The air felt crisper and clearer on the expansive roof of The Daily Planet's headquarters. A light breeze attempted to ruffle Kurt's perfectly styled hair as he tried to contain his excitement. In the center of the roof was a raised platform where the iconic Daily Planet gilded rotating globe slowly spun. The left half of the roof was designated for the helipad while the right half was the empty area where Kurt and his fellow co-workers would come up to sneak in a cigarette during the workday.

Just as Sue said, the chopper was waiting for Kurt when he arrived on the rooftop. He strode over to the helipad that was bustling with activity. There were a few men there to man air traffic control and one of the air traffic control guys greeted and escorted him over to the chopper where the very attractive pilot was waiting.

"You Louis Lane?" The pilot asked. He looked like he had walked straight out of Kurt's secret Top Gun Fantasy. He was tall, easily six foot, with tan skin stretched taut by obvious muscle, a deliciously masculine square jaw, and his hair had been shaved into a dark Mohawk. Kurt was never fond of the hairstyle, but it was becoming on this guy. A pair of aviators obscured his eyes from Kurt, which made him seem all that more dangerous, mysterious, and hot.

"Indeed I am," Kurt replied a bit breathless, extending his hand.

"Cool. Noah Puckerman, but just call me Puck," the man told him, returning Kurt's handshake with a strong grip. "You ready?"

"Yes," answered Kurt. Puck opened his door and helped Kurt inside the chopper's cabin. He followed immediately after and began to prepare the helicopter for takeoff.

"This your first time in a chopper, Lou?" Puck asked while he fiddled with the controls and communicated with air traffic control.

"No," Kurt informed him. When one covered as many high-profile stories as Kurt did, helicopter rides, complimentary meals at five-star restaurants, and celebrity acquaintances were common.

"Good," Puck sighed in relief before speaking more Pilot-gibberish-code into his headset. "I had some brat's birthday party before this, and two kids spewed before we even took off. I'm guessing you know all the safety stuff?"

"Don't have to worry about me!" Kurt assured him, tugging on his secured harness as proof.

"I wish all my passengers were like you," Puck chuckled wistfully. Kurt laughed as well while trying not to read too much into Puck's remark. He had a thing for falling head over heels for straight guys, and Puck practically oozed heterosexuality. Puck spoke into his headset again, "We are ready for lift off."

The spinning of the propellers soon became deafening and Kurt felt the chopper begin to lift of the ground, but then it hesitated. He looked over at Puck, who wore the same confused distressed look on his face as Kurt did and began talking rapidly into his headset. Kurt could really only catch ever other word… something about a malfunction. Before he could look down to see what was wrong, the helicopter jerked upwards and a loud crack sounded followed by a burst of sparks.

"WHAT'S GOING ON?" Kurt hollered, fear starting to grip him. He looked over at Puck only to see that he was slumped against the cabin door.

The fact that the pilot was incapacitated had barely registered with Kurt before the chopper began to spin out of control. Now there was no stopping the terrified screams that ripped from his throat as the rogue helicopter twirled aimlessly over the roof of The Daily Planet. A few seconds later, the landing skids caught on the ledge of the building and Kurt was thrust over the precipice as the cabin door flew open, leaving little between him and the cold, hard, concrete fifty stories below him.

Now is probably not the best time to be an atheist.

0-0-0

Blaine trudged through the lobby of The Daily Planet looking at his shoes. He knew he shouldn't have been so disappointed that Kurt didn't want to grab coffee with him, and he should be happy that Kurt's big story was finally developing, but he couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit depressed at the fact that his golden opportunity had passed. And that Sue said that he had all the allure of a lamp…that had really just added salt to the wound.

If only he could see the real me—but that was the problem. Blaine could never be his "true self" around Kurt. In Kurt's eyes, he was always going to be seen as the pathetic, goofy, unsexy—

"Oh my God!"

"It's going to fall!"

"The poor people inside…"

Blaine had been too preoccupied pining over Kurt that it he hadn't noticed the unusually dense crowd on congregating on the sidewalk outside of The Daily Planet. Their concerned voices roused him from his despair, and when he looked up, his heart nearly stopped. There was a helicopter dangling over the side of the building. Not just any helicopter, a helicopter with Kurt inside of it.

Blaine began to push through the crowd, ignoring the jeers and disgruntled remarks he received as he did so. There had to be a phone booth, or an alley close by…Blaine stumbled past a hotel entrance with a revolving door.

"This'll have to do," he muttered under his breath as he ducked into the doorway.

0-0-0

Kurt took deep breaths in a futile effort to calm himself as he stared at the street below him. A crowd had already amassed in the few minutes since the helicopter crashed. Hopefully that meant someone had called for help, but he doubted they would they get here in time…

An idea struck him. He peered up through the cabin past Puck's paralyzed form. If he could just climb over Puck and open the door, Kurt could probably make it back on the roof. He unbuckled his harness tentatively and carefully reached the other hand to grasp the console. Slowly, he twisted himself so he was parallel to the seat, his feet finding purchase on the ledge of the cabin. The sounds of sirens suddenly filled his ears which provided Kurt with a minuscule amount of relief as he began to hoist himself up.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no FUCK!

Kurt had slipped. Miraculously, he managed to grab the wire that attached the radio to the rest of the console as he fell, but nevertheless, now he was dangling out of the cabin. He chanced a glimpse down. The fire department was rushing to set up a trampoline to catch him but it was going to be too late, Kurt could feel the burn begin to spread throughout his arms. Why, fuck, oh WHY didn't I work more on my upper body strength at the gym! STUPID FUCKING PILATES!

He knew that people on the verge of life and death usually saw their life flash before their eyes, but all Kurt could think about were things he hadn't done. No Pulitzer Prize. No trip to Fashion Week in Paris. No husband.

His hands were sliding down the coiled wire…this was it…he felt the radio slip from fingers…

He was falling. Kurt was vaguely aware that the horde of people below let out a collective cry of horror as he hurtled downward.

Kurt saw his mother. Her large, kind blue eyes, that were so much like her son's, her long ginger waves, her warm smile that never failed to comfort Kurt when he was down. It was as if he could feel her arms wrapping around him and bringing him to safety.

"Easy now, Mister. I've got you."

That was not his mother's voice.

Kurt's eyes fluttered open so he could see exactly what was going on. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? If he was, then Kurt was pretty sure he was in heaven, because what else could be the explanation for the ridiculously beautiful man he was staring at? He had the most fascinating pair of honey-colored eyes that were framed with thick, dark lashes. Once Kurt was able to tear his eyes from the…angel's, he noted that the man's raven locks were slicked and parted to the side, yet a single curled tendril fell onto his forehead. Kurt's eyes scanned downward to take in more of his olive skin and appreciate his plump lips and strong jawline. Perfection was Kurt's verdict.

But he couldn't be in heaven. I don't believe in heaven, Kurt reminded himself. He glanced down, the scene hadn't changed, there was still a throng of bystanders and firefighters, not clouds or golden gates. Yet now he and Mr. Perfect were moving away from the group instead of towards them. The realization hit Kurt like he would have hit the concrete if he hadn't been caught, they were flying. Flying. People didn't fly. Hell, not all birds could fly. Yet here he was, rising higher and higher away from the ground.

"Y-you've got me? W-who's got you?" Kurt spluttered. The man just smirked and chuckled lightly.

It was at that moment that the building ledge had buckled from the weight of the helicopter and the chopper came plummeting toward the couple.

Kurt shrieked, throwing his arms around his savior's neck and burying his head where his neck met his broad shoulders because damsel-in-distress stereotype be damned, Kurt couldn't help himself. Kurt wasn't expecting to be crushed by the helicopter, but he certainly didn't expect Mr. Perfect to catch it like it was nothing and continue floating on upward. Faintly, in the back of his consciousness, he could hear the cheers erupting from below.

Before he knew it, Mr. Perfect was gently lowering the helicopter back on the helipad. Kurt still couldn't comprehend how the action seemed to be causing him no physical stress at all. Then he felt his own feet touch back down on the ground.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Perfect addressed the two stunned air traffic control guys kindly but with air of authority. "This man needs help." He motioned to the helicopter, where Puck was still unconsciously slouched inside. After a moment, the two seemed to overcome their awe and spring into action.

"You can let go now," Kurt heard the man gently whisper. It took him a second to realize that he was speaking to Kurt. He jumped back a little, sheepishly removing his arms from the vice-like lock they'd had around Mr. Perfect's neck.

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled. He was so embarrassed by his behavior he had trouble making eye contact with his rescuer.

"It's perfectly fine," he told Kurt, flashing him a smile that caused his heart to stop beating momentarily. But the grin left Mr. Perfect's devastatingly handsome features just as quickly as it had appeared and was replaced by a more stoic, professional expression. "Well, I certainly hope this little incident doesn't put you off flying. Statistically speaking of course, it's still the safest way to travel."

All Kurt could do in reply was nod his head dumbly in agreement. Mr. Perfect responded with his own curt nod and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kurt called after him. Mr. Perfect pivoted around to face him. At this point, Kurt had regained enough coherent thought processes to notice what the man was wearing. He had no qualms with the spandex, God—I mean Gaga, that man's body is perfect, but the primary colors? And the cape? Oh, and he had just noticed the boots. But for probably the first time in his life, Kurt couldn't bring himself to care about clothing.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Who…who are you?"

A coy grin played on his perfect lips. "A friend."

Mr. Perfect took off into the night sky before Kurt could question him further. Kurt stared after him, his eyes full of wonderment at the amazing man that had saved his life. And then he fainted.