Since Cris decided to be so damn awesome such as to instigate St. Berry Week II, I figured I'd throw one of my stories into the stack to make up for the ridiculous amount of fail that was last night's episode! I really hope you guys like it; I know this trope can be done very, very badly, so I guess we'll see if it lives up to standards!
"I can't today, Finn, I'm sorry. I have an appointment at the chiropractor at one and then I'm having dinner with my agent. Did you hear that they canceled my show? The only good that is coming of this is—"
"We have more time to spend together now," he informed her brightly, and she frowned as she stepped inside the cab as it rolled to a stop by the curb.
"No, that other show I wanted to audition for. I have time for that now. But—"
"You know, you really should have told me that you weren't ever going to have time for your 'boyfriend' before we moved in together."
"Please can we not talk about this now? And I did tell you, actually, that's why we broke up after graduation."
"That was seven years ago!"
"Look, can I call you back? I have another call coming in."
"Fine."
Ignoring the tone on the other end of the line, she switched over to the other before taking a deep breath.
"Rachel Berry speaking."
"Ms. Berry, this may come as a shock to you," an older, male voice chimed, "but you are listed as the only emergency contact of a... Jesse St. James."
"Jesse? What?"
"I regret to inform you that he's been in a serious car accident."
Rachel felt her heart plummet as she listened to the voice on the other end. It might as well have been automated, it wouldn't have made a great deal of difference.
"Ms. Berry?"
"S-sorry. Um, where is he? I mean, what hospital are you taking him to?"
"Good Samaritan in Los Angeles."
"I'll catch the first flight out."
She could have said that Jesse was the last person she'd thought to hear from, but then again, it hadn't been Jesse who had contacted her.
For all she knew, two fifty dollar cab rides and an arduously wrought plane ride later, her stomach in knots, he would be dead by the time she got to Good Samaritan.
"How may I help you?"
"Rachel Berry, I'm here to see Jesse St. James. The paramedics—"
"Are you his family?"
"I— yes," she lied a second later, not bothering to think twice before answering.
"He's in the ICU right now. Take the elevator to the sixth floor and turn left after the doors open. The nurse's station should be right there for someone to assist you."
"— thank you," she breathed out, her words washing out in a single sharp breath, her lungs feeling as if they might constrict at any moment. The woman behind the counter didn't seem to care at all— she dealt with this sort of thing on a daily basis. Rachel, however, on her part, felt as unprepared now as she had when she'd first realized that she'd become an adult somewhere along the way. People always thought you were more mature than the others, that you were prepared for it, but no one ever really was.
She could only hope that it wasn't as bad as she kept picturing in her mind's eye, rounding a corner and nearly running into one of the nurses.
"— excuse me, I'm looking for, um. Jesse St. James."
"Would you mind taking a seat? I'll be with you in just a moment."
Rachel nodded, practically collapsing onto the bench as her eyes roamed over the numbers next to the doors, her stomach lurching. Jesse could be in any of these for all she knew, in any condition.
Forcing herself to sit still as her leg bounced fitfully atop its sister, Rachel finally fished her phone out, exhaling a slow, shaky breath.
Finn picked up on the second ring.
"Hey," she whispered, barely even recognizing her own voice.
"Rach, I thought you were going to call me right back. What's wrong?"
"It was an emergency. It's, um... a friend of mine who lives in LA got into a really bad car accident and I was... her only ICE."
"You're in Los Angeles? And you didn't even think to tell me?"
"Look, Finn, I really can't do this right now. I just wanted to let you know."
"Gee, thanks. So much for our anniversary, I guess. You know, I even made reservations and everything."
"That's tomorrow," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut. "Finn, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you when I get back in town, I promise."
"Yeah, whatever."
If it was possible for her to feel any worse, she'd achieved it, tucking her phone back into her purse as the nurse approached. Sitting up straighter, Rachel scooted forward in her seat, one ankle tucked over the other.
"Jesse St. James?" She nodded. "Are you his wife?"
"N-no, I'm just a friend."
"Well, he's recovering right now. He's... not well. Stable. Sleeping right now."
"What happened? The paramedics didn't tell me anything on the phone."
"One of his legs is broken in two locations and we believe his optic nerve suffered considerable damage, but until he wakes up and confirms our suspicions, we have no way of knowing yet."
"I... I don't understand what you're saying."
"He may be temporarily or permanently blinded upon waking, there's no way for us to know yet. He was in a serious car accident. He was going fairly quickly, it seemed, and he was hit by a semi-truck that spun out of control."
"That's— that's impossible."
"Debris from car accidents can do that."
"But—"
"I can get you numbers of several good psychologists in the area."
"I wasn't planning on—" Looking up at the nurse, Rachel fell silence once more. "Does he have any other family in the area?"
"None that we know of."
"Oh."
All thoughts of Finn and her audition were viciously torn from her grasp as she realized how selfish she was being. Jesse didn't have— anyone, and here she was trying to figure out how to get away from him as quickly as possible.
"Um... when can I see him?"
About two years ago, looking through recent productions in the LA area— which she would still to this day insist had absolutely nothing to do with Jesse— she'd recognized his face almost instantly, starring in Evita opposite some tramp that he was, more than likely, sleeping with.
This was similar, the familiarity of his features striking her temporarily silent as she moved to stand by his bed, taking his hand in hers.
"Jesse."
"... Rachel? What the hell are you doing here?"
"The paramedics called me. I'm your only emergency contact in all your records."
"Fuck, I'm sorry, I'd forgotten about that."
"How are you?" Removing her hand from his, she took a slow step back from his side, remembering for the moment that she wasn't his family, his wife, his girlfriend, anything. She had no place here, least of all holding his hand.
"I'm waiting for them to take this damn bandage off my head so I can leave here already. It's not like I fractured my skull or something. I'm perfectly lucid. You can go home to... wherever home is. New York, I assume."
"Yes," she whispered, frowning, the door behind her opening.
"Can you take this off already so I can go home?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," the doctor muttered, dropping the pages of his chart to look at him. "You suffered a significant fracture. Even if this is all the damage you've sustained, you'll be walking out of here with crutches, and you will likely require the assistance of—" he looked at her.
"Ms. Berry."
"— to transport you once we'll be ready to let you go in a couple of days.
"A couple of days? What the—"
"Jesse, stop—"
"We'll find out, won't we?" the doctor interjected with a frown, reaching for the clasp holding his bandages together. "Now, let's see..."
Unwrapping slowly and gingerly, the verdict became clear much too soon for Rachel's liking, as if she'd known that it was going to happen, something in her gut aching horribly as she watched, wringing her hands.
"I can't see. Why the fuck can't I see?"
"The debris from your accident caused significant damage to your optic nerve. We tried to do the best we could, but there wasn't much we could do. There's a chance that it might be temporary and could heal itself. And while it does happen, I don't like to say that it's entirely likely."
"I'm— I'm blind. Is that what you're saying? What kind of bullshit doctor are you?"
It had taken two hours and a decent dose of morphine to calm Jesse down and alleviate some of the pain in his leg, now in a decently-sized cast. On drugs, he was a lot more malleable to work with.
After a short cab ride to his apartment, making herself as comfortable as she could manage without him there to make it any less awkward, she decided to focus on the paperwork of the situation.
It was a very welcome distraction from the hell she'd placed herself right in the middle of, something to focus on while Jesse was still in the hospital and she had to reluctantly break to a very angry Finn that previously mentioned female friend just happened to be Jesse St. James.
It wasn't for another four days until she found herself begrudgingly wheeling him out to the cab she'd called for him, Jesse complaining every step of the way.
"I've picked up your prescriptions," the bottles rattled loudly as they hit the counter, Rachel, from the sound of it, still rifling through her purse for whatever else charitable contributions she has to offer to his life, "your release papers from the hospital, fresh bandages on top of the ones they gave us at the hospital, the key to your new rental vehicle, since that's automatically covered by the insurance, given that the crash wasn't your fault... although I suppose it's technically my new rental vehicle right now, seeing as you're in no state to drive— I hope you don't mind that I parked in your spot— and some vegetables since I know how much you like to kill innocent beings, and obviously because I want to make you soup so you can start feeling better again."
"I didn't ask you to do any of this," he growled, Rachel already tearing at his patience.
"Except that you did the second you decided that it was a good idea to put me down as your only emergency contact," she snapped back, offering a terse sigh. "Now, I canceled my flight back for the time being, but if you'd like me to leave, I would be more than willing so I might return to my own life—"
"Be my guest," he muttered darkly.
"— but as it seems, you don't have anyone here to help you in the first place, so I'm going to stay here out of the goodness of my heart. Unless you'd rather I call your parents?"
His silence was answer enough.
If Jesse had been used to his affliction, that would have been different. But he wasn't used to going just off of sound, the things he could hear, and therefore, grabbing his cell phone and disappearing out into the hallway was downright easy.
Still, she couldn't seem to stop her fingers from trembling as she scrolled through his contacts, frowning at all the girl's names in his phone. This was just unrealistic.
Finally coming upon an entry labeled Virginia St. James with a soft sigh of relief, she pressed the call button.
Sixth ring. "Jesse?"
"Um, well, not quite. This is Rachel Berry, Mrs. St. James. You might remember me from when Jesse went to Carmel."
"Not particularly, no. Why are you in possession of my son's phone?"
"He's— he's been in a terrible car accident. He's lost his ability to see... completely. They don't know if it's temporary or permanent, but he really needs someone here, and I'm only here because the paramedics—"
"What is it that you need, money to take care of him? Is that it?"
"I— no. You're his mother. I thought perhaps you'd like to come see your son, take him home, take care of him, anything along those lines would be perfectly acceptable answers."
"I don't suppose you spoke to Jesse prior to choosing to call."
"Well, no—"
"I see. There won't be anyone coming. He can come to us if he chooses to, but that has never been his chosen course of action, and I can't say that it isn't for the better. Our schedules just don't agree with random flights of fancy to drop by."
"He's in no state to be traveling!"
"Would fifty-thousand be sufficient? I understand he wouldn't be working for some time, and neither would you."
"You're his mother! How could you care so little?"
"You must be misunderstanding me. I do care for Jesse quite terribly, just not in the most conventional of ways. Now, if you'll excuse me," Rachel could have sworn she heard her voice waver, "I have other business to attend to."
Rachel stared in shock at the phone as she heard the beep on the other end of the line, feeling as if all the breath in her lungs had left her all at once. There was something there that he hadn't told her, of that much she was certain.
"Well," her voice rang out loudly and clearly, as it usually did, something hitting the counter with a thud, "I'm going to be staying with you for a while. Until you get better."
"Don't you think your boyfriend is going to mind you shacking up with your ex?"
"Wh-what? How did you—"
"Rachel, has it ever occurred to you that I can hear every word you're saying when you're in the bathroom fighting with Hudson? You're not exactly what most people would call conventionally quiet," he growled, wishing he could see the look on her face.
"But— I mean— I thought you were asleep," she whispered, seeming to shift closer to where he was propped up on the couch from the sound of her voice.
"Well, I wasn't."
"Jesse, it's not like that—"
"Just go, all right?" he cut her off, one hand coming up on the armrest behind him as he pushed himself up, his good leg catching support from the floor as he moved to a shaky standing position. "I can take care of myself."
It was a blessing that he knew his apartment as well as he did, feeling his way to the kitchen and holding on to everything he could manage on the way.
Until his cast caught onto something that he hadn't been expecting in his way, Rachel's purse.
"Jesse—!"
Taking an unceremonious fall as his body seemed to crumble beneath the lack of support, Jesse groaned, pushing himself back up into a semi-sitting position.
"Oh my god," she muttered, close to him suddenly. He could smell her everywhere, it seemed. Pushing himself further up to get away from her and the intoxicating jasmine scent, he ran a trembling hand through his hair, hating himself for being so damn weak.
"I'm so sorry, Jesse, I-I didn't think you... were just— going to get up and start walking or I would have never put that there— are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"
"Okay, scratch that, I would be more than capable of taking care of myself if some people didn't leave their crap lying around in my apartment. Please just leave, I don't need you here, and frankly, I don't want you here."
It was a lie, of course. The fact that it had been Rachel's purse and not something else had happened on pure chance. That morning when he'd heard the shower come on, he'd awkwardly stumbled out of the bedroom, doing his best not to trip on the comforter Rachel was using to camp out on the couch, determined to get himself some cereal, just as he was used to doing every morning.
It had all gone just fine— though he'd picked the wrong cereal, not thinking to go by touch— until he'd attempted to pour the milk, half of it ending up on his hand.
That had been particularly frustrating, Jesse doing his best to mop everything up with the paper towels he'd then spent a good two minutes searching for.
"Don't be ridiculous, you— you can't do this on your own, Jesse. I understand that you— more than anyone— would hate to feel weak and vulnerable more than anything, but I'm not going anywhere, and you can't stop me."
"I don't think I'm coming back for a while," she said quietly into the receiving end of her phone, holding her breath as she steeled herself for his response.
"What do you mean you don't think you're coming back? Rach, you said you were going to be back in less than a week! I'm not letting that prick steal you away from me again, dammit!"
"Finn, please can we talk about this like normal, rational people? Some things have changed, and I need to take that into consideration. Now, he needs my help, and as his friend I'm going to be there for him, just as you'd be there for Quinn if she needed your help because she got into a terrible car accident and lost her eyesight."
"This is totally different than that! He's... the enemy! And what the hell do you mean, some things have changed? What, are you already sleeping with him again?"
Silence rang clear on her end of the phone as Rachel bit her lip, fighting back choice words.
"We're not sleeping together."
"Whatever, Rach. I just thought you were better than this."
Hearing the beep that signaled that he'd effectively hung up on her, Rachel took a deep breath, snapping her phone shut as she moved to exit the bathroom. Guilt-tripping was Finn's specialty; had always been.
"Now what on earth would make Finnocent think that we were sleeping together, huh, Rachel?"
Jesse was sprawled out on the couch, looking as smug, cold, and calculating as ever, his head tilted up towards her. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend that it was because he was actually looking at her, though she knew that that was impossible.
"Does he know?" he continued when Rachel didn't answer, intent on preoccupying herself by cleaning the apartment. This was the last thing she wanted to be discussing right now, her heart twisting painfully in her chest.
"Wasn't that why you two broke up in the first place?"
Running into Jesse over the spring break of her senior year while UCLA was on break had either been the arguably best or worst thing to happen to her. What he was doing in a bar in Lima of all places he'd refused to tell her, but Rachel could admit that she'd had a fair hunch.
Finn, though her boyfriend at the time, had fairly refused to so much as make a move on her without explicit permission.
It was a weakness that Jesse knew exactly how to exploit, slipping his arm around her shoulders as if it belonged there. Easy. Effortless.
Guilt-ridden, she'd called Finn promptly the following morning to confess to him what she'd done, and more importantly, with whom she'd done it. She'd been drunk and stupid, and it had easily been the best sex of her life, despite the pain, despite everything.
Even now, after several sexual partners more, that had yet to change.
"I'd be worried if I were him, you know."
"Well, you're not him, so I don't see how any of this should concern you."
"Considering that that was the best sex I ever had, I'm very concerned."
Rachel flushed a bright shade of pink. She'd be lying, of course, if she were to claim that it didn't feel good to hear him say that, to know that the sentiment was returned, but on the other hand, she wished he'd never told her.