Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

Rating: All audiences-for this chapter only. Then it will defervesce into my usual amalgam of inappropriateness and M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out. I'm sorry that I'm deviating from my Pezberry roots, folks, it just wouldn't work with Santana- she's just to self aware and has her shit together. I need more self-obtuse characters for this to work for me. (Don't beat me, I'm still a card carrying Pezberrian—Just not today)

PROLOGUE:

"Over Hereeee! Please Rachel!"

Flash.

"Smile, Princess Gwendolyn!"

Flash.

"Hey! Here!"

Flashes, everywhere.

This would blind the novice, surely. The worst part? The noise. People always underestimate the noise. It's almost impossible to hear the guiding words of someone standing right next to you, ushering you to where you need to go, stand, and smile over the din and crackle of the hubris and the screaming onlookers.

Rachel sighed, and steeled her nerves. She turned on the megawatt charm once she was guided to the mark, and prepared herself for the different iteration of the same question.

"It's a big night for you, tonight, Miss Berry. Did you ever expect to be on Hollywood's biggest stage after years on the Broadway stage?"

Rachel glanced at the questioner, speculating to herself if that was a sunburn versus a chemical peel gone awry on the plastic man.

"No, certainly not. It's just an honor to be here." She replied with her practiced humility.

Broadway's Sweetheart couldn't be anything but…sweet. Right?

"After a record seven-SEVEN! Tony nominations without a single win, are you nervous about your chances to take home your first Oscar -on your first nomination- here?"

No, you vapid dumb-ass. This doesn't mean anything compared to REAL acting in New York, Rachel thought to herself.

What she said, out loud, however, was something different.

"Naturally, I was as shocked as you people were that I was nominated! It was a real departure from what I normally do – but, it came along at the right time, and was…well, transformative for me at the time. I guess the Academy recognized that, as well. "

She added with a wink, "Fingers crossed."

She smiled as she prepared herself for the next version of the same question. The red carpet at the Tony's were so …. different. You would never get the same question twice, except about your dress. Half of the people were drunk, almost all would swear – extepting the perfunctory tight-ass sent by the New York Times—and usually the questions had some degree of raunch to them, especially from the gay men, all of whom LOOOOVED Rachel. Half the time, she wouldn't make it down the nominal carpet without laughing so hard she would be reduced to tears and her single "handler" would cluck and have to fix her makeup at some point that night. Usually, someone would break into song, either her or her interviewer.

Of course, that red carpet was never televised, and no one (read: the ignorant public) gave a shit about the Tony's, not really.

She missed it, the comfort of the familiar.

Now, here, she had three handlers, none of whom were hers. All were part of the studio juggernaut, all there to ensure Rachel conformed to what a Disney Princess was supposed to do, be, say, look like….and especially, appear like.

Don't hurt the brand, after all.

She was already filming the sequel, and god forbid Rachel give one of the typical bawdy answers expected of a Broadway affair, and create a sound bite Disney would have to wipe clean of social media the next day.

She smiled at the fans and waved. They went crazy. A small girl flashed a doll she was holding.

"Look Princess Gwen! You're my favorite toy!" She waved her doll emphatically.

When did I become a toy? Rachel Barbra Berry pondered to herself as they headed to the theatre amid more flashes.

XOXOX

"…and the best actress award goes to …woah!" The room tittered. The tuxedoed man continued, "it goes to…the lovely Princess Gwendolyn… Rachel Berry."

Rachel, sat, stunned. Her handlers jerked her up, motioning her toward the podium. She had expected to just have to sit there, politely smiling, through the perfunctory split screen while some other, more typical, and certainly more expected, Hollywood actress sauntered up to the stage. One who had actually had a challenging role, for example.

Suddenly, she found herself at the podium with literally a billion eyes worldwide looking at her.

She cleared her throat.

"Um…I don't think you're supposed to say 'woah,'"she said to her presenter.

A laugh rippled through the auditorium.

"However, I have full license to say it…woah. Woah, woah, woah! How did I get here?"

A second small laugh followed.

For the second time in her life, Rachel Barbara Berry was totally unprepared. She was supposed to win a Tony, for God's sake. She wasn't a movie actress. Yet, here she was, and a billion eyes were expecting her to say something other than… woah.

She smiled. "I think at this point, I should thank the Academy…so thank you. Thank you for ruining Oscar pools world wide this evening, including my own!"

Another laugh.

Her face turned serious. "Thank you to my fathers, one of whom is in Heaven, for never giving up on me. Thanks to Mr. Shusester, my high school Glee director, and fellow Glee clubbers, for frustrating and inspiring me. Um… I want to thank my mentor, Carmen Thibedoueax, for pushing me to be better. Thank you to my best NYADA teacher, Ms. July, for encouraging me to take the first role of Cat Rollins INSTEAD of Fanny Brice, which shaped my career into something I didn't expect at all, and of course, to Disney, for putting me here today and on the shelves of toy stores everywhere…"

Another laugh.

Rachel took a breath, she had rattled off almost all the mandatory thank-yous. She had ten seconds left. Ten seconds.

She exhaled.

"I think," she began slowly, "this movie, and really, my being here tonight, is about a common motif. "

She looked around the room, scanning the crowd. Her handlers looked nervous.

"Sometimes, despite all the best planning in the world, life doesn't go the way you expect. Sometimes, things are out of your control, and despite the most sincere effort, things….fall apart. They fall through your hands, like sand…and no matter how hard to try, you can't hold on."

She paused.

"And then you look down at the pile and say, 'why was I trying to hold on to that for so long?' And that's when you notice a shell lying next to the sand, and that beautiful thing is what you were actually supposed to find. As you pick it up, you wonder how you could have ever missed it in the first place. Princess Gwendolyn was like that for me…just like my protagonist, I never expected this turn of events. And yet, she fits me, and here I am. How could I ever have missed her? "

Three seconds.

"So thank you, everyone. And the lesson is, don't fight so hard for a prize you don't really want to win. Examine that pile of sand with a discerning eye. Remember what is important in this world—to you, and those around you. You never know when your shell is lying there on the beach, waiting for you to pick it up. So…for heaven's sakes…pick it up!"

Laughs morphed into thunderous applause. Rachel Berry had won over yet another crowd, without even singing a note. As she stepped away from the podium as the conductor was expectantly raising his baton, she winked at him. He lowered his baton, shocked. She was exactly 30 seconds.

He doesn't understand I do live theatre for my real job, she mused.

She slumped against the wall, holding the trophy in her hand. She knew she was in for a long night of more inane questions. Really, she never expected this role to amount to much. It wasn't unlike a million other offers she had previously turned down, but the timing was right, for once. It was a lot of money, it got her a break for a small bit away from New York, the pressures of carrying a show on her back—because, really, what name is bigger than Disney, after all? Most importantly, it was an escape from her failed marriage, and an opportunity to regroup. However, while Rachel wasn't paying attention and simply going through the motions, she had managed to turn what would have been a much lesser role into something really poignant. That transformation, in very unexpected packaging, simply… resonated.

And I wasn't even trying, she thought, ironically. Yet, parts I killed myself for…or starved myself for…or learned Italian …. Seven nights a week, two Sunday matinees….nothing! Then this…this Princess Rachel shook her head.

Princess Gwendolyn. Her now iconic role.

As she lowered her trophy, her eyes drifted to the vacant indentation on her ring finger, and felt her anger bubble up again. Why was she still mad? She hadn't loved Finn for years. Years! So why was she still mad that it was over?

Was it just because of her pride, in stumbling upon his affair coming home from the theatre unexpectedly that made her upset? Was it because of resentment that she carried the family economically for years while he seemed to flit endlessly between school and careers? Was it anger because he wouldn't stop dating the other woman while they went to marriage counseling? What a joke that was! You can't go to marriage counseling with three people involved…

She should be grateful, really, that he had the affair with that dumb bitch. If he hadn't, you'd still be in there, trying to fix it. Make it right. Hold on to that pile of sand with my death grip. Rachel suddenly felt exhausted. She sighed. Why don't you do some honestification, Berry. Admit the truth, just once. Yes, you are mad that he was the one who had the guts to end it, and one upped you…but that's not the real reason. Admit the truth to yourself, just once. Holy fucksticks- what is the truth anymore?

Rachel suspected the truth was that she was, indeed, mad….mad at herself.

Rachel knew she had seen the shell. That beautiful, golden-haired shell…and she looked at it, recognized it, and dropped it back and dug for the sand anyway.

Now, here she was, full of resentment and bitterness.

She resented Finn for her own bad decisions. For her cowardice at not recognizing what she wanted. She was angry at her lost opportunity.

That probably wasn't fair to him, once again. Once again, Rachel Berry is NOT FAIR to Finn Hudson. Great. And you can't even be grateful, in this moment, of what you just accomplished. What's wrong with you, Berry?

Responding to her own internal dialogue, she thought, but HE'S the cause of my missed opportunity, right? My wasted chance. Nothing seems to sting as much as that does in life, she mused.

But…blaming Finn won't help you now, Berry….no one held a gun to your head. Lost in thought, her mind drifted back to the one other time she was speechless, the time she discovered the aforementioned shell…

And for the first time that night, Rachel Barbra Berry smiled.

Really smiled.

TBC.