Severe boredom + too much free time on my hands = Me watching Glee this week, against my better judgement. Of COURSE the episode needed a few modifications, namely, the insertion of a certain character who is SORELY missed ;)
Spoilers: For 4x02, general S4.
Disclaimer: Dear RIB - if you don't want me to borrow your characters and write about them, you should not have Rachel Berry drop 'Evita' references at random. You know exactly where my mind goes.
It Takes Two
"Ugh!"
Jesse looks up from the script he is reading through - he has an audition next week for a community theater production in Brooklyn, something a friend of a friend of an old acquaintace of Shelby is involved with - to see his girlfriend glaring at the doorframe as thought it's at serious fault as she drags her bike through to prop it against the wall.
"Hey," he calls, concerned, setting the pages aside. "Rough day?"
"She just won't let up on me!" she immediately explodes as she kicks off her shoes, not needing to elaborate who 'she' is.
"Cassie July again?" He wraps an arm around her as she flings herself down on their sleeping bag next to him - there's still a decided lack of furniture in the apartment, thanks to Kurt's aversion to Craigslist.
"Who else?" she grumbles, hugging him back and turning her face up to ask for a hello kiss. He readily obliges.
(He'll always be happy to say hello to her, still can't quite believe that they're coming home to each other each day - even if 'home' is an outrageously priced studio in a questionable neighborhood with exposed brick walls that Kurt and Rachel still can't agree what color to paint.)
She scrunches up her nose fondly when they pull apart. "You smell like coffee."
"Double shift. Clumsy yuppies."
She giggles. "We'll get you out of these soon enough. I'll run lines with you tonight."
"Deal."
They settle into comfortable silence shoulder to shoulder, him flipping through the script to highlight a few passages, her sorting through her shoulder bag, organizing the books needed for homework tonight and the sheet music she'll want to practice from later.
"She told me I wasn't sexy enough," Rachel suddenly blurts.
He cocks a confused eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"
"Miss July," she elaborates. "She made me sit out today because there weren't enough boys, and I apparently don't have enough sex appeal to perform the tango." Before he can respond, she continues in indignation. "She calls me Little Miss David Schwimmer."
He can't help it, that makes him laugh a little, mostly because it's so far off-base, and, well, he appreciates irony. "You're kidding."
"This is SERIOUS, Jesse!" she exclaims. "If I'm ever gonna play Evita, I'm gonna have to learn how to tango! And it's not only that role! How many characters are based on sex appeal? Roxy Hart, Mimi Marquez - to say nothing of Broadway starlets who branch out into television or cinema, and - "
He chooses his favorite method of derailing Rachel Berry when she gets too wound up to let someone get a word in edgewise, gently tugging her closer to cover her mouth with his. She gives a surprised little squeak before kissing back.
(She is nothing if not adaptable, and he's not just talking about her improv skills.)
"First of all," he begins, now that he's sure he has her undivided attention, "You DO have sex appeal. In spades. And if you doubt that, I'm happy to convince you," he says in a low voice, making her blush. "Second of all, you need to learn not to let Cassie July get to you." He pauses, weighing his words. "I realize Schuester was all about building you guys up and making you believe you couldn't fail, and that was fine for a high school group. But he didn't do anyone any favors. I know things are not perfect between you and Shelby, but she was an intimidating perfectionist, and I learned from it."
"I guess I haven't had as much experience with the 'tough love' route," Rachel admits.
"Getting a dose of that treatment now isn't a bad thing," he adds. "On Broadway, all there is is scrutiny and judgement. And you can't let it derail you. You have to let it motivate you."
"So are you saying I should just take it?" she asks indignantly.
"I'm saying you should just take it," he confirms. When she opens her mouth to protest, he silences her with a finger on her lips. "And then you're going to come back here and tell me everything and I'll tell you why she's wrong."
"What if she isn't, though?" Rachel looks away, biting her lip. "I know you think I'm beautiful, but - you've been the only one. I was never a Quinn, or Santana, or Brittany. I don't have the mass appeal to win over an audience."
"That was high school. It's over," he reminds her softly. "You have a new life now. You were made for this city. People aren't blind - they will appreciate you here."
"It's going to take some time to believe that," she admits. "But, you're right. We have a lot to look forward to here."
She loves the smile he gives her as she snuggles against his shoulder, the one that says can you believe we're really here together?
(He's been insisting to her that she's destined to be here, to be a star, since her sophomore year of high school. But sometimes, she knows, they're both still a little amazed that after all the drama, they did wind up here together. She's unspeakably grateful, will never take a single day of this for granted.)
"She's just jealous of you," he murmurs against her hair. "Of all of you. You have your whole lives ahead of you, while she already lost her shot. You're the future, and she's just some YouTube joke."
"That still doesn't solve my problems with class," Rachel sighs. "How am I supposed to learn and advance if she won't let me participate?"
"We'll just have to practice." When she shifts to blink up at him in confusion, he untangles himself from her to climb to his feet, offering her a hand to help her up. "May I have this dance, Miss Berry?"
She lifts an eyebrow at him in disbelief, even as she steps into his arms, her elbow bent with artistic precision. One of his hands finds her waist, tugging a little closer.
"Back straight. Shoulders back," he reminds softly. "And ... go."
She knows the steps to the tango, of course. Sitting on the sidelines observing during class that day had been an excellent refresher course. She knows she knows how to dance.
But she still can't stop Miss July's words from echoing in her head. "You're awkward and tense in your body, and you move like you're ashamed of it."
She catches herself watching her own feet - a novice mistake, she knows.
"Chin up. But don't look at your partner," he murmurs in her ear. "I know with me, that's difficult."
She snorts indelicately as she twirls under his arm. "She just has me so wound up, I'm practically tripping over my feet."
"Relax. Close your eyes," he suggests.
She complies, trusting him to lead. Without being able to think so much, she finds, the dance stops being about planning and pitch-perfect steps and instead she starts finding her way by anticipation and instinct, her tension melting away under the familiar warmth of his hands. He hums along with their motions - step, step, step-together-step - and she stops feeling the rhythm only in their steps across the floor, finding it in the pattern of his breathing, the sound of her heartbeat drumming in her ears, the pressure of his fingers on the back of her hand.
When she opens her eyes again, she unerringly meets his gaze, which is dark with desire.
"I thought you said you're not supposed to look at your partner in the tango," she admonishes softly.
"No one's perfect, although I come pretty close." He grins wickedly, even as he continues to lead her in the steps. "Besides, can you blame a guy?"
"You're certainly an admirable partner," she allows. "Thank you for the dance lesson, Mr. St. James. However, I believe my sex appeal could still use more polishing."
"Oh, yeah?"
He can't suppress a groan when she hooks her leg over his hip, allowing him to dip her low.
"What time do you think Kurt will be back from the magazine?" she whispers.
His answer is to kiss her deeply, gently lowering her the rest of the way to the ground and following her down to pull her close.
(Let it never be said either of them was not fully dedicated to a rehearsal.)