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Beta-readers: lyingxiscariot (FFnet), FangirlingFanatic (FFnet), and stulti.
Summary: Blaine Anderson is a prostitute whose client is murdered before his eyes. He is thrown into witness protection together with Special Agent Kurt Hummel, whose job is to keep him safe. But, with nosy neighbours and a notorious crime family snapping at their heels, it's not that easy. Especially when feelings get involved.
Warnings: Dub/con, alcohol use, minor OMC death, mention of child abuse, mention of domestic violence, mention of various kinks
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Sugar/Artie, Quinn/Puck, Cooper/OFC
Length: 65k; 16 parts altogether
Updates: Weekly on Sundays or Mondays
CHAPTER II: OF OFFICERS AND CRIMINALS
Everything was happening so quickly. A gunshot. Travis on the floor, coughing blood until he finally succumbed. Another gunshot. The stranger slowly walking out of the room. A scream. Another gunshot. Bathtub curtains. Police sirens. Voices from the bedroom. Someone in the bathroom. Two people in the bathroom. A familiar face. A slap.
"Anderson, can you hear me? Anderson!"
Blaine shook his head a little, his vision still blurry, but the voices were getting clearer now. He could feel the sides of a bathtub against his body but he had no memory of getting in there.
"Look at me."
Blaine tried, but he couldn't. He felt hands moving his head to the left side. He tried focusing his eyes when a face was right in front of him. When he could make out the person's features, he realised he knew this man.
"Sergeant Hall?" he asked, still unsure.
"Yes, kiddo, it's me," the man said slowly. "I need to know, did you see what happened?"
His face crumpled and the first tears escaped Blaine's eyes. He nodded at the question and hid his face in his hands. The fear of the killer finding him now slowly fading, he allowed himself to freak out externally. He didn't care about the people around him who saw him naked, sobbing in the bathtub. He didn't care about anything at all in that moment.
"I did, oh my god, I did," he started sobbing. "It's not happening, it can't be happening…"
"Shh, it's okay, kiddo, you're safe now," the Sergeant tried to calm him down. "Bring him a blanket, he must be in shock. Has the ambulance arrived yet?"
"Yes, they are downstairs," someone responded, but Blaine didn't pay attention to them.
"I'll take Anderson to them. I need to get him talking."
A soft blanket was thrown over Blaine's shoulders and the Sergeant helped him out of the bathtub. Instinctively he covered his private areas, and let the man walk him downstairs, only half aware of what was going on.
"He is freaking out. I need him calm so I can talk to him. Anything you can do?" he heard Sergeant Hall talking to someone. He didn't know if the man got any response, but soon someone was coming at him with a syringe.
"No! No, get away from me!" he yelled. He was already hurt, he didn't need more pain. "I don't consent, I don't consent!" he shouted for the second time that day, backing away from the people. He hoped this time he would be heard. "Please…"
"I'm sorry, I can't do anything if he refuses treatment." The awful syringe was backing away.
"Let me go, let me leave," Blaine asked. Suddenly his chest started aching and it was difficult to breathe. He needed to get out, he needed fresh air. There was so little air inside.
"I need his statement now, but he is no condition to give it," Sergeant Hall said tightly. He must be angry. Angry people hurt Blaine. He had to run away from angry people.
He tried to get away, but the blanket was too long. One step back and he was lying on the floor, writhing in pain. His backside was on fire.
"Holy hell," Sergeant said above him. "I didn't notice that before…"
"Sir, how much pain are you in?"
Blaine knew this person was asking him, but he couldn't answer. He couldn't get up. He could only cry and mumble something. He himself didn't know what he was saying.
"How about now? Can you do anything?"
"Yes."
His arm hurt. Someone was hurting him again. Please, stop, he was trying to say, but couldn't. They never stop anyway. Why bother…
Soon he didn't feel like crying anymore and it was bliss. He just felt dead tired. He didn't care that he was naked with people around him. They could do anything with his body. He only wanted sleep. So he relaxed and let his mind wander off.
Blaine's eyes snapped open. He looked around, disorientated. Everything was so white it hurt his eyes. He cringed at the light and slowly got used to it. Hospital. He wanted to sit up, but there was an IV dripping into his arm. He lay back and tried to remember what had happened.
His memories stopped at the murder. Blaine hoped to see someone who could explain things. Alas, he was alone in the room.
"Nurse," he tried to speak up, but couldn't get past a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time with more success. "Nurse!"
A short lady came into the room moments after. "Good to see you awake," she said, checking something on the monitors. "How are you feeling?"
"I don't know. What happened?" Blaine asked. He wanted answers, not questions.
"I'll get the doctor, he can explain everything," the woman said. "Are you in pain?"
Blaine thought for a second. "No."
"Alright. Then I'll go fetch the doctor. He will answer your questions," she said and left the room.
The doctor came accompanied by Sergeant Hall and Blaine's least disliked Officer, Sam Evans. They explained to him what had happened.
After Travis was killed, Blaine had had a panic attack, so he was given sedatives and taken to the hospital. He had severe bruising on his lower back and buttocks, so they gave him painkillers. Now, Sam needed to take his statement. Then they wanted to keep him overnight. If everything went well, he was free to go in the morning.
Blaine nodded while the others spoke. They made things sound so simple.
The doctor left and so did Sergeant Hall, who needed to make some phone calls to follow up on the investigation. Sam pulled a chair closer to him and set a recording device close to both of them.
"So, tell me what happened," he said, looking at him anxiously.
"Where do I start?" Blaine asked, not sure what was expected of him. He had never done this before.
"Spoil the ending and then go back to the beginning," Sam suggested. "It's the best approach because I'll be able to ask appropriate questions."
"Don't you know what happened?" Blaine looked at him, confused. Sergeant had just told Sam he was about to take his statement on Travis' murder.
"I know, but I need to hear it from you," he said simply.
"I saw how John Travis was killed," Blaine said. Suddenly it felt more real than before.
"Good," Sam said, satisfied. "Let's go back to the beginning now. How do you know Travis?"
"Really?" Blaine looked at him pointedly. "You are really asking me this?"
"It's protocol, I have to ask that," Sam shrugged. "Please, answer."
Blaine side-eyed the recorder. "Fine, he is my… was my client. I'd met him several times before today," Blaine gave him the short version.
"Please, elaborate on the word 'client'. What services did you provide to John Travis?"
"Sexual," Blaine responded reluctantly.
"You'll need to speak up," Sam said, pushing the recorder closer to Blaine's head.
"Sexual," he said loudly. He hoped that the sudden heat in his face wasn't visible.
"How did you meet the first time?"
"Same way I meet all my clients. He approached me and propositioned. We had sex, I gave him my number, so whenever he got horny, he texted me and I went to his house and we fucked," Blaine said. They didn't need details.
"So you met from time to time and just fucked?"
"If you want a detailed version, go watch some kinky porn," Blaine said, annoyed. Sam would need to find the dirtiest websites to find anything close to what Travis had done to him.
"Please, be serious. The more you cooperate, the sooner this will be over," Sam reminded him.
"Fine, we didn't just fuck. You want details? Alright, this sick bastard wanted me to pretend to be a woman, and called me female names," Blaine grimaced, enjoying Sam's shocked expression. "And today he whipped my ass to the point where I need painkillers, apparently. Other times he did other things, but can we not talk about it? I'm not in a mood to be reminded of that time he made me look pregnant with a water enema."
"Oh shit, sure, let's not talk about that, it's not… important," Sam coughed. Blaine didn't miss him adjusting himself in his pants. He tried not to dwell on it. "When did you go to his house today?"
"Around four, maybe? I don't remember the exact time."
"Afternoon?"
"Yes."
"And what happened when you entered the house?"
"The maid let me in. I went to the guest room where I was to dress up. Travis was there and watched me. He went upstairs and I followed a few minutes later. We fucked in his bedroom. Afterward he told me to freshen up in the bathroom and left the room. I heard someone else walk into the room. I peeked and saw a man of Asian descent, I think. Then Travis came and the guy shot him twice. He took something with him and left."
"Did you see what he took?"
"Some disk, I think."
"What time was it?"
"I was naked in the bathroom. Do you really think I could check the time? And even if I could, my first thought wasn't, 'oh I just witnessed a murder, better check the time!'" Blaine said, irritated. Stupid Sam with stupid questions. "And haven't some servants told you already?"
"Okay okay, sorry, calm down. Had Travis mentioned anything about this man before?"
"We mostly talked about me being a great slut. So no, he didn't get a chance to tell me about some enemy who wanted him dead."
"Got it…" Sam said slowly. "I think that's enough now. We've brought a sketch artist with us in case you could describe the killer."
Blaine closed his eyes. He remembered the face as if he were looking at a photo. "I can," he said.
"Okay," Sam said and walked to the door. He opened it, and moments later a short, redheaded girl walked in. "This is Lisa, our best artist. She will ask you some questions and draw a portrait of the killer the way you remember him."
The girl sat down on Sam's chair and started questioning Blaine on the appearance of the killer. It was harder than he had thought. The image in his head was as clear as if the man were standing there in the room, but he couldn't match the right words to the picture.
"The eyebrows were lower," Blaine corrected her before adding, "I think…"
"Try not to overthink it," Lisa said, lowering the sketchpad she was drawing on. "Sometimes, if you try too hard to focus on the details the whole picture disappears and you start forgetting the face. Relax and let the image float in your mind. If you push it, it will sink."
"Float, not sink, got it," Blaine said, too tired to actually try to find the meaning behind her babble.
"Shall we continue?"
"Mhm. But, make those eyebrows lower."
Mentally exhausted from focusing so hard on the scariest sight he had ever seen, Blaine wondered why people hadn't constructed a printer that could be hooked to someone's head and print what they imagined. It would have made his life a tad bit easier.
"Let's see, how does this look?" finally Lisa asked, showing Blaine the drawing.
He looked at it and his blood ran cold. It was one thing to see the face in his head, and another altogether, seeing it put on paper. He could only guess what he would feel upon seeing the man's photo, or worse, him in a flesh.
"It's him," Blaine whispered, his weak voice surprising him.
"Let me take a look," a very excited Sam said, and Lisa gave him the paper. As soon as he laid eyes on the picture, excitement was replaced by something else that Blaine could not pinpoint. "Oh… ah that will be all, Lisa, thank you."
"Pleasure to help," the girl said and stood up, ready to leave. "It was nice meeting you."
"Likewise," Blaine muttered, his eyes never leaving Sam. He was acting weird.
"Oh and Lisa, if you see Sergeant Hall, tell him to come here, okay? He should be around somewhere," he instructed the girl before she left.
"Who is this guy?" Blaine asked, looking at the sketch in Sam's hands.
Sam's chance to reply was lost, as at that moment Sergeant Hall came into the room without so much as knocking. "What do we have?" he asked.
Sam gave him the drawing and Sergeant's eyes went wide. This was not good. "Are you sure it's who you saw today in Travis' room?" he asked Blaine.
"Yes," Blaine rolled his eyes.
"This is the man who killed Travis?" Sergeant asked and Blaine had to suppress the urge to grimace childishly at him.
"Yes. Who is he?"
The question was not answered. Sergeant didn't even look at him, fixated on the drawing. He nodded to himself before speaking, "This is good. Maybe we can finally lock him up for good."
"Who is he?" Blaine repeated, this time angrily. He hated being ignored.
"I need to go inform the others of our main suspect," Sergeant said. "I'll arrange someone to guard the door tonight just in case."
With that the man left. Blaine lost patience.
"If you don't tell me who this is, I will take my words back and you can put my statement in your a–"
"It's Mike Chang," Sam sighed and collected the recorder. "He runs the Chang family now that his father is dead," he clarified when he saw Blaine's confusion.
"The Chang…"
"Family, yes. It's basically a crime family. Have you watched 'Godfather'?"
"So it's mafia? I saw the freakin' godfather kill someone?" Blaine asked, involuntarily grabbing the sheets tightly. "You have got to be shitting me!"
"Well, 'crime boss' would be a more fitting title, but yeah, you are right…"
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Blaine swore, feeling as if he was going into another panic attack.
"Calm down," Sam said. "You don't want to be sedated again."
"He'll kill me. He'll find out that I saw him and he will kill me. I take my statement back. I didn't see anything, I wasn't even there, I–"
"Stop freaking out. Sergeant Hall will take care of everything. You can help bring that family down. With your testimony in court–"
"I'm not suicidal," Blaine shook his head frantically. "I won't testify. No court would believe a prostitute anyway."
"If we can put Mike Chang behind bars you will be saving many people. Maybe we could imprison not only Mike, but his accomplices, too. Think about it."
"I don't want any part in this. Going against mafia is suicide. It's probably what got Travis killed. I won't die because of him, he has hurt me enough. I don't want to die," Blaine said, shaking.
"We will keep you safe," Sam promised. Blaine almost laughed. "Chang didn't see you, did he?"
Blaine shook his head.
"Your name will be kept anonymous so nobody will ever know you are an eye witness," Sam said lightly. Easy for him to say.
Blaine didn't say anything. He wished he hadn't woken up in the afternoon. He would have missed the session and everything that had followed. He could have still been in bed in his apartment.
Sam's fellow officer came to the hospital under Sergeant's orders to guard his door, and Sam left to deal with his statement. Just like that, he was left alone.
The nurse came to check on him again. It was dark outside and she told him it was nearing ten. When asked, he admitted to feeling tired, but refused sleeping pills. He doubted he would be able to fall asleep on his own, but he'd rather try than be medicated again.
"Press this button if you change your mind or if there is anything else you need," the nurse said, pointing at the button by his head. He promised he would, and she left.
Just like that he was left alone again with his thoughts.
His mind was a mess. All he could think about was the murder. Double murder, according to Sam. The cook was murdered while the killer was leaving the house.
Today two people had woken up and started their days just as they always did. Bam, bam, and that was it. He pitied Travis, but he mostly felt sorry for the cook and his family, if he'd had one. This murderer was only after the businessman; his employee had just gotten in the way. It could have just as easily been Blaine. This man could have walked into the bathroom and killed him. Blaine shuddered at the thought.
He hated his life at times, but he still preferred living.
The painkillers were leaving his system little by little. His back began aching, but he didn't want to call for help just yet. He could handle a little pain.
He didn't know how long he was lying there, staring at the ceiling. Long enough for the nurse to come back to check on him, Blaine thought when the door began to open. He closed his eyes. Better pretend he was sleeping.
The nurse closed the door and the only source of light was gone. Blaine waited for the light in the room to be switched on, but instead the nurse crossed the room in the dark. He wondered how she could see.
Something didn't feel right.
He dared to open his eyes just slightly. He wasn't prepared to see a dark figure hovering over him. And he definitely wasn't ready for the pillow suddenly being pressed against his face. Out of shock, Blaine forgot to scream.
It was too late now. His mouth was covered by the pillow and his nose pressed tightly. He couldn't breathe. He overcame his stupor, started thrashing in bed, grabbing the person's wrists, trying to lessen the pressure.
It didn't help.
He tried kicking the bed to get the guard's attention.
Nobody came.
With every second he felt dizzier and dizzier. His lungs ached for oxygen that they couldn't get.
The button.
His survival instincts overpowered fear and he realised he had a chance. Releasing those deadly wrists, Blaine began groping the wall. It had to be somewhere close. Somewhere.
Press.
He found it. His only chance. He kept pressing in long and short bursts. Someone ought to respond. They couldn't let him die.
All of a sudden the pressure was gone.
Blaine threw the pillow off his face and inhaled deeply in short breaths. It was glorious.
He looked around immediately for the threat, but the room was empty, except for him and a scared looking nurse, lying on the ground.
"Are you okay?" she asked, getting up on her feet.
No, he wasn't. Moments ago someone tried to kill him. He had hated breathplay before, but now he was grateful for it. He had learned to keep his breath in for longer periods. It might have just saved his life.
"I think so," he said to the nurse. He had to pretend to be normal. He didn't want to be sedated. He needed to stay awake in case the killer came back. "Just a little bit shaken."
"My colleague called police and also hospital security," the woman explained. "I'll stay with you until they get here," she said and stood by his feet.
"Thank you," Blaine said. This woman probably couldn't do much, but still, he felt safer.
"The officer guard fell asleep," she said. Blaine had a feeling she didn't like cops. "I can't believe it. You wouldn't see me falling asleep during a procedure."
She continued, but Blaine didn't listen. He didn't care that the officer had fallen asleep. He was more worried that the killer might get away. If he or she did, Blaine would be in a lot of danger. If they found him in the hospital, it wouldn't be hard to find his apartment either.
Shit, Blaine thought. He was expected to move out in the morning. Things couldn't get any worse.
Not long after, Sergeant Hall came into the room with Sam in tow. Sergeant looked furious, while Sam looked simply sleepy.
"Please, leave, ma'am," Sergeant told the nurse and she did, after glancing worriedly at Blaine. "I'm sorry our officer let the attack happen. How are you holding up?"
"Have been better," Blaine said curtly.
"Understandable," the man nodded. "I summoned Evans here because I'm assigning him to guard you until someone else takes over."
"What does that mean?" Blaine asked, confused.
"U.S. Marshals agreed with my suggestion to send you into immediate witness protection. Evans will be taking you to a safe house. Your flight is in two hours, so you will be leaving immediately. I have two plane tickets to New York here," he said, handing Sam an envelope. "Go to Anderson's place, pack the essentials. You are flying from O'Hare airport, the whole info is on the tickets. Got it?"
"Yes," Sam said, straightening himself. He looked wide awake in seconds.
Blaine listened to the man carefully. He couldn't be serious. As much as he wanted to move to New York, he didn't want to be forced to go. He tried to tell them that.
"What? I don't want to–" he started protesting, but Sergeant Hall didn't care about his wishes.
"In New York, someone will be waiting to pick you up. They will take you to the deputy U.S. marshal who will be keeping Anderson safe. He should have the cover story ready by the time you arrive. Make sure everything is okay before you leave. I want to be sure that Anderson is in good hands. Everything's clear?"
"Yes," Sam said again.
"Wait, you can't expect me to up and leave…" Blaine said, looking at the men, waiting for them to burst laughing and tell him they were joking.
"The attempted murder tells us that Chang knows you are a witness to his latest crime," Sergeant told him seriously. "It's beyond us to keep you safe. You won't be safe in Chicago, I'm afraid, so we need to move you somewhere else."
"Why New York?"
"Marshals have a safe house ready there. Unfortunately, you will have to leave in your current condition. The nurse will give Evans painkillers in case you need them, so you can have a comfortable trip. I also requested that the Marshals appoint an agent who is advanced in medical care to make sure you are taken care of."
"This can't be happening," Blaine whined silently.
"You got lucky tonight–" Sergeant began, but was cut off by Blaine's laughter.
"Lucky? I was almost killed!"
"Indeed, but you didn't die," the man pointed out. "This person was an amateur. It wasn't done professionally. It wasn't thought through at all. Had it been Mike Chang himself, you would be dead by now."
"What if he comes after me?" Blaine thought out loud.
"That's why we set up witness protection for you," Sergeant explained. "It usually takes a while, but this time we managed to arrange it quickly. Now, we only need your cooperation."
"Okay," Blaine said. If he wanted to live, there seemed to be no other choice.
"Brilliant. Evans brought you some clothes."
"Yeah," Sam said, lifting a bag he was holding. "The pants will probably be too long for you."
The two officers turned around while Blaine got out of bed with some difficulty and slowly put on the comfy sweatpants and a hoodie.
"I'm ready to go," he said, and the men turned around. "Hey, did you take my stuff from Travis' place?"
"We only took things that were considered evidence," Sergeant informed him. "We only found a necklace on you. Forgot to give it back to you earlier," the man said, and took the green necklace out of his pocket and handed it to Blaine.
"Thanks," he thanked the man and put it on. It felt heavy on his chest.
Sergeant smiled at him. "No, thank you, kid. With your help, justice will triumph. Now, put that hood on, the fewer people who see you the better. And don't be late for the flight."
"Of course, Sir," Sam said, and gestured for Blaine to follow him. "Let's go. My car is in the parking lot," he said when they were in the corridor.
They didn't talk while driving to Blaine's apartment. Blaine was at a loss for words anyway. Nothing could have prepared him for such a life-changing event. Seeing someone die was traumatizing enough, but almost getting killed, and being forced to move, while knowing that someone out there might try to kill him again, was a new kind of stressful.
"Earth to Blaine?" Sam shook his hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Left or right here?"
"Um, right," Blaine said uncertainly, trying to orientate himself in the dark city.
"Ah, yeah, I remember arresting you by that corner," the officer laughed.
"Yes, good times," Blaine rolled his eyes. The fine he had gotten was more than he had had at the time. "It's that building, on the left."
Sam parked the car and Blaine led the way to his apartment.
"Nice place," Sam said politely, looking around the small, dingy apartment.
"Thanks," Blaine responded, having decided to not point out that the place sucked. "So what now?"
"You pack. Do you have a bag? I forgot to ask before."
"I do."
"Good. Pack the most important things. I'll watch the door," Sam said, puffing his chest out, and walked out of the apartment, leaving the door cracked open.
Blaine fished his old backpack out of the closet and looked around the bedroom, trying to figure out what he needed the most. He couldn't fit a lot in the single bag, and he could only pack hand luggage-appropriate things, so he had to be smart. In the end, he settled with a few pieces of clothing, important documents, money, and jewellery. The landlord would probably throw everything else out, but he had no choice but to leave the rest behind.
"I'm good to go," he said to the waiting Sam, and threw the bag over his shoulder. "Can I ask you for a favour? I have a few textbooks from the library and I want to return them. The rest will probably be thrown out."
"Why?"
"Couldn't afford rent, so I should be moving out tomorrow," Blaine said, embarrassed about his situation. "Obviously it's not happening."
"Sure, I can do that. I could also clear out your apartment and put everything in police storage? Except for the books of course; I'll take them to whichever library they belong to."
"You would do that? I would really appreciate it," Blaine sighed gratefully.
"I thought, you know, it must be hard being uprooted so suddenly, so it's the least I can do," Sam shrugged, and watched as Blaine locked his apartment. He then handed the key to Sam.
"Thank you," he said, in case he wouldn't be able to later.
"Good evening, officer," a high-pitched voice disturbed them, and Blaine turned around to see his next-door neighbour. Just what he needed. "Finally came by to arrest that slut, I hope? It's high time you locked him up. If you need I can testify that he sells… sex," she finished in a whisper.
"That won't be necessary, ma'am, but thank you for offering," Sam answered politely and took a step to walk away, but the woman blocked his way immediately.
"There is also this girl from downstairs, she does the same. I've heard her many times and seen many men," she said, grimacing in disgust.
"We'll look into that," Sam assured her, and Blaine could see from the way he kept checking his watch that he was uncomfortable.
"Thank you. I'm scared that one of their johns might get lost and stumble in my apartment and rape me! I'm tired of constantly living in fear," she said dramatically, and Blaine had to cough to cover his snort.
"Perfectly understandable," Sam said in all seriousness. "But you will need to file a report and then we can take action. Now, please, excuse me, I need to do my job."
"Of course, Mr Sir Officer. Have a nice evening," the woman said, and walked into her apartment after giving Blaine a satisfied smirk.
As soon as they got into the car, Sam checked the GPS data. "The airport is near-by. It says here it should take about twenty minutes or so if there is no traffic."
"Cool," Blaine mumbled and hugged his bag. He felt exhausted.
"Crazy day, huh?" Sam asked out of the blue, smiling sympathetically at him.
"You could say so," Blaine laughed nervously. "I can't believe this is happening."
"M?"
"A few hours ago I woke up and got kicked out of my apartment, and now I'm a murder witness who is taken into this secret protection. Not to mention, someone just tried to kill me. It's insane," he said, shaking his head. He watched people walking outside and felt a pang of jealousy for their normal lives and freedom.
"Look at it as an adventure."
"An adventure that could end with me being dead? Sounds like a lot of fun," Blaine snorted.
"Well, this car ride could end with you being dead. You never know. Personally, I'd rather die in some awesome, movie-worthy adventure than, I don't know, choking while tying my shoes."
As weird as it sounded, Sam had a point. Blaine knew the likelihood of him dying had just doubled or tripled, but he was constantly only one violent client away from dying. The previous night of excessive breathplay could have ended his life. Suddenly he didn't feel as afraid.
"Well, when you look at it like that…" Blaine said slowly, still trying to process the new way of thinking.
"You have to stay positive. I know you are probably scared shitless and all, but worrying won't change the facts of what happened. And it won't affect what the Changs do. All you can do is stay hidden and let us do our jobs," he said, taking a sharp turn. "Sorry, was going too fast."
"It's easier said than done, the whole 'letting you do your job' thing. It didn't work out tonight. And I'm used to being in control of my life, and now I don't even know where you are taking me."
"To the airport. And then New York."
"Not what I meant," Blaine cut him off.
"I know it must be scary… But you can't really complain, it's a surprise vacation. You won't have to work and you get to travel. When was the last time you took a break?"
Blaine shrugged. "I usually take a day off after a rough client. Last time I had a long break was when I was still in school. Years ago."
"There you have it," Sam beamed at him. "Now change the attitude and enjoy your vacation."
Unexpectedly, a sincere smile appeared on Blaine's face, and while it didn't stay on for more than a mere moment, he found himself feeling slightly better. He inwardly thanked Sergeant Hall for picking Sam for his case.
The drive took them twenty-five minutes. In the airport, Sam opened the envelope and checked the tickets.
"Oh, first class, sweet. Business class must have been sold out," Sam said, examining his own ticket and passing the other to Blaine. "Come on, let's go. We don't have much time before boarding starts."
The line at the security check moved quickly, and soon they were looking for their gate. They easily found it and rounded the long line with the first class tickets. The seats were big and comfy, but still Blaine winced sitting down.
"How is sitting, by the way?" Sam noticed his frown. "Want some painkillers?"
"I thought it would be worse," Blaine said. The pain was getting worse, but he could handle it. "The flight is only two hours, so I should be fine."
"You can lie down in the seat," Sam said and, seeing Blaine confusion, lowered his seat into its prone position. "Well, after the takeoff," he added, raising it back up.
Lying down was glorious. As soon as it was safe to do so, Blaine rearranged his seat and the stewardess brought him a pillow and a blanket. While he couldn't fall asleep, snuggling with the blanket made him feel sort of safe. He almost declined free dinner because he didn't want to move, but his rumbling stomach forced him to endure the pain of sitting up. He ate absentmindedly, looking outside the window at the gorgeous, lit-up cities.
"It's gonna be fine," Sam said, watching him fidget on their way out. "There is someone waiting for us here. He will take us to the safe house."
As if on cue, they saw a man holding a sign with Sam's name on it. They walked up to him and Sam introduced himself, showing him his badge. The man took them to his car and, almost an hour later, they parked in front of a two-story house, a typical building in the suburbs. There was light in several windows and Blaine could see someone's shadow moving inside.
"I'll wait here," the driver said to Sam as he and Blaine got out of the car.
They walked up to the house in silence and Sam rang the doorbell. When Blaine heard someone's steps he thought his heart would stop. His hands had been shaking since the landing, but now he had to cross his arms over his chest to keep them still.
The door opened in seconds to reveal a young man who was smiling softly at them. "Hello," he said, eying the car behind them. "Come in."
They did, Blaine somehow managing to get his legs moving. He didn't see the wooden floor, he didn't notice empty photo frames on the wall by the staircase, he didn't pay attention to the brown rug resting by the entrance. He only had eyes for the man in front of them, the same man who, in Blaine's eyes, held his fate.
"I'm Sam Evans," Sam said when the door behind them was closed, and gestured towards Blaine. "And this is–"
"My husband, Blaine Anderson," the stranger said, and extended his hand for Blaine to shake. "I'm Special Agent Kurt Hummel. Nice to meet you."
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