Chapter Five: Fast Car

Blaine spent the next few weeks sneaking conversations with Artie and Puck as the three worked out the details of his escape.  It was hard to avoid suspicion from the guards, but they managed it whenever they could.  On Mondays, Blaine would relay information to Kurt.

“Artie’s hashed out pretty much all the tech stuff,” Blaine reported one Monday a few weeks later.  “He’s known how to dismantle the security system for ages, but I guess the issue was an alibi for him since he’s the only one who can do it.  He figured out some way to put the shut-down on a delay system, I think, so we can pick our time in advance, and he can make sure he’s somewhere with plenty of witnesses.”

“How long will that get us?”

“He says an hour tops… maybe only twenty minutes under bad circumstances.  It’ll depend on how quickly they take notice, which will depend a lot on the time of day.”

“It’ll have to be evening,” Kurt said thoughtfully, “but not too late.  I need to realistically still be in the building, but we’ll want most of the other day workers to have left.  And Sylvester’s always here; she watches this place like a hawk.”

Blaine nodded.  “She eats dinner in her quarters though, most nights anyway.  Can you find out what time?”

“I’ll try,” Kurt agreed.

“Puck’s going to stage a fight, so that should take care of most of the other staff.  I’ll just slink away while they’re distracted.”

“That just leaves the outdoor staff, then.  Damn!  I still don’t know what to do about them.  I could try to make friends, but that’s a big thing to trust a new friend with, not to mention the suspicion it will put on me.”

Blaine reached for his hand.  “We’ll think of something, babe; don’t worry.  We just have to be patient.”

Kurt whined and mock-pouted.  “I don’t want to be patient.  I want us 24/7, and I want it now!”

Blaine chuckled and planted a quick kiss on his nose.  “Someday I promise you’ll be sick of me!”

“Doubtful,” Kurt protested with a smile, but the expression faded quickly as his mind began spin.  “Blaine,” he asked tentatively, “why is it that Puck and Artie don’t want to escape too?”

“Puck does,” Blaine answered.  “Though I imagine he’d end up back here eventually.  He’s gotten out before, at different facilities.  Artie is a little different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know many details, but he’s happy here, from what he’s said.  I think he feels useful.”

“But what about finding his soulmate?  Doesn’t he care about that?”

Blaine inhaled sharply, chewing on his lower lip for a moment before speaking.  “I’m not sure he’d want you to know…”

Kurt’s quirked an eyebrow, but he waited patiently.  Finally, Blaine spoke again. 

“Artie doesn’t have a name on his hand.”

“What?” Kurt gasped.  “I’ve never heard of that before; doesn’t everyone?  What does that mean?”

“It’s rare,” Blaine conceded, looking away from him.  “But there are quite a few people with no names in The Olde World.  I guess they go there for the same reason people like us do.  Not that the government does anything to them, but you’re pretty shunned here if you don’t have a name.

“There are theories,” he continued, “as to why it happens.  But no one really knows.  Sometimes people without a name will get one later in life, usually the name of someone who had another soulmate but lost that person to death.  Sometimes those matches work out, sometimes not.  There are a few, though, who will never get a name.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Kurt said quietly after a moment, cuddling Blaine closer to him.

“You don’t have to,” Blaine said sincerely.  “’I got you babe, right?” He elbowed his soulmate playfully, causing Kurt to reluctantly smile.

“Yeah,” Kurt answered.  “And I got you.”

*******

As with most of their serious conversations, Kurt decided to explain his plans to his father over dinner.

“Dad,” he began carefully.  “How would you feel about housing a fugitive here?  Just for a night or two, of course,” he added hastily.

Wrinkles appeared in his father’s forehead as he slowly placed his fork on his plate of pasta, wiped his mouth, and sat back.

“And what kind of crazy question is that to spring on your old man?  Is this about Blaine?”

Kurt sighed and nodded.  “I want to break him out, dad.  It’s the only way.  We’ve been planning it for a while now; we just need a few more people on the inside…”

“Woah, woah, woah, stop right there kiddo!  Now I know this is hard and you want to be together, but breaking someone out of jail is serious stuff!  And you want to bring him under this roof!?”

“Well, I don’t know where else we’d go,” Kurt defended, trying to sound reasonable.  “It’s not like they have any reason to suspect my involvement—by the time they do we’ll be out of here.  And what other choice do we have?  We can’t go on like this, dad.  It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to him.  He didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“You know I believe that after what you told me,” Burt said.  “I want more than anything for you to be happy.  But I’d be doing you wrong if I didn’t tell you what a huge risk this is, and I’m not talking about for me.”

Kurt was quiet for a minute.  “I know it’s a risk,” he said softly.  “But it’s one I have to take.”  He looked up and met his father’s blue eyes with his own.  “I need your help, Daddy, please.   It will just be for one night; I promise!”

Burt studied his son for a moment.  “One night,” he repeated.  “Then what?”

Tears welled up in Kurt’s eyes, but he didn’t answer.

Burt sighed.  “I thought so.”

“It’s the only way,” Kurt pleaded.

Reaching over, Burt cupped his son’s face in one hand, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb.  “I know,” he said, his voice breaking.  “But that’s not going to make it any easier.  Not on either of us.” 

He dropped his hand, straightened up in his chair, and resumed eating.  Kurt sat waiting, eyes never leaving his father.

 “Of course you can bring Blaine here,” Burt spoke after a moment.  “Can’t wait to meet the kid.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, voice thick and hushed.  There was nothing more he could say.

*******

The breakthrough came from the last place, in the last way any of them could have expected.

It was a Friday afternoon that found Kurt eating in the staff’s break room, sharing a rare but pleasant lunch with Emma.  They sat alone together as neither were the type to make friends easily, but the rest of the small room was fairly crowded with their coworkers.  Kurt recognized most of them at this point and even knew half of their names, but he was only on speaking terms with a few.

A rather large woman with dark hair messily knotted at her neck was seated at the table next to them, the only total loner in the room.  She sat facing Kurt, eating her way through what looked to be at least three sandwiches and a large bag of chips, but she was gazing with unveiled fascination at Emma, who was polishing each grape in turn with a paper towel before popping it into her mouth.  Emma was either too absorbed in speaking with Kurt or too polite to take notice, but Kurt was glaring openly at the woman in acknowledgment of her rude behavior.  She finally glanced over at him and smirked before resuming her staring.

Kurt didn’t know her name, but he recognized her and knew her reputation.  She was a badass and not afraid to flaunt it, and she worked as one of the perimeter guards on the afternoon shift.

At that moment, Warden Sylvester herself appeared in the doorway.  Activity and conversation in the room halted briefly as everyone instantly took notice, then continued with an air of tension in an attempt to pass for normal.  She stood there for a moment, today clad in a camo track suit, sniffing visibly and surveying the room.  Seemingly satisfied, she walked over to the coffee machine and began to fix herself a cup.

Kurt was pointedly trying to ignore her at this point, same as everyone else, but a startled cry of pain coming from mere feet in front of him made his eyes jolt up in alarm.  Sue Sylvester was standing beside Badass (ok, so it wasn’t original, but it was all he could come up with at the moment) and peering down into her now empty coffee cup.

“Oops,” the blonde woman said overdramatically, reaching up to clap Badass on the shoulder a few times and giving her a phony smile.  “Guess I’m gonna need another cup.”

Badass looked royally pissed and was clutching at her left arm in obvious pain, but even she must have known better than to say anything.  As Sue turned and walked back towards the coffee machine, Badass attacked the coffee-soaked glove that covered her hand, trying to inconspicuously wipe down the injured flesh with a water-soaked napkin someone had handed her before hastily attempting to hide it again.

She was quick but not quick enough.  In the mere seconds it was exposed, Kurt made out the unmistakable letters that spelled Noah Puckerman written in messy scrawl across her blistering red palm.