Author's Note: Hello all! :D This is my first ever Glee fanfic! I really, really hope I captured the true essence of the characters, have believable dialogue, etc. I also hope you guys really, really enjoy reading this. :) Please show me your support by reviewing! I can't say this enough: I love reviews!
Summary: Rachel's in a slump after Finn dumped her; it seems like nothing can cheer her up. What happens when a certain ex-boyfriend comes back into the picture? Will he tear her and Finn even further apart, or bring them back together?
Subplot Summaries: Puck can't get Quinn out of his head, but is it too late to start over with her? And Will battles his feelings for a newly married Emma while betting Sue that she can't go a week without being mean to him.
Main Pairings: Rachel/Finn; Rachel/Jesse
Minor Pairings: Quinn/Puck; Emma/Will
This story begins two weeks after "A Very Glee Christmas" – the day back to school from Christmas break.
Chapter One
The mirror had to be lying.
There was no other explanation for the reflection it showed: a zombie, staring back at Rachel Berry with sunken, expressionless eyes and dark hair with roots that were beginning to limp with grease from a lack of being washed.
Rachel took a step back, perplexed. She stared at her bathroom mirror – it was gigantic, stretching across an entire wall, mounted over her glitteringly clean sink. It was one of those fancy mirrors Broadway stars have in their dressing rooms: bordered with large, round fluorescent light bulbs casting a warm glow against the hot pink frame.
Rachel took a step forward, then another, and another, slowly, until her hipbones were cutting against the counter of her sink. She gaped at her reflection. But, no…it couldn't possibly be her, could it?
Where was the determined gleam in her eyes? The gleam of a star-in-the-making. Where was the radiant, raring-to-go flush of her cheeks? Her spark had died. She didn't look like the flaring, legendary supernova she knew herself to be – she looked…dim.
That was it. It looked like her inner light had snuffed out.
She leaned further forward, pressed the palms of her hands against the mirror. Moist palms greeted cool glass. She stretched her neck forward; her hair swung against her shoulders. She got right into the mirror's face, confronting this zombie image.
She pressed her nose onto it, puffed air from her nostrils; her breath fogged the glass.
"Rachel, sweetie!" one of her dad's called up. "You're going to be late for school if you don't get a move on."
She was yanked from her reverie, so startled that she jumped away from the mirror and collided with her bathroom door. She hurriedly darted out of her room, flicking off the light and shutting the door firmly behind her.
Her heart raced. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase that horrible image. It was the only time she'd ever seen herself look so terribly uninspired. Like her spunk and charisma had been drained out of her, leaving her this empty vortex of wasted talent.
And it was all because of Finn Hudson.
He'd dumped her just before Christmas break. Sure, one might say she had it coming, after hooking-up with his ex-best-friend, Noah "Puck" Puckerman. But she never would've done it if he hadn't had sex with that disgusting female-dog, Santana Lopez!
Finn hadn't just broken her heart – he'd annihilated it, gone Nagasaki on it, and then stomped repeatedly on its splintered remains.
Rachel took a deep breath, inhaling strength and exhaling negativity. She tried some yoga breathing techniques, closed her eyes, and visualized herself singing on stage to a crowd of people weeping at her immeasurable talent.
"Rachel! If you don't hurry up, you're going to be late!"
"All right, Dad!" she called back. She then grabbed her backpack, slid her feet into a pair of dark red ballet flats with tiny black bows on them, and hurried downstairs.
The fresh, heady scent of ground coffee beans kissed Will Schuester's nose as he entered the teacher's lounge. He poured himself a cup of the steaming black liquid and added his desired amount of creamer and sugar. As he did so, his eyes swept the room for a certain redhead with a penchant for wearing cardigans.
Unfortunately, she wasn't there; he did, however, spot Coach Beiste reading the school newspaper and sipping from her mug of coffee at a table near the window.
Will went and took a seat across from her. "'Morning, Coach," he smiled. "Have a nice break?"
"Of course it was nice," Beiste chuckled. "Problem was, it wasn't nearly long enough."
"I hear ya," Willa laughed, raising his cup in the air as a brief toast.
"Well, that's a relief," said a familiar dry voice. "I was worried that mop of static electricity and wire on your head has been cutting off your hearing. Now I know my rapier wit isn't falling on deaf ears."
Will and Beiste looked up to find none other than Sue Sylvester – wearing a brand new track suit of black satin with hot pink stripes down the sides – striding into the room, carrying her own special ceramic thermos she'd brought from home.
Will resisted the intense urge to roll his eyes at her comment. "Hello, Sue. Were your holidays well?"
Sue narrowed her eyes at him and approached his and Beiste's table. "They were until I saw that my wish someone would buy you a can of motor oil and a pick-ax for your ungodly hairdo didn't come true."
Will's fingers curled tightly around his drink; he bit back a smart remark that itched the tip of his tongue. One of his top New Year's resolutions was to not let Sue rile him. It was only the first day back, and already he was having a difficult time with it.
"Don't mind her," Beiste said to Will as she turned to the next page of her newspaper. He tone was innocent and casual. "She's just bitter because Santa put coal in her stockings." She raised her eyes to share an amused smirk with Will.
Sue's facial expression remained stony, though the tendons along her neck were considerably more prominent than a moment ago. "That might've upset me, Beiste-y, except for I refuse to believe in a red-suited fat man who both perpetuates our society's tolerance with obesity and corrupts our capitalist government by rewarding children not on their contribution to our nation, but rather on their debatable moral integrity." She said these last words as if they were something particularly nasty.
Sue slurped from her thermos, drawing solace from her protein shake. "No sir, Sue Sylvester depends only on ol' reliable here for her Christmas presents," she jerked her thumb toward her own chest, "one Sue Sylvester."
"That's the most depressing thing I've ever heard," Will said.
"You know, Sue, while you talking in third person is charming and all, I'm trying to read here," said Beiste pointedly. She made a show of rustling her newspaper and holding it in front of her face.
"I wouldn't believe any of those articles if I were you," Sue said in a tone that implied she held great knowledge. "Everyone knows the school newspaper office has been run by lying commies as far back as Kennedy's fake assassination involving a rubber bullet and a large fog machine."
And with that, she pivoted on her heel and marched from the lounge, leaving Will and Beiste to stare at each other in disbelief.
Rachel usually enjoyed school. She was exceptionally bright and was never shy with doling out the answers. One of the reasons she had such sculpted arms was because they were constantly shooting up into the air in her classes. Rachel always got the answer right, of course.
But today, she hadn't been answering as many questions. Mainly, it was because she couldn't concentrate on anything other than the fact that she loved Finn and would continue to love him until the day she drew her final breath (while wearing a beautiful white dress and an array of innocent, metaphorical flowers in her hair, of course), but Finn didn't love her anymore. Probably never had, if he wasn't willing to fight for their relationship.
Right now, Rachel was in American History class. Her school didn't offer an Advanced Placement curriculum, since most of her jock-brain classmates were not nearly smart enough. They could hardly pass remedial, as it was.
So Rachel had to be in standard classes, which she sometimes loved because it guaranteed her to always be the best and smartest, but sometimes she was irritated by being the only one happy to participate.
Used to, American History was her favorite subject solely because she shared it with Finn. The assigned seating even had him sitting right in front of her! But today she dreaded attending this class, because she was tortured with having to stare at the back of his beautiful head for fifty minutes, trying her hardest to focus on the lesson plan but only able to think about how much she missed him.
It was all so tragic, this bittersweetness of hating being near Finn but loving it as well. Usually, Rachel loved anything that was tragic, so long as it was dramatic enough. But she was tired of the way her heart felt heavy and waterlogged around him, and how she could barely contain the urge to burst into one of those you-really-missed-out-on-me type break-up songs in the middle of class.
The teacher, a short man with elf-like ears, finished writing off the designated page numbers on the board with so much gusto that bits of chalk flew from his hand. "All right, class!" he spun around and grinned at his students. Rachel admired the fact he – Mr. Palermo – actually liked to teach.
They left off before Christmas break with studying the Cold War. "Who can tell me what we discussed all last class before the holidays?"
Rachel knew the answer, of course: The Bolshevik Revolution. She wanted to raise her hand and answer the question, impress Finn with her endless supply of knowledge. But what if it made Finn annoyed with her? What if it made him loathe her even more?
Still, Rachel Berry wasn't going to let anyone stand in her way of glory and a possible gold star on her report card. Especially not the boy who had tossed her heart into a blender and turned it up on its highest setting.
Even after this inward turmoil, Rachel's hand still shot up faster than anybody else's. (Probably because no one else cared to raise theirs at all.)
"Ah, Miss Berry, of course," Mr. Palermo smiled kindly at her. He always appreciated her eagerness to answer questions, but he figured he should give someone else a chance.
Rachel rolled back her shoulders and cleared her throat importantly, feeling that familiar rush of being in the spotlight. She tried not to notice the way Finn stiffened and curled his shoulders forward, as if she could give him cooties.
But before she could respond, Mr. Palermo said, "I appreciate how you're always willing and able to help, but how about I ask someone else? Someone like…Mr. Hudson?"
"Uhm…I don't know the question," Finn mumbled. His voice sent shivers all down Rachel's spine; her heart squeezed painfully, and she fell back in her seat like a deflating balloon.
"What was our last lesson plan about?" Mr. Palermo repeated.
Rachel could picture Finn's eyebrows drawing together and his nose scrunching up; his adorable helpless look.
"I…I don't…are you sure I'm allowed to say it in class?"
Mr. Palermo looked confused. "I don't see why not."
"Well, I'm not even allowed to say it at home, so why would I be able to say it at school?"
Rachel was intrigued, and apparently so was the rest of the class, because they were all staring at Finn.
"Mr. Hudson, I assure you that you are allowed to say it."
"Well…we talked about the…Bullshi – "
Seeing where this was going, Mr. Palermo quickly cut in. "No, no!" he said. "The Bolshevik Revolution, not the Bull…whatever you were going to say."
The class burst into laughter; Rachel saw the tips of Finn's ears flare bright red. Her heart went out to him; she felt the impulse to consolingly rub his back and tell him everything was going to be all right. But she wasn't his girlfriend anymore, and if she were to touch him, he would probably just recoil in disgust.
The thought was so upsetting to her that she completely blanked out the rest of the lesson.
Finally, the bell ring, signaling lunchtime.
Rachel took her time to gather her things. Why would she need to hurry out? It's not like she looked forward to lunch like she used to. She had no one to sit with – certainly not with Finn anymore.
Everyone else practically ran out of the classroom. Even Mr. Palermo quickly grabbed his lunch and headed to the teacher's lounge. He must not have noticed Rachel and Finn still lagging behind, because he turned off the lights and shut the door behind him.
Rachel pressed her books against her chest like a shield. Finn stepped into the aisle and swiped his supplies off of his desktop and into his strong, solid arms. Arms which had used to easily wrap around Rachel, encasing her in a safe cocoon of warmth and love.
She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, and her palms were fostering clammy beads of sweat. She was nervous. But she shouldn't be nervous with Finn; he was just Finn.
No. He might as well have been a stranger now.
She didn't know what possessed her to say it, but she blurted out, "Sure is dark in here, huh?"
Finn jumped about a foot in the air and dropped his things all over the floor. He muttered a curse word that almost identically matched the wrong answer he'd given earlier in class.
He whirled around, squinting down at her. The only light came from the sunshine filtering through the small square window on the other side of the room. The perfect bone structure of his face was cast half in shadow; he looked so beautiful that Rachel temporarily forgot how to breathe.
"You scared me!" he snapped.
"I'm sorry," she said with all of the meaning of her throbbing heart. She hoped he understood that she wasn't just talking about giving him a fright. "I'm so sorry, Finn, I – "
"Forget it, Rachel," he muttered, bending down to pick up his things at the same moment Rachel did. They ended up knocking heads.
Rachel's face was hot with the red blush spreading beneath her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she apologized again, though this time the words were a whisper so low it was almost inaudible to Finn. "I'm so sorry." Only when a splash of moisture landed on the tip of her shoe did she realize her eyes had been filling with tears.
Finn quickly grabbed his textbook and notebooks before Rachel could. "It's fine," he mumbled. "I'll probably have a bruise on my head now, but whatever."
Rachel discreetly wiped away her tears. She felt her own head for a tender bump, but there was none. No, the only thing he'd bruised of hers was her heart.
She looked up, still crouched on the floor. He stood up and strode quickly out of the classroom, closing the door behind him with a bang. Her throat was thick with tears; her and Finn's first "conversation" since the break-up, and he didn't seem at all like he had come any closer to forgiving her.
She got to her legs, which were a bit shaky. She hurried out of the classroom and went to the library. She didn't feel like being in public and having to plaster on a mask of happy-go-luckiness around everyone. Rather, she'd eat her PB&J in the back and read through old biographies of Broadway legends to cheer her up. She sat down, suddenly craving a boost of protein from her healthy lunch.
As she peeled back the tinfoil from her sandwich, she remembered the time she and Finn had had a picnic in the park. He had contributed chocolate-dipped strawberries, his mom's homemade potato salad,…
…and smooth peanut butter and grape jelly on white bread. Just like what she was unwrapping now.
Rachel suddenly lost her appetite.