Mike [08-08-11 3:10am]: I hope you and Kurt are happy.

Blaine [08-08-11 3:14am]: Actually, I was sleeping, as is he. What?

Mike [08-08-11 3:15am]: We could smell your damned pizza rolls. We're still starving.

Blaine [08-08-11 3:16am]: Uh. Connected rooms? You could have come over.

Mike [08-08-11 3:17am]: Uh. Connected rooms? You could have invited us.

Blaine [08-08-11 3:18am]: We were having enough trouble keeping quiet just the two of us. Is this really a band thing? This 3 am crap b/c dude. We have to get up for Reveille.

Mike [08-08-11 3:20am]: It really is. And you know I'm kidding, right?

Blaine [08-08-11 3:21am]: Yes. I'm sleeping now.

Mike [08-08-11 3:22am]: You type very well in your sleep.

~~~**~~~

Blaine yawns and stumbles toward the spot they've selected to meet Santana to get her ready for the audition Tuesday. He ignored Kurt's warning to avoid the eggs for breakfast, so his entire meal consisted of 2 wedges of unripe cantaloupe, a soggy half slice of toast and a glass of orange juice. The eggs, as warned, were inedible.

Morning rehearsal lasted 3 hours and after a quick glance at his phone, he finds that the temperature is already 98 degrees. Kurt and Santana arrive just as he starts contemplating dumping his entire gallon thermos of ice water over his head. Somehow, they look bright and chipper and perfect. "I hate you both."

"You ate the eggs, didn't you?" Kurt plops himself down on the grass and blows through his horn to clean out the accumulated spit.

"One bite. Even though you warned me, I counted on them for protein. Now I'm dying."

"You know, the band moms have granola in the first aid tent."

"I'm not used to this...big of a production. We only had one band mom whose sole purpose was to make sure you pooped every day."

"And have you?"

Blaine's flashes a worried look up to Santana. "First thing every morning, ma'am. She scared it out of me for life." At Kurt's raised eyebrow, he continues, "The woman carted around a fucking jar of Metamucil. If you complained of a stomach ache even once, she'd mix up her magic concoction and make you drink it."

"Oh god. So, does it work?"

"It made me puke. For future reference, if you ever do need to drink it? Guzzle it. It gels up and—" Blaine shivers and joins Kurt on the ground. "Can we just get started? I'm grossing myself out."

"Yeah, you're grossing everyone out." Santana looks at her phone and sighs. "So someone tell me what we're doing here. I could be snogging right now."

Kurt gently kicks at her ankle. "We're getting you ready to set the world on fire."

"With an eight bar solo. Got it." She sits across from them, cleaning out the spit from her horn and flipping her folder to the proper song. "If we're all aware we're wasting our time, we're good."

"No. Bad attitude." Kurt stands. "Come on. Up, Snix. This isn't sectionals. You too, Maynard." He reaches out a hand to each of them and Blaine's too busy giggling to grab for it. "What?"

"You have a hunk of bark on your ass." Kurt spins around trying to find whatever is attached to his shorts and Blaine cackles at him. "Wait. Wait. Stop. You look like a dog chasing his own tail. Come here." He hikes up and flicks the chunk of wood off Kurt's shorts and grins.

"We're going to skip the part where you were looking at my ass, yes?"

"Yes." If we must. "How are we going to do this?"

"I can just leave so you two can play with each other. Or, maybe I could watch."

Kurt rolls his eyes and checks his ass once more, shooting a very ineffective glare to Blaine who is still staring. "Start the damned solo, Snixy. Lemme see where you're at with it."

And she starts and it sounds fine, but not excellent. Her tone is airy – as if there is cheesecloth over the bell of her horn. And more so, she's hesitant. It doesn't go with the Santana that Blaine has come to know these past few weeks. He shoots a curious glance at Kurt. "Can I ask a question?"

"Hit me."

"You're confident. It oozes from you, but when you play—it's like you're hiding behind something."

Blaine's not sure if the look she's giving him means he's going to get decked or just drowned in tonight's chicken fights, but when it softens and she smiles, it's with an air of respect. Even better, Kurt seems equally impressed.

"Maynard. You have more balls than I do – I've been wanting to ask her that for years."

Santana cocks her head to the side and smiles at Blaine again before narrowing her gaze on Kurt. "You know, Kiki – you're not the only one who's been hiding behind someone's shadow for years."

"Wh—Snix? You're not in my shad—we're friends."

"I am in your shadow. And most of the time, I'm really okay with it. I kick ass all over the rest of this school while you're busy climbing out of dumpsters, but in band? It was you. And then you and Doc. And now, it's you two." She blows air into her horn and looks up at them. "What? Kurt, you look like you're going to toss breakfast."

"Santana, I had no idea."

Kurt does look queasy and Blaine feels like a 3rd leg and would really like to just forget he'd ever asked anything.

"Oh my god. Stop." She slugs Kurt's arm. "Stop with the fucking sad faces. It's fine." Kurt still looks worried, so she huffs and kisses his cheek. And then she kisses Blaine's. He can't help but smile. "That's why I just never put much effort into it. This is your show and I'm more than okay being your doo-wop girl."

Kurt's still sort of speechless, so Blaine decides to jump in and get the ball rolling. "Well, that ends here. Tomorrow morning, you're going to go in and nail this audition. No more shadows and no more doo-wop."

"So you say." Santana flips her valves on her horn and blows air through it, warming up her mouthpiece again. "What's first?"

"Gimme your horn." Kurt takes it and puts it on the ground, arranging all three instruments into a 3-petaled daisy.

"You always do an instrument line-up?"

"It's tradition, Maynard. Do not mock tradition." Kurt stands and rolls his shoulders, smiling when both Santana and Blaine mindlessly follow his lead. "Sheep. I love when my people are sheep."

"Your people? You going to start seeing god in a bush too?"

Kurt ignores her and goes behind her to rub at her shoulders and give her direction. "Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Girls out."

Santana smirks at Blaine who instantly blushes. "In the clothes, Snix. Just you know...lift. Lift them." He stands straight, full-chested and trying very hard to be professional and not look at her boobs. He fails.

"Aw, Maynard. Look at you. You're so cute when you're blushy and your Kinsey scale slips a notch or too." She wiggles her chest and reaches out to pinch his cheek. "You've never touched a girl's boobs before, have you?"

"What if I told you I was nursed until I was nine?"

"Ew!! You were not nursed until you were—that's vile."

"No, I was not. Now stop pinching my cheeks like I'm some sort of a child and stand up right." He winks at Kurt over Santana's shoulder and puts his hand on her stomach. "Okay. Take a deep breath. Fill up your lungs and push my hand out."

"But my lungs are in my chest and I am not giving you your first feel."

Kurt moves from trying to get her shoulders back properly to stand in front of her again and rolls his eyes. "This is why I tell her to take lessons. She's impossible."

"I'm also right here."

"And you're impossible."

"Your lungs are in your chest. Your diaphragm is a horizontal muscle between your lungs and your belly. You need to be breathing deep enough that your lungs fill, your diaphragm flattens, pushing out your stomach. You can't do that if you're slouching or taking shallow breaths."

"I'm calling you Dr. Maynard from now on." Santana smiles at both boys, standing up straight, rounding back her shoulders and takes in a nice deep breath.

"Now, let it out on a slow eight-count – like releasing air from a tire. Steady, even stream."

She does it perfectly and sticks her tongue out. "I've got this."

"Do it again." Blaine looks to Kurt and starts to ask a question, but stops himself, not wanting to be ragging on his new band, but it has to be asked. "Didn't you guys learn basic breath support and stuff in middle school?"

Kurt rolls his finger, telling Santana to keep going. "No. Mr. Payne is a nice enough guy, but basically incompetent. Nate? Famous wood blower? Showed up our freshman year holding his clarinet wrong." He bends to collect Santana's mouthpiece. "Right hand on top, left hand on bottom. I don't know how the idiot got to all the keys he needed."

"Oh. God. Even I know—"

"Exactly. So, Jonesy does the best she can and encourages lessons, but," he hands Santana her mouthpiece and pokes her, "some people won't bother."

"I'm busy. And poor. And really, I'm already good enough to manage until graduation." She looks at the mouthpiece like she's never seen one before. "Am I honking through this thing now?"

"Yep. Deep breath and buzz through it – the sound should be even."

Blaine bends to get his and Kurt's pieces. "We can join you so it's not so awkward."

"No. Lemme hear myself so I know what I'm doing. How come I've never done this before?"

"From the sounds of things, because Mr. Payne didn't take the time."

She stands straight and takes in a good, full breath. The honky-buzzy sound is wobbly and unsteady. "Am I still not getting in enough air? I sound like a wounded goose."

"Breathe deep. From your—" Kurt sighs, looking apologetically at Blaine before blurting it out. "Breathe from your cootch."

"From my cootch."

"Figuratively. Just—" Kurt huffs again and Blaine smirks. "Just imagine pulling air in from that low, okay?"

Blaine turns to Kurt, a grin tugging at his lips. "So, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Pull air. From—" He points because. Because his brain will short circuit otherwise. He was fine considering Santana's crotch, but Kurt's would just—he's talking. Stop thinking.

"... teacher's favorite phrase when my breathing is shallow is from your balls, Hummel, so yeah? You don't?"

Santana buzzes into her mouthpiece again. The improvement is minimal.

"I—" He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. "Hunh. Yeah. I suppose I do."

"My gaybies have lost their minds. Next thing I know you're going to be asking me to breathe through my eyelids."

"That's for baseball; not music." Blaine takes Kurt's position behind Santana, rolling her shoulders back, whispering into her ear. "Behave, or I'll start telling you abstinence helps win competitions."

"Like hell you will." Santana closes her eyes, taking in a slow deep breath. A grin curls on her lips and she peeks one eye open as Blaine comes back around to join Kurt and quickly looks away. "And get your mind out of my va-jay-jay."

"My mind is not on your vagin—"

"Oh! Kay. Moving on." Kurt hands Santana her horn, collecting the other two as well. "I'm sick of the dying goose. And vaginas. Lemme hear sound. Deep breath – from your cootch if it helps – nice eight-count third-space C."

She takes in a good breath, low and deep, filling up her lungs perfectly. Blaine can't wait to hear the sound and then—

"Wait. C'mere, Maynard." He points at her mouth. "Snix, holy shit. How long have you been doing that?"

"Doing what? I just took a breath."

"No, but you—do it again."

She takes a proper intake of air and then Blaine sees it. "Do you always open your mouth to take in air? Pull the mouthpiece away?"

"Yes? No. I don't...this is just—I've been doing it this way since 5th grade." She puts the horn down and throws a hand on her hip. "What? Are you telling me I've been breathing wrong for seven years?"

"Yeah, we sort of are. Put your horn back up." Blaine rolls his shoulders. "Shoulders back, Snix. Come on. You know this shit."

"Fine."

"Now when you inhale, take in air from the outside corners of your mouth. Or your nose." Kurt lifts his horn to demonstrate. "Just keep your lips in the damned mouthpiece."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"Place your lips in the mouthpiece first like you're going to play – lips in place. Good." Kurt demonstrates while Blaine continues. "Now, keep your embouchure set...good...and take a deep diaphragmatic breath from outside the mouthpiece. Now play that C5."

She does and doesn't even make it eight counts before she stops and stares at them both. "Holy shit. That was clear as a bell." She lifts her horn and does it again, this time starting a few bars of the solo and stopping to laugh and try again. "What the hell?"

Kurt shakes his head, amazed at the simple solution that should have been solved years ago. "You haven't been getting a good seal inside your mouthpiece. That's why you're airy."

Blaine bends over and picks up Santana's flip folder, sliding the lyre into her horn. "Let's hear the solo."

"Yeah, but now I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Like, I have to start thinking about everything all over again."

"It'll take time, but you'll get it."

"Play with me, Kiki?"

Blaine gives them a count and grins as they begin. Their blend is perfect, years of playing together, of knowing when to give and take and rise and fall working without any effort. Their friendship shows in the music.

If he's honest with himself, he never really experienced that at Wapak, standing alone in the spotlight, no one quite understanding the high that music can bring. Consequently, no one to share it with. No wonder this band gets superior ratings and wins so many grand championships.

No wonder they didn't trust – or even want – an outsider coming in literally tooting his own horn.

They finish the short solo and Santana is flapping her hand and trumpet in excitement. "We're fucking amazing. Oh my god. Play with us this time, Maynard. I wanna do it again."

"Can I join in?" It's Mike, eyes bright, horn hanging loosely in his hands at his side. "Snix, you sounded amazing."

"I—thank you. Think you can handle this duet with me?"

"We'll be awesome."

Kurt bumps Blaine's shoulder and smiles – a quiet congratulations between them and Blaine counts off the new duet. Their sound is outstanding. Santana's airiness peeks in once, but she catches it and on her next intake of breath, she's back on track. The blend is perfect, Mike's mellophone counter melody soars above her melody as a perfect musical conversation.

Blaine lifts a hand to high five Kurt. "Damn, guys. That's going to be gorgeous."

Santana pulls the music out of her lyre with flair and tosses it to the ground, ready. Fixed. Determined. It's beautiful. "Okay, let's run through it one more time." She smiles at Kurt and Blaine – soft and sweet. "You two are my heroes."

~~~**~~~

The pool party is underway, held in the student activities center where sound bounces all over the three-story-high walls and because of the noise and the awful humidity parents don't stick around long. Half-clothed, wet, unsupervised teenagers. Really, what could be better?

For the unsupervised teenagers.

And now, while the morning had been all about building Santana up, it is time to take ol' Snixy down. Chicken fights are underway and Blaine has been too busy screwing around with Mike to get in on the early action. When Mike dips under water to grab up Tina for the next round, Blaine starts hunting for a partner.

His eyes zone in on one pale, lithe, lovely creature stretched out on a chaise like a prince of the sea. His hair is wet from an earlier dunk and he looks like he could be napping, although how, Blaine isn't sure.

He pulls himself up and out of the water, shaking out his curls and padding over to Kurt's chaise, close enough that the hem of his trunks drip water onto Kurt's thighs.

Without opening his eyes, Kurt speaks. "Snix, get your drippy tits away from me."

Blaine bites back a laugh and straddles the chaise, grabbing the armrests to lean in close, lowering his voice to its deepest bass as he keeps dripping water all over Kurt's trunks and abdomen. "I'm sorry. I seemed to have left my tits at home."

Kurt jumps and flails, almost knocking Blaine on his ass, recovering by grabbing an unsuspecting freshman flute player. Clarinet player. A girl he doesn't know.

"Oh my god, you son of a bitch!" But, Kurt is laughing and throwing his towel at Blaine, grabbing it back to dry himself from where Blaine dripped all over him. "What in the hell—"

Blaine glances into the pool just as Santana and Brittany take down Mike and Tina. "Wanna top?"

Kurt stops all motion and matches Blaine's ornery grin. "Isn't this a little soon in our relationship?"

"Band handbook says 10 days wait period, so I think we're good." Blaine reaches out his hand to tug Kurt toward the pool. "Even if you won't chicken fight with me, just come play. No one lays out at an indoor pool." Kurt hesitates and Blaine pouts. He's not particularly proud of it, but he does. "Look, either get in yourself or I'm pushing you in."

Before Blaine can reconsider that option, Kurt sneaks by him and jumps in, splashing water out onto Blaine's legs. "Well come on then! What are you waiting for?"

Blaine falls into the pool next to him and when he resurfaces, he spins to find Kurt already sitting up on the edge. "No. Get in does not mean jump in and get back out. At least give me one round of chicken."

"We'll lose."

"I don't play to win. I play to have fun."

"You also lie."

"Come on..." Blaine makes his way to Kurt's hilariously farmer-tanned legs and grabs at his calves.

"Do not pull me in. I'll get in myself."

With his hands tossed up in submission, Blaine pushes backward as Kurt slides in, stumbling when Santana comes out of nowhere and jumps on his back. "You're in, you're in! What'd he do? Promise a post-lights-out blow job?"

"Yes. That's—get off of me! That's the only thing I respond to. I'm still not playing chicken."

"Yes, you are. With the right partner—"

"That's exactly what I've been telling him."

"Listen to Maynard, Kiki. The boy knows his—"

Blaine has had enough chatting and figures a little extra nudging might be necessary. So, he sinks underwater and moves behind Kurt who is fortunately semi-squatted to keep his shoulders warm in the water. With one fluid motion, he's between his legs and pushing to stand. Hopefully this will not earn him 10 laps in the morning.

It might be worth it anyway.

When he resurfaces all he can hear is the echoed squeal from Kurt and victorious cheer of his friends. "Maynard, put me down!"

Kurt's popping him on the top of his head, but not really making any effort to get off. It'd be easy enough to do, but he's not and Blaine knows it. He looks up as much as he can and grins, holding onto Kurt's thighs to balance them both. "How strong are your thighs?"

"Strong enough to break your fucking neck if this goes poorly."

"Ooh, that will probably get me out of rehearsal tomorrow. Okay, who are we up against?" He walks them to the center of the pool where Quinn and Sugar await.

"Alright, Q! Let's have a kiki! Take 'em down!"

From the sidelines, a whistle blows and all attention goes to Artie who sits on the side with his hands in the air. "This begins the official Chicken Championship of Band Camp 2011. I blow the whistle and start the clock. Teams get three minutes to topple their competition. If there is no clear winner, both teams move onto the next round. Is everybody ready?"

Blaine looks up and pinches at Kurt's thigh. "So, this is serious then?"

"I tried to tell you – it won't last, I promise. We're going down."

"Not to these two, we're not. Let's go."

Artie blows the whistle again and Quinn charges with Sugar firmly on her shoulders before Blaine can even register what's happening. He plants himself and laughs while Sugar and Kurt go at it, maneuvering them around to attack or retreat, hanging onto Kurt's thighs as if his life depended on it.

"Go left, Maynard. Go left!" He does and with a squeal and a splash, the girls go down, all their grace and beauty shown in color guard forgotten in defeat.

And it's all the fire Kurt needs because he's popping Blaine on the head again, "Let me down for a second. I'm cold."

So he bends and lets go of Kurt's legs letting him swim off for a moment. He comes around and stands with a shake of his head, turning his back to Blaine. "Okay, load up again – who's next?"

"So, you only like it if you win?"

Kurt looks back and smiles, and Blaine feels like he just discovered the secret that makes Kurt tick. "What's the point if you don't win?"

Blaine grins and they start taking pairs down. Rachel and Mercedes are beat with ease, Andrew and Nate put up a bit more of a struggle to Blaine's surprise, but after a brilliant fake out on Kurt's part, they go down with a nerdy cry. Just when victory begins to feel sweet, Blaine pops up between Kurt's legs to find Finn and Puck waiting their turn.

Oh shit.

"I'll go easy on you, little brother."

"Don't patronize me." Kurt bops Blaine on the head, "Switch with me. I'm faster than Finn."

"And I'm not?"

"Oh, put the bravado away. Just trust me." So Blaine lets Kurt lift him up over the surface of the water where he's face to face with Puck. Who's about three times his size. "Brains over brawn, Maynard. We've got this." Kurt grabs Blaine's thighs and looks over to Artie. "Let's start this one, Disco!"

The fight ends up being easier than the one with Nate and Andrew, Finn's slow response making an easy game of it. Mike and Tina are next and that's a battle Blaine doesn't want to repeat, Kurt and Tina battling it out like two predatory cats. But, Kurt's strength gets the better of her and they go down. Finally, they're facing Brittany and Santana.

Brittany is probably the strongest girl Blaine's ever seen and Santana has quick smarts and a report with Kurt that could make this last all night.

And it lasts. And lasts. And since they're the last two teams, they simply stop and regroup, swimming around to loosen their limbs before Artie calls for the next 3 minute run when it's back on again. But finally, finally, after one quick slip on Blaine's part and one smart move on Santana's, Kurt and Blaine are falling backwards into the water, ending their fantastic reign.

When they resurface, Kurt's laughing and Blaine's laughing and Santana's jogging laps around the pool crowning herself victor. And then Mike blocks her and reminds her that those who lost on the bottom, can challenge again. "Me and Blaine. You and Nini. Final games. You in?"

"I'm so fucking in. Give me the hobbit on top."

And so it goes that Blaine faces off with Santana while Kurt and a good portion of the band cheer from the sides. It's vicious. It's passionate. It's exhausting, my god she never gives up! But in the end, the boys outsmart the girls and with one final twist, Santana falls with a splash.

In four years of band camp, no one has ever beaten Santana Lopez. And, for a silly pool game, Blaine feels pretty damned awesome to be the first one.

Jonesy comes through the door at the height of the celebration, announcing it's time to go. "There's a storm coming. Everyone out and get up to your rooms. Lights out in ninety minutes."

Blaine's head is buried under his towel and he feels a tap on his shoulder. It's Santana and a smile. She plants her hands on his cheeks and leans in for a quick kiss. "You can stay. You're good for him."

"Kiki?"

"Yeah. Don't blow it."