“So your grandma's kinda mean, huh?”

Santana stopped tucking Kurt's sheet in at the foot of the bed and eyed him with suspicion.

“Who's been talkin' to you about my dear, sweet abuela?” she asked sternly. “Was it Kitty? It was Kitty, right? Because I tell ya right now, if she's been sayin' one word about my abuela, I'm gonna toss her out on her ass so far they won't see her for the county line. I don't care what Blaine says about it.”

“No, no, no!” Kurt replied, shaking his aching head, hoping to save Kitty from an unintended ass-whooping. “It was Brittany. She told me. She said your grandma was mean…a-and old.” Santana made an insulted clicking noise with her tongue, and Kurt thought - Why? Why did I add that? He clamped his teeth together tight before he said something else asinine. Santana stood straight and put her hands on her hips, staring Kurt down with sultry brown eyes that could light up one minute, and the next, look downright villainous.

He hoped he didn't tread into sensitive territory with his remark. He had just woken up, and was only looking to start conversation. He'd mulled over his earlier talk with Brittany, and found her comment about Santana's grandma funny. He thought Santana might get a chuckle out of it, too. Santana had become as dear to him at The Canary Cage as Brittany – her raw strength, her no-nonsense attitude, how she bent to no one's will but her own. But especially the fierce way she loved and protected Brittany. Kurt felt glad for Brittany on this. She deserved that kind of love, and Santana seemed best suited to give it. They were sort of an odd couple, when it came down to it. Where Brittany acted childlike and a little naïve, Santana was more rough and tumble, with a head full of street smarts and a sharp tongue. But they fit one another like a hand did a glove.

Santana fascinated Kurt, but she also kind of terrified him.

“Oh, well, that's alright then,” she said, finishing up her task. “And she's right. My grandma is kinda mean.”

“Any particular reason?” Kurt didn't know why he found himself asking personal questions of the girls. He hadn't before, but so many people at The Canary Cage seemed to know the ins and outs of his personal business. Most of them had seen him naked, and bereft of clothes wasn't even the limit to the vulnerabilities they'd witnessed. He'd been ripped open in front of them, torn to pieces. On top of that, he hadn't figured out how they'd dealt with his “natural processes” while he'd been unconscious, and he was afraid to ask. All he knew was that every time he woke, he was clean and dry, on pristine white sheets. There were only a handful of people that Kurt guessed would be willing to volunteer in that capacity. If he thought on it too hard, he might never be able to look anyone in the face again.

But in light of his full disclosure, he was beginning to think that turnabout was fair play.

Santana shrugged. “She doesn't think I should be doin' what I'm doin' with my life.”

“Working at a saloon?” Kurt guessed.

“No” - Santana moved to a chair by the bed and sat - “being with Brittany.”

“What does she have against Brittany?” Kurt asked. “She's the sweetest thing.”

“She thinks I'm wastin' my time with her,” Santana said, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirts over her knee. “She thinks I should get married to a proper caballero and settle down, live on a farm, raise pigs and chickens, and eventually pop out twelve kids like she did.”

“So, the work isn't an issue?” Kurt asked.

“It puts food in her stomach, buys her medication, keeps a roof over her head,” Santana said, “so no. Not really.”

Kurt shook his head, which caused him pain and made him dizzy, but he couldn't think of a more appropriate gesture to express his confusion.

“She has no problem with you sleeping with men for money,” he surmised, “but she has a problem with you and Brittany?”

“Yup. That just about sums it up.” Santana nodded. A wry smile tugged at her lips. Kurt was amazed how at peace she seemed with her grandma's attitude. She must have dealt with it for most of her life until she came to Blaine's place. Being at the saloon, living with Brittany instead of with her grandma, must have made it easier to handle her bigotry. Kurt couldn't imagine what his life would have been like at home if his parents hadn't been supportive of who he was.

To be told that he shouldn't love where he wanted to love, what would be the point of living?

“Wow. That's…okay,” Kurt said. He couldn't come up with an appropriate response, but Santana understood.

“Yeah,” she said. “Well, that's my abuela.”

“And you're still supporting her? Even though she doesn't support you?”

“Well, of course,” Santana said. “She's my abuela.”

“Right,” Kurt said. It made as much sense as it didn't. “Hey, what's the beef between you and Kitty?”

Santana's eyes widened, sincerely perplexed by his question.

“No beef,” she said. “Kitty's one of my best friends in this place. A real peach. Why d'ya ask?”

Kurt's face went completely blank. “Uh…no reason.”

“Santana! Santana, come quick! Hey, Kurt.” Sebastian leaned in at the door, beckoning Santana out, taking a moment to give Kurt a smile.

“What is it, Sebastian?” she groaned. “Can't ya see I'm busy entertainin'?”

Sebastian's gaze bounced between the two – Santana, sitting in the wooden chair permanently placed by the bedside, dressed in her usual sporting girl get-up; and Kurt, propped on pillows, naked beneath Blaine's white linen bedsheets. Sebastian stammered and blushed, and Kurt chuckled.

“I-I'm sorry,” Sebastian said, “but some fella downstair's lookin' for you. Says his name's Sandy? Sandy Ryerson?”

“Sandy Ryerson?” Santana repeated. She stared at Sebastian, expecting him to elaborate, but he looked as lost as she did.

“Yeah. Don't you know him?”

Santana thought a moment, then shrugged one shoulder.

“I guess it don't matter,” she said, getting to her feet. “He knows me, he asked for me, I'll go do my thing. But who in the heck names their kid Sandy Ryerson?”

“Got me,” Sebastian said, stepping to the side to clear a path for Santana as she made her way to the door.

“See ya later, Kurt,” Santana said, blowing him a kiss. “You be a good boy.”

“I will,” Kurt said. “See ya.”

Santana held fast at the door, looking at Sebastian with a warning in her eyes before she headed off down the hall. Kurt didn't see, but the warning wasn't for him. It was meant for Sebastian, and Sebastian knew full well what Santana was trying to convey.

Blaine had grown very fond of Kurt during the time he'd been at the saloon. There wasn't a soul who spent more than five minutes in The Canary Cage who didn't notice it. And that meant Kurt was off-limits. Blaine hadn't told Sebastian so in so many words, but he didn't need to. It was an understood rule. The Canary Cage was Blaine's place, and whatever he wanted underneath its roof, he got.

Blaine was Sebastian's boss, and Sebastian respected him, but on the topic of who got to call on Kurt, Sebastian didn't care. He didn't stand by all of Blaine's unwritten rules (of which there were many). But even if Blaine had forbade Sebastian from pursuing an interest in Kurt, who was he to make that decision? Sebastian didn't see how Blaine could stake a claim to a person. People weren't property. How was Blaine's laying claim to Kurt any different than what David had done, isolating Kurt from his family and the rest of the world? Controlling him through coercion and fear?

Besides, Sebastian met Kurt first. They'd talked more and, in Sebastian's opinion, had a great deal more in common. There was no reason why Sebastian shouldn't keep being friends with Kurt just because Blaine fancied him.

“Hey, Kurt,” Sebastian said, shuffling his feet as he stood in the hallway. “Would you mind if I came in and had a visit?”

“Not at all,” Kurt said, patting a space on the bed next to him. “I've missed talking to you.”

“That's nice to hear.” Sebastian walked in with staggered steps, waiting to be certain that Blaine wasn't anywhere around before he got too comfortable. “That's nice of you to say.”

“I'm not trying to be nice,” Kurt said. “It's true. I might never have come in to The Canary Cage if it weren't for you. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Well, I don't know ‘bout that,” Sebastian said, blushing again the way Kurt knew he would. In a way, Kurt had hoped to make him blush. “I think you would have found your way in here on your own. I'm just glad you did.”

“I am, too,” Kurt agreed. Sebastian's gaze met Kurt's. So intense were his green eyes, it made Kurt shudder…the way Blaine's gaze made him shudder…and Kurt didn't know whether he liked it or not. “So, how have things been downstairs?” Kurt asked. He didn't want for the air between them to become awkward. Kurt had a hunch that first day that Sebastian had a crush on him, and to be frank, Kurt had liked him, too. Sebastian was a breath of fresh air compared to most of the people in Lima, and quite a few from Defiance. Kurt didn't know Sebastian's history, where he hailed from or how he came to be here, but he was such a genuine soul, unjaded by the hardships of life. Kurt had seen other men come in to the gambling hall to drink their sorrows away, taking up with the girls, and even starting petty squalls as a way to forget their troubles. But Sebastian met them with a smile on his face and a kind word regardless.

Kurt imagined that, for some, Sebastian's kindness, with no ulterior motive attached, might be the only kindness they'd receive that day. Kurt wished for that kind of tolerance, but even before David had beaten him, he'd lost a good deal of what he'd had in him.

“Nuthin' much interesting,” Sebastian said. “Everyone's still keepin' pretty quiet after what happened…you know…to you and all.” Sebastian's gaze drifted, regretful that he hadn't censored himself better. Kurt took his hand, squeezing it as best he could, and running a thumb over his knuckles. Sebastian's hands were strong. Kurt could feel it when Sebastian tensed beneath his touch. His skin wasn't smooth, but it wasn't so rough as David's. And he was warm. Comfortingly warm.

“Is that usually the way things go?” Kurt asked.

“Sometimes,” Sebastian said. “Not often. But what happened to you, and then Blaine calling out his hired guns, it spooked people. Without law here, people don't worry too much about being on their best behavior. But when Jake and Noah show up, people tend to toe the line.”

“Jake and Noah?” Kurt asked. His memories of the night he came to The Canary Cage had been blurry, and when the laudanum wore off, he fought to remember what happened after he walked through the doors and fell to the floor. Brittany had mentioned Jake and Noah. It sounded like they were close with Kitty. Kurt was curious how that worked, the both of them together and her, but he thought it indecent to ask. Other than that, Kurt couldn't remember hearing those names before.

“The Puckerman brothers,” Sebastian clarified. “Blaine's regular hit men.”

“Are they dangerous?” Kurt asked, intrigued. “Do they have a price on their heads?” Kurt became suddenly giddy, eager to know everything Sebastian did about these two men. It felt unreal, like Sebastian was reading to him from a dime novel - one about rogue gunslingers roaming town to town, picking up bounties and getting chased down to Mexico by the law - not recounting the details of real life events that Kurt had been a part of. Kurt sat up and scooted closer, the sheet he had pulled up to his neck sliding down his chest, exposing skin littered with what remained of purple bruises turning a sickly yellow-green.

But Sebastian didn't notice the bruises. His breath caught in his throat for very different reasons.

“Th-they're nice enough guys over a smoke and drink,” Sebastian said, voice wavering as he caught sight of the smooth planes of Kurt's chest. Kurt was actually a muscular man beneath those baggy clothes David forced him to wear. Sebastian hadn't noticed before, but he had only seen Kurt unclothed the one time, and Sebastian wasn't focusing on Kurt's physique then. Blaine didn't call Sebastian for help when Kurt's bedsheets needed changing, taking on the job himself, and relying on Holly or the other girls for assistance. But Sebastian could see here that Kurt had a fine build. He was a handsome man, and no amount of whipping could scrape that away, because on Kurt, it didn't only go skin deep. “They like to joke around with the girls. They'd never raise a hand to any of them. But they're both lethal with a pistol. And a man would have to be out of his mind to get anywhere near Jake and that Bowie knife of his.”

“Wow,” Kurt said. The chill air hit him, and he covered up again, to Sebastian's dismay, “I wish I could remember them.” Then it struck Kurt, as snippets of discussions and images caromed at him, that he had no idea what Blaine had had done to David. Did he have him beaten? Tarred and feathered? Shot? Hung? Run out of town?

Was David alive? And if he was, was he still in possession of all his limbs?

“Kurt?” He felt a hand touch his forehead, then his cheek. He saw Sebastian's troubled eyes search his face. “Kurt, are you feeling alright? You look like you're gonna be sick. Maybe you should lie back down. Do you want me to go fetch the doctor?”

“No,” Kurt said. “No, I'm alright. A little tired, but that's all.” There was a moment when he considered asking Sebastian about David, but he decided it was a question more appropriate for Blaine to answer, seeing as he was the one who ordered the deed done.

And by the way Kurt's stomach tried to wring itself empty when he thought on it, for now, Kurt didn't want to know.

“Do you want me to go?” Sebastian reluctantly asked.

“No.” Kurt jumped at that. He didn't like being alone in Blaine's room. It got quiet too quickly, even with the music and laughter from downstairs rising up through the floorboards. Kurt didn't like sitting alone with only his thoughts for company. There were too many ghosts he hadn't come to terms with. Every time he shut his eyes, they came calling, collecting on old favors, needing him to remember them. “No, I don't want that. I, uh…actually, I've been listening to life stories today. I was hoping you might consent to telling me yours.”

Kurt thought Sebastian would launch right into it, spinning a yarn about his days on some quaint family farm out West, maybe with a younger sibling to contend with, sharing a room and fighting over chores, throwing snowballs in the winter and swimming together in an old rainwater pond in the summer. Or maybe he was from the city, and had some exciting stories of big city life to impart, like the saloon owner back in Defiance had. But Sebastian's face turned solemn, his eyes dropping down to the sheet and their hands, Kurt with one still resting over his.

“Do you…do you think you could get to know me a little better first before I start dishin' out the details of my past?” Sebastian asked.

“Oh,” Kurt said, taken aback, his face going red. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I shouldn't pry. I don't know what's come over me in here. I think maybe I'm going a little bit stir crazy…”

“No, it's alright,” Sebastian said. “No harm done. And considering, you know, you have a right to ask. I mean, you've been so generous about opening up to me. I should return the favor.”

“No,” Kurt insisted, “you're under no obligation.”

“I just” - Sebastian's face took on an interesting expression – unreadable, and yet his eyes became so expressive, so full of disquiet and sadness, Kurt wished he could infer the things that Sebastian hid away - “I want to be judged on the person I am now, not the one I was…and the things I had no control over.”

“That's fair enough,” Kurt said.

Sebastian nodded and went quiet. Then, that awkward silence, the one Kurt was hoping to avoid, reared its ugly head.

“So,” Sebastian said, feeling it, too, “what should we do while I'm here, huh? Play cards?”

“I've never been too good at cards,” Kurt admitted.

“Ah, there ain't nothin' to it,” Sebastian said, “as long as you keep your eyes open and don't get in over your head.”

“You'll have to teach me then,” Kurt said, “but when my head's less foggy. All I've been is in over my head lately.”

“I'll take you up on that,” Sebastian said, finding that easy glee he seemed to have where Kurt was involved. “But I guess that means chess's out then, too.”

“It was kind of out to begin with,” Kurt chuckled. “I'm an awful chess player.”

“We'll put that on the list of things I'll need to help you with then,” Sebastian said. “I can read to you.” Sebastian pulled forward and lowered his voice. “I think Kitty's got some filthy books in her room. You know, the kinds with drawings in the margins.”

Sebastian wiggled his eyebrows and Kurt laughed out loud. It shot needles through his skin when he did, but it felt good to laugh. It felt good to do anything with the sense of freedom he had being here at The Canary Cage, surrounded by caring people and friendly faces. It felt good to feel human again, and not like a whipping post - an outlet for someone else's anger. At the house with David, Kurt's body wasn't his own, his life wasn't his own, and he had no control over what happened to either. But here, he felt safe and happy. It felt the closest to a home since he'd left Defiance.

“Sure,” Kurt replied. “Why not?”

Sebastian hadn't expected that as an answer. His jaw dropped and his face went bright scarlet, causing Kurt to laugh even more.

Neither Kurt nor Sebastian heard Blaine come down the hall. He walked barefoot, having gone to one of the other empty rooms to wash up, since he didn't want to disturb Kurt by dragging in the tub and splashing water on the floor. He'd left Kurt snoozing, and in Santana's care. So why he was sitting upright in bed, bare chest uncovered, with Sebastian by his side, of all people, was beyond him.

But it was nice to hear Kurt laugh. He just wished he'd had a hand in making it happen.

Blaine stood in the doorway to get his fill of it before he broke their party up.

“Mr. Smythe,” he said, announcing his presence outside the room. Blaine's voice made Sebastian flinch a hair, but it made Kurt smile, “there are thirsty customers downstairs who'd like to get their drinks sometime today.”

“Yes, boss,” Sebastian responded. “That's why Kitty's tendin' the bar for me.”

“Yeah, well, Kitty's gotta work,” Blaine said, walking in to the room. Kurt watched him stroll in, brown pants undone at the top and his white shirt hanging open, hair damp and running wild with curls he normally kept tamed. He hadn't shaved, but the scruff on his jaw wasn't scruffy or unruly. He looked sinful and dangerous - so utterly in control of his surroundings, it was frightening. Frightening but exciting. It wasn't until Kurt's chest started to hurt that he realized he was holding his breath. “We all gotta work here. That includes you.”

“I was watchin' him for Santana,” Sebastian argued. “She had a customer. I didn't want to leave him alone.”

“And I'm thankful,” Blaine said, though he sounded anything but, “but now I can take over.”

The two men stared each other down in silence, and Kurt knew he'd have to intervene. He gave Sebastian's hand a pat.

“I'll talk to you later, okay?” Kurt said, not dismissing Sebastian, but not entirely thrilled by the pissing contest going on between these two, discussing him as if he weren't sitting right there. There was also the matter of Sebastian's job. Kurt wouldn't be able to forgive himself if Sebastian lost it because of him.

“Alright,” Sebastian said. “Later it is.” He let himself focus on Kurt and forget Blaine for a second, probably not the wisest thing to do under the circumstances. He could feel Blaine watching him, impatiently waiting for him to make himself scarce. “I look forward to it.”

Sebastian stood to go because he had to. There was no way around it. He could argue further, but then Blaine could up and fire him. Sebastian would do fine without the job, but then he might not be able to see Kurt, and Sebastian didn't want to conceive of that. Sebastian and Blaine bristled when they passed one another, but then Sebastian was gone, and Blaine was left, hovering at the end of the bed, brooding and beautiful.

And grinning at Kurt.

Which made possibly defying Blaine's wishes difficult for Kurt to do, but he had to.

He waited till he heard Sebastian descend the staircase at the end of the hall. He didn't want Sebastian to think he was fighting his battles for him. He didn't want to wound Sebastian's pride.

“Don't be angry with Sebastian. I like it when he visits,” Kurt piped up.

Kurt was grateful to Blaine for everything he'd done. Kurt might not be alive if not for him, and he definitely wouldn't be free of David. But did Blaine think that the money he'd spent on Kurt's care gave him some kind of hold over him? If so, then Kurt needed to find a way of paying him back…and fast.

“Of course, darlin',” Blaine said, sitting where Sebastian had, though an inch or two closer to Kurt. “I know you do. And I'm not gonna keep him from seein' you. But for now, I need him to work. He can come back later, I promise.” Blaine said the words, but he didn't sound too pleased by them. But they pleased Kurt. He saw it in the smile returning to Kurt's face, and Blaine took that smile as a victory. “Besides, I'd like a little time with you to myself, if that's alright.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “That's alright.”

“Good,” Blaine said. “How'd ya sleep, handsome?”

“Uh…” Kurt frowned, derailed in his answer by Blaine calling him handsome. Kurt didn't know what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. He saw the pity on Kitty's face when she came in to change the water in the basin by his bedside. He saw the grief in Holly's eyes, and the guilt in the doctor's, when they stopped by to check his stitches. David must have done a number on him. For Blaine to call him handsome seemed like an insult. Like Blaine was mocking him.

He didn't honestly think Blaine would, but that's how it felt.

“Oh, I see,” Blaine said. “Let's try this again.” He brought his face as close to Kurt's as he dared, close enough that Kurt felt the heat from Blaine's mouth against his lips when he spoke. “Hello, handsome,” Blaine said in a low, soothing voice. “How did you sleep?”

“F-fine,” Kurt stuttered, breathing in the clean scent of Blaine's skin, and along with it, something cool and sweet, like peppermint. Was it toothpaste? Or could he have been sucking on a peppermint stick? He did say he had a thing for candy. If Kurt could take a taste, he'd know for sure. “I-I slept fine, thank you.”

“Good,” Blaine said, pausing to glance down at Kurt's mouth before he backed away again. “It's nice to know that my bed's been treatin' you right.”

Kurt was mesmerized by Blaine's eyes, by the depth of their color, their shifting shades of whiskey, green, and gold, that it took Blaine's words a moment to register with Kurt's frazzled brain.

“But, if I'm sleeping in your bed, where've you been sleeping?”

“In here,” Blaine answered, not concerned with how forward that might sound. “On the floor, and in that chair.”

Kurt took a look at the chair when Blaine mentioned it. It was a plain, hardwood chair, like the sort they used downstairs in the gambling hall, not a chair made for sleeping. Not like Kurt's mother's rocking chair. Kurt couldn't imagine a more uncomfortable place to sleep.

“Oh, Blaine,” he moaned. “That's terrible. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not asking for apologies, darlin',” Blaine said, “and I'm not taking any, neither.”

“But, you could sleep in another room, couldn't you?” Kurt asked. “In a real bed?” Kurt assumed there had to be one or two empty rooms in The Canary Cage, or the cathouse next door. Rooms with a bed where Blaine could hunker down and get a decent night's sleep. Why choose the floor, or a chair with no arms and no cushions to sleep on, when there's a bed available for the night?

“'Cus then I wouldn't be here if you needed me,” Blaine answered right after Kurt thought it.

How could Kurt argue with that?

He couldn't, and Blaine banked on that.

Kurt felt a bit outside his reach around Blaine. Blaine had to know exactly what he was doing when he talked to Kurt that way. He used his charm to great advantage. The way Blaine talked; the way he gazed into Kurt's eyes, wandering to his lips for a second and licking his own; the closer Blaine's hand crept toward Kurt's hand; made it difficult for Kurt to raise the important concern of setting ground rules.

“Look, Blaine,” Kurt said, “I don't know how to tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done for me, and I want you to know that I'm gonna pay you back. Every cent you spent on me.”

“Of course, darlin'. But how about you don't worry about that for right now?” Blaine didn't want Kurt to stress over money matters, but Blaine didn't want to discuss it for personal reasons. Kurt getting better and paying him back meant Kurt leaving. Blaine, in recent days, had a hope that he kept to himself – one where Kurt decided not to leave The Canary Cage, where he didn't go to New York to follow his dream.

Where he didn't leave Blaine behind.

“Alright,” Kurt agreed, relieved to postpone that discussion for a while, “but I do have a few questions for you, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind. Ask away.”

“I'm…not…ready to know what happened to David,” Kurt said, “but I need to know…you said…my stepmother and my sister-in-law, that you'd help keep them safe…”

“And I did,” Blaine assured him. “I sent Noah to go see to them. They should be well on their way out of Ohio by now.”

“Noah?” Kurt felt nauseous. “Noah Puckerman?” Sebastian said the Puckerman brothers were killers – ruthless in Jake's case. He couldn't imagine Carole and Rachel being in better hands, and yet, he prayed that their association with him didn't get them into more trouble.

“Yes,” Blaine said, feeling Kurt's anxiety surface. “He's a good man, Kurt, and he's good at what he does. They're gonna be fine. I told him to send word when they were safely stowed away. I expect we should hear from them any day now.”

Kurt didn't seem much restored by Blaine's words, his assurances that the two dearest people in the world to Kurt were safe in the hands of a hired killer, but Kurt had to trust that Blaine knew what he was doing when he chose Noah for the job.

“So, how do things work around here?” Kurt asked, moving on to take his mind off it. He had no reason to worry about Carole and Rachel (and the baby! Dear Lord, he'd forgotten about the baby!) until he heard otherwise, so he had to wait and have faith. “I mean, the people who work for you, Sebastian and the girls” - Blaine's eyes darkened at Sebastian's name coming first off Kurt's lips – “do you guys have an understanding? Or a contract of some kind?”

“Well, Sebastian don't need a contract. I pay him a salary, and he's free to come and go as he pleases.” Blaine said it sort of harsh. He saw it in Kurt's eyes, and he softened up a bit. “But my girls, we have a contract. I give them room and board, and protection. They give me a percentage of their earnings. They have a debt to me from the outset, and they work toward paying it off. For that, they stay for a length of time. They can buy out their contracts whenever they want to go.”

“So, I'll be like your girls, I suppose,” Kurt said.

“How do you reckon?” Blaine asked, amused by the concept.

“Well, you're giving me room and board, and protection. And I have a debt to you I need to pay from the start. So, we'll need a contract, right? One that binds me to you for a time?”

“I guess you're right” - Blaine hadn't thought of it like that, but it sounded good to him - “but we can talk that over later. When you're back on your feet. I don't want you in a rush to get out of that bed.”

If Kurt hadn't been single-minded in his need to settle his debt, he would have choked over those words.

“But every day that I'm here and not working…”

“Is a day that you're doin' the intelligent thing and getting yourself well,” Blaine said. “Don't go makin' a martyr of yourself over money. Money don't matter more than you. Remember that.”

“I will.” Kurt felt Blaine was treating him like a child, but he'd let Blaine have his way this once. Kurt couldn't make it to the wash basin by the bed yet anyhow. What would he have done if Blaine agreed he should get right to work? Crawl? “I have another question for you, if it's not too much trouble.”

“Okay,” Blaine agreed, “but after that, I think you should try to get some more sleep.”

“Tired of me already?” Kurt asked with an eyebrow crooked.

“Never.” Blaine smirked. “I want you to get your strength back.” Blaine's hand found Kurt's and rested over it. Kurt couldn't tell if his skin was soft or rough, calloused or smooth, because the second Blaine's hand touched his, his soul left his body. “So ask me your question so I can see you back in that bed.”

Kurt shivered. If Blaine didn't stop talking that way, Kurt would never again be able to form a coherent sentence.

“I was just curious” - Kurt took the bold move to flip his hand over beneath Blaine's and lace their fingers together. The smile on Blaine's face when he did became effervescent. “How much would it take to release Brittany from her contract?”

“What? Why? Did she say she wants out?”

“No,” Kurt rushed, hoping that he didn't get the girl in trouble by posing his question. “No, she said nothing of the sort. We were talking and…well, I found out, she has a dream similar to mine, and I was wondering why she just doesn't go for it.”

“Oh,” Blaine said, brow wrinkling like this was the first he'd heard of it. “She can leave whenever she wants. She don't officially have a contract with me.”

“She doesn't? But she told me that” - Kurt debated saying it the way he understood it, because it made Blaine seem like an underhanded libertine – “you took her in exchange…to pay off her father's tab.”

Blaine scoffed. “Yeah, well, that was the only way I was gonna get her away from that man.”

Here was a light at the end of Kurt's tunnel, the half of the story he hadn't been told, the thing he could hold on to when he doubted Blaine's intentions again, but he still felt in the dark.

“I don't understand.”

Blaine sighed. “How much has Britt told you about her father?”

“Not much,” Kurt admitted. “Just that he was a drunkard. He had a high tab with you. You threatened him, and when he said he didn't have the money to pay you, you took her off his hands as payment.”

“Yeah, well, that's the watered down version of it,” Blaine said. “Seeing as the two of you are such good friends, I don't think she'd mind me telling you the rest.”

Kurt might have disagreed, might have said it didn't matter, but he wanted to understand Brittany better, and if her road here was a traumatic one, as his had been, he didn't want to put her through having to remember it.

“Her mother died when she was about twelve,” Blaine began, “when Brittany had just become a woman, so to say. And the minute her father could appreciate her assets, he started making use of them. He also let his buddies make use of them, you know, for a fee.”

“Oh no.” Kurt felt sick for the poor girl, for dear Brittany. He had no idea.

“When she cried about it, or she talked back, or she became too sick to do what he wanted, he would beat her with his belt. He left marks all over. Not as bad as yours were, mind you, because he was never sober enough to aim competently, but they still looked mighty painful. He used to lock her up in the cellar when he went out drinkin', but she figured out how to escape, so he started draggin' her into town with him to keep her from runnin' off. Drug her straight down Main Street once by her hair, kickin' and screamin'…”

“That's…that's horrible.” Kurt's fingers tightened in Blaine's grasp. Blaine's eyes darted toward their hands, fingers woven together.

One.

“I met her on her sixteenth birthday,” he continued, lingering a second more on how Kurt's skin looked pressed against his. “I watched her father come into my place night after night, saw him drink his fill, saw him try to pawn off Brittany on my customers, but no one was stupid enough to bite. One night, he brought her in with a black eye, and a goose egg on her forehead the size of my fist” – He made a fist of his free hand and held it up so Kurt could see – “and I knew he was going to kill her. I knew the way I knew with you, darlin', that she had to get away from him. He was tryin' to pawn her off hard that night, so I suspected he didn't have a penny to his name. I called him out on his debt, in the hopes of getting him against a wall, and when he was there, I bartered for his daughter.”

“So, she belongs to you indefinitely?” Kurt asked. Blaine's gesture had been noble, and Kurt couldn't fault him. He needed to do something. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. But if he was making Brittany pay off the debt of him saving her from an abusive father, something any decent human being should have done without expectation of a reward, then it goes back to being barbaric.

“Nope,” Blaine said. “She can leave whenever she wants.”

“Does she know that?” This time, Kurt was harsh, and Blaine looked hurt, a reaction Kurt didn't anticipate.

“Yes, she does,” Blaine replied. “I just don't think she's ready, is all. She has a family here, with Santana and Kitty and the other girls. I don't think she's too eager to leave it.”

Kurt had to admit that he got that impression, too. Maybe their dreams were similar, his and Brittany's, but they wanted it in different ways. Kurt was willing to strike out on his own, sacrifice anything he had to make his dreams real, but he'd always had a blind faith that things would turn out the way he wanted just because he wanted them. Brittany didn't see it that way, and looking at things through her eyes, Kurt could see where attaining her dream seemed rather daunting. She had no confidence in herself, or in her abilities. She had been held down for so long that any self-worth she'd ever had had been buried long ago, and Kurt wondered what it would take to get it back.

But he had an amends to make to Blaine, who looked at him with saddened eyes and a downturned mouth, bothered by the thought that Kurt felt he had been some kind of monster in the way he'd handled Brittany.

“You know,” Kurt said, giving Blaine a smile, “that generous streak you've got, it's kind of bad for business.”

Blaine's eyes found Kurt's, playful and teasing, and the hazel in them simmered to a burnished gold.

“I'm not that generous,” he said, “but I think you'll find out, sooner than later, darlin', that some of what I do around here ain't all about business.”