Blaine taps the touch screen and looks up, his mouth set in a rigid line.

“What do you mean, Jules? �I’m fine...” he trails off, his eyebrows quirking, silently begging her to believe his lie.
“Blaine...”

“Jules...please, just...please?” he replied, his voice cracking on the last two before looking away.

He heard her heels click back to the door and then...the click as it shuts tight.

Click, click, click...and now she’s right next to him, gathering him in her arms and holding him.

Blaine wants to fight it - she’s never done this to him - but he just can’t. �He needs this; needs to be broken just once in front of someone else. �He’s never had that...never.

He takes a shuddery breath and holds her close, hoping his heart is right - this time - and he can trust her. He needs it.

“Jules...can I tell you about something?”

***

It takes two weeks, fourteen whole days of coming to terms with who he is, what’s been done, and how he must proceed before Kurt walks back into Desiderate. �In that time he has slowly tried to pull himself back together. He had called Carole just the day before and she assured him that she would be fine...that everything would work out and he had been so strong for the whole family. �He had cried silently, listening to their work through it and hearing her realize what would need to happen soon...but he had said nothing. �Just told her how much he loved her and then quietly disconnected, hugging himself and sitting on his bed staring at nothing.

He had done his schoolwork. �It was not lost on him that all the other seniors were riotous in their excitement that this was their final semester.

Kurt hadn’t been able to bring himself to care.

Instead he had steeled his resolve to return to the place and complete his final five assignments as quickly as possible.

I will let this happen and own it and when it’s finished I can find myself again he had told himself over and over.

Walking in, though, still feels like defeat.

Nikki is here, of course, and she hugs him, stopping him in his tracks as he tries to make his way to his mailbox.

He loves her, he does, but he really doesn’t want to talk right now or even be consoled. �He just wants to do what he has to do to keep going. �And right now that means getting his matches and making some choices.

He pushes past Nikki and she protests, trying to stop him. “No, Kurt, wait. �You don’t understand! �There’s-” and she’s behind him, his mind toning her out while it holds itself rigid and unyielding, needing to find out the price he would now pay for one night as someone other than who he is.

He stops still, though, when he reaches the boxes and his name is not there. �He searches the names again, thinking maybe they had moved him somewhere because of his...status in the company.

His name is nowhere.

He turns back to the doorway where Nikki is now stationed, hands lightly holding the opposite elbow, worrying at the inside of her cheek.

“Nikki,” Kurt begins, irritation evident in each syllable, “Where is my mailbox now that I have been...demoted?”

Keep your spine straight, Kurt. �Nikki isn’t here to break you or your resolve.

Nikki smiles at him, a knowing smile that seems to take up half her face.

“Oh, Kurt. �You haven’t been demoted. �Your service is through. �Miss Clara asked to see you as soon as you came back here. �Don’t ask - just go.”

And Kurt has so many questions but something in Nikki’s eyes stop him. �She looks down to the crook of her elbow and back - gently, oh so gently so that no one would notice.

Except Kurt...because he knows her. �He knows Nikki can’t keep a secret. �He knows that no matter what she would try her hardest for him.

He let himself be ushered to Miss Clara’s office and took a seat, his eyes drawn to hers...so piercingly blue that they could be his mother’s. �On prior occasions he fluctuated between this fact being a wonderful, comforting thing and an achingly emotional punch to the gut. �Kurt is not surprised to note that today is more of the latter.

Clara is eyeing him with her usual demure smile; she is not one to tamper with great shows of emotion and is even less willing to make any of her motives or feelings known to anyone, ever. �It is through this that she has built her empire.

Kurt settles in his chair and puts down his messenger bag, leaning it against the leather chair leg as he straightens up to hear what this powerful woman has to say to him. �Her gaze is heavy upon him, weighing and measuring whatever it is she’s going to say, and the minutes stretch out between them as she considers her words. �He’s the specimen on a glass slide covered with a thin layer of protective plastic while he’s picked apart; he’s the subject of a public debate, hypothetical voices shouting to be heard over the din in the thick silence that envelopes them. �It is frightening, being scrutinized and pulled apart without words, and he silently wishes he hadn’t come today...doesn’t want to hear what this woman has to say to him that has made him lose his...job? �Well, no. �That was already gone. �Made him...what? �

And so he waits.

“Well, Kurt,” she finally says, “Since the creation of my company I have had to fire many a match because of their indiscretions. �I have seen them fall in love with clients and have had those same clients attempt to sue me for a mismatch - and then remember their privacy is much more valuable. �I have seen clients take matches on after they have finished their commitment to me and string them along only to shatter their dreams and send them packing. �I have had clients come and beg me for the phone numbers, addresses, and contacts of a match and turned them down time and again as the match could give a fuck about the client. �Very, very rarely have I had happen what has happened with you, though, Kurt.”

Kurt finds himself hanging on her every word, his heartbeat quickening and his breath coming in shallow gulps. �What happened? �Jesus did I violate something so badly that I’m to be charged or...

He let out a breath, his lungs too tight in his chest, as she went on.

“And Kurt, I get it. �I do. �You have charisma in spades. �Your face, god Kurt, do you know how much money I could’ve made off of JUST your FACE alone?” �She laughs, but there is no humor in it. �Kurt feels the irritation radiating from her and is struck with the realization that Miss Clara is extremely pissed off and is barely containing her rage. �“But no. �Instead I get an unfulfilled contract and the inability to double charge for your final forays.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow at her, his lips set and jaw tight. �What a bitch, he thinks, Thank GOD I’m out...I’m...

“Oh, I was going to do it, believe me. �I could’ve charged anything for that gorgeous ass and your flawless fucking skin. �Damn the rules, I would’ve assigned you a driver or two because I could. �And damn you for always requesting to BE the driver because honestly, so much money, Kurt...” Kurt knows he’s glaring now but he can’t help it. �Fuck HER if she thought I was going to give her that much control, he thinks, that was the one thing no one could take from me and I’ll be damned if I was going to give it up willingly.

Clara is just looking at him now and she sighs, pushing a piece of paper his way, along with a pen.

“So now...just sign the damned papers, get your tracker removed, collect anything that’s yours - I think Nikki has it - and get out. �Don’t think that you can come back after this. �I will not take you back if he throws you away-”

Kurt stands then, unable to contain his words any longer.

“Just what the hell are you talking about anyway Clara? �Goddammit I came in today to WORK. �I came in today ready to do my fucking job...the one I wasn’t going to be fucking paid for because I know I broke the rules. �You had won! �What happened? �Wha-”

And Kurt stops because she is laughing at him. �Honest to god laughing and Kurt crosses his arms and squeezes his fingers tightly against his biceps as not to hit her.

“So you’re not with him? �Oh, that’s even better!” her eyes are glinting with mischief and he knows that calculating brain is finding some way to dig at him, anything that will- “Well then, maybe he wants to keep you as a pet and he hasn’t asked you yet. �No matter. �He came in yesterday and paid for you. �You owe him so much now, don’t you sweetie? �How long will he keep you, do you wonder? �A month? �Two? �I’m intrigued and it’s sad I will never know how he controls you with this. �All I know is that somehow you circumvented my rules and now you must go. �Get out.”

With that she stood and pressed a button on her phone, glaring icily at Kurt as she spoke aloud to the other end, “Andrew. �Please come and escort Mr. Hummel out.”

Kurt knows his face is aflame and his body is strung too tight to be sane but he could care less. �This woman had demeaned him with her words made him worth nothing more than a plaything and he was so done. �His hands are fists against his ribs and they ache to break free and let loose a year’s worth of sadness, anger, and disappointment. �8 months worth of self-loathing and fear of being discovered for what he has done. �His skin is straining against taking every atom of fear, resentment and unbridled hate and launching it at Clara, her demure smile back in place even as derision leaks from her every pore.

But he doesn’t. �He needs to collect himself, cleanse himself of this place and this woman and start anew.

And he has a whole lot of questions for Blaine.

They must wait, though, because Andrew is here, next to him, leading him from her office and to the tracker room where his arm is quickly prepped with alcohol swabs, iodine and a local, his eyes squeezing shut as the shot pierces his skin. �He waits, mind ticking through all the possibilities, all the things Blaine could’ve been thinking when he came here to pay his debts. �To pay his fucking debts and he wonders how he can ever repay him, what Blaine expects of him...if he will ever even see Blaine again. �His mind hops from enraged to elated; inquisitive to indignant. And...then his thoughts are gone as he watches the scalpel slice his skin and he’s struck by how much a metaphor this moment is - watching Nikki remove the tracker from his arm, the blood flowing and caught on swabs of bright cotton, the tracker tossed without thought into the plastic red bio container.

It’s like he has dug out the worst of him, slashed the skin of his shame and wormed out the poison clouding his veins; discarding it and sealed himself shut, giving him permission to heal.

Nikki glances up at him as the last suture is shut, scissors to snip the tie binding them in her right hand. She grins at what she sees. �

Kurt, his eyes bright with tears and a smile of rebirth stretching his skin.