December in Paris—it's cold. She knows this, so she's not really sure why she decided to leave her scarf back in her flat on this particular day. She's leaning against the side of a bridge overlooking the Seine, staring at her murky reflection in the freezing water. There's a man selling figurines of the Eiffel Tower to her left and an old woman smoking on her right. She coughs and begins to walk toward the nearest metro stop—she doesn't want second hand smoke to end her already pitiful career.
She's been out all day, not really doing anything—just walking. It was a week ago that she'd gotten the call from Kurt: he'd been commissioned to design a wedding dress for a St. James wedding. He'd thought Rachel would like to know.
She's spent the entire morning reliving their days together in her mind: their first meeting, their dramatic breakup, their reunion; Nationals. She squeezes her eyes closed at that last memory, remembering the hurt in his eyes as she and Finn simultaneously stomped on his heart.
She'd gone to school in New York, just like she said she would. She had decided to study abroad in Paris her junior year and loved it. It was senior year that she saw the headlines: a brand new musical slated for huge success had just cast their male lead—the one and only Jesse St. James. She looked for him everywhere after that. She'd thought she'd seen him in a Starbucks one morning, but it had turned out to be a different set of curls. She went to his opening night; he was flawless. After that, she dreaded running into him. Kurt had suggested that she go to Paris again; take a break from New York. She had intended on staying a week. It had been two years.
It's 5:00. She has an hour before she begins work; before she begins to sing. Usually she gets to sing whatever she wants—the bar owner had told her the French love American music. Tonight she will not hesitate when it comes time to pick a song. She will close her eyes, pour her heart and soul out onto that stage, most likely cry, and probably get a few meager tips. She sighs.
She gets off the metro at her stop, and wraps her coat a little tighter around her petite frame. She only has to walk a block before she's at the now empty bar. She greets the owner and makes her way to the back room, where she begins preparing. It's a process: warm tea with honey and lemon, vocal exercises, and some well applied make up to hide the puffy eyes.
When she takes to the stage, there are only a small handful of people in the lounge area, all enjoying cocktails and chatting quietly amongst themselves. She smiles slightly. Audience or not, she needs to do this. For them. For herself.
She nods at the pianist, and the notes begin to play.
I heard
That you settled down
That you found a girl
And you're married now
As she sings, the tears begin to fall. She clutches the microphone stand, struggling to keep her composure enough to finish the song. As the final notes fade, she opens her eyes, still filled with tears. She's met with the silent gaze of a captivated audience. No one in the room is moving. All eyes are fixed on her. The girl with the voice.
Applause breaks out, and a quiet reverence fills the room. She sniffles and mumbles a thank you before excusing herself. The owner tells her she can take the rest of the night off.
As she steps outside, it's even colder than before. Her teeth chatter, and she sucks in her breath. She picks up her pace on the way to the metro, when she's suddenly stopped. She panics—where was her rape whistle when she needed it? She whirls around, ready to defend herself, when her previously numb mouth drops open.
"Need a scarf?"
Before she can say anything, he's unraveling his own scarf and placing it around her neck. His warmth still lingers on the fabric, and she touches it gently with her hand, wondering if this is all a dream.
He smirks, and leads her back to the bar she had just come from. "It's too cold to talk out here."
They order drinks and he eases them into a flow of conversation. She asks about the wedding, and he merely laughs. He informs her that he's not even dating, much less engaged to anyone. Rachel feels like dancing, but she masks her delight behind a simple smile, reminding herself to kill Kurt for not checking his facts. He's in Paris to spend Christmas with his parents, even though he'll probably only see them for a split second.
"I sing here every night, you know."
"I know. I've been watching you all week."
"I haven't seen you."
"I usually leave after the first song to avoid being spotted. Tonight you happened to follow me out."
She blushes, realizing he saw tonight's performance and the added emotional breakdown. He reaches over and squeezes her hand reassuringly.
"Just so you know, you can't find someone like me."
She laughs, but concedes. "You're right. You're one in a million."
He smiles, his voice growing softer, "Just like you."
It's then that she realizes that their hands are intertwined.
"Come back to New York with me, Rachel."
She's speechless at his request.
"Word on the street is that an Evita revival is in the works. You remember what I said, don't you?"
Tears begin to well in her eyes and she squeezes his hand.
"It's an inevitability."
AN: I got this idea from Dani (ravenclaw-nerd-girl on tumblr)! I felt the need to write something and then this happened. I promise I'll try and update Inevitable soon…I'm a senior in high school so time is something that I'm severely lacking. :(