a/n: Hi people! Two chapters in one week! Shh, don't tell my muse or it'll scare her away. Thank you so much for the incredible response to the first chapter. It blew me away! You wonderful readers always seem to do that and I'm so thankful for that! This chapter reveals a bit of Rachel's background and hopefully, at the end of the chapter, you'll see where the connection to the Puckerman family is going to come in later (hint next chapter hint). Also, anybody like a little Raine? Another one of the friendship pairings I'm using in this story. So thank you so much for everything and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please review! I don't own Gleeā¦
Rachel forced her gaze to remain friendly as the time drew closer to the girl's lesson. At any moment, Ambrielle Lawson would burst through the doors of the arts complex and begin screeching like a dying cat in heat. And Rachel would have to explain yet again, in the most tactful way possible, that the notes the girl was torturing were so far off-key, they were bordering on criminal. The victims of Hostel-like situations were treated better than Ambrielle unknowingly treated her vocal coach's ears.
On cue, Ambrielle's heels could be heard clicking down the hall, flourishing through the doors seconds later with a bright fake smile plastered on her face. Rachel quickly schooled her features to her stoic 'let's get down to business' expression and turned on the piano bench.
"Hi Miss Berry," the girl started in her nasally voice, "I already went through my vocal warm-ups so we can go ahead and get started on my audition piece for Shakespeare in the Park." Rachel bit her tongue. Attempting to convince the girl for the umpteenth time that you did not need a song to audition for Twelfth Night would be hopelessly futile. Instead, she decided to focus on the unlikely possibility that Ambrielle had actually, correctly, gone through her vocal warm-ups before arriving.
Rachel arched her brow and plinked out a few keys on the piano. "Well then, I'm interested to hear the progress you've made on your own. Why don't you sing this note for me?" She played a C, but whatever came of the girl's mouth was, as usual, not even close. "Okay," she began a little more harshly than necessary, "I don't think it'll hurt anything to run through a few more warm-ups." Ambrielle grinned and shrugged, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder.
"Okay, you're the coach Miss Berry."
About an hour later, Rachel started to notice that her hands were clenching into fists of frustration more often than they were tapping out the melody that Ambrielle should have been singing. She was seconds away from telling the girl to just give up, that she shouldn't bother attempting a career in musical theatre, and that she had no business being on any stage unless it was in front of a bathroom mirror behind a soundproofed steel door.
She'd been too caught up in exactly what she would tell Ambrielle if she were allowed to truly speak candidly that she didn't notice the dark haired man when he walked in.
"Hello ladies," he crooned easily. Rachel looked up and literally felt her day get exponentially better.
"Blaine, what brings you here," she smiled at her friend, failing miserably to hide the tension in her voice. He picked up on it right away.
"I was in the neighborhood and thought I would swing by and take you to lunch. How's the lesson going?" Blaine had known that Rachel was seconds away from erupting on the pupil when he'd walked in the room. The woman's face clearly bore the expression of 'you've got to be kidding me'. Saving her from that was the least he could do.
Ambrielle shot him a flirty smile and Blaine fought the urge to roll his eyes. Not only could the bobble-headed girl not grasp the fact that she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but she also couldn't understand that he didn't bat for her team. No matter how many times he reminded her that he was as gay as they come, it never seemed to really sink in.
"Miss Berry was helping me with some new scales and my audition song. We're having fun." Rachel's face belied that sentiment. "Would you like to hear?" Blaine chuckled nervously.
"Actually, I was hoping, if it wouldn't be too much trouble for you two, that you could cut the lesson short today. I'm sure you're voice could use a rest anyway." Ambrielle looked to Rachel as Rachel shot a grateful look at Blaine.
"I think we've done all we can do today anyway so that's a wonderful idea. Ambrielle, we'll meet the same time next week." The girl nodded her head with a smile and flounced out of the room, calling her good-byes behind her. Rachel looked up as Blaine sat down next to her on the piano bench. He bumped her shoulder with his own and chuckled softly.
"Somebody looked like a diva about to explode just there," he whispered knowingly. Rachel snorted and banged out a quick frustrated discord of notes from the keys.
"She's lucky you saved her from it. I keep trying to get other coaches to take her but they've all heard her and refuse. I miss the old days, back when you and I were on that stage, and the talent was so thick in the air you could hardly breathe. It was exhilarating! Now, it's YouTube this and auto-tune that. And here I am, like some poor schmuck, trying to train the kind of talent that actually deserves a standing ovation but that's impossible to do with people like Ambrielle who are convinced they're the next biggest thing." With a forlorn sigh, Rachel leaned into her friend for a moment. She glanced up at him before a tiny wave of self-pity hit her and she pouted. "I used to be the next big thing."
Blaine smiled down at her again and nudged her with his shoulder until she sat back up. He raised his hands to the piano and began to play "On My Own' as softly as possible. As he played, he spoke to her in a low voice. "Rachel, you're not old enough to use phrases like 'the old days' and 'use to be'. Your Broadway career doesn't have to be a fading memory. When we were child actors, the competition was ruthlessly cutthroat. But you thrived on it and I think that's what made you stand out even more. That's what makes you the best vocal coach the city has to offer. Hell, the best the state has to offer, probably the East Coast." Rachel feigned a humble expression that made him grin.
"Blaine, you're the Will to my Grace," she giggled.
"I know," he replied brightly, "and as your Will, it's my duty to tell you that you're too much for this line of work. I mean, come on, you've been coaching the award winners for the past seven years. Why don't you get back on that stage where you belong and start winning them for yourself again!"
Rachel couldn't help the wistful smile that spread across her face at the thought of going back to the stage. Her childhood had been spent there. It was where she'd met the boy who became her best friend in the whole world, the man now sitting next to her. The place that held more happy memories for her than anywhere else. It wasn't like she'd never thought of going back. The stage was where her heart resided, and you can't walk away from your heart.
"It's not as simple as you think Blaine. When I quit acting, I was twenty years old and I just wanted to be done with the mindless backstabbing for a little bit. But then I got comfortable in this job and I'm really good at it. Even Ambrielle doesn't suck as much now as she did when she first walked through those doors." She ignored the doubting look Blaine shot her. "I think I'm scared that if I go back and fail, I'll have nothing to live for anymore."
Blaine really hated seeing Rachel like this. It was a cold day in Hell when Rachel Berry didn't believe in herself. He stood up abruptly, making her fall over on the bench, and placed his hands flat on the top of the piano. Blaine looked her dead in the eyes and refused to let her gaze drop from his until he knew he had her attention. "You don't know the meaning of the word 'fail' because you've never done it in your life. And if you do decide to go back, you'll have everything you ever wanted, all over again." He took a second to harden his expression just to make sure she got the point and then smiled. "So what do you want for lunch? I'm starving."
It wasn't until they were seated in their favorite little soup shop that Blaine asked the question Rachel had been dreading.
"How are you and Carter doing?" Rachel cringed at the mention of her boyfriend. Blaine had never liked him and had always been vocal about it. But it was only recently that Rachel began noticing his more off-putting qualities. She knew Blaine was hoping for a bit of bad (good) news on her relationship status, and damn it, she was going to give it to him.
"I'm about seventy-five percent sure he's cheating on me." That shut him up. She wasn't sure if it was what she'd said or the way she'd said it, like saying there was a seventy-five percent chance of rain, but a speechless Blaine was quite funny. But then his stunned silence became furious silence and his face darkened.
"That asshole," he seethed, his voice dangerously low, "I'll kill him. I'll rip his head off. How could he do that to you?" Rachel reached across the table and placed her hand over his to try and calm him down.
"Like I said, I'm not completely certain. The other night when he came over to my apartment for dinner, he smelled like cheap perfume. I made a joke about him switching to female deodorant and he instantly got defensive and started going on and on about how some woman had squeezed up next to him on the subway and that was what I smelled. He's been bailing on our dates, either leaving early or not showing up at all, and he always says he's needed at the office. Both excuses seem a little too convenient to me, but I can't really prove it." Blaine's expression softened and he turned his hand over beneath hers so he could hold it.
"Honey, I'm so sorry. Will you be okay?" Rachel took a deep breath as their food arrived and waited for the waitress to leave before she said anything.
"It stings, of course, but mostly I wish I knew without a doubt. I'm glad I haven't made the mistake of letting myself fall in love with him. That probably helps. I'll survive." He hated that she was so accepting of it all. He wanted her to get angry, make the cheating bastard pay, he wanted to see that fire in her eyes again. As happy as it made him that their relationship was as good as dead in the water, he felt horrible that Carter had turned out to be just another frog Rachel had to kiss in her search for the prince. Rachel deserved a real man. So where the hell was he?
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when she finally got home later that night. Her bag of Thai food in hand, she kicked her shoes off and sat down on the couch. Luxuriating in the feel of the soft carpet beneath her toes, she groaned when she realized that she'd forgotten to get something to drink before plopping down. Sadly, with as tired as the day had made her, the Force just wasn't with her and she couldn't will her bottle of water to float out of the refrigerator and into her waiting hand, no matter how much she envisioned it in her mind.
When she finally made it back to the couch from her trip to the kitchen, where she'd went ahead and grabbed a plate and fork to accompany her bottle of water, Rachel found her remote so she could watch the last few episodes of Dexter on her TiVo. But when she turned the TV on, the speakers buzzed with how loud the volume was.
That's when she remembered why her volume was up so high in the first place. Upon muting the show, she realized how quiet it was. All week long, a family had apparently been moving into the apartment above hers and there seemed to be a near constant rearranging of furniture. But now, it was quiet. They were settled. Rachel instantly felt like she should go whip up a batch of cookies to take to her new upstairs neighbors as a 'welcome to the building' gesture but decided against it. Her stomach was empty and she could make cookies on the weekend. At the moment, she was going to enjoy her supper. Welcoming neighbors would just have to wait a couple days.
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