Rachel has always known that she was born to be on the stage. Part of her knows it was a fluke that she landed Funny Girl in the first place, considering her lack of experience beyond community theater performance. Despite all of her auditions for Off-Broadway productions in New York since she moved here, the only role she had landed involved a nude scene in a student film. Rachel knows she was born to play Fanny on a Broadway stage, but that doesn't ease any of her anxiety over auditions for her understudy.
The first few girls help soothe her insecurities-they're good actresses, but their vocal ranges are nowhere near the level they need to be to fill her shoes on any given night. She tries, again, to convince her director that she really doesn't need an understudy in the first place. And again, he refuses and reminds her about the business end of a production of this level-she may be the star, but she's rendered powerless next to the people putting money into bringing Funny Girl back to a prominent stage.
He reads the next name on the list and she's convinced that her heart actually stops beating. There's no way that Santana, her best friend AND roommate, would be auditioning to be her understudy. But then a voice rings out, loud and clear from the back of the theater and there's no mistaking it. Santana Lopez knows how to make an entrance.
It's nothing like the original, yet Santana completely owns it from the first note. Simply speaking, it's right up Santana's alley with its showy runs and faster tempo. As usual, Santana flirts with a simple glance towards Rupert, and he's practically salivating at how short Santana's dress is, and how it presses tightly against her thighs. Before Santana even hits the last note, Rachel knows, judging by the lead weight settling in her stomach, that Santana is going to be her understudy, even if she is completely wrong for the part.
After her director dismisses her for the day - they don't have rehearsals since they're casting the rest of the chorus members today as well - she stops by her dressing room. For a minute, it feels just like high school did. The Cheerios stomped all over her then and made her feel worthless day in and day out. Even when she accomplished something, like landing the lead in West Side Story, one of her friendships was always hurt in the process.
This isn't high school, she reminds herself. Santana is nothing more than an understudy to her role. They aren't splitting shows like they might if this was an amateur show. It's her dressing room with her name affixed prominently on the door. The gold star below it feels like so much more than the symbolic stickers that have been at the end of her name for ten years. It's a modest room - she hasn't really had a chance to personalize it yet - but it has a couch and a vanity just like she had always imagined. Santana will be squished into a dank space with all of the other understudies and background dancers. She's not a star, nor does Rachel ever plan on giving her a chance to be.
She knows she's acting like a complete diva these days, but the demands on her and the stakes on this show going off without a hitch are more pressure than Rachel has ever experienced. It seems like forever ago she was on the bottom rung of Cassandra July's dance class, and now her director is telling her that she needs to build her professional team. She's a nobody in the business, but somehow she's going to be on the cover of New York Magazine when the show debuts in a couple of months. Agencies keep calling offering to represent her or to get an early scoop that they can beat the big reporters to. Really, she doesn't know how anybody handles it without becoming an unbearable bitch because the curtain is still firmly closed and she's already overwhelmed.
Having Santana nipping at her heels for a chance to play Fanny is definitely not going to help. Kurt tries to talk her off the ledge before Santana gets home that afternoon, but Rachel is inconsolable on the issue as it is. He doesn't seem to understand why it's such a big deal, but he's also not the one that got tortured by Santana and her friends for years. Sure, Kurt took a slushie or a dumpster dive once in a while from the football boys, but it was nothing compared to the emotional abuse Quinn, Santana, and Brittany put her through on a daily basis. The physical pain of a slushie was nothing compared to the giggles behind her back or the insults about her appearance that got thrown around every time she dared to meet their eyes.
Santana is talented. Truth be told, Rachel doesn't think Santana's quite as polished since she never really put time in with professional vocal coaches, but Santana has something unique that Rachel knows she can never match.
But that doesn't mean that she fits the part of Fanny.
And it definitely doesn't mean she deserves it more than Rachel.
Plus, Santana's talent doesn't make her betrayal okay.
The smirk that immediately appears on Santana's lips when she realizes Kurt and Rachel were talking about her just fuels Rachel's infuriation.
Rachel finally, finally thought that she and Santana were friends that could count on one another, yet here she is, finding herself completely blindsided by her roommate who knows how much Fanny means to her. Rachel doesn't just play Fanny, she is Fanny.
The insults start flying immediately - Rachel's never been one filter her true feelings. Santana may be able to sing the high notes and flirt enough with a director to leave an impression, but she doesn't look the part at all.
Yet, Rachel isn't Latina and she managed to pull off Maria in West Side Story just fine last year. She knows it's a weak attempt, throwing Santana's appearance into the argument, and it does nothing but egg Santana on.
Santana might not actually be from Lima Heights Adjacent, but she can cut a person down with her words while still maintaining all of the grace from her former Cheerio days. No matter what, Santana always has to have the last word in everything.
It's not enough that Santana showed up at auditions unannounced and sang Rachel's go-to audition song, but she has to make sure that she tears Rachel down as much as possible, leaving the little piece of confidence she has left in shreds.
Rachel breaks.
She turns and her palm meets Santana's cheek with as much force as her tired body can manage.
As soon as her hand begins tingling from the sensation of the slap, she regrets it. Kurt is staring at her like she's the biggest bitch in the world, but it's the look of mortification on Santana's face that makes her want to break on the spot.
But Santana's phone rings and she walks away to answer it.
Sure enough, Santana will be her understudy. And her worst enemy.
Deep down, she really does want to apologize. She is angry with Santana for encroaching on something that feels so distinctly hers, but she doesn't hate her. It's impossible to hate the one girl that makes her feel like she actually deserves to have friends. She hasn't forgotten the way that Santana held her and soothed her after she found out about the pregnancy test or how tightly Santana held her hand on the subway ride to the doctor's office the next morning.
She gets to rehearsal and is looking forward to the tiny bit of tranquility that her dressing room offers - it has a door unlike the majority of their Bushwick loft - and she really, really just needs a few minutes by herself.
Of course, Santana is standing at her vanity when she opens the door because it's like she knows exactly how to get under Rachel's skin so far that it makes Rachel want to tear herself apart just to make the pain and frustration stop.
For the second time in two days, she loses it on Santana, only this time Santana's comebacks feel half-hearted.
Rupert interrupts them and Rachel's worst nightmare comes true: the publicity for the show is now going to revolve around her connection to Santana instead of on her sheer talent as a young ingénue on the stage of her dreams.
God, as soon as the magazines and newspapers dig a little deeper and find out just how unfriendly they were to one another in the past, Rachel knows that she won't get to recreate herself in New York the way she had always hoped. New York was always supposed to be her city, her escape into a better life where her past would stop haunting her. It was supposed to be the place where she proved to everybody that she was bigger than their small town minds and stupid insults.
Instead, she's going to have to relive it all just because Santana has decided that she needs to prove that she can play in the same league as Rachel.
They only have twenty minutes until they're due on stage for rehearsals, but Rachel can't stop the hot, stinging tears that pour down her cheeks. She sits on the couch and pulls her legs up into her chest until she's wrapped tightly around herself like it might actually keep her from completely falling apart. She focuses on her breathing, deep in through her nose, and releases it slowly from her mouth. The sobs cling to the back of her throat, wanting to erupt until exhaustion sets in and she can sleep, away from the world and away from Santana.
It doesn't happen.
One of the dancers knocks on the door fifteen minutes later and Rachel clears her throat before responding that she'll be there in a few minutes and sits down at the vanity to cover up the signs of vulnerability.
Of course one glance from Santana from across the stage tells Rachel that Santana knows exactly what she was doing in the dressing room and it makes her feel that much worse.
What Rachel really wants the most right now is a break from Santana. Instead, she finds that their schedules have become almost identical with Santana attending every rehearsal these days. Gunther puts them on the same shifts at the diner since it'll inevitably bring crowds in. The story of his two menial singing waitresses making it big together is a headline that he is willing to sell. These days it feels like everybody is using her to make a quick buck. Even Isabelle Wright, Kurt's boss at , has asked him if he thought Rachel and Santana would be interested in doing an exclusive shoot together and interview for the website. Rachel decides that she needs to find representation. She needs someone that will realize she's worth selling as a solo act, instead of as this fake heartfelt story with her ex-best friend understudy.
She wants just one morning where she's not fighting Santana for bathroom time in the loft. She wants one evening after a shift where she's able to call her dads and cry about how her dream is turning in a nightmare without having Santana around the loft, eavesdropping through her privacy curtain.
Rachel needs to move out since Santana is obviously not going to give in. The decision comes through yet another fight where Kurt refuses to take her side and protect her from Santana's selfish motives. As always, she's nothing but an over-the-top diva who cares more about herself than everybody else. Rachel sees the way Kurt looks at her with something that is nearly disgust as she storms into her room to pack her belongings.
The whole time Rachel is packing, she weighs her options. Her dads gave her an emergency credit card when she moved to New York, but she doesn't think they'd appreciate her charging a hotel room just so she can escape her roommates that obviously don't understand what this role means to her.
It's not like she really has any other friends in New York. Most of the people at NYADA never gave two shits about her, and she hasn't heard from a single one of them since she put in her leave of absence. Part of it she knows is jealousy; some of them had been at NYADA for longer than her, or came from families that moved to New York when they were toddlers to give them the best chance of making it big, and Rachel waltzed in and got what all of them wanted.
There's only one friend Rachel has made at the diner, but somehow she doesn't think that Dani will appreciate her trying to stay there when the whole reason she needs a place to stay is because Rachel is fighting with Dani's girlfriend. Really, she wishes that Santana would just agree to move out since at least there's someone else in this stupid city that actually cares about her.
That only leaves her with one viable option besides trying to find a homeless shelter, and she figures that her director won't appreciate that popping up in the tabloids before the show even reaches previews.
Elliott looks surprised to see her with luggage in tow, but it seems that Kurt already updated him with the basic jist of the ongoing drama. He takes her in even though his shoebox-of-a-studio apartment is hardly comfortable enough for one person, nevermind two. She knows it's because of her diva attitude that he quickly agrees to give up his bed for her, and he graciously makes up the couch for himself instead.
As soon as she's settled in - it's not like there's anywhere for her to unpack anyway - Elliott takes off to meet Kurt. They're scoping out bars for potential gigs for the band, though Rachel isn't sure what the point is since there's no chance that she and Santana are going to be working together more than necessary anytime soon. For the first time in weeks, Rachel is finally alone.
Being alone immediately covers her in a cloak of dread. She flips through the pictures on her phone and it's only a dozen or so back before she sees a copy of the one she tore up and threw at Santana only a few hours ago. It was rash - Rachel's diva temper has gotten the best of her on far too many occasions - though the look of despair Santana gave her as she walked in is one that is already haunting her.
Before she can stop it, she's overcome with gut wrenching sobs, her makeup leaving dark smears all over the pillowcase. She curls into a ball on the middle of Elliott's bed, which smells strongly of cheap cologne and hair gel.
Funny Girl was supposed to be the prize for having endured years of fighting through the bad times in her life. Even though her director was already mentioning her getting nominated for a Tony before her twentieth birthday, all Rachel cares about is how the magic of her dream coming true feels ruined. The picture of her and Santana, the only girl that she actually thought she was friends with, fades as the phone screen clicks off and she's left by herself without anybody to share her successes with.
It makes her miss Finn more than ever. She clutches at her side where his name is etched neatly on her skin as a constant reminder that he was the only person who ever really loved her. The pain of not being able to pick up the phone and hear his voice soothe her makes her stomach clench tightly for a minute and she grabs for the trashcan next to the bed, emptying the contents of her stomach into it. She doesn't feel any better and she tries to wipe at her face with a tissue, but the tears just fall harder. She gasps for breath, willing for all of her pain to wash away with the tears, but her chest just tightens uncomfortably like her own body is rebelling against her.
Her dad answers the phone on the third ring.
"There's my little Broadway starlet! I thought you were getting too famous to call your lame old dads!" he greets cheerfully, and she can hear pots clanking as he works on preparing dinner.
"Is that our favorite pumpkin?!" She hears her daddy's voice call through from the other room. "Leroy, I want to talk to her!"
The joy in their voices at getting to speak with her makes her start crying loud enough that her dad finally realizes that she has failed to even say hello since he picked up the phone.
"Rachel, sweetie, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"
She blows her nose and tries to compose herself enough to at least talk to her dad.
"I just th-thought that getting Fanny meant that everything else would be perfect," she wails through the phone, her tears continuing to soak her cheeks.
"You did a shoot for New York Magazine and you have that interview with coming up in a few weeks and I'm already trolling the blogs to get the early news on the show. All of it is positive. You're expected to be the next darling of Broadway. Everything is perfect, sweet pea. It's exactly what you always wanted."
"I don't have any friends," she states bluntly, and as soon as she says it, she knows it's the stone cold truth.
"Sweetie, that's not true," her dad tries to reassure. "Even though you didn't have the conventional teenage experiences that does not mean that there aren't people around that care about you. Kurt moved all the way to New York and wanted to be your roommate. Santana showed up on your doorstep. She wouldn't have done that if she didn't consider you a friend."
It's really no consolation considering the venom she and Santana have spat at one another these past couple of weeks. Santana has reminded her on multiple occasions that she's a horrible person who only cares about herself.
"Let me talk to her, Leroy," her daddy insists and she can hear the phone rattle as her dad passes it to him.
She sniffles into the phone as her daddy retrieves the phone from her dad. She can almost feel him worrying through the phone.
Her Daddy waits for her to speak; unlike Dad, he's the patient one. She gets her talkative nature from her Daddy.
She cries for a few minutes before she finally feels like she can breathe again and she swallows air in big gulps, letting her heart rate fall to a normal level.
"Tell me where it hurts," her daddy says softly on the other end. It makes her crack a small smile. He used to say it all the time when she was younger, whether it was for a skinned knee or hurt feelings.
"Why am I so abrasive that nobody can stand being friends with me?" she asks him, ignoring his question altogether. He knows exactly where it hurts this time.
"Because it's hard to transplant a star from the sky and make them fit in with normal people," he tells her seriously. "Rach, you're beyond talented and you're incredibly special and people don't understand the stress that puts you under."
"I'd give it all up to have one friend that actually cares enough to stick around," Rachel tells him, tears burning in her tired eyes again at the memory of Santana calling her awful.
Her daddy sighs on the other end of the line, obviously at a loss for words. She knows she's breaking their hearts - getting her on Broadway meant that her dads worked overtime to pay for expensive lessons and classes for her entire childhood to give her an edge. It meant that they spent all their time running her from extracurriculars every day, hardly ever getting a chance to sit down together as a family. They gave up everything for eighteen years to make sure that she could achieve even her most lofty aspirations, and now she's telling them that she doesn't even want it.
They stay on the line for a few more minutes and she listens to her dads breathe, the two of them hovering over the phone nervously. She knows how worried they are, but she knows she can't help that until she regains control over her own life. They can't save her from herself.
She makes an excuse to hang up and they don't fight with her on it. Instead, they remind her that they love her and assure her that it'll all work out just like they always do. She knows that they wholeheartedly believe that this is just one of her over-dramatic moments, not that she's truthfully miserable living out her dreams.
Maybe they're right. Her heart is telling her that they're wrong and that she should have never taken a role on Broadway this young in the first place. As much as she knows that her talent is worthy of the role, she's not prepared for everything else that comes with being the lead in a highly publicized revival.
For the first time in weeks, she finally looks over the list of agents and publicists and managers that Rupert gave her after he scheduled two interviews for her and Santana to do together. She needs representation. They may not be her friends, but they'll be people that are always on her side at least. Even if she has to pay them to do so.
She Googles the names of the people on the list and makes notes on each. They all have success stories plastered on their firms' pages, but a little digging gives her more dirt on the agents. She picks her top three and leaves messages on their answering machines to set up meetings.
Come Monday morning, she takes off right from rehearsal for her first meeting. Santana looks confused when she hops on the uptown train instead of heading downtown for their typical shift at the diner, but they don't speak as they part ways.
The office is fancy, with shiny tiled floors and plush, plum colored couches in the waiting room. The secretary checks her name on the list of appointments and gives her a warm smile before handing her some forms on a clipboard and asking her if she'd like a beverage.
A moment later, an intern delivers a steaming mug of green tea with honey. She looks older than Rachel, probably around a senior in college, but she eyes Rachel curiously as she passes over the mug. Rachel gives her a big, fake smile and thanks her for the tea before the girl scurries away into a back office again without so much as a word. It's odd, the way that even something so minor makes her feel like this life is anything but her own. She's used to the rolling eyes and looks of disdain from her peers.
As soon as she gives the secretary back the forms, a woman in a dark gray suit pops her head out from behind a frosted glass door. The woman looks severe and unwelcoming with her blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, though Rachel can't deny that she commands the presence of a room with no real effort. Rachel hops to her feet immediately and bounds across the room to where the woman stands in the doorway.
"Rachel Berry, young Broadway ingénue." It's a statement, not a question. Rachel knows that as much as she searched out her possible agents, the agents probably dug up twice as much information on her.
Rachel nods, the movement timid and shy, completely unlike herself.
"I'm Alison Napolitano. Please come in."
Rachel moves past Alison and into the office. The door clicks behind her and she slips into an armchair that sits in front of the large, dark wood desk. Alison moves behind her desk and the chair creaks beneath her when she leans forward to read the forms Rachel had filled out in the waiting room.
"Nineteen, from some cow town in Ohio, lasted barely more than a semester at NYADA before dropping out for the role as Fanny Brice on Broadway."
Alison seems completely unimpressed with Rachel's life. Rachel feels self-conscious by hearing it read to her. She's a nobody in this industry and Alison, along with every other agent in New York, will probably laugh her right out of their office.
Rachel sits up straighter in her chair, edging forward towards Alison's desk. She's not a shy little girl from Ohio anymore, no matter what has happened over the past few weeks. Her name will be on a marquee soon, regardless of what Alison Napolitano thinks of her talent.
"Look, I'm young and inexperienced. But I have a contract in a major production and I'm being scheduled for interviews and events all over New York to promote it. You can be ahead of the curve and take on a young girl with a promising future, or you can regret it down the line when I'm a household name."
It's typical Rachel Berry - blunt and unforgiving for her talent. She's a star, and Alison Napolitano would benefit from understanding that.
"Nobody in this office is doubting your talent, Ms. Berry," Alison says calmly, pulling the dark rimmed glasses from her face and depositing them onto her desk with a sigh. "I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you're the best young actress that has ever had an opportunity to work with my firm, because that would be a blatant lie. You have no idea what this industry is like yet. Interviews and appearances with smaller news outlets is only the beginning. The show is still a few months from opening night. I've talked to your producer and I know his expectations for this show and your career. Any person that works with Broadway stars is well aware that you're looking for representation. There are people that will sit behind big oak desks and promise you that you'll be on a big screen in two years and winning an EGOT before you turn 25 just so that you give them a huge cut of your hard earned paycheck. I'm not the person that is going to sit here and stroke your ego to watch you fall apart when you can't attain those unrealistic goals for your career."
Rachel gapes at her. Alison is straightforward in a way that Rachel isn't used to. People have told her that she's going to fail. She's used to people hating her for her talent. But Alison isn't at all. Rachel thinks that Alison does actually believe that she's talented, but she's not in the business of padding young egos and giving false hope.
She has a list of questions in her purse to make sure that Alison is, in fact, the best person to represent her. However, her gut is telling her that she doesn't need that list to figure it out.
Alison starts talking about realistic goals and building a team with an agent, manager, and publicist and Rachel finds herself nodding repeatedly, though she's not sure that she absorbs anything except that Alison knows exactly what she needs, probably even more than she does herself.
A half an hour later, Alison is handing her a contract to look over and walks her back into the lobby. Rachel shakes her hand and tucks the folder under her arm as she leaves, her head spinning with all of the decisions she needs to make.
She would cook for Elliott, but she's useless in the kitchen, and they're both too broke to eat takeout every night, so she settles on making a fresh salad when she gets home, throws some in a Tupperware container for him to eat later, and eats on the couch while she reads over the paperwork that Alison gave her.
Technically she has a meeting with another agent tomorrow to figure out who the best fit for her is, but Alison's no-nonsense approach has drawn Rachel in more than she expected.
She calls the other agents and cancels her meetings before signing the forms for Alison. She refrains from adding the gold star-there's one on her dressing room door these days so there's no need for metaphors-but it still feels like an accomplishment nonetheless. She's a real, contracted Broadway actress who needs representation.
She could get used to this life.
It takes another week before she finds time to meet Kurt for lunch. Between meeting with her new team - on top of Alison, she's got a publicist and a manager now, both handpicked by Alison and approved by herself - and rehearsals and filling her schedule up with interviews and public appearances, Rachel hasn't had any time for her only remaining quasi-friend.
They meet at a café a couple of blocks from the theater since she has to be back for afternoon rehearsals soon anyway. She's glad to see him and she hugs him tightly, even though he's in his diner uniform and he smells like last night's greasy onion rings. He returns the gesture easily, like things are the same as they were a few weeks ago.
But things are nothing like they had been. Kurt is Santana's roommate. They probably watch reality shows together after shifts at the diner or the band rehearsals that she's never informed of anymore. Kurt probably gives Santana beauty tips - though it's not like she needs it - and they probably have matching nightly moisturizing routines by now.
Kurt is talking, but she's not focused and she shakes her head. He gives her a weird look and cocks an eyebrow at her as the waitress drops off their drinks.
"Rach?"
"Hmm?" She squeezes a lemon into her water and takes a sip, focusing on his gaze.
"I asked you how everything is going with the show. Santana says that your producer is really pushing this Lima story. It sounds like you two are going to have a bunch of press coming up for opening night."
Lead fills her stomach, pulling her down like a weight. Of course she knows about the scheduled interviews-her team has them all inputted on the shared Rachel Berry Google calendar that owns her life these days-but she's not looking forward to what kinds of things she's going to be asked about her life before New York.
Kurt isn't an ally these days, not since he pretty much sided with Santana in the fight that tore them apart.
So instead of confiding in him, she pastes on the calm smile that she's perfected. She may not be Quinn Fabray, but Rachel definitely knows how to act like everything is perfect.
It's a stilted conversation with Rachel only offering enough to placate Kurt's questions about what's going on with her life. Of course, Elliott has probably informed him already about the nightly phone calls to her fathers that have taken the place of roommate bonding. Beyond the show and her commitments in relation to it, Rachel has nothing else happening. There are no band gigs or movie nights, no outings for drinks with colleagues after a particularly hard rehearsal.
She's happy when the conversation turns to Kurt's life instead, and he starts rambling endlessly about Blaine's NYADA audition and wedding planning. She knows that Kurt is high maintenance and dramatic, but he's kidding himself if he thinks the situation is going to work out in his favor. However, she smiles at the right moments and offers him her wedding binder that is tucked into one of her boxes, and they get through the meal without any real hitch.
He walks back towards the theater with her and she doesn't miss the way that some of the backup dancers check him out as they smoke cigarettes by the side door. He kisses both of her cheeks and squeezes her shoulder lightly before walking away, his eyes already focused on his cell phone before he turns the corner.
She misses Kurt.
She misses Santana.
This is Funny Girl. This is what she's always wanted. Rachel Berry is meant to be Fanny Brice in the biggest revival on Broadway in the past decade.
As much as she wants her friends back, it's not worth giving up the role she was born to play.
Author's Note: I don't plan to stick with canon for the entire story. This story evolved from the beginning of the Pezberry feud, but was planned out right after 5x10, so don't expect any real canonical representation beyond that point. I want to explore what could have happened as a result of Santana auditioning for Funny Girl and that's the angle that the entirety of this story is going to take.
I would be nothing without my incredible beta, quasi-suspect. If you're not reading her story, I'll Be Your Mirror (or its predecessor), then you really should be. She's amazing.