A/N: I don't know how many people will be reading this, but so far I've been having a lot of fun writing it and so I thought I'd post anyway! It's a Blake Collins centric fic featuring an OC love interest, with lots of Blake/Chase brotherly … stuff – some fluff, some angst, some general banter – and plenty of appearances by Andie, Moose and co. This first chapter is set partway through Step Up 2, after the MSA Crew is formed but before they go down to the Dragon the first time. Thoughts are always appreciated, and I'll try to keep updates as frequent as I can!

Oh, and the title is a line from Stephen Sondheim's Send In The Clowns, from the Broadway show A Little Night Music. I get a lot of my best writing inspiration from listening to show tunes and the background for the OC in this fic was inspired in part by the themes of this song and by Desirée, the character who sings it. Just a bit of random trivia! Enjoy!

"I'd say tonight's a roaring success, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh yes, Mother, it's a treat," Blake Collins sighed, emptying his glass of champagne with a heavy sigh. Rebecca Collins shot her eldest son a sharp glance and sniffed.

"Well no need to be sarcastic, dear," she informed him tartly. "I'll have you know a lot of work went into making this party special for you, and all you've done since getting here is skulk in a corner and ignore everyone who turned up to wish you a happy birthday!"

"All right, first of all, most of them don't know me from Adam," Blake corrected her coolly, casting his eye suspiciously over a couple passing by who were eyeing his mother's silverware in a way he didn't care for. "At least not personally. Maybe one or two recognise me from the stage or as the Director of MSA, maybe. And second of all, I have done more than skulk in the corner. I have drunk three glasses of champagne, I have eaten several dozen miniature lobster rolls, and I have spoken with Chase."

"Oh, well aren't you a prince?" Rebecca simpered, and he rolled his eyes.

"I've also spoken with you and Dad."

"Mother Theresa herself would be envious."

"May I ask you something?" Blake hissed out of the corner of his mouth, smiling a false smile at a couple of older gentlemen he was fairly sure he had never met before. "How exactly do you rationalise being so critical of my sarcasm when this is how you speak?"

"Simple, Blake: I'm your mother," Rebecca reminded him with a chilling smile. "I don't have to rationalise anything. Now go and mingle with the guests while I drag your father away from the bar."

"Oh, just leave him there," sighed Blake, straightening his tie and abandoning his empty glass on the kitchen counter. "It would make life a lot easier," he added under his breath as he entered his parents' living room, shaking hands with one of his father's old friends and apologising, but no, he wasn't sure where Charles had disappeared to.

"Having fun?" his younger brother Chase asked with a smirk as Blake joined him by one of the rented tables, draped in a white tablecloth with some hideous silver centrepiece. Blake hailed a passing waiter and nabbed another glass of champagne, sipping on it gladly.

"Truckloads," he deadpanned, grimacing as yet another gaggle of unfamiliar women floated by the table, giggling and pointing at him, flipping their hair and wiggling their fingers alternately. "Tell me something, Chase: have the women of our parents' acquaintance become younger and denser, or am I just getting old?"

"I don't think that's an 'either or' scenario, bro," Chase grinned, not managing to avoid Blake's subtle and well-placed elbow to the stomach. "Ow!"

"One of these days, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble."

"As long as she's hot," shrugged the younger Collins, causing Blake to choke on his mouthful of champagne. Chase snorted gleefully, clapping his reddening brother on the shoulder. "Lighten up, B!"

"Don't call me that," Blake told him sternly. "You know I hate it."

"Which seems as good a reason as any to keep doing it," mused Chase, all mock sincerity.

"I cannot believe she actually went ahead with this charade," complained Blake, choosing to ignore his brother's childishness for the moment. "I told her specifically that I did not want one of her ridiculous formal parties where I would have nobody to talk to."

"I think that's why I'm here."

"How long before it's no longer rude for me to leave?" Blake queried, draining his glass and setting it down on the table slightly more forcefully than he had intended.

"Well you're the guest of honour, and the party's only been going on for an hour, so I'd say it'll be a while," Chase advised. "I, on the other hand, can sneak out in about … fifteen minutes or so."

"You wouldn't."

"Not just would – will," Chase corrected him. "I made plans."

"You made plans on the night of my birthday party?" echoed Blake. "No really, Chase, I insist, don't make a fuss …"

"You hate birthdays," his brother pointed out knowingly. "And the only thing you hate more than birthdays is Mom's idea of a fun birthday party. I assumed you'd either sneak away yourself or … get drunk. And while that's something I've still never seen and would love to, something tells me you won't do it in front of Mom and Dad, so my hope of any entertainment is gone."

"You're several rungs below amusing," Blake informed him with one eyebrow raised. "So where could be so interesting that you're slipping out early?"

"I'm meeting Andie," shrugged Chase.

"Ah, I see – are you two going shopping for wife-beaters together?"

"Why do you hate her?" demanded the younger Collins, lowering his voice when one or two guests turned to them curiously.

"I do not hate Andie," Blake shrugged. "I think she has potential as a dancer. As a person, that's debatable. And quite frankly she's the least committed student I've ever met. She cares nothing for her future and certainly not for her school. But I never said I hated her."

"No, you're right – I can't imagine what gave me that impression," Chase replied scornfully, shaking his head and tugging at his tie uncomfortably.

"I don't deny she's good at what she does, Chase. I'm just waiting for her to do something to convince me that she's even remotely interested in being good at anything else."

"What's so wrong with just loving what she does, when she's so good at it?"

"Nothing, but if she's happy to remain on her current plateau and rely on the skills she already has, then I suggest you advise her to give up her place at MSA for somebody who will appreciate the opportunity given them," Blake snapped.

"She does appreciate it," Chase argued.

"She has a funny way of showing it."

"How would you know? You spend all your time trying to change her," Chase bit back, his temper beginning to show. "You just want her to become another one of your clones; your perfect little ballerinas. Well just because she's different, doesn't make her inferior, B."

"MSA is not somewhere for her to hide out so that she can avoid her other problems," Blake replied, eyes flashing dangerously. "If she really wants to be there, she'll start applying herself properly, and if not, she'll do us all a favour and leave before too much more time passes and give someone else the benefit of almost a full year with us."

"You're just giving up on her, then?"

"I have no time for someone who has already given up on herself!"

"Boys!" Rebecca called shrilly across the room from the patio doors, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. "What on earth are you arguing about?"

"Nothing, Mom," Chase assured her, shooting her a winning smile.

"Blake?"

"Nothing," he echoed, gritting his teeth in annoyance as Chase slung a 'friendly' arm around his shoulder. Their mother shot them both a warning glare before disappearing outside, and Chase removed his arm quickly.

"I've done my time," he informed his brother snidely. "Happy birthday, or whatever."

"Please, stop: your emotion is embarrassing me," Blake quipped with an eye-roll.

"Well I'll be done 'embarrassing' you before you know it," hissed Chase angrily. "See you at school on Monday, your Majesty." Blake very nearly retorted with 'It's Director Collins,' but managed to stop himself just in time, clamping his jaw shut and steadfastly avoiding watching his brother ascend the stairs to change.

"Happy birthday, Blake!" another man he only knew by sight told him, clapping him on the shoulder with a hearty smile as he passed.

"Thank you very much," Blake responded mechanically, making his way swiftly towards the outdoor patio, snaring another glass of champagne on his way. He kept to the shadows along the side of the house, avoiding his mother by a hair's breadth and slipping away from the fairy lights draping their two large willows for the occasion. He meandered down the grass, following what had once been a path, before his parents had removed the yellowish slabs upon which he and Chase had used to play at being in Munchkinland. He couldn't really call his brother a Munchkin now, he supposed. Only seventeen and he was easily a head taller than his just-turned-twenty-seven brother. Blake snorted to himself, making for the shadowy outline of a tall birch tree, beyond which lay their small gazebo. It was hard for him to believe Chase was seventeen already. Soon his younger brother would be going off – to London, or New York, or somewhere fabulous like Moscow – and having adventures just as Blake had done before him. But Chase would be able to live his own life, Blake mused regretfully, and not feel obligated to return to Baltimore like the perfect son Blake tried to be. So wrapped up in his thoughts was he, that he didn't even notice the woman sitting on the bench in the gazebo until she spoke, drawing him from his musings.

"I'm sorry," she apologised softly, standing and smoothing down a deep blue dress. "I didn't think anybody else would be out here."

"No, I'm sorry," Blake returned quickly, gesturing for her to sit down again. "Please. I didn't mean to disturb. Like you, I didn't expect to run into company."

"You looked like you were far away," she observed, and he quirked a half-smile.

"More like long ago," he told her, and she nodded as though she completely understood. Blake hesitated a moment, debating leaving her to her solitude, but, reluctant to return to the party just yet, he opted instead to lean against one of the glass walls and take another sip of the champagne. "How are you enjoying the party?" he asked politely, deciding that small talk with one polite woman was better than accepting false congratulations and fielding dance requests from dozens of ill-mannered ones.

"Oh, it's … lovely," she nodded, and Blake snorted at her vague response. She raised her eyebrows in question, and he held up his free hand in an apology.

"Sorry," he repeated, beginning to feel like a parrot. "It's just that you're not a very good liar." She laughed then, showing a dazzling smile that took Blake quite aback, and he blinked slightly in surprise as she tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

"No, it really is a lovely party," she repeated with more conviction. "I just don't really know anyone. I've felt a bit out of the loop all night."

"I know the feeling," Blake assured her dryly, and she smiled up at him.

"You're the first person I've met who hasn't asked how I know the wonderful Blake Collins," she noted with a small laugh, and Blake fought to keep his features neutral.

"I presumed, since you just said you don't know anybody, that perhaps you don't know him," he ventured, choosing his words carefully.

"You presumed correctly," the woman agreed. "I'm sorry if he's a friend of yours – I didn't mean to sound callous. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice man. I just can't believe all these people would turn up to wish one man a happy birthday – a ballerina, no less. I mean, it's not very masculine, is it?" Blake laughed aloud in surprise at that, pushing off from the wall and sitting beside her on the bench, knowing he was doing a terrible job at concealing his smirk.

"I suppose it's not," he concurred thoughtfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry – let me guess. You're a dancer too," the woman predicted, shaking her head despairingly. "I always do this: speak before thinking, and offend people before they even get to know me. Just part of the reason I'm hiding out here," she confided in an undertone, and Blake smiled softly. "So are you a dancer?"

"I'm a teacher," Blake told her, not technically lying but feeling a slight twinge of guilt at deceiving her nonetheless.

"Oh! I always wanted to teach," she admitted with a wistful sigh. "I thought it'd be a great way to give something back, you know? But I guess it wasn't meant to be."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm an anthropologist," she told him, smiling then. "Don't get me wrong; I love my job, I do. I just always wondered … why are you smirking like that?" she asked, frowning.

"I'm sorry, you just … you don't look like an anthropologist," Blake grinned, and she raised her eyebrows then.

"And what does an anthropologist look like?" she demanded, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.

"Claude Lévi-Strauss?" he offered, and she burst into surprised laughter once more.

"Well plastic surgery has been a godsend," she assured him with a shake of her head, sending her curls bouncing. "So you know anthropology?"

"No, you've about exhausted my knowledge of the subject," Blake confessed with a grimace. "I know it comes from the Greek anthrõpos, meaning 'man,' and –logia, meaning 'discourse' or 'study.' After that I'm pretty much tapped out."

"You're still ahead of the curve," the woman assured him, sounding impressed. "Are you a classics teacher, then? Linguistics?"

"I spent some time in Greece a few years ago," Blake explained, still avoiding admitting who he was for some reason he wasn't quite sure he understood himself. "I picked up a little of the language – a very little, I hasten to add! What I just told you was a poor man's attempt at an educated guess."

"Well I would hate to play poker with you!" she laughed. "You bluff very well."

"A skill honed to a fine art by working with teenagers."

"I can only imagine," she nodded. "So what brings you here tonight? Are you close with the guest of honour?"

"It's a family connection," Blake offered, and she seemed to accept his vague explanation. "What about you, since we've established you don't know him?"

"My sister brought me as her plus-one," she sighed. "I wasn't sure if I should come, but she promised me free champagne and good company … she delivered on the first," she added with a laugh. "As to the second, things are beginning to look up." Blake felt a surprised smile spreading over his features then, and she grinned shyly. "Truth be told I think she had to make some calls to get invited, hard as it is to imagine that the whole of Baltimore isn't here."

"Your sister has some special interest at the party?" Blake queried, frowning as he tried to picture any of the guests with a resemblance to her and came up blank.

"Well, just between us, I think she was hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Blake Collins," she confided in a stage whisper. "She's a huge ballet aficionado. I think she was hoping their eyes would meet across a plate of lobster rolls and he'd fall head over heels in love with her." Blake couldn't contain his amused snort then, and she joined him in his laughter, shaking her head. "I know, I make her sound pathetic, don't I? But she's surprisingly skilled at meeting men who should, by any logic, be completely out of her league. You just wait and see – she's probably in there right now, picking out china patterns from the mother's collection."

"Oh, I doubt it," Blake commented dryly, and she shot him a sideways glance.

"Do you know something I don't?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well for one, I have it on good authority I ate the last of the lobster rolls half an hour ago," Blake informed her, and she laughed merrily again.

"Then tonight is not her lucky night," she sighed dramatically, before grinning broadly and offering her hand. "I'm sorry; I haven't introduced myself. I'm Kitty Patterson."

"Blake Collins," he told her, shaking her hand and struggling to contain his smirk as her mouth dropped open in outrage. For a moment he was sure she was going to slap him, but then she let out a groan and dropped her head into her hands, laughing resignedly.

"I told you!" she moaned, lifting her head long enough to shoot him a self-deprecating grin. "It never fails! I open my mouth, shove my foot right in there, and just keep going!"

"Which must hurt in those heels," Blake mused. She groaned again and whacked him lightly in the arm, letting out a long breath before closing her eyes and taking what he assumed were meant to be several calming breaths. She then turned to him, her wide smile fixed firmly in place, and offered her hand to him once more.

"I'd very much like to start over, Mr Collins," she told him. "If we could just pretend none of this happened …"

"Well, it's Blake, Ms Patterson," Blake corrected her gently, taking her hand, "and I'm afraid I can't do that. This has been the most fun I've had all night. I'd be quite upset if you were to ask me to ignore that." A flush crept over her cheeks as they shook hands, and as she dropped his, she tucked the same loose curl behind her ear once more.

"Kitty," she smiled. "Call me Kitty … Blake."

"All right."

"You know, I've heard quite a lot about you tonight," she mused slowly. "I've heard about Blake Collins, the legend. Blake Collins, the ballet hero. Blake Collins, the best Director MSA has seen in decades. And yet nobody mentioned your sense of humour."

"It's the best kept secret in dance," he nodded wisely, drawing another laugh from her.

"So what reason could the great Blake Collins have to hide out here at his own party?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone, but not mocking, which was a refreshing change from Chase, Blake thought. "Avoiding sycophants like my poor sister, who now doesn't stand a chance after what I've said about her?"

"Well no offence to your sister, but I was already wary of every woman at this party," Blake admitted. "My mother is trying to marry me off."

"I'm sure she's not short of applicants."

"Unfortunately," he agreed with a grimace. "None of them women who have actually met me, I must point out. Apparently actually knowing somebody is less of a consideration than I'd always thought when choosing a life partner."

"And your Mom's happy enough to pimp you out to these women?" Kitty queried, eyebrows raised in surprise. Blake smiled slightly at her interesting choice of phrasing.

"There are very few lengths to which my mother will not go to see me married by age thirty," he informed her with a grim smile, and hers faltered.

"I think she and my sister would get on well," she confessed.

"I just dread the day I finally do decide to settle down. If she's this bad now, I don't want to think about how impossible she'll become when she has a wedding to plan or grandchildren to prepare for."

"My, aren't we the optimist?" Kitty taunted, and he laughed.

"I see you don't feel the need every other guest here tonight does to feed my ego on my birthday," he noted dryly, but she shrugged unabashedly.

"If that's true, your ego certainly won't need any help," was all she said.

"My brother would certainly agree with you there," Blake agreed.

"I hear a story behind that."

"Oh, a very long-winded, stereotypical story," he sighed. "I'm ten years older than Chase, so although we were friends growing up, I think he always looked up to me. I left for London when he was eight, and he's never entirely forgiven me for that. Now I'm back and running the school where he's a student, and I think making things as difficult for him as my father made them for me growing up."

"I'm sure that's not true," Kitty brushed his concerns off, shaking her head firmly. "I did meet your brother earlier, for a few minutes. He said he was there for moral support, and when Rosie – my sister – asked why, he said because he's your brother."

"And because Collins family parties are not optional."

"Boy, you're just a little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" she joked, and he cracked a smile. "There, that's better! Now I don't know your brother, and I don't know you very well, but I think you're giving him less credit than he deserves. That's my opinion."

"Your professional opinion?" Blake quipped.

"Wow, you really don't know much about anthropology, do you?"

"I'm woefully ignorant," he admitted readily, and she laughed.

"Well I can talk about my field for hours and not get bored, so if you ever decide to take an interest, just let me know," she instructed him. He glanced sideways at her.

"I'm interested," he told her.

"What – now?" Kitty asked, her eyes widening fractionally. "But this is your party."

"Notice how nobody has come looking for me yet?" he pointed out, and she jerked a nod of acquiescence. "I know a bar a few streets over," he suggested, surprised to hear the words leaving his mouth and wondering if the five glasses of champagne he had consumed were behind them. "Would you like to get a drink?" Kitty stared at him for a few moments, uncertainty etched into her features, before she broke out into a beam.

"I thought you'd never ask."

A/N: All right, so there's chapter one! Obviously the character of Kitty will be more thoroughly explored as the fic goes on, and it'll start to tie in more with the timeline of the film after the first few chapters. As I said, I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have, and I'll try to update soon!

Trivia: The chapter title Howl At The Stars is a line from the title song of Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit musical, Whistle Down The Wind. As I said, a LOT of my inspiration comes from this kind of music, and I thought being that there's going to be quite a lot of artsy stuff in this fic that using these lines as chapter titles would be appropriate.