Heroes and Thieves Part I
His royal highness prince Baldwin Anderson of Dalton continues his goodwill tour, arriving in Manhattan tonight. Tomorrow, he will have an intimate session with the press, followed by a tour of the city with the Mayor of New York- Wes sighed, cutting off the tv. "Stop fidgeting."
They had barely been on the plane to New York for an hour, and Blaine was already bouncing in his seat. Blaine smirked
at him, giving an expectant cough and Wes rolled his eyes. "Stop fidgeting, your highness."
Blaine smiled brightly in response and obligatorily stilled his knee. A moment passed in silence, and it began bouncing again.
Wes glared.
"Sorry, I--" Blaine paused. "I'm just nervous, is all."
Wes furrowed his brows. "About what?"
Take your pick, Blaine thought bitterly. His duties had been seemingly bearing down on him all at once, lately. It seemed like he never had time to be just Blaine, lately; he was constantly Prince Baldwin, heir to the Dalton throne. And there was the fact that the unspoken reason he was being sent to America was to find a wife and “settle down.” He hadn't been able to find a woman he loved in Dalton or England or France or Switzerland or anywhere else, and he wasn't putting much hope in America, based on the profiles of the women he would be meeting that Wes had showed him. He was starting to wonder if there was a woman on Earth that he would actually fall in love with.
Blaine blinked as Wes cleared his throat. He had zoned out again. He had been doing that a lot lately; Blaine blamed it on all the pressure he was under. "I'm just stressed," he sighed to Wes. "And this plane ride is making me nervous."
Wes had been his personal assistant for years now, and they had grown up together before his position was made official. Therefore, he knew Blaine as well his himself - it was his job. So he saw through Blaine's lie (Blaine had never been a good liar regardless; his nose had a tendency to twitch), but he decided to humor his liege.
"Of course you are, your highness. I--hang on." Wes stood up and dug through his satchel, producing a yellow bottle. "Here, take one of these," he said, offering a small white pill.
Blaine eyed it. "What is it?"
“Valium. It'll help you relax and deal with the, ah, stress from the plane ride. It'll put you to sleep until we get to New York."
"You're sure?" Blaine wasn’t the type to take medicine lightly, but the idea of being able to fall asleep and forget about everything for a little while was too tempting.
Wes nodded, pushing the pill and a bottle of water into his prince's hand. "I'll wake you up when we get to La Guardia."
Blaine nodded and swallowed the pill. "Thanks Wes," he said as he stretched out on the couch. Wes nodded and returned to his seat, pretending to read a book on New York until Blaine finally drifted off, snoring loudly.
Wes sighed, lowering his book. He was worried about Blaine. He was at the age where his duties were becoming less abstract showmanship and more actual involvement in politics, and as part of being taken seriously in his new political image, his father was insisting that Blaine settle down and start thinking about a family. His mother was pushing for a marriage as well, declaring that it was far past time for Blaine to have found someone. Marrying someone from America would be a bonus because it would give Dalton a popularity boost with the American public, but the way Blaine had been disinterested in every woman that crossed his path - some of the most beautiful and smart and talented in the world - Wes worried. He sometimes thought that Blaine might not be interested in women at all, but that. . .
That, he thought as he watched Blaine finally ease into a restless sleep, was a thought he would firmly keep to himself. No need to cause trouble, after all.
~
Blaine only remembered fragments of the trip to the hotel. The bright lights of the city, the warm press of Wes’s arm around his shoulder, the Statue of Liberty in the distance. By the time they reached the hotel he had sobered up a bit, but things were still pleasantly calm. He lost track of time for a little bit, and by the time he came back to himself, he was tucked in bed, Wes hovering over him. “I’ll see you in the morning, your highness. Your highness?” Blaine nodded, and Wes sighed, exiting the room.
His mind wondered for a while before finally focusing on the Empire State Building, which was clearly visible from his window. He staggered out of bed and plopped down on the windowsill to get a closer view. New York was beautiful, it was a shame he wouldn’t get to see it. Of course, he would spend the day hitting the highlights, surrounded by his Dalton entourage and all the important big wigs of New York. He would have to play the role of the stuffy, serious prince. That wasn’t really seeing the city; to do that he would have to be on foot. . .on his own. . .
He didn’t have anywhere to be until tomorrow. Why couldn’t he be on his own for a little bit? If he was back before the morning, no one would notice.
Mind made up, Blaine stumbled to his closet and pulled on his shoes. He was going to see the real New York City, and it wasn’t going to be as Prince Baldwin.
~
”Thanks, Lou! See you tomorrow!” Kurt shouted at the bartender as he sped out of the coffee shop, non-fat mocha in hand.
Since moving to New York, Kurt had adapted to a life of constantly running late and being on the move. After he’d graduated high school, he had briefly pursued a career on Broadway with Rachel before slowly realized that, as much as he loved singing, fashion was and always had been his true passion. He had switched majors, transferring (after being miraculously accepted) to Parsons. After he graduated college, he had worked at a few different places before landing his current editorial internship at Vogue.
Which, as his watch chimed 9 o’clock, he was officially late for. Luckily, Jay, his boss, was fond of him - and by fond, Kurt meant a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen.
His day was spent pulling accessories for a new shoot and dodging Jay's advances. By the time he got off, it was past six and he was exhausted, but he still had to go to work at the bar. The bouncer nodded as to him as he entered. “Busy crowd tonight.”
“Great,” Kurt smirked. “Means more tips.”
Never in a million years would anyone have pegged Kurt Hummel as a bartender, but, well, living in a New York apartment was expensive, especially since Rachel had ditched him for Finn and moved out of their tiny studio. He was surprisingly good at it, too -mixing liquors and flavors to create drinks with different tastes and looks appealed to his aesthetic-loving side. And he was sassy and friendly enough to make good tips, which was always a bonus.
He was still a little flabbergasted he had even gotten this job, considering there were a thousand more talented candidates in the city. He'd had a bit of an in, it was true; the manager of the bar was the brother of one of his TAs in college. Kurt and the TA had been close enough for Kurt to tell her about his money troubles, and she'd let him know the opening. He'd gone home that night and put off all of his homework to memorize drink recipes.
The bar he worked at was a high-end joint in the Upper East Side named Blue's. The inside was quietly expensive, tailored with simple fabrics and clean lines. The clientele largely consisted of businessmen and women looking to blow some steam off after work, and Kurt blended in seamlessly with his always-impeccable fashion sense.
He spent the next few hours making drinks and collecting tips with flirty, tipsy patrons before his replacement came to cover him. It was a little after eleven as he left, clutching his satchel tightly as he waited for a cab to flag down. This late in New York City, he didn't dare walk.
Kurt froze as a sudden noise came from his left. He whipped around and stared, but didn't see anything but a pile of trash waiting for pickup the next morning.
"Hmm. Must have been a rat."
Until the pile of trash started moaning.
Kurt hesitated. Serial killer. He should stay away. But the moans, growing increasingly more pathetic, continued.
Finally, he sighed and approached the pile of trash carefully, wishing he had taken Rachel's attempts at convincing him to carry pepper spray a little more seriously.
Upon closer inspection, a pair of expensive men's dress shoes and what seemed to be silk pajama pants were sticking out from under the trash bags. Feeling moderately more at ease now that he knew he was around someone with telling fashion sense (the pajamas were bizarre, but they were tastefully bizarre), Kurt crouched down and shoved one of the bags off the body, revealing a man about his age.
A very attractive man, if Kurt said so himself.
That said, the man wasn't in the best shape. There was a bruise on his temple, and his clothes, high quality though they were, were ripped and torn.
Kurt reached out and touched his cheek; the man turned and moaned in response.
"Hey," Kurt whispered. "Are you - Sir? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"
The man just muttered. "No more crackers, Wes. No more crackers."
Kurt sighed. The man was clearly out of it, and had been mugged, by the look of things. He couldn’t just leave him.
Kurt spoke louder this time, hoping he could get through to the man. "Sir? Is there someone I can call to come and find you?"
The man cracked his eyes open - they were a very intense hazel. “M’ head hurts.”
“…Okay. C’mon,” Kurt decided This had to work. “We can share a cab, and I’ll pay for where you want to go.”
The man clearly hadn’t heard a word Kurt said, but Kurt grabbed his arm, flagging down a cab in record time, and hauled him up into it, sliding in beside him.
Kurt told the driver his address, watching the stranger out of the corner of his eye. Kurt was willing to bet that he was a businessman from out of town, and had probably been drinking-or, more likely, given that Kurt couldn’t smell alcohol on him, taking some sort of drug and had been taken advantage of. Some people just couldn’t handle New York, he supposed.
They rode in silence until the cab pulled up in front of Kurt’s building. He nodded to the cab driver and began to step out of the cab.
“Whoa, hang on,” the cab driver called after him. “What about him?”
“Take him wherever he wants to go; there should be enough money to cover it.”
The cab driver shook his head. “No way, man. I’ll give you your money back, but I’m not keeping a strung out pretty boy in my back seat. Not happening.”
Kurt groaned in frustration. “Well, what do you want me to do about it? I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“Not my problem, man. You’re the one who put him in the cab; you have to deal with him.”
“What? What do you expect me to do with him?” As he spoke, the man in question slumped over, sprawled across the seats. The cabbie watched with disgust as a stream of drool snaked down his chin.
“I don’t care; just get him out of my cab.”
Kurt sighed, angry but also exhausted and not wanting to prolong the argument. He slid an arm under the man’s shoulder and pulled him toward the open car door. The guy smacked his lips, dead weight sliding into Kurt’s embrace and against his shoulder, making Kurt stumble.
The cabbie, apparently feeling friendlier now that his backseat was empty, got out and walked around to Kurt, handing him his extra money. He looked at the man passed out on Kurt’s shoulder and gave Kurt an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, man. Good luck.” Before Kurt could respond, he was jogging back around to the driver’s side and speeding away.
Kurt blinked, trying to process what had just happened. He glanced at the man before rolling his eyes. “Well, I guess you’re coming with me, then. If you turn out to be a serial killer, I swear. ”
He turned around, simultaneously remembering that he lived up a fourth-floor walk-up. “Well, this is going to be fun.”
His companion didn’t reply.
~
Kurt woke up the next morning feeling stiff all over. After he had finally hauled the stranger up to his apartment, he had been faced with the reality that he lived in a tiny apartment, and there was only a pull out couch to sleep on. He had dumped the guy on the unmade-from-the-morning couch bed for what was only supposed to be a second until he figured out what to do with him, but by the time Kurt had made the decision to make a nest on the floor, the guy was already starfished on Kurt’s bed, drooling into his pillow. Kurt had tried to move him, but the guy wouldn’t budge, even in his sleep. Kurt had been too tired to really fight it, so, after pulling of the guy’s shoes and changing into pajamas himself, he’d curled up in a pile of blankets on the floor and went to sleep.
He swore as he saw the time - he needed to have left for work five minutes ago. He jumped up and pulled on the first outfit he could find, skipping his moisturizing routine and barely fixing his hair.
As he gathered his stuff, he paused to consider the man on his couch. He shook him, but the man was still out cold.
Kurt swore again and scribbled a note before dropping it on his head, praying that his apartment would still be in one piece when he returned.
~
Kurt sighed as he walked into work. For once, he kind of missed living with Rachel, because now no one was around to watch the random stranger on his couch. Kurt berated himself for the thousdandth time that morning; he should have never brought the guy back in the first place. What the hell was he thinking, taking a (well dressed, handsome, troublesome) total stranger into his apartment?
He was so consumed with trying to figure out what to do that he collided with one of the reporters storming out of Jay's office. "Jesus," Lori snapped. "Watch where you're going, Hummel!"
Kurt held his hands up placatingly. Lori was usually pretty relaxed, but she looked ready to kill someone. "Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."
Her face fell. "No, I'm sorry. I just-" She sighed. "I was going to do this story today, right? On the prince visiting from Dalton. We had as close to an exclusive as you could get; there were only going to be a half dozen reporters there."
"So what happened?" Kurt asked, thinking they had assigned the story to someone else.
"He's sick. Indefinitely. They canceled and said they didn't know long it would be before they rescheduled, if they do at all."
Kurt exhaled. "Wow, that sucks. I'm sorry, Lori."
"Yeah." She sighed. "And he's so hot, too. Rumor has it he's in the US looking for a wife."
Kurt shook his head. "I don't know much about any of it. I've been kind of bad with keeping up with the news lately."
"Oh, Kurt, you have to see him! He's so dreamy. And charismatic, too." Lori sighed again. "I guess now I'll never catch his eye and sweep him off his feet."
Kurt side-eyed her, but Lori only shrugged. "Hey, a girl can dream, can't she? I'll see you later, Hummel."
Kurt headed to his own cubicle to finish an article about the return of short ties (Kurt was a good reporter, but even he couldn’t completely contain his disdain, instead writing it with an air of thinly veiled disgust). Since it was Saturday, once he finished it, he could probably check out and go deal with the man-on-couch situation.
About an hour later, he saved the finished article and opened his browser to check his email and send Jay his article. On the news section of his homepage, he saw the story about Lori’s missing prince, and, out of curiosity, clicked on it.
Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.
The beginning of the story featured a picture of the prince, and he was absolutely the man currently snoozing on his couch, right down to the overly gelled hair.
He read the story. It was exactly as Lori had described - the Dalton managerial team was claiming that the his royal highness Prince Baldwin II had taken ill unexpectedly and would be out of commission for the next couple days.
But he wasn’t sick. He had left the campaign (had he run away?), and was alone on the streets of New York City. He was alone in Kurt’s apartment.
Kurt swallowed. If the prince left before Kurt could get back-
He was out of his seat and running towards Jay’s office before he knew it. He barged in, thankful for once that Jay was alone.
“Kurt!” Jay looked up, angry. “What in the world-“
“Suppose,” Kurt said, trying calm down and catch his breath, “that I had in with the Dalton group. Would you let me do the story?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“I think I have an exclusive-“ because if the prince was gone there would be no story “-but I have to leave to know if I’m going to get it. Can I go?”
Jay’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“I’m not. I promise. But if you don’t let me leave now, I might miss it.”
“What is this exclusive?”
“I-“ If Kurt told him and he was wrong, he would sound like an absolute idiot. “I can’t tell you yet, sir. I promised my source. But I think I can get some one-on-one time with the prince.”
Jay rubbed his temple, looking torn. Kurt not so discretely flexed his arm, hoping to distract his boss. It seemed to work. “…Fine. But I swear to God, Hummel, if you’re playing me-“
“I’m not, sir, I promise.”
“Fine. Go. Wait, did you finish the tie piece?”
“Yes, and thank you, sir. You won’t regret this, sir.”
And then Kurt was running out the door, not even caring that Jay was probably leering at his ass as he went.
PART TWO