He's been the Glee club's pianist for close to 20 years now. After starting to play in the short-lived orchestra club when he was still in high school, he's learned over 7000 pieces of music and how to play in about four different styles. He sits alone in his studio apartment above the train station and probably annoys his neighbours with his three hours of practicing, but Brad never wants to fall behind. He not only has to support the Glee club; he has to support himself, too.
Being a choir pianist doesn't pay much. Brad moonlights at Lima's one and only jazz joint (which is more just like a regular bar . . . dark, dirty and full of weird people), and on Sunday, he plays for Lima First Presbyterian. He's not religious, doesn't especially care about the words to the hymns he's playing, but the small stipend from the minister keeps him in groceries and heating through the cold winters.
There are times Brad plays for himself. Most of the time, though, he plays for other people, who are interested in his technique and not really what he has to say. He never says much because it's not his voice people want to hear. They want accompaniment, not advice. And that's okay with Brad, most of the time.
He met Rachel Berry the second day she arrived at William McKinley. She'd been checking out the music room, and he'd been practicing "Love Changes Everything" from Aspects of Love for Sandy Ryerson's latest harebrained attempt to put on a Broadway show, when he heard pure soprano voice take up the melody and he looked over his shoulder to see the dark-haired freshman standing behind him.
He played to the end of the measure, then stopped and looked at her expectantly. She looked back at him levelly, but her expression was confused.
"Why'd you stop?"
Her voice was high, with a slightly whiny note, and he furrowed his brow. "I guess I didn't expect you to know the song. Or to come in between classes."
She cocked her head to the side. "Of course I know the song. Are you the school choir pianist?"
"Among other things." He shuffled music, and then looked at her, sighing. "Can I help you?"
"What's your name?"
"Brad."
"Brad what?"
"Just Brad." He played a run on the piano, finding the beat from deep inside him, tracing the melody through groups of syncopated notes, and he didn't realize she was still standing there until she applauded.
"That was really good!"
He grunted, looked at her again, and then turned his back.
"Are you going to ask me who I am?" she asked proudly and expectantly, and he almost rolled his eyes.
"No."
"Oh." The sad, forlorn note in her voice made him turn around again, and he shifted on his piano stool, leaning against the edge of the piano's keyboard, looking her up and down.
She was wearing a frumpy-looking kilt and weird sweater, and her hair was carefully pinned off her face. Clearly, she wasn't into dressing in the latest fashions. Not that he normally cared, but it explained something about her annoying persistence. She was the type to go against the crowd. He sighed again, not really caring who she was or why she was there, but feeling sorry for her, anyway.
"Who are you?"
Immediately, her face split into a grin that brightened the entire room, and he raised his eyebrows at her confident hip thrust and straightening back. "I'm Rachel Berry." Her tone was very expectant.
"Hi, Rachel Berry. I'm busy, okay? If you're looking for the choir, they practice Tuesdays and Thursdays at four. Otherwise, it's probably time for you to get back to class."
She stamped a foot, and his face turned completely blank. "You don't have to be so rude. I was just curious as to who was playing. I haven't heard a school pianist sound that good ever. Clearly, your rudeness explains why you're in here alone." Her nose wrinkled at the last part, as if she wasn't in the exact same boat as he was.
He was mildly surprised at her outburst, but didn't show it. Instead, he turned his back and said over his shoulder, "You have a nice voice. Come back after school. I'll show you what I've been practicing. They need some strong female voices in the Glee club. Sandy's a little obsessed with the male voices right now."
He didn't wait to see her face brighten, but the skipping, shuffling sound of her penny loafers on the gritty tile told him that he probably made her day.
Though the entire interaction was over the top and vaguely weird, he found himself slightly more amused than he should be for an annoying prima donna. She was just another annoying student, after all.
/~/
"No, Rachel. God." Brad brought his fist down on his long-suffering piano and it made a pained, jangled noise under his blow. "You can't just decide to not follow the accompaniment. Do you want to get kicked out? Mr. Ryerson isn't exactly known for his patience and appreciation of creative license when it comes to students."
Rachel stamped her foot, not an uncommon action, and he rolled his eyes. "Enough with the tantrums. Either sing the measure, or we're done for today."
Her eyebrows shot into her hairline, and he took a small, grim bit of pleasure at watching her face turn from red to purple. "Excuse me? Are you really trying to tell me what to do or when I get to stop practicing?"
"Are you really trying to order me around when I'm staying after hours to help you with this song?"
Her mouth opened in a retort, but with a knowing look from Brad, she closed her mouth. She couldn't resist a parting shot, however. "You're just the accompanist. You're not the director."
"I'm the only piano you've got right now, unless you'd like to go back to garbled tapes on broken boom boxes."
Her face crumpled, then, and he leaned against the keyboard. G, A, and B hummed gently under his elbow. "Rachel. What the hell."
He'd found that sympathy made the tantrums worse; and honestly, that wasn't his style. He didn't care to wipe tears off the top of the baby grand. So he'd tried the hardass line with Rachel, and found that it bore fruit. She either yelled at him, which smartened her up out of the tantrum, or she stormed out, which let him off the hook. Either way, it was no skin off his nose. He wasn't even sure why he was taking time out to help her.
She only squirmed uncomfortably and he realized it'd been at least two hours since they had started. "Take a break. Get a drink, go to the bathroom." He got up, stretching his legs, and looked down at her, against the makings of scaffolding on the auditorium stage.
"Relax, okay? Don't be such a prima donna. You've got a good voice. Now, work with me, and Sandy might give you a solo in the next concert."
"He should have given me the solo anyway!" Now her face was screwed up into something ugly and unrecognizable, and Brad knew when it was time to quit. She was tired, probably hungry, and definitely too annoying to deal with right now.
"Go home, Rachel. We'll try again tomorrow."
He turned his back, and heard her foot hit the dusty stage several times in succession. So, he took his sheet music, and walked out.
Instead of hearing the scream he expected, though, he heard her voice rise above the seats to hit the back of the venue, filling the space with the purity he'd been trying to coach from her all practice.
He stopped and listened to her finish the song, and then she stood confidently, her shoulders dropping, the tears glistening a little on her cheeks, and waited.
He was stingy with his praise. "Finally. Same time tomorrow."
And instead of a retort bitten back at him, she just smiled. "Thanks. Tomorrow."
/~/
The six Glee club kids gather together in the corner of the stage and Brad stifles a yawn, watching them confer over this supposed amazing number that they were going to perform for the new director, Will Schuester. He met Will once, right when Sandy was ordered out of the school in disgrace, but Brad hasn't been called upon to play for the choir since the auditions. Then, he saw Rachel in true form – her "On My Own" had been breathtaking, if a little over the top.
Now he watches her stamp her foot and try to order the other kids around, and he has to smile, because they're having none of it.
The African-American girl, Mercedes, just rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Rachel. Why can't you listen to someone else's ideas for a change?"
Brad clears his throat, a little loudly, but only Rachel looks back at him – she's performed with him long enough to know his cues.
"Well, why don't we run through the number, and just see how it goes? I'm sure Mr. Schue will like it either way. Especially since I did the mixing on it."
The tall boy sighs. Finn, Brad thinks his name is? Or something like that. Something trendy. Either way, he looks irritated with Rachel, and Brad just starts playing the opening chords of "Don't Stop Believin'" to shut everyone up.
It works. The kids sound amazing. Rachel's voice is transcendent, and Brad can see the extra practice has been paying off.
The look she gives Finn, though, is another story.
When the number is over, Brad leans on his piano keyboard and watches the kids congratulate each other.
However, no one turns to congratulate Rachel . . . and for some reason, he wants to pull her aside and tell her just how much she's improved, himself.
He keeps quiet.
/~/
Time passes. The Glee club goes through their annoying drama, through which Brad stares blankly. He's not called upon to offer advice, though he'd like to smack some sense into most of them, Will Schuester notwithstanding.
He's still practicing weekly with Rachel, who occasionally tells him what's on her mind, and more often these days, just harangues about the Glee kids, whom she feels can never measure up to her brilliance. It's boring.
It's even more boring when she gets going on her boy problems. For a kid who's incredibly lonely, she has a crazy love life going on. She's hung up on Finn and some other boy named Puck. It's pretty boring, but he listens in spite of himself – and ends up comforting her when the objects of her affection end up, inevitably, going elsewhere.
Now, she's stuck on Noah Puckerman, whom she simperingly calls "Noah". Brad half listens as she gushes over him one afternoon in late fall.
"The Glee kids call us "Puckleberry". It's stupid, I guess, but it kind of makes me laugh."
"It sounds stupid. But this kid doesn't really sound like a winner, either."
She bristles. "He's a really good singer, Brad. It's not like he has no talent."
Brad shuffles music on the stand of the piano and smirks. "If he did, you wouldn't be with him. I know the story. So, do I get to meet him?"
"He's the guy with the Mohawk. You've already met him."
"I don't pay attention to the choir when I play."
"You don't pay attention to anything except that piano," she mutters, and then smiles suddenly, desperately, as a boy with a Mohawk swaggers into the auditorium.
"I'm not sure why we're doing this. I've got better things to do." He's at least a foot taller than Rachel and has a scowl on his face that looks like the perpetual kind. Brad takes an instant dislike, but ducks his head as Rachel shrugs, a little nervously.
"I just want to make sure that our duet sounds perfect tomorrow."
"I'm not really sure why I even agreed to sing with you. You're a loser, Berry," grumbles Puck, but takes his place on the other side of the piano. Brad grimaces at Rachel's star-struck expression and starts playing the opening chords of "He Loves, She Loves", from Funny Face.
Puck has a surprisingly strong voice, with just the right amount of confidence to pull off the Fred Astaire part. Rachel, however, is sharp, and stumbles several times over the notes until Puck finally turns to Brad and hisses at him to stop. Brad doesn't appreciate it, but stops all the same.
"Rachel, you're supposed to be good at this. Why do you suck so fuckin' bad?"
She looks disappointed, and Brad suddenly has an urge to hit Puck, or Noah, or whatever his name actually was. After almost a year playing with Rachel and listening to her problems, he knows exactly how she feels about this kid. Puck, however, treats Rachel with the same offhandedness that everyone does, and for some reason, Brad finds himself getting uncharacteristically protective.
"I don't know. I guess I just am not feeling this duet."
"Well, it's stupid anyway. We should be doing something better. A rock song, not something boring and show-tuney."
"Noah, I picked this because I felt it showcased your voice." Rachel puts her hands on her hips and regards Puck with her trademark "duh" look. "I like it. Your voice is really good for this song."
"I don't care," he says, and then jumps down from the stage. "I'm done here, Berry. If you want me, you know where to find me."
The door bangs behind him, and Brad turns around to see Rachel standing forlornly against the edge of the stage.
"I thought he'd like it. I thought he'd want to practice." Her voice is small and sad, and Brad doesn't know what to do or say for a moment. He pats her awkwardly on the shoulder.
"Don't worry about it. Look, I got the sheet music you wanted. Let's practice that instead."
She brightens slightly, but as she prepares herself to sing, he catches a slight slump in her shoulders, and again, feels the need to punch this Puck kid in the face.
It doesn't matter now, though. Rachel straightens up, looks Brad in the eyes, and tries to smile.
"From the top?"