As soon as Blaine had officially quit work that evening, he flew across town to animal row; the several blocks of big-time animal dealers with their huge glass windows and lurid signs. The new and terrifying depression, which had floored him earlier in the day, had not left. This, his activity here with animals and animal dealers, seemed he only weak spot in the shroud of depression, a flaw by which he might be able to exorcise it. In the past, anyway, the sight of animals and the excitement of money deals with expensive stakes had done much for him. Maybe it would accomplish as much now.

“Yes, sir,” a well-dressed new animal salesman with a round, cherubic face said to him chattily as he stood gaping with a sort of glazed, meek need at the displays. “See anything you like?”

Blaine said, “I see a lot I like. It's the cost that bothers me.”

“You tell us the deal you want to make,” the salesman said conspiratorially. “What you want to take home with you and how you want to pay for it. We'll take the package to our sales manager and get his big okay.”

“I've got three thousand in cash.” The department, at the end of the day, had paid him the bounty. “How much,” he asked, “is that family of rabbits over there?”

“Sir, if you have a down payment of three thousand, I can make you the owner of something a lot better than a pair of rabbits.” He reached out a chubby hand and shook Blaine's hand firmly. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Trent.” When Blaine didn't offer his own name in return, the salesman smoothly continued, “What about a goat?”

“I haven't thought much about goats,” Blaine said.

“May I ask if this represents a new price bracket for you?”

“Well, I don't usually carry around three thousand dollars,” Blaine conceded.

“I thought as much, sir, when you mentioned rabbits,” Trent said. He looked quickly from side to side, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “The thing about rabbits, sir, is that everybody has one. I'd like to see you step up to the goat-class where I feel you belong. Frankly, you look more like a goat man to me.”

“What are the advantages to goats?”

Trent said, “The distinct advantage of a goat is that it can be taught to butt anyone who tries to steal it.”

“Not if they shoot it with a hypno-dart and descend by rope ladder from a hovercar,” Blaine said dryly.

Undaunted and still beaming his bright smile, Trent continued, “A goat is loyal. And it has a free, natural soul which no cage can chain up. And there is one exceptional additional feature about goats, one which you may not be aware of. Often when you invest in an animal and take it home, you find, some morning, that it's eaten something radioactive and died. A goat isn't bothered by contaminated quasi-foodstuffs; it can eat eclectically, even items that would fell a cow or a horse or most especially a cat. As a long term investment we feel that the goat – especially the female – offers unbeatable advantages to the serious animal-owner.”

“Is this goat a female?” He had noticed a big black goat standing squarely in the center of its cage. He moved that way and Trent followed him. The goat, it seemed to Blaine, was beautiful.

“Yes,” Trent answered. “This goat is a female. A black Nubian goat, very large, as you can see. This is a superb contender in this year's market, sir. And we're offering her at a very attractive, unusually low price.”

Automatically, Blaine pulls out his phone and pulls up the Sydney's app to look up the price for goats, black Nubian.

“Will this be a cash deal?” Trent asked. “Or will you be trading in a used animal?”

“All cash,” Blaine said.

On a slip of paper, Trent scribbled a price and showed it to Blaine.

“Too much,” Blaine said firmly, taking the paper and writing down a more modest figure.

Trent frowned. “We couldn't let a goat go for that,” he protested. He wrote another figure. “I'll have you know that this goat is less than a year old. She has a very long life expectancy.” He showed the figure to Blaine.

“It's a deal,” Blaine said.

He signed the long-term payment contract, paid over his three thousand dollars – his entire bounty money – as down payment, and shortly found himself standing by his hovercar, rather dazed, as employees of the animal dealer loaded the crate of goat into the car. I own an animal now, he said to himself. A living animal, not electric. For the second time in my life.

The expense, the contractual indebtedness, appalled him. He found himself shaking. But I had to do it, he said to himself. The experience with Sebastian Smythe – I have to get my confidence, my faith in myself and my abilities, back. Or I won't keep my job.

His hands numb, he guided the hovercar up into the sky and headed for his apartment and Tina. She'll be angry, he said to himself. Because it'll worry her, the responsibility. And since she's home all day a lot of the maintenance will fall to her. Again he felt dismal.

When he landed on the roof of his building he sat for a time, weaving together a story thick with verisimilitude. My job requires it, he thought, scraping bottom. Prestige. We couldn't go on with the electric sheep any longer; it sapped my morale. Maybe I can tell her that, he decided.

As soon as he thought of the electric sheep, he remembered Tina telling him it had malfunctioned earlier in the day. He rushed toward its pen in a panic, almost forgetting the animal is a fake. But the sheep ruminated peacefully as usual. She must have gotten it fixed, he thought. Good.

A bit embarrassed that he had abandoned the very real animal in his car to tend to a false one, he rushed back to the car and maneuvered the goat cage from the back seat. With wheezing effort, Blaine managed to set it down on the roof. The goat, which had slid about during the transfer, regarded him with bright-eyed perspicacity, but made no sound.

He descended to his floor, followed a familiar path down the hall to his own door.

“Hi,” Tina called cheerfully from the kitchen. “I hope you're hungry!”

Blaine entered the kitchen and stared in surprise at the sight of his wife, smiling and dancing about the kitchen as she cooked, her brightly-colored skirt flaring out around her legs as she spun toward him, beaming. Just hours ago she had been dressed as if for mourning, mascara running down her cheeks as she succumbed to a deep depression. He expected to have to peel her off of the floor, protesting as he peeled her off the floor and dragged her up to the roof to see their new acquisition, which was sure to bring her immediate joy. He expected her to be so grateful to him for rescuing her from her doldrums.

In a cautious and puzzled tone he asked, “What are you cooking?”

“Lazy dragon rolls and cabbage,” she replied brightly.

“Since when do you cook Chinese food? I thought you pretty much hated anything Asian.”

She spun around and glared at him defensively. “People change, Blaine.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Yeah, I know. That smells good, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she said slowly, turning back to the stove.

“Tina,” Blaine said hesitantly, wary of breaking her out of her pleasant mood, “are you at a stopping point?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, can you stop cooking for a minute and come up to the roof with me. I need to show you something.”

Tina froze for a moment, back to him, then methodically moved the pans off the heat and turned slowly toward him, her expression a mixture of pleased awe and dazed hurt. “You got an animal,” she breathed.

Blaine couldn't control the wide grin that broke out on his face. “She's a goat. She's beautiful.” Reaching for Tina's hands he added, “Come and see.”

Tina smiled in delight for a moment before the smile was replaced with a frown. “You shouldn't have made a decision like that without me. I am an equal part of this household, Blaine. I have a right to participate in the decision – the most important acquisition we'll ever – ”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said, still grinning and leading her toward the elevator.

A shadow crossed Tina's face and she said accusingly, “You made bounty money today.”

Blaine said, “Yes, I retired three andys.” He entered the elevator and held the door open for her with his hand until she followed.  “I had to buy the goat,” he said. “I couldn't wait for you – I'm sorry. Something went really wrong today – well a lot of things went wrong. And there are more of them out there, but I don't think I could keep going after the rest of them without getting an animal.” The elevator had reached the roof. He led Tina into the evening darkness, to the cage. Switching on the spotlights he pointed to the goat, silently, and waited for her reaction.

“Oh my God,” Tina said softly. She walked to the cage, peered in; then she circled around it, viewing the goat from every angle. “It's so beautiful. Is it really real?”

“Absolutely real,” he said.

“What kind of goat is it – or she – you said she, right?” Tina asked, awestruck at the sight of the goat, blinking at her, rectangular pupils making it look almost cross-eyed.

“She's a black Nubian goat. And yes, she's a female. Maybe later on we can mate her. And we'll get milk and can make cheese.”

“Can we let her out? Put her where the sheep is?”

“She ought to be tethered,” he said. “For a few days at least.” He looked over at the small rooftop pasture where the false sheep grazed. “So I guess you managed to call the false animal repair shop, since the sheep looks fine now. It's a shame we spent the money, though. Now that we have the goat, we don't have to keep up appearances with the sheep. We can tell everyone it was fake and get rid of it.”

“No,” Tina barked, sharp and loud enough that Finn, grooming and currying his horse on the other side of the roof, looked up and waved.

“Hey, guys! That goat is awesome,” Finn called to them. “Congrats. Let me know if you decide to have kids. I might trade you my colt for a couple of kids. I heard somewhere that goats are great companions for horses.”

“Thanks,” Blaine called back loudly, with a wave. He turned back to Tina and whispered harshly, “What do you have against getting rid of the sheep?”

“I grew up with Groucho, remember. He was a gift from my parents. And yes, I know that this Groucho is fake, but I still feel attached to him.” Tina stuttered through this explanation, eyes shifting between the sheep, the goat, Finn, and the elevator – never quite landing on Blaine's.

“Oh,” said Blaine, the building desire for an argument draining out of him at the mention of Tina's parents – now on Mars and inaccessible except for the very occasional, very expensive satellite call. He knew she missed them. “I guess I can see why you would want to keep it around, then. But do you think you could do more to take care of it? It just depresses me to have to tend to that thing all the time as if it were alive, especially now that we have a real goat.”

“Yes,” Tina said almost too quickly. “Absolutely. I'll be one hundred percent in charge of Groucho's care from now on.” She smiled broadly and looked past Blaine's shoulder, as if remembering something. “In fact, the guy from the New Directions Animal Hospital said that they would guarantee their repair by coming to check on him periodically.”

“We can't afford – ”

“Don't worry, they're not charging anything extra for it,” Tina said, twirling a lock of her hair around one finger and raising up on her toes as if she were about to dance.

“Why would they – “

“Blaine, I just realized something!” Tina exclaimed, spinning toward the elevator and stabbing at the button. “We're so happy about the goat. We should right now to the empathy box and share our joy.”

“Oh, I guess,” Blaine said without much enthusiasm.

“Yes, Blaine, we have to,” Tina insisted, ushering him into the elevator. “We'll go down and give thanks to Mercer, share our joy through fusion, and you can see if we have a rope to tether the goat. We can come back up in a few minutes and name her. She needs a name. You will let me name her, won't you? That's the least you can do after buying her without me,” Tina babbled, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as the elevator began its descent.

Something warned him. Something made him say, “Wait, Tina. Let's not go back to our apartment yet. Let's go back to the goat. We can just sit and look at her and maybe feed her something. They gave me a bag of oats to start us out. And we can read the manual on goat maintenance, too.” The elevator, however, had already opened and Tina was dragging him by the hand back to their apartment door.

“It would be immoral not to fuse with Mercer in gratitude,” Tina said. “I had hold of the handles of the box earlier today. I had to try it to ease my depression so I could make the phone call to the animal hospital. And it helped a little – not as much as – ” Tina cut off the end of her sentence abruptly, paused for a moment, then continued, “Not as much as having a brand new goat, certainly. Anyhow, I got hit by a rock, here.” She held up her wrist; on it he made out a small dark bruise. “And I remember thinking how much better we are, how much better off, when we're with Mercer – and with all the other people out there grasping the handles at the same time. We're better off, in spite of the pain. Physically in pain; but spiritually together. I felt everyone else, all over the world, all who had fused at the same time.” She opened the apartment door and gestured him in. “Come on, Blaine. This'll be just for a moment. You hardly ever undergo fusion. I want you to transmit the mood you're in now to everyone else. You owe it to them. It would be immoral to keep it for ourselves.

She was, of course, right.

In their living room, at the empathy box, Tina swiftly snapped the switch, her face animated with growing gladness; it lit her up like a rising new crescent of moon. “I want everyone to know,” she told him. “Once that happened to me; I fused and picked up someone who had just acquired an animal. I also once picked up someone who had just fallen in love. It was beautiful. And then one day – ” her features momentarily darkened; the pleasure fled. “One day I found myself receiving from someone whose animal had died. But others of us shared our different joys with them and that cheered the person up. We might even reach a potential suicide. What we have, what we're feeling, might – ”

“They'll have our joy,” Blaine said, “but we'll lose. We'll exchange what we feel for what they feel. Our joy will be lost.”

The screen of the empathy box now showed rushing streams of bright formless color. Taking a breath, Tina grasped the two handles tightly. “We won't really lose what we feel. Not if we keep it clearly in mind.” She looked at him meaningfully. You never really have gotten the hang of fusion, have you, Blaine?”

“I guess not,” he said.

 “It's like love,” Tina said, her face brightened again with another radiant smile. “You can love one person and then have someone else enter your life and love them too, and the new love doesn't take away from the old love, the love just expands to both people.”

Blaine looked into Tina's brown eyes. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I understand.” Another pair of eyes, blue and cool as ice, invaded his mind with a flash and he blinked, shaking his head a little, trying to erase the image.

He began to sense, for the first time, the value that people like Tina obtained from Mercerism. Possibly his experience with the bounty hunter Sebastian Smythe had altered some minute synapsis in him, had closed on neurological switch and opened another. And this perhaps had started a chain reaction. “Tina,” he said urgently, drawing her away from the empathy box. “Listen. I really need to talk about what happened to me today.” He led her over to the couch, sat her down facing him. “I met another bounty hunter,” he said. “One I never saw before. A predatory one who seemed to like to destroy them. For the first time, after being with him, I looked at them differently. I mean, in my own way I had been viewing them as he did.”

“Can't this wait?” Tina asked, glancing at the empathy box.

Blaine said, “I took a test, answered some questions, and verified it. I've begun to empathize with androids, and look what that means. You said it this morning yourself, ‘Those poor andys.' So you know what I'm talking about. That's why I bought the goat. I never felt like that before. Maybe it could be a depression, like you get. I can understand now how you suffer when you're depressed. I always thought that you liked it and I thought you could have snapped yourself out any time, if not alone then with the help of the mood organ. But when you get that depressed you don't care. Apathy, because you've lost a sense of worth. It doesn't matter whether you feel better because if you have no worth – ”

“What about your job?” Her tone jabbed at him. He blinked. “Your job,” Tina repeated. “What are the monthly payments on the goat?” She held out her hand. Reflexively he fished the contract which he had signed out of a pocket and passed it to her. “That much,” she said in a thin voice. “The interest; good God, the interest alone. And you did this because you were depressed. Not as a surprise for me, as you originally said.” She handed the contract back to him. “Well, it doesn't matter. I'm still glad you got the goat. I love the goat. And at least they're not charging us for the continued maintenance on the sheep. But the goat – it's such an economic burden.” She looked gray.

Blaine said, “I can get switched to some other desk. The department does ten or eleven separate jobs. Animal theft – I could transfer to that.”

“But the bounty money. We need it or they'll repossess the goat!”

“I'll get the contract extended from thirty-six months to forty-eight.” He whipped out a ball-point pen, scribbled rapidly on the back of the contract. “That way it'll be fifty-two fifty less a month.”

“I still don't think we can afford it,” she said, her breath coming out in panicked pants.

“I don't know,” Blaine sighed. “Maybe we should just emigrate to Mars. You could set up a new obstetrics practice and I would find something to do.”

“No,” Tina said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

“But you're the one who always says we should emigrate,” Blaine practically yelled in frustration. “I thought the only thing holding us back was my stupid, stubborn obsession with my job. What's changed?”

Tina stares at him, mouth open, as if caught. After a moment, she snaps her mouth shut and says in a clipped, robotic tone, “The goat, of course. We can't take the goat with us if we emigrate.”

“Right,” Blaine sighed. “I almost forgot about that.”

“Please don't ruin this,” Tina said. “I'm still happy about having the goat, in spite of all of this. Can we just go ahead and undergo fusion as we planned so we can get back up there and give her a name?”

Blaine's phone, in the pocket of his jacket slung over one of the kitchen chairs, began to ring. Making no move to retrieve it, he said, “If we hadn't come back down here, if we'd stayed up on the roof, with the goat, I wouldn't even know the phone was ringing right now.”

Walking into the kitchen and plucking his phone from the jacket pocket, Tina said, “Why are you afraid? They're not repossessing the goat, not yet.” She started to swipe her thumb across the screen.

“It's the department,” he said. “Say I'm not here.”

“Hello,” Tina said, holding the phone up to her face as she looked at the other face on the screen

Three more andys, Blaine thought to himself, that I should have followed up on today, instead of coming home. Tina walked toward him, holding the phone in front of her face and talking. “Yes, he's here,” she said. Blaine lifted his hands in protest, a crinkled nose and raised brow insufficient to convey his indignation at Tina's blatant disregard of his wishes. “We bought a goat,” Tina continued, blandly noting Blaine's disapproval and looking away. “Come over and see it, Mr. Puckerman.” A pause as she listened and then she held the phone to Blaine. “He wants to talk with you,” she said. Going over to the empathy box she quickly seated herself and once ore gripped the twin handles. She became involved almost at once. Blaine stood holding the phone, conscious of her mental departure. Conscious of his own aloneness.

“Hey there, Jake,” Blaine said wearily.

“We have a tail on two of the remaining androids,” Jake Puckerman said. He was calling from his office,  Blaine saw the familiar desk, littered with documents and stacked file folders. “Obviously they've become alerted – they've left the address Shannon gave you and now they can be found at – hold on.” Jake groped about on his desk for a moment before locating the paper he wanted.

Automatically Blaine searched for a pen. He held the goat-payment contract on his knee and prepared to write.

“Conapt Building 3967-C,” Jake said. “We suspect that all three of them are there. The two we tailed got a phone call that originated from that side of town before the traveled to the address I just gave you. Get over there as soon as you can. We have to assume they know about the ones you picked off, Azimio Adams, Rachel Berry, and Cassandra July. That's why they've taken unlawful flight.”

“Unlawful,” Blaine repeated. To save their lives.

“Tina says you bought a goat,” Jake said. “Just today? After you left work?”

“On my way home.”

“I'll come and look at your goat after you retire the remaining androids. By the way – I talked to Shannon just now. I told her the trouble they gave you. She says congratulation and be more careful. But you know, in her more colorful, Shannon Beiste way.” Blaine smiles at the reminder of his co-worker's odd colloquialisms as Jake continues. “She says the Nexus-6 types are smarter than she thought. In fact, she couldn't believe you got three in one day.”

“Three is enough,” Blaine said. “I can't do anything more right now. I have to rest.”

“By tomorrow they'll be gone,” Puckerman said. “Out of your jurisdiction, anyway.”

“Not that soon. They'll still be around tomorrow.”

Jake said firmly, “You get over there tonight. Before they get dug in. They won't expect you to move in so fast.”

“Sure they will,” Blaine said. “They'll be waiting for me.”

“Got the shakes? Because of what Adams did to – ”

“I haven't got the shakes,” Blaine said.

“Then what's wrong?”

“Okay,” Blaine said. “I'll get over there.” He started to end the call

“Let me know as soon as you get the results,” Jake said seriously. “I'll be here in my office.”

“Yeah, okay.” Blaine ended the call and stared at the black screen.

After a few moments, Blaine turned his attention toward his wife. Tina crouched at the black empathy box, her face rapt. He stood beside her for a time, his hand resting on her shoulder. He felt it rise and fall with her breath, the life in her, the activity. Tina didn't notice him. The experience of fusion had, as always, become complete.

On the screen the wooded path stretched out before them and all at ounce a rock sailed past. Bending, he gently removed Tina's fingers from the handles and took her place. It was the first time he had used the empathy box in weeks. An impulse. He hadn't planned it. All at once it happened.

Blaine took an experimental step forward in his mind and his body moved forward on the path, the screen and his living room melting away, his footsteps crunching the stones on the wooded path. He strained to hear the others, feel their joys and sorrows, hear their thoughts. But he had barely taken a few steps when a rock whizzed at him. He ducked and the rock struck him on the ear. At once he let go of the handles and again he stood in his own living room, beside Tina and the empathy box. His head ached wildly from the blow. Reaching, he found fresh blood collecting, spilling in huge bright drops down the side of his face.

Tina, with a handerchief, patted his ear. “I guess I'm glad you pried me loose. I really can't stand it, being hit. Thanks for taking the rock in my place. Did you feel it? The connection with the thousands of others from around the world?”

“I'm going,” Blaine said flatly.

“The job?”

“Three jobs.” He took the handkerchief from her and went to the hall door, still dizzy and, now, feeling nausea.

“Good luck,” Tina said, giving him a weak smile.

“I didn't get anything form holding onto those handles,” Blaine said. “It's just trudging up a rocky path and getting hit by stones.”

She just stared at him.

“I'll see you later,” he said, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door. Conapt 3967-C, he reflected, reading it off the back of the contract. That's out in the suburbs. It's mostly abandoned, there. A good place to hide. Except for the lights at night. That's what I'll be going by, he thought. The lights. Androids are phototropic, like the death's head moth. And then after this, he thought, there won't be any more. I'll do something else, earn my living another way. These three are the last. I have to just get this over with, like Puckerman wants. But, he thought, I don't think I can. Two, or maybe even three, andys together – this isn't a moral question, it's a practical question.

I probably can't retire them, he realized. Even if I try; I'm too tired and too much has happened today.

But I know where I can get help, offered earlier but declined.

He reached the roof and a moment later sat in the darkness of his hovercar, dialing.

“Sylvester-Hummel Association,” the receptionist answered.

“Kurt Hummel,” he said.

“Pardon, sir?”

Blaine grated, “Get me Kurt Hummel.”

“Is Mr. Hummel expecting – ”

“I'm sure he is,” he said. He waited.

Ten minutes later, Kurt's face appeared, skin smooth and pale as porcelain, blue eyes tinged with flecks of yellow, lips curled into that mysterious closed-lipped smile. “Why hello, Mr. Anderson,” he purred.

Blaine stared, open-mouthed for a moment. Though thoughts of this very face and these very eyes and this very look had invaded his mind all day, he still was startled to actually see Kurt again. His memory couldn't capture his full beauty. God, was he a beautiful creature.

Kurt waited patiently, head cocked just slightly to the side, attentive as Blaine collected himself and began to stammer. “Are y-you busy right now or c-can I talk to you?” He swallowed audibly and added in a near whisper, “Are you alone?” It did not seem like today. A generation had risen and declined since he talked to him last. And all the weight, all the weariness of it, had recapitulated itself in his body; he felt the physical burden.

“Why Mr. Anderson,” Kurt said, his words heavy with innuendo, “are you finally trying to get me alone? Whatever will you do with me if I am?”

“I'm serious,” Blaine said, his voice low and harsh. “I want to know if your offer still stands. And if you're free to talk about this openly.”

“I'm alone,” Kurt said matter-of-factly. “And yes, my offer still stands. I want my revenge on Sue Sylvester. But I'm surprised to hear from you after your stubborn insistence to do everything by yourself.”

Blaine said, “Did you really think I wouldn't call you?”

“I told you one of the Nexus-6s would get you before you got it. And I wasn't kidding,” Kurt said soberly. “I'm frankly surprised you're still standing.”

“You were wrong.”

“But you are calling,” Kurt said with a sly smile. “So I take it that you want me to come to San Francisco.”

“Tonight,” Blaine said.

“Oh,” Kurt said airily, eyes dancing coyly away before meeting his again, “it's so late. I'll come tomorrow. It's an hour trip, after all.”

“I have been told I have to get them tonight.” Blaine paused and then said, “Out of the original eight, three are left.”

“You sound like you've had just an awful time.” Kurt's voice is soothing, his expression playful.

“I thought you wanted to help me. If you don't fly down here tonight,” Blaine urged, “I'll go after them alone and I won't be able to retire them. I just bought a goat,” he added. “With the bounty money from the three I did get.”

“You humans.” Kurt laughed. “Goats smell terrible.”

“Only male goats. I read it in the book of instructions that came with it.”

Kurt's laugh melded into a crooked, dangerous smile. “Good thing that's not the case with male humans. I can guarantee you I smell very, very good.”

Blaine stared at Kurt's image on the screen, blinking slowly and trying to focus.

“You really are tired,” Kurt said, dropping his flirty smile and wrinkling his brow in concern. “You look dazed. Are you sure you know what you're doing, trying for three more Nexus-6s the same day? No one has ever retired six andys in one day.”

“Franklin Powers,” Blaine said automatically. “About a year ago, in Chicago. He retired seven.”

“The obsolete McMillan Y-4 variety,” Kurt said. “This is something else.” He pondered. “Blaine, I can't do it. I haven't even had dinner.”

“I need you,” Blaine said, voice almost cracking. Otherwise I'm going to die, he said to himself. I know it and I think you know it, too. And I'm wasting my time appealing to you, he reflected. An android can't be appealed to, even if that aloofness is part of his intoxicating cool mystery. And yet, Kurt seemed to genuinely feel. He had seemed genuinely sorrowful about the memories that had been snatched from him in a moment this morning. There was a light in his eyes when he talked about his father – who of course is just someone else's memory of a father. But perhaps that was enough. Perhaps he could convince Kurt to – 

Kurt said, “I'm sorry, Blaine, but I can't do it tonight. It'll have to be tomorrow.”

“You want me to die,” Blaine spit out bitterly.

“What?”

“Because I tripped you up on the Voigt-Kampff test.”

“Do you think that?” Wide-eyed, he said, “Really?”

“It was my test that shattered your world today. My test that stole your memories away, stole your humanity away, snatched your father from you – ”

“Blaine, stop,” Kurt commanded, firm and loud. “Wanting you to die because you administered a test that is part of your job doesn't make any sense. That would be like shooting the messenger. Come on, give me some credit for being rational. After all, I am an android. I'm driven by logical, analytical thought – not by feelings. I'm well aware that it is Sue Sylvester, not Blaine Anderson, who laced my brain with those memories and then stripped them away.”

“Then why won't you help me tonight?”

Kurt sighed. “I can tell that you don't want to do this job tonight – maybe not at all. Are you sure you want me to make it possible for you to retire the three remaining androids?” After a pause he asked, in a low, dark voice that sent a shiver of anticipation down Blaine's spine, “Or perhaps you want me to persuade you not to try?”

“Come down here,” Blaine heard himself blurt out before he even formed a thought. “Come here now and we'll do something else.”

“That could be promising,” Kurt said silkily, his voice a soft and sensual caress. “What do you have in mind?”

“I want to try something,” Blaine said hoarsely. “Something I heard today about situations involving humans and androids. Come down here tonight and I'll give up on the remaining andys. We'll do something else.”

Kurt eyed him, arched a brow and smiled. “Okay, I'll fly down. Where should I meet you?”

“At the St. Francis. It's the only halfway decent hotel still in operation in the Bay area.”

“Why Mr. Anderson,” Kurt said teasingly, “a hotel – how scandalous. Whatever will you do until I get there?”

“I just want to talk – to get to know you. I'm not – ” Blaine hesitated. “I'm not – the way you think I am. I'll wait for you.” He ended the call and sat for a time, breathing heavily and willing the faint hint of arousal away. At last the cold of the car roused him. He switched on the ignition key and a moment later headed in the direction of downtown San Francisco. And the St. Francis Hotel.