This Love Is Not A Victory March

Part Three

It's cold. So cold. Freezing, even. Lips move on the faces around him, in shouts and laughter and cheerful conversations, but he can't hear a thing past the rushing in his ears. All he hears is those eight words pounding like a pulse, like the steady foreboding beat of a drum: "We're going to throw a Sadie Hawkins dance."

No one else feels this way. People are excited, young girls shyly asking young boys to the dance, faces lighting up at their acceptances. Every way Blaine turns, he hears discussion of dresses and shoes and hairstyles, excited voices cataloguing every tiny quality of their dates.

All he feels is sick to his stomach. Sometimes, the growing bump is his only reassurance, and he'll find himself holding to it like its some kind of lucky charm, like his baby is all he has in the world. He remembers the last time he went to a dance like this, the screaming, the blood, the pain, the world spinning red and fading into black. And the physical things, the scar on his hip, the nightmares of a bat whistling through the air to crack across his ribs, the heartbreak when Ryan's parents moved him away and Blaine never saw him again.

He has to make his appearance there, though, he knows he does. Instead of trying to organise the dance and putting himself under that stress, he delegates everything to Sam and focuses on helping Tina and Artie create a setlist for Sectionals, since Vocal Adrenaline were disqualified for having members over high school age and they're lucky enough to be back in the game.

And so, on the night of the dance, he slicks his hair back, flat to his head, shuddering at the memories of thick fingers clenching into his curls, slips into the paternity suit Tina managed to find for him and pins the rose to his lapel, finding Tina waiting for him in the hallway, her dress red and black, like the flowers in her hair. His mother exclaims over them and takes so many pictures the flash is still wavering in front of their eyes as Tina slips her arm into his and walks him down the driveway to his car.

The dance is already well underway by the time they get there. Music is echoing from the school, and lights can be glimpsed wheeling and flashing from inside. "Say what you want about Sam," Tina says cheerfully, pulling a black mask and a red mask from her purse, "but he knows how to make something romantic." She carefully puts the red mask over Blaine's face, hiding his features and letting his eyes shine out, tracing a finger delicately over the black embroidery before slipping the black one over her own and hopping neatly out of the car.

Inside, the masquerade is utterly stunning to look upon, a hundred colours like the jewelled wings of a butterfly shining out at them as they walk arm-in-arm into the room. Sam and Unique greet them, Sam all in black with a mask like a stereotypical robber tied around his head and Unique clothed entirely in white, wearing an full-face mask studded with gold beads shining beneath the light.

It's an undeniably romantic night, which only makes it worse for those there with friends, there because they have to be, swaying beneath the revolving lights and dreaming of another's arms. Brittany's in the same situation, in her eye-catching orange dress and mask, dancing with Joe in his silvery grey, but her eyes are sad, heavy with longing, and saying that the only thing she really wants is to have Santana with her again.

"Do you want to go?" Tina enquires gently as Blaine dips her back with a heavy sigh that echoes over the music, looking up at him with concerned eyes behind her mask. "You don't look like you're having much fun. I'll stay and cover for you, but you can go, if you want. I won't be insulted."

"Thanks, Tina," Blaine says gratefully. "Call me tomorrow, tell me if anyone disgraces themselves. I can tell some of the football team are drunk from here." Tina giggles and hugs him tight for a second before letting him go, waving as he leaves and a smiling Brittany sweeps her up for a dance.

Blaine's fumbling with his keys, stifling a yawn and checking the time, surprised to see it's already past eleven, when he hears the footfall behind him and whips around, one hand flying instinctively to curve protectively over his bump.

They're there, three of them, football players with hulking builds and broad shoulders, their faces hidden behind masks. One of them is carrying a baseball bat, and Blaine remembers, the pain, the broken ribs, the week spent in hospital. If one of them hits him with it now, he'll lose the baby. The cold of this realisation steals over him like creeping ice, and he presses himself back against the car, trying to shrink into the metal body, shaking his head. "Please don't hurt me," he begs, hating how shaky his voice is, wanting to be brave even in the face of the trio. "You wouldn't hit someone expecting a baby, would you? It'll kill it."

"Why should we care?" asks the clear leader, smacking the bat threateningly against the open palm of his hand. "We just want to teach you a lesson, about what happens to freaky faggot mutants like you. If you lose the kid, more power to us."

Blaine sees the bat being raised, the boy's fists tightening around the wood, and closes his eyes to wait for the blow, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to protect the baby. One blow, and he or she will be gone. He'll be alone again.

But the blow never comes. Instead there's a screech, a scuffle and a lot of swearing, what sounds like a punch and then panting, the scrape of more feet on the ground, and Blaine opens his eyes, shaking, hearing whimpering that it takes him a second to realise is coming from him.

The entire glee club is standing around him, and Jake, Ryder and Sam all have hold of one of the boys who tried to assault him. Jake's wrestled his to the ground, and has a foot pressing hard between his shoulders, keeping him down. Sugar's seized the bat from whichever of them had it, and is now looking at it with terrified eyes as Joe takes it and starts walking back to the school to hand it over to a teacher, taking Sam, Jake, Ryder and the three hulking boys with him.

"Are you okay?" Kitty asks anxiously, her eyes flying over his face, looking for any sign of injury. "I heard screaming when I came out to get a bit of air, and then I saw you, and they were going to hit you and hurt you and kill the baby. So I ran at them shrieking, and it shocked them enough that it gave the guys time to come out and get hold of them."

"Why didn't you ask me to walk you to your car?!" Tina exclaims in frustration. "If you'd just told us something like this might happen, that you suspected it, I would've come with you. We would've given you a whole guard to keep you safe."

Blaine shakes off their attentions and Marley's offer to drive home with him, and they all drift back to the dance while he goes, ending up sitting in the driveway for ten minutes, crying into his hands, before he even considers climbing out and braving the still icy driveway to get back into the house.

When he's back in his room, having changed into his pyjamas and thrown the suit viciously into the corner, but placing the rose neatly on his nightstand, he grabs his phone and dials a familiar number. One he was promised he could always call if he needed somebody.

"Hello? Blaine? Hi, what's up?" Kurt's voice is bright, cheerful, happy to hear from him, and a sob is tearing its way from Blaine's lips before he can stop it. "Blaine, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"The dance, they…there were three of them, and one of them had a baseball bat and they wanted to…they were going to hit me, they wanted to kill my baby, and it…it was just like last time." Blaine can't stop himself from sobbing, clutching the phone closer to his ear as Kurt soothes him, whispering dire threats against the boys that make Blaine hiccup out a giggle between tears. If he tries hard enough, he can feel Kurt with him, kissing his forehead and holding him tight and promising everything will be all right.

It doesn't take long for Blaine, Tina and Artie to set up a setlist for Regionals that uses all the talent the group has, and for work on choreography to start, a ruthless schedule of rehearsals that begins to take over Blaine's life. Working around Tina, Unique and Marley, with their rendition of Out Tonight and all its demanding choreography, as well as rehearsing the male-only number of Don't Stop The Music and working with a nervous Sugar on her first solo, I'll Make Love To You, Blaine has everything falling on top of him.

He's not oblivious about the toll all the stress he has weighing heavy on his shoulders could have on his baby. He knows it's not good, but he can't stop it. He's the leader of the club, he can't let them all down when they're counting on him to be first flawless on vocals and choreography, ready for the competition that, for once, they've begun rehearsals for two months before the performance. If they don't win this, with the second chance they're already lucky to have, it'll be over for the year, and none of them want that.

One such rehearsal, underneath the lights that make even someone with a high tolerance to heat sweat and pant and feel the need to pour entire bottles of water directly over their head to cool down, has a horrible effect on Blaine. Rehearsing demanding choreography and vocals at five months pregnant, and really starting to obviously show now, is no small feat. He may not be leading anything, but the group is a machine, and it will only work if every piece works to the best of its ability.

His head is spinning and he's sweating profusely and no matter how much water he gulps down his throat is still dry, his voice rough as sandpaper. The tears come too quickly to his eyes at how useless he feels, unable to dance properly, unable to even sing. And the slight pains in his lower abdomen keep bothering him, and some neurotic part of his mind keeps telling him to stop the rehearsal and call an ambulance, but he ignores himself. It's nothing he can't power through.

When he nearly falls into Artie rehearsing Don't Stop The Music, Tina's head snaps up and she gives him a quelling look when he tries to argue that he's fine, eyebrows raised and hands on her hips. "I don't feel good," he finally admits beneath her steely gaze. "I'm just going to pop outside for some air. I'll feel better without the lights on me."

Tina pats his shoulder sympathetically and sends him on his way. Blaine does feel better once he's alone in the comparatively cool quiet of the corridor outside, sitting down in the alcove and rubbing a hand slowly over his belly, pressing the full bottle of water to his forehead with a grateful sigh at the shock of the cold to his overheated skin.

The pains in his abdomen still haven't stopped, despite the fact that his head has stopped swimming in a haze of heat, and he can breathe without his throat feeling rough and raw. They're getting worse, in fact, more a stab every few seconds than a constant ache, and he presses his hand to his bump, hoping this is just the baby kicking him too hard or something, pressing against something that's making his entire abdomen ache, spreading upwards to his chest and making it hard to breathe.

His vision spots with black, and he curves both hands around his bump in a final desperate attempt to hold the baby and keep it safe. He has to be losing it, that's the only explanation for the pains, and for the blood he can see smeared on the bench when he staggers upright in an attempt to get back to the auditorium, to ask someone for help.

The world lurches, and he falls, seemingly forever, the floor rushing up to swallow him into blackness. The last thing he breathes, as his vision slowly fades to black and everything absorbs into nothing, is a soft, pleading, "Kurt," into the silence.

Then, nothing.