A/N: You should have seen me writing this chapter. I must have looked mad, tapping away at my iPod on the bus. No matter what it was great fun to write and I hope it will be enjoyable to read, too. If it is, we owe a lot to xxxraquelita, who's making my writing bearable.
And to everyone that reviewed the last few chapters but didn't get a response from me – I'm sorry, but my internet wouldn't really let me. I value all the feedback endlessly, though.
Also, to all the new readers getting through this slow semi-monster fic, make sure to add it to your Story Alert and not just your Favorite-list if you want the updates.
Let me know what you think!
The three of them – Santana, Kurt and Blaine – all squeezed into Kurt's bed with Kurt's laptop, watching the third Harry Potter movie. It was the closest thing to normal Santana had experienced in the past few days.
Being with Brittany had felt the best, of course, but it had still been so full of raw emotion, sorrow and panic, that it could hardly count for normal. However, sitting on one side of Kurt with his boyfriend on the other, watching a dorky movie without actually feeling like the third wheel, did feel normal, strangely enough.
That was probably saying something considering the fact that they had never done anything like that together ever before. But even so, it managed to sooth Santana enough to relax for the first time since that awful emergency meeting when they showed her the commercial.
When she glanced over at Kurt and Blaine during the movie, she could not help but automatically recall the last time the three of them were like this – all lined up together. Maybe it was not entirely appropriate, but she could not help smiling as she remembered threatening Dave with hidden razor blades, and making a mental note about what the fuck Kurt was referring to when he talked about the "truth."
Since then not much, and at the same time everything, had changed. Now it was the truth about her that was out there. Now it was – as much as she hated to admit it – Kurt, and by extension even Blaine, that was protecting her instead of the other way around.
At nine o'clock, Blaine reluctantly left the house in order to get home before curfew. After saying goodbye to him, Santana and Kurt lingered a little in the doorway to the kitchen.
From the looks of it, Finn had left the kitchen in favor of his room, and Santana was thankful that she did not have to focus on avoiding eye contact at the moment. Two days ago, Santana had not thought it entirely possible, but time had proven that things could get even more awkward between them. For the sake of general self preservation, Santana was happy that she did not have to face that level of uncomfortable at that time of the day.
Everyone else was still in the kitchen, still staring into papers and mumbling to one another with raspy, tired voices. Santana was not completely certain why she and Kurt decided to stand there for a while and simply watch the others, but she could not really see any reason to object, either.
It felt odd not talking to Mr. Schue when he was right there, because even though Santana was not in New Directions anymore, it was still like the entire concept of Mr. Schuester belonged to her and Kurt and not to Burt, Carole and some mad election.
Not that Santana knew what she could possibly say to him in a situation like this, anyway. Everything was way too complicated and too tangled up in each other, and Santana's head was already pounding a little trying to figure out who knew exactly what at that point.
Instead, Santana and Kurt headed upstairs again – Kurt to crawl in under his cover with an issue of Vogue, and Santana to take a shower.
She felt like crying when she noticed a neat stack of things with a note on it in the bathroom window. The note was in Kurt's handwriting, and when Santana reached out and picked it up she discovered that the stack consisted of a couple of red towels and a small toilet bag.
She held her breath and read the note.
Red is your color and you know it, Satan. And concerning the products in the bag; as much as I love to share, you and I seriously have very different complexion. I will not accept being involved in making your skin look any less than flawless. Use them wisely.
Kurt.
She carefully wrapped herself in the biggest of the towels when she was done, and used the middle one for wrapping her hair. She could not help but grin a little at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
She tip-toed across the hallway and into Kurt's room, pulled her (or, more correctly, Kurt's) pajamas out from under her pillow, and turned her head to Kurt just to make sure he caught a glimpse of her grin to assure him that she really was grateful.
He returned it sheepishly, and Santana sneaked back into the bathroom and pulled the silk pajamas on. Then she sat down on the toilet lid, rummaged through the clothes she had peeled off before, got her phone out and dialed Brittany.
They talked for a good fifteen minutes, and Santana let all the tension she had built up during the day melt away as Brittany went on about her evening and she even let Lord Tubbington purr into the receiver.
Santana could hear her voice echo slightly when she spoke, because of the bathroom tiles, but she figured it did not really matter, because all she really needed was a moment of privacy in a house full of people.
They hung up after both yawning simultaneously and bursting out in tired giggles, and Santana had not been so content in what seemed like ages.
Santana let the squeaking of her tent bed lull her to sleep and her dreams consisted of nothing but a thick, comfortable, cloudy fog.
If Monday morning had been noisy and a bit chaotic, Tuesday morning proved to be full on mayhem.
This time it could not be blamed on Santana's morning mood, but rather the election. Santana could swear that she, for a second, saw Kurt biting his nails – actually biting his perfectly manicured nails.
It was even hard to grasp what Burt and Carole were doing. Because even though the actual election was not on until the next day, they were busy beyond compare.
They seemed to be going in and out of the door constantly, always on the phone and always with a binder or a set of posters under the arm. None of the teenagers bothered to ask what exactly they were doing, because as Kurt put it, it was way too early in the morning to bring up politics.
Finn looked confused. Confused and miserable, and Santana had to try really hard not to find some kind of pleasure in that.
In retrospect, none of them really understood how they got into the car and to school with the never-ending beeping, ringing, and running that was going on in their house.
They did get to school, however, and Finn awkwardly hurried out of the car just as he had done the day before.
"Do you think they know yet?" Santana asked Kurt the second Finn's car door slammed shut.
Kurt did not answer right away, and it made something inside of Santana want to scream.
"I don't know," he said in a low voice, and bit his lip. "But the election is tomorrow, and you know how they always play those commercials like crazy the days before the election and…"
"It's no doubt aired already," Santana deadpanned. "And if people at school haven't caught up today, they sure as hell will have tomorrow."
Kurt chewed on his lip but did not answer.
"I haven't even dared to check my Facebook since everything went down," she continued but got cut off by Kurt.
"Look, maybe they know," he said, suddenly fierce. "And maybe they don't. And even if some of them do, it doesn't mean that all of them do just yet. So you're gonna keep doing what you did yesterday. Walk with your head held high. And support your girlfriend in this nerve-racking election for senior class president, okay?"
It was Santana's turn to bite her lip.
"And if anyone gives you crap about anything, just… call me, or text me, and I'll make sure they regret it. Not that I don't think you can't take care of yourself, just…"
He started smiling, which made Santana frown.
"Just," he continued and let out a laugh, "do you remember what you told me and Blaine that time at the benefit when Karof… Dave was all…"
"It was more fun doing it together," Santana finished and started smiling, too.
If Santana ignored the paradoxes and the irony of the fact that she was wholeheartedly participating in the mirror image of the election that had turned her life upside down, she was actually grateful that the election for senior class president practically swallowed her entire day.
She was not sure what to make of the looks people were giving her, but she had decided to try and shut out any related thoughts for a while. She figured she might need it, and that it would no doubt become harder to do that the next day anyway.
Instead, she focused on the election and Brittany. Even in class, Santana spent a lot of time scribbling down new slogans for her. And in the classes they had together, Brittany added speech bubbles around the catchwords and linked them to small drawings of Lord Tubbington.
They were excused for a while, too, in order to help set everything up in the gym, and Santana was both relieved and grateful that she could let it all distract her almost completely from everything else that was going on.
It was hard to shake the feeling that some of the people that walked past her during the day just knew. Santana tried to make sure that there was as little time as possible left in her day left for thinking.
She actively filled her day with encouraging statements of "Vote for Brittany!" and occasionally low, scathing, direct threats to the people that did not look too convinced.
She glanced over at Kurt once, just to make sure that he was relatively okay. He looked almost feverish, and Santana's first instinct was to look away again but she got a grip and tried to think about it logically.
He thinks his entire future is depending on this, she realized and frowned. Which is completely ridiculous. He's one of the only kids in here that honestly shouldn't worry about not getting out of here.
Kurt caught her glance and Santana sent him the widest smile she could produce, and even though the smile he came up with in returned was rather pathetic, it was still within the frameworks of what Santana considered progress.
She made a mental note about having to talk some sense into him sooner or later.
The Troubletones' practice was really the only thing, apart from the election, that Santana focused on all during the day. Singing was always a nice distraction, even though Ms. Corcoran kept sending Santana some meaningful looks that Santana did not even bother to try and understand.
It was not until Ms. Corcoran tried to pull her aside, when the practice ended, that it dawned on Santana that it was probably about that god forsaken slap in the auditorium. She dodged and dismissed Ms. Corcoran's hand on her shoulder by jerking away slightly and muttering something about being need in the gym.
She can watch the frickin' ad herself any second now, and then maybe my reasons will become obvious to her.
And when they headed home, a miserable Kurt by the wheel, a rather tired Santana in the passenger seat, and a fidgety Finn in the back seat, it was practically like walking from one election into another one.
Because even though Burt and Carole were home fairly early after promoting and working constantly the entire day, they seemed to have an endless amount of work that had to, or at least should, be done.
Kurt volunteered to cook, and Santana offered to help. Finn tried to offer his help, too, but all he got in return was a murderous look from Santana and a snort from Kurt.
"I'm not letting you near the stove on my watch, Finn. You know that – we've talked about this. It's not happening. Not since the popcorn incident."
"How was I supposed to know that you have to put a lid on it? You're being unfair," Finn muttered in response, but gave up.
Everyone looked completely worn out at dinner. When he sat down, Burt had declared that he was banning any kind of election related work for the rest of the evening, and Carole had agreed with a nod and a wry smile.
When Kurt passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Santana without really looking properly in her direction, as if it was something he did everyday and almost reflexively by that point, Santana took a deep breath and tried not to get overwhelmed. It was odd how normal it all felt; how she could have actually passed for an original member of the family had it not been for her Dominican heritage.
After dinner, they all collapsed in the living room. Burt shrunk into the arm chair and Carole did the same, but into a blue rocking chair that Santana had not noticed earlier.
Kurt sat down in the middle of the couch, serving as an effective wall between Santana and Finn, who was practically pressed up against the armrest at the other end of the sofa. It looked like he was mostly trying to be as far away from Santana as he could possibly be while they were sitting in the same piece of furniture.
Santana, on the other hand, actively ignored him, and tried to make a point out of taking up quite a lot of space by folding her legs up beneath her.
Later, Santana would not even remember what it was they had been watching, because it only took five minutes before hell broke loose.