Author: ckofshadows PM
It's okay if you're mad at me, as long as you're mine. Are you still mine? /Sequel to The Secret/Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Drama - Blaine A. & Kurt H. - Chapters: 8 - Words: 20,474 - Reviews: 414 - Favs: 362 - Follows: 388 - Updated: 12-24-11 - Published: 08-18-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7299019
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: This is the sequel to The Secret, which should really be read first... otherwise this will make very little sense. Thanks for reading!
I've never been a morning person. Kurt likes to tease me about it, but I happen to know for a fact that he finds it kind of adorable when I take a good twenty minutes to wake up every morning. One of his favorite pastimes is to slowly rouse me from slumber with his lips, and then his hands, and then his mouth-
"Blaine. Wake up."
I crack one eyelid blearily, squinting at the red numbers on my alarm clock. "S'only seven, Kurt... let's sleep in."
"I said get up. Now."
All of a sudden, I realize that it's not Kurt's voice I'm hearing. I open both eyes, my brain still foggy with sleep, and watch as Scott moves around the bedroom quickly, lowering all of the window shades and closing the blackout drapes. It doesn't make any sense – how did he get in here? And if he's trying to wake us up, shouldn't he be opening the shades to let in more light? "Wh... why are you calling me Blaine?" I ask him dumbly.
He stops, blinks at me for a second, then keeps plowing ahead. "Andrew. Perfecto, whatever. It doesn't matter anymore. Get up." He opens our closet door and pulls Kurt's monogrammed luggage set down from the shelf. "We're leaving, right now."
I rub my thumbs against my eyelids. "Wait. What? Leaving where? What's going on?"
"You've been compromised. Castellano's men know where you are. Where's Kurt?"
And with that, I'm awake. I look at Kurt's side of the bed, where he should be slumbering peacefully beside me on a typical Saturday morning, and his side is empty. I run my palm over the sheets, and they're cold. "Scott?" I ask, dread twisting in my stomach. "Where's Kurt?"
"I just asked you that." Scott's expression is grim, and I think I know what that means.
"Do they have him? Do they have Kurt?" I'm struggling to breathe.
I've known Scott Ward since I was twelve years old. He's a U.S. Marshal, yeah, but I've never thought of him as particularly military in his comportment. But now there's a steely look in his eyes, a set in his jaw, and his fingertips keep brushing against the gun I can see in his holster. He looks at me hard and says, "We need to extract you. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere without my husband." My blood is pumping through my veins so fast I swear I can hear my pulse pounding in my eardrums. I fumble for my cell phone on my nightstand, and my heart catches when I see that there's a new text message from Kurt:
We're out of blueberries, so I'm running out to get some for brunch. Be back soon, love you.
"He's just shopping," I choke out in relief. "He'll be back soon."
"We can't wait. There's no time." Scott is piling clothes, shoes and toiletries into Kurt's suitcases. He's mixing up our wardrobes, and taking no care to fold Kurt's designer outfits, and my mind is still racing to catch up with what's happening.
"He's getting blueberries."
"Hey!" Scott yells, straightening up with eyes blazing. "Are you listening to me? They know where you are. You're lucky we got to you first. Now move."
Untangling my legs from the sheets, I get up and run over to the armoire, pulling out clothes and getting dressed. "We wait for Kurt," I tell him firmly.
"You don't get to call the shots here, kid. We leave in one minute. If Kurt's here, we take him; otherwise, the Marshal service will pick him up separately if we can. No guarantees. One minute." He zips up the two suitcases as a couple of agents dressed in black enter the room, speaking quietly into their headsets.
"Extraction is a go," one of the men says to Scott, who nods and turns to me.
"I'm sorry, Blaine – I mean, Andrew. We need to go. I'll leave someone behind in case Kurt comes back."
Somehow, my heart starts beating even faster. "What do you mean, in case? What aren't you telling me?"
He locks eyes with another member of his team. They don't say anything.
"Okay," I say shakily, grabbing my running sneakers from under the bed and slipping them on my feet. "Just let me pee first. I assume we have a long drive ahead of us and you won't have the time for us to stop for that."
Looking pacified as I lace up the sneakers, Scott nods. "Fine. You have thirty seconds to use the bathroom, and then we're out. Hurry." He turns to whisper quietly with the other two men, who are leaning over what looks like a schematic diagram together.
"Thank you." Tying the shoelaces tight and slipping my cell phone into the front pocket of my jeans, I enter the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me. I turn the water in the sink on high, which I really hope muffles the sound of the old, squeaky bathroom window sliding open. I don't pause to wait for any knocks on the door or shouts of discovery. The window opens and I clamber out, landing on the fire escape and hurrying to descend the three flights of wobbly metal stairs as quietly as I can.
I never was a morning person. Kurt can wake up and immediately go for a run if he wants, but my legs never seem willing to work until I've been awake for a while. They're unsteady on the stairs, and making far too much noise in the early morning air. I send up a silent prayer that Scott isn't checking the bathroom yet. I just have to get far enough away that he and his team won't catch me before I can find Kurt.
Because it's not worth it without him. None of it is. I know I gave him the choice to stay with me or let me go, back when we found each other again. But what I never told him was how bleak my prospects would have been if he hadn't chosen me. What would I have done? Gone back to live with my parents? Based every new relationship on a new, false identity? Never shared a truly honest moment with anyone ever again?
Kurt gets me. Whether I'm Andrew or Blaine or Perfecto, he understands me in a way that no one else ever could. If I lose him now... If they have him, if they've hurt him...
My feet hit the pavement and I take off down the side alley. The extraction team must be on the main street, I figure, so I dart into the employee entrance of the bagel shop next door. A quick shortcut and I'm back on the street, running as fast as I can and hoping the team doesn't look in my direction.
Two blocks away is our favorite supermarket, which has a decent-sized organic fruit section that I know Kurt loves. I make it to the store in record time, weaving past a pair of older ladies pushing their carts near the entrance, and race toward the produce department.
He's not here. I run up and down every aisle, and he's not here.
There's a fluttering in my chest that I can't quite understand. If he's not here, and he's not at home, where is he?
I go back outside, running three blocks down the street to another supermarket we sometimes use. It has good double-coupon deals, and Kurt's been trying to save up some money so that we can see a Broadway musical together–
My heart sinks as I run through the second market. He's not here either.
My cell phone starts to ring in my pocket. It's Scott. Ignoring his call, I leave the market, go a couple of stores over and duck into a Starbucks. Once the ringing stops, I dial Kurt's number, praying that for once he'll get decent cell reception and be able to receive the call. I look around the inside of the coffee shop as his Lady Gaga ringback trills a familiar tune. It feels as though everyone is watching me from behind their unfolded newspapers and venti coffees.
Scott's words are still echoing in my ears. You've been compromised. They know where you are.
"Pick up," I murmur desperately. "Pick up, baby, pick up," and then the ringing stops abruptly.
"Somebody's up early," he says, sounding amused. "Did the garbage truck wake you again?"
I feel my knees buckle, and drop unsteadily onto a wooden chair. "Kurt." The relief washes over me in a cold wave. "You're okay."
"Of course, sweetie. Didn't you get my text?" I can hear him humming to himself as he walks down the street. "I got this recipe for lemon blueberry scones, and-"
"Where are you?"
He pauses briefly. "Andrew? What's wrong?"
"Kurt, where are you right now?"
There's a sharp intake of breath. "Oh god. Is it happening? Are you all right?"
"I'm okay. But I need you here with me, right now. Where are you?"
"I'm... I don't know, five blocks from home?"
Instinctively, I turn to look toward the store window. "Where? Are you anywhere near the Starbucks?"
"Which Starbucks? There are like a thousand!"
He's getting shrieky, which means he's scared. I force myself to speak calmly and clearly. "I'm at the one across from that bookstore with the tufted couch that you like. I need you to drop what you're doing and come meet me."
"I was getting blueberries at the farmer's market. Seven blocks west from you. I'm coming." His breaths come faster, and I realize he's running. "Stay on the phone with me," he pleads. "Please don't hang up."
There's a beep, and when I check the cell phone display, I see that Scott is calling again on the other line. "I won't hang up," I promise Kurt, standing and starting to pace back and forth. The other patrons in the Starbucks are definitely looking at me strangely. "Where are you now?"
"Passing the old movie theater. Don't hang up." There's the loud sound of a car horn blaring, and I know he must be running through traffic, but I can't even tell him to wait for the lights to change, because Scott is calling again, and we've been compromised, and–
Someone enters the Starbucks. I look up hopefully, and then my fingers tighten around the phone.
"Kurt," I say weakly. "Get here now."
He lets out a little desperate sound as Scott marches over, grabbing my arm and pulling me roughly across the store."I should just let them catch you," Scott says furiously, and I'd believe the anger if I hadn't seen the glint of relief in his eyes when he first caught sight of me. He drags me toward the door as I struggle against him, the cell phone cradled against my ear like a lifeline.
The van is idling outside, and it's as black and nondescript as I would have expected. There are three men flanking it, their hands on their holsters. One grabs me by the shoulder, helping Scott throw me into the van. "Please!" I beg. "He's coming! Scott, please!" I hit the back of the van hard and scramble up, dropping the cell phone and pushing past the packed suitcases and reaching for the door even as it slams shut. "Don't do this!" There's no handle on the inside of the door, so I start kicking at it fruitlessly.
Another holstered man is watching me from the driver's seat, and Scott gets in the passenger side. The other three agents wait outside, making no move to enter the van. Scott raises his fingers to his headset, listening, then says, "Copy that. Extraction is a go."
He nods to the driver as I let out a sob, and the van lurches forward. Then, suddenly, it brakes hard, sending me tumbling across the floor. I sit up and look up toward the windshield, dazed, and Kurt is standing in front of the van, his eyes wide and wild and his hands braced hard against the hood. Scott mutters something and rushes out, grabbing Kurt roughly by the shoulder, opening the sliding door, and shoving him in beside me.
The van roars again, and then we're hurtling through New York City streets at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning, bracing ourselves against the side of the van to keep from sliding on the floor, and Kurt's clutching at my shirt and gasping for breath, a bag of blueberries crushed in between us...
And if I wasn't awake before, I am now.