A little girl squatted behind a hoard of jackets, a hand held over her mouth to quiet her breathing. She listened carefully for footsteps, door slams. She heard none, and with a relieved sigh, she pulled the chair beside her to the door handle, and stuck it beneath it. Hopefully, it would delay someone's entry.

The girl crawled back over to her corner, and settled herself among a bundle of blankets she had stashed there. She let the sound of the pounding rain reach her ears as she let her self relax from listening for her pursuer.

No tears fell; she had learned that crying only made things worse. She pulled up her shirt to survey the damage, and wasn't the least bit surprised by the large purple bruise blooming across her ribs, over the yellowing one already there.

She took a deep breath experimentally, and winced at the pain it caused her. She shook her head, and curled up on the dusty, carpeted floor of the hall closet. She knew she was safe for now; her mother always went to drink afterwards, sometimes, if she was lucky, the woman wouldn't show up for a few days.

This time, it was different though. Her mother had just so happened to forget cell phone.

But for now, she just wanted a night's sleep. It didn't matter if it was good; she hadn't slept in days. She'd call when she woke up.

............................................................................................................

The girl let her eyes flutter open, and no longer was the cloudy sunshine leaking through the bottom crack of the door. She listened for any signs of another person in the house, and gratefully detected none. She pushed the dirty, charred, and tangled hair out of her face, and reached for the phone she'd kept tucked to her side.

She dialed 911 quickly, grimacing at the constant throb of her ribs.

"This is NYPD, how may I help you?" a polite voice broke through the speakers, and the little girl could feel her heart filling with something akin to hope.

"I-I, I need someone to arrest my m-momma. She hurts me, but she's gone right now ...p-please, can you help me?" the girl stuttered, unused to talking so much. She heard a grunt at the other end, and blinked hard to keep from crying.

"Of course. Where are you?" the person asked, and the girl was quick to reply. She'd memorized her address for this exact reason.

"3302 Watershay Drive, Manhattan, New York."

"Alright, we're on our way. What's your name?"

"My momma has a different last name then I do; but she c-calls me Clair H-Hummel."

............................................................................................................

When Clair woke up, she didn't remember falling asleep. She just knew that she was indeed saved, and brought to a hospital. From there, it was a blur.

Clair noticed several other things once she was fully awake. Her side didn't hurt so much, she was warm, comfortable, and in an actual bed. She could no longer feel the scratching of her damaged hair brushing against her neck, or cheeks with her every move. Her hair felt lighter somehow, and she reached a hand up to her head, she still felt hair...but it was soft, fluffy, and now, cut short like a boy's.

"Did you know that you have blonde hair, not brown?" an adult voice asked her. She gasped a little, but when she saw the white coat and scrubs, she let her common sense flare. This lady wasn't going to hurt her; she was a doctor.

"No, ma'am; my momma never liked for me to wash it. Or brush it. Sometimes she burned it." Clair told her frankly. Yes, Clair had been afraid of it then. But she knew she was safe now; she could feel it in her bones. The doctor smiled sadly at her, and walked over.

"Well, you don't have to worry about her anymore, sweetie. She's been arrested, just like you asked. But, that leaves us to ask you a very important question." The doctor began. Clair let an eyebrow raise, silently urging the lady to continue. "You see, Clair, for you to have been born, your mother would've had to have a man help her; your father. Now, we could call him, and tell him you want to meet him, maybe let him take care of you, or you could pretend to never have had a Daddy, and get put up for adoption. Now, I understand this is a very grown-up question to ask you, but you seem to be at the age to understand."

"Well, I am eight. I do understand, I think. Uh, I-I think I would like to call him." She blurted out. She was beginning to get nervous. What if her Dad was just like her mom? Then what would she do?

"Alright, Clair, we'll contact him as soon as we can. We've already found your information, but it might take a while to find your father's."

"That's...that's f-fine."

............................................................................................................

"So, you said you were from Lima?" Kurt asked, looking over at Blaine as they stood in line for their coffee. Blaine looked a little surprised at the sudden break in an otherwise comfortable silence, but smiled.

"Actually, I was born and raised in Westerville. But, like I said, my parents died, and then I transferred to Lima. Why do you ask?" Blaine replied, shuffling forward as the line moved. Kurt looked over the heads of the people in front of him to assess how longer they might have to wait, and was glad it wasn't long until their turn.

"Oh, I just thought it was kind of funny. See, Rachel, and Santana and I are from Lima." Kurt explained; giggling a little at Blaine's bemused expression.

"No way." Blaine's smile had begun to steadily grow. Kurt could practically feel Blaine vibrating with excitement beside him.

"Way. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't already know Santana. She's from Lima Heights. The only reason she went to McKinley was because our psychopathic coach saw her cheerleading her freshman year and forced her over to McKinley with Rachel, and I." Kurt elaborated. Blaine laughed, seemingly blown away.

"Small world." Blaine sighed, running a hand through hair with wide eyes. Kurt, who had gotten over the entail shock, was quite amused. However, before they could continue their conversation, it was their turn at the counter.

As soon as the two had gotten their coffee, and found a seat, Kurt decided to bring up the big elephant.

"Blaine, about January...would it be too uncomfortable for you for me to ask you about the whole story?" Kurt began, his fingers playing with the lid of his nonfat mocha.

"No, not at all! It's just such a long story I usually don't load it on someone as soon as we meet. I mean, I'm still baffled over the fact that you asked me out on a date! We've hardly known each other for two days." Blaine blushed, fiddling with the scarf he'd wrapped around his neck. Kurt smiled, and blushed himself.

"Well, you're attractive, I'm attractive, we're both lonely...and though it may be a bit unorthodox, it's a good way to get to know each other. I mean, we probably would've come to this point anyway. We just managed to skip the awkwardness. I mean, we're grown men. No need to act like teenagers, right?" Kurt rambled. Blaine stopped him by entwining their fingers together.

"Yeah, and I'm glad you were so frank about it, Kurt. Had you not been...it probably would've taken me awhile. I'm sort of clueless about that kind of stuff." Blaine reassured. Kurt squeezed his fingers.

"Well! Are you going to tell me January's story, or not? I'm sorry, I'm being pushy; you don't have to tell me." Kurt paled at his slip. Not being a bitch was going to be hard.

"No, it's perfectly fine! Well, before she was born, and I met her, I was alright, but things...they were kind of heavy. Before January truly brought me to life, I was in a very dark place." Blaine began, his eyes going out of focus as he remembered everything. "My parents...we weren't close, especially after I came out to them. When they were in that plane crash, I wasn't sad like I should have been, and I'd convinced myself I was crazy because of it. I thought I was some sociopath who just didn't care. So I closed myself off to everyone around me, built walls, snorted just about everything under the sun. Just too...too have an excuse for not being able to feel that grief."

Kurt could see tears forming in Blaine's eyes, and he squeezed the younger man's hand in his. He'd never had expected Blaine to have been through that. "I'm so sorry." Kurt blurted. Blaine seemed to come back down to earth, and patted his hand before retreating back into his memories, and continuing.

"I began to think God was doing it to me, as punishment. So, I started sleeping around with women. I mean, the girls at Lima Heights were willing, so I didn't have much trouble finding...guinea pigs, as I called them then. I tried over, and over again; for some girl who would reverse me. Make me straight. Then...then I met HER." Blaine's face twisted into an expression that could only be classified as rage. "She was beautiful, even as a fully gay man now, I'll admit that. But she was Satan. Of course, she'd be the one to get pregnant."

"January?" Kurt asked.

"January. But, thing was, I didn't want to have anything to do with Satan after that. She was pregnant, and I was the father...but I just...I felt it wasn't my problem. I made her keep my being the father a secret, and she actually preferred it that way. I'm still surprised she didn't get an abortion, she was that awful. But, her pregnancy, it shocked me out of my funk. I began to see that I was throwing my life away, and that's when I joined Glee." Blaine sighed, a smile finally gracing his face. "We didn't have any money, and we couldn't compete because there was so few of us, but to us...it was perfect. It was the light at the end of the tunnel."

"Same here. Just...with a few more privileges." Kurt looked guilty. Blaine shook it off with a reassuring smile.

"It's fine, Kurt. Now, as much as I wish I could tell you the worse part of the story is over, it's not. See, when January was born, I was still turning the other cheek. No one knew, not even the Glee club. That is, until I got the call." Blaine's eyes began to fill with tears again, and Kurt was beginning to think that Blaine was bipolar. "That this little, innocent, baby was being beaten."

Kurt gasped; his hand flying to his mouth. Blaine's tears had fallen, and he was wiping at them aggressively. Kurt lunged forward, and tore Blaine's hands away from his face. He wiped the tears away gently, as opposed to the way Blaine had been doing so. Blaine took a wavering, shuddering breath, and to Kurt's surprise, continued.

"Then, then it just hit me as I drove to the police station. That little baby, it was being hurt, and it was all my fault. I must've been speeding, and I know for sure that I double parked, but the police officers didn't care. I think it was the look on my face that made them so sympathetic." Blaine used his own hands to hold Kurt's to his face. "I saw her then, and even though her face was purple in places, and she had a split lip, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I walked over to her, took her in my arms, and the rest is history. I was in love, and after that, I was an unstoppable force of loveable daddy, and raging persecutor. I sent that bitch to jail, graduated, and moved to the nicer part of town. I lived there for seven years, making plans, and helping the community. I looked after my friends, and everything was fine. But, I wanted January to be raised somewhere she could be herself. I wanted my friends to have a chance at their otherwise impossible dreams. So, here I am."

Kurt gaped at him, his own tears falling. "I know from experience, though no where near as severe as yours, having pity taken on you is sort of annoying, so I'm just going to say this: the past is the past, it was most defiantly not your fault, and from what I can see, you-if not completely yet, have some-what moved on, and I'm here to help you clean away the dregs." Kurt offered. "If you'll let me, of course."

"I'm so glad you played your music to loud."