“No, we’re still at the airport.” Blaine glances back at Kurt, who’s sitting primly in an uncomfortable plastic chair, absorbed in his phone. Blaine turns back to look out the window at the landing strips.

“Have the two of you even spoken to each other?” Santana snarks.

Blaine wants desperately to roll his eyes, but refrains. “Barely. He didn’t even say anything at the debriefing. Who doesn’t have any questions whatsoever?”

Santana raps her nails against the table she is most definitely sitting on in the middle of the ops center. “Maybe you should talk to him?”

Blaine does roll his eyes this time. “And risk getting bitch glared to death? No thank you. He sufficiently scared at least ten innocent passersby already, as well as the TSA at security. I’d rather not be added to the list.”

“Wimp,” Santana says carelessly.

“Bitch,” Blaine snaps back.

He can practically hear her smirk. “Kitten’s got claws. Now use them on Hummel, Frodo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Blaine grumbles. “I’ll leave him be until we land and get to the hotel. The longer I can put it off, the better.”

Blaine ends up stuck in the middle seat on a plane with Kurt for eight hours. He has yet to figure out how Kurt snagged the window seat, but doesn’t plan on ever asking him. It had been Blaine’s intention to nap, but he just can’t get comfortable. It also really doesn’t help that the sun is setting outside the window and softening Kurt’s profile into a fiery glow. He’s particularly pissed that he’s so attracted to such an asshole of a man. Blaine closes his eyes resolutely and turns up the volume of his music. When he opens his eyes again, fuzzy and freezing, the cabin lights are off and Kurt is watching him. He blinks blearily and Kurt turns away quickly, looking out the window; Blaine drifts back off to sleep and wonders if he was just imagining it all.

By the time they land and make it to the hotel, all Blaine wants is a shower, and maybe a nap. Long plane rides always make him exhausted and a little irritable. Kurt is obnoxiously alert and focused, and Blaine purposefully closes the bathroom door behind him and slumps his way into the shower. He’s not going to have time for a nap, it seems, so a hot shower is all he’s got before he has to go out and see how stubborn Kurt Hummel really is. He’s not looking forward to it. At all.

Kurt has spread out his case file across the bed when Blaine finally emerges from the bathroom. He barely looks up as Blaine nudges a paper out of the way so he can perch on the edge.

“So,” Blaine hedges. “What do you think?”

Kurt doesn’t respond for a moment and Blaine wonders if he didn’t hear or is purposefully ignoring him. “I think we should scope it out this afternoon, then tomorrow we can retrieve the package.”

Blaine nods slowly. “That sounds fine. What exactly do you mean by ‘scope it out?’”

Kurt lifts a rather judgmental eyebrow at Blaine. “It means we poke around and check out security, entry and exit points, safety issues, etcetera.”

Blaine waits until Kurt isn’t looking to roll his eyes. “Okay.”

Kurt nods briskly and scoops the papers back into the folder. “Let’s go then.”

It’s sweltering out and Blaine’s glad he didn’t bother with hair gel. By now it’d be a mess, and his dark curls and tan skin help him blend in more with the natives. Kurt, though, stands out like a beacon, no matter how plainly he dresses. Kurt walks impeccably, straight spine, exact movements, watchful gaze. Blaine ambles along behind him, hands in his pockets, pretending to gape tourist-like at the view.

The building they’re supposed to get into is an upscale hotel, well known for its customer privacy policy and high class gambling. The penthouse apartment, currently occupied by a black market dealer and world class gambler supposedly has a file with the locations of CIA spies in the Middle East that he’s planning on selling to an enemy of the US. They don’t really know much of anything; who he’s selling to, where the file might be, what the man’s name is, if it’s even a man.

Blaine personally thinks the whole thing sounds a little too easy. Get in, grab the file, get out. Simple, except knowing nothing about the dealer means that they can’t plan for resistance, traps, knowledge of their presence, or otherwise. It’s starting to settle low in his gut just how risky this whole thing it, and he’s sure that it he even mentions it to Kurt, he won’t get much in the way of sympathy in return. He wishes Santana were there with him. She’d understand, she’d know how to deal with this. He hopes Kurt is as good as everyone says he is.