To be truthful, the intimacy between Tony and Maria wasn't the only issue on the stage during McKinley's rehearsal for West Side Story. It would be easy to say that Blaine and Rachel's lack of experience was the biggest problem, but that simply wasn't the case.

Their biggest issue - outside of Rory's diction and Artie's wardrobe choices - was in Tony's final scene. Blaine was calling for another character from a rival gang. He wanted to be killed, because he had been told that Maria was dead, too, and didn't want to go on living. It was very Romeo and Juliet. Blaine had no problem amping up the emotion he needed to call for Chino. He was seamless and subtle in noticing Rachel, as Maria, coming in the distance. His disbelief, as always, was palpable. Blaine's problem came just before the shot rang out that was meant for Tony. It was days before opening night, and still, every time he ran into Rachel's arms, he tensed his body, anticipating the shot.

It didn't matter how much well-meaning coaching Rachel gave. She had a habit of mouthing key directions so only Blaine could see. ("Wait," or "Relax," in the moments before the shot rang out.) But it was no use. This time, his entire body flinched in the seconds before it was necessary, ruining the authenticity of the moment.

"Cut!" Artie called out, frustrated. "Blaine, seriously? What's going on?"

Blaine let out a breath, trying to calm down, and failing miserably. He caught sight of Miss Pillsbury and Coach Beiste whispering to each other. Blaine looked away. He could hardly look at them after the way they treated Kurt when he re-auditioned for the part of Tony by doing a scene from Romeo and Juliet with Rachel. He would respect them, because it was right, but he couldn't forgive them for laughing at Kurt.

"I'm sorry…" he apologized. "Can we try it again?"

"Blaine, this is one of our last rehearsals. We can't afford these kinds of mistakes," Artie said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I know. I'll fix it," Blaine promised, even though he knew he couldn't.

He tried to forget about it by spending time with Kurt, but it was like putting a band-aid on a gaping wound. Though Blaine had no obvious evidence on him, the nightmares remained, two years later. The fear remained. So, when Sebastian suggested going to Scandals, Blaine couldn't resist. He needed to lose himself somewhere. He needed to forget.

So, he had a beer, even though he knew nothing good would come of it. He danced with Sebastian even though he felt a creepy sensation at getting too close to him. Blaine could see Kurt off to the side, and motioned him onto the floor. For a brief moment, the three of them danced together. For a second, Blaine could pretend that everything was normal.

But then, they're in the parking lot, and Kurt is shoving him. Saying he's never felt less like being intimate with someone, and either Blaine hadn't noticed or didn't care. It was a little of both, actually. The alcohol dulled his judgment and left him with a pleasant buzz he recalled from being drunk and kissing Rachel. If that had been decent, Blaine imagined fireworks with Kurt, but that wasn't happening. Blaine was misreading signals all over the place.

Kurt was pissed.

And just like that, Blaine was walking home.

Blaine cursed when he was far enough away that Kurt wouldn't overhear. This was his own fault. But now he was stuck. He wasn't about to go home trashed like this. And he couldn't go to Kurt's. His lips and tongue felt numb and strange, and Blaine squinted at the contacts in his phone. Though it had been a while, no one particularly liked him. Rachel could tolerate him, but Blaine knew that she would be with Finn tonight.

He pressed a button at random, highlighting a name, and wincing when he saw who he had chosen.

Santana.

Wonderful.

"What?" she snapped, surprising him, after the first ring.

"Santana…" he said, hoping he didn't sound too drunk.

"What the hell do you want, Wonder Twin?"

Blaine blinked, trying to remember why he'd called in the first place. It felt extremely out of place to ask Santana for anything. He had only been at McKinley for less than two months. Aside from Kurt, he didn't know anyone well enough to ask for favors.

"Santana…I mean…I'm sorry…I shouldn't have called…"

"Are you drunk, Anderson? Oh, my God, you so are! If you kissed Rachel again, I'm gonna laugh my ass off…" she warned.

There was a pause, long enough for Blaine to gather his nerve. "I'm only gonna ask this once…but I'd be extremely grateful if you could come pick me up," he said softly.

"Where are you?" she asked, sounding curious.

"Scandals."

"Sure, I'm bored anyway," she said after a pause, surprising him.

So he gave her directions the best he could, and then he waited, feeling the old fear eating away at him. He was a target out here, in the middle of the night. He was a gay high school kid out here in the middle of the night. He hoped Santana hadn't been kidding around, because he really couldn't afford that.

Time passed and Blaine's head ached. His skin crawled. When Santana called to him, at first, he didn't hear her.

"Blaine Anderson!" she snapped. "Get in the damn car!"

He did, slowly, hoping she wouldn't scream at him all the way home. Not that he was planning on going home. Oh. He should probably mention that.

"Do you think I could crash at your place tonight? My relationship with my parents is already…strained…and I don't want to disappoint them…"

"Don't push it," Santana responded, keeping her eyes on the road. "And don't you dare blow chunks in here or I'll seriously kick your ass."

Blaine noticed belatedly that there was no heat behind her words. No sarcasm covering them. He wondered if it was because he was drunk and she thought he might not remember this come the morning. He sat up a little straighter, when she pulled into her own driveway and turned off the car.

"I want the truth, Asian Sensation. What's your issue?" she pressed.

Blaine groaned. Normally, he would have loved the opportunity to talk to Santana. To get to know her. If only to get closer to the New Directions, in general. But right now, all he wanted to do was crash, and sleep for a year.

"Excuse me?" he said, feigning offense. "What kind of nickname is that?"

"One directed at your vague nationality. I can come up with worse. Trust me. Now, I want the truth, before I go all Auntie Snixx on your ass."

Blaine rolled his eyes, and immediately knew it was a mistake. He got so dizzy he was almost sick. To her credit, Santana didn't comment. She only waited, looking straight ahead.

"It was stupid," he admitted.

"No shit. Why the hell would you get drunk while you're out with Prancy Smurf and the gargoyle?" she asked, referencing Kurt and Sebastian. "Prancy's allergic to fun and the stone creature is obviously evil. It's just not like you."

Blaine shrugged. "I wanted to forget. I keep screwing up the same part in rehearsal…" he seethed, angry at himself again.

"Oh yeah? The dance move? That's hilarious…" Santana snickered.

Blaine shook his head. "Not then. The end. Where Tony gets killed. I keep flinching before the shot's fired and pissing off everyone."

"So, stop flinching," she said plainly, looking at him for the first time.

"Obviously, I would if I could…It's more than that… It makes me remember a time in my life I'd rather forget about…"

Santana was quiet, just listening.

"It was prom and I was a freshman. I'd gotten asked out by an older guy. Some other guys saw us together and beat the crap out of us…" he confessed, realizing that it didn't get any easier. "I can't wrap my head around…asking for it in the show…asking for some rival gang guy to come and take my life… When all the time they were kicking my ass, they said we asked for it…" he said softly." Blaine shook his head, wishing that being drunk didn't give him such a loose tongue. If he knew anything about Santana it was that he was giving her ammunition for future verbal attacks, when he inevitably pissed her off.

"One of the dancing boys beat the shit out of you?" Santana asked, her eyes wide. "I thought there was a zero tolerance policy…"

"No, not at Dalton. That's why I transferred there…"

Silence fell in the car again.

"Well," Santana said, after a few seconds. "Use it. Acting's a good excuse to pour all that shit you've been through into a character and express it. Don't even think about repeating this, all right, but… You're not the only one…"

"What do you mean by that?" Blaine asked cautiously.

"You think I like playing Anita when she has to go down to that damn drugstore and get pushed around by a group of assholes? It sucks. Like you, shit's happened to me, and I don't like thinking about it. And I don't like feeling it. But you know what? You can bitch about it, or you can use it. Yeah, it's an uncomfortable position. So use it to really go there and express that. I can never show a damn thing, but it doesn't mean I don't feel… You seem like you've got it all together, Anderson, but I think we both know that's not true." She paused to take a breath. "Look, all I'm saying is, I'm using Anita in the drug store as an excuse to be afraid. So use Tony getting killed. Let it give you a reason to feel something you haven't yet. I don't know what that is, but you do. Now…are you gonna come inside, or sleep in the car?"

Shaking his head, Blaine followed her inside, and gratefully collapsed on her couch. They didn't say anything more to each other, and she disappeared down the hall into her room. Blaine, meanwhile, stayed awake, thinking about ways he could use what happened to him in his final scene.

Blaine and Rachel spoke briefly in front of the dressing room mirrors. They expressed regret at neither having slept with their significant others. Rachel wanted to cancel the play, but Blaine squeezed her hand. They spoke briefly. They watched from the wings. Blaine impressed by Kurt, Mike, Tina, Brittany and Quinn, but absolutely floored by Santana, who completely embodied the character of Anita.

Following Tonight, he reached out for Rachel's hand again. She talked to him about them being soul mates, and playing to that. Blaine thought about his fellow Warblers in the audience tonight…he thought he heard Kurt mention that Mercedes was out there, too. It made him feel slightly better to have people he was familiar with watching him. And knowing that Santana was around - either onstage, or in the wings - and that she understood what he was struggling with.

"Ready?" Rachel asked, when they were prepping for the big scene.

Blaine said nothing. He had watched, speechless, as Santana let herself be tossed between a group of guys. It wasn't stated directly in the film - and even less so in this high school play - but it was clear enough to Blaine that the guys were preparing to violate Anita. Watching Santana lose herself in the terror of the moment broke Blaine's heart.

It also gave him courage.

In the coming moments, he let himself descend. He immersed himself not in the pain of the beating, but in the hopelessness of not being able to help the upper-classman, who had asked him out. He went there, and he let himself feel it.

When it was time to go onstage, Blaine was ready. When Tony was told that Maria had died, he lost it, tapping into what he'd kept buried for two long years.

He screamed for Chino to come and get him. And instead of being scared of it, Blaine meant it. For the first time, he understood Tony's motivation in a concrete sense, and he threw himself into the scene. Then, when he spotted Rachel as Maria, he let his spirits soar. He let himself be amazed, and ran to her, thinking of nothing else.

When the sound-effect for the gunshot rang out, Blaine felt his body spasm on instinct. He fell to the stage, and let himself be cradled by Rachel. He sang his last line, and closed his eyes, listening. It was strange, hearing the scene unfold with so much raw power - so much more than rehearsals. Rachel didn't just recite her lines dramatically, she lived them. She screamed them. When she ran back to cover his body with her own protectively, he felt her tears falling onto his own face.

Then, he felt himself being picked up and carried off, leaving Rachel behind onstage.

The applause was loud and consistent. Blaine and Rachel took their bows. Then, the exited the auditorium doors, and he was lost in a crowd of McKinley students and parents. His own weren't there, and that was more a relief than anything else. He accepted congratulations from Kurt's dad and Finn's mom. He got hugs and cheers from the Warblers. Trent picked him up and spun him around. They said he was awesome, and he thanked them.

"I'm not sure if I can do that again…" he muttered under his breath, after he'd separated himself and stood against one wall to catch his breath.

"You did it once, you can do it again," a voice offered dryly. "Don't be so dramatic."

Blaine glanced up, a smile touching his lips. "Hey, Santana."

"Hey, yourself. What do you want?" she asked, not looking at him as she sent text messages.

"You were great," he said honestly.

"No shit," she retorted. "You were okay…" she allowed, but the corner of her mouth twitched, letting Blaine know she was kidding…mostly…

"Are your parents here?" he asked, glancing around.

"Are you kidding? They don't come to anything."

"Mine, either." he admitted. "It's better, though."

"Cast party at Breadstix tonight," she said, ignoring their previous conversation. "You in?"

"Maybe… I need to do something first, though," Blaine said, thinking of the dance move he'd screwed up on. He needed to practice hard to nail it tomorrow night.

"Hey, Blaine," she called as he walked away.

He turned, walking backward a few paces to face her.

She said nothing, only nodded at him and nudging her own chin upward. Her gesture saying more than words ever could.

The End.