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Chapter Two
"Hi," Blaine said, cupping Kurt's chin with his thin fingers.
"Hi yourself," said Kurt, giving Blaine a shy smile.
Blaine's brow puckered above his eyes, big and dark brown; his full lips grew pouty. "Oh no." He brushed his fingers gently through Kurt's hairline, revealing a large purplish bruise. "Are you okay?"
"Now I am," Kurt said, a little breathless at Blaine's intoxicating nearness and tender touch.
They shared a gentle smile. Then, in perfect synchronicity, their eyes fluttered shut and they tilted their heads a bit to the right. They brought their lips together in a pressing, smacking kiss. The kiss was fueled by both relief that they were alive and by a sweet kind of desire.
Blaine grinned against the kiss, his heart giving a flutter. He opened his eyes, still smiling.
But instead of standing on a beach with Kurt, he opened his eyes to trees looming up all around him. He was lying on hard ground of greenest grass. Confused, the smile slipped from his face.
Blaine used his elbows to push himself into a sitting position. He looked around at the jungle setting; his stomach lurched with disappointment. It had been a dream; a sweet, wonderful dream, that had felt so real. But now, he was here.
Which was…where, exactly?
He got to his feet, stumbling a bit as he did so. He was disoriented and his head was pounding something fierce. He brought his hand to his forehead and it came back slicked with bright red blood. His eyebrows rose in alarm; he felt sick to his stomach.
Oh, God, he thought. A wave of dizziness hit him.
He suddenly remembered the plane crash. Falling through the air. Hitting the cold water….
He, Mercedes, and Rachel's three seats were connected together; they all started sinking, still clenching each other's hands with all their might.
The impact knocked Rachel out, but he and Mercedes remained conscious. Blaine unbuckled his seatbelt and started kicking and flailing toward the surface. They had sunk quickly, already a good three yards beneath the surface in half a minute. Blaine looked down and saw that Mercedes' seatbelt was stuck; she tugged at it desperately, clawing at buckle, but it was no use. Mercedes began kicking her legs, but she didn't have enough power to lift the seats up.
Next, Blaine noticed that Rachel was unconscious, her head lolled to the side and air bubbles puffing from her nostrils.
Blaine flipped himself over so he could swim downward. His lungs felt an uncomfortable pressure; he was good at holding his breath, but it wouldn't be much longer until he'd have to breathe.
The water was clear enough to open his eyes in and see what was going on. The salt water stung, but that was the least of his problems right now.
At least the seats were sinking a lot slower now, travelling only about an inch per second rather than multiple feet per second.
He watched as Mercedes reached over and popped the release button on Rachel's buckle; her seatbelt gave way, and Mercedes shoved Rachel out of her seat and used both of her hands to push upward on the bottom of Rachel's dark red ballet flats.
Rachel began to float to the surface, but much too slowly. Being unconscious, she wasn't holding her breath like Blaine and Mercedes were, so she was already drowning.
Blaine swam down as fast as he could and finally reached Rachel. He wrapped both of his arms around her waist and held her tightly against him. He met Mercedes' gaze; she continued trying to get her seatbelt to unbuckle, but the look in her eyes told him plainly to rescue Rachel first and then come back for her.
But would there be enough time?
Transferring every ounce of strength to his legs, Blaine kicked and kicked and kicked. His lungs felt like they were going to explode. His heart was zooming unbearably fast. Finally, finally, he reached the surface. His head broke through and he inhaled the sweet, beautiful, wonderful air. He lifted Rachel's head up, having to dunk himself back down to do it.
He gave her the Heimlich maneuver the best he could while under water, as he couldn't do CPR without being on a flat surface. Thankfully, she hadn't inhaled as much water as he'd thought; the Heimlich opened her airways enough to have her cough out a good deal of water, but though she had rid herself of it, she was still unconscious.
Blaine prayed that Mercedes would make it. He knew how terrified and panicked she must be feeling right now. He'd never exactly been a religious person, but he'd always believed in a Higher Power, and he figured now was a particularly good time to enlist some Almighty help.
He wanted desperately to swim back down for Mercedes and help her, but that would mean leaving Rachel. And considering one was unconscious and completely helpless while the other was – hopefully – still conscious and had some fight left in her, he knew what he had to do.
He saw land not too far in the distance. Bobbing against the waves, he used every bit of adrenaline and strength in him to swim to shore with Rachel pinned to his side.
He was so concentrated on saving himself and Rachel that he didn't even notice when something shot out of the sea behind him and went up, up, up into the air.
He didn't even hear the shouts of "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"
Finally, he reached the shoreline. He dragged Rachel about ten feet up the beach before sinking to his knees. He turned her onto her back and prepared to give her CPR, thankful for his one summer lifeguarding down at the local pool.
But it turned out he didn't need to resuscitate her, because she was breathing and her heart was at a normal beat.
Panting, Blaine sat cross-legged for a while, shaking all over.
He couldn't stop picturing the sight of Mercedes hopelessly kicking and so desperately clawing at her seatbelt. Or the bravery and sureness that had flashed in her eyes, telling Blaine that he needed to save Rachel. And he couldn't stop remembering that horrible sound of the back of the plane detaching from the rest of the plane – a sucking and a ripping. That, and the sound of everybody screaming, played in a loop around his head, a sadistic soundtrack.
Blaine, Mercedes, and Rachel had been sitting closer toward the middle of the plane than everyone else in their section; Blaine figured the others must've died or somehow swam to another part of shore. The first option was not at all comforting to him.
After a little while, his thirst hit him full force. He needed to go get some water, but he didn't want to leave Rachel alone. But as he didn't know how long it would take her to come to, he figured he should find a fresh water supply, so he could provide hydration for her when she did wake up.
He trekked into the jungle, hoping he wouldn't meet up with some wild animal or smoke monster or something.
Blaine hadn't traveled far when he'd tripped over a hidden tree root. On the way down, he must have hit his head on a sharp rock, knocking him out. He felt at the tender spot producing blood and found there was a large, knotted bump toward the right of his forehead. The bottom of the bump sported a shallow gash that had oozed blood down his face.
He wasn't bleeding anymore, but the blood hadn't yet dried to his face; thus, his fingers were wet with his own red liquid. The sight and rusty smell of blood always made Blaine's stomach turn.
He wasn't as soaked in sea water as he'd been when he'd arrived at shore (how long ago was that anyway? Thirty minutes? Forty? More?), but he was still considerably damp. The only part of him that still dripping was his thick, curly dark hair. The salty water it dribbled down his face mingled into his wound and made it sting.
So not only did he have a splitting headache – probably the result of a mild concussion – , but he also had a stinging slash on his forehead. Wonderful.
He didn't know how long he'd been out, so he figured it was best to check on Rachel before searching for a fresh water supply. What if she had already waken up, scared and alone?
He hadn't even taken two steps in the direction toward the beach when he heard the sound of twigs snapping beneath clumsy feet.
And then: "Blaine!"
He whipped around and was met with the beaming face of none other than Rachel Berry. The two locked eyes and an audible sigh of relief left their mouths in unison.
"Rachel!" Blaine exclaimed, smiling. "Oh, thank God, you're up!"
"And you're alive!" Rachel squealed, tears filling her eyes.
They ran to each other and embraced tightly. They weren't in this alone anymore; they at least had each other, and having just one friendly, familiar face with them right now might as well have been the company of a whole crowd of people.
They pulled apart, holding each other at arm's length. Like the way two old friends would examine one another after being separated for years.
"Oh, God, Blaine! Your head!" Rachel winced, gesturing toward the sizeable knot protruding from his forehead. She made a face at all the blood drying down the right side of his face.
Blaine released Rachel and used the bottom of his damp black Polo shirt to wipe away some of the blood. "Yeah, I tripped and hit my head on a rock," he explained. "It hurts like you wouldn't believe, but it's no big deal."
Seeing his injury made Rachel feel a little guilty that she was virtually unscathed. You know, unscathed besides some emotional scarring and the fact that she now yearned for water almost more than she desired a legendary Broadway career. That was 'almost more.'
"So, are you okay?" Blaine asked. "An inane question, considering, I'll admit. But you don't look like your forehead decided to grow an egg, so I'm guessing you aren't hurt too badly?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Rachel said, her voice even more hoarse than before. "I'm just really dehydrated."
"Okay, well, that's what I was doing out here." Blaine motioned around at all of the trees. "Searching for some drinkable water. How about you go back to the beach and lay down? I'll come and get you if I find anything."
Rachel started to protest, but Blaine interrupted her.
"Rachel, I know I'm not exactly a certified doctor, but you and I both know that it isn't good to go walking around when you're dehydrated. My arms may look manly and buff, but if you pass out, I don't think I can pull a Mr. Hero and easily carry you off into the sunset," Blaine said.
Rachel smiled at that last part and gave a weak laugh. She felt too tired to argue with him; her eyelids kept trying to droop closed. But she wasn't one to back down from what she wanted. "I don't know," she hedged. "I don't want you alone out here." Suddenly, she remembered the guy on the beach. "Oh! By the way, there's somebody else. Back at the beach. Maybe I should go and stay with him, and you can look for the water?"
Blaine's perfectly-groomed eyebrows shot skyward. "Really? Who?" There was no mistaking the raw, naked hope crackling from his tone like sparks of flint desperate to catch into fire.
"Oh, Blaine," Rachel said softly. Every part of her wilted with sorrow. "If it were Kurt, I would've said so right away."
Blaine was crestfallen. He hadn't really, truly expected for it to be Kurt; a logical part of him knew that Rachel would have told him right away, she wouldn't have just said 'somebody else,' but still… Treacherous hope had curled unbidden within him, both the greatest help and the greatest hindrance in his time of need.
Rachel patted Blaine's arm as he blinked rapidly. He ran the soft sleeve of his cherry red cardigan under his nose and looked away.
Then something suddenly occurred to him that sharpened his focus and pushed aside the sharp pangs of sorrow.
"Wait… There was somebody else on the beach? That's odd. There wasn't anyone else when I was last there after swimming us to shore. I don't see how someone could've washed ashore so long after falling into the ocean; you'd think they'd've drowned."
Rachel's brows knit together in confusion. "Actually…the guy wasn't wet."
"Wait…what?"
"Yeah. He was dry as a bone. I remember leaning over him, and some water dripping from my hair onto his dry shirt. There is no way he could've been in the ocean, because he would still be at least a little bit damp. Even your shirt hasn't dried all the way, and you've been away from the beach for who knows how long at this point."
"Definitely strange," said Blaine. "How injured was he?"
"Not at all."
"How could he not be at all injured if he didn't fall into the water? That means he would've had to have fallen onto the sand, and then every bone in his body would be broken. And if not that, he'd at least have a bruise, right?" Blaine gave a disbelieving laugh.
Rachel nodded slowly, only half comprehending. She was so thirsty that the mysterious male's lack of injuries and dryness didn't matter all that much to her. She just wanted to drink and drink and drink cold, glorious, fresh water until she felt she'd burst.
Blaine, ever attune to people's feelings and needs, sensed this. Well, also her increasingly pallid skin and the glazed look beginning to form in her eyes gave him a hint.
"We'll worry about all that later," he said gently. "Go back to the beach. Get some rest. I'll come get you when I've found some drinkable water."
Rachel nodded again, in a haze, and headed back the way she'd arrived.
Blaine waited until she was gone before continuing his exploration through the jungle. Thank the heavens, it didn't take him but five minutes until he heard the beautiful sound of a babbling brook. Like the sweetest of melodies to his ears.
He gulped up the clear, clean water from cupped hands. It was the best drink he'd ever had in his life. When he'd had enough to be satisfied, he went back to the beach for Rachel and the mysterious guy.
"I found a brook," he told her with a giant grin. But his grin turned into a frown when he saw her expression.
She looked out of it, her eyes fighting to stay open. She was pale, and her lips looked considerably more chapped than when he'd last seen her.
"Yay," she said in little more than a groggy whisper. "I'm so…" She looked momentarily dazed, and then came to again. "…Glad."
Blaine spotted the person Rachel must've been talking about, lying about a yard away. He was extremely good-looking, model-worthy. Blaine would guess he was eighteen or nineteen. The guy was awake but didn't look in any shape to be walking around.
Great, Blaine thought. This is going to be fun. He was going to have to haul Rachel and the mystery man into the jungle, to the water. He didn't exactly have a water bottle with him to go fill up.
"Come on." Blaine helped Rachel up and leaned her against his right side. She wasn't heavy, but when he began walking with her toward the guy, she kept stepping on his feet.
Blaine pulled the guy to his feet and propped him onto his left side. Then, he began half-dragging Rachel and the guy, half-walking with them into the jungle. Their combined gait was irritatingly slow, but finally they reached the brook in twice the time it had taken Blaine to find it in the first place.
The guy had fallen asleep somewhere on the journey; Blaine had to dunk his head in the chilly water to wake him up. Then, Rachel and the mysterious male drank until they were sated. Since they'd lost all their energy trekking to the water, they both fell asleep beneath the cool shade of the trees right afterward.
Blaine watched as they peacefully slumbered, thinking that they should enjoy it while it lasted.
There weren't bound to be many more 'peaceful slumbers' while they were stranded on this island.
