A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you like this; while I have been writing for years, this is the first thing I've ever published on FF.N, so it would be really nice to hear back from all of you telling me what you think of my "coming out." I wrote most of it prior to Theatricality, but I did my best to adjust for the new things we learned about Shelby in the last episode. I think she's such an interesting character. Anywho, enjoy!
Shelby Corcoran knew a great deal about a great deal, particularly when it came to show choir and everything related. She had magazines depicting fantastic glee clubs around the country and had imagined every one of them competing against Vocal Adrenaline at Nationals; it inspired her to work harder. She kept good relations with mostly everyone she came across in the show-choir circuit including competing coaches. There was no reason to burn bridges, and even when they lost to her and her amazing club, she was shrewd enough to sway them into feeling admiration rather than bitterness—after all, she worked harder than nearly all of them, and few coaches had the ability to inspire the greatness upon her students that she did.
It was because of her in-depth knowledge that she knew the set list for the consistently unimpressive school named McKinley High; specifically, she received the list in an email from someone named Sue Sylvester who apparently worked there. It was such a strange email that she went out of her way to have the set list confirmed by one of her friends in McKinley's school district. In her seat at the Sectionals competition, she felt her stomach ache when she realized that the two other competing schools, Jane Addams Academy and Haverbrook School for the Deaf, were performing the songs on that leaked list. Shelby loved winning but she couldn't believe what she was witnessing. It was anything but sportsmanlike.
Despite this, in the middle of the deaf choir's performance, she was shocked to hear a clear voice ring out loudly from her left, "Meet me in the Green Room in five minutes!" Turning her head, Shelby's heart began beating rapidly. It was Rachel Berry. Even though she was clearly distressed and furious – no doubt about the stolen numbers – Shelby was captivated. As the years went by, Rachel looked more and more like her and she found it completely surreal. The usually calm and composed coach of Vocal Adrenaline was still shaky minutes later from the short glimpse of the girl who 16 years before she had carried in her womb.
She had seen her daughter so few times in her life. That moment in the hospital was the most significant to her, when her weary eyes met that tiny child's dark, wide ones. Occasions when she snuck over to the Berry's and watched the girl through her open bedroom window dancing by herself, completely blissful. Twice she had attended competitions that Rachel participated in (a singing competition when she was five and a dance recital when she was six), but her fathers were observant and noticed her at the recital. She was confronted and firmly reminded of their contract, as though she could have forgotten. She was never supposed to see the girl, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
Tonight it was under the ruse of scoping out the competition. Not to say that it was a total lie; whoever won this evening would be competing against her and her kids at Regionals in a few months. Shelby wasn't incredibly concerned about that, however. Her kids were wonderfully talented and it would take something simply extraordinary to bring them down. As the other McKinley kids filed out of their row when the number concluded looking pale and queasy, she knew not even the incredible skill that Shelby had learned of her daughter could be enough to save them.
During the hour intermission that allowed pee and food breaks for the audience and costume changes and warm up for the next performers, the few Vocal Adrenaline students that chose to attend that evening climbed over her in order to load their stomachs with pretzels and soda. Only Jesse St. James, her brightest star, remained with her, and she felt his eyes boring into the side of her head as she stared at the stage. Did he see how much the girl looked like her? Shelby wondered if she could possibly explain the truth if he asked. How could she admit to having birthed the girl that only minutes ago bravely stood up and demanded her team follow her, and to letting her go? Perhaps he was simply concerned about how tense and still his coach was. She turned and looked back finally, sending him a look that challenged anything he had to say. He frowned and joined his friends in the lobby.
After an hour had passed, the moment she had been waiting for finally arrived. The director of the competition announced McKinley High's Glee Club and she held her breath. Would they dare perform the songs they were set to perform? It would be honest but foolish. The suspense was rather terrible. At last, the music began and Shelby was surprised to hear a very familiar song begin to play. She craned her neck in anticipation to see whoever was to perform it – Would it be her Rachel? – step out from the sides of the stage, but then a spot brightened up the auditorium, unexpectedly pointed towards the rear exit.
It was indeed Rachel who stepped out from the curtain on the opposite side of the theatre and emotively sang the Barbra number, Shelby saw with a small smile forming on her lips. There could be no one better to channel such a unique idol, excluding herself. She wished she were not seated so far away but at least she was able to witness first-hand such a charismatic rendition of one of her all-time favorite songs. Was it Rachel who chose this number and brilliantly entered from the back, ensuring everyone in the room had their eyes trained on her as she moved toward the stage? Was she even nervous? Rachel seemed so confident and at ease striding past the curious and judgmental eyes of the audience. Shelby wondered if there was a way to ensure such unwavering self-assurance in her students, or if it was possible that her own pride and self-belief was able to genetically pass on to this gifted child. Shelby knew she wasn't the only one smiling when the girl draped herself on one of the seats, flirting with those seated in the vicinity, and she certainly wasn't the only one applauding when Rachel hit that final note. Rachel owned that stage and there could be no denying it. She resisted the urge to stand with everyone else, knowing her students were already watching her uncharacteristic reaction.
Rachel introduced New Directions and they began to cover a classic Rolling Stones song, and while it wasn't bad, it certainly wasn't good. The choreography was a mess and the vocals could have used much improvement. Remembering that only an hour ago Rachel led her peers out of the auditorium after the other clubs stole their songs, if they had not already had this number in their repertoire then Shelby could appreciate the rough routine. The ignorant audience members clearly did, as they began clapping along after the first verse, but her Vocal Adrenaline kids were groaning next to her in annoyance and dissatisfaction. When Rachel stepped forward to sing her part, however, Shelby stopped caring about all of that. The number only got better; the group's chemistry was undeniable and Shelby was glad to see that her daughter fit in so well with them. The audience was on its feet, energized by the performance, and the group seemed dazed with the attention. They proudly continued their set, singing a fantastic performance of another classic rock hit, Queen's "Somebody to Love," and as soon as Rachel's perfect high note finished ringing throughout the hall Shelby was on her feet. She faltered, momentarily forgetting herself, and as soon as she was standing she turned to her students and insisted it was time to go.
"Don't you want to see who wins?" asked Ashley, one of her seniors.
"I already know who won," Shelby replied expressionlessly as she pulled on her long winter jacket. With that, she walked past the cheering crowd and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to glimpse New Direction's star one last time.
She had thought she could do it; she thought she could sit back and be happy knowing her child was being raised and spoiled by her loving fathers. She thought she could be content not knowing her. But since that moment Rachel came down the walkway, so proudly performing "Don't Rain on My Parade," something changed in Shelby. She knew it wasn't possible anymore.
When she got to her car, she climbed in and held herself, the silence and solitude calming after the adrenaline rush of the morning. All in all, the Sectionals competition was nothing amazing with exception to the young diva that reminded Shelby so much of herself, but that was enough to unsettle the normally composed woman. Perhaps that was why Jesse St. James was knocking on her passenger window, wanting to talk to her.
She hit the unlock button, inviting him in, and as he opened the door he called over his shoulder, "Just wait in the car, Jordan, I'll be just a minute." Shelby waited patiently until he entered and sealed off the outside world for Jesse to ask her the dreaded question.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
Shelby glared at him, but it was half-hearted. She stared ahead of her, not truly focusing on anything. What could she possibly say to him? How could he possibly understand the gaping hole in her heart?
"Do you have a dream, Jess?"
"I want to be a star, on Broadway, films, everything. You know this."
"That's not a dream, Jesse," Shelby laughed coldly. "A dream is something that fills the emptiness inside and could make all your pain go away if you could only achieve it. Will standing on stage at the Gershwin Theatre bring you true happiness? Is that really your dream?"
She looked at him and saw his brow was furrowed. He couldn't answer her.
"What's your dream, Coach?"
Should she tell him? Could she finally reveal someone the truth about her greatest shame, her only regrettable mistake? If there was anyone she could trust, it would be Jesse. He was a good kid and held great care and respect for his director and inspirer of the last three and a half years. He wouldn't abuse the knowledge if she chose to give it to him.
"I want to know my daughter," she whispered, her eyes locked on her steering wheel.
The silence that was soothing only minutes ago was suddenly palpable and almost unbearable. She felt Jesse's intense stare but couldn't look at him. At last he repeated slowly, "Your daughter?"
"Her name is Rachel Berry. She'll be 16 years old next week."
"So wait, that girl…"
"…New Direction's female lead? Yes."
He seemed satisfactorily shocked, then confused. "Why don't you know her?"
"She lives with her fathers. I was nothing but a surrogate." She stared at her hands. She couldn't talk about this anymore, it was too painful. "Jesse, you should go. Jordan's waiting for you to give him a ride home."
"I wish there's something I could do for you," Jesse murmured sympathetically.
"Just keep this between us." Her eyes flashed in his direction but that was the best she could do. Thoughts of her years of longing were starting to resurface in her memory and they were beginning to boil over. Shelby Corcoran hardly cried, let alone in front of her students, so damn it all if she started now. He opened the door and left, and with no one around she buried her face into her hands and wallowed in self-pity until she could no longer accept her behavior.
Shelby often wondered what most people did mid-afternoon on a Saturday. Were they all at parks, tossing Frisbees and eating potato salad with significant others? Mobbing the movie theatres? Walking in circles around the mall? It had been so long since she felt she had the time to do stuff like that that she didn't know. Her weekends were spent cleaning and running errands, she had that service that delivered DVDs to her house so she rarely visited the theatre anymore (she made exceptions for Meryl Streep movies and any musicals, of course), and her summer and winter breaks were usually reserved for clothes shopping. Any time left over was spent grading papers for her classes or working on Vocal Adrenaline.
She liked nice things. Her home was beautiful and comfortable and was filled with quality appliances, cookware, electronics, you name it. While she was a teacher, she was a successful teacher who was reimbursed for her hard work, and since she had no one to pay for but herself, she treated herself well. It was the least she could do after giving so much away to Carmel High year after year.
After walking in her front door, Shelby hung her coat on the rack and dropped her keys in the bowl she kept inside, leaving her purse next to it. Once in a while she considered getting a pet – her parents had a Yorkshire Terrier that she adored – but knew she'd kill the thing in weeks because of how much time she spent at the high school working with the glee club. Certainly it would be nice to be happily greeted at the door by something other than silence for a change.
She followed the well-treaded path to her study, which could be momentarily blinding for those who did not expect to be surrounded with glistening, glittery trophies and plaques from her many accomplishments the last three and a half decades. While she lacked anything substantial like a Tony, an Oscar, an Emmy or a Grammy like she once had hoped to have as a young naïve girl, she was proud of her collection. It reminded her why she was motivated the way she was; it felt good to be recognized for her talents and hard work. Growing up, she was constantly reminded that her dreams were unrealistic, unreasonable and valueless. Perhaps those people were right in some respects, but surrounding the place she spent a great deal of her time working was proof that she could accomplish so much if she tried, not only for herself but for so many of her students who were also told they had impractical and vain aspirations.
Sometimes her awards made her feel empty inside, however, when she thought about what they replaced. Her dreams had changed so much since she was young, and what was shown on the walls associated with ambitions from long ago. They didn't suffice in satisfying her for long, as there was something she knew was missing from these walls: pictures of her little girl.
Perhaps that was the problem. She had trouble ditching the idea that Rachel was hers; in her defense, Rachel Berry grew inside of Shelby's body for the better part of a year and had half of her DNA. The original plan was to simply incubate a baby for a couple that would take good care of it, but over time she failed to remain detached. It started with the first time she went with the Berrys to get an ultrasound: the rapid heartbeat echoed in her head for days like a fast-paced song. The second time was worse, when the three of them found out that the unborn child was a girl and she began really understanding that the fetus inside of her was a person. She also remembered when random strangers would walk up to her in grocery stores, look into her anxious eyes and tell her about how having a child changes you for the better and can bring more happiness than anything else imaginable. When a woman high on naturally produced hormones hears this repeatedly, it becomes difficult for her to ignore the personal relationship she has with her unborn child. She never corrected these people and told them that she was planning on handing it over to someone else, but maybe she should have so she would have been left with the necessary guilt rather than light feelings of desire. The vivid memories that sealed the deal included sitting on her shabby couch in her old apartment, watching Funny Girl with her hands on her round stomach, and instead of imagining herself as a Fanny Brice-esque sensation in her future she sat there for hours feeling the baby move.
Maybe that was why she visited MySpace first thing when she booted up her laptop. Hearing her daughter at Sectionals sing a song that Shelby was certain inherently connected them stirred up repressed emotions of longing that she worked extremely hard to contain. It had been at least a couple of months since she went to the teenager's MySpace page to simply watch her sing, admiring her talent, and if not for her own weaknesses she might have been able to go on longer.
Before she knew it, two hours had passed while she caught up on Rachel's daily videos and replayed old favorites, including (twice) watching the solo she had heard live earlier that day. A quarter hour of that was spent scowling as she read some of the unkind comments posted by her classmates and fuming at the indecency of human beings. Couldn't any of those bitches see how naturally talented her baby girl was? She recovered when she realized that Rachel didn't let their criticisms stop her—she took after her mom more than she would ever know.
It took great personal control to close out of the MySpace page in order to spend the rest of her day doing something productive. She ditched her heels and dress for a pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt and a cardigan sweater and went back to her desk to grade papers and outline lesson plans for the next week until a headache began developing.
She vaguely wondered if she should spend the rest of the evening taking it easy. No doubt she had to feed herself at some point, and she took some time to sauté up some chicken and vegetables, chop up a salad, and, because she felt it necessary, pop open a bottle of wine. She thought about Vocal Adrenaline as she chewed, and New Directions' crowd-pleasing classic rock routines, and wondered if she ought to add a couple of 70's hits to her team's repertoire. It had been a while since she included any, and Jesse and the kids would probably enjoy some AC/DC or Led Zeppelin. She'd have to give it more thought.
Surprisingly, that was where her mind stopped thinking about Vocal Adrenaline for the evening. Instead, it lingered on New Directions and their bright young star. After all of her dishes were clean, she took her wine glass and her partially empty bottle and shuffled over to her grand piano, where she dropped rather ungracefully and plunked on a few keys before settling her head on the cool, polished wood.
Every year that passed by since she officially became a mother became more and more difficult than the last. She couldn't understand this; shouldn't it be easier to let it go and accept that birthing Rachel was part of her past? Maybe it would have been if she hadn't fallen for the person she housed in her belly or if she didn't live only miles away from and keep tabs on the girl. She had the perfect chance in New York but when she was there, that passion that lead her there was unexpectedly and disturbingly diminished. Her heart was back in Ohio. But Shelby Corcoran was a driven person and she used all of the money she earned from the Berrys and every ounce of her energy to try to make it on the Great White Way. When she failed to make a name for herself, she came back home and settled down.
When she became sick years later, it seemed almost biblical, like some higher power was rubbing her face in her bad decisions and failures. She could never have any more children. Rachel would be her one and only, and she couldn't even call her daughter her own. It wasn't fair.
Shelby refilled her wine glass and stared at it momentarily before practically chugging the liquid down. She was not typically much of a drinker, limiting herself to one glass or less periodically, but every once in a while she had too much. The most humiliating memory she had was of one of these times: it was just months after her surgery – the unfortunate, unavoidable one that insured her infertility – and she stumbled up to the Berrys door late one night, pounding loudly at the door until the two men answered the door. She forced them to look into her despairing eyes and pleaded frantically with them to let her see her baby girl, to simply hold her. Her drunken request was about as effective as could be expected, and in her desperation she even threw herself at them, attempting to break through the strong barrier their bodies made between her and Rachel. The noise was enough to wake the slumbering child and the nine year old shuffled down the stairs, asking what was going on.
"Nothing, sweetheart, go back to bed," one of her fathers told her. "This woman is lost and Daddy is going to help her get home."
Rachel was too bleary-eyed to really look at Shelby and Shelby was too shocked at the breathtaking child in front of her to beg for her attention. It was for the best that the girl turned around and went back to sleep because if Shelby had her way at that moment, she would have sobbed uncontrollably in front of the young girl and begged her for a kind of forgiveness that she wasn't yet able to fully comprehend, let alone give. She could imagine this because she spent the last 15 years of her life hearing about what a miserable drunk she could be. Her friends even stopped inviting her out with them to dance at gay clubs because she ended up having one too many shots and blubbering the rest of the evening about how pathetic she was, and when she did curb her drinking around them, they grew tired of her introversion. So, since that dramatic night, she made an effort to limit her alcohol and avoided any contact with all three of the Berrys, which meant settling for waiting for Rachel to share her life on the internet or admiring her from the audience when she stepped into Shelby Corcoran's world of Glee.
Shelby stared at the few drops of liquid left in her wine glass. Clearly, tonight she had something else to add to the constantly growing list of things she's failed at. She sighed, allowing her fingers to slide against the ivory keys and produce melodies that represented her melancholy. She had a great deal of original work in her head, inspired by the many ups and downs of her life, and her hands produced her music as flawlessly as if they were moving of their own accord. Before long, she transitioned into more well-known music, specifically a song she always turned to when thoughts of Rachel reminded her of her life.
Music was supposed to be an outlet to express one's self, but it was never enough for Shelby because Rachel would never know how she felt. Yeah, it sucked never finding success in showbiz, it was unpleasant being lonely, but the worst was by far the longing for a life and a dream she could never have. Sixteen years had gone by and never once had Rachel indicated that she wanted to find her mom, and since Shelby couldn't go to her until her daughter was at least 18 years old, she was destined to stay this way for another two years at minimum.
But dreams were not meant to be easy; they demanded people to look inside and do whatever it took to make them come true. Shelby Corcoran knew a great deal about a great deal and one of the things she knew best in the world was how to push towards her goals, so why should this be any different? Staring at her hands as they drifted along the keys, producing the refrain to the famous Fantine solo, she knew what it would take to finally recover Rachel, to make her understand her longing and her regrets, and to finally unite them. She knew how to make her dream finally come true.