A/N This is my first attempt at a published fanfic, I'm sorry if it sucks so far. I have no idea how long it's gonna be, but a lot longer than this... I promise you it does turn St. Berry eventually. I'd like to point out that the main character is Rachel, though (Just the way she likes it!) and it's not all romance. Actually, I tend to be... notsogood at writing fluff, so...

In case this isn't clear, Rachel chose Finn over Broadway and married him, and seriously regrets it. Mark my words, ANYBODY who married Finn would regret it, especially someone as destined for greater things than Rachel. So they got divorced and now she's flyin' off to NYC like she planned.

...

How had it all disappeared?

24-year-old Rachel Berry pondered this as she buckled her seat belt on the airplane. How could something she planned so meticulously and fantasized about for years just… fail? Wasn't 'love and determination can conquer all' the theme of every show on Broadway? (Well, love, determination, and talent, in her case.) Wasn't she supposed to get a happy ending after all the stress? Wasn't-

'In case of a water landing, the cushions of your seats also function as simple floatation devices. Simply lift the seat, and hold it to your chest like so. Oxygen masks are also available in an emergency, so you can simply pull the chord and the mask will be delivered. Simply put it on as illustrated in the picture…'

Rachel silently cursed the irritating voice. She considered unclasping her seat belt after the attendant came by to check it and clasping it as soon as the little light signaling she could move was on just to be contrary, but then thought it was too immature. However, she was going to leave her phone on for the entire flight if the grating, automated voice said 'simply' or 'simple' one more time.

'... Our food is simply delicious and will be available from the flight attendants in about 90 minutes. Thank you for flying American Airlines!'

Well, okay, then. Rachel turned on her iPhone and then shoved it into the pocket of her purple polka-dotted sweater so no one would see. Her eyes scanned her carry-on suitcase, shoved under the seat in front of her. Rachel caught sight of the bag's label. 'Rachel Hudson-Berry', it read. She felt tears welling up and thought Well, I guess I need a new tag, then. Because no way was she keeping that reminder. It wasn't coming with her to New York, not for all the lead roles on Broadway. Well, yeah, she'd take it with her for all the lead roles on Broadway, but under no other circumstances. Anyway, it wasn't going to get her any roles... That was Rachel's responsibility. And she was casting aside the bag and the obsolete name on it, which was the point. This was a time of letting go of her past and chasing her dreams, of achieving what she'd always wanted with no hindrances. This was the dawning of the Rachel Berry era, the escape from anything that would hold her back. Rachel was ready to fly, and nobody in all the world, no dumb inn-tasy there is or was, was ever gonna bring her down.

The plane took off, and Rachel watched Ohio disappear from sight, knowing she'd probably never see it again. Smiling through the bittersweet moment, she took out her book (BARBRA STREISAND IN NEW YORK CITY: a Self-Guided Tour of Landmark Locations in the Career of Barbra Streisand by Bernie Ardia) and began to read, becoming so absorbed she almost forgot about her pain. Almost.

...

Two hours later, Rachel was interrupted sharply. Several bars of 'Don't Rain on My Parade' blasted from her pocket, waking up a napping toddler in the seat behind her and earning Rachel a glare from the mother. Rachel glanced around, but nobody else had noticed her phone, which she'd completely forgotten was on. She quickly flipped it open. How a text message managed to get through while she was 15,000 feet in the air, she had no idea. Yet it had. Rachel grinned as she read:

KURT: Could your plane possibly be going any more slowly? You need to hurry up! We prepared a surprise for you and it's melting!

Rachel immediately responded,

RACHEL: It could probably be going more slowly. It could also be going much more quickly. However, I am using this extra time to brace myself for having to live with you two.

KURT: You got reception on a plane? And it's us three, actually. Blaine and I adopted a canary in memory of Pavarotti.

RACHEL: Wait, what? I thought your apartment building didn't allow pets. And that's really sweet, by the way.

KURT: It didn't allow pets. We moved buildings so there'd be room for you, and the fact that the new place allows 'most pets smaller than a Chihuahua' is an added bonus. I'd wanted to move, anyway. The carpeting in the old one was a horrible color for my skin tone.

Just then a flight attendant walked by. 'Excuse me, miss, but you aren't allowed to have that on. Please turn that off right now.' Her Barbie-smiling throughout the reprimand was creepy enough that Rachel decided it might be a good idea to listen.

RACHEL: Gotta go, bye!

She turned to the annoyed mother behind her and said, 'I bet I can make him fall asleep again with a lullaby!'

...

Kurt and Blaine were waiting impatiently at the airport. Kurt was holding a beverage he'd bought on impulse delicately. Blaine was slowly sipping his, which Kurt found mildly entertaining. Blaine was rather uneducated. 'So when is she supposed to be here again?' Blaine asked.

'Any minute the plane will arrive. As soon as it does, we're off to a very specific location.'

'Um... why?'

'You'll see.'

...

Rachel couldn't wait to see Kurt and Blaine again. It had been over a year since they'd talked in person, though video-chatting was pretty good. She skipped off the plane excitedly, smiling more than she had in weeks. But... where were they? She looked around expectantly, but Rachel's favorite New Yorkers were nowhere to be seen. They must be in the bathroom or something, she decided. Speaking of which, she thought after the long flight a potty break didn't sound half bad.

Rachel took the second stall in the women's room, because she knew the first is always the germiest and she didn't want to walk too far. As soon as the door was closed, a shower of purple liquid fell on her.

What the fuck?

Had Rachel just been slushied in a ladies' room, at an airport, in New York City? And it was grape, too. Her favorite kind. And it matched her sweater perfectly...

'KURT!'

'Hey,' Blaine's voice interrupted, I helped.'

Rachel walked out of her stall, and Kurt and Blaine each walked out from one of the adjacent ones.

'Come on, how impressive a welcome was that?' Kurt asked in reply to the dirty look Rachel shot him. 'You'll be telling that story for years.' Rachel would have expected the sight of two men plus a girl who looked like Violet Beauregard after the de-juicing would draw attention in the moderately crowded restroom, but then she remembered- This was New York. People did weird things all the time, and nobody really cared. When New Directions had been there, what, six, seven years ago? they'd burst into song and danced through the streets, and nobody even looked at them funny.

'I just can't believe you guys would do this!'

'Well, we would.' Blaine stated. 'Though I didn't actually know we planned to do this until five minutes before your plane arrived.'

'But still-'

'Less talking, more cleaning Rachel up,' Kurt interrupted. 'Blot it, then we'll use my Tide To Go stick. It'll work fine on that kind of fabric. Any mild stain will be invisible on your purple sweater- thank god you sent me a picture this morning, so I knew what flavour to get. Though I'm not really sure why you want to save that,' he added, wrinkling his nose.

It was such a Kurt-ful moment that Rachel reached forward to hug him, momentarily forgetting about her state. Kurt let out a high-pitched shriek and quickly stumbled backwards to avoid the purple dye getting on his clothes.

Blaine rolled his eyes, and Rachel laughed.

...

Reviews, prettyplease? And yes, that is an actual book Rachel was reading on the plane. Perfect, no? Not that you were asking...