hand slowly and held it out as a greeting, a smile dancing over his lips. "Hi, Kurt, it's nice to meet you. I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson."