"He escaped sir."

"How? How did he manage to escape a maximum security prison?"

"I- I don't know sir. That's why we called for you Agent Anderson!"

Agent Blaine Anderson had had just about enough. He had been working on a puzzling case of bank fraud that he just could not pin point when he had been pulled away from the open files by Special Agent Lopez. Apparently, a world class con man, one that Blaine had put in prison himself, had managed to escape.

"You're the only person who's ever been able to catch Hummel. That's why Mr. Shuster here called for you specifically," Agent Lopez explained softly.

Kurt Hummel. It had been almost four years since he had heard that particular name. Suave, saucy, master mind Hummel had managed to evade Blaine and his agency for nearly three years. Agent Anderson refused to stop chasing him, and in the end it had paid off. Special Agent Blaine Anderson has personally escorted one Kurt Hummel to prison with a smile on his face. Needless to say, after all the research he had done, nobody knew Kurt better than Blaine did. There wasn't one aspect of his life that Blaine didn't know something about.

"You mean to tell me the man my agency spent the better half of four years hunting down has suddenly up and vanished without a single trace?"

"Y-yes sir," Mr. Shuster stuttered.

"You're the head security guard at the super max, correct?"

"Correct sir."

"What kind of incompetent idiot are you?" Agent Anderson bellowed at the jittery man seated in front of him.

"I-I ..."

"Agent Anderson, can I talk to you outside real quick?" Agent Lopez cut in, trying her hardest not to snicker at the clearly incompetent guard who was shaking in his boots.

Blaine grunted, but followed her out regardless.

"Agent Anderson..." she began.

"You can call me Blaine, Santana. We've known each other for years now. I think we're at that point."

"Yes, well- Blaine. C'mon. Don't beat this guy up too bad. I mean yeah he's an idiot, but you of all people should know how slippery Hummel is."

"Who are you an what have you done with my take no prisoners lesbian best friend?"

"There's only one prisoner I'm worried about right now, and he has about a four hour head start on us."

Blaine grumbled indignantly and motioned to reenter the questioning room.

"I apologize - William, correct?" Blaine asked, looking up at the man. William nodded in response.

"Yes well, I'm sorry, William. I'm working on a particular case at the moment, and the last thing I thought I'd have to deal with is Kurt Hummel. Again. I let my temper get to me."

"It's- it's alright sir."

"It doesn't make you less of an idiot or letting him get away though," Agent Lopez interjected.

"That's my girl. Now. Let's go catch us a con man, yeah?"

Will Shuster personally escorted Blaine and Santana to the cell where Kurt had resided in for the duration of his time there.

"Why in the world would Hummel up and leave when he only had three months of a four year sentence left?" Santana mumbled.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Blaine grinned, snapping on his handy dandy blue inspection gloves.

Kurt's cell was... unique to say the least. Fashion magazine clippings hung on most of the flat surfaces in the cell. All accept the farthest wall. That wall was adorned with multiple sketches of beautiful and complex clothing.

"He had always wanted to be a designer," Blaine explained, almost fondly.

"Too bad he decided to design fake checks rather than crazy clothing huh?" Santana mumbled, eyeing her boss up and down. This was dangerous, and she knew it. Blaine had always had a particular soft spot when it came to Hummel. She knew that opening this cell door was opening a flood gate of emotions that should've been settled ages ago. But, alas Blaine was the best, and he did know Hummel better than anybody in the entire world.

Blaine hummed absent mindedly. He was far too caught up in Kurt's designs. The man was a true artist, there was no denying that. It had always drove Blaine completely insane that a man of his talent had gone down the path that he had. Kurt was talented, suave, and okay yeah, he was seriously good looking, but on top of all of that he was real. Well, as real as a con man could get. It was hard to wrap your head around. Blaine could hardly figure it out in his head, let alone try and explain it to others. He couldn't fathom why such a handsome, talented man would actively choose to be a criminal.

"Oh shit," Santana's harsh voice broke Blaine out of his inner monolog.

"What is it?"

"I-I think I know why Hummel broke out," she whispered, handing over the formal letter that had what were clearly tear stains splattered all over it.

Dear Mr. Kurt Hummel,

We are so so sorry to inform you that your father, one Mr. Burt Hummel, came into out hospital recently due to an almost certainly fatal gunshot wound to his head and chest. He has been in a state of unconsciousness and due to your current situation; we are forced to inform you by letter that we will be ending his life support if no progress is made in the next three days. It doesn't look good Mr. Hummel.

We are truly so sorry for your loss,
The Staff of New York Medical

"I knew he wouldn't leave. I knew he wouldn't without probable cause," Blaine whispered to himself. He began to examine the paper. I he knew Hummel, and he did, this wasn't it. He left something, some sort of explanation. That was just the way he worked.

Sure enough, when Blaine tilted the paper up into the light he managed to make out a faint scrawl.

"See me in the dark," he whispered out loud, "I need a black light in here right now, and I need it dark! Let's go go!"

The security guards who had been surrounding them were startled, but began running about, collecting the things that Agent Anderson had asked for.

"Here's the black light sir but I don't understand why-" a guard began.

"It's the way Hummel works. He thinks he's some 1930s suave version of Robin Hood. I dot question it and neither should you," Blaine explained.

"A mandatory black out will progress in one minutes time. All staff and inmates please remain calm," a stuffy voice projected trough the speakers.

"Alright Hummel, let's see what you got."

Sure enough, when all the lights of the entire prison clicked off, and the metal shutters fell over the windows, there in bright neon yellow, was a message addressed to Agent Anderson.

Blaine,

it's been awhile my friend. I've missed our playful game of cat and mouse. If you're reading this, I've escaped, and the prison has sent you after me, seeing as you're the only one who can catch me. Did you meet Shuster? Bumbling idiot that one. Anyways, I know you're a great agent, and that means you've already figured out why I've left. Somebody tried to murder my dad Blaine. The only person I have left in this world. I can't lose him. I have to go to him Blaine. You know I do. I'm so so sorry. I know you thought you were done with me. I just have to go to him. If by some horrible twist of fate, I'm ... too late, you know where to find me. You somehow always do.

All my love,
Kurt.

P.S. I hope you got my birthday cards, they were cute no?

"You do know him better than anyone else, don't you?" Santana asked, standing by his side.

"I do. And I know where he is."

"The hospital?"

"No. No he's not there. We'd know if he was there. We would've known a lot sooner."

"But that means-" Santana gasped.

"His dad is dead."
"It says you know where he is?"

"I do."

"Should I call the Bureau?"

"Yeah. Yeah you should."

"Blaine are you okay?"

"I'm- I'm fine. I'm fine. Here," he said pulling out his notebook and scribbling down an address, "gather up some guys and meet me here."

"Shouldn't you have back up?"

"He's not dangerous. He's not a gun guy."

"Blaine-"

"He's not Santana, he's just not."

"Okay, okay. I'll meet you there with the rest of the guys. You know with someone like Hummel they're going to send everyone."

"I know."

"Go. Well be there."

Nodding, Blaine let himself out of the prison and made his way to his car.

He shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't feel bad for this- this criminal. But he did. He honest to
god did. He wanted to cry for Kurt. He wanted to tell him it would be okay. He'd never admit it out loud, but he knew he had a dangerous soft spot for the man. Nobody knew it, but Kurt was the only person in the world who never missed his birthday. For some reason that meant the world to Blaine. But it shouldn't mean anything. Kurt shouldn't mean anything! He was a criminal. A bad person who belonged in jail. And Blaine was the one who had out him there, and now Blaine was the one who was going to put him back.

Before he realized it, Blaine was parked in front of Burt Hummel's small, dingy apartment complex. Blaine knew that Kurt had moved his father out here to New York with him after he had fallen ill. Burt Hummel had probably paid his rent in federal money that had been stolen by one of Kurt's many aliases.

Sighing, Blaine trekked up the stairs to the third floor, room 307.

"Agent Anderson, long time no see," a soft, melodic voice echoed as he pushed open the door.

"Hello Kurt," Blaine said with that almost fond voice.

"You always know where to find me."

"I know. I've caught you twice now."

"I told you where I'd be. This doesn't count."

"You didn't come right out and say it, so this absolutely counts."

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the loud blipping of police car sirens.

"How many are out there?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at the agent.

"Oh you know, all of them," Blaine answers smiling.
"Good to know I matter. My dad always told me I did, "Kurt said, smiling sadly, this choking back a sob, "I missed him. I missed saving him by two days. Two days."

"Kurt I'm so- I'm so sorry about your dad," Blaine said, reaching out to comfort on instinct, but thinking better of it, he pulled back and pulled out his radio.

"Suspect apprehended and unarmed. Area secure. He's coming without a fight," Blaine muttered out to the men surrounding.

"I could never fight you," Kurt said batting his watery eyes at the agent.

"Flirting doesn't work with me Hummel. Bat your pretty blue eyes at the guards back at your cell."

"You think I have pretty eyes?"

Blaine rather resembled a gaping fish while he tried to refute Kurt's silly accusation. But then again, Kurt did have magical eyes.

"What's this?" Kurt asked swiping lightly at Blaine's neck, collecting the smudge of blackish ink that was there, "You're usually so put together."

Shivering slightly at Kurt's intimate touch, Blaine answered, "Ink bomb that went off when we tried to take when was suspected to be fake money out of a bank cell. Damn stuff can't be traced."

"What's it worth if I tell you what this is?"

"What?"

"If I tell you what this is, will you agree to meet me, Tuesday at 6 o'clock?"

"Kurt why?"

"C'mon Blaine, the boys are getting antsy. It's just a meeting at the prison. Will you?"

"I- okay."

"It's Amazonian disappearing ink. Untraceable by FBI standardized tests. It's meant to evaporate after it's mixed with something else," sniffing lightly, Kurt smiled, "lemon juice. Pour lemon juice in the infected money. If that works, well I'll tell you the rest at our meeting."

"I - what the hell?" Blaine asked.

"I can't tell you to trust me, because I sure as hell wouldn't trust me, but it'll work. And then you'll be dying to know what comes next. Now," Kurt said turning around and crossing his wrists behind him," Take me in Agent."

Blaine, still thoroughly confused, pulled out his hand cuffs and tried to remind himself not to stare at Kurt's ass.