A/N: Oh. Hi. I'm not dead! I've just been very neglectful, to all of my stories on here. For that I apologize.

I don't know how long it will be until my next update, and I won't try to make any empty promises. But hopefully this update can tide you guys over for a little while longer until I can knock out the next few chapters.

For those of you guys who have stuck around with this, you are completely amazing and I don't deserve you. Reviewers, I would just love to cuddle all of you up and weep over every single one of you. Even those of you who don't review but stalk this from afar, I adore you. You guys are the reason I keep writing, so hopefully this is up to par.

Rating: M

Pairings: Klaine, Niff, vague mentions of Brittana.

Warnings: Character death, violence, slight gore, language and sexual situations. Alternate Universe, obviously.

Summary: The year is 2047, and Homicide Detective Kurt Hummel was just called on as Primary for a well-known District Attorney's murder. As the bodies continue to pile up, all traces lead back to one Blaine Anderson, who Kurt can't help but feel is innocent. Something connects this case that just doesn't seem to add up, and when one body becomes another, and another, Kurt is running out of time to figure out just what it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned.

"Thanks for this, Blaine," Brittney said softly, pushing her hair off of her forehead and glancing around her living room absent-mindedly. "You didn't have to."

Blaine stood from where he was crouched taping a box closed. He looked around the empty living room, once full of family trinkets and Britt's knickknacks, now only bearing their worn and loved couch. Brittney was standing in the middle of the large room, looking lost and confused.

He walked over to her and took her small hands in his, waiting until she lifted her dazed eyes to his. He leaned forward and planted a kiss softly on her forehead. He felt her tremble slightly, and she pressed forward with a shaky sigh, curling into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, gripping her as she shook. A glance down confirmed that she wasn't crying, but her eyes were clenched shut and she was biting her lip.

"It just doesn't feel real," she said after a moment. "I keep thinking I'm just having a bad dream, that she'll walk back through the door and kiss me and play with the kids and hold me. Then I see the kids, and I see my parents, and I remember I'm not dreaming."

His eyes slid shut of their own accord, and gripped her tighter, uncertain how to reply or how to lessen her grief. It wasn't like this when his own father had died; his mother was already gone, and his grief was contained only to the loss of thinking of what kind of Father he could have been instead of the man he actually was. It was a new area for him, and he hated himself for not being able to help his friend.

"I'm here for you," he finally replied. "Always."

She sighed once more, turning her face into his neck. "I know," she said, lifting her head, gazing at him and lifting a hand to cup his cheek. "I know. I'm sorry."

He blinked, thrown for a moment. He lifted his own hand to cover hers. "What for, Britts?"

"You lost her too," she reminded; eyes unbearably sad. "She was yours too."

His throat tightened, and he turned his face into her cheek to press his lips to her palm instead of replying. He held her hand there for a moment, just breathing, then stepped back, clearing his throat softly. He nodded at the boxes lining the wall. "I'll have someone come by later to get those. They should be in Ohio by tomorrow evening."

She puffed out a breath, looking at the boxes, her hands on her hips. "That'd be great. Thank you." She looked around the living room again, and walked over to a large window. Blaine knew she was looking out at where the kids were sitting on the front lawn with their grandparents. She ran a hand lightly down the window sill. "It's weird to think that we're leaving. That we're leaving our home. That Santana isn't going with us. I keep second guessing myself, wondering if this is the right thing to do, the right thing to take the kids from the only home they've ever known, away from the people who have become their family."

He said nothing, waiting until she said all she needed to. He didn't mention that the house would be here if she ever wanted to come back. She didn't need to know at the moment. It'd just overwhelm her to find out that he kept the house for her. But if she or the kids ever needed it, it'd always be there for them.

Brittney let out a short laugh. "San and I have lived in this house for almost eight years. We've been in New York nearing ten. It's more home than Lima ever was."

Now he stepped forward, looking out the window with her. And there were her two little ones, sitting on the small yard doing nothing as their grandparents tried to occupy them, tried to distract them from the fact that they were going to one of their mother's funeral today. "That's why," Blaine said quietly. "You need your parents. We're your family too, but what you need—what your children need—are your parents to help you get back on your feet, to help you adjust. New York will always be here. But you need them, and the kids need you." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, kissing the back of her head. "And the best place you can help them is Lima. You know that town. As much as you may not like it, it's what's best for all of you. You're doing the right thing."

He heard her swallow thickly, and she reached up to grip his hand tightly. "You always know the exact thing to say. Thank you. For everything."

They stayed staring out the window, both grieving, and watching the four in front of the empty house grieve with them. "You're welcome. Always."

*.*

"Listen half-wit, I don't care if you're currently wiping the president's ass," Kurt glanced up as he heard Puck snap, stepping into the pen. "Find them. And for Christ's sake, wipe the fucking ketchup off your face, would you?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow and sat back in his creaky chair, looking at Puck curiously. "Problem?"

Puck snarled, something not like him what so ever, and Kurt felt the other eyebrow raise. "I'll take that as a yes."

He rolled his eyes, plopping down on Kurt's desk. "The little officer MacGuire decided to adopt into our little Homicide family got into a freaking chase over on tenth. Saw two guys snap up this lady's purse—though she kind of deserved it, only a fucking tourist would be sweeping that thing back and forth in broad daylight. Anyway, saw it and decided to give chase. Not only did they guys get away, he ran into two vendors and caused a mobile accident. Shit head."

"Why are you dealing with MacGuire's aide?"

"I was just heading back from Elpans when the little dumb ass decided to report it on his communicator. I was closest and just so happened to be the lucky one to scoop up all his shit." He snorted, cheering up slightly. "The tanning I gave him will be nothing when MacGuire gets to him."

"Never took you to be the glass-half full, type." Kurt shook his head. "Anyway. What've you got for me?"

Puck took a disc from his pocket and slid it across Kurt's desk. "Swung by TEDD. See if Abrams has gotten anything accomplished. Got the fully reconstructed security disc from Elpans."

"Perfect," Kurt snapped it up and slid it into his unit. He frowned as Puck nudged his way over to get a better view of the screen. "Gee, Puckerman, am I in your way?"

"A bit," Puck said easily, obviously immune to sarcasm. "But thanks for moving over, Princess."

Kurt resisted the urge to grumble, and satisfied himself by scowling at the back of Puck's head before pressing play.

"Hummel."

Kurt glanced up as Sylvester's voice cut through the bull pen, and he quickly pressed pause before the disc could play out. "Yes, ma'am."

"My office. Now." Kurt narrowed his eyes when she turned on her heel and into her office, leaving the door open as a clear indication that he was to follow.

Puck whistled from beside him staring after her, and turning his eyes to Kurt's. "Something's up with the, LT. Watch where you step, Hummel."

"She's probably just in one of her moods," Kurt replied, standing. "Needs someone to snipe at without having a formal complaint landing on the Commander's desk. Be right back. Don't go through my shit."

Puck's eyes narrowed as he glanced consideringly at Kurt's desk. "Why? What do you have in there? You wouldn't've said anything unless you had good stuff in there."

Puck reached for a drawer, and Kurt reached over to slam it close. "Mine," he said, glaring. "I'll know if you've touched, and if you have then I'll break every one of your fingers then make you eat them."

"Sir, yes sir." Puck saluted mockingly.

With one last glare, Kurt turned away and rolled his eyes with a small smile when he heard his drawer open. His smile grew when he heard Puck let out a yelp. "Shit. Hummel! What the hell?"

"Told you not to touch it," Kurt called over his shoulder. He knocked once on Sylvester's door frame. "You needed me, Lieutenant?"

"Shut the door, Hummel. Sit."

Kurt kept his expression blank, and did as he was told. He stepped into the office and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for her to speak.

"It's come to my attention that you ran a search on Officer Evans." Her eyes were steady.

Kurt tilted his head, nodding. "I instructed Detective Abrams to do the procedure background check on Sam Evans, yes."

She nodded, narrowing her eyes. "The basic background is procedure, correct. However, what is not procedure is the second level background search."

Kurt felt his insides clench, but his expression remained neutral. "Lieutenant, I can assure you, Detective Abrams has not run a second level on Evans, nor had I instructed him to do so. Not only would a warrant be required, it wasn't necessary at the moment."

"I'm not talking about Abrams," she snapped, leaning forward. "Cut the bullshit, Hummel. You think I don't know what Puckerman can do? And the fact that he's with you on this case, I can add two and two. Not only did you order him to cross the line, it came back to bite you in the ass."

"I did not order Puckerman to do any such thing." His voice was as cool as her eyes. "And if I had, and he had gone through with it—which I did not, nor did he—you've said yourself that you know what Puckerman is capable of. So it wouldn't've come back to bite anyone in the ass." He kept his eyes steady on hers. "Which it won't do now, considering neither Puckerman nor I had anything to do with what you're accusing."

"Are you willing to hold that claim up under testing?"

He felt his blood warm. He could pass it, nine times out of ten, which wasn't the problem. The problem was what she was implying. "Are you going to set one up?"

She stared at him, long and hard. He gave nothing away. At last, she sat back, eyes still on his. "I've heard some things. Regarding you and Anderson."

"And what might that be, Lieutenant?"

"Are you involved with him?" She asked bluntly.

"No."

She shook her head in disgust. "You think I don't know what you're doing here? Tiptoeing around the truth? And what about TEDD's new equipment?"

"What Anderson does with his money and electronics has nothing to do with me."

"I think you need to step away from this case," she said after silence had stretched in the office for a moment.

What had warmed inside him now turned cold. "Step away." He stated blankly.

"Yes," she nodded. "Step away. Assign it to someone else. Not Puckerman," she added.

Kurt reined himself in, and his fists clenched behind his back. "You're basing this on rumors regarding a relationship between Anderson and I—which doesn't exist, might I add—and false accusations about a second level search on Evans."

"No," she snapped. "I'm requesting it because the goddamn primary can't get his head on straight."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but my head has been on perfectly fine. I've been running this case exactly as procedure requires. With respect, I'd like to deny your request." His eyes flattened. "Unless you would like to make it an order, sir."

Her face lost any warmth whatsoever. It was cold and hard now. "I can go to the commander with this."

"And you'll be denied and facing embarrassment and disrespect from all the cops in that pen. Not to mention a new cop would be assigned who'd have to start all over and would never be as thorough as my team. Fuck it, Sylvester," he snapped. "This case is mine, and Lopez and Evans are mine. They're a part of me now, and I can either run this case officially or unofficially. But there's no way I'm letting them go."

She lowered her chin, and Kurt saw something like contempt enter her eyes before they shut off completely. "Shut the door on your way out. You can have them for now. Three days," she added as he turned his back, and he paused. "You have three days to make considerable headway. Then you're out."

He said nothing, instead nodded curtly and exited the room.

"Shit, Hummel you need to see this, it's right here, clear as day—" Puck cut off when he glanced away from the screen and saw Kurt's expression. "What's wrong?"

Kurt bent his face next to Puck's until wariness entered the other man's eyes. No one paid any attention to them, subtly looking away to give them privacy. "When you did that search on Evans, and assured me that you left no traces. Were you bullshitting me?"

"I'm good at what I do," Puck defended. "There wasn't a fucking hairline of trace left." Enough insult entered alongside the wariness to convince Kurt that it wasn't Puck's doing.

Kurt nodded, and stepped back. "Then something's going on here that we don't know about."

Puck snorted, his shoulders relaxing. "What else is new with this case?"

"Good point. Show me what's on the disc now, and I'll fill you in afterward."

The disc was split in two different screens, showing the front of Elpans and the foyer on the inside. A woman was standing inside the foyer—the manager, Kurt recognized. She was talking to a man who must've been the greeter.

There were people walking up and down the street, most on their 'links, others with coffee, a woman with a child.

"This is where it cut off," Puck said, staring at the screen. "It was reconstructed to bring back the image."

About a minute after the cutoff point, Lopez appeared. Kurt could see the difference from the slight Buzzer. Her eyes were a bit heavier, and she was blinking slowly.

And as Kurt watched, Strollop came up beside her, gripping her elbow companionably.

"There," Kurt said softly, leaning forward and pointing to Strollop's hand. "That's the tranq—twenty minutes after the buzzer. Still a bit out of it, a little sleepy so she doesn't really notice things. His hand is facing inwards; nobody can see the injection into the crook of her elbow. Smooth," Kurt nodded. "Very smooth."

Strollop then leaned down to say something in her ear, and she frowned slightly, looking a bit confused as she was led away from the restaurant. Inside, the manager glanced at the clock, shaking her head as the man asked her something and turned to help him.

"Here is where the video comes back."

Kurt shook his head two minutes after Santana was led away to her death. "Easy. So fucking easy."

"Yeah," Puck's gaze was hard. He shook his head, and turned back toward Kurt. "Abram's is working on the body drop outside of the apartment buildings; he should have that for you by the end of the day. What now?"

"Now," Kurt said, "We go see the manager, and I can fill you in."

"Can we get lunch first?" Puck asked, trailing behind him.

"Only if you're buying."

*.*

The manger was upset, understandably. She didn't pace, nor did she cry, but she sat very still, the only movement being her hands which she wrung in agitation.

"She was late to check things over; it was no problem, of course, the restaurant was closed to everyone but them, but I guess I have this thing about punctuality. Mr. Anderson had assured me that she'd be there either before or at that time."

"And when you realized no one was going to arrive?" Kurt asked.

She shook her head, sighing. "At first, I just figured they had gotten hung up. Like I said, the restaurant was closed. It wasn't a big deal. Maybe they were pushed back. I didn't want to call Mrs. Lopez, Mr. Anderson informed me that it was a surprise and I didn't want to give her away. I thought, maybe they had pushed the time back and I just hadn't realized, and checked for any missed messages, but nothing. Then I saw the news report."

"You didn't hear any disturbance at all?"

"No. The walls are soundproofed from the outside. Even if they weren't, we're located on a fairly busy street."

Kurt nodded and turned off his recorder. "I'd like to thank you for supplying us with those security discs."

She waved a hand. "Not only is it my job to be of any assistance, Mr. Anderson sent out a memo to all of his managers to cooperate with you in any way."

Kurt saw Puck purse his lips and turn away discreetly. Kurt fought off a flush of mortification by sheer will and shook her hand, and led them out of the restaurant.

"Impressions?" Kurt asked when they were on the street.

"Anderson seems to be firmly wrapped around your lovely finger?"

Kurt shot him a glance, and Puck chuckled. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Efficient. Feeling guilty. Cooperative. Must be good at her job if she's one of Anderson's managers."

"Innocent?"

"That's what my gut's telling me," Puck nodded.

"Mine too. Well, that's one to cross off the list."

Puck cast him a sorrowful glance. "My gut's also telling me that it needs substance; otherwise it may start eating itself."

"Jesus." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Go get something from the vendor."

"You are a god." Puck shot off to the nearest one. Kurt shook his head and made his way toward his vehicle, which they had, surprisingly, managed to park on the street.

He had just started the car when the passenger's side opened and Puck slid in, already jamming a soy dog in his face. "Here," he said in a muffled voice, shoving fries and a Pop at him.

Kurt shook his head in disgust at Puck and took the offering. "Just learn to eat, Puckerman?"

"I'm starving," he said around another mouthful. "Don't judge me."

"When you're spewing masticated soy dog over my car," Kurt said while wiping said soy dog delicately off of his dash. "I have every right to judge."

Puck said something under his breath that luckily for him, Kurt didn't catch. In a louder voice he asked, "So what was the deal with Sylvester? You looked ready to spit nails after you came out of her office."

Kurt felt everything inside him knot up once again at the mention of it as he pulled away from the curb. "You know," he said lightly, "I never understood that expression. Who the hell would put nails in their mouth to begin with?"

Puck shot him a bland look, and Kurt continued, rolling his eyes, "Sylvester wants to remove us from the case."

"What?" Puck looked both alarmed and indignant, and oddly enough, it eased most of the tension in Kurt. "What do you mean? What for? When? Why?"

"I mean, she wants to reassign it to someone else, she thinks I don't have my head on straight, brought up the second layer search on Evans," Puck frowned. "Anderson. I'm not sure when, but if we don't make serious headway in forty-eight, we're off."

"What about Anderson? And how does she know about the second layer?"

"She thinks I'm…" he searched for the words awkwardly, frowning. "Involved with him. Romantically. Which I'm not," he added with a glare, seeing Puck's smirk. "And I'm not sure how she knows, especially if you didn't leave any trails."

Puck paused for a moment, thinking. Finally he said at length, "You don't buy any of it."

Kurt sighed. "I don't, no. I think her reasons are bullshit. I don't know what's going on, but this case is mine. These people are mine." He shot a glance at Puck. "I'm not letting them go."

"Good," Puck nodded. "'Cause if you were gonna, I'd think you were involved in something that made you hit your head."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Should I take that as some sort of back-handed compliment, considering you're commenting on my listening to superior demands?"

Puck took a drink of his fizzy pop regally, turning his head away. "Take it how you will, Detective Sergeant. What now?"

"Now," Kurt said, pulling in to NYPD's parking garage, "You get out, and see how far Abrams has gotten on the background with Strollop." He paused thoughtfully, weighing his options, and cast the other man a considering glance. "And—this is an option, a request—since I know you can get past SafeGuard, and Sylvester is blowing some sort of smoke—"

"You want me to see what else I can find, go deeper without sending up flags," Puck finished. He nodded, tossing back the rest of his pop. "Done."

"If you don't think it can happen without—" Kurt started, only to be cut off once again.

"I said done," Puck said firmly, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head, sighing, unable to resist the small smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Puck got out of the car, and leaned his head back in. "Where are you off to?"

Kurt glanced at the clock, seeing it was nearing four already and wondering where the hell the day had gone. He and Anderson had scheduled to meet at five thirty. "I think I'm going to run by the morgue, check in with Fabray, then head over to Anderson's offices. He's taking me through the security, and giving me a look at the scalpel."

Puck smirked once again, and Kurt waved him out impatiently. "Go, before you say something I'll have to hit you for. I'll tag you later."

"Mmhm." Puck shot him a suggestive look, but zipped his lips and shut the door. He walked away, whistling.

"Asshole." Kurt muttered with a snort. He keyed in his in-dash 'link for the morgue. Quinn's face slid on the screen, goggles on.

"Ah, Detective Sergeant," she said pleasantly. "Just the man I was looking for."

"I feel the same way. Where have you been all my life?"

She quirked a small smile and slid the micro-goggles on the top of her head. "Right here baby; elbow deep in blood, gore, and dead bodies."

"My soul-mate." He paused. "That's kind of disturbing, actually."

She laughed. "Don't think on it and it won't seem as morbid. What'd you need?"

"Wanted to see how you're doing with my body."

She took off a glove and ran a hand through her ruffled blonde hair, eyes professional now. "As I've said before, cause of death is the same MO as Lopez's. Clean. In the Head Medical Examiner's opinion, professionally so. Quick," she added, giving him a level look. "It was quick. Quick enough that it was painless."

Kurt nodded, thanking that at least the boy didn't go through the same pain that Santana had. "Where's he at now?"

"Parents are coming to retrieve the body," she sighed. "They verified by 'link. No matter how many times you see the same thing—the grief, the pain and denial—it's always different."

He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. A survivor's pain was never the same twice, though the feelings were exact at the core of things.

She shook her head, as if clearing it. "Anyway. Funeral is the day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Attending?"

"No," she shot him a small smile, eyes weary. "I doubt they'd want the examiner who cut up their son's body to be at his funeral."

"I'm leading the case on his murder," he said, eyebrow raised. "Imagine how that'll feel."

She hummed, and paused. "She's strong. The mother," she added. "She had already gone through that first wave when they called in. She held up."

"Yeah," Kurt said, remembering the older blonde woman he had spoken with directly after Sam's death. The father had sobbed, he remembered. She sat, holding him up, tears falling silently while Kurt spoke to them both. Only when he had turned away to leave, the door shutting behind him, had he heard her begin to weep. "Yeah, she is."

"Anyway," she said briskly. "I've given you all there is to give you."

"Thanks, Fabray."

"Just doing my job," she said before clicking off.

He sat back in his seat and sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He looked at the glove box and contemplated taking a blocker for his headache. And, he thought with a small wince, rotating his ankle and touching his cheekbone lightly, for his freaking battle wounds. He struggled with himself for a moment longer and decided against it. He hated the damn things; no need to take one if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

He shook his head to clear it, feeling more than a little punchy from lack of sleep, and put his vehicle on auto. Best not to get in an accident at the moment. He was just getting ready to dial his 'ink again when it pinged before he could touch it. He raised an eyebrow at seeing the incoming transmission.

"Jones," he said neutrally after he had answered.

The woman on the other line had her dark hair swept back on top of her head in a messy bun. For the first time he could ever recall, she wore no enhancements, and she had thin wire glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She shifted, and he could see the collar of a sweatshirt instead of her usual flashy suits.

But her eyes were all business. "My contacts came back with that info you requested." She lifted a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Not much here to warrant suspect status for your case. Interesting, but hardly murder-capable."

"I'll be the judge of that," he said easily. He nodded to her attire. "What's with the threads?"

"Working from home. No need to be all gussied up unless I'm called in."

"Gotcha. Gonna shoot me those files?"

She nodded, eyes narrowed. "Yeah. There a reason you wanted this background without sending up flags?"

"Best to take precautions. The man's an ace behind a keyboard; if we didn't go the other route he'd know that I was looking at him deeper."

She shook her head. "You're the cop. Remember our deal, Hummel. I want in when this breaks."

"You'll get in. Thanks for the info. Now let me go do my job."

He ended the transmission before she could reply and keyed in Anderson's direct line.

After a moment, Pillsbury's face swam on screen, an apologetic look in her eyes. "Sergeant Hummel," she said. "I'm sorry; Mr. Anderson is finishing up his last meeting of the day. It should be finished soon."

He quirked a smile for her and shook his head. "No problem. Just wanted to let someone know I was on my way over. This works perfectly. Could you let him know I'll be there in about five minutes?"

She nodded; face relaxing into professional lines once again. "Of course. Mr. Anderson requested dinner be brought up; he's having a late night here. Will you be joining him?"

"Ah, no." he said uncomfortably. "I'll be there on business."

She raised a reproachful eyebrow, "Even businessmen have to eat, Sergeant." She cast a sharp glance over what she could see of him on screen. She nodded decisively. "I'll order extra."

"I don't—" she clicked off before he could finish and he stared at the screen in disbelief. He shook his head. "What the hell is with those people?" he muttered, sitting back while his vehicle took him to Blaine's offices.

*.*

The blonde ditz at the receptionists' desk shot him a wary glance as he made his way across the lobby to the elevator. He kept his face blank until he got into the lift and only when the doors closed did he let himself let out a snort.

He leaned against the mirrored walls, checking his watch. He shoved his hands in his front pockets, feeling strangely jittery. He blamed it on the energy pill.

The doors slid open smoothly, and he stepped out, heading down the hallway to Pillsbury's desk. Anderson was leaning against her desk, talking quietly to her when he came in to view.

The other man was already glancing up with a warm smile, which slid off his face when he got a look at Kurt. His eyes narrowed, and he swept over, gripping Kurt's chin softly, tilting his head to get a better look at Kurt's face.

"Whoa," Kurt said, blinking, startled.

Blaine ran his other hand over the bruise on Kurt's cheekbone softly, and Kurt's stomach tightened. "What happened here?"

"Uh," Kurt said, a little overwhelmed by Anderson's proximity and the gentle hand on his face. "Tussle at the Cop Shop. Other guy's worse off. Job hazard."

Blaine hummed noncommittally, still running his fingers gently over the bruise. Kurt swallowed without meaning to, and Anderson's gaze lifted from the bruise to look Kurt in the eyes. Something shifted and Kurt felt his mouth go dry.

He heard someone cough, and Kurt snapped back, realizing where they were. He stepped back quickly, Anderson's hands falling away. Montgomery and Thompson were standing in the doorway in the hallway from the elevator, looking distinctly amused. Pillsbury, Kurt saw with mingled embarrassment and gratefulness, was looking away discreetly, busying herself with something on her desk.

"Detective Sergeant," Thompson greeted, glancing at Blaine, who was running a hand through his hair, looking flustered.

"Thompson," Kurt replied with as much dignity as he could gather.

"Are you joining us in the labs?" Montgomery asked cheerfully, eyes twinkling.

Kurt nodded, swallowing and resisting the urge to fidget. "Yes. That's why I'm here. Will you be joining us?"

Kurt thought he heard Thompson murmur something about a chaperone, and Kurt saw the tips of Blaine's ears redden. Kurt was so fascinated with the sight of the other man actually blushing; he didn't realize he was staring until Montgomery said loudly, "We sure will. David is the department head of that division, and I'm supposed to be giving you some excuse about how I'm security and technology head or whatever. But where David and Blaine go; I go."

Kurt bit back a smile at that, thinking about how much Montgomery reminded him of Jeff. The smile faded back at the thought of his best friend, and he nodded once. "Fine with me."

Kurt turned to Anderson to suggest they get started, and saw the other man frowning at him faintly. Kurt quickly blanked his face, wondering if he had seen something that Kurt was thinking, and the frown deepened. Kurt glanced at the other two men and saw they weren't even paying them any mind. Kurt turned his attention back to Blaine and gestured at the lift. "Shall we?" he asked.

Blaine nodded, frown clearing smoothly before he turned to Montgomery and Thompson. "Yes." He raised his voice slightly. "If you two are done gossiping like old women, let's give the Detective Sergeant the grand tour."

"What's got you antsy?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, trailing behind Hummel and Blaine.

Wes glanced at David, more startled than he should've been to know that David noticed. David always noticed everything, especially where Wes was concerned.

Wes didn't say anything for a long moment and David pulled them back a little while the other men climbed in the elevator, holding it open for them. Wes ignored Blaine's not-exactly-patient look. And shook his head minutely. "Nothing."

Without even looking, Wes knew that David was frowning at him. He felt his hands curl around his elbow, and David waved for Blaine and Hummel to go ahead. Blaine frowned but went ahead, and Wes saw the considering glance that Hummel shot at them.

The other men disappeared from view as the elevator doors slid closed, and Wes turned to David warily. "What are you hiding?" David asked without pomp or circumstance, eyes directly on Wes'.

"I—" Wes sighed, frowning and rubbing the back of his neck, looking away while he tried to think of how to word what it was. "I think—no, I have something to tell you and Blaine. That neither of you will like. At all. And—" he cast a glance at the elevator doors. "It has to do with the investigation."

"Hey," David said softly, sounding concerned, and he even rubbed his hands up and down Wes' arms, though he didn't like being too affectionate. Wes knew he wouldn't be doing even this if Emma could see. "You know you can tell me anything."

Wes felt his stomach clench, and he glanced up into David's warm brown eyes. He swallowed thickly at how kind they looked, knowing they might not look that way when Wes was finished.

He couldn't say anything. He clenched his eyes tight and curled his fingers in David's jacket, pulling him forwards and pushing his head into David's neck; breathing and trying to think past the panic.

"Shh," David's arms wrapped around him, and he could hear the confusion in his voice. "Wes?"

Wes let out a deep, shuddering breath, and opened his mouth to speak, still gripping him tightly.

*.*

Kurt watched as Blaine frowned at the closed elevator doors, his reflection slight distorted in the silver metal.

He stamped down on the urge to touch his sleeve and instead asked softly, "Problem?"

The other man seemed to remember he wasn't alone, and glanced at Kurt in confusion. "What? Oh, no."

"Montgomery didn't look so hot." Kurt nodded to the closed doors.

Blaine sighed, leaning back against the glass wall that Kurt was leaned against, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his well-fitted jeans. So well fitted that Kurt had to stop his gaze from straying every thirty seconds.

"You noticed that too?"

Kurt hummed noncommittally, and Blaine scratched his jaw, his nails rubbing against the hint of stubble shadowing it. "David will handle it." He said certainly.

"Are they…" Kurt raised his eyebrows significantly.

Blaine smiled softly. "They're Wes and David," he said simply, laughing at the look Kurt shot him. "No, seriously. That's what they've said since high school. I don't really know if they're together or if they're just so used to being dependent on each other that they can't be apart. They've lived together since middle school. Same dorms in Middle, and same roomed together in High School and College. They have a place together; I just don't know if they actually make use of the other rooms."

Kurt tilted his head. "Isn't that weird? That you're their best friend and you don't know?"

Blaine paused, as if actually thinking about it, while watching the elevator lift go down beyond the lobby floors. "No," he said finally. "It's just how they've always been. Whether they're together or not wouldn't make any difference to me."

"You're not curious at all?"

Blaine shook his head, giving Kurt a small smile. "It is what it is." His smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made Kurt's own lips want to pull up into a smile. "What's with the twenty questions?"

Kurt shrugged, jamming his hands in his pockets. "While you may not be curious, I am."

"About them?"

"About everything," Kurt felt his lips pull despite himself as he remembered something that Jeff had said about him probably being an obnoxious child if Kurt asked as many questions as he did now. "'Guess I'm just a curious person."

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but the elevator doors slid open, revealing the hallway Kurt had seen in the security videos. "After you," Blaine swept his arm out to indicate Kurt should step out, and he did so, rolling his eyes even as he took in the layout.

"You only have the one camera?"

Blaine nodded, stepping up to the door Strollop had walked through. "It's a short hallway."

"Any eyes inside the lab?"

Blaine shot him a bland look. "If there were, I would've known for sure it was Strollop immediately after Wes and David reported the LS missing. Not to mention, you'd have the security vids."

Kurt made a face at Blaine's retreating back. He followed him into the lab, closing the door behind him.

Kurt stopped. "Whoa."

The 'lab' was huge. If it could even be called that. To Kurt it looked like a large, high-tech warehouse. It was completely open, with a large panel of various e-things that Kurt had never even seen before. One wall was made up of four different screens, now turned off. On further inspection, there were two hallways, one on one side of the room, and one on the other.

Kurt felt his eyebrows rise, and he turned to Blaine who looked amused at Kurt's shameless gaping. Kurt quickly frowned, looking away and pretending he wasn't gawking. "So," he said nonchalantly, walking past Blaine. "Where are the LS's located? And why the hell aren't there any cameras with all of this," he gestured to the electronics, "lying around?"

Blaine nodded to the hallway leading off to the right. "All prototypes and clean projects are down that way at the end of the hall. And there aren't any cameras because all of the experiments interfere, so they'd be dead useless anyway. Not to mention," he added, eyes darkening. "Most who are able to come here are trusted implicitly. There is no way to break in that door without the access code and key, and only the upper levels have those."

Kurt cast him a side-long glance, noticing the tension in his jaw. "Was Strollop trusted implicitly?"

Blaine ran a hand through his curls, frowning around the lab. "I didn't know him. My father gave the go-ahead, so he must have trusted him, otherwise he wouldn't be here." He gave a sardonic laugh. "Looks like that was a bad judgment call."

Kurt felt his heart tug in sympathy, and pushed it aside, scowling. He had to curl his hand into a fist to restrain himself from reaching a hand out to lie on the other man's arm. Instead, he turned away, giving Blaine a moment and wondering at the bitter taste in his mouth at doing so.

Finally, Kurt heard Blaine clear his throat, and the curly haired man gestured to the door where the prototypes were located, face once again clear. "Would you care to see the layout?"

Kurt nodded, and Blaine walked down the hallway. There were doors on either sides, with various numbers on each. Third door down from the end of the hallway and to the left, Blaine paused. Not only did Blaine key in his code, and swipe his card, he leaned into the eye directly above the hey-in panel, and his eye was scanned.

Clearance: code green level five, Anderson, Blaine.

Blaine stepped back as he opened the door, letting Kurt enter first. Kurt frowned at him, but asked, "So while he could've stolen a key card, and found out the code by other means, he actually had to have clearance to get into here."

"Correct," Blaine nodded, closing the door behind them. The walls were lined with metal safes, and Blaine walked over to the safe Kurt assumed held the laser scalpel, entering his code.

Kurt stepped up as the door opened, and inside were five shelves, stretching how bar back, Kurt didn't know. On each shelf there were boxes made of—he frowned, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Is that plastic?" Kurt asked in disbelief, giving Blaine an incredulous look.

Blaine smiled, leaning to remove a box. He closed the safe door after retrieving it, and walked over to a table in the middle of the room, placing the see through box on it. "High form of Plexiglas, actually. More durable than plastic, and more eco-friendly."

Kurt shook his head. "But all those security precautions and they're in Plexiglas?"

Blaine shrugged, opening the box without pomp or circumstance. Inside the box, there were boxes within, each small enough to fit a LS. Blaine removed one, and slid out the laser scalpel. He handed it over to Kurt.

Kurt frowned, holding it in his hand. "Light," he said, glancing at Blaine.

He nodded, leaning back against the table. "It wouldn't be as marketable if it were heavy. Most medical professionals want something easily adjustable and that moves fluidly."

Kurt turned his attention back to what he believed in fact was his murder weapon. It was about the diameter of a pencil, and just as long. The description both Blaine and Fabray gave him were spot on. Kurt gripped the handle at the end, and stepped back.

"Would've come up behind him," Kurt muttered, seeing the parking garage of Evans' building in his mind. Kurt walked up a few steps, and kept the laser scalpel in his right hand. He saw it as it had played out in the video and as he could imagine it. "Cool," Kurt said, barely even realizing he was speaking out loud. "Kept the LS in his right hand for simpler access. Used his left to incapacitate Evans. Taller than me, but Evans was around my height, so he had momentum." Kurt brought his left arm up, bent inward so his elbow pointed down, and brought it down quickly, imagining the same thing being done to the back of Evans' neck. "Fell to his knees. Wouldn't be as clean to do it this way. The scalpel could curve forward and end up puncturing his face. Too bloody, and he was told to keep it clean. He takes pride in his work, so he flipped him around for the cleaner kill. Plus, he gets the added bonus of having Evans look up at him and knowing he was going to die without even knowing his killer."

Kurt mimed it, scalpel still in his right hand. He imagined Evans on his knees, and flipped the invisible figure around. Kurt brought up the scalpel, and brought it back down in a smooth arc, right where he imagined Evans' temple to be. "Smooth, easy, clean." Kurt said, stepping back again and placing the scalpel on the table. "Kept the weapon. Went through too much work not to. Placed it somewhere on his body. Twelve steps and he was out the door of the parking garage. Security was deactivated. He was in, and out onto the busy streets. Kept the weapon," Kurt repeated, frowning. "To use again?"

Kurt shook his head and turned back, coming back to himself. He saw Blaine standing there, watching him. Kurt paused, frowning. "What?"

Blaine shook his head, turning back around and placing the scalpel in the box it came in and returning that to the Plexiglas. "If it was that cool, that calm and collected for him," he said finally, lifting the box to return it to the safe. "Was it the same when he was doing it to Santana?"

Kurt felt shock ripple through him, and he blinked. "Shit, Blaine, I'm sorry, I didn't even—"

"No," Blaine interrupted, closing the safe and turning to face him. He folded his arms and leaned back against the safe. "Don't apologize. It's good that you can do that. That you can understand him, how he is and how he thought. I don't want to be able to do that," he added, giving Kurt a benign smile. "But it's a good thing that you can understand it."

"The better I understand him, the better I can find him," Kurt said softly, still improvising the thoughts of the murder that had killed Lopez in front of Blaine.

"I believe you," Blaine said simply. "I don't know why, considering I barely know you, but I do. And for some reason I believe you will find him, and you won't stop until you do."

"I will," Kurt promised. He would because he was a cop, because it was wrong to play god with people's lives, because murder was an insult to him. He would to put the minds of the grieving at ease. And now he would because he had made a promise.

"I believe you," Blaine said again. He gave a small, amused smile, tilting his head. "You called me Blaine without being urged into it."

Kurt rolled his eyes, the tension easing from his shoulders. Blaine laughed, and reached out a hand to pull Kurt forward. "Come on," he said, smiling. "Let's go find Wes and David for supper. Emma informed me you'd be eating with us."

Kurt scowled. "Not by choice."

"Emma kind of dictates everybody. You'll get used to that." Before Kurt could consider that statement further, Blaine continued. "Besides; though that other guy earlier may have gotten off worse in the injury department, you still have your own." He nodded to Kurt's leg. "You're limping, Detective Sergeant."

Kurt growled as Blaine led him out of the lab, laughing at the obscenities spilling from behind Kurt's clenched teeth.

*.*

Blaine frowned as he stepped back through his main office, and didn't see hide or hair of either Wes or David. He opened his mouth, about to ask Emma if she knew where they went when she beat him to the punch, not even lifting her eyes away from her unit. "They left a few minutes after you went down to the labs, David sends his apologies, but from what I could see of Wes, he looked quite distraught."

His frown deepened, worry tingeing his expression. Blaine knew David would take care of Wes, but Blaine still had to fight off the instinct to wring every last detail from Emma. Instead, he gave a distracted nod, and ushered Kurt into his office.

He shook it off, turning back to face the other man when they were in his office, and saw Emma had already set the small table. She had removed the two other plates, he saw.

"You're well prepared," Kurt remarked, nodding to the table.

Blaine gave a sheepish smile, shrugging. "Emma put it in here; I work late sometimes and can't always make it out for a meal. She insists that if I stay in the office to eat it won't be at my desk." Blaine knew his voice was affectionate. "As I said before, Emma dictates everything. You just shut up and listen."

Kurt's eyebrows rose as he glanced back at the office where Emma was sitting. He looked back at Blaine with amusement in his eyes that Blaine was pleased to see. "Are you sure you're the boss here?"

"Oh, no," Blaine said, pulling Kurt's chair out for him, and ignoring the droll look aimed his way by the other man at the action. "That's all Emma. Anderson Enterprises would be nothing without her. Nothing would get done. She's a God send. She helped my uncle and father create this business, and it's only her that's kept it afloat." Blaine cut off suddenly when he realized he was babbling, and gave a small glance towards his palm 'link.

"I'd appreciate it if you called them," Kurt said off handedly, not even looking at Blaine who gave him a surprised look. "I may need to speak to either of them later, and don't really want to waste a trip down there if neither are fit to speak."

Blaine smothered a grin, and tilted his head in acknowledgement, relieved and amused at Kurt's round-about way of telling Blaine he wouldn't mind if he checked up on them. "As you wish," he said, reaching over for his 'link.

He entered David's information as Kurt sat across from him, politely looking away, even as Blaine knew he'd hear every word. David picked up after the fourth ring, looking worried and frazzled.

Blaine frowned, amusement draining away. "David," he said, looking in the background and hoping to see Wes. "Is everything all right?"

"Shit," David ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. No. Sorry we didn't stay."

"Don't mention it, how's Wes? Emma said he looked upset."

David glanced behind him, "Yeah, that about covers it. Listen; he's still, ah, upset, and I don't want to leave him alone."

Blaine sat back, concerned for both his friends and curious about what would have made them so unhappy. "That's fine. Is there anything I can do?"

"No. Yeah, actually," David blew out a long breath. "I need to talk to you. Not tonight," he hurried on to say, glancing behind him again. "But tomorrow okay?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow's fine," Blaine said, confused.

"Thanks, Blaine." Without another word, he hung up, leaving Blaine to stare at his 'link for a moment. He shook his head, setting it back down on his desk and returned to the table.

Kurt narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. "Everything okay?"

"Ah," Blaine rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at the table. He shook his head and sat back down. He gave Kurt a distracted smile. "Yeah, it's fine."

Kurt hummed noncommittally, but changed the topic. He nodded to the plates on the table. "So what am I being forced to eat against my will? Cow eyeballs? Jelly fish tentacles? Squirrel intestine?"

Blaine laughed, eyes crinkling even as his nose did and he lifted the lids off the plates. "Nothing quite so exotic, I'm afraid. Maybe next time." He ignored the suspicious look Kurt shot him and continued. "You're going to be sadly disappointed. Seems like all we have here is some boring mushroom and chicken Alfredo with asparagus." He smiled at Kurt. "Sorry."

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, casting Blaine a vaguely amused glance as he portioned the meal. "I'll manage somehow."

Blaine smiled, standing to remove the serving plates and bringing back a bottle that had Kurt narrowing his eyes. Blaine twisted his lips, holding the bottle aloft as he tilted his head. "Wine?"

"Technically I'm still on duty," Kurt replied dryly, glancing at Blaine's office door. "I shouldn't even be up here except for the fact that I'm slightly frightened of your assistant's actions if I tried to leave."

Blaine left the bottle on the table, instead bringing back two glasses of water. He sat back down, unfolding his napkin. "Officers of the law aren't permitted to eat, now?"

"I'd rather not," Kurt said, waiting until Blaine had lifted his own fork to do the same. He twirled some of the creamy noodles around his fork. "Especially when on a deadline. But as I said before—the woman outside isn't someone I'm willing to take the chance with, especially not when she's been so accommodating so far."

"Deadline?" Blaine asked after he had finished a bite and wiped his handkerchief across his mouth, reaching for his glass of water with a frown on his face.

Kurt restrained his own frown, reminding himself to rein it in and not get comfortable. He was wary of Pillsbury—didn't mean he had to get chummy with the man across from him. Kurt blanked his expression, waving a hand. "Nothing. Forget about it."

Blaine's frown remained but he said nothing, instead choosing to smoothly change the topic, disliking the way Kurt had closed off but instead deciding to choose his battles for now. "Will you be at the funeral tomorrow?" he asked instead.

Kurt nodded once. "Yes, I will be, as will my aide. Mrs. Pierce is aware. We won't be causing any trouble."

"It's not an issue; simply a cause for curiosity. I doubt Brittany has an issue with it, either. If she did she would've said something."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "To you or me?"

Blaine smiled, taking another drink of his water. "To anyone who would've listened. Your aide?"

"Yes," was all Kurt said. He felt vaguely uncomfortable, and the situation was a bit too eerie for his liking. He was sitting—eating dinner no less—with a man who was still a suspect. Granted, Kurt admitted, he was as close to the bottom of the list as Brittany thanks to Shelby's profile, but still.

What made him most uncertain, though, was the fact that Kurt really couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted to get back to work, desperately, but he felt no desire to leave because Anderson was involved in the case.

And that, Kurt thought, frowning as he lifted his napkin to wipe at his mouth, could get dangerous and become quite a problem.

*.*

He paced quickly, yet quietly, glancing at the closed door as he did so as to not disturb the person in the other room. He was supposed to be sleeping but he felt nervous, jittery and out of sorts. Nothing was going as it should, damn it. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he relaxed his clenched fingers. Relax, he told himself. Relax before someone hears and comes to check. Get a hold of yourself.

His nerves were going haywire, and as long as he stood there, trying desperately to reign himself in, nothing could ease his mind.

It was going on seventy-two hours since the first murder, and almost thirty one since the second. He felt his hands jerk even as he thought about it. What was taking so long? Why wasn't it working?

He uttered a quiet and frustrated growl, sitting on the edge of the bed. Things weren't falling into place. And more and more mistakes were coming up. He glared at his unit on the other side of the room, thinking about the files and transmissions he had witnessed from both Hummel's and Blaine's computers. Strollop had left behind quite the mess, instead of the clean break he'd been assured of. And the man couldn't even answer his calls.

He bit his lip, assuring himself it'd be fine in the end. He'd deal with it, and things would go right back to the way they were meant to. He should've known better than to have someone else handle the messy business. But his stomach still knotted at the one other time he had done anything else even close to the murders. He still should've done it. At least then he'd known for sure there'd be no mistakes.

He scowled when a knock sounded at the door. "Everything okay in there?" a voice came from the other side.

He rolled his eyes, but tried to make his voice as light as possible, strained and upset. "Fine. Everything's fine."

It was quiet for a moment. "Do you want me to come in?"

He felt his lips curl in irritation. But when he spoke, his voice was thankful, warm even though it was shaking. "No—no, I think—I think I want to be alone right now. Okay?"

"Of course."

The footsteps walked away, and he lay back, rolling his tense shoulders, a frown between his brows. He'd take care of it himself from here on, he decided. He'd pay Strollop what was owed to him, and he'd do the rest.

At least then he'd know his plan was back on track and everything executed perfectly.

*.*

Kurt frowned, sitting in his vehicle in front of Anderson Enterprises, not even bothering to start it. Just sitting.

He'd never been to a more bizarre dinner in his life. Bizarre, but not entirely unpleasant. The rest of the meal was spent with light conversation, things you would talk about with an acquaintance you would run into in a coffee shop. Nothing heavy handed or related to murders in any way, shape or form. It was an odd occurrence for Kurt, but one he wouldn't mind repeating, especially with such pleasant company.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head to clear it with a scowl. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel absent-mindedly. Maybe Sylvester was right. Maybe he should take a step back from this entire Anderson deal. It wasn't a great idea to compromise himself, even if it's just by having friendly thoughts for a suspect.

It tended not to look so awesome on paperwork.

He could give the next follow ups to Puck, as long as they weren't especially significant to the case. And he needed to go to Ohio, anyway. Maybe he could clear his head from Anderson then.

He let out a bitter laugh at the thought, his stomach tightening. He'd much rather stay and put up with Anderson than return to Lima.

His dash beeped with an incoming message. He answered when he saw his partner's name. Puck's face filled the screen, lines etched into a deep from on his face. His eyes were concerned when they looked at Kurt. He braced himself in response.

"Hey. Anything new?"

"Not on Evans, or even Strollop, no. But I figured there was something important that you should know. You still at Anderson Enterprises?"

Kurt's stomach filled with lead. "Yes. What do you have?"

With a deep breath, Puck told him.

Blaine was surprised, but not upset, when Kurt came back into his office barely twenty minutes after he left. However, the pleased feeling evaporated into worry at the flat and vaguely cool look the Detective Sergeant was aiming at him.

Blaine had to admit he much preferred the amused resignation Kurt had sported for the entirety of their dinner.

"Anderson," Kurt stated, and Blaine took note of the return of his last name. "You are aware that withholding information that could pertain to a case is considered obstruction of justice?"

Blaine let a frown play at his lips, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his lap. He had to tilt his head back to look at Kurt, but Blaine had no issue in doing so. He was well-versed in body language, and figured Kurt would be less defensive if Blaine wasn't in the position of power.

"Kurt—Detective Sergeant," he amended at the raise of Kurt's eyebrow. "You have me at a loss. I have no clue what you're talking about."

"My partner just received news of a transmission between you and Will Schuester from earlier today. A very interesting transmission, dealing with you coming right out and saying that his position in this company would be terminated."

"Have you been monitoring me, Detective Sergeant?" Blaine asked coolly.

Just as coolly, Kurt replied, "I believe you gave me permission to use whatever resources necessary in order to solve this case."

"Yes. In order to help find the murderer. I don't see what this has to do with a personal transmission between myself and my former partner."

"You hadn't mentioned that you were going to be terminating his post."

Blaine spread his hands. "I wasn't aware that it was necessary for the case."

"Any information is necessary, when the murder weapon was removed from your facility by a high-ranking member who has access to said facility."

"You can't be serious." Blaine stared at him. "You think—Will? Are you crazy?"

"How did he receive the news?"

"He was—he was upset, of course." Blaine stood finally, flustered. He put his hands in his pockets. "I'd asked him to come in today, but we've all been on edge since Santana. He was suspicious and could probably tell that something was off. He pushed me until I told him, reluctantly. He was angry, shocked, hurt. I tried to explain, but he ended the call before I could."

Kurt felt something within him relax slightly at the reply. Anderson had described the transmission exactly how Kurt had seen it when he sat in his vehicle. "Why would you want to remove your father's partner from this position?" He asked much more calmly than before.

Blaine ran a hand over his hair, feeling some of the curls spring loose after a long day. His eyes ached, and his limbs suddenly felt very heavy with exhaustion. He sat on his desk, in front of Kurt with his hands lying limply between his knees. He stared at them until his hands didn't look like they belonged to him anymore.

"My father, he and Will had a different game plan for the company. They always had, and even growing up I knew when I took over, I wouldn't run it the same way. I love Will, he's like family. I'm grateful that he was able to get me on my feet with this, but in the past couple months, he's been urging me to take over his and my father's reign." Blaine sighed, weary. "I don't—I've never wanted to be like them. They see the big picture and overlook the little things. The only time they see them or is if they're pawns. I don't work like that. I can't have Will standing at my shoulder, supposedly, and constantly second guess me, or question me in front of our other partners."

He was silent a moment, thinking of the expression in Will's eyes when Blaine told him the news. Blaine had a feeling he'd be seeing the betrayal in his make-shift Uncle's eyes for a long time to come. "I don't even know the number of people who work for Anderson Enterprises," he continued. "But they all have lives, families. If Anderson Enterprises goes under, they'll all be out of work, all across the world. Hell, if Anderson Enterprises goes under the entire economy could be fucked.

"My father spent his entire life building himself an empire to stand on in front of the world. Should that empire fall because of disagreements between his son and best-friend, I'm not entirely sure what would happen." He looked up finally. Kurt wasn't looking at him with flat, emotionless eyes anymore, thankfully. His gaze was thoughtful, and Blaine became helpless. "I still don't understand how this has any bearing on the case. Will couldn't ever kill anyone. He can't even kill a spider."

"Maybe not," Kurt agreed carefully. "But he could hire someone, couldn't he?"

Blaine's instant reaction was denial. Fully fledged, blazing denial and righteous indignation on behalf of Will. But Kurt's gaze stayed calm, and Blaine resolutely squashed that little niggle of doubt inside of him.

"Why, though? Why would he murder Santana? I don't understand. It just doesn't make any sense."

Kurt's hand twitched. Blaine saw it, though Kurt acted indifferent. For a fleeting moment, it looked as if he were about to reach out for one of Blaine's fisted hands.

"That's why you have to let me do my job," Kurt stated. His eyes stayed even on Blaine's, all business and cop once more.

"Blaine, you have to let me do my job."

Blaine shut his tired eyes and let his head drop forward for a long time. There was only silence in the room. Even concentrating as hard as he was, he could only barely hear Kurt's even breath.

He inhaled deeply. Without lifting his head, Blaine nodded slowly.

"Okay."