Happy Wednesday my lovelies!
Hope it's been a great week for all of you. Can you believe we only have six more chapters to go? I'm having a hard time believing it myself, but here we are.
Thanks for all the kind support you've shown for my writing and this story in particular. It means a lot.
Thanks to Christine and Sofi for being the best team a writer could ask for :)
I hope you all enjoy this new chapter!
It was becoming habit for Blaine, thinking about Kurt while he was at work. The next morning, he was standing behind the counter while Tina talked to a customer, chin propped on his hand, reliving every second of the previous night.
He hadn't missed the fact that Kurt hadn't told him he loved him too. But Blaine knew the words would come, eventually. Kurt had to love him. He had to.
He wouldn't touch him like that, like Blaine was as precious as his orchids, if he didn't love him.
It felt good to have admitted it himself. It felt as if the words, the feelings he had for Kurt had been growing too big for him to hold inside any longer. He felt so free now that he had told Kurt…
He just wished Kurt had said something in return. But sometimes Kurt was a man whose actions spoke louder than his words, Blaine told himself. So the way he had held him, the way he had made love to him, the way he had kissed him… that was just as good as hearing the words.
Blaine stubbornly tried to ignore the little rumbling of doubt that seemed to have nestled in his stomach.
Tina was expertly trying to get the customer interested in the jungle pattern folding screen. It was sort of amusing to watch her; she could be both sweet and intimidating at the same time. The poor guy didn't stand a chance: he would walk out of there with that folding screen whether he liked it or not.
Blaine was chuckling under his breath when the boutique's phone rang. He picked it up distractedly, eyes still on Tina and said: "Extravaganza. This is Blaine, how can I help you?"
There was a scratchy sound on the other end, and then a low, barely audible voice said in a whisper: "If you want to know what happened to your brother, find the mechanic."
Blaine's vestiges of laughter and amusement died at once. He straightened up and turned his back to the rest of the boutique, pressing the phone tighter against his ear. He felt as if he had gone cold all over. His hands were suddenly shaking. "What? What is this? What are you talking about?"
The voice had a genderless quality to it: Blaine couldn't determine whether it belonged to a man or a woman. "Find the mechanic who worked on Anderson's plane the day he disappeared. He can tell you what really happened."
"Wait," Blaine exclaimed, desperation clawing at his insides. He had the feeling the caller was about to hang up. "Who are you?"
"Let's just say I'm someone who wants to see justice done," the voice replied. "And one more thing, Mr. Anderson. If you want to find real answers, don't ask Hummel for help. In fact, if you value your life, don't even tell him you're going to track down the mechanic."
Blaine was having trouble breathing. "Are you out of your mind? Who is this?"
"Find the mechanic on your own, Mr. Anderson. And don't forget that the only person who has benefitted from your brother's disappearance is Kurt Hummel." There was a slight pause that sent goosebumps all over Blaine's skin. "Be careful. Be very, very careful."
"Wait, please…"
But the voice was gone, the call was ended. Blaine stayed there, phone still to his ear, heaving breath after heaving breath.
Find the mechanic.
Blaine very, very slowly put the phone down. He glanced over his shoulder discretely. Tina was so distracted with the customer that she hadn't even noticed the phone had rung. He got out from behind the counter and walked as calmly as he could to his little office in the back. He closed the door and leaned against it, trying to find the strength to take the remaining steps to his desk.
Find the mechanic.
He finally sat down behind his desk. His hands were still shaking. He suddenly felt as if the last five minutes had been five months. He couldn't even remember why he had been worried about Kurt loving him or not – this phone call took over all his thoughts.
He fished his cellphone out of his pocket. It took a few tries to unblock the screen: his fingers failed him. When he finally managed it, he did a quick Google search for the phone number of the company where Cooper had rented the plane.
Blaine forced himself to keep his breathing in check as he waited for someone, anyone to pick up. It took about ten rings before the voice a woman appeared on the other end, sounding as if she'd had to run to get to the phone. Blaine could hear the roar of private aircraft propellers in the background as he identified himself.
"Sure, Mr. Anderson, I remember you. I talked to you on the day your brother disappeared," she said. "I'm Sarah. What can I do for you?"
Blaine remembered that she had been very kind to him on that awful day. He told himself to remain calm. "Sarah, I was wondering if I could talk to whoever serviced the plane my brother used that day."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line and Sarah's voice was slightly muffled as she apparently talked to someone over her shoulder. "Tell him I'll be out in a minute!" Her voice got clearer. "What? Right. The mechanic. That was Wally."
"Wally?"
"Yes. Wally Thorpe. But he isn't with us anymore," she replied.
Blaine leaned back against his chair in dismay. "What? Where did he go?"
"Don't know. He quit about two days after Cooper's disappearance. He walked out of the job, said he wasn't coming back and I haven't heard from him since," she explained, before her voice became muffled again. "I said I'll be right out, damn it. Tell him I won't charge him for ground time, will you?"
"Sarah, please, I know you're busy," he said pleadingly. "But can you tell me where I could find Wally Thorpe? Maybe you still have his phone number? Or an address? Anything."
"Hang on. I should have some information in my personnel files," she said, and Blaine heard the noise of drawers banging open and close. "Okay. Here it is. I got his number and his home address. He lives over the state line, in Jersey."
Blaine quickly grabbed a pen and notepad. "Okay, that'll do." He wrote down all the information as she read it aloud for him.
When she finished, she suddenly wasn't so eager to hang up, concern tainting her voice. "Mr. Anderson? What's this about? The authorities talked to Wally the day after Cooper disappeared. All maintenance records were in order and the plane was in excellent condition. You know your brother always took all the necessary precautions…"
"I know. This is about something else," he reassured her. "Thank you, Sarah."
He ended the call and simply stared at the information he had jotted down for what felt like endless minutes. Eventually, he took a deep breath and punched in the number for Wally Thorpe. However, it rang and rang, but no one picked up. Blaine bit his lip as his eyes scanned the address, just outside a place called Scotch Plains. It wasn't that far away – he could be there in less two hours, he thought, after another quick Google search.
It would be quicker with a car, he realized. He thought about having Santana drive him there, but he knew she would tell Kurt at once. He wasn't inclined to do what the mysterious voice on the phone had said and keep Kurt out of it, but if this was about Cooper… if there was any chance he could learn more about what had happened to his brother…
There was someone else he could turn to. He dialed the familiar number, and the call connected after the second ring.
"Hey Blaine."
"Joanna," Blaine said, trying to keep his tone carefully neutral. "Hi. I was wondering if I could borrow Cooper's car for the afternoon?"
"Sure. You know I don't drive it, so it's sitting at home in the garage." She seemed curious. "Where are you going?"
"Oh, just to pick up a piece for the boutique. There was a problem with the shipment and one of my clients needs it at once," Blaine said lightly, like it wasn't a big deal, but his hands were sweating. "Thank you. I'll return it tonight before I head home. I have the spare keys Cooper gave me, so I won't need to bother you."
"Alright. Gotta go, I'm on my way to a meeting now. Drive safely!"
"I will," Blaine said, and ended his third call in a matter of minutes.
It was probably insane to go all the way to New Jersey for an anonymous call, but Blaine knew he didn't care about sanity and logic if it meant there was something he could do for his brother.
Despite the fact that it was barely four thirty, it was already getting dark as Blaine rounded another curve in the narrow, winding road. He had left behind what looked like the center of Scotch Plains and started driving down more deserted streets, some of them surrounded by so much vegetation, Blaine felt as if he had been transported to the middle of the forest. It would have been almost pretty if it wasn't for the unexpected fog that had settled on the road, dancing in front of his headlights. It gave it a very spooky vibe that Blaine could have done without. The hair in the back of his neck rose. His fingers were tightly wrapped around the steering wheel, until his knuckles were mostly white.
A faded sign right ahead told him he had found the right street. He looked down at his phone resting on the center console, which he had used as a GPS to get here. According to it, he was only about half a mile away from Wally Thorpe's home. He hadn't seen another house or car in at least half an hour. It was unnerving, how utterly alone he felt.
Just as a small cabin appeared between the trees, his phone beeped to indicate the battery was running out. Blaine cursed under his breath and parked the car. He was sure he knew how to make the drive back, but he didn't like feeling like he had no way to contact anyone when he was out here, so far from home, so far from Kurt.
He should have called his husband.
It was too late now, though. Blaine turned the engine off and looked at the house in front of him. It didn't take long to realize it looked a bit abandoned, like no one had been there in a while. The small mailbox at the front was stuffed with bills. There weren't any lights on. The grass on the front lawn had grown wild.
Blaine looked back down at his phone just to see it die, screen going black. Well. He had two options now: he could go knock the door, or he could turn around and head home and wonder what that phone call had been about for the rest of his life.
He got out of the car.
Before making his way towards the house, he went around the car to the trunk and pulled it open. Cooper always kept an emergency bag there, so it wasn't difficult to find the flashlight. He closed the trunk again, the noise too loud in the silence that surrounded the house. A few birds in the nearby trees flew away with a cry. Blaine flinched.
He walked very quickly to the front door. One of the steps of the porch was a little loose, and his foot almost went through it. He knocked and waited, but nothing happened. He moved towards the nearest window and tried to take a look inside, but there were heavy, dark curtains covering them.
"Hello?" He called, even though he suspected it was pointless. "Is anybody home?"
His voice echoed across the porch. A shiver went down his spine. Even though he was sure there was no one around, he suddenly had the unsettling feeling that he wasn't alone.
Standing there waiting made him feel even more nervous, so he started going around the house, trying to find a window that would allow him to take a look inside. There was a back door, and he could glimpse a kitchen through the dirty glass not completely covered by an orange curtain. He turned the flashlight on and tried to get a better look: there were dirty dishes in the sink and a cereal box on the counter, left open. But despite the evidence that someone had, in fact, been there, it didn't make Blaine feel any better. There was something very weird and very suspicious about this place…
He placed his hand on the doorknob without noticing and the door opened. It had been left unlocked. Blaine stood there, blinking at the dark kitchen and hesitating. He wasn't sure he wanted to be arrested for breaking and entering. However, now that the door was open, he found that his curiosity was bigger than his nervousness. He took a step inside.
It smelled terrible, like decaying food. There was coffee in the coffee maker on the counter, but it had been there for so long that it looked more like tar than actual coffee. Nothing in this place showed signs of having been lived in recently. Whoever had been here had left, not caring about leaving the house in this state.
The house was small, so it didn't take long for Blaine to walk through it. There was only one bedroom, drawers and closet left wide open, some clothes on the floor, but most of them gone, supporting his theory that Wally Thorpe – or whoever had been here – had left in a hurry. In the living room, there was an empty can of beer next to the couch, and a box of pizza on the coffee table. He couldn't see any pictures of personal belongings that made this a home – maybe they had taken whatever truly mattered with them, or they hadn't been here long enough to actually make it into a home.
Blaine began to head back to the kitchen, reluctant since the reek was worse there. He was going as fast as he could towards the back door, to get the hell away from there, when something caught his eye: there was a large calendar hanging on the fridge, held by magnets. It was one of those tacky ones with half-naked girls on them. But it wasn't the incredibly huge breasts of the girl in the cheerleading uniform that got his attention.
It was open to show the month of October. It was now almost late November, which meant that Thorpe hadn't been here to change the calendar to the new month. But that wasn't the most intriguing thing, Blaine realized after a closer look.
There was a red circle on the date Cooper had disappeared, October seventh.
Blaine felt his own breath stuttering. It could be a coincidence, he thought. Maybe some friend or family member had a birthday that day. Maybe it was an important day for a reason that had nothing to do with his brother. Maybe it was a reminder to pay the cable bill. But it was strange, that there were no notes on it, just a red circle. Most of the other squares in the calendar had notes here and there, that Blaine didn't quite understand. Some had names, some had silly reminders like buy beer for poker night.
Blaine traced the red circle around the seventh of October with the tip of his finger. Find the mechanic. Did Wally Thorpe know something he hadn't told the police, back when Cooper disappeared?
Then something else caught his attention: there was a phone number scribbled in the square that marked the fifth of October. At first Blaine couldn't figure out why he was focusing on it, until he realized it was so, so familiar. He had dialed it quite frequently…
He had just tugged the calendar free from the magnet that was holding it to the fridge door, still staring at the phone number, when he heard a sound that was eerily similar to the one he had made when his foot almost went through the porch step. The boards squeaked and Blaine's heart stopped.
He switched off the flashlight and was immediately enveloped by the cold darkness of the house.
Was there someone here? Or had it been the noise of an old house in need of maintenance? Was it something pulled from his imagination? Or had he really heard it?
He took a very slow, very careful step towards the back door. He tried to listen, look for signs of someone coming into the house, but he couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears.
Blaine took another step. Two more and he would be at the back door. He was clutching the calendar and the flashlight tightly to his chest, like a shield.
When he finally made it, with what felt like agonizing speed, to the door, he opened it almost as slowly as he had moved and peered outside. He couldn't see anyone moving amongst the trees. The fog had grown denser since he had come into the house.
He stepped outside and began to undo the path he had made on his way in, alongside the porch that surrounded the small house. He made sure to keep his feet light, so they wouldn't make the boards squeak again. There was no one at the front door, but Blaine still felt as if he was being watched. His heart was pounding loud, loud, loud, louder than a drum.
Blaine paused and stared at Cooper's car with what could have been described as longing. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket to search for the keys and gripped them tightly enough to feel the sting of the metal against his palm. He took a deep breath.
He ran. He jumped over the three porch steps, landing easily on his feet on the gravel path, little stones crunching under the soles of his shoes as he made a dash for the car. He almost dropped the flashlight as he opened the driver's door. He launched himself into the car and jammed the keys into the ignition, the engine purring to life at once.
Blaine snapped the car into reverse, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't about to crash into a tree. His heart was still pounding, and it was the only thing he could hear as he stepped on the pedal and raced back on the deserted road in the direction he had come.
He wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but there was only one thought in his head: he needed to get home.
He needed to get home to Kurt.
Massaging his temples slowly, as if to keep the grip on the very little patience he had left, Kurt looked up at Santana and asked: "Why the hell does he have a phone if he never has it on when it matters?"
Santana, as was her habit, did not reply, because it wasn't a question she had an answer for.
"Tomorrow, first thing, I want you to go and buy him spare batteries and chargers for his phone. He can have some at the boutique, some in his bag, some here… I just… where the hell is he?"
He started pacing.
"I can't believe I always have to track him down…" he murmured as he took his phone out of his pocket. He was upset that he already knew Tina's number by heart. He dialed it, hoping she would know where his husband was.
But, unfortunately, she had no clue, either.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel," she said, and he didn't even want to waste time correcting her on the name. "He left earlier today, around three. Said he had a private consultation with a client, but he didn't mention who that client was. He left me in charge of closing the boutique."
"I see. And there's no way for you to find out who this client is?" Kurt asked, with as much patience as he could gather.
"No, I'm afraid not." She paused, probably sensing Kurt's mood. "Is something wrong, Mr. Hummel? It's not that late. Maybe he just went shopping after work or got delayed in traffic."
"Yes. I'm sure that's what happened," Kurt said slowly. "Thank you, Tina. I'm sorry to have bothered you again."
Santana was watching him with an edge of expectation when he hung up.
"She saw him at three o'clock, when he left Extravaganza, and hasn't heard from him since," Kurt said without her asking anything.
"Maybe you can call miss McKenna?" Santana suggested. "Maybe they met for coffee after work and he didn't realize how late it got."
"No, I don't think I should do that," Kurt said thoughtfully. "I don't want her to worry. Plus, she doesn't really trust me. She would probably suspect I did something to upset Blaine and that's why he hasn't come home."
"May I remind you that we wouldn't find ourselves in this situation if you had let me keep an eye on him," Santana said in a monotone.
Kurt arched an eyebrow slightly, but only said: "I don't need you to tell me that, Santana. But it was going to cause me further problems in the end, if we kept that up." He paced around the living room some more, trying to think. "Are you absolutely sure he didn't leave a note?"
Santana shook her head. "I searched everywhere, just in case. I called the doorman, too, and asked if he'd been back in the afternoon at all, but he said he hasn't seen Mr. Hummel-Anderson since he left this morning for work."
Kurt knew that, to an outsider, it would look like he was overreacting. But he couldn't help getting edgier by the minute. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, like something was truly wrong. "Fuck. We don't even know where to start looking…"
"It's just barely past six thirty, sir," Santana reminded him.
"I know, but he's usually home by now," Kurt said. He walked to the large window overlooking the streets below and wondered where in that huge mess of a city Blaine was. "And if he was going to go somewhere after work, he could have just called. He could have let me know, so I wouldn't worry."
"He could have, yes," Santana nodded. "But I must point out that you two haven't been married that long. You don't know everything about each other, about your routines, your habits. Maybe he just went shopping and lost track of time."
Kurt couldn't stay still another second. Feeling like a caged animal, he crossed the living room and went down the hallway towards the study, Santana quick behind him. "From now on, you're going to drive him everywhere."
"Yes, sir," she said, and if Kurt didn't know her better, he would think she sounded slightly amused by his tribulation.
"Damn it," Kurt murmured, as he paused in front of the zen garden. The emerald green eyes of the leopard seemed to glint in the semi-darkness of the room. That uncomfortable feeling got only stronger. What if something had happened to Blaine?
No. He was fine. He was just late. Maybe he had gotten delayed on the subway, or there was too much traffic, or…
Santana really was going to drive him everywhere from now on, come hell or high water.
Kurt was telling himself to keep his breathing even when the sound of the front door startled both him and Santana. It was soon followed by Blaine's voice calling into the apartment: "Kurt? Santana? Is anybody home?"
Kurt felt his spine straightening. He could have breathed fire. "I'm going to strangle him."
"Sir."
Kurt paused as he started to make his way out of the study, surprised by the tone of urgency in Santana's voice. She wasn't usually this expressive. "What?"
She looked at him with those dark eyes of hers that were always inscrutable. "I just wanted to remind you once again that you two haven't been married long."
"So?" Kurt prompted, brusquely.
"He's probably still not used to having to share his every day plans with another person, that's all," Santana added, rather sheepishly.
Kurt studied her for a second before he asked: "Are you telling me that I shouldn't come down on him like an avalanche for putting me through hell for the past half an hour?"
"I'm just saying," Santana said, with a quick shrug. "It's not that late."
"Well, I can't believe this," Kurt said, shaking his head, incredulous. "He listens to a few of your songs, tells you they're good, and he has you eating from the palm of his hand already."
He didn't give Santana time to form a reply. He simply stalked out of the study and towards the foyer.
Blaine was coming out of the kitchen, clearly searching for them. He was still wrapped in his navy coat, his bag hanging from his shoulder. His eyes looked particularly wide, serious. "Oh. There you are. I was wondering where everyone was…"
Kurt's fury melted in the blink of an eye. Blaine looked disheveled and anxious. His hair wasn't as neatly styled down as it usually was, curls springing free everywhere like he had run his fingers through them a million times. He was really pale, too, and he was holding his own hands so tightly, the grip looked painful. There was mud on his shoes.
Where the anger had been before, now flourished a terrible fear.
"Blaine, what happened?" He asked urgently.
Blaine watched him for a moment before his lower lip trembled slightly. He looked shaken and like he had held himself together but was now ready to break. A little gasp left his lips and he deflated before he practically launched himself at Kurt, who opened his arms to catch him, wrapping them around him immediately to shield him.
"Fuck, what's wrong?" Kurt said, and now the fear was a real monster residing in his chest. He held Blaine as tightly as he could. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
Blaine burrowed even closer, hiding his face in the crook of Kurt's neck. "I'm fine, I promise. Just a little unsettled, I guess."
"Where have you been? Why are you home late?" Kurt asked, needing all answers at once.
"I went to Scotch Plains, in New Jersey."
"New Jersey?" Kurt repeated, perplexed. "Why? For a client?"
"No. I went to see a man named Wally Thorpe," Blaine replied.
Kurt gently grabbed him by the arms and pulled him away enough so he could see his face. He frowned down at his husband. "Why the hell would you go see Wally Thorpe?"
Blaine blinked up at him, a little surprised. "You know who he is?"
"Of course. He's the mechanic who serviced Cooper's plane the day he disappeared," Kurt said impatiently. He didn't want to be the one answering questions, but the one getting the answers.
Blaine frowned. "How do you know that?"
Kurt frowned back, confused. "I told you. I made sure the investigation after the accident was very thorough." Blaine nodded very slowly, and that was his only reaction, so Kurt added: "I didn't talk to Thorpe myself, but I know the authorities did. The company that rented the plane to Cooper was very cooperative. There was no evidence of anyone tampering with the plane or that anything might have been overlooked."
Blaine breathed very slowly, too, like he was trying to keep himself under control. "Nothing at all?"
"No. Nothing." Kurt looked at him. He didn't understand what was going on. "Blaine, why the hell did you suddenly come up with the idea of talking to Thorpe?"
Blaine's voice sounded almost dreamy, distant, like he was talking from a very faraway place when he said: "I didn't talk to him. There wasn't anyone home."
Kurt realized it would take a lot longer to get the answers he wanted than expected. Blaine was too nervous, too upset by whatever had happened. He put his arm around his husband's shoulder and guided him into the study, Santana following behind them. He helped him sit down at his favorite armchair, the one he always picked when he brought Kurt tea at night. Kurt sat on the small coffee table right in front of it, moving a few books aside to make room.
"Blaine. What made you decide to go look for Thorpe?" He asked.
Blaine parted his lips like he was getting ready to answer and then noticed Santana standing right behind Kurt. "Oh. Santana, I'm so sorry for being late. I hope I didn't ruin dinner?"
"There's no problem at all with dinner, Mr. Hummel-Anderson," Santana said rather kindly. Her eyes roamed over him for a moment, before she asked: "Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Blaine said vaguely.
Then he kicked his shoes off, put his feet up on the armchair and hugged his knees to his chest, like he wanted to make himself as small as possible.
Kurt watched him silently for a couple of seconds. He looked drained. He then glanced up at Santana. "Would you please bring us some tea? I think it'll do him good."
"Of course," Santana said at once, and disappeared with her usual efficiency.
Kurt forced himself to relax a little bit. Blaine was okay. He wasn't hurt. That was the important thing here. Kurt felt like he could breathe a little easier. Blaine was home.
But something had happened, and he needed to know what that was.
"Tell me why you tried to find Thorpe, darling."
The softness of his voice seemed to center Blaine. He stopped hugging himself so tightly and he looked up at Kurt, eyes still wide. "I got a phone call this afternoon. I don't know who it was – it could have been a man or a woman, I have no idea. They said that if I wanted to know what happened to my brother, I needed to talk to the mechanic."
Kurt felt like pacing the room again, but it would take him too far from Blaine. "Shit."
"I called the company that serviced and rented the plane to Coop and I got Thorpe's information. I tried calling first, but no one answered so I went to New Jersey to see if I could find him."
"Are you telling me," Kurt started, slowly, trying to keep calm, "that some idiot called you and tried to make you believe that Cooper's plane had been sabotaged?"
Blaine shrugged slightly. "That seems to be what they tried to imply, yes."
"And that Thorpe was the one behind it?"
"Yes."
"And knowing this," Kurt said, and oh, it was a miracle he kept himself under control, he was so mad, "you still went off on your own to investigate?"
Blaine looked at him. "Yes. That's what I'm telling you."
Kurt hadn't lost his temper in years. He had found that yelling and kicking didn't get him as far as showing he was completely in control of the situation. Those who lost it were the ones who didn't know how to handle themselves.
"You little fool!" He exclaimed ardently. "Don't you have an ounce of common sense? Do you have any idea what I've gone through, wondering where the hell you were?"
Blaine seemed ready to defend himself when Santana walked back in with a tray, three cups of tea on it. Blaine accepted one with a grateful little smile. "Oh thanks. I really needed this."
"You're welcome," Santana said, offering Kurt another cup before leaning against the desk with her own.
Kurt put the cup down on the table next to him, untouched. "Blaine. I think I need an explanation."
Blaine closed his eyes as he sipped his tea, and he looked a little better when he lowered it. He didn't look as pale, at least. "I'm getting there, Kurt. To be honest, it was rather unnerving, the whole experience. I wished you were with me more than once. I've never done any housebreaking before…"
"Housebreaking?" Kurt repeated. "Are you telling me that you broke into Thorpe's house?"
"I didn't find much," Blaine replied, as if that was what mattered. "But it looked like he packed and left in a hurry. His closet and drawers were open and mostly empty. There was food and dirty dishes in the kitchen."
Kurt ran his hand down his face, telling himself to breathe and stay calm. "Why the hell didn't you call me?"
Blaine bit his lip, looking doubtful. "I… well, the caller implied that if I wanted answers, I should go alone, and that I shouldn't tell you about it. I was told not to ask for help because it would mean I would be in danger."
If someone had kicked Kurt in the stomach, it wouldn't have felt as bad as this. "You were warned not to tell me of this?"
"Yes. It really sounded like a warning," Blaine replied.
Kurt didn't take his eyes away from him. "And why are you telling me now?"
"Well, I had a long time to think on the drive back from Jersey," Blaine said. "And I came to a very interesting conclusion."
Santana took a step closer, like she didn't want to miss a single word.
"What was that conclusion?" Kurt asked carefully.
"It seemed to me," Blaine said slowly, "that someone was deliberately trying to set you up. Someone wanted me to believe you're behind Cooper's disappearance."
The silence that stretched between them was so heavy, Kurt could hardly breathe.
Kurt sat very straight on the coffee table, his blue eyes fixed on Blaine. "A very logical conclusion," he said rather grimly. "Did you find anything?"
"I think so, yes." Blaine put his tea down so he could open his bag. Kurt watched with his eyebrows raised as he extended a picture of a very naked woman. It took him a couple of seconds to realize it was a calendar. "This was stuck to the fridge. See this date circled here? That's the day Coop disappeared."
Santana had come a little closer to inspect the calendar. "It's probably not that surprising. Your brother's disappearance must have been a very big deal at the aviation company. They don't lose an aircraft every single day."
"But that wasn't all I found in the calendar," Blaine pointed out. "Someone had written this phone number down two days before Coop rented the plane."
Kurt didn't need to look at the number too closely to recognize it. "Fuck."
"What is it?" Santana asked curiously and leaned over Kurt's shoulder to be able to read the number. She glanced between them, frowning. "That's your private number. Only the family members have it, and a few select people outside of the family."
"Yes," Kurt nodded. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many people actually had that number. He conducted all his business and dealt with acquaintances with another line. He couldn't explain what that very private number was doing in the calendar of the mechanic who had worked on Cooper's plane. He forced himself to look away from the digits and up to Blaine's face. He tried to keep his tone neutral when he asked: "Did you recognize that number, Blaine?"
"Yes, I did."
"We might have a very serious security issue, sir," Santana commented.
"I'm aware of that," Kurt replied, eyes still on Blaine's face.
Blaine was looking back at him just as intently. Although it was obvious that he was worried, Kurt could find no suspicion or fear reflected in those gorgeous hazel eyes of his. He trusted him, Kurt realized with a rush of relief that was almost overwhelming. Despite the evidence, despite all the reasons to doubt him he had been presented with today, Blaine trusted him.
"So how exactly did Wally Thorpe get this very personal, very secret phone number?" Blaine asked.
"An interesting question indeed," Kurt murmured. He reached for his cup of tea and gave it a sip. "I'm afraid I don't have an answer for it yet, though. Santana? I believe we need to find Wally Thorpe."
Santana had returned to lean against the desk. "Yes, sir. I'll see what I can do."
Blaine removed his bag and his coat, like he finally realized he was still wearing them. He dropped them on a messy pile on the floor, clearly unconcerned with such trivial things at the moment. He sat back, crossing his legs, and idly began to swing one foot back and forth. "Like I said, I had some time to think while I drove back here from New Jersey."
"About how happy you are that you live in New York and not there?" Kurt said, a pinch of his old sarcastic self shining through.
Blaine grinned at him for a moment, clearly enchanted by it, but then got serious again. "No. We agree that someone wants me to believe that Kurt is up to no good, right?"
Santana glanced at Kurt, so briefly that it was nothing but a flash. "It seems that way, yes."
Kurt could feel the anger bubbling inside of him. Someone had tried to destroy Blaine's trust in him.
If he ever got his hands on that asshole…
"We have to ask ourselves why anyone would do that." Blaine got to his feet and began to pace around the study. Kurt had to shift on the coffee table to be able to look at him. "I'm pretty sure there's only one answer here, though. Someone wants me to believe that Kurt is behind my brother's disappearance. Maybe they want me to get a divorce so he can no longer control Anderson Unlimited. But who would benefit from that?"
"No one," Kurt shrugged. He didn't have to think about that too much. "All the creditors and investors need Anderson Unlimited to stay in one piece, otherwise they would have to deal with pretty severe losses."
"What about an old nemesis?" Santana suggested. "Maybe Hiram and Leroy Berry would like to see you fall."
But Kurt was already shaking his head. "I think I made my peace with them. And in any event, this doesn't look like the kind of thing they would do."
"Well, there are others who don't wish you well…" Santana added thoughtfully.
Kurt glared at her. "Thank you for this testimonial to my ability to win friends and influence people. I know I'm not everyone's favorite person, and that I don't really get a lot of Christmas cards, but this is different. This isn't the way to get revenge."
Blaine paused and tilted his head as he considered him. "What do you mean?"
"Losing Anderson Unlimited wouldn't hurt me very badly," Kurt admitted. "Of course, I stand to make a profit when Cooper's new technology hits the market, but the truth is that if the company goes down, it would only cause a minor blip in my financial situation."
Blaine frowned at him. "I didn't know my brother's company was so unimportant."
"I didn't say it was unimportant," Kurt said quietly. "It's just that the financial considerations are minor. You know very well why I agreed to help you save Anderson Unlimited."
There was a sad little smile on Blaine's face. "Because of Cooper."
"That was part of it, yes," Kurt said carefully, before he turned to Santana. "I don't think we need to think about a competitor trying to harm us."
Santana seemed to be processing this. "Well, don't forget that whoever called Blaine to warn him today might be connected to Noah Puckerman and his schemes."
"This is not industrial espionage, though," Blaine pointed out. "This would mean he's taking a step further to hurt the company, to hurt Cooper, to hurt all of us…"
"I don't think Puckerman would do this, though," Kurt commented. "I do think he's a thief and a traitor, but this all seems too elaborate for a guy who can't be bothered to use spell-check before submitting a report."
Blaine ran a hand down his face, like all of this was just too much for him. "Maybe we should just go to the police."
Santana stood there in stony silence.
Kurt turned his face away, eyes falling on the New York skyline right outside his window. "That, of course, is one option."
Blaine looked around the suddenly tense study and gasped when he realized what he had just said. "Oh, god. If we go to the police, they'll think you're the prime suspect, won't they?"
Kurt cleared his throat. "It's a possibility, yes."
Blaine ran a hand through his hair. "They'll take one look at you and think you're the only one with a reason to get rid of Cooper. Even if you tell people that Anderson Unlimited doesn't really mean much financially to you, others might not see it that way. They'll see it was a rising company and that Cooper was the only one in your way."
Kurt only nodded.
"And this whole thing with Wally Thorpe having your number… I just brought incriminating evidence. Plus, he's clearly run away, maybe they would think you tried to hurt him so he wouldn't talk…" Blaine was pacing anxiously around the study. "Oh no. No, absolutely not. We cannot go to the police."
A deep, deep warmth flooded Kurt. Blaine really did trust him. He wanted to protect him.
He didn't think he remembered when was the last time someone had protected him. It had probably been his father, many years ago.
"Santana and I should go and ask a few questions of our own, see what we can find out," Kurt said. "That's also easier if the authorities aren't involved."
"You want to start your own investigation?" Blaine asked, and when Kurt simply nodded, he lit up. "That's great. A wonderful idea. I'll help."
"No," Kurt said at once, making the rising excitement in Blaine's eyes vanish. "Absolutely not. You will consider this part of my job of keeping Anderson Unlimited afloat and you will let me do that job without interfering and without putting yourself in any further danger. What you did today was incredibly foolish, Blaine."
Blaine was immediately fuming. "Kurt, I was very clear at the beginning of our marriage when I told you I wanted to be part of things, I didn't want to be kept on the sidelines. There's a really big possibility that all this mess involves my brother and, especially, my brother's wellbeing, so you bet your ass that I'm going to be a part of this investigation…"
Kurt inhaled very slowly, trying to keep his cool, before he turned to look at Santana. "I think that will be all for today, Santana. Don't worry about dinner. We'll take care of it ourselves."
Santana gave Blaine an uncertain glance before she put her tea cup down and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll be downstairs, if you need me."
Blaine barely waited until the study door had closed behind Santana to exclaim: "I mean it, Kurt. I realize you're trying to protect me, but I'm not going to let you keep me at arm's length in this."
"Blaine, it's for your own good."
"Oh really? How would you feel if someone gave that very same, very stupid reason to keep you out of something that clearly matters to you?" Blaine said petulantly.
"I wouldn't tolerate it," Kurt admitted. "But that's besides the point. You came to me because you needed my help. We made a bargain. It's true that neither of us could foresee just how complicated things would get, but our deal still stands. I handle the business matters."
"Our marriage is more than a bargain," Blaine protested.
Kurt wasn't going to argue with him about that. "Blaine, this is a difficult situation. We don't know what we're really dealing with. I don't want you taking any more of the kind of risks that you took this afternoon."
Blaine deflated. "You know you can't keep me out of this. I'm in the middle of it, whether you like it or not."
Kurt knew he was right, but he also knew he would do whatever was in his power to keep him safe. He knew he would have no scruples and no hesitations when it came to protecting his husband. "I don't intend to argue with you."
Blaine must have taken that as a sign he had won, because he smiled approvingly. "You know, Kurt, you really are making progress. In the old days, you would have just laid down the law without really taking my feelings into consideration. But now I feel like we're talking as equals."
Kurt stood up and made his way around the coffee table. "I'm glad you like the new me."
"I like him very much," Blaine said, and then narrowed his eyes as he came towards him. "What are you doing?"
Kurt stopped right in front of him, letting no space between them and practically trapping him against the desk. He put his hands on Blaine's waist and kissed him, slow and a little desperate. He deliberately deepened the kiss until he felt Blaine sagging against him. "I'll give you one guess," he whispered.
Blaine arched one eyebrow, a glint of interest in his eyes. "What about dinner?"
"Dinner can wait twenty minutes. I can't." He slid his hands down Blaine's hips, around to the globes of his ass, and down to the back of his legs, until he could put him on top of the desk.
"Only twenty minutes, Kurt?" Blaine's eyes were full of loving laughter.
"Fifteen, at the rate I'm going."
Blaine threw his head back and laughed, and Kurt found it was the perfect opportunity to kiss his neck. "Go for twenty," he said. "I don't want the next book I borrow at the library to be about stamina issues."
Kurt silenced him with a passionate kiss.
This was one of my favorite chapters to write, so I can't wait to read all your comments. Bring them on!
Have a great week and I'll be seeing you again on Wednesday!
Love,
L.-