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Kurt generally preferred driving between the Smithsonian and the Hoover building. It seemed more efficient to him, considerably less time consuming, and if there was an emergency - either at the lab or in the field - his car was available to get him and Blaine there, regardless of where Blaine’s car was at the time. Blaine, in general, didn’t mind, though he greatly preferred being behind the wheel himself. Kurt took his eyes off the road too often, too confident in his own abilities to know the road and see the others cars out of his peripheral vision. They had never crashed, not once, but he felt much more comfortable when his life was in his own hands.
This time, though, Blaine was insistent that they walk. The route was only five minutes by foot, and was almost longer when you took the time to head down to the car lock up and through the many traffic lights. The traffic in DC could be horrible, especially at peak hour, and they were hoping to catch Emma before she became too busy for the day of work.
‘Are you sure we have to tell her?’ Blaine asked as they took the steps up to the side door of the Hoover building.
It seemed more than obvious to Kurt. ‘Of course we do.’ He walked through as Blaine held open the door for him.
‘But you know she’ll argue that it’s only her interpretation. She is allowed her interpretation.’ Blaine’s eyes didn’t leave Kurt’s face, watching, watching, but Kurt was facing forward in the corridor, half a step ahead of Blaine and he didn’t turn his head back. He was more than comfortable continuing their conversation while watching the movement of the others in the corridor. It was the entrance most commonly used by the FBI staff, and he was perpetually confused as to how they could drink so much coffee, and seemingly enjoy it.
‘Wait, her interpretation?’ he said finally, when Blaine’s words sunk in. He turned around then, stopped suddenly, and Blaine almost ran into him. ‘About that we’re in love? I don’t care about that.’
‘You don’t?’
‘Of course not.’ He shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘She’s allowed her opinion. Even when it’s wrong. Which it is.’
‘I mean, of course,’ Blaine said quickly, following Kurt as he picked up his pace again. ‘Well then, what are we correcting her on?’
‘Her factual error, obviously. That the Agron case was our first case.’
‘The Agron case wasn’t our first case?’ Blaine raised his eyebrows. As far as he could remember, that had been their first case.
‘No, of course not. Our first case was the Underwood case.’
‘The Underwood-,’ Blaine smiled in recognition. ‘Oh, of course. The Underwood case.’
‘You see,’ Kurt said. ‘If Emma’s book is based on an incorrect assumption, her conclusions derived from it may - and probably are - inaccurate. As a professor of the pseudo-sciences, she must want all her facts to be correct.’
‘Right.’ Blaine felt, well, more than a little off kilter. He had approached the morning expecting to have one, very awkward conversation, and had ended up with another, possibly less awkward one. But Kurt had a habit of making conversations into something considerably more difficult to approach than ordinary people.
They reached Emma’s office faster than Blaine expected, and she appeared as if she was waiting for them.
‘I thought you’d come,’ she said as she motioned for them to sit down. ‘Your probably here to tell me I’m wrong, right?’
‘Yes,’ Kurt agreed immediately.
‘Well, yes and no,’ Blaine corrected.
‘What do you mean, yes and no?’
‘Well, it’s not what you think.’
The weary smile on Emma’s face was calm, though it was clear she was of the opinion that she knew exactly what they were going to say. ‘You want to tell me you’re not in love.’
’No,’ Kurt said.
‘Then you want to tell me you are in love? Because that’s better than even I could hope for!’
‘No!’ Blaine shot her a horrified look. ‘We wanted to tell you that the Agron case wasn’t our first case.’
That drew the psychologist up short. ‘Not- not your first case?’
’No,’ Blaine said softly.
‘No, it was our second,’ Kurt continued. ‘Our first was a year or so before. We were investigating the death of Gina Underwood.’
‘Okay,’ Emma murmured, drawing out the word. She pulled her lip between her teeth and watched them with her wide doe-eyes. ‘Tell me about this case.’
‘About the case?’ Blaine asked.
‘Yes! It could change the whole point of the book! I need it to be-‘ Suddenly, she stopped, as if the enthusiastic concern in her voice troubled even herself, and she bit her lip. ‘I can’t base conclusions on inaccurate facts.’
‘See,’ Kurt said, turning to Blaine. ‘I told you.’ His smile was smug and he leaned casually against the arm of the comfy sofa they had settled into when they stepped into Emma’s office.
‘Please.’ Her voice was soft, hopefully. ‘Please tell me what happened in that first case?’
Blaine smiled at the memory of it. ‘Are we gonna tell her, Kurt?’
‘Oh, we better.’ A smug smile was returned his way. ‘I consider us kind people, don’t you?’
‘Certainly.’ He grinned. ‘Okay. Our first case…’
The case file had seemingly been sitting on Blaine’s desk for years. In fact, it had only been a few months, but every attempt he made to resolve the pieces of the puzzle, make them fit into a logical way that would impress a jury, failed. It was a sad kind of case, the story of a young girl, thrust into a situation that had nothing to do with her, and ending up dead as the outcome.
He knew who had done it, of course. Everyone in the office knew who had done it. The problem was proving it. There wasn’t enough evidence: no camera footage, no forensics, nothing other than a few eyewitness reports and the smug look the damn suspect would give every time he was interviewed. Blaine considered himself a charming guy, someone with enough good looks to convince a lot of people to talk, but this one kept his mouth glued shut like iron, only smile that up himself smile and raising his eyebrows. You couldn’t convict someone on raised eyebrows, though Blaine knew he would do it if he could.
Normally, Blaine considered himself a well put together person, with good upstanding morals. He would even go so far as to call himself a moderately good judge of character. But in this case, his innate ability to feel the value of a person only made him inappropriately angry.
‘Stop it, Blaine,’ he muttered to himself, grabbing the file - too light for the many years and staff members input into the case - and hitting it against his forehead. ‘Deep breath. It’s him, not you. It’s him, not you.’
The mother had called him that morning. Maria, her name was Maria.
They wanted to release the girls remains. That meant there was no hope. They’d given up hope. Blaine felt guilty that he’d ever signed those papers.
‘I’ll work harder,’ he had told her. ‘I’ll find answers.’
But still, when he looked at the case file, nothing would present itself. He would stare at it and stare at it, but there was no new evidence and he had no way to find more.
It was to the coroner that he headed, in the hope that if she couldn’t give him any more answers, she could at least stop the remains from being released. She was sitting at her desk, fingers pressing at the box of evidence when he arrived.
‘Santana.’
‘Blaine.’
‘I hope you can give me something new.’
She gave him a wan smile and pushed the box towards him. ‘No can do, sex-muffin. I’ve looked over this stuff again and again and there is absolutely nothing else. We’ve drained every sap we’ve got.’
‘I’m not letting her go,’ Blaine insisted. ‘There has to be a way to get this bastard.’
‘Wow, you’re getting touchy, hun. Maybe you need to calm down. If you work yourself up too much you’re only going to do something you regret.’
He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, picking up the box and testing its weight. ‘What do you suggest I do?’
‘I suggest you find someone with a different area of expertise. There’s not enough left on these remains to give me much, but maybe someone else can help you out.’
He was surprised. Santana loved to praise her own ability. She didn’t admit she was stumped very often. ‘Like who?’
‘There’s a forensic anthropologist at the Smithsonian. His job is to analyse skeletal remains. I mean, it’s usually old people, but if he’s got the skill, why not put it to something more modern.’
He didn’t ask what she meant by old people.
‘I’ll give you the number,’ she finished and wrote the digits down on a scrap of paper before thanking him for his time with a flirty smile and a wave and bid him goodbye.
Kurt Hummel. That was the name Santana had given to the scrawl of numbers. It seemed a pleasant enough name, but Blaine had been told when he first joined the bureau never to trust forensics staff. They were good at their science but not much else. They weren’t reliable, they weren’t consistent.
But nothing had been reliable in this case, and he was at the point that he needed to take a shot.
He looked up the man’s statistics, his address, his date of birth. He considered calling him, being a polite police agent, but his gut got the better of him and instead he drove out to the Smithsonian himself, using his badge to get himself into the anthropology unit.
He could see them working around metal tables. There were skeletons and flesh and way too many scalpels for his liking.
‘Excuse me,’ he called out. ‘I’m looking for Doctor Kurt Hummel?’
It was the man closest to him that turned his head. He pulled his lab goggles over his tawny hair and dropped them down beside the remains he was working on, pulling off his gloves carefully. He wasn’t unattractive, that Blaine had to note. He walked with a self-confident air, and when he smiled it was easy. ‘You’re looking at him.’
‘Special Agent Blaine Anderson.’ He held out his hand to shake and the doctor took it. ‘Pleasure.’
‘What are you doing here? An FBI agent, dropping in at the Smithsonian. We don’t get that very often at all.’ He glanced behind himself at one of the others surrounding the body, a short-set young man with glasses. ‘Do we Artie?’
‘No, Dr Hummel. It is a known fact about our department that we work with the skeletal remains of very old specimens. This is the study of anthropology as it is taught and performed.’
‘Right,’ Blaine said softly. ‘But you work with bones, right? You’re pretty adept at that stuff?’
‘Pretty adept?’ Kurt laughed. ‘We are the best in the world, in this lab. Artie, my assistant, is in training, but he is very good at his job, and my own credentials are expansive.’
‘So I hear. Can you help me with something a bit more… modern?’
‘Modern?’ Kurt twitched an eyebrow. ‘Skeletal?’
‘Yes.’
‘From this century?’ Artie asked from the table, dumbstruck.
‘Yes.’ Blaine steps back, eyeing Kurt carefully. The tilt in his hip is mesmerising and Blaine watches even as he crosses the floor to the door were he had left the remains. ‘Here you go,’ he said softly and passed them to the doctor.
‘Thank you, Special Agent Anderson.’
‘Blaine.’
‘Blaine.’ Kurt smiled a gentle smile and placed the remains on a clean metal tray.
‘Um,’ Blaine said, suddenly unwilling to demand anything of Kurt. ‘The FBI requires you to sign off on all evidence in your possession. To maintain the chain of custody. If that’s not an issue,’ he finished in an undertone.
‘No problem,’ he replied and signed the small slip of paper with a flourish. Blaine had always considered himself charming, a pleaser, but with this new face, Doctor Kurt Hummel, he found himself almost at a loss for words. ‘What would you like me to tell you about this-‘ the doctor paused, glancing into the box for a moment before closing the lid again, ‘-girl?’
‘Uh-‘ Blaine mumbled. ‘Identifying features, cause of death. Anything that you can give me to link to her killer.’
‘Sure.’ Another warm smile, and then he turned back to the table at which he had been working with Artie. ‘I’ll call you when I have something.’
‘Oh- okay,’ Blaine mumbled and stepped back towards the door again. ‘Thank you.’
And Kurt only waved back a hand in recognition.
‘New remains?’ Artie asked Kurt as the FBI agent left the building. ‘As in, fresh?’
‘They are decomposed, skeletal. It’s within our field of expertise.’ Kurt’s tone was clipped and clinical.
‘Of course, but- fresh. I feel like Christmas has come early.’ He ran his fingers along the edge of the box and watched Kurt with hopeful eyes. ‘Can we get to this straight away?’
The remains already laid out on their metal tray looked up at him with empty sockets.
‘We should finish what we’re working on,’ Kurt said. ‘It’s only appropriate.’
‘Yeah, but the percentage of this guys age which is going to be extended is considerably smaller than the fresh remains. I’m sure that will be helpful when it comes to isolating useful pieces of data.’
‘Hmm,’ Kurt murmured, almost to himself. ‘You’re probably right. Okay, lay her out.’
Artie took his time, moving each piece of bone onto a clean metal tray. He laid them out anatomically, careful with the fragile pieces of traumatised skull. When he was done all that was left in the box was a plastic bag filled with worn fragments of cloth which appear to be the girls clothes.
‘These haven’t even been cleaned.’ Kurt eyed the pieces, moving around the table to get a better look. ‘What did they think they were going to find, a flashing neon marker?’ He reached across to the desk at his left, pulling out fresh gloves and snapping them onto his hands in a practised movement. ‘Let’s start with identifiers, and then we’ll clean the poor girl up.’ He picked up the pelvis, running his fingers along the shape of the pubic bone. ‘Female, though that was already known to us. Take the measurements for statistical purposes.’ He laid the piece back down on the table.
As he worked his way up the body he spoke out loud his findings, partly to engrain them in his own head, and party for Artie’s reference. The assistant took to the bones as Kurt finished, measuring the pieces and jotting down numbers on a thick sheaf of forms.
They had finally canvassed the whole of the skeleton, and Artie was just heating the water to boil the last of the flesh off the bones when they were interrupted by the loud voice of Finn Hudson. He was their in-house entomologist, too tall for his own good, and very vocal about his opinions. Kurt was never able to comprehend why he had become a scientist in the first place.
‘What are you doing?’ Finn asked, eyeing the bones still laid out on the table. ‘These don’t look very old.’
‘They’re not. Approximately 4 years,’ Artie said, adjusting the temperature on the boiler slightly.
‘Wow, did I die and go to heaven? We’re working on fresh remains now?’
‘You’re not working on fresh remains,’ Kurt said, snapping off his gloves. ‘We are.’
Finn eyed the box, still sitting on the edge of the counter. ‘Are you sure? I mean, these clothing fragments could speak worlds if you let me look at them.’
‘You have your own work to do Dr Hudson. Now get to it.’ Kurt was in no mood to deal with Finn’s persistent and irritative personality.
‘Oh, come on! Just let me have one shot. I’ll show you what my knowledge and machines can do, and then you can choose whether you want to use them or not at the end. I’m hatching bugs right now, and they still have days to incubate, I’m not in any hurry.’ He pulled out the plastic bag and held it close to his overly broad chest. ‘Come on, please.’
God, Kurt wished that people didn’t beg, especially not of him. ‘Fine, take the clothing. I don’t want to hear anything from you until you send your findings to my inbox.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Finn saluted with a grin and backed away towards his own office and desk.
On the other side of the table, Artie gripped the femur with forceps and lowered it into the boiling water. ‘He bothers me. His shoulders are too broad, and there’s just altogether too much of him, and he needs to curb the enthusiasm. He could be a professional footballer; why he went into science I have no idea.’
Kurt shook his head in agreement, but only took of his lab coat and hung it on his hook. ‘Call me when the bones are clean.’
‘Will do, Dr Hummel.’
He patted his pocket to check his wallet and keys were present and then stepped off the lab platform, heading towards the door to the underground car parking.
Kurt had been friends with Rachel Berry for a long time. She was loud, annoying, and had a habit of making those around her feel incompetent; but Kurt was confident in his own abilities, and at any rate, his field of expertise laid strongly outside hers.
She was an artist. A good one, too, though Kurt rarely admitted it. Her talent with brush and pen was delightful to behold, and she had good technique and spatial awareness. He had always appreciated her work aesthetically, but he only now realised the value it could hold.
‘Hey, Rach,’ he said as he sat down on the cold Starbucks seat beside hers. ‘Can you help me with something?’
She eyed the offered chai latte in his hand. ‘Do I get paid in hot drinks?’
‘Just for this conversation.’ He gave her the drink and she sipped it gingerly, swinging her petite legs on the high stool.
‘What do you need?’ she asked after a moment.
‘I need you to draw me a face.’
‘Ha!’ she laughed. ‘Oh, wow, like that’s out of my comfort zone!’
Kurt watched her and waited until she’d calmed down slightly before continuing. ‘I think you miss understand me. I need you to draw a face based on the bone structure of a skeleton. It needs to be accurate. Can you do that?’
‘Can I-‘ Rachel Berry bit back a retort, suddenly wary that this may actually be beyond her powers. ‘I’ve never done it before, but bone structure is essential to a portrait, and I guess the rest is just - making up fleshy parts, right? Nose, hair colour, eye colour.’
‘Essentially.’
She took another long draught of latte. ‘Well, I guess I can give it a shot. What are you giving me in return for that not-so-small deed.’
‘I can pay you.’
‘In proper money? Not just gift vouchers and food?’
‘Proper money,’ Kurt confirmed and smiled.
Rachel shook her head, dumbfounded. ‘Alright, God, I’m in.’ She held out her hand and Kurt shook it.
‘So what are these bone structures I’m working from?’ Rachel asked, and from his bag, Kurt pulled the skull, glued carefully back together, from his bag.
‘Oh, God, is that real? Oh my God! Kurt, that’s real!’ She patted the air around the skull, as if it would move it away from here.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s a girl. A teenager. I want you to draw me a picture of her face.’
‘Ugh!’ Rachel gagged, but as Kurt put the skull back in the bag and handed it to her, she nodded. ‘God, I hate you sometimes.’
‘I hate you too.’ But it was said with a smile.
When Blaine lay in bed that night, in his small apartment, sheets wrapped tightly around his bare skin, he thought of Kurt, the doctor of anthropology and his tawny hair and welcoming smile.
When Kurt went to bed that night, he thought of the poor girls remains, the fragile and fractured pieces of her skull that gave him her story. It was only at the last moment that he thought of Blaine, and only as a reminder to himself that he would need to call in his findings in the morning.
The next morning, Kurt arrived at Blaine’s office, with the thick file of notes Artie had been taking and Rachel’s sketch. They had outlined details of the girl - her stature, her race, age - and details of the weapon that may have killed her. There was nothing too groundbreaking, no one answer, but there were details here. Enough details that Blaine was impressed.
‘I’m impressed,’ he said with a smile. ‘But is it enough to catch the bastard?’
Kurt looked down at the box between them, eyeing the case file. ‘How do you know he’s a bastard?’ he asked. ‘How do you even know he’s a man?’
Blaine looked up at him, quirking an eyebrow. ‘I just do. I know who the killer is, everyone knows. We just don’t have the evidence to convict.’
‘So…’ Kurt drew out. ‘What are you wanting me to give you?’
‘Anything! Anything that will convict this guy. Statistics, printouts, anything.’ Blaine leafed through the sheets of notes again, then pushed them heavily on to the table. ‘Is there anything here that’s going to help me?’
‘I’ve only done our uniform canvas. This includes approximate identification of a weapon, and any details regarding characteristics of the individual that may prove inter- helpful.’
‘Helpful?’
‘Yes. We are a research institution, we’re not used to the idea of solving crimes.’ Kurt pressed his lips together tightly before speaking. ‘I can give you facts, and I can support or disprove any statement you place before me if it was within the confines of the bones. But I cannot help you “catch someone”. I can only give you truth.’
Blaine watched him carefully. ‘Okay. Okay, well, I guess we’ll just have to go for the truth then. The truth is that this guy did it.’
‘We’ll have to see,’ Kurt said softly.
‘I want to show you something?’
Kurt raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
‘Come with me; I’m going to show you who killed this poor girl.’ He grabbed his keys and gun from the top drawer and stepped out from behind his desk. ‘Let’s go.’
They ended up taking Kurt’s car, through his fierce insistence, and Blaine regretted it almost immediately. Kurt was a sporadic driver, wheel heavy to the floor and wheel movements quick and jerky. Blaine found himself crouching down in the passenger seat, closing his eyes tight to avoid looking at the traffic.
It was with one close call at a red light and three shouts of “Whoa, get off the road!” from Kurt that they arrived at their destination, and old theatre with newly refurbished walls of gilded wainscotting and long sloping staircases.
Blaine lead the way up into the main of the building, turning his head to check that Kurt was close behind him at regular intervals. ‘Just- keep your head down,’ he said. ‘He has a temper, and you’re only helping to get him into jail. Just- maybe just don’t talk.’ He tried to say it nicely, but Kurt’s cheeks flushed with indignation and annoyance. Angrily he clamped his lips shut and crossed his arms angrily, settling into one hip.
It was the man that approached them, in the end. A high-up type, with a perfectly tailored suit and a smirk. Blaine felt angry just looking at him, and the tension in Kurt was palpable.
‘Oh,’ the man said, looking at Blaine. ‘You again. Got something else you want to show me? Do I need to call my lawyer?’
Blaine growled, low in his throat. ‘I don’t know, Paul, do you?’
The man shook his head, seemingly calm. ‘I don’t think you have anything. You know the case is going bust and you’re hoping I’m going to spill my guts to you out of a last moment of guilt.’ His lips curved up in a smile. ‘I’m still innocent.’ He shifted his grip on his briefcase and made to move past them but Kurt stepped back, meeting him for pace.
‘For now, you are.’
‘What do you mean, for now?’
‘I’m a scientist,’ Kurt said, as if it meant more to him than anything else in the world. ‘And I’m going to prove you did it.’
‘Oh really?’ The suit turned to Blaine. ‘You’ve accepted help from this one? Wow, you really are desperate.’ He went to move past again, but this time it was Kurt’s hand that shot out, hitting him hard in the nose. Kurt’s limbs shook with the adrenalin of it, but the man’s nose was bleeding, and he pressed his fingers to his nostrils to stem the flow.
‘I’ll sue you,’ he said as he stepped quickly past them and out the door. ‘I’ll sue hard!’
‘Try us!’ Blaine called after him, but his arm was catching Kurt’s. In a lower voice he murmured, ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Why not? You’re right, he’s a bastard.’
‘Because he’s a rich bastard, and he could sap you dry.’
Kurt shook his head. ‘I’m a world-class scientist. I have money. I’ll pay up if I lose.’
‘Expect to.’ Blaine took a deep breath, releasing Kurt carefully and stepping back. ‘God.’ He leaned his head back against the wall, biting his lip. ‘Do you understand now? That he did it?’
Kurt shook his head again. ‘I understand he’s a horrible man, and if the evidence stacks against him, I’ll be happy for him to be behind bars. That doesn’t mean he did it.’
‘He did it,’ Blaine argued. ‘I just need proof. And a motive.’
‘I can try and find proof,’ Kurt said, crossing his arms about his waist to stem the shake that still wracked his limbs. ‘But I’m not good with things like motives.’
‘Fine.’ Blaine took a deep breath. ‘That’ll be my job.’
Kurt dropped Blaine off at the Hoover building without coming inside. Blaine could see his hands were still shaking and he drove without much care at all for the road around him. When Blaine was safely on the pavement he took off again with a loud rev and didn’t look back.
Blaine was thankful. He wasn’t angry, but he was more than aware of the fact that high up businessmen generally prefer not being punched in the nose, and they have the money to back themselves all the way. It was going to end well if the jury heard about it, and it seemed like that was a high possibility.
He stepped into his office with a hand on his forehead, cradling a headache. His mug was beside his pen cup and he grabbed it before heading back into the tea room to fill it with strong coffee. Two gulps and he felt a little bit more himself.
When he entered his office again, he wasn’t too surprised to see Ms Sylvester sitting in his seat. She was their prosecution lawyer, and she had a habit of ending up on agents chairs when she wasn’t happy with them. Blaine had a feeling word of the punch had already gotten around.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
‘I’d like to know why I’ve had Paul Anders on the phone telling me who’s suing us for everything we have.’ With Sue Sylvester there were no questions. Only angrily worded statements.
‘How can you sue the government for everything they have?’ Blaine asked.
‘I don’t know but I’m sure he’ll try. He says your squint punched him in the face.’
Blaine bit his lip. ‘Well, yeah, that happened.’
‘It happened.’
‘I mean, he was too quick for me to stop. I thought I had a grip on the whole situation, I told him not to say a word, but he just got angry and then there was blood, and I don’t know. He said he’d pay his own legal expenses. I checked,’ he was quick to add when Sue gave him an angry look.
‘You need to keep your squints in line,’ she said. ‘Why was he even out in the field? Squints are meant for labs, not for interrogations, Burt Reynolds.’
‘I know, it’s on my head.’ He pressed his hands into the wood of his desk. Sue Sylvester was the only person in the office with the balls to claim an agents seat, but when she did, she left the agent on the lower hand. Sue Sylvester had never been caught unprepared.
‘It’s also on your head to fire him. I can’t have personnel with quick reactions being part of investigations. I’d never get the guys in prison.’
‘You’re right,’ Blaine said quickly. ‘Of course, of course.’ He grabbed a pen from his jar and clicked it nervously. ‘I’ll- I’ll get right to that.’
‘You better. I want him gone. I don’t want any mention of him being on the witness stand, and I don’t want to hear another word about this case, or any squints involved in it.’
‘Sure- sure thing.’
Sue stood up, vacating his desk and walking sure-footed out of the room. For a moment, Blaine felt unable to retake his seat. He curled his toes within his loafers and took a deep breath.
‘Drinks?’ Kurt said when Blaine knocked on his door. ‘Is this how cops show they care?’ Blaine’s stance was loose and open and he leaned against the doorframe, legs crossed comfortably at the ankle.
‘Not most. I do.’ He smiled and it showed his teeth. ‘Well, on rare occasions. I wouldn’t mind drinking with you any day.’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ Kurt asked as he grabbed his scarf off the hook beside the door.
‘Kind of.’
‘Maybe you need a bit of practice.’ He grabbed his keys too, but Blaine shook his head quickly.
‘Oh, no way! We’re not driving tonight. We’re walking.’
Kurt raised his eyebrows. ‘A suitable drinking spot within walking distance of my place? Lead on.’ He went to step down the stairs after Blaine, but he hadn’t moved. Instead, he held out his arm, and Kurt took it carefully, looping them together at the elbow. His gloved hand caught at Blaine’s upper arm to secure himself there, and it felt oddly comfortable.
They walked in a silence which did not seem essential to fill. Blaine knew where he was going, and Kurt followed him easily, only slightly concerned as to the direction of their endeavour. It was a bar, of course, but whether it was seedy, high class or simply mediocre, Kurt was unaware.
It ended up being not too bad at all. The lighting was low, but the man behind the bar had a welcoming smile, and was young and clean shaven.
‘Are you even old enough to serve alcohol?’ Blaine joked lightheartedly. ‘You must get all the girls.’
They ordered shots, Kurt starting with Frangelico, something a little sweet and light. Blaine went straight to tequila and ordered a scotch on the side. Kurt didn’t comment on the mix, and for his second shot, he took the same as Blaine.
The liquor went to their heads quickly, toxic and clinging to the insides of their mouth. A swift tongue across the front of Kurt’s teeth tasted of aniseed and sambuca, and he sucked it down in a deep gulp, across his tongue and down his throat, catching every taste bud. He had never drank so much in one sitting, but Blaine was taking each shot with him, clinking their glasses together, and he couldn’t think about stopping, not if Blaine was still going.
After another round of tequila he bit his lip, feeling the thrum of it. There was no pain, simply numbness and he leaned closer to Blaine, catching the front of his shirt in his hand.
‘Blaine,’ he murmured softly, and pulled him closer, close enough to whisper. ‘Blaine, I’m gay.’
A grin and Blaine was leaning even closer, pressing their foreheads together, and it was too tight, too intoxicating. Kurt wanted to kiss him right there. ‘Me too,’ he rasped, rough with alcohol, and then grinned. ‘I guessed.’
‘You held your arm out for me at my door.’
‘I know, I was there.’ Another grin and Kurt returned it.
‘Are you flirting with me, Blaine Anderson?’
‘I think I might be.’
‘I didn’t think the FBI were allowed to fraternise with employees and associates.’
Blaine shook his head lightly. ‘We’re not.’ He smiled, leaned his lips closer into Kurt, almost a kiss before breathing, ‘But you’re fired.’
That sobered Kurt up quickly, and he pulled backwards, almost off his seat with the shock of it. ‘Why?’
‘You punched the suspect.’
‘I said I’d pay for that.’
‘If the jury finds out, we’ll never convict. Our lawyer - she told me I had to.’
Kurt shook his head, pressing his palm into his temple. ‘But I’m finding you the truth.’
‘I know but- you can’t.’
‘Why did I even bother, then?’
Blaine shook his head quickly. ‘You hadn’t punched him then. There was nothing wrong.’
‘So you’re saying this is my fault?’ Kurt dug his fingernails into his palms, hoping to draw blood.
‘Yes! No.’ Blaine’s head lolled back and he shut his eyes tight before righting himself. ‘I’m really drunk right now, and I didn’t know how to tell you sober, and I clearly didn’t do a good job anyway.’
‘You really didn’t,’ Kurt said and stood up, tapping his pocket to check for his wallet and keys. ‘And I hold my alcohol better than you.’ He stepped towards the door of the bar, not turning back even as Blaine tried to catch him, looping his fingers around his wrist.
‘Please.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t- don’t go.’
‘You don’t need me for anything. I’m going to go home, get some sleep and then go back to my job tomorrow. My real job.’ He shook Blaine’s hand free. It was dark out, too dark to walk the half hour home. He raised his hand for a cab.
‘God, please, I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this. I wouldn’t fire you if it was my decision, but it’s not and-‘
‘Will you please just shut up?’
‘Will you forgive me?’
Kurt turned to face him as the cab pulled to a stop. ‘I don’t care. I really don’t, Blaine.’
‘Oh-‘ he breathed in relief. ‘Okay, that’s good.’
‘And if we’re no longer working together, would you please just kiss me and get this over with before I kiss you myself.’
Blaine’s eyebrows rose, but his hands slipped to Kurt’s waist unbidden and pulled him closer. There was no resistance and pressed their lips together, as gently as his fumbling body would allow.
‘Thank God,’ Kurt breathed against his mouth, and they didn’t break away until the cab honked it’s horn.
‘Come back to my place,’ Blaine whispered against Kurt’s lips.
‘No.’ Kurt turned to the cab and started forward, leaning against the door of the car for support.
‘Why not? Is it because we’re drunk?’
He almost grinned at that. ‘No!’
‘Then why?’
He didn’t answer, only waved a goodbye as he climbed into the car and they drove away. In the constricting warmth of the cab he pushed back the few strands of hair that had settled sweaty onto his forehead.
He would never see him again, and that was the way it should be.
‘You kissed!’ Emma exclaimed, leaning forward in her chair in excitement. Suddenly it hit her and she leaned backwards, fingers pressed to her lips. ‘You kissed.’
‘Yes,’ Kurt said, almost solemnly. ‘There was tongue.’
The psychologist squeaked. ‘Tongue!’
Blaine raised his hand sheepishly. ‘Yeah, I’ll admit to that.’
‘Oh, wow,’ Emma breathed. ‘Wow wow wow. I was scared for a moment. I was scared something was going to prove me wrong but- but you kissed.’
‘I think we’ve determined that,’ Kurt said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
‘What happened after?’ she asked. ‘With the case and- with the two of you?’
Kurt sighed. ‘Well, of course, Blaine came to the realisation that he would never be able to do this without me. He came begging back to the Smithsonian, and I was more than willing to continue with our research, but Artie wanted to see the case through, so I relented. Finn helped, and as you know, became part of our team. I offered Rachel a steady job, and we became one concise unit.
‘The case, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated. Paul Anders had money to throw around, and he did so every time something came to light. Eventually, we got some concrete evidence: some missing bones that were found caught in his vehicle. It was easy to prove they were Gina Underwood’s and it wasn’t long before we had him under arrest.’
‘Well,’ Blaine interrupted. ‘I arrested him, but you were there to watch.’
‘And then what happened?’ Emma asked.
‘Well, I was hurt obviously,’ Kurt continued. ‘Blaine had been following orders, but he’d fired me and then begged me back, almost the next day. I wasn’t impressed at all, and I told him as much. I was also concerned we didn’t have enough evidence to convict.’
‘Which you told me in front of the Gina’s mother,’ Blaine added.
‘I admit that it was… untactful. But I was not experienced with the process of police interviews, especially not of that sort.’
‘I was annoyed that he’d pushed me in the interview, and I got a bit angry-‘
‘And I got angrier. By that point, I didn’t want to work with him again. I told him that too.’
‘And then it was as easy as that. We just… didn’t. Our paths didn’t cross again, and neither of us pushed for them to. We didn’t work together again until the Agron case.’
‘And you didn’t kiss again?’ Emma sighed sadly.
Kurt shook his head. ‘Of course not.’
‘Well, I did say that if you kissed you’d be unable to resist the bond between you. So I guess you proved that wrong.’
‘Failed to disprove is a more accurate term.’
‘But…’ It was here that Emma turned to Blaine, smiling a small smile. ‘I’m still sticking to my conclusions. And I think you should do something about it.’
‘Do-‘ Kurt interjected.
‘You’re the one that’s got to tell him how you feel, Blaine.’
‘Blaine, what’s she talking about?
Blaine turned to Kurt. ‘I have no idea. Do you want to grab something to eat?’ He stood up, holding out his arm for Kurt.
‘Sure.’
‘Okay. We’ll see you later, Emma!’ he called over his shoulder.
She stomped her foot in frustration but said nothing more than, ‘I’ve told you!’ in farewell.
They took the steps down the garden path at the foot of the Hoover building in tandem. The sun was just setting and the city was still busy. They had taken what ended up an entirety of Emma’s day, but somehow they hadn’t noticed, nor had she interrupted them for other meetings. Kurt was mildly annoyed that he had missed a day of work, but he put that thought aside.
Blaine was thinking. It wasn’t like he didn’t think a lot, but something about what Emma had said had caught him. Of course he was in love with Kurt. He had known that for months. But acting on it was something very different, and he was very aware that Kurt did not feel the same way. If anything had confirmed that for him it had been the hatred with which they had parted during the year after that first case.
He had fallen and he had fallen hard, especially with the addition of alcohol, and perhaps he hadn’t realised the depths of his feelings, but regardless, Kurt had pulled himself away. And he would pull himself away again, he knew it.
He couldn’t risk getting hurt again, he couldn’t.
But still, Emma’s words spun around his head. You’re the one that’s got to tell him how you feel.
They were almost at the edge of the park, and Kurt was picking up his pace, anxious to get back to the Smithsonian and his team in case anything had happened while he was gone.
Almost without thinking, though every movement was slowed down and precise, Blaine held his elbow tighter and slowed him down, bringing them both to a halt. ‘Kurt,’ he murmured.
‘What is it, Blaine?’
‘I- I have to talk to you.’
‘You’re talking to me right now.’ Kurt watched him carefully, trying to read his face, but Kurt had never been good at reading faces, and instead he ended up looking at him blankly, hopefully.
‘I need to tell you something.’
‘Tell me.’
Blaine bit his lip, stalling for time. He knew what he had to say, he knew how he had to say it. Half of his body was screaming out No! The other half begged him to continue, desperate.
‘Kurt, I love you.’
It was definitely not what he had expected. Kurt’s jaw dropped just the slightest before he caught it, pressing his free hand to his mouth to hold back any words or exclamations. Blaine gently released his other hand from his grip, but Kurt left it clinging to his upper arm. His nails bit in hard, and Blaine almost winced with it, but it meant that Kurt was there, that he was still here and he hadn’t scared him away, not yet.
‘What are you saying, Blaine?’ he said finally.
‘You heard me.’
‘I think I might have been distracted at the time, tell me again.’
Blaine took a deep breath. ‘Kurt,’ he said, slower this time. ‘I love you.’
‘You can’t!’ He tilted his head back and stared at the sky, murmuring things under his breath that Blaine couldn’t hear and couldn’t make sense of. ‘You can’t!’
‘Of course I can. I do. I love you, I love you.’ Blaine’s hand scrabbled for purchase on Kurt’s elbows, his hands, and finally he was allowed to grip them, fingers tangling together, but there was no energy in it on Kurt’s end. He held his fingers limply between them and he would not meet Blaine’s eyes.
‘You can’t. Because I can’t love you back. You know I can’t, yet you still feel it, and you shouldn’t. I know you shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.’
Blaine shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. I love you, isn’t that all that matters? It’s all that matters to me.’
Kurt finally looked then. His eyes, normally a light grey-blue were dark and a solitary tear treked its way down his cheek. ‘I can’t love you, Blaine.’ It was the way he said it that made Blaine take notice: sad, but resigned. He was impossibly aware of his own fate.
He didn’t argue this time. He only whispered softly, ‘Why not?’
‘Because we’re too different types of people. I’m analytical, you’re emotional. You believe in your own morals and having faith and I believe in science.’ He lowered his voice, letting his body rock close to Blaine’s. ‘I don’t know how to love, and I don’t know how to learn.’
‘I can teach you,’ Blaine said quickly. ‘It’s easy, I can teach you.’
‘It’s not easy for me. I’ve never had a long-standing relationship. I know my body and I know what it’s for, and I know the chemical changes in my brain that make me feel like I need you. Dopamine tells me that my attraction to you is good. Oxytocin tells me you should be the only one I am with. But that’s not love. Those are just chemical imbalances in the brain.’
’Can’t you feel it?’ Blaine asks. ‘That longing, in your heart?’
Kurt shook his head. ‘The heart is a circulatory organ, Blaine. It pumps blood and oxygen and nutrients around your body. Nothing more.’ He pressed his lips together tightly. ‘I’m hurting you.’
‘It’s okay. You’re allowed to.’ Blaine reached up, cupping Kurt’s cheeks in his palms. Kurt’s own hands stayed tangled with his, and somehow both sets of hands pressed against Kurt’s skin. ‘You’re the only one that’s allowed to.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want any of this, but I can’t Blaine.’ He pulled their hands down suddenly and stepped back, swiping the tear from his eye angrily. ‘I just can’t. I’m sorry.’
He turned away, in the direction of the Smithsonian, and walked fast. Blaine couldn’t follow. He pressed his palms together, tangling his fingers and tugging tight, to ease the pain in his tightening chest. He leaned against the railing of the gardens and tried to ignore the people passing as they watched him.
He knew it would end this way.