A/N: This is my short fix-it to the Shelby/Puck disaster of season three because I always hated how S just leaves R again without any resolution after it all comes to a head and then we never hear from her again until she randomly pops up in NYC season four. Two-Parts. This happens immediately after the events of S3E8 "Hold On To Sixteen."
Thunder loud enough to split her eardrums woke Rachel up from her fitful sleep. She flipped over and glanced at the time on the alarm clock. Two thirty in the morning. And it was one forty-five right before she closed her eyes, meaning she got through less than an hour of sleep.
As she sat up, a blinding flash of lightning cut across the window and illuminated her bedroom for a passing moment causing her to catch a glimpse of the star cup tucked away at the back of the bookcase. Without another thought, she threw the duvet off and rose to her feet. She crossed the room and pulled the cup off from the shelf and inspected it in her hands.
Flooded immediately with thoughts of her, she threw the glass into the wastebasket next to the desk with such a force that she was surprised it didn't shatter. Heat igniting in her chest, she grabbed the zip-up off the back of her chair and threw it on over her t-shirt. She grabbed her cell phone off the side table and walked out her room, making her way through the hallway and down the stairs in haste.
As soon as she touched down on the final landing, another deafening crack of thunder rumbled overhead, this one powerful enough for her to feel it tremble from her head to her toes. She was only a few feet away from the front door when the light within her dad's office suddenly turned on, causing her to jump in surprise and back against the wall. "Oh my god!"
"And just where do you think you're going, young lady?" Hiram asked his seventeen-year-old as he walked out into the foyer. He'd just finished up work he took home from the office when he heard the miscreant making her way down the stairs.
"Holy crap, dad! You scared me!" Rachel exclaimed, clutching her chest as if to physically trap her racing heart.
Hiram quirked his eyebrows at his daughter questioningly. "Going somewhere, Rach? Need I remind you that one, it's two thirty in the morning and two, you're grounded."
Rachel flushed red at the reminder. More than anything, she hated disappointing her dads. She really did mean well when she stuffed the ballot box to help Kurt win the election for student body president. She just didn't think things through. She never did. And it was becoming increasingly evident to her that she seemed to have a bad habit of making impulsive decisions. Like tonight. But she couldn't help it.
"I know dad but—"
"But what, Rachel? Are you sneaking out to see Finn? Because that is completely unacceptable. It's the middle of the night. Not to mention that it's pouring rain out," Hiram scolded.
"I'm not going to see Finn," Rachel answered quickly but paused to search through the existing catalogue of excuses in her mind.
"I strongly suggest that you not lie to me right now Rachel Barbra, especially if you want to be ungrounded before you go to college," the father warned, practically hearing the teenager's mind whirring, cooking up some sort of cover.
Rachel's deep brown eyes flared at being read like a book. Though she shouldn't be surprised, Hiram and LeRoy Berry knew her better than she knew herself. They were, without a doubt, the best fathers a girl like Rachel could have ever asked for. They were doting, caring, affectionate and she loved them both dearly. They gave her everything: a happy childhood, a passion for art and music, and a future teeming with possibilities. They gave her everything she wanted, everything she needed, everything and more.
Except for that one thing.
"Rach?" Hiram's gentle voice cut into her thoughts. He sized his daughter up and wondered where the girl went just now. He then pursed his lips in a worried frown noticing her eyes glazed with tears. "Honey, are you okay?"
"She's leaving," Rachel whispered, her eyelashes fluttering almost frantically in an effort to clear the fog from her eyes.
"Who's leaving, hon?"
Rachel doesn't want to say her name. "She is."
Hiram only furrowed his brows and tilted his head in response. "Oh," he said a moment later, realization dawning on his face. "She is? When?"
"Tomorrow," Rachel said, wiping away the unbidden tears with an angry hand. She forced herself to breathe to settle her emotions. She was not going to allow herself to cry over her anymore. "Mr. Schue told me that she's leaving Lima again tomorrow. For good. Mr. Schue told me, dad. Not her. Mr. Schue."
"Rachel, honey, I'm so sorry," Hiram said, his heart twisting agonizingly at all the pain rapidly filling his daughter's all-too expressive brown eyes. If he could protect his little girl from everything, he would. But Rachel's birth mother was always a different matter. As grateful and as indebted he was to Shelby Corcoran, he also wished that she never existed. Because if she didn't, she wouldn't have been able to crush his daughter's heart, walk away without so much as a glance back, and leave it in pieces for him and his husband to put back together.
"I just—I need to talk to her," Rachel said. "Before she goes away again. Before she leaves me again. I need to talk to her."
"Rach, I don't think that's a good idea," Hiram said sadly. "What do you need to talk to her about? Because I really don't think there's anything she can say at this point that will help you feel better, hon. I just don't want her to hurt you."
Before she could reply, Rachel found herself drawn into an unexpected embrace. Savoring in the familiar comfort, she released a heavy sigh as she melted into her father's arms, which she's deemed, as one of the softest places in the world to land.
"She already has."
Somehow, in the seconds Rachel sprinted from the house to the car, the storm crashing down seemed to have picked up more energy. Sliding into the protection of the vehicle, she allowed herself a moment to regroup and sat in silence as the steady downpour thrummed against the rooftop. Falling. She felt like she was falling as hard and as fast as the world around her. And she needed to gain control. She needed to stop thinking. She needed to stop thinking because she was never going to do this if she thought about it. She needed her heart to take over her brain. And she could do it one step at a time. All she had to do was start the car. Start the car and go see her.
Start the car.
Go see her.
Repeating the mantra over and over again in her head, she buckled the seatbelt and pushed the key in the ignition.
Start the car. Go see her.
She drove street by street, focused solely on navigating to her destination; trying and fighting against every urge she had to turn back around. She's certain it was her imagination, but the closer she got, the more the rainfall intensified. Releasing her vice-like grip of the steering wheel, she stretched her hand one after the other to induce the blood flow. Eyes concentrated on the slick, wet roads ahead of her, the whining of the windshield drowned out any and every thought screaming at her to just go back home. It was an efficient distraction. Efficient enough that before she realized it, she was pulling into the parking lot of the apartment building. Now all she had to do was get out of the car and go see her.
Get out of the car. Go see her.
Rachel looked up at the tall apartment complex, the warmth and the shelter luring her in, but she refused to move any more than that. Any courage she had worked up earlier seemed to have deserted her in record speed. Still clutching the steering wheel, she couldn't bring herself to notice how her knuckles turned stark white because all she could think about was her. And how she's been chronically late to AP Lit almost every day for the past three months because she had to take the long way there from Calc just to avoid running into her. How she couldn't listen to Lady Gaga anymore because it infuriated her. How frequent it was that summer after for one of her dads to crawl into bed with her and hold her until the tears dissipated. How it took her weeks to be able to look at Quinn or Puck without instantly feeling nauseous. How this is not how she expected her senior year to go. How she hated herself for asking her to write that letter. How it took everything she had to defend her to Quinn. How she came. How she left. How she was going to leave again. How, through it all, she still wanted her.
And above all else, how badly she wanted to know why. Why she wasn't… why she didn't… why she couldn't… why.
All she had to do was get out of the car.
Go see her.
Stepping out into the hallway, Shelby shut the door to Beth's bedroom with a soft click right as another clap of thunder battered her ears. Rooted to her spot, she prayed, prayed that the baby that she had just finished settling down would remain asleep. She stood perfectly still and held her breath, focusing her energy on listening for any signs of distress from the child. Hearing none, she released a weary sigh and made her way back to the disaster that was her living room.
Her eyes traveled across the room in dissatisfaction and landed on the clock still hung up on the wall. It was almost three. The movers were coming at seven. They'd be on the road by eight. She had just scrubbed the bathroom. Packed the bedrooms. Cleaned the kitchen. The only thing left was to organize the living room.
Lists she can manage. Tasks she can handle. It kept her occupied. It kept her moving. So that she couldn't stop and think about her. Couldn't stop and think about how she's managed to ruin everything once again. Couldn't stop and think—think about how she came back to Lima hellbent on fixing her mistakes and now she's leaving again with more, more ways she's hurt those around her, to show for it.
Sighing, Shelby tucked loose strands of her brunette locks behind her ears and stretched languidly before deciding to tie all of her hair up in a ponytail. She rolled up the sleeves of her ratty, gray Ohio State long-sleeved t-shirt and then picked up one of the moving boxes she'd just taped together before being interrupted by Beth's cries.
After placing the box in front of the couch, she picked up the framed photo of Beth on the end table and grazed her thumb over it, guilt immediately burned through her heart as sure as acid burned through metal. She had to do better. She had to be better.
As soon as she set the frame down in the box, she heard knocking on the front door, sharp and pointed, almost sounding like gunshots to her overly sensitive ears. Maneuvering her way through the chaos and forgetting to check through the peephole, she unlocked and opened the door, her breath catching in her throat immediately.
Shelby felt lightning crackle through her veins and time slowed down as she came face to face with the last person she was expecting to find out in the hallway. For an undetermined amount of time, neither one of them said anything, neither one of them moved. Apart from the howling of the wind echoing against the edges of the building, complete and total silence engulfed them. It was only when the rainfall outside escalated and picked up speed until the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise did she break from her reverie.
With a sharp inhale, she forced herself back into focus and finally realized that Rachel was drenched from the rain, her hair dripping wet, soaked clothes clinging to her skin, a puddle beginning to form at her feet. The girl also had dark, prominent circles under her eye and a sallow complexion. Shelby cringed, unable to help a sense of responsibility for all of this.
"Were you going to say goodbye?" Rachel asked in a throaty growl. "Or were you just going to leave again without saying anything to me? Just like how you came back without saying anything to me? Are you just going to keep coming and going as you please? Are going to keep doing whatever you want? Do you even care, Shelby? Are you even thinking about anyone else but yourself?"
It took another grueling silence-filled moment for Shelby to find her voice, the barrage of questions piercing deep into her heart like a hot, sharp knife cutting into butter. "Rachel...do your dads know you're here?"
Rachel shook her head furiously, a wave of anger crashing through her. Why was she so disappointing? Why couldn't she ever just say the right thing? "Were you going to say bye?"
Swallowing back the taste of metal in her mouth, Shelby also shook her head in response. "No," she heard herself say, knowing that anything that less than the truth would set the girl off. "I—no, I wasn't going to say bye."
Struck by the honesty, Rachel tightened her lips together and pressed them closed. Every word she had meticulously strung together in the parking lot a few minutes ago abandoned her at an alarming rate. And suddenly she felt so exposed, with no defense, nothing to protect her, no piano in between them or a song to sing, no distraction from the fact that she was standing in front of her estranged mother and choking on the vulnerability and insecurity rolling through her. She always gave her too much of herself.
"I wasn't going to say goodbye, Rachel, because I didn't know how to," Shelby said, choosing her words carefully. This conversation was like a sandcastle. One wrong word and the entire thing would surely collapse, taking their hearts down with it. "I didn't think you'd want me to. I've already—I have already done enough. I didn't think saying goodbye would make things any easier for you."
"Easier for me? Or easier for you?" Rachel lambasted, losing control of any semblance of calm. "Because you packing everything up and leaving in the middle of the night would be easy for me? Do I really mean that little to you, Shelby?"
"Of course not," Shelby replied quickly. That's the one question so far that she can answer without any deliberation, without a single hesitation. She dropped her gaze and tried to control her breathing that was quickly growing irregular. And she briefly wondered if they would ever be in a place where they could be together and it would be natural, easy, and not like the ground beneath them was crumbling. "Of course not, Rachel. You must know that."
"I don't know that," Rachel said, keeping her voice even and measured, despite how badly she just wanted to scream. "I don't know that because you've never told me."
Pure shame gnawing at her insides, Shelby only drooped her shoulders in a quiet resignation. At this point, she didn't know what else to say, what else she could say to the girl she was desperately not to think of as her daughter. "Would you like to come inside?"
Holding her breath for a response, another crack of thunder roared outside, and this one, caused both her and Rachel to flinch. She had no idea where this storm came from, but it seemed as though it was gaining strength by the second. "Please come in," she implored, her tone concerned. "At least until the weather lets up. I don't want you to drive back home in this. We can… we can talk."
Everything inside of Rachel automatically screamed at her to just leave right now. To leave before she could find more ways to be disappointed by her mother. To leave before she could grow to resent her more than she already does. But she found herself nodding her approval. Because she got out of the car. And went to see her. So now all she had to do was go inside and talk.
Go inside. And talk.
Rachel stood awkwardly in the middle of a sea of boxes, some packed and taped, others still overflowing and unorganized, and she felt a sudden rush of anxiety wash over her. Shortly after letting her in Shelby excused herself to grab her a towel to dry off.
Rachel was only vaguely aware of her surroundings because she was fairly certain that this was the most nervous she'd been since...ever. She'd never been this nervous in her entire life. She wanted to look around, to see what the inside of her birth mother's house looked like despite the random chaos scattered everywhere, but she chose to remain as still as possible instead.
Hearing Shelby's footsteps approach, she clenched her jaw and locked down on the fear and nerves coursing through her. She could do this. This was no different from a dance recital or a show choir competition. All she had to do was channel all of her negative energy and focus on her performance. She squared her shoulders as Shelby handed her a towel and forced herself to give her a cool smile.
"Sorry, I would give you a change of clothes but everything in my closet is packed. I can toss your jacket in the dryer for you, though? And I'm sorry that it's a disaster zone here. I only have the living room left to sort out. You did tell your dads that you were here, right? It's the middle of the night and I don't want them to worry in case they wake up and see you gone. Do you, uh, want something to drink?"
Rachel doesn't know whether or not to take comfort in the fact that Shelby was acting as rattled as she felt, and it wasn't lost on her that this was the first time she's ever seen the woman like this. Not as the sharply dressed, put-together, and commanding vocal coach that Rachel was used to, but this. Without a single trace of makeup, or the expensive clothes and the calm, collected professional demeanor, Shelby looked exhausted and scared and a little bit lost. In fact, she looked a lot like her right now.
"They know. And water is fine, thank you," Rachel replied after sinking down on the vacant spot on the couch.
Nodding, Shelby began to weave through the mess on her way to the kitchen. "Good. Because I think if I remember correctly, LeRoy was always such a worrier. When I was pregnant with you, he was so overprotective and overly cautious. But it didn't bother me, I actually think it drove Hiram crazier more than anyone else. Are they uh—are they still like that?"
"Oh yes, definitely. And I think daddy's only gotten worse. I'm not entirely sure how he's going to handle me going away to college next year."
"Are you applying anywhere other than NYADA?"
Rachel shrugged casually as she used the towel to wring the ends of her hair dry. "Probably. Maybe NYU. I'm still figuring it all out, but all I know with certainty is that I want to be in New York next year. It's the only place that I've ever wanted to go, so I am going to do everything I can to make it there."
Taken by the conviction in Rachel's voice, Shelby paused in front of the fridge before turning back around. "I meant what I said the other day, Rachel. Maybe I don't have the right to be but I am proud of you."
"Even when I sabotage student body elections and get myself suspended?" Rachel chuckled humorlessly.
"You just have to stay focused," Shelby replied. "You're smart, and talented, and hardworking, that much I know about you. And you just have to stay focused. You don't have to cheat or manipulate others or cut corners to get what you want. Because you can have it all if you're honest and kind and you do your best and work hard. I know you're capable of that, Rachel. Everything else will come if you focus and do that much."
"Is that what you did when you went to New York?" Rachel asked rhetorically, not keen on listening to any of the woman's platitudes at the moment. She resolved that Shelby lost the right to offer her any more advice when she decided to leave again. "Because that didn't seem to work out too well for you."
Shelby ignored the barb as she opened the door to her nearly empty refrigerator and pulled out a water bottle. She walked back over to the girl and offered it to her, their first reunion flashing before her eyes as Rachel accepted the drink.
"I didn't get to go to New York for college," Shelby said, picking up the box she abandoned earlier and decided to work on the bookcase next. She had to keep moving. "Did you know that my mom died when I was younger? I was six. So my entire life, it was just my dad and I."
Rachel only nodded and reclined back in her position on the couch, giving her a silent permission to continue.
"Anyway, we couldn't afford it, me going away, so I stayed in-state and got a teaching degree at OSU. My plan was to work for a year or two, save up all my money, and then try my hand in New York. I've always loved singing," Shelby cleared her throat and pushed past the lump that was forming in order to explain. She doesn't know what Rachel wanted to hear from her. But she figured that the beginning would be a good place to start. "I'm not good at a lot of things. I can't catch a ball or anything like that. I got good grades but I had to work hard for them. But I was always a good singer. That was the one thing I knew was special about me. And I really, really wanted it, Rachel. So badly. Back then, I felt like I needed it more than I needed to breathe. It was everything, you know? It was going to be my way out. It was going to change everything for me."
Rachel's stomach flipped at that remark because she did know. Because that's exactly how she felt, all the time, and maybe apart from Jesse, she hasn't met anyone else who came even remotely close to understanding that.
"So, I got a job substitute teaching for the school district right after I graduated. It was fine, and I was saving up money. But I also felt like I was losing myself a little bit every day that I was here and not on Broadway where I wanted to be. It was killing me, not being able to use my gift. But one day, I saw an ad in the newspaper," Shelby continued, not missing how Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"Your fathers' ad. And the money they were offering—it was a lot back then. It was almost my salary for the entire year. It was more than enough to help me get to where I wanted to be."
"You know the only thing that I'm getting out of this right now is that all I was was a means to an end for you," Rachel accused, crossing her arms tightly over her chest to highlight her disapproval. "That all you wanted was the money. To get what you wanted."
"No, Rachel, that's not where I'm getting at," Shelby froze in the middle of her task and mentally cursed her inability to do or say anything right whenever the girl was in her vicinity. "That's not what I meant. Just please listen."
"Okay, thank you," Shelby continued after receiving a terse nod. "Yes, maybe I did answer that ad to get what I wanted. But I also did it to give your dads what they wanted. When I met with them, they told me that I was the only one who answered it, because no one else was taking them seriously. And that they've been trying for years to have a family, but kept being rejected by the state and adoption agencies. They were great guys and they were kind and genuine and I saw how desperately they wanted to be fathers, how much they wanted a baby. And yes, I'm not going to lie to you, I did want the money, but I also really did want to help them start a family."
"Whose idea was the contract?"
"I'm not sure. I don't remember, but I think one of their friends advised your dads to draw up a contract to protect them from me changing my mind and wanting to keep you. But I was also so young, Rachel. I was only a few years older than you are now and I wasn't ready to be a mom, so when I signed it I didn't know. I didn't fully understand what I was giving up."
"But you said that you didn't regret it?" Rachel prodded. While she can empathize with what Shelby was saying, she also can't help but question her. It's been two years, and she was still just as confused now as she was the day she snuck into Vocal Adrenaline rehearsal.
"I told you yes and no when you first asked if I regretted it," Shelby pointed out. "It's complicated."
"Please explain." It's been two years. And now she wanted the truth.
Shelby nodded and reached for the tape on the coffee table, avoiding Rachel's critical gaze in the process. She looked down inside the box, half-wishing her currently writhing heart to be sitting there so she can also pack it up and keep it safe.
"No. I don't regret signing the contract because how could I, Rachel?" Shelby released a shaky breath. "Look at you. You are… look at everything you've accomplished. You're going to go to NYADA next year and you're going to be amazing. You're going to be a star. And a lot of that is because of your dads and what they were able to provide for you. They've given you everything, right? They've always supported you and cared for you and correct me if I'm wrong, Rachel, but I know that they've given you everything you needed, and I couldn't have—I wouldn't have been able to do that for you. As much as I might have wanted to."
"You wanted to?" Rachel asked in a half-whisper, in a voice soft enough that if Shelby didn't have musically trained ears, she might've missed it.
"Of course I did," Shelby said in a tone that demonstrated that she heard her loud and clear. "And that's the part I regret. I… fell in love with you, Rachel. When I was carrying you, I fell in love. But agreeing to be a surrogate also meant agreeing to the distance. I didn't have you for me. I had you for your dads, so I didn't feel like I had a right to ask them for anything more than what was stipulated in the contract. I figured that I could wait until you were old enough and then just try to forge a relationship with you then. But I don't know, maybe I should've fought for more, I should've asked, I should've tried to be a part of your life when you were younger, I should've… I should've done a lot of things. But I didn't. I don't know why, but I didn't. And not doing anything, Rachel, will forever be my biggest regret."
Shelby had been focusing on her hands taping the box close throughout the whole monologue and kept staring down, almost being able to sell that she was truly entranced with her own packaging skills. It was only when she heard a sniffle did she bring her eyes up to find Rachel with her head hung and thick tears slowly spilling down her cheeks. Shelby felt instantly nauseated at the sight.
"Rachel?"
"I'm sorry," Rachel shook her head furtively, extremely betrayed by her emotions. "I thought that hearing this would help me feel better, but it doesn't. It's not. It's only making it worse. I'm so sorry, Shelby. Maybe I should just go. I don't..."
The end of Rachel's sentence was drowned out by the abrupt noise of what sounded like stones clinking against the windowpane. In a simultaneous motion, the two rotated their heads to peer through the window taking in the livid black clouds and the torrential downpour, attacking the building like an impenetrable gunfire. Then almost comically, the sure sound of Beth's cries through the baby monitor automatically filled the room.
In a panic, Shelby immediately shifted her attention back to Rachel, the girl's obvious anxiety over the situation completely displayed across her far too expressive face. "Please stay. Let me just go check on Beth, but please don't go anywhere. I—this is hard for me too, but I want you to know where I'm coming from. That's why you came, right? For answers?"
Rachel opened and closed her mouth soundlessly and glanced back out the window, carefully considering Shelby's question. She did want answers. She wanted honesty. But she didn't realize how much it would hurt. How much it'd drown her. She'd rather be dry and warm. Than this. She wanted to run away and try to never see her birth mother again. But something in the way that Shelby was looking at her rendered her frozen. They were already in it now. In the middle of this storm, so she may as well stay and hear her out. Stay and listen.
Stay.
And listen.
A/N: This was also inspired by Sara Bareilles' newest single "Saint Honesty," been listening to it and then my mind went here with S and R.