Dave Karofsky drove into the parking lot in his beat up Ford. The Ford itself had once been white, but with the amount of dust and mud in the country, it had adopted an almost brown persona. He drove in near silence, low static from the radio that he'd never had fixed playing in the background.

Stepping out of the truck, he found himself adjusting his tie and wiping down his interview suit to try and get the wrinkles out that his iron had missed. He looked around as he did this. Same old picnic benches, same old dead grass. Not much had changed at Thorn Securities.

"Hey Tom," he said to the man at the front desk.

The man at the front desk looked up from a thick file with surprise in his eyes. "Karofsky, you old-," he came around the desk to greet Dave with a hearty handshake. "What are you doing here? I thought you retired."

"He did," came Jonathan Groff's gruff voice from his open office door. Same old Venetian blinds, Dave thought with chagrin. "Mr. Karofsky, not sure you'd make it."

"Well, you said on the phone that you had an offer for me that I couldn't refuse."

Jon nodded as he walked over to shake Dave's hand. Dave had had trouble picturing his face in the interim from his last pro bono employment with Thorn. It was a wonder though- Mr. Groff had the remarkable facial structure of a cat in perpetual amusement. And then he remember with a flash why he'd left. He wanted to walk out the door right then, just turn tail and get back in his Ford and leave. But he was too good a man to not hear Groff out. After all, he'd come this far.

"Can I get you some coffee, Dave?" Tom asked eagerly, his chocolate brown eyes and wide smile giving Dave the impression that he was far happier to see him then he deserved.

"I'm fine thanks."

"Well, if you'll just come this way then," Jon stated as he beckoned Dave back to his office.

Dave followed and gave a nod to Tom before stepping inside as Tom went back to his paperwork. Dave sat in a familiar green chair and Groff assumed his power position at his desk with hands folded together in what looked like a large fist. "I bet you were surprised to hear from me."

"More than surprised. I was under the impression you'd never retain my services again."

"Well, times change. We've both changed. Had time to reflect on what went wrong and I think we can come to some sort of amicable agreement."

"What's the catch?"

Jon proceeded to fidget with the picture frames on his desk, signaling to Dave that this was the mother of all catches. "David, David, David. Why must you be so cynical?"

"Ask the last four bounties I caught so I could make a living. Or that wonderful therapist you mandated for me."

"Oh yes, my…apologies for that."

Dave sighed. "No, it was fine. I had a chance to work out what happened with Traci. So it's water under the bridge."

"How is Traci?"

Dave shrugged. "Doing fine, I think. She took Sandra and married a new guy…" Dave shrugged, while thinking of the name Mike Change. His name is Mike Chang. He graduated from…Dave stopped himself. He knew all the facts, he'd done good hard gumshoe research about Traci's new husband. What he found hadn't made Dave's life any easier. Mike was perfect, and worst of all, perfect for Traci. "…look, Groff, what do you want?"

If his old boss had noticed the slight tremor come over Dave's face, he hadn't said anything. "Pleasantries, old man! We have to observe the niceties otherwise we're no better than the apes."

"I think you forget we don't like each other very much."

"No," Jon furrowed his brow, "I'm aware we have a lot of work to do rebuilding a friendship and a boss/employee relationship, but that will all come in time. And, if you accept this assignment, I can have you out in the field bright and early tomorrow."

"You still haven't told me what the catch is."

Groff hissed through his teeth and clasped his fingers back together, swinging his chair for a moment so he could cross one leg over the other to affect a more casual air. "Kurt Hummel."

Dave merely blinked in his direction.

"Okay, no. Seriously. Kurt Hummel."

Dave shook his head. "A new presidential candidate for the Democrats?"

"I'm not even sure how to explain this to you. I bet your daughter even knows who Kurt is."

"Sandra is almost six, Groff. If you've got me babysitting a member of the Wiggles, I swear to God…"

"No," Jon said, opening his hands in a defensive position. "It's nothing like that. Truth is, Kurt needs protection. He needs the best. He needs a personal bodyguard that will also coordinate two lower level bodyguards, a driver, and personal assistant. You'd be, in essence, the main link in the chain, Hummel central."

"Yeah? So, in essence, what's the catch?"

Groff grimaced. "Classic death treats, taken up a crazy notch or two."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Are you sure? People have gotten a lot more sophisticated since 93."

"That was a cheap shot."

"I'm just saying. So, do you want it or am I calling in Rutherford?"

"Matt? Matt was your other option? God, you're more hard up than I thought." Dave sighed. "Fine. I'll do this, but only because I'm sick of chasing bounties to the end of God's green earth. But I warn you, if you've screwed me over somehow.."

"Where's your faith, Karofsky? You won't regret this."

Those words haunted Dave from the moment he walked out of Groff's office to the exact moment he first saw Kurt Hummel. Or at least was blinded enough by Kurt's outfit that he had trouble seeing much else.

"What do you think?" Kurt did a spin in his ultra bedazzled jacket as he walked up to Dave.

"About what?"

"The new jacket, it's a preview for the line of…why aren't you writing this down?"

"Writing what down?" Dave was wondering if the smell of hairspray meant brain damage.

"You're the reporter from GDM, right?"

Dave eased into parade rest, which he often did while making introductions. Reaching out one hand stiffly, he announced himself in the makeshift photo shoot/board room that had been put together for the day. "Mr. David Karofsky, your new guard detail and liaison coordinator."

"Oh thank God, I thought was going to have to go through another agency," Kurt let out a visible sigh of relief, taking a moment to comb through his coif. "The last guy that Thorn sent…he should've been meeting with Kevorkian or something. But look at you…." Kurt made the motion for Dave to do a turn for him.

"I don't turn."

"Nonsense. Everyone turns. And don't tell me you ironed out those pleats just for kicks and giggles."

"Standard first impression rule, Mr. Hummel."

"Oh God," Kurt groaned, "you're going to call me Kurt. Mr. Hummel is my dad. I love him dearly but he's more 'Mr. Hummel' sir guy than I'll ever be."

"I'll try to bear that in mind."

"So, have you met the rest of my team?"

"All the essential staff, s- Kurt," the informal words felt strange over Dave's teeth. He didn't use informal words on most occasions. He didn't feel the need to be getting close to his paychecks. "Your driver and two small-time guards, whom you've personally hired. I hope to meet your personal assistant next and then anyone else you feel is pertinent."

"Quinn."

"Quinn?"

Kurt tilted his head as he spoke, batting his eyelashes as though the movement itself might make Dave loosen up a little. "My personal assistant. Her name is Quinn, Quinn Fabray if you want to get all formal on me. She's a good friend from high school, suffers from a tragic wardrobe of cupcake dresses and classic interview suits. Not that it seems that will interest you much," Kurt said, waving it off with a twist of his hands and then continuing, "the only other person you have to worry about is an occasional make-up and hair person. I do my own normally. Now, here's the important question I have for you- do you do lunch?"

"Excuse me?"

Kurt sighed heavily, seemingly annoyed for having to repeat himself. "I mean- do you eat lunch with me, are you on 24/7...what's your deal?"

"I would. I am your 24 hour personal guard."

"Well this is gonna make showering fun," Kurt muttered to himself and then straightened up before speaking louder again. "Fine. You'll do. But you'll come to find out life in the land of Hummel is not all fun and games."

I'll bet, Dave thought to himself, silently cursing his old Army buddy Jonathan Groff for getting him into this.

…..

"Are you ready to go?" Dave pounded on the door of the shower room. He'd been with Kurt for less than a week and already he was annoyed with the diva. Kurt just never showed up on time for anything and reeked havoc on all of Dave's scheduling, and somehow the secondary schedule as well.

"Mama, just killed a man," came Kurt's sweet high tenor voice, completely on pitch. If Dave had been in the mood, he might have compared Kurt's voice to a more feminine version of Eddie Vetter. But he was never in the mood these days.

He banged on the door to the shower room, louder this time, interrupting the intro into the scaramouche section. His face twisted in a bit of a Cheshire cat grin when he heard the water turn off and the sound of a towel being grabbed hastily off a nearby shelf.

"Do you have a problem?" Kurt howled as he exited the bathroom with a towel around his tiny waist. Dave turned to give his client privacy, focusing on the front door. "No, seriously, what is it about you and being on time? Can you even imagine how long this takes to perfect? Of course you can't. You, you big lug, you just slap on a tie and out you go…"

Dave tuned out Kurt's rant. He had heard it every morning since he'd started. At first, he'd been afraid of getting fired before he'd even gotten his first paycheck but it had eventually dawned on him that Kurt was mostly bark and very little bite. He had usually calmed down and gone back to his powder puff persona by breakfast.

"…. and Liza Minelli!"

"Okay, but we gotta get going. We're meeting Anderson for the photo shoot at ten and it's already 9:30."

"Half an hour."

"Traffic."

"Well, does this schedule of yours even include breakfast?!"

"Perrier water in the car chilling, two croissants with ham, just like you like. Brie cheese and a small forest of green seedless grapes."

"Well, fine. At least I won't starve to death And turn around. I'm dressed."

Dave turned around and it dawned on him that he'd not yet seen Kurt dress in anything traditionally masculine like his suits and ties. Today, Kurt was wearing some sort of small poncho thing, like one of those lizards that had yet to get really angry and start hissing at people.

"Well, I'm starving for compliments here, not just food." Kurt stretched out his hands to give Dave the full scope of the outfit.

Dear God, those sleeves, Dave thought. "Well, it's clothes."

Kurt rolled his eyes, grabbing his bedazzled briefcase from off the hotel table. "David Karofsky, you are hopeless," Kurt said, trying to shoot venom but missing. Dave wasn't much for Kurt's opinion on his fashion sense anyways.

…..

The relationship between Kurt and Dave stood at a mutual point of hostility until one night a week before a concert in New York. Kurt had had his driver stop the car outside of a pizzeria and then proceeded to exit the car about the same time as Dave reacted to him getting out of the car. The driver and the bodyguard shared a look of commiseration. Working for his highness Kurt was always full of surprises.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Dave asked with alarm as he bolted out of his side of the car to reach Kurt on the sidewalk.

"Stopping for pizza. This is the best place in the city for it."

"For Christ' sake! What if someone recognizes you?!"

Kurt blinked at Dave as they got in line and Dave began to look around. His stomach growled traitorously.

"So what toppings would you like?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to eat a whole pie by myself. You a supreme kind of guy or all meat or Hawaiian or…"

"Hawaiian sounds good, I guess," Dave stated questioningly.

Kurt nodded to himself. "And we'll need cheesy garlic bread and let's see if that have that Jones soda I like, nope…how about…"

Dave could hear Kurt humming to himself as he ordered. Dave looked around at the amalgamation of people in the pizzeria and hoped none of them were rabid fans. God, why can't Kurt realize he's a celebrity and send someone out to get this stuff like he should?! Isn't that what Quinn is for?

To Dave's ever thankful vigilance, nothing untoward happened during the pizza run more than a frazzling of his nerves when one fan did meekly come up to Kurt and ask to take a picture. Kurt seemed touched and polite by his usual standards, though not the same standards that Dave saw backstage.

Making it back to the Regency, where Kurt had insisted on staying, Kurt hurried into the hotel elevator with Dave in tow. "God, I cannot wait to eat this."

"You could have started in the car."

"You're joking, right?" Kurt said, squinting at Dave as though he were trying to read him. "Does my town car look like a minivan in suburban America to you?"

"No, I'm just…"

The elevator doors slid open and Dave felt the immediate drop in temperature. He hesitated, putting his foot between Kurt and the floor. "We're going back down to the lobby."

"Why?! I've had a long day and I'm not going to be thrown out of my room just because they decided to turn up the air conditioning," Kurt spit back as he shoved his way around Dave, Dave walking behind quietly and slowly. His mind was in overdrive, especially when he saw the rock that had gone through the window at the end of hall. He made sure to block Kurt's view so Kurt didn't see it.

"I really, really recommend that we go back downstairs," Dave said through gritted teeth as nicely as he could.

"Once again, I ask why as I slip in my key card to my cozy room where there are cups for the giant 2 liter of soda I had to buy and napkins and ….oh. I see," Kurt said as he opened his door.

The draft intensified, causing goosebumps to rise on Dave's neck. He spotted the rock long before Kurt did but Kurt was already inside the room. Kurt's face set, drawn of emotion. "Well, that caused a big mess."

"Downstairs. Now." Dave said, with all the authority he knew to give sans shouting.

Kurt sighed, setting down his pizza and fixings on the room's long bar table. Then he turned to look at Dave with a startlingly clear face. "No. I refuse to be bullied."

Dave already had his phone in his hand while Kurt went over to the phone by the side table, brushed a large piece of glass onto the unused bed and dialed downstairs. Dave stopped dialing downstairs for a moment to watch what happened. "Hello, yes. This is Kurt Hummel in room 824, the suite? Yes, I've had a rock thrown through my window. Please do. No, I will do it myself. I just need the supplies. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. No, no dear. You don't need to feel sorry. I'm sure you didn't see it coming. Well no. I'm not going to change rooms. This room will be just fine after a good clean-up. You have the insurance to cover the damages, correct? Thank you."

Kurt hung up the phone and Dave crooked his head. "Did I hear you correctly, Kurt? You say you weren't changing rooms?"

"No."

"And you think this is…"

Kurt put his hands in his lap, trying to be strong and hold his head high but Dave noticed a slightly visible change in posture as Kurt vacillated between looking at Dave and his bedspread. "Look, I move rooms and they'll just keep throwing rocks until they find me again. I won't be scared of them and this room, this room is nice."

"But it'll be freezing tonight."

Kurt shook his head. "I'm a celebrity. Chances are, they're already calling a glass company."

Kurt was right, as always. There was some insane all night glass replacement corporation there in an hour. Dave looked down from his high story while they were measuring to replace the window to see a small, distant speck that was their van. He gulped and decided to back away from the opening. And in an hour, the window was changed, pizza was being warmed in the unharmed microwave beneath the long bar, and Kurt Hummel was vacuuming glass out of the carpet.

Dave found himself alone in the room with Kurt, Kurt's hair swept up under a bandana and whistling something that seemed vaguely familiar. It wasn't long before the whistle, even under the cover of the vacuum noise became full blown singing.

Well

I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body

I know not everybody has got a body like you

Dave chuckled to himself. At least Kurt was in the right era.

But I've gotta think twice

Before I give my heart away

And I know all the games you play

Because I play them too

The vacuum turned off for a moment as Kurt looked at Dave, wide eyed, when he first heard Dave joined in singing. Dave shrugged, his hands full of broom and dustpan as he made sure he got most of the glass that had scattered around the baseboard that a vacuum couldn't reach. "You think I was gonna let you do this on your own?"

Oh, but I need some time off from that emotion

Time to pick my heart up off the floor

And when that love comes down without devotion

"No…I…"

"Oh." Dave shrugged. Who wasn't a George Michael fan?

"You have- you have a nice voice," Kurt said a few minutes after turning the vacuum back on.

"I what?"

"I said," Kurt yelled as he tried to speak over the vacuum, pulling a little hard, causing the cord to leap from the outlet, "YOU HAVE A NICE VOICE."

The unnecessary shouting caused both of them to chuckle and then they went back to working, shoulder to shoulder. It was only at the end of the song that they finally sat down on the couch together, Kurt stretched out far and stealing most of the couch where Dave wasn't firmly planted.

Cause I gotta have faith, a-faith, a-faith

You gotta have faith

…

"Well, that was fun. Now comes the tough part."

Dave watched as Kurt went to his bag on the bar and pulled out three spiral notebooks, a small pouch of pens, and grabbed the last slice of pizza on a napkin. He brought them all to the table while Dave answered a knock at the door.

It was Quinn, her perpetual headset in her ear and a smile on her face. She handed a large bag to Dave, who was surprised by its weight. "Here you go. Special delivery. Everything okay in there?"

Dave shrugged. "It is now. Place cleaned up pretty well."

"You mean you couldn't get his highness to move to another room?"

"No such luck, unfortunately."

Quinn shrugged. "Didn't think so. Kurt hates being pushed around."

Explains a lot, Dave thought as he closed the door on Quinn and brought the large bag into the room.

"Oh good," Kurt thought as he swallowed the last bite of crust, "fan mail."

Kurt wiped his hands on the napkin and proceeded to pick up the first letter from the bag. He opened the page of one of the notebooks and began writing. Dave blinked as he sat on the couch opposite. "Don't you pay Quinn to answer your fan mail? At a normal hour?"

"Look, Chuck Berry answered his own fan mail. The lead singer of Aerosmith at least vets his own from what I hear and I damn sure am gonna one up Justin Beiber. Plus, it's just…I really enjoy it, okay? And when else am I supposed to do? 2 AM's the only time I've really got. I can always nap in the car."

"Fine. How much time would you say you spend on this stuff?"

Kurt let the pen fall from his hand as he was copying the name on the front of the address. "Are you gonna rain on my parade all day?"

Well, that was a quick truce, Dave thought. "No, I just…you're my first celebrity. Sorry." Sorry? Sorry? What the hell am I apologizing for?

Kurt shook his head. "Maybe when I get as big as Oprah, I'll have to hire somebody to do this for me. But, as it stands, I get Quinn to vet through most of the death threats and more than our fair share of packages. But there's something, I don't know, Davy Jonesish about answering your own fan mail. I just kind of took this as part of the artistic process."

"When do you find time on the road? Groff sent me some stats on your last tour…"

Kurt shrugged. "There's a lot of country between California and New York. I don't know how I do it sometimes myself. Oh look…a little picture," Kurt held it up so Dave could see it. Some kid had sent Kurt a picture of his family and house. Other than all the people being pink, it wasn't a half bad drawing.

…

"You shouldn't do this."

"It's fine," Kurt said through high pitched, nervous breathes. "They're my fans."

Dave stood right behind him, using that same teeth gritting voice he had used during the glass incident. "Half of them are already drunk and the other half are toasted. What if something gets thrown at you?"

"That's what I pay you for."

"I'm not going to be a back-up dancer."

"No," Kurt said as he gulped from the wings. "You can just…you can just run out and grab me then. At least I'm not Taylor Swift." Moments passed and Kurt looked at Dave while he fingered the scarab brooch he was wearing. "She doesn't wear shoes onstage."

"You barely wear shoes onstage. You're always bitching about the arch support thing."

"Which won't be a problem when Ontario's line gets back to me in the spring."

"There's nothing wrong with Dr. Scholl's."

"Are we really having this argument now? I have adoring fans to sing for."

Kurt! Kurt! Kurt! Kurt! Their chants rang out, bellowing and echoing in throughout the venue of the old armory. Most had paid for seats but none of the seats were being sat in. Dave could see them as he peeked around the corner of the curtain and they were all like Kurt, in a way. Different shades of hair color and lipsticks and more than one Cyndi Lauper impersonator.

But there was something else there. Something in the energy of the crowd that made Dave nervous. Something that all of his experience was telling him, with warning bells, that this was a bad idea. He grabbed onto Kurt's arm as Kurt was trying to vault on the stage.

"Don't."

"Are you insane?! You'll leave a bruise!"

Dave's gaze bore down on Kurt. "Why won't you listen to me for once? This is not safe."

Kurt wrenched his arm free of Dave's grasp. He gave Dave an imperious glare. "I'll have you know I stake my career on not being safe. From the moment I first stepped out on a stage with an all-male version of Salt N Pepa's "Push It" up until this very moment …and I won't change NOW because some damn bodyguard thinks he's God's gift to tall, dark, and handsome. Now move!"

Kurt growled as he shoved Dave aside unnecessarily and bounded onto the stage. Dave shook his head and watched the male diva climb onto a piano and wave to his fans.

"Hello Hummelheads! My lovely majorettes! How I adore you! Now they told me you were a rowdy bunch!"

Each word got the group a little more excited, the sea of humanity tiding and swarming about.

"They told me you wouldn't behave! They told me that I should make you sit down and be good little boys and girls! But I'm here to tell you different! Hit it!"

It was midway through the first chorus of the first song that Dave saw something that set his shoes out to run and grab Kurt. It was when the line of stage guards were broken through by the crazed swarm. Blood, blood mixing with red lipstick. They were surging the stage, hitting the beams of old wood that had never been meant to take as much weight as was being pounded upon them.

There was a horrible snapping creak and time slowed as the panel of wood all around Kurt, who had been far too near the front of the stage for Dave's liking after jumping off the piano anyways, fell into the crowd like he was on some horrible carnival slide.

"Woah!"

Dave rushed down the stairs near the outside of the stage that had been blocked off. He found himself swimming through a sea of frenzied bodies, most of whom wouldn't have been able to push him away if they had tried.

"Dave!" he heard Kurt cry out, followed by the screech of someone pulling on the microphone until it snapped.

Damn it, Kurt! Dave thought as he pulled people out of the way with a grimace, Why the hell didn't you listen to me?!

"Get off of him!" Dave growled in his loudest voice. The nearest fan was trying to choke Kurt in order to take Kurt's brooch scarf combo from his body. Kurt was dazed, his clothing being grabbed and ripped away by greedy, grubby fingers and his face already bruised. Dave could tell he had completely checked out and the flash of paparazzi bulbs would be too blinding to bear.

Dave clocked a drag queen that go too close to actually breaking Kurt's fingers and he folded Kurt into his arms, using all of his military training to push back through the chorus of angry "fans" who had caused so much damage and ruckus.

Kurt fainted in Dave's arms and only mumbled something about paying for the damage as Dave set him gently in the backseat of the town car, slipping into the floor area so he wouldn't have to go around to the other side. And it was lucky he had squished himself into the area because Kurt was in definite need of some light first aid care.

"Drive Finn," Dave growled with a raspy voice.

"Roger that, with first aid," Finn the driver answered as he began to drive away, pulling a white box with a red cross on it out of the glove compartment and handing it back to Dave. "What happened, man?"

Dave sighed as he started to work on cleaning up Kurt's cuts. He hoped that none of those fake nails that had dug into Kurt's skin would give him an infection. He'd be unbearable if that happened. Dave pushed away other thoughts of why that would be so horrible. Kurt hissed as Dave used a pad of alcohol to try and clean a superficial scratch on his knuckle. "Sorry," he said to Kurt and then replied to Finn. "He wouldn't listen. I told him and told him and told him not to go out there."

"The whole place had a bad vibe, man," Finn agreed. "Even for a charity event."

"I swear to God this whole day's been a disaster."

Kurt's eyes opened then and he looked at Dave, not moving but wincing slightly as Dave cleaned him up. "I'm sorry for not listening."

Dave shook his head. "Hey, you said your career was all about risk, right?"

"Stupid. My fans would never do that. Most of them'll hate me tomorrow, won't they?"

Dave thought a moment, looking into Kurt's pleading eyes and seeing something there that made him feel like he needed to take Kurt in his arms again. He pushed away that thought to join the previous one. "If they do, they're not your fans. You should worry about yourself. That's your job too."

"No, that's your job," Kurt purred. "I'm the brains, you're the brawn."

Dave chuckled. "Fine. But next time you listen to the brawn and when he says jump…"

"I say, in what heels?" Kurt answered with a giggle as he fainted for a second time, Dave shaking his head and grabbing for a Perrier bottle so he could make a cold compress for Kurt's frazzled mind.

Back at the hotel, Kurt leaned on Dave until they were up in the room. Kurt sighed, not bothering to survey his kingdom like he normally did when he entered any room. He merely let Dave set him on his bed and then he simply laid there. He looked…broken. And that scared Dave. It scared Dave because Kurt had always seemed brave to him. Dave took a step back to go to his adjacent room and then he heard the tv click on.

Turning back, he saw Kurt, curling up into a ball and watching Entertainment Tonight.

"Hey," he said, returning to the bedside, "you should try and get some sleep. Don't watch that trash."

"It's my business. It's my career. It's my…," Kurt's voice cracked and Dave knelt down, putting his hand over Kurt's fist, curled around the remote.

"No, it's not. Not tonight. You might be Kurt out there, but in here you're just a guy that got shoved around in a mosh pit. You didn't ask for that. Sleep on it, okay, and then start fresh in the morning."

Dave gently slipped the remote from Kurt's hand, turned off the tv, and set it down on the bedside table. He turned on the lamp so it wouldn't be completely dark when Kurt woke up. He knew what freaking out in the dark was like and he didn't want Kurt to have that experience. He looked down at Kurt, still in stage makeup and dressed up like the remnants of some sort of Egyptian Roman warrior concoction and thought, This is what it takes to make it? Why does he do it?

"You want some water before I go?"

Kurt nodded as he gave a little cough. Dave went to the sink in the bathroom, unwrapping one of those single cups they leave near the coffee maker and filling it with tap water. He thought about making a witty comment about Perrier but he couldn't bring himself up to the task.

Kurt took the water and drank it in a gulp. "Thank you."

There didn't seem to be much more to say and Kurt began nodding off. Dave turned to go away again and he heard Kurt's voice from the bed, small and unsure. "Please don't go."

"Why?"

"I don't want to be alone tonight."

Dave turned to see Kurt had already begun to cry. Dave rushed to him. "Hey. Hey, no. Don't do that. It'll be okay, okay?"

"They could've…they could've…"

Dave found himself on the other side of the bed, drawing Kurt up to himself. "But they didn't. I was there. Too late, but there. And you're strong. You're Kurt Hummel, bitch of the entertainment industry, remember?"

Kurt gave a smile and a small hysterical laugh. "Yeah. And I'm crying into my bodyguard's monkey suit."

"Hey, this is classic."

"Yeah," Kurt replied as he looked up into Dave's eyes. "Classic."

Dave could hear Kurt's heart beating so close to his and he thought back to his last fight with Traci. The words she had shouted when she had left. Words about him discovering himself, corrupting himself. Some sort of unsaid sneer. And somehow he thought this is what she had meant. But, even if he had let guys be with him, this was…this was different. Kurt wasn't like those guys, wasn't ashamed.

"Are you…"

"Hey, shhh. You've had a long day. Too many long days, I think." Dave brushed a bit of bang from Kurt's eyes. Kurt sighed a little when Dave kissed his forehead. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Felt nice. Will you…will you stay tonight? We don't…we don't have to…"

"Kurt, I've never really. I mean, there were a couple of times but this would….don't ask for things I can't give you."

"Why not? I'm the brains remember?" Kurt smiled and it was so sweet that Dave melted on the inside. He knew he wasn't going anywhere, at least not that night.

"Here, you singing soldier man, let's get you ready for bed then."

Dave tried to steady his hand as he began to undo Kurt's fastidious wardrobe. He found himself laying out the broken pieces of Kurt's costumes on the other bed for when Kurt woke up. Dave may not have learned much, but he knew how much his singer cherished the pieces of his wardrobe, as theatrical and silly as they seemed.

What he uncovered underneath all the makeup and costumes was a very thin man, pale but not in a creepy ghost way. Pale from years underneath the neon moon and slender from a strange French diet and the bursts of energy that he needed to get through his longer than usual sets. He was almost hairless, except for a faint yet well-groomed treasure trail from button to below designer French cut briefs.

Dave had to gulp hard. He couldn't remember the last time he had just looked at what was happening before him instead of studying it. Ever since Traci, he'd lived his life detached and here was Kurt Hummel practically begging him not to be detached.

"So, do I have to send you written invitation on a stationary note or…"

"Oh," Dave said as he snapped out of his revelry. He slowly undressed out of his own clothes, letting them fall into a crumple on the floor that a nice session with an iron could fix. He left on his boxers, unable to fully commit to whatever vague thing he and Kurt were agreeing on.

He found himself under the covers, his eyes wide, while Kurt languished on top of the covers. "Ummm…"

Kurt blinked. "Wow, you really never have done this before, have you?"

"Hey! I'm a stud muffin, I'll have you know," Dave retorted with a nervous snort.

Kurt shook his head and then slipped under his side of the covers, burrowing into Dave's skin. The touch of Kurt against his skin sent shock waves through Dave's body and he was instantly hard and trying to hide it. He didn't want Kurt to think there was pressure involved here. He could always knock that out when Kurt fell asleep and then slip back into bed.

"So the attraction's not one-sided then. Been awhile?"

Damn, Dave thought, as Kurt grabbed onto Dave's bulge, causing Dave to temporarily lose his ability to breathe. "Yeah. I just…I usually just take care of this kind of thing myself."

"Well," Kurt countered as his hand slipped in Dave's brief and he brought his own package thrusting forth, "consider this payment for being my savior tonight."

It was with that that Dave bit down on his lip, rolled over Kurt's body and shut the light off before rolling back to his side of the bed, in a swift move that didn't even allow Kurt time to lose his grip.

…

They lounged about the next morning in underwear and eating room service while Kurt watched the entertainment news. Sure enough, he was the lead story, but he seemed to have the fortitude to handle it after the events of the previous evening.

Dave wasn't much for conversation, other than the occasional grunt, and he had a lot of trouble looking at Kurt.

"David…"

Dave looked up as he chewed on some nearly cold scrambled eggs. "Yeah?"

"Last night was nice."

Dave opened his mouth and then closed it again, unsure how to answer. Thank you or you're welcome didn't seem appropriate, but he knew he needed to say something. "It was. I just…"

"What? You don't think I could live without your hot, hot man lovin'?" Dave blushed and Kurt burst out laughing. "Oh my God, you're a total gay virgin."

"I am not!" Dave retorted, but just shook his head when Kurt continued laughing.

Then Kurt turned off the tv. "Okay, I've made a command decision."

The ice broken, Dave found his voice again. "What?"

"We're going on a working vacation. To my cabin. In outer nowhere, Montana. You'll love it. It's right off some lake or another, practically in…Wyoming? Wyoming I think."

Dave interrupted Kurt's thoughts as Kurt's brow furrowed. "Don't you need to do damage control?"

Kurt sighed. "No. I'll be a martyr even if I try to defend myself. That's the risk of being as out as I am. But, even if someone sues me, heaven forbid, they'll just extort some cash and then we'll all get back to business as usual. I'll just put it in that same box in my head with the death threats and move on. It's the best I can do."

"But Kurt…"

"No, no. I've already gotten the counseling speech from dear old dad. Let's leave it where it is, shall we?"

"Okay. But you said working vacation. Are you gonna…"

"Outfit sketches. It'll give my voice a chance to rest and give my hands a chance to sketch and do some down home cooking. You haven't lived til you've tried my chicken fried steak!" Kurt quipped.

I'll bet, Dave thought, amazed at the man he was seeing before him.

...

It only took three days into the vacation before the artistic block came, however.

Kurt came out of his office in his Frank Lloyd Wright inspired cabin, his hands flung in the air. "That's it! I'm a failure."

Dave looked up from one of the issues of Newsweek he had brought up with him and then sighed, looking back down. He felt Kurt descend onto the other half of the loveseat.

"I'm going stir crazy here! Why don't we go into town?"

"I thought you were trying to keep a low profile," Dave answered from between the pages of the magazine.

"I suck at this. I need a night off."

"I thought this was a working vacation."

"Oh, come on, Dave! I'm unpredictable and adorable! That's what people love about me. That's what you love about me, right? Come on, say you love that I'm unpredictable and adorable,"

Dave looked up from his magazine slowly, knowing that Kurt would be way too close to his personal bubble and batting his eyelashes, both of which were true. "Fine. You're unpredictable and adorable."

"Thank you. Now I'm gonna get changed and then we're going into town to Coppers."

Kurt leapt up from the loveseat and Dave watched as he went upstairs. "Don't you think that bar might be a little…butch for you? We're next to a mining town."

Kurt leaned over the railing and tilted his head to the side. "Now, now; Dave Karofsky. Don't you think I can be full of surprises?"

Dave continued to read the articles in Newsweek, only looking up again when he heard a cough. He looked up to see that Kurt had taken the product out of his hair and had let it lie flat, which had hidden most of the blond streaks, and he was wearing a plain dark blue denim button down with sewn on roses and straight leg jeans. The only Kurt thing about the whole outfit was the belt buckle and the ascot.

"Wow."

"See?" Kurt said as he did a little twirl. "Told you."

"You're ummm…."

"What? Is the belt buckle too much?" Kurt looked down to examine the belt buckle with a shrug.

"No, It's fine, you look…." perfect, Dave thought to himself.

"Well, are you ready to go?"

…..

It had been Dave's turn to surprise Kurt that evening. Dave knew line dances, something which Kurt wasn't so familiar with and it wasn't until the shadow dance that it dawned on Kurt that Dave's command was respectful, hesitant, and wonderful. But above all it was heaven.

And when Dave brought them back to Kurt's cabin, Kurt knew he'd have to take control or Dave would be a gentleman. Too much of a gentleman. And it wasn't like Kurt to not take control. The only thing that interrupted a full night and day of lovemaking was Dave's sense of duty and a call from Quinn, the only person allowed to disturb the cabin.

"Quinn, calm down. No, it'll be fine. They did what? Well, of course not- I've been on vacation since that charity debacle. What? Of course I will! Oh my God, this is fantastic." Dave heard the sound of the phone and then of Kurt's voice as he was buttering his toast on the patio and looking through binoculars to make sure nobody was coming after his charge. "Dave! Dave! Dave! Dave! D-woah!"

Dave's head snapped to the side just in time to see Kurt get up from the kitchen floor, hair slightly mussed but no worse for wear. "I'm okay, the judges give me an 8 except for the Russian judge who gave me a four. Damn Russian judge hates the Americans." Kurt came out to the patio and clasped his hands behind his back. "What's the news, oh vigilant one?"

"Area's clear. And there's toast," Dave stated.

"Fantastic," Kurt said as he picked up a piece of buttered toast from Dave's hand and began eating. "So, aren't you gonna ask me what Quinn had to say?!"

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me," Dave said as he lowered the binoculars and then looked at a glowing Kurt, "so go ahead."

"I have been nominated for album of the year! The first time in history that an out gay man could win the award since one sir Elton John!"

Dave tried to be happy for Kurt, but behind his eyes his mind was working hard. He remembered what Michael Buble's bodyguard had told him about the wacko who had attacked Michael when he had gotten too famous for words. Dave bit down on his lip. Let him have this moment, a voice in his head thought, he deserves it. "Congratulations. This is a pretty big deal."

"You have no idea. Sit! Eat! Share this victory with me."

Dave sat, sighing. "Kurt, we have to talk."

"Victory. Toast."

Dave shook his head. "Kurt."

"Toast?" Dave just shook his head again and Kurt chewed his bite slowly and then swallowed, setting down the unfinished piece. "What?"

"This award is a big deal, but I shouldn't be there as your bodyguard. After everything that's happened, I'm…I'm too invested."

"What? That makes you perfect for the job. Who's going to care more about me than you?! Well, besides me, of course."

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean, I find myself looking at you when I should be doing my job and I just know if I don't recluse myself from this…" Dave couldn't even bring himself to finish the thought. "Look, I'll stay on until Groff can bring Matt Rutherford in for the awards ceremony in LA."

Kurt shook his head. "Nope, not in LA this year. Grammy's are in Miami. LA's still reeling from that bomb attack and the streaker thing."

"In Miami then. See? I should know that." Dave found Kurt's hand on top of his arm.

Kurt sighed, but without his theatrical air. It was just.. deflated. "You know what's best for me. Look, after all this crazy circus of three years, I started taking big risks outside of the stage because I was bored and lonely and then you came along and I trust you. I don't want you to go but if I hold you too tightly…I'll…"

"You think I just wanna go?"

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know. It's what Will did."

"You think that little of me."

Kurt looked down, fiddling with a hole from one of Dave's sweaters he'd brought for the trip. "No, I just don't see why you'd stay. Look how different we are. We're two different…"

And then Dave was kissing Kurt hard on the mouth. When they finally broke it off, Dave was looking into Kurt's eyes, knelt so that he didn't tower over the shorter man. "Look, when I divorced Traci, I never thought…I feel things about you I've never felt for anyone. Don't think we're so different, okay? But this, this could eat us alive. If I'm watching you win instead of watching the audience, bad things could happen. I mean it. And I care enough about you…"

"God, save the speech. We're both gonna cry into our toast," Kurt said as he tried to wipe away the emotion but was failing. It didn't take much to send Dave into protective mode and put Kurt in a bear hug to try and erase that miserable feeling.

"It's gonna be okay. You're strong."

…

All of Miami seemed to hold its breath as the nominations were called by Mariah Carey. The nominations in Kurt's category for best new album were: Santana Lopez, Harmony and the Trebletones, Kurt Hummel, the Holly Holiday Tributes, and April Rhodes. Kurt was the only solo male in the category.

There was a breathless moment as Mariah fiddled with the adhesive on the envelope. Everything from the tension of red carpet to Kurt finding his seat between Axl Rose and Eddie Murphy had brought this moment to a head. Not just that, but everything in Kurt's career.

Kurt Hummel's name came from Mariah's lips and the audience cheered, Kurt standing stunned and screaming. He punched the air and hugged Eddie Murphy, kissing his cheek before he knew what had gotten into him. The Miami Hilton Hotel had fireworks spelling out Kurt's name rising into the air at just that moment. But Dave couldn't see them. He didn't have to. He was feeling them.

Dave felt so much pride and joy that he could barely contain it all. He body sang, his bright smile flooding greater than the watts of the stage bulbs. He watched Kurt begin his walk to Ms. Carey and ascend up the stairs, thinking of how beautiful Kurt looked in a decently tailored, if not incredibly flashy, Steve McQueen black suit. His face, his smile, the years of work this award gave his Kurt was something that Dave was so glad for.

Kurt was hugging Mariah Carey, one of his fashion muses, when Dave saw it. The red dot from a laser scope narrowing in on Kurt. And he remembered the flash of Kurt sliding into that crowd at the charity concert gone wrong. He ran, barreling full speed and knocking over at least one member of a camera crew, his face contorted in a fury. Kurt saw him, smiled and then switching to a surprised face.

Almost in time.

There was an explosion and then fire that surged through Dave's body and arm. He knew Kurt was there and blood and his thoughts were muddled by adrenaline and bright lights. He saw Lauren, one of Kurt's secondary guards hovering over him, and then a second shot rang out.

Dave's breathing was labored. "Did we…did I…."

"Medic! Medic!" Kurt's voice screamed, echoing into the hall.

"What…" Dave was losing focus, following the trail of blood, trying to see where Kurt was hurt. But, as it turned out, it wasn't Kurt that was hurt at all.

"You're bleeding, oh God! Dave! Stay with me!"

"Is okay," Dave slurred as he looked down. "Ooh, I got clipped. You okay though?"

Kurt nodded, frightened. The pain was beginning to cloud out everything else. The pain and the fact that Kurt was okay.

"It's not so bad, no major…"

"I got him, Dave," Lauren said grimly as she holstered her pistol. "That bastard's not getting back up."

"That's my girl. And that's my brave, brave diva star," he said as he blacked out from the pain of the bullet lodged in his arm.

….

Kurt watched the plane taxi from the airport. He had forced his new bodyguard Matt to stop at the D Terminal for a Starbucks, a strawberry chocolaty chip frappacino if the news magazines ever asked. Kurt had always love them, but mostly had abstained from them to keep his girlish figure. But all that…all that seemed a vapid memory now.

He noticed the flash of emergency lights from the jeep flashing out of the corner of his eye and screamed out, "Stop the plane! Stop the plane!"

Kurt knew that it would happen, knew that his celebrity afforded it. Knew that he'd pay and be called a diva even though it was a private jet but he didn't care. He found himself running into Dave Karofsky's one good arm, being folded into that hulking frame that he'd come to identify with love and acceptance and something real beyond the life of glitz he'd always promised himself.

"You came."

"I told you I'd see you off, come hell or high water."

Kurt tried to keep himself from crying, which was silly considering he couldn't seem to stop once Dave was there. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just so good to see you. Matt's…Matt's no fun."

"But does he keep you safe?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes. I made him get me my frappacino today."

"Good job." Bet he cursed you out for it, Dave thought warmly. He knew how much his star missed him. "You stay safe."

"Can I see you when I stop in Denver?"

"I thought you didn't have any plans to do that."

Kurt cocked his head. "Why Mister Karofsky, didn't you know that plans can change? Didn't our time together teach you anything?"

Dave shook his head. "Still the same diva."

"And still the guy in the monkey suit."

And then Dave took Kurt Hummel in his arm and he kissed him, held him tight for a moment, and then pushed him back towards his plane with a small, bitter smile playing on his lips.