1
How Much Longer Will It Take to Cure This?
"Hey, gnome, before you launch into another one of your angst-ridden numbers that makes me hover on the fence between hitting you hard enough to give you amnesia and swinging a music stand at the face of the giant pastry I wish you'd completely black out of your memory, we wanna talk to you."
Rachel sighed and let her hands drop on the piano keys, throwing a symphony of discordant notes around the empty auditorium. She turned to face the Cheerio who was currently striding down one of the aisles, her pinky linked with her girlfriend's.
She threw the two cheerleaders a convincing smile. "Santana, Brittany, how can I help you?"
"I'm sorry for saying I was more talented than you," Brittany said suddenly, climbing up onto the stage and walking over to where Rachel was seated at the baby grand.
Rachel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Uh, w-what brought this on, Brittany?"
"I didn't like it when Kurt and San got bullied," she answered diplomatically as Santana came to join her. "And unicorns are supposed to be sweet and nice and everything good in the world. So as president of the student body, I have to make sure the school is running smoothly and that everyone's happy, and that includes you too."
If she'd said this a few years ago, Rachel would've immediately grinned and accepted it. But having friends—especially the "friends" from glee club—had caused her to develop the strong mindset that one day they could be best friends and the next, they could be archenemies. She'd been conditioned into holding people at arm's length, and she'd taken it with as much dignity as Rachel Berry could. Fame was sometimes a lonely road, and she had to face the fact that she may have to walk it alone.
She had Finn, of course, and she didn't lie when she said she couldn't survive without him and he was all she needed. But even she knew that there was a difference between surviving and living, and that there was more to life than simply needing things. She wanted friends, but she couldn't help being herself—selfish, ambitious, and determined—and if that drove people away from her in spite of her constant attempts to help them better themselves as individual performers and as a team or kowtow to their ludicrous demands of Pomeranians, then it was a sacrifice that she was prepared to make.
So naturally, it was a mild shock that Brittany grinned hugely and skipped over to sit next to her on the piano bench, pressing close.
"Can you teach me how to play a song?"
How this girl could turn from a ditzy mean girl to a cheerfully oblivious puppy, Rachel would never be able to explain. And despite her paranoia that people were always going to leave her eventually, she seized the opportunity, smiled, made sure her walls were intact, and proceeded to teach Brittany the simplified version of "A Whole New World."
She took note of the way Santana watched them from where she was perched on a stool next to the piano as Rachel plunked out the notes that Brittany copied on a higher octave. The Latina didn't seem inclined to apologize herself, but neither did she seem to mind being there. Rachel supposed that Brittany acted as a buffer so Santana couldn't rain down a barrage of snarky comments and offhand insults on top of whatever grossly offensive remarks she had stored up, but there was a tension in the air, an unasked question that seemed to hang above their heads.
As Brittany practiced a few bars of the song, Rachel looked up, met Santana's calculating, narrow-eyed look, and asked, "What is it?"
"You're gonna say yes, aren't you?"
Brittany's E faltered, and she started over.
Rachel swallowed, but Santana's face was devoid of its usual disdainful expression and was replaced by that same calculating look that was seriously beginning to make the shorter brunette nervous.
"You are," Santana answered her own question when Rachel didn't. And once again, her tone wasn't mean or antagonistic—it was...curious. "You're gonna marry Finn."
She was going to get lectured. She could feel it coming on. The two cheerleaders who used to contribute to the cesspool of DNA that made up her personal torturers was about to lecture her about—
"That's cool."
Rachel nearly choked on her own saliva.
"W-What?!" she spluttered in disbelief. "You're not going t-to give some convoluted argument riddled with profanities and backhanded insults and call it your good-intentioned attempt to keep me from throwing my future away?"
Santana cocked an eyebrow, and Brittany missed another note.
"Jesus, Rachel," Santana chortled, shifting in the seat to lean her back and elbows on the piano. "You just acknowledged that marrying the early-rising star of Seaworld is like you throwing your life away. Good job."
Rachel blushed—because of a combination of what she conceived as a mediocre jab at Finn's sexual abilities and the misinterpretation of her words— and glared. "That's not what I said!"
Santana rolled her eyes, but, once again, surprised Rachel by not disputing. "Chills, ewok."
"How did Finn propose?" Brittany asked as she began to try and sound out the notes on the piano herself.
"It was...right here, actually," Rachel admitted with a shy smile. "Where he first kissed me."
"Oh, God, did he sing to you?" Santana sighed.
"No, he was very straightforward about it," Rachel answered proudly. "He didn't beat around the bush or—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Santana stopped her with a hand. "Were there rose petals?"
"No."
"Any kind of flowers?"
"Well, no."
"Were the lights dim? Was there music playing? Did he feed you?"
"No, I don't believe any of that is necessary, Santana. Finn—"
"Holy sh—did he push you up against the goddamn wall with his hand up your—"
"OH, MY GOD!"
By this time, Santana had closed her eyes in disgust and was shaking her head in disappointment. "Don't even give me that! Brit and I can give you a legit proposal right on this damn spot if you gave us five minutes—music, chocolates, dancing, lights, and orgasms!"
"It's true," Brittany agreed, nodding earnestly. "Even Puck could come up with something better than that."
"He did that goddamn Barbravention, for crying out loud," Santana scoffed. "And he sang 'Sweet Caroline' to you."
"I don't understand how bringing Noah into the topic is necessary," Rachel said.
"The resident self-proclaimed badass motherfucking jackass can come up with a flash mob for an annoying chick who used to make him wanna light up his own ass just to convince her not to get a nose job while a man-orca hybrid who's supposedly in love with you gives you such a shitty proposal," Santana said flatly. "You need to up your standards. I'm sure even Jesse St. Asstard would think of something remotely romantic."
"He'd make a big production and lower a chandelier over your head with the ring dangling from the biggest ornament in the middle," Brittany said.
"If Kurt was straight and in love with you, he'd take you to back to New York and manhandle the entire cast of Wicked to help him propose in song."
"Blaine would get all the Warblers to dance around with bouquets of flowers and rain down petals on your head when he gets down on one knee."
"Mike would grab you into a romantic-ass waltz in the middle of a park while he's wearing some old Fred-Astaire-ish outfit while making us sing some random Broadway love song."
"Sam would take you on a plane ride to assimilate—"
"Simulate, Brit."
"—that weird flying bird from Avatar and then he'll drag you up a tree and propose in Na'vi. And Artie would compile footage of you guys dancing and singing together into a movie and then show it to you with a scene of him proposing straight at you in the end."
"Even Rory would attempt something lame and sappy and his proposal would be barely intelligible, but you'd still cry and shit," Santana said. "They'd ask for help to make a gigantic production with a full orchestra and special effects and all that shit, because everyone fucking knows that's what you want. But what does Finn do? Fucking nothing."
"What does it even matter?" Rachel demanded in frustration.
Santana shrugged. "Shows you love him that much."
To say that floored Rachel was a gross understatement. "But you just went through—"
Santana shrugged. "Just pointing some shit out."
Rachel frowned. "So...y-you support me?"
"I wouldn't go that far, but whatever. I guess watching a T-Rex eating a Jew would be preferable to being in the thick of it all, so whatever boils your lobster."
"Do you mind if we have Puck though?" Brittany asked.
Rachel jerked back to stare at Brittany. "What?"
"Puck is super sweet, and I want San and me to be treated right, so I want him to be the third half of our relationship," Brittany explained airily.
"But why Noah?" Rachel asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Well, he's done a lot for you, and I want a guy to do the same thing for me and San," Brittany explained, testing out a very disjointed chord which Rachel had to quickly correct. "Like, he totally apologized for slushy-ing you and then he quit football for you, remember?"
"That was because he finally knew what it felt like to be slushied and he quit just to be closer to Quinn and his baby," Rachel said smoothly.
"And then he sang 'Run, Joey, Run' with you and moved the Glist off your locker," Brittany continued.
"He did what?" Rachel blurted out. "He moved the Glist?"
Brittany nodded. "Mhm, and then—"
"But why?" Rachel persisted.
"'Cause he kinda likes you—remember? That's what he said at sectionals last year," Brittany said before continuing. "And then I want him to make flash mobs to make us feel better and come up with dates in New York and organize a street band with accordions and sing us Disney songs."
Rachel blinked. "What? He...he gave Finn the idea to take me out when we were in New York?"
"Well, duh. In case you haven't realized, Willow, tuba-stepper ain't the most romantic and imaginative guy. So we wants the romantic, imaginative one."
"So you have to re-squish your rights to him to us."
"Relinquish, Brit-Brit," Santana corrected her softly.
"That doesn't make any sense," Brittany said just as softly and then turned back to Rachel. "You can have Finn. He's not very nice to me and Blaine, and he can never remember important things, but I know he's different with you."
Rachel's face was stone as she stood up and smoothed out her skirt. "Well, I hope you two are happy with Noah. I'm sure he'll treat you well. If you'll excuse me, my class will begin in ten minutes and I have yet to gather my books. I'll see you girls in glee later."
She stood up from the bench and walked away, but Brittany called to her and she turned to see that Santana had taken her place on the bench.
"Rae?"
"Yes?"
"Can we be your bridesmaids?"
Why in God's name…
"Why?" Rachel breathed in confusion.
Brittany just blinked. "Because Kurt can't pull off a strapless dress."
Rachel slowly turned and walked away. There were no more words to be said to that girl.
As for what she said, though…
Noah was just keeping the promise he'd made to God to be nicer to Jews—that was all. That's why he and Kurt teamed up for the Barbravention. That's why he helped Finn with the date—because he wanted her to be treated correctly. Lord knows Finn would've attempted something romantic that would most likely result in something catching fire, something getting run over, or something breaking.
But the Glist. She'd dumped him, but he still did something nice to her—without even telling her. She was dating Finn, and he blatantly insulted her, laughing at the rude insults Santana and Brittany had thrown at her face and calling it "honesty," completely losing the original meaning she'd intended with the him-finding-a-cheerleader-girlfriend fact. Not to mention the fact that he'd called her a sad, clown hooker. And that he checked under his bed for her because she was creepy.
But he was Finn—he was a goof, and he surely wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. But five year-olds could be mean too, but that didn't mean they wouldn't love you any less. But then again, Finn wasn't five years old…
And 'Run, Joey, Run'—Noah just did it to show off his guns. His "badass" reputation wouldn't be too tarnished if he'd appeared in some ludicrous video. It's not like he was really sacrificing anything like how Finn would've if he'd taken the picture with her in the yearbook. But that was an incredibly stupid video. She lauded Artie's directorial skills, but in retrospect, Steven Spielberg and James Cameron could work together, and it still wouldn't have worked in the end.
It was a really bad video.
Noah himself had said so when he saw his version of the song before Artie added in Jesse and Finn's scenes. But he didn't say a word about pulling out from the project. Jesse had tried to take over the entire production, and Finn just looked uncomfortable with the whole ordeal.
But the grape slushy. At the time, it just sounded frightening that he'd paid that much attention to her—to know her favorite flavor without having ever said a civilized word to her before. Finn had known her and loved her for over two years and he still fed her meat. And gave her a pig for Christmas—a pig to fatten up and eventually slaughter for a family. He didn't even remember that she was a vegan…and Jewish. Noah remembered her favorite slushy flavor because he saw her licking her lips.
The more she thought about it, the more it said about the kind of person he was.
He was observant, he was sweet, he didn't seek recognition for it, he didn't care much about what others thought of him unless it was about his Mohawk—but everyone had their limits, of course. He dated her for a week—and he never cheated. He never went back to Santana, he never went to his cougars, he didn't sneak off with some Cheerio. He was with her—stomaching her attempts to put some culture in his life. And he honestly wasn't going to break up with her. Even she had known that.
And he'd done all of that before his promise to be nicer to Jews.
And then she hit a wall of bricks.
Literally. Well, not an actual brick wall—she smacked into Finn.
"Rach! Hey," he said, smiling down at her. "Have you thought about my question?"
She looked up at his face—goofy smirk and soft eyes in place. And then she remembered:
Noah apologized for throwing slushies at her. Even Jesse apologized for egging her.
Finn threw eggs at her house and he never apologized. Burt Hummel had a heart attack, and he prayed to Jesus to let him touch her breasts. He'd admitted to that, at least. He called his father—a soldier who'd fought for his friends, his family, his country—a loser because he had PTSD. He outright said that he didn't have anything special in his life while sitting with his girlfriend and his stepbrother, while he had friends who'd stand by him through thick and thin, and a mother who supported him through their ordeal—through heartbreak—by herself. Noah's father was an actual loser, Christopher Hudson was a broken hero. And his own son…
"I still need a few more days, Finn," she muttered, lowering her gaze to her shoes and feeling the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger the longer she stayed with him. "It's a big decision that no one can afford to take lightly. Please excuse me. I'm going to be late to class."
"Rachel—"
But she'd walked off, disappearing through into the crowded hallway.
He'd never even sang for her. She'd sung him so many songs, cried in front of him so many times because of the emotion she put into the words she sang to him, and he'd never done the same. He sang "Just the Way You Are" for Kurt, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" for Santana. "Jesse's Girl" could hardly count because for one thing, he was singing about stealing a girl away, and considering how much she'd liked Jesse at the time, she had been more than a little uncomfortable with him singing that in front of the rest of the club.
But Noah sang "Sweet Caroline." She presented him with the fact that she couldn't date a boy who couldn't sing a solo, and he rose to the challenge and sang for—the first ever male solo in glee—her.
And even though he'd been singing a duet about desperately needing someone, he had this massive smile on his face as he looked at her. The whole time. She chastised him for it after Mr. Schue and Coach Beiste broke up the fight, but he'd just smirked, pointed out that she'd been smiling too, and walked away, completely unaffected.
Needless to say, she didn't pay attention in whatever class it was that she was in.
And needless to say, I am upset.
1: Because of Finchel, obviously.
2: Anonymous assholes on Tumblr. (I swear to God, there are some psychotic Finchel fans out there…)
3: The loss of MediaFire, MegaUpload, and other sites that helped me amass my Glee song collection. I know I should feel guilty…but I don't.