The courtroom was more crowded than Blaine expected. When Peter had first suggested going up to watch the trial, he had rolled his eyes because who just drove three and a half hours a day to watch a trial for four people they didn't even know? He wasn't even sure how long a trial was; he had asked around, being as vague as possible with a story about friends of his who were in trouble, and according to Fitz whose big brother was in law school at Harvard, it varied from a few days to a month or more. Then Blaine really had to wonder who - aside from his favourite Ph.D. candidate - could put their life on hold to go watch something like that.

But when a free day happened to pop up on his calendar, thanks to a conference where one professor was speaking and a flu that knocked another out of commission for the week, it had piqued Blaine's curiosity. He knew from Peter's phone calls with friends up in the city that the prosecution wasn't going very well - for the prosecutors, anyway - and that the judge was ruling about evenly for both sides. Blaine knew it was probably too much to hope for, for things to go well for the poor fellows - and poor woman - arrested at the party, but maybe...

He wanted to show his support anyway. There was an unshakable sense that he needed to let them know that they had done what was right, even if they had been arrested. He needed to- it was silly, but he needed to show them that he appreciated the four of them and their friends standing up to make the ball happen. If it hadn't been for them, he wasn't sure he would ever have been able to stand in a room with dozens of homosexual couples dancing without fear, and the feeling he'd had that night was worth so much to him that he needed to do his part to say thank you. Even if he had no say over the law, even if he couldn't do anything to persuade the jury, at the very least he could go and sit in the courtroom so the defendants would know that at least their unjust arrest had meant something.

Peter, of course, had been ecstatic when Blaine had called to ask if they could go up to San Francisco for the day, practically dashing over in Janie's car before Blaine could even finish getting dressed in his conservative dark suit from Christmas. Peter looked as dashing and effortlessly preening as ever, a beaming smile stretched across his face, and he chatted happily all the way up to the city even as Blaine found himself wondering why he had suggested this fool's errand in the first place. He doubted anyone else would be there, which would put them in the awkward position of having to try to explain why they wanted to attend this particular trial. He wasn't even completely sure people were allowed to watch trials, anyway - wasn't there some kind of rule about people having to wait in the hall so it wouldn't taint evidence? Maybe that was only for witnesses.

He hadn't been prepared to turn the corner toward the courtroom and see at least two dozen people milling outside. They ran the gambit from people who, well, looked like activists with their hair past their ears in modern styles and rumpled, ill-fitting suits, to men who would have been indistinguishable from any other white collar professional in the city. A handful of women were present, all dressed neatly - even those who hung back in couples, side by side, not touching. His eyes widened as he surveyed the scene, wondering if these people could possibly all be there for the same trial. Peter's hand grazed his back subtly as he stepped forward to greet a friend with an effusive handshake and grin. "Roger, good to see you again. This is my Blaine."

Blaine knew the conversation continued after that, but he couldn't get past the pronoun. He managed a warm if dazed smile as Roger shook his hand and fumbled out some kind of polite greeting, but still his mind lingered on the "my." He knew in a way that was the closest Peter could come to acknowledging him in public - he couldn't say "my boyfriend" the way a girl could, and while he'd heard some of the men at the bars toss around the word "lover" casually, he knew they certainly couldn't say that in a place with so many law enforcement officers around...and it wasn't really true anyway, at least not yet, but it felt so...intimate. The perfect bridge of the gap between "Blaine" and "my boy": More possessive than the former and more intensely personal than the latter, and absolutely perfect, so easy as it rolled off his boyfriend's tongue as though it were the most obvious and casual thing in the world.

He wished he could say something - thank him, maybe, or express how warm it made him feel, but he couldn't. The moment was gone, and there were too many people around even if he could have crafted his response quickly enough. All he could do was look at Peter, unable to keep an adoring smile off his face, and hope the message would be understood.

After about a ten-minute wait, a bored-looking secretary emerged from an office down the hall and plodded toward the courtroom door. Shifting in her loafers, she dug into her skirt pocket to retrieve a key ring, then she selected a key and unlocked the righthand door of the pair, not even bothering to pull it open before plodding back toward the office from whence she had come. The band of spectators, which by now had nearly doubled in size compared to when they had arrived, filed in wordlessly. Blaine stared at two rows of wooden benches that looked to him like church pews, wondering on which side of the aisle he and Peter should sit. He assumed one side was for people who were supporting the defendants and the other was for people supporting the police or the state or whoever, but he didn't remember enough of To Kill a Mockingbird to remember which side was which. Roger, however, seemed to know where he was going, and Blaine followed him to a bench on the far side of the courtroom, closer to the window. Peter slipped into place beside him and nudged his side with a fond smile as though trying to entertain and reassure him, but Blaine wasn't sure what he needed reassured over.

He wasn't in trouble. He wasn't one of the ones on trial. He hadn't actually done anything wrong, even if it felt like the trial was about all of them - all the men he'd been scared of growing up, all the men like them at the bars, all the men dancing close with boyfriends in the darkened corners of the masquerade. He hadn't stopped the police from doing anything, and he hadn't stood in their way as they tried to break into the party, and really he hadn't done...much of anything at all. Not even as long as he had known that people like him were worth protecting and saving. The closest he had come was shouting at the officer leading the group out, and that wasn't nearly enough considering how much he stood to lose if the defendants were found guilty.

He should have been doing more. All these years, all this time he had known what horrible things went on at his father's office...seeing brave men like Peter and Kurt stand up for themselves, and he had done nothing. A year ago he could have blamed it on being too scared of what people would say, but none of the defendants were homosexuals - at least not as far as he or Peter knew. At least two of the men had loving wives helping out at the party that night. He could have at least helped people before, couldn't he?

One of the double-doors swung open, and two men in crisp suits entered. They strode in with full briefcases, a secretary struggling to carry a heavy box of papers behind them, and avoided eye contact with the full pews of spectators; it didn't take much to figure out that they were the prosecutors. A few moments later, the doors swung open again and a man and woman entered, looking more bedraggled and exhausted, overworked. The woman headed straight for the table at the front of the courtroom, setting up two sets of notebooks and pens as well as an enormous stack of file folders, but the man lingered for a few moments, flashing a tired but genuine smile at the onlookers. After another moment, the four defendants filed in and he ushered them to their seats beside the table.

They looked calm, Blaine realized. He would have been terrified if he were them. He didn't even know what their sentences might be, but just the prospect of being questioned by the prosecutors and having a slate of police officers in their best uniforms testifying against him, calling him all the things he was sure they would call him...his eyes drifted toward the empty jury box. Would any of the people there understand? Would any of them feel even the tiniest bit of empathy at the thought of being arrested for helping out-...did any of them know a homosexual? Had they ever met one? Did they even know if their own child was-

His own father would vote against him, he knew with a sickening lurch of his stomach. His own parents, if they were called to serve on a jury, would say that the police were right every single time. His father might find him not guilty but only because he would genuinely believe that any homosexual frequenting a homosexual bar must simply be too sick to know what he was doing.

"Relax," Peter whispered, and Blaine was about to explain that he was fine - because he was, honestly, he was frustrated and mournful and regretting so much, but he was fine all the same - when he saw where Peter's attention was focused. A line of policemen, backs straight, chins out, hats tucked neatly under their arms, paraded into the courtroom. Badges glinting in the morning sunlight, they stood for a moment and glared at the collection of odd-looking courtwatchers before taking their own seats just across the aisle. "They just try to intimidate anyone they can't control, my boy. They can't do anything to us - you can't arrest a person just for coming to watch a trial."

Before Blaine could respond, a voice boomed out "All rise!" The spectators scrambled to their feet, and Blaine fumbled with his jacket button as a balding man in a long black robe swept into the courtroom from a door at the opposite end of the room. He took his place at the bench and opened a file folder before peering down at the parties. "Are you ready to proceed?" After one attorney from each side assented, he requested, "Bring in the jury." The attorneys and onlookers remained standing as two short rows of men and women filed from another doorway into the jury box. They ranged in age from a young man who probably wasn't much older than Peter and wore an ill-fitting shirt and ugly clip-on bowtie that suggested he probably wasn't used to dressing for an office, to a woman who looked like she could be someone's grandmother, hair white and curly. None of them looked like someone Blaine instantly felt a connection with - a few looked like people he could have met before, but nothing like Peter. Not even like Kurt. No one who made him feel like he was looking at someone else who understood what he felt.

That couldn't be a good sign.

He felt queasy as he took his seat, unbuttoning his jacket, and he tried to follow what the sides were saying as the judge asked - something procedural, that was all the more he could tell. Something about more witnesses and a motion and...he had no idea. Maybe Fitz's brother would understand it - he wondered if the next time he and Peter came to something like this, he could convince one of the law students to come with them and translate all of this for them. If there was another time, he hoped there wouldn't be. He wondered if any of the rest of them understood this - maybe Ted actually knew what was going on. Maybe some of them who looked like they had been here before actually knew what the prosecutors were talking about.

One of the prosecutors stood and began to address the jury, pacing slowly in front of them, and the longer he spoke the angrier Blaine could feel himself getting. He knew that it was the man's job to convince these people what the defendants had done wrong, but none of what he said was at all like what had happened. The ticket taker had been sweet in the face of police taunting her and every person who walked up to her table, and Blaine was certain she hadn't attempted to manhandle an officer who would have been at least twice her size. And the idea that the police had been intimidated by the lawyers- they had been standing there with cameras to deter anyone from going to the party- "How can they say that?" he muttered under his breath angrily, unable to help himself.

"Shhh," Peter mumbled, glancing over at him for only a moment.

"I'm sorry, but that's ridiculous-"

"I know, my boy, I know. It's their job to defend awful people. Just wait until it's our turn."

He knew that, logically, but he didn't know how the defendants could possibly stay silent while they heard so many lies about themselves, about what they had supposedly done...and what about all the jury watching, waiting to decide what should happen to these four people? They couldn't possibly think that the defendants were anything but criminals from a description like that, and it was up to them-

The prosecutor sat down, and the female defense attorney stood and said something else that Blaine didn't understand. The judge nodded, thoughtful, then glanced at his file for a moment before he replied with a single word.

"Granted." He had no idea what the judge granted, but from the immediate response at the defense table it was something good; the attorneys grinned at one another for a split second before refocusing their attention on the judge, and the ticket taker's head fell backward as she let out a sigh of relief. He was about to ask Peter if he understood what had happened when the judge continued, "Due to the failure of the State of California to prove its case, I hereby grant Defendants' motion and order the jury to enter a verdict of not guilty on all charges-"

There was more, but Blaine couldn't concentrate enough to understand it. Not guilty. Not guilty. The defendants could go back to living their lives, and they could- Peter reached over and squeezed his leg, his own eyes wide even as he stared straight ahead at the judge, as though unwilling to look away for fear it might all be a dream or hallucination. Blaine could feel one of the police officers glaring right at him as though trying to bore a hole in the side of his head from sheer contempt, but he couldn't bring himself to care because in that moment it didn't matter. The defendants weren't guilty. The judge had said so - and it hadn't mattered whether the jury thought so or not. There wasn't much that was more powerful than a jury, but a judge certainly was.

He stood, numb, as the jury and then judge filed out. Only after they had gone did a cheer rise up in the gallery. Peter tugged him into a tight hug, beaming and almost giggling the same way he had been the night of the party when Blaine had been unable to stop himself from telling the officer what he thought, so giddy with victory and pride that he could hardly contain himself. "We won," he whispered, grin looking like it just might be so wide it physically hurt; Blaine couldn't keep his own smile at bay as it began to really hit him. "We won, my boy, the judge ordered it and everything. Just like when they said homosexuals were no reason to shut down a bar. Even I didn't think it could be like this." He pulled back a moment, eyes wide and glassy as he shook his head with a broad grin. "Perfect. Simply brilliant."

Blaine felt like he couldn't even begin to speak, so full of everything he couldn't put it in order. He knew logically it was just about four people and they weren't even homosexuals themselves - they were respectable church folks - but that wasn't the point. None of that mattered; they had won. A judge had said the police were wrong and couldn't prove that the people manning the party were doing anything wrong, even if the hotel had been full of homosexuals, and nothing in the world could dampen the ecstasy that came with that.

He wanted to jump on top of the nearest bench and sing - or put on an impromptu show on the top step of the courthouse. "Dancing in the Streets" seemed appropriate...okay, it was probably a bit much, even Peter would agree with that, but he wasn't sure he could put any of how he felt into words without music to help carry him.

"Let's go home," Peter urged, and Blaine was surprised for a moment.

"Really? I thought you would want to stay here and celebrate - isn't there going to be some kind of celebration?" Even though it was early in the day, he thought for sure at least the few dozen of them would want to go to some bar up on Polk Street and share the good news over drinks Peter wouldn't let him have.

"I'd rather celebrate with you," Peter replied. The intensity just behind the taller man's beaming smile caught Blaine off-guard, and he swallowed as he tried to collect his response. "Come on - we've got all day and nowhere to be, my boy. I'll buy you lunch on the way."

There was nothing inherently different about his invitation, but something about it seemed...intense. New. Suggestive in a way that Blaine hadn't exactly tried to encourage. He wasn't sure if he had adequately discouraged it - or if he really wanted to, exactly - and he guessed couples celebrated things in different ways. And maybe he was completely misreading it, but the look in Peter's eyes was terrifying and enticing all at once. He simply nodded, trying to take deep breaths to calm his churning stomach, and allowed Peter to lead the way out of the courthouse and away from the jubilant band of trial watchers, their excited chatter fading into the background as they neared the car.

They fell into their usual comfortable silence as soon as they started the drive, and then Blaine felt silly. What kind of thing was that to assume? Peter was just a naturally intense person sometimes, and he was certainly attractive, and just because Blaine's mind had wandered there for no reason in particular didn't mean that was at all what Peter had been trying to suggest.

Only...what if it had been? What if that really was what Peter wanted to do when they arrived back at his cozy apartment with nowhere to be until the next day? What if he really had been suggesting a celebratory...romp? And what if he wasn't ready to-

That was an even more ridiculous thought. Even if that were what Peter had been thinking and even if he did want to, Blaine felt absolutely certain that Peter wouldn't be one of those boys who moved on to someone else just because he wasn't ready.

...But what if he was ready, at least in part, but didn't have any idea what to do?

He didn't know much about the mechanics of anything - well, except what little he had done in high school and tried to forget - but from what he could gather there was one person who did more like the girl role and one who performed essentially the same role as any other boy. He could certainly do that part - he'd done that enough before. So as long as Peter didn't try to insist he do something else, he could figure things out along the way. If they did anything, which he wasn't sure they would. Peter so far had been nothing but respectful - a lot of heated kissing sessions on the couch and once on Blaine's bed for a little while, with plenty of adoring smiles and just a bit of touching from the neck up, all of which had been hard enough to get used to but in the best kind of way. So if Peter wanted to, Blaine was confident he could at least do the one thing if he needed to, and that would be plenty to celebrate.

If they were celebrating that way at all, which Blaine was sure was silly. Who celebrated a blow to police authority by having sex? Unless it was almost a form of protest, like proving that the long arm of the law couldn't reach into their bedroom, but even that seemed like a bit of a stretch for them.

A little more certain and a lot more relaxed, Blaine settled back into his seat, fairly sure the celebration wouldn't head that direction, at least not today. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

* * * * *

As the Music Department showcase drew near, Blaine found himself worrying. He was unaccustomed to nerves before a performance, certainly several days in advance, and it wasn't until he sat at home the night before the final rehearsal making notes of things he needed to tell the Mendicants to work on that he realized the cause:

He had never meant to be in charge of them. He was happy to lead the way, especially by example, but the more the boys joked about how this was his Masters Project (which it wasn't) and referred to him as the lead singer, the more uncomfortable he felt in his role. He didn't want to be the self-proclaimed infallible head of the group who dictated what songs they performed and took the lead in every number. It was bad enough he was the oldest and the only one who wasn't taking undergraduate courses, but the guys had told him over and over again at the end of last year that they wanted him to stay if he were willing; but now, as more of them joked about being his backup singers, he had to wonder where he had gone awry.

Had he muscled his way into this? He always thought he tried to open it up to discussion, and he certainly never tried to pressure others into giving him the lead or agreeing with his song choices, but he guessed he did arrange all the songs and he did lead the meetings, so maybe that was why they deferred to him all the time? They had even accepted his kind of nontraditional song choice for the showcase without so much as an argument, even though it wasn't exactly the type of music they had been doing. It was current, which he knew a contingent of them really liked, but it was a lot slower and comprised of mostly building, swelling chords which wasn't their usual style.

By the time he stood backstage, waiting for the two groups ahead of them to finish before they went on, he couldn't take it anymore. If he was strongarming the group without meaning to - however subconsciously - then it had to stop. There were plenty of guys who would be just as good of a leader and who would allow more of the voices to be heard, both in meetings and during performances.

...But he couldn't exactly ask the group what they thought, because if they all deferred to him then wouldn't they just say he was fine?

Ted stood off toward the edge of the group, and he immediately seemed the best target. In the year and a half Blaine had known him, he had certainly never pulled any punches about disliking Hank's leadership, and he did his fair share of eye-rolling this year...if anyone were going to be honest with him, surely it would be Ted. Blaine glanced around and, seeing the rest of the guys sufficiently distracted and engrossed in their own side conversations, he approached the boy. "Can I talk to you a second?" Ted's eyes narrowed suspiciously but he nodded, arms crossing over his chest. Blaine hesitated, then ventured, "Do you think I pushed the group into this?"

"What do you mean?"

He guessed he should have been prepared for the question, but it took him a moment to figure out the right way to put his feelings into a question. "I was the one who suggested performing at the showcase, I was the one who picked the song, and then I'm the one singing lead - like I do all the time. Isn't that kind of like using the group for my own on-call backup singers?"

Ted's expression was difficult to read but seemed to veer toward skepticism. "You're asking me this now?"

It wasn't the response Blaine had expected, but it seemed to confirm exactly what he thought. He should have thought to ask it earlier - now was too late. He sighed, head hanging. "You're right."

"Why do you think you're some kind of awful leader?"

Blaine looked up, surprised, not sure how exactly to reply. "What do you mean?"

"Blaine. You wrangle a dozen guys with different tastes in music and practically no experience and get us all to sing together. You know why?" Ted waited barely a second before answering his own question. "Because you listen to everyone. You listen to the group, you get a consensus, and you create a performance better than anyone else in that room could."

That certainly wasn't what he was expecting to hear, and his immediate response inched toward indelicate. "Then why do you constantly look like you're fighting the urge to roll your eyes?"

Ted smirked faintly and shrugged. "The 'aw shucks' routine. It drives me up a wall. You're the leader. You're a good one. Just be proud of it and stop trying to demure all the time. The guys trust you to be in charge and don't mind harmonizing in the background as long as it's you singing lead. Stop worrying so much about whether you're standing out."

Through the curtain Blaine could hear the audience applaud for a performer who had just finished, and the chorus immediately before them filed out onstage. He started to turn away, ready to lead the group closer to the curtain, but paused and turned back to ask, "So you're really happy with how things are going?"

Ted offered a faint smirk and nodded, adding, "Yeah. Just wish they'd stop being so scared of 'girl songs.' Some of those would be great for a group like ours - and girls dig 'em." He disappeared into the group of boys whispering to one another with a mix of excitement and nervousness, leaving Blaine standing just beyond the throng.

Maybe Ted was right. Maybe he wasn't as bad at this as he worried. Maybe the reason they followed what he said was because they liked the direction he was leading them.

With a renewed sense of security and purpose, Blaine grinned and stood a little taller, striding to the front of the group. The chorus before them finished, bowed in a perfectly-timed motion, and filed off in a perfect line. Blaine bounced twice on the balls of his feet to get himself in the proper state of mind to perform in front of such a large auditorium, then led his loyal followers into position. When the last Mendicant had reached center stage, Blaine turned and pulled out his pitch pipe, sounding the opening note, then turned back to face the audience. He drew in a deep breath and nodded, listening as the group behind him began with a cascading series of chords that filled the hall.

He had been nervous about the song choice, he had to admit; it wasn't exactly their usual popular rock and roll song fare, and it wasn't even doo-wop-y enough to be something the audience might be able to relate to when they heard the acapella group start to sing. It was a popular song, he reasoned, and more than that it was important, but it wasn't the sort of song he could take lightly.

Luckily for him, it summed up how he felt lately.

I was born by the river in a little tent
Oh and just like the river I've been runnin' ev'ry since
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come
Oh yes it will

He didn't know if he could sum it up any better in words than he could in song, but there was something in the air lately. Maybe it was just because of the trial, the verdict where the judge had said that having a party with homosexuals wasn't a good enough reason for people to have to let in the police. Maybe it had been building for a long time. He supposed it could even just be that he had felt so awful for so long that any breath of fresh air felt like immense relief and release. But things were changing. He couldn't say exactly where they were going or what might happen, but he was certain that it would be better next year than the last. He didn't know when the police might finally back off, but they would, and people like them could gather more freely, and someday things would be fair. They would be how they should have been.

Not just someday, either, but someday soon.

It's been too hard livin' but I'm afraid to die
I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come
Oh yes it will

He couldn't ever remember feeling such a sense of possibility before, of hope...but he remembered someone who had. He remembered Kurt coming to him with "Somewhere" before Regionals back at Dalton; he had been so scared then, so terrified that someone in that audience would know what the song meant to them and what they were. He hadn't even been able to pinpoint what they could do to him, but he knew it would be awful. Kurt had never seen that - he had seen unfairness and a world that had been cruel to him and his best friend, but what he really saw was a judge who ordered the bigoted, narrow-minded schoolboard to obey the law. To uphold the Constitution and to do what was right, no matter how much they wanted to stay stuck in their backwater ways.

And someday soon, he bet, a singing group wouldn't have to vote to abstain from a national competition because it was being held in a city where half the members couldn't even stay in the same hotel with the rest of their teammates. Soon there couldn't be a city like that, not with the law that Congress had passed last summer, and they could just be people. They could all just be Warblers.

Even boys like him and Kurt. They could be like everyone else - but not like his parents. It wouldn't be fake like that. They could be equal without pretending to be something they weren't, and he could have family without drinking himself into a stupor to kiss a girl, and everything could be just like it should have been all along.

I go to the movie and I go downtown
Somebody keep tellin' me don't hang around
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come
Oh yes it will

Blaine looked out over the audience, hoping they could understand what he was trying to convey, but a familiar face caught his eye. He had no idea why Kurt would be there, why those bright eyes would be shining out at him from halfway back in the auditorium, but he looked so wonderful - hair perfect, smile positively beaming, so completely proud of him. He felt his heart stop a moment as he fought the urge to jump off the stage and run to him and show the boy he was right to be proud - he had been right about everything, and he-

Then he was gone. Blaine blinked and saw an unfamiliar old man peering at him, watching with curiosity but nothing like the palpable joy he had seen from the elusive young man only a moment before.

He knew it made sense, of course; Kurt wouldn't be at a random music showcase in California, and even if he had known where to find Blaine he was sure the boy wouldn't try after so many years. And even if he had, that didn't mean anything because Blaine had someone he was very, very fond of, someone he owed everything to.

...But the idea that Kurt would be proud of him for this, for choosing a song like this one, for honestly believing it...

Then I go to my brother
And I say "Brother, help me please."
But he winds up knockin' me
Back down on my knees

He tore his gaze from where he had imagined his lost love and shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts and bring himself back to the song. He had to finish strong, especially on a song like this that swelled to a dramatic finish, and he knew he had the emotion to pour into it if he concentrated enough. He bet he could convince the people in the audience that they were on the brink of something, too, if he showed them how much-

Okay, maybe not all of them, though that would be nice. But he bet somewhere out in that audience was a boy who was just as scared as he had been, and if he could just show him, convince him that better things were possible, that change was coming and they could have an entire world he never would have believed in before...if he could just help one person, then everything would be worth it. He could never fully repay Peter, even if they were together a hundred years, but this could be a start.

His boyfriend sat in the third row by the lefthand aisle. Blaine knew he had considered bringing flowers but didn't want to risk embarrassing - or scaring, had been an unspoken addition - his young man. His smile was just as proud as make-believe-Kurt's had been, but with so much more certainty in his eyes. Peter never doubted he could believe this. He had never doubted Blaine's progress for a moment. And the adoration all over his face...It took a lot of concentration for Blaine not to blush or return the look. He wished he could sing something just for him - this was close, it was about the two of them, but it was for the world. It was for everyone else to know what was happening around them...and Peter deserved a song just for him, just for them together.

This, though, wasn't a bad consolation prize.

There've been time that I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come
Oh yes it will

The Mendicants perfectly hit the thunderous chord behind him, and he beamed as the applause began. It wasn't a standing ovation, and it was obvious that not everyone had been as enamored of the song as he was, but the pockets of enthusiastic cheering were enough for Blaine. Besides, his group had been perfect; they could not possibly have done any better. Considering that a year before they hadn't even existed and started by causing riots with Whiffenpoof standards, he couldn't have been more proud of them...or of himself.