A/N: Wow, I can't believe it's been this long since I wrote in the perspective of Jesse St. James. Uggh, I hate what they did with his character on the show...I hope he comes back. Anyway, this came about when I asked someone over at The Domain for a prompt. My friend, Qzil, gave me this: "He loved her, so he watched her die." Which is also the prompt of one of her Warriors fics, so if you like Warriors, go check that out. Also, for whatever reason, writing as Jesse always prompts me to use a shitload of colons. I really can't explain it. It's only when I write as Jesse St. James.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, and I guess I don't really own 'requiem', but I thought that was an appropriate title, based on the prompt. -shrug- You tell me.
Requiem
There were very few times where Jesse was actually scared by Ms. Corcoran. This just happened to be one of them. Her rage was like an inferno that threatened to burn down everything in sight. He had been to Hell and back, yet he was terrified of the woman before him. He had awakened the wrath of the mother bear, and no one could defend him but him. "Why?" Ms. Corcoran all but snarled at him. "Why did you crack an egg open on my daughter's head?"
"As I recall," Jesse intervened angrily on his own behalf. Perhaps he was being too forward, and if he was he would most certainly apologize later, but the sting of injustice burned in his chest. "I was the one who wanted to stop this plan weeks ago. I was the only one who cared about how she felt in this matter! But no. You were the one who insisted that we keep going through with it!" He was on his feet. His voice had risen to a shout, and what remained of his composed side begged him to simmer down.
"You were also the one who egged her," Ms. Corcoran said coldly, narrowing her eyes at him. He shrunk at her gaze, though it because he was intimidated by Ms. Corcoran. All of a sudden, he was overwhelmed by a completely new feeling: guilt.
It was those eyes that did it. They were Rachel's eyes; there was no doubt about it. His mind suddenly flashed back to those same eyes giving him a betrayed, heartbroken look. Jesse's chest ached with a new sort of pain: his heart shredding in two. It was just then that he realized the brevity of what he had done, and he swayed where he stood, grabbing the sides of the chair.
What had he done? The tortured look on Rachel's face replayed in his mind's eye like some twisted, broken record player. When he said he had loved her, he meant it with every fiber of his being. Yet, she would never feel the same way about him. Not after what he did. Without another word, Jesse bolted out of Ms. Corcoran's office and ran toward his car.
The signs whizzed by him as he approached closer and closer to Lima, closer to the one friend he still hoped to have. His car slowed to a stop as he parked in front of the small house. He bit his lip apprehensively. He should've made sure she was there first, or that none of his enemies were there with her at the moment. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk toward the front door. He had never felt more like a small child in his life, cowering at the first sign of conflict. Jesse hated himself for it.
He was Jesse St. James. His very air permeated that of purpose, determination and focus. He often infected people with his attitude. Yet, all that had been lost once he had realized that he actually hurt someone he deeply cared about. Taking in a deep breath, he knocked on the door. The resounding noise rang tenfold in his ears, and his chest ached with every moment no one answered.
She answered with a confused and suspicious look on her face. "Let me explain," he pleaded with the girl at the door. "Before you slam the door in my face." She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. "It won't be long," he promised, clasping his hands together. The expression on her face did not change: eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed together tightly.
"I don't really care," she said dryly. "To be honest, I don't know what you're doing here. Why do you think I want to hear anything you have to say?" Her expression softened slightly, torn between pity and amusement, when Jesse let out a little moan of despair. "You're such a drama queen, Princess. I'd invite you in, but this isn't my house."
"I've made a huge mistake," he plopped down on the doorstep, burying his face in his hands. She abandoned her spot by the door to sit next to him. She didn't want to have a conversation with the back of his head. "I never meant to hurt her Quinn, I didn't!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide and confused. "It's just…" his mouth turned into something of a grimace. "It had to be me, y'know?"
"Why you'll ever have to egg someone you claim to care about is beyond me," Quinn said harshly. Perhaps he had gone to the wrong person for help. He had awakened a different mother bear. "Jesse, I really don't know why you came to me for help. I should've been the person you learned from before this. Rachel told you everything about my screwed up life before you got here. I cheated on someone I cared deeply about. And look what happened to me…"
Jesse reached out to touch his friend's shoulder. Her expression hardened and she shook her head, shying away from him. "Don't you do it, Jesse St. James. Don't you feel sorry for me," she growled, not meeting his eyes. A long moment of silence passed between them before she said, her words slow, clear, and deliberate, "It had to be you because you would hate yourself even more if someone else had hurt her, right?"
He nodded, looking toward Quinn for a little bit more sympathy. "I messed up," he murmured with a sigh. "She was looking to me for protection, and I let her down." He paused before adding, "I need to fix this…but I don't know how to do that."
"Yes you do," Quinn said, abruptly standing up. "Get the hell off of Puck's porch and go straighten it out." She got up and went inside the house, angrily slamming the door behind her. Jesse, with a more defeatist attitude than a new found sense of purpose, walked over to his car and sat down in the driver's seat, staring at the window.
It didn't occur to him until that moment that maybe she wouldn't even want him back. His betrayal had been great, and there was no adult figure that was pulling their relationship on strings this time. To her, he was nothing more than a dead man. And, if she really did not want him back, he could not stand the thought of rejection. Not from anyone, though her rejection would probably cut through all the years he had spent building up a tough skin. He wanted to be a successful actor: tough skin was a requirement.
Besides, if he did not see her, there could always be the hope that flitted in the back of his mind that she did not loathe his entire being and that they would one day perform on Broadway together, get married, and have seven, very musically talented children. Sort of like the Von Trapps, except there would be no Nazis. Hopefully.
Starting his car, he began. "Jesse St. James, you fool," he muttered to himself, heading back toward Carmel. He wanted more than nothing else than to fix things right there and then. But he knew he couldn't. There would time and place for him to make everything right with Rachel, and it certainly wasn't now. He had to grow up a little bit more first before they could find their somewhere that's green. For now, he had to live with the knowledge that he messed up, and that Rachel would be less than responsive to his presence, but perhaps, one day, could love him again.
Yet, he could not hold back that nagging doubt: how could she understand him completely when he barely understood his actions at all?
I can't end stories to save my life. Anyway, if you're wondering why Quinn is there it's for two reasons. The first being that I love Quinn and could easily make every Glee fic I ever write about her. Secondly, I came up with this whole back story behind her and Jesse's friendship, and I forgot it wasn't canon. However, if you want me to post that one day, maybe I will. In my (not) humble opinion, it's actually a pretty cute story.
Please concrit this to the best of your ability. I know I'm not perfect at writing, and I actually feel like there's something about this that I need to fix, I just can't put my finger on it. So help a sister out?
Since I'm bored, but would love to write something: if you find the Little Shop of Horrors reference in here (but you have to be the first one to do it), I'll write whatever you want me to.
Anyway, have a happy holiday!