Blaine really does love his job. Granted, it's not what he imagined himself doing as a kid, dealing with international espionage on a daily basis, but it's worked out okay so far. "So far" being up until fifteen minutes ago, when he was informed that his partner on his next assignment would be one Agent Kurt Hummel.

Kurt is brilliant at what he does, of course, but his style is, to say the least, very different than Blaine's. Kurt is the crawling-in-air-ducts and repelling-down-the-side-of-buildings type of spy. Not that Blaine hasn't done any of that before, but he prefers getting what he needs with charm, a smile, and a dash of lying.

And now he's expected to fly out to God-knows-where and retrieve the package of God-knows-what. With Kurt. It would, under different circumstances, be an easy in-and-out type of mission, but Blaine is now very much aware that their contrasting styles will make the entire trip a long series of disagreements.

Blaine has only seen Kurt once before, at a CIA gala he'd been forced into going to. Kurt had caught his attention quickly enough, standing off to the side in a flawless suit and drinking a flute of champagne. Blaine didn't stay long enough to consume enough liquid courage to brave talking to him, though; the sheer amount of bullshit bureaucracy in the room was too much to take all at once and he had escaped as soon as possible.

But Blaine has heard enough about Kurt to worry him. Kurt's stubborn to a fault and enough of a bitch to never have the same partner more than once. It's been said that Kurt refuses to do anything in any other way than his own, and that he's often ignored his partner in favor of doing his own thing. It's never gotten anyone killed. Yet.

Blaine lands a solid punch on the bag, and startles when it doesn't give as much. Santana, his usual partner, crooks an eyebrow at him.

"I guess you heard," Blaine grumbles.

Santana smirks. "About you getting stuck with Agent Gay for your next assignment? The entire building knows, B."

Blaine steps back, rolling his neck and unwrapping his hands. "It's going to be a shit show, Tana," he says quietly.

She rolls her eyes and perches on one of the benches. "Don't be overdramatic. You'll try to charm the pants off him - literally - and he'll keep turning you down until the sexual tension becomes too much, then you'll fuck, and get the stupid mission done so you can come home and never work together again."

Blaine scowls at her. "I'm not going to sleep with him."

"Suit yourself," she shrugs. "But I'd tap that, if I were you."

"But I'm not you," Blaine says pointedly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I don't think we'll even be able to agree on how to approach the entry. We don't exactly work the same way."

"No shit, Sherlock." She stands and adjusts her skirt, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

"Yeah," Blaine sighs.

"Oh, and B?"

He turns to look at her.

"Be careful."

He nods, once. "You too."