Tell You Time and Time Again
Chapter 1: This slushy is like my heart, Jesse st. James. Cold and in your face.
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A/N: For everyone who screams at the television when Finchel happens - this story is for you. For everyone who hopes Jesse will come around to fix everything, only for his character to be used as a catalyst for evil - this story is for you. For everyone who just wants a fic where they don't work everything out right away, but also don't avoid each other for years - this story is definitely for you. For those of you looking for entertainment, well, that's what I do.
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One would think with the constant barrage of slushies carefully aimed at her face with careless deliberation, the taste of frozen fructose made to simulate the sweet summer taste of strawberries would make Rachel gag and feel the immediate need to take a shower. One would assume that she got her fill of slushies while standing in the hallways at school, the skin on her face burning from the frozen shock and embarrassment of it all, and the ice-thickened liquid dripping and slipping from her forehead into her eyes and mouth. Rachel had probably actually tasted more than her share of slushies, and had certainly accidentally consumed more than any of the jocks had intentionally drank.
While that might be the case, Rachel Berry had a craving for a lemon slushy. Lemon was excellent for cleansing the palate, and removing the taste of dust, sunblock and sweat out of her mouth with a refreshing beverage seemed like a fantastic idea despite the fact slushies were her own personal Vietnam. It was a burning hot summer day in Columbus, Ohio and she was wandering around the downtown waterfront area, waiting for her fathers to be finished with a meeting before they would go shopping, to dinner and then to The Ohio Theatre as a family. She was looking forward to it with a child-like enthusiasm, loving short summer stays in larger centers that would allow her to test her ability to navigate through larger metropolises. While Columbus was no New York City it certainly wasn't Lima either and she relished testing out her sense of direction on streets she didn't grow up on, but after an hour of wandering and not getting lost once, she realized that not even Columbus held much of a challenge.
Besides, there were only so many times she could look at the replica of the Santa Maria before her eyes wanted to roll into the back of her head with boredom. Quaintness was sooo not her thing. Unless it was animal sweaters.
So she found herself searching for a corner store or shop with a slushy machine. Given the choice, she would pick (soy) ice cream, smoothies, or gelato over the mass-produced drink, but finding vegan-friendly options among those made the experience like searching for a very specific needle in a stack of needles, which was nigh on impossible and more than a little prickly. And, for some undeniable reason, slushies were always easy to locate. Probably because she unconsciously shivered in fear and tensed her shoulders in apprehension when she saw someone drinking one.
Once the drink was firmly in her hand, Rachel took a controlled sip of it as she continued her walk through the waterfront park area. People were out in full-swing, entertainers and the occasional panhandler on the corners trying to appeal to the general public. She smiled at a girl doing controlled dance moves on a patch of grass as Britney Spears played from a portable CD player, and as Rachel slipped a dollar in the girl's hat – supporting struggling artists gave her a nice karma boost for when it became her turn to spread her wings and soar, after all – she vowed to never allow herself to get so low that she had to resort to... busking. Of course, with her enormous talent, it would never be a necessity and any street performances she did would simply be for fun, as part of a concert or for one of those charming outdoor interviews New York press/talkshow hosts were so famous for.
Blinking, Rachel was transported away from her visions of singing before a group of star-struck and adoring fans in Central Park by the sound of enthusiastic clapping coming from real life and not a part of her fantasy. Intrigued, her feet were navigating in that direction, propelled by the possibility of actual talent. If there was one thing Rachel loved, it was witnessing (and critiquing) the performances of others. She was nearing the back of a crowd, enough people between her and the performers – she could at least tell it was a small group – so she couldn't immediately see them, but she knew it would be good based on the amount of people gathered.
She anticipated talent.
From the familiar opening line of Bohemian Rhapsody, she knew exactly who was on the other side of that crowd. Even without the well-known song that would be forever associated with bitter feelings of betrayal and heartbreak, she'd eternally be able to identify his voice independent of seeing his face. Some nights, she still closed her eyes and heard him singing to her, soft lullabies and passionate power ballads intersecting with the stark beauty of his favourite rock lyrics luring her into sleep. Some nights, even fewer still, she heard him because she still had a recording of him on her iPod that she played rather sparingly as one of her guilty little secrets that she would never willingly admit to but would never give up.
Jesse St. James might be an ass, a douchebag, a rogue, and a scoundrel, but the man had one of the best voices she had ever heard. It was a voice meant to break hearts and stir the hormones of every woman (and man) within hearing distance, so the fact that he ended up being a heart breaking blackguard who made her give him doe-eyes filled with trust and love and lust right before he smashed an egg over her head wasn't really a shocker. It kind of served her right in a perverse sort of way for actually hoping that he'd be different just for her.
Of course, Rachel was drawn closer to him, unable to stay away from the siren's call of his song (not Queen, but the more ineffable allure of him) and she wondered if she was the only one who felt as though his voice reached into their soul and drew them towards him before they crashed against rocks in a terrible shipwreck. The crowd of people surrounding him wasn't thick enough to halt her movements and soon she was in the front, staring in horror as approximately 1/5 of Vocal Adrenaline backed him up in this impromptu performance. He hadn't seen her yet, but the sight of him turned something over in her stomach, something that felt like it should be utter revulsion, but to her horror was not.
Rachel realized that she really, really missed him, more than she had even understood and in that moment she hated him beyond rational thought.
Jesse was pulling out all the stops, singing with even more aplomb than Freddie Mercury himself. He hadn't seen her, hadn't for one moment looked up and caught her eye and suddenly Rachel's rage was blinding, her hands shook and there was this roaring in her ears that sounded like a caged lion just begging for escape.
"So you think you can stone me and spit in my e—"
Splat.
Everyone froze, all eyes on Jesse as yellow liquid slipped from his curls and down his face.
With a kind of detached shock, she realized that the frozen slushy dripping from Jesse's face was from her cup. Her mind hadn't even planned it, hadn't been conscious of the dramatics of it all, but without missing a beat she opened her mouth and belted out the next line. "So you think you can love me and leave me to diiiie." Despite how hot she was and the fact her voice wasn't exactly warmed up, Rachel knew she had pulled off the passion of the song better than any of the girls in Vocal Adrenaline could. She knew he would recognise her voice despite the fact that sticky sweet liquid was burning in his eyes and making it impossible for him to see. Instead of continuing to sing the next lines, crooning about the fact she had to 'just get right out of here', Rachel simply turned on her heel and left, allowing the lyrics to be implicit.
It was wonderfully dramatic. Spectacularly theatrical, and oh so fitting for the musical of their lives.
The silence was broken by the sound of a singular person clapping. "Ladies and gentlemen, the undeniably talented Rachel Berry." His voice sounded far warmer and more amused than it had any right to, especially considering he was tasting her drink mingled with all the sweat on his face from performing. She doubted even lemon could cleanse the taste of her ruining his large finale. She bet it was sour on his golden tongue, but his voice didn't betray any negative feelings and she was tempted to turn around to see what his body language said. She'd been expecting him to at least bemoan the state of his hair.
Instead, she continued her exit, stage left, the empty cup clutched in her hand.
She smiled when Jesse's theatrical mask finally collapsed and he snapped in a full on diva frenzy, "for God's sake could one of you witless marionettes gets me some water before I attract wasps."
"Seems you already attracted a wasp," one of them grumbled back.
"Water! Now! And once I can actually see you Jason, I'd like you to say that to my face."
Still grinning slightly, she waited until she was around a corner, mostly hidden by a tree, before looking back towards him. The majority of the audience had dispersed now that he wasn't singing, the half-hearted and mechanical attempts from the rest of the team not enough of a lure to keep people interested. A few girls remained, probably sufficiently entertained by the sight of Jesse stripping off his shirt. Heck, she kind of hated him and was too far away to see anything, and she was kind of entertained by the sight of Jesse stripping off his shirt.
Part of her thought this might be one of her psychic moments. She never craved slushies and the one time she did was also her first meeting with Jesse since Regionals.
Rachel waited to feel guilty but it never came and she realized she actually felt satisfied about slushying him. The fact that it felt therapeutic far overshadowed the sense of hypocrisy she was experiencing for using a slushy as a weapon.
It was in that moment, the realization not fully developed, that Rachel Berry started to see that things between Jesse St. James and herself would never be the normal highs and lows of happiness and pity-parties. There would always be moments of over dramatics whenever they met, where the two of them played the scene and vied for the spotlight, attempting to influence the audience's sympathies. Despite her current heartbreak from his betrayal, she was euphoric at the memory of the slushy splattering across his face, cutting off his performance suddenly and she continued to smile as she moved towards the rendezvous location with her dads.
Rachel wasn't actively anticipating her next encounter with the legendary Jesse St. James, but part of her knew it would be good and her performance would be flawless.
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Rachel wasn't sure if it was based on years of experience or some kind of innate mathematical talent, but she could always tell the acoustic sweet spot of a theatre at a glance, her eyes taking in the speaker locations, the shape of the room, and the texture of the walls. Unerringly, she made her way over to a row of seats a little beyond the middle of the theatre and to the right and staked out three seats for herself and her dads. Not many people were in the theatre yet, and Rachel imagined that not many people would be tonight. A new children's movie was playing at the movie theatres at the mall, there was a community production of Chicago in its opening week down the street, and, frankly, a revival of the Wizard of Oz wouldn't appeal to many people on a Tuesday night.
She was just settling in, ensuring that her skirt was tucked safely between her thighs and the scratchy material of the seats, when she noticed the silhouette of a person standing next to her. She didn't think her dads had time to complete their pre-show ritual of using the bathroom and getting fresh popcorn, but she looked up expectantly anyway, ready to accept her bag of candy. Rachel knew something was wrong when she noted the dark coloured jeans, her eyes spanning higher to find Jesse standing next to her with a large drink in his hand.
Automatically she flinched away, bringing her arm up to shield her face.
He laughed merrily without the slightest hint of irony, heavily sitting in the seat next to her. "Don't worry," he said with obvious amusement, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of his drink. "I'm not here for revenge."
"Revenge!" she sputtered, eying him wearily and trying to pull off a face of indignation despite the fact that part of her thought he was probably well in his rights to try to get vengeance on her for the slushy. It was difficult to remind herself of her own moral high ground now, in the face of a large soda in the hands of the boy who didn't think anything of breaking a few eggs to make his point.
He nodded with a smirk. "If anyone knows how difficult it is to get fructose out of pores, it's you. We both know how integral a clear and perfect showface is. I'd say I'd be well within my rights to revenge if I wanted it, especially if my complexion reacts adversely to the slushy facial."
"Please," she scoffed. "You spend more every month on beauty products than I do. I'm sure your designer creams are more than capable of handling a $3 drink."
He shuddered dramatically. "My delicate skin isn't used to slumming it. Jujube?" he asked, opening the bag and offering one to her as if, to him, this was simply a casual conversation between friends.
Rachel snubbed him and his candy, staring straight at the theatre screen despite the fact the movie wasn't playing yet. "My dads will buy me some at the concession stand. I won't take your blood candy."
Jesse snorted. "Suit yourself," he responded, tucking the bag into the cupholder between them and stretching his long legs out in front of him.
"Don't get too comfortable," she glared, willing him to leave just with the force of her animosity towards him. The problem, of course, was that she had too much to say to him to remain silent and ignore him. She had so much to say that now didn't seem the time or the place. When they had this conversation that was hovering unspoken between them, it would be full of dramatics, wild arm movements, yelling on her end, hopefully sobbing on his, and it would be an epic and unstoppable clash of wills by two people who looked to musical theatre as inspiration on how to carry out day to day life. There could be singing. The Wizard of Oz was going to start in about 15 minutes; they wouldn't even make it through the first act with that amount of time, and Rachel had some serious dramatic goals that demanded to be met in this storyboard. "You should leave before my dads get here. They'll be less hospitable to you than I am."
He took a candy, grinning at her as he held it between his teeth. "I'm sure I'm persona non grata to all of the Berrys," he agreed.
"You hate jububes," she noted quietly, watching him intently from the corner of her eye. She never turned to face him, but she angled her head in such a way that he was visible despite her intent to snub him. Her stomach jumped at the way he gently sucked it into his mouth and she hated how she reacted to him, her body understanding his overtures despite the fact she didn't rationally know why.
"I don't hate them," he corrected her. "I just think that if I'm going to consume candy, putting my sleek and sexy physique in jeopardy, there are better tasting options."
"I disagree. Jujubes are classic for a reason," she sniffed, turning up her nose at him with a superior scowl. She glanced behind her, willing her dads to come in and interrupt this twilight zone where Jesse St. James and Rachel Berry were having a semi-rational conversation. "How did you find me?" she questioned, trying not to sound curious.
He shrugged as if the answer was obvious. "You and your dads always see a show when you're in the city. I know how you feel about community theatre massacring your favourite musicals, and given the choice you'll always choose the Wizard of Oz and Miss Judy Garland over lesser filmography. It wasn't difficult to figure out."
She hated how smug and sure he was of her but she couldn't exactly argue his point. He was right and it bothered her how well he seemingly knew her. It made his betrayal all the more upsetting and always had. He knew her habits and her heart, and he knew just how to break her.
"I saw the show the other night. After Wicked," he leaned towards her conspiratorially, "Dorothy is practically villainesque."
She snorted. Coming from him that was rich. "Well?" she asked pithily, cutting through all the bull. "Are you here to apologize?"
Jesse made a puzzled hum that was entirely fake. "Apologize for what?"
"Apologize for what?" she echoed in disbelief, hands balling into tiny fists. She wasn't sure why he, and he alone, seemed to be able to draw this type of reaction from her, but she was almost convinced he was baiting her on purpose. She refused to look at him, the words becoming a mantra in her head. Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't give him what he wants.
"Come on Rach," he smirked. "Eggs. Slushies. I think we're even now."
"In what way are they even remotely the same?"
He shrugged. "You're probably right."
"Then why are you here if not to apologize or throw your soda in my face?"
He slurped again with a knowing grin as her eye twitched at the sound. "We were asked to reprise our Nationals performance."
"In this theatre?" she asked incredulously, hating her luck. Really, what had she done to deserve this? She was a nice person – for the most part. She gave money to street performers, tried to be honest as often as possible – never mind that lying tended to have her rambling nervously until she either accidentally or deliberately blurted out the exact thing she was supposed to keep a secret – and while she was ambitious and brutally honest sometimes, she wasn't deliberately cruel for the most part. Somehow, though, karma didn't seem to be on her side. "Tonight?" she asked in horror, glancing around for the rest of Vocal Adrenaline.
"Of course not! Why would you think that? For one, there's not nearly enough fanfare. Believe me, if Vocal Adrenaline was performing this place would be packed. For another, that stage is far too small to contain a talent like mine. Silly Rachel. I just meant we were in town for the performance."
"That wasn't what I—"
He cut her off. "I think you'd benefit from seeing a four time National championship performance. Give you something to aspire to. You're so used to being around underperforming bonobos that your definition of talent has gotten skewed."
"I want to know why you're here, in this building, at this very second," she intersected quickly when he paused either to take a breath or for effect. She assumed it was for effect since she'd heard him say much longer speeches than that without needing air.
"I'd offer you tickets for you and your family but we performed last night. Maybe if your team ever even makes it to Nationals, you'll get invited to perform here too."
"Jesse!" Rachel practically shrieked with exasperation, turning towards him with an angry glare at the fact he kept ignoring her question. He was smirking at her, appearing smug and genuinely pleased with himself.
He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers, stopping the barrage of words before they spewed forth.
He tasted like orange soda and his favourite lip balm along with that indescribable undercurrent of Jesse that she had always enjoyed so much. Her mouth had parted in anticipation to his kiss, automatically and out of habit she tried to rationalize, but she knew the truth as much as she wished to deny it.
No matter how angry or hurt she was by his actions and no matter how much she hated him, Jesse's kisses would always be something she anticipated eagerly.
Rachel allowed herself three seconds to savour his mouth on hers, the sensation of her bottom lip between his and the way his hand instinctively came up to cup her jaw and tilt her head for better access, before she wrenched her face away, turning back towards the front of the theatre again. Her heart was beating rapidly and a traitorous part of her wanted to lean back in and demand more from him. The more prevalently part was disgusted with herself for allowing him those three seconds. "Don't touch me. I hate you," she breathed heavily.
"Good, there's hope then. 'The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference,'" he quoted. "Rachel, I'd rather your hate. It means you care," he summed smugly.
"Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorned," she snapped back at him. "You deserve all of it for what you put me through. You, Jesse St. James are a huge jerk."
"I know," he sighed dramatically. "Sometimes even I want to punch myself in the eye."
She snorted. "As if you'd self-inflict damage to your pretty face."
"It's true. I'm a vain bastard," he agreed, glancing behind him towards the entrance of the theatre. His hand rested briefly on her knee, just the slightest of touches to show his focus was entirely on her and what he said was genuine. "I'll see you on Broadway, Rachel Barbra Berry, but hopefully we'll meet before that."
Of course, Jesse was a mastermind at faking physical and emotional cues so Rachel didn't even consider taking him seriously, but there was really no purpose behind this lie, behind this manipulation, that she could see. At least for him. Personally, she took it almost as a dare.
He let go of her knee and stood, leaving her sitting there warring against the need to call him back and demand an apology for the egging, to ask him exactly what he meant and why he sought her out. None of his actions seemed rational to her and all it did was serve as a reminder to her of how fantastic Jesse had been during the short period when things had been good between them.
She really wished she could understand him sometimes. Why did he have to come back into her life so carelessly just to stir everything up with his charm and wit and stupidly perfect hair?
"They don't sell jujubes anymore," her daddy said apologetically, handing her a bag of gummy bears. His presence caused her to jump in surprise. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment. Numbly, she took the bag of gummy bears and stared at it and her eyes glancing at the open bag Jesse left in the cup holder, wondering how he had known and bewildered about everything. He confused her so much, especially when he did things that didn't fit in with how she expected him to act or even how normal people acted.
And why did it somehow seem like the apology she had been waiting for?
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A/N: We all really need something like this right now, don't we? I can't stop writing them right now, despite having commitments to my TBBT stories.
A/N II: I'm terrible with music or anything related. It is not my thing, which makes writing Glee fanfics a huge irony in my life. Apologies if I ever mix up terminology occasionally or insult your favourite artist. It's not intentional (unless your favourite artist is Justin Bieber. Then I probably meant it).
