"Who the hell is Clark Kent?" Kurt demanded as he burst into Sue's office. She looked up from her journal, completely unfazed. "And why is his piece about an attempted mugging where my story about the recent bout of explosions in Metropolis should be?"

"Hummel, my theory that the obscenely constricting quality of what you call pants is responsible for your insanity is gaining more and more evidence with each passing moment."

Kurt merely glowered at her. They've been here dozens of times before. Their arguing is so practiced it's beginning to feel like conversational choreography. "Now, that you've gotten you're opening insult out of the way, I'd like my explanation for why something that that barely merits a mention on the police blotter is encroaching on my hallowed print space."

"Really, Kurt, I should fire you right now for challenging my editorial decisions…you're lucky you're such a damned good journalist or else you'd be back in Ohio, coaching Glee Club or something else equally abominable," Sue grumbled. "Kent is Anderson's pen name."

Ah, right, pen names. Every reporter that The Daily Planet employed was required to adopt a pen name after a writer was kidnapped and murdered ten years ago. Kurt's was Louis Lane. Leave it to Blaine to pick something so—"Hold the phone. Anderson?" Kurt's voice was venomous as he spat out Blaine's surname. "Why on Earth would you publish that buffoon's article instead of mine?"

"Who are you kidding? Even you have to admit that Dudley Do-Right's got a snappy, punchy prose style and it wasn't your average everyday mugging. The guy's arm was twisted out of its socket and his gun was reduced to a steel stress ball. Besides, Anderson's got the proper respect for his editor-in-chief and a nice ass." Kurt shuddered at his boss's comment. How anyone found any part of Blaine Anderson attractive was beyond him. "Anyway, you can keep your panties on, Hummel, provided you have space for them any in those things. The only reason I didn't run the article is that I think you're on to something. Everyone else is reporting these events, but if we're the first to come up with the reason for why they're happening—let's just say your Pulitzer aspirations won't be so far-fetched anymore."

"I'm on it, boss," Kurt assured her, his demeanor changed as he hurried out to back to his desk. He stopped just before he left. "And Sue?"

"Yes, Sterile Sam?"

"Sorry for jumping down your throat."

"I'm sorry too, Hummel."

"You are?"

"Of course. Your sperm must resent the fact that your masochistic fashion sense has rendered them useless."

Kurt took her snide remark as confirmation that things were alright between them and exited the office with an exhilarated grin.

"What'd she do? Sedate you?"

Kurt couldn't help but chuckle as he stopped to respond to his best friend, Mercedes Jones. "No, at least not this time. Cedes, she said the magic word."

"McQueen?"

"No, the other magic word."

"Armani?"

"Pulitzer, Mercedes. Pulitzer! Sue said she didn't run my article because she wants me to it beef up with more investigating. And if I can find the link between all these explosions, then I'm Pulitzer Prize material!"

"That's amazing Kurt!" Her voice was tight but sincere. "…must be nice to be the star reporter."

His best friend's reaction caused Kurt's mood to drop significantly. Mercedes worked in the Leisure section of the paper; she and Tina were the queens of gossip in Metropolis. Although her job suited her perfectly, Kurt noticed that Mercedes occasionally envied the more 'legitimate' stories Kurt was assigned to along with the amount of attention and adulation he garnered for them.

Kurt scrambled to backpaddle instantly, "Well, you know, I'm probably getting ahead of myself. And if Sue's inappropriate comments about his backside are any indicator of her intentions, I'll probably get stuck working with Lame Anderson on it."

"Did someone say my name?"

Kurt jumped a little in surprise and turned around to find Blaine standing right behind him, blissfully oblivious to the fact that Kurt had actually called him Lame instead of Blaine. Kurt struggled to cover up his insult while Mercedes tried to keep from laughing out loud. "Oh, hey Blaine! We were just talking about you and…how we wanted to congratulate you on getting your first article published in The Planet."

Blaine smiled another one of those annoying ear-to-ear grins that made his eyes scrunch up. "Thanks! I'm really excited about it too, I've already sent a copy back Westerville for my mom."

Big surprise there.

"It was a, uh, really interesting story," Mercedes added weakly.

"I thought so too!" Blaine agreed emphatically.

"Yeah," Kurt joined in. "You don't see stuff like that happen every day."

0-0-0

But things like that did start happening every day. Reports came piling in of more unsuccessful muggings, failed attempts at home break-ins and convenience store robberies, even a drug bust or two. The kicker was that no one knew who was responsible for stopping all these criminals. When the police would consult the security footage, the images were too blurred to gleam anything of use from them, which implied that whoever was responsible had to be moving at nearly the speed of light. But that was impossible, right?

These reports frustrated Kurt to no end. Sure, he was happy about the rapidly decreasing crime rate in Metropolis, but he wasn't too pleased that his own story about the mysterious explosions was going nowhere. And since Kurt was so immersed in research, the by-line Clark Kent was appearing more and more in the pages of The Daily Planet rather than his. The worst part of this ordeal was that Blaine was truly a good writer. Or maybe it was the fact that Sue was right, he actually had a pretty nice butt. Not that Kurt had been checking him out or anything…Blaine just had a knack for dropping things.

"One grandé nonfat mocha," Blaine's voice startled him from his musings. Kurt turned to face his colleague who was holding out his coffee, the same stupid grin plastered on his face. The office had delegated that Blaine, not one of their twenty-six interns, do their coffee runs since not only was easily persuadable, but he could remember the entire staff's order without error. "And a blueberry scone."

"But I didn't ask for a blueberry scone."

"I know," Blaine shrugged. "But you looked like you could use a pick-me-up."

Kurt rolled his eyes. How is a pastry full of carbs and empty calories a pick-me-up? "Thanks, Blaine."

"Anytime, Kurt. That's what friends are for."

Kurt tried his hardest to hide his wince at the mention of the word "friends" but he had little success. Fortunately Blaine was already back at his desk engrossed in whatever he was typing on his laptop.

By the end of the day, Kurt's discouragement over his article had reached an all-time high. Sources weren't calling him back, leads were turning out to be completely useless, and the stuff he had sent to the lab for analysis had been "misplaced". On the bright side, Blaine was on the phone, which meant could there was a chance that Kurt could leave the office today without having his ear talked off by him.

"Yes, 34 Hickory Lane, Westerville, Ohio, 66605. No, fifty-percent of my paycheck." Blaine told the person on other end of the line, clearly exasperated since this was about the fourth time Kurt had heard him reciting the information. Kurt began to quickly shut down his laptop and gather his things. "No, the fifty-percent of mysalary before taxes," Blaine continued. Kurt rose from his chair and did his best to run-walk towards the doors.

At last, freedo—

"Hey, Kurt! Wait up!"

And I was so close, Kurt sighed to himself as he halted and waited for Blaine to catch up. "Sorry I took so long. The people in the Accounting Department aren't exactly…competent."

"Don't tell me. Every week you send a check back home to that darling little farm back in Westerville."

Blaine blushed. "Well my mom's retired and she can't run the farm all by—"

"Hey, Blaine. Don't be embarrassed, I do the same thing for my family. Even though Dad and Finn claim that the shop is doing just fine, I still don't feel right not—" Kurt stopped himself, now it was his turn to blush. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"No you're not," Blaine assured him. "We Ohio boys need to stick together."

Kurt blushed even deeper. He wasn't sure if Blaine was just being his normal, socially discomforting self, or if he was…no. Kurt wasn't even going to think it. If he did, he'd probably die from awkwardness.

They were approaching the elevator, but Blaine hesitated. "H-hey Kurt. I…w-well…I was wondering if perhaps maybe you would possibly—"

"HUMMEL!" Sue's voice ripped through hallway as she burst through the doors of The Daily Planet's office. "Hummel, I hope you don't have plans tonight."

"Well, I…" Kurt gave Blaine a bewildered glare and then turned back to Sue, "Um."

"Very articulate, Hummel. It's a tragedy you aren't in broadcast news. I dated an anchor once, he was an absolute wildcat in the sack," Sue's glance at Blaine's hindquarters was not missed by Kurt "but I'm digressing. Whether you have plans or not, you're getting your tightly wrapped buttocks up to the roof. There's a chopper waiting to take you across the river, I've gotten you clearance to go over to one of the explosion sites."

Kurt's face lit up. "Sue…oh my…I can't believe…I won't let you down!" And Kurt took off running down the hall, without so much as a goodbye to Blaine.

"Bye, Kurt," Blaine mumbled dejectedly as he watched Kurt happily sprint away from him.

"Aw, chin up, Curly," Sue told Blaine. "Just because you are as sexually appealing as a lamp to Lady Trousers doesn't mean everyone thinks you're a light fixture."

Blaine instantly turned beet red. "Ms. Sylvester, I don't think that's very—I mean, Kurt is a co-worker, nothing more, I don't have any—I'm going to go now."

Blaine scurried down the hallway towards the stairs; Sue shamelessly enjoying the view as he left.