A/N: After months of being hooked on this awesome show, I finally got around to writing a fic about it. I confess to watching the duet between Lea Michele and Idina Menzel about 5,000 times (thank God for DVR), and I couldn't help it. This was one of those ideas that started out as a trickle, then blossomed into a river, then just started to get plain annoying until I wrote it. The dialogue in the last scene is from the "Theatricality" promo (most of it, anyway).
It hasn't been beta'd, and with this being my first Glee fic, I'm a little nervous about it, so please, let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Les Miserables.
Dream a Dream
"Ladies and gentlemen, New Directions!"
Shelby Corocan's jaw drops. The girl on stage, the one that had just belted the best version she'd heard of "Don't Rain on My Parade" since Barbra herself, the one that was the spitting image of her –
It has to be. It just has to be. After sixteen long years, sixteen years of wondering, of dreaming...
Sixteen years ago, she hadn't expected it to be so hard. She was so young, barely out of high school, with huge dreams of getting out of the Lima bubble and making it big in the Big Apple. But to do that, a girl needed money, and job opportunities for recent high school graduates were almost as rare then as now. So it was either flipping burgers at the local McDonald's or walking the streets.
Neither of those was particularly appealing.
But then there was that advertisement. That short, rather vague ad asking for a woman with beauty, brains, and talent, promising nearly $50,000 for just nine months of work.
Well, duh. With few other options, what else was she supposed to do? And the two men – the Berrys – were more than kind to her. She'd liked them immediately, so much so that the idea of the mixture of their… well, stuff… entering her uterus didn't bother her as much as it should've. So she went for it, with that dream of New York City still teasing the forefront of her mind.
She still remembers the first sonogram. Her first picture of that little life growing inside of her. Barely the size of a flea, but that tiny heartbeat echoed in the room. She'd stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity, transfixed by that tiny blip at the edge of it and the steady thump-thump of that baby. It was so… beautiful.
She'd been singing the first time she felt her kick. She was about five months along, standing in her kitchen making a quick dinner. "On My Own" from Les Mis had been circling around in her head all day. As she slowly diced the tomatoes for her salad (the Berrys had been appalled the last time she'd gone to their house with a burger and fries), she quietly sang the bridge, her clear mezzosoprano ringing through the room. Suddenly, she felt a sharp kick to her ribs. Startled, she glanced down at her belly, touching her side with her free hand. "What the…" she muttered.
Frowning, she began to sing again.
I love him, but when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Sure enough, there was another kick to her ribcage, and she laughed before murmuring, "You're gonna be a little star, aren't you, baby?"
And the farther along she got, the more she fell in love with that tiny human growing within her. The dreams of New York and Broadway grew into distant fantasies as she softly hummed to her – their – child. Between the Lamaze classes and doctor's appointments and nutritional supplements, she fell deeply and irreversibly in love.
But some dreams just aren't meant to be.
It was a cold, clear December morning when Shelby felt the sharp contraction in her belly and a warm wetness dripping down her legs. Oh God, she'd thought, just before she grabbed the phone off its hook and dialed the familiar number. "James? It's Shelby. It's time." Within minutes, he and his husband were at her door with a suitcase and a car, chattering excitedly about finally getting to meet their child. Their child. She tried not to dwell on those words as they whisked her away to the hospital.
She'd always thought that labor was overdone in the movies. Quickly she figured out that if anything, it was grossly underdone. After eighteen hours of intense pain, blood, sweat, tears and lots of swearing, Shelby collapsed against the dampened pillow. A loud thwack reverberated through the room, followed by a baby's shrill squall.
"Is it okay?" she panted, sweat dripping down her brow. "It's okay, right?"
"She's just fine," the nurse next to her said, bringing out a towel to wipe Shelby's forehead.
"She? It's a girl? It's a girl, isn't it? Can't I hold her?" Shelby craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her little girl, but the nurse gently put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's a girl. They're cleaning her off before taking her to her parents."
But I'm her parent! Shelby wanted to scream. Instead, she pushed back against the nurse, praying for just a look at the child she'd carried in her body for nine months. And then, like Moses at the Red Sea, the crowd of nurses parted for just a second. The still-wailing little girl, her skin pink and perfect, a shock of dark hair plastered to her tiny head, turned her head. For just a split second, mother's eyes met daughter's, and she swore she saw a smile on her tiny face.
And then she vanished for sixteen long years. Sixteen years, in which Shelby flopped as an actress and made her way back to Lima completely humbled. Instead of making it big on the Broad Way, she resorted to coaching glee club as her creative outlet.
And through it all, there was one thing missing. One dream that hadn't been fulfilled.
A burst of thunderous applause jerks Shelby rudely from her thoughts. New Directions stands at the front of the stage, wide smiles on their angelic little faces. Rachel's dark eyes sparkle as she basks in the applause, and Shelby's heart constricts.
"Ms. Corocan? You okay?"
She turns her gaze to her right, where Jesse St. James sits beside her, a concerned and curious look on his face. "Yeah," she chokes out.
"I almost despise myself for saying it, but they're pretty good."
"She's pretty good. Actually she's very good."
"She looks like you. In a way."
In more than a way, she thinks. New Directions is still celebrating, as they should. She can't tear her eyes away from Rachel, who is embracing that big, clumsy-looking soloist. She wants to go up to her, to explain why she had no choice, to just talk with her for a moment. But she can't. All those years ago, she signed that pesky piece of paper at the behest of the Berrys. She's bound by law to her broken dreams, to the pain of never knowing her daughter.
But maybe, just maybe there's a way her dream can come true.
"Jesse," she says, blinking back tears. She feels the young man's eyes on her, and she clenches her jaw. "I want you to make friends with her."
"How so?" he asks.
"I don't know. Just befriend her. When she trusts you, I'll tell you more."
"You're not seriously considering that they could be competition."
At that, she gives him a look. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. "They're good, but no. Not competition."
"So why do you want me to get her trust?"
She sighs forlornly. They've left the stage now, and the audience is slowly filing out the door and into the lobby. She's lost sight of Rachel, but the image of her twinkling dark eyes is imprinted in her memory. "She's my daughter," Shelby says finally.
Jesse is stunned; that much is obvious on his face. "What?" he finally manages to say. "Your daughter?"
"It's a long story. Just…" Shelby sighs again. "Befriend her."
He's still staring at his coach, but she refuses to tell him the entire story now. She's never told anyone, and this isn't the place. "Okay," he says at last. She hears the rustling of paper as he stands and begins to move toward the aisle.
"And Jesse?" He turns to look at her, and she gives him the gravest look she can muster. "You hurt her, and I'll hunt you down wherever you run."
Again the corner of his mouth turns up, and he nods. "Sure."
Months later, Regionals is quickly approaching. Jesse's absence in Vocal Adrenaline is palpable, but she's so close, so close to meeting her she can just taste it.
The students have trickled out of Carmel's auditorium, leaving her alone with her thoughts again. The only illumination in the gigantic room is from the stage lights, the seats in the audience bathed in darkness. She stands at the center of the stage, looking out over what has become her life.
Her life. One of dashed dreams and failures – as a mother, as an actress. She'll be doomed to an existence shadowed by her one regret: to be a mother to her little girl. She'll never get the chance to sit up at night with Rachel, talking about boys or music or her dreams of a future away from Lima. She'll never get to cry at her high school graduation.
Despondent, Shelby wraps her arms around herself and begins to sing softly to herself.
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
"Ms. Corocan?"
The small, female voice interrupts her, and Shelby sharply looks toward stage right. Sure enough, in the wings, is Rachel Berry. The girl is chewing her lip nervously, her dark eyes filled with trepidation and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of hope. Shelby can't get over how much she looks like her, her dark hair draped over her shoulders with slight curls at the ends, a slight flush to her high cheekbones.
Suddenly Rachel speaks again, her clear voice ringing through the empty auditorium. "I'm your daughter."
Shelby's chest swells with love for this girl, the daughter she never got to hold. It catches her off guard for a moment. She'd never thought she could love someone she didn't even know so much, and yet she did. It was almost like she'd dreamed. She pinches herself just to make sure, and when Rachel doesn't disappear, she knows it's not a dream.
"Yes," Shelby says, her voice cracking with emotion. "Yes, you are."
Rachel smiles just a little, and instantly Shelby is taken back to that hospital room with that little baby looking over at her, smiling at her mother.
Seems like maybe sometimes, dreams do come true.
