She remembers getting lost for the very first time. She was five years old and in the blink of an eye she let go of her dad's hand, only to be swallowed in a stampede of children racing through the mall to be first in line to see Santa. It was bad enough Jewish kids like her didn't even get a Santa, and when her dad found her crying in a corner he picked her up in his arms and promised to buy her ice cream (she wasn't a vegan then) to make her feel better.

She remembers getting lost a second time, and how different it was from the first. No one was holding her hand, and no one ever found her and promised to buy her ice cream, because no one could.

This time she'll have to find herself.

That's what she's thinking as she's rummaging through old boxes and piles of nostalgia in her childhood bedroom at home. She thinks maybe she'll open one of the boxes and find a better version of herself inside. A younger, more vibrant version of the broken girl she is today.

Life's been chipping away at her for more than a year now, dealing her one blow after another until she's thoroughly beaten down, defeated. Hollywood throws her out, laughs her out, tells her to go home, which she does, only to find her house up for sale, her dads separated and soon to be divorced. As for her friends, they're all scattered in various uncertain places both in and out of Lima, and so she pretty much considers them lost as well.

She opens yet another dust covered box and finds an assortment of gold stars inside. She smiles weakly, thinking of the bright, determined little girl who'd collected them all. Big stars, little stars, all of them metaphors for the destiny she was so certain would be hers one day. Then her smile fades and she closes up the box and places it on top of a pile of stuff marked "THROW AWAY."

Her phone rings. Her face brightens for the first time in days when she sees the name flashing on the screen. "Kurt?" she answers.

"Well hello Miss Streisand! I thought for sure I'd have to speak to at least seven members of your entourage before they passed me through to you."

Her face falls. "I most definitely don't have an entourage," she says dejectedly.

"Really? Oh well, you're better off that way. Those diva reputations will haunt you for life. Look at J-Lo."

"Kurt, I...I'm home now. I'm in Lima."

"You're what?" he almost shouts. "Rachel, what the hell happened?"

She pauses before answering. "Everything happened. And then it fell apart. I came back home to, I don't know, lick my wounds, and try to sort through the rubble, but oh god, Kurt, nothing's the same, everyone's gone, my house is for sale, my family's breaking up, and I'm-"

"Rachel, rachel, calm down," he soothes. "Ok, so you've had some setbacks. But there's one thing you've still got...me."

"Wait what? You're home too?"

"That's right," he says, sounding a bit disheartened as well. "And you thought you were the only one living the dream!"

"Oh my God, Kurt, this is the best news I've heard in weeks! Even though I'm sure there's, you know, a reason why you're no longer in New York. We can talk about that later...if you want."

He sighs. "It would be an honor to commiserate with you, Rachel Berry."

"Breadstix in half an hour?" she asks.

"I'll be there."


"Wow, there's really no going back, is there?" Kurt says, unimpressed by his eggplant parmesan. "I mean once you've sampled some of the finest Italian food in New York everything on the Breadstix menu just winds up tasting like a Lean Cuisine."

"I guess we had it pretty good there, didn't we?" Rachel says gloomily.

Kurt puts down his fork and gives her a dry look. "All right, cheer up, Lana Del Rey. Who says you can't go back to New York and start all over again?"

"Because it's not the same city anymore. Not to me, anyway. I failed it, and it failed me."

"You didn't fail, Rachel. You were a smash on Broadway, and then you left for something you thought would be better. It wasn't, of course, but it'll be ok."

She shakes her head, looking down. "I can't believe you didn't hear about my show bombing as hard as it did."

"Yeah, well. I guess I've been too busy being a sad sack since Blaine and I broke up."

She reaches across the table and takes his hand, giving him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry we lost touch over these past few months, Kurt. I've really missed you."

He smiles weakly. "I've missed your crazy ass too, Berry. And hey, here's to being Lima Losers together instead of apart."

They each raise their glasses for a half-hearted cheers. Just then, Kurt spots a familiar face at the other end of the restaurant.

"Oh my God, look who it is."


Sam sits on Rachel's side of the booth, listening politely as Kurt attempts to assassinate his comment about liking the food in Lima better than the food in New York.

"I mean come on, Sam, Lima's idea of international cuisine is one of those Taco Bell drive thru's that's also a Pizza Hut and a Kentucky Fried Chicken."

"My point exactly," Sam argues. "Where in New York can you get a burrito, a chicken wing, and a slice for less than two dollars?"

Kurt just rolls his eyes, incredulous. Rachel just laughs and shakes her head at the two of them, mostly lost in thought.

"So Sam," Kurt says, switching gears. "What else brought you back to Lima? I mean besides the Kentucky fried tacos."

Sam shrugs. "Mostly the familiarity, I guess. I mean New York's great if you're a person who sees your name up in lights, but me, I sort of just got lost in it all."

"Understandable," Kurt says.

"I never thought I'd see the two of you back here, though," Sam says. "Especially you, Rachel."

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not looking at either of them. "Yeah, well. That's my life," she says hollowly. "Now if you guys don't mind, I think I'll get the check and head home."


She sits alone at The Lima Bean typing song lyrics on her iPad. She's been reworking the same verse for nearly an hour, vaguely wondering how it's possible she's already written a song called "Get It Right," and cringing to think of it being all the more relevant to her life now than it ever was back then.

She focuses intensely, furrowing her brow, straining to get it right, just one thing, one tiny little thing in her life, even if it's nothing more than this one measly lyric in a song. She's so absorbed she barely even feels the light tap on her shoulder, followed by a familiar voice saying her name.

"Rachel?"

She looks up to see Sam standing over her.

"Sam, hey," she says, a little surprised to see him. She wouldn't have figured him to be much of a coffee drinker, but then again they were both 'adults' now, well, sort of.

"How's it going?" he asks with a smile.

"Oh, fine, thanks. How 'bout you?"

"I'm just coming in for my shift, actually. I work here."

"Oh," she says, noticing the apron he's holding.

"Surprised?"

"A little," she admits. "I wouldn't have imagined you as the barista type."

"Yeah, I know. I try taking people's orders in my Matthew McConaughey voice but a lot of the customers here are hipsters and just look at me like I'm a moron. I do my best to fit in, though."

"You don't have to fit in, Sam," she says, her tone a bit sad but full of sincerity.

He smiles warmly, appreciating the sentiment. "Well regardless if I fit in or not, I better get to work."

"Ok, sure," she says. "It was nice seeing you."

"You too, Rachel. Let me know if you need anything-you know, like, a refill, or something."

She smiles. "Thanks. I will."


"You're kidding!" she exclaims redundantly. She knows if Kurt Hummel were ever kidding about anything his tone would be riddled with sarcasm, not enthusiasm and sincerity.

"Isn't it incredible?" he shouts through the phone, unable to contain his excitement. "I mean two hours ago I would've thought my next move would be on a chessboard. Next thing I know I'm booking a flight to Paris! Louis Vuitton, Rachel, can you believe it?"

"I'm so happy you got the internship, Kurt. It's really amazing."

"Of course I'm going to miss you like crazy, and things between Blaine and I are going to have to remain unresolved for the next six months. But I honestly think it'll be a good thing on all fronts, you know? Not to mention I'll be in Paris, for God's sake!"

Rachel smiles, ecstatic for her friend, but unable to deny the bittersweetness of it all. She'd been in those spirits once, not too long ago, when the future promised bright and brilliant things for her, and the opportunities seemed to be knocking on her door with an undeterrable persistence.

"Rachel?" he asks. "You still there?"

Realizing her end of the line has been silent for several moments, she answers, "Yeah. Sorry, Kurt. I'm really over the moon for you, even though I'm going to miss you so, so much."

"Don't sweat it, Barbra. We'll have daily Skype sessions and I'll text you everytime I think of you, which will be often. My guess is you'll end up sick of me."

"I doubt that, Kurt. You're one of my only...I mean, you're my best friend."

Kurt hears the melancholy in her voice and hopes he hasn't been rubbing all of this in her face. He knows her happiness for him is genuine, but no doubt she's straining to join him in celebration mode given the recent hits she's taken, both personally and professionally.

"Listen, Rach, everything's going to work out just fine for you. I'll always be just a phone call away if you need me. But if I know Rachel Berry, and I do, she's going to have her name up in lights again in no time."

She wishes she believed him, and she's trying so hard to smile, but it hurts. She'll have to forge an exterior of resilience if only to stoke the fires of her friend's unwavering faith in her. Besides that, she hates being the big buzzkill. Her song was always "Don't Rain On My Parade," but lately she ought to be singing apologies for raining on everyone elses.

"You're right, Kurt," she says evenly. "And good luck in Paris. I know you're going to set it on fire with your awesomeness."

Kurt smiles. "Thanks, Berry. But wait...you're taking me to the airport, aren't you?"


A week later she sees Kurt off at the airport along with Carole and Burt. They hug goodbye and she clings to him, not wanting him to see her cry. He promises to Skype her as soon as he locates his apartment and settles in, but in all honesty she doesn't count on him following through on that, and doesn't blame him. She's certain there are far better sights to see in Paris than the face of a moody-eyed Jewish girl.

Later that afternoon she heads over to The Lima Bean with her iPad. She figures a little caffeine will perk her spirits while she rewrites the lyrics to her favorite song, changing its title to, "Don't Parade On My Rain."

When she gets there she sees him behind the counter, wearing his apron.

"Hey Rachel," he greets her.

"Hey Sam. I wasn't sure if you'd be working or not."

"You just caught me at the tail end of my shift. So what'll it be?"

She's looking at him, smiling. "You didn't do it."

"Do what?"

"Take my order as Matthew McConaughey."

He smiles back at her. "Sorry. Let me rephrase that," he says, then gets into character. "Hay, hay, hay, so little lady, what'll it be? We got some uh, pretty sweet vegan coffee beans flown in from The Dominican. Hay, hay, hay, hay."

She laughs way too hard, earning her several humorless looks from the other patrons in line, and she's a little embarrassed.

Sam laughs too, happy to amuse her, but steps out of character so he can clarify something. "But I was just kidding about the coffee beans being vegan...well, actually I'm not really sure if they are or not. I mean, is coffee even vegan? It doesn't like, come from a cow or anything, does it?"

"No, it's ok," she tells him. "I'll just take a black tea anyway."

"Ok, sure. What's that guy's name again?"

"Earl Grey," she says, smiling again.

"Comin' right up, little lady," he says as McConaughey.

She gets her tea, then finds a vacant table in the corner close to the fire place. She opens a file on her iPad, not feeling particularly inspired at the moment, so instead she just sort of stares absently into the crackling fire, waiting for her tea to cool. Time passes, and her thoughts are far away when she hears a comically deep and charismatic voice singing somewhere behind her.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…"

She giggles before tearing her eyes away from the dull flames and looking up to see him standing over her wearing a charicaturishly cool, crooning grin, the spitting impersonation of some Frank Sinatra-esque performer. Meanwhile most of the patrons sitting nearby are shooting him deadpan looks, begging him not to pursue the song any further, especially since it's not even the Christmas season.

"Sorry," he says in his normal voice. "You just look like you're in one of those Bing Crosby Christmas specials from the 1950's or something...that's not a bad thing, by the way."

"Well, I doubt anybody'll be hiring me to spread Christmas cheer anytime soon."

"Why not? Because you're Jewish?"

She looks down. "Yeah, that. And, you know...I'm not so cheerful. They'd probably all just laugh at me anyway."

She won't look at him for some reason, and he takes the opportunity to study her appearance, noticing for the first time how spiritless and withdrawn she really looks. For a girl who would normally make her presence known she seems alarmingly intent on shrinking away, diminishing her own light until she's as unremarkably dull as the burnt-out monotony of her surroundings. He feels stupid for coming over here and bothering her with another dipshit impression when she's obviously at an all time low.

"Listen Rachel," he says, making her look up at him again finally. "I'm sorry if I bothered you."

"You didn't," she assures him. "Are you done with your shift?"

"Yeah, finally."

"Well, you can sit down if you want," she offers, gesturing to the empty seat opposite her.

He's surprised she wants company, and shows it in his face.

"I mean, unless you're dying to get out of here, which I would totally understand."

"No, no," he reassures her, taking a seat. He instantly relaxes back into it, sighing in relief. "Feels good to take a load off. I feel like I've been on my feet making coffee for days."

"Well you seem to be getting pretty good at it."

"It's not as lucrative as stripping or male modeling, that's for sure. So I guess the morale of that story is, all the jobs that pay worth a damn are the ones that make you take your clothes off."

She smiles, and thinks she might be blushing a little. She clears her throat. "Well, I'm sure this is just a temporary thing for you. Not that, you know, there's anything wrong with it."

"Yeah, well, we'll see. I mean if I'm not gonna go to college and I'm not gonna sell my body there's only so much else out there that I can do."

"Oh come on, Sam, now why would you even think that? I mean there's so much potential for you, and you're so young, there's so much time, you'll figure it all out eventually."

He smiles a little, appreciating the morale boost, but thinking she more than anyone should probably learn how to take her own advice. "Thanks, Rach. Oh, and I never knew you were such a fan of my McConaughey impression, by the way."

"Who wouldn't be?" she says automatically. Then suddenly her face brightens as an idea enters her head. "Hey! You know what you should do?"

"What?"

"I remember seeing a Youtube video of this guy who's now on Saturday Night Live. He did like 50 impressions in 5 minutes and got millions of hits. You could totally do something like that, I mean who knows who might see it, and Youtube, as we all know, is the most effective way to reach an audience nowadays, I mean all it takes is one video going viral and you could end up on Jimmy Fallon in no time. What do you think?"

Just her enthusiasm alone has him intrigued, and her rapid fire speech makes him think the old Rachel Berry is still very much alive in there somewhere.

"It's not a bad idea," he says, and he thinks rejecting it would do little to kill her buzz, she's so enlivened by the prospect of helping someone pursue their dreams.

"Oh my God, you should totally do it, Sam, I'm serious! I mean your repertoire of impressions is probably huge, I've been hearing you do them for years. Maybe you could also, um, use your modeling skills to your advantage as well...you know, if you-if you wanted to. Just a thought."

She's a little embarrassed now, kind of wishing she hadn't mentioned that last part, and thinking maybe she's coming on a little too strongly since that's a thing she does, well, used to do, and anyway, it wasn't like he'd even asked specifically for any career advice, or tips from her on how to make a video of himself doing impressions while shirtless. Wait...shirtless?

"I think you might be onto something, Rachel," he says. "I mean now that you mention it, I have always wanted to do comedy of some kind. Maybe not stand up comedy where people can boo you off the stage, but a sketch comedy like Saturday Night Live, oh man, that'd be awesome."

She's smiling now, so relieved her overzealousness hasn't thoroughly freaked him out. On the contrary, he seems genuinely intrigued by everything she's suggested thus far. "I never knew you wanted to work in comedy, Sam."

He shrugs. "I guess it's not something I ever let myself think was a viable option. I mean they say dying is easy but comedy is hard."

"It's not that hard if you're good at it," she says with sincerity.

He blushes a little. "Yeah, well. If I thought I was as good at anything as you are at singing I wouldn't have second-guessed myself for a minute."

She tries to smile. The kind of flattery she used to thrive on now just makes her ache inside. "I haven't, um...sang in a really long time."

She's not sure why she even tells him that. It's not like he even cares, or like he was ever on the edge of his seat awaiting her next vocal performance.

"That's ok," he says, looking her in the eye. "Some comedians go a long time without laughing...it doesn't mean they aren't still funny."

She doesn't try to smile, but does anyway. He smiles too and they stay there talking by the fire for quite a while longer.


Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated...I'll try to update this frequently if there's enough interest. Peace!