She walks out of the changing room after their show and suddenly realizes that she's tired of passivity, of following someone else's script. It occurs to her that going after this (whatever this is) is not very different from going after whatever else she's ever wanted (blocked toe shoes, a coveted solo, front row tickets to South Pacific for her 7th birthday). She's not going to get it by sitting around and wishing.
Everyone is gathered in the practice room, still on a little bit of a performance high, laughing and chatting with friends and family. He, of course, is alone near the door. She walks straight up to him, stops in front of him. He's closing the latches on his guitar case, pulling a sweatshirt over his head, ignoring her. She wonders if he sees a Rachel-shaped hole in the air, but she just waits.
"What's up, Berry?" he says finally.
"I need a ride home" she says simply.
His expression is unreadable. "Why aren't your daddies here to bring you home and make you hot cocoa and tuck you in?" he asks.
"Well as you know they usually attend every performance..." she starts in a rush.
"With camcorder in hand..." he interrupts.
"Anyway..." she says, giving him a dirty look, "They both had previous commitments that they couldn't break. Really, I appreciate Mr. Schue giving us an opportunity to rehearse a few of our set pieces in front of an audience, but the impromptu nature of this occasion makes scheduling difficult. Ms. Pillsbury was supposed to give me a ride home but..."
"But Brad Meyer sneezed on her during our curtain call and she's probably in the decontamination shower in the science wing for the rest of the night."
"Exactly." she says.
"Mr. Schue ..." he offers, looking around for the Glee coach.
"Went racing after her and is probably IN the decontamination shower with her right now."
He laughs and smiles at her in the way that makes her stomach turn over (mostly in a nice way). She ignores the fact that Quinn and Finn's eyes are burning into her back.
He's still smiling a little bit as he goes to push through the door. "All right Berry, let's go."
They walk through the parking lot silently, close but not touching, not looking at one another. Rachel is at a standstill. Having taken the first step (being in the same general area as Noah) she's not sure what to do next. It would help if she knew what she wanted. Because, as epiphanies go, "him" is terribly non-specific. Does she want to make out? Does she want him to be her boyfriend? Does she want him to fall on one knee and assure her that he's not in love with Quinn Fabray? Is it sensible or selfish to want all three?
As they reach his truck he throws his gear in the back and unlocks the passenger door. Their bodies brush slightly as she moves past him to get in and she shivers. He doesn't comment, but cranks up the heat when he starts the truck. She's glad she doesn't have to give directions, is able to just sit back and watch him a little bit through the corner of her eye as the flicker of headlights from oncoming cars briefly advance then retreat across his face. He looks tired. As he pulls to the curb and shifts into park, she's suddenly shy. "Thanks. You sang really well tonight. " she says briefly, turning away from him, reaching for the door handle.
"Wait." he leans over towards her, circles her wrist lightly with his fingers. She's still turned away and she closes her eyes for a second, pulse racing, almost dizzy. God, what is wrong with her? At this rate, if he ever touches a part of her body that is not her arm, she may spontaneously combust. But when she opens her eyes, turns around, the look in his eyes makes her breath stop for a second. Right now, it's just about the two of them--she's only seeing him and he's only seeing her and everyone else is a thousand miles away.
So she just melts into him.
His arms come around her, pressing her closer and his tongue is teasing at her lips so she opens her mouth and sure enough: combustion. The angle is a little awkward--she's still not close enough she thinks hazily, but thinking is really not what this moment is about. He moves his hands down to her hips and then he pivots and slides her over his legs so that she's straddling him; all she can do is give a little moan of approval into his mouth. His hands leave her hips, one sliding up into her hair, the other travelling down, brushing the skin of her thigh at the hem of her skirt. Her lips pull away from his to find the sensitive spot just behind his ear, and then she kisses her way down his neck, smiling against his skin at his quick intake of air. Her hands dip under his sweatshirt, his t-shirt, and she runs her fingers lightly along his muscled sides. His lips are against her hair and she almost feels rather than hears him breathe her name. He uses the hand still tangled in her hair to gently bring her mouth back to his, his other hand moving further up her leg. She's forgotten everything. She's burning.
When her phone rings, they both jump apart as if a shot had been fired. Rachel imagines that this is what it feels like to hit the ground after you've been thrown out a window. For a moment, the truck is filled with the sound of their breathing. Rachel turns, fishes her phone out of her bag with a shaking hand and answers.
"Mr. Schue...Hi...Yes, I got a ride home. No, I'm fine. Absolutely sure. I hope Ms. Pillsbury feels better soon. O.K. see you at Glee."
Sliding the phone back into her bag, Rachel glances over at him. He's looking straight ahead, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other running nervously across his scalp. He's a thousand miles away.
"Shit." he says, maybe not to her, maybe to something off in that distance.
Still. As a performance review, that wasn't really what she was looking for.
So for the second time, she grabs her stuff and reaches for the door handle and for the second time he reaches out for her, but breaking his grip is as easy as breaking a link in a chain--even if it does make her feel sick.
She lets herself in with her key and sinks against the door, squeezing her eyes tight against tears. One minute, two minutes, five. Finally, she hears the sound of his truck start up and slowly drive off into the night.
