"Buy him a drink."

"He's already got a drink."

"Then buy yourself another drink, grow some balls, and go talk to him."

"It's an airplane—what am I going to do, flirt while people try to shove past me to get to the bathroom?"

"You'd do the same thing in a bar. Screw it, I'm buying you another drink."

"Cooper."

"Blaine. This is happening." Cooper leans over Blaine; digs an elbow into his arm to snap his fingers, "Excuse me, stewardess? A moment of your time?"

"Get off my arm," Blaine tears his arm away and shoves Cooper back into his seat, "And don't snap at her. She's a person, not a dog."

"See? Turn on that charm and he'll be putty in your hands," Cooper turns his smile up a notch and looks up to the stewardess who's reached their seats, "Sorry for the snapping ma'am, but this is an urgent issue."

She smiles back, clearly charmed already, "Oh? How can I help you?"

"My brother here," Cooper takes the opportunity to prod a finger between Blaine's ribs, "is in desperate need of another drink. Gin and tonic if you've got it."

Her smile turns apologetic, "I'm not sure if we have beverage services going just now, but I can certainly check."

Cooper's smile, to Blaine's total befuddlement and irritation, seems to shine even brighter, "What's your name?"

She looks surprised, "Me?"

Cooper nods, gaze fixed on her face.

She blushes a little in response, "I'm Sandra."

"Sandra. That's beautiful." Cooper tilts his head, "Thank you for being such a great help to me and my brother, Sandra."

"I'll be back in just a moment. Do you need anything else?" She's stumbling backwards already.

"Actually now that you mention it, a pack of those little cookie things?" Cooper winks, "If it's not too much trouble."

"None at all!"

Blaine watches her go, shakes his head, "You're an idiot."

"What? I like those cookies!"

"I'm not talking about the cookies." Blaine sinks into his seat. "I'm talking about your inability to make it even an hour without flirting with someone."

"I was being polite!" Cooper insists. He lifts a hand and scrubs it through Blaine's hair, "And don't tell me you don't turn on the Anderson charm whenever you need something done."

Blaine slaps his hand away, "Get that out of my hair."

Cooper holds both hands up, palms out, in surrender, "Jesus, you sure are mean. Especially considering who bought your early ticket home, little brother."

Blaine sighs, deflates, "I know. I'm sorry…thank you for that."

Cooper's smile turns softer, "You don't have to keep saying thank you."

"Well then, I'm sorry," Blaine stares at the back of the seat in front of him, suddenly tired, "Really, I am."

"You should be saying sorry even less than you should be saying thank you," Cooper stares at him for a moment before smiling again and nudging Blaine with an elbow, "Come on, screw Dad. You're gonna have your drink, maybe eat a cookie if I feel like sharing, then you're gonna cheer the hell up and go flirt with that guy you've been ogling since security."

"I haven't been ogling." Blaine mutters. "And I didn't notice him until we were at our gate."

The stewardess returns with the drink, not one, but two cellophane wrapped packages of cookies, and a smile that might split her face in two, "Look what I rounded up."

Cooper is stretched out into Blaine's space again to take the cookies and give Sandra's arm a squeeze, "You're an angel, Sofie."

Her smile falters just a little, "…Sandra."

"Right! Right! Sandra," Cooper nods, and, as an extra insurance measure, winks, "I won't forget again. I promise."

Sandra-not-Sofie floats away on another cloud.

Blaine gives Cooper a look.

"Don't be jealous. You don't even like girls." Cooper tears open a packet of cookies and starts munching happily.

"She's older than both of us."

"Nothing wrong with a woman with some experience points." Cooper motions his cookie packet toward the aisle, "Now's your chance, squirt, he put away his headphones."

Blaine swallows dryly, "I—no, I can't."

"Why not?"

"This flight has been nothing but bad turbulence, I'll be falling all over the place."

"That's the dumbest excuse I've ever heard."

"I just… I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

"Both."

"Blaine, come on!" Cooper wipes the crumbs from his hands. "You're giving the name Anderson a bad reputation with your foot dragging."

"There's millions of Andersons, our last name isn't that unique so I hardly think I'm sullying it."

Cooper pauses, brow knit in confusion, "Isn't—"

"Yes, Sully is a Disney movie monster," Blaine sighs, "Sullying means to ruin or mess up or dirty something. Two different things."

Cooper nods, keeps talking, "The point is, you have absolutely no excuse for being a wallpaper—"

"—Wallflower—"

"—When it comes to dudes! You're talented, you're decent looking—a little tiny maybe, but some people are pretty into that—and you had me to teach you every trick in the book on how to melt someone in your hands."

"Cooper, this isn't the place for trying to flirt with someone," Blaine tips his cup from side to side; listens to the ice shift inside, "and it definitely doesn't feel like the time."

"You really gonna let him run your life right now?" Cooper's smile is gone, "From like a million feet off the ground and after how we left things? He doesn't own you, B."

"It's not that simple." Blaine stares down into his cup; takes a small sip.

Cooper's quiet for a moment; gaze still intent on Blaine's profile, "What if it is?"

Blaine takes another drink, glances toward Cooper, "Maybe I'm just not the type to randomly hit on the cute guy who happens to be on my flight."

"Just…surprise yourself, B," Cooper insists nudging the drink in Blaine's hand closer to his mouth, "You owe it to yourself from time to time."

Blaine keeps his eyes on the boy—man, they're grown, he shouldn't refer to himself or anyone else his age as a boy—tries to swallow down the sudden butterflies with the evergreen flavor of his drink.

"Does this mean what I hope it means?" Cooper's expression is lit up; hopeful.

"Not making any promises."

Cooper beams when Blaine unbuckles his seatbelt, "That's my boy."

Blaine pushes himself to his feet, swallows dryly and kind of wishes he had one more drink. He pulls at the hem of his shirt; shakes out his shoulders and the stiffness in his legs.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Cooper reaches out and gives Blaine's butt a good-natured poke.

Blaine twists around to glare, "Would you cut that out? People are going to think we're a couple or something."

"I'm way out of your league, buddy," Cooper talks around a mouthful of cookie, "Stop stalling and get out of here."

Blaine turns forward again, takes a tentative step into the aisle and keeps his eyes on the back of that pretty head of hair.

He takes another few steps forward before he has to step awkwardly out of the way for a little girl half-running down the aisle and flatten himself to the side of a seat. He flashes an apologetic smile to the woman he's nearly sitting on top of.

She glares back, clearly irritated.

"Sorry." He mumbles.

"Uh huh." She looks back to her magazine; flicks to a new page with a pretty, manicured finger.

He contemplates apologizing again, somehow flustered by this stranger and her irritation, but he thinks better of it. He's two seats behind his mystery man, and he suddenly realizes he has no idea what to say.

Hi, I noticed you in the airport. I don't know if you're single or even into men, but I think you're really cute.

Hi, I'm Blaine. Can I buy you a drink when beverage services are running?

Hey, do we know each other from somewhere? No? Oh.

He nearly groans out loud.

"As fun as it is getting to stare at your ass three inches from my face, buddy, the aisle's clear, so feel free to get going."

He nearly jumps at the sound of the voice beside him. The girl is glaring again.

"I'm sorry, really, I just—" He looks at her again, feeling the beginning of a blush starting in his cheeks when he notices her eyes—red, sad. She's been crying. He feels some strange sense of empathy for this sad, pretty woman on the plane, "I'm sorry."

For a second her glare seems to melt a little, her disposition a little confused by the sudden sympathy in Blaine's voice, but then she's glowering with even more ferocity, "Sorry implies you're going to stop doing what you're doing. So either you move it or me and one of my stilettos will help you get moving."

"Santana, play nice."

Blaine is fairly certain he pulls something in his neck when he whips his head around to look forward.

It's the guy—the one with the eyes and the hair and the freckles—he's twisted in his seat on the other side of the aisle, expression a strange mixture of exasperated and fond. His gaze flits from the girl to Blaine, "Sorry about her, she's not very nice when she flies…or goes on boats. Or taxis. Or the subway. Or really ever."

"Can it, Lady." She snaps back.

The guy only rolls his eyes, smiles at Blaine again, "I'd say her bark is worse than her bite, but that's a lie. Watch yourself."

Blaine can't really wrap his head around this guy looking at him, let alone talking to him. There's something incredibly distracting about the line of his neck and the freckles on the bridge of his nose, and the sunburn on the tops of his wrists. Blaine shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. He opens his mouth, closes it; opens it again, "I—"

The plane jolts; rattles the overhead compartments and the open tray tables.

Blaine, against his better judgment, grips the girl's—Santana's—seat when the plane gives another harsh shudder.

The speakers give a rough crackle, "This is your captain speaking. You may have noticed that we're going through a bit of turbulence at the moment, so the fasten seatbelt lights are back on. We ask that you all return to your seats if you're up and moving about the cabin, and just hold tight for a bit while we ride through this. Thanks."

The plane shakes again, harder this time, sending a noticeable murmur of surprise through the passengers.

The guy is looking around in his seat, interested for a moment in the sudden upset in the plane. He offers Blaine a small smile, "Better go buckle up."

Blaine nods dumbly, "I…yeah."

He turns and starts back toward his place, blushing furiously because, seriously, he is an idiot.

"Well?" Cooper is grinning the second Blaine is back beside him, "How'd it go? I don't see a number. Did you get a number?"

Blaine preoccupies himself with clicking his seatbelt back into place.

"E-mail address? Fax information? Home address? Pager number?" Cooper lets out an irritated sigh, "Seriously, did you at least figure out if he's from New York?"

"Didn't even get a name." Blaine mumbles.

Cooper groans, "What were you even doing this entire time?"

"Getting bitched at by his girlfriend or friend or something."

"So you did talk!" Cooper pauses; wrinkles his nose, "Girlfriend?"

Blaine shrugs, "Who knows."

Cooper drums his fingers against his armrest, momentarily lost in thought, "Want me to take care of the maybe-girlfriend so you can have your opening?"

"Coop."

"Come on, we'll give it one more try." Cooper slips open the buckle of his seatbelt and stands; rolls his shoulders, "I'm sorry I sent you in cold. With me as your wingman though, there's no way you won't get—"

The plane shakes hard enough to drop him back in his seat.

Blaine shakes his head, "Did you not hear the announcement? Sit down and stay down."

"Always so good with following orders from authority figures." Cooper wrinkles his nose with a grin.

"Shut up." Blaine rolls his eyes.

"Fine, once we get through this little bull ride in the sky thing, we'll go." Cooper twists sideways in his seat, "Lets work on your smoldering faces."

"Lets not."

"Come on, it'll be good for you; when have I ever steered you—"

The plane shakes so hard, it sends up a distressed cry from some of the passengers. It doesn't stop.

Blaine grips the arms of his seat, closes his eyes. "Can we just sit here for now, Coop? Please?"

"Just a little turbulence, B, relax." Cooper pats him on the arm, "Since when are you afraid of flying?"

"I'm not." Blaine speaks through gritted teeth.

"Wait, is this like the Tilt-O-Whirl thing when we were kids? Will it make you puke?" Cooper reaches into the seat pocket in front of him, waves a bag at Blaine, "They have these little guys for that, you know, but if you're going to ralph, can you do it toward the aisle? I don't really wanna have to see it."

"I'm not going to puke." Blaine mutters. "I just don't like the turbulence."

"So the flying thing does freak you out!" Cooper's expressions suddenly lights up, "This is perfect. Remember that acting class I went to a couple weeks ago? The instructor said the best way to know how to act out emotions is to pick a person, follow them around, watch his or her emotions and just do what they do."

"Don't you dare sit here and stare at me." Blaine glowers, "I'm not scared. I just…I have a bad feeling and I'm waiting for it to pass."

"That's an even rarer one to get!" Cooper is reaching for his bag tucked under the seat in front of him, "I'm gonna take some notes. Just stay natural. Keep doing what you're doing."

"I'm officially done funding your acting classes."

The intercom crackles again, "Flight attendants and crew, this is the captain speaking, please take your seats."

Cooper's got his bag halfway into his lap. He pauses, looks out toward the aisle.

Sandra brushes past Blaine's seat, her steps calm but fast. She offers him a fleeting smile as she goes.

The plane goes strangely quiet—the suitcases and bags rattle; the floor jumps; one of the bathroom doors bangs open.

"Cooper," Blaine stares straight ahead, "put the bag away and put your seatbelt back on."

For once, Cooper offers no comeback. His bag is shoved back into place with a foot, and his seatbelt clicks into place. They are both quiet.

When the plane suddenly rocks—one wing dipping down violently—there's a collective intake of breath that no one seems to let out.

Blaine focuses on his breathing even as the rocking gets worse—inhale—they're fine, it's okay—exhale—nothing to worry about—inhale—just a little turbulence—exhale—the pilot will take care of it—inhale—we're over an ocean—exhale—we're tipping—inhale—

Blaine's startled by a sound beside him. He turns, looks.

The little girl from earlier—the one who shoved past him so fast he ran into Santana whose bitching got the boy's attention. She's splayed out on the floor, tripped maybe, eyes wide and frightened.

Blaine looks at her, looks up at the empty seat across the aisle. It's been empty since before they took off. ("Poor guy, probably still asleep somewhere; hope she was worth it." Cooper had laughed upon noticing it.) He looks back at the little girl who is apparently too frightened to do little more than remain where he is.

Blaine acts without thinking.

"Blaine, put your seatbelt back on." Cooper's voice is tense, confused.

Blaine ignores him, pushes himself up and out of his seat.

"Blaine." Cooper snaps.

Blaine kneels, gets ahold of the kid by the shoulder.

She stares at Blaine with wide eyes.

Blaine works fast—pushes the girl up into the empty seat, fastens the seatbelt; pulls it tight. He manages what he thinks is an okay smile for the kid, "Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

The girl stares at him for another minute, eyes wide; skin pale. She manages a small nod.

"Just a little turbulence—" Blaine doesn't know why he's still talking. She's safe. She's not putting up a fight. "Turbulence makes planes move sort of bumpy. Like when you're in the car and you drive on a dirt road or through some potholes."

"It's really bumpy right now." She responds, voice faint; nervous.

"It'll pass," Blaine offers another smile, better this time he's sure, "Just hang tight for a bit and then you can go back to your regular seat—you way up there somewhere?"

"First class." The girl responds, eyes flitting up the aisle toward where her own vacated seat most likely is, "I…I wanted to take a longer walk, so I came back to the bathroom back here."

Blaine whistles, "Lucky you; I hear first class has its own movie theater, is that true?"

She smiles just a little, "No….but they've got little DVD players with movies you can watch."

Blaine nods, "Maybe you can watch one when we get through this little rough patch and you get back to your seat."

The plane dips violently and nearly sends Blaine tumbling back against the side of his seat.

"Sir, you need to be in your seat!" A flight attendant calls from somewhere behind him, "Sir!"

The momentary calm on the little girl's face evaporates; she looks frightened once again.

"Sir, please return to your seat!"

"I think she's talking to you." The little girl speaks weakly.

Blaine hesitates for a moment then indicates his vacated seat and Cooper's still-strained face beside them, "I'm right next to you, alright? My brother and me. We're right beside you."

The girl nods again, "Okay."

"Okay." Blaine nods back, and with one final squeeze to the kid's hand, he pushes himself back into his seat.

"Fucking idiot." Cooper mutters, "If this plane doesn't kill me, you will with your idiot heroin complex."

"Shut up." Blaine bites back. "It's hero complex, I don't have one, and we're gonna be fine."

The plane rocks; shakes. Something outside is loud. Too loud.

Blaine grips the arms of his seat for a moment; tries to shake the jittery feel of adrenalin from his limbs.

He focuses on his breathing again.

Inhale.

The pilot will get us through this.

Exhale.

Where the hell are that kid's parents.

Inhale.

I wonder if that boy is scared.

Exhale

We weren't supposed to even be on this flight.

Inhale.

Oh God, we're going to crash.

Exhale.

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from—

IMPORTANT NOTE: Due to the change in allowed materials here, and personal preferences, I will most likely only post the first few chapters of Swim for Shore here. You can follow the complete story on my brand spankin new AO3 account: EliaSawyer. Thank you all for reading!