A/N: I am not a photo-shoot director nor a lawyer– in other words: I have NO idea if what the people say, do or don't do in my fic is right or not. I am not a fashionista, nor do I watch any lawyer or medical related television shows. I actually only watch Glee and Criminal Minds (blush) – if anything is wrong, please feel free to inform me/correct me.

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Six months later

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Chapter One

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Paul scowled as he watched Kurt direct different items in various directions. He leaned over towards Ashley, who held his usual sketchbook in his hand. "Look at him, Ash," he growled with his arms over-crossed.

Ashley rolled his eyes, and looked down towards his small drawing. He added a small detail to one of his models, slightly proud of him self. "Stop being so grumpy. It's not a look that you're able to pull off."

"I'm serious though. He bosses around with everyone, acting as if he's much better than us. He's worked for Isabelle for, what? A year and a half – I've been here for five, miserable years, and what do I do? I'm still a lousy assistant and that brat over there i-"

"That brat over there is currently your boss. And he's your boss because he's is better than you. Better than me, even, and it's time that we face it. His ideas are way better than any of the ideas we've ever presented to Isabelle. That's why he is currently directing this photo-shoot. That is why that brat over there, soon will have his very own fashion line and if we're lucky, he'll hire us as his assistants." Another detail was added to the model; Ashley looked up when a shadow darkened the drawings. He gave a small smile. "What do you think?"

Kurt grinned widely, showing teeth. He nodded; his perfectly coiffed hair didn't move an inch with the movements. "They're great, Ash. Perfect, actually. Now, I've been thinking. We need to have some, materials, to represent the season."

"Why don't we go with chickens?" Paul muttered to himself. "It's what everyone else goes with. Everybody loves a chick with a chick – get it? A chick with a ch-."

Kurt raised his eyebrow at the comment. "Which is exactly why we're not going with chickens, Paul." He turned back to Ashley's drawings, his head tilted lightly to the side. "I'm feeling very natural," he said. He looked up, an excited expression filling his features; his eyes sparkled and his mouth opened just an inch. "Flowers," he whispered. "Ash, do we have any flowers? Colorful flowers."

"Ehm, I think I saw a florist just around the corner. I'll go."

"No," Kurt reached out to grab Ashley's arm and stopped him. "Don't, I need you. Paul," he turned to the other man, who had yet to un-cross his arms. "Would you mind?" Paul stared at Kurt, hard, before he turned without a sound and left in search of the florist. "I'm sorry," Kurt said once Paul had disappeared, "I just can't stand him."

"Nobody can."

"I know – he was just spreading so much negative energy and I'm just..," he trailed off, a distant look on his face; his hand reached his stomach subconsciously and he paled. "Excuse me," he said and left abruptly.

Ashley stood where he'd been standing the last couple of minutes, a pitying look on his face. Kurt had been stressed lately, what with the photo-shoot, Paul's bitching and Isabelle's constant vacations. He didn't envy the kid at all, and yet he was happy for Kurt – he'd worked hard to get where he was. Sure, he hadn't worked in the fashion business for long, but he'd worked day and night on Isabelle's commands, and the fashion visions Kurt had was just spectacular.

He went back to sketching, darkening the shade of the dress just a bit, his mind fully on the drawing. He didn't notice that Paul had returned, a brown box in his hand. "Where's goldie-pants?" he asked.

"He went to his trailer."

"Typical," Paul muttered, and walked towards the small trailer belonging to the photo-shoot director. He huffed and puffed, and swore a little too much, before he somehow managed to hold the box with one hand and knock on the door with the other. "Kurt," he cried out, knocking even harder. "Kurt!"

The door swung open, revealing a pale looking Kurt. His eyes were droopy and unfocused, and his mouth was slightly agape. "Paul?"

"Yeah, get your skinny ass out here. The photographer has arrived, and so has the models." Kurt nodded and walked down the small steps to the ground. "Oh," Paul said, when he was about to walk away. He turned around and thrust the box full of flowers into Kurt's arms. "Here. Carry your own shit."

Kurt was left confused for a few seconds, but decided to ignore Paul. He didn't understand why Isabelle kept him, but it wasn't his place to question her decisions. He walked towards the photo-shoot set, and placed the flowers next to the inspiration board; a board where all of the dresses they were about to photograph hung, surrounded by feathers, textiles, palliates and inspirational quotes.

He reached out and touched one of the dresses; a beautiful maxi dress in a mixed color clash of Citrine and Pakistan Green. He looked around, not seeing anyone nearby and bent down to open the box. He moved a few flowers around, a rose, a lilly, a daisy, before he found the perfect one to match. A sunflower. He smiled and hung it up next to the picture of the Dior dress and went to look for a mallow wildflower to match the Mauve jumpsuit. He mentally applauded himself for a job well done.

His hand fell down to his trouser pocket, where he cupped a small, elongate object. Yet another negative pregnancy-test. He would throw this one out on his way home- no need for Blaine to find another one.

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Blaine entered the group room, with a smile plastered on his face. He knew his clients liked it when he came to them with a smile; not because they believed that he'd bring them good news, but because it was probably the friendliest of action they'd seen in a long time. "Good afternoon, Mr. Benton."

"Please, we've known each other for a few months now, Mr. Anderson, I think it's time for you to call me Gunther." The old man sent him a gentle smile to match Blaine's, but the younger man simply shook his head.

His normally wild curls would've bounced back and forth, but they had been tamed and gelled down to appear more professional. Or so Blaine had explained it to Kurt, when the older man had protested and faked a heart attack the first time Blaine had gelled it down. "You know I can't, Mr. Benton. It would be very unprofessional of me to do so."

"Perhaps," answered Gunther Benton, though his smile never left. He was, after all, an old man and although the situation he found himself in at the moment was grave, he'd still experienced a great deal of happiness in his life and he found that mere fact smile worthy. "Perhaps you'll call me Gunther once I'm out of here and no longer your client."

Blaine nodded and laughed; not one of those dry laughs that he'd normally laugh, when a client would joke about a bad situation. But a genuine one. "Perhaps so. But that's not why I've come today."

"Of course not," the smile lessened but didn't falter. "My trial is next week."

"It is," clarified Blaine with a small bob of his head. He bent down towards his briefcase and pulled out a folder. He flipped through the papers, his eyes roaming the written words behind his black glasses, before he found what he was looking for. "Like the last time, Mr. Smythe will be the prosecutor in this case and here's a list of the witnesses that he'll bring out during the trial. I know you've already seen the list before, and he's not added anymore witnesses to the list, but please try to scan it through to see if there's anyone on that list who has anything against you and-or your late wife. It's really important in your defense so that I know if-"

"I know, Mr. Anderson." Gunther smiled, and rested his reading glasses on the tip of his nose. For a couple of minutes he read through the list, mumbling to himself, and sometimes closing his eyes trying to remember if anything had happened in the last couple of years, or merely to remember who the individual people were. Once he'd read the last witness' name, he looked up and shook his head. "Not anyone I could think of, no."

Blaine nodded and accepted the papers when handed to him. He put them back into his briefcase, which he closed right after and looked back up at his client. "Now, next Thursday at eleven pm, two guards will pick you up. The clothes that you've chosen for the trial will at some point before that be present in your cell. They'll drive you to court, where I'll wait for you." He paused and looked up at his client; the older man sat with his head hung low and sorrowed eyes cast downwards. Blaine wasn't sure what he was looking at, or if he was looking at anything in particular, but he knew that he couldn't let him down. The sixty-two year old in front of him had had a long, and at some points miserable life, but he didn't deserve to go to jail. Not for something he did not do. He reached out and placed a comforting hand upon Gunther Benton's folded ones. "It's going to be okay. I'll do my best to defend you, you know I would. Just be yourself and be truthful, and truth will be heard."

"I hope so, Mr. Anderson. But what if it's not? What if Mr. Smythe is better – like you said before, they've got pretty strong evidence against me."

"But we've got pretty good evidence that says that you did not do it."

There was a long moment of silence; Blaine could only imagine what went on inside the clients mind, but he had a pretty good idea. "I don't want the world to know that I had an affair, let alone with my secretary."

"Not to be blunt, Mr. Benton, but I'm pretty sure that the whole country knows that by now. It is Mr. Smythe's prosecution technique; to hang you out as the man who murdered his wife, because he was having an affair. But we'll prove him wrong. Once Celine takes the stand we'll-"

"Have you found her yet?" Gunther looked up with hopeful eyes. He knew that if they found her, and she testified, he'd surely be freed of all charges, but the woman had left town, maybe even the country, right after the murder had become public and her name had been mentioned.

Blaine shook his head. "Not yet, or not completely. We've found her and we're in contact with her, but she relocates every time we get near. Is there anything she'd be afraid of?"

"No," Gunther said with a frown. "We were in love." Even Blaine had to raise his eyebrows at that. Celine Baker was a twenty-something year old secretary, who looked like a poster gold-digger. "I know it may not seem like it, but we'd been planning. I wanted to divorce Alice and move in with Cel. We'd built a life together, a family together."

At this Blaine's smile faltered, and his eyes cast downwards. He and Kurt had been trying for a while now, even had a speck of hope with a positive pregnancy test, but a trip to the doctor and quickly shattered that hope. 'Pregnancy tests aren't a complete hundred percent reliable, Mr. and Mr. Hummel-Anderson. I am sorry to inform you, but you're not pregnant. Not this time.' Kurt had locked himself in the bathroom that night, and cried until the next morning. Blaine had had to call Isabelle and inform her of the situation. She'd understood and given Kurt the entire week off. Blaine had loved Kurt's boss ever since.

"Sometimes people aren't always truthful," Blaine started. Much like pregnancy tests. "They say stuff that aren't true, but once it becomes clear that the lies are in fact lies, perhaps it is time to accept that. I think now is one of those times, Mr. Benton."

Gunther shook his head, determinately. "No. Celine she.. she wouldn't lie about it. She told me that she loved me and I believed her. I still do. She'll come around."

"Okay," Blaine said lastly, "let's hope that she does." He spoke with his client for a few more minutes, before he got up and bit the old man farewell. "I'll be back the day before the trial- we'll go over what's going to happen, how you should react and behave in certain situations and so on."

"I'm an old man, Mr. Anderson, from a time where behavior was beaten into us. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten how to behave properly these last few months in this hell-hole. Even though ninety percent of these baboons in here eat with their hands, I still use silverware." Blaine laughed, once again a genuine one, and left the group room.

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Blaine woke up the next morning to find the spot next to him empty, and cold. It was evident that Kurt had been gone for a long time. "Kurt?" he called out, but was cut off mid-cough. He called out for his boyfriend once more, once the coughing had settled. He hated mornings, especially cold mornings without Kurt. Lately the mornings had been Kurt-less, and Blaine often found his boyfriend either kneeling down in front of the toilet or seeking warmth from a hot cup of coffee.

He got up, shivering slightly when the blanket slipped down his body and left the bedroom. He walked around the apartment, not caring that he was naked; he and Kurt had walked around their apartment naked so many times by now that Blaine was certain their neighbors would worry if they suddenly started wearing clothes. He peeked inside the kitchen, but found it empty, and quickly headed towards the living room.

He found Kurt lying on the couch, numerous amounts of blankets wrapped around him. "Baby," Blaine breathed out and walked over to the couch. Be squatted down in front of it and moved the blankets a little bit to reveal Kurt's pale face. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too good." The man shivered slightly, and even though he'd wrapped himself up in at least four blankets, he still froze.

"You were sick again last night," Blaine stated, reaching up to feel Kurt's forehead. "You don't feel hot though."

Kurt shook his head a little, but Blaine wasn't sure if it was purposely done, or if it was the shaking from being sick. "It was more like this morning that I was sick."

"Why don't I carry you back to bed, sweetie? I'll run you a bubble-bath and call Isabelle. You've been sick for a couple of days now- you shouldn't be working."

"A bath does sound nice."

Blaine chuckled, and got up; he readied himself to lift Kurt and carried him into their bedroom. Once he'd been placed on the bed, he gave him a love-filled kiss right by the hairline and went into the bathroom. He was about to go and get Kurt, when he heard the door open. "Kurt," Blaine said, getting up. "You shouldn't be up and walking. I would've carried you."

Kurt smiled and cupped Blaine's chin softly, weakly. "I know you would, but I have enough strength to walk in here myself." He kissed Blaine gently, and together they walked over to the bath. "Will you get in with me?"

"Of course." Blaine let go of Kurt briefly and got in. "Come here," he said, turned towards Kurt with outstretched arms. He smiled toothless smile as his lover crawled into the bubble-bath with him and settled with his back against him. He nuzzled his nose against Kurt's silky-soft hair and hummed their song quietly.

"Mm," moaned the older, his head turning towards Blaine's head. "I love that song."

"Me too," grinned Blaine. He filled his hand with a little water and let it run down Kurt's body. "I'll call Isabelle later. Maybe she'll give you the week off. God knows you need it." he repeated his previous action, and let the water sooth Kurt's skin.

"I'm fine, Blaine. In a few hours I'll be up and running- I'm okay."

"No, Kurt," Blaine pleaded. "You're stressed out. You should take some time off- maybe we could both take some time off."

Kurt's so-far closed eyes opened a bit. "What about the case?"

Blaine inwardly grunted- of course, the case. "Maybe we could go after the case. It should settle pretty quickly-"

"Quickly? Haven't this case lasted nine months now?"

Blaine huffed. "Eight, but that's not the point. This is the actual trial; up until now we've gathered evidence, witnesses and so forth. But this part of the case should go pretty quickly. We've got pretty heavy evidence that points out that my client is jury would have to be dense if they don't see that. I'll give it a few weeks, maybe even days. Then we could both take vacation and go somewhere. Florida sounds nice."

"You only want to go to Florida because you want to go to Disney World," Kurt pointed out with amusement hidden in his voice.

"Of course!" Blaine exclaimed, although he made sure to keep his voice down. "Mickey and Minnie are the best." They both chuckled; the younger man reached down to cup Kurt's face. He turned his boyfriend's head around and kissed him passionately. "Or," he said, breaking away from the kiss for a second, "we could go to France, or Italy."

"Maybe," said the sick man, and turned around. He once again nuzzled into his boyfriend's embrace and drew in a deep breath. "Blaine, maybe we should go to the doctor."

The younger male nodded his head, agreeing completely. Kurt had been sick for eleven days – Blaine had counted, and he was seriously getting worried. "I agree. I'll call doctor Harrison right after I've talked to Isabelle.

"No. Don't call doctor Harrison. I meant that we should call the gynecologist."

"Why?"

Kurt sighed softly; he was scared, plain out terrified of what the gynecologist might say. "Because I'm not pregnant. We've been trying for a long time now."

"We've tried for a year, less even," Blaine defended lightly, tangling his fingers with Kurt's.

"I know, but Tina and Mike tried for three months before she got pregnant. And I just.. I want a baby of my own."

Blaine inhaled and exhaled deeply; he wanted one too. Heck, he wanted two or three little ones running around their apartment, creating chaos and destruction wherever they went. And he'd been as devastated as Kurt every single time their hopes and dreams had been crushed, but he'd stayed strong for Kurt. His love needed him, and so he'd only ever cried, when Kurt hadn't been present. He'd even cried in Cooper's arms one night, after Anna-Louise and Anthony had come to the office to visit them. "I know," he managed to get out, before he felt tears well up in his eyes. He knew Kurt was crying in front of him.

"I just- maybe she can figure out why it's so hard for us to conceive. Maybe something's wrong with me, inside," Kurt added, placing his hand upon his stomach. He looked down and huffed. "You would've thought that with all the throwing up I've been doing that I'd lost weight. Instead, it looks like I've put on some."

"Don't be silly," Blaine said, placing his own hand upon Kurt's. "You look beautiful. And I'll call doctor Mason if it makes you happy."

"Thank you," Kurt whispered, and the two men enjoyed the remaining time of the bubble-bath.

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Hey guys – as some of you may or may not have noticed, I changed the summery (the original is still seen in the prologue). Also, I want to thank the nineteen different people who followed my story, the six who favored it and a SPECIAL thanks to MyOTPIsKillingMe, for reviewing. Keep on reviewing guys! Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you thought – I'll take anything; bad grammar, good grammar, bad plot, good plot, bad author, good author – you get what I mean ;)

Thank you for reading!