By the time he reached Mood, Kurt realized that two yards wasn't quite enough fabric to make a long sleeved shirt. Fortunately he found a coordinating solid that was a slightly darker gray than the background color of the print, and jacket fabric that was an even darker gray, but still light enough to provide an interesting contrast to the navy trousers. He had money left over, so he got some material that would go with the brown wool and an assortment of embellishments. The remainder of the morning had gone very well. He started by drafting the patterns for the shirt and pants. Constructing the pants was fairly mindless work since he had made so many pairs for himself and he found himself thinking about the present he wanted to make for Blaine. I can estimate, but it would look so much better if I had his measurements. I wonder if there's any way I can bring it up in casual conversation. 'Hey, Blaine. How are you? By the way, what's your chest measurement?' No, that's not creepy at all. … I think I'll add more buttons to the bottom of the leg. By lunchtime, he had cut out the pants, inserted the decorative zippers in the legs, constructed the fly front and pockets, and decided to add an additional zipper on one of the back pockets.

The Navy already had a Christmas message program in place all they needed to know was where to send the video. Annie's younger sister was a YouTube pro, and agreed to record and edit the video, upload it as a private file, and e-mail the link to Blaine. By 10:30, all the cameras were on their way; Blaine had purchased five tour tickets and made reservations at the Golden Unicorn. Now all I have to figure out is what to do about a Christmas present for Kurt from me, if I should even get him one. We've agreed that we are very good friends, best friends even, and friends give each other presents, and I'd really like to give him something. I want it to be something personal, but not too personal. It should be something that I can give him now that won't make him realize how I feel, but when he looks back on it later, he'll feel like it was special. … If we have a 'later', that is. … I wish I had someone to talk to. Heidi would listen, but I don't feel right about talking to my boss about this and I don't like bringing my personal problems to work. It's a shame Wes and I lost touch. I don't know how close he was to Kurt, but at least he knows both of us. … Burt would listen, but that would be completely inappropriate. … I wonder if I still have Wes' number. No, that would just be weird. 'Hi, Wes. Remember me? I haven't spoken to you for five years but I've met this guy and I want you to give me advice. Yeah, that's a good idea. Not. He sighed and turned his attention back to his work.

"Hi, Amy. Thanks for covering for me. Is there anything I need to take care of?" Sandy asked as she hung up her coat. "I see you rearranged my pictures."

"Oh, sorry. I just didn't want to knock them over so I moved them back a little. It's been pretty quiet. Blaine had some kind of meeting with Heidi." Clearly, Amy was still annoyed about the closed door. She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'll be in my cubical if you need anything Sandy. You, too, Blaine. Just call me. Any time. Any time at all."

Sandy watched Amy leave, then went out to check the hallway. "I wouldn't put it past her to stay out there trying to eavesdrop. The nerve of that girl -- rearranging my desk. I'll bet she went through all the drawers, too," she fumed. "Next time, I'm getting Jo or Matt to cover."

Blaine laughed. She may not be here too much longer. Heidi's got her number. "She is a handful. She didn't go through your desk while I was here, but I left for a few minutes, and I did have a meeting with Heidi. I never know how to take her -- it seems like everything she says to me can be taken more than one way."

"It's called a double entendre, Blaine, and she's hitting on you. Or trying to get you to hit on her."

Even if she had the right equipment, I wouldn't be interested. "Well that's not going to happen any time soon. And I know what a double entendre is," he huffed.

Sandy gave him a long look of appraisal. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Blaine?"

Blaine looked down at his desk, his expression a combination of discomfort and reticence. "I … I don't know how to say this, Sandy, but …" he stammered, then paused for several seconds. Okay, I've teased her enough. He looked up with a grin. "I don't date co-workers."

Sandy laughed. "Oh, you! I thought you were going to tell me something juicy! I was hoping you were engaged or something. Just for that, you can deliver the lunches to Parsons. All week."

Maybe I'll see him! He might be in the break room, or maybe I can think of an excuse to go into the workroom. "Sounds good to me," he said casually. "I'm always glad to get out of the office. Do you have the orders?" Sandy handed him the forms and he quickly sorted them into stacks according the type of food requested and started making phone calls.

Thanks to Mike's help, Blaine had all the food in the break room by 11:30, and was in the process of writing names on the containers when Phil came in to set up his camera for lunch. "Oh, hi, Blaine. Smile for the birdie," he said, playfully aiming his camera. "I know, I know -- Heidi doesn't want you in any of the shots. This is not my first day here," he mocked when Blaine began to protest. "I was just kidding. I'm not rolling."

"See that you remember," Blaine said haughtily, sticking his tongue out. "Anyway, 'smile for the birdie' is for stills. I'd think you would know that."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what I know," Phil replied archly. "The camera sees all sorts of secrets. A good cameraman can make himself blend in with the furniture so people forget he's there, and I'm one of the best. After all, I've been doing this for 25 years now. I got some very interesting footage during the Thanksgiving weekend, by the way."

Interesting? What is that supposed to mean? Does Phil know? It sounds like he does. Someone shot that video. Now what do I do? I always thought Phil liked me, but maybe my being gay changes that. He pretended to be very concerned with the name he was writing on the pizza box. Despite his racing thoughts, Blaine realized that Phil was still speaking.

"Of course, all that video's been erased now, so there's nothing to worry about. Besides, I have a code of conduct. I don't tell when someone kisses, so to speak, even when there's no actual kissing involved. Especially when it's someone I like and something I approve of."

Is he saying what I think he's saying? Blaine risked a look at the older man. To his great relief, there was no animosity in Phil's face; in fact, he was smiling genially. Blaine smiled back as he reached for the next Styrofoam box.

"If there's anything I can help you with, in, say, about three months, give me a call. And if you need to talk in the meantime, you know where to find me." He made an adjustment on his camera. "Oh, did I ever show you a photo of my son?" He handed his phone to Blaine. "That's Paul on the left. He and Charles will be getting married next June, after they both finish college."

Okay. This is good. It's all good. "They make a handsome couple. Congratulations." He wrote the name on the final box and capped his marker. "I'd better leave before the designers get here. Thank you, Phil. For everything."

"No problem, Blaine, but you might want to fix the name you wrote on that salad," Phil teased, trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement.

What? Oh. … When did I do that? I don't even remember writing his name. I must be losing my mind. Blaine stared incredulously at the neatly-written name on the clear plastic lid, before taking his marker and turning the small heart at the end into a large dot.

Blaine ducked quickly through the workroom door, trying to stay out of the shot. Good, they aren't filming Tim right now. "I put the food in the break room. Is there anything I can get you?" he whispered.

"Can you wait just a minute, please, so I can announce lunch?" Tim whispered back. Blaine nodded and went to stand behind the camera. He touched Juan on the arm and pointed to Tim. Juan nodded his thanks and shifted the focus. "Designers, I understand lunch has been delivered, so you may eat whenever it is convenient for you." A number of the designers left immediately, but some kept working. Kurt was sewing small buttons in several colors onto the pants he was making, adding beads here and there. He gave Blaine a small wave and a smile before turning back to his work. Tim motioned for Blaine to approach him. "I didn't expect to see you; I thought Sandy was doing the lunches."

"I'm taking care of it for this week at least." And even longer if I can swing it.

"I'm going to break for lunch in about an hour, but if you could get me some water in the meantime, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'd be glad to, Tim. Your usual filtered water, not bottled, over ice with a wedge of lemon and a slice of orange, and get everything out of the fridge in your office?"

"Yes, perfect. Thank you."

Even though they had been speaking quietly, Kurt had heard the whole exchange. So, Blaine is coming back tomorrow. … They're giving us more leeway since most of us have never worked with mannequins before. We've all been helping each other by trying on clothes, but none of the men are the same size as Lars and the women are obviously unsuitable. If I can convince Tim to let me try the shirt on Blaine, I can get his measurements. It's reasonable -- Blaine is much closer to the right size, even if he is quite a bit shorter. So … do I want to approach Tim now and give him time to think about it or wait until tomorrow? Maybe I'd better do it today. I don't think it's usual for Tim to stay in the workroom all the time. After all, he has a full-time job as CCO of Liz Claiborne Inc., even though he still has an office at Parsons. Kurt looked up with a smile when he realized he wasn't alone. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

"Andrew and I thought maybe you're ready to eat," Ernesto said.

"Actually, I said you must be famished by now because you didn't have anything all morning except a bottle of water, and while it's certainly important to stay hydrated, you need to have some calories or you'll run out of energy and then where will you be? So it's our duty to make sure you consume a reasonable lunch, and right now before it gets cold."

Kurt laughed and offered an arm to each man. "How can I resist that? Shall we, gentlemen?" They went into the break room, found their lunches and settled in at a table. Andrew scrutinized Kurt's salad suspiciously. "You don't have to worry Andrew; it's healthy. There's grilled chicken for protein, lots of veggies, and I have low-fat crackers for carbs. I'll eat yogurt for dairy as a snack later, so it will be a balanced meal. You don't need to be concerned about my lunch. It's much better than the pizza you're eating."

"How's your design coming, Kurt?" Ernesto asked, trying to change the subject. He really didn't want Andrew or Kurt critiquing his lunch, which was probably full of fat and sugar. Authentic Chinese food was hard to come by in Heath, Texas, and he wanted to savor it without thinking about health issues.

"Fantastic! I really like the way the pants are coming out. Andrew, can I ask you something?" Andrew nodded, his mouth full of pizza. "You make all your own clothes, right?"

"Of course. I have to. No one else could make clothes fabulous enough for me."

"I agree; your clothes are fabulous!" Kurt said the last word exactly the same way Andrew had, using the same grandiose gesture. "So why aren't you a menswear designer?"

Andrew pursed his lips in disdain, looking down his nose at Kurt. "Isn't it obvious? No other man is fabulous enough to do justice to my designs." He surveyed Kurt slowly from head to toe, nodding in approval. "Although, I must admit you come close."

"Thank you. … I think." Andrew's gaze made Kurt somewhat uncomfortable.

"Oh, don't worry Kurt. I'm not propositioning you. There's only room for one fabulous person in any relationship I'm in, and I'm sure you know who that is."

"How did you end up with the plus-sized mannequin?" Ernesto couldn't help being curious. "Did you request it? It seems like it would be harder to compete if your model is larger."

Andrew suddenly became a completely different person; all the flamboyance vanished, and he looked very serious. When he spoke, it was in a normal voice. "Christy, my best friend in high school, suffered from bulimia. She's much better now, but she nearly died during our sophomore year. I swore that if I ever got the chance, I'd design beautiful clothes for normal-sized women. The fashion industry needs to be more responsible, and I'm going to do my best to bring about a change."

"How did you find out she was bulimic?" Kurt asked quietly.

"I'm not trying to be offensive, Kurt, but please don't call her bulimic. She suffered from bulimia, but she didn't become the disease. She was, and is, so much more than that."

"I'm sorry," Kurt apologized immediately. "I never thought about it that way. Thank you for educating me."

"To answer your question, we were having a sleepover and I found her throwing up in my bathroom. Christy tried to pass it off as food poisoning, but once I thought about it, I could see all the signs. She was furious with me for a long time for telling her parents, but she eventually forgave me and thanked me for it."

When Blaine got back with the water, he was disappointed to see that Kurt was nowhere in sight. "Should I leave this in the refrigerator in the break room for you?" he asked hopefully. Come on, Tim. Give me an excuse.

"Oh, thank you. I'm parched!" Tim exclaimed as he reached for the glass.

On his way back to the office, Blaine stopped at the concierge. "Hi, George. Are you ready for Christmas?"

"Blaine! It's good to see you. We're ready to go at my house. The tree is trimmed; the cookies are baked; the cards have been mailed and the presents are wrapped. How about you?"

Blaine shrugged. "You know how it is. I've still got one present to figure out. I know it's out there somewhere, if I could just find it."

"Is it for someone special?"

"I'd like it to be, but it's complicated."

George considered. "Why don't you try writing down everything you know about him? Don't evaluate your ideas at first -- just get them down on paper as fast as you can. Give yourself 10 minutes, no more. The key is not to think too much. Maybe one of them will trigger something."

"Brainstorming! That's a good idea, George. Thanks." Him? What am I, 'Captain Obvious'? First Phil, now George. I have no problem with it, except that I want Kurt to think that I'm straight.

The postprandial atmosphere in the workroom was fairly relaxed, considering the circumstances. No one was feeling rushed yet, and no major problems had developed. Kurt had a little trouble with the serger but Jonny had it fixed in short order, and he took the time to show Kurt how to adjust the tension. The speed of the sewing machines took a little getting used to, but construction was much faster. The designers were chatting quietly, asking for opinions or commenting on designs, when Tim gathered their attention again. "Designers, I'm going to lunch in just a few minutes. After I eat, I'll be doing my 'day job' for a while, but I'll back tomorrow to check in with you. If you need something, just ask any of the staff." He walked around the room, speaking to each designer, gauging progress, answering questions, and making sure everyone was on track to finish in time.

"I have a problem," Kurt said when Tim stopped at his table. "I'd like to have someone try on the shirt tomorrow. The mannequin is great, but I'm not sure I've left enough room for movement."

"That should be fine," Tim replied, a little puzzled. "There's been quite a bit of that going on, and you are allowed to help each other as much as you want."

Kurt pulled out Lars' measurement sheet. "None of the designers are the same size as Lars. No one is even close, and most of them are smaller, which won't tell me what I need to know."

Tim frowned. "I see what you mean, but I'm not sure what we can do about it. You'll have a fitting with Lars tomorrow afternoon."

Okay, here's the tricky part. "It's a one-time thing. I won't need to do it again. Could I use a staff member? I think Blaine is pretty close to the same size. Is he coming back tomorrow?"

Tim leaned his chin on his fist while he considered. "That's an unusual request. Let's see what the rest of the designers think about it." He raised his voice and addressed the room. "Designers, Kurt needs someone to try on a shirt for him. As you can see from his mannequin, none of you are the right size or shape. Would anyone object to letting him borrow one of the staff?"

The designers were quiet, until Ernesto, who was twice the size of Lars, said in a huff, "Well, my feelings are hurt, but if Kurt doesn't want me, I guess it's okay."

The room filled with laughter, and Tim said, "Okay, Kurt. Blaine can try on the shirt tomorrow, but just this one time."

"Ooh," squealed Jen. "We'll get to see Blaine with his shirt off." Annie knew Jen was kidding, but judging from the look on his face, Brenden was quite enthralled with the idea.

Blaine did some of his best thinking on the subway, but try as he might, he was unable to come up with a present for Kurt. He made himself a quick supper, then settled down with a notepad, set the timer on his phone for ten minutes and began to write. Okay, what do I know about Kurt? He's into fashion, he likes A. A. Milne, tea parties are a tradition, he's a good cook and enjoys it, he is health-conscious, he loves to sing, he's a countertenor with an incredible range and a fantastic voice, he lives in Ohio, he goes to community college and … and … oh, he's kind and compassionate, and forgiving -- Heidi said so -- and outgoing, he made friends with everyone, he works out, he's playful … he's really intelligent, … he's adorable and sexy and beautiful and he has gorgeous eyes … This isn't helping at all!

Blaine picked up his guitar and began to strum idly. From the time he was little, music had been his joy, his solace, his means of expression. If he was happy or sad, or just frustrated as he was now, he reached for his guitar. When he felt shy around a group of new people, music gave him a way to make friends. When he was lonely, and there had been many times when that was the case, music filled the empty space within him. He worked through various chord progressions, not playing anything in particular, letting the tendrils of music fill the room, weaving together, wrapping around him like a lover's arms. His fingers formed a D major chord, then an A, an F#, and a B minor. He stopped. I'm playing a song. What song is that? He started the sequence over. This isn't right. This should be piano. He set the guitar back on its stand and moved to his keyboard, closing his eyes and willing the music to flow through his fingers. He played the chords again, adding a D at the end, then the A again. That's not quite right. He thought for a minute, then started over one more time, playing an Em7 instead of the second A, finishing the phrase with a G and a D. Another repetition, this time embellishing instead of just playing the chords, allowing his fingers to do as they pleased, generating a rippling accompaniment. Got it! Finally! He began to sing softly.

I know it's not much, but it's the best I could do.
My gift is my song ...

He froze, struck by a sudden realization. I could write him a song. No bad idea -- boyfriend gift. But he loves to sing. What if I recorded the backing tracks for a few songs on a CD? Then he could sing with it and he would be the star, instead of having to sing along with the original artist. It would be personal but not overly so -- a 'best friend' gift. Plus, it wouldn't have any monetary value, so there won't be any ethical issues and he won't feel bad because he didn't get me anything.

Blaine picked up the paper again and started listing songs.