A.N. So, it's technically the first of April - albeit two minutes past midnight - so here goes my first 'One Story in One Month' challenge! I'm optimistic I can do it, as I've already planned this out and lots of it has been written. Shorter than some others, I plan to 'blitz this story out' – maybe once a week? Now, for the few people who are thinking 'Uh, what the hell, Cloud Green? You said you'd focus on *enter other fic here* and now you're uploading a story no one asked for?' – I am sorry! The trouble is this idea came to me one night when I was in bed – the whole story except for one scene – in just a couple of minutes. The next day I wrote 4 out of the 6 chapters completely and the 5th and 6th were heavily plotted out. And then I didn't upload them. They have been sitting in my documents folder for months just mocking me. Therefore, my posting them now is essentially my inability to take the taunting. And if you are interested in more background, it is actually this story's sequel which I was hooked on writing. The sequel is a lot darker and faster-paced with some physical / sexual / mental torture to boot. So by uploading this 'prequel' of sorts means that when I finally get round to writing that fic, readers will be ready. But with the focus on the upcoming Funny Games III, the sequel to this one will probably be a while. The writing of this fic will not interfere with others: I plan on uploading the last Rebound Arrangement chapter some time on Friday, with Funny Games taking it's place as a weekly update.

I just want to point out a couple of things about this fic that I feel is important: first, it is not my usual kind of story and I accept that, and two, it truly is not meant to be sensibly logical. Think to the comic books: in a major city like Gotham, is it really believable one man (despite his gadgets and help from a few others) is responsible for 'saving the city'? Can beating a couple of bad guys each night really stop the overflow of crime? No, and the comics don't try to explain how our heroes do it because it would just ruin the fun. In this fic, Blaine and Sam are heroes and they are celebrated for being responsible for the safety of the city. Though unrealistic, I ask you to just go with it. They have no special powers or training but they are BLAM! so we can accept that they are awesome, yes? Yes. Thanks for your understanding!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, all rights go to Fox, Ryan Murphy etc. I only take credit for this particular plot.

Warning: Bad language, a little violence, scenes of a sexual nature, occasional angst.

Chapter One

'K – 9617, Squad car nine, suspects are zero-point-3 miles east on Fischer's Avenue. Air officers report seven in alleyway across from the subway station entrance.'

Officer Reading's foot pressed down on the gas pedal. Beside him, his partner reached for the radio speaker to respond to the most recent transmission. 'This is squad car nine, we are approaching the scene.' Officer York reported gruffly. 'The witness who called in said she only saw five men – can the guys in the chopper confirm all seven in the alley are part of the drug ring, or should we expect additional back up?' Reading threw his partner a knowing glance as they sped through the near-empty streets of the city at night.

The radio went through a pocket of silence, filled only with the cackle of frequency waves, until at last the female on the other end responded. 'They confirm there is already a fight underway and, despite having limited views of the alley system, think it's safe to assume you guys have help.'

By the end of her message, Officers Reading and York were pulling up sharply to the side street in question. Prepping their guns, they stormed the alleyway just in time to watch what appeared to be the final moments of an epic brawl. Strewn across the puddle-ridden ground were the unconscious and bleeding bodies of three men. All were large, all were tough, and all were known drug dealers. There goes at least three cells tonight, York thought to himself as his eyes followed the smattering of guns on the ground until his attention was focused on the four other individuals. Even from thirty feet away the cop recognised the notorious Bradley Brothers, the worst of the city's worst when it came to ruthless thugs and the current ringleaders of the illegal drug and weapon trade. To have both in the one confined area seemed unreal and in any other scenario York might have been terrified of meeting his end there and then, but the fact of the matter was it seemed his job was taken care of.

Both brothers, apparently rendered unarmed, were having their asses handed to them by the final two men in the alleyway. The Chameleon, dressed in his standard dark green, one-piece suit complete with matching mask, delivered a firm blow to Kevin Bradley's jaw and the crook took to the concrete floor. The blonde leaned over him to guarantee his knock-out before turning to aid his comrade. However, the dark-haired man, known locally as 'Nightbird', did not need any extra help. Within moments, the second brother had been taken care of with a fast kick to the throat. With all suspects now out for the count and ready for easy arrests, the two masked vigilantes grinned at one another and gave a very lively high five. They then turned to the officers at the mouth of the alley and Chameleon issued a respectful salute. 'They're all yours, gentlemen,'

Reading moved as if to approach but York tiredly held his arm back. They watched the leather-clad pair race down to the adjacent street for their typical 'Our work here is done' exit. Reading removed his hat and smoothed his hair back as he sighed. 'Remember back when we were expected to try and arrest them?'

Hearing his partner's voice leaning lightly on a nostalgic tone, York snorted 'Thank God none of us managed it. I work hard for my money, Al, but this city would still be the hellhole it was five years ago if those two hadn't turned up. I'm not complaining, and neither should you.' With that, he pulled out his handcuffs and left Reading to radio in the news.

The city of Fawkesbridge was going through a period of change. Once the seedy underbelly of American crime, its reputation was rapidly becoming attractive. Thriving in the business district and flourishing in the realm of modern technology were aspects most revered by neighbouring communities. It was, for all intents and purposes, exactly the type of city its founders claimed it could be before corruption set in. And according to the citizens, the unexpected soaring of success was entirely due to the dynamic duo who seemingly appeared out of nowhere five years ago.

Photographs taken by eye witnesses were on practically every teenage girl's bedroom wall or school locker, and there was a great deal of media speculation over who the young role models were behind their masks. First, there was 'The Chameleon'. Tall, strong and blonde; the Chameleon was the more physically intimidating of the two though his goofy smile was caught on camera more often than his counterpart's was. His leather suit covering his whole frame was the dark shade of an evergreen tree and his boots and mask were of a similar nature. Stitched into front-shoulder areas of his outfit were the two halves of a set of scales. It was obvious why; with his partner, he sought justice for those who had been wronged by evildoers. Nightbird's own leather suit also covered every inch of his body from the neck down and was deep navy blue colour which could melt into the darkness of night with ease. He was known to be a couple of inches shorter than Chameleon and of a slimmer build but he was equally admired for his speed and improved agility. Hair as black as the night sky, his appearance was completed with the silhouette of a warbler, the bird on the city's emblem, etched across his chest. Councilmen spoke with pride that it proved he was a fighter for the people which the emblem represented. Of course, in the first year of their vigilante work they were less than welcomed by officials: there were numerous questions as to the identity of the men who destroyed violent gangs, caught wanted men and women and delivered them into the hands of baffled police officers, and was there talks of threat from them in regards to public safety. The public support paved the way for their media redemption and it had been over three years since anyone had spoken negatively of the duo in the press.

With new theories of who the heroes were being batted around every day, it was every person's dream to finally discover the real names of the Chameleon and Nightbird and to idolise their unmasked faces. But the secret, it seemed, was not to be revealed. The men under the suits were quick, shrewd and, above all, Fincredibly discreet about their identities.

'Nightbird! Come here a second!'

Blaine's eyes widened in alarm and he dove over his desk for the window. Slamming the frame closed and locking it in place, he yelled back, 'Geez, Sam, the window was open! You want our whole street to hear you?'

From the kitchen came the delayed response 'Oh. Sorry. Anyway, come here – I want you to check something.' Blaine – AKA Nightbird – rolled his eyes and trudged through the apartment to the kitchen. He had been having this struggle all these years trying to get his best friend and roommate to only ever use their alter-ego names when they were suited up but it was a battle he was no closer to winning; Sam just had no filter sometimes. The blonde was waiting for him, shirtless and sitting by the breakfast table. He twisted to face away from Blaine. 'I got this real sharp pain down the right side of my back. Is it bruised or anything?' Blaine peered and ran his fingers over the skin. 'It's worse at my shoulder blade. I think one of the guys from last night got a hit in.'

'It's bruised, but I think that's about it. Let me check.' Blaine then started manouvering Sam's arm and upper body, feeling for problem signs. Sam winced but let him do his thing. As a fully-qualified doctor and long-time best friend, Blaine could be trusted to give an accurate diagnosis. 'You'll be fine, it's just a little swollen and bruised up. Let it heal.' Blaine narrowed his eyes. 'That means not going to the gym. Today weights are not your friend.' Sam grumbled in compliance and gingerly put his shirt back on. Issuing a fond smile, Blaine moved off to pick up the daily newspaper he had been reading earlier. 'I should commend you on a job well done; the front page is all about the drugs bust from last night.' He read a few lines from the article, ''Drug lords known as the Bradley Brothers were finally apprehended thanks to tactful movements of the police and of course' – I love how they say 'of course' – 'Nightbird and Chameleon'.'

'Blonde Chameleon,' Sam groaned, ripping the newspaper from Blaine's hand to glare down at the printed words, 'They keep missing out the blonde part.'

Blaine snorted and turned his attention to making himself a morning cup of coffee. 'Remind me again why it's so important they refer to you as the Blonde Chameleon?'

His roommate pouted and gave a loud sigh as if it had been something they had discussed so many times before. 'Because, dude, girls prefer blondes! I want to be a heartthrob and I won't reach that solid status if they keep getting my name wrong!'

As the paper was thrust onto the counter, Blaine laughed and shook his head slowly as he stirred some milk into his cup. He glanced up at the newspaper again and his smile faltered to a look of seriousness. 'Ah, shit. Looks like yet another small bank was broken into. By the same guy as the others were.' Sam followed his gaze to the story on page four: Bank Targeted by Shadow Boy. It was the most recent act of theft committed by a guy, whose dark appearance and silent movements on CCTV footage were likened to that of a shadow, responsible for taking odd amounts of money from each heist. Blaine had caught a local news story about it days earlier in which the reporter commented that the thief opted to only take a fraction of the money stored in each safe or vault, similar modest amounts in nature, and that bank managers were surprisingly frustrated by the strange resistance. 'It bothers me so much,' Blaine hummed, eyes narrowing on the fuzzy security photo printed under the article of the 'Shadow Boy' making his escape the previous night. 'People's hard-earned money just snatched away by some self-entitled asshole.'

Sam leaned his chin on Blaine's shoulder and grinned at him, amused. 'So, have we found ourselves a new project?'

His question brought a smile to Blaine's lips. 'Yes. I think we have.'

Though proud of his nightly persona, Blaine was equally as satisfied with his day to day identity. The son of medical tycoon and hospital chief Warren Anderson, Blaine was a certified doctor and one of the youngest to ever qualify in the state. He was in the process of being steered and mentored by his father to take over the running of one of the city's main hospitals once he finished his residency training and when Warren saw fit to retire. Though having always considered becoming a doctor, the mass of privileges, responsibilities and expectations had not factored into his growing up; that had been on the shoulders of his older brother, Cooper, until he dropped out of medical school and respectfully requested to simply be a hospital advisor. Then, Warren Anderson's eyes turned to his younger son.

Blaine's father was definitely a good man and he had accumulated a great deal of admiration from Blaine himself, but as the training progressed and Warren had to explain his decisions Blaine realised that a lifetime of wealth had led to his father being out of touch with those in his care. Dr Anderson would pity those who were unable to afford life-saving treatment but saw it as an unavoidable fact of life for those living in the country. The rare times he berated Blaine were always brought on by his view that his son was 'too soft', an 'idealist' and someone who had to learn he could not help everyone. This was something Blaine struggled to accept and throughout his life he strived to prove him wrong. Sam had been a very personal example of his struggle.

Blaine had met his future best friend in second grade. He learned that the other boy did not live with his dad; in fact, Sam told him he did not know where his dad was. Blaine remembered telling his mother about that fact on the way home from school that day having been so shocked by the situation. Living only with his mom and younger brother and sister, Sam never seemed to have any new clothes or toys to play with, and Blaine always felt rather embarrassed by his belongings when Sam came over to play at his house. Then one morning, social services came to the Evans family's front door. Blaine had been inconsolable when his mother tried to explain that Sam's mom, as hard as she tried, could not afford to house and feed her three children and this meant Sam would be moving away to live with his grandmother out west until she could. Blaine was far too young to understand the realities of the situation Sam was facing, but he did understand that his mother's actions made her a saint. Upon hearing that Sam's move west would split him up from his siblings, who were remaining in Fawkesbridge near their mom, Mrs Anderson insisted he move into their own home on a 'temporary' basis. It was at that point Sam was unofficially adopted and Blaine gained a new brother. Mrs Evans was then able to find a smaller, cheaper place nearby where she and her youngest children could live, whilst still maintaining regular contact with her eldest.

The 'temporary' fix was never amended and - before Warren Anderson could fathom how it happened - Sam became a permanent fixture in their home and a solid member of the family until he and Blaine decided to move out on their own together at eighteen to attend college downtown. Whenever his father tried to instil 'the hard, unfair facts of life' into his son, Blaine would think back to the time his mother stepped in to help a family in need and he had not once lost faith.

When his best friend went on to study medicine, which came as no real surprise, Sam finally found his footing as a very gifted fitness instructor due to his infectious enthusiasm, teaching warmth and love of exercise. He insisted on training Blaine, eager to at last be more knowledgeable than his more bookish roommate, but rarely recalled any of Blaine's lessons, which he considered 'too complicated' to be of any use.

But the journey from college students to crime-fighting men of the night? That all started on evening not long after moving out of the family home. Whilst savouring the freedom of being able to stroll home at any hour without reprimand, they were alarmed to come across a woman being robbed by a hooded man. Running off with her handbag, the robber soon became aware of Blaine and Sam following quickly behind. He had darted into a side street and called for a few of his low-life cronies to help take care of them. Surrounded by four sniggering men vying to cut their lives short, neither had felt more terrified in their lives. Blaine attributed this fight-or-flight adrenaline rush as the reason behind the miraculous beating they were able to deliver to each one of the attackers. Admittedly, Sam's greater strength was more advantageous than Blaine's quick-as-a-rabbit dives but before they knew how it had been done they found the men in a pile at their feet. As they returned the handbag to the scared woman, she revealed she had called the cops and wanted them to stick around until they arrived. However, already imagining how it would look to have the Anderson heir mixed up in it all, Blaine convinced Sam to leave with him and be unsung heroes for the night.

Though they did not make the front covers of newspapers that first time, they were both taken aback at the praise their actions collected and every journalist begged them to come forward for special recognition for helping put such thugs behind bars. Resisting Sam's puppy dog eyes which was desperate for the promised honour of coming forward, Blaine kept their heroics private. Later, though, Sam recounted how great it had felt helping someone in need and the peace of mind knowing they made the streets that little bit safer. He then suggested they do it again. Finding the idea beyond ridiculous – who goes out looking for dangerous people to fight? – Blaine refused. It was only then that Sam uttered the words that would change it all. 'Batman, dude.' Appealing to Blaine's childhood love for comic book superheroes was a dirty trick in hindsight, but he fought his point across well.

'We got lucky that night, Sam! What if they had been armed or something?'

'Blaine, man, we kicked ass, luck had nothing to do with it! Alright, alright, I get what you're saying but – come on – we can totally train ourselves up. Batman, dude. He's just this regular guy but then he just jumps in and Jackie Chans the shit out of everyone. There's two of us, man, it's like Batman 2.0!'

Ever since, Blaine questioned how he ever let a negotiator like Sam Evans convince him to do what they do. He also wasn't fully able to understand how they had gone from wearing ski masks and sweatpants to the full-on leather body suits they do now. All he did know was that the city that he loved adored him back, and had even concocted fond codenames for them in the media.

Nightbird and Chameleon: our lives have purpose.

A.N. Hopefully this was a nice little background intro chapter, of course we'll meet Kurt in the next chapter and we'll see the love-at-first-sight effect take place. Show your support by leaving a review!