A/N - Again with the lovely reviews. Now, my loves, I bring you chapter 4. Loki wrote the first scene and some of the last scene, and guided me through the rest. Goodness, but he's just amazing. Typos/grammatical errors are my own and I apologise if I've failed to catch them.

Just a warning, this is the last update you'll receive from me until late November because my darling hubby is taking me to Vegas for just over a week. I can't wait! Bye bye Australia, Hello USA! Now, if someone could convince Mr Criss, Mr Salling or Mr Overstreet (or ALL THE ABOVE) to leave LA and meet me at the Excalibur, that'd be great. :)

Puck was getting pissed. Coleman was late and the other boys were getting restless. Beiste wasn't going to be gone long and this was the safest place in the school to talk without being overheard by people he trusted, or could intimidate to silence.

Puck was livid. He was incensed that Anderson believed that he could strut into his school and flaunt his fagginess and not think there were consequences. As far as Puck was concerned, it didn't matter what Beist said. The Titans, both the football and lacrosse teams, were on the road to winning the regional titles. She wasn't going to risk that, it would mean her job. Besides, Puck thought with anticipation, when they were through with Anderson, he wouldn't dare narc on them anyway.

Puck wanted to get started, fuck Coleman, he can fucking catch up. He was about to start it off when he saw a familiar looking blond walk to his locker. Evans. Didn't he have Homo Explosion going on now? It looked like he skipped it for time in the gym. Fuck. Puck quickly shook his head in the negative, and the group quietly dispersed. He swallowed his frustration and went to his locker, trying to ignore the blond.

"Puckerman."

Puck frowned. Sam just called him "Puckerman," not "Puck" and he obviously wanted to talk. He turned around to face him and, holy shit, he'd never seen the dude look this pissed. Not even when he found out that Quinn had cheated on him with Finn.

"'Sup Evans?" Puck asked trying to act nonchalant.

"Did you see Blaine this morning?" Sam asked. He had his arm on the locker to brace himself and Puck saw his muscles tense, reminding him that Evans wasn't exactly a lightweight. Holy Shit! Was Evans trying to intimidate him? Over Anderson?! He had to be kidding.

"Why would I be looking for the little fairy?"

Sam lost all pretence of being casual or collected. He straightened up, using his height advantage over Puck to loom menacingly. "I don't know why you've got a thing against him being gay, Puckerman, and I don't actually care. I just want you to back off."

Puck rolled his eyes. Who the hell did Evans think he was? You couldn't just waltz on in and start giving The Puckerone orders. He needed to show this kid who was boss. He shoved Evans hard on the shoulder. "You gonna make me, Evans?"

Puck was taken by surprise when he felt Evans tackle him to the ground but then instinct kicked in. He braced himself for impact and he had to admit that move winded him but Puck had been in more scraps, and, quite frankly, tougher ones than this. He wrapped his arms around Sam, effectively pinning him. Evans might have the reach but Puck had mass and more strength. If Evans really wanted to hurt him he should have kept his distance, but he took it to the floor and it was only a matter of time before Puck had him.

Sure enough, though it took longer than he cared to admit, Puck finally had Sam locked down. He had managed get behind him and had his arms around the blond in a half-nelson, one leg pinning Sam's other leg down. Puck could feel the bruise on his side where Evans got a kick in and his right ear was still ringing when he got clocked there but he got more hits in and he knew that Sam would be sporting a number of abdominal bruises for a while.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, Evans?"

"What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Puck asked, easing back now that Sam was no longer a threat. They got to their feet, the blond wincing as he straightened.

"Blaine, man. I'm talking about Blaine." Sam said and Puck could feel the tension radiating off the blond's body. "Why are you so against him being in the team? I thought after you laid off Kurt and Wade that you got over this and then he comes in and it's like Sophomore year all over again."

"Dude, he's bringing this shit on himself. This place isn't boy-on-boy heaven like that preppy ass private school was. We don't take kindly to his type trying to perve on us in the locker rooms. If he'd be smart, like Hummel, and stay the hell away, we wouldn't be having this talk."

To Puck's surprise, Sam laughed and looked at him with a pitying expression on his face.

"Are you serious? Puck, man, you're an idiot. Have you seen him trying to sneak a peek at anyone?"

Puck pursed his lips and thought about what Sam just said (thinking, idly, that at least he was back to "Puck") because no, Anderson even tried to avoid going into the locker room until the team had left. But it had only been a week; dude could totally be trying to lull them into a false sense of security or something. Before he could bring that up though Sam went on.

"And he's not some pansy, Puck. I heard Lipoff complaining that he took down three guys before someone got in a mean left hook. So what is this really about? Are you jealous that he's more macho than you?"

Puck scoffed. "Jealous? Bro, the Puckster doesn't do jealous."

"Threatened?"

"What? Fuck that noise!"

"He's just trying to get by, Puck. Admit it, if he didn't try out for the team you probably wouldn't even have noticed him. And if you tell me that you don't feel better about our chances of kicking Carmel's butt in the next round since he signed up, I'll call you a liar to your face, Noah Puckerman."

Puck hated to admit it but Sam had point. Fuck, he even challenged Puck to make it. He had to ask though, "Why do you care Evans?"

Sam shrugged. "I owe him. My big mouth put him on your radar and no one deserves that, especially him. Look, I'm not asking you to be his best friend but can you at least make sure he's actually doing the things you think he's doing before you start making his life hell?"

Puck successfully controlled his wince; Evans was a cool kid (despite his weird ass attraction to singing and dancing with Homo Explosion) and to think that he didn't rate that highly to him, well, it bothered Puck. Not that he would ever say so, but he respected Evans. So now both Beiste and Evans were telling him to give Anderson a chance. What the fuck?

"Whatever Evans," Puck said instead. "You got your boy a break from me. He better not fucking waste it."

Sam nodded and walked away, limping slightly. Puck was about to say something then thought better of it.

Okay Blaine Anderson. Let's see what you got.

-?-

"Hi! You must be Blaine!" A petite redheaded woman beamed from her place behind an immaculate desk. He'd been summoned to the Guidance Counsellor's office, and that was what the plaque on the door read, but this woman seemed way too perky to be in this position. She had wide, doe eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, and a face that seemed too young to be experienced enough to guide teenagers in either their careers or their personal dramas.

Still, he reminded himself, looks could be deceiving, and if this was the only guidance counsellor on staff he had no other choice than to speak with her. He pasted on a smile and nodded. "That's me."

"Great!" She smoothed her hands down her skirt, then gestured to the spare seats in front of her. "Come on in, take a seat." He complied and she shuffled a stack of pamphlets, placing them in a neat stack directly between them, "I'm Miss Pillsbury," she said, "it's really nice to meet you. I've been going through your transcripts from Dalton, and noticed that you've applied for extra credit courses. It looks to me like you're working hard to get out of school as quickly as possible."

He nodded again, this time folding his arms across his chest, becoming a little defensive. "Uh, yeah, I'm aiming to get early acceptance into college and graduate early."

"I think that's a wonderful plan," She beamed in reassurance, those big eyes of hers seeming to only grow wider with excitement. "And I think with grades like yours, it can definitely be achieved. You will probably get special consideration for your current home situation, too." He shifted uncomfortably and nodded, eager for her to take the topic back to school work. Somehow he knew that, if he gave any indication that he didn't want to talk about his home life, she'd wind up forcing him to. Thankfully, she continued on with her spiel. "However, McKinley doesn't offer a lot in terms of extra credit classes that we could accommodate on top of your current class schedule, but we do have a Peer Tutoring Program that I believe you would be perfect for."

He pursed his lips. Tutoring? At this school? Was she insane? The jocks were already on his case, the last thing he needed was to wind up trying to teach one of them.

Sensing his hesitation, Emma plowed onwards, her enthusiasm picking up as she spoke, reciting the words that were no doubt verbatim from one of the pamphlets on her desk, trying to convince him that it really was a great idea. "Our Program is beneficial to both parties, and as a tutor you do not just earn credit towards your diploma, but many universities look upon your participation as a volunteer peer tutor in quite a positive light, given that it highlights community outreach in addition to academic pursuits. I have it on good authority that a number of early placement positions are allocated to students who show this sort of initiative."

Blaine knew he was being manipulated, but it made sense to him nonetheless. It would look good on his college applications...

With another sigh, he found himself asking, "Who would I be tutoring? What would I be tutoring them in?"

Eyes lighting up, she scooted forward in her chair. "Well, your grades across the board are nothing short of exemplary, but we are sorely lacking tutors in our English and History subject areas. Would you be comfortable with that?"

"As comfortable as I would be with any of it, I guess."

She failed to pick up on his less-than-enthused tone. "Excellent! In terms of who you'll be tutoring, that depends on which sessions you will be attending. We run after school sessions every day, from three until five, and the more sessions you attend the more credit you'll receive. Naturally, looking at your schedule, I know you have to work around lacrosse training, and give yourself study time for your AP classes." She licked her lips. "Your transcript said you used to be the lead soloist for the Dalton Academy Warblers, something else which will look fantastic on your college applications. Have you considered joining the New Directions? Or, if you're looking for a change of scenery from the glee club, there are other arts opportunities: the school musical, AV club, photography club, jazz band..."

"I'll consider it," he agreed, if only to get back to the whole point of the conversation. "Would I be tutoring the same person each time, or a group of people, or what, exactly?"

"We try to have you work one on one with another student as we've found this has better results overall than having either of you work with someone different each session."

Great. It would be just his luck to be landed with Puck for the rest of the school year. Though, he supposed, he could always pull out of the program if that was the case. They couldn't force him to continue. And this really would round out his transcripts nicely.

He agreed and found himself with a handful of flyers and pamphlets, a number of which seemed to be geared towards the many things that could go wrong. Eyes widening at some of the more colourful titles, he stashed them into his messenger bag and left the room asking himself what on earth he had just done.

-?-

He asked himself the same question again later that afternoon when he was seated at a table at the back of the library, anxiously awaiting the student he'd be tutoring. The librarian had given him a stern run through of the rules (no loud music, no loud talking, no eating or drinking, no chewing gum, no graffiti...the usual, really) and then directed him to the empty table at the far end of the room, telling him that the other student would be along shortly.

With each passing minute, his anxiety grew. He hoped that he got a Freshman or a Sophomore to tutor, preferably one of the girls, or at least a guy he could get along well with. Deciding that it was rediculous to work himself into a state over it, he pulled out his own homework and started on it, glad for the distraction. A shadow fell over him ten minutes later.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had gym and..." the voice trailed off in surprise. "Oh. Uh. Blaine. Hi. I, uh, I didn't know you were tutoring."

Blaine blinked up at the blond in bemusement. Well, he thought, at least he's not Puck, or one of the other lacrosse jocks. "Sam," he sighed, setting his pen down and leaning back in his seat. "I didn't know you needed a tutor."

Sam's cheeks coloured a little and he shrugged. "I'm dyslexic," he confessed quietly. "Mom got me a specialist to help with it, but we've had to cut back on my sessions and I'm still falling behind in class, so..." He exhaled. "Here I am."

"Okay." Blaine felt awkward and even more guilty than he had the other day when he'd brushed Sam's concern off angrily. This was proof that he wasn't the only one going through a tough time, be it at home or at school or a combination of both. And, just like with Kurt, Sam seemed to be genuinely friendly, and he'd made an effort to keep out of Blaine's hair for the last couple of days.

Would it really hurt to throw the guy a bone and be civil, if not a friend? Again, it wasn't as though sitting with him at lunch or talking in the halls meant that Blaine would have to tell the blond his deepest, darkest secrets.

Resolved to at least try and give the guy a chance, Blaine patted the seat beside him. "You going to sit?" And damn if he didn't feel another pang of remorse when Sam's eyes brightened, his lips curving up into a relieved sort of smile.

"Thanks." Sam dropped into the plastic seat with a thud, his backpack landing on the table in front of him. He opened it and dug through it, pulling out random crumpled pieces of paper, a few worn notebooks, a couple of pens and a comic book. He blushed again and hastily shoved the last item back in his bag, but it was too late. Blaine had seen it, and he was glad for the opportunity to properly break the ice between them.

"So you read comic books?"

"They're called graphic novels."

"Only if they tell a complete story that is illustrated. Most comic books are serials. I guess you could call them graphic novels if the series ended -and I'm talking a proper ending, not just cancelled- and you collected them all and bound them into a book." The former Warbler looked up at Sam to find the blond staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. "What?"

"You read comics?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Why does that surprise you?"

"I dunno," Sam answered with another shrug. "I figured you were too classy and refined to read comic books."

Blaine didn't deign to answer that and just snorted instead. Sam, however, saw the edge of Blaine's lips twitch upward and was heartened to know that things between them might be alright after all. He relaxed, letting go of tension in his shoulders that he'd not been aware of.

"I bet you collected the Vertigo stuff. In fact, I bet," Sam teased with a twinkle in his eye, "that you collected every issue of Sandman!"

"No, of course not," Blaine shot back with a haughty sneer which quickly melted into a grin. "I collected the trade paperbacks."

Sam laughed, earning them a reprimand from the librarian, which they both rolled their eyes at before sharing another quiet chuckle.

"Well, we should get on with the tutoring," Blaine eventually said, dispelling a little of the awkwardness that had started to seep back over them. "What are you working on in English?"

The two hours seemed to fly, the boys getting along better than either had imagined possible, especially given their negative reintroduction the previous week. Sam learned that Blaine was crazy smart, but still really guarded, while Blaine learned that the blond was -despite his athletic build- a definite nerd who could quote Avatar backwards and was capable of some pretty hilarious celebrity impersonations.

"Wow, dude...I can't believe I actually finished my English homework and started the History essay." Sam gushed as he put all of his stuff back in his bag. "You're like a wizard or something."

Blaine shook his head as he packed his own bag back up, a genuine smile on his lips. "Nope, not a wizard. You just needed help getting around the questions." He'd read the questions out to Sam and they'd discussed the answers out loud, the blond surprising him with just how much of the content he actually knew. "After that, it's just a matter of writing your thoughts down and putting it together so it makes sense."

"I don't care what you say. If I'd tried that on my own, I wouldn't have gotten past writing my name." He grinned lopsidedly. "When are we going to do this again?"

Frowning a little at how dismissive Sam was of his own abilities, Blaine considered his schedule. "Well...I have lacrosse training on Mondays and Fridays, so that's out."

"And I've got New Directions on Tuesday and Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons..."

"So, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, then?" Blaine asked for confirmation, pulling out his timetable so he could allocate the blocks specifically for tutoring, even though he knew he had no other plans anyway.

Sam nodded eagerly. "I'm cool with that. I work at DQ some evenings, but most of my shifts are on weekends. Kinda sucks for my social life, but what are you gonna do?"

Blaine's smile turned tight. "Yeah," he agreed, hoping the joviality didn't seem too forced. "That's life, right?" He made a show of checking his watch. "Anyway, it's late, I'm going to head home. Same time next Tuesday, right?"

Sam didn't know what he'd said to scare Blaine off so suddenly, so he nodded. "Uh, yeah. Next Tuesday. I'll see you around school before then, though."

"Yeah," Blaine replied distractedly. "I'll see you around."

-?-

Blaine sighed in relief when he got home. It had been an exhausting day. He parked his slightly beat-up Toyota Corolla along the curb. He was missing his old car, but in the end, it had been far more practical to sell it. He was still debating with himself if he should have kept all the proceeds of the sale instead of buying this car with some of the money. But, on days like this, he was glad that he didn't have to worry about taking the bus home.

He got out of the car, grabbed his messenger bag and locked up. The neighbourhood was decent enough, but he knew not to tempt fate. He walked up to the rather charming brick-faced apartment building. It was three storey walk-up and had an inner courtyard. No pool but a nice garden that would probably be cool in the summer.

As Blaine walked up the stairs he reminded himself how lucky he was. When he had arrived here a month ago he'd been bitterly disappointed that all the units were being rented. This was the last apartment building in his budget that was in a relatively safe neighbourhood. Outside of this, he'd faced the choice of going somewhere like Lima Heights or a pricier area which would have eaten into his principal.

Thankfully, the owner of the building had seen his disappointment and mentioned that he had just converted and expanded the shed on the roof into a studio apartment. It wasn't furnished and still needed a coat of paint but if Blaine finished painting it he could move in while finishing it.

It had been perfect for Blaine's needs and he'd moved in that evening, glad to have found somewhere better and more permanent than the local Motel 6. It was spartan to the extreme but Blaine had not only grown accustomed to it, he rather liked it now. He loved the idea of having very little possessions to drag around with him; there were the essentials and a few personal effects that held sentimental value. He kept only what mattered.

The apartment was like living in a slightly larger than usual bedroom, with room for a queen sized bed (an item he'd purchased from the deceased estate of one of the downstairs neighbours two weeks after he'd moved in; before that he'd slept on an air mattress he'd gotten on sale at Walmart), an old wardrobe (purchased from the same estate sale), a tiny ensuite bathroom and a kitchenette. His electric keyboard fit nicely under the bed, and his guitar had found a home in the corner of the main living area, sandwiched between the wardrobe and the door. He didn't have a TV, but found he didn't need one. He had his laptop and his DVD collection, and used the free wifi at the McDonalds down the road for his schoolwork. His phone, one of his more expensive luxuries, allowed him to access Facebook and google at a pinch, but he rarely found the compulsion to do so.

In the kitchenette, he'd placed a rickety old card table that he'd bought at a yard sale, along with two mismatched chairs from Goodwill. The table served as extra counter space, a dining table and a desk. He'd managed to buy a small bar fridge in pretty good shape from a local second hand appliance store, and had sourced a microwave, toaster and portable convection oven from Walmart and Target, along with some cutlery and basic crockery.

All in all, Blaine was proud of his domestic independence. It only proved what he'd known all along; he was strong, and he didn't need anyone but himself.

But, he realised despite his best efforts, that didn't stop him from feeling lonely. He sighed as he settled in to bed, closing his eyes.

One more day down, at least another year to go.