Disclaimer: I do not own any part of The Chronicles of Narnia; it all belongs to the C.S. Lewis estate, Walt Disney Pictures, Walden Media, 20th Century Fox, et al. I do not own any part of Glee; it all belongs to 20th Century Fox, Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: This chapter has come to me at a rate that was achingly slow, and I apologize for the delay. I have done my best to establish some of the early relationship between Susan and Blaine here, and unravel a little more of the mystery that is Susan Pevensie. As always, my deepest thanks to Autumnia, rthstewart, WickedForGood13, and Witherwings01 for the feedback and encouragement.

Chapter Two – Conversations Past and Present

As Susan left the boys outside the choir room, walking determinedly away from them and toward the parking lot in order to maintain the semblance of calm and cheerfulness she had managed to attain, her thoughts were a confused jumble of emotions and memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

Never, in all the hours and days that she had spent preparing for this trip to the States, had it occurred to her that she would be so floored by the young man her great-grandson had become. She was Susan Pevensie, member of the Joint Intelligence Committee, formerly of MI-6, a woman who had become used to holding the fate of half the world in her hands, a woman who could make critical, painful decisions with both rationality and compassion, a woman who could be absolutely ruthless when occasion required it.

She had functioned on her own for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to need another person in her life.

Even when Robert was alive, she had kept him at arm's length from her work, determined to protect him from the worst of what she did. She had loved him and shared their home, their bed, his aspirations for his career, but she told him very little about her work at MI-6. Even had the government and her own safety not demanded it of her, she would have made the same choice to keep him in the dark. He knew it had to be that way, and he hadn't begrudged it.

There were other things that she had always hidden from Robert. Her siblings. Narnia. He had never known about her family, aside from the cause of their terrible deaths, or about her other life, and so she had never entirely been his. He had loved her anyway. For that much, she was deeply grateful, and she had given him what love she could among all the secrets.

Robert had been the last person to be let anywhere near her heart. After enduring the death of her siblings and parents, the death of her daughter Sylvia, and the death of Robert himself from lung cancer, Susan had questioned whether she still possessed a capacity to love. Her relationship with Vivian, though loving and nurturing to a point, had been fraught with anger and tension since Vivian was an adolescent, and had broken almost completely that terrible night in Yugoslavia. Susan had saved the world from catastrophe more times than she could count, but she couldn't seem to prevent the catastrophes in her own life, the losses that left an ever-deepening hole of sadness and despair in her heart.

Then Blaine had entered Headmaster Davis's office, and every small, shattered piece of her that had broken off over the years had seemed to come back together all at once. Seeing the older and far more mature version of the frightened boy she remembered, seeing Edmund's smile, Peter's easy charm, and Lucy's endless love all together in Blaine had left Susan stunned.

She had always cared for Blaine, from the moment she had seen him in Vivian's arms days after he was born. She had tried to protect him, interfering carefully and with precision in ways that Vivian had never detected. She had tried to be there for him in the rare moments that she could, those few visits to the States that were often unplanned. Those moments had built the odd closeness between them, their trust in one another, and ultimately, an affection and love that Susan had neither looked for nor expected. Blaine had become everything she could have ever hoped, and he was happy, or mostly so. His gentle embrace of her in the hallway had made her feel, for one wonderful moment, as though she were part of a family again. Perhaps she was.

Kurt was another surprise. The slender, chestnut-haired boy was striking. He carried himself with an air of purpose and determination and moved with a grace that spoke of years of dance training. His skin was so fair and his blue eyes so bright that he reminded Susan of a figure from a pre-Raphaelite painting, but there was a fierceness in him that belied any impression of frailty. After living in Narnia and operating in the shadowy corners of the world for most of her life, Susan could easily recognize someone who had fought repeated and protracted battles, whether mental or physical. Kurt Hummel was not someone to be taken lightly.

When she had first noticed Kurt speaking to Blaine, the intimacy of their brief exchange had alerted her to just how close they might be, but the way Kurt struggled to take his eyes off Blaine as he sang was an absolute giveaway. The boy could never be a spy; he had a good poker face, but where Blaine was concerned he was an open book.

Then again, Susan conceded, neither of them had been trying to hide anything. They were in an environment where they felt completely relaxed and safe, and while they were respectful of the other Warblers, they were also clearly very much in love, even if they hadn't yet confessed it to each other. In other settings and among different people, they might have been much more guarded. As it was, Susan felt blessed to have seen them at their most joyous and happy; as a pair, they were breathtaking.

However, their relationship did make her plans just a little harder and more complicated. There were many things that she needed to tell Blaine, and she had thought exhaustively about how to approach him, how to convince him that she was being utterly truthful. Now, she had two individuals to worry about instead of one.

She couldn't separate them. Sitting in the Dalton choir room, watching them perform together, she had seen . . . She couldn't separate them. It would destroy them and perhaps destroy Narnia with them. It was up to her to bring them both, now.

Sliding behind the wheel of her rented Audi (living for nearly six years in Germany had left its mark on her taste in vehicles), Susan leaned her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes. An image of golden eyes and fur swam underneath her lids, and she let it crystallize, calling out silently to the Lion she had reached for so many times before.

Aslan, help me to do your will. I serve you and serve Narnia always.

Letting that prayer drift away, she breathed in and out for a few moments before summoning a mental picture of her brother at a table in the Whitehall Annex, and the memory of a conversation that had never happened as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

Edmund, help me. This is everything. He needs to know; you told me yourself. Help me to do this well, for all of you. How I wish you were here.

If Blaine was the one good thing to come of her, if somehow every strong and virtuous part of herself and her siblings had been given to this compassionate young man with eyes like Narnian stars, then perhaps everything she had suffered had been worth it.

Blaine hurried down the hallway of his dormitory, eagerness to see Kurt quickening his pace. They had spent the past few hours apart, and Blaine was determined to keep his promise. It was time to tell Kurt what he knew about Susan Pevensie – and why Aunt Susan was so important to his own life.

After Warblers practice, the entire group had gone to the dining hall for dinner and pestered Blaine and Kurt for answers about their mysterious guest. Blaine had flatly refused to tell them anything except what they already knew: that Ms. Pevensie had a meeting with the Headmaster and had requested permission to come to rehearsal. When the group had turned to Kurt, Kurt had followed his boyfriend's lead and simply said that she had wanted to thank the pair of them for a lovely performance and had very kindly sent her regards to all the Warblers, with hopes that she could enjoy their singing again. Blaine was thankful for Kurt's support; he had promised Kurt that he would talk to him about this, but he wasn't about to explain it to the entire choir.

David and Wes, however, had not been fooled by Blaine's stonewalling for a moment, and truthfully he hadn't expected them to be. They were his other best friends, after all. The pair of them had waited until the other boys had left their large table, moving on to other activities and meetings, and then fixed Blaine and Kurt with concerned expressions.

"Blaine, what is going on?" Wes asked bluntly. "You come within seconds of being late to rehearsal when you're usually the first one there, you show up with a woman who looks and behaves like she came straight out of Thomas Malory, you essentially demand that we sing a song for her, and then she pulls you and Kurt into the hallway before leaving. Who is she?"

David poked his best friend in the arm for his tactlessness, earning himself a halfhearted glare from Wes, before he moved his attention back to Blaine. "Blaine, we're just curious, and a little confused. Ms. Pevensie," he stressed, sending another reprimanding look toward Wes, who rolled his eyes in annoyance, "is clearly someone you already know, and she is just as clearly important to you. Why haven't you ever mentioned her?"

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, closing his eyes and searching for some patience. Kurt reached over and took his hand, silently trying to help him.

Blaine finally spoke, and he smiled, trying to let Wes and David see both his amusement and slight frustration with their concern. "Guys . . . there isn't a lot to tell, and at the same time there's more than I could possibly tell you right now. Susan – I've always called her Aunt Susan – is my great-grandmother. Can we leave it at that for now, please?"

Wes's mouth opened in astonishment and David's eyebrows shot up.

"She's . . ." Wes started, but then checked himself and closed his lips, shaking his head. Both he and David composed themselves and nodded.

"Okay," David said quietly. "We're here to talk, if you want."

Blaine answered, "I know you are. Thank you." He smiled and tried to convey the happiness that he had felt earlier. "I just . . . need a little time with this. It's complicated."

His friends had both nodded again and excused themselves shortly afterward to go to a physics study session. Blaine had given a long sigh before turning to Kurt. "They're going to be the death of me," he said ruefully.

"You knew they weren't going to give up on this," Kurt told him. "I'm sure you knew the minute Aunt Susan asked to come to practice."

"I did," Blaine agreed. "I love them all, but they drive me mad sometimes."

"Join the club," Kurt laughed. He looked down at his watch. "We both have group sessions to go to, also," Kurt reminded him, taking both his hands. "Are you going to be all right?"

Blaine had nodded, his smile a trifle sad. "I'll be fine, Kurt. I'm so happy that Aunt Susan is back, and there's so much I have to tell you – but I want to tell you first, not our entire group of friends. I'm not sure how much I should tell the other Warblers, to be honest. Aunt Susan has always been a bit of a mystery, and I think there are reasons for that."

"Should you even be telling me?" Kurt asked hesitantly, his reluctance plain on his face. Blaine knew that Kurt wanted to understand as much as he possibly could about Blaine's life – but he wouldn't ask for information that Blaine couldn't give, whether the omission hurt him or not.

"Of course," Blaine reassured him, lifting a hand to Kurt's cheek. "Aunt Susan never would have asked you to come out to the hallway with us if she didn't want you there, and she certainly wouldn't have invited you to dinner if there were things she didn't want you to know. I don't know a lot about her, but I know her well enough to know that."

"All right," Kurt said, giving him a shy but gratified smile. "We should go. You'll come and find me afterwards?"

Blaine understood that Kurt was giving him a chance to be alone, should he wish it, and letting him choose how and when they would talk about Susan.

"I will," Blaine promised, and he turned his hands around in Kurt's hold, so that he could give Kurt's hands a gentle squeeze. "Thank you."

They had parted ways, then, Kurt heading off to the French study group (which he was rapidly becoming responsible for running, since he spoke far more French than the rest of them) while Blaine went to work on calculus. The two of them traded notes afterward, making it easier to keep up in their respective classes and lessening the burden of overlapping study sessions.

After two hours of grueling calculus equations, Blaine had returned to his room and done the rest of his homework for the next day, minus the French that he knew Kurt would help him with. Although he had tried to set aside thoughts of his great-grandmother while he was working, one corner of his brain kept returning to her, unearthing memories as he tried to memorize the ten major programs of the New Deal and the three laws of motion in physics.

He had finally set aside his books and turned off all the lights except the one small lamp on his desk, which cast a warm glow over his workspace. He had opened his computer and scrolled through his music files until he found Vivaldi, and as he let the sweetness of the beautiful string compositions wash over him, he allowed the memories to come back to him. He thought of Aunt Susan and all he could recall about her, remembered the painful occasions in his life when she had appeared and somehow made everything a little safer and brighter. The tension that had mixed with his happiness all day was still present, but he felt more at peace with what he had to do.

Which brought him to his present position in the hallway, in front of Kurt's room. He gave a light knock on the door, and almost instantly heard Kurt's call. "Come in."

He opened the door and beheld Kurt seated at his desk with his head turned toward Blaine. Kurt had discarded his Dalton blazer and tie already and was simply in his white shirt and uniform slacks, his shirt open at the collar. As Blaine entered, Kurt gave him a soft smile that warmed him all the way to his toes.

"Hey," he said quietly, and Blaine smiled back at him.

"Hey," he answered, dropping his bag near the door. He walked slowly over to Kurt and stood behind him, sliding his arms over Kurt's shoulders, closing his eyes, and pressing his cheek to Kurt's. He felt Kurt still and then relax against him. They stayed like that for a few moments, breathing in and out, before he turned his head and planted a kiss on Kurt's cheek. Kurt turned to look at him, his cheeks faintly pink but his eyes serious.

"You had me worried earlier," he observed softly, turning in his chair so that his body was toward Blaine. "What is it? What's upsetting you? It can't be Aunt Susan, not really; I know how happy you were to see her."

Blaine's smile was rueful this time. "You know me too well."

Kurt shook his head, a trace of regret marring his features. "Not well enough. Not yet," he countered. "Come here." He stood, still holding Blaine's hands, and pulled him over to the bed. He undid the buttons of Blaine's uniform blazer and began to tug it off his shoulders.

"Kurt –" Blaine started, reaching out to catch his hands, but Kurt pressed a finger to Blaine's lips, silencing him. He finished pulling the blazer down Blaine's arms and hung it meticulously over the back of his desk chair. He then laid down on the bed and held out his arms, giving Blaine a silent invitation to join him.

Blaine accepted it almost immediately, hesitating only a moment before he placed himself beside Kurt.

Kurt still managed to amaze him with gestures like these. He knew that physical closeness was still hard for Kurt, even though he also craved it. How could it not be, after everything Kurt had been through with Dave Karofsky, after years of holding himself aloof and keeping himself guarded against those who would hurt him? Yet here he was, openly offering physical reassurance to Blaine. The trust inherent in the act roused so much emotion in Blaine that it felt like a physical ache in his chest.

One of Kurt's arms slid underneath his shoulders, and Kurt stroked his hair gently with his free hand and simply waited, letting Blaine breathe him in and take comfort in his nearness. Blaine drank in the feeling of Kurt's fingers on his scalp and Kurt's warmth surrounding him. He looked steadily into Kurt's eyes, grateful for the patience and tenderness there.

"I'm . . . a little scared, Kurt," Blaine admitted finally, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Aunt Susan is important to me, and I want you to know why, but in order for you to understand that, there are a lot of other pieces of my life that I'll have to explain. Some of them aren't . . . very pleasant," he said carefully, looking down as his voice shook a bit. "I just. . . I don't want to burden you with this, or frighten you away."

"Blaine," Kurt said, humor and a touch of self-consciousness mingling in his voice as he lifted Blaine's chin with two fingers, "I cried in front of you the first time you met me, and I dropped you into the middle of the worst situation of my life. Somehow, that didn't scare you away. If you think that I am going to run away from you when you have become my best friend and the most important person in the world to me, then I need to seriously rethink the signals I'm sending you."

Blaine's lips turned up at the affectionate echo of Kurt's usually biting sarcasm. "You didn't 'drop me' into anything, Kurt. It was my choice. I wanted to be there. I wanted to help you."

"And I want to help you," Kurt replied quietly. "I promise, Blaine. I am not going to run away from you. I don't think that's possible."

Blaine leaned in and kissed him gently, still marveling as he did so that he was allowed to do it at all. They had only been together a few weeks, but each new moment felt more precious than the last.

"Thank you," he said, and Kurt smiled.

"You're welcome," he replied. "Now, why not start at the beginning? What's the first thing you remember about Aunt Susan?"

"Well, you heard her say downstairs that I was four," Blaine answered, beginning to explain. "I couldn't remember how old I was, of course, but she must be talking about the same occasion." He closed his eyes, seeing the memory again. "It was Christmas time. I was playing by the tree with a new teddy bear that Mom and Dad had given me." Kurt's eyes lit up as he pictured it, and seeing the tenderness in his boyfriend's face made Blaine smile.

December 24, 1997.

The lights were warm, Blaine remembered. There were other lights in his house that were pretty and made him feel safe, but none of them were like this, colored and sparkly and magical. The tree he sat next to was covered in them – and he still couldn't believe there was a tree in his house, huge and mysterious and the perfect hiding place.

He was playing happily with the new bear that Mommy and Daddy had given him – it had soft, light brown fur and was wearing a purple and white checked bowtie. Blaine hadn't thought of a name for him yet, but he liked the bear a lot. He thought they could be friends.

He hadn't been paying attention to where the adults were – someone had been at the door a few minutes ago, and Mommy had told him to go and play before he could see who it was. Now, though, he felt someone sit on the floor beside him, and he looked up to see a woman watching him. She was older than his parents, but her face was kinder, and she had blue eyes. Neither of his parents had blue eyes.

"Hello, Blaine," she said quietly, smiling at him.

"Hello," he responded shyly, hugging the bear to his chest. The woman sounded different; she didn't talk like anyone else he had ever heard. "Who are you?"

"I'm your Great-grandmother Susan," she said.

Blaine frowned a little at the long, unfamiliar word. "Great- gran-" he tried, but shook his head when he couldn't say the rest of it. "Like Nana?" he asked uncertainly. His Nana was the only person he knew who looked as old as this woman.

Susan smiled again. "Like that, but you can call me Aunt Susan if it's easier."

"Aunt Susan," Blaine said, feeling relieved and matching her smile. "Okay."

"And who is this?" Susan asked, gently touching the bear on the head.

"He doesn't have a name yet," Blaine explained. "He was a present."

"Aah, I see," Susan mused. "What would you like to call him?"

Blaine watched her for a minute, wondering. Could he tell her? His parents didn't like fairy tales, and he wasn't sure if this person would either. Then again, Aunt Susan had come to talk to him. Adults usually didn't.

He kept his voice low, hoping his mother wouldn't come in. "I want - I want him to have a magical name," he whispered. "Something – something like the tree, and the lights. They feel warm."

Susan tilted her head back to look up at the tree, and when she looked at him again, something told Blaine she understood him perfectly.

"I used to have a friend named Trufflehunter," she said slowly. "He was very kind, and very smart, and he remembered everything you ever told him. This tree reminds me of him. The place where he lived made me feel the same way this tree does."

"He was your friend?" Blaine asked. He needed to be sure.

"He was," Susan said, and her eyes were very far away. "I haven't seen him in a long time, but he was."

Blaine looked at the bear in his arms, and the bear's brown glass eyes seemed to shine back at him. "What if we called him Hunter?"

Aunt Susan's lips curved, and the small smile made Blaine happy. "I think Trufflehunter would have liked that very much."

"Hunter," Blaine said gladly, hugging the bear again. "I like it, too." He held Hunter out to his aunt. "We can share. Hunter can be your friend, too."

Susan tentatively took the bear from him, and her face made Blaine feel as though he had done something big, though he didn't know what it was.

"Thank you, Blaine," she said.

Blaine didn't get a chance to say anything else. A sound from the doorway seemed to break the bubble he and Aunt Susan had made.

"Blaine, Aunt Susan has to go now," his mother said, her voice harsh. Blaine flinched at her tone; he wasn't sure what he had done, but his mother was angry. He looked over at Susan, wide-eyed, and saw her giving his mother a look that he couldn't understand.

"It was very nice to meet you, Blaine ," she said warmly, turning back to him. "May I hug you?"

Blaine considered her and then nodded, smiling. Susan moved closer and gathered him into her arms, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"Thank you for helping me name Hunter," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

"Thank you for sharing him with me. Merry Christmas, Blaine," she whispered, and then her arms were gone and she was standing, following his mother out of the room.

"I won't have you pulling Blaine into your fairy stories, Susan!" he heard his mother snap as they left.

"He is a child, Vivian, and fairy stories make him happy. There's no reason . . ." Aunt Susan began to respond, her voice trailing off.

"Trufflehunter?" Kurt asked, raising himself up on one elbow to look at his boyfriend. "What kind of a name is Trufflehunter?"

"I have no idea," Blaine admitted with a little laugh. "I don't know who she meant; I never thought to ask her later."

"Why do you suppose your mother was so angry with her?" Kurt asked softly. "You were so little; of course you'd think she was angry with you, but clearly there was more going on there than you could understand."

"I don't know that either," Blaine confessed, his frustration showing on his face. "I haven't thought about this in years, and I can understand more of it now than I did then, but I just keep coming up with more questions. Aunt Susan is my mother's grandmother; you would think they would have a good relationship, but clearly they don't. Aunt Susan said they had been estranged, but then why come to the house at all?"

"Maybe she was trying," Kurt suggested. "It was Christmas; maybe she was just trying to reconcile with your mother. Did she have any other family when you were little?"

"She had siblings, and I know they were all gone by the time I was eleven, but I don't know when they died," Blaine said. "I didn't even know their names until today. This is part of what's so strange about all this, Kurt. I only know bits and pieces about Aunt Susan, and as far as my mother was concerned, Aunt Susan didn't exist. I have no context for any of my experiences."

"Peter, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie," Kurt said thoughtfully. "And your mother never mentioned any of them? Never mentioned Aunt Susan?"

Blaine shook his head. "No. Not unless Aunt Susan actually appeared, which was almost never."

Kurt sighed. "Somehow I get the feeling that dinner on Friday is only the beginning of all of this – but she seems wonderful, Blaine, no matter how difficult her relationship with your mother is."

"She's always been very kind to me," Blaine said, his voice brittle. "Often kinder than my parents, even though I only saw her a few times."

Kurt tightened his arms around Blaine. He wasn't going to force Blaine to talk about his parents, but it hurt to know that the amazing person lying next to him wasn't accepted or understood by his family. He didn't know any specifics, but he had gathered (from Wes, from David, from the few things Blaine had said) that the Andersons were distant parents at best. He didn't understand how anyone couldn't love Blaine, and the idea that Blaine's own parents were completely uninterested in him made Kurt simultaneously furious and terribly sad.

"When did you see her again?" Kurt asked eventually.

Blaine had closed his eyes, but he opened them again at Kurt's question, clearly thinking. "Maybe two years later? I had to have been six; I was in first grade."

April 1, 1999

Blaine was playing happily on the large swingset in his backyard. It had been a good day at school; he had gotten a perfect score on their multiplication tables test, and his mother had promised that if he did well they would have ice cream to celebrate. It was sunny out, and he had some time before he would have to go in and do his reading homework.

Blaine kicked his feet, tilting his head back happily as the swing went forward and the breeze caressed his face. As he swung backward, someone caught him from behind, and he jumped in his seat, twisting around.

He was greeted with a warm smile from a woman with dark hair.

"Aunt Susan!" he giggled, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Let me down!"

Susan lowered the swing gently, and Blaine slid off it and landed on his feet, impulsively flinging himself at his older relative. He threw his arms around her legs, and she reached down to hold him tightly.

"Hello Blaine," she said kindly, smiling at him, and he grinned back.

"I didn't know you were coming!" he said excitedly. "You snuck up on me!"

"Well, I thought I would surprise you," Susan answered, crouching down to his level and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Blaine looked at her for a moment, cocking his head as he examined her face. "You look sad," he observed, his mouth twisting into a small frown. "Why are you sad, Aunt Susan?"

Susan smiled ruefully; she had forgotten how bluntly perceptive children could be. "It's a long story, dear one," she said. "But I was here to help put away a very bad man, and I'm trying to help save a great many other people who are being killed. It does make me sad."

"Why are they being killed?" Blaine asked, his eyes going wide.

Susan paused. She shook her head, giving a small sigh. "For no reason at all, Blaine. That's part of what makes it so awful."

Blaine saw a tear slip down her cheek, and Aunt Susan turned her head away, but Blaine stepped closer to her, putting his small arms around her shoulders. "Don't cry, Aunt Susan," he said softly. He felt the surprised tension in her body as he hugged her, but it faded quickly as she hugged him back, resting her chin on his shoulder, her long hair falling over his arms.

"Swing with me?" he offered. "I always feel better when I swing."

Susan smiled. "That would be nice." She stood, and Blaine led her back to the two swings. He clambered onto the one he had occupied before, and Susan gave him a starting push before settling on the other one, her longer legs pumping easily next to him.

"Is your mother here?" Susan asked, and Blaine remembered how angry his mother had been, the last time Aunt Susan had come. He shook his head.

"No, not yet. Kara watches me after school," he explained. "She usually lets me be by myself in the backyard, though. Mom won't be home until dinner."

Blain felt himself frown again; he liked Kara, but she wasn't Mom, and he felt as though he never got to see his mother. Even though she was home for dinner on most nights, usually she would retreat to her office until his bedtime, and he wasn't allowed to bother her while she was working. Dad was almost always home for dinner, and he spent time with Blaine in the evenings, which Blaine loved, but it wasn't the same.

Susan was watching him. "You miss her," she said delicately.

Blaine looked down, embarrassed.

"Sometimes," Susan continued quietly, "even when people are very, very busy, it doesn't mean they don't care, Blaine. Sometimes they work because they care, because they want to make life better for their families. The problem is, they put all of that care into their work, and forget to show it to the people they love."

Blaine looked up at her then. "So Mom just . . . forgets, sometimes?" he asked, his voice cracking. "But she still cares?"

"Of course she does," Susan said, reaching over and stroking his cheek. "So do I, even though your mother doesn't always think so."

Susan glanced down at her watch and stood from the swing, brushing her pants down absently. "I should go," she murmured. "I don't think seeing your mother would be a good idea."

"Will I see you again?" Blaine asked, looking up at her from his perch. He had the sudden overwhelming feeling that Aunt Susan might disappear forever, and he really, really didn't want that. He felt tears sting his eyes at the thought. Aunt Susan was . . . kind. She understood him, he knew, even parts of himself that he didn't understand yet.

Susan came over to him and wrapped him up in her arms, even more tightly and securely than she had when Blaine had first met her. "You will, my dear. It might not be for quite some time, but you will." She bent so that her mouth was next to Blaine's ear, and he heard a sweet melody in a warm alto.

"I'll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through
In that small café, the park across the way
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well

I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you."

Susan's voice trailed off, and she kissed the top of Blaine's head before smiling at him. "Anytime you miss me, Blaine, you can always look at the moon and talk to me. You'll see me again," she promised.

Blaine burrowed his head into her torso, trying to memorize the scent of warm, spicy flowers that seemed to radiate off of her. "I love you, Aunt Susan," he whispered.

He felt Susan's hands come to rest in his hair, and then she tilted his head up and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you, too, sweetheart," she whispered back. "I'll see you soon."

Blaine watched her for as long as he could until she disappeared.

Kurt's eyes had lit up toward the end of Blaine's narrative, and Blaine raised an eyebrow at him as he finished talking.

"The song!" Kurt exclaimed. "That's why you sang that song to her. I knew you chose it for a reason."

Blaine smiled. "I always remembered it, and it reminded me of Aunt Susan for years," he agreed. "I found a copy of it when I was going through Mom's old vinyl records, and I took it up to my room and played it over and over until I had it memorized. Mom never did figure out why I liked Frank Sinatra so much," he chuckled.

"So obviously it wasn't something Susan sang to her," Kurt said thoughtfully.

"She never said anything to me about it, so it couldn't have been," Blaine agreed. "Considering how hard she worked to keep Aunt Susan out of her life, I think she would have said something to me about that song, if it was at all associated with Aunt Susan for her. She never did, though. She always let me listen to her music, and she never minded when I borrowed things. Most of the time, I'm not even sure she noticed. She never had time to play the records she owned, and my room is at the top of the house."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Kurt murmured. "What did she do for a living? Why was it that you only saw her once every couple of years?"

Blaine explained everything that had happened in the headmaster's office, including the memory of the last time he had seen Susan and Susan's admission that she had retired from running an international security firm in London. Kurt listened thoughtfully, propping his chin in his hands and fixing his attention on Blaine. He had tears in his eyes by the time Blaine was finished, and he leaned over and kissed him almost fiercely.

"You are so much braver than you give yourself credit for, and I love you for it," he said firmly. "I wish I could go back and keep every one of those bullies from hurting you."

"I know," Blaine said gratefully. "I wish the same thing about you, so often – but if we managed that, we might never have met."

"True," Kurt agreed with a little smile. He began to say something else, but his eyes went wide as a thought struck him. He sat up and crawled over Blaine, quickly retrieving his laptop from the desk and returning to the bed. Blaine maneuvered himself behind Kurt and looked over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he inquired as Kurt typed.

"Looking for something," Kurt replied. He clicked through a few pages, read a paragraph or two, and then turned to Blaine.

"Aunt Susan said she ran a security firm?" he questioned.

"Yes," replied Blaine, his face puzzled.

"Is it possible," Kurt said slowly, "that the man she helped to put away was Timothy McVeigh?"