Title: Hierarchy
Genre: Romance/drama
Ship: Sam/Rachel
Rating: T
Summary: They're toxic, kind of like Romeo and Juliet. The perfect pair, but everyone on the outside looking in sees the toxic that they're desperately trying to hide. That mayor part in their life's that distance them; the social hierarchy.
AN: Sam's been in McKinley since freshman year, Rachel's never dated Finn, Jesse, or Puck… Actually, you could just kind of call this an AU. And the jocks and cheerios never joined Glee club, either. It takes place, however, in junior year.
Dear diary,
I saw her today, again. The undying bright smile on her face, the twinkle scattered in her eyes, her luscious movements and the picture perfect body. It was all there.
She was singing in the auditorium like she always does. Kind of like her sacred place. You know, where she can be at ease and stuff. She sings really well, but I think I told you that before.
I watched her the whole time. When she was eating, I watched her, when she was singing, I watched her, when she was talking to Kurt, I watched her, when she got slushied, I stood by, and watched her. I felt helpless than, I feel hopeless now. But I told you that before too, didn't I?
It's all I can do, you know – watching, gazing, smiling when she catches my eye.
She always smiles back, all bright like, her pouty pink lips curled up.
Our lips would be perfect together.
Like a forbidden dream come true.
…
He does it again. Karofsky. He picks her out of all the students in McKinley high and slushies her.
She's all drippy and soaked afterwards, staring down defeated. It's when she takes their little vents in; when they smile and laugh and bark and call her all the names that they've bred upon for weeks prior. Her tiny fists are balled up and she's glaring at the floor. Helplessly, hopelessly. It's how he feels too when he looks at her. When they pad his shoulder reassuringly. ''We got her there.'' They'll smile, jut their chins to her soaked form. And he'd stand idly by. ''Let's see if she'll open up her big jap again.''
She does. She always, always does.
And then they slushy her again – they always, always do.
She's strong, Sam settles on. She's a tough girl. He admires that, craves it too. He wishes he could be strong like that. Not physically strong, 'cause he got that. But mentally, capable of going on without giving a shit what others might think. Her beautiful mouth always opens, and then she says things like; Broadway star, and smart, and aspiring actress. And then she goes on and on and on about her dreams that seem so far away to him – to everyone.
He thinks they're jealous. Angry, actually. Pissed off that she carries so much, so much, so much believe. And trust. He's kind of jealous too. Because secretly he wants to be just as mentally strong as her. Capable of ignoring everyone whose ideals are against hers - his.
She dreams for herself, for no one else.
He dreams too, actually. A lot.
He wishes upon those stars that she compares herself to. And when he wishes, he wishes about things that are just as far out of his reach. Like the others see her dreams.
And maybe that's what draws his sight to hers. To her endless bright smile and chocolate eyes that seem to look right into his soul. And perhaps he dreams just as large as her – only she dreams bigger, only hers are accessible – and she might just follow her dreams too, while he'll stand at those sidelines of hers.
To everyone he's playing a part of their game, part of their world. But to her, he's at her sidelines – along with the rest of the school. In her world, he's not important.
He dreams to be a part of her world.
…
Dear dairy,
She used to smile at me when she caught me looking – I'd always smile back. I think it's like a secret little conversation we have going on. Only we're in on it. Only we understand. It's kind of exciting when I think of it. Sometimes I crave that little time of the day – our secret little bond. I think we're like magnets or something. Is that freaky? Or just really creeperish?
But then suddenly, she stopped. Suddenly our bond became nonexistence.
…
She always looks away when he looks at her.
It's like he's burning her from afar. His stare is fire while she's made out of grass. It aches her, he thinks. It hurts her, perhaps. She can't look too long or else she'll burn. And everyone around them will be part of the flames. She's suffered enough; he's seen it, he's been there. She can't suffer any longer. Sometimes he's unwillingly been part of it; saw a lightened match hike up to her body and set her up in flames.
He wonders just how much she can take in – when is it enough for her. When does she crumble into ashes?
Could it ever even be enough for her?
He admires her for her strength. He looks at her because he admires her – thinks about her – writes in his stupid diary about her. She haunts his mind at a daily basis; she graces the halls and claims his eyes without even trying. He doesn't know what she's doing to him – and neither does she.
It stays a secret. Locked behind a book filled with half empty pages.
…
Her voice sends something down his heart.
It's a light flutter, a light breeze that wells his chest up. She belts out words that touch him; 'forever' 'him' 'my own'. It's beautiful. She's in a trance and she picks him up during it, pulls him in when she's there, and holds him above the ground. He's flying. Like that girl from Titanic. She's holding him up. He's honestly soaring.
He's going to fall. He knows that. He shouldn't even be looking at her from the start. She doesn't know that he's in her grasp, someone can simply come along, sweep her off her feet and she lets go. Let's go of him. And he falls.
And she wouldn't even know.
But he's so tangled up in her fingers, so deep in her hands. He can't, he just can't escape. It's impossible.
Does he even want to?
…
Rachel is her name.
He finds out, one day, from Finn in the locker room.
He's not in on the conversation. He never is. They talk about girls that he's not interested in, parties he's not intending to join (but will, because that's what everyone expects him to do), and about COD.
He does talk when they're in on COD, but that's all.
Finn talks about her like she's crazy – batshit crazy he refers to her. And everyone snickers. Finn shrugs like he's done something so totally amazing that it's not even worthy to utter a word, but the motion only is enough. And he shakes his head because this isn't worthy to listen to.
Her name is beautiful though. Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. It fits her.
''How'd you know her name anyway?'' Azimio asks, tugging his shirt over his body. ''You banging her?''
Finn snickers this time and his blood boils, the color leaving his face. ''Well.'' Sam's fists clench. ''No… But Kurt brings her home a lotta times, so yeah. Kind of heard it.''
He relaxes, instantly.
They suddenly get bored talking about her and soon forget that she even exists. It's about Santana, and Quinn and he gets pulled into the subject when they fall on Quinn; the ice Queen who wants him and him only. She's even said it like that. Stated it point blank.
But that was after he saw Rachel. After he felt this heart wrenching pull towards the brunet. After his dreams reeked of her petite body. That was after. And after is too late for Quinn.
He shrugs the subject off, nonchalantly.
…
They talk for the first time in… forever, when he meets her in Breadsticks.
She's watering and he's there on his own, about to pick up food because his mom told him so. He didn't want to come; he would rather spend the rest of his time in his room drawing a few images of whatever comes to his mind. He doesn't regret coming, though. Not at all anymore.
As soon as she catches his eye, she looks away. He thinks it's fear. He thinks she's scared of him when he sees her body tense up. And secretly, he can't blame her for that.
He walks up to the counter, ignoring his raging heartbeat. She's the only one standing there. Breadsticks is kind of empty and the three or so people sitting in the booths seem satisfied, eating, chattering. They're okay. She's not at liberty to help them now. They don't need her help.
He does, though.
She takes in a few deep breaths before walking up to him with a bright smile that she has forced onto her face.
He never knew she worked her.
''Hey –''
''Can I get you anything?'' She cuts him off, forcefully.
He's not going to lie, that'd hurt. ''Um, yeah. I –'' he looks at her. He's not at all surprised of her beauty. Her high cheekbones and her brown chocolate eyes. She has that determined sparkle in her eyes that she's known for. It's that little feature that speaks more words than lips could ever utter.
''I didn't know you work here.'' He says instead. Voicing his thoughts.
She's a bit taken back that he's so curious about her. Her of all people.
She shouldn't be.
''Yes… I…'' She frowns, looking at him. She's searching for something and he slightly, just slightly, moves underneath her stare. ''I didn't start long ago.''
''How long?'' He drills in.
''…a few weeks – why are you so curious?''
She frowns like she's seriously trying to spot something wicked. But after she blows out a breath and her frowns soothes, he thinks that she's found nothing.
('Cause there's none.)
''I just am.'' He pauses. ''I'm Sam by the way. Sam Evans.''
''I know.'' She states bluntly, shaking her head easily, causing her ponytail to swipe against her face. ''I mean… everyone knows you. You're. Sam. McKinley high's quarterback. The star athlete.''
He smiles, gently. At least he's not the only one intimidated.
''So, can I get you anything, Sam?''
He nods and tells her the things his mom told him – perfectly repeating word for word.
It's there, when she nods and steps away, that Breadsticks officially becomes his number one hangout place.
…
She never spares him a glance at school – not during their lessons together, not when he passes her in the hallways, not when he subtly (but unsubtly) looks at her – not ever, not at all. She's pushed him into that little cramped corner full of disbelieving, spiteful people; a part of Azimio, Karofsky and all the others who treat her like crap. It's how she still sees him. And therefore, not someone worth looking at, not someone worth sparing a glance at. He's nothing to her. Simply a ghost.
But when he comes to Breadsticks, he suddenly exists.
He doesn't know how he feels about this – should he be happy? He isn't. Angry? He kind of is. Is she looking after him? She shouldn't, though. He can take care of himself. He can handle what everyone thinks.
Yet he never makes any initiation of talking to her at school – so he wonders now; is he scared? Does he fear what she fears? What they have is nothing to worry about. It's just two people talking to each other. Is that so wrong? Finn does it with Kurt. So what can't he do it with Rachel?
He never asks, because what's the point in trying?
He's sitting at the counter of Breadsticks one day while she's watering two girls as she pours some coffee into both their cups. Afterwards she settles on walking back to him, placing the kettle on the counter.
She leans forward on her elbows, glancing at the costumers.
''Hey… are we… are we cool?'' He asks, looking up at her.
She raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. ''Yes, of course why?''
''No reason. I just wanted to know.''
He smiles, but the crease on her forehead tells him that she doesn't entirely believe him.
…
Dear diary,
I wish it could've been me, instead of her.
…
It's a mass attack. And she's the center of their hatred.
It happens right in the middle of the hallway, with students standing at the sides and teachers nowhere in sight. They never are. When he needs them the most – when he needs them, like, right now – they aren't there. But when they're completely unnecessary, they suddenly grace his life with their existences. The reality of it is unfair. The thought of it is unfair. The sight of it is utterly unfair.
Quinn's the one leading the attack. She's the one giving of the signal to the six football players and two cheerios behind her. She's the one raising her hand, her manicured fingers dangling in the air as if she's eagerly waiting to give of the start sign, like they do it on a track.
It's one.
The cups rise.
It's two.
He stands idly by, hearing the snap of two fingers in the air.
And three comes too soon, as the petite girl is caught by surprise.
No one dares to give her time to recover as the sound of laughter fills the hallways.
The sordid thing – the most despicable display ever, walks towards him, trails her fingers over his shoulder and smiles that Satan worthy smile. Her grouchy, hissing voice flies out of her mouth in defying wisps as she murmurs; ''That was fun. Next time… play too.'' And flings her perfect index finger against his cheek. Flaunching away as if she thought that he would be watching her ass swivel in her almost none existent skirt.
He never does. Because the petite girl covered in blue and red slush entrances him more than any short Cheerios skirt on the ice Queen could've ever done.
…
Dear diary,
I asked her if I could borrow a pen. A pen!
She said yes.
…
It takes a lot out of him, okay. Like really, really, really much. His palms are sweaty and his heart is racing a mile a minute. Everyone's looking at him and he's just standing there, in class (In school, for crying out loud), next to her desk while moving from one foot to the other. It's like she senses his presence or anyone's presence actually, as she looks up. Slightly terrified. It glazes over in her eyes, and he's fast and alert and catches it before it's entirely gone. When she sees it's him he expects at least a tiny little smile, or some sort of relief.
There's relief. No smile.
He asks her the first words that he's ever uttered to her on school. Ever. And they've been sharing a class for a little over two years now – while he's been watching her (not stalkerish or creeperish, just like, watching, whatever). It becomes their very first real words. Not the first words they've ever said to each other, he's got that covered. But the first words that he's said to her in front of them.
''Can I borrow a pen?''
She raises an eyebrow. And he's sure that the students behind him have the same confused expression as she has. No one expects this. Them. Talking. Even if it's yet so little. Not even she expects it.
''I – I yes.'' She frowns. ''Yeah.'' It comes out flabbergast and halting as she shakes her head and zips open her etui, taking out a blue pen for him.
(He wonders if she ever chews on the top of the lid.)
She gives him the pen and he takes it, accidently (purposefully) letting his fingers grace against hers. And she immediately pulls her hand away as if his fire has barely graced the points of her grass blades.
''Thanks.'' He mutters.
She shrugs. ''You're welcome.''
He looks at her, for a little bit. It's a short little bit for anyone looking at them, but it's long enough for her to pull her sight away from his and break that little special moment that they've always seemed to have before she cut all of their mental ties of.
(It hurts. But when does it not?)
When he turns around he sees everyone – literally everyone – in the classroom looking at him.
Finn's confused the ever so dopey puppy look on his face. Puck's frowning, Santana's shaking her head, Mike's surprised and Quinn looks ready to kill someone. He wants to say that the rest of the students are okay with him asking Rachel Berry for a pen, but he can't.
'Cause they aren't.
He sits down on his chair, blissfully ignoring the pointed looks against the back of his head as he thumbs the lid of the pen. Moving his finger against the bite marks, as if trying to savor the feeling.
As if trying to imagine her lips.
…
He's not hers.
She stakes her claim on him right in front of the lockers in the middle of the hallway. Her hands slam against the locker door and she leans dangerously forward to the smaller girl. Her lips are hovering in front of the brunets face and if it was possible, she looks even scarier than he has ever seen her before. Her manicured bloody finger nails rise and her index finger points accusingly at Rachel's face.
If he could, if he had the guts, he would've walked up to Quinn and called her off. If he dared, if he knew where to find the will to move his legs from his friends, he would've done it without a second thought.
But those are if's.
And Rachel's clutching her books against her chest, shaking her head, frowning, talking back, denying, ignoring, trying to walk away. But she fails and fails and fails as Quinn's deadly grip tightens around Rachel's wrist.
Rachel pulls her hand out of Quinn's grasp, hisses something her way and turns around with her chin held high.
Then another slushy hits her face, jolting her to a stop.
And it sickens him all at once.
He can't stand here.
He can't look anymore.
So he walks away.
(She's perfect. Really. In every way. She's the perfect girl, the perfect star, the perfect honor student. She's the perfect everything. But he's not perfect, and he can't be anything to her.)
…
Dear diary,
She hates me. I know she does. Why else would she ignore me? Can I blame her? Could you blame me? Could I blame myself? Or blame Quinn? I'll blame Quinn, it's easier.
It's my fault too, isn't it?
I should've been stronger, shouldn't I?
She hates me.
…
She starts treating him like a costumer instead of a sort of friend, a sort of classmate, a sort of acquaintance. She starts treating him more like a stranger. More like something that's there. Just there. Nothing else. Nothing important. It's a 'hello, what do you need, is that all?' and she's gone. It's give and take and walk away and then she's gone.
He can't ask her to stay, he doesn't have the right too.
(But he wants to ask.)
…
He feels like he's been building something between them, for the past few days. It's not big, on the outside. But to him, it's enormous. He made a daring step, walked into the line of fire and attempted to pull her out of it. Hoping that in the process he wouldn't get burnt. Just, pull her out, walk away unscratched, proud, happy, and move on with his life. Maybe even a little bit wiser.
Sam doesn't reach her though, he does get burnt, and while in complete shock, he finds himself trapped between the flames.
She's not just a fascination, anymore. But an obsession.
A lethal one.
(But he swears, as the flames find a way to cease him, that his fingertips touched her for a second.)
…
TBC
I don't own Glee.