A/N - Okay, so, this is my first fanfiction under this pen name (and, oh my God, since when does FFN make you wait 2 days to post fics when you sign up? When I first started, over ten years ago, it was so much easier...but I digress...) And this will also be my first ever Glee fic. I've had this saved on my iPad (ah, 1st world problems...) for a while now but I'm still not sold on the title...
Anyhow, a few notes:
This WILL be a Plaine fic. I don't want any Klainers getting all upset at me, so I'm stating it now. I love Klaine. I do. But it's not what I'm writing right now.
It does contain a lot of my head canon (in a world where Blaine and Puck became close after the boys mutilated?...oops...reinvented My Fair Lady last season) but most of it will be justified in the story.
The characters will probably be a bit OOC. Because this is an AU, you sort of expect that, but I wanted to warn you anyway.
And I will probably, in later chapters, ride the 'M' rating pretty hard. Just sayin'.
Disclaimer- I don't own anything. Technically, I don't even own the iPad I'm typing this on (my husband does). But, if Mr Murphy or anyone else in the Glee world would like to come meet me and discuss it in person, I'd be happy to clear my schedule to arrange that. *grin*
Blaine stared, transfixed, horrified at the object on his front doorstep. The doorbell had chimed a mere thirty seconds before he'd swung the door open, his usual welcoming smile morphing into an expression of confusion, his chirpy "Hi!" dying on the tip of his tongue. He'd been met with empty space. Sighing and assuming some local brats were doing a ring-and-run, he'd stepped back and prepared to shut the door before an odd sound directed his gaze to the ground.
In front of his feet lay a basket. An honest-to-God Moses basket, complete with swaddled infant and "Congratulations, Baby-Daddy" note pinned to the pink fleece blanket. The tiny creature contained within squirmed and glared up at him, mewling sounds emitting from rosebud lips. Some part of Blaine knew that, if left completely unattended, the baby would probably start crying and screaming, but he was in the middle of an out-of-body experience, his heart beating at ten times its usual rate, his mind stuck on an endless cycle of 'No freaking way. This isn't happening. Am I being Punk'd? No freaking way.'
He was Seventeen, fresh from a rough breakup, had just started his Senior year of High-School, and was completely, irrevocably, irrefutably gay. A baby was not in his plans. Not now, possibly not ever.
The infant made another sound, this one louder and more demanding than its previous whimperings, and it shook Blaine into action. He lunged forward, grabbing the basket by its handle and bracing it from underneath with his other hand as he raced down the front path, swinging his gaze left and right, scanning the empty street for any sign of the person who had left it behind. There was, of course, nothing to be found. They'd most likely traveled by car and would have had plenty of time to make a safe getaway during his shocked stupor.
Shaken by the jerky movements of Blaine's run down the path, the baby started to cry in earnest, its tiny little face scrunched up and reddening by the second as it worked itself from lusty cries into complete hysteria.
"Shit," he cursed, then winced, realising the faux pas of swearing in front of an innocent baby. "Uh, I mean, shoot..." He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself. He didn't have an audience, who the hell cared if he swore? It wasn't as if the kid he was carrying was suddenly going to tell on him. He looked down into the squalling monster's face and sighed again, realising that his next course of action was to take the basket inside and investigate this entire situation further, because surely there had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
Maybe this particular delivery was meant for a different address? Or for Cooper, he mused. Big Brother had moved to California less than a year ago; it was entirely possible that he'd forgotten to leave a forwarding address to his -ahem- lady friends. And he was a notorious man-whore...the fact that this hadn't happened earlier was actually more surprising than it happening at all.
Decided that the wailing banshee was most likely his niece, Blaine's features softened and he offered her a soothing smile. "It's okay, little one," he said, suddenly much calmer about the entire scenario, "We'll get this all sorted out. We'll call Cooper and he can fly out and deal with you, and I can go back to moping about Kurt's inability to hold a long-distance relationship while trying to work out why I even bothered taking AP calculus when I hate math."
The crying only got louder as he crossed the threshold to his family's home, echoing down empty hallways, reverberating off marble tiles. He shut the door behind him and strode purposefully to the kitchen, setting the basket on the counter and, with a deep, fortifying breath, reaching inside. Having never held a baby before, he was surprised by how solid the tiny tyke was as he nestled her into the crook of his right arm, making sure her head was well and truly supported. Her wailing ceased immediately and she blinked up at him in surprise.
"Well, hey there!" he cooed, a grin blossoming across his lips at his success to calm her so quickly. He took in her petite little features -the tufts of dark, curled hair, the darkness of her eyes, the set of her strong jaw- and tried to find some semblance of his brother in them. There really wasn't any that he could see; Cooper's face was narrow and angular rather than wide and squared, his eyes a piercing blue, his hair sandy-toned, thin and straight (a perfect metaphor for the man himself, really). Still, this baby could resemble her mother, Blaine realised, before making the vague connection that he and Cooper looked nothing alike and still shared a genetic pallet. In fact, this baby kind of resembled him...which would still be possible if Cooper was her Dad because of the Anderson genes. "Aren't you a pretty little girl?"
The tiny nose wrinkled as she regarded him with obvious suspicion. Or gas.
Determined to prevent another crying jag, Blaine bounced gently, shifting from side to side like a demented, baby-wielding jack-in-the-box. He mentally fist pumped in victory when the infant yawned and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep in his embrace. Placing her gently back into the basket (and holding his breath when she snuffled and shifted with the change in position), he turned his attention to the note stuck to the pink fleece blanket. With shaking hands, he reached out and unfastened the safety pin that held it in place, unfolding it with trepidation. Once he read this there would be no going back. Cooper would be a father, he would be an uncle, and their lives would be forever changed.
"Dear Blaine," he read aloud, "I know this may come as a surprise -no, really?- but meet your daughter. Her name is - wait, what?!" His eyes frantically scanned back over the fourteen words that had actually penetrated his brain. Dear Blaine. Your daughter. The letter was addressed to him, not Cooper! This baby belonged to him! His mouth went dry.
"My...?" Foggy memories, pushed right back to the depths of his consciousness, started to resurface. There had been alcohol (naturally, every stupid decision he'd ever made had involved alcohol) and loud music, and kissing and...and...breasts. He remembered the breasts with an involuntary shudder, even though he'd apparently enjoyed them at the time (he knew the way biology worked - there wouldn't be a baby if he hadn't somewhat enjoyed the experience). Why he'd been at that party he couldn't quite recall (something about Wes and Warbler solidarity), and -try as he might- he couldn't picture the face that had accompanied the breasts and the warm, wet channel that had engulfed him.
Another shudder. His fingers curled even tighter around the letter in his hand, creasing it with great force.
He'd known, of course, when he'd awoken alone, naked and sticky the next morning with the hangover to end all hangovers, that he'd done something monumental, but he'd never pushed himself to remember, and nothing had ever surfaced, and his relationship with Kurt had continued to flourish...and then he'd simply forgotten it had even happened. And now there was a baby. His baby. Oh, God... He felt sick.
He looked back down at the letter but the text was blurred. He was startled to realise that it was because he was crying: fat tears clouding his vision before they rolled down his cheeks, eventually landing on his t-shirt with a dull pitter-patter. A sob tore from his throat and he followed it with another, and another again, until he was curled up on the kitchen floor, clutching the crumpled, tear-splotched letter to his chest, bawling like...well, like a baby.
For her part, the actual baby slept through his breakdown like a trouper, not even rousing when he pulled himself to his feet and lumbered towards the kitchen sink, splashing cold water over his face in a bid to shock himself back to reality. His parents wouldn't be home from Columbus until tomorrow, and there was no way in hell that he was calling them and notifying them of their newfound Grandparent status over the phone.
His breathing hitched. Grandparents. He'd made his barely Fifty year old father a Grandfather. His mother, at the tender age of Fourty-Eight, was going to kill him. They'd had Cooper when she was Twenty, and both boys had been lectured countless times about the difficulties of being young parents. Blaine had scoffed; there was no reason to think he'd need to worry about that being an issue. Kids, for him, were always going to be well-planned. He was gay, accidental pregnancies were an impossibility.
Or so he'd thought.
One more look over at the basket had him hyperventilating again, and before he knew it he was slinking down to the floor, his back pressed against the smooth cupboard doors, uncontrollable sobs taking him over once more. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to stem the tears, the rational part of his brain telling him that crying wasn't going to solve anything, but his anxiety won out. And so he cried, mourning a youth that, until fifteen minutes earlier, he'd not known he was going to have to let go.
"Yo, Anderson," Puck's voice suddenly carried down the hall, getting louder as he approached. Blaine realised, belatedly, that he'd invited some of the guys over for pizza and CoD. The thought of having to explain this to them, to acknowledge it was real and actually happening and voice it out loud to another person (or, worse still, a group of people) caused him to cry harder. Puck's voice loomed ever closer. "We rang the bell but you didn't answer, and the door was unlocked so..." he stopped abruptly. "Blaine? What the fuck, dude? Are you okay?"
Noah Puckerman was kneeling in front of him within milliseconds of entering the kitchen, his strong hands pulling at Blaine's, tearing them away from his eyes. Blaine quickly averted his gaze from the older boy's, tears still streaming down his face, sobs still wracking his smaller frame. "Blaine..." Puck breathed, his tone softer than Blaine had ever imagined possible, "Hey, dude, what's wrong? Are you hurt? C'mon, man, talk to me."
Blaine shook his head, the words refusing to form, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment of being caught like this by one of the guys.
"Uh, Puck..." Sam's voice sounded from somewhere above them, laced with equal parts concern and confusion. "You're, uh, gonna wanna see this..."
"Oh, God..." Blaine breathed, slamming his eyes shut, knowing that Sam had noticed the baby (where he assumed Puck had missed her in his initial race to come to Blaine's assistance).
Puck was torn between his concern for Blaine and his natural curiosity to follow Sam's instruction. With one last glance at the broken boy on the floor, he sat back on his haunches and pushed back up into a standing position, facing the back of a large basket on the kitchen counter. He arched an eyebrow at Sam, whose face had gone pale with shock, some sort of letter held tightly in his hand. "'Sup?" he asked, when the blond boy gaped between the piece of paper and the basket.
With shaking hands, Sam reached forward and slowly spun the basket around. Puck sucked in a deep breath. "Holy shit," he choked out, staring at a sleeping infant. "What the actual fuck, dude?" At his feet, Blaine curled in on himself, the sobs he'd managed to stifle restarting at Puck's question. Sam placed the letter on the counter and pushed it forward.
"Kid belongs to Blaine," the blond supplied. "Did not see that one coming."
Puck's eyes widened almost comically. "No fucking way," he looked down at the baby, seeing the resemblance instantly, and then down at the panicked teen on the floor. "Shit," he breathed again, "Blaine, it's gonna be okay..." He was back on his knees in an instant, pulling Blaine into his arms, not even stopping to think about the action.
He'd been a teenage parent; he remembered all too well the cloying, bubbling panic of it all. Though he'd had eight months' notice and the sad realisation that Beth would never actually be his to contend with, he was still the only person who could even hold a candle to what Blaine was going through right then. The new Dad, for his part, latched on to Puck like a limpet, gripping him tightly, crying into his shirt, accepting the stronger boy's comfort like a drowning man would do a lifeline.
"What do I do?" he asked as his tears finally subsided, his voice muffled by Puck's muscular shoulder. In any other circumstance, being held intimately against a body like Noah Puckerman's would be a dream come true, but Blaine was oblivious to anything other than his current turmoil. "I don't know what to do. I...I'm gay, for fuck's sake. This wasn't supposed to happen. I...I don't even know her name!"
"Emily," Sam supplied from his seat at the kitchen table, where neither of the other boys could see him. "Emily Rose Anderson. That's what the letter said."
Blaine swallowed and pulled back from his friend's embrace, pulling himself to his feet shakily. Noah's hand was at his back, a silent show of support. After washing his face for the second time that morning, Blaine shook his head and concentrated on a spot on the wall, unable to face his friends or his -God help him- daughter. "No," he eventually said. "I mean, yeah, I didn't know her name either...but the girl. The woman that I..." he laughed mirthlessly. He couldn't even say it. "Emily's mother. I don't know her name. God, I was so drunk that night...I...I didn't even remember that there'd been a woman." But now he did, and...urgh, he wished he didn't.
Puck's hand, still on his back, gave him a comforting squeeze. He hated himself for leaning in to the contact. This was not an issue these boys needed to deal with. This was his burden alone to bear. He'd made his bed, now he had to sleep in it. And every other cliche under the sun, as well.
"Hey, it's gonna be alright," Puck repeated when he noticed the tense set of Blaine's jaw. "Did you read the letter? We're gonna take this one step at a time, okay?"
That got Blaine's attention. He snapped his head back to face Puck, his eyes boring holes into the hazel ones of his friend. "We?" he echoed, "There is no 'we' in this, Puck. I screwed up. This is my mess to clean up. You...you and Sam should just go. I...I'm not some charity case."
"No," Puck drew the word out slowly, keeping his eyes glued to Blaine's. "You're not. You're our friend, Blaine. And friends stick together through stuff like this. Pizza and Xbox are all well and good, but friends don't mean shit if they don't stick around for the rough times." He ran a hand over his freshly shaved head, silently mourning the loss of his mohawk. "You're gonna need a support system, Anderson, and that's what we are. So, did you read the letter?"
Blaine shook his head. "I got as far as 'Dear Blaine, meet your daughter' and then, well...that was sort of where you came in." He was proud of himself for not breaking down again as he finally vocalised his new reality. He cast a fleeting glance towards the basket on the counter, his throat constricting painfully. "What do I do?"
"Read the letter," Puck suggested softly, pulling his phone out and sending a text to Artie and Joe to call off their CoD plans. The less people Blaine had hovering right now, the better.
Blaine picked the paper back up, now crumpled and smeared from too much handling, and braced himself. He read it over twice, the words barely sinking in. The girl -Sarah Brown, a college friend of Wes' sister's- recounted the events of the party, explained tracking him down through Facebook photo tags once she realised she was pregnant, apologised for her inability to tell him (despite numerous attempts) and, ultimately, handed over her parental rights with the request that he not attempt to contact her ever (ever) again as per her parents' orders. All other relevant paperwork (birth certificate, medical records etc) could be found inside the basket, underneath the currently slumbering baby. With a wavering voice, he told Puck what was written, knowing that Sam had already read it all. He tried not to panic.
The baby -Emily, he reminded himself- started to cry, causing all three boys to jump. Blaine stood rooted to the spot, paralysed by his anxiety. With a sigh, Puck turned and gently scooped the baby up and into his arms, murmuring gently at her. Her howls increased and he paced the floor, bouncing her gently. "Dude, I think she needs to be changed," he said when the baby continued to scream.
Sam stood, holding his hand out for the keys to Puck's truck. "I got it. I'll get some formula, too." It felt good to finally be useful. "I'll be back in, like, fifteen minutes, tops."
Noah nodded at him, "Thanks, dude." He continued to rock the baby, trying to soothe her through her obvious discomfort, sending concerned glances towards his friend. "She's pretty tiny," he observed, not-so-subtly attempting to draw Blaine into conversation, "about as small as Beth was when she was born." He ignored the pang he felt as he mentioned his own baby girl. Shelby had moved to Cleveland, way beyond his current reach. He still got emails and photos, but it hurt not having his daughter at his fingertips. Still, he couldn't have afforded to give her the life she deserved. As much as he hated Quinn's decision, he understood and accepted it. It just took a long time to get to that point. "How old is she?" When the younger boy didn't answer, he sighed and snapped, nerves frazzled from her high-pitched wails and his morose thoughts of Beth. "Blaine! Come on, I get that this isn't what you expected out of life, but it's happening. Get with the program. This kid needs you to man up and take an interest."
That did the trick. Blaine jerked back into focus, shooting him an apologetic wince. "I'm sorry, Puck. I..."
With his left hand, Puck offered a vague dismissal of the apology. "I get it. Believe me, I get it. You can have another meltdown later. I'm not goin' anywhere. But you need to start accepting that this is real. You don't have the privilege of a few months' advanced notice, dude. You gotta be Daddy now."
Blaine delved into the basket and emerged with a plastic sleeve of paperwork. He flipped through the packet, eyes scanning for the vital information. "She's...she's wow...eight days old. I..." he shook his head, overwhelmed. Eight days ago his life had changed and he hadn't even known. "She's so young..." And suddenly he was furious. "How could anyone just dump her and run?! What if I wasn't home? What if I didn't hear the doorbell?" Fear was tugging at his heart. God only knew what might have happened to his daughter if he hadn't found her so quickly.
He blinked. His daughter. It was getting easier to think.
"This Sarah Brown girl is lucky she hasn't left any contact details, otherwise I'd be on my way there right now to wring her neck!" Blaine started pacing the length of the kitchen while Puck looked on, stunned by the complete one-eighty in his demeanor. "I mean, yeah, okay, nobody wants to be a teen parent, but she left an eight day old baby alone on a doorstep without any proof that she would be okay! Who does that? It's so stupid, and irresponsible and...and..." he ran out of steam, coming to a final heartbreaking conclusion. "She doesn't care about her. I mean, she abandoned her without making sure she'd be okay. She...she relinquished all of her rights and just...walked away without looking back. She doesn't care. Oh my God..."
"Blaine..."
Tear-filled golden-brown eyes met hazel. "I'm all this baby has left. I...I...I can't get rid of her, too. I couldn't..."
Puck crossed the room, wrapping Blaine in a one-armed hug, gently pressing the screaming baby against him. "You're wrong about one thing, bro," he said, smirking as Blaine kept his eyes glued on the squirming pink-clad bundle. "You're not the only person she's got left. I said it before; I'm here. Sam's here. The entire fucking Glee club -past and present members all included- will be here. Your brother, too." He didn't mention Blaine's parents. Chances were, the older Andersons weren't going to be too pleased with this latest revelation. He knew that Blaine's Mom was all about appearances, while Blaine's Dad had been distant ever since Blaine's coming out; these things he'd learned over the summer, when he had started hanging out with the younger teen in a bid to cheer him up over Kurt's abrupt move to New York (and then, a few weeks later, Kurt's inevitable decision to end the relationship).
Blaine nodded and swallowed against a fresh round of tears, reaching out to stroke Emily's tiny, scrunched up cheek. "I...I'm a Dad," he muttered, terrified all over again. "I have a kid. A daughter. Jesus," he breathed. "I...Can I?"
Puck handed the baby over, all kicking legs and thrashing arms, and quickly pulled his phone back out to take a few sneaky pics of the moment. He knew that Blaine would no doubt kill him when he found out, but would appreciate it in a few years. Years. Christ, this was actually happening. They stood without speaking for a few more minutes, the wails of the baby piercing what would otherwise be a tense silence. Sam came racing into the kitchen soon after, two paper grocery bags wedged under his arms.
"So, I got diapers and wipes and formula and a bottle and a couple of onesies and this really cute teddy bear, 'cause every kid needs a first teddy and-" he stopped short, realising that Blaine was the one with the baby. He shot Puck a pleased smile and a nod of approval.
Puck fished around in the bags, emerging triumphant with a diaper, the wipes and baby powder. "Go, uh, get a towel," he instructed Sam, who complied quickly. The towel was spread out on the kitchen bench, the other necessary supplies beside it. "Blaine...kinda need the baby for the next part."
Blaine's cheeks flushed and he put her down gently. "I've never..." he confessed, gesturing at the assorted baby paraphernalia.
Puck chuckled. "Me neither, 'til Beth. Shelby let me babysit a few times...I'm totally a pro now." He unclipped the pink onesie and freed the tiny legs, one of his large hands splayed across the little belly. "Watch and learn, boys." He made fast work of the entire procedure, pausing, after fastening the tabs on the clean diaper, to blow a raspberry across the pale tummy because that was just habit for him. Because of her age, she didn't giggle like Beth had, but she did stare at him with wide eyes devoid of tears. He popped her feet back into the sleeper and did up the clasps with a smile. "There now, all done."
Blaine and Sam stared at him in awe.
"What?" he asked, fighting the urge to fold his arms defensively. "She was just wet, dudes. Wait til you gotta deal with a poop explosion." He shuddered. "Not fun."
Blaine reached for the now clean and quiet baby and cuddled her to his chest. "Thank you, Noah," he said softly. "For everything." He looked to Sam. "And you, too, Sam. How much do I owe you for all of this?"
Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly. "You think I'm gonna make you pay for a few baby essentials? Nah, dude. Just...can I hold her?"
"Sure," Blaine passed her across to the blond and found himself smiling at the picture of the jock cradling a tiny bundle of pink. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and found Puck putting his phone away.
"You totally just took a photo, didn't you?"
"What?" Noah attempted nonchalance. "No. Sexting a MILF. You know how it is."
Blaine arched an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, sure..."
"Well, how'm I supposed to know, Anderson?" Puck accompanied his question with a sly smile. "You're a baby-daddy. You did it with one chick..." he trailed off with a shrug.
Blaine shuddered. "Definitely gay, Puck. I won't be repeating that experience." He looked over to his daughter and sighed. "Or possibly any other sexual experiences ever again. I mean, what gay guys are gonna want to be with a teen Dad?"
Puck laughed and shook his head. "Of all the things you're worried about, that tops your list? You're more like the Puckster than I thought!"
Flushing, Blaine gave him a shove. "Can it, Puckerman."
"Uh...guys..." Sam looked over at them helplessly as Emily started to whimper and squirm. "I think she's hungry."
Puck clamped a hand down on Blaine's shoulder and pushed him forward. "Time to learn, Blainers."
Prepping the formula was pretty easy, all things considered. Blaine was pleased with his efforts, and completely enamoured by the way his baby girl took to the proffered bottle, snuffling and suckling like the food was going to disappear if she didn't chug it right that second. She'd drained the bottle (which Puck had shown him how to sterilize properly) within a few minutes, and Puck instructed him on how to burp her over his shoulder, making sure there was a towel there for any spit-up. Afterwards, she settled back into his arms with heavily-lidded eyes, her tiny fingers fisting into his shirt as she fought the sandman's claim.
"She's gorgeous..." he found himself saying, watching as her perfect little lashes fanned out against alabaster cheeks. "Oh my God, I love her." He blinked back tears for the nth time that day. How was it even possible to love something -someone- so much, so fast? How could her mother just walk away from this small bundle of utter perfection? Didn't she love her just as much, if not more so? "We're gonna be okay, baby girl," he told her. "We'll be just fine."
Certainly, there was the cost of her living expenses to think of, plus furniture and toys, and daycare and outings, but he'd do anything to make sure that she wanted for nothing. He met Puck's eyes across the kitchen table and nodded at the knowing smile directed his way.
"So..." Sam said, cutting the two teen parents from their respective musings, "I think a morning like this one deserves a bit of a reward. Like...Pizza and violent video games?"
Blaine grinned and nodded his assent, following the other boys up to his room. He laid his daughter down in the middle of his bed, blocking her in with pillows, then set up his Xbox. One step at a time, he reminded himself as he cast a look back at his bed, his phone pressed to his ear as he waited for Joe's Pizzeria to pick up. I can do this.
A/N - Reviews are love. Liked it? Hated it? Leave a review. It'll inspire me to continue.