“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry,” Kurt was babbling, shivering, which was both amusing considering the heavy coat he had on, and a little concerning. Blaine attempted to reach out and tug the other boy closer, instinctively, wincing a little at the tug of metal against raw skin.

“Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, listen,” he finally managed to interject between apologies and kisses.

Kurt broke off in the middle of an “I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself and oh God is this going to fester and become resentment because I don’t want there to be resentment between us, especially not now that the whole ship is sinking and oh my God I’m so sorry” and blinked at Blaine a couple times. “What, what is it?”

“I need you to find the key,” Blaine said as slowly and carefully as he could manage, considering the porthole was completely underwater and he was soaked to the knees. “It’s a little silver one. It might be in one of these desk things or that cabinet over there.”

“Oh." After a moment of looking frantically between said desk and said cabinet, Kurt lurched towards the former, shaky hands yanking at a drawer, pulling it out all the way, then starting to rifle through it. His lips were pressed together so hard they were as pale as the rest of him, but he seemed to be less panicky now that he had a task to do.

Blaine watched him for a moment, almost smiling as he gave a “tsk” sound of disgust and dropped the drawer into the water, immediately moving onto the next one. “Hey, Kurt,” he said, almost awkwardly.

“Mmm?” Clearly not one to let conversation distract him, Kurt scarcely looked up from the drawer he was pawing through.

“...I’m not upset. I mean, about...you not saying anything back there.” Blaine shrugged a little, because it was true -- after all, there were more pressing matters occupying his mind -- but he didn’t want Kurt feeling anymore guilt. “Anyone else would’ve done the same thing.”

This made Kurt pause, one hand full of papers, the other gripping to the drawer so tightly his knuckles were white. “I’m not like anyone else, Blaine,” he said softly, though not without a sort of pride. “And I should’ve stood up for you. I should’ve been proud to...to be with you. I should’ve stayed.”

Smiling in spite of himself and leaning against the pole -- because that was definitely-for-sure implying that Kurt was proud to be with him -- Blaine said as casually as he could manage, “Well, you’re here now, so that’s all that really matters.”

And despite the steadily climbing water, Kurt took the moment to smile back. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

However, minutes later, he threw the last drawer down in frustration, splashing over to fling open the cabinet and search the large brass keys for the glint of silver he knew wouldn’t be there. “It’s not here, Blaine,” he choked out, resisting the urge to kick over one of the floating chairs.

“Okay,” Blaine said, a little out of breath from surreptitiously trying to tug his hands free. He’d suspected that the master-at-arms held the only key -- and there was little to no chance of finding him. “Okay, Kurt, listen. You’re gonna have to go find some help.”

“Who?” Kurt asked, with a humorless sort of laugh, wading back over, hands going to grip onto Blaine’s shoulders, his arms, trying to make up for all the times he’d resisted touched, because oh god, what if this was it? What if he couldn’t get Blaine out? “Everyone else is getting on the boats.”

What neither of them knew was that there were still lifeboats -- a few -- but the majority were out to sea already, each and every one filled with first-class folks who shuddered at the thought of sitting cramped up to another person. The boats were designed for sixty and sailing away with twenty or thirty, at the most, to keep the wealthiest passengers at least somewhat comfortable. Even in the most desperate of hours, some prejudices still held.

But not all. Because kissing Kurt then, leaning in and feeling cold hands raking through dampened curls, feeling the fervency in every movement was still the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll find someone,” Blaine promised, sounding braver than he felt. “Now go.”

“All right.” A shaky breath and the panic was stowed away, easily as boxes under a bed. “All right, I’m going.” One last kiss -- firm, definite -- and Kurt was going, turning and splashing out without looking back. Because if he looked back, he’d never want to leave.

The lift definitely won’t be working, Kurt thought to himself, pushing aside floating chairs and suddenly wishing his coat was shorter. The bottom six inches or so were soaked through, impeding his already-numb legs even more. Why did he always have to make such a statement -- a bulky, unwieldy, felt statement? He would’ve shrugged out of it and left it floating with the other debris, but he was shivering with cold and didn’t want to surrender any extra layers.

Kurt turned a corner at random and, mercifully, saw a stairwell looming up ahead. Breathing a thanks to whoever was listening, he splashed towards it, gripping the railing and pulling himself up. His body had the heavy, clumsy feel of someone who’d been in water too long, unused to walking without the steady pressure of the icy-cold ocean against his ankles and shins. Scrambling up to the top and looking around halls that were identical -- only dry -- Kurt paused for a moment to catch his breath.

Find someone. Find help. Right. Simple. Except he’d only barely gotten the layout of the top two decks over the last several days, and this was D Deck. At least while looking for Blaine he’d had Schuester’s vague directions. Now he had nothing.

Taking a deep breath and stumbling down the white-paneled halls, Kurt called out in a voice shaky and suddenly cracking -- from the cold? Or from screaming Blaine’s name earlier? Oh god, Blaine -- “Hello? Is anyone here?”

Nothing. At least down on E Deck there’d been the two feet of water to explain the lack of people. But this was eerie, uncanny, halls and halls of pristinely manufactured traveling space, absolutely devoid of passengers. Shivering, Kurt started down yet another hall, calling out periodically, looking desperately for signs of life. “Please, I need help!”

Turning a corner, Kurt physically recoiled from the sudden sight (and scent) of a man, shabbily dressed, heavily bearded, who was hurtling down the hall. Before he could say anything -- before he could do more than grab at the man’s coat, mouth opening to plead for aid, Kurt found himself shoved aside as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture, an obstacle, to be removed as soon as possible.

“Wait--” Kurt gasped, the air knocked out of him. The man barely halted, muttering under his breath in a foreign language. But it was the look on his face that chilled Kurt even more than the water had. He’d seen such a look only once before, on his first and last English hunting expedition, on the face of the deer David had shot, a fleeting, ancient sort of panic and terror that froze him then as it froze him now --

that of an animal in a trap, a mindless beast about to die.

----------------------------------------------------------

At about this time, the extensive system of cables and wires keeping Titanic lit faltered momentarily, and for a few endless seconds, the great iron giant went dark.

Down on E Deck, talking himself down from instinctive panic over and over, Blaine was momentarily plunged into pitch-blackness, drawing an involuntary curse and prompting him to shut his eyes tightly, breathing deeply, slowly, like a child willing nighttime monsters away.

Up on the bridge, arms crossed, waiting for Azimio to search the first-class cabins for any sign of his wayward charge, Karofsky heard the gasps and shrieks of the frightened passengers, but waved them -- and the flickering lights -- away as a momentary annoyance.

Out to sea, sitting stony and inscrutable as always besides a panting, red-faced Ms. Beiste, Sue’s cold eyes took in the darkened ship with the detached eye of a woman long jaded by one thing or another.

And, running along the maze of D Deck halls, Kurt found himself suddenly in darkness, panic seizing him in it’s icy grip and refusing to let go. His knees locked, his chest constricted and his raspy breathing became the only sound in the tomb-like darkness.

Move, move, move you idiot, there’s no time for this, Blaine could be drowning, drowned, because you’re scared of the dark. Even the ever-present voice of self-loathing couldn’t shake the temporary paralysis. Hands creeping up to his chest, clutching at the fabric there like that would somehow loosen the tight grip of terror, Kurt slumped back against the wall, heart thudding, sounding like a single definitive phrase that blotted out everything else --

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

----------------------------------------------------------

All told it was actually a very quick power outage. Mere minutes, at the most. The lights flickered back on, but by that time worry and fear was threatening to overtake the passengers gathered by the lifeboats. The officers had abandoned their polite words and deferential tones, a few of them resorting to bodily lifting the more petulant passengers into the boats.

Women and children first, they said, over and over, until the words started to lose all meaning. Women and children first, and yet down in steerage, leaning against a wall and listening to Rory spew obscenities through the locked metal door, Pav saw a mother straighten, with a terrible resolve in her eyes, then bend down to scoop her two small children into her arms, turning and walking away from the mob. Women and children first, and Finn Hudson helped Quinnie into the nearest boat, hand reaching out as if to settle on her stomach for just a moment, one last time, but withdrawing at the last instant. Women and children first, and after what felt like an eternity together, Tina Cohen-Chang stood quietly in the back, hand-in-hand with her husband Michael, watching the lifeboats leave without her.

---------------------------------------------------------

Elsewhere, down in the maze that was third class, Kurt Hummel-Sylvester suddenly remembered how to breathe again. Eyes burning a little with the sudden glaring light, he looked around, hands still clutching at his chest, breathing deeply in case his body rebelled on him again. He caught sight of something -- a coiled-up hose, in case of fire (the irony of which wasn’t lost on him) and next to it, secure in a glass case: an axe.

Kurt breathed in again, slowly, then out. In, out, one foot in front of the other, until he was standing in front of the case, reading the words stenciled on it. “Do not break, except in case of emergency,” Kurt murmured, something like a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

With a last, sort of instinctive look around -- just in case there were anymore officers lurking about, waiting to leap out and patronize him without warning -- Kurt grabbed the metal nozzle of the hose and smashed the glass with it, sending it raining down onto his shoes. He hardly noticed, yanking the axe out, then turning to run (probably not the wisest idea, but he’d wasted enough time already) back towards the stairwell he’d taken up to D Deck.

Unfortunately, as soon as he rounded the corner, axe clutched in numb fingers, Kurt was met with the sight of water lapping nearly halfway up the stairs. He froze, trying to figure out if that meant E Deck was underwater already, if the cabins were all already flooded, oh god, oh god, oh god, Blaine--

“Stop it,” he hissed at himself, shutting his eyes against the eerily blue-tinted water (was it naturally that color, or was it something to do with the way the light reflected off the whitewashed walls of third class?). Forcing his mind to calm and be rational, Kurt frantically tried to figure out which way the ship was tilted. Towards the front. So it was going down by the bow. The master-at-arms’s cabin was towards the back, the stern. The water was probably only up to his neck now, which meant it hadn’t entirely flooded the cabin Blaine was in. He was fine. It was fine.

But it won’t be for long. With this sobering thought, Kurt cleared his throat and, setting the axe down for a moment, shrugged off his too-heavy coat. Speed over comfort, that was his priority. Then, taking a deep breath and grabbing the axe in one hand, he slowly descended the steps.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh shit,” Kurt hissed, breath knocked right out of him by the icy-cold water -- up past his neck, he’d have to swim somehow -- soaking him clear through. It felt like needles, or knives, stabbing him all over, waking up his numb skin again and making his whole body ache. With a sound that was half-whimper, half-moan, Kurt gripped the axe tighter, reaching up with his other hand to hold onto the exposed pipes that ran along the ceiling. His feet couldn’t touch the bottom yet, so he kicked and splashed, clumsily pulling/swimming down the hall.

Fortunately the current -- what little there was -- was on his side, helping him until his toes finally brushed the ground. With another groan, Kurt let go of the pipe, splashing back into the water and starting to fight his way back to the cabin and Blaine.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that not once in all his near-eighteen years had he ever been this cold, wet and miserable. He wasn’t used to being uncomfortable for more than a couple minutes at a time -- at least physically uncomfortable. In fact, if he so much as got his toes wet in a London puddle, there was always a warm fire and fresh socks waiting for him, upon demand.

The Kurt of a week ago would’ve definitely given up by now, would’ve shrugged and slunk off to an undeserved spot in a lifeboat, would’ve turned away from the sinking ship and ignored the fact that half the people on it were doomed.

But, then again, the Kurt of a week ago hadn’t been in love.

That thought was encouraging enough to give Kurt the last burst of energy to knock aside the now-floating cabinet as he stumbled into the master-at-arm’s cabin, gasping out, “I’m back! Blaine, I’m back!”

Blaine had apparently been attempting to wrench his wrists free again, the bright red of his wrists standing out against his cold-whitened skin. Kurt’s instinct was to go to him, to comfort and soothe, to make things better, but...well, he was holding an axe.

Not that Blaine seemed at all put off by that, his worry-lined face relaxing into the delighted grin that Kurt was so smitten by. “You’re amazing, Kurt!” he declared, looking at the axe with something akin to wonder. “I knew you’d find something!”

Barely sparing a moment to smile back -- the grin was infectious, after all -- Kurt gestured at the pole Blaine was cuffed to. “Get behind that, I don’t want to hit you.”

Blaine obeyed, shuffling through the water with a grimace at the iciness. For the first time he looked a little doubtful, as Kurt hefted the axe to his shoulder and drew back to swing. “Have...have you ever used an axe before?”

“Blaine,” Kurt said warningly, shifting his grip on the smooth wooden handle. “Hold still.”

“Okay.” A pause, then, licking his lips and looking genuinely nervous now -- “Because I think we have time to try a couple practice swings--”

“Blaine.”

“All right, all right, have at it. Swing hard. And fast. And...” Gulping, Blaine ducked behind the pole, not so much intimidated by the axe as by Kurt’s “let’s-get-this-over-with-NOW” face. He scrunched his eyes shut, rationalizing that a cut or amputated hand wasn’t as bad as drowning. There were advancements made in medicine all the time. They had wooden teeth, right? He could get a wooden hand or something...

A deafening clang of metal against metal made Blaine jump, brought out of his false-limb-related thoughts. He instinctively recoiled, stumbling backwards into the floating desk and staring at his very-much-still-intact hands. “You did it!” he exclaimed.

Kurt splashed over, dropping the axe and grabbing Blaine’s hands to give them a quick once-over. Then, with a bit of a wry smile -- though he looked pretty darn proud of himself -- he kissed the other boy’s palms, quickly, giving them a squeeze. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Grinning, Blaine flung his arms around Kurt properly, which was all part of a master plan to kiss him properly. But he only got in a brief, if fervent half-second of lip-locking before Kurt was grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room. “Come on, we have to get up to the deck.”

“It’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s really bitching cold, Kurt.” Blaine delivered this in a voice that was only slightly high and uneven, as he let Kurt tug him along through the chest-high water.

“I don’t think that’s how you use that word, honey,” Kurt said indulgently, nudging aside the cabinet with an impatient gesture and splashing along towards the stairwell.

Blaine paused, smiling that warm and blissful smile, like he wasn’t soaking wet with steel cuffs still rubbing against his chafed wrists. “You called me “honey”, Kurt. You’ve never done that before.”

That made Kurt laugh a little, rounding the corner and sliding his feet forward. As long as he could keep the floor securely underneath him, he would. “Perhaps I become unusually affectionate in times of crisis?” he suggested, turning the next corner and giving Blaine’s icy hand a squeeze.

Whatever answer Blaine was going to give died away at the sight of the hallway. The water was significantly higher here, pouring in from the stairs, or through the walls or something, splashing them both in the face as it flowed around corners, unhindered by the flimsy walls and doors. And, worst of all, down by the stairs, the water was splashing against the ceiling, completely obscuring the way out.

“Th-this is how I got down here,” Kurt said, faintly, clutching at Blaine’s hand. “This is how we get out.”
Blaine licked his lips, nervously, then gently tugged Kurt close enough so his arms could go around him, briefly, murmuring soothingly against his ear -- “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s a huge ship. There are other ways out. Don’t worry, come on. We’ll find another way. We’re gonna get out of here.”

Then, softer, fervently, shutting his eyes and pressing his lips against Kurt’s neck -- “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

He waited until Kurt gave a shaky nod and a wan sort of smile, before he let go. Still holding tightly to the boy he loved’s hand, Blaine turned and started back through the dim, damp halls, in search of escape.