"Aah!" Blaine woke with a shout, shooting upright in his desk. The desk tilted dangerously, Blaine waved his arms frantically to get it to stand up and not make him fall to his death - so maybe he was being a bit over-dramatic, give him a break, he was napping.

Before he could relax and be relieved that he wasn't going to crack his head open on the linoleum, a heavy textbook landed on his desk with a loud thud! "What the fuck?"

Kurt Hummel was leaning on his desk, both hands gripping the opposite edges. The offending textbook was lying on his desk - looking all innocent. 'Die, bitch,' Blaine thought angrily at it.

"I repeat, what the fucking hell, Anderson?"

Blaine looked back up and gulped, his eyes going wide. Kurt Hummel looked pissed. His eyes were like daggers that and his eyebrows were drawn down in an angry 'v' - like a cartoon. Blaine didn't dare look away from the blue-green eyes though. 'What color are they anyway?'

He finally opened his mouth to speak, embarrassed when all that came out was a little squeak. He wasn't sure if it was because he was still a bit groggy or because his was about to piss his pants in fear. The counter-tenor's eyebrow cocked expectantly and Blaine coughed a little to relieve his throat. Even then, all that came out was a pathetic "Huh?"

Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine's inability to form a complete sentence and leaned forward a little more, getting all up in the bad-boy's - or so everyone called him, but Kurt wasn't impressed - space that he could smell the expensive cologne he had bathed his body in. 'Seriously, dude. Lighten up on the Old Spice,' he thought, wrinkling his nose a bit.

"The pep rally," he supplied, his breath washing over Blaine's face. "You and Beatrix exchanged colorful words."

Blaine coughed again, waving his hands in front of his face, mocking fanning Kurt's minty breath away as if it smelled bad.

The confrontation with Blair - 'Her name isn't fucking Beatrix!' He yelled in his head, wishing he could yell it in Hummel's face. He hadn't planned it, but he had been surprised to see her there. He had barely remembered what he'd said to Blair when he and Brittany left. Thankfully, Brittany had replayed the entire thing for him, having to stop here and there because of her sobs.

"Umm...yeah. I remember."

Kurt's eyes were searing into his, but his own hazel eyes wouldn't look way - either to prove he wasn't a coward or because the blue-green of Hummel's eyes were kind of...nice to look at.

When Anderson wouldn't elaborate, Kurt had to withhold from punching him in the face. Kurt remembered very clearly what had happened.

He had had to drive Beatrix back to her apartment in silence because she refused to acknowledge any of what had happened. He had tried all weekend, most of the greasers, too, to get her to talk about it, but she had avoided the topic as if it were roadkill no one had bothered to clean up.

The only thing she'd told him was: "It's not my story to tell."

So he had come to the conclusion that the only person to ask was Blaine Anderson. The greasers didn't even know the story behind the thing they'd said to each other since most of them had been at the pep rally, watching from the sidelines.

When Kurt had asked why they didn't interfere, Dallas said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "When it comes to Bea and Blaine, it's best to not get involved."

'Well, of course I have to get involved!' Kurt had wanted to yell. 'She's one of my closest friends, the few I've made, so the least I can do is make sure she's okay!'

He had even thought about calling Finn, but crossed that thought out as quickly as it came. He was busy with football, school, and Rachel to have time to worry about something else. Calling Mercedes hadn't been an option because she barely knew Beatrix or Blaine and the few things he had told her weren't enough for her to form an opinion about what he should do.

So he had decided to to just approach Anderson himself, but the bloke was barely giving him anything to work with! He made a motion, signalling Blaine to continue.

Blaine opened and closed his mouth - open and close, open and close. He didn't know what Hummel wanted him to say, so he told him precisely that.

"I want to know what happened out there! Why the two of you said those thing to each other. Bea won't tell me anything because apparently its 'not her story to tell,'" he did an impression of Beatrix's voice, highlighting the last part in air quotes.

"She's right. It isn't," Blaine quipped back quickly. "So why don't you take a fucking hint and back off because it's not your business."

"Because," Kurt said in a condescending tone, speaking slowly as if Blaine was a misbehaving four-year-old. "When a douche-bag like you insults my friends, I'm not just gonna sit there and not do anything about it."

"Oh-ho," Blaine laughed sarcastically. He could feel the anger coming to him in spurts. His palms were sweaty, they did that when he got flustered, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say right now. "Like your friend, Blair, didn't say anything rude to me. Do you not remember the way she insulted Brittany? Asking what 'number' she was? Bitch has no boundaries!"

Kurt crossed his arms, and cocked an eyebrow. 'Yes, but you have to acknowledge that your reputation kind of gives off the kind of vibe."

"So that makes it okay for her to say that to my girlfriend?" Blaine wanted to grab Kurt by the shoulders and make him see sense. "And besides that, it was also she implied with that whole 'people in general' thing!"

He had been rip her to shreds when she had not-so-subtly made that quip. It wasn't any of her business, but she had to meddle into fucking everything!

"Oh and what exactly did she suggest by that?" Kurt said, grilling Blaine on.

"She suggested that I was - " Blaine stopped dead in the middle of his words, biting back his words.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. It was all over the place, probably from the nap, but he didn't feel like fixing it right now. He slumped in his chair, his head thumping back to rest against the top of the desk behind him.

"What did she suggest, Blaine?" Kurt said in a much gentler tone. He had backed away from the desk a bit, feeling the football-player needed some space. His eyebrows knotted together when all Blaine did was shrug a little.

"Just leave it alone, okay, Hummel?" Blaine groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

Kurt sucked on the insides of his cheeks, rolling his lips together. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any more from Blaine on the subject. And as much as Kurt would like to keep grilling him about it, he knew it would be a useless feat. He made a clicking noise with his tongue, finally resigning from the interrogation.

"Fine."

Blaine raised his eyebrows in surprise at the quick compliance, but, hey, he wasn't gonna argue. He gave Hummel a nod just before their classmates started filing into the room.

Kurt didn't turn around the rest of class and Blaine didn't bother him.

"I'll see you later, Britt," Blaine said, pecking the blonde on the lips.

"Are you sure you don't wanna stay? I'm sure Santana wouldn't mind," Brittany pleaded, the cutest pout on her face. Behind her, the Latina made a slashing motion with her dangerously manicured hand.

"No, its okay," Blaine replied, getting a smug grin from Santana. "You have fun at your girl's night."

"But I know your parents got home today," Brittany insisted, not wanting her boyfriend to go through the torture of having dinner with his parents.

She had met them before, when he introduced her to them as his official girlfriend, and it hadn't really been a good one for her. They seemed to only be happy about the fact that Blaine had a girlfriend, not that it was Brittany.

"I can deal with them, okay?" Blaine reassured her, not wanting her to feel guilty for planning a day out with her friends. "You just go have fun. Don't get into too much trouble though, okay?"

"Okay," Brittany chirped, much happier than before. She gave him another kiss before grabbing the still-smiling Latina's hand and dashing inside her house.

Blaine sighed heavily, hitting his head against his helmet. He would so love to spend the day with Brittany, even Santana and all those other annoying cheerleaders, and he wouldn't even mind getting those Mani-pedis either - anything to not have to ho home and be subjected to the company of his only reason he didn't say no was because he knew the second they were alone, Santana would rip him to shreds with all those razors in her hair.

He couldn't hang out with Puck because Coach Bieste had been making him do extra laps around the football field for a week, trying to get him fit enough to sustain him during the season. Blaine didn't like hanging out with any of the other guys on the team. They were all Karofsky's little minions - with the exception of Mike Chang who really didn't give a fuck.

'Damn,' Blaine thought in realization. 'I have no friends.'

"Oh well," he said to himself, revving the engine of his motorcycle. "Here goes nothin'."

Twenty minutes later found him parked in his driveway in front of his house. His parent's cars were parked side-by-side in front of his motorcycle, making his gut clench at the unwelcome feeling the sight brought.

Slowly, at a turtle's pace, he took of his helmet, taking the time to adjust it so and so in his arms. He picked up his book and gym bags, willing the muscles in his arms to shut the fuck up and carry the ton heavy bags.

Before he even got to the doorbell, the front door opened swiftly with a soft swish, revealing his mother standing there posed like a game show hostess (y'know, hip jutted out, hand on hip - that sort of thing). Her curly hair was in a bun at the base of her neck and she was still wearing her power-suit.

"Blaine!" Edith Anderson said with enthusiasm, prolong the 'aine' part of his name. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "I missed you so much, my darling."

"Come now, Edith, don't squish the boy to death," a deep voice said sternly. Blaine raised his head, as much as he could without jostling his mother, to see his father standing at the doorway. His straight brown hair was gelled back and he, just like his mother, was in a suit.

'Neither of them can stay away from their work, even when they're home,' Blaine thought with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh hush, Paul," his mother said back to his father. "We've been gone for two weeks and I missed my Blaine."

"If you keep coddling the boy like a child and calling him 'little Blaine' he'll never become a man without needing his mother for everything," his father replied in the same stern voice.

Blaine hated to agree with his father, he really did, but he hated being coddled as much as his father hated seeing him being coddled. He did, however, want to punch his father in the face for that 'never becoming a man' comment though.

"Oh, pish-posh," Edith said, brushing the comment off, but she did however let Blaine go of her death grip.

And that was how things normally went when his parents came home from a business trip: him wanting to be anywhere else, his mother doing something that upset his father, his father saying something to make her stop by insulting Blaine, and his mother acting like she didn't care what his father said but doing was he said anyway.

Blaine was exasperated already.

Dinner:

"So," Edith started, attempting to break the awkward silence ensuing at the dinner table. "Umm, how did that pep rally go?"

"Good," was Blaine's reply. Edith Anderson waited, staring expectantly at her son. Blaine sighed heavily, putting his fork down. "It was fine. The cheerleaders did great, the jocks did great, even the people in the bleachers did great. What else do you need to know?"

"Blaine!" His father snapped, narrowing his eyes at his son. "Do not talk to your mother like that. Apologize."

Blaine withheld (smartly) from rolling his eyes at his father, instead turning to his mother with his signature kicked-puppy look. "Sorry, mommy."

"It's okay, sweetheart," she said, pinching his cheek softly.

Blaine shot a smug look at his father when he wasn't looking, quickly ducking his head when he looked back at Blaine.

"Actually," Paul said, his eyes still narrowed. "I did hear something interesting from a friend."

"What?"

"Something about Blair and a fight," his father put his glass of wide down, staring pointedly at his son with a raised eyebrow. "They didn't really explain the whole thing, so would you care to explain?"

"Not really," Blaine mumbled, wishing he could dive into his soup and not surface until his father forgot about what he heard and cursing whoever snitched.

"Blaine Anderson," his father said in a slow, stern voice. And that was all it took for the curly-haired boy to start talking.

"It wasn't my fault!" 'At least, not all of it.' "I was just surprised to see her there, she never goes to anything school related!"

"You exchanged colorful words, I hear."

Blaine's eyes narrowed, remembering Hummel using the same expression. "Yeah, well..." He trailed off, feeling foolish. "She insulted Brittany right in front of me, I had to do something."

"So, you decided to taunt her with the fact that she left us?" His father's voice got louder word by word. Blaine crouched in his seat, wishing the arm rests away so he could make a quick get-away. "Or as you so kindly put it: having no parents!"

'Of course,' Blaine thought angrily. 'She ruins our family name by moving to the other side, befriending those greasy fuckers, but she's still the favorite fucking child.'

"Was that necessary?" His father yelled, even more intimidating now that he was standing. "How is she supposed to ever want to come back if there's still an insolent, immature child living in this house?"

"She's never going to come back!" Blaine burst out, jumping to his feet. "I'm not the reason she left, so I'm not the one that needs to change around here."

Paul Anderson's head reared back at the insinuation. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

"By opening my mouth and making sounds come out," Blaine mocked, his smirk contrasting with his anger. "The same way you're making that bull shit come outta yours."

"Why you insolent - "

"Stop it!" Edith Anderson jumped to her feet as well. "This is a stupid thing to fight over! Can we please get back to our dinner? In peace?"

The Anderson men glared at each other another moment before settling back in their seats quietly.

The only sound heard for the next five minutes was the scarping of utensil against plates and the sipping of beverages.

"How's Brittany?" his mother piped up again, going against her own advice to keep quiet.

"She's fine," Blaine replied, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork.

"Good," his father said, still glaring at his son. "She's the only thing you haven't been a disappointment in. Maybe she can set your head straight."

Blaine's eyes narrowed, his fork hanging in midair. The words came out before he could stop them. "Too bad 'cause we broke up."

Immediate silence filled the room.

"Well that's too bad," his father said finally. "Guess she realized she could do better."

"Oh hush, Paul," his mother said quickly, putting a hand over his comfortingly. "I'm so sorry honey."

"You're coddling him again, Edith," his father said.

"Paul!" His mother snapped, getting his father to finally shut up. She turned back to Blaine, "You okay honey?"

"Yeah," Blaine mumbled, his eyes having gone wide at the realization of what he had done. "I'm fine."

'I hope Santana's making sure Britt's having a good night, because she so will not be okay.'