READ ME: A wild oneshot appears in the tall grass!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee.

It was clearly not one of Evangeline Anderson's better weeks.

And it only got even worse when she was jolted out of her work-induced stupor by the untimely ringing of her cell phone—her ringtone had been set to the dulcet tones of her son, Blaine, singing the first few lines of that one song he performed at the benefit last month. She didn't know what it was called, but damn if it wasn't catchy.

"Mrs. Anderson, is it? Yes. This is Tricia. Tricia Fitzpatrick," a cheery woman said on the other end of the phone line.

"Good morning, Tricia," Evangeline said tartly, opening her leather-bound agenda and poising the tip of her engraved Cross pen on the page marked March Twenty-second.

"I'm your daughter's Girl Scout troop leader," Tricia continued, sounding very self important and popping the 'p' sound in the word 'troop'. Evangeline wrinkled her nose in distaste. This chipper idiot was the woman leading her poor daughter in her attempts at becoming a well-rounded citizen? Impossible. "And we're doing a cookie sale this weekend. It's one of the last ones of the cookie season."

Evangeline cleared her throat expectantly. "Well?"

"Well, unfortunately I have a doctor's appointment scheduled for that weekend. It's very urgent and frighteningly important."

"The doctor isn't open on weekends," Evangeline replied flatly, doodling complicated spirals in the margin of her notebook.

Tricia went silent on the other line.

"And furthermore," Evangeline continued, the volume of her voice raising with every word she uttered, "you still have yet to tell me why you are calling me during office hours. Ms. Fitzpatrick, I assure you that I am a very busy woman. There is no room for me to waste time chatting idly about your weekend doctor's appointments, or the lack thereof."

"I guess I'm just asking if you could look over the girls for me. And I'm sure that Elise would appreciate it, too."

"I'm sure my daughter would," Evangeline said, thoughtfully turning the page of her agenda and scribbling in the words force Blaine to supervise Girl Scout troop in the box marked for the weekend. "Unfortunately, I'm busy that day. I'm working."

Tricia sighed. "Oh."

"Yes. However..."

"Hm?" Tricia's voice squeaked through the phone receiver.

"...I do have a son who'd probably do it for the service hours. He attends Dalton and they require a minimum of fifty for senior students to graduate," Evangeline explained, lacing her fingers together and tilting her head so that the phone didn't fall from its perch on her shoulder.

"I don't know about that. Girl Scout troops are traditionally led by females, Mrs. Anderson," Tricia said dubiously.

Evangeline gave herself a tiny smile. "He's got a boyfriend that loves glitter," she replied sweetly. "That's reason enough, don't you think?"

"Hey, you," Blaine said, jogging up to Kurt, who had been curled up in the Senior Commons, intently studying biology. "I'm about to ask you for a big favor and you're...probably going to think it's kind of stupid."

Kurt looked up from his biology notes, his bright blue eyes glistening slightly in the warm lights of Dalton. "As long as it doesn't involve pointy-toed shoes or the color orange, I think we'll be fine." He gave Blaine a comforting smile, tugged him onto the leather couch he was sitting on, and planted a small kiss on his temple. "And hello to you, too, Blaine."

Blaine allowed himself ten seconds of melting under Kurt's touch before straightening himself up again and forcing his face into serious-mode. "Kurt," he said sternly.

Dropping his pen and placing his notes on the floor, Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "Alright, alright. I'm all yours."

"Long story short...my mom's asked me to supervise Elise's Girl Scout troop over the weekend. They're selling their cookies at the Frye's by the Lima Bean."

Kurt frowned. "Blaine...that Frye's got foreclosed a month ago."

"What's your point?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Blaine, what exactly are you asking me to do?"

"I was wondering if you could do it with me is all. You know. Teamwork. Eh? Eh, boyfriend? Eh?" The corners of Blaine's eyes wrinkled as a wide grin spread across his face. "Eh? How about it?"

Slapping his hand against Blaine's shoulder, Kurt said, "Stop it with the 'eh's, Blaine. Okay. Before I say anything about this...I'd like to know...how old is Elise, anyway? You don't talk about your little sister often."

"She's eleven. And she has very many tiara-obsessed eleven-year-old friends, too, you know," Blaine said hopefully. "And I know how much you love your tiaras."

Kurt bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I guess I'm not totally opposed to the idea, even though Girl Scout cookies are heinously overpriced and hideously packaged. And I do love Samoas, even though they're terrible on my figure..."

"And Elise has been dying to meet you," Blaine teased, pulling Kurt in closer by the waist and leaning in for a kiss.

Kurt pushed him away playfully. "Stop, Blaine. No student contact policy at Dalton, remember?"

Blaine smirked. "Never stopped you," he replied, going in for another peck on the lips. This time, Kurt didn't push him away—in fact, they kept on kissing like that until Wes balled up a piece of equation-covered graphing paper and chucked it at the back of Blaine's overly-gelled hair.

"Dick," Kurt hissed at Wes, who grinned smugly back at him and gave him an devious thumbs-up.

"I'm always watching," Wes declared, flipping the page of his math textbook.

Blaine tapped Kurt's shoulder. "I know how ill you think of the orange boxes of those peanut-butter creme cookies—"

"Dos-i-dos," Kurt corrected, fixing his bangs with his left hand.

"Dos-i-dos, then. I know how ugly you think Dos-i-dos area, but will you bear with the color of their boxes and help me out?"

"Well, just give me time to think about it—"

Blaine pushed Kurt up against the armrest and ghosted a hot breath over the pale skin of his neck. "Are you still in need of time to think now...?"

Kurt's breath hitched a little. "I suppose I could offer my services," he breathed, trying to ignore the rather compromising situation Blaine had created in less than thirty seconds.

"One condition, though," Blaine said, pulling himself back into an upright position and taking Kurt's hand in his. "You have to wear the vest."

Kurt's eyes widened and Blaine could practically see the outfit combinations that were flickering through his overactive mind. "What color?"

"Elise is a Girl Scout junior, so she'll be wearing the bright teal one."

"Does she wear the vest or the sash?" Kurt continued in his interrogation sharply.

"She wears the vest, but there's a few girls who like the sashes, too."

Clearing his throat importantly, Kurt sniffed pompously and hedged, "Let me wear the sash and it's a done deal."

Blaine's arms wound around Kurt's torso. "Thanks, Kurt."

He briefly recalled the words of his mother.

"I'm glad that you're fine with supervising the girls, Blaine. But either Kurt or you is going to have to wear the Girl Scout uniform."

Thank God Kurt looked good in just about anything.

"Hello, girls! My name is Kurt Hummel and I'll be helping Blaine out in leading the troop today," Kurt said, looking like quite the Girl Scout in the ensemble he had picked out.

An ensemble that included suede leather Oxfords, navy skinny jeans, a white cashmere sweater, and a Girl Scout sash that had been deconstructed and turned into a very fashionable scarf. An artfully lopsided beret sat on his head.

A murmur traveled across the horde of thirteen mismatched preteens, all dolled up in jeans and Converse and Lip Smackers.

Elise was the first one to speak up. "Penny, Liz. This is the Kurt Hummel I was talking about—he's Blaine's boyfriend. Cute, right?"

Blaine's grip tightened around Kurt's waist instinctively.

Liz grinned toothily, exposing a gleaming set of braces. "He's so pretty."

"I've never met a gay couple before," Penny observed, pushing her bright pink glasses up the bridge of her nose. Blaine beamed at her proudly, clearly respecting her style in the eyewear department. "But he does seem to be awfully nice."

Kurt continued to beam at them, unfazed.

"Now, I know that there hasn't been a lot of people stopping by this venue," Blaine said, pushing his hands down the pockets of his jeans, "But we're going to make sure that we end this year's cookie season with a bang."

Elise seemed to ignore Blaine's hopeful sentiments and pushed herself so that she stood right in front of Kurt.

"So, Kurt," she said conspiratorially, tugging a bit on her Girl Scout vest. "Word on the street is that you're amazing at singing."

Kurt chuckled airily. "Well, I do try—"

Elise interrupted him. "Enough chit-chat. The girls and I were thinking that you and Blaine could sing or something in order to attract potential customers."

Another one of the Girl Scouts, a mousy, diminutive one named Alexis, raised her voice and said, "I took the liberty of burning several .MIDI files onto a CD so that you two could sing to them."

"And I brought my boombox," another one, Tracy, said, heaving a large stereo to the top of the plastic table covered with a bright green tablecloth and a sign that read 'GIRL SCOUT COOKIES FOR SALE' in black Magic Marker.

"Well," Kurt said with a small laugh, "I guess Blaine and I do sound rather fabulous together—"

"Excellent!" Alexis cried, clapping her small hands together. "So we'll do that once we get the cookie display laid out."

One million grubby adolescents dove into the back of Blaine's Lexus, tugging out cardboard boxes filled with various types of Girl Scout cookies. Blaine watched in horror as one girl left noticeable scuff marks on his car's fender, but Kurt rubbed soothing circles into his back and managed to convince him that's they break out the Ding King and get it fixed.

What couldn't be fixed, however, was Kurt's horror at the girls' ineptitude at arranging cookie boxes.

"Girls!" he cried, swiftly gathering up all the boxes and motioning for them to sit down. "Box arranging isn't a joke—it's an art. I would know." He pulled a hand through his bangs. "I took a seminar on it last year."

Blaine smiled at him, crossing his arms and leaning against the pillar on the side of the store door in amusement.

"We haven't got much time, so we can't do anything too elaborate," Kurt continued, placing the boxes back onto the tabletop, "But I was thinking that a miniature cone with the less-popular cookies at the base would suffice."

Elise hopped up from her seat. "But the table isn't proportioned well enough for that," she pointed out. "It'll look stupid and off-center."

"You're stupid and off-center," Liz cried, pointing a finger at Elise defiantly.

"Ladies!" Blaine barked. "Settle down. They're just cookies—"

"Blaine!" Elise whined, bottom lip jutting out in an angry frown.

"You mock us, sir!" Richelle, Thad's little sister, shouted.

"Just cookies? Just cookies? Blaine, we are in a recession and we need to get our footing in an economically unstable world!" Kurt shrilled as he simultaneously piled Lemon Chalet Cremes and Trefoils into a circular shape, forming the base of the cone.

Elise leaned over, grabbed five boxes of Tagalongs, and proceeded to place them atop the steadily growing heap. "I can't believe you're being so darn selfish, Blaine."

Blaine cocked his head to the side. "Don't you think you're being a little bit overzealous...?"

"I CAN BE OVERZEALOUS IF I WANT TO BE, BLAINE," Kurt shouted, pushing an array of cookie boxes at his boyfriend. "Now shut up and help me stack."

Half an hour later, Kurt and Blaine were seated in lawn chairs, surveying the perfectly arranged cookie boxes on the table top. Blaine had his hand in Kurt's, and was about to lean in for a kiss when—

"No displays of PDA, gentlemen, this is war!" Elise declared, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car pulling into the Frye's parking lot. "That's troop 868. Some idiot put us both on the same ground to sell cookies!"

"Darn them," Richelle hissed, standing on tip-toe so she could see over the huge mound of cookie boxes and peer at the white Jeep driving in.

"Now, ladies," Blaine said reasonably, "Let's be fair here. There's plenty of customers—"

"No, no. There really aren't," Kurt pointed out. Blaine shot him a disparaging look.

"And we've got plenty of heart. Plus, we haven't even broken out the songs yet," Blaine continued. "Besides, worst case scenario we lose one, maybe two customers."

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my sweet Porcelain and his strangely minuscule cuddle buddy."

Kurt's head turned around so fast that Blaine swore he could hear the bones crack.

"Coach Sylvester? What are you doing here?"

"Who are you?" Elise asked brazenly, ignoring the throngs of tiny girl scouts erupting from the Jeep. Sue seemed to ignore her.

Kurt and Blaine took a moment to warily watch yet another Jeep drive in, this time painted red.

"I'm guessing you brought your mob of scantily-dressed automatons," Kurt remarked dryly.

Sue Sylvester shrugged and pressed her lips together in a tight line. Kurt was right—not a second after the red Jeep was parked, five or six vapid-looking cheerleaders emerged from the trunk and another two from the actual doors. They were clad in their disturbingly short cheerleading skirts, scarlet bras, and cropped Girl Scout vests.

"Is that even legal?" one of the girls mumbled, pushing a box of Thin Mints into alignment with the rest of the boxes.

"Girls, cover your eyes," Kurt murmured, tugging Elise and Liz closer to him and placing his hands over their faces. He turned to Blaine, silently mouthing, "I think I can see their ovaries from over here."

"Ms. Sylvester! I never knew you led Girl Scout troops," Blaine said politely.

Sue smirked, pulled off her sunglasses, and motioned for one of her Girl Scouts to open her lawn chair. Sitting down, she told Blaine, "Well, you see, Cuddle Buddy, the latest public polls have determined that teammates that perform public service together, win together. So on this fine March day—you've just missed the Ides by three weeks, you know—I decided to pool some of my best members from the squad and raise some money for a good, all-American cause."

Kurt's eyebrow quirked up a little.

"Porcelain, I'd like to introduce to you my troop of Girl Sue-couts," Sue said, gesturing to the number of little kindergarten Girl Scouts dressed up in frilly socks and bright blue Daisy smocks.

"They're Daisies," Tracy gasped. "Their cute factor is easily twice the amount of ours!"

"We're practically pubescent! These girls probably aren't even potty-trained yet!"

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but Sue interrupted him.

"Don't even say it, Porcelain, my Cheerios will say it for me."

"But—"

Sue dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. "Becky, come over here."

Becky, Blaine realized, was a teenager with Down's syndrome, bedecked quite sweetly in red sweatpants, a white turtleneck, and a Daisy's Girl Scout smock. In her hands were a clipboard and pen.

"Write this down, Becky," Sue commanded, resting her head against the lawn chair. "First order of business for today: destroy Girl Scout troop number two-five-two-five."

"I can't believe it," Kurt groaned as he watched the Cheerios gyrating around in their modified Girl Scout uniforms. College-age guys were already beginning to congregate around their cookie booth.

On a much happier note, the very few grandparents who visited the foreclosed Frye's were horrified by such vulgar expression and settled on buying cookies form Kurt and Blaine's booth.

Conversely, these grandparents were very few.

In fact, there was only one of them.

"They're just cookies," Blaine said, wrapping an arm around Kurt's waist and pecking him on the jawline. "Really, they are."

"I wish I was as nonchalant about the matter as you, Blaine," said Kurt, mindlessly toying with the dark curls that tumbled from Blaine's forehead, "but I'm really not that sanguine."

Blaine straightened and grabbed both of Kurt's hands. "We never did make good on that promise to sing. C'mon, let's do it."

Kurt paled.

"Sing, I mean," Blaine added hastily. "Tracy, where's that boombox of yours?"

Tracy peeked her head out from under the table. "Are the Cheerios done with their exotic dancing? Am I allowed to look now?"

Kurt peered over to the booth at the opposite side of the Frye's entrance. The Cheerios were now seated on red-and-white cushions, primly taking sips of Sue Sylvester's master cleanse and wiping the sweat away from their brows. It was getting hard to see, though, since there were so many men swarming around them.

"They're done," Kurt assured her.

"So what song are you having us sing?" Blaine asked curiously.

Alexis cleared her throat, cheeks turning a little pink in embarrassment. "I was going to suggest 'Friday' by Rebecca Black—"

"But you thought I'd bitch slap you if you did, huh?" Kurt asked, his soft blue gaze instantly turning into piercing daggers. Alexis paled and nodded wordlessly.

"Kurt!" Elise shrilled. "Language!"

"I didn't know your boyfriend had such a potty mouth," Penny added piously.

"He speaks the truth, though!" Blaine protested weakly, shooting Kurt a look of warning out of the corner of his eye. Kurt shrugged and toyed with the fabric of his scarf idly.

"Well, so we weren't going to do that," Alexis said, "and I managed to get Elise to figure out what songs the Warblers already knew. So I picked out a few of them—'Teenage Dream', 'Raise Your Glass'. I wanted to keep things pretty current."

Kurt's face was unamused. "You girls are so Top 40," he grumbled.

"No, no. Alexis is right. We can't get too obscure with song selection," Blaine reasoned, taking out his wallet and extracting four dollars. "Penny, grab me a box of Samoas. This one's on me."

Penny scampered forward to retrieve the money and snatched the box of cookies from the top of the heap.

"Hey, hey..." Kurt muttered, ripping the box open as soon as it was in Blaine's hands. "I thought I was done with those songs. If you want me to perform them, I'm going to have to be on a sugar high."

Two renditions of 'Hey, Soul Sister' later, Blaine found that some of the Cheerios were jumping ship and heading over to buy cookies from his table.

"Cute. Do you come with a phone number?" one of the Cheerios asked, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously and leaning into the booth so that her breasts were popping out at him.

Blaine laughed to himself. "Ah, no. Actually I'm ga—"

Kurt slapped his hand away. "Here's his number," he said, scribbling it down in curlique letters and pushing it in the direction of the Cheerio. "If you buy more cookies, he might just respond to your calls...if you know what I mean." Kurt winked at her.

"Ooh," The cheerleader gave Blaine a dazzling smile. "In that case, I'll take another box of Tagalongs." She pressed a twenty-dollar bill with her phone number written on it in pink gel pen into Blaine's open palm. "Keep the change."

"I don't get it," Blaine said, packing up the stereo. "Why did you give all of those cheerleaders my number?"

Kurt was sliding the CDs back into their respective cases. He shrugged nonchalantly. "They wouldn't buy from you if they didn't think they had a chance. Oh, and I didn't give them your phone number."

Blaine quirked an eyebrow up at Kurt.

"I gave them David's, okay?"

"Kurt."

"You can't just jeopardize good business like that!" Kurt lowered his voice and yanked Blaine over behind the pillar so that the girls couldn't hear them. "Blaine, you can't let them think that you're gay. You'll screw with our demographic."

Blaine ran a hand through his hair in resignation. "I swear, you make no sense sometimes—"

"Blaine. Listen to me," Kurt said, voice sharp. "How many gay men do you know in Ohio?"

Blaine instantly busied himself with counting on his fingers. "One, two, three, fo—"

"It was a rhetorical question. Look, Blaine. Just tell them that you'll give them a phone call, take the money, and smile. See? It's easy. Especially for you."

"What?"

"I promise I won't get jealous. I mean, I know you're my boyfriend. And that you're gay. But they don't have to know."

Blaine wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You actually think that's going to work?"

Kurt smirked at him proudly. "Elise? Can we get a profit count up in here?" he called from behind the pillar.

"Hundred and forty-six dollars, Kurt! We're booking it over here like mad!"

"That's a lot of money, isn't it, Kurt?" Blaine asked, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly.

Pulling Blaine closer to him, Kurt said, "Not nearly enough. C'mere."

"Wha—"

"Sex appeal is everything," Kurt said in a sing-song voice, unbuttoning Blaine's shirt halfway and pushing him back into the booth. "Now sell it."

By the end of the cookie sale, the girl scouts ended up cleaning their cookie supply, Kurt had managed to get Blaine totally shirtless, David's number had been distributed over seventy times, and the amount of tips given by the girls exceeded the amount of money they actually paid for their Girl Scout Cookies.

"No harm, no foul," Kurt murmured, leaning up against Blaine as they watched the girls fold up the empty cardboard boxes and toss them into the recycling bins. "And David's going to thank us for this later."

Blaine grinned smugly at Kurt. "You're just happy that you got to see me walking around shirtless."

"Not really," said Kurt, poking Blaine's abdomen absentmindedly.

When Blaine's face crumpled into an adorable pout, Kurt chortled and added, "Just kidding."

"C'mere," Blaine said, wheeling Kurt around so that they were facing each other. He stood up on tip-toe and went in for a soft kiss that gradually grew into—

"Boys!" Elise shrieked, poking her head out from Blaine's Lexus and chucking a Thin Mint at the back of Kurt's head.

"Blaine and Kurt!" Penny yelled, equally indignant as she stuck her torso out from the sunroof of Kurt's Navigator.

"Stop screwing around! It's four o'clock and I need to be home in time for dinner!" Liz shouted.

Grinning, Kurt pressed his lips against Blaine's for one last time, slipped his hand into his, and led him back to their respective cars.

When Blaine had finally dropped off all of the girls and opened the door to his home, he was surprised to see his mother lying on the couch, sleeping. There was a steadily melting bowl of Haagen Daaz resting in the crook of her arm, and a rerun of 'Friends' blaring out from the television. Evangeline Anderson was still clad in the silk pajamas Kurt had given to her as a birthday present.

"I thought you had work," Blaine said, pressing a finger to the remote control and silencing Rachel and Ross' witty banter.

Evangeline was jolted out of her slumber.

"I'm a busy woman," she said, a subtle smile appearing on her face. "Anyway, you needed the service hours."

Blaine shrugged and shuffled off into the kitchen in search of a loaf of bread and some cold cuts.

"Blaine, darling, did you manage to save any cookies for me?" Evangeline asked, padding over to the counter and seating herself there.

Blaine shot her a wink. "No. We sold out. Because apparently, mother..." He sawed away at a loaf of sourdough. "Sex sells."

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