Henry Parker has an air of intimidation about him. His office is smaller than Kurt expects, but lavishly decorated. The man himself looks to be of Arab descent and wears a suit that most would judge to be expensive, but Kurt has the expertise to know it’s an excellently priced knock off brand.

“You’re Kurt Hummel?” the man asks, without looking up from the paper he is scribbling on.

“Yes,” Kurt responds. It comes out a squeak and he clears his throat.

The man looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Did I hear Bradley Johnson out there, Mr. Hummel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he speak with you?”

Kurt nods.

Mr. Parker gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “It would be in your best interest to ignore Bradley in the future. He’s…special.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kurt mutters, taking the seat.

The head of department spins his chair around to shuffle through files on his bookshelf. “If you’ve talked with Bradley, you know that I know everything about you Mr. Hummel. I want to make that very, very clear. There is nothing you can hide from us, and there is nothing you need to hide from us.”

He spins back around, manila folder in hand. “Everything about you is in the file. Would you like me to prove that?”

Kurt squirms, unsure of what he is supposed to say.

“Quiz me, Mr. Hummel. Anything.”

Mr. Parker’s tone is detached. Kurt can tell he’s done this before, so he feels it’s safe to play along. “Who do I live with?” he asks.

The man doesn’t even look at the file. “You live with your roommate Rachel in the Lakeside apartments in the suburbs of Washington, D. C. You regularly interact with two other occupants of your building, Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray. All four of you attended William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio.”

Kurt bites his lip. He doesn’t involve his friends in anything concerning Blaine’s family. That’s always been a rule of his. But they’re safe, he assures himself. To the best of their knowledge, he’s interning at an office that investigates minor tax fraud.

“Tell me something that will surprise me,” Kurt demands. He wants to know exactly how deep this place has dug.

Mr. Parker flips through the file to the last page and scans it before chuckling to himself. “According to our records, you went out drinking last Saturday and rejected the advances of three separate women. You’ve also got a fondness for tequila.”

“When girls get drunk, their gaydar tends to disappear, “Kurt explains. He’s sure that somewhere in that file they know he’s gay, but he feels that he should clarify anyway.

Mr. Parker nods. “You also worked very briefly for Vogue.com,” he continues.

“Yes, sir.”  

“You gave no notice of why you quit,” Mr. Parker prompts.

“No, sir.”

Kurt stays silent as Mr. Parker stares at him. Eventually, the man yields. “Why did you quit?”

Kurt holds back a cheeky smile. “I thought you knew everything about me, sir.”

Mr. Parker’s expression does not waver. “We know enough. The important things. The relevant things.”

Kurt bites his lip, knowing he might be about to cross a boundary. “If you know important things, tell me why I’m here.”

Mr. Parker nods and flips though the file again. “In your childhood, you lived on 3485 Chester Road, two houses down from the immediate family of the serial killer John Anderson. You maintained a close relationship with the family, particularly after the death of your mother. You also think John Anderson killed your mother.”

Kurt tries to restrain his reaction, but he tenses in spite of himself, poker face crumbling. “There’s no way you know that,” he insists. “I’ve never talked about that.”

Mr. Parker’s expression is disbelieving. “Your mother’s death has been flagged as the work of a serial killer from day one. It bears all the classic marks, and with the association to Anderson it’s not a long stretch to make. May I offer you a coffee?”

“What?”

“May I offer you a coffee?”

“Um…yes, please?” No, he’s actually thinking, I’m wearing white pants, but he doesn’t want to reject what appears to be a sign that Mr. Parker isn’t going to fire him before his job even starts.

Mr. Parker rises and walks over to a coffeepot on the other side of the room. “I’m going to address you as Kurt now, but you’re still to address me as Mr. Parker. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt replies.

Mr. Parker selects two mugs from a cabinet. “I don’t remember what our official name is right now, but we just call ourselves The Center. That’s what everyone else knows us as. Sugar?”

“Yes.”

“I want to be frank with you, Kurt. What I imagine Bradley told you isn’t that far off the mark. The Center isn’t your typical workplace, even when it comes to the CIA. We are not a typical workplace, and you are not our typical employee. Cream?”

“One, please.” Kurt fidgets and wipes his palms on his pants.

“People don’t seek us out like you did, Kurt. They are placed here, for one reason or another. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

“I understand, sir,” Kurt says. He doesn’t really, but it seems like the right thing to say.

“Everyone has secrets here, Kurt. Everyone has a reason they’re here. They also have a reason why they stay. You do well for us, and we’ll do well for you.” He hands Kurt the cup of coffee and retreats back behind his desk with his own cup.

“I’m going to set rules for you, Kurt,” he says. Kurt nods.

“People here know things about John Anderson. If they don’t, they know people who do. It’s a high profile case, and most everyone in this office is embedded in it in one way or another.”

“I know that,” Kurt interjects, sitting up straighter. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I won’t put you on the case,” Mr. Parker says bluntly. “But I’m not going to keep you from it, either. If you do it carefully and don’t hurt the case, you’re welcome to as much information as you can pry out of people.”

Kurt nods eagerly, holding back tears. This is more than he expected. Way more than he expected.

“But-“ Mr. Parker holds up a finger. “I expect you to return the favor. There are people in this office who’ve wanted to question you for years. Anything they ask, you answer truthfully and in full. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt answers, crossing his fingers in his lap. No. Not everything.

“Congratulations, Kurt,” the man replies, still with no hint of emotion. “You’ll be working under Arthur Tilley. Second floor, first office to the right out of the elevator.”

“Thank you,” Kurt mutters as he picks up his bag and heads towards the door.

“Be careful, Kurt,” Mr. Parker calls as he reaches for the handle. Kurt glances back. The barest hint of a smile is pulling at his boss’ lips. “Arthur’s quite the character. A bit of a temper. They say his time in witness protection did it to him.”

Kurt slowly returns the smile. “Thank you, sir,” he repeats, more genuinely this time.

* * *

Tilley is a fat, balding man with a too-short tie. He doesn’t spare Kurt a glance, simply hands off a thick stack of papers.

“I believe in learning through osmosis. These are the case files for everything this unit has done in the past three years. They’re handwritten. I want to you to type up digital copies.”

Kurt automatically gets a bad vibe from him, but he bites his tongue hard, reminding himself of everything it took to get himself here. “Thank you, sir.”

“Drop the sir,” Tilley orders. “No one here but Parker gets your respect until they earn it.”

“I understand,” Kurt says as he retreats, even though he still doesn’t. Not really.

Transposing the records is not fun. It’s dull and Kurt’s fingers seem to be eternally cramped. His cubicle is isolated from the rest of the bustling office, and his desktop computer very well might be older than he is.

Despite the inconveniences, Kurt feels a wave of calm wash over him as he sifts through the papers. This is as far as his plan reaches. Everything he has found has pointed him towards where he is right now. All he has to do is focus on these papers.

“It won’t be long now,” he murmurs to himself as he straightens the stack. “Not long at all.”

*  * *

A thousand miles away, an adolescent stares up at his ceiling and thinks of the hands that dart nimbly across a keyboard. 

“I see the moon, the moon sees me,” he sings. “The moon sees the one that I long to see.”

He closes his eyes.

“So God bless the moon and God bless me, and God bless the one that I love.”