A.N. Hi everyone! Most of you probably know me from my other fic Bored. As promised, here is the spy story I am in the midst of writing. I will try updating weekly, as well as my other story Gleeful travels, but they may not always be possible, I'm sorry to say... so here's the summary:

Blaine Anderson is a secret international spy trained to be without emotions, yet his sexuality refuses to let him forget. His anger management problems cause infighting amongst his team members and he feels alone in the world - until he meets Kurt Hummel, the best friend of the girl who was murdered because of his enemy. Then, everything changes and emotions are the only thing that will get him through life with the one he loves. Kurt Hummel is just another struggling gay teen in New York City who's trying to make a life on Broadway with his best friend Rachel Berry and his step-brother Finn. But when Rachel is mysteriously killed, Kurt's life turns upside down and he doesn't know if he can handle it all. The only good thing to possibly come of this is that he meets the handsome and intriguing Blaine Anderson, the person in charge of Rachel's case. As they grow closer, Kurt can't help but think what he's gotten himself into, an innocent relationship with a police officer, or a dangerous involvement in the war between good and evil.

So... ya like? If so, then read on and enjoy the first chapter of Paranoid? :D I appreciate reviews!

Disclaimer - I own nothing, not even Glee.

Blaine Anderson was a secret international spy. He worked for the organization that was so top secret, he didn't even know the name of it himself. He'd been trying to find out for ages, but nothing had ever worked and he was forced to trust them. They were his family after all. He had been raised to be a spy after being discovered in a trash can on a street when he was just a baby. Taking him in as a potential asset, the spies raised him as their own with tough love and strict rules. The person he was closest to was probably his supervisor, Wes Montgomery, but they weren't exactly on good terms at the moment considering Blaine broke his gavel last they met.

The sounds of bullets being fired pierced the air and Blaine somersaulted forwards to duck under the table across the hall. The bullets whipped past only inches from where he had just been hiding. His heart beat rapidly but he was a master at controlling his breathing. He clutched his gun so tightly his knuckles turned a deathly white and his pupils had dilated. His index finger hovered over the trigger as men's cries were heard from down the hall as more blastings blared throughout the office building.

The computer with all the desired top secret files lay across the rather large room, undamaged and loading. He had been downloading the classified information when he heard gunfire and bolted for cover. The guns stopped firing. He listened hard, closing his eyes to become in tune with his surroundings, but it had the opposite effect as he fell backwards, the desk no longer there to lean against. He fell on his back with a gentle thud and stared up at a man holding him at gunpoint with his left hand and holding the desk with the other.

If his right hand is stronger, then he's at a disadvantage with his aim. Blaine thought, unless he's ambidextrous, but even then one hand is still more dominant. He kicked the gun out of the man's hand as the desk came tumbling down towards him with lightning speed, but he was faster. At the age of seventeen he was active and mobile and in fantastic shape. A few drops of sweat trickled down his forehead as he rolled a couple meters away and leaped to his feet like they always do in movies. He looked back to where he last saw the enemy but there was no one there. Not one to be caught off guard, Blaine whipped around then looked up just as the man aimed and fired while hanging upside down from the rafters. The bullet landed in the boy's ankle and he bit back a cry of pain as he leaped away from the spot where the opponent had chosen to fall. Having nowhere to run, Blaine took a good look at the man's face.

He was approximately six feet tall with the beginnings of a dark brown beard and eyes so dark they were almost black. The dimmed lighting in the room didn't allow much colour to be seen and for all Blaine knew, the man's eyes were coal black to match his stretchy pants and knit sweater. The bulk of his chest meant he was wearing a bullet vest and his hood was pulled up all the way. His hands were calloused, as if he played guitar and the man's feet appeared to be about size ten. He wore Nike running shoes with blue accents and the hair on the back of his hands was dark brown, but in better lighting it could be anything. His eyebrows were thin and rounded and the man had crow's feet beside his eyes. His skin was a dark olive and his build was muscular and healthy. He had experienced hands and they seemed to be his greatest strength. Blaine took note of the beginnings of a dark blue tattoo swirling around the man's ring finger instead of a real ring and didn't let himself wonder why. He appeared to be in his early forties with plump cheeks and unmistakable dimples. His nails were cut down to its absolute shortest and were filled with grime.

Blaine took all of this in within the one second he had before jumping away from the man forever and through the window out of the five hundred foot tall skyscraper. His shoulder connected with the glass and he heard the sickening shatter as the window collapsed around him. He heard gunfire but felt no pain anywhere but his shoulder and ankle. His feet left the floor and he opened his eyes to the long fall that lay ahead of him. He would not let his enemy have the satisfaction of seeing him afraid so he bit back another scream. He had done this so many times to date that his tongue had almost been severed off by his own teeth and he made a new habit out of biting his gums instead. He felt the wind whip past him and no hair flew into his face because it was so perfectly gelled that it was basically a rock. The air felt cool against his skin and his blood began to seep through his pants as it trickle upwards as he fell faster than the liquid, being heavier and all.

The traffic and cars below him rushed to meet his body faster than he had anticipated and he heard one last gunshot before everything went black. When he took off his virtual training helmet he sighed, not in relief, but in failure. He had yet to pass his virtual experience test to become a full spy. Should he pass before his eighteenth birthday, he would be the first ever full-fledged under-aged spy in the business.

In frustration, he threw the helmet with all his might at the far wall, but a robot arm shot out from twenty feet away and caught it expertly in its claw. It reeled it back to the owner of the arm, a boy about Blaine's age who had been orphaned just like him and sent to an adoption center. His name was David and he had dark skin and black hair so short you had to squint to see it. When it was quickly discovered that he was a genius, the spy organization had quickly taken him under their wing and trained him to be a technical whiz.

The robotic arm was not prosthetic, but rather a gadget the boy had been working on. He smiled smugly as he took the helmet in his hands and inspected it for cracks. Satisfied that it was still in mint condition, he turned around to face Blaine.

"Please don't break the very complicated gadgets I work so very hard on." He said with a corner of his mouth turned up. He walked over to a shelf to place the helmet carefully atop it and plugged it in to charge. He turned back to the stage that Blaine hadn't moved from and his smile dropped.

"Anderson?" He called cautiously and observed the boy further. His muscles were tense and his fists clenched. He gritted his teeth and his eyes were closed. His breaths were regular and his chest heaved at normal speed, but he was shaking from anger. His eyes were closed and he seemed rooted to the spot. He mumbled something along the lines of an apology and stormed off, slamming the door to the lab closed behind him. David sighed and went back to work on creating a cell phone with the most high tech abilities anyone had ever seen, with his precise hands and fingers.

Blaine stomped down the hallway in a fit of rage. He glared at the white tiles and bare walls wishing they were all in ruins. His muscles were so tense that he walked like a robot in a way that was almost comical, had it not been so terrifying. He was furious with himself. He had tried and failed to defeat that level of the virtual training program over fifty times and he had barely gotten any farther than he had the last time, yet he had been so close. He had been on missions outside of the building several times, usually only for investigation purposes and not so much confrontation reasons, but nothing had been as severe as the digital world Artie had created. He needed to pass it in order to be full-fledged spy and he was itching to work in the field. It had been his main goal in life as far back as he could remember and he had yet to accomplish such a feat.

He growled and slammed the door to his room so hard it made a hole in the wall with its knob. He didn't care, he had just patched up the last one and figured he shouldn't bother fixing it when he was only going to prolong the inevitable. He had issues with his temper and he had yet to find anything very effective that would calm him down, so he seethed and skipped his boxing gloves and just punched the dummy in his room. He punched and punched and punched and the dummy fought back lazily, letting him win. He got frustrated at how easy it was and began to hit harder, making his knuckles bleed with the effort and sweat dripped down his face as he grunted and kicked and screamed his emotions at his target. Eventually, all the steam had left him and he sunk to the floor, hands covered in blood and body coated in sweat. He was panting and his arms burned from over using his muscles.

Mustering up some strength, he stood up without the help of his hands and made his way to the bathroom to shower. The water was ice cold and was an immediate contrast to his current body temperature. His body shivered involuntarily and he let the water soak him and cool him. He took several minutes to rinse the gel from his hair and let his curls loose. He frowned in the mirror at his crazy and uncontrollable locks and immediately covered them in stark white bubbles of shampoo. He closed his eyes and began to hum to himself, singing songs that were slow and calming but not sad so as to calm himself down.

Once he was thoroughly cleaned and rinsed, he turned off the water and stepped out while wrapping a brown towel around his waist as he entered his room and threw on whatever clothes were clean. His entire wardrobe was black so everything looked the same to him. He ended up with black jeans, converse, a wool turtleneck, and a bowtie that camouflaged perfectly with his shirt so as not to be seen by his co-workers. He had more bowties than he could count and it was a rather embarrassing secret of his that was an expert at keeping hidden.

He wrapped his hands in gauze and ignored the searing pain he felt the second they made contact with the bandages. His hands were burning again and he clenched them as if to make their painful screams of agony quieter, so that he could think properly. He turned around to examine his bedroom. It did not look like a regular teenage boy's room.

There was a twin bed in the very center of the square room with grey sheets and blankets and pillows. The walls were a boring beige and there was one large rectangular window across the room from his bathroom with no blinds or curtains. The carpet was a dirty white and stained with blood so much so that it looked like a design. The closet was closed and the desk had nothing but stacks and stacks of papers and files sitting on top with one sharpened pencil sitting parallel to them. His dresser was mahagony and about four feet tall with beige handles and the walls were bare. He had no headboard or posters or pictures, there was nothing personal about the room at all. It looked like a hotel suite without someone living in it. The dummy sat at about Blaine's height next to his bed, rattled and ripped and twitching from its beat down. Blaine stuffed it in his closet and sighed. He would never be a normal guy. Even if he wasn't a spy, nothing could change the fact that he was gay - and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He could've lived with being gay in public school, it couldn't have been any worse than where he was at the moment, but alas there was no hope for him and the P.A. speaker that was next to the door on his left crackled.

"Would Blaine Anderson please report to Mr. Montgomery's office, Blaine Anderson." The receptionist of the place spoke in a monotone voice through the microphone with his foreign accent. Blaine sighed again and exited his room to make his way to Wes' office. This should be fun.

He walked stiffly down the hall and decided not to use the elevator and slid down the banister of the stairs to land perfectly on the balls of his feet on each floor five times until he reached ground level and threw open the double doors to the lobby, a cold breeze of air conditioner swept over him and his hands immediately went to his hair but he refrained from actually touching it, not wanting to get his hands covered in gel.

It was too late to go back, he had a clear view of Wes sitting in his office through the window, glaring pointedly at him with his arms crossed. Blaine held back a sigh and crossed the rather large room as the last remnants of sunlight streamed in through the front entrance spinning doors made of glass. He let himself into the office and plopped down on the very uncomfortable plastic chair opposite Wes' desk. They glared at each other for a few minutes until Wes gave in and closed his eyes while rubbing his temples.

"Anderson, you owe me a new gavel."

"Please tell me you didn't call me all the way down here for that."

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean it is not a legitimate reason." Blaine rolled his eyes as the Asian boy, not too many years older than he was, continued as if he hadn't seen, which he obviously had. "I called you down here because I have a mission for you."

"In the field?"

"No, your bedroom."

"Shut up."

"Don't give me that tone Captain Obvious!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I'm your boss! I'm in charge of this entire sector!"

"I'll treat people how I want! Especially you!"

"Oh lucky me." Wes said with sarcasm practically tangible in his voice. They were both standing, having knocked over their chairs in their shouting fest. Wes fixed his tie and cleared his throat, then righted his chair and sat back down in it. Blaine copied the movement with his own chair but his glare didn't let up.

"You were saying something about a mission?"

"I dunno if I wanna tell you anymore. Maybe I should give it to someone less childish." Wes thought aloud with the beginnings of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Blaine rolled his eyes but felt his shoulders relax a bit.

"Just get on with it."

"Fine then, if you insist." Wes ran a hand through his black hair and straightened out a pile of papers on his desk before continuing. "There's been a murder in New York City and we-"

Blaine scoffed. "So? That's not uncommon in New York of all places."

"Would you shut your yap and let me finish?" He asked with a bit of irritation seeping out of his mouth and into the question. Blaine's face hardened, but he nodded.

"Right, anyway, we suspect the murderer to be a member of the band of skanks we've been tracking for months. They've been travelling across the country performing countless crimes and being very very careful with their identities and who they keep in contact with and where they go so as not to create a pattern. They are very good at what they do which is why it has taken so long to catch them."

"Why do you suspect it's them?"

"The victim was the cousin of one of our contacts."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Rachel Hudson."

"The contact?"

"No, that is classified information. She is the victim. Anyway, everything needed for this case can be found in here." Wes opened his filing cabinet and yanked out a fairly large folder so overly stuffed with papers that when he lifted it several of them fluttered to the ground in disarray. Blaine raised an eyebrow but didn't complain. He was going out into the field and he was going to do what he did best: spy.

"Deadline?"

"You have three months." Blaine spluttered and looked up at Wes in shock. His boss simply smirked and sat back down in his chair. "I know it's a long time but the organization has taken into consideration your age and experience and deemed it an appropriate amount of time to complete this case and erase all connections to this organization from Rachel's death." He shrugged and Blaine nodded along, taking in all the information he was being given. "Your mission specifically, is to track down the villain that is guilty for Mrs. Hudson's death and to clean up their mess, make sure the paparazzi don't get involved and that the news story isn't too big. The crime was committed not half an hour ago."

At this, Blaine's eyebrows shot up and Wes shrugged again. "Your sources are alarmingly fast." He noted. Wes simply nodded and Blaine stood to leave but he had his elbow in a firm grasp, forcing him to stay rooted to the spot. Hazel eyes met chocolate and Wes' gaze was stern but caring.

"Be careful." He warned and Blaine simply nodded and waved once before exiting in haste. He was going to the scene of the crime immediately and would look over the notes on the plane ride there. He was looking forward to this.