Sprinting all the way from his office to the bar, Blaine skidded to a stop when he spotted Mike sitting at a high-top table nursing a beer.

“Michael!” Blaine called out to his high school friend.

“Blainers!” Mike said, standing and pulling the shorter man in for a hug.

Blaine stepped back, looking Mike over. In the fifteen years since they’d graduated high school, Mike had put his dance career on the back burner and become one of the country’s most sought after criminal litigators.

“I didn’t even realize you were in DC, Mike. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Blaine asked with a smile.

“What, I can’t call up an old friend and ask him for a drink?” Mike teased with a playful smile.

Blaine put his hands up in mock defeat. “Ok, ok, I’ll give you that one. But look, I really can’t stay, I just wanted to come by and ask for a rain check. I’m in the middle of a big case and…”

“What can I get you to drink?” Mike inquired, as if he hadn’t heard Blaine speak at all.

“Mike, I really can’t stay, man. I’ve got –“

“What can I get you to drink?” Mike asked evenly.

Blaine was getting frustrated with Mike’s disregard. At the very least, he thought Mike, of all people, would understand.

“Are you even listening to me?” Blaine said, his annoyance clear as a bell in his voice, “I’ve got to go. I would really like to hang out sometime, if you’re going to be in town for a while.”

Mike sighed and took a drink of his beer. “Blaine, I didn’t ask you here to talk shop or catch up or anything. This is an interview.”

Blaine furrowed his brow in confusion. “An interview? Mike, what are you talking about? I didn’t apply at your firm –”

“Yes you did,” Mike said without a trace of humor in his voice, “You know how I know? Because I have your resume, college transcripts, driving record, background check, and the results of your last four drug tests on my iPad. I probably know more about your professional life than you do.”

“Seriously, I have no idea what you’re even talking about. I haven’t applied for a job since college. I’m happy working at my father’s fir— ”

“Ask me who I work for, Blaine.”

“What? Why? Mike, are you drunk?”

“I can see it all over your face. Ask me who I work for.”

“Fine, Mike. Who do you work for?”

“Kurt Hummel.”

The name made Blaine’s heart stop, it made everything in the room blur, it made his ears ring. Mike worked for Kurt. His Kurt.

No, Blaine scolded himself, He hasn’t been your Kurt since freshman year of college. Blaine’s mind immediately flashed back six years, to what was, and to this day, still is the worst day of his life.

It was Valentine’s Day, and Blaine stood on the steps that led into Kurt’s dorm with an armful of red roses and a small velvet box tucked away safely in his coat pocket. They had managed to make it through some tough times in their relationship, distance being the greatest challenge, what with Blaine at Harvard and Kurt at Columbia. Not to mention ,being in law school meant that they had practically no spare time.

Today would be different. Blaine had doubled up on his reading and skipped out early on a mock trial to surprise Kurt.

Blaine’s face lit up when he saw Kurt walking towards him. His smile dropped, however, when Kurt got closer and he could see the details of his boyfriend’s face. The taller man’s eyes were red and puffy. His normally porcelain skin was almost a ghostly shade of white and the look of absolute panic on his face when he saw Blaine was enough to let the curly-haired man know something was definitely wrong.

Dropping the roses to the ground, Blaine ran to his boyfriend and enveloped him into a tight hug. A sob erupted from Kurt’s throat, and he cried onto Blaine’s shoulder.

“I’m here, baby.” Blaine whispered, massaging Kurt’s neck. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

Kurt took a couple of deep breaths and then he took a step back from his boyfriend.

“No, we won’t,” Kurt said raggedly. Tears were already reforming in his eyes as he continued to speak. “I… I can’t do this anymore.”

Blaine felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. “Wha—What?” he croaked.

“We haven’t been us,” Kurt said, motioning between the two of them as tears streamed down his face, “For a very long time. We’re growing apart, Blaine, and it’s not fair to either of us to stay together just because it’s comfortable. I won’t do that to you.”

“Kurt, please,” Blaine sobbed, “Please, baby, please don’t do this.”

Kurt stepped forward to hug Blaine, but the hazel-eyed man put up his hands to stop him. “Don’t. Just… don’t touch me. If this is what you wanted, well, now you’ve got it.”

Blaine reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box. He handed it to Kurt. “I had this custom-made for you, so it’s not going to be of much use to anyone else. But you should know, you’re the love of my life, and I’ll never love anyone but you. So, I hope you’re happy. Have a nice life, Kurt.”

As Blaine walked away from the man who was now his ex-boyfriend, he heard Kurt let out an almost animalistic scream. It took everything in Blaine’s power not to turn around and go back to him, but Kurt had made it very clear what he wanted, and Blaine would always give Kurt exactly what he wanted.

“You know how I know you want this job, Blaine?” Mike’s voice pulled Blaine out of his memories. Blaine looked at him expectantly, hoping that he hadn’t started crying.

“When I said his name,” Mike explained, “You quit breathing. It’s a tell. Your tell; has been since high school. But, I should probably let you know that this isn’t even really an interview. Kurt told me to offer you the job. I’m just having a bit of fun at your expense.”

“I – I didn’t know Kurt started his own law firm,” was all Blaine to offer in response. He knew that after Burt’s foray into politics, Kurt had gone to law school so he could make a difference in the world that he couldn’t make in theater, but he’d had no idea that Kurt had started his own firm.

“It’s not a law firm, get that straight right now, or Kurt will snap your head off,” Mike said with a small smile. “We’re fixers. We fix things for the cr�me de la cr�me of Washington. We make things go away. We’re gladiators in suits. Because that's what you are when you work for Kurt, you're a gladiator in a suit. So, you in?”

“I wanna be a gladiator in a suit!”

Mike’s smile grew and he wrapped an arm around Blaine’s shoulder and led him out of the bar.

To say that Blaine was nervous would be an understatement. As he and Mike rode the elevator up to KEH& Associates’ offices, Blaine felt wave after wave of nerves, nausea, and fear wash over him with each ding of the elevator as the floors flew past.

“Top floor office, not surprising,” Blaine muttered, nodding towards the lit up button.

“You know, Kurt, gotta have the best of everything,” Mike said with a slight chuckle.

“It’s really late, Mike, he’s probably not even going to be here,” Blaine said, nervousness returning.

“Oh, he’ll be here,” the Asian man said with a wicked smile.

Blaine’s hand shot out and pressed the elevator’s emergency stop button. Mike look at him worriedly.

“You ok?” Mike asked, placing a hand on Blaine’s shoulder.

“I – I just need to know a few things before we go up there,” Blaine said as he started pacing the elevator.

“Ok, shoot.”

“First,” Blaine said, stopping for a moment to collect his thoughts, “How different is he now from when I knew him?”

Mike laughed. “Oh, he’s still very much the same Kurt. You’re not going to meet some stranger up there. He’s a little more hard-core than he was in high school, but given the nature of< i>our business you’ll understand. What else?”

Blaine started pacing again. “Why me? Why now? There are a thousand other lawyers in this town, most far better than I am. Why didn’t he go after one of them?”

“That’s a fair question. I don’t know Kurt’s exact reasoning; you’ll have to ask him that, but I do know that he likes the idea of having people around that he can trust. He’s got me, Artie’s our tech guy, Santana’s an investigator, and he keeps Puck around for his muscle. I know you may not think so, but he< i>does trust you implicitly; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Ok, that makes sense,” Blaine said as he began to pace more frantically. “Last thing, and this is a big one, is he seeing someone? Does he work here? If so, I can’t do this. There’s no way I could deal with seeing that on a daily basis.”

Mike grabbed Blaine by both shoulders, forcing the shorter man to look at him. “Blaine, Kurt hasn’t dated anyone since you. I know this for a fact. You’re stressing yourself out over nothing.”

Mike released Blaine’s shoulders and pushed the emergency stop button, causing the elevator to begin moving again.

When the elevator dinged the final time, Blaine looked up in confusion. “We can’t be there already. There are three more floors.”

Mike exited the elevator smiling and said, “Biggest and best for Kurt Hummel. Welcome to KEH and Associates.”

The office was very much decorated in Kurt’s aesthetic. It was modern yet timeless and still had a homey, lived-in feel to it.

Blaine had only taken a couple of steps out of the elevator to join Mike in the lobby when his heart stopped beating for the second time that day. There, through the glass panels of what Blaine assumed was a conference room, stood Kurt Hummel, still as breath-taking as ever.

Kurt was walking around the table as he talked animatedly to Artie, Puck, Santana, and a man that Blaine didn’t recognize. Kurt froze when he saw Blaine through the glass, and every person at the table turned their heads in his and Mike’s direction. Instantly, they were all smiling.

Artie wheeled himself out of the conference room, followed closely by Puck and Santana. Over their shoulders Blaine could see Kurt saying to the mystery man, “You stay in this conference room. You do not move, and you do not make any phone calls: not to work, not to the press, not to friends. You break those rules, and all bets are off. Got it?”

The man nodded his head, and Kurt followed the other three out of the conference room.

After pleasantries were exchanged between Blaine, Puck, Artie, and Santana, the three employees of KEH & Associates parted to allow Kurt to step forward.

“Hello Blaine,” Kurt said with a warm smile, but he kept a good distance between them.

Blaine flushed at Kurt’s smile. He had always thought about what he would say in this moment: perhaps scream, punch Kurt in the mouth, or run away. He didn’t do any of those things. Blaine just opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to his head.

“I so admire your work in the White House. It's an honor to work for your law firm,” Blaine said, mentally kicking himself for sounding like such an idiot.

“We're not a law firm,” Kurt said quickly, “We're lawyers but this is not a law firm.”

“Law firms are for pansies,” Puck added.

“We solve problems,” Kurt said rolling his eyes at Puck’s comment.

“Manage crises, save reputations,” Santana added.

“Oh, well… Uh… It's still an honor,” Blaine said as he took a sudden interest in a spot on the poured concrete floor.

A high pitched beeping rang out through the lobby, pulling everyone’s focus away from Blaine. Artie rolled over to a fax machine and retrieved an incoming fax. He looked over it, brows furrowing in concern.

“You might wanna take a look at this, boss,” Artie said, wheeling over and handing Kurt the fax.

Kurt’s eyes scanned over the paper before he turned on his heel and marched into the conference room, right up to the stranger, who still remained seated inside.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?” Kurt said, slamming the fax down on to the table and causing the man to flinch. “I told you, Karofsky, you lie to me, and I wash my hands of you.”

Blaine looked to Mike, mouthing the name Kurt just said with raised eyebrows.

“Dave’s dad,” Mike whispered. “Turns out, Dave’s got a choking fetish. Supposedly went a little too far this time, so his Dad came to us for help.”

Blaine let out a low whistle as he returned his attention to the scene in the conference room.

“Get out of my office,” Kurt said to Mr. Karofsky. “You will be billed for all services rendered up until this point. I look forward to never seeing you or your son again.”

The man stood and walked briskly out of the conference room and into the elevators, disappearing behind the polished chrome doors.

Kurt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Puck moved forward to put his hand on Kurt’s shoulder, but Kurt’s hand shot up to stop him. That’s when Blaine saw it.

Kurt was wearing the ring Blaine had given him on the last day they had spoken to each other. Blaine’s breathing hitched. He stepped forward and spoke before his brain had time to catch up to the situation.

“Kurt,” he said in a tone of voice he hadn’t used for years, “Judge’s chambers?”

It was an old joke between the two of them from back when they first started law school. If they ever needed to have a serious conversation, one of them would say, ‘Judge’s chambers,’ and the other would know what they meant. Blaine knew Kurt wouldn’t be able to resist. Not now that he knew Kurt still had, and was actually wearing, that ring.

“Uh, yeah,” Kurt said, managing something of a smile. “You guys go home for the night; I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Kurt ushered Blaine upstairs to his office once everyone else had left the building. He sat down a plush black leather sofa, motioning for Blaine to join him.

“So,” Kurt said after a few moments of awkward silence, “How have you been?”

Blaine wasn’t really in the mood for small talk, so he cut right to the quick. “How long have you been wearing the ring?”

Kurt looked a little startled at Blaine’s directness. “Since that day. You have to understand, Blaine, I never wanted to breakup with you.”

Blaine laughed bitterly. “Then why did you? You’ve worn the ring I planned to propose to you with for six years and you never once thought about calling me?”

“I know you’re upset with me,” Kurt said, trying to mask the pain in his voice, “I’ve never forgiven myself for being bullied into letting you go, but it was for the best.”

“You thought breaking my heart was for the best?” Blaine’s voice was starting to rise. “You ruined me Kurt!”

Kurt moved forward and placed both hands on either side of Blaine’s face. Blaine jerked back like he had been burned.

“Don’t you fucking touch me, Kurt Hummel. You don’t get to stomp on my heart and then expect to come running back to you like some lovesick puppy!”

“I was trying to protect you, ok?” Kurt shouted.

“From what, Kurt!? From you?” Blaine screamed. “I loved you! You were everything to me. You were the last person I ever thought would hurt me like you did.”

“Blaine, I –”

“Kurt! Blaine!” Mike came bounding into the office, interrupting the fight. “We’ve got an incoming!”

Kurt took a few calming breaths before turning to Mike. “It’s after-hours, tell them to leave a message and we’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“I would,” Mike said. “But he’s here and you’re gonna want to take this one.”

Kurt and Blaine followed Mike as he ran down the stairs to the lobby. Their conversation would have to continue another time.

Once they reached the lobby, Kurt’s knees buckled at the sight before him.

Another ghost from their past, Sam Evans, was standing there, covered in blood. Kurt couldn’t make his tongue work. Thankfully, despite their argument mere minutes ago, Blaine hooked his hands under Kurt’s arms to keep him from collapsing.

“Sam,” Kurt said after staring for what felt hours. “What happened?”

Sam blinked a few times as if he didn’t register the words that were coming out of Kurt’s mouth. Tears started pouring out of Sam’s eyes as he spoke.

“Mercedes is dead,” he sobbed.

The group all exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“Why are you covered in blood, Sam?” Mike asked carefully. “Did you –”

“NO! Absolutely not! Mercedes was my best friend!”

Mike backed away at the sudden outburst. “Ok, buddy. We just needed to know.”

By this time Kurt had managed to regain some of his composure. “Alright people, we’re obviously taking this case. Santana, go to Mercedes’s apartment take pictures, dig in to the police, and find out what you can. Puck, take Sam to the lounge, get him a clean shirt, and keep him there. Get his alibi and all the details you can. Blaine, you and Artie sweep Mercedes’ phone records, e-mail, credit cards, bank accounts; all of it. Mike, go home to Tina.”

Kurt grabbed his coat from the coat rack and headed towards the elevators. “Let’s move people! We’re firing on all cylinders.”

Kurt banged relentlessly on the townhouse door, alternating between the knocking and ringing the doorbell until the front porch light came on. He stepped back a bit as the door swung open.

“Give me seventy-two hours before you charge and arrest Sam Evans,” Kurt said before the owner of the townhouse could speak.

“Well, hello to you too, Gay Face.” Sebastian Smythe said, voice thick with sleep. “You do realize it’s two o’clock in the morning, right? Unless this isn’t strictly a business call...” Sebastian’s mouth curled up at the corners.

“Not on your life, Meerkat. Now you heard me: seventy-two hours before you make a move on the Mercedes Jones case.”

“You don’t have the power of the White House behind you anymore, Hummel. You can’t just come to my house in the middle of the night and makedemands,” Sebastian said, frowning. “You’re a private citizen now, and you’re annoying.”

“Oh, I see what this is about. You’re hoping that this will become a media shit storm.” Kurt took a defensive stance as he spoke. “Mr. Big-Shot State Attorney arresting the face of the Office of Small and Disadvantaged Business Users. You’re hoping to earn a little praise from the GOP so that when you make a bid for Attorney General in two years, you’ll be able to ride in on their ticket.”

“Are you threatening me, girl jeans?” Sebastian scoffed.

“Of course not, Sebastian,” Kurt said, feigning innocence, “But if you or your ‘posse’ make a move towards that man, I will have every major news outlet on your front steps within the hour. I’ll tell them how you’re turning a grieving husband and working-class hero into some sort of monster for your own political gain. And just so we’re clear, that is me threatening you. So, seventy-two hours?”

“Twelve.” Sebastian replied.

“Forty-eight.” Kurt countered.

“Twenty-fo—”

“Done!” Kurt said triumphantly as he started walking away. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Smythe.”

Sebastian shook his head and closed his front door as Kurt disappeared down the dark street.

“We've been here all night. Don't you people ever sleep? Don’t you have lives outside of this place?” Blaine asked, reaching for what must have been his tenth cup of coffee.

“No,” Artie said, “You marry the job. If you’ve got somebody when you start, they have to understand.”

“Oh,” Blaine said.

“Gladiator. In a suit.” Artie said with a smile.

“Team meeting!” Santana called from the stairs. “Conference room in two!”

Artie and Blaine exited the elevator into the lobby just as Kurt came out of the other elevator, arms loaded down with cardboard carriers of coffee stacked on top of two boxes of doughnuts.

The three joined Santana, Mike, and Puck in the conference room. Kurt began to pass out coffees.

“Double chocolate mocha frappechino for Puck, triple espresso, no cream, for Santana, caramel macchiato for Mike, hot chocolate for Artie,” Kurt said as he passed out the cups. “And a medium drip for Blaine.”

“You remember my coffee order?” Blaine asked, a little astonished.

“Of course,” Kurt said, wiggling his still-adorned ring finger. He ignored Blaine`s eye- rolling and snorting. “Ok, so status report. Go!”

“Tina said she was supposed to go to some gala with Mercedes, but she backed out last minute,” Mike spoke up first.

“We need to find out why. Add it to the list,” Kurt said.

“We might have the answer to that,” Blaine said. “We cracked Mercedes’s e-mail. She’d been e-mailing back and forth with someone on an encrypted e-mail. They were going to meet up.”

“Encrypted?” Kurt asked, looking at Artie.

“The IP address pings all over the world; I’m running a trace on it to see if I can lock it down,” Artie replied.

“Ok, so Mercedes was going to meet up with some mystery man. Do we think she was having an affair?”Santana piped up.

“No, definitely not,” Mike said. “Mercedes loved Sam more than anything. We all know that. She gave up a record deal to come here and be with him.”

Kurt’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it, reading the message as he continued to speak.

“Artie, work on that trace. Blaine, ask around to Mercedes’s friends and find out if they know who this guy was. Puck and Santana, you guys talk to Sam again. Make sure his alibi is air-tight. I don’t want anything slipping through the cracks.”

His phone buzzed again. He furrowed his brow as he read the message. “I have to step out. I’ll be back soon. We’re on a time restraint, so let’s make things happen.”

Stepping onto the grass of the National Mall, Kurt quickly located the woman who had texted him. Sue Sylvester stood waiting for him in the cold January morning air, wearing her signature tracksuit with a matching trench coat over it.

“What?” Kurt said as he approached the woman.

“He needs your help, Porcelain,” Sue said, turning to him. “We have a crisis.”

“You tell him that I don’t work for him anymore,” Kurt said. There was no malice in his voice. “I’m not at his beck and call anymore.”

“Let’s take a walk,” Sue said, linking her arm with Kurt’s. They began walking the grounds of the famous park. “There’s a woman going around saying she slept with him.”

“Did he?” Kurt asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Porcelain,” Sue said, “He’s not that kind of man: you know that! She’s lying.”

“Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton; John Edwards and Rielle Hunter; don’t give me your sound byte. Did he do it?” Kurt said, stopping their walk.

“No,” Sue said.

“I want a meeting.”

“You know that’s impossible. His schedule is very hectic these days. Just make this go away.”

“Again, I will remind you, I don’t work for him. He’s the one that needs my help.”

“And yet, you still came when I called,” Sue said with a smug grin. “He’s a very busy man, Porcelain, can’t you do him this one favor?”

“I’ve done more for that man than you will ever know. So you tell the President of the United States that if he wants my help, he’ll agree to the meeting.”

Kurt didn’t wait for a response before walking away.

“You’re going to Camp David? Kurt, what about Sam? Remember? The time limit on proving his innocence?” Mike said, following Kurt around his office as the blue-eyed man gathered his things.

“I’m not going to be gone that long. The President needs a favor, and if I’m going to do it, I need to know he’s not lying.” Kurt said as they walked down the stairs.

“He’s trying to get you to come back to the White House. He’s wooing you.”

“He's not wooing me, Michael. We're friendly now.”

“You and I are friendly. He's the leader of the free world. God, your life makes me feel unsuccessful.”

Kurt stopped in the stairwell and turned to face Mike. “Where are we on the whole Sam thing?”

“Not bad, but not great,” Mike said with a shrug. “He said he stopped into a pub for a beer before he went to Mercedes’apartment and found her.”

“Ok, take Puck go to that bar. Find someone, anyone, who saw him. We’re going to prove that our friend didn’t kill his wife.”

“I still think he’s wooing you,” Mike said with a mischievous grin.

“Shut it, Chang. I’ll be back soon.”

Kurt stood anxiously in the office of the Presidential Cabin at Camp David. The entire place was filled with the buzzing of secret service, military security, and the President’s staff.

“Glad you could make it, Porcelain,” Sue said as she stepped into the room. “He’ll be with you shortly.”

“Kurt Hummel!” a woman’s voice called from behind Sue. They both turned to see the First Lady walking into the office.

“How are you, hon?” she said, pulling Kurt into a hug. “You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Things are a little hectic at the office right now,” he said. “�’ll be fine.”

The First Lady patted Kurt’s cheek affectionately as the President stepped into the cabin’s office. “You should come back to us. We miss you around the White House.”

Kurt smiled at her, but didn’t respond.

“Kurt, hey buddy, how’re you doing?” said the President, stepping forward to pull Kurt in for a hug.

“I’m doing great, Dad,” Kurt said into his father’s shoulder. “I’m doing great.”